Bad Batch X Reader - Blog Posts

A peek...

Alright I’m bored, needing depth for my Fanfic, gonna analyze the Bad Batch’s barracks.  

It’s a mess, clear cut right off the start which shows how little Kaminoan  discipline of cleanliness (conditioning) was in affect in these particular clones.  

Echo has the hammock near Tech’s bunk and surrounded by his equipment.  Tech has hacked into the power conduits over his bunk to have all these mechanical arms and tools added so he could probably work on tinkering something by his bunk.- noted by @1fineslytherin​.  The lights here are dim, then after the Batch escapes Kamino and Crosshair moves in with his new squad the lights are restored to the typical Kaminoan illuminating fashion.  This may have been done for Hunter to ease his senses, POSSIBLY.  

As for that smell...

Wrecker has food on his bed, which has been left rotting and festering for about 206 or whatever rotations since the last time they were there.  No wonder it smells.  Along with a clothes line along the back wall which I guess is a step towards some sort of cleaning process?  Boy’s a wreck. - I am not sorry for that pun.  

Crosshair has a perch at the top left hand corner, it is level with Tech’s workstation from across the room.  He has three posters of droids on his back wall, each have distinct holes in the papers resembling the proper kill shots necessary to put down a droid.  Through the holes you can see the wall that they are pinned against, he used these for practice and brought them back to look at / show off / be his intimidating toothpick suckeling self.  As pointed out by @yavielin-feanarien, the center poster spells the letter ‘C’ in Aruebesh.  He also has 2 sets of fresh blacks folded neatly sitting on his sheets.  

I do believe given Wrecker’s messy manner and Tech’s clutter, Crosshair and Hunter decided to take opposite sides to keep the room in some sort of balance.  I say this because honestly I would want a roommate who is clean, not a slob, so in this kind of rooming situation I would want to be on the side with the other clean individual.  But I can see why they would take opposite sides to maintain some sort of “Order” within the room.  

Tech’s perch.  💕

-Tech states that he doesn’t want to sleep next to Wrecker’s junk in their opening episode...bro use those goggles to look at your own room first.  

-Wrecker definitely stole that couch from somewhere.  It’s a BIG couch for a BIG man such as himself.  They have their bunks, benches with no backs to lean into, and crates are all that can be sat on in this room.  Can definitely understand why Wrecker would bring this piece of furniture into their barracks. 

Tech’s bunk is made, and adorns his scribbles of equations.  With all this wall art, makes me wonder who drew that Padme nose art in the deleted reel.  😀  My credits on Tech.  

Hunter’s bunk is made and tidy. he is definitely a boot man, called it!  He has medals pinned to the backboard, no idea what that thing is in the corner, it might be a canteen.  He’s got the iconic Bad Batch 99 skull on his wall, I just dig this man.  

One last thing that I see a problem with as a collective, is that they don’t bring gonky into the room with them.  I like to think that because he is a defective unit that the facility would snatch him up and decommission him, or that he would be bullied by other droids.  So they agree that he’s gotta remain on the ship but still!  

Anyways....I would still like to be their shared barrack hoe.  No lie.  

Since the bad batch is going to end. im still sad and I love the characters. Im so happy that im a bad batch fan of the Star Wars community but it's still sad. I dont want this to end. And I love how everyone's theory about Tech and what gonna happened at the end, it just so interesting. im not ready to let it go. And I wanted to say Thank you bad batch for everything.

Heyyyyy love, I absolutely love everything you write. I have an itty bitty request!

Would you be able to write a cute fluffy fic with a plus sized female reader with tech with just a touch of spice to it?

You could also make it fun and do one for all the batch members?

Please and thank you if you can!! 🥰🥰

*fun fact - I made that tech edit many moons ago so I’m happy to see it still be used! 🥰🥹*

Plus Size***

All Bad Batch Boys X F!Reader

warnings: Mild NSFW, suggestive themes, plus sized female reader, confident reader (we’re all beautiful plus size or not!), mentions of a busty reader in some parts. Tech and Hunters parts are with an established relationship, others are not.

Authors note: decided to do small one shots for each of them in this post, write more for Tech and Echo because… it’s them ♥️ hope that’s okay with you @clonehoe- sorry for the wait !!!

Masterlist

Tech

Tech was watching you work with great interest, proud of the progress you had made in learning all the tips and tricks necessary for ship repairs. As he observed you beneath the control panel, clad in a snug tank top and form-fitting black pants that accentuated your every curve, he couldn't help but feel his heart rate skyrocket.

"Has the light come on yet?" you asked, your voice slightly muffled by the spanner between your teeth as you glanced up at him for assistance. The ship was scorching hot and it didn’t help that you were settled on a planet that had two suns to add to the heat. The heat system has always been faulty and despite you telling Tech you wanted to focus on fixing that, he was set in you fixing the hyperdrive first.

"Not yet. Try rotating the wiring counterclockwise. That should do the trick," he replied, his voice strained as he watched you work under his guidance. "There it is..." he murmured, his gaze darting to the lights above the control panel as you worked to fix the hyperdrive. "Good girl," he added, his endearment causing a flurry of excitement in your stomach.

Despite the nickname making you momentarily lose your concentration and hit your head against the side of the panel, you managed to remain focused on the task at hand. "Is it working now?" you asked, seeking confirmation with a smile as you wiped sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand.

"Yes, I have to say, I'm very impressed with your skills," he said, helping you out from under the control panel until you plopped down in a nearby seat to catch your breath.

"Yeah?" you asked, seeking reassurance.

"Absolutely," he replied, though his eyes were preoccupied with the alluring contours of your physique. "Perfect," he added, struggling to meet your gaze.

You couldn't help but smirk as you watched Tech struggle to keep his composure under your teasing gaze. Folding your arms over your chest, you subtly pushed your bust up to enhance your assets, causing Tech to wipe the steam that had suddenly formed on his goggles.

"Anything in particular that you're impressed with?" you asked, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

"W-well, it's hard not to be entranced by you looking the way you do while working under my command," he stammered, sitting up straight and tucking away his data pad. "I've adored your appearance since the first day we met, and seeing you all - forgive me - sweaty and wearing tight clothes is quite a fever dream," he added, his words causing a blush to rise on his cheeks.

You stood up slowly and took a couple of steps towards Tech, tilting his chin up to meet your gaze. "That's very sweet of you to say, Tech," you replied, your voice dripping with false innocence and a hint of teasing. "I am feeling a little sweaty though. Perhaps a shower would cool me down," you hinted, hoping he would pick up on your not-so-subtle suggestion.

Tech stood up abruptly, his hands flying to your waist and his fingers digging into your fleshy skin. "Perhaps since you helped me repair my ship, I could help you get freshened up," he offered, his lips trailing down your neck and over your chest despite the sweat that covered your skin.

"Eager, are we?" you asked, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck and suppressing a sweet sigh.

"Very much so," Tech groaned, holding you as close as possible. The two of you were rarely alone on the overcrowded ship, and with his brothers gone on a mission, Tech wasn't about to waste the opportunity to map out your whole body with his tongue.

Echo

"Trooper, what appears to be the issue?" Your entrance into the medbay had Echo stunned, his eyes locked onto your stunning, curvaceous figure and beautiful eyes.

He found himself gaping, struggling to find his words as he wished he had accepted help from the medical droid instead of being left in this state of awe.

"Trooper?"

Apologising for his silence, Echo managed to inform you of his injury to his femur that he sustained during a mission that had left him more grumpy than usual but your soft smile and calm presence helped to ease his nerves. Though, he was a little preoccupied on how your uniform was snug but not to the point it looked bad. It look really good.

He always took himself for a gentleman but as he gapes at you with hungry eyes, it was hard not to get enthralled by you.

You sat down next to him with a datapad, ready to take notes. "Can you tell me how this happened?" you asked with a soft smile.

Echo explained that he sustained the injury during a mission when heavy debris fell on him. You expressed sympathy and asked, "Are you in any pain, sweetie?" You were surprised by the endearment that slipped out of your mouth, although neither of you mentioned it. Then again, you did think he was much cuter than any other clone he had seen.

"Just a little, not as much as before," Echo replies steadily, hoping his blushing cheeks aren't too noticeable.

"I see. Have you been taking any medication for it?"

“No ma’am,”

You nod in understanding and stand to your feet again, placing your device to the side and slide on a pair of gloves. “Do I have permission to touch your leg to feel for any breaks?”

“Yes please.”

You both blink at one another and the quick realisation of what Echo just said sunk in fast but, you were blushing which was a good sign… wasn’t it?

“I mean, uh, do what you have to do ma’am.” He clears his throat, keeping his eyes diverted away from you but you could only smile at him in return and proceed to gently caress his thigh.

“Does it hurt here?” You ask, adding gentle pressure.

“No,” He says through gritted teeth, absolutely loving the touch of your hands on him - even if you were a stranger and even if it was simply your job.

“And here?” You ask again, applying pressure to a different area and as he winced in pain, your question was answered.

After a few more assessments, you highlighted that his femur isn’t fractured, only bruised and should heal naturally on its own. As you give the diagnosis, it went through one ear and out the other because again, his eyes being to wander and land on your hips as you turn away but caught him looking as you turn back to him.

You place your hands to your hips and smirk, “See something you like, Trooper?”

Echo’s eyes widened and he mumbled a thousand apologies at once, stumbling off the bed and thanking you for the help. You had a inkling that you may be seeing him again sometime. Well, you hoped so.

Hunter

Watching you work out was one of Hunter's favourite pastimes. The day was sweltering, and you naturally dressed in less clothing than usual for your workouts.

"Can I join you?" Hunter approaches you with a grin, sporting nothing but shorts that accentuated his tanned and toned body in the sunlight.

Finding yourself gaping in awe at his body too, you can only smirk back, slipping into a fighting stance and recalling every technique that Hunter had taught you. "How could I say no to you?" You ask and as you move, sweat drips from your body, enhancing your already alluring figure and heightening Hunter's senses.

"Good form," he compliments, stepping closer to you. His tone hints at his admiration for not only your workout performance but also your physique.

"Oh really?" You turn your head to glance at him, your eyes twinkling with amusement. "Why don't you demonstrate some other stances for me?"

Hunter relishes in the playful tone of your voice and steps up behind you, placing his hands tenderly on your hips, which he always yearns to touch. "Angle your body to the left and add a bounce to your knees," he instructs, guiding you through the movement. Though he knows you are capable of executing the exercise on your own, he can't resist the opportunity to have his hands on you.

You follow his directions but find yourself a little distracted by his touch. Even with his heightened senses, it feels as though Hunter is transferring his energy to you as his fingers caress the curves of your hips, trailing down to your thighs and back up to your arse, sending shivers down your spine. “Hunter…” you find yourself moaning his name, earning a low chuckle.

“Don’t get distracted by me,” he breathes down the nape of your neck but with his bare torso against your back and his hands roaming your body, it was so hard not to.

Wrecker

Wrecker had always admired your body, but it was your thighs that truly captivated him. At first, he was drawn in by your beauty, and it took some time for him to realize the full extent of his fascination. It wasn't until he saw you wearing shorts to bed one night that he truly understood the power of your curvy legs.

Now, as you lay on your cot reading a holobook, legs propped up in the air, Wrecker found himself once again unable to tear his gaze away from your thighs. He was so engrossed in his own thoughts that he didn't notice you watching him until you decide to speak up.

"May I make you an offer, Wrecker?" You asked, and he nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of your voice. He cleared his throat and tried to act casual as he responded.

"Sure, what is it?"

"If you promise to stop staring at my legs all the time, I'll let you come over and give them a massage," you smirk, lowering your holobook to look him in the eye. Wrecker felt his face flush with embarrassment. Had it been so obvious that he couldn't take his eyes off you?

He started to stammer out an apology, but you cut him off with a wave of her hand and a soft smile.

"I don't mind," you say, sitting up until you’re sitting on your legs and teasingly entice him over by beckoning him with your finger. “I like to think they’re my best assets,” you comment, patting your legs that made them subtly jiggle which almost made him drop his helmet he was cleaning.

“Well, they are pretty.” He stands and comes closer until he sits on the edge of your bed watching you shift from your current position to you sat with them laid out. “Did ya mean your offer?” He asks, fingers twitching to reach out and touch your skin.

“I did,” you smirk, “go ahead.”

His hands come down to your thighs, large and rough yet gentle as he caresses your skin. He watches you for your reaction and as you tilt your head back and sigh in satisfaction, he knew he made the right choice in accepting your offer.

Crosshair

Crosshair watched as you struggled to hit the bottles he had set up as targets. He shook his head in disapproval and clicked his tongue, his new found admiration for you mingling with his frustration at your poor performance. But, he couldn’t help but also admire the view of you.

"You're doing it all wrong," he chided from the sidelines. To which, you let out a heavy sigh and nearly threw the rifle to the ground in frustration.

"I'm standing exactly where you told me to," you huffed, earning an eye roll from Crosshair. He approaches you, a small smirk on his lips as he positioned himself behind you.

"No, you're not," he teased, but he softened his tone as he sensed your frustration growing. "Stand here," he instructed, pointing to a spot next to him.

Reluctantly, you obeyed, standing close to him as he instructed you to raise the rifle and relax your shoulders. Crosshair watched you with his sharp eyes, feeling a sense of power as he towered over you.

"Okay, now what?" You asked, breath steady as you glanced back at him. You couldn't help but feel weak in the knees whenever he looked at you like that. He always had a hold over you, and him being so close to you now didn't help.

"Don't look at me, look at the target," he commanded. His voice, which usually dripped with venom, was surprisingly soft and alluring.

Turning away, you let out a small and surprised gasp as his hands come to your waist but to your surprise, he let out a small gasp himself.

“Wow princess,” he cooed, his fingers melting against the curve of your body, “I always knew you had a beautiful body but to touch it… stunning.” He breathes down your neck.

Your eyes widened at his words but you succumbed quickly to his touch, your back pressed against his chest as his hands begin to roam your body. “Y-you like my body?” You question with a hint of insecurity but your question is answered as he finally places his lips to your neck.

“I love,” he sighs, caressing your body from over your clothes, “every inch.”

You end up dropping his weapon eventually, it clanging to the floor with a thud and as you go to apologise, he spins you to face him, close and dominant. “Screw it,” he grunts, devouring your lips with his own.

That was enough teaching for one day…

Masterlist

My Kofi

Tags: @nunanuggets @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @cwarssimp @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @oohyesplease @megafrost4 @theroguesully @equalityforcats @mustluvecho @misogirl828 @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @chxpsi @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @kixs-husband @pb-jellybeans @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @agenteliix @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @imalovernotahater @swiftiexstarwarssimp @the-good-shittt @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @erellenora

fights and hugs (crosshair's pov)

wildflower masterlist

relationship: twi'lek!jedi!reader x crosshair [gn, can be platonic or romantic]

summary: everyone thinks you're perfect but crosshair knows the truth - you're manipulative and annoying. so why does he get so protective when a creep harasses you?

word count: 1.8k

warnings: cross thinks kindness = emotional manipulation, jealousy, sexualization/verbal harassment, enslavement, creep gets punched, protective cross, clones not having rights/unfair justice system, separation anxiety, soft cross, he's like a feral cat that secretly wants to be a house cat

ryl translations: chi'kan- pervert, keela- darling

a/n: i think i wrote cross like wednesday addams lmao

Crosshair thinks you’re the most frustrating person he’s ever met. And he can’t even do anything about it. He might be a prickly bastard but he’s also a soldier and you’re his commanding officer. He can’t just pick a fight with you. Especially since you never take the fucking bait.

He gives you the bare minimum amount of respect required. He follows your orders on missions (they’re actually pretty smart but he’ll die before he admits that.) He calls you commander or sir. He doesn’t outright insult you. But he certainly doesn’t worship you like his brothers.

They think you’re an angel. What makes you so special? You make Wrecker laugh obnoxiously loud. You encourage Tech’s messy collecting hobby. You play with Hunter's hair until he’s purring like a tooka. It’s pathetic. You’re probably using jedi mind tricks on them. The truth is you’re a manipulative little shit and if it didn’t make Crosshair so angry he might be impressed.

What he really hates is that satisfied look on your face when he does what you want. Like when he plays a stupid dancing game just to prove to you that he can do it better than Wrecker. Or smiling at him proudly when he doesn’t shoot a reg.

Then you have the audacity to compliment him? Disgusting. So why does he crave it? Why does he get annoyed when you praise his brothers instead of him.

One day you give him a piece of dark fabric. “You wear it to block out light when you sleep,” you explain with a bright smile. The cool material is like his blacks but softer. He can’t help but run his fingers along it. He mutters a thanks and quickly leaves.

That night he uses the sleep mask and to his horror likes it. Now he’s in debt to you. But he doesn’t have any credits. Fucking great. Why do you have to make his life so difficult?

Luckily he finds a gift for you within the next few days. After a mission he notices a rock that got caught in an explosion. It’s been cracked in half, exposing the crystalized insides. Jedi like crystals right? He grabs it and drops it in his pack.

Of course you make a big fuss when he awkwardly gives it to you. You almost hug him but don’t, thank the force. He doesn’t feel dissapointed at all. You show the rock to his brothers proudly. His face burns when they send him questioning looks. “Easily impressed,” he scoffs dismissively. Although secretly he’s proud of himself.

He’s having a sleepless night on some forgettable outer rim planet when you knock on his cabin door. He knows it’s you because his brothers would have barged in. “Hey Crosshair, wanna get some snacks? I’m paying,” you offer. You shake a satchel draped across your body, making the credits inside clank together.

He wonders if Hunter (who’s currently on watch) put you up to this, why else would you seek out his company? It's obvious you prefer his brothers anyways. Not that he cares. The thought of you being coerced into this makes his hackles rise, he doesn't need your pity, but then he imagines telling Wrecker’s that you got him nat born food tomorrow. That will be entertaining. He sharply agrees and puts on his boots.

He glances down at his GAR issued loungewear. He doesn’t know if they’re appropriate for a nat born store or wherever you’re taking him but you’re wearing sleep clothes too so good enough. You're swaddled in an oversized robe to be exact. How childish. Not at all endearing

As you exit the ship your eyes reflect in the dark just like his. That’s another annoyance. Enhanced eyesight used to be his thing. You began humming a tune under your breath. Crosshair almost says something but the sound isn’t too horrible so he lets you continue.

Within a few minutes you're at the store. He's instantly overwhelmed by the bright lights and endless options, who needs so many flavors of the same thing? He doesn’t know what any of this is but he doesn’t want to admit that so he begins recon. He grabs a crinkly bag that appears to be some kind of a cracker to inspect it.

That’s when Crosshair notices a stumbling man leering at you. He’s caught off guard by the sudden flash of protective anger he feels. Why is he so concerned? If you can handle yourself on a battlefield, you can handle one pathetic human. Your body language is the opposite of your usual demanor when talking to civilians. You’re usually very open and engaging, easily forming a connection with them. Not now.

Crosshair has seen you face hoards of battle droids with a smile. He’s seen you meditate while being shot at. He’s seen you make fun of General Grievous while fending off four sabers. But now you look shaken. Your colorful skin has paled, eyes wide in a mix of shock and horror. You suddenly look so young and so frightened.

He's beside you in a second. He tries to ignore the relief in your eyes, the way you subtly lean closer to him. It makes his chest feel odd.

“You their master?”

He sneers. Does he look like a jedi master? You go completely rigid beside him. That catches the clone off guard. You know how to keep a straight face. You’re not only a stupidly brave fighter, you’re a damn good negotiator. What could have possibly upset – then it hits him. This man was referring to a different kind of master.

You quickly recover, slipping into an emotionless jedi facade you rarely use. Crosshair’s jaw clenches so hard his toothpick snaps in half. He spits the broken pieces towards the man’s feet. “I belong to no one. The galaxy is much bigger than your prejudices,” you state evenly but there’s a fire in your eyes. “My friend and I are leaving now.”

Then the creep, who’s either stupud or plain suicidal, scoffs angrily. “You think you’re better than me? Tail head whore.”

The sniper sees fucking red. How dare this piece of shit demean his jedi? His self sacrificing, too nice, pain in the ass jedi. Only Crosshair is allowed to make your life difficult. The way the stranger judges you reminds him of every kaminoan that looked down on his brothers and his free hand is swinging.

The drunk is sent staggering wildly. Before either man can recover your fingers wrap around the sniper's wrist to hold him in place as you bend down. “You want to go home and rethink your life choices," you instruct melodically, waving a hand in his face.

“I want to go home and rethink my life choices,” he repeats blankly.

You make quick work of charming the concerned worker, assuring that no police presence is necessary. Then you turn to the sniper and in that fake calm voice he hates suggests he get water for his chips. For once in his life he follows instructions without complaint, watching you closely as you pay for your snacks. Your moves are less graceful and much more droid-like than usual.

Once you get outside you shakily sigh. He holds back an eyeroll. He’s lived with Hunter long enough to know when he’s going to get scolded. “You shouldn’t have done that, Crosshair. I was about to mind trick him.”

He stares at the ground with a tight jaw. He doesn’t know why he defended you when you didn't need it. He saw a creep harassing the only nat born who’s ever been kind to him and he just snapped. He’s still angry, honestly. Why aren’t you? “He deserved it.”

“Perhaps. But clones don’t have rights, you can’t just go around assaulting civilians. Even if it’s self defense you’re going to be painted as the aggressor.”

But Crosshair is only half listening. He's more focused on your unsteady hands. “You're shaking."

“Are you even listening to me? This is serious.”

He suddenly seizes your free wrist, “so is this.”

You look like you want to argue for a moment then you slump in defeat. “I’m just… overwhelmed.”

Crosshair has experience with overwhelmed siblings. Hunter like space, Wrecker likes affection, Tech likes a listening ear. "What do you need?” He asks, surprisingly gentle.

This seems to be your boiling over point as you gesture wildly, swinging the bag in your hand. “I need sleep. I need to meditate. I need my master.” Your glowing eyes widen at your own outburst. The frustration morphs to sadness. “I guess I’m a little homesick. I thought spending time with you would be a good distraction but that chi’kan ruined it.”

This should be the point where he drops the subject. You already said what’s wrong and it’s not his responsibility to make you happy. But a voice that sounds suspiciously like Hunter points out that if the roles were reversed, you wouldn’t leave him to suffer.

He thinks back to the cadet days, when it was just him and his brothers against the world. He remembers the overwhelming anger when a reg hurt one of them. He was never good at comforting, he was good at revenge. But he can’t fight your emotions. And he already punched the chi’kan (he’ll have to find out what that means later.)

There’s only one option left. Out of his brothers you remind him of Wrecker the most and Wrecker likes physical reassurance when he’s upset. He awkwardly opens his arms and bites the blaster bolt. “Do you want a hug?”

“... What?”

“I’m not saying it again.”

Then you’re flying against him. Crosshair almost falls into the grass as you smash your face into his neck, fists balling into his sleep shirt. You’re warm and solid and your touch isn’t completely revolting. He slowly relaxes as he winds a long arm around you.

Crosshair will never admit it but he can understand your separation anxiety. As the sniper it’s his job to watch his brother’s backs. The instinct to protect is so engraved in Crosshair he needs to be near his siblings or know where they are at all times. Maybe that’s why he defended you tonight. He’s starting to accept you as part of the squad.

“Blossom?” He mutters, thumb absently stroking your lower back.

“Yeah, Cross?”

“If you tell anyone about this I’ll shoot you.”

You snort against the crook of his neck. "Whatever you say, keela."

Hey, can i put in request for our snarky hotshot?

I saw this prompt somewhere and really liked it

“want a massage? i’ve been told that i’m..very good with my hands” and if you’re bored it can lead to some dirty dirty? If that’s the case, body worship maybe? TY soo very much <3

Sorry this took so long lmao. Moving house has been KILLING me. I loved writing this and I hope I did the prompt justice :)

And yes I will continue writing Medic!Reader. Doc is just the perfect gender neutral nickname I am a sucker for when the fic writes itself. No I will not stop and no one can make me.

Crosshair x GN!Reader

(This is my first time attempting to write an actual GN penetration fic so lemme know if it leans to heavily in one way or another. It can be read as either PiA or PiV imo)

Rating: E (18+) Warnings: Unprotected sex, creampie Word Count: 1700+

Masterlist

Crosshair was loitering again. It wasn’t an uncommon thing; he wasn’t exactly subtle about being soft on you. It was a source of constant teasing from his brothers, much to his chagrin. He was very firm about it “No I do not have a ‘crush’ on the doctor Wrecker, grow up” or “they’re just so fun to tease” which would result in knowing looks shared between his brothers as he stormed off to loiter in your office as you finished paperwork.

Today was no different.

You were hunched over your desk, trying to finish off the last of the medical reports so that you could get to sleep at a reasonable hour for a change as you were once again interrupted by the drawl of a certain handsome sniper.

“Your posture is terrible, that’s gotta be bad on your back” you look over to where Crosshair is leaning against the wall of your office, arms crossed over his chest still clad in his armor moving the ever-present toothpick in his mouth from one side to the other. Fixing him with a scowl you adjust your posture slightly before replying “Well no one is asking you to hang around and berate me about it, don’t you have someone else you would rather annoy?” he hits you with his trademark smirk “No”.

You simply sigh before getting back to your work. You try to ignore him, honestly you do, but it’s difficult. His presence is a source of constant conflict for you, he is devilishly handsome, and he knows it. He enjoys flustering you with flirtatious comments and small touches when the situation allows, he enjoys the way you blush and stumble over your words at his teasing, he enjoys it far too much.

You grunt softly as rub your back, maybe he did have a good point. Your back was sore, your eyes were tired, and you wanted nothing more than to go back to your quarters, take a hot shower and fall into your semi-comfortable bed.

“Told you so” you can almost hear the smirk in his voice as he moves off the wall towards you. You sigh and shut off your terminal before glancing over at Crosshair who is now standing behind you, looming over you with his imposing height. “I’m heading back to my quarters Cross, go find someone else to piss off” you tried to snap at him, but your voice just sounded exhausted instead as you rub your shoulders. You stand up and leave towards the direction of your room, attempting to ignore the sniper who was following you.

“You know…” he starts as you look over your shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow “I’ve been told that I’m very good with my hands, if you want a massage” you think about the offer, wondering if this is a joke or if one of you has actually taken the final step in this ‘will they wont they’ situation you’ve found yourselves in. Deciding to throw caution to the wind you simply nod and lead the way to your quarters.

Once inside you feel a little unsure of how to proceed, you never really thought either of you would take this final step towards… whatever it is that’s happening right now, and you never thought this far ahead. You decide to lay down on your bed, face in your pillows as you hear some shuffling from Crosshair behind you.

You feel Crosshair’s long toned legs against your thighs, something that is decidedly not the hard jab of plastoid and you lift your head up to look behind you only to be greeted with the sight of Crosshair in only the bottom half of his blacks straddling your thighs busying himself with a small packet of lubricant that look eerily familiar. “Did… did you swipe that from my office?” you move your head back down into the pillows to stop Crosshair from seeing your blush as he tuts “where else would I have gotten it?” you decide not to question it as you feel his hands under the hem of your shirt. “You gotta take this off doc, I need room to work” you silently follow his command as you shift and allow him to help you remove your shirt. Ignoring the burning heat in your face as you lay your head against your arms on your pillow.

You shudder slightly as you hear him open the packet and rub his hands together, successfully stifling an embarrassingly desperate moan as his hands make contact with your back. He wasn’t kidding, he is really good with his hands. You feel all your tension leave you as he runs his hands along your back, working through the knots and kinks in your muscles as you feel yourself melting into the mattress.

He works his hands lower until his fingers are digging into your hips as his thumbs work on a particularly tense area of your lower back. You fail to stifle your moan this time, you also fail to notice the sharp inhale and movement of Crosshairs hips to the sound. You’re lost in the bliss of Crosshair’s hands as he finally breaks the silence that has settled over the two of you “You know doc… I think I could get better access if you moved your pants down a little” you both know this is probably untrue, but at this point you really don’t care. The two of you have been moving around this for far too long and if this is what it takes for you to finally step over the line, you’re more than ready. You nod as you feel Crosshair’s hands snake their way under your pants and underwear, pulling them down slowly as he reveals more of your skin to him.

“You’re… stunning doc” his voice is breathy with a barely contained desire as he runs his hands down over your bare skin, running his fingers over the flesh of your ass kneading the soft skin before he leans down and starts trailing a line of kisses down your back. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted this… wanted you” he continues pulling your pants down further. “I need you to tell me you want this too” his voice has dropped into a breathy whisper as he speaks to you.

You raise your head slightly to look behind you, his face and chest are dusted with a light blush, his eyes are blown wide with lust and there is a very prominent bulge in his blacks. You nod, wetting your lips as you find the words “yes… yes I want this too”. You watch as Crosshair lets out a shuddered exhale and moves to find the leftover lube from the packet before placing your head back into your pillow.

“Just lie back and enjoy Doc…” his voice is husky as he returns his hands to your body, running them along your thighs up towards the swell of your ass, placing kisses along your back, his stubble sending tingles through your body as he brings his now slick fingers to your entrance. You tense slightly as he slowly pushes a single finger inside you, pumping it in and out for a bit before adding a second scissoring them slightly. “Fuuuck… you’re so tight doc… can’t wait to feel you around my cock” you shudder at his voice, the feeling of his long fingers filling you up, soft moans falling from your lips as he moves the digits in and out of your tight entrance.

You whimper slightly at the feeling of his fingers leaving you, only to take a sharp inhale as you feel him move behind you, removing the bottom half of his blacks. You steal another quick glance behind you and gasp at the sight of him.

He’s huge, long and thick with precum beading at the tip. You watch as he pours the remainder of the lube onto his length, giving himself a few strokes before leaning over you, one hand beside your head as he uses the other to line himself up with your prepped hole. You moan as you feel the blunt head of his cock press against you before slowly pressing in. The sounds he makes as he slowly feeds his length inside you are utterly sinful, a long groan of your name leaves his lips as he holds himself above you with both arms, panting softly.

“Fuck… Doc you’re so fucking tight. You take my cock so well” his voice is shaky, as if he’s trying to hold himself back from slamming his hips into yours with reckless abandon. You turn your head again and nod, hoping that he gets the hint that he can start moving.

He does, his first thrusts are slow, tentative, gauging your reactions before he begins picking up the pace at your soft moans of his name. It’s not long before he’s moving his hips into yours, ripping pornographic moans from your chest that you would probably be embarrassed about if you weren’t so thoroughly engulphed in pleasure.

“Fuck just like that, you have no idea how long I’ve been wanting this Doc… You’re fucking perfect” he lets out another long groan as he fucks you with reckless abandon, the head of his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you repeatedly, bringing you closer and closer towards your release. His rhythm begins to faulter slightly as his breathing gets heavier “where...?” his voice is strained as he holds himself back from the edge “inside” you let out one long moan of his name as your climax washes over you, your legs shaking from pleasure as Crosshair slams his hips inside of you a few more times before letting out a sinful moan as his cock throbs and he finishes inside you, filling you with his cum.

He leans down against your back as you both pant, attempting to catch your breath, both of your bodies covered in a thin layer of sweat as you bask in your afterglows. He pulls his softening length out of you before disappearing to the refresher to grab you a damp towel, throwing it at you as he places a toothpick in his mouth.

“Not a word of this to my brothers. If I have to hear ‘I told you so’ from Hunter I’ll deck him”  

@where-is-my-mind-tho @antishadow2021 @healingskywalker @crosshairlovebot@ilovestarwarsmen725 @vincentferard

You Had One Job.

Crosshair x F!Wife!Reader

Word Count: 1.7K

Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Established Relationship, Dry/Rude Humor, Mentions of Blood

Summary: When Crosshair risked his life to send his brothers and wife a message, he expected them to heed his warnings. He should have known that his family never does things the way they're supposed to.

A/N: You know when you can never find a fanfic with your specific idea in mind so you write it yourself? That's what this is. This is purely self indulgent, and I'm not apologizing. Happy reading!

"Keep moving, traitor!" The trooper shouted from behind her, and pushed his blaster to her back for good measure.

"Wasn't planning on stopping, asshole." She mumbled to herself. The corridor was dark. The only real source of illumination was the blood-red ray shields containing what must have been hundreds of clone troopers. How could they do this to the men that fought for them so valiantly, not even a year prior? It disgusted her that the Empire was willing to treat its own soldiers this way.

"Stop here." One of the troopers finally barked. She stopped and turned towards the ray shield, but the cell was different than the others. It looked almost like an office. In the center of the room, a man leaned on the desk with a pleased smirk on his face. As the ray shield lifted and she was shoved in the room, she analyzed his face. He had a chiseled jawline, cold blue eyes, and slicked back hair as dark as his aura.

"Ah, the legendary Mrs. (Y/N) (L/N). How wonderful to finally meet you." He smiled. His voice was just as eerily calm as the look in his eyes. She couldn't quite place his intentions.

"Dr. Hemlock, I presume?" She asked.

He let out a slight chuckle. "I am surprised you know that. Very few do."

"Wasn't easy to find out. I actually came here to kill you, but your troopers here took my weapons." The doctor circled her menacingly, as if he was analyzing her.

Hemlock released the handcuffs strangling her wrists and motioned for her to sit. "I'm sorry they ruined your plans. But you and I both know you don't need a weapon to kill me. You could do it right now if you wanted to." As she sat tentatively, he sat on the chair opposite her side of the desk. "And it's getting ever more tempting by the moment, I bet." He teased. She forced herself to appear relaxed, but something about this man felt off.

"I have more self-restraint than that, Doctor."

"Clearly you don't have as much as you think."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Gladly." Hemlock placed a recorder before her and pressed the button.

Plan 88. They're after Om-

Plan 88. They're after Om-

Plan 88. They're after Om-

Hemlock let the transmission play a few times, allowing her husbands plea to mock her. He took pleasure in the way she became visibly uncomfortable at the sound of her husbands voice.

"I understand. It must have been hard when he abandoned you." If looks could kill, Hemlock would have been slowly crushed under the weight of a tank.

"You don't know him." She hissed. He nodded his head regretfully.

"Correct. Which is what I'm hoping you can help me with." Hemlock stood behind her and bent down so he spoke directly into her ear. "How do I get him to talk?"

"Did you try saying 'please'?" She said sarcastically.

The doctor released a heavy sigh and stood tall again. "I like you, Mrs. (L/N). You're quite funny. But humor and a pretty face will not help you here."

Despite the threat behind his words, she couldn't help but snort. "You really think I'm pretty?" This time, the Doctor did not laugh. He turned to face her again and grabbed her chin, harshly forcing her to look at him.

"Not for long." He said calmly. As he drew his hand away, the woman saw an opportunity. As hard as she could, she bit the Doctor's finger and refused to let go. His yelp of pain alerted the troopers standing guard outside the room. It took both of them to pull her teeth from his finger.

As Hemlock cradled his bleeding hand, she spat his blood and skin from her mouth with a red-stained grin. "Go fuck yourself, Doctor." The last thing she remembered was a harsh force to the back of her head, and falling to the ground.

-

Growing up, Crosshair believed there were two kinds of soldiers: brave, or stupid. Then he met his wife and learned there was a third option: ballsy. He never considered himself one to shy away from a fight, but he'd never met a woman as daring as her. That was once a trait he admired. Hell, it may even be the one that made him fall in love with her. But now, as he watched his wife's unconscious body be thrown into his prison cell, covered in the blood of a fight she undoubtedly started, he wished dearly that she was a coward.

He forced himself to stay seated on the ground until the troopers left. The moment the ray-shield reactivated, he crawled to her awakening body and held her close.

"(Y/N)? Can you hear me?" He cradled her head in his lap like she was made of glass and delicately brushed her tangled hair from her face. "Wake up, you di'kuit!" He inspected the blood seeping from her mouth, and couldn't help the proud feeling was over him as he realized it wasn't hers.

"Crosshair?" She croaked weakly. She felt like she was dreaming. After a year of being away from him, she finally lay cradled in his arms.

Upon hearing her voice, He helped her sit up and began inspecting her body for injuries. "Are you hurt?" He asked. She had never heard him speak with such concern. Sure, he'd been worried for her before. That was only natural in their line of work. But this wasn't worry. This was genuine fear.

"I'm okay," she assured him. "I'm okay." Her words calmed him. However, as his adrenaline wore off, the realization set in

"What the fuck are you doing here?!" He whispered loudly.

Well at least now she could be sure it wasn't a dream. That was definitely her Cross.

Like a child, she swatted his hands away from her face and pouted. “I was trying to save you!”

He looked around the cell, and back at her. “Well, you've done a great job, mesh’la.” He leaned back from his squatting position and sat against the wall opposite her. They stared at each other in tense silence for a moment. "You turned yourself in?"

"Please, you think these new 'stormtroopers' could bring me in by themselves?" His face expressed that he was clearly not pleased with his lovers actions.

"Could you explain to me how 'plan 88' translates to 'turn yourself in to the empire'?" He deadpanned.

She snorts. "Oh please, a warning is just a dangerous challenge."

Her carelessness did little to relieve his frustration. "Dammit, (Y/N) you had one job!" He snapped. Feeling his anger begin to take over, he took a deep breath and pinched the top of his nose. "I told you to run."

"And I told you to stay, so I guess know we're even." She rebutted bitterly. She didn't mean to say it, but the way that he reprimanded her like a child enraged her.

Her spiteful response surprised him. He went silent in shame. He never meant for any of this to happen. He wanted so desperately to go back in time. To stand in front of her on that Kaminoan platform one more time and hold her close. To tell her that he would never leave her side again. But unlike his lover, time was not so forgiving. "I'm sorry." He whispered so quietly she barely heard him.

She regretted her words as soon as she saw him shrink like a wounded dog. With a sigh, she scooted across the room until she was sitting next to him. "I really missed you." She said quietly. He looked up at her beautiful warm eyes with his own and practically melted. She cautiously rested her head on his shoulders and relished in the familiar feeling. For the first time a very long time, he allowed a tear to fall from his eyes. He couldn't bring himself to look down at her. Instead he opted to stare at the ceiling in hopes that gravity would keep his tears at bay. He didn't deserve this. Her forgiveness. He hurt her badly, and somehow she was able to act like nothing had happened. Why was she so good to him? Hesitantly, he leaned into her warmth and placed his hand over hers. When she didn't recoil, he felt a wave of emotions overcome him.

"I'm so sorry." He said quietly. "You deserve better."

She lifted her head from his shoulder and smiled up at him. "You are better." She responded.

He was sure he had never been more in love with her.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked.

Instead of responding, she gently held his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his. It wasn't like their kisses used to be - passionate and hungry. This time, his lips slowly and tenderly molded into hers with nothing but pure love. With every second that went on, his body and mind relaxed more and more. He could taste the dried blood from her mouth, but even that didn't bother him.

Suddenly, a familiar imperial alarm began sounding off, followed by emergency lights flashing. The desire in his eyes faded, and confusion took it's place. His wife, however, looked completely unfazed.

"What did you do?" He asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"Remember that digestible tracker Tech was always working on?"

"Please tell me you didn't swallow a tracker."

"He made it meiloorun flavored!" She smiled.

As if on cue, the ray shield to their cell disappeared. "They boys are right on schedule." She stood and offered him a hand to do the same. While he struggled to regain his balance, her grip on his hand remained. "Welcome back to Clone Force 99, my love."

He gawked in amazement at his wife. This woman had been tortured, abandoned, betrayed and humiliated by him. And yet here she stood, after breaking into a top secret imperial base, with her hand extended and a still-bloody smile on her face. (Where that blood came from, he still wasn't sure.) If he could marry her twice he would. "Fuck, I love you so much." He exhaled as he wrapped himself in her embrace and felt relief for the first time in a long time.

Echo and Reader are having a moment (hugging and talking softly)

Hunter and Tech are looking at them with proud and loving eyes. As Wrecker is walking towards them, Hunter’s spidey senses flare up. He has this feeling that Wreckers enthusiastic volume will kill the mood for Echo and Reader.

Hunter without thinking , jumps and slams himself onto Wrecker preventing him from breaking up the lovely couple.

Bonus: Tech runs and tries shush Wrecker

Graves of Memories Passed Away

ARC Trooper Echo x Reader Fluff

Summary: Echo was so quiet and kept to himself for a while after he'd been found. But yet, the medic of his team caught his eyes with a energetic personality, booming laughter, bright eyes, and voice of controller chaos. Why did he exactly like you?

Warnings: Just a whole bunch sweet of flashbacks, a bit of angst actually, mentions of Fives' death

GIF NOT MINE!!

•--•

The bar was lively today. Not in the sense that there were a lot of people, but in the sense that everyone was relaxed. You'd all finished your mission yesterday and Cid saw how pent up even you were, so she allowed a small break. But she was happy too, seeing past her grumpy smile was the joking Cid that was enjoying Hunter's company.

But you, oh you were why the whole bar was so lively. At least, that's how Echo saw it. Your laughter was booming across the bar as Wrecker, you and Omega all were playing a card game. That sweet laughter, no wonder he loved you more than anything. Even more than Omega (don't tell Hunter he said that though).

Your mouth was open, teeth showing as you laughed at one of Wrecker's stupid jokes, Omega coming back with someone more clever in return. Smart kid, she always had a good comeback; and a way to make you smile. The top of your nose was scrunched as your eyebrows leaned to press together. Omega was giggling, watching you. His heart melted at the two of you - it always did, seeing the corners of your eyes crease with happiness whenever his little sister cracked a joke. He hoped one day he'd see a sight like that again, with a different kid, one you both named and watched come into the world. One day.

"Why is it that you find her so fascinating?" Tech asked, rubbing his index finger against the glass. He had moved his gaze from the liquid to Echo, a light tilt of his head and a look of pure curiosity. "I figured maybe you'd go for someone more... calm?"

Echo's face was somewhere between shocked and trying to find an answer. There were many answers, but what was one that Tech would like? Multiple, Tech would always want multiple answers, as many as there was.

"I guess- well, have you ever heard the speculation that you love someone that resembles your closest family member in personality?" Echo asked, envisioning Fives laughing at his words and clapping him on the shoulder with a taunt in mind, 'Maybe that's why I always liked the sassy ones!'

Tech looked surprised at that, "No, I've actually never heard that one. But please continue."

Echo cleared his throat, trying to ward off the image of Fives making fun of him for even believing such a stupid quip. "Well, I guess I see a lot of Fives in her. She's so out there and not embarrassed for being seen or heard. She's funny and confident and she just has this feeling of home to her. She's so smart too, hides it behind all that beauty. Fives used to be the same - he was second to you Tech, extremely smart, just was hidden behind his looks and hair."

"Not as smart as Echo though!" you cheered, mouth wide with a smile spread from cheek to cheek. Fives sat there on the other side of the booth in 79's with his eyebrows furrowed from the lack of attention as you sat next to Echo, his arm wrapped around your shoulders tightly.

"I'm as smart as Echo, you just can't see it past this sexxyyy exteriorrr," Fives said, drawing out the two words as he ran his hands playfully up and down his chest. He looked ridiculous, getting more giggles from you.

You returned the gesture by rubbing your hands across Echo's chest, "Echo's sexier than you, loser."

"We both look the same, di'kut."

"Liar, look at him," you reached up and squished Echo's cheeks together, him side-eyeing you with an unamused expression even if you knew he found it funny, "His right eye twitches when you make fun of me. And he's just soooo handsome," you pressed kisses all over his cheek, leaving lip-gloss marks across his tanned skin.

Tech wasn't focused on his drink anymore, his hand being the only thing that suggested he still knew about it. He watched Echo's eyes sparkle as he talked about the two people he loved most; though only one was still with him.

With a smirk, indicating Tech wanted to lose some of the legitimacy of how he usually spoke, he stated, "Of all the memories you've talked about, he's never come off as the smart type."

"He never did."

"We're gonna get in trouble," Echo spoke softly into your ear, making you smirk and turn to capture his lips in a mischievous kiss. When you broke from it, you still had that stupid look on your face; it made his heart flip every time he saw it.

"My sweet Echo, we'll be fine, you were the one that said you were hungry," you whispered back, giggling sweetly as you snuck through the kitchen on Kamino. Fives had found a back entrance that was always locked - lucky for the Domino Twins, Echo had a hot girlfriend that could lock pick. Fives' words exactly.

Echo grumbled, "I don't want you in trouble cause I was hungry."

"Can you guys stop initiating a reproductive ritual right now, I'm hungry as fuck!" Fives whisper-yelled.

"Watch your mouth vod."

"'Watch your mouth vod.'" Fives mocked back, holding up his hand like it was a sock puppet to make the pretend Echo talk in a high-pitched voice. That earned a slap to the arm by your Arc Trooper boyfriend.

"What did you mean by she 'has a feeling of home to her'? I do not understand what that entails."

Echo looked back at the girl he had loved for years and years. She'd always been there, by his side, telling him how much she loved him, how she felt about him, what he meant to her. For someone that looked like the most basic clone ever made, she loved Echo more than she had loved anyone. All those rotations, alone with only the men that had always been around her. She'd lost a lot but she still waited for him, even when Fives died, her hope almost gone, she waited.

"Echo, can we talk?" you sweet voice rung through his head as he turned around. You invited him over, cooked dinner for the two of you and laughed with him the entire night. The absence of Fives was weird, Echo wasn't used to Y/n completely leaving Fives out of a hangout night, but he didn't question anything.

Echo saw you, hair blowing in the wind, covered in a hoodie that was way too large for you with shorts he had to strangle himself not to admire. The clone got up, walking over to you and looking at you with curious eyes. You looked so tiny and nervous with your bottom lip quivering as you looked at him. You didn't look upset though, you just looked like you were about to explode if you didn't see him.

"I- I think that I love you," you whispered, reaching up to rest your hand on his cheek. He'd know you for months, laughed with you forever, been your partner in crime since the day you had met. The feeling of your soft skin resting on his face, breeze blowing against him.

Echo moved his hands to your waist, holding you in his hands like you were made of glass, "Mesh'la, I've.. I believe I've always loved you."

The kiss he was sucked into killed him. Destroyed him. If Echo ever left you, he'd never love again and he believed that with all of his heart. The moment you two shared completely ruined him, he didn't believe there was love other than this. He'd be destined to live out life with you till he died.

"It means that I love her. You'll understand, trust me. Everyone deserves to understand."

You dropped your datapad on the floor, making a loud sound across the hangar. You looked at Echo with a sadness he had never seen you wear. You were so happy all that time ago. But then Fives had left you, the only person who soothed the pain to numbness.

Tears rose, turning your eyes into glossy marbles. You ran at him, maybe with the armor on it would be a heavy hit, but you gave up all sense of logic. Hitting him hard, you clung to him, arms around his neck. But he did what he knew best; Echo caught you in his arms, your feet barley touching the ground as he hid his face in your neck.

You were real. He felt Hunter staring at him but he didn't care. His girl was alive. When Echo let you back on your feet, you held his arms with soft fingers. You were crying, the skin around your eyes red and damp and your nose also red and irritated.

"Echo, my Echo, I knew you'd be alive."

"I did promise you that I wouldn't go anywhere," Echo joked, smiling so wide, tears threatening his own eyes. He felt safe, the least tense he'd been in forever.

"So uhhhh, are we getting a new teammate?" Wrecker asked, voice booming from behind the two of you.

"I hope so," Tech responded, taking a sip out of his glass, "Though it's not likely."

Echo only laughed, shaking his head at the stubborn nerd. 'You also thought it was,' Fives teased before fading into the background as he always did when Echo's thoughts stopped rushing around. They'd stopped a lot recently, ever since the day you first referred to the Havoc as home.

•--•

Masterlist

WHAT I'LL WRITE

My request are open! Please ask me to make something

I'll write:

Imagine, headcanons, nsfw, sfw,...

I'll not write :

-18/+18, incest

I'll write for :

- Harry Potter : Alastor Moody (Maybe Snape, Lucius Malefoy and Narcissa but you can ask other one too)

- Star Wars : count Dooku, general alliegiant Pryde, Ventress, Qui-Gon, Hondo, bad batch (omega only in platonic), Mace Windu, Plo Koon, Kit Fisto, Thrawn

- Inside job: Glenn, Myc, Andre, JR, AB

- Toriko: Zebra, Sunny, Coco (you can ask for others characters ^^)

I'll surely add more stuff !

Hiya lovely! I was wondering if you could do a Bad Batch X blind force sensitive Reader where they did the painting of her on their ship but since she can’t see she doesn’t mention it but the bit are flustered because she’s like their version of a celeb crush because of unorthodox on the battle field.

Very much enjoy reading your stories! 🧡🧡

“Echoes of a Legend”

The Bad Batch x Blind Jedi!Reader

Even before the Order made it official with her rank, she moved through warzones like a rumor given form. Jedi Master [Y/N], field strategist and warrior monk of the Outer Rim campaigns, was a living contradiction—unpredictable, untouchable, devastating.

And blind.

Not metaphorically. Physically. Her eyes were pale and unseeing, but the Force made her a weapon no enemy wanted to face. Not when her saber moved like liquid flame, her bare feet danced across fields of blaster fire, and her instincts cut sharper than any tactical droid could calculate.

Clone troopers told stories of her—how she once Force-flipped an AAT into a ravine because “it was in her way.” How she never issued orders, only spoke suggestions, and somehow her men moved with perfect synchronicity around her. How she’d once been shot clean through the shoulder and kept fighting, citing “mild discomfort.”

To Clone Force 99, she was something between a war icon and a celebrity crush.

They’d never met her. Not officially. But they’d studied her campaigns. Memorized her maneuvers. And after Tech had painstakingly stitched together footage from her battlefield cams, Wrecker had pitched the idea: “We should paint her on the Marauder.”

It had started as a joke.

But then they’d done it.

Nose art, like the old warbirds from Kamino’s ancient archives. Cloak swirling. Lightsaber ignited. Body poised in mid-air, wind tossing her hair. There were probably more elegant ways to honor a Jedi Master. But elegance had never been Clone Force 99’s strong suit.

And now, they were docking on Coruscant.

And she was waiting for them.

“She’s here.”

Hunter stared at the holopad in his hand. Her silhouette stood at the base of the landing platform, backlit by the setting sun, cloak fluttering in the breeze.

“Right,” Echo muttered. “No turning back now.”

“She doesn’t know about the painting,” Crosshair said. It wasn’t a question.

“She’s blind,” Tech replied. “So in all likelihood, no.”

Wrecker, sweating, mumbled, “What if she feels it through the Force?”

No one answered that.

The ramp lowered.

She didn’t move as they descended, but they all felt it—that ripple in the air, like entering the calm center of a storm. She stood still, chin slightly tilted, as if listening to their boots on durasteel. Her hands were clasped loosely behind her back. No lightsaber in sight. But the power radiating off her was unmistakable.

Then she smiled.

“I thought I felt wild energy approaching,” she said, voice warm, low, and confident. “Clone Force 99.”

The voice didn’t match the chaos they’d expected. It was calm. Even soothing.

They all saluted, more out of reflex than formality.

“Master Jedi,” Hunter said, his voice lower than usual.

“‘Master’ is excessive,” you said, tilting your head. “You’re the ones with the art exhibit.”

Hunter’s face went slack. Echo coughed. Tech blinked. Crosshair’s toothpick fell.

Wrecker choked on his own spit.

“…Art?” Echo asked, voice high.

You turned toward the ship—just slightly off to the side.

“The painting. On the nose of your ship. I hear it’s flattering.”

Hunter’s jaw clenched. “You… saw it?”

“No. I heard it. The padawan of the Ninth Battalion told me. With great enthusiasm.”

Wrecker groaned and dropped his helmet onto the ground with a thunk.

“I haven’t looked,” you added gently. “Don’t worry.”

That… only made it worse.

“I wasn’t aware I’d become wartime propaganda,” you continued, starting toward them with measured steps. “But it’s not the strangest thing I’ve encountered.”

Crosshair muttered, “Could’ve fooled me. You yeeted a super tactical droid off a cliff on Umbara.”

“I did,” you replied, smiling faintly. “He was being condescending.”

They walked with you through the plaza toward the Temple, though it felt more like a parade of sheep behind a lion. Despite your calm presence, none of them could relax. Especially not when you turned your head toward them mid-stride and said:

“Which one of you painted it?”

Silence.

Tech cleared his throat. “It was… a collaborative effort. Conceptually mine. Execution—shared.”

You grinned. “Collaborative pin-up Jedi portraiture. You’re pioneers.”

“I’m sorry,” Echo said sincerely. “We meant it as a tribute.”

“I know.” You touched his elbow lightly as you passed. “That’s why I’m not offended.”

Hunter, walking beside you, couldn’t help but glance down. You didn’t wear boots. Just light wrap-around cloth sandals. Not exactly standard issue for a battlefield. But then again, you were anything but standard.

“You don’t need to walk on eggshells around me,” you said to him softly.

“We painted you on our ship,” he replied, the words gravel-rough. “Forgive me if I’m not sure what I can say.”

You turned toward him, unseeing eyes oddly precise. “Say what you mean.”

Wrecker—trailing behind with his helmet under one arm—whispered, “She’s terrifying.”

“Terrifyingly interesting,” Tech whispered back.

“She can hear you,” you called over your shoulder.

Wrecker squeaked.

By the time they reached the Temple steps, all five were sweating—some from nerves, some from heat, some from the sheer existential dread of having their war-crush walking next to them and being nice about the whole embarrassing mural situation.

“You’re staying onboard the Marauder for this mission, aren’t you?” you asked as they paused near the gates.

Hunter nodded. “Yes, Master Jedi.”

“Then I suppose I’ll be seeing myself every time I board.”

Sheer panic.

“But don’t worry,” you added with a smirk, sensing it. “I’ll pretend I don’t know what it looks like.”

Crosshair grumbled, “Or we could repaint it.”

“Don’t,” you said, suddenly serious. “It’s nice to be remembered for something other than war reports.”

And then you were gone—ascending the Temple steps with grace that shouldn’t have belonged to someone without sight, cloak trailing like shadow behind fire.

The Batch stared after you.

“She’s—” Wrecker began.

“I know,” Hunter said, almost reverently.

Echo exhaled. “We’re in trouble.”

Hiya! I absolutely love your writing and always look forward to your posts

I saw that request about the commanders catching you with their helmets on and I was wondering if you could do that but with the bad batch?

Again, love your writing. I hope you have a great day/night!

Hey! Thank you so much—that means a lot to me! 💖

I actually was planning to include the Bad Batch too but wanted to start with just the commanders first.

⸻

HUNTER

You weren’t expecting to get caught.

You were standing in the cockpit, wearing Hunter’s helmet—not for mischief, really, but because you were genuinely curious how he functioned with his enhanced senses dulled. You wanted to know what it was like to see through his eyes. To feel what he felt.

The helmet was heavy. Too heavy.

He walked in mid-thought, and you froze.

Hunter didn’t speak. He just stood there, half in shadow, his brow furrowing slowly like he was processing an entirely new battlefield situation.

You didn’t say anything either. You just… stood there. Helmet on. Stiff-backed. Guilty.

Finally, he stepped forward.

“…That’s mine.”

You took it off and held it out sheepishly. “I wanted to see what you see. It’s filtered. Muffled. How do you live like this?”

Hunter took the helmet from your hands and gave you a long, unreadable look.

“I don’t. I adapt.”

Then he brushed past you—close, deliberate—and you swore his fingers grazed yours just a little longer than necessary.

⸻

WRECKER

“Whoa!”

You heard the booming voice before you could even turn.

You were in the loading bay, helmet pulled low over your face as you tried to figure out how the heck Wrecker even saw through it with one eye. It was like wearing a bucket with a tunnel vision problem.

He charged over with the biggest grin you’d ever seen.

“Look at you! You’re me!”

You pulled the helmet off, grinning. “I don’t know how you walk around with this thing. It’s like being inside a durasteel trash can.”

“I know, right? But it looks great on you!”

He took the helmet back, turning it in his hands, then gave you a wide-eyed look.

“You wanna try my pauldron next?! Or lift something heavy?!”

You laughed. “Maybe next time, big guy.”

Wrecker beamed. “You’re so getting the full Wrecker experience.”

You weren’t sure what that meant, but you were both strangely okay with it.

⸻

TECH

You had only meant to try it on for a second.

But you made the mistake of reading one of his datapads while wearing it. And once the internal HUD booted up? Well, curiosity took over.

Tech returned from the cockpit to find you hunched over in the corner, still wearing his helmet and scanning system diagnostics.

His voice was clipped. “You’re tampering with active interface systems.”

“I’m learning,” you shot back, not looking up.

He blinked, then stepped closer, fingers twitching in that nervous way he did when he wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or horrified.

“You activated my visual overlay filters.”

“I figured out the encryption pattern.”

Now that caught his attention.

He slowly knelt beside you. “How long have you had it on?”

“…Twenty-three minutes?”

He swallowed. “And you’re not… disoriented?”

“Nope. Just slightly overstimulated.”

There was a pause.

Then, quietly: “You may keep it on. Temporarily.”

You turned. “You trust me with your helmet?”

He cleared his throat. “Don’t make it a habit.”

But he was already adjusting the fit at the sides of your head.

⸻

ECHO

Echo did not find it cute.

He found it concerning.

The helmet wasn’t just gear. It was part of his reconstructed identity—a thing he wore not because he wanted to, but because he had to.

So when he saw you on the edge of his bunk, wearing it—your legs swinging slightly, gaze distant—his chest tightened.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice rougher than he meant it to be.

You looked up, startled. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. I was just… wondering what it’s like. Living with this.”

He stepped forward slowly, kneeling to your eye level. “It’s not something I’d want you to understand.”

You pulled the helmet off, placed it in his hands. “I didn’t think about that.”

He let out a quiet breath, then shook his head. “No. You did. That’s why you’re here thinking about it.”

You gave a soft smile. “I wanted to know you better.”

He swallowed hard. “You already do.”

⸻

CROSSHAIR

You knew exactly what you were doing.

And that was the problem.

You sat in the sniper’s perch in the Marauder, elbow on one knee, head tilted just slightly as you stared down at the deck below—wearing his helmet.

You heard the footstep. The sigh.

“Really?” His voice was lazy, drawled out like he wasn’t fazed, but there was a subtle tension underneath.

You didn’t look at him. “I wanted to see what it was like. Looking down on the rest of the world.”

He chuckled once, dry and sharp. “And? Is it satisfying?”

“No. It’s lonely.”

Crosshair was quiet for a long moment. Then he climbed the ladder halfway, leaned against the edge of the platform.

“Don’t get comfortable in it.”

You turned your head, voice just a little softer. “Why not?”

“Because if you wear it any longer, I might start to like it.”

You handed it back.

But you were both thinking about that line for the rest of the day.

Hey! I’m not sure if you’re still doing requests if not completely ignore this lol

But if you are I would love to see a version of TBB x reader where she falls with tech during Plan 99 and they have to survive together and make it back ♥️

“The Fall Doesn’t End You”

The Bad Batch x Reader

You saw it happening too late.

Tech’s voice—calm, resolved, final—echoed over the comms:

“When have we ever followed orders?”

And then he shot the cable.

You screamed his name as the rail car detached and plummeted.

You didn’t think. You couldn’t think. You just ran and jumped.

The world turned into chaos. Smoke. Fire. Wind tearing at your skin. The others were screaming over the comms, but it all became static in your ears.

Your jetpack roared to life, catching you mid-fall. You dove through the air, scanning through smoke and debris—

There.

Tech was falling fast, arms flailing for balance, unable to stabilize.

“I see him—” you gasped.

You slammed into him midair, arms locking tight around his chest.

The jolt nearly knocked the breath out of you both. He twisted in your grip, shocked, eyes wide behind those cracked lenses.

“You—what are you doing?!”

“Saving you, obviously,” you grunted, arms straining as the added weight pulled hard against your pack.

The thrusters shrieked in protest, struggling to adjust. Too much mass. Too much speed.

“I’m going to burn the stabilizers!” you snapped. “Hold on!”

The blast from the pack kicked against the drop, slowing your descent—but not enough. The treeline raced up toward you. Your HUD flashed a critical warning. You’d burn out before you cleared the ridge.

You flipped, twisting mid-air to cushion him as much as you could.

Then—

Impact.

A scream tore from your throat as the world shattered around you. Dirt. Leaves. Stone. The smell of ozone and blood. Something cracked inside your chest. Your pack gave a final shuddering pop before it died completely, hissing smoke.

You rolled, skidding through the underbrush. Your helmet cracked against the earth, and the world blurred at the edges.

Everything hurt.

But you were alive.

And so was he.

You groaned and dragged yourself up, muscles screaming. Your armor was scorched, one gauntlet bent out of shape, ribs probably cracked.

“Tech,” you rasped, blinking through your visor. “Tech—are you—?”

He was lying a few meters away, not moving.

Panic surged in your throat. You stumbled over to him, dropping to your knees.

He groaned—loud, agonized.

Good. Groaning was good. That meant breathing.

“Are you hurt?” you asked, fingers trembling as you touched his faceplate, carefully pried the helmet off. His brow was bleeding now, from the impact, not the fall. His lip was split.

“Left leg…” he grit out. “Something’s wrong. I heard a pop. Possibly dislocated. And my wrist…”

“Don’t move,” you said, voice hardening as you hit your survival mode.

He looked at you, dazed. “You—you caught me.”

“Yeah.” You pulled a half-smirk. “Might wanna say thank you when you’re not bleeding.”

He gave a sharp, breathless huff that might’ve been a laugh.

Then his eyes flicked to your pack, lying in a heap of fried circuits and blackened wires.

“…You’re not flying us out of here, are you?”

You glanced at the damage and exhaled grimly. “Not a chance.”

Your wristplate buzzed. The comm was faint, barely functioning, but you caught Hunter’s voice—choppy, panicked. Static swallowed most of it.

You switched it off. If you could hear them, the Empire might too.

You looked back at Tech. His hand was already moving to retrieve his broken goggles. Always thinking. Always working.

You knelt beside him, breath still ragged, and said low, “We’re not dying here.”

His gaze met yours. Quiet. Sure. Familiar.

“No,” he said. “We aren’t.”

You tightened your grip on your blaster, your hand brushing his for a second longer than necessary.

“Then let’s move.”

⸻

The forest was dense and unforgiving, branches clawing at your armor like hands trying to drag you down. Your muscles burned, and your ribs throbbed with every breath, but you carried Tech over your shoulder, his leg now firmly splinted with scavenged durasteel rods and cloth from your ruined cape.

He didn’t complain once.

He never did.

Even bleeding and pale, his mind was sharp.

“There’s a decommissioned Imperial scout outpost approximately 6.2 kilometers north. If they haven’t wiped the databanks, I might be able to reroute a distress beacon—or override one of their transports.”

“You’re bleeding out,” you grunted. “And I can’t run on half a lung, so let’s just focus on getting there without dying.”

A pause.

Then softly, dryly:

“You’re quite bossy when you’re in pain.”

“You only just noticing?” You smirked through your cracked visor.

“Your wrist?” you asked, eyes scanning the treeline as you pushed through the brush.

“Relocated,” he muttered, breathless but focused. “Painful, but functional.”

“Good.”

His lip twitched. That half-smile — the one that barely anyone else ever noticed.

It was there for you.

You found the outpost by nightfall, hidden beneath a rock shelf, half-collapsed and long abandoned.

It wasn’t empty.

Two scout troopers still patrolled its perimeter—lazy, inattentive. You took them both out silently. One to the throat, the other dropped with a knife to the back.

You dragged Tech inside. He immediately began work at a busted console while you blocked the entry with a broken speeder and set charges at the entrance — just in case.

“Can you fly a Zeta-class transport?” he asked from the shadows.

You blinked. “I can break a Zeta-class in six different ways. Flying one? Yeah.”

He nodded once, expression unreadable, even as he struggled to stay upright.

“Good. There’s one still intact on the lower dock.”

His hands moved fast, bloodied fingers typing commands and bypass codes. “If we time this right, we can access the flight deck and use their call codes to leave under the guise of a refueling run.”

You stared at him. “You think of all this while hanging off my shoulder in the forest?”

He didn’t look up. “I had time.”

There was a moment of silence between you both.

“You shouldn’t have jumped,” he said suddenly, voice soft.

You didn’t look at him. “You shouldn’t have fallen.”

A beat of silence.

“…Statistically, your survival odds were—”

“Tech.”

He paused.

You finally turned to him. “If you say the odds were against me, I’ll break your other leg.”

His eyes flicked down. Another twitch of his lips. “Noted.”

⸻

The escape was anything but smooth.

You blasted off the dock just as alarms blared through the ruined outpost. A TIE patrol picked up your trajectory within minutes, but your flight path was erratic and unpredictable — Tech feeding you nav data mid-chase, even while clutching his leg and gritting his teeth through the pain.

One TIE clipped your right engine.

“We’re going down.”

“Not on my watch,” you hissed, flipping switches, forcing power to the thrusters with every ounce of skill you’d ever learned. The transport rocked violently but didn’t fail.

It took every dirty flying trick in the book, but you broke atmosphere, hit lightspeed, and screamed into the void.

Only when the stars elongated in the viewport did you sag back into the pilot’s seat, chest heaving.

From the co-pilot’s chair, Tech exhaled, his head resting against the panel.

“See?” you whispered. “Told you we weren’t dying.”

His voice came softly. “You’re infuriating.”

You gave him a faint grin. “You’re welcome.”

⸻

When you limped off the stolen transport at the far end of the Ord Mantell hangar, the world felt both heavier and lighter.

You barely took two steps before Wrecker barreled into view, yelling your names like a freight train.

“TECH?! (Y/N)?!”

You barely had time to raise your hand before you were scooped up in a Wrecker hug, your cracked ribs screaming in protest.

Tech was half-carried by Echo, who swore under his breath and held him like he was glass.

Hunter came in slower, quieter—eyes wide with disbelief. He said nothing at first, just looked at you both, jaw tight.

You gave a tired nod.

“We made it.”

“You jumped after him,” Hunter said hoarsely.

“I wasn’t letting him go alone.”

“We thought we lost you both.”

You shrugged, voice rough. “You almost did.”

Then, Omega burst through the crowd.

She barreled past the others, braid flying, and threw herself at Tech, tears streaming down her cheeks.

She collided into Tech so hard it nearly knocked him over—arms thrown around his waist, sobbing into his chestplate. He froze for half a second.

Then, slowly, awkwardly—he put his arms around her.

“I thought you were gone,” she choked out.

He glanced at you over her shoulder. His voice was soft, quiet, and full of something he didn’t have a name for.

“I was. But she caught me.”

Omega pulled back, blinking through tears.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for bringing him back.”

You froze for a second, unsure how to respond.

Then you rested your gloved hand on her head. “Couldn’t leave him. Not even if he wanted me to.”

“But,” you added, “I did have to carry him across half of Eriadu. That’s worth something.”

Tech, for once, didn’t have a comeback. He simply looked at you with those calculating, unreadable eyes of his.

And in that quiet moment, you understood each other completely.

Later That Night Tech sat beside you on the Marauder ramp, stars glittering overhead.

Neither of you said anything for a while.

Then, softly, he spoke.

“You risked everything.”

You leaned back against the hull, shoulder grazing his. “So did you.”

He hesitated. “You don’t… expect me to say anything emotional, do you?”

You snorted. “Stars, no.”

“…Good.”

Another silence.

Then, your fingers brushed his — just slightly. Not grabbing. Just there.

And his hand… stayed.

hi!! I adored your recent tech fic “more than calculations” abd was wondering if I could request something between tech and a reader who doesn’t flirt or do all the romance things kind of how tech is? I love the idea of them having the same way of showing each other love and they just understand each other even if others don’t really understand how they are together! I hope that made a bit of sense 🙈🩷 thank you!! 💗

“Exactly Us”

Tech x Reader

“Are you two… together?”

Omega blinked up at you, head tilted with that signature mix of innocent curiosity and surgical precision, like she was investigating the oddities of adult behavior again.

Tech glanced up from his datapad, not the least bit ruffled. You didn’t look away from the gear you were calibrating, either. A beat passed.

“Yes,” you both said in perfect unison.

Omega squinted, unconvinced.

“But you don’t do anything!” she exclaimed, arms flailing slightly. “No hand-holding, no kissing, no—ugh—staring at each other like Wrecker and that woman from the food stalls!”

You shrugged. “We fixed the water pump system together last night. That was plenty.”

Tech nodded. “And we enjoy our shared quiet time between 2100 and 2130 hours. Typically on the cliffside bench.”

Omega made a face. “That’s it?”

“That is a significant amount of bonding,” Tech replied, tapping at his datapad. “Just because it doesn’t conform to more overt romantic displays does not mean the bond is any less valid.”

You added, without looking up, “We don’t need to prove anything.”

Omega grumbled and wandered off, muttering something about how weird grownups were. You smirked faintly.

When the datapad made a soft chime, Tech turned it toward you. It was a thermal reading—your shared analysis project on the geothermal vents near the northern cliffs.

“You were correct,” he said, adjusting his goggles. “There is a secondary vent system. I suspect it branches beneath the island’s reef shelf.”

You leaned closer to the screen. “Nice. That’ll stabilize the water temps around the farms. You wanna go check it out?”

“Affirmative,” he said. Then, after a pause: “I enjoy when we do these things together.”

You looked up at him and nodded, your version of “I do too.”

The two of you set out across Pabu, walking in companionable silence. You didn’t talk much. You didn’t have to. There was a rhythm, an ease to your presence beside each other. When you handed Tech a scanner without being asked, or when he adjusted your toolbelt with a small, thoughtful flick of his fingers — that was your version of affection.

Sometimes, Wrecker would nudge Crosshair (visiting, grumbling, but always watching) and whisper, “How do they even like each other?”

Crosshair would reply, “They don’t need to. They get each other.”

Later, the sun dipped low, casting warm gold across the cliffs. You and Tech sat side by side on your usual bench. No words. Just a datapad between you, exchanging quiet theories, occasionally pointing at the sea when a bird swooped or a current shifted strangely.

Tech finally broke the silence.

“Most people… expect something different from a relationship. More expression. More effort.”

You looked at him. “This is effort. Just a different kind.”

His lips curled slightly at the edge — his version of a full grin.

“I concur.”

After a moment, he added, “You are the first person I’ve encountered who does not require translation of my silence.”

You gave a small smile and leaned just enough to bump your shoulder against his. “And you’re the first person who doesn’t expect me to say things I don’t feel like saying out loud.”

He reached over and adjusted your sleeve where it had folded weirdly. Not romantic. Not flashy. Just… quietly right.

Behind you, somewhere near the beach, Omega was laughing, chasing a crab and antagonising Crosshair.

But here, in this quiet little corner of peace, you and Tech sat in absolute understanding.

No need to explain. No need to perform. Just existing.

Exactly as you were.

Exactly together.

Bad Batch/Clone Force 99 Material List 🖤♠️💀🩸💋◾️

|❤️ = Romantic | 🌶️= smut or smut implied |🏡= platonic |

The Bad Batch

- x Jedi Reader “About time you showed up” 🏡

- x Reader “permission to feel” 🏡

- x Fem!Reader “ours” ❤️/🏡

- x Fem!Reader “Seconds”🏡

- x Fem!Reader “undercover temptation” 🌶️

- x reader “Say that again?”❤️

- x reader “Echoes in Dust” ❤️🏡

- x Reader “Secrets in the Shadow”

- “The Scent of Home”🏡

- Helmet Chaos ❤️🏡

Hunter

- x Mandalorian Reader pt.1❤️

- x Mandalorian Reader pt. 2❤️

- x Pabu Reader❤️

- x reader “good looking”❤️

- x reader “Ride” 🌶️

- x reader “What is that smell”❤️

- x Plus sized reader “All the parts of you” ❤️

- x Reader “Flower Tactics”

Tech

- x mechanic reader ❤️

- x Jedi Reader “uncalculated variables”❤️

- x Reader “Theoretical Feelings” ❤️

- x Reader “Statistical Probability of Love” ❤️

- x Reader “Sweet Circuits” ❤️

- x Reader “you talk too much (and I like it)”

- x Fem reader “Recalibration” 🌶️

- x Jealous Reader “More than Calculations”

- x Reader “There are other ways”

-“Exactly Us” ❤️

- “The Fall Doesn’t End You” 🏡/❤️

- “Heat Index” ❤️

- “Terminally Yours” ❤️

Wrecker

- x Shop keeper reader❤️

- x Reader “I wanna wreck our friendship”❤️

- x Reader “Grumpy Hearts and Sunshine Shoulders”❤️

- x reader “Big enough to hold you”❤️

- x Torguta Reader “The Sound of Your Voice”❤️

- “Heart of the Wreckage” ❤️

Echo

- x Senator!Reader❤️

- x reader “safe with you”❤️

- “Operation: Stay Forever” ❤️

Crosshair

- x reader “The Stillness Between Waves❤️

- x reader “just like the rest”❤️

- x Fem!Reader “Right on Target” 🌶️

- “Sharp Eyes” ❤️

Captain Howzer

- x Twi’lek Reader “Quiet Rebellion”❤️

- “A safe place to fall” ❤️

Overall Material List

Hi, I saw request are open so I hope sending this is okay:). I had an idea that been lingering and I’d like to see if you could write it, possibly? Imagine a reader getting jealous about the friendship between Tech and Phee. I guess in this scenario reader and tech are an established couple? It honestly could go anyway you’d like it to:) My thoughts on this aren’t fully fleshed out so feel free to go crazy with this!:) I just love jealous tropes.

“More Than Calculations”

Tech x Jealous Reader

You didn’t mean to watch them.

It just… kept happening.

You were sitting at the workbench, fiddling with a half-stripped blaster that didn’t need fixing. From the corner of your eye, you could see them—Phee perched on a crate, animated, leaning closer to Tech as he adjusted something on his datapad.

She laughed again, this carefree, almost flirty kind of laugh that curled around your spine like a hook.

“That’s incredible,” she said, bumping her shoulder lightly into his. “You know more about lost hyperspace lanes than some of the old-timers back on Skara Nal.”

Tech pushed his goggles up, his voice as even as always. “Well, yes. I’ve extensively studied astro-cartography from several civilizations. Your planet’s archival inconsistencies, however, are particularly fascinating—”

“Oh, I know. That’s why I like talking to you.” Phee grinned, her hand brushing against his arm.

You clenched your jaw.

She didn’t mean anything by it, right? She was just… being Phee. Loud, curious, magnetic.

But still.

It didn’t sit right. The way she touched him. The way Tech didn’t even flinch or notice. You knew he wasn’t wired like other people—emotions weren’t instinctive for him. He didn’t register subtle cues, or the way someone’s gaze lingered just a moment too long. And he sure as hell didn’t understand flirting, not unless it came with a schematic.

But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Later that night, after Phee had left for wherever she stored herself when not draped across your crew’s day-to-day, you found Tech alone in the cockpit, typing furiously into his datapad.

You stood there for a moment, arms folded, watching him.

He didn’t look up. “I am currently cataloging several of Phee’s findings regarding Nabooan artifacts. Some of the data is poorly organized, but she has a surprising eye for—”

“You two seem close,” you interrupted, trying to sound neutral. The words landed heavy.

Tech finally looked up.

“Who?” he asked.

“Phee.”

He blinked. “Ah. I suppose. We have engaged in mutual information exchange on several occasions. Her questions, though often imprecise, are not unintelligent.”

You sat beside him, slowly. “You don’t… think she’s being a little too friendly?”

He tilted his head, confused. “Friendly?”

You sighed. “Touchy. Flirty. You don’t notice the way she leans into you? Or calls you ‘Brown eyes’?”

Tech frowned slightly, processing. “She is expressive. That is her personality.”

“Yeah, well, it’s starting to feel like she’s trying to rewrite your personality while she’s at it.”

There was silence. You hated how small your voice had gotten.

“I just… I don’t like the way she looks at you.”

Tech regarded you with quiet intensity, the kind he reserved for situations he didn’t quite know how to calculate. “Are you implying you feel… threatened?”

You stared at your hands. “I don’t know. Maybe. She’s got this charm, this thing that draws people in. And I… I know I’m not always easy. I’m not flirty or magnetic. I just— I love you. A lot. And I guess I just… worry that it’s not enough to keep someone’s attention.”

His brow furrowed, and then he reached out, gently brushing your hand with his. “You are not somebody, cyare. You are my person. I do not compare you to others. There is no calculation in that. No contest. You… are the constant.”

You looked up, heart catching.

“Then why don’t you ever push her away?” you asked quietly. “Even just a little?”

Tech took a moment. “Because it never occurred to me that she might need to be pushed away. But if it makes you uncomfortable—”

“It does.”

“—then I will create distance. Immediately.”

You blinked. “Really?”

“Of course,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the galaxy. “Your comfort is more important than her enthusiasm.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. He squeezed your hand. “Next time, just tell me. I know I miss things. But I will always listen to you.”

Just then, as if summoned, Phee’s voice rang out down the hall: “Hey Brown Eyes, you got a minute?”

You tensed instinctively, but Tech didn’t even glance at the door. His gaze stayed on you, steady and unshakable.

“I’m currently engaged,” he called back. “Perhaps later.”

There was a pause. Then a short, “Huh. Alright.”

You could almost hear the smile behind it.

When the silence settled again, Tech leaned in and said softly, “May I continue cataloging your facial expressions now? I find them far more interesting.”

You rolled your eyes and kissed him, right on the mouth.

“Only if you add ‘jealous’ to the data bank,” you teased.

He kissed you again. “Already done.”

Hi! I had an idea for a Bad Batch or even 501st x Fem!Reader where the reader has a rather large chest and when it gets hot she wears more revealing items and the boys get distracted and flustered? I love the stuttering and blushing boys and confidence reader stuff. Nothing too explicit or so maybe just flirting and teasing. Hope this is ok! If not I totally understand! Xx

“Too Hot to Handle”

Fem!Reader x The Bad Batch

You had a feeling the Republic’s definition of “temperate” varied wildly from your own. The jungle planet was a boiling mess of humidity and unrelenting heat—and your standard gear? Suffocating. So, you did what any sane woman would do: ditched the jacket, rolled up your tank top, and tied your hair up to survive the heat.

The result? Your… assets were on full display.

“Maker,” you heard someone mutter behind you.

You glanced back over your shoulder, smirking. Tech had walked face-first into a tree branch. Crosshair snorted.

“I told you to look where you’re going.”

“I was looking,” Tech replied, voice just a little too high-pitched to be believable, glasses fogging.

Hunter cleared his throat and tried very hard to keep his eyes on the map in his hands. “Alright. Let’s move out.”

“I don’t mind staying here a bit longer,” Echo said, then instantly regretted it when you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh?” you asked, strolling up to him. “Because of the view?”

Echo flushed crimson from ears to collarbone. “I—I didn’t—I meant the trees. The foliage. The scenery. The mission. Definitely not you.” He looked like he wanted the jungle to swallow him whole.

Crosshair rolled his eyes, muttering something about “bunch of kriffin’ cadets.”

You leaned toward him, hands on your hips. “Not enjoying the view, sniper?”

He gave you a cool look. “I’ve seen better.”

But the twitch at the corner of his mouth told you otherwise.

Wrecker, on the other hand, had absolutely no filter.

“You look awesome!” he beamed. “Kinda like one of those holonet dancers! Only cooler. And better armed!”

You laughed. “Thanks, Wreck. At least someone appreciates fashion.”

Hunter still hadn’t said anything. You stepped closer, just close enough that your shadow fell over him.

“Something wrong, Sarge?”

His gaze finally met yours. His pupils were slightly dilated. “You’re, uh… distracting.”

You grinned. “Good.”

He cleared his throat. “Let’s keep moving. Before someone passes out.”

You turned, leading the squad again with an extra sway in your hips—just for fun.

Behind you, a chorus of groans, a snapped branch, and Tech asking if overheating counted as a medical emergency confirmed one thing:

Mission accomplished.

⸻

You knew exactly what you were doing.

The jungle’s heat hadn’t let up, but neither had the effect your outfit was having on the squad. Sweat clung to your skin, your tank top clinging in all the right (or wrong) places. Every time you adjusted the strap or tugged your top down slightly to cool off, you heard someone behind you trip, cough, or mutter a strangled curse.

Crosshair was chewing on the toothpick like it owed him credits. Echo’s scomp link clinked against his chest plate as he tried and failed to keep his eyes off you. Tech had adjusted his goggles four times in the last minute and was now walking with a datapad suspiciously close to his face—like he was trying to use it as a shield.

And Hunter?

Hunter looked like he was in hell.

You’d catch him watching you—eyes flickering up and down, then away, jaw tight, nostrils flaring like he was trying to rein himself in.

“Everything alright, Sarge?” you asked sweetly, dabbing sweat from your neck and catching his gaze as it dropped.

His voice cracked. “Fine. Just… focused on the terrain.”

“Funny,” you said, stepping close, letting your voice dip low. “I thought the terrain was behind you.”

Crosshair choked.

Hunter exhaled, flustered and trying not to visibly short-circuit. “Focus, all of you. We’ve got a job to do.”

“Hard to focus,” Echo muttered under his breath. “Some of us are… visually impaired by distraction.”

“Visual impairment is no excuse for tactical inefficiency,” Tech said quickly, though his goggles were definitely still fogged.

“You need help cleaning those, Tech?” you offered, reaching for his face.

He actually jumped back. “N-No! That is—unnecessary! I am quite—capable!”

“Ohhh, she’s killing ‘em,” Wrecker laughed, totally unfazed. “This is better than a bar fight!”

“Speak for yourself,” Crosshair growled, barely maintaining composure as you brushed past him.

You were leading again now, hips swaying slightly more than necessary, hair sticking to your damp neck in a way that was definitely catching eyes. You tugged your top lower again and heard an audible thunk—someone had walked into another branch.

“Seriously?” you called over your shoulder, amused.

There was silence, then a shame-filled voice: “…Echo.”

You bit back a laugh.

Hunter suddenly barked, “Break time. Ten minutes.”

The squad dropped like they’d been released from a death march.

You stretched languidly, arms up, chest forward, fully aware of the eyes glued to you.

“Maker,” Hunter muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m gonna lose my mind.”

You leaned in close, hand on your hip, voice like honey. “Want some water, Sergeant?”

He blinked at you. Twice. “If I say yes, are you going to pour it over yourself again?”

“…Maybe.”

He turned a deeper shade of red than his bandana. “You’re evil.”

“You like it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

And just like that—you turned and walked away, leaving five broken clones behind you, questioning every life choice that had led them to this mission.

“Recalibration”

Tech x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Suggestive content, spicy tension, clothing still on, touches and innuendo, mild dominance/control themes

You’d noticed it before—how Tech’s fingers twitched just slightly when you leaned over him to grab a datapad. How his jaw clenched when you touched his shoulder in passing. The way his eyes—behind those lenses—followed you a fraction too long.

You didn’t push. Not at first. But you knew.

You knew.

And you waited.

Until now.

The Marauder was parked and quiet. Everyone else was either sleeping or out doing recon. You stayed behind under the excuse of “gear maintenance,” but Tech knew that was a lie. You could see it in the way he hadn’t looked up from his diagnostics once since you sat down across from him. But the corner of his mouth twitched like he was waiting for something.

The tension was coiled between you like a tripwire.

You stretched, slowly, arms overhead—shirt lifting just slightly at the waist—and Tech’s eyes flicked upward before he caught himself and looked back down.

But not fast enough.

You smiled.

“Problem, Tech?”

He adjusted his goggles. “No. Merely running recalibrations on the navigation matrix. Your movement caught my periphery.”

“My movement?”

He paused. “…yes.”

You stood and crossed to him, leaning on the console, your hip nearly brushing his shoulder.

“I don’t think it’s the matrix that needs recalibrating.”

He stilled.

When he looked up this time, there was something… not clinical in his expression. Something sharp. Focused. Hungry.

“You’re provoking a reaction,” he said, voice low.

“I know.”

He rose slowly, the air between you crackling with heat. He stepped forward—and kept stepping until your back hit the bulkhead behind you. The flat metal cooled your skin where your spine met it. His hand came up beside your head, not touching but close enough to make your breath catch.

“I’ve been very patient,” he murmured, eyes scanning yours like he was mapping terrain.

“Too patient,” you said, voice a whisper.

His hand ghosted up your arm. “You want satisfaction.”

It wasn’t a question.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

He leaned in, lips brushing your jaw—not quite kissing, not yet. His hand slipped around your waist, fingers splayed, controlling without force.

“I’m accustomed to solving problems with precision,” he said, mouth at your ear now, voice as steady as a scalpel. “And I have studied you—extensively.”

You let out a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh.

“You’ve been studying me?”

“I observe everything,” he said simply. “The way your breath hitches when I remove my gloves. The way your pupils dilate when I speak close to your ear. The way you pretend not to notice when I watch you.”

His hand moved lower—fingertips dragging slowly, teasing over fabric.

“I’ve considered all variables,” he went on. “The tension. The time. The proximity. And I’ve concluded…”

His lips finally pressed to yours—precise, controlled, until you responded with something not controlled at all. Then he let go. Just a little.

You moaned against his mouth, hands gripping the front of his gear, pulling him in. His kiss deepened, mouth commanding now, and he pressed you harder into the wall, like he’d been waiting months for this.

Maybe he had.

When he pulled back, barely, he breathed:

“I am very thorough.”

You laughed, a little breathless, a little wrecked.

“I can tell.”

Tech’s hand curved along the inside of your thigh, over clothes, but still enough to make you shudder.

He tilted his head. “Your reaction suggests positive feedback.”

You kissed him again—harder this time—and gasped against his mouth. “Keep going and I’ll give you a damn thesis.”

His smirk was quick and hot and wicked.

“Excellent. I do enjoy peer-reviewed results.”

And then he was kissing you again, touch deliberate, every movement calculated for maximum effect—like you were another piece of tech he had mastered. Only this time, you were the one burning under his hands, unraveling under precision.

No chaos.

No wild passion.

Just sharp edges.

Purpose.

Satisfaction.

Happy Weekend! I was wondering if you could do an angst fic w/ TBB x Fem!Reader where they’re on a mission and the ground crumbles beneath her and she falls and they think she could be dead? Thanks! Xx

Happy Thursday! Sorry for the delay, I hope this is somewhat what you had in mind😊

“Echoes in the Dust”

The Bad Batch x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Falling, presumed death, grief, survivor’s guilt, panic

The ridge was narrow. Too narrow.

You moved with your blaster raised and your jaw set, following closely behind Wrecker as the team pushed forward. The rocky terrain was riddled with ravines, fault lines, and fractured earth—left scarred by years of shelling and seismic bombardments. The mission was supposed to be simple: infiltrate a Separatist holdout and extract data.

It was never simple.

“Movement on the northwest cliff,” you called into your comm. “Looks like clankers repositioning.”

“Copy that,” Echo’s voice crackled. “Tech, I’m sending coordinates to your pad.”

Hunter glanced back at you, just a flick of his head, a silent confirmation. You nodded. I’m good.

You were always good. Until the ground gave out beneath you.

It was subtle at first—just a soft shift under your boots, like loose gravel. But then came the snap. A hollow, wrenching crack that echoed through the canyon like thunder. The rock splintered beneath your feet. You didn’t have time to scream.

Just time to look up—into Hunter’s eyes.

“[Y/N]—!”

You dropped.

The last thing you saw was his outstretched hand, just a second too late.

Then the world became air and stone and darkness.

⸻

Above, everything exploded into chaos.

Hunter hit the ridge on his knees, arms dragging at loose rock, clawing like an animal trying to dig you back out. “No, no, no—”

Echo slid in beside him, scanning with one cybernetic arm extended. “I can’t see her. It’s—kriff—it’s a vertical drop. She went straight down.”

“I should’ve grabbed her!” Wrecker was pacing in wild circles, fists clenched, eyes wet. “I was right in front of her—I should’ve—she was right there!”

“She didn’t even scream,” Echo murmured. “She just… vanished.”

“I’m scanning for vitals,” Tech said, already tapping furiously at his datapad, but his voice was thin. “There’s no signal. No movement. Her comm—either it was destroyed in the fall or… or she’s—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Hunter snapped, voice like a knife.

The wind howled through the crevice she’d fallen into, dragging dust and silence with it.

Crosshair stood several meters back, motionless, his DC-17M dangling loosely in his grip.

“Say it,” Echo growled, glaring at him. “You’ve been quiet this whole time. Just say whatever snide thing you’re thinking so we can all lose it together.”

Crosshair’s eyes flicked up, storm-gray and unreadable.

“She’s dead.”

“Shut your mouth!” Wrecker roared, storming toward him, but Echo shoved himself in between.

“She could be alive,” Echo said fiercely, though his voice cracked. “It’s possible. People survive worse.”

Crosshair didn’t move. “Not from that height.”

“I said shut it!” Wrecker shoved him back, but it was all broken fury—guilt bleeding through his rage. “She was smiling, dammit. Right before. She looked at me and said, ‘We’ll all get out of this,’ and I didn’t even answer her back—!”

“Stop.” Hunter’s voice cut clean through the storm.

He stood now, rigid and furious, his back to the team, staring into the void where you’d fallen.

“She’s alive,” he said.

Tech looked up from his pad slowly. “Statistically—”

“I don’t give a damn about statistics.” His voice was hoarse. “I felt her. She was right here. She’s part of us. She wouldn’t just be… gone.”

His hand trembled slightly. Not from fear. From the weight of it.

He was the one who told you to cover the flank. He was the one who said the ridge was stable enough.

She trusted you, Crosshair had said.

No. She trusted him.

And he’d failed her.

Hunter turned and began strapping a rope to his belt.

“Sergeant?” Tech asked cautiously.

“We’re going down there. All of us. We don’t stop until we find her. I don’t care if we have to tear the planet apart.”

Echo moved first. “I’m with you.”

Wrecker stepped up beside them, his breath hitching. “Me too. Always.”

Even Crosshair nodded, silent again.

As Hunter stood at the edge, ready to descend into the place where you vanished, a single thought thundered in his mind:

She can’t be gone.

Not you.

Not when your laugh was still echoing in his ears. Not when you told him last night, during watch, that you’d be careful. Not when he never got to tell you that he needed you more than he ever let on.

He’d find you.

Or die trying.

⸻

The descent into the ravine was slow, agonizing, and silent.

The team moved as one—Hunter leading with a lantern clipped to his belt, casting narrow beams over jagged rock and twisted earth. Echo and Tech followed with scanners, mapping every crevice. Wrecker moved boulders with his bare hands, gritting his teeth with each one. Crosshair, ever the rear guard, watched from behind, but his silence was sharp, eyes flicking everywhere.

Hunter’s voice echoed through the narrow stone corridor. “Check every ledge. Every outcropping.”

“She could’ve hit a rock shelf and rolled,” Echo said, carefully scanning below. “Or worse…”

“Don’t,” Wrecker said. “Don’t even say it. She’s alive. She has to be.”

They moved deeper into the ravine—until the beam of Hunter’s light caught something.

“Wait,” Tech whispered, grabbing Echo’s arm.

There—thirty feet below them, half-buried under collapsed shale and bloodied stone—was a figure.

Your figure.

You were sprawled on your side, your body twisted unnaturally, one leg crushed beneath a slab of rock. Blood soaked through your jacket. Your head had struck something hard—too hard—and you weren’t moving.

Hunter nearly dropped the lantern.

“[Y/N]—!”

He was down the rest of the way before anyone could stop him, crashing to his knees beside you.

“Don’t move her!” Echo shouted, sliding in behind. “Not yet. Let me check—”

But Hunter’s hands were already trembling as they hovered over you, too afraid to touch. Too afraid that this—this fragile, broken thing—was all that was left.

“She’s breathing,” Echo said. “Shallow. Pulse is—kriff—irregular. She’s lost a lot of blood.”

Wrecker dropped beside them, tears already streaking the dust on his cheeks.

“Is she—? She’s gonna make it, right? Echo?”

“She’s unconscious,” Echo said quietly. “And we need to get her out now.”

“Spinal trauma is possible,” Tech added, eyes locked on his scanner. “Multiple fractures. Her femur is broken—bleeding into the tissue. Concussion. Rib damage. Internal bleeding likely.”

Crosshair didn’t come any closer. He stood just at the edge of the light, staring down at you with an unreadable expression.

“You said she was dead,” Wrecker growled, voice shaking.

Crosshair didn’t respond.

Because he knew now—death would’ve been kinder than this.

The med evac was chaotic.

Hunter carried you the entire climb back—refused to let anyone else even try. He held you close to his chest like something fragile, as if you’d fall again if he let go. Your blood had soaked through his armor by the time they reached the surface.

Back on the Marauder, the team worked together in silent urgency. Wrecker helped secure you to the gurney. Echo and Tech patched what they could. Crosshair kept watch, pacing like a trapped animal.

And Hunter… he sat beside you.

His hands were covered in your blood.

“I should’ve caught you,” he whispered.

No one argued. No one corrected him.

Because part of them believed it too.

You twitched in your sleep once—just a small movement, a flicker of pain across your brow—and Hunter nearly leapt out of his seat.

“She moved!” he barked.

“She’s still unconscious,” Tech reminded. “That doesn’t guarantee cognition. The swelling in her brain—”

“I don’t care what the scans say,” Hunter growled. “She’s fighting.”

He reached down and brushed a blood-matted strand of hair from your face.

“You hear me?” he whispered, voice cracking. “You hold on. You fight like you always do. You’re not going to leave us like this.”

Wrecker sat on the floor beside the cot, staring at your hand dangling off the edge.

“You’re not allowed to die, okay?” he said, softly, almost childlike. “You still owe me a rematch.”

Echo leaned against the wall, arms crossed, jaw clenched tight. “She shouldn’t have been the one to fall. It should’ve been—”

“Don’t,” Tech said, just as quiet. “We all blame ourselves. That’s not useful now.”

Only Crosshair said nothing.

But later—when the others had finally dozed off in shifts, and the med droid was running scans—he sat beside you alone.

“Idiots, all of them,” he muttered. “They think they lost you. I know better.”

He rested his hand beside yours.

“You’re not dead. You’re just too damn stubborn.”

There was a pause.

“…So come back. Or I’ll never forgive you.”

You didn’t wake up that night. Or the next.

But your vitals held.

You were still fighting.

And the squad—your family—never left your side.

⸻

It started with a sound.

A weak, choked wheeze from the medbay.

Wrecker heard it first—he’d been sitting on the floor beside your cot for the past hour, humming under his breath and telling you stories like he had every day since they pulled you from the ravine.

But when he heard your breathing stutter—heard that awful, wet gasp—he was on his feet in an instant.

“Tech!”

Footsteps thundered in from the cockpit.

Tech was there in seconds, datapad in one hand, expression already shifting from calculation to panic.

“Vitals are dropping. Pulse erratic. Respiratory distress—dammit—her lung may have collapsed.”

The med droid whirred a warning in binary, and Tech shoved it aside, already working to stabilize you. Wrecker stood frozen, fists clenched at his sides, helpless as machines blared and blood began soaking through your bandages again.

“She was getting better,” Wrecker whispered. “She was breathing normal yesterday. You said she was stabilizing!”

“I said her vitals were holding,” Tech snapped, voice tight and uncharacteristically sharp. “I also said we didn’t know the full extent of internal damage yet. The concussion is worsening. There’s pressure building against her brainstem. Her body is going into systemic shock.”

“Then fix it!” Wrecker’s voice cracked. “You fix everything! Please—”

Tech’s hands moved fast, too fast—grabbing gauze, recalibrating IV drips, re-administering stimulants. But beneath the precision was fear. A gnawing, brittle kind of fear that made his fingers shake.

“I’m trying,” Tech said, barely above a whisper now. “I’m trying, Wrecker.”

Your body jerked suddenly—just a twitch, but it sent a ripple of panic through them both.

Tech cursed under his breath. “She needs proper medical facilities. A bacta tank. A neuro-regeneration suite. This ship is not equipped to handle this kind of trauma long-term.”

“So what, we just wait and watch her die?” Wrecker whispered.

“No!” Tech snapped, louder this time. “We don’t let her die.”

He slammed his fist down on the console—just once—but the sound echoed like a gunshot through the Marauder. Wrecker flinched. Tech never lost control. Never raised his voice. Never made a sound unless it meant something.

And now, he looked like he was about to break.

“I’ve calculated a thousand outcomes,” Tech murmured, softer now. “And every variable keeps changing. Her body is unpredictable. She’s unstable. But she’s also resilient. She’s survived things that should’ve killed her ten times over.”

He looked up then, eyes glassy behind his goggles.

“But if we don’t find a way to get her real care—soon—we will lose her.”

Wrecker turned away, one massive hand covering his face. He’d never felt so useless. Not when they’d crashed on Ordo. Not when they’d been stranded on Ryloth. Never like this.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said. “I’m strong. I can carry her. Fight for her. But I can’t fix her, Tech. I can’t even hold her without hurting her worse.”

Tech approached quietly, placing a hand on Wrecker’s shoulder—a rare gesture.

“You are helping,” he said. “You’re keeping her tethered. She needs that. She needs us.”

The med console beeped—soft, steady. A pause.

Then a spike.

Her heart rate surged. Your head tilted slightly to the side. Blood trickled from your nose. Another alarm.

“No, no, no—stay with us,” Tech muttered, already grabbing the stabilizer. “Don’t go. Not yet.”

Wrecker dropped to his knees beside you, voice trembling.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You don’t get to leave like this. You didn’t even finish your story about the time you pantsed Crosshair in front of the general. Remember that?”

He sniffed, brushing a strand of hair from your sweat-slicked face. “You said you’d tell me how you pulled it off without getting court-martialed. Said you’d sing me that dumb lullaby you like. Said you’d stay.”

Your fingers twitched.

A tiny movement. Almost nothing.

But Wrecker gasped.

“She moved!”

Tech’s head snapped up. “What?”

“She moved! Her hand—right here—she twitched.”

Tech scanned you again. “Neurological activity spiked. Minimal, but—”

You let out a weak, pained breath.

Another wheeze. Then a garbled sound—almost like a word, trapped somewhere deep in your throat.

“…H-Hun…ter…”

Both men froze.

Tears filled Wrecker’s eyes.

“She said his name…”

“She’s still in there,” Tech whispered, blinking quickly. “Cognitive reflexes are initiating. That’s… that’s something.”

He turned to Wrecker, and for once, there was nothing cold or clinical in his tone.

“There’s still time.”

They kept watch through the night. Neither slept.

Wrecker read to you from the old datapad you always teased him for hoarding.

Tech adjusted your vitals every hour, even when nothing had changed, just to keep his hands busy.

And in the silence between beeping monitors and heavy breaths, they both spoke to you—about nothing, about everything.

Wrecker told you about the time he and you almost got arrested on Corellia for stealing bad caf. How your laugh had made him feel human again.

Tech told you the probability of your survival was now sitting at 18.6%, up from 9%. And that statistically, if anyone could beat the odds, it was you.

Wrecker chuckled through his tears. “Told you, didn’t I? Too stubborn to die.”

Tech looked down at your still hand, then whispered—just once—“Please… don’t.”

⸻

The Marauder was silent.

Tech had finally collapsed from exhaustion in the co-pilot seat, goggles askew, still clutching the datapad with your vitals. Wrecker was curled on the floor next to your bed, snoring lightly with one hand near yours. Crosshair sat with his back to the far wall, arms crossed, eyes closed—but not asleep.

And Echo stayed awake.

He always did.

He was seated at your bedside, one cybernetic hand gently resting on the edge of the cot. The hum of the ship’s systems filled the space between the heart monitor’s steady rhythm. Your breathing—still shallow, but no longer ragged—was the only music Echo needed.

He hadn’t moved for hours.

You’d gotten worse. Then better. Then worse again. And through all of it, he’d held on. Let the others break. Let them rage. He had to be the one who didn’t fall apart.

But now, as he sat alone in the flickering light, his thumb brushed your bandaged hand—and he whispered, “You can’t keep scaring us like this.”

Your lips moved.

Barely.

He straightened. “Hey…?”

Your fingers twitched under his hand.

Your head shifted slightly on the pillow, a soft whimper escaping your throat. Your eyelashes fluttered—slow, disoriented, like your mind hadn’t caught up to your body.

“Hey.” Echo leaned closer, voice trembling now. “Come on… come on, mesh’la. You’re safe.”

Your eyes opened.

Just a sliver at first. Squinting into the low light.

“…Echo…?”

It was a rasp, a whisper, but it was real.

Echo’s mouth fell open.

And for the first time since the fall—since the screaming, the blood, the race against time—his composure cracked.

You blinked slowly, pain visible behind your glazed eyes. “W-Where…?”

“Still on the Marauder. We haven’t moved. We couldn’t.” His voice was low and hoarse. “You weren’t stable enough.”

Your brow furrowed faintly. “Hurts.”

“I know.” He gently adjusted your oxygen mask, smoothing your hair back. “You took a hell of a fall.”

You tried to shift, but your body betrayed you—wracked with weakness, ribs aching, limbs sluggish.

Echo placed a firm hand on your shoulder. “Don’t move yet. Please. Just stay still.”

You obeyed—too tired to fight it.

“I thought…” You coughed, eyes fluttering. “Thought I heard Wrecker crying.”

Echo actually smiled, though his eyes were wet. “Yeah. That happened.”

You let out the faintest exhale—almost a laugh. “He’s a big softie.”

“Only for you,” Echo whispered, squeezing your hand carefully. “You scared him half to death.”

There was a long pause.

You looked up at him, brow knitting again.

“…You thought I was gone, didn’t you?”

Echo’s throat tightened. “We all did.”

“But you stayed.”

“Of course I stayed.”

Your gaze lingered on him. He looked exhausted. Hollowed out. His prosthetic arm twitched like he’d been clenching it too long.

“You haven’t slept.”

He laughed quietly—bitter and warm all at once. “Didn’t want to miss this.”

Another silence.

And then, so faint it barely reached him, you whispered—

“…I’m sorry.”

Echo stared at you, stunned.

“For what?” he breathed.

“For falling. For worrying you. For being weak.”

His expression broke. “No.”

He leaned in, voice rough. “Don’t ever say that. You didn’t fall because you were weak. You fell because the ground gave out. Because war is cruel. Because life isn’t fair.”

He blinked back tears. “But you lived. And that means more than anything.”

Your vision blurred—not from injury this time, but from the emotion in his voice.

He looked at you like you were the most important thing in the galaxy.

“I thought I lost you,” he said. “And I wasn’t ready.”

You let your eyes close again, overwhelmed by exhaustion—but you smiled softly through cracked lips.

“I’m here.”

He pressed his forehead gently to your hand, exhaling a shaky breath.

“You’re here.”

When the others returned—when Hunter stumbled in and dropped to his knees, when Wrecker cried again, when Crosshair stood frozen for a full minute, just staring—you were already asleep.

But Echo met Hunter’s gaze.

And nodded.

“She woke up.”

And for the first time in days, the silence didn’t feel so heavy.

I saw your fic “What’s that smell” and thought it was absolutely beautiful! I was wondering what would be the rest of the batches reactions to the new smells. I can’t imagine what their ship would smell like and then having it change and maybe even be cleaner. You’re the best! Xx

Their ship would 100% smell like oil, sweat, blaster residue, old caf, dusty armor polish, and wet dog on a good day.

Here is what I believe the rest of the batches reactions are.

Crosshair

The first time he notices it, he’s practically scowling.

He hates things he can’t immediately explain, and suddenly the ship doesn’t smell like burnt wiring and recycled air anymore — it smells like…

something soft.

Something warm.

Something he can’t stop breathing in.

He’s so annoyed about it he follows you around for an entire day, sniffing the air like a pissed-off lothcat, trying to figure out if it’s you or if someone installed a karking air freshener.

When he finally realizes it’s you, he just stands there staring at you for a long second, lips pressed into a tight line.

Then he mutters:

“You smell… distracting.”

Like it’s a personal insult.

Will absolutely lean in closer than necessary just to breathe you in — but if you catch him, he’ll immediately go “Hmph” and pretend you’re the weird one.

Wrecker

Wrecker’s the first to flat-out say it.

He scoops you up into a bone-crushing hug one day, immediately sniffs, and then pulls back with wide, amazed eyes.

“Whoa! You smell amazing! Like… like sunshine! And pastries! And soap!”

He is obsessed after that. Every time you walk by, he inhales dramatically like a toddler discovering their favorite candy.

“Can we keep ya?” he jokes — but he means it. You’re like a walking comfort blanket for him.

The Marauder slowly starts smelling better too because Wrecker starts cleaning more — purely because he wants the nice smell to stick around.

Tech

Tech notices immediately, but being Tech, he processes it differently.

“Interesting,” he says aloud the first time you pass him. “The olfactory change is quite pleasant.”

Then he starts… researching it.

He runs calculations about human pheromones and attraction rates. He theorizes that your presence might lower the crew’s stress levels by up to 23%.

He doesn’t even realize he’s orbiting closer to you during missions until Wrecker points it out.

Embarrassed, he adjusts his goggles and mutters something about “optimal proximity for psychological benefits.”

Translation: You smell good and it’s making his brain short-circuit, help.

Echo

Echo notices it like a punch to the face because he’s so hyperaware of sensory input now.

The Marauder always smells like metal and grime — he’s used to it — but you?

You smell like rain hitting dry ground. Like something clean and alive and real.

It shakes him a little.

Reminds him of before — before the war, before everything.

He tries to be subtle about it, but you catch him lingering near you sometimes, jaw tight like he’s trying not to let himself want it.

One day you brush past him and he closes his eyes for half a second, just breathing you in.

He doesn’t say anything about it for a long time.

Until maybe you tease him — and he finally admits, voice low and rough:

“You make this whole ship feel… less like a graveyard.”

Which might be the most devastatingly sweet thing Echo could ever say.

Hi! I was wondering if you could do a TBB x Fem!Reader +any other clones of your choice, where they keep using pet names in mandoa like cyar'ika, mesh'la, and maybe even riduur?(because they might’ve gotten accidentally married? Love those tropes)

but the reader has no idea what they mean and that they’re pet names or that the batch likes her. Eventually she finds out of course and a bunch of stuttering cute confessions?

Your writing is so amazing and i literally can’t get enough of it! Xx

“Say It Again?”

TBB x Fem!Reader

You had gotten used to the way clones talked — the gruffness, the slang, the camaraderie. But ever since you’d been working more closely with Clone Force 99, you’d noticed something… different.

They used weird words around you. Words you didn’t hear other troopers saying.

Hunter always greeted you with a gentle “Cyar’ika,” accompanied by that intense little half-smile of his.

Wrecker would beam and shout, “Mesh’la! You came!” every time you entered a room — like you were some goddess descending from the stars.

Crosshair, as always, was smug and cool, throwing in a soft “Riduur…” under his breath when he thought you weren’t listening, though you never figured out what it meant. He often smirked when you looked confused, and somehow that made it worse.

Even Tech, who rarely used nicknames at all, had let slip a casual “You’re quite remarkable, mesh’la,” when you helped him debug his datapad. He didn’t look up, but you felt the heat in his voice.

And Echo? Sweet, dependable Echo — he was the least subtle of them all.

“You alright, cyar’ika?”

“You look tired, cyar’ika.”

“Get some rest, cyar’ika.”

You were starting to think “Cyar’ika” meant your actual name.

But something was off. The others never used those words with each other. Only with you.

So, naturally, you asked Rex.

And Rex choked on his caf.

“You—what did Crosshair call you?” he coughed, wiping his chin.

You repeated it: “Rid…uur? I think? I dunno. He said it real low.”

Rex gave you the slowest blink you’d ever seen and then rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Riduur means… spouse. As in… wife. It’s what you call your partner.”

You froze. “What?!”

“And cyar’ika?” he continued, amused. “Sweetheart. Mesh’la is ‘beautiful.’ They’re… Mando’a pet names. Very affectionate.”

The blushing.

The flashbacks.

All those words… those looks… Tech calling you remarkable like it was a scientific fact, Crosshair smirking like he had secrets, Echo’s voice dropping a full octave every time he said cyar’ika…

You marched straight into the Havoc Marauder like a woman on a mission — and promptly forgot how to speak when all five of them looked up at you.

“…You okay, mesh’la?” Hunter asked gently.

You blinked. Your voice cracked. “…You’ve been calling me sweetheart?”

The room went dead silent.

Echo dropped his ration bar.

Wrecker panicked. “Wait—you didn’t know?”

Crosshair chuckled and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Told you she didn’t know.”

Tech frowned at him. “Statistically, the odds of her knowing were—”

“You called me your wife,” you said, pointing at Crosshair like he’d committed a war crime.

He shrugged. “Didn’t hear you complain.”

You stammered something completely unintelligible, covering your face with both hands, and Wrecker let out the loudest, happiest laugh you’d ever heard. “So… does that mean you like us back?”

You peeked through your fingers. “…Us?”

Hunter stepped forward slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “We all… kinda do. Like you. A lot.”

You were red. Like, fruit-on-Ryloth red. “You’re telling me five elite clones have been flirting with me in another language this whole time?!”

“…Yes,” they all mumbled at once.

Crosshair grinned like he’d won a bet. “So… Riduur?”

“Riduur?” Crosshair repeated, lifting a brow like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just dropped a romantic thermal detonator right in front of everyone.

You stared at him. At all of them.

Hunter’s quiet guilt. Echo’s embarrassed fidgeting. Wrecker’s hopeful puppy-dog smile. Tech’s analytical interest. And Crosshair’s smug little smirk that you really wanted to slap off his face… or maybe kiss.

You swallowed. “I—I need a second.”

And then promptly turned on your heel and walked right back out of the Marauder.

⸻

You spent the rest of the day spiraling.

Sweetheart. Beautiful. Wife.

They’d been calling you those for weeks. Months, maybe. You were out here thinking it was some fun cultural expression or inside joke you weren’t in on—and it turns out you were the joke. The target. Of five clone commandos’… affection?

It didn’t feel like a joke, though. It felt sincere. Soft. Safe.

And scary.

Because you liked them. All of them. Differently, but genuinely. The thought of them caring about you—of whispering pet names they grew up hearing in the most intimate, personal ways—made your chest ache in a way you didn’t know how to handle.

⸻

The next day, you avoided them.

The next day, they let you.

The third day, Hunter found you in the mess hall, sat beside you without a word, and handed you a steaming mug of caf.

You looked at him.

He didn’t speak right away. Then: “We’re sorry. If we made you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you blurted out. “I just… didn’t know how to react. I’m still trying to figure it out.”

Hunter nodded, eyes kind. “We can stop. The nicknames, I mean.”

You hesitated. “No. I don’t want you to stop.”

He smiled, just a little. “You sure?”

You nodded. “I think I like them. I just… I want to know what they mean now.”

⸻

So, one by one, the boys showed you.

Wrecker said “mesh’la” every time you helped him carry heavy crates, with a goofy grin that made your stomach flip.

Echo said “cyar’ika” after every quiet conversation, letting the word linger like a promise he wasn’t ready to say aloud yet.

Tech, precise as always, began to offer direct translations.

“You look stunning today, mesh’la—objectively, of course.”

Crosshair didn’t stop with “riduur.” He started calling you “cyar’ika” too—softly, in rare unguarded moments—and he never looked away when he said it. Like he meant it. Like he knew what it was doing to you.

And Hunter? Hunter started saying “ner cyar’ika.” My sweetheart.

⸻

It wasn’t instant.

But slowly, their voices stopped making you flustered—and started making you feel home.

You started saying their names softer. Started touching their arms when you passed. Started blushing less… and smiling more.

And one day, while standing beside Wrecker during maintenance, you reached up on your toes, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “Thanks, cyare.”

He blinked. His whole face lit up like a nova. “You said it back!”

Later, you caught Echo outside the ship. Nervous, swaying slightly on his heels. You pressed your hand into his and whispered, “You can keep calling me cyar’ika, you know.”

He looked down at you with wide eyes. “You really don’t mind?”

You shook your head. “I like it.”

And Tech, when you repeated “mesh’la” with a teasing little lilt, glanced at you and—just this once—forgot what he was doing.

Even Crosshair dropped his toothpick when you looked him dead in the eye and whispered: “You keep calling me your riduur. What does that make you, then?”

He blinked. Once. Then smiled. Really smiled. “Yours.”

⸻

By the time you curled up beside Hunter one quiet night, your head on his shoulder and his hand tracing slow circles on your back, he murmured “ner cyar’ika” and you didn’t freeze or stammer.

You just smiled.

Because now you knew.

And you finally, finally understood that you’d never been the joke.

You’d always been the reason they smiled.

happy Monday friend! Can I request some angst and fluff with wrecker that ends in cuddles please? I could use a giant hug today! Thank you so much for being awesome

“Big Enough to Hold You”

Wrecker x Reader

You didn’t mean to snap at him.

It wasn’t Wrecker’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, really. The day had just been too much—the mission gone sideways, another evac too close to the edge, too many people screaming, not enough time. You’d gotten separated. Lost track of him. Thought—just for a moment—you’d lost him for good.

And when he came back, grinning like he always did, banged up but fine…

You’d yelled.

“Don’t do that to me again!”

His smile faded instantly, eyes wide like a kicked tooka.

“I—I didn’t mean to—”

“I thought you were dead, Wrecker!”

Silence followed your words like a stormcloud.

You didn’t wait for him to respond. Just turned on your heel and left the ship’s ramp, sitting down hard on a nearby crate, hands shaking, throat tight. You weren’t even mad at him. You were scared. You were so damn scared.

And then you heard the heavy footsteps.

Slow. Hesitant.

You didn’t look up, but you felt the weight of him settle next to you. Big. Warm. Safe.

“…M’sorry,” Wrecker said quietly.

You blinked. Looked up.

He was staring at the ground, fingers picking at his gloves, like he thought you might still snap. Like he was afraid you wouldn’t want him close.

That hurt more than anything else.

“No,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. I just… you scared me, Wrecker.”

His brow furrowed. “I didn’t mean to. I was just trying to hold the line ‘til Hunter pulled you out. Wasn’t gonna let ‘em get near you.”

“I know,” you said, throat tight. “That’s the problem.”

He looked at you then—really looked. And whatever he saw on your face must’ve broken something in him, because the next second you were swept into the warmest, strongest hug you’d ever known.

“I’m right here,” he said into your hair. “I’m big enough to hold anything you’re feeling, alright? Scared, sad, mad—don’t matter. Just don’t shut me out.”

You clung to him. Just melted into that broad chest, buried your face in his neck and breathed. He smelled like metal and burn marks and something warm and safe. Like home.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you said, voice muffled.

“You won’t,” he promised. “Not if I got anything to say about it.”

He shifted, adjusting you easily in his lap until you were curled into him like a child, his arms wrapped around you like a fortress. He rocked you gently—just a little—and hummed something soft under his breath. You didn’t know the tune. You didn’t need to.

Time passed. Neither of you moved.

Eventually, he whispered, “You good now?”

You nodded against his chest. “Better now.”

“Good,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “’Cause I ain’t lettin’ go for a while.”

And he didn’t.

The rocking slowed, and his hand settled at the back of your head, big fingers threading through your hair with slow, careful strokes. Your breathing evened out against his chest, your fingers still curled in his shirt like you were afraid he’d disappear if you let go.

He noticed.

He always noticed.

Wrecker didn’t say anything—just held you tighter, chin resting on your head like it belonged there. Like you belonged there.

“You sleepin’?” he murmured after a while, voice hushed and tender.

No answer.

A soft smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He shifted his grip, effortlessly lifting you into his arms like you weighed nothing, like you were precious. Your cheek rested against his shoulder, breath warm against his skin.

The others were quiet in their bunks. Tech was reading. Echo nodded in greeting. Hunter glanced over but didn’t say a word—he just smiled, soft and knowing, and went back to sharpening his knife.

Wrecker nudged the door to your shared space open with his boot and brought you inside.

The lights were low. The sheets were turned down.

He set you down on the bed with all the care in the galaxy, brushing a hand over your hair, tucking the blanket around you. You stirred slightly—just enough to mumble his name in a sleep-heavy voice.

“Wreck…”

“I’m here,” he said, instantly, quietly. “I’m right here, sweetheart.”

You reached for him blindly. “Don’t go.”

His heart cracked in two. “Not goin’ anywhere.”

He climbed into bed beside you, the mattress dipping beneath his size, and pulled you into him like a gravity well. One arm beneath your head, the other wrapped securely around your waist, your head nestled beneath his chin.

Your body relaxed completely—safe, warm, wrapped in the scent and strength of him.

You were already asleep again.

But he didn’t sleep for a while. He just lay there, holding you, watching your chest rise and fall with every breath. A gentle giant wrapped around the most important person in his world.

And when he did sleep, it was with a soft smile, because for once he knew you were safe.

And you knew you were loved.

I love how you write tech! And how you have him all flustered is written amazingly!

As someone who is high functioning, I love hearing people talk about what they’re interested in. Could you do a tech x Fem!reader where she loves listening to him and he gets flustered and add some of your own flare to it? Xx

“Sweet Circuits”

Tech x Reader

⸻

The cantina was its usual mess of sour drinks, old booths, and worse music. A storm brewed outside, the dusty kind that stuck to your clothes and made the whole world feel static-charged. Inside, though, it was warm. Dim. Safe.

And across from you, Tech was talking—hands animated, datapad in one hand, drink in the other (untouched, as usual).

“You see, the issue with the ion displacer isn’t so much the core processor as it is the overcompensating voltage feedback. Most engineers forget to recalibrate the thermal sync, which is frankly a rookie mistake.”

You nodded slowly, chin in your hand. Not because you were bored—but because watching him talk was like being allowed to peek inside a galaxy of stars. Not many people noticed how his eyes lit up, how fast he moved when he was in his element. He was like a hyperdrive: complex, brilliant, and far too often overlooked.

“I mean,” he went on, tapping something on his datapad, “with the right calibration, you can amplify power efficiency by at least 23.8 percent. If you’re clever about it. Which, most are not.”

“You’re clever,” you said simply, before you could think to dial it back.

He paused. Blinked. Looked up from the pad, blinking again behind his goggles as if the compliment hadn’t quite registered.

“Pardon?”

“You’re clever,” you repeated, letting a little smile curve your lips. “I like hearing you talk about this stuff.”

Tech straightened, shoulders going stiff like someone had just issued a direct order. His ears flushed a soft pink beneath the curl of his hair.

“You… do?” His voice had gone up just slightly, like you’d knocked him off-balance. “I was under the impression that most people find my commentary… verbose. Occasionally overwhelming.”

“Not me.” You shrugged. “It’s nice. Makes me feel like the galaxy still has things worth understanding. Even if I’ll never understand them as well as you.”

He stared at you for a moment too long.

Then, very slowly, he lowered the datapad. His fingers twitched near the edge of it, like they weren’t sure what to do without typing.

“I… appreciate that.”

Silence settled between you. Not awkward. Just… soft. Outside, thunder rolled. Inside, Tech leaned back in the booth, flustered but visibly trying to play it cool.

“If you’d like,” he added, voice quieter now, “I could explain the modular wiring system I built for Hunter’s blade gauntlet. It incorporates… well, it incorporates some rather interesting electroreactive alloy.”

You grinned.

“I’d love that.”

And so he talked, and you listened, both of you orbiting the same quiet space—two people who had survived too much, holding on to the little things that still made the galaxy feel… good.

Tech was halfway into an explanation about conductive filament lengths—his voice smoothing out, more relaxed now that he knew you actually wanted to hear him—when a sharp voice cut through the low hum of the cantina.

“Well, well. Isn’t this cozy.”

You turned to see Cid standing a few feet away, arms crossed, one brow raised like she’d caught the two of you holding hands under the table—which, for the record, you weren’t. Yet.

Tech sat up straighter immediately, clearly thrown, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes.

“Good evening, Cid,” he said, formal as ever.

Cid glanced between the two of you, unimpressed. “You sweet on him or just have a death wish sittin’ through all that tech talk?” she asked, jabbing a clawed thumb toward you, then Tech.

You smirked. “A little from column A, little from column B.”

Cid snorted. “Well, hate to break up the love-in, but if you two are done whispering sweet circuits to each other, we’ve got a situation.”

Tech’s expression snapped back into mission-mode like a switch had been flipped. “What sort of situation?”

“Kind that pays, if you don’t mess it up,” she said, tossing a datapad onto the table with a clatter. “Package needs retrieving. Discreetly. You’re the brains, and she”—she gestured to you with a smirk—“is the only one who doesn’t treat the clientele like targets.”

“I do not—” Tech started, clearly offended.

You cut him off gently, patting his arm. “It’s fine, Tech. She’s just mad she interrupted the best lecture I’ve had all week.”

Cid made a gagging sound and walked off, muttering about nerd love and people trying to run a business.

Once she was gone, Tech turned to you with a strange look—half embarrassed, half something warmer.

“Did you… mean that?”

You looked at him.

“Of course I did. You’re brilliant. And kind. And you make me feel like I can actually understand the stars, not just look up at them.”

That flushed-pink look returned to his ears again. He swallowed.

“Well then,” he said, offering you his hand with a shy, almost formal air. “Shall we retrieve a package, Miss…?”

You took his hand, letting your fingers linger just a bit longer than necessary.

“We shall, Mr Genius.”

And as you stood, his hand still holding yours, you noticed the datapad had been left behind on the table—still open to the schematic he’d made just for fun, just to show you something he loved.

And you realized, maybe he hadn’t really been explaining it for the sake of talking.

Maybe he’d just wanted you to understand him.

⸻

Helllo! I was wondering if you could a spicy bad batch x fem!reader where she used to be a dancer/singer in like a sleezy club, did what was best for easy money. But an op comes up and she needs to it again and the boys didn’t know she had a history of it and are like “oh shit” find it hot but get jealous of the other men. Idk if this makes sense 😅

love your wring! Xx

“Undercover Temptation”

Bad Batch x Fem!Reader | Spice + Jealousy

⸻

The mission sounded simple enough.

Infiltrate a seedy club on Pantora. Gather intel on a black-market arms dealer that frequented the place. Blend in. Make contact. Get out.

Cid had been vague about the details, just that it required “a certain skill set.” And when her eyes landed on you, there was a flicker of something like smugness.

“You’ll fit right in, sweetheart,” she’d said. “Used to be your scene, didn’t it?”

The Batch didn’t know what she meant by that. But you did.

You’d left that part of your life behind when you joined up with Clone Force 99. The sleezy clubs, the music, the makeup, the stage lights — the easy money, the wandering hands. You’d done what you had to. You were good at it. Too good.

Omega had stayed behind, thank the Maker.

⸻

The club on Pantora was everything you remembered from your past life — sweat-slick air, glitter, smoke, and the kind of stares that made your skin crawl in ways you’d long buried.

Cid hadn’t exactly warned the Batch what she was getting them into. Just said it was a “special assignment” and only you could pull it off.

You hadn’t worn this in a long time — short, shimmering dress clinging to every curve, makeup smoky and sharp, hair teased and wild. A performer. A seductress. A mask you’d once worn to survive.

But stepping out into the room full of hardened clones, nothing could’ve prepared you for the heat in their eyes.

Hunter looked you up and down, slow and deliberate, his brows furrowed like he was trying to remember how to breathe.

Wrecker’s jaw dropped, cheeks flushed. “Maker, baby…”

Echo stared like he’d short-circuited.

Tech made an odd choking sound behind his datapad.

And then there was Crosshair.

He had a toothpick between his lips, eyes dragging over your legs, slow and dark. “Didn’t know you used to work a stage,” he murmured, voice like smoke. “That explains a lot.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you smirked.

He grinned. “Means now I know why the hell I’ve been dreamin’ about you on your knees.”

Echo made a noise of protest. Wrecker looked like he was about to explode. Hunter didn’t say anything — but his fists were clenched.

You went on stage anyway. Because this was the mission.

You knew how to move. Knew how to keep attention. The intel target was in the VIP booth — you’d been instructed to lure him out, get close, plant a tracker, and distract him while Tech accessed his datapad remotely.

But the Batch? Yeah, they were distracted too.

Crosshair watched from the shadows, his shoulders tense, jaw tight. He was normally smooth, sarcastic — but this? This had him on edge.

Hunter paced by the back exit like a caged animal.

Wrecker glared at every man who so much as breathed in your direction.

Echo kept muttering, “She shouldn’t have to do this,” under his breath.

Tech… he was sweating. You were pretty sure his goggles fogged up.

The moment it all went to hell was when a drunk mercenary tried to grab you mid-performance.

Your eyes had locked with Hunter’s for a split second — a silent signal — when a hand yanked you roughly by the waist, spinning you mid-dance. You tensed immediately, smile faltering.

The guy was laughing, leering, pulling you flush against him.

And Hunter moved like a damn predator.

One second he was at the exit, the next, he was slamming the guy into the stage floor, snarling, “Don’t. Touch. Her.”

You barely had time to react before Crosshair had his rifle out, providing overwatch from the rafters, eyes sharp and deadly.

Echo pulled you behind him protectively.

Wrecker cracked his knuckles with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “You touched the wrong girl, pal.”

Tech looked like he wanted to kill the man — but also couldn’t stop blinking at you in that outfit.

The bar erupted into chaos.

Shots rang out.

You ducked low as the crowd screamed and scattered. Your target made a run for it — but not before Tech tagged his datapad. Crosshair clipped his shoulder with a clean shot. Wrecker handled two mercs trying to flank you.

You moved to help Hunter — but he was down.

Your heart dropped.

You rushed to his side, kneeling beside him. “Hunter!”

He was bleeding — blaster bolt to the shoulder, unfocused eyes still locked on you. “’M fine,” he rasped. “Saw… saw that guy grab you. Should’ve—shit—moved faster.”

You pressed a hand to the wound. “Don’t be an idiot. I’ve had worse hands on me. We’re getting you out.”

“Not while you’re still dressed like that,” he muttered weakly.

Behind you, Crosshair took out another would-be attacker, and growled through clenched teeth, “If anyone else touches her tonight, I’m leaving bodies.”

Echo lifted Hunter over his shoulder while Wrecker covered the retreat. Tech dragged you out by the hand, pulling you through a back hallway while still rattling off data from the merc’s pad.

“You… that performance,” Tech blurted, breathless. “I’ll be reviewing the security footage later. For… mission purposes.”

You just grinned, eyes flicking to where Crosshair covered the rear, rifle smoking.

Back on the ship, patched up and safe, Hunter leaned against the medbay wall, arm in a sling.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said.

You leaned in, brushing hair from his face. “Yes, I did. It was the job.”

“Next time,” he growled, “you wear that in our quarters. For us. No one else.”

Wrecker appeared in the doorway. “You gonna do another show, babe? I got credits.”

Echo followed. “Don’t encourage her.”

Tech was already setting up a holoprojector. “I have some… strategic questions about your technique.”

Crosshair just smirked from the shadows, toothpick twitching.

“Next time,” he said, “I’m bringing handcuffs.”

Your smile turned wicked. “Oh? For the targets?”

His smirk widened. “No.”

Hi! Your writing is superb and I love your fic with the reader and Crosshair bantering. Do you think you could do a Crosshair x Fem!reader where she finally gets him flustered and blushing? Maybe a bit of spice at the end if that’s ok? Xx

“Right on Target”

Crosshair x Fem!Reader

Warnings: No explicit smut, but it’s definitely mature

⸻

Crosshair was used to being in control—of his aim, of his surroundings, of people. He liked it that way.

What he didn’t like was how you always had a retort ready for him, sharp as the toothpick between his teeth.

“Your stalking’s getting obvious, sharpshooter,” you drawled, slinging your rifle over your shoulder as he fell into step beside you. “Didn’t know you liked watching me walk that much.”

“I wasn’t watching you walk,” he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow. “So you were watching my ass. Got it.”

He glanced away, jaw tight, a faint flush creeping up his neck.

Score one.

“You’re lucky I’m into grumpy, brooding types who pretend they don’t care.”

“I don’t.”

“Mmhm,” you said, voice thick with amusement. “That why you always hover when I’m patching up, or growl when I flirt with other clones?”

He stopped walking. You didn’t. Not until he grabbed your wrist, tugging you back with just enough force to make it known he was done playing.

“I don’t growl.”

“Oh, honey,” you smirked, stepping in close. “You practically purr when you’re jealous.”

His eyes narrowed, but his pulse jumped beneath your fingertips. You hadn’t meant to touch his chest—but your hand was there now, and he wasn’t moving.

“Careful,” he warned, voice low.

You tilted your head. “Why? You gonna shoot me?”

“No. But I might do something you’ll like.”

You gave him a slow, wicked grin. “That’s the idea.”

And that’s when it happened—the blush. Subtle at first, just a dusting of pink across those high cheekbones. But you saw it. He knew you saw it.

“You’re blushing,” you whispered, grinning like you’d just landed a perfect headshot.

He scoffed. “It’s hot in here.”

“We’re on Hoth.”

Silence. You let it stretch. Delicious, victorious silence.

“…You gonna keep staring, or—”

You silenced him with a kiss—soft, heated, and just enough tongue to make his breath hitch. His hand gripped your waist in reflex, grounding, needing.

“You gonna let me keep talking like that,” you breathed against his lips, “or are you finally gonna shut me up properly?”

He backed you into the nearest wall faster than you could blink, lips crashing against yours harder this time, heat surging between you both like a live wire. When he pulled back, his voice was husky, feral.

“Be careful what you ask for.”

You smirked, heart hammering. “Right on target.”

The wall was cold at your back, but Crosshair was not.

His body pressed flush to yours, lean and strong, caging you in with one hand braced above your head and the other gripping your hip like you might slip through his fingers if he didn’t anchor you.

“You’ve got a real smart mouth,” he muttered, voice dark and ragged.

“I know,” you breathed, dragging your nails lightly down the front of his blacks. “You like it.”

He growled—a low, almost feral sound—then tilted your chin up with his gloved fingers and kissed you again. This time, there was no holding back. Teeth, tongue, heat. He kissed like he fought—focused, controlled, but with a dangerous edge that said he might snap.

You wanted him to snap.

Your fingers slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, dragging along the sharp dip of his waist. His abs flexed beneath your touch, and his breath caught.

“What’s wrong, Cross?” you purred, nipping at his jaw. “You usually have so much to say.”

“I’m busy shutting you up,” he rasped.

And oh—he did.

His hands were everywhere now, sliding up your thighs, gripping your hips, tugging you closer. You rolled your hips against his and felt just how not unaffected he was. The air between you grew hot, heavy, thick with need.

“You wanna keep teasing,” he whispered in your ear, breath hot against your skin, “I’ll make good on every threat I’ve ever made.”

Your eyes fluttered shut at the promise laced in his tone. He sounded dangerous. And you? You’d never wanted anything more.

“I dare you.”

He chuckled, low and rough, and it did something to you.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Oh, I do,” you said, curling your fingers in his shirt and pulling him closer. “And I want all of it.”

He kissed you again, slower this time—possessive, claiming, his. His teeth grazed your bottom lip as he pulled away, eyes locked on yours, pupils blown wide with heat.

“Later,” he murmured, brushing his mouth over yours. “When we’re not seconds from being interrupted by someone like Wrecker.”

You groaned. “He would walk in right now.”

“Which is why,” he said, voice sharp and wicked, “you’re going to think about this all day until I do something about it.”

He stepped back, leaving you breathless, flushed, and absolutely wrecked.

And the smirk he shot you?

It said he knew exactly what he’d done.

I love how you write Tech! Could I request something with him and a super clumsy and oblivious reader please? Thank you!

Thank you! Sometimes I feel like I write him too robotic like ahaha

⸻

“Statistical Probability of Love”

Tech x Reader

⸻

Tech had calculated—twice, actually—that if he complimented you at least three times a day, you might eventually understand he was flirting. The odds weren’t stellar (34.7%, to be exact), but he was determined to try.

“Your ocular symmetry is… exceptionally pleasing,” he said one afternoon, eyes never leaving his datapad.

You blinked up at him, mid-attempt to carry a large crate that was clearly too heavy for you. “Uh… thanks? Are you saying my eyeballs match?”

“Precisely.”

You smiled, almost tripping over your own feet as you finally got the crate to the other side of the Marauder. “Cool. I like symmetry. Good for… art. And, like… walking straight.”

Tech stared after you, baffled. That had been his best one yet. He even rehearsed it.

⸻

Later, you were in the cockpit, absolutely tangled in the cords you were trying to organize. Wrecker had asked you to help. He did not, however, explain how not to fall into a mess of wires like some kind of malfunctioning protocol droid.

“You seem to find yourself in precarious entanglements at an impressively consistent rate,” Tech noted, crouching beside you with a slight smirk.

You groaned dramatically. “It’s a talent. Maybe I should join a circus.”

“I find it… endearing,” he muttered.

You were too busy trying to untangle your foot from a power cable to hear him.

⸻

It got worse.

He started trying “casual” physical contact. A light touch on the shoulder here, a hand on your back when guiding you through the hull. Subtle. Calculated. Measured. He was certain you’d notice.

You? You thought he was just awkward and accidentally touchy.

Once, he brushed your hand while passing you a tool. You jolted, dropped the hydrospanner on your foot, then thanked him for it.

“You—you thanked me?” Tech asked later, clearly flustered. “I caused minor bodily harm!”

“Yeah, but it kinda woke me up. I was zoning out hard.”

He turned away, muttering something about “social cues being an imprecise science.”

⸻

Hunter noticed first. “You gonna tell her you like her or keep complimenting her neural pathways until she dies of old age?”

“I am trying to initiate courtship gradually,” Tech replied, defensive. “She is just… uniquely unresponsive to conventional—or unconventional—methods.”

“She’s got no idea,” Echo chimed in, amused. “You could tell her she was beautiful in binary and she’d thank you for a firmware update.”

⸻

Eventually, Tech snapped.

“Your clumsiness is statistically improbable and yet, inexplicably, I find myself drawn to it. To you. In a—romantic sense.”

You blinked at him from the floor, where you’d just slipped on your own jacket.

“Oh,” you said. “Wait. You’re… flirting with me?”

“I have been flirting with you.”

“For how long?”

“Seventeen days, four hours, and—”

“Tech. You should’ve just said something.”

“I did! Your neural symmetry, the entanglement commentary, the guiding hand—”

“Okay, yeah, that’s on me,” you admitted, grinning sheepishly. “I’m a bit slow.”

“Not slow,” he corrected. “Just… delightfully oblivious.”

“…Was that another flirt?”

“Affirmative.”

You laughed. “Okay, I’m catching on now.”

“Statistically overdue,” he muttered.

But you leaned over, kissed his cheek, and said, “Worth the wait?”

His ears turned red. “Yes. Highly.”

⸻

You’re writing is amazing! I had two things

1: What is a trope you love writing?

2: Can there be a Bad batch x reader, where she’s loves to cook. When she joins them she cooks for them and they love her cooking (once they get used to having something other than ration bars). Maybe she even sends them with packed lunches for when they go off.

Thank you x

I don’t have a trope in particular I like writing, but I’m a sucker for a good enemies to lovers or anything angsty or tragic

⸻

“Seconds”

The Bad Batch x Fem!Reader

⸻

They weren’t sure what to make of you at first.

A civilian-turned-ally. Handy in a fight, steady under pressure, and weirdly good at organizing their storage crates. But most of all, you cooked. Like, really cooked.

No one had expected it—not after surviving off ration bars, battlefield meals, and the occasional mystery stew Crosshair pretended didn’t come from a can. But then you’d shown up with a patched-together portable burner and the stubborn attitude of someone determined to make something edible from nothing. And you did.

The first time you cooked, it had stunned them into silence.

The scent of simmering broth wafted through the corridors of the Marauder, followed by spices and roasted meat and something buttery that made Wrecker’s eyes water.

Tech was the first to speak, nose twitching. “That is not protein paste.”

“Unless someone’s finally weaponized it,” Echo said, cautiously hopeful.

Hunter didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned in the doorway of the galley with arms crossed, watching the way you moved—calm, focused, humming to yourself as you stirred a bubbling pot. There was something disarming about the scene. Domestic. Gentle. Strange.

Crosshair gave a low whistle from where he lounged. “Are we keeping this one?”

No one answered. But no one said no.

⸻

It became tradition fast.

You cooked whenever there was downtime, wherever there were ingredients. You scavenged herbs on jungle moons, traded for spices in backwater towns, stretched every credit and crumb into something warm. Something human. You’d hand them plates and bowls and containers like they were weapons before a battle—only these made them feel… grounded.

Every day you could. Breakfasts on quiet mornings. Late dinners after brutal missions. You adapted what ingredients you had, learned what they each liked—Tech hated onions but loved citrus, Crosshair liked spicy food that burned the tongue, Echo had a sweet tooth he tried to hide, and Hunter… Hunter liked comfort food. He’d never say it out loud, but you caught the softness in his expression whenever you made something simple and warm. Like home.

They never asked you to. But they stopped saying no.

Eventually, you started packing lunches for them. Personalized. Thoughtful.

Crosshair’s were spicy and wrapped with a snarky note.

Wrecker’s came with double servings and a warning label.

Tech’s included clean utensils and clear labels, because of course they did.

Echo’s always had a little dessert tucked in the side

Hunter’s would just have little doodle/picture you’d drawn

⸻

They’d left you behind this time. Not because you couldn’t handle yourself, but because someone had to stay with Omega. She wasn’t ready for this mission, and neither were you—still recovering from the last one, a blaster graze healing at your ribs.

The ship was quiet. Omega wandered in around dinner time, drawn by the smell of whatever you were cooking.

She climbed up onto the counter like it was the most natural thing in the world, chin resting on her hands as she watched you slice vegetables and stir broth.

“That smells better than anything I’ve ever had on Kamino,” she said dreamily.

You smiled. “I’ll take that as the highest of compliments.”

She watched you for a while, head tilting. “You always look really happy when you cook.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

You thought about it as you stirred. “Because food makes people feel safe. Even in the middle of a war, a good meal can remind you what it’s like to be human.”

Omega was quiet for a beat. Then: “You make them feel safe.”

You didn’t answer right away.

She squinted up at you. “You really care about them, huh?”

You nodded. “They’ve been through hell. They deserve someone to care.”

She grinned slowly. “You’ve got a crush on one of them.”

You almost dropped the spoon.

“Excuse me?”

She giggled. “I knew it!”

You tried (and failed) to play it cool. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on,” she said, sliding off the counter. “You pack lunches. You make special snacks. You stitched Wrecker’s sleeve when it ripped, even though he didn’t ask. You added hot sauce to Crosshair’s meal because he once said it tasted better. You kept Tech’s favorite tea even though no one else drinks it. And you stayed up all night once just to make sure Echo’s respirator didn’t fail after that dust storm.”

She paused, smirking. “One of those meant more.”

You turned back to the pot. “You are way too observant.”

She laughed. “So, who is it? Wrecker?”

“No.”

“Tech?”

“Definitely not.”

“Echo?”

“Closer.”

“Crosshair?”

You gave her a look.

She grinned wide. “Fine, fine. I won’t guess. For now.”

You stirred the pot again and said, softly, “It doesn’t matter.”

Omega’s voice was gentler. “Why not?”

You shrugged. “Because maybe it’s safer this way. Just being part of this… this crew. This little found family. It’s enough.”

She looked at you for a long moment. Then she slid onto a nearby stool and rested her chin in her hand again.

“They’ll be back soon,” she said. “You gonna tell them dinner’s ready?”

You smiled quietly, not looking up. “They’ll smell it.”

Hi! I was wondering if you could do a Bad Batch x Fem!Reader where they haven’t realized how much they like her and having her apart of the team because they didn’t want to get attached but then they see her with other clones having fun and being tactical and huggy with them. I’m a sucker for jealous tropes and the “she’s ours” stuff! Thank you! Xx

“Ours”

The Bad Batch x Fem!Reader

Featuring: Commander Wolffe, Boost, Sinker (104th)

⸻

The Bad Batch didn’t realize how much they liked having you around—until you weren’t just around them anymore.

You’d been reassigned temporarily to assist the 104th Battalion for a joint operation, something about terrain recon and hostile base infiltration. The job was meant to be routine. Easy. Quick. But it had stretched to three weeks, and that was three weeks too long for Clone Force 99.

“She’s fine,” Tech said for the third time that day, eyes on his datapad but noticeably less focused than usual.

“Of course she’s fine,” Crosshair muttered. “She’s annoying. Won’t shut up. Talks too much. Laughs at stupid jokes.”

“She does make the barracks less quiet,” Echo added, but his words sounded more like a confession than a complaint.

Hunter remained quiet, brooding in the corner, arms crossed. Wrecker finally broke the silence.

“I miss her.”

No one argued.

⸻

When they finally returned to Anaxes to regroup, they weren’t expecting to find you on the tarmac—leaning against a gunship, laughing with Commander Wolffe and his men.

You had your arm slung around Sinker’s shoulder, mid-sparring banter, sweat-slicked and flushed from training. Boost was tossing a ration bar at you like it was a long-running inside joke, and Wolffe—stoic, grumpy Wolffe—was standing beside you with the faintest upward tug at the corner of his mouth.

You laughed and said something that made the entire squad snort.

Wrecker stopped dead in his tracks. “Wait—are they hugging her?”

Crosshair’s scowl darkened. “Why the hell is she touching Sinker?”

“She’s laughing,” Echo muttered. “At his joke.”

Hunter’s jaw ticked. “Let’s go.”

⸻

You saw them before they could storm up and cause a scene—which, let’s be real, was already inevitable.

“Hey!” you called out cheerfully, waving them over. “Look who finally decided to show up. I was beginning to think you all forgot about me.”

“We didn’t,” Hunter said. The rest of them were staring daggers past you at the Wolfpack.

Wolffe raised a brow and drawled, “We took real good care of her. Didn’t we, boys?”

“Too good,” Sinker smirked. “She’s basically one of us now.”

“She is one of us,” Boost added, throwing his arm around your shoulders with obnoxious ease. “Got the bite to match.”

You didn’t see it, but every member of the Bad Batch visibly twitched.

“She’s not a stray,” Crosshair hissed, stepping forward.

“Could’ve fooled us,” Wolffe shot back, “considering how quick you were to let her slip away.”

“Wasn’t our choice,” Tech said stiffly.

“You sure?” Sinker smirked. “Didn’t seem like you were fighting too hard to keep her.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Okay, woah, no testosterone fights on the landing pad, please.”

Wrecker pointed dramatically. “You hugged him!”

You blinked. “You’ve hugged me!”

“Yeah but that’s different!” he whined.

“Why?” you challenged.

Silence.

Hunter stepped forward, voice lower now. “Because you’re ours.”

Your breath caught.

Wolffe’s grin turned downright wolfish. “Took ‘em long enough.”

You looked between both squads, caught between amusement and surprise. “So let me get this straight… the 104th is adopting me, the Bad Batch is reclaiming me, and I didn’t even get a say?”

“You always get a say,” Hunter said, quieter now. “But we want you to know how we feel.”

“And how’s that?”

Wrecker was first. “I missed you.”

“I hated not having you around,” Echo added.

“Everything was quiet,” Tech admitted.

“You’re mine,” Crosshair said, almost growled. “Ours.”

Your eyes flicked to Wolffe and his boys.

Wolffe shrugged. “Guess we’ll let you go this time.”

Sinker grinned. “But if they mess up, you know where to find us.”

You snorted. “What is this, the clone version of a custody battle?”

Boost winked. “Only if it means you come back for visitation rights.”

You laughed. “Alright, alright. I’ll go home. But I am visiting the 104th again. You guys are a riot.”

Hunter stepped closer, head tilting. “As long as you come back to us.”

You smiled, softening. “Always.”

The air between you and the Batch shifted—less tension, more heat, more home. Hunter didn’t touch you, not yet, but his presence lingered close, electric.

You turned back toward Wolffe and the others, grinning. “Thanks for everything, boys.”

Sinker gave you a two-finger salute. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“Yeah,” Boost chimed in, winking. “Just remember which pack took you in first.”

You rolled your eyes, walking backward toward your original squad. “You’re all insufferable.”

“And you love it,” Wolffe called after you.

echoed behind you.

Then, low—too low for most ears, but not for Hunter’s enhanced senses—Wolffe muttered to his boys, voice almost casual:

“She’s still got a bit of wolf in her now. Let’s hope they can keep up.”

Hunter stopped walking.

His head tilted just enough to catch the last of the words. Not angry. Not threatened. Just… cold.

Possessive.

His jaw flexed.

Crosshair noticed first. “Problem?”

Hunter didn’t answer right away. His gaze flicked to your back—laughing with Wrecker about something stupid—and then back to the 104th retreating into the barracks.

“No,” he said finally. “No problem.”

But when he looked forward again, his voice was steel-wrapped velvet.

“They can howl all they want.”

He caught up to you in two strides.

“We’re the ones she’s running with.”

hello! this is my first time sending any sort of request so i hope this is the right place! i absolutely love your writing and was wondering if you could write Hunter x a plus sized f reader (more specifically a reader struggling with loving her body). maybe sfw with a hint of suggestiveness? thank you!! <3

“All the parts of you”

Hunter x Plus-Sized Fem!Reader

⸻

You stared at your reflection in the mirror of the Marauder’s fresher, scowling as you tugged at your shirt. It clung to the softest parts of you. The waistband of your pants had folded over—again—and if you stood a certain way, your stomach looked—

“Like a whole moon orbiting around me,” you muttered under your breath, smirking bitterly. “Galactic gravitational pull and all.”

It was your thing, after all. Make the joke before anyone else could. Keep it light. Pretend you didn’t care. Pretend you didn’t hurt.

You didn’t hear Hunter step in.

“You always talk about yourself like that when you think no one’s listening?”

Your heart skipped, stomach sinking faster than gravity.

You turned. “Well, yeah. Someone’s gotta say it. Might as well be me before someone beats me to the punchline.”

He didn’t laugh. Not even a twitch of a smirk.

“Don’t do that,” he said, voice low and steady.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to brush past him. “It’s just a joke, Sarge.”

His hand came up, gentle but firm, stopping you before you could flee.

“It’s not funny,” he said. “Not to me.”

You tried to shrug it off, even as your throat tightened. “Relax. I’m not fishing for compliments. I’m just realistic, you know? Built like a bantha in body armor. It’s fine.”

He blinked slowly. Once.

Then, “Don’t say that about my girl.”

Your breath caught. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he interrupted. “I haven’t said it yet, but you are.”

Your protest fizzled somewhere in your chest.

He stepped closer, and now his hand was on your waist—your soft waist, the one you avoided letting anyone touch—like it belonged there.

“Do you know how hard it is for me to keep my hands off you when you wear that shirt?”

You blinked. “You mean the shirt that makes me look like a wrapped ration pack?”

“I mean the shirt that hugs you in all the right places,” he murmured, sliding his hand along the curve of your hip like it was art. “The one that reminds me exactly how good you’d feel in my arms. Or on my lap. Or under me.”

Your cheeks burned. “Hunter…”

“I love how you look,” he said. “But more than that, I love you. All the parts you try to cover. All the jokes you use to hide the things you’re still learning to live with.”

His tone was quiet. Serious.

“You don’t need to pretend with me.”

Your throat ached. Your hands twitched at your sides like they didn’t know whether to cover your face or grab his.

“I don’t know how to believe you,” you admitted softly.

“That’s okay,” he said. “Let me believe it for both of us until you can.”

You stared at him, all your words gone, and he kissed you—slow, reverent, grounding.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like something to fix.

You felt like someone wanted.

⸻

Later that night, you made another joke about needing “extra rations to fuel all this real estate,” and he didn’t hesitate.

He pulled you flush against him, kissed your neck, and growled in your ear:

“I hope you’ve got extra, sweetheart. I plan to spend all night exploring every damn inch of you.”

⸻

A/N - kind self inserted here, I’m a bigger girl and tend to make the jokes before anyone else can, not that most do

Hiiii! Could you do a Bad Batch x Fem!Reader where she’s like their new general (a force user but not a Jedi) where she’s trying to keep her distance to stay professional and to not fall for them but maybe she wakes up from a nightmare or has a really bad day and she goes to wrecker and sees if those hugs are still available? The others obviously see and a bunch of cute confessions? Love all the additions you add too!! Love all your work! Xx

“Permission to Feel”

Bad Batch x Fem!Reader

The Clone Force 99 barracks were quiet for once.

No late-night sparring, no Tech rattling off schematics, no arguments about snacks between Wrecker and Echo. Even Crosshair wasn’t brooding out loud. Just silence—and the hum of hyperspace.

You should have been grateful. Instead, you sat on your bunk with your face buried in your hands, heart hammering from the aftershocks of a nightmare you couldn’t quite shake.

You weren’t a Jedi. You never claimed to be. Not trained in their ways, not chained to their rules. You were something… other. The people on your homeworld called you “Witchblade.” A war hero. A force of nature. The Republic called you General.

But tonight, you were just a woman shaking in the dark, trying not to feel too much.

And failing.

The vision—whatever it was—had left your skin cold and your chest too tight. It wasn’t just war. It was loss. Familiar faces, falling.

You told yourself it was just stress. Just echoes from the Force. Nothing real.

But you couldn’t stay in this room.

Your feet found the floor before your mind caught up. You moved through the ship barefoot, shoulders hunched, arms crossed like you could hide the vulnerability leaking from your ribs.

Wrecker’s door was cracked open. Dim lights. Soft snoring. His massive frame curled on a bunk made way too small.

You hesitated. So many reasons not to do this. Not to cross that line. Not to give in.

But still—you whispered, “Wrecker?”

He stirred. Blinking. Yawning. “Hey, General…” His voice was warm and rough, like gravel and sunlight. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer at first. Then: “Are those hugs… still available?”

He was already opening his arms before you finished.

You didn’t cry. Not really. But when your face pressed against his chest and his arms wrapped around you like a fortress, you breathed in a way you hadn’t in days. Weeks. Maybe ever.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

You nodded against him. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

You felt the bed shift behind you, and only then realized others had stirred. You didn’t need to turn to know Hunter was standing in the doorway now, gaze sharp but not judging. Crosshair leaned against the frame, arms crossed but brows drawn together. Echo hovered behind him, concern etched into the lines around his eyes. Tech, as usual, said nothing—but his gaze softened when it landed on you.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” you mumbled, pulling back.

Wrecker held you a second longer, then let go gently. “It’s okay. You’re allowed.”

You sat back. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable now. Just… full. With things unsaid.

Hunter stepped in first. Sat across from you, elbows on his knees. “You don’t have to carry everything by yourself, you know.”

“I’m your commanding officer,” you said quietly.

“You’re you,” Crosshair replied, from the doorway. “That outranks any title.”

“I wasn’t trying to—” you started, but Echo interrupted gently.

“You were trying not to fall for us. We noticed.”

You blinked. “What?”

Wrecker chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, you’re not as subtle as you think, General.”

Tech pushed his goggles up. “Statistically, we have all exhibited signs of attachment. It is entirely mutual.”

Your heart stuttered.

Hunter leaned closer. “We don’t expect anything. We just… we care. And if you want this—want us—you’re not alone.”

You looked at them. Really looked.

These men—outcasts, experiments, your greatest allies—they weren’t just soldiers under your command. They were your anchor. And maybe you were theirs.

You exhaled, tension uncoiling from your shoulders like a storm breaking.

“Then… maybe I’ll stop pretending I don’t want you.”

Hunter smiled softly. “That’d be a good start.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes. “Finally.”

Wrecker just wrapped his arm around your shoulder again, and you leaned into it like it was the safest place in the galaxy.

Wrecker never stopped holding you.

He rested his chin on your head now, gently rocking you. “You don’t have to say anything,” he rumbled. “Not tonight. You can just stay.”

That simple.

You can just stay.

And so you did.

You stayed.

Sat nestled between the one who understood your silence (Echo), the one who sensed your pain (Hunter), the one who read your walls like blueprints (Tech), the one who’d never admit he cared but always acted like he did (Crosshair), and the one who’d give you the biggest piece of his heart without needing anything back (Wrecker).

Eventually, someone—maybe Echo, maybe Tech—tossed a blanket over your shoulders. Wrecker shifted, cradling your body like it was made of starlight and trauma. Hunter sat beside you, his hand finding your knee, thumb stroking softly in rhythm with your breath.

You drifted off like that.

Not in your quarters.

Not alone.

But safe, for once.

Warm, held, and finally—finally—seen.

“Grumpy Hearts and Sunshine Shoulders”

Wrecker x Female Reader

⸻

The ocean was too blue. The sky was too clear. The people were too… happy.

It annoyed you.

Not because it was bad—it wasn’t. Pabu was a dream. A sanctuary. A rare piece of untouched paradise in a galaxy still licking its wounds. But after everything you’d seen, done, survived, the cheerfulness of it all hit you like sunburn on old scars.

So when Wrecker waved at you the first morning you arrived—big smile, bigger voice, bouncing down the stone steps like a gundark on caf—you nearly turned around and left.

But you didn’t.

You stayed. You unpacked. You avoided him for two days.

And then?

He showed up outside your door with a grin and a crate of fresh fruit.

“You need help settin’ up?” he asked, already peeking past your shoulder like he owned the place.

You crossed your arms. “You just looking for an excuse to snoop?”

Wrecker blinked, then grinned wider. “Only a little.”

You tried not to smile. You failed. He saw.

“You smiled! I saw it, so no denying it!” he said, delighted, as if he’d won a war.

“That wasn’t a smile. That was… mild amusement. Don’t get cocky.”

“Oh, your smile is so beautiful!” he declared, plopping the crate on your counter like he lived there. “I’d love to see it more often.”

You raised a brow. “Flattery? Really?”

“Not flattery,” he said, serious for a second. “Just the truth.”

And just like that, your walls cracked a little.

⸻

A week passed. Then two. You stopped flinching when he knocked. You started helping him haul supplies. You let him drag you into town gatherings, always with the same grin and the same cheer.

“You’re definitely the only person I would do this for,” you grumbled once, dragging your boots through the sand on the way to a lantern festival.

“I know!” Wrecker beamed, looping a thick arm around your shoulder. “I’m special.”

“You’re loud.”

“I’m charming.”

You snorted. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You smiled again.”

“Damn it.”

⸻

One night, you found yourself sitting beside him on the docks. The moon cast silver streaks across the water, and Wrecker was humming some out-of-tune melody you didn’t recognize.

“You ever stop being cheerful?” you asked quietly.

He shrugged. “Used to. After Crosshair left, and after Echo… yeah. I had some bad days. Real bad. But Omega helped. So did Pabu.”

You nodded slowly.

He looked at you, more thoughtful now. “You got bad days too, huh?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Then, quietly: “Sometimes it feels wrong to enjoy peace. Like I haven’t earned it.”

Wrecker shifted closer. His hand brushed yours, warm and solid. “You don’t gotta earn peace. You just gotta accept it.”

You looked at him, brow tight. “You make it sound easy.”

He grinned. “Nah. It ain’t. But I’m here. Omega’s here. You’re not alone.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“I’ll do it,” you whispered after a long pause, “but only because you asked me to.”

“Do what?”

You finally leaned your head against his shoulder.

“Try. To enjoy it. This place. You.”

Wrecker’s face turned redder than a sunset. “Well, hey, no pressure, but—I really like it when you smile.”

You chuckled.

Then, finally—finally—you smiled again.