#and lucky & wrecker

[maulfucker]

ok so my idea for a bad batch redesign is. What if the bad batch was actually an experiment on transgenic clone modifications. like. really putting the "experimental" in experimental clone force.

Hunter - Kaleesh genes make his senses sharper, and gives him infrared sensing (and by extension night vision) and stronger hunting instincts - His ears are pointy and taller than normal, but he hides that with his bandana - Has pit organs under his eyes (that's how he senses infrared and electric currents) - His eyes reflect light and have slit pupils - His pinkies work as secondary thumbs

Tech - Kind of a test to see how much of givins' natural affinity for mathematics is genetic and how much is socialized - He's better with maths and has quicker thinking than regular humans - Givin genes make him smaller, pale and bony, so he looks kinda sickly and starved but he's totally normal - The glasses help hide how deep his eyes are - The "balding" look from his original design is now because of his bone structure

Wrecker - Gamorrean genes give him enhanced strength - It also gives him a very strong sense of loyalty, and makes him tend to be stubborn - He's actually a little bit shorter than an average clone, but he's so wide that people think he's taller than he really is - His left canine broke in the same incident where he lost his left eye

Crosshair - Chiss genes give him infrared vision and better reflexes (and red scleras) - Umbaran genes give him ultraviolet vision - He really is just an experiment on expanding the human vision range - He sees infrared better than ultraviolet, and has better night vision than Hunter - His hair is a cool black instead of the usual warm black - He's a bit paler as well but that's because he doesn't like bright places

[magicandmundane]

Aaaaaaaand welcome back to wholesome Bad Batch headcanons brought to you by the recesses of my memory!

My school put on a father-daughter dance every year when I was little. It was great. My sister and I would take turns asking our dad and our grandfather to be our dates, we’d get dressed up, go out to dinner, have fun all night, etc etc. It was one of my dad‘s and my grandfather’s favorite things.

So now I’m thinking about Pabu being its wholesome self and having a father-daughter dance. Omega is at school or out with Lyana or something when she hears about it and promptly loses her mind. She goes racing home first chance she gets to ask her brothers to go to this dance with her.

Wrecker is ecstatic. He thinks this is the coolest thing. Puts it in their schedule, finds the nicest clothes he has ever owned, gets Omega to help him get ready, and absolutely has a blast.

Crosshair is, well, Crosshair—outwardly pretty nonchalant about it like “pffft, of course I’m going. Why would you think otherwise?” And on the inside he’s so touched. This is just one more thing added to the mountain of reasons why he’d kill and die for Omega.

Hunter is completely over the moon. The man is holding back tears because he just loves this kid so much and even now it’s still sometimes hard to believe that this wonderful girl wants him and his brothers in her life.

[mamuzzy]

Originally I wanted to upload it on thursday but I couldn't wait for that long. So ever since I saw that masterpiece , the idea lived rent-free in my head. I've made a version where the uniforms didn't quite fitted to Hunter's doritos shaped upperbody and well, Wrecker also isn't the smallest cutepie in the group but I woke up today and decided that these precious idiots deserves nice things in their life. They deserve pretty and undamaged high school girl uniforms. Thank you for everyone who motivated me to finish this... magnificent whatthefuck.

[redbean-nom]

star wars by silm logic

for the silm-sw dual citizens:

I was wondering what would happen if star wars (particularly tbb bc that's the currently-releasing bit of star wars) adhered to silm logic:

Hunter is the local leader of a hidden city (Pabu)

Omega is the heir

Rex is the overall leader of a warring people (clone rebellion)

Hemlock is the local leader of a branch of the Forces of Evil

Palpatine is the overall Enemy

so therefore

Rex and Echo gather an army of escaped clones. They rescue Cody or Wolffe from the Empire. Song and fire are greatly involved.

Themes of rising hope are invoked as they make a stand against the Empire. The clone rebellion grows further.

They are initially victorious and manage to rescue the clone prisoners from Tantiss with few casualties. Hemlock is ousted and flees to the heart of the Empire (but his operation will return in time)

Echo goes to check on the Batch on Pabu and ask them to ally with him and Rex in the upcoming battle.

They march on Coruscant. Things suddenly go disastrously wrong. Cody is killed in battle. Rex faces Palpatine in single combat.

Rex dies tragically.

Eagles.

Echo tells Hunter about the battle. They are delayed on their way and attempt to ride to the rescue. The Batch arrives just after the deaths. Echo is sad.

Pabu is betrayed while the Batch is on Coruscant.

Pabu is invaded by the Empire. Hemlock subjugates the people into his weird clone experimentation program.

Dragons.

The Batch returns to destroyed/invaded Pabu and is unable to intervene.

While attempting to protect their city most of the Batch dies.

Echo is very sad.

Hunter is captured and killed in front of Omega.

Omega escapes and swears an Oath mourns the Batch.

Echo is broken by grief for the ghosts of his past and vanishes.

Omega later becomes a Rebellion leader, carrying the memories of the failed clone rebellion and the haven of Pabu with her.

Echo fades/dies on some random planet as the forgotten remnant of the GAR/Clone rebellion.

[stars-n-spice]

So, this is it, huh?

I figured the least I could do was write something down before shit goes down because I know after tomorrow I don't think I'll be emotionally available to do or say much about the show and what it and the fanbase means to me.

The last few days, my mind has been a whirlwind of emotions and I don't think I've ever really suspended my disbelief since it was announced that this would be the last season.

I felt like Po honestly, in Kung Fu Panda 2, when he's like "But I just got Kung Fu!" when they're talking about Lord Shen making that weapon that straight-up kills people who practice Kung Fu (I'm going somewhere with this just bear with me-) because I'm fairly new to the animated shows of Star Wars fandom and didn't start hyperfixating on Bad Batch until midway through Season 2 while those episodes were still releasing.

So when they announced that the 3rd season was the final season I was devastated. "What do you mean no more Bad Batch? I just got Bad Batch!" - I didn't want to believe it.

But here we are. Final season. Final episode.

I can't describe how the obsession started. It just did.

When the first season was coming out, I was still on Season 6 of TCW, so I got into it a little late. Then when it was over I immediately jumped into watching Rebels and became utterly obsessed with that show while Bad Batch just stayed, "Oh, neat show I watched."

Then the second season came out. I don't know how or when or why but suddenly something just went off in my brain and I became obsessed. I became attached. I fell in love with Wrecker in a way that I've never once felt or experienced towards any other fictional character, or person for that matter. I grew to understand Crosshair on a deeper level that made my heart ache for him and made me reflect on my own past and choices. Echo became a comfort character and an anchor in my life in where he's the first thing I think of when I'm down to put myself in a better mood. Suddenly I was ready to give Omega the universe and everything good in it. Tech became a lifelife (ironically) a hope that despite how I am and who I am, I'm capable of loving and being loved. And recently I've become so incredibly attached to Hunter because as the oldest child of five as well, I know that crushing weight of responsibility. Of failing your siblings. Of trying to be better.

This squad. This family. Cheesy as it is, I can't describe what they mean to me but Force, I'll try.

Recently I've been wondering why I'm so attached to this show and these characters. Jokingly, part of it is yes, the Bad Batch are lovely to look at and that does play a role in why I enjoy watching the show so much, but that's not completely it.

I think I speak for a lot of us fans when I say that I didn't fit in as a kid. I still don't even as an 'adult.' Look, I'm a biracial guy from two VERY different cultures that don't feel like home to me. On top of that, half of the time I don't know how to identify myself in gender and sexuality because I don't feel either most of the time. I'm introverted. I have anxiety. I probably have autism. I'm a burnt-out former gifted kid. I quite simply don't fit in.

"No, I'll stay. You guys don't fit in here either."

That? Yeah.

This show is for all those kids. Everyone who never fit in. Everyone who was told they were strange or weird, for the kids who ate glue in the back of the classroom, who were told they were too loud, who were put down because they didn't express emotion a certain way, for the kids who sat alone at lunch, who got left behind in their friend groups, for the kids who felt like they had no one so turned to harmful things, for the kids who were told they were special only to be discarded later in life, for the kids who don't know their place, don't know where they fit in and if they even do or ever will.

It's a show that tells those kids you're more than that. You're worth it. You're worth loving. You're worth protecting. You're worth the second chance. You're worth being loyal to. You're worth teaching. You're worth forgiving. You're worth it. You're worth it. You're worth it.

In the end there's hope for us. There's hope for all of us. And I think that's why I cling to tightly to this show. Why it means so much to me. Why I so desperately need these characters to make it out alive.

It's what Star Wars was from the start. About hope. About family. About loving and being loved and learning to love despite your circumstances. It's a show that took a bunch of neurodivergent absolute daddies and packed in so much angst but also feel-good moments with stunning animation, beautiful, moving music, and phenomenal voice acting. It's a show I can't help but love and love immensely because it feels like it was written for me.

For that kid who spent their recesses with their nose buried in an animal encyclopedia or talking to imaginary characters from their favorite books. For that kid who always felt so utterly useless and hopeless whenever they got less than an A- for a grade because they were supposed to be the gifted one. For the kid who struggled so much to be the older sibling they never asked to be. For the kid who just wants to find someone, anyone, who will love them as they are and fight for them. For the kid who valued loyalty above all else, always has, always will, and never gets it in return. For the kid who never fit in.

And well, whatever happens in the finale, I'm so grateful, so blessed, and so honored to have been a part of this journey with all of you.

[starqueensthings]

Echo & the Batch say their farewells

[cuddles-with-dragons]

Meet Squad 610

Their main color is eye-burning cyan

Mudhorn

Nickname(s): Muddy

-The leader, very much done with shit.

-He loses his left eye a few weeks before Order 66 in an explosion, really cool scar and does not like people to talk about it.

-Has the mudhorn painted in black on his left pauldron, suspiciously similar to Din's.

-Actually very nice once he trusts you, very loyal.

-For some reason he always is attracted to badass lesbians, and they don't want to date him.

Nexu

Nickname(s): Nex, Doc, Shithead

-Medic, does not like people who downplay injuries.

-Has dark grey claw marks painted on his armor, from a distance it looks like the paint has chipped. Also has the medic symbol in red on both pauldrons.

-Grumpy and sarcastic, but really super sweet and loves his brothers.

-Very gay. VERY GAY. He has a rainbow bandana. Will be open about if you ask, but doesn't just say it without someone asking. For some reason he always falls for the most homicidal guys.

-He has a satchel, wears it at all times, it's his medkit. It's dark red with a white medic symbol.

Asteroid

Nickname(s): Aster

-Normal trooper, but prefers piloting and fixing ships.

-Has a eight-pointed star on the center of the dome of his helmet. Flamelike shapes on his chestplate.

-Chill and nerdy, loves to infodump about ships and droids. Always on the lookout for new facts and info.

-The most social and outgoing out to the group. Has chats online with the friends he's made in other battalions/squads.

Lucky

Nickname(s): None

-The sharpshooter. He's actually a very good shot.

-Has a black/cyan checkerboard pattern on his pauldrons. Darker blue crosshair painted on the right one.

-Total sweetheart. He's the cinnamon roll that can kill you.

-Number is 1313, hence the nickname. He's not superstitious, and neither are his squadmates!

-Does not like people touching his things, especially his rifle.

Graveyard

Nickname(s): Gravey, Graves

-Good at slicing.

-Has purple and red accents on his armor, with the cyan in the middle.

-Nervous, but brave.

-Deserted the GAR. Original squad was killed by a Sith. Joined Squad 610 after, but deserted after realizing that the Republic doesn't give a shit about clones.

-Based off a snow cone that is blue raspberry, grape, and cherry. It's called the Graveyard, and it's from my summer camp. Blue bones, purple brains, and red blood.

[books-in-a-storm]

Currently Reading 💛

Property Of Wrecker, Wrench & Lucky Clover

[love-dive-into-ive]

♡ Gaeul ♡

[neon-junkie]

How would TBB react to seeing the reader about to leave on a night out dressed up in a super hot outfit?

Gender-neutral reader, but feminine presenting. Words like 'beautiful' and 'pretty' are used!

Hunter - Even with half of his face tattooed, he still manages to blush through the thickness of the ink. - He's truly lost for words. - Hunter has an adorable stutter as he compliments, "wow, you look… nice- I mean, incredible. Good. Beautiful?" - Hunter then facepalms as he scolds himself for picking "nice" as his first compliment. Ugh, you look so much more than nice! - You'll both be giggling as Hunter takes a deep breath, and begins going into detail about how good you look, highlighting the specific parts that really stand out to him. - You're heading out with friends, but Hunter is quietly hinting that he wants to come along. Totally not because he's jealous or anything, but because he hopes to meet your friends, right? The friends that he's met several times before? Yeah! - Tell him that you'll still be looking this good when you come back home later tonight, and he'll get the hint. - However, he may need to leave a fresh mark or two on your neck, just to get the point across that you're taken.

Echo - This poor, poor man is going to turn the deepest shade of red when he finally sees you. - Why, just WHY did you have to wear that specific outfit that he loves so much?! And you're going out without him too?! Oh, what a tease! - Echo is lost for words as he gushes over you. He feels like it's his wedding day - How is he this lucky? How did he land an angel like you? - There's a tear in his eye as you smother him in kisses, reassuring him that you're all his, that you're the lucky one for being with him, that you can't wait to come home and snuggle up with him later. - Echo doesn't ask for much, but he would like to be kept in the loop on your whereabouts. Purely for your own safety! - "And when you reach the next bar, just comm me. Your friends have my comm number too, don't they? If anything goes wrong, and you want picking up-" blahblahblah. - One final smother in reassuring kisses, and you're good to hit the town!

Wrecker - His mouth instantly hangs open, his eyes turn wide, and his facial expression swiftly turns into a grin as he comments, "HOT!!" - You know in cartoons where the character's mouth drops open, and they begin howling and barking? Yeah, that's Wrecker. - Seriously, you look hot, and Wrecker's going to ensure that you know it. - "Look at you! I can't believe I got myself an angel as sweet as you!" - He'll mention how he's sad that he's not tagging along, but he'll assure you that it's important you spend your time with your friends. - Wrecker isn't as clingy as he seems. After all, he'll be right here, waiting for your return. - And when you do return, all your hangover needs will be met. A tall glass of water waiting for you, a midnight snack, breakfast in bed, and a big buff man to cuddle you back to health!

Tech - This will go one of two ways: - Option one: Tech eyes you up and down, and with a firm nod, he comments, "that is suitable attire for your evening. I hope you enjoy yourself." - Option two: Tech's brain short circuits. He can barely muster up a thought, let alone a comment. Radio silence, but his expression says it all. - Either way, Tech is more than impressed with your outfit choice, and how stunning you look. He just… struggles to find the words, like a deer in the headlights. - Give him a few moments, and you'll be met with suitable praise. "How exquisite you look, a truly elegant and radiant creature." - Tech can't pinpoint one specific word to describe how beautiful you look, so instead, he selects the most complex and in-depth ones. He doesn't want to rely on a 'standard compliment.' - A few kisses later, and you're off to meet your friends. All the while, Tech begins pacing around the Marauder like a lost puppy. He needs to keep himself occupied until you return!

Crosshair - He's instantly thirsty for you, smiling cheekily as he eyes you up, gawking at the sight of you. - Crosshair has a way with words, and spews out his praise, all whilst kneading at your waist, his hands trailing down to grab your ass whilst he steals a handful of kisses from you. - And then it dawns on him… - You're going out with your friends tonight, not him… - Jealousy swiftly takes over, and his compliment turn into teasing (yet petty) jabs. Nothing to hurt your feelings, though. - "Any reason why you're wearing this tonight? Do you need more attention? Am I not enough for you?" - Whilst his tone is teasing, there's a desperate need for validation. - Yes, he knows you'd never be stupid and hurt him, but… can you please remind him one more time? - Don't be surprised when you leave, and minutes later, Crosshair sends you a holotext. "Comm me if you need anything, Beautiful."

[sinfulsalutations]

𝕣𝕚𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕨𝕒𝕧𝕖 ⋆*･ﾟ 𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕖𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ ꜱᴇʀɢᴇᴀɴᴛ ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ☆ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴇꜱ ʜᴏᴡ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ʜɪꜱ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴀꜰꜰᴇᴄᴛꜱ ʏᴏᴜ.

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴘᴏʀɴ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴘʟᴏᴛ, ꜰᴇʀᴀʟ+ʜᴏʀɴʏ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ, ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪꜱ ᴘʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ɪɴ ʜᴇᴀᴛ, ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴋɪɴᴋ, ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴀɴᴛᴀꜱɪᴇꜱ, ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴘɪɴɪɴɢ, ʀᴇꜱᴏʟᴠᴇᴅ ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ, ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ ɪꜱ ᴛᴏᴏ ꜱᴇxʏ ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪꜱ ᴏᴡɴ ɢᴏᴏᴅ, ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴜʀʙᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ɢʀɪɴᴅɪɴɢ, ᴍɪʟᴅ ɢᴏʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴡᴏᴜɴᴅꜱ, ɪ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʟᴍᴀᴏ

➼ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ☆ 9.1ᴋ

➼ ᴘᴏᴠ ☆ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ

➼ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ ☆ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ - ᴇᴛʜᴇʟ ᴄᴀɪɴ, ᴍᴏᴏɴꜱᴛʀᴜᴄᴋ - ᴇɴʜʏᴘᴇɴ

⋆ ★ … ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴀᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴇxᴀɢɢᴇʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ, ᴀ ꜰᴜʟʟ ʏᴇᴀʀ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɴɪꜱʜ. ɪ ʙᴇɢᴀɴ ɪᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴊᴜʟʏ ᴏꜰ 2023 ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ᴘᴜᴛᴛɪɴɢ ɪᴛ ᴏꜰꜰ ꜰᴏʀ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴘʀᴏᴊᴇᴄᴛꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀꜱ ɪ ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ᴡᴏʀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ɪᴛ ɪᴛ ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜʜʜʜ ᴏᴏᴘꜱ ɪᴛꜱ ᴀʟᴍᴏꜱᴛ 10ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ. ᴀʟꜱᴏ, ʏᴇᴀʜ, ɪ'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ. ʏᴀʏ? ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ.

➼ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ 18+ ᴅɴɪ

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

Despite the gradual (yet quite quick, in retrospect) increment of your feelings toward the skilled soldier, you do, in fact, notice the blunt sexual appeal of Hunter when you first meet Clone Force 99.

It’s difficult not to; with his long hair you can’t quite place how the Kaminoans allow him to have, the striking skull tattoo, his toned body, and discernable shape even through the heavy armor, you can’t help but flutter your eyelashes and rock your feet back and forth like you’re a schoolgirl all over again. Hunter is the Bad Batch’s essential leader, the closest in appearance to the rivaled ‘regs,’ leading them as their Sergeant and CT-9901, and he stands out more than any other clone you’ve interacted with.

His warm, welcoming, yet slightly wary smile is just as firm as the handshake he gives you when you first meet him, leaning down a little to your height (you’d think clone defects would be the same height, or maybe even shorter than a veritable trooper, but instead you feel enveloped by his vertical. Not that you don’t enjoy the feeling, of course) and nodding firmly.

Then you hear his voice.

It’s only a short sentence; a brief introduction and warm gratitude for joining them as their medic before you acquaint yourself with the rest of the squad. But your ears wrap around the waves of his rough, musky baritone like a magnet. Everything feels as though it’s finally clicked into place and created the perfect picture of your desired man.

Your mind immediately begins to create dreamy rhetoric, wondering silly things to yourself.

Had your mind been aimlessly wandering the galaxy for this long, circling like materials until you finally found an opposite —An opposite so charmingly rugged?

The feeling that rushes through you feels so destined.

Lucky for you, Hunter seems to express his commands frequently with his voice; sometimes hushed through a link, the vibrations of your comm humming pleasantly between the soft undersides of your fingers as he talks.

It always during the times when you’re deep past enemy lines, taking down clankers more efficiently than a Starfleet. Initially too, as you were still trying to memorize their master list of designated plans and being weighed down by the extra weight of regulation armor.

“Don’t go through there yet. Squad of clankers waiting for us.”

“You sure, Hunter? I don’t hear any steps.”

“Take it from the person with enhanced hearing, little medic. Just wait for me.”

Other times when he speaks to you, it’s thunderous commands; ones that he yells out across a field or war front. It frightens you at first, your shoulders jolting and hands instinctively clamping over your ears to deafen the noise, but you quickly realize he’s ordering you to act. Once you get used to the intensity, you come to equally enjoy and indulge how his voice takes on a new edge in fleeting moments of urgency and demand; a once blissful burning of wood turning into threatening crackles, and from there a bleeding forest fire.

“Wrecker, move in! Now, now! Crosshair, how’s the bird's view looking?”

It’s incredibly embarrassing how something as simple as his voice can leave you this breathless. Even from the snide comments he can’t seem to help himself from saying when Wrecker retells stories to you, either from their days as shinies and cadets to missions where you stayed back on the Marauder. Between Tech’s rambling and Wrecker’s enthusiastic narration, the sound of Hunter’s voice becomes even more of a calming sedative to you.

Though it equally arouses you in other moments.

How his morning voice is somehow even lower and raspier than his regular tone is a study that must be researched and conducted by only the galaxy’s best scientists. It seems just so impossible, unbelievable; none of it is inauthentic either—the grogginess is always equally spread through his body, from his tired slouch and ruffled hair, lolling eyes, the unkempt composition of the clothes hung over his broad shoulders and slim waist. It’s unspoken the things you might do if you felt there was even the slimmest chance of starting your every day with that sound so deep and lovely right in your ear.

When he addresses you directly before you both allow yourself the time to sleep, asking you to check on old injuries or patch up new ones he got on the last mission. He always manages to get hurt in the most menial yet bothersome ways, and you’re once again forced into close proximity; you’re beginning to consider paying a few scientists and investigators to study the sexy phenomenon that is Hunter. But either way, you sit legs crossed at the ankles in the cockpit, forcing yourself to zone out on anything he might be saying every few minutes so you don’t have to squirm and change your position in your seat every so often and prevent showing how damn flustered and hot he makes you; in more places than just your cheeks and ears.

In flitting moments you get time to relish in his conjured wavelength, take in the scene you can create with just the sound of his voice; he transports you to a world of the dark morning fog, the red of his bandana the most vibrant sight in your nearest vision as he takes you on the forest floor just like that, no civil thoughts daring to come to each of your minds as he finally gives you the relief you crave for in real life.

Your depraved fantasy of Hunter is all you can dream of when you sit yourself on your fingers, holding back as many of the impoverished whines you wish to let out due to your true desperation for such an attractive man.

And the sweet indulgences you luxuriate in make you selfish. You want more, need to know how he’d sound grunting, moaning your name while his cock lay on your tongue. Or how the oscillations of his words feel on your inner thighs, against your clit when he pushes his fingers past your tight barrier. There’s much more you could learn, could explore if you could attempt an advance. Or simply given something more than slight moments of suggestion that he might have the same deviant desires as you to allow the green light.

You’ve yet to receive such signals. And flimsy fantasies, the work of your fingers to chase unattainable pleasure, and insistent memorization of his voice can only keep you quenched for so long.

-

“Hunter,” The inadvertent, pathetic whine crawls up your throat the moment you feel his breath on your neck, lingering over your skin even as he pulls back after hearing the noise you make.

“Just a little more,” He reassures you. The hand not firmly gripping your wrist pats your shoulder, and your cheeks flush at the passing fondness. “Let’s try to get one more shot on target and we’ll call it quits, how does that sound?”

With the warmth of your flushed face spreading to the rest of your body, you mutter,

“Sounds good,”

and try to softly shake off your arousal, eyes zeroing in on the middle of the tree, the finger hovering over the trigger surprisingly still. You’re about to take the shot before he starts instructing you again.

“Fix your foot stance,” Hunter gently guides your legs apart with one of his own, fixing the positioning of your feet planted onto the dirt and you take in a deeper breath than you intend to. The fire kindle of his voice and the fire kindle of your core are equal matches now; the husk of his chunked honey tone will certainly turn you to mush if he continues any further, it feels.

Really, how does this oblivious, heart-seizing bastard expect you to keep your focus on this pointless shooting practice when he’s got you this compromised?

“Try again now,” he says after he’s got you in the position he wants. You huff again, letting the fiery stimulation fall to your diaphragm, and breathe down your arousal. Just one hit on the target and you’ll be free of this torture.

But as you lift your arm again, eyes narrowing closer and closer to your prize, the imminent feeling of his leg between yours rears its head. You become so incredibly, annoyingly aware of it, and grimace, biting your lip softly and knitting your eyebrows together to fully get him out of your mind and body. You tug on your bottom lip and pull the trigger.

The bullet lands left side.

A deep groan of frustration leaves you; it sounds much quieter with Hunter’s rumble and grunt in your ear. You gently pull away from his grasp, handing him the blaster, and turn to face him directly. And when you catch that damned expression you promptly decide that you don’t like to see him disappointed; at least, it looks as though he’s disappointed. Eyebrows pinched together with the smallest frown, his chin curled into himself as he looks down at you (Maybe you should look into research for lawyers in the case of when you sue Hunter for the neck pain he’s caused).

“It’s alright,” He assures you, but it doesn’t feel right. And from the way he looks at you, it’s not alright.

“No, it isn’t,” You tell him exactly that, your fingers curling and interlocking together by your stomach. His eyes dart down for a brief moment of scanning, and they don’t linger too long; Maker, you wish you had the power for your eyes not to glue to him and his absolute stature instantly when you enter a space. “I should be better at this by now.”

Hunter clicks his tongue and turns away, as if deep in swirling thought. His gaze comes back to you before you know it.

“You should be,” He agrees, but nothing is degrading or critical in his voice. In his eyes, the wave of gentleness that cascades and shifts his expression, there’s unconditional empathy that you do not deserve and he wouldn’t grace you with if he were to know what you beg him to do to you in your dreams.

“We can try again,” You then insist, but Hunter quickly shakes his head.

“We’ve been working on this for an hour,” He tells you, slickly spinning the blaster back into his holster. He sounds tired as well, a new jaggedness in the smoke tendrils of his voice. “That’s more than enough practice.”

“But I just want to–”

“I know.”

Somehow, those words are more devastating than anything else he’s said. You look back and catch the mysterious glint in his eye, almost as elusive as his words might connotate on a foggy day.

“Trust me,” He continues. You don’t even realize his hand has wandered and softly taken your chin between two fingers until you feel the soft pads brush against your skin; your jaw slacks. He pinches your chin a little tighter to ensure your eyes are fixed on him. “You just want to prove yourself.”

Well, of course, you think to yourself vindictively. It’s enough that you feel ever-so-slightly out of place in a squad of clone troopers, let alone defective ones; not being able to properly handle a blaster in the mere presence of your crush is even more embarrassing. How juvenile.

“We can try again another time. But you’re tired. I can feel it,” He continues. There’s the slightest hint of gentleness you only pick up on because of how you hone all your focus on dissecting and admiring every single crevice of his articulations. Suddenly, he drops your chin, and your head lolls back into place, rather sloppily, and you look up through your eyelashes. “Time for us to sleep, I think.”

With that, Hunter whips around and heads toward the ramp to the Marauder. You’re left there with a smarting jaw, discreetly trying to rub your legs together and take the heat out of the area.

“Alright,” You sigh, glancing around before trotting after him, the white noise keeping your thoughts off of the man in front of you.

Yet, you still picture what his knee had felt like parting your thighs open only half an hour later. Attempting to recreate it with your arm and then your pillow, you give yourself a foggy release and whimper a jumbled version of his name into your pillow before drifting off, body still buzzing with frustration.

-

The next week, as if the weeks and months before weren’t as excruciating, is pure sexual torture. Not to say it’s entirely filled with frustration and dull aching, however. When you and Hunter have a moment of silence, alone by the cots or the engine or the cockpit together, you both relax into the same, comfortable silence that fills the time.

It’s better to have him not running his mouth off, for sure. You still have to deal with it on deployments and missions, but it’s manageable when you’re knocking down clankers or trying to listen to Tech’s very confusing instructions on how to fly the plane to a certain location to pick them up. But he’s allowing the silence to fester between you two. All the better to preserve the actual sweet, steady relationship you have aside from your fiery attraction, you think.

Hey, it could be worse.

But then the dumbass decides to get himself injured. Get pushed into and dragged against hard durasteel, leaving a gash across his stomach that could challenge Wrecker’s spiderweb scars in its damage. Your jaw practically drops when they return and you see the wound out in the open; you can’t stop yourself before you lurch forward with worried eyes and grasp his wrist around your fingers, pushing him down onto a bench.

As Tech pilots the ship off the planet, the rest all recline and lick their minuscule wounds beside him, while you and Hunter remain cramped in the back, avoiding his gaze and praying to the Maker that he keeps his voice to quiet rough grunts of pain as you try to unclip each different plate of his armor and lay them neatly beside him, tutting when more of his wound is revealed to you.

”Oh my goodness, oh my goodness ohmygoodness,” You stammer to yourself, more and more strained with each breath you take, peeling off the tarnished fabric of his blacks.

“It’s not too bad,” He argues with a soft grin, which slowly fades away when you glare.

“Don’t,” You retort, firm and simple, flashing a genuine look of empathy, and even a drip of fear. If you didn’t know any better, you might think Hunter practically melts under your look with how he slumps and his expression droops. But he’s still an oblivious, sexy fool, you remind yourself.

You don’t even have the energy to fawn over how incredibly attractive he sounds with the rough baritone and anguished sigh-like tone he wears; you instead scramble to open the first aid kit. You can feel his gaze set selectively on you and it doesn’t help. In the corner of your eye, he tilts his head.

“Is everything alright?”

You nod automatically.

“Everything is fine.”

The Marauder jostles in rough air; the ship tilts, your stomach dropping with the altitude change, and you’re unwantedly yanked onto Hunter’s lap with a yelp.

You still for a moment, waiting for the ship to steady again before you become acutely aware of how your chest is almost completely pressed up onto his face. And how your knees are caged over his thighs, your pelvis way too close to his wound for each of your comfort. And pressure against your waist, not too firm but still weighting you to his body–wait, is Hunter holding you to him?

Your eyes widen and you stumble off, stammering nonsensically and afraid to gaze upon his face. You don’t for a long moment, before grabbing the disinfectant and pouring it onto a cloth. 

Silence festers between the two of you. When Hunter does speak, it’s not to you.

“Tech! Get her steady, would you?” He yells across the ship, vexed and evidently not in an ideal mood. Tech immediately retorts in his typical, inappropriately casual, intellectual tone,

“That is not a light request, Hunter. I am already trying.”

Hunter scoffs and you finally get the gall to look at him. He exchanges a mutual look of annoyance and manages to grin wider for you. The sight soothes your frayed ends ever so slightly, and you stare down at his stomach again at the wound, biting your lip as you inspect the damage.

Your hands come to the hem of his blacks and you give him a silent ask with your eyes.

“Is it alright if I take this off?”

He hums, which you take as a yes, and you slowly peel it off of his skin, trying very, very hard to ensure your stare doesn’t linger. He looks at you with a mysterious gaze that's too hard to place for your liking. But you just try and shake it off as you slowly dab his wound with the bacta-dipped cloth, pressing it firm against the injury.

When he hisses, you perk up with wide eyes.

“Did that hurt?”

Hunter clenches his teeth and nods slowly, and you pull away with shaky hands. His arms reach out, encircling his fingers around your wrist, and guides them back tenderly.

“It’s alright,” He says, his tone dropping down an octave as your hands tremble again in his grasp. You gain the courage to look up at him, biting your lip softly. The grin he wears manages to soothe your nerves, just a little. “I’ve got you, girl. Just let me guide you so you don’t hurt me.”

You let out a shaky exhale of relief, and he sighs, dipping his chin down, but keeping the intense eye contact.

“How does that sound?”

“Good,” You squeak, the rise and fall of your chest the only constant managing to soothe your fried senses. After a couple of breaths, you finish your thought. “Better.” You press onto a side of his wound, softly spreading the bacta onto it; your eyes don’t separate from his once. “How’s that?”

He huffs, not of frustration or annoyance, but more a comforting relief.

"Fine. Keep going."

The rasp stirs between the space between the two of you, and you take a deep breath before you can do anything else.

With the firm grasp on your wrists and the low tendrils of his voice softly directing you, you continue to tend to his wound, your hands moving deftly over his skin. The thick, intoxicating tension in the air is palpable; the lingering silence between you weighs heavy despite your best attempts to snap yourself out of it and take care of him like you're supposed to.

It's not your fault he just sounds so damn sexy all the time.

"Careful, careful," He tuts when you're stitching up a particularly bad spot, pressing your fingers around the skin and holding it there as you thread the stitch through. "Just a little gentler, please."

Then, "Avoid that spot, please. I can't even-- shit -- breathe without it hurting. Just stitch around it. Yeah, just like that. Good job, little medic," As you're finishing up.

Once you finish wrapping the bandage firmly over the wound and around his waist, taping it firmly to him, he dislodges his fingers from where it's wrapped around your wrist, bringing it to your chin and manhandling you slightly to get a better look into your eyes.

"See, ‘wasn't so bad, was it?" He flashes you a grin, obviously masking the pain etching into his limbs, all to calm your nerves. The fact that he's making such a constant effort to make you feel better despite his state makes you positively soft. "You did great."

You grin back, nodding and averting your eyes.

"Thank you."

There's a pause before he bludgeons you with his next sentence.

"You enjoy getting instructions."

Your eyes widen; you almost drop the first aid kit; everything stills, your chest tight as you process his words. Shit, what the fuck?

What the fuck?

"Wh--What?" You stammer,  taking a small step backward and tilting your head to appear more confused and insulted by the accusation. Maybe if you appear offended, he’ll take it back. "Who said that?"

"You don’t need to say it. I can feel it," He continues, gaze thoughtfully fixated on you. He doesn't even falter when you seem to panic. "I can see it." You try to gawk at him to make him feel stupid, make him retract what he's saying, but either he's so certain or you don't seem very convincing. 

No matter; you're still fucked. 

"You like getting told what to do."

Your heart pounds, and Hunter just sits there, legs spread leisurely, his eyebrow slightly raised in expectation. Seriously, what does he expect you to answer with? Does he want you to fess up and admit how depraved and desperate you are for his touch, then run off mortified to never speak to him again? Surely he doesn’t expect you to take.

Defeated, you sigh and softly run your hands over your work again, avoiding his burning gaze.

"Only from you," you mutter, then immediately pray devotedly to the Maker he doesn't hear. Hunter hums, a tone of question in his voice, then you proceed to figuratively jump off a cliff as you remember this fucker has enhanced senses.

"Why’s that, mesh’la?" He asks. Instinctively, your eyebrows knit together when the new nickname graces your ears.

"What does mesh’la mean?"

Hunter doesn't seem very phased. Can't you just throw him off his rhythm once?

"Don’t worry about that," He quickly excuses your question as a distraction from the question at hand. "But tell me why you only enjoy getting instructions from me." 

There's something smug to the way he talks, hidden behind insistent concern and curiosity. 

"Why’s that, tell me."

Your hand comes up to hide your face, but he takes it and keeps it away from disfiguring his view of your expression. You want to babble; you can feel your face heating up. Instead, you frown.

"I, uh," You try to discreetly rub your thighs together languidly, easing the tension and buildup of heat in between them. A huff leaves his lips that sounds oddly close to a chuckle.

"Come on," You lift your head, perplexed for a split moment, but then he pats the top of his thigh. You blink once, then twice, then another time for good measure, just to make sure you're seeing correctly. Is he... what's he even implying? 

"Sit down. On my lap."

Oh. That’s what.

Your mouth opens, a strange sound bordering on a choke leaving your throat as you try to retort or deny him. He only raises his eyebrows and dips his chin down, gesturing toward his lap again.

You huff, eyebrows knitted, and take a small step toward him, slowly, and you envelop his figure, trapping his legs between your knees and careening slightly, hands still meeting at your stomach, unsure of where to move. He nods encouragingly.

“Good job, just like that,” He praises you, hands slowly rising to rest on the handles of your hips, fingers tracing your waist. You take a sharp intake of breath, eyes drifting down to where your bodies meet, and look back up at him again. Hunter’s wearing this oh-so-innocent, deer-in-headlights expression you know is bantha-shit. “What’s got you so hot and bothered?”

You sough vindictively, averting your eyes.

“Stop teasing me.”

He laughs— though it’s more of a snarky, yet affectionate chuckle. You feel so naked in his presence, given such focused, vehement attention.

“I’m not teasing. Just concerned,” He tells you. The problem is, Hunter does well making you think he’s actually this clueless when he does know and just wants to hear it from your lips.

“Mhm,” You hum sarcastically with a pout.

He manages to grin at you, the corners of his eyes scrunching up as he looks at you. You let your eyes come back to him.

“I can do both, can’t I?” He offers.

“Sure,” You retort.

Squinting his eyes, he casually rubs his hands up and down the sides of your body.

“I’ll figure it out, one way or another,” He affirms, ending the sentence with a wink; you take a deep breath, letting your jaw slack. Hunter keeps talking like there’s nothing thick in the air between you.

“Put your hands on my shoulders.”

You furrow your eyebrows; he pouts like an upset child. Chastising, you huff and do as he says. When your hands shake slightly, he continues giving you instructions. They are so simple, yet they seem so alluring and nuanced in this context. In his voice.

”Steady yourself. Yeah, like that. Good.”

You wiggle your hips slightly, and something boils in his stomach slightly, something bordering on a groan. Your legs are warming up but you have no way to close them and satiate yourself. So all you can do is squirm.

Hunter perks up in concern.

“Are you comfortable?”

You take a moment to respond but then nod.

“Good.” Hunter grins softly, patting your left hip. For a moment, he decides to rake his eyes over you appreciatively, almost in the same way you do when you assume he isn’t looking. “I’m glad.”

Offering a civil smile of mutual understanding, you wiggle your hips, trying to find a better position if you’re going to be compromised on his lap.

”Trail your hands down for me.”

It's hard to deny or disobey him with a voice like that, especially when you know it’s directed toward you. So you slowly let your hands slip from his shoulders and descend his chest and torso.

“Yeah, down,” He encourages you when you reach the top of his wrapped wound. “Maybe try to avoid the gash.” 

You lift your hands and let only the pads of your fingers place feather-light touches over the wrapping. When your hands begin to tremble again the further you descend, reaching his pelvis, he tuts to stop you. “That’s a good place to stop.”

You look up again with wide eyes, trying to stop your erratic (embarrassing) trembles and tilt your head. There’s more he’s going to say. At least it seems so.

“Whenever you’re ready, put your hand over my crotch.” He gives you a soft look of reassurance, making sure you’re completely comfortable in this position, before finishing. “I want you to feel me.”

Gasping softly, you pull your hand away, fingers curling into your palm and gripping tightly. A shiver runs through you, and you can’t seem to figure out if it’s from shock or pleasure.

“What?” You begin, eyes flitting from his face and back. “H-Hunter, I shouldn’t.”

“I’m asking you to.” Polite insistence is the game he plays. If this truly is a trap, you might happily fall if it means you get to touch him. He runs his hands over your curves again. “I want you to.”

You tense further, something bordering on fear in your eyes. Hunter notices and frowns while he clarifies:

“Unless you don’t want it. ‘Cause then… we can stop. No hard feelings…”

You can see how he’s getting lost in his thoughts. For a split moment, that perfect composure he holds in your presence fractures; he seems insecure and nervous; anticipating inevitable rejection because he’s pushed you too far.

That isn’t the case.

As you finally press your palm to his bulge, you contain your gasp. He’s big. And so hard.

“Fuck,” He groans, head tilting back. “Feel that?”

Oh kriff, that rumble. It’s warm and smooth yet rough all the same, creeping its way over your skin until you’re forced to keep the faintest whimper from leaving your throat. You string your lips tight and nod.

“Mhm,” Is the only thing that manages to leave your mouth, whiny and soft. You palm him further, as if the fabric would simply tear away and you could finally feel his skin on yours. He hums again, and you’re left looking doe-eyed in his direction. “Shit, Hunter.”

He throws a heavy statement onto you.

“It’s my voice, isn’t it?”

You tilt your head up, containing the urge to gasp.

“What?” 

“What’s making you so hot and bothered,” He continues. You want to look away, hide your face in your hands with humiliating embarrassment, but you’re trembling so much on top of him that you can’t even flit your eyes away. “You like my voice. And you like it when I tell you what to do.”

You gasp lightly when you feel his warm hand on your thigh. Your cunt twitches and it really shouldn’t. He’s barely doing anything. 

“Well,” he continues, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going to deny it?”

The answer is delivered non-verbally. You relax into his lap, palm pressing further to his bulge, and then you squeeze oh so gently. That heavenly groan graces your ears and you devoutly catalog it into your mind for later recollection.

His chin dips down to catch a glimpse of your hand before he meets your eyes.

“Mesh’la,” he says; even without knowing what it means, just hearing how he speaks with such beguile and worship tells all that you need to know. “Mesh’la… can you do something for me?”

“Yeah. Of course. Anything,” You stammer out with a slack jaw, far too enthusiastic. Hunter doesn’t seem to regard it as anything distorting the absolute utmost respect that he must feel while he has you in his lap with your hand on his dick.

“Slip your pants off.”

It’s practically instinctual how efficiently you gingerly push yourself off of his lap and follow his order. With your hands chastely placed above your waistband, you let your thumbs push past, then await Hunter to grant you to pull them off. His eyes dilate with the view, and he nods.

The pants find their way to the ground clumsily, and you cringe internally at your lack of grace, but when you finally catch sight of Hunter’s expression, perhaps it’s nothing to worry about.

He looks… starved. Hypnotized by the splendor in front of him, for his eyes and his hands and his body only to touch, feel, hold, take.

“You’re… fuck,” he sighs, sounding out of breath, as though you’d just swept his leg and taken him off his feet. His hand methodically strokes up and down his thigh, only lightly grazing the tent in his pants as he takes his eyes over how you look, over and over again. 

“You’re stunning,” he finally manages to say. His hand stops stroking to pat his thigh lightly, and his voice simmers in a way you know is on purpose. “C’mere, sit on my lap again.”

“Are you sure?” You ask for permission despite rocking your feet back and forth to shimmy your way back. As you gesture toward the bandages wrapped around his middle, Hunter huffs and frowns with miffed frustration. “You’re still injured.”

Hunter gripes to himself as he pushes himself up, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you to the free space between his two hard, firm thighs. His dexterity surprises you. The warmth radiating from his body does even more.

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

Oh.

Shit.

He looks the part, certainly; you only try to feel the faintest tremble of his fingers when his hands float away from your hips to sit on the top of his legs again, 

“Okay,” You mutter aimlessly, reaching up to your face to brush your hair away in a measly attempt to look more presentable. Your voice is just a squeaky little thing, and it’s so incredibly humiliating. “Okay…”

“It’s alright,” Hunter tries to soothe you, and you breathe shallowly.

“I know that.” Your tongue runs over your bottom lip and you heave. “I just…”

Before you’re able to process what’s happening, Hunter’s reaching a hand out to cup your face. Despite the coarseness of his skin, his callouses fall on your cheek, it’s so tender, and you melt into his touch.

“Do you need some guidance, little medic?”

With a slight whine, you nod, letting your lashes flutter. Hunter lets his thumb swipe over your bottom lip, and your mouth parts. He grins at your unprompted compliance.

“Then let me tell you what to do. Let me tell you how to touch yourself and make you come from that, and my voice too.”

A depraved noise is choked out of you.

“Fuck,” your head careens to the side, but his firm hold on the side of your face keeps your gaze on him. His grin turns more into a cheeky smirk.

“How does that sound?” He asks. You nod adamantly before he tries to change his mind, so worried that he’ll push you away at any moment. As though he can read your mind, the hand that was still on the back of your thigh takes a gentle squeeze before trailing up your body, taking appreciative feels of your ass and hips before settling on your waist again.

“Mm…” You hum, reveling in the sensation.  “Really good.”

Hunter gives you a half-crooked smile, and you want to cuss him out, or yourself, you’re not sure who to be fed up with.

“Come on, little medic,” He urges you on, patting your hip. “Slip your hand down your panties.”

Wordlessly, you let a trembling hand descend down your body. You have little dignity left in you to try and make yourself appear more seductive, but you hope your image isn’t so repulsive. The moment your fingertips make contact with your heat, your fingers grazing over your mons and clit, your mouth falls open in a silent gasp.

Hunter tilts his head.

“How does it feel? Are you wet?” 

He should know already, smug bastard.

“Yeah,” you nod, keening further into his touch when he tilts his chin down, leaning toward your ear.

He takes a gentle lick, so light that if you weren’t in his grasp you wouldn’t have noticed.

“How wet?”

Your hips instinctively buck to rub yourself over your hand, a rush of arousal washing over you.

“Re–“ You swallow a wad of spit sitting on your tongue. “Really wet.”

Hunter’s lips are gentle when they undulate as he speaks oh so close to your ear, quiet and warm, words just for you.

“Just from my voice?” When he asks this time, you don’t detect much smugness; he wants the confirmation and credibility for a foundation of fact he’s built for himself.

You nod, but add on more. 

“Not just that.”

“Hm?” His dark rumble travels down your spine and you squirm with pleasant upheaval. Your hand is still awkwardly lodged down your panties with nothing to do. 

“Tell me more,” he demands with an assuasive croon. With one last kitten lick that lingers on the shell of your ear, he allows his lips to wander, mouthing against your skin, leaving delicate kisses on your temple, your jaw, and any moles and freckles in his nearest vicinity while he awaits your answer.

“I, uh,” you begin, awaiting to land on a coherent stream of words loosely strung together to fall on your tongue. “your—“

Just as you feel something begin to tie, your gaze drops down. Hunter palms his full erection over his blacks, languidly as though without a care, and the thought of him being aroused by this, aroused by you, slaps your mind into a render less zone.

“—fuck.”

He chuckles right in your damn face, and Maker he’s just too pretty not to kiss. But you resist the temptation with the festering worry of crossing the barrier past simple attraction into affection.

So you swallow slow and hard and try to compose a sentence.

“Your, face—“

Yeah, real eloquent, idiot.

“—That skull tattoo, it’s, well, shit…”

Your tongue wraps around itself again, words becoming more and more hard to piece together the longer you think about it. All that your primal mind begs you to think of is the olympic man presented under you, and the heat that radiates off the both of you.

“Alright now, you don’t have to continue,” Hunter huffs with no real malice contained in his words. It still makes you cringe nonetheless.

“That bad?” You ask with a clenched jaw.

A simple head shake is all you receive, but it’s more than enough to sedate a growing burn in the pit of your stomach. The hand not pressed to his crotch gently holds your hip, thumb swiping over your panties and bare skin; he even dares to let it slip past the waistband. The accurate awareness of your hand pressed to your pussy returns to you.

 “Don’t want you to focus your energy on that,” he clarifies, eyes looking into yours with a softness you’ve never associated with Hunter. You’d find it peculiar in a regular conversation, but everything about this interaction has been anything but normal.

You suddenly realize you’re at a loss again. “So what do you want me to do?” You ask because you feel humiliated just straddling him like this.

Hunter puffs out his chest and you prepare yourself for the worst.

A coarse hand presses to your navel, trailing up underneath your shirt to sketch an image of your body underneath, stopping right where “Rub your pussy for me.” 

It’s worded like a demand, but he voices it as though it’s a request. Your body wants to tense and retract, but the palm spread over the expanse of your stomach prevents you.

“You can do that,” Hunter encourages you, almost as though you were a creature he’s saddled on to ride. Though in this instance, you’d much rather be the one to ride. “Can’t you? For me?”

With a huff, you look away and nod bashfully. It’s wordless when you begin to move your hand, let your fingers get soaked as they rub up and down, up and down… you’re almost too tense to really feel the sensation, but Hunter’s doting gaze and his firm hand on your stomach keep you grounded. As you collect slick, running your fingers through your folds, it takes heavy petting for you to relax your jaw and let out the most pleasantly pathetic whimper.

Hunter groans, adding fuel to the flame flourishing in your pants, a dark sound of thunder rumbling in the sky, forewarning something much more devastating.

“Yeah, just like that,” he encourages you in that same husky tone following the groan. “Rock your hips too.”

You do so diligently, using your palm to press against your clit as a foundation for the rest of your hand to move leisurely while you rock your hips into himself. Hunter’s hand retracts from your stomach, fingers curling into his palms as he lets his knuckles graze against your skin. When you shiver, he takes it as an invitation to shush you gently against your temple, before his hand falls to your waist again.

The moment you glance down, you have to tip your chin back with an ascendant sigh. He’s got his hand over his clothed erection, palming it with a firm hand, almost absentmindedly as he keeps his eyes on you.

“Fuck, Hunter…” The desperate, embarrassing whimper comes out of you far more loud than you intend. Hunter shushes you gently.

“Keep quiet for me,” he commands; how are you meant to be by him when he speaks like that? 

“Good?” He then asks, seemingly seeking approval good enough for him to continue. “Do I sound as good as you imagined?”

You want to say yes, declare it to the entire galaxy, and tell him just how wonderful this man is, but you’re far too overwhelmed by all the pleasurable sensations disrupting your thought process. So instead you nod.

That seems to satisfy Hunter, and the smallest smirk curls on his lips as he watches you squirm and rock your hips into your hands.

“Don’t you as well.” 

With a hum, you try to dismiss the comment. But only as you let it sit does the implication of his words sink to your stomach. But he doesn’t allow you to dwell on it for too long, it seems, as he continues,

“I want you to keep touching yourself. Do whatever you need to for me. Whatever makes you come.”

He pats his incredibly intimidating bulge as though it’s an invitation.

“Right here, on my lap.”

You resist the dizzyness that threatens to overtake your senses, but as you steady your breaths, you suddenly feel so exposed. Far too exposed compared to Hunter. 

So you try to level the playing field.

“Would you… er…”

If only your words could come out correctly. Hunter raises an eyebrow, perked with a cheeky glint in his eye.

“Hm?” He hums.

You grunt and attempt again to tunnel out the words. Like a plow shoveling out snow or sand.

“It—It feels unfair that I’m the only one here getting off.” 

You wince as you finish the sentence. Maker, you sound so clunky and awkward. So much for being seductive.

But Hunter hums with total compliance, letting his hand trail up to where his bottoms cling to his skin.

“‘Guess you’re right.” Slowly, oh-so-slowly, Hunter peels back the waistband of his blacks, letting his hand slip through to free his cock from underneath the garments.

You think you’ve been knocked out for a healthy minute when you get a proper look. You’d never imagine describing a cock as pretty, but just like everything else, Hunter may become an exception. His fingers curl around the base with rather ease, before reaching up with it to his chin. He opens his mouth, letting a wad of spit collect and drop onto his palm, allowing him to stroke his cock with a more slick movement.

Maker, he’s so… so…

No, that can’t be right. His cock is far too thick for his hand to wrap around it so easily. But then you remember his proportions, especially compared to yours. A small chuckle leaves you when you imagine how you might try to wrap a full hand around his length.

Hunter leisurely strokes himself, eyes set on yours with an intensity that makes your stomach leap bounds up to your chest.

“Now it’s more fair, little medic,” he says. “Don’t you think?”

You nod adamantly with no hesitation.

“Yeah, yeah…” Your fingers deftly move to trap your clit between your index and middle, your mouth falling open when you feel the pressure hum over you. “Shit.”

Hunter huffs with a smugly saccharine look, his hand slowly stroking up and down his cock, lingering at the tip before he returns down again.

“You look really good like this.”

You tilt your head and grunt in disbelief. It’s hard to believe him when you feel simultaneously so powerful and so humiliated. Even though he’s just as physically exposed as you, you still feel more vulnerable.

“Do I now?” Despite being sarcastic, you try not to come off too mean.

But then Hunter sighs out the most exasperated, “ Fuck yeah,” his chin tipping upwards as he gathers his breath, tongue darting out to lick his lips, eyes half closed while he squeezes the tip of his dick, and you’re left render less to your own attraction again.

He seems to see the disbelief in your eyes.

“Don’t you believe me, mesh’la?” He asks. You remain still. “You really need me to spell out just how hot you look right now? How sexy .”

“Hunter,” you whine.

He continues without regarding you.

“I’m trying so hard not to— fuck—“ he tenses his stomach as he tries to compose himself. “—just blow my load right now. You’re just so— so pretty and pliant and so damn obedient .” You tremble slightly, and Hunter reaches to hold the back of your neck; not before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, of course.

“Listening to my every order,” he continues, oddly affectionate. 

A rush of confidence flows through your veins. You try to smirk, but instead it comes out toothy and bashful.

“That’s my job, sergeant.”

Hunter groans, his fingers curling into your neck, one pressing to your pulse point so purposefully. 

“Fuck, don’t say stuff like that,” he says, shaking his head, though he doesn’t seem too displeased. “Or else this’ll be really short.”

You giggle, trying to look away, but Hunter’s grip on your neck keeps your head in place. You blink rapidly, suddenly overwhelmed by his stare. But you can’t. Move. 

You whisper out a weak, “Keep talking,” before your eyes shut close. You press your palm to your clit, whining softly. Hunter uses the grip on your neck to bring you in closer, whispering slow and softly into your ear with purposeful oscillations of his lips,

“I wonder how you’ll feel around me.” You sigh out the faintest hint of his name in surprise, just as you begin to press a finger into your entrance. “I bet you’re so tight you’ll squeeze me out. Warm, and hot, and loud .”

“Fuck,” you swear, both in response to his words and to the feeling of a single finger pumping in and out of you. You’ve done little to stimulate yourself and cum, but somehow you’re already feeling an anticipated crawl up of an orgasm. 

The things Hunter does to you.

“I want your mouth on my cock too.”

You clench involuntarily o over your finger, bucking your hip so your clit catches against your palm. Oh. He isn’t done.

“‘Thinking we’d both have fun if I tried a hand at commanding you around, fucked your face a little.”

Hunter tilts his head. as though expecting a response, so you nod your head — or tilt your chin down, you’re unsure— and he grins in deep settled approval at your compliance.

“How does that sound, hm?”

In a split moment of respite, while he awaits your response, you gaze down, watch his hand wrap around his cock with more insistence than before, stroke at the same rate you move. The hand on your hip drifts down to hold your hip again, rocking you with more fervor. Inadvertently, the movement forces your fingers in a new direction that grazes your g-spot just so perfectly, and you’re sighing again.

“ Oh… ”

The silence becomes too long for Hunter to bear, and he grunts.

“Answer me, mesh’la,” his tone is commanding, yet not overbearing. You appreciate it considering the sliver of shame remaining in your stomach. “Would you like that?”

“I’d–I’d like it,” you stammer out, slowly rubbing a second finger down your folds before pressing in slowly to meet the other. “A lot … fuck.”

With a tilt of his head, Hunter leans in closer, lips dangerously close to yours and for a split moment you consider pulling away. 

“Something the matter?” He asks, but he knows the answer. Hunter can damn well see how your legs begin to twitch and shake more rapidly, the unsteadiness of your breathing as you simultaneously calm yourself and try to bring about your high.

“You fucking know what’s the matter, Hunter,” you bark back.

“I don’t think I’m sure exactly,” he responds dismissively. “Could you say it clearly, just in case?”

Something you hope sounds like a playful growl leaves you, but in reality, it probably sounds like a moth cat purring.

“You bastard .” There’s no real bite to your insult, and Hunter knows it, so he grins.

“I do my best.”

Your pleasure overtakes you and a shiver runs from the top of your spine to your legs, your thumb moving to properly rub your clit.

“Oh, fuck, I’m close,” you’re moaning out before you know it, voice dwindling so you’re not too loud. 

“Ah,” Hunter hums, affectionately rubbing your hip. “That’s what I thought. ‘Was just making sure.” 

His strokes have become more erratic and frantic, but his composure doesn’t give it away. If you weren’t to gaze down, you’d have no tell how aroused he truly was. Though perhaps that’s how he wants it to be— you’re a pretty mess while he’s the foundation to keep you upright.

Suddenly, he’s talking again, using the hand on your hip to encourage you to keep rocking.

“Come on, you pretty thing,” he rumbles. “Come for me and I’ll come for you.” Then you’re remembering what brought you to this attraction in the first place; that damn voice of his. Truly, and you mean truly, never saw yourself being in this position; situated over Hunter’s lap, touching yourself for him while he gets off to you and only you. 

With one more curl of your fingers against your g-spot and your thump insistently rubbing your clit, you’re over the hill, and you’re twitching and rocking your hips over and over in arches of your back, jumbled syllables vaguely making up Hunter’s name spilling from your lips like sticky sweet sugar.

That’s when you hear it. When you glance down to catch his spend start to spill on his bare skin the bandages of his, he groans out the most pleasant incantation of your name you’ve ever heard. The moment the noise graces your ears, you’re certain that you never want to hear anything else. Or at the least, any other version of your name. 

A few moments pass where you remain panting in each other's presence, his hands remaining render less at your side, rubbing up and down in uncoordinated patterns, while your hands grip his shoulders. You only start to pull away from him as you catch your bearings— and your dignity.

Hunter interrupts you by grabbing the wrist of the hand you had stuffed down your panties. He leans in closer, tongue darting out like a teasing little offer.

“Can I get a taste, mesh’la?” His voice is slow, and warm, like honey pouring into a pot of tea—in any other situation, it would sedate your nerves. But those words ignite that fuel inside you. You press your fingers still coated in slick to his lips, and he opens his mouth graciously, letting his tongue swirl around your digits with a gracious hum that vibrates your skin. Your other hand drops to his chest just before where the gash begins and holds onto it with a tremorous touch.

Hunter pulls away with a resounding ‘pop’ that makes you cringe, but not pull your eyes away.

“Delicious,” he remarks.

Your face is hot again and Hunter is smiling wide, but you’ve figured out by now he means no malicious intent with his mannerisms. His hand reaches out, cradling your face 

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Hunter admires you with a glint in his eye you’ve never seen before. Sure, you’ve seen affection— plenty at this point— but there’s a tenderness to his words as he continues. It still doesn’t feel fair to not return the compliment, however.

“You’re one to talk.”

The only response you get is a scoff.

“Have you ever seen yourself?” He asks, posing the rhetoric as if you’d go out of the way to compliment yourself. It’s hard to feel anything more than pretty when you have the most handsome man trapped between your thighs. 

Hunter doesn’t budge — states it like a fact, as though he truly believes it. “I always get ravenous just looking at you.”

“Oh,” You reply dumbly. “I… I didn’t think.” Your ability to talk to Hunter improves after getting off for him, it seems. 

“You thought wrong,” he replies, shaking his head slightly with a smile. He leans his head down, looking better at your face before reaching with his palm to hold your cheek with hands so calloused they feel soft. 

“You’re a capable woman, a great addition to the batch–” Your cheeks heat up, and he smiles. “--And I think you’re beautiful. Mesh’la. That’s what that means.”

Your hand crawls up slowly against his arm, unknowingly following the pattern of his skeleton tattoo before your much smaller hand is placed against his.

“Hunter…” You whine.

He tilts his head, that goofy smile still stuck on his face. “What?”

“You flatter me.” With a shake of your head, you unpeel yourself from his lap, and Hunter whines so, so soft as you do to the point you almost leap back onto his lap again.

“I’m being honest,” Hunter insists, lazily using the underside of his blacks to clean his spend off his skin and the bandages. You’re standing idly, stupidly, and you know he’s waiting for you to say something— and you do, you do, but you don’t know what.

“Well, thank you,” you finally answer, attempting to compose yourself. You awkwardly place your feet back into the holes of your pants, pulling them up in a swift motion that leaves you put away wet, but you care very little at this point. 

You look up at Hunter, appreciatively looking over his features, before a forlorn feeling fills your stomach when you gaze down at his lips. You felt them delicately graze against your ear, wrap around your fingers to gently suck and lap at the spend coating them, yet you haven’t felt them against yours once.

He notices the look on your face.

“Something up?” He asks.

In retrospect, it must’ve been a rush of confidence through your veins after having him in such a vulnerable state only a moment ago, but you truly don’t know where your next words come from.

“Can I have a kiss?”

You expect, hope even, for Hunter to be thrown off his rhythm so he can be on the same level as you for once. Rather he takes a step closer to you, his hand methodically wrapping around the back of your neck again, thumb pressing the juncture between your jaw and throat for that extra leisure, feeling your pulse as he pulls you in for a kiss.

In your dreams, Hunter's kisses are wholly devouring. But in reality, it’s warm, tender, brimming with an underlying passion you least expected. As his lips press against yours, you can feel the velvet caress of his skin, the exchange of breath between the two of you that makes you hum into him.

His other hand rises to gently stroke your back before pulling you closer, and you feel so enveloped in his embrace that neither of you will be harmed again. You press your foreheads together and pull away, each taking slow, savoring breaths.

Truly, you never expected to be in this situation.

“...I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” you mutter shyly, a bashful look on your face. It’s that little smile, that damned voice of his, that delivers the final blow, sending you back into his striking orbit.

“Of course,” Hunter tells you, smooth as ever. “I still haven’t gotten to be inside you.”

ragu list: @isaidonyourknees @dangraccoon @salaminus @mekuiikore @starstofillmydream @pb-jellybeans @corrieguards @badbatchbabe @ladytano420 @jediknightjana @sleepycreativewriter @shinyshayminflower @thebahdbitch @secondaryrealm @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @meshlaxbunny @kimiheartblade @followthepurrgil @wolffegirlsunite @starrylothcat @sev-on-kamino @aconstructofamind @xflashcat @dreamie411 @padawancat97 @littlemissmanga @starqueensthings @anxiouspineapple99 @freesia-writes @wings-and-beskar @clio3kantarella @secretthegriffin @idontgetanysleep @523rdrebel @dystopicjumpsuit @mandos-mind-trick @sunshinesdaydream @andrakass2 @jesjestraverse @crosshairlovebot @wizardofrozz @lickylickylicky @captainfresh501 @urmomsmattress @jedi-hawkins @who-would-want-a-broken-heart @cw80831 @bluebird-dreams @ladyzirkonia @multi-fan-dom-madness @moonlightwarriorqueen @eyeluvmusic21 @mythical-illustrator @a-single-tulip

[kopykunoichi]

Refresher for the people still confused about this...

In a galaxy far, far away, EVERYONE has midi-chlorians in their blood. The Force resides in all living things. It binds the whole galaxy together. Midi-chlorians are what allow beings to commune with the Force. The more midi-chlorians you have, the more potential you have to RESPOND TO and WIELD the Force. But notice that Asajj couches her statement with the line that those with a higher m-count were "believed" to be more capable of wielding the Force. There's a correlation, but it's not necessarily the only factor (see Sabine Wren).

This is the moment where the clones literally become stand-ins for the fans.

"What? If you can use the Force, you're a Jedi!"

No. If you can use the Force, you can use the Force. To use it as a Jedi uses it, you have to train as a Jedi. To use it as a Sith uses it, you have to train as a Sith. To use it like a Nightsister, you have to train as a Nightsister. Or you can get some rudimentary instruction and decide how you want to use it.

Jango Fett didn't have a high m-count, so his clones didn't either. But Omega and the rest of the Batch were special cases. As Cut said, the Kaminoans create with a purpose. Their deviations were intentional. Hunters abilities have always suggested he had a higher m-count than the others. But Omega's ability to perceive things before they happen (her bad feelings are nearly always spot on) and her affinity with animals have always been hints that her m-count is a little higher.

(Will update with screen grabs when I get them)

At the end of the episode, Omega asks Ventress if she has a high m-count.

Ventress: *looking at her nails* From what I've seen...no.

Omega: Then why is the Empire after me?

Ventress: Believe it or not, I don't know everything. But seeing as how a high m-count would make you a target, consider yourself lucky.

Omega: But I'm already a target.

Wrecker: Don't worry about it, kid. We'll figure it out. C'mon, let's get some chow.

Omega: *sigh* Thanks for trying.

Once they're out of earshot...

Crosshair: You're lying.

Ventress: About which part?

Hunter: You tell us.

Ventress: If Omega did have that potential, she'd have to be trained. Which would mean leaving you behind.

Hunter: That's not happening.

Ventress: What you want is irrelevant. The fact is, the Empire is after her, and they won't stop. If I were you, I'd leave this place. You're not as safe as you think you are. Our business is done.

Crosshair: I still can't figure out which side you're on.

Ventress: My own.

Okay, so Ventress is clearly not telling the truth about the m-count, which we know, because we've already seen Omega's charts. I really don't understand why people keep taking Ventress at her word here. We know better, and so do Crosshair and Hunter. My guess is that she's trying to protect Omega because she knows firsthand what it's like to be taken from your family and trained as a young girl.

We know that when Omega was at Tantiss, she was receiving transfusions of blood with midi-chlorians the same as all the other clones (harvested from the dead Jedi they're undoubtedly holding in the vault). They were taking her blood samples, but Nala Se kept throwing them away because she knew Omega would retain the higher midi-chlorian levels and she didn't want Hemlock to know that. The Emperor needs a clone that will maintain a high m-count so he can eventually get himself a new body. We know he does get that body, but not for decades - presumably because a) he never gets Omega, and b) the Batch is gonna take the fight to them at Tantiss and blow up their entire supply of midi-chlorian donors. Think about it - they're still working on Project Necromancer in The Mandalorian (24 years after The Bad Batch), but their resources are severely limited. The Empire has been all but wiped out, the Emperor is hiding out on Exegol, Dr. Pershing is clearly no Hemlock since he keeps killing his test subjects, and Grogu seems to be the only m-count donor they can get their hands on. The Emperor's cloned body is also deteriorating rapidly in TRoS, which suggests that even 25 years after The Mandalorian, he STILL hasn't figured out the right formula for cloning himself (which is good news for Grogu and Omega).

Which brings us back to the question, "Is Omega Force sensitive?"

The answer is, "yes", she is sensitive to the Force due to her elevated m-count. We've seen this all along. Hunter most likely is, too, and maybe some of the other Bad Batchers, to varying degrees. Tech could riot race, which takes incredible reflexes. Hemlock said that Crosshair didn't have a high m-count, and we don't know where Wrecker's abilities stem from. Omega can't wield the Force because she is untrained, but the potential is there. A person's aptitude to wield the Force seems to be strongly correlated to their m-count, but we've seen others with low aptitude eventually open the door to the Force with years of training and a decent dose of impending doom (we see this clearly with Sabine in Ahsoka, but it was also a topic in Legends).

Omega being Force sensitive doesn't mean that she has to leave her brothers. She can choose to pursue her training or not. She'd also have to find someone willing to train her. I'm not convinced Ventress is looking to take on any apprentices at the moment, but she could possibly connect Omega to Quinlan Voss (imagine the trouble those two would get up to).

But I don't think Omega will choose that path. One, it would just make her a bigger target. Two, I don't see her prioritizing power over family. She's a clone, and clones are ALL about family. They're Mando coded, not Jedi coded. Screw the space Buddhist lifestyle - clones parade their attachments around like trophies. Omega goes around collecting attachments like most kids collect rocks..."Hello, stranger trying to kill me, let's be besties."

[stellarbit]

Speak Now

Word Count: 6.3k Pairing: A section for each of our boys Warnings: fluff and god I did our boys well Summary: As always happens before the Batch left after a visit, you find yourself wishing they didn't have to go. You've grown too attached to them, one in particular. You just didn't realize he'd grown just as attached. He should really say something.

The night was over. Hunter, Wrecker, Crosshair, Tech, and Echo were scattered throughout your apartment resting. It felt good to see them all relaxed enough to sleep somewhere other than the Marauder or their barracks. It felt even better knowing you were a safe space for them.

You’d avoided the question of how long they’d be around this time - as if not asking would extend their answer. Missing them and wishing they wouldn’t leave weighed on you. You knew it was selfish.

They were doing something so important for the Galaxy. The Republic depended on them. Other people’s lives depended on them.

But you wanted them too and some fragment of you needed them too. How could anyone meet them and not become addicted to their presence?

Every time they came back to you, you inevitably indulged yourself in a dream of them tossing aside their duties for a civilian life. Even if it wasn’t for you, you’d still occupy a slice of their time. Wouldn’t you?

One of the clones in particular stood out to you. You vied for extra time alone with him amongst the already limited timeframes you were granted. 

Stuck in a daydream of anxiety you stood on your balcony, arms crossed and lost in the lights of the city beyond.

Little did you know you weren’t the only one with a fantasy of a different life - one with you in it.

 The Kaminoans drilled discipline into the clones. Not much of anything served as a temptation for them. Men like Cut were aberrations of their nature, but so were all of the men of Clone Force 99. 

The same man you dreamt of even tasted Cut’s temptation. Seeing you with someone else, seeing someone else by your side, made him realize that he’d like to be the one to stand by your side. And if he couldn’t do that he at least wanted you to know he wished he could be.

WRECKER

When you offered your bed to Wrecker, having Crosshair smashed up against him wasn’t exactly what he had in mind. It wasn’t that he and his brothers hadn’t slept dog-piled together plenty of times, it just seemed natural that sleeping in your bed might come with sleeping with you. 

Something he hadn’t realized he wanted until the idea was presented to him. 

Just like the idea of sleeping beside you, he’d never had much reason to think about your romantic life. Finding out you’d been seeing someone, seeing another man holding you, catapulted the concept into fruition. 

The said man quickly became an ex that night, but it made Wrecker wonder what it’d be like to be the one by your side. To be the one making you smile every day and keeping you warm at night.

Where Crosshair fell asleep almost instantly, Wrecker lay awake wondering where you were going to sleep and what you were going to do when they weren't with you. When he wasn’t with you.

Taking Crosshair’s elbow to the ribs was the last push Wrecker needed to roll out of your bed. Wrecker tiptoed around the rest of his squad scattered about your apartment in search of you.

A cool breeze chilled the skin of his exposed chest and led him to your balcony where you stood facing the city. You were lost in thought and unaware of his presence. Seizing the opportunity, Wrecker slowly padded over to you. 

He got within a step of you and slowly extended his arms out around you. Just for a moment, though, he appreciated how lucky he was to be this close with you. To be able to even think of touching you with no recourse. Then that moment was over and he snatched you up in his arms. 

You barely suppressed a yelp as he hauled your feet into the air. Your giggling echoed through his chest. You didn’t realize he was shirtless until he put you back on solid ground and you twisted around in his arms.

The two of you stood like that, loosely in each other's arms, until your giggles quieted and only the city sounds filtered between you.

Despite your best effort at modesty, your eyes fell to the eye level pec muscles. You’d rarely seen Wrecker out of uniform, let alone half naked. A sight that made you suddenly very thirsty. His muscles flexed, breaking your focus and earning a laugh from Wrecker. 

“Like what you see?” He chuckled as quietly as he could, barely mindful of his brothers inside.

Trying to look as uninterested as possible, you rolled your eyes and stepped back enough for his hands to slip off of your waist. “Show-off,” you mumbled playfully.

You peaked around him, looking for who else was up. “They’re all asleep.” Wrecker answered the obvious question. “I-I…” He fumbled around the reason he was the only one there, “I couldn’t sleep.”

Your face heated as you realized it would just be the two of you. Getting any of Batchers alone was rare given their circumstances. While you’d attempted to before, you’d never managed to get Wrecker to yourself. 

Ignoring how giddy the idea made you, you were quick to worry after why he couldn’t sleep. “Is it the bed?” You nervously asked.

Wrecker blew a raspberry and waved you off, “Your bed is fine.” When you kept staring up at him, silently waiting for further explanation, he tried to casually add, “Just couldn’t stop thinking is all.”

Relieved, you smiled and half-heartedly said, “Oh yeah? A credit for your thoughts.”

His mouth opened, but no words came out. The two of you blinked at one another, both a little caught off by the failed attempt. Wrecker tried again, yet still he came up with nothing. 

Wrecker had never been a good liar to begin with and each lie he conjured sounded obvious. So he braced himself for the truth.

“I was thinking about you.”

“Me?” Your voice cracked with surprise.

Instantly regretting his decision, Wrecker stepped back, waving his hands anxiously. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

You grabbed his wands, stilling him and shutting him up. “You were thinking about me?” You asked, quieter this time.

Wrecker caved at your touch. Weakly smiling, he sighed and admitted, “Yeah, I think about you a lot.”

Surprise overtook you, but that didn’t stop a little smile from bubbling up. Every negative, anxious thought of tomorrow keeping you awake disappeared leaving only a stutter of half words to slip from you. 

Unable to compose your satisfaction with the news, you cleared your throat and replied simply, “Is that so?”

Your reaction widened his smile. Wrecker wasn’t sure what he expected, other than rejection, but it wasn’t bashfulness. Spurred on by the flush coming to your face, he took a step and a chance.

 He let out a soft laugh,“And I think I like you.” Lacing your fingers through his, he lifted one of your hands to his mouth. “That okay with you?”

His lips were hot on the back of your hand. Breathlessly you reassured him, “Of course,” With your free hand you palmed his cheek. Your earlier worry did begin to resurface. “I wish you didn’t have to leave.”

Wrecker’s chest squeezed. He didn’t want to either. He’d rather stay by your side and spend every night with you like this. It wasn’t possible yet, but at least for a night he could.

With hope in his voice, Wrecker asked, “Would you consider coming back to bed with me?”

If it had been anyone else, you might think they were making a pass at you. Between the light pull of Wrecker’s brows and him being, well, Wrecker, the thought barely occurred to you. Not to mention, it did sound much nicer than worrying yourself to exhaustion on the balcony.

So you followed Wrecker back and he slid into your bed, pushing Crosshair back with his hip. Flat on his back, Wrecker extended his arm out to invite you in next to him. Your eyes flit between Wrecker and Crosshair who was now adjusting himself around his brother.

Careful not to disturb the sniper, you gently tucked in next to Wrecker only for him to pull you in tight. He wiggled in place, nestling into an optimally cozy position, before sleepily mumbling to you, “You owe me a credit.”

You didn’t dare speak for fear of waking Crosshair, but you didn’t have to worry long. Crosshair was the one to respond from his side of Wrecker. “Shut it, Wrecker.” He cracked an eye open to lock onto you, “And not a word of this to anyone.”

CROSSHAIR

Crosshair opened his eyes, blinking back into reality tucked in your bed next to Wrecker. He sat up on his elbow, taking a few moments to remember where he was.

He’d fallen asleep so quickly, Crosshair barely remembered lying down. Not that he was surprised. He was at ease in your home, it was one of your effects on him. The other being irrationality. You made him irrational and, at times, distracted. It was the only way he could describe it. 

He cared for little beyond his squad and his missions, but an irrational side of him did wander into thoughts of you between missions. Visiting you settled Crosshair into just another routine - another fact of his life in the GAR. He didn’t care for post mission accolades, but seeing you was an indulgence he never fussed about.

Crosshair had been content to spend the rest of his career oscillating between crushing clankers and spending downtime with you and his brothers. That complacency was shot to shit when the Batch surprised you with a visit and you surprised them with a newly acquired boyfriend.

The memory of seeing that slimebucket with his hands around you heated Crosshair as fast as when he first laid eyes on him.

Fully aware he needed to cool off before he could even think of falling back asleep, Crosshair left bed to step outside. He’d passed the rest of his squad in a beeline for the still open balcony door. Something he was noting to nag you about when you came into his sights, leaning your forearms against the balcony railing and watching the city lights.

Crosshair froze for a moment, wondering how he missed the fact that you weren’t inside. Irrational and distracted, he thought to himself.

“It’s funny.” You said, seemingly out of nowhere. Crosshair half expected you to be mid conversation on a comm until you peaked back over your shoulder at him.

He walked over to you, pulling up beside you to mirror your position against the balcony. “What’s that?” Crosshair drawled.

Hiding your smile in your shoulder you shook your head and looked back out over the city. “I can always feel when you’re looking at me.”

Pushing himself to full height with a scoff, Crosshair crossed his arms and leaned back against the railing. “Is that an enhanced trait?”

You kept your eyes forward as you smiled and shook your head, as if surprising even yourself. “No enhancements.” You paused, a half thought crossing your mind before you winking in his direction. “Just your effect on me.”

The wink he expected, you were always playful and light. Your words though, short and haphazardly spoken, took Crosshair off guard. They sounded too familiar. He couldn’t tell if you were being serious.

Pinning you with a seriousness that dampened your smile, Crosshair said in a low voice, “Was that his effect?”

The mention of your ex instantly drained you. Rocking back on your feet, you dropped your gaze to the ground for a few beats, really considering how you wanted to play this out. You didn’t want to waste your energy or your time with Crosshair on that prod. 

On a deep breath you stood to your full height and faced him with a tired smile. “I don’t wanna talk about him, Cross.”

His nickname on your tongue almost softened him enough to avoid the subject, but he still pressed you. Using the weight of his hip, Crosshair moved away from the railing in defiance.

“Why don’t you?” There was a challenge in his voice he rarely aimed your way. A shred of cruel teasing bit through his words, “Embarrassed?”

“No.” The word left no room for discussion. You met his challenge with your own, countering, “Why do you want to talk about him?”

Crosshair didn’t answer immediately. That venom of his gone all at once. He held your gaze, suddenly unsure ‘why’ himself. The thought of your ex wasn’t a pleasant one, but a persistent one nonetheless.

When more than a few seconds passed and only silence and staring remained, you squinted briefly before an idea struck you.

A tight lipped grin sprouted over you. Crosshair’s eyes fell to your lips, finding nothing but suspicion in your new look. Meeting your eyes once more he dreaded to ask, “What?”

Your mouth squirmed in a desperate attempt to suppress your growing amusement. You gave him an amused once-over, your gaze trailing from his feet to his head as you stepped in on him. You were close enough now that one wrong sway would put your chest against him.

Crosshair didn’t back down. He was on edge, unsure of what suddenly changed, but he didn’t back off. “What?” He asked, insisting with more annoyance.

“Are you jealous?”

Jealousy was not in his vernacular let alone his nature. Snorting at the very notion, Crosshair opened his mouth to object. Nothing came out. 

Because maybe he wasn’t jealous, but he certainly was possessive. Combined with the irrational streak you gave him, it certainly did look like jealousy.

Having let you cherish the moment for far too long, Crosshair tilted his head sideways to return your once-over before leaning in on you. Clearly entertained, he drawled, “And what if I am?”

You were in each other’s breathing space. One tempting sway and you could taste him. Even after a shower he still smelled like mint and gun oil. Holding your resolve together with nothing but string, you asked in a less than steady voice, “Are you?”

The two of you locked into another silent showdown. On a whim of concession, Crosshair eased off of you. You thought he was going to redirect or bite back but instead he muttered, “Get over it already.”

You stifled a gasp, caught somewhere between laughter and shock. “You’re actually-”

He very nearly regretted his version of admitting his feelings. Rolling his eyes, Crosshair moved around you with your delighted look trailing him. He came to your back and guided you forward with his hands at your elbows.

You gently resisted, craning your neck back to beam up at him, “Where are we going?”

Crosshair couldn’t decide if this was quickly becoming annoying or you were looking more cute with every second your smile grew.

“Bed,” He casually said as he prompted you forward again. 

Your head snapped forward and you quiet until you got to your bed. The one Crosshair was also sharing with Wrecker.

Crosshair said nothing as he got in under the duvet, scooted back into his brother and pulled the covers back when there was enough room for you. You tried not to think about it too much as you crawled in next to Crosshair.

He pulled the covers back up over as he settled in behind you. You both fell silent, allowing the warmth of the moment to sink in.

A low, sleepy groan emanated from behind Crosshair that was followed by Wrecker’s thick arm slinging over the two of you. You went stock still, not sure what to make of the situation.

You opened your mouth to comment but Crosshair cut you short by pulling you in and mumbling, “Think carefully about what you’re going to say.”

You decided to leave it be.

ECHO

Laid back comfortably, eyes shut and good arm resting on his stomach, Echo dozed off while listening to Hunter and Tech chatter. He hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep until he was rolling onto his side and his chair tilted farther back. The shift in balance jolted him straight into a state of alarm and confusion. 

After a few slow breaths, Echo looked around and his brothers were now fast asleep with Hunter taking the couch and Tech on the floor. He leaned over the arm of the chair to see down the hallway. It seemed Wrecker and Crosshair were out too.

He was halfway to assuming you’d slept somewhere in your room when he heard the muffled sounds of the city. Figuring you’d left a window open, Echo got up to investigate. You’d gone through the trouble of putting him and his squad up for the night, the least he could do was shut a window for you.

Echo only hoped you felt as cared for as he did. So it was frustrating, to say the least, for Echo to meet the ungrateful scumslug who called himself your boyfriend. He didn’t come across as the brightest man in the Galaxy and insulting you in front of five trained troopers proved that.  His squadmates didn’t pick up on him calling you a ‘barracks bunny,’ but the slight wasn’t lost on Echo. All of his training to remain logical under pressure vanished when he laid your ex flat.

For the rest of the night, Echo circled back to the thought of what happened to you when they left. You weren’t defenseless, but you were alone. That bothered him more than anything.

Instead of an open window, Echo found you alone on the balcony and could only guess how long you’d been out there. Hoping to side step spooking you, Echo softly called out to you from the doorway.

He didn’t entirely succeed in not startling you. It hardly seemed to matter by the smile you turned on him. You put your back to the city and playfully gestured at him, “And why aren’t you asleep?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Echo chuckled. He enjoyed laughing so easily with you. “What are you doing awake?” He asked as he approached.

You debated being honest about the selfish thoughts keeping you up, instead choosing to shrug it off with a half truth, “Couldn’t get settled is all. You?”

Glancing back inside the house, Echo rubbed the back of his neck nervously, “I think that chair of yours might have it out for me.”

Instantly, you could see him falling back. “Oh no!” Resting a hand apologetically on your chest, you couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t warn you.”

Echo scoffed playfully, dismissively gesturing his scomp arm, “Takes more than a chair to take down this trooper.” His features softened the longer he looked at you. The city lights brightened you beyond just your smile. Seeing you safe and smiling satisfied a male side of him.

A chill ran through you and, without thought, Echo came to your side to put his arm around you. Rubbing some warmth into your arm, he suggested, “Why don’t we get you inside?”

You didn’t budge. Looking up at Echo, your smile dimmed as you considered him. He saw a sort of skepticism flicker through you. Unbeknownst to him, you were searching those hazel eyes for an ounce of deceit, or even pity, and only tender honesty stared back at you.

Echo saw your typical confidence wane when your gaze dropped. You looked guilty, but of what was lost on him. His brows pulled together in question. Clones were trained from creation to withstand and divvy interrogations. Gently extracting information not so much.

Treading carefully, Echo gently probed, “What is it?”

Shaking your head, your features pinched and you asked, "Why did you go so far for me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Echo countered instantly, not needing a single second to answer. He adjusted his position slightly, reeling back for a better view of your face. “I won’t let someone talk like that to you.”

The answer didn’t satisfy you. As nice as the sentiment was, its inevitably fleeting nature tarnished the moment. Your lips tightened to a thin line. Still not meeting his eyes, you sounded bitter saying, “You can’t always be here, Echo.” 

The truth hurt and it fed the unease eating away at him. He knew what it was like to be alone and he did everything he could to never be that way.

Steadying you by your shoulders, Echo bent down into your line of sight. Exhaling, he admitted, “You’re right and I wish I could be.” Your eyes shot up as he continued, “Just let me do what I can for now.”

He stood to full height, your eyes rising with him. You blinked up at him, repeating back to yourself what he’d said. There was a chance you were reading too much into it, but his words were enough to give you the courage to say, “I don’t want you to leave.”

Echo’s eyes widened, before warming again. “Hopefully a day will come when I won’t have to.”

There was nothing to hide your blatant hope in asking, “Do you mean that?” 

Pivoting to your side, Echo slid his arm back around you. Echo cocked his head back, brandishing a roguish grin as he said, “I’ve never meant anything more. Now let’s get inside already.” On the way in, his hand slipped to your waist and he muttered under his breath, “Let’s just hope that chair can handle two.”

Tech and Hunter were still fast asleep when you made it inside. You followed him to the recliner, watching him carefully position himself. Barely keeping the furniture balanced, Echo twisted around and made enough room for you to fit in. It took you squirming over his legs and nestling into the crook between him and the chair to get situated.

The two of you had never been this close for this long and the only thing you could think about was the fact that he wore aftershave. He tucked you under his chin, unintentionally giving you the perfect view of his neck. 

You turned your face into him, pressing a kiss into the crook of his neck and mumbling a thank you to him. One he answered by pulling you closer and returning the gesture.

HUNTER

From your couch, Hunter listened to you move around your apartment. He was intent on seeing you turn in for the night, but that moment never came. At some point between resting and tracing your movements, Hunter dozed enough for you to slip by him. The sound of your balcony door opening snapped him back to reality.

Hunter sat up, thumbing his bandana out of his eye and keenly extending his senses. You definitely weren’t inside. Knowing he wouldn’t get any rest until he knew you were safe and asleep, Hunter rose to find you. Even then, sleep might evade him.

He had a feeling he’d be losing a little more sleep after this evening with you. 

When they left for another mission, Hunter focused on the objective. Seeing you was always something he looked forward to, but he couldn’t dwell on what was behind him. Anything other than setting his sights ahead put his squad in danger. Besides, Hunter knew he was going to keep the Galaxy safe and by extension that meant you too.

This time around challenged that perspective. Your jackass of an ex had been easy to chase off, but what about when they left? Prior to seeing a man mistreat you, Hunter never doubted your ability to survive on your own. By your own admission you’d done so most of your life. 

Even after the encounter with your ex Hunter didn’t doubt you. 

He doubted the people around you. People who saw all you had to offer and wanted to use that to their advantage. In the end, Hunter wasn’t sure what he hated more: the thought of you getting close to ill-intentioned people or realizing it couldn’t be him.

Finding you alone on your balcony only compounded his worries. You were alone in the cold, and it finally occurred to him that his squad took up every viable place to sleep. How was he any different from others taking advantage of you?

That resentful part of him took in the view of you against the city and wished it was a sight exclusively for him. For a moment he let himself believe it was. If only for the night.

Hunter slowly approached you and quickly realized you were mumbling to yourself. Hoping to afford you the privacy of your thoughts, Hunter cut you off by whispering, “I know you don’t think I’ll let you stay out here all night.”

You jumped at his voice, nearly colliding into him as you spun around. He was only a foot or two away, angling a smile down at you. Breathing into calm, you gave him a light shove as you glanced around for anyone else.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that,”  you protested, the beginnings of a grin betraying your feigned annoyance.

“Then don’t sneak out like that.” He retorted lightly, nodding towards the open door behind him. Hunter looked at the city beyond you, wondering if he could spot where you’d been fixated. Drifting back to you, Hunter asked, “What are you doing out here?”

Your smile flinched, but you shrugged with a casual shake of your head. “Just needed some air.”

Hunter nodded, clearly only halfway believing you. While convincing you to go back inside crossed his mind as the right thing to do, he opted for spending more time with you. “Care for some company?”

Your eyes flitted between his, ultimately shaking your head. “Oh, I don’t think so.” You said, your tone scolding. Stepping into him, you pressed your hands to his stomach in attempts to redirect him inside. “You need sleep.”

He relished the feeling of your touch before tenderly gripping your wrists. You stopped pushing, but passed him a confused look. Hunter swept his thumbs over the soft skin of your wrist, acutely aware of your quickened pulse beneath his fingers.. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

You tugged your hands down, putting his hands in yours. On a tight grip you pulled him in, the force of it bringing his face an inch from yours. “Someone has to,” you insisted softly.

For all the fun they brought you it was so easy to forget that to most, Hunter and his squad were military assets. Outside of their worth in battle, little else about them mattered to the Galaxy. There was little you could offer them outside of occasional respite and hopeful thoughts and hope it meant something.

In his eyes, you saw the same thing that grew in you. Hesitancy - he was holding back, you both were. Neither of you spoke as you stood there, breathing in each other's presence. Slowly, Hunter raised your clasped hands to his lips, maintaining eye contact until his lips gently touched your skin.

“And who worries about you?” Hunter’s lips brushed your skin as he whispered.

“Isn’t that what you’re doing now?” you countered.

The question halted the sergeant momentarily. It wasn’t that you were wrong, but that wasn’t his primary concern. Lowering your hands, Hunter sighed. "Worrying is nothing if I can't protect you."

The weight of his admission, hidden behind the hesitancy you glimpsed before, warmed you but looked heavy on his mind. You couldn’t fight. You were no trooper and absolutely no Jedi. But you could do one thing..

His hand was still holding yours when you reached out to touch his face, your fingers tracing the outline of the tattoo on his cheek. You offered him a broad, reassuring smile, taking a moment to admire the moment.

“Hunter,” his name was a hum in your voice. “I can protect myself.” He immediately opened his mouth, surely an objection not far behind, but you outspoke him. “Protect those who can’t protect themselves and when this war is over…” You paused, taking a deep breath as you searched for the right words. “Well, I'll still be here when it is.”

It may not have been poetry, but the lightness in his smile, meager and fleeting though it was, told you that burden was a little lighter.

“Come with me.” He whispered between you.

You instinctively pulled back. Leaving Coruscant, joining him in the stars - it was absurd. “Hunter, I can’t-”

“To the couch,” he clarified with a soft chuckle..

Heat rushed your cheeks at the misunderstanding. Clearing your throat you nodded, “Okay.”

He gave your hands a squeeze, held onto one, and guided you back inside. The apartment was silent, the living room dark and you were thankful for Hunter’s senses. He led you to the couch, motioning for you to go first.

You slid into place, pressing your back into the couch as Hunter joined you, caging you between his body and the couch. A vague attempt at watching over you for the night. 

Hunter pulled his bandana down over his eyes as he settled in around you.  Speaking in a tone low enough for only you to hear, he said, “I can’t promise the next one will get off so easily.”

The words were both a joke and a threat, wrapped in his unique brand of dry humor. You lightly scoffed, wrapping an arm over his chest and drawing him closer. “There won’t be a next one. Not until the war is over,” you mumbled into his chest.

TECH

Lying in a nest of blankets on your floor, Tech replayed the evening while your apartment settled into silence. Despite having found you and spent the evening in your company, a persistent restlessness gnawed at him, preventing any sense of ease.

So, he scoured the night’s happenings for the piece that kept his peace at bay.

The search for you had been brief and relatively straightforward—a minor challenge that excited Tech. Discovering you in a lounge, especially clad in an open-backed dress, had been a surprise that quickened his pulse. However, it wasn’t nearly as unsettling as the sight of a morally dubious man claiming to be your partner.

While he found no logic in your accepting amity, let alone intimacy, from a man who either lacked the capability, knowledge, or desire to measure up to you, the man was easily dissuaded and you were safe. Logically, there was no reason for lingering concern.

Spending the evening in your quarters should’ve dispelled any remaining apprehension. Your life was not at risk. In fact, there had been no mortal danger at all. Everything worked out. His search had been successful. You were safe.

And yet, he was left with an unfamiliar sense of uncertainty - a feeling he was less than comfortable with.

After returning to your apartment, Tech busied himself by installing several security enhancements and scrutinizing local crime statistics. Beyond that, there was little else he could do for you. You were adaptable and resourceful, he would not insult you by thinking you could not take care of yourself.

He also wouldn’t insult you by rejecting the makeshift bed you offered him. Though, by Tech’s surmising, that left nowhere for you to sleep. A theory proved right by you leaving Wrecker and Crosshair in your room, sneaking past the room where he lay and back out of sight.

Something wound tight in Tech’s chest. In a move of innate curiosity, he swept his blankets aside and followed in your footsteps. He was keen to see where you had gone or to just have eyes on you again.

You were a few silent steps ahead, leaving a cracked balcony door as the only indication of your path. Finding you lingering at the edge of your balcony stopped him at the door. It was the tension leaving his chest that struck him.

The physical relief was recognizable - the very same he felt each time they found you and the direct opposite of the pressure he felt meeting your former partner. The pressure was identical in the moments you were out of view. 

Tech adjusted his goggles as the pattern became clear. At the core of it all, you were the variable between the fleeting sensations. Identifying the truth of his unease came with the inevitable frustration of being unable to alter the circumstances. In the end, there was only one path forward.

He made no attempt to hide his presence, watching you stiffen as he drew near. Anchoring yourself to the railing, you leaned forward on an inhale and rocked back on the exhale. 

Unsure how to interpret your going taut, he asked outright, “Do you… wish to be alone?” Eyes fixed on the city you shook your head only once in response. Following your line of sight, Tech looked over the city and saw nothing of note.

A distant shout had him reaching for his datapad, something he left beside his nest of blankets. In lieu of reading through statistics Tech tuned his goggles to survey the street below. “The locality of your home is not what I’d deem a secure district.”

“It was probably just some drunk idiot,” you mumbled, not dissuading Tech from continuing to look around. Glancing sideways at him you had to smile at the seasoned soldier gripping the balcony and seemingly so intrigued by city life. Softly scoffing, you said, “There’s nothing to worry about, Tech.” 

“On the contrary,” Tech replied simply. Pulling his attention back to you, he kept one hand on the railing and said in a serious tone, “Your balcony makes you susceptible to intrusion and you’ve already fallen in with unsavory company.”

The last bit stung, but he wasn’t wrong. The concern, blunt as it may be, did feel nice.

Placing your hand over his, you tried to reassure him, “I’m fine, aren’t I?” His pursed into a thin line, clearly unwavering. Squeezing his hand a bit tighter, you added lightly, “Besides, you have more important things to worry about.”

Tech’s head tilted to the side, his eyes momentarily averting, but returned still as serious as before. “My duty to the Republic does take precedence, but that does not make your life any less important to me.”

You blinked once, then twice, absorbing his words. A part of you, a large part in fact, hoped the words carried more weight than just comfort. 

You must’ve looked as taken off guard as you felt for Tech to ask, “Does that surprise you?”

You opened your mouth, ready to make a denial, only to snap your mouth shut again. Once more you tried to speak but only, “A little,” came out. The two words tasted harsh, as if you were making light of the situation and of his feelings. Stepping closer, you lowered your voice and quickly added, “You mean so much to me. I just… I -” In an uncharacteristic fit of stammering you spat out, “I just didn’t think you cared that much.”

Tech’s gaze fell to where you held his hand, his brows furrowing behind his goggles. You felt his hand twitch beneath yours before it fully twisted, placing his palm against yours. For a few moments, you stood like that, hand in hand with his gaze locked on your hold.

His focus remained there, his thumb starting gentle paths as he slowly said, “I admit that I… only recently came to the conclusion myself.”

“What changed?” His eyes snapped to yours at your question.

Tech’s brows lifted and along with a corner of his lips. “It would appear the sight of you in the company of your former partner was not one I found enjoyable.”

The realization that all your hopes had rung true left you breathless. A warm flush spread across your cheeks, accompanied by a smile that not only curved your lips but also reached your eyes.

You laced your fingers into his, eagerly confessing, “Tech, I-”

“Where do you intend to sleep?” Tech cut you off with no thought to what you’d attempted to say.

Lost in the heat of the moment you took a moment to blink back into the present. “I’m sorry?”

Tech pointed a finger towards the door going inside. “You gave up every viable sleeping arrangement. Where will you sleep?”

Instead of admitting your previous intentions of avoiding sleep, you shrugged with an amused sigh. Hands still intertwined, you stepped back, tilted your head back and chuckled. “I was playing it by ear.”

“There is enough room beside me for you to fit.” Tech said matter of factly. A playful glint passed through his eyes. “Shall we find out?” You immediately conceded, gesturing for him to lead the way. 

As per usual, Tech was right. There was more than enough room for you both to fit into his makeshift bed. Tech adjusted the pillows to his liking and laid back, the both of you looking up at the ceiling in silence. Eventually Tech turned with his back to you, seeking some reprieve from the air between you.

Taking the opportunity before you, you scooted in behind him. He was nearly a foot taller than you, but somehow you fit in nicely behind him. He said little, simply adjusting back against you and positioning your arms around him. 

Just as he settled in, he started twisting in place, saying, “I should make note of such a significant moment.”

You answered his movements by tightening your arms around him. “Tomorrow. For now, sleep.”

He didn’t struggle against you, choosing to settle back again. “I fear that it will be harder than I originally imagined.”

tags: @bruh-myguy-what @baddest-batchers @jetii @hshfsjzjsgj @zahmaddog @heidnspeak

an: i realize I've missed some folks over time, let me know if you want on the tag list.

[stars-n-spice]

I started watching TBB with my mom...

So my family's got this tradition where every Friday we eat pizza because my mom is an absolute pizza addict and needs it every week.

It's been like,, idk, eleven years of us doing this?? And I think once the Mandalorian started streaming we would have Pizza Fridays and also watch whatever show was streaming at the time; Star Wars, Marvel, Cobra Kai, etc...

ANYWAYS!

Recently we haven't watched anything because I watch Bad Batch on my own but when I was talking to her about it she brought up wanting to watch it too. At first, I was like,, "Seriously??" because I didn't think she cared all that much about my silly animation shows, but she was serious. However, she wanted to start at Season 3. I was like, "Weird choice, but alright. We can work with that."

My younger brother who also enjoys the show hadn't been able to watch the new season either so I was like,, "okay why not?" I need him to see it so I can scream about it to someone physically, y'know?

We watched the first four episodes last night and I kid you not,, fucking five minutes into it my mom was like,, "They LOST their kid?? What a bunch of losers."

It was so uncalled for and I cannot wait for her to find out they lost her for a SECOND time :')

She was like, "No wonder they're called the Bad Batch, they're bad at their job."

Tried to defend them by saying, "Hey, cut them some slack they lost their mom of the group and the smart one," but she just went, "Erm, actually-"

She enjoyed it though and said it was fun. And my brother was so distressed over the time skip I thought he was going to cry.

[lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom]

Could you do one where the reader had been in a relationship with Hunter before being taken with Omega on Tantiss. Now that they're reunited, Hunter realizes that he wants to marry the reader?

With a little bit of Wrecker and Crosshair friendly teasing Hunter.

Marry Me?

Hunter x Reader

Summary- After an insufferable separation from you, Hunter realizes his true feelings. That he never wants to be apart from you- that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you.

Part Two right here! Part Three right here!

A/N- SPOILERS FOR SEASON 3 OF THE BAD BATCH!!!! You have been warned! Thank you so much for requesting babes! Hope you like it! <3 <3

Word Count- 1,755

Beautiful Screen Shot by @isthereanechoinhere96

"Omega... It's- It's been months. We don't even know if they're still aliv-"

You felt shame rise up in your chest when you agreed with Crosshair. He was right, time had gone by slowly and there was no way of knowing if Hunter and Wrecker were alive. Your sweet sweet Hunter. The man who only showed he heart for the people he deeply loved. You were lucky to be one of them.

"They'll be there." Omega stated. She was so sure... but all you could think about were the doubts. Omega was always able to be more trusting and optimistic than you. Constant fear of losing your family limited you severely.

You swallowed deeply and looked down to Omega, pushing your anxieties down. "They will be." Were you trying to convince Crosshair or yourself?

The next few minutes of hyper-space felt like days. You were so eager. Everything was either going to get a million times worse, or a million times better.

Omega guided the ship to a remote planet you had never heard of, a deep blue over taking you.

Picking at your nails nervously, you stood- ready to depart. Crosshair noticed this and eyed you. He was nervous as well, but for different reasons.

You almost sobbed when you saw the Marauder in the distance. Hope bubbled in your chest, all thoughts of doubt escaped you.

The second the door lowered with a steam, Omega ran out of the ship. You followed her quickly behind.

She stopped at the mid-point between the ships. Wrecker slowly exited the Marauder, "Now there's a sight!"

You laughed, the tension dissipated. Omega ran to him and Wrecker picked her up, spinning around. "Wrecker!" She responded.

The sight made tears of joy fall. To see Omega so happy was enough for you.

"And I wasn't even sure your message was real!" Wrecker half-joked, still holding Omega up.

"Wrecker, I knew you'd show up!" Her words made your ears ring, did Hunter show up? Well, of course he did! That would be dumb for him to leave Wrecker... Unless, unless he wasn't alive to leave.

Your brain ran wild, why hadn't Hunter come out yet? It was almost as if Wrecker read your mind, he rested a hand on your shoulder after lowering Omega.

Just then, another set of footsteps came out. Hunter skipped steps to get to you and Omega.

Your hands shot up to cover your gasp, tears falling fast now. Omega got to Hunter first- you knew she needed it more.

He crouched down and hugged Omega deeply, his words drowned out. What you did make out was him saying your name, an arm stretched out for you and an arm holding Omega tightly.

You met him as fast as your feet would let you. "Hunter..." You whispered, face immediately meeting his neck as he pulled you close.

His arm pulled you in, crushing you against him in a pleasant way.

He pulled back to pepper your face with kisses, then a deep one on the lips. A few of your tears dripped onto his face, mixing with his own.

Omega giggled and pulled on your arm, you pulled back to let her back in on the hug. All three of you were lifted when Wreckers arms grasped around the bunch of you.

Wrecker pulled everyone up, making the embrace tighter. It was like your perfect little family was back again.

That night, after abandoning the empire's ship, was filled with more hugs, catching up, tears, and awkward conversations with Crosshair. You couldn't have wished for anything better. Your family, all in one place. Save for Echo, but you learnt he was safe with Rex- that made you smile.

You helped Omega settle into her room. You noticed too many yawns and drifting off, she was worn out emotionally and physically.

You spoke with her softly, reminding her everyone would still be here in the morning. Picking up Lula, her doll, and tucking it under her arm gave out the last yawn.

"Can I talk to Hunter?" She questioned with big eyes.

"Of course, baby. I'll be right back" You pet her hair back and left to go retrieve him.

You stopped when you saw him, Crosshair, and Wrecker whispering in the cock-pit.

"Ahaha! Be a man, just ask!" Wrecker said as he patted Hunters back harshly. Ask who? What would he have to 'be a man' about?

"If you say it any louder he won't have to..." Crosshair remarked.

"Oh! Sooorry." Wrecker dragged out.

"Both of you hush, I'll do it when I feel the time is right." Hunter spoke, his husky voice immediately filling you with warmth.

"You got this!" Wrecker exclaimed again, this time he earned a "Shhh!" from both Hunter and Crosshair.

You slowly entered the cock-pit, this time making your appearance known.

"Oh! Hello!" Wrecker greeted loudly, signalling to Hunter you were in the room. Hunter just sighed and shook his head.

You were curious about the conversation, but thought it might not be any of your business.

Smiling, you started, "Omega wants you to finish putting her to bed, Hunter." The way his face lit up had you star-struck. Almost like he couldn't believe she wanted him. "Thank you."

He nodded and headed her way, a hand cupping and maneuvering around your waist as he passed you. His subtle but frequent small touches warmed your heart.

You took a seat in the co-pilot chair, swiveling to look at Crosshair and Wrecker. Both looked down at you with crossed arms and smug looks.

"What?" You wondered if there was something on your face, or if you just took someones spot.

"Nooothing, we will be heading off to sleep now. RIGHT Crosshair?" Wrecker spoke in a suspicious voice, elbowing him in the side. Crosshiar grunted but agreed, leaving you alone.

Weird.

But then again, nothing was normal on this ship.

You took this time to lean back and take a few minutes of rest alone. It was nice being able to relax by yourself, knowing everyone was safe.

After a handful of minutes, Hunter made his way back from Omega. He took the seat next to yours, turning to face you.

"How are you doing?" You asked, sparking conversation.

"Fine, I'm just happy you guys are here... I keep thinking i'm going to blink and you'll both be gone..." His words shook at the end. You sat up, understanding the seriousness of the conversation.

"Hunter, Omega and I are alive and safe. We are here and we are not going anywhere." You rose and stood between his legs, hands cupping his face.

He looked up at you, tears filling his eyes slowly.

"What if I can't protect you two again?" He brought up a hand to rest at your hip, the other on his leg.

You rested your forehead against his, "That was a freak accident, baby. No one could have stopped that. Now we have Crosshair, Batcher, and we are ready for anything. We will keep Omega from the Empire. I promise."

He took a deep breath in, like he had just decided something.

He started by saying your name, "You always know just what to say. I wish I had that ability..." He closed his eyes and breathed you in for a moment, then he spoke again. "When... When we were apart I was so lost."

"I kno-"

"No, I don't think you understand. I couldn't think of anything but you and Omega. I was so broken without you." He repeated your name.

"I-I never want you to be away from me again." His voice got huskier as he spoke, and your legs felt like jello. You just looked at him deeply, nodding.

He started for a second time with a shaky breath, "No one can take you from me again. I will claw my way back to you every damn time." He nods his head up, brushing his nose to the side of your cheek with closed eyes.

You let him speak, even when your mind was flowing with your own comments, "It- The distance, made me realize. There is no one that can compare to you. No other woman I would ever want to be with."

Ah, so that is what they were talking about. You smiled big, awaiting the special phrase.

Tears filled your eyes with his words, he was speaking as raw as he was capable of.

"I can't promise you money or luxury, but I will spend every waking hour fighting to make you happy. Fighting to keep you safe." He pulls back, steadying you with both hands on your hips.

You take in a teary breath to speak, but he cuts you off. "Don't say anything yet, just- Wait here, just a second." He stands, reaching to Crosshair's old storage compartment.

He rushes back with a small box. You raise your hands to cup your own face, bright red. He lowered onto one knee, right in the middle of the cock-pit

"Please, for my own sanity and happiness, will you marry me?" He asks.

"Yes. Yes Hunter, there are no other words than yes." You fall down onto him, arms grasping around his neck.

He lets out a sigh of relief like you'd ever say 'no.'

"Thank you, oh thank you." He whispers into your neck, holding you tight. He only pulls back slightly to kiss you. A kiss so deep and full of emotions your head spun. You just held him, never wanting to let go.

It felt like time stopped, just for you two. Just for a clone trooper and a small girl...

"I never planned on you..." He broke the silence, head placed on top of yours. "But I- you were so damn perfect. Too perfect." You gave a small laugh, looking up to see his handsome face.

You rested a hand on his tattoo, thumbing it. "Hunter, if anyone is perfect it's you. You have so much love for me and Omega... How do you do it?"

"I manage." He smirked, leaning down to smell your hair. Something he used to do frequently when you snuggled in the past.

"Am I now Mrs. Hunter? Or is it Mrs. Trooper?" You joked, pulling back to sit fully on the ship floor. Your hands still filled with his much larger ones.

He smiled at you, another reminder on why he loved you so much. "We can figure out all the fine details later... Just let me kiss you again..."

So, you did.

A/N- Thank you so much for reading! I loved writing this one, I hope it turned out as good as I thought! Sorry It took me longer to post than usual, I was pretty busy this past week. As always, i'm open to constructive criticism!

Tags- (lmk if you want to be tagged as well!) @thethreeeyed-raven @knight-of-flowerss

[green-alm0nd]

[The Bad Batch x gn!reader (headcanons)]: Wearing their t-shirt

----

----

Summary:

Each of the Bad Batch members react to your wearing their t-shirt.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: None, pure fluff. Not proofread.

Enjoy!

----

HUNTER:

He is completely smitten at the sight of you wearing his black t-shirt, one that he usually matched with his civilian clothes.

He came into your shared bunk to check some stuff about medical supplies and he found you trying out his black t-shirt. It wasn't oversized, but it wasn't super tight on your body, either.

He leaned on the side of the bedframe, smiling to himself.

"It fits you. You should keep it."

You're startled by how stealthy and quiet he was.

"You think so?"

He nods, hugging you from behind, pressing his chest against your back.

"Of course. Keep it."

He feels very protective over you, especially when you're wearing his clothes.

He acts like he doesn't mind, but in reality, he wouldn't mind you trying out his clothes more often.

ECHO:

He came back from a mission to your shared apartment just to see you with his pyjama shirt on and he instantly turned red.

You were watching a holomovie, hugging a cushion against your chest with his shirt on and he felt his heart speed up to a hundred miles per hour.

He slowly approached you, trying to look like he was cool with it, and ruffled your hair.

"Evening. I see you're wearing something of mine." He chimed.

You smiled, and stared at him. Truth be told, you missed him dearly when he went on long missions, so you looked for a piece of clothing that was his to remind you of him.

When you explained that to him he directly melted.

He thought he was so lucky to have a partner like you, a thoughtful mind and a loving person.

He joined you shortly afterwards, staring at you with a silly smile any time

WRECKER:

Excited. Like a kid on Christmas.

"Awe! Look at you! You're so adorable!"

He had bought some Mantell Mix for him and Omega when he decided to go back to the ship to rest and that's when he saw you.

To be fair, the t-shirt he used to dress up as a civilian looked like a huge, oversized dress on you. But that's what made it endearing.

"You look so cute!"

He hugs you tightly and kisses you to demonstrate how much he loves you.

If you wear his t-shirt, he will steal a wristband and put it on his wrist to show that he's also willing to wear your stuff.

May turn into a competition at some point, but that's not what we're here for-

Bonus: he feels extremely protective over you when you're wearing his clothes.

TECH:

Unfazed. Not bothered.

Or, at least, that what he likes to act like.

In reality, he got very flustered and awkward the first time he saw you wearing his t-shirt.

He stumbled with words and stuttered uncontrollably. He was probably the most flustered out of the entire batch.

He was done fixing the Marauder's hyperdrive and decided to check on you when he saw you with a t-shirt he used to sleep. And his heart rate skyrocketed.

Like I said, he acts unfaced and excuses his stuttering by saying he had been talking for too long. Not a very good excuse coming from his smart brain.

Then again, it's not like his brain worked after seeing you on his t-shirt.

He thought of places he could place the t-shirt so you'd be able to wear it more often.

This man is really head over heels for you.

CROSSHAIR:

"The heck you're doing with my t-shirt on?"

"Don't act mad, Cross."

"I'm not. I'm just asking."

He did acted mad. He was actually about to melt then and there.

Him and Hunter had gone on a mission to gather some intel and he had come back to the small cottage you and him shared on Pabu just to see you with his white t-shirt on.

Deep down, he loved it. He loved that you were wearing something that was his, he loved that you were his significant other.

He was just too proud to admit it.

The first time he saw you wearing his clothes, he snuck his hands under it to gently grip your waist. He adored the feeling of being able to hold you.

And yet again, he was too proud to admit it.

----

There's not much I have to say except I finally got my helix piercing done and I really do love it :p

And I might edit Crosshair's part because it doesn't really match his personality anymore.

Reblogs and shares are highly appreciated!

My requests are still open!