#sw tbb fanfic

[casual-violinist-fangirl]

Just Call Me And I'll Be There (3,090 Words)

Injured and on the run, Omega is forced to run to the first person she thinks of... but will that person be wiling to help her out after all of these years?

Set after the epilogue of the Bad Batch, exploring Omega's life in the rebellion! This will be a two-chapter fic and I'll make sure to tag the second chapter when it is completed!

As always, the link for my AO3 page is here and the link to my Tumblr masterlist is here.

I hope you enjoy!

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Omega was typically good at getting out of uncomfortable situations; the prospect of being captured was no stranger to her, so when the Empire had eventually caught up with her squad she had hardly been surprised. Luckily, none of them could trace her back to Hemlock’s experiments on Tantiss (thanks, Nala Se) so those holding her hostage just assumed that she was some washed up orphan that had joined the rebellion on a whim…

… if only they knew the truth.

Needless to say, her escape had been pretty spectacular. Echo would have been proud if he could have been there to see the way the cruiser exploded as she flew away in a modified TIE fighter. He was still working on liberating clones, even though Rex, Wolffe and Gregor had retired years earlier. Age hadn’t stopped the ex-ARC trooper from fighting for the rights of clones, and luckily Senator Chuchi was still standing strong and by his side. 

If Omega had to be critical, the only downside of her escape this time was the nasty burn on the side of her leg from where she’d dodged some explosive flames on her way out, combined with the blaster wound on her shoulder; luckily she had been wearing a disguise at the time of her capture, not her lucky jacket.

Still high on adrenaline and fear, the young woman had managed to punch in hyperspace coordinates and class her way to the nearest neutral planet she could think of: Ord Mantell.

She hadn’t exactly been planning on going there, but it popped up on the navi-computer as being the closest by a long shot… Pabu was way too far for her to go now. 

Landing on the planet hadn’t been an issue, although some people had stopped and stared at her as she clambered out of the TIE fighter, ragged and bleeding. Where was she going to go now? Kriff, she hadn’t thought this far. Hobbling out of the spaceport, she surveyed her surroundings as she tried to think of a plan of action. As long as she put space between herself and the ship she guessed it didn’t really matter where she went. If this place had access to long-range comms and  med-kit that would be even better…

A nasty thought filled her head and she swore quietly to herself… there was one place she could think of going to, not that it filled her with much joy. Realising that she didn’t have much choice and that if she wanted to go under the Empire’s radar, she’d need to rely on a friend. 

If she could call this person a friend anymore… time would tell.

——

The last twenty(ish) years had not been particularly kind to Cid. After she had lost communication with the Bad Batch, she had been riddled with guilt. That guilt had only gotten worse when she’d realised that the creepy scientist had been after Tiny and not her brothers. She had tried her hardest to put all of that behind her, until Phee had come knocking on her door.

The pirate had yelled abuse at her, calling her a coward and declaring that she had no right destroying the family of clones in the way that she did. Cid had made some below-the-belt comments about Phee and Goggles, snapping about how she was only acting this way because of his death.

Needless to say, Phee hadn’t spoken to her since. Cid had lost one of the only people she could call a friend. 

Then, six months later, a dangerously skilled clone had rocked up on her doorstep, threatening to burn down her bar if she didn’t give him a way of finding Omega. So the kid had escaped? With the help of one of her brothers, she’d later found out. Not that Cid was surprised. She guessed it must’ve been Bandanna who’d rescued the girl; she was closer to being his daughter than his sister anyways.

Stuck in-between a rock and a hard place, Cid had said the only person she knew who might have contact with the Batch was Phee. Luckily for her, the clone had left, but not before firing a blaster bolt through her shoulder in an attempt to kill her.

After that, Cid heard nothing else about her ex-mercenaries, and she decided that was the way she liked it. She could run her bar undisturbed by clones and their issues. No whiny kids, no grumpy fathers, no loud, boomy brothers. No know-it-all clones who always interrupted her when she was talking… It was kinda quiet though.

That was until one day, nearly twenty years later, she was closing down the bar after a long night. The door beeped, a sign that the security code had been tapped into the keypad outside, and hissed open; it creaked a little, a sign that it needed oiling… or possibly outright replacing.

Cid scowled. She was the only person who knew the code to that door, so either someone had overridden it or it was….

… surely not. She hadn’t heard from any of them in years. If they were even still alive, why would they want to see her? She had betrayed them, sold them out to the Empire like they had been nothing to her. They hadn’t meant anything to her… or at least she hadn’t thought so until Tech had died. The day they’d rushed into her bar, injured and broken, her heart had hurt for them. It had hurt even more so when he’d seen the distraught look on Hunter’s face as he stooped over Omega’s injured form. 

Shaking herself out of her thoughts and back into the present, Cid grasped the blaster that she had clipped to the bottom of the bar. The woman clicked it out of stun mode; whoever was coming into her bar, they weren’t expected and they were unlikely to be friendly. 

She could hear laboured footsteps coming down the steps and exiting the shadows. There, stood in front of Cid with blood oozing out of her shoulder and smelling a little bit like burning, was a young woman.

“Long time no see, Cid,” the girl said with a small smile that instantly sent the Trandoshian back in time. 

“Tiny!”

Blaster dropped to the floor and forgotten about, Cid moved around the bar and towards Omega. Upon closer inspection, she noticed just how bad the blaster wound was, and realised that the smell of burning was coming from the scorched fabric on her trousers. This kid had been through the wars.

“What happened to you, someone try to barbecue ya?” she asked as she glanced down at the burn on the girl’s leg. That was gonna need some serious bacta, and even then it might leave a mean scar. Omega rolled her eyes as she moved to a bar stool, sitting on it heavily. 

“Got captured by Imperials,” she started to explain through gritted teeth. “Had to blow up their ship when I escaped.” 

Cid’s face must have held a bewildered look because Omega snorted humourlessly. “You haven’t changed much,” she muttered as she rested her head against the cool bar surface. She groaned as there was a pull in her shoulder but sighed contentedly as the cool metal met a bruise on her temple. Had she been hit around the head at one point? Who knew. 

Cid stared at the young clone in front of her, still not quite believing her eyes. 

“Where are your posse?” she asked, moving back to the other side of the bar. She reached back and pulled down two glasses and a bottle of liquor. The kid looked old enough to drink now… stuff it, even if she wasn’t, it would help ease the pain of her injuries. 

“That’s what I was coming to you about, actually,” Omega raised an eyebrow at the alcohol in her cup but didn’t even flinch as she knocked it back like a shot. Cid shrugged and poured her some more.

“I don’t know where your family are, kid, if that’s what you’re asking.” The Trandoshian’s voice seemed to be filled with sympathy that Omega didn’t know she possessed. She shook her head.

“I know where they are,” she replied. “I just need access to a long-range comm that I know will reach them undetected.” She looked at Cid pointedly. “… and a med-kit that’s well stocked,” she added, knowing that Echo used to put things into Cid’s med-kit that probably hadn’t been used since they were placed there. Out of date bacta was better than no bacta. “You owe me after what you put me and my family through.”

Cid sighed, knowing that the girl was right. She could hardly turn her away, not after she had done exactly that years prior. She had betrayed the child and her brothers more times than she cared to admit… it was time to make good.

She lead Omega through the bar, still carrying the bottle of alcohol and their glasses, and sat her down in the office. There she went about looking for the med-kit; Omega had been right. It hadn’t been updated since Echo had done it fifteen years ago. She sighed as she clicked open the box and began searching through it for what she needed. 

“Comm’s all set up,” the quiet voice of Cid broke the clone out of her concentration. “I’ve rigged it so no one will trace your call.”

Omega nodded in thanks and watched as the Trandoshian left the office before turning her attention to the machine. She tapped in the code for her family’s comm device on Pabu before sitting back and hoping that someone would be on the other end to pick up…

The comm hadn’t even rang three times before Hunter’s scowling face appeared. 

“Cid,” he started. “I don’t know why you’re trying to call us after all these years but…” his voice trailed off and cracked when he noticed who was on the end of the line.

“Omega!” he gasped, and the woman in question smiled a watery smile. 

“Hey, buir,” she croaked as she tried to hold back to onslaught of emotion she was experiencing upon seeing her father for the first time since before her capture. 

Of course Hunter had questions. “Why are you at Cid’s?” was the first, though it was swiftly followed by “are you hurt?” and “do you need me to come and get you?”

Omega had given him the shortened version of what had happened leading up to and following on from her capture. Her buir’s eyes widened when she said that she had been hurt and gave him the brief rundown of her injuries.

Before too long, Hunter was saying goodbye, promising to be there soon to pick her up. He hung up the call, leaving Omega alone once more; all of a sudden the wave of emotion was too much for her and she burst into loud, heartbreaking sobs. 

Cid, on hearing her crying, opened the door to the office and peeped in. 

“You okay, Tiny?” she asked, concern lacing her usually blunt voice. Omega nodded, but hissed in pain as she jolted her shoulder once more. The Trandoshian guessed that the call had been successful considering how long it had gone on for, and that one of Tiny’s brothers would be here soon. “Let’s get you patched up,” she carried on, walking further into the room and prying the med-kit out of the girl’s hands.

She worked in silence, carefully peeling away what fabric she could from Omega’s burn as the young clone breathed through the pain. She then sprayed a bacta-laced freezing spray over the wound; Tiny’s shoulders eased up as she sighed a little with relief. 

Then came the shoulder. All Cid could do was place out of date bacta over it and dress it neatly, hoping that it would stop bleeding soon.

“Sorry there isn’t more I can do, kid,” she muttered in apology as she stood away to admire her handiwork. Omega nodded, though her eyes were unfocussed and looked heavy. Cid swore quietly and waved a hand in front of the girl’s face.

“Hey, Tiny,” she spoke a little louder, snapping Omega out of her slump. “I reckon you’re concussed. No nap time for you, at least not until one of your brothers turns up.” The woman in question nodded in response, not being able to bring herself to speak. She was so tired, surely a small nap wouldn’t hurt…

… “TINY!” Omega jumped out of her skin, hissing at the movement in her shoulder. “Come on, kid,” Cid grumbled. “You gotta stay alive until Dark and Broody gets here. I’m guessing he’s the one who’s on his way?”

Omega nodded, a small smile on her face at the mention of her buir. Cid rolled her eyes; this kid had always been soft.

“Has he finally decided he’s your dad yet?” she asked sarcastically. “Or is he still pretending that his Jango Fett gene didn’t activate?”

She turned to face the wounded clone, only to see a frown on her face. 

“After my second escape from Hemlock…” Omega started slowly. “Hunter said that we were free to be whoever we wanted.” She smiled fondly at the memory. It hadn’t been long after that she’d started calling him buir. She had been so nervous, petrified of being rejected, but she needn’t have been. Hunter had practically burst into tears upon her asking permission to call him dad.

“He chose to be a father,” she finished with a fond smile on her face. Cid nodded, somewhat impressed with the clone sergeant. When she had known him, he had seemed so emotionally stunted that she thought he’d never admit to Omega how he felt about her, but here the pair were. Father and daughter… Cid realised she should have guessed this from the red bandanna the kid wore around her head. Yeah, there was no confusion as to whose kid she was.

“I’m glad he came to his senses,” she commented, making Omega snort a little with laughter. 

“You sound like Crosshair,” she replied with a laugh. “He’s the one who said I should talk to Hunter.”

Cid vaguely remembered the Batch talking about a Crosshair and she had assumed that he was one of their brothers, but had never met the man. 

——

Hunter barrelled through the door of the bar four fours later looking frazzled and… older than Cid remembered. Of course, she didn’t look the same, but she hadn’t been expecting the small streaks of silver running through Dark and Broody’s hair, or the way his battle-ready body had filled out… that probably came with being able to afford food, she thought to herself as she stood up to greet him. 

Omega was getting tired again, her eyes drooping as she complained about the pain in her leg beginning to come back; Cid had kept her busy with a caffeinated drink and multiple games of Djerik. Of course the girl had won every single came, even concussed; as they played she wittered on about the time she had won nearly 50,000 credits whilst on the run with Crosshair.

“Omega!” Hunter ran to the young clone, not even looking at Cid. He crouched in front of her, ignoring the twinge in his knees. Checking over her injuries, he frowned as he noticed the gunshot wound, treated but still painful. It turned out that out of date bacta wasn’t as effective as Omega had hoped. 

“Hey, buir,” she said in a voice that was suddenly choked with emotion again. “Everything hurts.”

Hunter breathed out a short laugh, though the concern on his face was still evident. “I’m not surprised, ad’ika,” he replied, cupping her cheek. “It’s okay though, I’ll get you home.”

Cid raised both eyebrows at the mention of ‘home.’ She had just assumed that the boys would still be wondering the galaxy. She was surprised that they had found somewhere safe enough to settle down.

She was broken from her thoughts by Hunter easing his kid to her feet and slinging her good arm over his shoulder. Omega hissed as the pair took an unsteady step forward, Bandanna whispering soothing words to her as a couple of tears leaked down her cheeks. The pain really had come back with a vengeance, huh. 

As the pair reached the door of the bar, Hunter still having not knowledge Cid’s existence, Omega put her hand out to stop them both. She shuffled around, nodding at the Trandoshian.

“Thanks, Cid,” she said and for what it was worth, she sounded genuinely grateful. Cid nodded in return at them both. 

“See you around, Tiny,” she replied. “You too, Bandanna. I’m glad you got to live your lives in peace. You deserved it.”

For the first time, Hunter looked at her. Cid could see the bitterness in his eyes, not that she could blame him. As he observed her, his eyes softened a little. She knew he was grateful that she’d looked after his little girl. After everything she had put their family through, that was as much as she could ask for. The pair nodded at each other before Hunter re-adjusted his grasp on Omega. The pair shuffled out of the bar, slowly making their way back to their ship.

——

“You were smart to go back to somewhere you know,” Hunter commented as he settled Omega in the co-pilot’s chair of his ship. His first move had been to give her a dose of pain medication; she had no idea when she’d hit her head, but it was safe to say that she was coherent that Hunter wasn’t worried about her falling asleep. As the pain medication kicked in she began to doze off. Her buir took the opportunity to re-dress her arm with bacta that would actually do its job, and put more spray on her burn before dressing that too.

“You trained me well…” Omega slurred slightly, her eyes drooping. “Missed you, buir,” she added in a pitifully small voice as he finished up re-dressing her injuries. Hunter stood back to his full height and sighed at the sight of his grown-up daughter falling asleep in front of him. He stooped down and pressed a gentle kiss against her temple.

“Missed you too, ‘Mega,” he whispered, not wanting to make her jump. He sat down in the pilot’s chair before tapping in the coordinates for Pabu. Upon entering hyperspace he finally breathed a sigh of relief; they were going home.

#the bad batch #sw tbb #tbb omega #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #tbb tech #tbb echo #tbb crosshair #sw tbb spoilers #tbb fanfiction #tbb fic #sw tbb fanfic #hurt/comfort #emotional #good parent hunter #space dad hunter #hunter is omega’s dad #sw tbb s3 #tbb cid

[vivaislenska]

(Still fantasizing about their escape 🤞🏼)

Non-f-word version below the cut

#thanks for the access card fucko #star wars the bad batch #the bad batch fanart #the bad batch #star wars fanart #the bad batch art #sw tbb #clone trooper crosshair #the bad batch crosshair #crosshair the bad batch #tbb crosshair #crosshair tbb #crossdad supremacy #clone force 99 #clone family 99 #omega tbb #the bad batch omega #tbb omega #sw tbb fanart #sw tbb fanfic #scheduled post #viv art

[letsquestjess]

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!

-- -- -- -- --

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. 

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[dystopicjumpsuit]

Cuddles and Snuggles?! 👀

Sign me up lol

I have a request if you feel inspired by it 👀

6. trying to crawl under their shirt with either Wrecker or Kix.

Because I would very much like to hide under their shirts than deal with the outside lol

If you think of someone that fits the prompt better, then do that instead! (Or you can entirely disregard this ofc lol)

😘💜💜💜

A/N: Moonie! I had this whole ficlet planned out, and then we chatted about this wonderful Wrecker art by @pinkiemme, and it took over my entire brain. So thank you both for inspiring me. 🖤♥️

Pairing: Wrecker x Reader (GN)

Rating: T (but as always, minors DNI)

Wordcount: 573

Warnings and tags: fluff, cuddles, established relationship shenanigans, very slightly suggestive dialogue, mild language

Summary: Wrecker is just so warm.

Suggested Listening (English translation here):

This fic smells like: Work From Home by Memoire Archives (cappuccino, caramel, biscotti)

Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

You rolled over to find an empty bed. You groped blindly through the blankets, but Wrecker was nowhere to be found, and based on how cold the sheets were, he’d been gone a while. Grinding the palms of your hands into your eyes, you sat up, searching blearily for him. There was no sign of him, so you stumbled out of bed to form a rescue party of one. It wasn’t long before you saw the soft blue glow of his datapad as he curled up on the sofa in the darkness.

“Hey,” you whispered, your voice coming out in a hoarse croak. 

He looked up and smiled. “What’re you doin’ up?”

“I got cold,” you replied. “Can’t sleep?”

He shook his head.

“I’ll make us some caf,” you said.

“Already got some moogan tea,” he replied, holding up a steaming mug. 

Screw the caf, then, you decided, immediately crossing the room to plop down next to him. You leaned your head against his shoulder, wrapped your arms around his waist, and draped your legs across his thigh, tucking your feet against his calf.

“You really are cold,” Wrecker said with a laugh as he felt your frigid toes.

“Warm me up?” you pleaded, giving him the softest, most pathetic tooka eyes you could muster at such an early hour.

“C’mere, then,” he replied, adjusting your position so he could hold you a little closer while still staring over your head at his datapad.

“Reading something good?” you asked.

He kissed the top of your head. “Candy Crush.”

You laughed quietly and snuggled closer, teasing your chilled fingers beneath the hem of his shirt. He flinched away involuntarily, but when you pulled back, he let out a little grumble.

“It’s all right,” he said. “You just surprised me. Come back.”

You didn’t bother to put up even a token resistance, instead diving your icy hands enthusiastically back under his shirt. 

“Gods, you’re so warm!” you murmured, burrowing closer and sliding your hands further and further under his shirt, until you were practically wearing it with him.

“I do that on purpose so you’ll cuddle up to me,” he replied, holding back a laugh. “Comfy down there?”

“I’m working on it,” you replied. “You’re a really good heat source.”

“And you’re a really good icicle.” He set down his mug and wrapped his free arm around you. “You tryin’ to climb all the way inside my shirt?”

“Our shirt,” you replied, your voice slightly muffled by the fabric. “Besides, I’m not trying. I’m succeeding.”

“Well, maybe I should just carry you back to our bed so you can have a real blanket.”

“No, this is fine,” you replied from inside his—ahem—your shirt. “It’s cozy. I live here now.”

You felt the deep rumble of his chuckle against your cheek as you nuzzled your face against his chest. “You gonna pay rent?”

“Nah, I’m sleeping with the landlord. He’d never evict me.”

"You got that right." He shifted, and you heard the soft clatter of his datapad as he set it on the floor, then both of his arms closed around you. With seemingly no effort at all, he lifted you up and rolled the both of you over so you were tucked securely between him and the back of the sofa, wrapped in his embrace. He yawned loudly, and you knew he’d doze off within minutes. "Now stop squirmin’ and go back to sleep.”

 ---

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#wrecker #tbb wrecker #wrecker x reader #bad batch fic #star wars #gn reader #sw tbb fanfic #bad batch #dystopicjumpsuit writes #flashing gif

[lightspringrain]

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.

#tbb #thebadbatch #star wars #tbb fanart #star wars fanart #star wars tbb #the bad batch fanart #the bad batch tech #art #comics #sw tbb #tbb tech #tbb omega #the bad batch omega #tbb finale #sw tbb fanfic #sw tbb s2 #bad batch #sw tbb spoilers #lightspringrain

[grampsoninspace]

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

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

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.

#frostfics #Sorry Wrong Comms! #star wars #sw tbb fanfic #sw tbb #tbb #the bad batch #star wars fan fiction #star wars au #star wars x reader #tbb x reader #tbb hunter x reader #hunter x reader #hunter x you #tbb hunter #hunter tbb #sergeant hunter #tbb crosshair #tbb tech #tbb omega #tbb wrecker #tbb echo #clone force 99 #captain rex #(he plays a small part in the series but important enough to warrant tagging!)

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

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

#the bad batch #bad batch #tbb #sw tbb #sw tbb fanfic #star wars the bad batch #star wars the clone wars #sw cw #tbb wrecker #tbb hunter #tbb tech #tbb crosshair #wrecker the bad batch #bad batch wrecker #hunter the bad batch #bad batch hunter #tech the bad batch #bad batch tech #crosshair the bad batch #bad batch crosshair

[sinfulsalutations]

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

#nour writes stuff #the bad batch #star wars #the bad batch fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #bad batch fanfiction #star wars bad batch #star wars the bad batch #sw the bad batch #sw tbb #sw tbb fanfic #bad batch #tbb #hunter tbb #tbb hunter #sergeant hunter #bad batch hunter #the bad batch hunter #tbb hunter x reader #tbb hunter x you #sergeant hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x you #the bad batch x reader #tbb fanfic #tbb fanfiction #the bad batch fanfic #hunter bad batch #hunter the bad batch #hunter x reader

[neyswxrld]

weightless

Wrecker & Tech

summary: Wrecker and Tech meet in the afterlife.

warnings/vibe: it's not something that is all too sad i guess; there's an explosion, some clichés (the light in the darkness, force ghosts, you know the drill!)

words: ~1490

a/n: happy final bad batch eve! 🖤❤️🧡🖤

ok, hear me out - i don't want to fuel or believe in any theories before the final episode tomorrow. this is just for myself, for comforting and assuring myself that no matter what, everything will be okay eventually! of course, i absolutely hope nothing bad is going to happen, but for the case that wrecker dies ((and tech actually is dead)), i needed something to hold on to. and i'm sharing this because maybe someone finds some comfort in this one, too.

p.s.: english isn't my mother tongue, sorry for mistakes!

The last thing he sees is a bright fireball.

The last thing he feels is that burning heat all over his body.

The last thing he hears are Crosshair's frantic screams for him.

And then there's nothing.

Everything is quiet, peaceful.

There aren't any aches, or pain.

He isn't hungry, thirsty, too hot or too cold.

Everything feels content and for a short moment he thinks he's flying.

Floating around, weightless. Which is funny, because due to his mutations, he's always been the biggest of his brothers. And the heaviest. But he didn't mind, as long as he was able to protect them. Keep them safe.

He almost feels comforted by the nothingness surrounding him.

Everything seems balanced. Okay.

For the first time in a long while, he doesn't even feel scared. Just... indifferent. Good indifferent.

But suddenly there's that small light in the distance.

It's almost sparkling, whirling around, and he almost feels like it's calling for him.

Slowly, he starts to float towards the light.

It seems to be warm and bright, a huge contrast to this foreign quietness surrounding him, but it's not unwelcome.

It kinda... feels like home. Like he needs to go to that light. He needs to touch it. Feel its warmth, its energy.

Carefully, he reaches for the light.

The warmth emitted from the ball suddenly swarms through his body, reaching every inch, every hair, every scar. Inside and outside.

It's so good... It feels so good. Like he has to be here.

The longer he touches the light, the brighter it gets, filling up all the surrounding space.

He has to close his eyes, the light is getting too much, and... and-

When Wrecker opens his eyes for the next time, he looks into the googled face of his brother.

This one looks down at him with a confused frown plastered across his face.

He looks... Just like on the day they lost him.

"Tech?" he asks, confused, worried.

Why is he here? Is he dreaming? Tech was... Tech is... Tech is dead. How could this be?

"Wrecker," Tech says, adjusting his goggles.

"What's goin' on?" he asks, groaning slightly as he sits up.

But it's more a reflex. Nothing... hurts. He feels fine.

"How long was I out? Has to be for a long time, I feel good, nothin' hurts. At all," he raises his arms over his head, stretching, "I- I dreamed you died. Stupid plan 99, should've never came up with that, you'd never leave us like that, right, Tech? Wouldn't just... do that," Wrecker rambles and scratches his neck with his hand, looking up to Tech.

His older brother looks at him with a weird look on his face.

"I indeed executed plan 99. It was the only way out for the majority of the squad. I kept you safe," Tech says, pulling his lips into a straight line.

"W-What?" Wrecker asks confused, before shaking his head.

For the first time, he looks around and sees some sort of space shuttle. Maybe Phees ship? Or was it the one Rex arrived with? He had no idea.

"What can you remember?" Tech asks next, shuffling on his feet a bit.

He stands in front of the bunk Wrecker lays in. The rest of the room was empty, quiet. He could hear some muffled voices outside the room, but he couldn't make out any words.

"We were going in on Tantiss. There was this massive animal kicking my ass. Hurt like hell... But I still made it. I'm not made of sugar, right? Then...," Wrecker stops for a second, thinking about everything. His memory starts to get sloppy.

"Just remember meeting Omega somewhere. She freed that zillo beast. It was huge! And then... There's something about an explosion. Crosshair almost got caught in it. I shielded him, I think," Wrecker murmurs and takes another deep breath as the memory of that burning pain around his body catches up with his brain.

But that's all - just a memory... Nothing hurts for real.

"Is he safe? Are the others? Where are they? Why are you here? Tech, I'm really confused right now," Wrecker shakes his head and looks up at his older brother again.

Tech swallows before nodding.

"They made it out fine, Wrecker," Tech assures him, before swallowing for a second time.

Why is he acting so weird?

"Great!" Wrecker exclaims, at the same as Tech says, "But you didn't."

They look at each other, keeping quiet for a while.

"I didn't?" He asks, "What do you mean by that?"

"You blew up, Wrecker. I think... you died," Tech states.

"I'm dead?" he echoes, before adding, "You think?"

"It appears that the explosion you shielded Crosshair from was a lot heavier than anticipated. While you saved Crosshair's life, you... you lost yours," Tech explains, breaking the news to him.

Wrecker looks at him for a few seconds, speechless.

That would explain why there isn't any pain. Or why he's able to talk to Tech.

They're both dead.

"I-I don't... Where are we? Why are we here?" is the next thing he wants to know, not fully able to understand how he should approach this new... situation. Everything's so strange.

"Currently, we are on a shuttle with the others. I dragged you up here. It appears that we are some kind of ghosts. At least we're in a state after life, which takes part in either some kind of parallel universe or in a temporal upheaval. I am not certain about that," Tech says, adjusting his goggles again.

Wrecker looks at him with raised brows, a huge question mark forming in his head. "You don't know?"

"In all that time I've been here, I wasn't able to fully conclude the whole extent of this... situation. But I've met some other clones, following their loved ones around in this state. So I assume it's a part of life, or, more precisely, the afterlife," his older brother sighs a little.

Wrecker pulls his feet over the edge of the bunk so he's fully sitting now, holding his head in his hands.

"Can the others see us?" Wrecker asks and Tech looks at him like he just lost his head.

"Of course not."

Wrecker feels like he just lost his head.

"It takes time getting used to. I'll leave you alone so you can think about it," Tech says.

Wrecker thinks he still acts a little odd. Not like the Tech he used to know. Not like the Tech that... was alive.

Tech seems to be honest about the fact that it takes some time to get used to the new situation. Wrecker isn't sure if his brother even got used to it by now. Not with how he's acting. And now... He's here, too.

"Tech," Wrecker starts and reaches for his brothers' wrist, gently laying his fingers around it and pulling him towards him.

"I-I don't want to be alone. Can you stay?" he says and moves to the side a little.

Tech nods and carefully sits down, unusually close to him.

"Have you been alone the whole time since..?" he wants to know, but Tech just shrugs.

"I was following the squad around," Tech murmurs and sinks into Wrecker's side as he lays an arm around him.

They haven't 'cuddled' like that in so, so many years.

"But now you have me," Wrecker whispers almost. He doesn't know if he's glad or sad about it.

Sure, he saved Crosshairs life. He helped his brothers. He had Tech again. But he'll miss the others. So, so much.

Tech has had to go through those first steps alone. He must have been so lost in the beginning. So lonely.

"Are we going to see the others again when they... When they die?" he wants to know after some time.

"That seems to be very likely," Tech answers, and Wrecker nods again.

That means he could still watch over them, be with them, and meet them again. And now, neither him or Tech, or the others will be alone for a while. Hopefully.

They freed Omega, they made a run for their lives.

They lost brothers, gained friends and family.

They settled down on a remote planet.

Quiet and peaceful.

They made a life for themselves, far, far away from the empire and all the evil in the world.

They saw Omega grow up.

They saw the others growing old.

They saw the others live the life they never had the chance to. And they were happy for them.

When Hunter joined them one day, they welcomed him with warm hugs and reassurances that everything would be fine.

As soon as Crosshair was with them, they almost felt complete once more.

When they followed Omega to Rex and his remaining brothers, they met Echo again.

Together, they kept watching over their baby sister, never forgetting their promises of staying with her.

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST

@isthereanechoinhere96 @trixie2023 @freesia-writes

#the bad batch #star wars #tbb #tbb echo #tbb crosshair #tbb tech #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #tbb omega #bad batch #the bad batch wrecker #the bad batch tech #the bad batch fanfic #the bad batch fic #the bad batch fanfiction #sw tbb fanfic #sw tbb fanfiction #tbb fanfic #tbb fanfiction #force ghost tech #force ghost wrecker #man am i happy that this didn't happen at all #still wanted to share!

[kybercrystals94]

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

[casual-violinist-fangirl]

Sweet Child of Mine (3,782 Words)

A follow on from my fic 'You are Not Alone.' I would recommend reading that one first but it's not essential! Basically, Omega has returned from the Rebellion after the war and is pregnant.

Back by popular demand is Ba'buir Hunter! I had no idea how popular he would be but I'm here for it!

As always, the link to my AO3 page is here and the link to my masterlist on Tumblr is here!

--------

Hunter awoke about an hour after he’d drifted into a light sleep, confused for a moment as to what had woken him up. 

It became pretty clear when he heard a slow intake of breath followed by a gradual shuffle of someone in pain moving back and forth… who could be up at this time? Wrecker would be making more noise if this was him, and Crosshair hated pacing. It drove the man insane, so there was no way that it was him. That, of course, left one member of the household. Clambering out of bed, Hunter padded down the stairs of their home and into the living room.

The sight in front of him made his heart drop into his stomach.

There, in her pyjamas, was Omega; she was braced against the back of the sofa, her hands gripping it tightly as she breathed in slowly through her nose and then out through her mouth. Her bump had dropped a few days ago, indicating that she was nearing the end of her pregnancy.

Hunter frowned. She was in pain, he could practically see it radiating off of her.

“You struggling to sleep, ‘Mega?” he asked quietly, not wanting to interrupt her thoughts. The woman simply nodded, a scowl on her face that told her buir everything he needed to know. His kid was in pain… a lot of pain. He stepped forward, coming up behind her and gently rubbing circles on her lower back in the way the nurse had suggested. The affect was almost immediate, with her becoming a little more relaxed.

“I think…” she trailed off, loosening her grip on the sofa and sanding to face her buir. “That these are contractions.”

Hunter didn’t know how to react, his mouth opening and closing a little like a fish. “Oh,” he eventually managed to stammer out, making Omega laugh. “How far apart?” he asked when his brain eventually kicked back into gear. She muttered her response and he breathed a sigh of relief. There was no need to panic yet. Even if his little girl’s face was contorted with pain and exhaustion. Hunter, deciding to try and hide his panic, offered the support he knew how to give.

“Want some help with that pacing?”

When Crosshair came down in the early morning for a glass of water, he froze before entering the kitchen; Omega was stood, hands braced on Hunter’s shoulders and her face buried in his chest as she took deep breaths. The ex-sergeant held her up by the arms, whispering quiet support in her ear as she worked her way through another contraction. Hunter glanced up at his brother, having spotted him and they had a silent conversation.

Need me here?

Not yet. It’s not time.

Crosshair nodded his head in a ‘if you need me, get me,’ gesture and Hunter nodded with a grateful smile on his face. He then went back to soothing his daughter.

“That was an impressive one,” Omega wheezed out as it passed; she went a little limp, glad that her buir was there to catch her and support her weight. They wondered over to the couch, Hunter carefully guiding her into a seated position. The exhaustion was beginning to catch up with the young woman and he could see her eyes drooping as her head began to nod.

“Get some sleep if you can, ad’ika,” he whispered, also taking a seat on the sofa. She curled into him, forcing him to put an arm around her and hold her close… not that he minded. 

Omega slowly nodded off, her face still washed over with a pained expression. She was really struggling, Hunter thought to himself as he rested his head against the back of the couch. A small nap wouldn’t hurt, he mused as he let himself drift back into a light sleep.

He was woken up by the sound of heavy breathing and a low and drawn out groan. 

Jerking awake, the first thing he was aware of was Omega, hunched forward and groaning as a contraction washed over her. The next thing he knew was that Crosshair was crouched in front of her, holding her hands and whispering meditation breathing techniques that she had taught him. The final thing he became aware of as he drifted into consciousness was the huge wet patch on the couch. 

“Waters broke a minute ago,” Crosshair responded to his thoughts, and Hunter nodded. He gave himself a second to absorb the information before shifting on the couch to sit up properly.

“Time to go get comfy?” he asked, Omega nodding with her face scrunched up. 

“Feels like I can’t walk…” she stammered out through heavy breathing.

Hunter and Crosshair glanced at each other; none of their family had considered that Omega would struggle to get up the stairs whilst in labour… it was time for an impromptu plan B.

Standing up, Hunter encouraged his kid onto her feet, supporting her in the same way he had earlier in the night. Crosshair seemed to understand what he was going for because he quickly left the room and returned with a plastic bin bag and a bed sheet.

The ex-sniper made quick work of covering the wet patch with the bag and then placing a bed sheet over the couch cushions.

Omega slowly changed out of her wet pyjama trousers before she sat down heavily, leaning back on the couch.

“This is so much worse than I thought,” she ground out, making Hunter chuckle nervously as he perched next to her. She scowled at him, though it quickly turned into a whimper as another contraction hit. Distantly, Hunter heard Crosshair tapping a stopwatch to time it. She gripped Hunter’s hand once more and gritted her teeth, a determined look on her face.

“How far apart now?” the young woman asked her brother once the wave had passed. Crosshair checked the timer and grimaced. 

“About five minutes,” he replied, glancing up at his sister. She nodded, reaching for her comm device.

“Time to call Lyana and AZI. Things are beginning to move along.”

——

It was not Lyana or AZI  who had arrived at the house ten minutes later, but a medical droid. Upon arriving, the droid had said that both Lyanna and AZI were attending an emergency on the other side of Pabu. It then insisted on seeing Omega on her own. 

“The patient will be examined and then we will discuss who is in the room for delivery,” it had stated in a monotonous voice. “Unless the father of the baby is here, of course.”

Crosshair had nearly needed holding back at the mention of ‘the father.’ Luckily, Hunter and Wrecker had caught him by the arms and gently pulled him back. The three ex-soldiers had miserably trudged upstairs and waited for news…

… the waiting, along with hearing Omega’s pained cries, was unbearable.

“Who knew having a baby hurt so much,” commented Wrecker, who was clutching Lula close and squeezing her every time he heard his little sister. Crosshair had pulled out a cigarette and lit it; Hunter didn’t even have the presence of mind to scold him. If there was a time to have a sneaky smoke, now was it. They were in Crosshair’s room anyway. It’s not like he was going to stink out Hunter’s room with smoke. 

Out of the three of them, for once, Hunter looked the most calm. He was sat, concentrating on the sounds coming from downstairs. He heard the medical droid offering an injected pain killer, to which Omega said no and called it a ‘kriffing idiot.’

After an hour or so of sitting in a torturous cycle, Hunter heard a different tone to Omega’s voice. She was flagging and it was beginning to become clear.

“Is there nothing I can take orally?” he heard her ask the droid in a quiet voice. There was a pause as the droid considered this.

“An oral pain killer would not take affect in time,” it replied eventually. “You are sure you do not want me to…”

The droid did not get to finish it’s sentence as Omega let out a pained groan once more. That was when Hunter heard her say something. It was a quiet whimper, practically a whisper but it was loud enough for him to hear it.

“I just want my buir.”

Hunter wasted no time sprinting down the stairs and into the room; there, Omega lay on the couch looking sweaty and tear stained. The medical droid appeared by his side and if it could have glared, Hunter had a feeling it would be right now.

“I thought I said no to others in here,” it scolded lightly, but the ex-sergeant was having none of it.

“And I’m asking you to leave,” he snapped. “Omega’s asked for my help. I’m not going to leave her.”

He glared at the droid for a moment before it decided that it was losing this battle and began to make it’s way out of the room, grumbling about unruly patients. As it left, Hunter hollered after it, “And fetch Lyana and AZI if they’re back!”

His attentions were on Omega the second the droid was gone; she looked dazed and pained and it hurt him that there was nothing he could do to help her. He opted instead to find a cool, damp cloth and place it on her forehead. She smiled at him, her hand going to find his.

“Thank you,” she said with a huff. “That droid was beginning to wind me up.” Hunter let out a small laugh as his kid. “Beginning to?” he asked. “He was winding me up the minute he arrived.”

The pair snorted with laughter before Hunter gently kissed her forehead.

“How you feeling, ad’ika?” he asked, smoothing back some of her hair and fixing it in place with her usually bandanna. 

“Sore, restless, tired,” Omega glanced down at her baby bump. “I just want this part to be over now.”

Her buir nodded, crouching down next to the couch and picking up one of her hands. He stroked his thumb over her knuckles in small, soothing circles. Seconds later she was gripping his hand and groaning as another contraction washed over her. He wrapped an arm around his daughter’s shoulders, muttering support to her as she worked her way through the pain. As it faded and she went limp in his arms she frowned.

“That one felt different,” she started, making Hunter raise an eyebrow. “And it feels a little bit like I… like I need the ‘fresher.” 

Hunter didn’t begin to get time to think about what that meant before Lyana and AZI burst into the room.

“Omega!” AZI floated around in his usual panic before Lyana sent him a look. 

“Hey,” Omega replied before her face crumpled once more. Hunter felt helpless as he watched her grapple with the pain. “This one feels the same,” she said more to her buir as she took steadying breaths.

Lyanna wasted no time getting to work; Hunter couldn’t quite believe that the little girl he’d met all those years ago had become a doctor. He pulled up a stool, sitting next to the couch and gripping Omega’s hand in an attempt to help her relax a little.

“I reckon you’re ready to push, ‘Mega.” Lyana’s voice was calm and soothing, everything that the young clone needed to hear. She nodded, a brave look on her face despite the raised heartbeat Hunter could hear. She glanced up at her buir, letting her mask fall for a split second. She was terrified. 

Hunter moved closer to his daughter, holding her close and kissing the top of her head. 

“Not long now, ad’ika,” he reassured. “Not long now.”

——

An hour.

That’s how long Omega had pushed for… an hour. She had sobbed hysterically after about forty minutes, declaring that she couldn’t do it anymore. Lyana had stepped in at that point, scolding her best friend for giving up.

“You’ve been through worse than this, Omega. You are not going to give up.”

The words of the young doctor had worked, and twenty minutes later the sounds of a wailing baby could be heard. A little girl with a small tuft of blonde hair.

More tears were shed, by Omega, by Hunter, and by Lyana. The baby was quickly taken care of thanks to AZI, and placed in the waiting arms of her mother.

“She’s perfect,” Omega had sniffled as she stoked a gentle finger against the baby’s cheek. Hunter… Hunter had gone into shock a little. He stared down at the baby, his eyes filled with happy tears for his daughter and granddaughter. He nodded mutely, not trusting himself to say anything without snivelling like a child. The pair sat together, watching this new life now asleep contentedly against her mother’s chest. 

“She can probably hear your heartbeat,” Hunter muttered, having read something about babies using the heartbeat of their mothers to soothe themselves. He could relate to that, especially in the months after Tantiss.

Omega had wanted to get herself sorted out a little before seeing the rest of her family, so Lyana and AZI helped her hobble to the kitchen to change and get cleaned up; the bathroom was upstairs, and Omega had barked out a laugh when AZI had asked if she could manage the stairs. 

That left Hunter, still sat on the stool next to the couch, awkwardly cradling his newborn baby bu’ad. He smiled tearfully as he watched her sleep, tuning into her heartbeat. 

“Hello,” he whispered, not wanting to wake the child. In that moment, part of him ached; it ached with a regret that he hadn’t been able to hold Omega like this when she was this age, that he had missed all of the new and exciting things that this baby was going to experience… he guessed he would just have to take solace in the fact that this baby would never know the pain that Omega had at such a young age. She would never feel alone and neglected, never feel as though no one loved her, never spend nights crying herself to sleep over her trauma that she had experienced har too young.

Yes, Hunter could take solace in that.

A shuffle from the doorway caught his attention and he glanced up only to see Omega moving back into the room, clinging to Lyana’s arm whilst AZI hovered ahead. She smiled at the sight in front of her, her buir cradling his sleeping granddaughter. Moving slowly, she started to make her way back to the couch, breathing heavily and gritting her teeth. This was hard! When did walking become difficult?!

Hunter wasted no time standing and carefully passing the baby to AZI, who wanted to run some checks. He moved to Omega’s other arm and helped her back onto the couch. The young clone heaved a sigh of relief as she settled before looking over at where AZI was checking over the baby. Her buir wasted no time, moving to sit next to her on the couch.

“You okay, ‘Mega?” he asked, a touch of concern in his voice. She nodded in response, a tired smile on her face. “Can I get you anything, kid?” He kept pressing, offering her a drink and some food (which she readily accepted) and an extra cushion to help her sit up. She laughed fondly at his words, leaning her head against his shoulder. Hunter froze, stopping his nervous ramble and relaxing. He rested his cheek against the to of her head, smiling contentedly.

“I thought grandparents were supposed to fuss over the baby, not the mother,” his daughter joked tiredly. Hunter let out a small huff of laughter before looking down at his little girl.

“I’ve got to make sure my baby’s okay first,” he replied, his voice croaking.

Omega’s eyes filled with tears (again). “You never knew me when I was that little,” she commented, a touch of sadness in her voice. “I wish you had.” Hunter let out a shaky breath.

“I wish I had too, ad’ika,” he replied. “Doesn’t stop you from being my baby, though. You’ll always be my little girl.”

The woman looked up at her buir, smiling a wide smile, but before anything else could be said, AZI floated over carrying the swaddled baby carefully. She was handed to Omega, who couldn’t contain the grin (or her tears) as she held her.

“Can you go and get the others?” she asked, glancing up at Hunter after a short while. He nodded at stood, leaving the room to summon his brothers.

Minutes later, Wrecker’s loud footsteps could be heard as he, Hunter and Crosshair made their way downstairs. The ex-sergeant entered the room first, smiling at Omega before moving to sit down in an arm chair; he’d already spent a lot of time with his granddaughter, it was only fair that he took a back seat for Crosshair and Wrecker.

Wrecker had cried. So had Crosshair, though he’d been better at hiding it (or so he thought). Both had been a little scared to hold the baby, for different reasons. Wrecker had cradled her like she was going to break; it reminded Hunter of the first time Wrecker had hugged Omega. The tiny baby looked even smaller in the arms of the large clone, and it was with trembling hands that he eventually gently handed her back to her mother.

Crosshair… Crosshair had been shaking from the moment he’d been asked if he wanted to hold her. Hunter stepped forward, putting a gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“What if I drop her?” he asked, gesturing to his non-existent right hand. His brother simply guided him to a seat and showed him how to position his arms before carefully taking the little girl off of Omega. Once the baby was settled in Crosshair’s arms it was like no one else in the room existed. He stared, wide eyed, down at her; for a moment Hunter thought his brother was panicking, but then a small smile broke out on the ex-sniper’s face. It was the smile that he had only reserved for Omega when he had re-joined their squad. Omega smiled knowingly; just as she had all those years ago, her daughter had captured Crosshair’s heart and had it wrapped around her little finger.

“What’s her name?” he croaked out eventually. All eyes turned to Omega, who was watching her family with a tired look on her face. She glanced around the room, her eyes settling on the tiny baby.

“Her name is Mina.”

——

The little family had spent the rest of the day (the baby had been born at eleven in the morning) in their living room, talking quietly and taking it in turns to hold Mina. 

Omega had slept for quite a lot of that time, resting her head on the shoulder of whichever family member she was sat next to at that time. When the evening rolled around, Wrecker had helped her up the stairs and to her own room, where the baby’s cot had also been set up. Hunter carried Mina up to bed; Crosshair had admitted that he didn’t want to try moving with her until he was more confident. The ex-sergeant turned ba’buir hadn’t minded at all, his smile soft as he held his granddaughter close. When he arrived at Omega’s room, the door was cracked open to let him know that it was okay for him to enter. 

Omega was already in bed, clearly having been tucked in by Wrecker as she was propped up against her pillows carefully.

“Can I kiss her goodnight?” she asked in a small voice, which made Hunter frown. He perched on the edge of the bed and handed Mina over. “She’s your daughter, ad’ika,” he reminded gently. “You don’t need to ask permission to hold her.” Omega laughed a little at that. 

“Oh yeah,” she said as she pressed a gentle kiss against Mina’s forehead. Hunter glanced around the room to try and give the pair a little bit of privacy, tears springing to his eyes as he heard her whisper a soft “Goodnight, Mina. I love you, ik’aad.”

When he turned back, Omega was watching her buir with an amused look on her face.

“You can’t hide from me,” she laughed. “I know you’re a sentimental old man, even if you tried to hide it from me when I was younger.” Hunter plastered a false look of offence on his face, making his daughter laugh more. He took Mina from Omega, gently placing her down in the cot in the way that Lyana had shown the family earlier that day. He moved back to where his own little girl was resting, her eyes beginning to droop; she watched her daughter, a small smile on her face.

“How can you have only just met someone and love them so much it hurts?” she mused, glancing up at Hunter. Her buir grinned and perched on the edge of her bed once more.

“I…” he started, not really sure how to proceed. “I don’t really know, but that’s exactly what it was like when I met you.”

Omega’s eyes widened as she realised for the first time that the way she was feeling was exactly how Hunter must have felt. 

“Just you wait until she starts dating,” the ex-sergeant went on to joke, only for Omega to send him a cold, deadpan look that made him laugh more. His daughter shuffled further under her blankets, her eyes drooping again as she settled down for the night. “I don’t think I want her to call me buir…” she mused sleepily, capturing Hunter’s attention. “That’s you. I might stick with mom…” All her buir could do was nod; there was no point in responding as his ad’ika slipped into a light sleep.

Hunter hadn’t tucked her in in a long time, but he wouldn’t pass up on the opportunity tonight. He stooped and pressed a kiss to her temple before reaching over and turning off the bedside lamp.

“Goodnight, ad’ika,” he whispered before heading towards the bedroom door.

“Goodnight, ba’buir,” came the tired, yet teasing tone of his daughter. Like he needed help feeling old. He chuckled lightly and closed the bedroom door before heading to his own room.

He was a ba’buir… Hunter hadn’t thought that it was possible for his heart to feel more full when Omega had come tumbling into it, but here he was. His heart ached in the best way and he couldn’t help but smile as he dozed off that night.

#the bad batch #sw tbb #tbb omega #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #tbb tech #tbb echo #tbb crosshair #sw tbb spoilers #sw tbb fanfic #tbb fanfiction #tbb fic #tbb #tbb season 3 #hurt/comfort #emotional #pregnancy #unplanned pregnancy #good parent hunter #space dad hunter #hunter is omega’s dad #good brother crosshair #good brother wrecker

[letsquestjess]

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)

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

#tbb #the bad batch #tbb fanfic #tbb fanfiction #sw tbb fanfiction #sw tbb fanfic #the bad batch fanfic #the bad batch fanfiction #sw tbb #sw the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #tbb x reader #tbb x you #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch x you #tbb hunter #hunter x reader #tbb hunter x reader #hunter x you #tbb hunter x you

[dystopicjumpsuit]

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

[lightspringrain]

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

[gonkys-database]

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