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letsquestjess · 26 days

Text

To Be Held (Crosshair x GN!Reader)

Summary: Crosshair struggles with the tremor in his hand, but you are there to comfort him.

Word count: 1.2K

Warnings: Brief descriptions of nightmares and depression. Contains some spoilers for season 3!

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You rounded the kitchen with a tune on your lips, collecting packets and paper bags and arranging the fresh produce onto the chopping board. A potato rolled from the pile, bouncing off the outstretched elbow you extended in an attempt to slow it. As it tumbled from the worktop, a hand darted out.

“Nice catch,” you said to Crosshair as he straightened and picked out a few other vegetables from the hefty bundle.

“I can help get these chopped up,” he offered, rolling up his shirt sleeves. “Although I have to ask, are you trying to feed the entire island?”

“Just your brothers,” you returned.

The sniper chuckled to himself, lips curving into an endearing grin. He and his brothers had grown up on a diet consisting mostly of ration bars, protein drinks, and whatever meagre soups and over-baked breads the cafeteria served. Upon arriving on the picturesque island, the sheer variety of food options available had daunted him, but the more he tasted, the more he acclimated to the distinct tastes and innovative pairings.

It was how he had met you. Market days on Pabu were an island-wide event, and Wrecker, ever eager to delve deeper into the culinary arts, dragged him along. His excuses ranged from wanting to experiment with new seasonings to needing help with meal planning, but he eventually admitted he just wanted to spend time with him. From that moment on, Crosshair attended every week without fail.

Some months into their visits, you bumped into each other. Quite literally. After steadying the overflowing bags in your arms and assuring him you were unharmed, you both exchanged sheepish smiles and apologies, and parted ways. He saw you again the week after, and the week after that, your eyes meeting in silent recognition, until Omega intervened and nudged her brother to approach you.

The thought of your first encounter comforted him, immersing him in a daydream that shattered the instant his hand began to tremor. He grumbled and clenched his fists, resolved to shove the annoyance aside and focus on assisting you with dinner.

But you noticed. You picked up the irritated huff and the flex of his fist. “Are you all right?” you asked, setting down the knife and scooping the chopped vegetables into the simmering pan of water. His silence hung heavy, and you stopped what you were doing. “Cross?”

“I’m fine,” he replied, gruffer than he intended. Squeezing his eyes shut for a brief second, he refocused and carried on slicing the washed potatoes into chunks.

Over the last few weeks, you had observed a subtle tremor in his hand and a faraway expression. It never lasted for more than a few minutes, but you sensed he was confined in that desolate cell once more, on that unrelenting experiment table. He had spent countless months trying to regain control, confronting his past rather than avoiding it.

The risk of a relapse always remained, but you wished he wouldn’t endure them in silence and solitude. Omega’s meditations had offered a small reprieve, and the therapy he stuck at untangled the knotted vines in his head, allowing him to process his thoughts. But it was getting to him again, wriggling its way back in like an insidious vibroblade slicing into a disintegrating shield, smashing the defences he had fought so hard to maintain.

As he brought the knife down, the blade grazed dangerously close to his finger. He jerked away and hissed a curse.

“Okay,” you said with a gentle but resolute edge, taking control before the situation overwhelmed him further. “Sit down.”

“Dinner needs doing,” he insisted.

“It can wait. Sit, love, please.”

Reluctantly, the sniper snatched a dining chair and sank into the plush, patterned cushion tied to the back bars.

After wiping the vegetable juices from your palms on a dishcloth, you brought his hands to your chest and pressed firmly, grounding him in the present and to you. “Can you feel the rhythm of my heart?” you asked.

Crosshair nodded, wearied gaze lifting to meet yours. “Yes.”

“Close your eyes. That’s it. Concentrate on your breaths.”

Within a few rounds of deep inhales and slow exhales, the trembles relaxed. You squeezed his hands, thumbs caressing the dry, calloused skin on his fingers.

“I am so proud of you,” you said, softly, patiently. “You have fought to be where you are, Cross, and you never gave up. No matter how challenging it became, or the obstacles that stood in your path, you persevered. If only you could see yourself how others see you, you would understand how brave, and caring, and dedicated you are.”

His eyes blinked open, and a subtle smile reappeared. “You missed ‘stubborn’ off that list.”

“How could I forget?” you chuckled.

He brought your closer by your hips and settled his cheek on your stomach. You were warm. Familiar. When the shadows crept in, you emerged as a shining beacon, restoring his sense of self and holding aloft that steadfast belief in him. Despite no longer being controlled by the Empire or serving in the army, the fear of relapsing haunted him, and he dreaded he would become that again. Cold and cruel to those he loved, and alone for the rest of his days.

“If you needed more therapy, or wanted to try something else, I am right here with you,” you told him, stroking the thick, silvery tufts he had been growing out. “Whatever you need.”

Expressing himself had never come naturally to Crosshair. He attempted to reach out to his siblings after Tantiss, and in time you. In his mind, he recognised the intensity of his emotions, the words he longed to express, but he couldn’t get them past his mouth. It required an immense amount of effort for him to let his guard down, and in moments like these, when he wanted to vanish into some secluded corner, it became even harder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against your stomach, his grip tightening as if you might slip away. “I just feel so…”

Sacred. Frightened. Weak. You knew how that sentence ended. You’d heard it often enough on the nights he woke doused in sweat and hauling in trembling breaths, grasping for anything to bolster him in his safe reality.

“It will all be okay,” you soothed, cradling him to you. “You are not alone. You have me, and your siblings, and an island of people here who cherish and appreciate you. We love you more than you know, and we will do whatever it takes to get you the support you need.”

“Right now,” he muttered, “I only need to hold you.” He nuzzled closer, burying himself in the solacing lift and fall of your stomach and the steady tempo of your heart. Each beat called out to him, and he eagerly listened.

“I suppose I could allow that for a little longer,” you said brightly as he gazed up at you, the tattoo around his eye crinkling with a tired but hopeful smile.

There were difficult times ahead, more nightmares, more lapses, more quiet in which his mind returned him to those days as a captive of the Empire. But through it all, he remained hopeful, and that was all you ever needed him to be.

TAGLIST (Message if you’d like to be added, 18+ only)

@skellymom @freesia-writes @the-hexfiles @theeyesofasoldier @multi-fan-dom-madness @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff @tech-aficionado @techsriduur @dangraccoon @starrylothcat @jediknightjana @mssbridgerton @trixie2023

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dystopicjumpsuit · 4 months

Text

I Know.

A/N: Cursed with insomnia again. Here’s what I wrote last night.

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader (GN; reader has nightmares and nonspecific trauma)

Rating: T

Wordcount: 1.3k

Warnings and tags: angst; nightmares (not described); hurt comfort

Summary: Sometimes, the people who have the most complicated history with you are the ones who know you best. Set pre-Skako Minor.

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You awoke with a flinch. Your heart raced as you stared into the darkness, the pulse of it thundering in your ears. Your breath came fast and hard, and you forced yourself to slow down and breathe through your nose. Gradually, your body let go of the panic, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. Not when you knew what waited for you once you drifted into unconsciousness.

You sat up slowly, pausing to clear your head before you slipped out of the bunk. As quietly as you could, you made your way to the front of the Marauder, grabbing your datapad as you passed the data terminal. Judging by the snores, Wrecker and Tech were out cold, but you’d be willing to stake every last credit in your account that your pounding heart had awakened Hunter before you even opened your eyes. Still, he was silent as you moved stealthily to the cockpit.

It was strange to be back on the Marauder after all this time. Familiar, yet different. The squad welcomed you back with varying degrees of enthusiasm—or at least acceptance—but there was a distance between you that had never been there before. A sense of caution, of unspoken but deep vigilance, as though you all felt a compulsion to weigh your words before speaking. The easy laughter, the banter, the closeness and connection—it was though none of it had ever existed.

The faint glow of the instrument panel illuminated Crosshair’s lean form as he sat in the pilot’s chair, arms folded over his chest as his long legs stretched out in front of him. He glanced up as you passed, but said nothing. Outside the viewport, it was far too dark to make out the landscape of the wilderness, but the stars above shone brilliantly through the unclouded atmosphere. You curled up in the copilot’s seat and wordlessly flicked on your datapad.

You tried to read. The holonovel you opened seemed too daunting, so instead you scrolled through your usual collection of holonet sites for a long while, but your brain refused to process any of the text. Your eyes felt heavy and gritty, and the words seemed to blur together no matter how hard you squeezed your eyelids shut to try to clear your vision. Eventually, you closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the headrest.

“You all right?” Crosshair’s voice was barely audible.

“Can’t sleep,” you whispered without opening your eyes.

“Still?”

“Yeah.”

You both fell silent for a moment. The pilot’s seat creaked as he adjusted.

“Same nightmare after all this time?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

You opened your eyes and rotated your head toward him, only to find that he was already watching you, his dark, intense eyes unreadable in the dim light.

“You ever talk to anyone about it?”

You shook your head. “Just you. The others—they don’t understand. They don’t know. The details.”

“They still care, though,” he said quietly.

“I know. I just…” You swallowed. “Can’t. I don’t want them to know.”

He didn’t reply, only watched you.

You took a deep, shuddering breath. “I don’t want them to see how broken I am.”

The silence stretched out for a moment, before he replied very quietly. “I never saw you that way.”

Your throat tightened, and your vision blurred for an instant before the tear overflowed from the corner of your eye and slid down your temple. You could barely see a damned thing in the dark, but Crosshair saw you. He always had.

Slowly, he reached out and smoothed the tear off your skin, then he dropped his hand to your wrist and gently but insistently tugged on you until at last you complied with his unspoken request, crossing the short distance to the copilot’s chair and settling onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around you and coaxed your head down to rest on his shoulder as you curled your legs up and around his body.

“I don’t want to fall back asleep,” you confessed, feeling slightly ashamed of your childish fear.

He stroked your hair. “Then… don’t sleep. Stay with me.”

You nuzzled softly against his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. It had been such a long time, but you’d know it anywhere.

“You don’t mind?”

“Why would I?” he whispered.

The weight of lost time was heavy in the silence before you replied. “I thought you might prefer it if I left you alone.”

His jaw brushed against your forehead as he turned to look down at you. “I don’t mind having you here.”

The tension in your body gradually drained away as you relaxed against him, lapsing once more into silence. He rested his cheek against the top of your head as his thumb traced slow, lazy circles on your shoulder. Your heavy eyes began to drift shut, your anxiety lulled away by the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and the steady thump of his pulse beneath your ear.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” you whispered.

His only response was a quiet, brief hum at the back of his throat, but he pressed his lips against your hair. You raised your hand slowly and trailed your fingertips from the corner of his jaw, down the line of his neck, to the notch at the base of his throat, and when you reached his chest, you flattened your palm against him, directly over his heart. His hand closed gently around yours, holding it there, and you brushed your thumb over his knuckles.

“I’ve missed this,” he whispered. “Holding you like this.”

“Me, too.”

You relaxed further against him, and he tightened his arms around you, holding you securely so you didn’t slip off his lap. When you spoke again, your voice was very soft.

“Cross?”

“Mhm?”

You hesitated a moment before you whispered, “Why did we end it?”

He didn’t move, didn’t react, didn’t even change the pattern of his breath, but you could hear his heart speed up at your whispered question.

“I don’t remember,” he replied.

You took a few slow, shallow breaths. “Me either.”

His hand glided slowly up your shoulder until he reached the back of your neck, and he stroked his thumb along the shell of your ear.

“We were good together, weren’t we?” he asked quietly.

You tilted your head and brushed your lips against his neck in a caress so feather-light it was almost imperceptible.

Almost.

“The best,” you whispered.

He swallowed hard, the sound plainly audible to your ears. The two of you sat unmoving for a long, long time, simply holding each other. He took a shaky breath.

“I—” his voice failed, and he fell silent again.

“I know,” you whispered, kissing his neck. “I know.” You pressed your lips against his jaw, and then the corner of his mouth. “It’s hard, isn’t it? Finding the right words.”

The hand on the back of your neck slid up to hold your head, and he turned to gaze into your eyes, your faces so close together that you could feel his soft, warm breath on your skin.

“What can I say that would be enough?” he asked, his voice quiet and unsteady.

You rested your palm against his jaw, feeling the rough, familiar prickle of his facial hair. Your thumb stroked across his cheekbone, then over his lips.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you whispered. “I already know.” You kissed him softly. “I’ll always know you.”

He pulled you closer, cradling your head in his hands as his lips brushed against yours. His familiar taste flooded your senses. The kiss was gentle and slow, his tongue just grazing between your lips before the two of you parted reluctantly. He rested his forehead against yours as he brought his hand around to caress your cheek.

“Do you think you could ever love me again?” he asked.

You were silent for a moment before you confessed, “I never stopped.”

The rise and fall of his chest paused for an instant, then resumed.

“Neither did I.”

---

Want more Bad Batch fics? I have two for Hunter: First Kiss ficlet (sfw) and "I Wish All Readers a Very Hunter Life Day" (very spicy).

Ragu list:

@secondaryrealm @sev-on-kamino spicy-clones @wings-and-beskar @523rdrebel @merkitty49 @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella @cloneloverrrrr @goblininawig @ladytano420 @arctrooper69 @wolffegirlsunite @sunshinesdaydream @mandos-mind-trick @littlemissmanga @stunkbiggu @starqueensthings @clonemedickix @marierg @idontgetanysleep @moonlightwarriorqueen @dudewhynotthis @sleepycreativewriter @tcwmatchmakingau @littlemissbshine @multi-fan-dom-madness @heavenseed76 @wizardofrozz @bobaprint @sweetcream-coldfoam @banksys-rat @skellymom @pickleprickle @trixie2023 @mythical-illustrator @dickarchivist @cw80831 @kimiheartblade @meredithroseg @flyiingsly @lightwise @swcowgal

#tbb crosshair #crosshair bad batch #crosshair x reader #star wars #the bad batch #sw tbb fanfic #crosshair fanfiction #hurt comfort fic #hurt/comfort #gn reader

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lightspringrain · 10 months

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Sometimes it all just hits me and it feels like there is wound that won't heal. I have high hopes that Tech is alive but man... I can't believe that is how it all went down.

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grampsoninspace · 11 months

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doctor’s orders.

Please, don’t let it be him.

Please no…

Please!

“Good evening,” a warm voice interrupts your silent pleading with whatever force is listening. There’s strain in the usual honeyed tone, which jerks your chin upward with an invisible string. Your panicked thoughts are replaced by your emergency mode, your hands trembling with adrenaline at the pain in the man’s voice.

“What did you do now?” you hiss, assessing the patient visually before you even get close to him, watching blood drip steadily from a wound just shy of his temple.

Captain Howzer smiles up at you with mischief in his brown eyes.

“I got a little too close to the action, Doc,” he shrugs.

“How many times do I have to tell you? The blood belongs inside of your body, Captain. For Maker’s sake, can we go a single week without you risking life and limb for the nearest being?” You pull your gloves on with an angry snap.

“Well… it is my job,” he tells you, trying to sound the slightest bit remorseful and failing miserably.

“I don’t care if it’s your job — it’s going to be a little hard to do it if you’re dead,” you shake your head, starting to remove his armor to assess the rest of him.

“You’re fussing again,” Howzer’s voice drops in octave and volume, much too near your ear.

“Well, that is my job,” you mimic his accent poorly, daring to look back into his eyes as you remove his chest plate.

His full lips are twisted in the faintest smile, and he is watching your every move. You roll your eyes but you can feel yourself blush, choosing instead to focus on removing his pauldrons, gauntlets, and gloves.

“I know... I like it when you fuss over me,” he leans forward and yanks the top of his blacks off with one hand, exposing his skin down to his waist.

You turn back to face him and remind yourself with a deep breath and a mental lashing that you are a fucking professional and you will do your job without incident or…

Or…?

What were you saying?

“Well?” he prompts.

“Hm?” you raise your eyebrows, pretending you were listening.

He leans back with his palms flat on the exam table, his knees farther apart than you remember. “I asked you a question.”

“Which was?” you ask, frowning, silently cursing yourself.

“I asked what your diagnosis was,” he smirks.

“I don’t know yet,” you rub your forehead with the back of your hand. “I need to get your head cleaned up first. Do you feel pain or discomfort anywhere else?”

“No pain…” His smile is teasing. “But I still expect a thorough examination. I could be in shock.”

You give him a look. “Behave yourself, Captain.”

Howzer holds his hands up. “I’m just asking you to do your job, Doc. I wouldn’t expect any less but the closest attention to detail when you’re in charge.”

You swallow, and he won’t look away from your eyes — even as you start to gently clean the wound on his forehead and he sucks in a breath through his teeth, grabbing your wrist roughly and trying to pull your hand away.

Your stomach flips but you give him a stern look.

“Captain. When I said to behave yourself, I clearly meant you need to allow me to do my job.”

“Warn me next time,” he growls, releasing you.

“I did!” You smack his hand down. “I told you I had to clean your head…”

“Oh, that’s what you meant,” he smirks up at you as you continue removing the blood from his skin. You press harder in retaliation and he grabs both of your wrists.

“Stop being belligerent or I’ll let you fuckin’ bleed to death,” you tell him through gritted teeth.

“Which one happens first?” he asks, your wrists still bound in the shackles of his rough hands.

“What—?” you ask, scrunching up your face.

“You said you’d let me fuck and bleed to death,” he repeats, pulling you forward and tugging your hands behind his back so your face is much too close to his.

“Do you think it could be in that order?” he drops his voice down deep and low, his breath warm on your skin.

“You know damn well I did not say that,” you tell him, trying to sound sure of yourself, but your voice shakes.

“Do I?” he asks, searching your face with his dilated eyes.

“Should I check your hearing?” you ask sharply, but his gaze lands on your lips.

“What?” he jokes, and you sigh in his face.

“Captain.”

His eyes flick to yours, and he leans back just enough to let your hips rest in the V his legs have made. “Say my name, and I’ll be good for you.”

“This is very unprofessional behavior,” you frown.

“I’m no snitch,” he whispers. “Besides, is it against protocol for you to use your patient’s name?”

“Of course not,” you sigh again. “But I’m using your title as a sign of respect, just as I would do with anyone else.”

“And I love that about you, but I wanna hear you say my name,” he grips your wrists harder, gives you a little yank, and you arch into him involuntarily.

“Captain Howzer…” you say, trying to keep your tone even and clinical.

“Close,” he smiles but shakes his head. “But no. Just say my name, and I’ll behave.”

You take a deep breath, knowing he’s absolutely full of shit without running a single test to prove it.

“Howzer…” you say in a low voice, your temple pressed against his. He hums low in his throat, and the vibration of it in his chest seems to travel wherever your body is touching his.

You let your lips brush his ear: “Can you please allow me to finish my exam now?”

“Yes ma’am,” he rumbles, letting go of your wrists and planting his hands on the edge of the table again.

His eyes are closed and he keeps very still as you clean his head wound, patching it with bacta and exploring the rest of the lines in his face, running your fingers over the deep scar on his cheek.

“Field medic work,” he smiles, leaning into your touch. “Didn’t have your finesse.”

“Doesn’t change anything,” you blurt out quietly.

His eyes slide open and they are darker than a starless night. “Hm?”

“You know,” you frown, pushing his face to the side to check his neck and shoulders with careful hands.

“What do I know?” he asks, his cheek twitching with how badly he’s trying not to smirk. “What doesn’t the field medic’s work change?”

You sigh roughly in the back of your throat as you move around the table to check his back. “Your… face.”

“Oh, because every clone has the same one?” he asks, a defensive lilt to his teasing.

“No!” you poke him in the shoulder blade, hard.

“Then what?” he twists, to try to make you look at him again, but you push him forward.

“What did you promise me?” you frown. “Be still, Howzer.”

He inhales deeply and sits up with perfectly straight posture. You run your hands down his spine, then press your fingers where you know injured organs would reveal tender spots. He doesn’t flinch, but you don’t know if that’s his training or an actual lack of pain. Nothing seems out of place, but knowing him, he’s probably hiding something.

“Get up,” you pat his shoulder.

He obeys, standing perfectly at attention.

And as you help him remove his lower armor, it’s very apparent that he’s not the only one.

You instantly blush, despite having seen countless human bodies in all different contexts… your whole body flushes with warmth which travels between your legs. You’re removing his knee pads and the feelings you’re having are so improper you feel yourself blushing harder with shame…

“Sorry Doc,” he says quietly. “Natural reaction.”

“To what?” you blurt out, looking up from your kneeling position into his face.

He smirks. “I think we both know you know the answer to that… You’re a doctor. You know how the human body functions in these situations…”

You shake your head. “I’m making sure you’re not going to die of internal injuries, Howzer. I’m not doing anything to try and…cause this.”

“Don’t have to,” he says, low and rough. “You just are.”

Your fingers are still on his thigh, just about to get him to lift his foot to let you remove his boot, when you stop and feel your jaw go slack.

“Please stand up,” he asks. You oblige him, and he sits back up on the exam table, obediently removing his boots for you without breaking eye contact once. You swallow around your dry throat, taking in the sight of him there in nothing but the bottom half of his blacks, which he’s now standing again to remove.

Howzer sits back up on the exam table in just his dark briefs, which — despite their color — are not doing much to hide the topic of your discussion.

Why do I want it in my mouth?

Your eyes are wide when you meet his gaze again, thankful beyond belief that he can’t read your mind. But he smiles softly like he can.

Why is that a thought I’m having right now, when I should be making sure he isn’t in any more pain?

You try to snap out of it, distracting yourself by looking fo contusions or abrasions, any signs of internal injuries or dislocated bones… You put your gloved hand on his thigh to inspect a discoloration there and his body reacts visibly to your touch.

“Howzer…” you whisper, “Should I stop?”

“Please don’t,” he breathes, reaching out to grip the wrist closest to his bare skin.

“I… I need you to stand up and turn around,” you tell him quietly, and he does as he’s told, letting you peruse the backs of his legs and the bottoms of his feet.

When he turns around again, he’s mere inches from your body, his muscles taut and his face hyper-focused on yours.

“I don’t see any other… problems,” you swallow, your voice barely audible. “You’re free to dress and go now.”

“But I don’t want to,” he shrugs, lifting his hands to cradle your face.

He doesn’t kiss you.

He brushes his nose against yours, touches your foreheads together, rubs his cheekbone up and down your cheek.

You can feel the rough texture of the skin on his face and let a soft sound escape your careful throat.

Howzer locks onto that sound like a heat-seeking missile, pressing his hand gently to your throat and repeating the motion he thinks you liked — his cheek pressed to yours.

You whimper lightly, just barely audible, and he loses his careful control to what he wants most.

He kisses you so hard it snaps your head back; you gasp into his mouth and he takes that as an invitation, exploring inside with his tongue. He only breaks the seal your lips have made to let you breathe, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your jaw and down your neck, hungrily making his way down to taste as much of your skin as he can reach.

His hands move from your face and neck to unbutton your uniform coat, pushing it down off your shoulders onto the floor, sliding his long fingers under the shirt you wear beneath.

“I want this off,” he tells you, and you nod your permission, lifting your arms to let him strip you from the waist up.

He removes your bra so quickly and easily it gives you the slightest moment of hesitation and doubt, wondering how many women he’s collected inside the warmth of his body just like this. But his hands are holding your breasts and his tongue is in your mouth again, and you quickly forget your fears. His fingers travel down to the waistband of your pants, and you don’t think you’ve ever taken them off so quickly in your entire lifetime.

“Fuck,” he whispers, looking at you in nothing but your underwear. “You’re perfect.”

“Prove it,” you tease him. “You get naked first.”

He smiles at you with bright eyes, yanking his underwear down and hopping up to lie back on the exam table with his arms behind his head, all too comfortable.

“What’s the verdict, Doc?” he asks, eyes closed, body stretched out for your (scientific) inspection.

You remove your gloves and run your fingertips from his broad shoulders to his hip bones, watching his dick twitch at the attention of your hands.

“I think you’re perfectly…healthy, Captain,” you tell him, your eyes landing on the glorious thickness he’s been hiding in those briefs.

Howzer props himself up on one elbow, turning just enough to ripple more muscles like a statue carved of some ancient god from another galaxy.

“Your turn,” he drawls, gesturing with his finger toward your underwear, and you shake your head.

“Oh now that’s just not fair,” he crows, climbing back down off the exam table and putting his hands on your hips, changing tactics.

“Do you want me to take them off for you?” he gives you a half-smile, his eyes blazing a path from your bare breasts to the fabric between him and his goal.

You nod slowly, pushing your hips just slightly forward as he dips his thumbs in the band around your waist.

“I need to hear you say it,” he says quietly.

“Please take them off,” you try to whisper, but it comes out like a whine. He looks into your eyes expectantly, wiggling his thumbs but not moving his hands any more than that.

“Howzer…” you groan. “Please.”

“That’s better,” he pushes your underwear to the floor and runs his hands back up your legs as you step out. “Isn’t it?”

He kisses you again, softer this time but no less hungry, pulling you back with him onto the exam table. He wraps his arms around you until you’re flush on top of him, nipping at your lips and running his hands all over your body, seeking friction by pressing his hips up into yours…

“Would you like to ride me, sweetheart?” he rasps, his erection pressed against your hip, his heart pounding in his chest against yours. “Because I’d like nothing more than to see you get on top and use me however you want.”

You know your face must look like you’re in pain, the need for him so strong it feels like your heart could stop. You move your knees apart and brace yourself, letting him help you to a more upright position, crawling back until you’re hovering right above him.

You look into his eyes as you guide him to your entrance, inhaling shakily as you feel the tip slide past your resistance, shoving your knees farther apart and dropping slowly to take him deeper. His eyes practically roll back in his head the farther down you go, groaning low in his throat when he’s fully sheathed inside of you.

The two of you stay very still for a long moment, just breathing while you both adjust. When you start to move on him, he looks up at you heavy-lidded and reaches up to grope your breasts, moaning a bit as you sink your fingernails into his shoulders trying to find a rhythm you both like. You roll your hips and grip him good as you do, filthy curses escaping his swollen lips with every thrust.

Howzer lifts his knees slightly to support you, gripping your hips tight as you ride him hard, forgetting every reason you shouldn’t be doing this as you lose yourself to the feeling of him inside of you as his hands explore your ass.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to fuck you like this?” he asks roughly, one hand gripping your ass, the other running up your back to grab a fistful of your hair. You shake your head, unable to form cohesive thoughts as you move on him faster, your need for him only increasing the harder you fuck him.

He sits up suddenly, spreading his legs and bending his knees, wrapping his arms around your lower back and staring right in your eyes as he fucks you right back.

You run your hands through his hair, rubbing the fuzz where his head is shaved and crying out as he hits the perfect spot while holding you this close.

“Since day one,” he rasps. “I’ve wanted you like this since I first met you. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about taking you right here, just like this…”

He grunts as you clench around him, wetter than ever and panting his name, blissfully close to him making you cum in his lap right on your fucking exam table.

“Fuck me, Howzer,” you beg him, all sense of propriety lost in the lustful haze clouding your brain and flooding your body with heat. “Please just fuck me.”

“No, baby,” he denies you. “I want this to last.”

“But I’m so close,” you whine, pushing him down on his back and riding him harder.

He moves his hand from your hip to press his fingertips to your clit, not bothering to move them with how quickly your hips are rocking, and your head rolls loosely on your neck as your back arches. You bite your lip to keep from screaming as he drags the orgasm right out of you with his lazy fingers and his ridiculously perfect cock.

“Howzer, I can’t, I’m gonna…” you whine, and he pulls himself up again, locking eyes with you as he feels you hit your threshold, a strangled moan slipping out of you as he keeps you close while you cum.

“Come on, baby,” he coaxes as you start to slow your movements to a near-stop, “Are we done already?”

“Sit up,” you tell him, climbing off of him and the table, kneeling and watching him swing his legs over the side.

“Am I already due for another exam—” he chokes on his teasing remark as you take his leaking dick into the tight wetness of your mouth, rolling your tongue underneath him and hollowing your cheeks.

“Fucking Maker,” Howzer groans, his hands instantly tangling in your hair, hips bucking toward your face. “You keep that up and I’m not going to last much longer either.”

Your only reply is to bob your head, taking him deeper toward your throat with each motion, using your hands to grip what can’t fit inside your mouth.

“Oh sweet fuck,” he growls, turning into an absolute mess as you stare up into his eyes while you suck him off. He doesn’t know where to put his hands and he’s trying so hard to let you do what you want, but you can feel him throbbing and you know he’s ready to lose it.

“Sweetheart, I don’t know where you want me to cum, but you’d better decide fast,” he rasps, his eyes squeezing shut.

You keep him in your mouth, but pull back just enough to swirl your tongue around his already-sensitive tip. He groans and shoves his dick deeper in your mouth, yanking your head back by the hair as he loses control. He cums down your throat with a series of grunts and moans your name when he’s finally finished. You swallow every drop, content to lick him lazily until he groans and tugs on your hair to make you stop, guiding your face back up to his.

“You’re mine now, I hope you know,” he growls in your ear, his scarred cheek pressed to yours as he does.

You nod in agreement, feeling his fingers slip between your legs again as he kisses you gently at first…

But you make sure to call him “Captain” when he makes you cum the second time, with nothing but his tongue.

#bad batch #bad batch fic #captain howzer #captain howzer x reader #howzer x reader #clone trooper howzer #tbb howzer #howzer my beloved #howzer x female reader #star wars tbb #tbb fanfiction #sw tbb #sw tbb fanfic #star wars smut #grampsoninspace #be nice it’s my first post lol

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frostycatblr-fandom-files · 2 months

Text

Sorry, Wrong Comms! Masterlist

Season one Bad Batch AU fic; our favorite squadron of rouge Clones escapes the Empire (some more reluctantly than others) post Order 66 and do their best to make their way in a turbulent galaxy. When a medical emergency puts one of their own at risk, they're forced to seek out medical help, and end up forging a friendship in the woman who kindly helps them.

She may be a simple medic, but she's no stranger to the sick and injured of the galaxy, even when things get grisly once more for the Bad Batch...

Please mind the warnings for each chapter as there are things like vague medical terminology, near death(s), mild injury description + care, blood, drugs (both medical and **recreational references), use of restraints, needles (autoinjectors), nausea and non-descriptive mentions of vomit, language and minor adult themes throughout the series.

*RATING: 16+ | STATUS: Complete | POV: 3rd Person | Fem Reader

🩺Chapter 1

🩺Chapter 2

🩺Chapter 3

🩺Chapter 4

🩺Chapter 5

🩺Chapter 6

🩺Chapter 7

🩺Chapter 7.5

🩺Chapter 8

🩺Chapter 9

🩺Chapter 10

🩺Chapter 11

🩺Chapter 12

Started: 5/1/2023 | Finished: 7/24/2023 | Total word count: 82,209

*I am aware chapters will say "Intended audience is 13+"; these were written some time ago and new edits will not always "take" when I have tried to save them.

**This is a one-time occurrence.

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casual-violinist-fangirl · 15 days

Text

All I can do to Keep you Safe is Hold You Close - 2,317 Words

A part of the collection I have fondly named 'Kaminoans are Assholes.'

Omega has been having trouble sleeping because of nightmares and her solution to that is to... not sleep. Hunter's Jango Fett gene has well and truly activated!

As always this fic is on my AO3 account here, and the link to my masterlist is here.

----------

The first time he had noticed something was wrong was when Omega started asking if she could drink caff in the mornings. Jokingly, Wrecker had let her have a sip of his, him and Echo laughing when they saw the expression on her face. She clearly hadn’t enjoyed the taste. When Tech had enquired as to why she had wanted to try the bitter drink, she had simply shrugged and said that there wasn’t really a reason.

That had been a lie.

Lying in front of Hunter was almost impossible; he could sense even the slightest of changes in a person’s body for crying out loud. To add to that, Omega was an awful liar, making it easy to spot from where he was sat. Glancing around the cabin, it didn’t seem as though any of the others had noticed this, although when he caught Crosshair’s eye he noticed an air of suspicion in his expression. He had noticed too.

The day had gone on as usual and Omega hadn’t asked any more about the caff… Hunter almost allowed himself to forget that she had even lied about wanting to drink it in the first place. She was a little girl, for crying out loud. She was full of energy and the last thing they needed was her pinging about the place before crashing in a heap when the affects ran out. That night, when he had put her to bed, tucking Lula and Trooper into her blankets with her, he had asked how she was. It had come out innocently enough, but clearly he had spooked her because almost straight away her barriers went up, and she was insisting that she was absolutely fine. Not knowing what to do if she didn’t want to talk to him, he had bid her goodnight and climbed back down the ladder from the gunner’s mount.

A week or so later it was becoming more and more apparent that Omega was exhausted. She kept falling asleep on missions at every opportunity she got to rest her legs, and it was getting to the point where Wrecker was having to carry her about. Sheer exhaustion rolled off of her in waves, and the rest of the batch were beginning to be more and more concerned for her wellbeing. She was their little sister… Hunter’s ad’ika (though he would never admit that to his brothers) she deserved to be happy and healthy like all little girls her age.

After one particular mission, Omega had collapsed in a heap in Cid’s bar; the loud music didn’t seem to bother her as she slept, drawing the attention of the Trandoshan.

“What’s with Tiny?” she asked, nodding her head towards the booth where she was resting. Hunter scowled, but that was more because he didn’t know the answer than because she was prying. He went to respond, but Tech stepped in.

“It would appear that Omega has… over done it on the past couple of missions,” he answered in a very reasonable tone. “She clearly needs to go to her bunk when we get back to the ship.”

Cid hadn’t said anything else following on from that, but Hunter could tell that she didn’t buy what Tech had told her, and that even she was concerned for the little girl. “Right…” she responded. “Well you see that she does get that sleep. I can’t have clients coming in thinking I let little kids pass out drunk in my bar.”

Omega had let Hunter scoop her up and carry her back to the ship, her head lolling on his shoulder as she wordlessly took in her surroundings. He had thought there and then that maybe he’d be able to get her into bed quickly when he got back to the Marauder…

He could not have been more wrong.

The moment he mentioned the ‘b’ word, Omega had perked up and started insisting that she wasn’t even remotely tired. “Can’t I just stay up for a little longer, Hunter?” she had asked, her big brown eyes trying to persuade him that he didn’t need to send her to bed. He had sighed, crossing his arms and trying to put on his best ‘dad’ face.

“You need sleep, Omega,” he reasoned as he reached into the gunner’s mount and pulled her pyjamas down. She pouted at him, and for a moment he was convinced that she was going to start crying.

“B-but…” she trailed, and Hunter could see an element of conflict on her features. She wanted to tell him something, he just knew it, but before she could get any words out Wrecker came parading into the room, a little tipsy. So much for talking to her.

"I’m sorry Omega,” he continued, watching her body deflate with disappointment. “I’m not budging on this one.”

She had gone to bed, but he had noticed how she tried to drag out every element of getting ready; she had taken nearly twenty minutes brushing her teeth for kriff’s sake. Looking back on that now, he should have seen just how reluctant she was to sleep and realised that something was wrong. He should have reached out to her.

Other abnormalities in her behaviour should have stuck out to him, and he found himself cursing for not noticing all of this sooner. Especially given what was about to come.

——

(Three Weeks Later)

There were plenty of times that Hunter cursed his enhanced hearing; being on a ship full of snorers when he was trying desperately to sleep was one of those times. As he lay in his bunk, all he could hear was the heavy breathing of Wrecker directly above him, and the light snores of Tech from his chair in the cockpit. He had ear buds for times like these, but whilst the noise irritated him to no end, not being able to hear made him feel vulnerable and he tried not to use them unless he absolutely had to.

Rolling over and resisting the urge to groan, he buried his face into the GAR standard issue pillow. It wasn’t exactly comfy, but being a solider meant that you had to be able to sleep anywhere. This lumpy pillow and hard bunk was a godsend compared to some of the situations he’d found himself in over the years. Distantly, he could hear the tapping of keys on some sort of device… it sounded a little like Crosshair’s data pad. Clearly he had joined Echo on watch then seeing as he couldn’t hear either of them anywhere else. They weren’t sleeping, that’s for sure.

Having Crosshair back had meant a little bit of adjusting for the members of the Bad Batch. For the first couple of days he had been incredibly isolated, not wanting to go near any of his brothers or even his little sister. Then, slowly, little by little he had started to integrate himself back into the lives of those who loved him. He had taken a shine to Omega, although he was loathed to show it to anyone except the little girl herself… now that Hunter thought about it, the only time he had seen Omega sleeping peacefully over the past few weeks was the morning she had been found in her bunk, clinging onto Crosshair’s sleeping form as though it was the only thing keeping her from floating out of the ship.

Hunter made a mental note to ask Crosshair about that in the morning, but his train of thoughts was cut off when he heard what sounded like a muted sob. Sitting bolt upright in bed and suddenly no longer tired, Hunter’s eyes darted around the room as he searched for the source of the sound. Not noticing anything out of the ordinary, he frowned, which deepened when he heard the sobbing sound a second time. Having been ready this time, he climbed out of bed and tiptoed towards the noise. Almost as though she could sense his presence, Omega’s snivels stopped as he reached the bottom of the ladder leading to her room.

“’Mega?” he asked quietly, not opening the curtain… he didn’t want to spook her or make her feel as though he was intruding on her space. There was silence for a moment before a quiet shuffling of blankets could be heard and a small hand reached to open the curtain.

Omega’s face was blotchy and red, her cheeks tear-stained and her eyes puffy from her crying; how had Hunter not noticed her sooner? He cursed to himself, making a mental note to be more aware in the future. “H-Hunter,” a small sob escaped her as she launched herself at him without hesitating and clung to his neck.

To his credit, Hunter reacted quickly; he carefully scooped Omega out of the gunners’ mount, cradling her trembling form as he wondered quietly back to his bunk and sat down. The little girl still clinging onto him, he stroked a hand through her hair and whispered soothing nothings to her as he waited for her cries to subside.

When her breathing eventually did even out and the sniffles came to a stop, she looked up at him with a bleary look on her face. Kriff, she looked exhausted. How long had she been going on like this?

“Ad’ika,” his voice croaked as he used the term for the first time. Omega’s eyes widened at the expression, and if he didn’t know better he was convinced that she pulled him just a little closer. “Have you been struggling to sleep?”

Bingo. He’d hit the nail on the head it seemed, as the little girl in his arms cried even more.

“E-every time I close my eyes,” she sobbed. “I see something different and it’s horrible…” she took a shuddering breath. “I’ve been trying to stay awake at night so that the nightmares don’t come.”

Hunter let out a shaky breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “You’ve gotta get sleep, ‘Mega,” he soothed as he kept stroking her hair.

“I’m so tired,” she mumbled as her tears slowly came to a stop, reduced to small hiccups now as she rested her head against his chest.

An idea occurred to him, something that he hadn’t done since he and his brothers were cadets, all cowering away and petrified of Nala se. “You could always stay here for the night,” he whispered, his suggestion catching her attention. She didn’t move to look at him but nodded, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her new pyjamas (Crosshair had insisted that she have sleeping clothes, though he wouldn’t say why he had become so interested). Shifting carefully, he set her down on the bunk next to him and went to put his back against the wall to make more space for her.

That clearly wasn’t what she’d had in mind as Omega frowned slightly and clambered over him, putting herself between him and the wall. Hunter let out a small chuff of laughter as he rolled over, letting the little girl get comfortable; by the time the pair of them had stopped fidgeting, Omega was curled into Hunter’s embrace, the arm he draped over her clutched to her chest as she hugged it like it was Lula. The sergeant was a little uncomfortable, but any thoughts of that melted away as Omega whispered something that only he could hear.

“Goodnight, buir.”

He just managed to choke back the sudden wave of emotion that washed over him. That was… unexpected. Clearing his throat, he smiled softly at the little girl in his arms.

“Goodnight, ad’ika.”

————

A week or so later Hunter was lying in bed, reading off of his holo pad. Omega’s nightmares hadn’t stopped, of course they hadn’t, but knowing that she could go to her buir when the nightmares arrived made them that much easier to cope with. It meant that he’d had to contend with having Omega, Lula and sometimes even Trooper in bed with him but if that was the price he had to pay for the girl’s comfort? So be it.

Speak of the devil, a sniffle to his right caught his attention and he looked up only to see that Omega had snuck out of her bunk and to his bed. She looked at him with pleading eyes for only a moment before he lifted his blanket.

“Come on,” he whispered, allowing her to climb into the bed and to her usual spot between her buir and the wall. Her head rested on his chest as he continued tapping at the holo pad; he had been doing some research into a new knife he’d had his eye on, but turned that off in favour of a mind-numbing game he knew Omega enjoyed watching him play. It was a game where you had to match three blocks of the same colour in order for them to disappear and for the items trapped at the top of the screen to reach the bottom.

He thought the little girl had drifted off to sleep, but was proven wrong when a small hand reached out and tapped three blocks on the screen. Letting out a small laugh at her antics, Hunter pressed a gentle kiss to the girls’ temple before the pair continued playing the game together, taking it in turns. He knew they’d both be tired in the morning but they had nothing planned for the day, a little lay-in wouldn’t hurt anyone. It was in moments like these that he allowed himself to make the most of the normality of it all, in the vain hope that one day he’d be able to give his little girl the childhood she deserved.

“Love you, buir.”

“Love you too, ‘Mega.”

Yeah, he could definitely put up with sharing his bunk with his kid and her toys if it meant that he got to have moments like these.

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soaringthroughthegalaxy · 5 months

Note

Prompt: someone is mean to wrecker and the rest of the batch either chooses violence or chooses to comfort wrecker

Hello there!

I saw this as an opportunity to write about the Batch as cadets, and I RAN with it. Though I broke my own heart having to write a few mean things about Wrecker 😭 They’re sweet babies, and I want to give them the galaxy 🥹

No reader in this, just the boys. Hope it's okay!

Art by @alligatorpie1945 - go check out her awesome art! I kept her 'Through the Ages' series on my screen while writing to help get me in the headspace. All her art is gorgeous!

Brotherly Bonds

The holonet can be a wonderful yet vicious place. When Wrecker’s feelings are hurt, and he questions his place in the squad, his brothers rally together to fix it and comfort him.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Bit of whump, Wrecker being cyber-bullied by a Reg, caring brothers, protective brothers, bully gets called out, conflict is resolved, comfort and reassurance, happy ending.

The light of his datapad casts a blue glow over his face as he reads. It’s late, their barracks dimly lit by the moonlight, but Wrecker can’t sleep. His eyes trace the words repeatedly. Slow. Clumsy. Idiot. Each one feels like a vibroknife between his ribs.

It started a few days ago after a training drill with his brothers and a handful of Regs, who had seen him struggling with hand signals and tripping over his feet. It wasn’t his fault he was bigger than everyone else and that hand signals all looked similar to him from a distance. He’d been made this way. He was trying his best with what he’d been given. One day, he’d grow into his size and understand the signals. He was sure of it.

Wrecker sighs softly, turning onto his side to face the wall of his bunk. He pulls Lula closer, tucking her under his chin as he continues to read. He knows he should stop, that he’s only making himself feel worse by continuing, but he wants to know what everyone’s thinking and doesn’t want to walk into the mess hall tomorrow and be caught off guard.

The mean comments continue in the thread posted to the cadet chat boards. He and his brothers frequently ignore them, not caring for gossip, but Wrecker had heard things whispered under a Reg’s breath at mealtime – a Reg who hadn’t been part of their earlier drill. Other than hearing it through the grapevine, the boards would be the only other place.

Wrecker’s fingers tighten around the edges of his datapad, the cold metal digging into his palms. He takes a deep breath, trying to shake off the hurtful words. Despite his tough exterior, the comments on the chat boards have chipped away at his confidence. The camaraderie he shares with his brothers shields him from most insults, but the online world has found a crack in his armour.

As he scrolls through the thread, Wrecker can’t help but notice the lack of empathy in the words of his fellow cadets. The faceless avatars behind the comments don’t understand his challenges, trying to fit in a world where he doesn’t – metaphorically and literally. He wonders if they’d say the same things to his face or if the anonymity of the virtual space emboldens them.

Lula provides some comfort amid his turmoil, a reminder that his brothers care and love him, the stuffed tooka being a present from them. He squeezes her a little tighter as he contemplates shutting down the datapad, shutting out the negativity, but a stubborn curiosity keeps him scrolling. It’s as if he’s searching for that one comment that might offer understanding or support, even though he knows the likelihood is slim.

Wrecker’s brow furrows as he reads a particularly cutting comment. ‘Idiot can’t even understand signals. How'd he even make it out the tube? The rest of them are carrying him.’ The words sting, and Wrecker feels a surge of anger, but beneath it lies a more profound, more insidious emotion—doubt.

He glances at the sleeping forms of his brothers in the dimly lit barracks. They trust and depend on him, yet the doubts the Regs have planted in his mind start to take root. Wrecker wonders if he’s genuinely holding the team back. Maybe his brothers would be better off without him in the squad, with someone more agile and quick-witted in his place.

Lula’s stitched eyes seem to gaze at him with understanding, and Wrecker can almost hear Tech’s voice in his head, rattling off statistics and probabilities to prove that their team is more robust with him in it. But those voices are drowned out by the relentless comments scrolling on his datapad.

In the solitude of the night, Wrecker quietly shuts off his datapad and gets up, careful not to wake his brothers. He steps outside into the bright corridor and starts walking, going until he reaches one of the many bridges connecting different parts of Tipoca City. It’s cool out, but the earlier stormy weather has passed.

Leaning against the railing, Wrecker looks up at the stars. The vastness of the galaxy puts his problems into perspective. But the doubts linger. As he contemplates his place in the squad, he wonders if he should ask to be transferred. He doesn’t want to be the weak link, not when his brother’s lives are on the line.

A voice startles him. “Hey, Wreck, having trouble sleeping?” It’s Hunter, concern etched on his face as he reaches him, standing at his side at the railing.

Wrecker tries to shrug off the unease. “Nah, just needin’ some air.” He slaps on a grin. “Was hopin’ to see that big ol’ creature they say lives out here.” His gut rolls with the lie as he gestures to the choppy sea surrounding them, not wanting Hunter to worry. Although they were still cadets, he knew his older brother was already carrying a heavy weight, and he was being primed to lead them once they were old enough to fight.

Hunter studies Wrecker for a moment, his sharp senses missing very little. He sees beyond the forced grin and recognizes the turmoil in Wrecker’s eyes. Without saying a word, Hunter leans on the railing beside him. “Yeah, I heard about that creature too.” He says with a faint smile as he plays into his brother’s lie. “But I think it’s just a story to keep cadets like us from wandering too far.” He adds on. Silence lingers for a second before he speaks up again. “You doing okay, Wreck? You seem a bit off tonight.”

Wrecker hesitates, then sighs, the weight of the words on the datapad still lingering in his mind. “Just... things people are saying. About me. On those chat boards.”

Hunter’s expression tightens as he glances at Wrecker. “You shouldn’t let those get to you. People don’t know what it’s like for us.”

Wrecker nods, but the doubt remains evident in his eyes. “I know, but sometimes I wonder if they’re right. If I’m really holding the squad back.”

Hunter turns fully towards Wrecker, his gaze unwavering. “Wrecker, you’re an essential part of this squad. Don’t let some unfounded comments make you question that. We’re not just soldiers; we’re brothers. And brothers stick together. You’re not holding us back; you’re lifting us up with your strength, both in training and out of it.” His tone leaves no room for doubt.

Wrecker looks at Hunter, a mix of gratitude and uncertainty in his eyes. “You really think so?”

Hunter reaches out, placing a hand on Wrecker’s shoulder. “I know so. Who else could toss droids across the room like you do? Who else could diffuse a bomb so quickly without breaking into a sweat? We need your strength and steady hands, Wrecker, and more importantly, we need you. We wouldn’t be the Bad Batch without you.”

Wrecker’s tense shoulders gradually relax under Hunter’s reassuring touch. The doubt in his eyes begins to fade. He takes a deep breath, absorbing Hunter’s words.

“Thanks, Hunter. I appreciate it.” Wrecker says, a genuine smile breaking through his earlier turmoil.

Hunter nods, squeezing Wrecker’s shoulder before letting go. “Anytime, vod. Remember, the opinions of others don’t define you. We know your worth, and that’s what matters.”

Hunter’s words gradually sink in, pushing back against the doubts that had taken root in Wrecker’s mind. As they head back to the barracks together, Wrecker can’t help but feel grateful for the unwavering support.

The following day, as Wrecker takes his turn in the fresher, Hunter slips across to Tech’s bunk, gesturing with a hand for Crosshair to join them. The three boys gather, and Hunter shares what happened last night. Before he’s finished the story, Tech reaches for his datapad and other equipment strewn around his bunk area, fingers flying over the screen as he starts to pinpoint who started the thread and the names of every cadet who’d commented.

Crosshair’s expression darkens as he listens, his hawkish eyes narrowing on the information on Tech’s datapad. “We’re going to have a little chat with this individual.” He hisses, anger curling through his body that Regs were daring to pick on his brother. None of them deserved to be tormented, especially not Wrecker – he was the softest.

Tech nods in agreement, his fingers working efficiently on the datapad. “I’ve already gathered enough evidence to expose them.”

The day progresses as usual for the squad, with their training and drills occupying most of their time. Though still carrying the weight of the hurtful comments, Wrecker finds solace in his brothers’ unwavering support. Hunter keeps a watchful eye on him, and Tech and Crosshair discreetly work on their plan to confront the Reg who had started the thread.

As night approaches, the boys gather in their barracks after dinner. The atmosphere is tense, a mix of anticipation and determination. Wrecker can sense something is brewing, but his brothers maintain their usual poker faces. He decides not to pry, trusting in their brotherly bond.

They settle in for bed, comfortable in their bunks. Hunter, Tech, and Crosshair wait until they hear the familiar sounds of Wrecker’s light snores before they move, pushing back the flimsy sheets to put their plan into action.

The trio slip out of their bunks with practised stealth, moving like shadows through the dimly lit room. As they exit the room, the hallways of Tipoca City are eerily silent at this hour. Tech guides them towards the quarters of the cadet responsible for starting the thread.

They arrive at the designated quarters, one of many identical doors in the sterile corridor. Hunter knocks firmly, and a moment later, the door slides open to reveal a surprised cadet dressed for sleep.

“Hell do you want?” the cadet asks, eyeing the trio suspiciously.

Without a word, Crosshair steps forward, scowl firmly in place, making the cadet uncomfortable. Tech, meanwhile, holds up his datapad, displaying the evidence of the derogatory comments. Hunter’s gaze is stern.

“Axel, right? We need to talk.” Hunter says calmly, but there’s an undeniable edge to his voice.

Axel stammers, realizing the gravity of the situation. The brothers are not here for idle chit-chat. The door to the next room opens slightly, curious faces peeking out to see the commotion.

“Your comments about Wrecker end now.” Crosshair declares, his tone cold and uncompromising. “And we’re making sure everyone knows the consequences of targeting one of our own.”

Tech steps forward, his datapad at the ready. “We have evidence of every comment you made and the names of those who joined in. You can either stop this now and publicly apologize, or we can take this to General Ti and let her handle it.”

Axel, now visibly nervous, stumbles over his words. “I... I didn’t think it would get this serious. It was just banter, y’know?”

Hunter narrows his eyes. “Banter or not, it stops. Now.”

Axel nods quickly, realizing he’s caught in a situation he hadn’t anticipated. “Okay, okay. I’ll delete the comments, and I’ll apologize. Just... don’t involve General Ti, please.”

Crosshair leans in, his eyes piercing. “You mess with one of us; you mess with all of us. Remember that.”

The trio leaves Axel’s quarters, their message delivered. As they walk back to their own barracks, Tech speaks up. “I’ve ensured that the evidence is backed up in multiple locations. If they try anything again, we have leverage.”

Hunter nods in approval. “Good. Hopefully, this won’t happen again. We’re a team, and we protect our own.”

The three brothers slip back into their bunks in their barracks with the same practised stealth. Wrecker stirs slightly, arms tightening around Lula, but he remains blissfully unaware of the nocturnal mission his brothers had just undertaken on his behalf.

In the morning, as Wrecker and his brothers assemble for training drills again with the Regs, there’s a noticeable shift in the air. Although he’s still feeling a lingering sting from the chat boards, Wrecker picks up on the change. Only when they pause for a break, and he’s approached, does he start to piece together bits of the puzzle.

Axel approaches Wrecker with a hesitant expression. His eyes avoid direct contact, and there’s a nervous shuffle in his stance. The other cadets nearby glance between them, sensing that something is about to unfold.

“Wrecker.” Axel begins, his voice a mixture of discomfort and reluctance. “I... I wanted to apologize. I started the chat board thread, and what I said was out of line. I didn’t realize how much it would affect you. It was just stupid banter, and I didn’t think about the consequences.”

Wrecker looks at Axel with a mixture of surprise and scepticism. He wasn’t expecting an apology, and part of him wondered if this was just another act. Hunter, Tech, and Crosshair watch from a distance, ready to step in if needed.

Axel continues. “I deleted the comments, and I’m sorry for any hurt I caused. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Wrecker studies him for a moment, then nods. “Apology accepted.” He says, surprising not just Axel but also himself. Despite the hurtful words, Wrecker knows that people can make mistakes, and perhaps this is an opportunity for growth.

Axel visibly relaxes, a mix of relief and gratitude on his face. The tension in the air began dissipating, and the other cadets exchanged glances, unsure what to make of this unexpected turn of events. Wrecker, however, feels a strange sense of closure, as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

“Thanks.” Axel mumbles, still avoiding direct eye contact.

Wrecker grins, clapping a hand on Axel’s shoulder, being careful not to jostle him. “No hard feelings. Just remember, we’re all in this together.”

Axel nods, and with that, he retreats to his group, who shoot curious glances in Wrecker’s direction. The training drills resume, but the atmosphere has shifted. Wrecker notices a few glances exchanged among the cadets and the odd appreciative smile as he uses his strength to help them, but this time, he holds his head high.

Later that day, as he and his brothers gathered in their barracks, Wrecker couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude towards them. They hadn’t said anything, but he knew they’d played a part in Axel’s apology. Hunter, Tech, and Crosshair may not have erased the pain caused by the hurtful comments, but they’ve shown him that he’s not alone. They’ve stood by him, defended him.

As the evening progresses, the solidarity among the brothers remains strong. They fall into their usual cuddle pile, sharing laughter and snacks salvaged from the mess hall, reinforcing their unbreakable bond.

Wrecker reflects on the events of the past few days in the quiet moments before sleep claims them. The weight of doubt and hurt that had burdened his shoulders has been replaced by a newfound resilience. His brothers, the pillars of strength in his life, have reassured him of his worth and taken action to protect him.

As Wrecker drifts into slumber, he clings to the knowledge that, no matter what challenges they might face, he’s part of a united family. In the moonlit barracks, the Bad Batch rests, stronger than ever, ready to face whatever the galaxy throws their way.

Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal

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sinfulsalutations · 8 months

Text

𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙 𝕒 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖𝕗𝕝𝕪, 𝕝𝕖𝕥 𝕚𝕥 𝕘𝕠 ⋆*･ﾟ 𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕖𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣

ᴘᴛ ɪ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴇ. ᴘᴛ ɪɪ ꜱᴛᴀᴠᴇ. ᴘᴛ ɪɪɪ ꜱᴛᴜᴅʏ. ᴘᴛ ɪᴠ ꜱɪɴ. ᴘᴛ ᴠ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ. ᴘᴛ ᴠɪ ꜱᴇɴᴅᴏꜰꜰ.

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ ꜱᴇʀɢᴇᴀɴᴛ ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ☆ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴇɴᴛᴀɴɢʟᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴀ ꜰʟᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ꜰʟɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴄᴀᴍᴘ ᴄᴏᴜɴꜱᴇʟᴏʀ.

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ᴄᴀᴍᴘ ᴀᴜ, ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀ ᴡᴀʀꜱ ʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴇɴꜱᴇ, ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, (ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ) ᴘɪɴɪɴɢ, ᴀᴡᴋᴡᴀʀᴅɴᴇꜱꜱ, ɪ ꜱʜɪᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ ʜᴏꜱᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ᴅᴏɢ (ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴀɢꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ/ʙᴇ ᴀᴅᴊᴜꜱᴛᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ)

➼ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ☆ 3ᴋ

➼ ᴘᴏᴠ ☆ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ

⋆ ★ ᴍʏ ʙʀᴀɪɴʀᴏᴛ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴀᴜ ɪꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜʏ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ.

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

You try to avoid Hunter at all costs.

The task pertains to be quite difficult, seeing as how frequently your cabins get paired up. And how he (unknowingly) makes you fawn over him even more whenever you spend time with him.

But he stays the same. Relatively. That makes things just a twinge easier.

He still has that gorgeous way he holds himself and the sweet way he is with the campers, giving the kids piggyback rides and exchanging friendship bracelets until his wrists are ill-defined under all the string, but that same sense of his eyes on you is all too common now. He knows something’s up; you’re acting strange—more strange than usual, at least. (You're always a bit of a mess around him).

The point stands, though; you can’t help but feel like you’ve violated his privacy, even if it was an accident. Especially since you can’t get the view of his bare chest and hips out of your mind, how the droplets perfectly cascaded down his skin, and how his strong arms reached up to pull his hair back, taking a deep breath of salvation when he broke through the water. Before you go to bed, in your depraved thoughts that help lull you to sleep, you feel him, how his muscles contrast with the softness of his expression, how his lips might feel against yours, then trailing over your skin lower and lower, to where your heat pools in a sopping center, all belonging to and due to his doing. Oh, to be pressed up against him; to not feel salaciously dirty imagining such fantasies with a fellow camp counselor.

You keep it on the down-low. Spend your time having fun with your campers and gossiping with Mona, finding new locations to sing about in ‘Once there was a Jedi’ before the boys complain the song is getting old. Help Omega finish a lanyard to add to her growing keychain collection adorning her backpack.

Hunter asks you about your behavior eventually, in passing and almost half-heartedly, when your groups cross paths on the way to and from the archery range.

His eyes linger when he walks past. You tense up and anticipate the worst.

“Hey,” is all he says at first. You blink hard, deciding to focus your stare right on his shark-tooth necklace. “Are you okay?”

You nod, unable to form coherent words. He doesn’t respond for a moment, studying your face to see if there’s anything else hidden underneath the surface.

“Are you sure?” He asks, more serious this time. “You just seem a little quiet recently. Avoiding something.”

Hunter barely finishes his sentence before you’re shaking your head aggressively.

“I’m sure!” You sound a little too enthusiastic about your statement, and Hunter frowns. Your eyes widen a little but don’t allow yourself to show your panic any more than that.

“Alright,” he finally says with a shrug, turning to walk away. “See you around, then.”

You let out a sigh of relief, though feel a little bad when he turns away and walks off without a single glimpse back at you. Despite this little detour of awkwardness, you wouldn’t like to be unfriendly. Or not hang out with him at all.

But your campers don’t give you time to think about that when they’re already racing ahead of you, yelling that they can’t be late to the range or else Crosshair will chew them out.

You huff and suppress a loud yawn, wiping the hair that’s stuck to your face from all the sweat. The day turned into a restless chase as the girls saw a deer while practicing their archery skills, quickly abandoning their bows and arrows to instead go find the animal they affectionately named Philomena.

They never found Philomena, but instead found what happens when you’re exhausted and stressed.

“You’re all going to stick by my side, understand?” You emphasize, blocking the door so no one can leave before they listen to what you have to say. “No scurrying off because you see a critter.”

The girls don’t look too happy about it, but you’re not about to chase after them again.

You let them out, watching as they trudge in front of you while you wave Mona and Hunter over, both groups already looking like they’re waiting for you. With a tender apology, followed by a ‘not necessary’ comment from Hunter, you all begin to make your way to the trail.

Steady steps and melodic marches keep you sane in the silence save for chirping birds and crunching leaves, the girls oddly silent as you make your way through the bramble. The boys wait for them to speak, and when they don't, they begin to get testy.

"I'm bored!" Ryan whines, head lolling to the sky.

"Hm, are you now?" Jackie, one of Mona's campers, deadpans.

"Shut up!"

"Ryan. What did we talk about?"

Hunter's stern ream puts Ryan back in his place, and he half-heartedly mutters,

"...Sorry."

It’s not long before the boys' boredom starts to claw at their skin and they begin a game.

“The topic is… fruit!” Nate declares.

“Apple!”

“Banana!”

“Uh… Cantaloupe?”

“I thought that started with a K!”

Omega and Betty erupt into giggles, and you and Mona exchange looks.

The older girls aren’t as nearly interested in playing any silly games and find more enjoyment in talking about their plans when they go home and see their boyfriends; Mona has to reprimand them when their recollections get too suggestive for the ears of the younger kids.

Meanwhile, you remain healthily spaced out, your gaze often drifting between the cartoon clouds softly floating in the sky and the back of Hunter’s hair where his bandana is tied, too tired to focus on anything else. You’d be completely fine and enthusiastic even if the campers just decided to go up to the spot they’d been planning to go to, watch the sunset, and go back without any deviations in between. That is not how it goes, however.

Your attention is piqued fully when a strewn tree branch renders the walking path clear.

“Hunter!” Cam whines, pointing at the brown twigs and leaves that’d been knocked to the ground beside the larger branch. “I can’t step over it!”

Hunter turns his head a little, which just manages to get you a glimpse of how he bites his lip and lets out a deep exhale before going to help.

He rolls up his sleeves and lifts the branch of the path easily, tossing it to the side brush.

Your eyes almost instantly (and embarrassingly) lock onto Hunter’s forearms slipping out of his rolled-up flannel, the light hair neatly brushed, the tanned and rough skin so perfectly contrasting to the pink and yellow friendship bracelets on his wrists. Fuck, you can’t look away.

Which makes you acutely unobservant of your surroundings.

You step right on a rock and your foot slips.

In your surprise, you almost yell out a rather inappropriate curse word, but you yelp weakly instead as your entire body slides down under the unbalance of your feet and you fall off the path. The dry, rough texture of the ground suddenly turns wet and rather smooth as you fall further, with the entire side of your face getting smushed. You quickly lift your head and sputter out the disgusting taste suddenly covering your tongue.

“Maker!” Is all your grit, jaw slack as you just process what happened to you. Over your shoulder, the sound of small snickers graces your ears, and you want to scowl in whatever direction they’re coming from. No doubt, it’s from Mona’s campers. Teenage girls are mean.

Wet steps come from your side, and you feel a hand on the arm not covered in mud.

“Are you okay?”

The question is pity-doting, worried, and from that voice again. You’re unsure if you should be more embarrassed that you’re drenched in mud or that you’re drenched in mud because of your shameless ogling.

“Yeah, I’m fine." Your words are barely pushing out of your chest as you try to get up. Hunter still has a steady grip on your arm to help you up. “Damn it!” You curse under your breath. Your hand covered in mud brushes your sodden hair out of your face, and you watch his pronounced frown as he looks down at you. “I should uh, probably head back.”

“Want me to come with you?”

It’s the initial reaction of surprise that almost makes you fall back down again.

“I think I could make it back on my own,” you insist, shaking your head as you try to leave his grasp. Hunter moves, remaining in front of you so you can’t leave.

“Are you sure? Because, well, I don’t want you falling again. Your vision’s a little impaired.”

Without any regard for how soiled and gross you are right now, his thumbs reach and softly wipe away the dirt covering your face. Your eyes flutter but remain half-lidded, with the blaring sun right in your line of vision. Hunter’s eyes are on you again.

You feel your heart jump a few notes ahead as his gentle touch sends a shiver down your spine. Taking deep, long breaths to steady your breathing, he continues to wipe away the dirt and mud from your face, and you become suddenly unsure if the heat in your face is from the glare of the sun or your blush.

“Thanks, Hunter,” you finally manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods.

“It’s not a problem. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

That moment, entirely your own, gets tragically interrupted by Mona.

“You two head on back,” she says before gesturing to the campers. “I can handle them myself.”

Hunter whips his head around and yells back, “Are you sure?”

She lets out a dismissive ‘pssh’ sound, waving a hand in the air.

“Absolutely! Just make sure she doesn’t lose her way.”

You chuckle, flashing a daring look in Mona’s direction, before all of your thoughts cease with the feeling of Hunter’s fingers slowly interlocking around your wrist.

“Come on, Maple,” he says, tugging you gently. “Let’s get you back to camp.”

The walk stays relatively silent, save for Hunter’s occasional grunts and your yelps when something eludes your line of sight.

His hand remains locked around your wrist, keeping you no more than a few inches apart as you walk, but you still consciously try and keep a relative distance; this is a burden on him, isn’t it? Hunter’s walking you back to camp while you're covered in mud when he could’ve been watching the sunset and enjoying his night with his campers. You don’t want to make it worse by getting him all dirty too.

Yet you get that same oh-so-familiar feeling again; why does it feel like his eyes are perpetually fixed on you?

When you arrive on your porch, you hesitate before entering. Hunter looks at you, tilting his head while you rock back and forth on your heels.

“Something wrong?” He asks you.

You whine squeamishly, shifting your weight from one foot to another.

“...Don’t wanna track mud inside.”

Hunter's jaw slacks, nodding slowly as he considers an alternate option to wash you off. His scanning, drifting eyes, drinking in your appearance at long intervals, are nothing to read into, you try to assure yourself. How dare your brain indulge in this silly crush when he's simply just a kind person?

“I can just go through the backdoor; it’s fine." You begin to pull away instead, but he tightens his hold and pulls you back. You almost fall into his chest, which would frankly make you feel even worse.

He proposes a new idea.

“How `bout we grab you a hose?”

You blink, then snicker. A smile threatens to crack your expression, and small giggles bubble out of your throat as you try to suppress them. Something in his face is deadly serious. You notice it starkly after a moment, even without the clue his eyes might’ve given you.

“What?” You say, breathy and stunned.

“I’m serious!” His expression softens as he laughs. Your chest doesn't have to be so tight, but it remains stiff under your skin. “It’ll be an easier way to get all the mud off. Then we can wring you off, and you can take a proper shower in your cabin.”

You giggle again, still processing his audacious offer.

“Alright, that could work." You finally settle, still snorting softly to yourself as he lets go of your wrist and leaves you on the porch.

“Don’t move, alright?” He rests a hand in the air, eyebrows raised in an affirming manner. You grin coyly and nod. “I’ll be right back.”

You shrug.

“There’s no place for me to go, really.”

That manages to get a genuine laugh out of Hunter before he scurries off.

When he returns, he gestures to the side of your cabin with two towels in his arms that he sets on the porch while he uncoils the hose from the side. You drop your backpack, shaking off glops of mud that have been collecting on your clothes. You flash Hunter a meek smile when he points the hose at you, still trying to fathom how damn comedic yet productive this is.

“Ready?” He asks with a smile.

You nod, laughing again.

“Fire away, Hunter.”

He turns on the hose.

The first rush of water hits you like a bucket of ice. Your eyes close and your jaw slacks, limbs tensing up. You gasp and shiver, shielding your body with your arms. Hunter laughs.

You gasp at his temerity, tilting your chin up to gawk in what you believe to be his direction.

"Hunter!" You call out his name; the circumstances melt away that strange fear you held to even say it.

"What's up, Maple?" He answers nonchalantly. You mean to gasp in offense again, you really do, but you can't stop your giggling.

“It’s freezing!” You squeal, eyes shut, as you shiver again.

“Colder than the lake water?” He asks, and if your eyes were open you would’ve let them roll to the back of your head.

“Yes! Really damn cold! Kriff !” You allow yourself to swear, not caring about watching your language when no one else is around. He laughs again, but it’s sweet and feels warm in your body in contrast to how cold the water is.

You tilt your head back as Hunter moves the hose over your face, then your hair, getting the last bits off before he turns it off. His eyes are on you; you can feel it, as suddenly there’s one last spray poured onto you that makes you squeak.

Both of you erupt into giggles once he finally decides to stop tormenting you; your eyes are still closed when you feel a towel wrapped around you.

“You alright?” There are calloused fingers by your face, brushing your hair aside and tucking it gently behind your ear. You’re smiling like a damn fool; you know that. But you let yourself, let your eyes flutter open softly, and look into his eyes for the first time.

They’re brown, just like his sister’s.

“Yeah, I’m fine." You respond softly, gripping the towel close to your body. Your clothes have begun to stick to your body, fitting your form and revealing way more than what's appropriate. You shiver again, adjusting to the temperature, and Hunter runs his hands up and down over your shoulders.

Your eyes flutter once or twice, feeling the way his hands run up and down you, soothing your nerves as you steady your breath.

“Good,” He smiles, and you grin back. You bet there’s a sparkle in your eyes, based on the way your stomach leaps and your heart beats in your ribcage. If you look closely enough, you might think you see his eyes flicker like fireflies as well.

The world dissolves; singing birds, rippling water, and the sound of distant campers by the activities cabin are no longer background noises as you look into his eyes. How did you manage to stave off capturing his stare for so long? They’re beautiful. Kind and soft and endearing, like the perfect reflection of afternoon sunlight on sudor. You don’t even dare to blink, lest you waste a single moment getting wrapped in his gaze.

Hunter is the one to break eye contact, breathing deeply and looking down. He licks his lips, keeping his gaze down for a moment before tilting it up again. Your jaw slacks.

“Uh, you should probably take an actual shower now,” he says, stagnating and labored. You take a step back, shoulders slumping.

“Yeah, I should,” you tell him. That smile of his comes back again, and that moment of uneasiness leaves you. He's not unhappy, far from it; looking into his eyes lets you know that.

"Maybe when you're done..." He trails off. Your head follows his movements when he circles you, turning toward the direction of the mess hall. "We can hang out together."

You tilt your head.

"Yeah?"

Hunter shrugs half-heartedly, his smile a little weak with a new sense of insecurity in his actions.

"I mean, we didn't get to see the sunset," he brings up. Your jaw slacks, and your lips part.

"We didn't," is all you say.

He nods, clicking his tongue.

"We can find our own thing to do." Hunter says it like a statement, something that is sure to happen. He doesn't ask for your input, seeing in your eyes the wistful hope you carry while he stands there. You want to spend time with him. He wants to spend time with you.

"Yeah. Yeah."

Clearly, you've learned from before that you should probably use more words around Hunter before he thinks you're an imp. That doesn't seem to cross his mind as he grins.

"Let's circle back to it when you're out of the shower."

You nod a little too aggressively and speak a little too meekish.

"OK."

Hunter's grin widens to a smile.

"See you soon, Maple."

With his wave, you turn your back and skitter into your cabin; it's only as you're stripping off your damp clothes still insistently clinging to your body do you realize Hunter had been able to see your bra through your white shirt the entire time.

tags: @starstofillmydream @pb-jellybeans @corrieguards @badbatchbabe @ladytano420 @jediknightjana @sleepycreativewriter @shinyshayminflower @thebahdbitch @secondaryrealm @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @kimiheartblade @followthepurrgil @wolffegirlsunite @starrylothcat @blueink-bluesoul @aconstructofamind @padawancat97 @littlemissmanga @starqueensthings @anxiouspineapple99 @freesia-writes @wings-and-beskar @clio3kantarella @secretthegriffin @idontgetanysleep @523rdrebel @dystopicjumpsuit @mandos-mind-trick @sunshinesdaydream @clonemedickix @andrakass2 @jesjestraverse @ladyzirkonia @multi-fan-dom-madness @moonlightwarriorqueen

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kybercrystals94 · 7 months

Text

I Won’t Hate You

By KyberCrystals94

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2023|Day 8|Prompt 8: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.”

Rating: G

Words: 667

Summary: Crosshair finds out his siblings did not heed his warning.

Crosshair wakes in a cell. Not in a lab. Not strapped to a medical cot. The relief he feels is stunted and aching. He wishes they would just kill him, but he can’t quite stamp down the primal need to survive. So, he releases a shaky breath and tries to sit up.

“Here,” a child’s voice says, and small hands latch around his arm, futilely attempting to help him upright.

Crosshair reacts violently, scrambling from the sudden presence, tearing his arm away from their grip. His spine presses into the wall, and he stares into the startled expression of the clone girl.

“What are you doing here?” he rasps, trying to recover what little dignity he can gather. It isn’t much, and he can see by the pity in her empathetic eyes that she realizes she terrified him.

“Sorry,” Omega says, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Crosshair almost denies it, but there’s no point. Not while his body is trembling with adrenaline, not while his lungs are ejecting shallow, shaky gasps.

Omega picks up a canteen, holding it out to him. “Here,” she says gently.

Crosshair takes it but does not drink. He grips the container in his hands, focusing on the cool metal against his clammy palms. He can’t look Omega in the eye. “You didn’t answer my question,” he growls.

“Hmm?” Omega tips her head.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. What. Are. You. Doing. Here.”

Omega glares at him. “I was captured.”

“Did they not get my message?” Crosshair asks, venom still dripping from his tone.

“We did,” Omega replies, pointedly changing the pronoun to include herself. “But we decided to try and save you.”

Crosshair ignores the sharp, unnamed emotion that twists in his gut. “And how did that work out?”

“How do you think?” Omega bites back.

Crosshair sneers, “They must’ve lost their touch…to let you get captured so easily.”

Omega does not rise to the bait, regarding him shrewdly. “I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t work. I won’t hate you, Crosshair.”

Crosshair is stunned for a moment, staring down at the blond girl who stares back steadily with familiar, copper brown eyes. Eyes he has seen a million times, but only a few times that mattered. Hers matches those of the few, able to meet his hard gaze without flickering away. Hers are curious like Tech’s, kind like Wrecker’s, wise like Echo’s, and soft like Hunter’s. Perhaps sharp, like his. And then there’s something of her own, a gentle hope that hasn’t been stained by the cruelty of the galaxy.

Crosshair sees all of this, but turns away, moving to focus on the cold floor of the cell. “You should,” he says, but the venom has leaked out.

“Why?” Omega asks.

“You know why,” Crosshair mutters, gripping the canteen. He wants to throw it, just to expel some of the tension building in his aching muscles. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to scare her. Doesn’t want her to think he’s mad at her.

Out the corner of his eye, he sees Omega moving to climb up on the cot next to him, sitting against the same cold wall, her shoulder brushing his arm. Crosshair stiffens but doesn’t move away. “I know,” Omega says, her voice soft with the lilting of her accent, “that it wasn’t your fault. I know you are still our brother. I know that you tried to warn us. I know you tried.” Omega slowly lets her head rest against his shoulder, giving him a moment to react. He doesn’t, so she leans her weight against him. “I know our brothers love you and miss you.”

The nameless emotion snakes around his heart. “Are they coming for us?” Crosshair whispers.

“Of course, they are,” Omega says with guileless confidence.

“And then what?”

Omega is quiet for a moment, and Crosshair wonders if she’ll answer him. Then her voice comes, hushed words. “We’ll go home,” she says.

END

Tag List: @isthereanechoinhere96 @followthepurrgil

✨Let me know if you’d like to be added to the Tag List✨

#whumptober 2023 #day 8 #prompt 8 #“I’ve got soul but I’m not a soldier.”#star wars #the bad batch #the clone wars #star wars tbb #sw tbb #sw tbb fanfic #sw tbb s2 #star wars the bad batch #tbb crosshair #tbb omega #post season 2 #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #fics by kyber

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gonkys-database · 1 year

Text

You Talk Too Much

Authors note: Sneaky hand jobs in the Marauder cockpit

Summary: Tech talks too much. You can fix that (set before Season 1)

Relationship: Tech/GN!Reader (no pronouns)

Warnings: hand jobs, soft dom reader, soft sub Tech, getting naughty in the cockpit, Tech is a nerd for ships

Words: 1832

He was cute, in a way you never quite thought ship schematics could be. For all his battles, for all his knowledge as a clone, yet still managing to find the little pieces of awe and wonder in the neighbouring ships on docking platforms.

Hunter's orders were clear;

Stay behind and watch the Marauder with Tech. The rest would head into the HUBworld for supplies and procurement. Call if anything happens.

"That is a Consular-class cruiser! With a modified engine! Certainly not legal from the thruster count or-Oh! That is a refurbished Rho-class shuttle." Tech tittered from the command chair beside you, fingers a flurry of movement over the console to bring up the schematics on file to compare their neighbours ships against, zooming in and out as he went.

"Has anyone ever told you, that you talk to much?" You ask, hardly meaning it in a cruel way from how you relax in your seat, chin propped on a fist as you watch him zip between holograms like a child on Christmas with a new toy.

"Frequently, actually" Is all you get back, Tech leaning forwards as a ship banked overhead to a nearby platform, name rather incomprehensible at how quickly it is muffled by the soft hum of the next hologram activating and the clone right into his next little chatter of pros and cons to its current upgrades.

Hunter said they'd be back within the hour ... You'd have plenty of time.

"And, how often have they done something about it?" You ask next, a boot coming over to the arm rest to hook the tow behind, gently spinning the engineer around to face you, lacing your fingers together over your knee to regard him.

"... I am not sure I follow?" Oh, bless him. Brains of the mission, clueless outside it.

"I am flirting, Tech" You can't help but chuckle as you see the little lightbulb blink on above his head, and hands slowly pull his lenses down over his face.

"Oh. Oh, I see ... Apologies" Well, the glasses might hide his blazing cheeks, but his ears are certainly that 'Bad Batch' signature red. Cute.

"... I can go keep watch outside. Don't worry about it" You offer at the way the cockpit fizzles into silence, Tech in some state of probable rebooting. You'd volunteer to help out wherever Tech wasn't if it causes any tension later. Blame confined spaces and good company.

Pushing up from your chair with a grunt, a roll of shoulders at how close quarters this ship can be but its ... quaint, you decide as you turn to step down from the cockpit only to turn at a sharp little 'Wait!' behind you. A noise that you ever so slowly turn around to regard Tech about, a brow raised expectantly for the rest. He's spun completely around to face you, even if he can't seem to hold eye contact for a moment before his hands become the most interesting thing in the ship and bothered by imaginary lint or a fascinating scuff he hadn't noticed before.

"Uh, no. That, that won't be necessary" Tech murmurs, gaze constantly flicking up to and away from you behind his little lenses as he fidgets, slowly flicking through holograms as he finds his words. "I'm, uh ... I like that you listen to me?"

"Do the others not?"

"Not always. Echo, occasionally, but mostly, no?"

"That is a shame. You have a nice voice" You hum, stepping back up into the cockpit and moving to take a seat once again. Tech was in the biggest one, and he certainly didn't take up much of it. It was far too easy to rest a knee between those twiggy thighs and brace an arm above his head on the backrest. "I wouldn't mind hearing a little more of it. What about that one? With the gold?"

"We ... Aren't facing the window"

"Good. I'd hate to share my view. Besides, you've seen every ship that has landed here since we arrived. I don't think you need to see it to know which one I mean." You purr, hand curling under his chin to tip it up to you, not about to let him hide that sweet little face.

"I-It's a H-2. Executive shuttle. Mostly for officials or diplomats" Tech whines, finger still curled under that gorgeous chin and thumb sweeping over that plush little lip before pulling him up for a sharp kiss. They weren't machines, even genetically modified and created humans were still humans. And even lab grown humans had reactions and needs.

And this one was certainly needy.

"As I said, nice voice" You smirk, letting go of his chin to lean backwards, admiring how little it has taken to undo him. His grip on the arm rests likely will leave dents for the next occupant, he's flushed crimson down that markable throat into the collar of his blacks, and panting softly at getting enough space back to breathe again.

"First time on the ship. ... Or?" Oh, you could have quite a bit of fun based on the answer.

"N-No, there is a bar. Coruscant. Back rooms... Supply closet" Comes the breathless answer, lean legs shifting under you as the engineer gets a little more comfortable, hands lifting to tug at his blacks collar to let a little more cooler air down there. Was ... Was it this hot in the cockpit, or just him? The thermal regulator says it was comfortable, but it felt like Mustafar up here!

"Good to know. And the blue and white ship?" You ask, noticing how he seems to fuss with the neckline of his blacks and decide it would be ever so cruel not to help him out a bit.

Fingers curling under the hem of his blacks at the waist, carefully helping raise the fabric up and over his head, mindful of the lenses before pushing the fabric backwards over the backrest of the chair, arms stuck in the tight fabric to the upper arm, tugging faintly at his sudden restraints. Someone's headband would have been rather convenient, but one could always make do with their surroundings. Besides, he wouldn't damage the arm rests or his blacks worrying at them like this. It was quite cute to watch muscles tense and flex either side of his head as he tested how much flex and give he had. Not a lot.

Not that he'd have much thought process to set aside for testing his binds, tipping that chin up again for a graze of teeth along that flushed throat, trailing knuckles down a toned little abdomen to another hem, and resting over fabric to give a soft squeeze and tracing little patterns into the mesh. Oh, that hitch and groan above your ear was delightful, lenses pressing to your shoulder as his head tips forwards, and each little pant as you brush over somewhere sensitive is divine.

"It's a ... its ... ah" He's trembling, from the way the chair creaks at him pushing backwards to arch up, arms flexing in their confines unsure if he wants to hang on for dear life or push you backwards, but if he wasn't pink before he was now. He'd make the Emperial flag envious with his current shade.

"Its a ... what??" You croon, brushing the back of your fingers over the mesh beneath you, dancing nails up and down those quaking thighs and listening to the hitched inhales into your shoulder with each margin of fabric explored. The breathless moan into your neck at your hand slipping under the hem and fingers curling around him was probably the most vocal he's been tonight since you took a seat.

He's sensitive.

Understandably so, with a life under armour. Any and all registry to the brain would be armour plates shifting, the blacks doing most of the work as dampeners to the skin so, one could hardly blame him for the hitched keen as you start to move certainly checks out. Thumb tracing little circles over the head with each idle stroke, settling back on your knees to watch Tech.

He's beautiful; Head lolled to the side, flushed skin spreading along his chest and stomach, arms flexing where his hands likely fisted and strained at the sensory feedback, unable to help every moan and pant to escape his lips as you slide your hand along him, squeezing as you move downward if only to watch his expression as hips buck up towards you.

"... What was that?"

"Please" He whines, head tipping backward to thunk against the headrest as you squeeze again, legs shifting under you as booted heels dig into the flooring to push more of himself up to meet you.

"Good boy" You murmur, pleased even in his current state that Tech still has his manners. Even if it would have been cute to teach him some, how could you deny such a pleasant request?

You catch him by the lips again, cornering every hiccup and moan against your lips as you find a pace that has him shaking and arching up against you, heels squeaking against the cockpit floor on ever press and downward stroke until he's silent.

Lips parted in little rabbit breaths, hips bucking as he curls forward into your shoulder, seat creaking as arms strain to come forwards, and the little sound as warmth floods your hand is addicting.

Twitching in your hand as he breaks, hot breaths ghost your neck as he sucks in desperate little breaths, and you love the way his body seems to convulse as you gently slide your thumb back and forth over the slick head.

Just in time, that is the crew entering the spaceport again, over the headrest of the chair. You've got a few minutes before they'd reach the boarding ramp.

A soft little brush of lips to his throat, making a nice little mark against his collar bone as you help unhook his blacks from over the headrest, and you're freeing his arms from it as you rock back onto your feet, running the fabric through your fingers to toss over by their apparent 'laundry' section of the mess they called belongings as he slumps against you, starting to get lights on behind his eyes as he apparently takes a moment to reboot himself into a post orgasmic version of Tech... Its sweet.

You've never seen that goofy little smile before. You could almost assume him drunk were it not for their location and the last hour in landing.

"Can you stand? .............. A grunt is not an answer, Ships. Can you stand?"

"I do believe so?" Comes the soft little wheeze the second time around, curling an arm under his arm to haul him up onto wobbly little legs with a comforting pat to clad little cheeks, guiding him down that step into the main galley and leaning in the doorway.

"Hunter's stepped onto the platform, so we have about .. eh, two minutes for you to put some new blacks on. Can't let the crew know you're actually fun" You grin.

"I'm always fun" Comes the little retort from somewhere near the bunks, storage lids clacking open and closed from around the corner in mission objective of right sized blacks. Perks of everyone aside Wrecker being somewhat like-sized? You could raid ‘wardrobes’.

"Course you are, Ships"

#the bad batch smut #reader x tech #tech x reader #sw tbb fanfic #the bad batch fanfiction #tbb tech #soft tech

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letsquestjess · 3 months

Text

Rinse and Repeat (Hunter x GN!Reader)

Summary: When Hunter gets injured and needs a little assistance, you help him dry his hair and make him his favourite soup to cheer him up.

Word count: 1.2K

Warnings: Going to put an 18+ and MDNI for the slightly suggestive themes.

-- -- -- -- --

The patter of cascading water came to a stop and the natural hum of the apartment took over again. Movement bustled behind the refresher door in the moments before Hunter emerged, bringing with him a rolling cloud of steam and the citrus scent of your body wash. With a towel snugly tied around his waist, he traipsed onto warm carpet, droplets catching in the hair on his chest and trickling down his abdomen.

He grunted to himself as he swept his curls over his shoulder and forcefully attempted to dry the straggled mess. The more he moved and adjusted his only working arm, the wider the gap between the dripping strands grew, making it impossible for him to grasp the main bulk with just one hand.

“Come here,” you coaxed, guiding him to the edge of the bed and settling his frustration with a kiss to his damp brow. Gently, you took the towel from him and squeezed the excess water from his hair, draping it over the radiator once it was beyond use and retrieving the hairdryer from the bottom drawer of the dresser.

“Shuffle back a little,” you said as you perched yourself behind him. Adjusting the controls, the machine whirred out a warm stream of air and you encouraged it through Hunter’s curls. With each delicate touch, your fingers glided through the dark waves, creating a calming, rhythmic motion that offered him a serene moment of ease.

It was evident from his restless movements that he longed to be free from the medical cage enclosing his left wrist. Weeks of silent management had taken its toll on him, and it was starting to show. Occasionally, you heard a mild grunt as he strove to balance items in one arm or took a few extra minutes to organise them. The surgeon had promised that the cast would come off soon, but with every day his limb remained encased, Hunter’s frustration mounted.

With a final few waves of air, you shut off the hairdryer and set it aside to cool. You combed through his hair with a deft precision, and once free of tangles and knots, tied it up and wriggled his bandana back in place. “There. All clean, dry, and out of the way of that handsome face of yours.”

As you made to stand, Hunter’s hand met your waist in a delicate brush of coarse fingertips to draw you closer. Hazel-speckled eyes found yours in a glistening show of gratitude and reverence. “Thank you, love,” he said.

“I was hardly going to let you struggle and leave you with damp hair,” you replied. “Especially when it’s so cold out.”

“Snuggle weather,” Hunter cooed, roping his arms around your middle and pulling you in to bury his face against your stomach. With his skillful touch, he lulled you into a sense of tranquillity before his fingers began to explore under your shirt, sweeping at the spots he knew were ticklish until he had you laughing and tottering backwards.

“No fair!” you huffed through enduring chuckles. “You tricked me into that.”

Hunter offered you a guilty shrug and rose from the bed. “I did.”

“Menace.”

“That I am, but I’m your menace.”

He passed you to grab a few items of clothing from the dresser, and as you helped him into them, you kept a watchful eye on his hands. Your vigilance amused him, and his lips quirked.

Ignoring his mischief, you straightened his oversized top and made sure the sleeve draped comfortably over his cast. “Do you need your meds?” you asked.

He shook his head. “I’m not in any pain,” he assured you. “Although, now I can smell whatever you’re cooking, I am getting quite hungry.”

Eager to show him what you had been making, you led him into the kitchen and spread your arms to the preparations. You dimmed the lights and the candles on the table extended their light onto the darkened wood, the closed glass globe full of crystalline petals reflecting their colours in the flickering glow. On the cooker, dinner simmered, and the steam distributed a delightful mixture of herbs and vegetables.

“I asked Wrecker about some of your favourite foods,” you said, ladling two bowls of piping hot soup and setting them onto the placemats. “He gave me recipes for the ones he used to make you whenever you were injured. If it tastes terrible, I have takeout menus ready and waiting.”

Settling into his seat, Hunter lifted a soup-laden spoon to his mouth and blew away the steaming tendrils, sipping to taste it and slurping the rest. The moment the unique combination tantalised his tastebuds, he released a satisfied murmur and quickly scooped up another spoonful. “It’s perfect,” he hummed, relaxing into the nostalgic flavour. “I think Wrecker has competition.”

You weren’t sure whether it was his compliment or the heat from the stovetop, but your cheeks flushed. Sampling the finished product for yourself, you had to admit it was good. You had followed Wrecker’s recipe to the letter, picked out every fresh piece yourself, dawdled in the kitchen to stir it and add each ingredient at the perfect moment, wondering if you were cooking it right. It was all worth it to see the endearing smile on Hunter’s face.

“Thank you,” he said, eyes meeting yours. “You’ve done a lot to help me over these past few weeks while I heal, and I will find a way to repay you.”

Your spoon stopped short of your lips. You knew he had struggled to adjust to a life where he didn’t need to prove himself every day, where his worth wasn’t based on how many enemies he had taken down or how successful his squad was in battle. “Hunter, you don’t have to do that,” you said softly, reaching across the table. He met you half-way, scarred fingers entwining with yours beside the sphere of petals. “I made you this because I love you and I wanted to cheer you up.”

Exhaling an understanding breath, he tenderly squeezed your hand. He wished he could express how lucky he felt. How your presence relieved even the most painful of scars, how your smile bore the promise of a better future. In the darkest shadows of his doubt, he couldn’t shake the sense of unworthiness, as if he didn’t deserve you or the love and care you offered. But each fresh day when he woke up next to you, nestled in blankets and kissed by pure daylight, he made a silent vow. No more battles. No more risky situations and never knowing if he would see you again. Those days were behind him and new ones, hopeful ones, lay ahead.

“I love you too,” he said in an earnest whisper, kissing your knuckles and holding your palm to his chest. “I would do anything to ensure your happiness. You know that, right?”

“Course I do,” you replied. “It was one of the first promises you made me.”

With warm cheeks and beams you could both neither squash nor contain, you returned to the soup, chatting and making jokes until you were full of good food and laughter.

“I thought tonight we could snuggle up in front of the fire and watch that holo-movie that’s been on our list for ages,” you suggested. “I got some snacks from the store this morning.”

Hunter’s face lit up with a mischievous smile as he reclined in his chair, and a contented hum purred in his throat. “Oh, my love, now you’re just spoiling me.”

You shrugged. “You deserve it. If you’re lucky, we can do this again tomorrow.”

TAGLIST (Message if you’d like to be added, 18+ only)

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dystopicjumpsuit · 7 months

Note

Whoo hooooo! I think you would create magic as always with this prompt: the first initial kiss being a simple peck, then they immediately go back in for a stronger, more passionate one.

Could I request it with your choice of Tup… or post-stasis Kix… or Hunter? 🫦🥹💙

A/N: Thank you for the ask @freesia-writes! I’ve been wanting to write a fic with a meteor shower for ages, and this was the perfect opportunity. I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Hunter x Reader (GN)

Rating: T, but minors DNI as always

Wordcount: 740

Warnings and tags: fluff; sensuality; pop culture in my SW fanfic (it's more likely than you think)

Summary: You and Hunter watch a meteor shower on Pabu.

Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

“I’m gonna turn in,” Wrecker said. “I’ll take the kid back to the house if you two want to stay and watch the show.”

“I told her she needed to take a nap if she wanted to stay awake long enough to see the meteor shower,” Hunter laughed quietly, passing Omega’s sleeping form to his brother.

You grinned. “In her defense, if my dad had told me to take a nap when I was twelve, I definitely would have stayed awake just to spite him.”

Wrecker let out a booming laugh. “Didn’t realize you were such a rebel!”

“Ssshhhh!” you and Hunter shushed Wrecker in unison.

“Oh, right,” he whispered. “I’m headin’ out. See ya later.”

You waved goodbye at Wrecker and then flopped back down onto the blanket you’d spread on the sandy beach of Pabu, staring up at the glorious night sky. Hunter soon joined you, not quite touching you, but lying close to your side so you’d both fit on the blanket.

“You’re lucky Omega’s such a great kid,” you murmured. “I was a holy terror at her age. I couldn’t even stand myself; I don’t know how my parents survived.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he chuckled. “The proper schoolteacher of Pabu?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” you replied. “I was a teenage dirtbag.”

“Is that why all the kids love you?”

“They sense a kindred spirit under my respectable facade,” you said with a giggle.

Hunter huffed a quiet laugh, and the two of you lapsed into silence as you watched the sky. It was a dark, moonless night, and for once, the sky was entirely free of clouds—a perfect night for stargazing. You could see the entire galaxy stretched out above you, the stars shining brightly enough that they reflected as pinpricks of light on the tranquil ocean.

“Look there,” he said, pointing to a section of the sky close to the horizon. “It’s gonna be a good one.”

Sure enough, a brilliant streak of light soon shot low across the darkness, its flash bright enough to illuminate the beach faintly. As it burned out, you turned your head to stare at Hunter.

“How do you do that?” you asked softly.

“I can hear them,” he replied.

He lay on his back, his eyes fixed on the sky, and you took a moment to watch his face in the starlight. “That’s amazing.”

It was difficult to tell in the darkness, but you thought he smiled. “There’ll be another over there.”

He pointed across your body to a section of sky far to your left. He propped himself up on one elbow so he could see over you, and you turned to the sector he pointed out just in time to catch the vivid burst of light. The meteor split in two as it hit the atmosphere, putting on a dazzling show, and you could hear the distant sizzling as it burnt itself out.

“Even I could hear that one!” you exclaimed, turning to Hunter in excitement.

He was much closer to you than he had been when he was lying on his back, and you caught your breath when you realized that your faces were almost touching. Your pulse began to race, and you silently willed yourself to calm down, knowing that Hunter would be able to hear your body’s reaction to him.

Another meteor shot directly overhead, its bright light illuminating his face, and you realized he was staring at your lips. On impulse, you reached up and kissed him. It was quick and light—barely a peck—and by the time it was over, the beach had plunged back into darkness, leaving you uncertain about his response.

“Sorry,” you whispered. “Was that—”

He cut off your question abruptly, his lips crashing into yours in a passionate, urgent kiss. His hand dropped to your waist, rolling your body against his as his tongue grazed your lips softly, sliding into your mouth. The moment he tasted you, he let out a short, desperate sound, almost a growl, as his hand slid possessively up your back. Overhead, a spectacular meteor burst into the atmosphere, its flash so intense that you could see the illumination even though your eyes were closed. You opened them just in time to see the light trail die out.

As your lips parted from Hunter’s, you whispered, “We missed that one.”

He kissed you again, softly. “I prefer the view down here.”

#sergeant hunter #hunter tbb #sergeant hunter x reader #gn reader #sw tbb fanfic #the bad batch #bad batch #star wars #sw bad batch #hunter x reader

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lightspringrain · 9 months

Text

She said "Yes"

The conclusion to my "life-changing decision" mini comic. Hope you like.

The Bad Batch prints are available at my shop!

#tbb #tbb fanart #thebadbatch #star wars #star wars fanart #star wars tbb #the bad batch fanart #the bad batch tech #art #illustration #lightspringrain #techphee #phee genoa #tbb tech #bad batch #sw tbb #sw tbb fanfic #sw tbb s2

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wrenkenstein · 11 months

Text

Juntech fic - Routine basis

Finally got around to writing a fic about these two dorks, with (hopefully) many more to come! Only I’m so behind, haha. Everything else about them has been written by others, I’m like... the 5th person to contribute to their library? xD I’m so slow with writing. But hey, cute fic about napping!

Read it here --> https://href.li/?https://archiveofourown.org/works/47882032

#star wars #star wars the bad batch #the bad batch #sw tbb fanfic #sw tbb s2 #tech #tbb tech #tech tbb #the bad batch oc #mandalorian oc #juno caheere #juntech #junoxtech #star wars fanfic #theyre so cute it drives me up the walls #they're NAPPING #very very beginnings of their relationship blossoming #slow ass burn #enjoy the fluff while it lasts

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frostycatblr-fandom-files · 9 months

Note

Hey there, if you are up for it could I make a request for angst/comfort/fluff with Batcher’s x fem!reader or (wrecker x fem!reader).

The situation: she’s been with the team for a while and is used to their teasing and can dish it out, but unknowingly, they tease her about something from her child hood that she would get teased about (something silly, not too serious). She hasn’t told them about it bc she still gets bothered by it and they notice her withdraw and one finds her upset. She knows she shouldn’t be mad at them and of course feels bad that they feel bad. They talk it out and she clears the air, things go back to normal, etc (maybe a kiss from Wrecker).

🫣I hope this makes sense. Feel free to interpret how you feel fit. (If not, just scratch it)

Thanks for being an amazing writer! 🎉

Warnings and Information: No real age rating. 2nd person POV; undescribed fem!Reader with the use of she/her pronouns. Wrecker has a crush on Reader. Light, playful teasing all around from our Batchers and Reader. Mentions of a generic, embarrassing situation that happened in the reader's childhood (part of your clothing getting stained/dirty and not remembering how it happened). Minor language. Sprinkling of Mando'a. I wasn't quite sure where this was going for a while honestly, but I think I got it all smoothed out! Thanks for making a request! <3

Word-count: 5,046

Hyperspace was a strange and mystifying concept. You could spend hours, days, even whole weeks traveling at breakneck speeds among the eternal, ethereal canvas of space. Time felt different in hyperspace. Too short, too long, and everything in between. Were it not for a day/night system within the attack shuttle, you'd lose sense of time, and much like the primary navigator of Clone Force 99, your sleep schedule would be kriffed.

You could stare out the viewport of the Havoc Marauder at the swirling, shimmering and shifting blues for hours at a time. If only you had a moment of peace, though. You can hear someone calling your name, the voice growing closer as they search for you.

It's a small ship, he'll find you eventually. You keep your eyes fixed on the hypnotic scene just outside the viewport.

"Hey, daydreamer. Thought I'd find you here. Chow time." Hunter steps into the cockpit, the hinged box of foodstuffs tucked in the crook of his right arm. With his left hand, Hunter scrounges up your share of the rations and passes them over to you. "Here. Best-tasting bits in the box."

You roll your eyes playfully. "Oh I'm sure." Everything about ration bars and sticks are incredibly bland. They're not meant to be flavorful. They're just supposed to keep up with the minimal nutritional needs of the lifeforms they were formulated for. Your options were "chewy" and "crumbly" if you were lucky. "Thanks, Hunter." You bite down into one, and as expected, it's just barely palatable, but chewy today.

His head bobs politely. "You're welcome. We make planet-fall to meet up with Commander Cody in 12 standard hours." Hunter closes the box and tucks it away in an overhead compartment within the cockpit. You must have been the last of the squad to get your last meal of the day before the Marauder automatically cycles itself into nocturnal lighting.

Twelve hours… just two more meals at least before you'd reach your destination. Just twelve more hours of hyperspace to lose yourself in before you had a job to do. You weren't going to let Commander Cody regret his decision to allow a non-Clone researcher into the ranks of the GAR.

Hunter catches the way your shoulders droop just half an inch at the news. "Hey. Something on your mind?"

"Hm?" You perk up at the shift in tone of his voice, wondering what tipped him off. "Nothing's the matter, Hunter. I'm fine. Only thinking."

"About…?"

You shake your head softly, smiling gently at the Clone Sergeant who had spent considerable effort to make sure you felt like part of this team. "I promise, I'm fine. Just mentally preparing myself for what Commander Cody asked of us." You could be honest with Hunter. When he learned that the seventh researcher considered for his squad could tolerate a bit of rude humor and teasing, he had admittedly thought about testing his commander's claims alongside his brothers, save for Echo.

"She spent some time with the 501st. If she can handle them, she can handle you. She spent six months with them before Commander Cody considered reassigning her. They're not an easy group." Echo cautioned Hunter after reading the introductory files.

"Neither are we. Sounds like she's in for a challenge." Crosshair scoffed, waving away the files he had no interest in reading. Hunter would have been completely on board with the idea of seeing how soon they could send researcher number seven running, were it not for the way Wrecker took Tech's datapad and frowned in deep concentration as he read. He kept scrolling back to the top of the file every few minutes to glance at the portrait attached.

Researchers one through six had been men.

Men who'd had their pride hurt when Tech corrected them, men who'd promptly disembarked the attack shuttle the next time they reported to Commander Cody because they couldn't stand the unprofessionalism, and men who realized too late that they were not cut out for traveling the galaxy like they once thought and had been more of a liability than an asset to CF99.

"She's pretty." Wrecker murmured to himself, scrolling back up to the portrait for the fifth time. "And she's… uh, what's that word mean, Tech? … Oh wow. That's a lotta certifications. So she's real smart? When's she supposed to join us?"

"Twelve standard hours." Tech replied nonchalantly, taking the datapad back before Wrecker would change his mind and steal another look at the professional headshot embedded in the file. "Which means we would have ample time to come up with an excuse to-" Hunter shook his head sharply, silencing Tech. "Let me see the file."

He thumbed his way down the file and made his selection. Crosshair tucked his arms around his chest, toothpick swaying in the air like a conductor's wand as he spoke, hearing the cheery tone that denoted Hunter had selected ACCEPT rather than dismissing the application. "You're approving her to join our squad? Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Twelve standard hours later, Hunter knew he was not going to regret this spur of the moment decision to include this woman on his squad. Crosshair made a blunt remark about needing to move things to shelves you could better reach, and you wasted no time in retorting that there was no need.

"I'll just be sure not to wear my shoes when I use you as a footstool or a ladder, string bean."

The toothpick fell from his lip, expression incredulous. "Stri-?"

"HAHAHAH! I like her already!" Wrecker declared before pushing through his brothers to be the first to introduce himself, "Hi! I'm Wrecker!"

Things only got easier from there. They liked that you weren't afraid of a little teasing. You could definitely dish it, too! When Commander Cody asked to see the squad three months later when there wasn't so much as an inkling as to whether you were still with them or not, he had been surprised that his brothers were prepared to go and beg to keep this seventh researcher.

Tech appreciated that you didn't take great offense to his gentle, or not-so-gentle, corrections. A new conversational partner with an inquisitive mind was sorely needed, too.

"It's 'clusters of three, leave it be' when it comes to select plants found on planets like Naboo, yes. But not where we're going."

"Is it? … Oh, yes, you're right. Interesting. 'Leaves of three, safe for me. Leaves of four, internal war.' That's… ominous. I'll be sure to study up on this; thank you Tech."

Crosshair didn't tolerate anyone other than you (or his brothers) comparing him to a kriffing vegetable. Matter of fact, he took it badly if you didn't playfully mock him every couple of rotations.

"What's got you so sour this morning? Didn't chew enough logs for your beaver den last night?" you had teased, alluding to his habit of gnawing on a toothpick whenever he had the chance.

"... caf pot is just taking its sweet kriffing time."

Echo had enjoyed that there was someone who could share in the stories about the shenanigans of the 501st in the wee hours of twilight. Someone to reminisce with. Someone to tell him what he'd missed.

"Captain Rex had to separate a couple of batchmates, I think, because they wouldn't stop making faces at each other when they thought he couldn't see!" you giggled, drying the tears from your eyes and clutching the aching ribs from laughing so much during one of your happier recountings.

"Are you sure they weren't Shinies?" Echo asked. You shrugged honestly, admitting you couldn't tell, and did your best to describe the patterns painted in blue on their armor. Echo only sighed and laughed. "Of course it'd be them."

Hunter found greater relief for his episodic headaches since bringing you on board their team. You weren't brought there to be their medic, but you had a knack for knowing just what sort of headache plagued him before he could puzzle it out with everyone making so much noise around him.

"Here. Give this a try, see if that does anything to relieve your migraine, sarge."

"How could you tell it was a-?"

"Shhh. I'll explain later. Go lay down in your bunk. I'll ask the others to be quiet."

And Wrecker…

… oh you had him wrapped around your little finger so tightly. He just loved you. The rest of the squad often found the two of you sharing snacks, or found you curled up in his bunk (with Lula snug in your arms) if Wrecker discovered you passed out in one of the crash seats, and entertained him with stories about your childhood. It would've broken his brother's heart if Hunter had been asked to transfer out their seventh researcher. It took less than a full week for Wrecker to realize that he didn't just find you pretty; but he was starting to develop a crush on you the longer you'd been with them.

You weren't stupid to the crush, either. You definitely noticed. But in the interest of professionalism, you and Wrecker both were very careful to keep things platonic and friendly. No one was quite sure if romantic partnerships could be pursued between the Clone soldiers of the GAR and nat-born personnel with the relative newness of this program.

For now.

You were supposed to meet up with Commander Cody every three months. It's been six months (and a handful of days in hyperspace) since you had joined the ranks of the Bad Batch, hoping to get approved to remain with them longer by the Marshal Commander. And it'd take just less than twelve standard hours to find out just how much or how little the two of you cared about keeping it professional.

You could hear Echo groaning in the bunkroom from the confines of the cockpit. "What's with Echo?" you asked Hunter, wondering what was troubling the cybernetically enhanced soldier this… well, you guessed you could call it evening. "He okay?"

"Dunno." Hunter shrugged, letting you exit the cockpit first so the two of you could go see what was wrong.

Echo is sitting in Tech's rack, the two of them trying to scrub a mysterious stain out of the material of Echo's modified sleepwear. Nothing they have tried seems to be working. "It's getting worse." Echo insists, the edge of his voice suggesting he's getting very frustrated.

"We will find something to remove the stain, Echo," Tech insists, trying to be reassuring and supportive, "don't worry."

"We've been trying to get it out for the last ten minutes, it's not working!" You ask to give the sleep-shirt a look, offering to help so no one loses their temper with one another despite best efforts. "I'm no stranger to stains as a researcher. I get my clothes dirty all the time." you say, trying to lighten the mood. It looks like the stain is oil-based when you lift it up to your face to make a closer visual inspection. "Oh, this shouldn't be too hard to remove. Just need a little hot water and some cleaner. I've got something that should do the trick."

You nab the container of laundry detergent powder that you have tucked among your things that's never failed you in removing even the toughest of stains, and there's some nervous snickers over the size of the box. "Are you really gonna need that much to get a little stain out?" Wrecker asks curiously, eyes flitting from container to the stain on the shirt that's roughly the size of a fingerprint.

You laugh gently, taking the top with you to the sink in the tiny on-board 'fresher. "Oh, no-no! I just like to be prepared and have a lot of this on hand."

You're not quite sure who makes the first remark (or what it is exactly) over the gush of the faucet, but someone makes a jab that sounds like it's about the size of the detergent box and your comment regarding preparedness. You're honestly not sure. You're more focused on removing the grease from the sleepwear to completely pay attention. When you're finished, you carefully wring out the water from the material of the sleepwear and give it to Echo. "Here, give that a look. See if I got it out."

He exhales softly with relief, thanking you. "Like it was never there. Thank you. This was one of my last sets of clean sleepers before we see Commander Cody."

"Hey, like I said," you remind him with a smile, "plenty of experience with stained clothing as I've gotten older."

Rationally, you understand that the remark one of them makes is made innocently, but it strikes a sore nerve all the same. "Hah. Betting there's some clothing that you ruined as a kid that you'd know how to get out now and save yourself some embarrassment or something, huh?"

You swallow uncomfortably. There is at least one occasion you can think of, yes. But it happened so long ago you don't recall the specifics. Maybe it'd been a party with your family or some friends, or maybe it was a sleepover, and you can't recall if the stain had gotten on the tops or bottoms of one of your favorite outfits as a child. But it was so bright and obvious that it was impossible not to miss. Trying to clean it up with a napkin or paper towel only smeared it into the clothing. And trying to use water just made it even worse, even larger and more noticeable than before because now part of you was wet. And some people had laughed. People with good intentions tried to help you clean the stain, but it just ruined your clothing, and you had to wear it for the rest of the day.

You had been so kriffing embarrassed that you didn't even remember when you got your clothes stained, or what stained them to begin with. You just remember the teasing that came later. It probably wasn't even all that much teasing, in reality… but to a little girl, it sure felt like a lot.

Someone timidly calls your name, noticing how silent you've become. An uneasy silence that you rarely fell into. "You okay, cyar'ika?"

You don't say anything for a long moment, debating if it's worth explaining the embarrassing memory such a simple, honest question unearthed. No, you decide. It's silly. They've witnessed far worse as soldiers than a kriffing stain on their favorite clothes. Complaining about it to them would be… childish. You're being childish, you tell yourself. You're still bothered by things that happened so long ago that don't even matter, and those people who teased you likely don't remember now. How pathetic of you, you scold.

"I'm fine… I think I'm just tired. What, uh… what time is it?" you glance around the ship, genuinely forgetting where you might find something with a display of the time at the present moment.

Tech, faithful datapad ever in hand, has the time. "It will be twenty minutes before the Marauder's internal lighting changes over to try to simulate nocturnal conditions."

"Oh, no wonder…" you murmur, feigning a soft yawn. "I swear, it's always just shortly before we make planet-fall that my circadian rhythm finally takes the hint and wants to cooperate." Echo and Wrecker both nod sympathetically, Echo more so because he shares a similar struggle. Poor man is often turning like a nuna on a spit over an open fire in his bed, and it doesn't surprise Hunter, Crosshair or Wrecker anymore to now find three people chatting in the cockpit of the attack shuttle sometimes since the addition of the female researcher. (It certainly surprised Commander Cody on that three-month-mark check in that you were all getting along so well.)

Echo follows suit with a yawn of his own. "Yeah, I know whatcha mean, ad'ika… Think I'll turn in early too, if I'm not needed for watch duty."

Crosshair shakes his head, silently communicating with Hunter through a simple look, listing off your name along with Echo and Wrecker. "You three get some sleep. And Tech, do whatever the kriff you feel like so long as you do it quietly." If Cross and Hunter were taking watch together, they had something to discuss for a while before Crosshair would come along and collect Tech from wherever he inevitably passed out and tuck him into his bunk.

You bid everyone good night and climbed up into your rack, laying on your side to face the inner wall of the alcove for some semblance of privacy. Being sleepy was a façade, of course. Even when the lights dimmed, you didn't find yourself any sleepier. You just kept thinking back to that comment someone had said.

You hadn't thought about that instance of your childhood in ages until tonight. But you're starting to think it affected you a lot more than you initially believed.

Is that why I learned how to get stains out of practically every kind of clothing? Is that why I have such a big container of laundry detergent "just in case"? Am I worried that they'll make fun of me if I ever got such an obvious stain on my clothing while I'm doing my job as a researcher? Am I worried that… Wrecker will make fun of me?

Wrecker whispers your name from his rack after a few minutes of silence. "Are you okay?" Unbeknownst to you, he's been thinking about the way you reacted after the question too, and he wants to see if you're okay. But you don't want to bother him while you're feeling so blue about childhood embarrassments, so you pretend to be asleep by not answering him. "Think she's asleep, Wrecker…" Echo mumbles somewhere below you. "You should try to do the same."

You can imagine the dejected frown as Wrecker turns into his bunk and with a sigh says, "... 'kay. I'll ask her in the morning, then. G'night."

You'll have at least six standard hours to hope that Wrecker forgets to ask. Or, with a healthy helping of mercy from the galaxy, that you'd forget too.

You wake up to a timid hand reaching up into your rack and poking you gently between your shoulder blades. You know without having to roll over or even open your eyes that it's Wrecker. Each one of them has a different method of waking you, and Wrecker is always cautious.

"Mm. Mornin'." you mumble, carefully sitting up and easing yourself to the edge of your bunk. "Sleep well, Wrecker?" The team's always been real sweet and considerate in the "mornings" through hyperspace travel, but there's something with Wrecker in particular you're drawn to in the morning… you've never quite gotten it figured out. "No bad dreams at least, right?"

"Eh… think so, at least!" Wrecker chuckles with an exaggerated shrug, stifling a yawn with the palm of his hand. "None that I can remember, anyway. What about you?"

Cautiously lowering yourself from the bunk, you think back to last night's dreams and vaguely describe what you remember of the disjointed sequence of events. And of course, there had been something related to your recollections last night, but you didn't tell Wrecker about that. For the time being, you're just going to keep mum about it.

You have things to do around the Havoc Marauder to prepare for meeting up with Commander Cody; a little bit of paperwork, mostly. After Hunter divvies up the morning rations for everyone, you say that you're going to retreat back to bunks where it'll be quietest to get this all sorted out, indicating your paperwork.

The neater you make this, the faster a busy man like the Commander will be able to approve you for another three months.

Wrecker follows you back to the sleeping racks, followed after by Tech, who rouses you from the files just as you find your groove.

"Is there something bothering you?"

Your head snaps up in confusion and surprise. "Huh?"

Tech states your name and repeats his question, believing that you hadn't been paying attention at all rather than just listening half-heartedly. "I asked if there was something bothering you. You're not one to shy away from doing your paperwork around the squad. In fact, doing your paperwork around us has never been a problem before until-"

Wrecker cuts to the chase when he senses his brother's explanation is getting too long-winded. "Tech's asking if something upset you last night."

"If one of us upset you last night."

Cross, Hunter and Echo have now come to make themselves part of this budding conversation, joining everyone else presently in the bunkroom. "We noticed that you got really quiet, and that's not exactly like you." one of them remarks.

"If there's a problem, we want to sort this out before we see Commander Cody. If he thinks there's a chance things aren't working out-"

"-he'll probably reassign you. And we don't want that. I-I don't want tha'..." Wrecker admits bashfully.

Someone nudges Cross in the ribs to say something. "Did something one of us said last night embarrass you?"

You shake your head firmly. If the five of them are worried enough that a playful taunt was taken too far last night, and they were scared to risk you becoming reassigned that they were getting the jump on things before they had the chance to kick off, then they must really think they did something to screw up, or that you're mad at them, and that's why you're not talking to them as you do your paperwork like usual.

"Oh boys…" you start, setting aside the datapad to give them your undivided company. "No. You don't have to worry. And I'm truly sorry that I made you all worry, but… nothing's wrong, really." You explain in some detail that you're really and truly okay. Maybe feeling a little blue about the memories that resurfaced after you confide in all of them that it turns out that incident from your childhood still upsets you more than you initially believed. "I know rationally none of you knew that. Or that it would upset me. I didn't even know it'd upset me to think about the time I got some clothes dirty as a little girl. So I don't blame anyone. And once again, I'm really sorry if I made any of you think I was mad, or offended, or anything like that just before we see the Marshal Commander. You don't have to worry about me asking to reassign just because my feelings got a little bruised. C'mon. We've all teased each other plenty. Ain't that right, Mr. Toothprick?"

In his relief, Cross can only chuckle silently. "Think you've used that one before. Don't tell me you're running out of ideas."

"She has not. I've been keeping a list of her- Nevermind. That's not important." Tech interrupts himself, adjusting the strap of his goggles. "What is important is we've cleared the air. And everything seems to be in order once more, as we hoped."

You smile. “Heh. Never change, Tech.” Before most leave you to your paperwork, Tech assures you he doesn’t particularly plan on it. Among those that stay are Hunter and Wrecker. Hunter will need to add his signature to the paperwork once you’ve gotten it completed, and Wrecker just wants to keep you company. And give, or get, a little reassurance. “You know we’d never make fun of you for getting a stain in your clothing and mean it, right?”

“Yes Wrecker,” you promise, pawning the datapad to the sergeant of the rogue Clone squad once you’ve scribbled out your own signature. Getting up from the borrowed bunk you had been sitting in, you give Wrecker a friendly kiss on the cheek just to see him smile again before you make your way to the snug ‘fresher aboard the attack shuttle to freshen up. In less than six standard hours, you’ll be making planet-fall, and there’s still lots to do. “I trust you guys. You don’t have to worry, big guy.”

Neither do you, turns out.

Very shortly after touching down on the landing pad, you trot down the gangplank of the Marauder, datapad with all your necessary files prepped and ready once Cody comes to greet you in your hand. As civilian personnel, you’re not exactly sure how far you can stray from the ship while you wait for the Clone Commander. Or if there’s even protocol for that kind of thing to begin with. Strangely, there’s more than just the members of the 212th here; you’re seeing hints of blue armor of the 501st roaming the landing pad too.

Someone calls your name. It’s a younger trooper you made friends with in the sixth months that you were with them, surprised to see you. “Ad’ika? Hey, long time no see! Hope the Bad Batch hasn’t been giving you too much trouble!”

“Not at all; they’ve been great! Oh, it’s so good to see you.” you reply, excitedly throwing your arms around your friend before he gets the chance to warn you.

Poor fellow begins to sputter nervously. “Y-yeah, it’s good to see you too, but uh…” He utters something that sounds like the words oh no under his breath.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, pulling away from him. That’s when you notice why he’s panicking. You’ve just given your friend a hug not long after he must have touched up the paint on his armor. There’s a bright splotch of blue all over the front of your field uniform now. “Oh kriff, I’m so sorry…!” you apologize to one another simultaneously. The paint is very fresh, and there’s no hiding it either. Oh stars, that’ll be a nightmare to get out… and you have to speak to Commander Cody soon, there’s probably not enough time to change into another field uniform!

“Oh no… um, Hunter? C-could you take my datapad please? I need to-” You’re about ready to ask Hunter if he can possibly stall for a little time if the Commander comes to review the report, but when you turn around, you find that Cody’s already here and talking to Hunter. Wrecker takes one look at you, your clothing covered in blue paint, and decides that he’s not going to let you be the only one covered in paint before the Commander notices. Thankfully, he’s too distracted with the supply manifest Tech’s presented to him to have heard you asking Hunter to help. One look at the situation, and he’s made up his mind on what to do; your warning can’t sway him.

“Wr-Wrecker! What’re you-!”

Bounding up to you with a laugh, Wrecker hoists you into his arms against his chest, transferring some of the paint from your clothing all over his plastoid in the process after safely tossing the datapad to Hunter from your hands. “Hey, if you’re offering hugs, I want one too!”

Wrecker carries you closer to the group and the others take some of the paint off your clothing and add it to their armor without complaint. You and Wrecker bare the most paint of the six of you standing near the Commander as he glances down the paperwork to make sure everything appears to be in order. “Ah, well I see you boys have been getting along very well with your seventh researcher.” Cody remarks casually, looking up from the datapad now everyone had a little bit of blue on them. “Guess I don’t need to ask whether this means you’re all sick of one another, yet.” Hunter’s jaw drops open to comment, but he’s silenced when the indicator tied to the APPROVED button chimes. So instead, he simply thanks the Marshal Commander and offers a polite salute as Cody dismisses himself.

Hunter swears softly when he takes a look at the datapad. “He’s… approved you for another six months.” he says incredulously, showing you the screen when Wrecker refuses to put you down still.

APPROVED FOR: SIXTH MONTHS

REASON: CAMARADERIE

Wrecker in particular whoops loudest of all, everyone delighted that you weren't going anywhere any time soon. Caught up in the euphoria of the moment, just as someone suggests that you all go get some real karking food to celebrate while you have a brief reprieve before your next assignment as a squad, you take advantage of your proximity to Wrecker and kiss him before you completely consider what you're doing. Laughing when the two of you pull apart, Wrecker gives you a slightly befuddled look and asks, "Heh, what was that for, mesh'la?"

You start to apologize, saying things like you should have asked and you’ve been wanting to kiss him for a while now, but you just weren’t thinking, much like now as you continue to ramble on apologizing. “I- I’m sorry, I guess I just got carried away.”

“Hey,” Wrecker chuckles, finally setting you on your feet, “S’okay. I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while, too. But uh, I didn’t want to cross any boundaries, so I tried to keep it professional. But… if you-” Crosshair scoffs, softly nudging your elbow as he brushes past the pair of you. You know by the wry smile, he’s teasing both of you, not just his brother. “He’s been secretly practicing his confession for the past twelve standard hours and it’s not gonna get any smoother than this. If you just say “kark the professionalism” you can spare us all from more embarrassment.”

Most everyone can only laugh to themselves. “Aww, don’t you worry Cross,” Wrecker tells him, you and Wrecker sharing a look that says y’know what, he’s right, kark the professionalism already, “she’ll make sure to get all the blue paint off your armor later.”

Cross only rolls his eyes at that. But under his breath, as everyone steps into the din of the mess hall, it sounds like he’s asking Hunter if he has to pay up if it was exactly twelve standard hours from the time he thought you and Wrecker were finally going to move beyond this “little mutual crush” stage.

(Yes. He does, it turns out.)

Frost's Note: Merkitty, I gotta admit, I totally thought of your OC Ohno during that wet-paint-and-hug scene at first. 😅 Once again, I hope you enjoyed my interpretation of your request! 🩷

[Masterlist] [Requests: OPEN]

#frostfics #Twelve Standard Hours #star wars #tbb hunter #tbb crosshair #tbb wrecker #tbb tech #tbb echo #wrecker tbb #tbb wrecker x you #wrecker x you #wrecker x reader #the bad batch #tbb #tbb fanfic #sw tbb fanfic #wrecker fluff #request fic #merkitty49

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