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cloneficgiftexchange · 12 days

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"Ballroom Blitz"

The Bad Batch Clone Fic Gift Exchange

*FINISHED FULL STORY*

(Pinterest pic credit: Not Labeled)

@hexerein SURPRISE! Here is your gift for the @cloneficgiftexchange ENJOY!

Used BOTH of your prompts:

"This is not a clone clubhouse." Appears in this introduction.

"I don't believe that is the proper use of delicate equipment."

Characters: Hunter, Tech, Wrecker and 3 female OC's to pair with them. Stayed away from the tropes mentioned that you didn't want used. Had these OC's dancing around in my mind for several months...and YOU gave me the inspiration to use them! Thank you!!!

Story is written in third person as I LOVE supporting characters and being omniscient about the surrounding environment, building it up like YOU are watching a movie.

Summary: Clone Force 99 visits a dumpy nightclub for "science". These guys can't stay out of trouble. Tech finds friendship, Hunter figures out a secret, and Wrecker falls in love for the first time.

Word Count: 3.2K

Warnings: Swearing, fighting (no blood), explosion, fire, clone angst, sexual suggestion only.

Dancers waited behind the stage for their cue scanning the club’s dance floor.

A Chiss named Saxe remarked with a disgusted look as she spied numerous shiny's among the crowd, "This is not a clone clubhouse."

Rueby rolled her eyes at Saxe and sassed, “Honey, I thought this was a clone WHOREHOUSE!”

The other dancers laughed at the clap back. Most of them KNEW the clones enjoyed the woman, men, and the genderfluid staff genuinely, happy to lap up the attention, tipped handsomely, and brought their favorites gifts as often as they had GAR leave to visit. Plus, they were handsome, non-threatening...most of the time. Usually only did the occasional stupid thing, which the Republic covered for monetarily.

However, there was the rare dancer that didn’t appreciate these men. Usually, the uppity, better-than-you types. Rueby shot a disdainful glance at Saxe who backed off. Saxe then exited the stage to relieve one of several cage dancers.

Rueby took a deep breath and did her most inspiring power pose, psyching herself up for the next number.

She made her entrance oozing sass and sex appeal. Cat walking, swinging her hips and ass. Kill you/fuck me eyes trained on the audience. All 6 and 1/2 ft of strongly muscled dancer's frame with ONE mission in mind: TO SLAY!

MUSIC FOR THIS FIC!

youtube

The seedy club flooded with patrons. Officially over capacity for fire code and safety. But the deadbeat owner of the Flushed Orchid considered this a suggestion and not a rule. He paid off the authorities to stay open. They looked the other way on fire codes, treatment of his dancers, dealing of spice/death sticks/sketchy backdoor tub liquor, along with other unsavory activities.

Rueby gyrated and flipped her hair around to the eardrum splitting music. Multicolored lights trained on her through the dark while she danced her heart out on the elevated stage. She LIVED to dance. The harder, louder, and dirtier the music, the better. A collective whoop went up from the crowd as she backflipped and ended up in the splits on the floor.

Hunter, Wrecker, and Tech wandered into the club taking in the chaos.

“Eh...if you guys want to leave; I have no problem...” Hunter wasn't really a fan of the lights, noise, crush of people pressing by, or the prospect of getting a beer spilled on him.

“The Coruscant Guard HIGHLY recommended this establishment.” Tech practically yelled over the din. “I’m here to do RESEARCH.”

Hunter wrinkled his nose. “Tech, this place is a DUMP!”

“True, it’s not 79’s. My data gathering there is complete. I required another study environment.”

“WHAT WERE YOU STUDYING?” Wrecker’s regular voice could be heard perfectly within the loud environment.

“The pre-mating rituals of the general populace of Coruscant.” Tech answered. “Specifically, their affinity for meeting at extremely loud and crowded places that handicap their ability to communicate effectively. In addition, to observe how the consumption of alcohol changes the degree of their deeply held inhibitions.”

Hunter shook his head. “Go head, gather ‘data’. I’m going to the bar to inhibit my senses.”

Tech made a beeline for the stage.

Wrecker followed...then he spotted Rueby!

A beautiful, strapping Zeltron woman, with ample hips, and a Calypgian behind. Her smooth skin was a beautiful shade of passionate red. Wrecker heard of legends regarding woman warrior giantesses. Women almost as large as himself. Probably even strong enough to sweep him off his feet.

And she was hanging upside down off a metal pole, sensually caressing her deep indigo hair.

Wrecker followed Tech through the crush of gyrating bodies on the dance floor. They could only get 20 feet from the stage.

Tech was too busy being IN the crowd, watching the “pre-mating ritual” of the people around them.

Wrecker was entranced. Rueby was now SPINNING ON THE POLE and holding herself horizontally off it with minimal effort! While wearing stiletto boots.

Rueby DEFINITELY noticed Wrecker. She smiled right at him and released pheromones in her excitement.

Honestly...this was a FIRST for Wrecker. He usually noticed food, bombs, and the infatuations of his brothers. For himself...it just never seemed to be the same.

Until tonight. Wrecker was experiencing an AWAKENING.

Meanwhile, at the bar, Hunter flagged down Tipsy, the Twi ’lek barkeep.

“What’ll it be Handsome?” She usually flirted playfully with the patrons. And her tips reflected the extra attention they appreciated.

“Take some Spotchka.” Hunter smiled.

Tipsy filled the glass, sliding it across to Hunter. “YOU boys don’t strike me as the usual clones who hang out here. What’s your story? IF you care to tell...”

Hunter sipped his drink. The lavender hued lady taking an interest had him rethink hurrying Tech and Wrecker out of the bar early.

“We’re defective. Belong to Clone Force 99.”

“Oh! Heard about you guys!!!” Tipsy leaned forward on the bar taking extreme interest. “Crazy stories. You guys are OFF THE CHAIN!”

Hunter grinned. “Hm...we get the job done.”

“Good looking AND capable.” she winked. Hunter blushed and took another sip.

Several Reg clones and a Gotal summoned for service at the other end of the bar.

“Be back later. Gotta serve the patrons.”

Hunter watched her go, grinning into his glass.

Vix loaded up her tray and waded out into the tight crowd. She HATED nights like this. Being short and petite felt stifling in the crush of bodies. On top of that, carrying a tray full of drinks and hoping not to spill anything was nerve wracking.

She was SO CLOSE to earning enough money to quit this dump and start school. Her plans were to study Botany off-world. The thought of sitting in a quiet hololibrary and studying up on plant life relieved a bit of stress until...

...someone YANKED on her tail! Vix yelped angrily, baring her teeth.

SHE WAS SO SICK OF THIS SHIT!!!

Tech heard Vixs’ protest and looked up from his holopad.

He noticed she was a small Amaran female who seemed to be in pain. Their eyes met briefly. His in query to her predicament, her’s in frustration.

Vix flattened her ears and turned away from Tech to the large Houk holding her tail in his grasp.

“Hello foxy lady.” He leered.

“Sir, the view is the ONLY thing I’m obliged to give you. Let go of my tail!” Her anger rising.

“Aww...such a cute little angry redhead...”

“I do believe the lady politely requested that you release her coccygeal vertebrae.” Tech was now standing next to Vix.

“Wut?” The Houk was dumbfounded.

“HE SAID LET GO OF MY TAIL, YOU ASSHAT!” Vix screamed above the din of the nightclub. Some of the patrons stopped dancing, turning to watch the fracas.

The Houk’s attitude went from stupid to vitriol. “BITCH!”

Vix had enough. She threw the tray of drinks at him.

He finally let go of her tail. But he went for the throat with his big hammy hands.

Tech pulled her out of the way, the Houk stumbled past knocking over patrons. Many of the dancers stopped and stared at the altercation. Some of the clones stepped up to assist but fell back seeing it was only the Defective Clones who were in a bind.

The Houk got up and ran for them again. Vix yanked the holopad from Tech’s hands and threw it with all she had, hitting the Houk right between the eyes. It stopped him only minimally, as he bellowed in anger.

"I don't believe that is the proper use of delicate equipment" Tech quipped as the Houk picked him up off the ground and was lifted above its head.

“Oh...NO... I’M SO SORRY!!!” Vix was terrified Tech would meet his end trying to help her.

Tipsy and Hunter were really hitting it off, until...

Her eyes went wide in horror, pointing over Hunter’s shoulder “Is THAT one of your guys over there???”

Hunter spun around to see Tech being held aloft horizontally above the crowd by an angry Houk. To his credit, Tech looked extremely calm. But the Houk looked as though he was going to throw Tech across the room.

“WHAT THE KRIFF DID HE DO???” Hunter just wanted a drink or two, then leave to go to bed.

There was NO way Hunter was going to get across the bar to save Tech’s ass in time. Too many bodies in the way...but he tried to wade through...

Until Wrecker’s fist connected with the Houk’s face. He went down like a sack of bricks. Wrecker caught Tech from falling into the crowd.

That move caused TOTAL MAYHEM! Drunken patrons with pent up emotions took this as a sign to commence in a BAR FIGHT!!!

People started screaming, fighting, breaking things. Mob mentality took over, infecting the whole establishment.

Wrecker stood above the fray with his tall frame. Still holding Tech to keep him from being dragged under in the craziness. Vix wasn’t as lucky.

“Vix!” Rueby yelled from the stage. Wrecker turned to see his Zeltron crush dive off the stage into the crowd like it was a river. She came up pushing bodies furiously away from her path. One patron decided he wanted to throw a punch her way. She picked his ass up and threw him across the room.

“Rueby! HELP!!!” Rueby pushed and struggled her way through the crowd towards the small panicked voice. Then dipped down below the frenzied sea of bodies. A minute later, Rueby emerged pushing bodies out of the way while holding Vix.

Someone’s death sticks ignited something flammable in the room, and huge flames erupted. The patrons who weren’t fighting were pushing and trampling each other to escape the burning building.

“WRECKER! TECH!!!” Hunter was now caught in the fray and being pulled away from his brothers.

“RUEBY!” Tipsy could see Hunter was too far out in the crowd to bring him back to the bar. “Help him! WE ALL HAVE TO GET THE KRIFF OUT OF HERE!!!” Tipsy pointed to Hunter. Then she grabbed a chair, busted out the window, and jumped through it.

Rueby recognized the boys by their matching armor, knowing they belonged together.

“HEY BEEFCAKE!” She yelled to Wrecker. “GO OUT THROUGH THE BACK STAGE! I’LL GET YOUR SERGEANT.”

Wrecker nodded.

“WAIT!” Rueby yelled. “CATCH!!!”

She tossed Vix over the heads of the crowd to Wrecker. He shifted Tech to his right arm and caught Vix with his left. She yelped in terror.

“Hold on!” Tech grabbed onto Vix “This is going to be a VERY bumpy ride!!!

Wrecker mowed through the crowd, hip checking people out of the way and hopped up on the stage.

Rueby pushed and body slammed people out of the way best she could in the chaos. Reaching out to Hunter as he extended his hand to her. She grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him up and out of the crowd. As her other hand could reach, she grasped the front of his armor and yanked him up over her shoulder...like he was a tiny child.

Hunter was used to Wrecker doing this, but not a beautiful strapping woman wearing next to nothing. She was holding his leg with one hand and gripping his buxom bottom with the other. He could feel the fire, smell everything burning, the screams of fear were too much for his ears...it ALL was too much for him right about now.

He just wanted a drink. How did everything go SO WRONG???

Rueby managed to make it to the stage. Wrecker set down Tech and Vix. Then pulled Rueby up. She set Hunter down.

“We gotta bolt! When the bar catches fire, WE’RE BANTHA BARBECUE!!!”

Everyone ran like hell to the backstage exit.

Hunter, Vix, and Tech made it out first. They ran behind the trash dumpster for safety.

Rueby and Wrecker barely made it out when all the alcohol in the bar ignited.

The back door blew off its hinges, slammed into Wrecker, who slammed into Rueby.

Hunter, Vix, and Tech watched their friends literally ride the heavy metal door across the back courtyard, over the tower railing...screaming bloody murder all the way.

They disappeared out of view...

...as their screams carried off into the distance...and down.

“HOLY SHIT!” Hunter was mortified.

“They...are they...” Vix couldn't even finish.

“Sounds as though they are in freefall.” Tech’s head was cocked, listening. “It’s an awfully long fall down to The Bottoms of Coruscant.”

They ran past the courtyard, up to the railing, and leaned over...

...to see Rueby and Wrecker hugging each other tightly, sitting on the steel door like a magic carpet as it gracefully glided up towards them.

“How the HELL???” Hunter was STILL mortified.

Tech was glad he recorded the whole ordeal. What an amazing visual.

The door glided up over their heads coming down to rest on the balcony. Both Wrecker and Rueby were safely out of harm's way. But they wouldn’t let go of each other for quite some time.

They all stared at each other for a minute speechless.

“You’re welcome!” Came a voice behind them.

They all spun around to see Anakin Skywalker standing up in his hover craft hands raised.

Obi Wan Kenobi was in the driver’s seat. “Detonation Surfing seems to be a rather dangerous sport to take up, wouldn’t you say?” His eyes twinkled.

“You’re pretty lucky we drove by when we did.” Anakin smirked. “That first date would have been your last.”

Wrecker sheepishly glanced at Rueby, who hugged Wrecker tighter. Her Zeltron pheromones had him in a state of horny bliss. The danger aspect of what just happened had her shivering against him...in an excited manner.

“Anakin and Obi Wan thank you for assisting Wrecker and...” Hunter deferred to...

“Rueby!” Tipsy appeared, running up and embracing her and Wrecker. Then she ran to Vix and Tech hugging them both. “I’m SO GLAD everyone is safe!”

Tech was surprised by the physical contact. But not put off about it either.

Tipsy then embraced Hunter and planted a HUGE kiss on his lips. He leaned in, embracing the Twilek, kissing her deeply, then pulled away, face bright red. He turned to see everyone staring at him...

...Anakin Skywalker gave Hunter a conspiratorial look and smiled...something passed between them both in an instant...

...and it occurred to him suddenly WHY Anakin was so odd with Rex the other day on the landing pad, why he seemed to spend SO MUCH time with Senator Amidala.

That DOG! His secret was safe with Hunter.

“General Skywalker, General Kenobi.” Hunter cleared his throat and nodded to them both.

Kenobi spied the nightclub on fire behind him then addressed Anakin. “Seems there may be more souls in need of our assistance.”

Before Kenobi could brief his padawan, Anakin Force jumped from the craft...over the guardrail and the group, then ran TOWARDS the fire disappearing from view.

Kenobi shook his head and sighed “A Jedi’s work is NEVER done. Stay safe, everyone!” He swung the craft around and headed towards the burning building.

The group waved as he sped away, stunned by their Jedi antics.

The night wasn’t a total loss.

Our merry group convened at the local Waffle Hovel. It was Wrecker’s idea.

The men pushed together several of the small tables to fit everyone in their party. Besides, Baash the “Awful Waffle’s” owner, was used to seeing people in all sorts of conditions after partying all night on Coruscant. He didn’t care, long as they paid the bill.

Rueby, Tipsy, and Vix lamented that their wallet’s burned in the fire...as they certainly didn’t have pockets in their skimpy attire to carry on their person.

“No worries, ladies. We’ve got you covered.” Hunter’s headache left him as soon as they stepped into the quiet establishment, smelling the wonderful aroma of Baash’s Space Flapjacks.

His attention was also taken up by Tipsy, who sat across from him. They made silent goo-goo eyes at one another.

Same for Wrecker. He and Rueby eyed each other over their menus, making funny puns about the food.

Sitting across from one another and between the two smitten duos were Tech and Vix. They babbled and info dumped excitedly realizing they both shared a passion: Botany.

“...we were lucky to have survived the carnivorous Meat Flower of Dagoba, and I must say...” Tech trailed off. “Whatever is the matter?”

Vix had suddenly gone silent and sad. “I was SO CLOSE to being able to quit the Flushed Orchid...and start my studies. Have to find another job that will hire an Amaran...don’t know if we are going to see our last credits from this one.”

Tipsy added “Bet that slummy boss of ours will take all the insurance payout credits and run off.”

“He was probably betting on it being the Fried Orchid at some point. That man let the place go SO badly. And he’s got friends that will ignore the way he kept it to get those credits.” Rueby was angry.

“We know people at 79’s who will happily hire you. That is if you want to continue bar work and dancing?” Hunter offered.

“Yes! It was much harder to get hired in due to it being more upscale. I’ll take it!!! Tipsy perked up. “The pay is SO much better too.”

Rueby smiled. “Whooo! I’ll get to dance at the REAL CLONE CLUBHOUSE!!!”

“OOH, and I can visit ya at work in-between missions!” Wrecker was excited at the prospect.

“Oh honey...YOU can visit me ANYTIME.” She released more pheromones. Wrecker almost floated away with pure bliss.

Vix exhaled and exhaustedly hung her head. “I can’t do it. Tried so hard...but, the bar scene just isn’t for me.”

Tech politely intervened. “I am quite certain you will qualify for some financial assistance, including dorm rooming as well...If you choose. In addition, I shall speak to Coruscant University’s head administrator. They have some...’ wiggle room’ filling seats at their lectures.”

Vix was speechless. “Wait...what’s the catch?” She warily inquired.

Tech and Hunter were taken aback by the query.

Rueby and Wrecker ignored the conversation and kept flirting. The rest of the people at the table no longer took precedence. They were in their own little world.

Tech added curtly “Vix, remember the clones who witnessed how you and I were treated tonight? And their refusal to step in to help a stranger in need...and a fellow brother.” The memory struck a chord with the otherwise emotionally removed clone.

“Oh... Yes.” Vix’s face clouded with disappointment.

“We are NOT like THEM.” Tech glibly answered.

Hunter softened and fixed Tipsy and Vix with puppy dog eyes “Just want to help. We know what it’s like to struggle. There are no strings attached. WE PROMISE.”

“Ehhhh, MY FAVORITE CLONES! And they got some company here. HELLO LADIES! What are we orderin’ tonight eh?” Baash swooped in. “Tonight's special is Baash’s Hash! Best spicy potatoes this side of Coruscant. Ha-HAAA!!!”

Tech and Vix debated the various choices on the menu while Baash patiently assisted.

“Mmmm...I LIKE spice...” Rueby eyed Wrecker.

He giggled like a maniac.

“Get a room you two.” Hunter sassed.

He was then hit in the face with a wadded-up napkin from across the table.

Tipsy’s lekku went from a light lavendar to a blushed grape color. He noticed her sly smile. Then he detected a heady scent just under the aroma of cooked food.

She leaned forward and whispered, “Let’s get one of our own.”

(Credit: Cool moving star dividers by @4ngelic-wh1spers )

PLEASE like, comment, and REBLOG!

#TBBE24 #by skellymom #long post

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cloneficgiftexchange · 12 days

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patched up

summary: hunter patches you up after a mission gone wrong. a/n: hellooo! here is my gift for @captainpains for the @cloneficgiftexchange organized by the lovely @ghostofskywalker. (so sorry its about a day late; I had a massive brain fart and got my deadlines confused with a work deadline I have! hope you enjoy <3)

warnings: description of injury (not super graphic!)

wc: 950

“I hate you,” you winced, frowning at Hunter as he stiches up the gash on your leg. “I love you too, mesh’la,” he chuckles, pressing a kiss to your knee. “Almost done, you’re doing so well,” he promises. You huff again, torn between looking away ( you don’t have to watch Hunter literally sew your skin up) and looking at Hunter as he works (his concentration face is cute). You settle for looking at Hunter and pointedly trying to ignore what he’s doing, instead focusing on how his tongue sticks out as he works, and the short breathe he lets out to try to blow a stray piece of hair out of his face. Part of you wants to let him suffer but the other part wants to brush it out of his face, maybe run your fingers through it. You decide not to; better to not distract him when he’s that close to you with a needle.

(He's still in his armor, helmet discarded next to you haphazardly where he’d thrown it down as Wrecker carried you into the ship on his back, the gash bleeding profusely, and tears streaking down your face.

Wrecker had put you down and Hunter had shooed him away, telling him to keep Omega out. You’d appreciated that – he of all people knows how it feels to want to stay strong for her, not show any weakness. You were already mad at yourself for the near miss you’d had with her that resulted in the wound. You’d turned around for one second to help Tech with something on a control panel and you’d whipped your head around when you heard her gasp as a guard that was not supposed to be there swiped at her with a vibroblade. You shoved her behind you just in time, but he’d gotten you. Better you than Omega, you figured.)

You are too busy watching Hunter to notice he’s finished, already reaching for the bandage he’d grabbed earlier and the bacta he knows you’ll try to make him ration.

“Hunter-“ you start, about to tell him you want to save the bacta for something more serious, but he interrupts before you can. “No buts. If this were your non dominant arm, maybe, but on your shin like this it’ll be impossible for you to walk, let alone run, for a few days if we don’t use it. I- we need you in good shape.” He doesn’t even let you respond before he’s slathering the bacta on the wound and applying the bandage, pressing a soft kiss to it for good measure.

Annoyingly, he is right. You mumble a “fine” as he finishes up, putting away the needle and cleansing up the gauze and bandage wrapper.

“Alright, up you go,” he urges, wrapping you up in his arms and moving towards the bunks, past Wrecker and Omega playing a game of dejarik (you shoot a smile and a thumbs up Omega’s way and she smiles back before proceeding to beat Wrecker yet again), and Echo fixing up something on his scomp arm.

He walks right past your bunk, and you’re confused until he’s gently depositing you onto his own bunk. With a kiss to your forehead, he moves to root around in his drawers, procuring shirts for the both of you. He quickly removes his armor and strips down to his boxers, putting on a fresh shirt, before turning his attention back to you, beginning to remove your armor. “Arms up for me please,” he asks once he gets to your undershirt, and you obey, despite your sore arms protesting. He slips his shirt over your head and helps you stand for a second to take off your pants (or what’s left of them – he’d very dramatically ripped half of your pant leg to get to your injury) before letting you sit back down. He leaves for a second, coming back with two ration bars and two bottles of water, motioning for you to scooch over.

As you eat in exhausted silence, he keeps one hand on your knee, rubbing small circles with his thumb. Every time you are injured in any way, no matter how small, he’s always 100 times more protective of you, and usually has to be touching you in some way for at least the next day or so. It’s no small feat for him, usually so touch adverse due to his senses.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t even register that he’s speaking at first.

“Hmm?”

“Scared me today,” he whispers. “’m sorry,” you say, feeling yourself shrinking. You often forget that whatever protective streak you have regarding Omega, he has it 10 times for you and her. “Not your fault. Just don’t like seeing you hurt,” he says, shuffling closer to you. In turn, you move into him, positioning yourself under his arm, head on his chest. “I’ll be okay, Hunter,” you murmur, leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw. “Especially since you wasted that bacta on me against my will.” He chuckles at that, wrapping his arms around you and pressing a kiss to your hairline. “Never a waste. Not if it’s you,” he whispers. The two of you lay like that for a while, just breathing each other in, thankful that everyone is in one piece.

The exhaustion begins to hit you, and you let out a yawn. Hunter pulls you closer, leaving a feather light kiss in your hair. “Go to sleep, mesh’la. I’ll be here when you wake up.” You nod, burrowing your head into his chest and dosing off as the dull throbbing of your shin finally slows down, the bacta having worked it’s magic.

#TBBE24 #by starboytech #tbb hunter x reader

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cloneficgiftexchange · 12 days

Text

Mine

Here's my piece for the wonderful @isaidonyourknees for the @cloneficgiftexchange! So sorry it's a day and a half late! 😂😅

Warnings: Suggestive spice (nothing explicit), unwanted advances, jealousy, angst

--------------------------------------------------

"Leave me alone, Crosshair." The order meant to be snappish slipped out instead with a tired sigh.

"No," came the reply.

You sighed again as you felt him shift and sit down a few feet away. No more words were exchanged - the silence felt both peaceful, yet suffocating.

"Why are you up here pouting?" He finally spoke.

You glanced at him sharply. "I'm not pouting!"

"Yes you are."

"No. I'm not!"

He huffed dryly. "Sure looks like it to me."

"Hunter benched me!"

Crosshair shifted and sighed, "It's for your own good."

You scoffed, "And how would you know what's good for me?"

"You're exhausted. You're off your game."

"I'm fine. I feel fine."

He sighed again and you could practically feel him rolling his eyes. "That constant tapping of your foot and the way you're shaking tells me you're trying to run on stims and caf."

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. "And how would you know?"

He was silent. "Because I've done the same thing."

"So that makes you think you're better than me?"

"No."

You crossed your arms, turning away from him. “I’m still not pouting.”

“Sure.”

You glared at him out of the corner of your eye. “Just go away.” This time the words did deliver the sharp edge you’d wanted before, but now you weren’t sure it was exactly what you wanted.

You didn’t know what you wanted.

“Fine, came the equally snappish response. Crosshair stood and headed back down the wooded trail. A sudden disappointment threatened to overtake you and a heat burned in the back of your throat as you tried to swallow it back.

“Crosshair wait…” you called out, turning to face him as he paused and turned back.

“What?”

“I…” You stopped. No. Crosshair had better things to do than to deal with emotions that you yourself couldn’t even decipher. “Nevermind.”

For a second he paused, almost as if waiting for you to once again change your mind. He shook his head and turned around once again, disappearing into the woods, leaving you on your own.

Fine. It’s fine. You’d asked for privacy and that’s exactly what he gave you. Yet, it felt lonely nonetheless.

Crosshair was confusing to say the least. One moment it felt like he was trying to make an emotional connection, and the next he acted like he wanted nothing to do with you.

The roar of engines echoed through the trees from the base of the hill as the Marauder soared into the sky and disappeared into the atmosphere.

***

It seemed like forever ago that you'd met the surly sniper on a job. It was forever ago. So much had changed since a heated exchange of angry words led to a moment of heedless passion. One night. A romance ignited by the very intensity that divided you. The same fingers that rested pompously on the trigger of a rifle soon pulled through tangled hair and moved with purpose against your warmth. Tongues once sharp and taunting, now slotted through parted lips with desperate pleas for more.

And then it was over. Back to the cold realities of war. No words were spoken, only awkward avoidances and inverted eyes.

Talk to me, you'd wanted to say. Tell me what you want. Tell me what you need.

Perhaps that's all it was to him. Maybe you'd given him everything he wanted in that moment. Maybe that's all you were to him - a distraction - a soldier's relief from the stress of a never ending war.

You'd wanted to say something but the words wouldn't come. Then the galaxy changed and as the Republic fell, so did your hopes.

And now after so long, he was back.

***

It was nearing dusk before you finally pushed yourself from the ground and headed back down the path.

Fueled by a growing sense of hunger and the need to be around others, you found yourself walking towards the local cantina.

The music blared from somewhere above, pumping a bass that rattled your bones.

Despite the club-like atmosphere the lighting was dim, illuminating the same bar scene that haunted almost every planet in the galaxy.

The air was thick with the scent of spice and the sound of raucous laughter. You sat at the bar, nursing a drink. Despite the bustle, it still felt lonely.

“Hey there, sweetheart.”

Fingers ran across your back as you spun around to face the unfamiliar voice.

A large nikto smiled drunkenly over at you as he leaned against the bar.

“You look lonely. You here alone?”

His breath reeked of alcohol. “You're real pretty,” he slurred, reaching out to grab your arm.

You jerked away, shooting him a glare. "Back off," you growled, voice barely audible over the din of the crowd.

The nikto persisted, his grip tightening. "Come on, don't be like that.”

“Dude,” you rolled your eyes, “leave me alone.”

He sighed, seemingly annoyed at your refusal.

“A pretty girl like you shouldn't be alone in a place like this. Let me at least walk you home, baby.”

“Don't call me that,” You spat, wrenching your arm from his grip.

His jaw stiffened as he stood up straighter.

“You should be more grateful that I'm even giving you the time of day, bitch!”

Now it was your turn to stand. The nikto grabbed your arm again. Your fingers curling into a fist, ready to strike the stupid smirk from his drunken face.

"She's not yours to touch."

A familiar voice growled from behind as the nikto’s hand was wrenched from your arm with a cry of pain.

Crosshair.

What was he doing back already? You turned to face him standing behind you, expression dark and dangerous. His hand rested on the blaster at his hip, ready to draw at a moment's notice.

The nikto's eyes narrowed. “And who do you think you are, asshole?”

Crosshair glowered, taking a menacing step forward. “I'm the guy who's going to put an extra hole in you if you don't leave immediately.”

The nikto paused, unsure if he was bluffing or not.

Crosshair clicked the safety off, loosening the blaster from its holster.

"I'm not gonna ask you again," he said, voice low and threatening.

The nikto had enough. “Geez, okay fine! I'm leaving!”

Without another word, he turned and fled, disappearing into the crowd.

You stood silently watching as Crosshair stepped forward, his practiced eyes scanning every inch of you.

“Are you alright?” He asked, “Did he hurt you?”

You let out a shaky breath, “No,” you murmured, “I'm fine.” A smile flitted across your face as you looked up.

Honey brown eyes stared sharp, pierced with concern and something else.

Jealousy?

“Good.” He replied. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something more but couldn't find the courage to do so.

But this time something rose within your own chest, warm and encouraging.

“Crosshair?” The words came timidly despite their bold intent.

He looked sharply, “What?”

“What did you mean by that? ‘She's not yours to touch’?” You asked. His hand, still on your arm, gripped a bit tighter, pulling you close. Something flashed in his eyes. It wasn't the hardness you'd come to expect from him.

“It means you're mine. You've always been mine.”

--------------------------------------------------

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#TBBE24 #by arctrooper69 #tbb crosshair x reader

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cloneficgiftexchange · 13 days

Text

Grand Days and Small Gestures

Pairing: Hunter x Reader

Word Count: 9152

Warnings: Language, canon-typical violence.

Prompt: “Why can’t you just be normal?”

Summary: You didn’t expect to end up in Separatist prison cell. You definitely didn’t expect to be accidentally rescued by a squad of clones.

A/N: This fic is a gift for @ladyanidala, who gave me SUCH a fun prompt!! I’m gonna be honest with you, this got rather out of hand…I’m not used to writing romance, and then this pesky little thing called plot got involved. It’s not the most traditional reader-insert fic, but I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! It was my first foray into a second-person POV, and it was so fun that it inspired me to start dreaming up a (possibly fluffier?) sequel. Thank you so much to @cloneficgiftexchange for creating this event!

Today isn’t the worst day of your life.

Granted, the bar is pretty low; the worst day of your life was probably that time you were undercover in a sect of fascist insurrectionists on Brentaal IV, and you discovered that your encrypted comm was irreparably fried. You were stuck in that hellhole for nine weeks before somebody back in the Corellian intelligence HQ thought, “You know, maybe she didn’t suddenly go dark on purpose.” By the time they came to rescue your ass, you had finally decided to quit this job and go become a baker or something. Then you got back to Corellia and…didn’t quit. Didn’t even draft your resignation letter. Nothing in the galaxy makes you feel quite as alive as espionage does—what else could you do?

So now you sit on the concrete floor of a detention cell, your tailbone aching and your fingers stiff from the chill, and you remind yourself, today isn’t the worst day of your life. The idea spins itself into a sort of mantra: It could be worse. It could be worse. It could be worse.

Your stomach growls in dissent.

Hours have passed since the battle droids caught you, and you don’t know why it’s taking so long for a real Separatist officer to arrive for an interrogation. Clearly there are no living beings in the compound, which means clearly your intel was wrong. The datapad you’re after is too valuable to leave in the clumsy, three-fingered hands of droids. The B2s guarding your cell left about twenty minutes ago, and you’ve spent the past ten minutes trying to pry open a panel on the wall with your little transparisteel knife, the only weapon of yours that wasn’t found by the droids and their metal detector.

The panel finally pops off, and you almost groan in dismay. The only things visible in the wall are a thick bundle of electrical wires and some pipes. The pipes look too sturdy to be damaged by you and your little knife, and anyway, flooding your cell probably wouldn’t do anything except electrocute you. Cutting the wires might cut off electricity to your cell door, but that’s just as likely to leave the door locked as it is to open it, and it also might electrocute you. You’re no technician. It isn’t worth the risk.

It could be worse.

The passing of time is almost visceral now, like the ticking of an analog clock in your ribcage. You shove the panel back on the wall. Time for the ceiling. The cell’s metal bench—you can’t even call it a cot—is just tall enough that you can reach up to pry around the edges of the ceiling tiles. You start on the one in the corner, hoping that there’s a ventilation shaft above it. The left edge is just starting to come loose when—

Click.

Darkness.

That definitely wasn’t your doing.

Half a second passes, and then a loud pneumatic hiss heralds the miraculous opening of your cell door, and the adrenaline really kicks in. Has someone finally come to collect you? But why…

You listen. No footsteps.

You hop down from the bench to peek out the cell door. Nothing to see, either.

Another hiss startles you, and you dart into the hall just as the door suddenly closes again, deafening in the eerie silence. The overhead lights are still off, and only the weak blue emergency lights lining the corridor offer you any sense of direction.

You’re free, and nobody is around.

Well, this just got interesting.

~~~

As you make your way through the base, you quickly realize that something very strange is going on. That something strange is probably best exemplified by the droids lying in scrap heaps all over the place, most of them burned through with blasters, but some of them dismantled in a way that you can’t even identify. Whoever or whatever is in this base with you, you do not want to meet them.

So, of course, you meet them less than ten minutes after escaping your cell.

You’ve picked up a blaster from a fallen B1, and are carefully scouting out the control rooms, looking for anything that can help you find your confiscated ship. Unfortunately for you, the walls and blast doors of the compound are so thick that they’re effectively sound-proofed, making it difficult to tell what lies behind each door before you open it. Despite the fact that you haven’t yet run into any functional droid or living being, you feel a spike of adrenaline every time you enter a new room or hallway.

The next one, you think, opens into the hallway where the main control center is housed. If you were paying enough attention while the droids frog-marched you through the base.

When it opens, you don’t find droids.

You find clones.

There are four. Their armor looks different from the clones you’re used to seeing on the major core planets: all of it is painted a dark grey, their helmets heavily customized. Two of them immediately turn to look at you. One is holding a pistol. The other is holding the scariest sniper rifle you’ve ever had pointed at your face. (And you’ve had quite a few sniper rifles pointed at your face.)

Nope, you think. Not happening.

Immediately, you dart around the corner and slam the button to close the door. Shouts ring through the hallway. You shoot the access panel for good measure. Corellia may be a member of the Republic, but that doesn’t mean you want anybody working for the Senate to know what you’re doing here, least of all soldiers.

Time has suddenly become far more pressing.

You abandon some of your previous caution and take off at full speed through the compound. A few active battle droids wander the halls, their tiny electronic brains seeming utterly flabbergasted by whatever turn of events lead to a group of at least four clones carving through an entire Separatist base. You pick them off with ease. They’re not the enemy you’re worried about.

Where are the rest of the clones?

There’s no way in hell a squad of four men could do this much damage…right?

But there are more pressing matters. There’s no signage in the base, which means you’re relying on memory and educated guesses to make your way to the airfield where you know a wide array of starships are parked. You’ve finally made your way up to the ground level of the base, only minutes away from where you think the airfield is.

Unfortunately, the stars are not on your side today.

Footsteps—organic ones, by the sound of it—are coming towards you down the hall.

You duck into an alcove in the wall and press yourself as deep into it as you can, hoping desperately that you’re hidden from view. A few moments pass, and then a clone in that strange grey armor sprints past you. Then a second, and a third, and a fourth.

A few seconds pop by, and you’re about to peek out of your alcove when a grey helmet pops back into view, startling you so badly that you bang your elbow against the steel wall.

“Who are you?” the clone yells.

“Who are you?” you retort, for a lack of any better things to say.

“Sergeant CT-9901. Call me Hunter.”

You blink at him. He tilts his head at you.

You say nothing.

“Hunter! We need to go!” a voice shouts.

“Are you a Separatist?” the clone called Hunter asks you.

“Absolutely not.”

“Then come on!” he exclaims, motioning you to follow him.

“Where are you going?”

“We’re escaping.”

“You’re going the wrong way!” you exclaim. “The airfield is in the direction you came from.”

“Yeah, and we just rigged the airfield to blow. Now come on!”

Well, shit. What other choice do you have?

Hunter takes off running, and you follow as closely as you can. The tall clone with the sniper rifle is waiting for you at the end of the hall, and he says something to Hunter that you can’t quite make out. They’re probably talking through their helmet comms, you realize. The three of you make your way away from the airfield, through a part of the base that you don’t recognize. Here and there, you catch glimpses of the other two clones up aheads, but they don’t seem to be slowing down at all. Metal carcasses of battle droids are strewn around you.

Finally, you break out of the compound and into the sunlight. It seems to be early afternoon, if you’ve been tracking both the passing of time and the cardinal corrections correctly. The base is located in a valley between rolling mountains, surrounded on every side by thick forest and strange rock formations. You follow the two clones to a large boulder, where the other two clones you saw earlier are standing. One is tall, with goggles in his helmet. The other one is even taller, so tall that you could reasonably call him a giant.

“Who is this?” asks the one with goggles.

“Not a Separatist,” says Hunter. “Which is good enough. Wrecker, are we good to go?”

The giant—Wrecker, apparently—gives Hunter a thumbs up, and hits a button on his vambrace.

The airfield behind you blows up. Somehow, it’s one of the most normal things that’s happened all day.

“That should keep them distracted for at least thirty minutes, which is long enough for us to escape the range of their scanners,” says goggles.

“I don’t want to take any risks. Let’s get moving,” says Hunter. He turns to you. “Alright, Miss ‘Absolutely Not a Separatist’. You coming with us?”

“Is that an option?” you ask.

“As long as you don’t shoot us.”

“Didn’t even occur to me,” you say, honestly. “But where are the other clones?”

“What other clones?”

…you’re joking.

“You did all of that yourself?” you ask, utterly incredulous.

“Sure did!” Wrecker exclaims. “It was fun, too.”

“We specialize in smaller operations,” says Hunter. “Wrecker’s our munitions guy. Tech is pretty self-explanatory. Crosshair’s our sniper. We’re Clone Force Ninety-Nine.”

There’s so much information to be taken in right now, you don’t even know where to begin.

“Alright,” you say, because really, you’re completely out of options here. “I guess I’m in.”

~~~

Cool air burns in your lungs. Everything hurts. Everything hurts. Keeping up with the clones’ long strides has forced you to jog in places, and even then, you’ve fallen to the back of the group. Twenty minutes have passed since the airfield was blown to bits, and in that time, you’ve finally made sense of the incredible influx of information you’ve been given. You’ve also developed a veritable laundry list of questions. Chief among them:

“Where are we going?”

Crosshair turns around, and though his helmet covers his face, he’s definitely glaring at you. “To our cache. Keep up.”

“How much farther?” you ask, trying—and mostly failing—to keep the despair out of your voice.

Crosshair says nothing.

Such a conversationalist.

“What’s going on?” calls a low voice—Hunter’s. All four clones are looking at you now, peering through their unreadable masks.

“I asked where we’re going.”

Hunter pauses, tilts his head. Then he starts making his way back down towards you, his posture tense even as his steps are light and fluid. You eye him closely; despite Crosshair’s rifle, and Wrecker’s size, and Tech’s explosives, you’re getting the feeling that Hunter is the dangerous one here. You just haven’t figured out why, yet.

You straighten as he approaches, expecting him to size you up. Instead, he walks right past you, and sits on a fallen tree.

“When was the last time you drank something?” he asks.

…what?

The question sounds downright concerned. You say nothing. The duration of your imprisonment is not information you’ll give out willingly.

Hunter is unclipping something from his belt, now. It’s a small bottle with a colorless, slightly cloudy liquid inside. He holds it out to you, and says, “Drink.”

“What’s in it?” you ask.

“Water, a mild stimulant, electrolytes, and sugar,” Tech rattles off.

Helpful.

Hunter shoves it towards you a little further, and you push it back. Poisoning is not on today’s agenda…not that literally any of this was on today’s agenda.

“You, first.”

Hunter nods, and pulls his helmet off of his head. His face is…not what you expected. His skin is a light brown, dotted with a few faint freckles on the left side, and dominated by a dark tattoo of a skull on the right. His nose is aquiline, his jaw is strong and rounded, his cheeks ever so slightly hollowed. Dark curly hair falls in a tangled mess to his shoulders, held back only by a red bandana tied across his temple. A few flyaways have escaped its hold, as if yearning for freedom.

You’re a professional. You do not ogle the handsome soldier. Instead, you watch closely as he lifts the bottle to his lips and takes a small sip. Swallows. Your eyes follow the motion of his throat.

Satisfied, you nod, and take the offered gift. The liquid is sweet and a little salty, but otherwise bland. A faint bitterness lingers on your tongue when you’ve finished taking a few gulps.

When you hold the bottle out for Hunter, he waves you off. “All of it.”

It takes you a minute, but you finish the bottle, and thank him as you hand it back to him. He nods silently in response. What a repartee you’ve established.

“You feel better?” Wrecker asks.

“Sure do. Thanks.”

“We stowed the rest of our gear at a spot fifteen klicks away,” Hunter says. “Can you make it that far?”

Now that’s the real question. The fluids and the short rest have certainly helped, but your legs still ache, and the mountain in front of you is only getting steeper as you climb. Fifteen klicks is just a very long walk over normal terrain. Fifteen klicks now…

“Definitely,” you say, with confidence. “Shall we?”

Hunter motions the group forward, and you fall in behind him.

What a day.

~~~

Time starts to blur, after that. Your world reduces itself to the diffused ache of exhaustion in your legs and the tree roots under your feet…and Hunter. More precisely, the mud-splattered heels of Hunter’s armored boots, as you follow close behind. The clones’ pace is almost punishing; you start to worry how long you’ll be able to keep up, as the soldiers plod along without complaint. Well…almost without complaint.

“I’m hungry,” Wrecker groans, only for the fourth time in the past ten minutes.

“With only three ration packs left, protocol dictates that we reserve our food supply until we restock, or until nutrition becomes an immediate concern,” says Tech.

“This is immediate,” Wrecker insists.

“Your appetite has been an ‘immediate concern’ since we were three years old,” says Crosshair.

Your own stomach growls in affirmation, as if feeling left out of the conversation. When was the last time you ate? Hours have lost their shape. At this point, you feel like time is being measured by the number of feet you’ve climbed.

Abruptly, Hunter halts. Without saying a word, he swings his rucksack to his front, pulls out a foil ration pack, and tosses it over his shoulder. It sails through the air in an elegant arc, right into Wrecker’s waiting hand. You try not to be too impressed.

(You fail, because it was impressive. Actually, you’re not even sure how it was possible.)

There’s a pause as Hunter’s hand hovers over his rucksack.

Then: “Catch.”

The warning seems only an afterthought, delivered as the ration pack is already airborne. You manage to catch it anyway, and you turn it over in your hands. It’s cold-start, the kind that’s mixed with water to form a vaguely edible mush. Hunter is already moving forward again.

“Do you have any more water?” you ask.

This time, he doesn’t even bother with a warning as the metal canteen comes hurtling at your head. It stings your hand as you catch it. You tuck the ration pack into your belt so you have a hand free to open the—

To open—

To—

What the hell?

“Is this sealed?” you call out, even though the canteen is clearly half-empty, and you remember him drinking out of it just minutes ago.

Hunter turns and starts to make his way back down to you. Not for the first time on this bizarre trek, you wish that you could see his facial expressions. His body language betrays little, his movements as elegant and efficient as a supersoldier’s should be. When he reaches you, he holds out his hand. You drop the canteen into his palm with a little more force than is really necessary, but he doesn’t react, simply twists open the lid without any visible effort.

“The ration,” he says, holding out his hand again.

“I know how to mix a ration pack,” you grumble.

But you’re tired, and your hands are stiff from the cold, and you’re starting to wonder whether this is an elite super-soldier’s equivalent of kindness. You won’t bite the hand that feeds you. With a nod, you hand over the ration pack. Hunter mixes it with the sort of automaticity that betrays a thousand repetitions of the motion. Your fingers brush when he hands it back.

One swig of the stuff makes you wonder if it’s not too late to go back to the Seppie prison.

“Urghh,” you groan.

Hunter makes a sound that’s almost…oh stars, he’s laughing at you. You’re dying of hunger and thirst and trying to drink what tastes like cardboard in puréed form, and he’s laughing at you.

“Never had GAR rations before?” he asks. “They’re not like what you civilians get for your backpacking trips.”

“That was…rude, I’m sorry,” you say, kicking yourself for reacting that way when he just offered you help.

“That’s the usual reaction,” he says. He swings his rucksack over his shoulder and turns back up the mountain. “Come on, we’ve got a long way ahead of us. Drink it while we walk. You’ll get used to the taste.”

“Stars, I hope not,” you mumble.

Hunter’s rumbling laugh floats back to again, and you smile despite yourself. For a moment, you wonder if you’ll get along after all.

~~~

It turns out rations for six foot tall super-soldiers are really energy-dense. With a stomach full of food—if you can call it food—the day starts to feel a lot less like a catastrophic mission failure and a lot more like a strange little side quest. Wrecker seems to feel the same, a bright levity emerging in his booming voice.

“Did I ever tell you about the time Hunter took on three regs at one time because they were picking on Crosshair?”

“When would you ever have had time to tell her that story?” Crosshair asks.

“There were only two,” Hunter corrects, “and they were almost a year younger than us.”

“What are regs?” you ask.

It’s a can of worms that you’re glad you’ve opened.

Wrecker seems to delight in having an audience, and the other three can’t help but contribute to the conversation. Their stories are all out of chronology, and the discussion is frequently derailed by your complete lack of knowledge about the Grand Army of the Republic. The Senate wants it that way, you know. Honestly, it’s incredible how much intel you’re getting right now…not that you feel like you could use it for anything productive. It paints an ugly picture that the clones don’t seem to realize is ugly, a tale of forced conformity and a brutal life.

The landscape goes by. You learn that most clones like them are considered defective and relegated to maintenance duty. You learn that, although the clones as a whole view themselves as brothers, there’s nasty people in any group. You learn who “regs” are, and about the ones who picked on the 99s—Crosshair especially, who grew up tall but unusually thin, unable to develop the impressive muscle mass that most of the clones possessed. You learn that Hunter, the only one not visibly defective in some way, learned to bridge the gap between his squad and their other brothers.

(You learn that, when his diplomacy failed, he was always willing to throw punches in their defense.)

A story unfolds, of four boys who turned into four men, all so different in temperament that it seems impossible for them to be held together by anything except circumstances. Wrecker starts fights because he thinks they’re fun, but cares far more about what other people think of him than he’s willing to let on. Tech simultaneously lives in his own head and is inextricably steeped in the world around him, every phenomenon looking more colorful through his goggles, every system of nature a machine that can be disassembled. Crosshair is a cynic, through and through, but his loyalty to his brothers runs so deep that you wonder if it might be affection, rather than a sense of duty, that drives him. Hunter…

In all of their stories, none of the other clones truly describe Hunter to you. There are no off-handed compliments that he’s brave, or that he’s kind, or that he’s level-headed. Wrecker tells you, “Crosshair is the best lookout in the entire galaxy.” Hunter tells you, “Wrecker has this habit of offering to help people at very inconvenient times,”—an amusingly brotherly way to say that Wrecker is a generous soul. Crosshair tells you, “Tech saved our mission because he read a book about karking butterflies.”

But still, in between the tales of rescues and hijinks, you weave together the threads, and you find yourself looking at a very different person than you thought you had met when your day began. Hunter’s facade of gruffness is hastily constructed and easily chipped away, and beneath it he is not a complicated man. Above all else, he is singularly devoted to protecting others, and everything else about him seems inconsequential in comparison.

Evening falls, and you make it to the place where the clones have stored their gear. Their ship, Hunter explains, is another twelve klicks away, near a small outpost that they initially investigated, and then decided not to infiltrate.

After you’ve finished your dinner—which includes some real food this time, even if it is canned—you find yourself sitting by a tiny brook, too small for anything to swim in it. A day’s worth of stories tumble around in your mind.

You only hear Hunter coming when he’s a few feet behind you.

“I won’t ask you what you were doing in a Seppie detention cell.”

Smart man, you think.

“But,” he continues, “whatever it was you did, they’re going to be after you as much as they’re after us. You need to be able to protect yourself.”

You resist the urge to respond with a dry, “Yeah, no shit, Sergeant.” Instead, you offer a non-committal hum.

“I’ve got a spare DC-17 pistol. You should learn how to use it.”

You turn to look at him. He’s standing with one hand on his hip and the other holding his blaster, empty of a power cell. He looks very serious.

You try to resist the urge not to laugh. You’ve had a blaster in your hand since you were twelve years old.

Instead, you say, “Sounds like a good idea. Now?”

“No better time,” he says.

He makes his way over and sits down next to you, and you find yourself leaning in to watch as he turns the blaster over in his hands.

“So we’ll start with assembling it…”

You’re only half paying attention to the actual words tumbling from his lips. Like a sweater catching on a bush, your mind catches on the low, rumbling timbre of his voice. The sound buzzes in your ears. The sun is going down, but you could swear it’s getting warmer. Was he always that—

“Were you paying attention?” he asks, breaking your reverie.

“Yes,” you lie. Well, half-lie, because you were paying attention…to other things.

“Repeat back what I just told you.”

Well, that definitely isn’t happening. In lieu of an answer, you pluck the blaster and its power cell from his hands. Your conscious mind is barely engaged as you assemble it with steady hands, as quick as you reasonably can without jamming it. A DC-17 isn’t your preferred style of pistol, but the principle is the same.

And if you’re not mistaken, the subtle arch of Hunter’s brow means that he’s impressed.

“Good. Now, this blaster handles a little differently than the ones you’ve probably used…”

Maybe it’s the smooth confidence in his voice, or maybe you’re just desperate to learn more about the man, but you find yourself going along with it. You nod as he explains the kickback of the weapon, its effective range, its possible styles of blaster bolts.

Finally, he stands behind your left shoulder, and quietly instructs you to aim the weapon. It’s as easy as breathing. His hands come up to adjust your grip; his fingers are warm and rough, heavily calloused by his own use of weaponry. The heat lingers even as he pulls away, apparently satisfied with the positioning of your hands.

You immediately slide your grip back to where it was.

“My hands are smaller,” you explain, even though you don’t owe him an explanation, because you’ve been doing this at least as long as he has. You almost tell him that, too, but it would reveal more about you than you actually want him to know.

“Mmm,” he hums, his face now tantalizing close to your ear. “See if you can hit that hollow tree.”

The tree is maybe thirty feet away. Half of you is wildly offended by the suggestion that you couldn’t hit such an easy target. The other half of you is ruled by the pounding of your own tyrannical heart, Hunter’s mere proximity throwing you out of your disciplined calm.

You breathe in. Breathe out. Aim. Squeeze.

There’s now a burning hole in the center of the dead tree.

“Good!” Hunter says, and good heavens, could he not stand so close? “Now—”

Fweeoo.

Maybe you should feel bad about cutting him off. You don’t, at all.

Fweeoo.

Hunter is silent, now, just standing there watching you draw a neat little line of smoking holes in the tree. The petty part of you is winning your internal war, so you line up a sixth shot, turn your head to meet his gaze, and pull the trigger. His dark brown eyes flicker away, then back to yours.

“You’ve made your point,” he murmurs.

You glance at the tree, where a wisp a smoke rises from a knot in the bark. It’s not a perfect bullseye, but a victory nevertheless.

“I’ve made better points,” you retort, smiling. Four precious seconds pass before Hunter finally steps away.

“So, no target practice for you, then. I set up your bedroll. You should get some rest.”

“Which watch should I take?”

Hunter frowns slightly. “None of them. I’m going to scout out the area for a bit longer, then I’ll take first watch. Crosshair and Tech take second and third.”

“Do you want a second pair of eyes?”

“Don’t need them.”

You nod, and suddenly realize what an awkward thing that was to say. “Well then, I’ll head back up to camp.”

“Goodnight,” says Hunter, softly.

You don’t manage to summon a response.

(Your heart still pounds against your ribs.)

~~~

Despite the food, rest, and water, the morning’s trek is harder than yesterday’s. The terrain turns rocky and the foliage becomes sparse, leaving you exposed to the cold wind. The group’s pace slows as you make your way down the mountain, carefully stepping around loose stones that could send you tumbling. Your eyes are once again trained on Hunter’s heels. You trust him more than you trust yourself to pick out a safe path on the treacherous slope.

Still, the difficulty of the endeavor doesn’t seem to dampen the squad’s mood. Hunter’s helmet is off, strapped to the top of his pack, and he often tilts his face towards the sun. The wind blows his curly hair in every direction, until the bandana is only keeping half of it out of his face. Tech is delivering a detailed lecture about geology. You have no idea what he’s talking about. Wrecker seems as confused as you are about the subject, but while you simply let the words wash over you, Wrecker eagerly interjects with questions and commentary. Their dialogue is far from socratic, but it starts to intrigue you, and you can’t help but smile at the exchange. Every once in a while, the conversation is punctuated by a comment from Crosshair, dripping with sarcasm and yet received with good-hearted laughter. Hunter’s contributions, frequent at first, begin to taper off. The other three don’t seem to notice, but then again, it’s not their job to study people. It’s yours.

You’re about to ask him what’s wrong when he answers your question preemptively.

“Someone’s in the ship,” he says, turning around to face the group.

“Clankers?” Wrecker asks.

“No. I would have felt them if they were droids. I’ve been sensing something else: comms, or another type of small electronics. But just now, they turned on power in the ship.”

The cogs in your head are turning. Did you hear him correctly?

“How do you know?” you ask. “What do you mean, you felt…”

You trail off as Hunter holds up a finger to silence you. His brow is drawn into a tight scowl and he closes his eyes, tilting his head as if listening for something.

Tech makes his way over to you. Quietly, he explains, “Hunter can feel electromagnetic frequencies. He can sense droids, or the electronics that people carry on them if they’re quite close. When the electrical power on the ship is turned on, those frequencies change, so he can feel those, too.”

“How could somebody turn your ship on without a key fob?” you whisper.

“The ship has no key fob. It would be dangerous to rely on a small object, which could easily be lost or damaged during a mission, to access our only means of escape. One can enter the ship and activate some systems with no restrictions, and the engine can be started with a key code.”

“And somebody just got on your ship?”

“Apparently, yes.”

You glance up at Hunter. His right thumb is rubbing absently at the scuffed paint on his vambrace.

After a long moment, he says, “There are definitely no droids. I think there are locals here, and we didn’t realize it. We need to move. The ship is only a fifteen minute run from here.”

“Should we leave the packs?” you ask.

“Leave everything except weapons and combat gear. We’ll put the explosives and grappling hooks in Wrecker’s pack.”

“Aww, yeah!” Wrecker cheers, albeit quietly. The rest of the group is in motion immediately, rearranging their burdens and leaving all by the necessities tucked under a rocky outcrop. You have no rucksack, so you help Wrecker in carefully repacking the explosives into his. You’re almost finished when you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder.

“You’ll want these,” Hunter says. He hands you two spare power cells for your blaster.

“Two? But you only have three spares.”

“I’m hoping we can reason with the locals,” he says, “or scare them away. But if things got really bad, I’ve got this.”

There’s a metallic hiss as he slides a vibroknife out of the sheath on his forearm. He twirls it in his fingers a few times, a display of skill so casual that it feels almost unreal.

Wait.

“Back in the base, did you stab those droids?” you exclaim.

Hunter grins, a full smile that seems so out of place in your current situation. And yet, you find yourself mirroring it right back at him.

“Let’s go get our ship back.”

~~~

Jagged rock digs into your skin as you lie on your stomach on a ridge, peering out at the clones’ ship. Hunter was right; you can vaguely make out the shapes of at least three humanoids milling around it. From where you are, though, you can’t see any more details than that. The group’s only pair of binoculars is currently in Crosshair’s hands.

“Three outside the ship,” he says. “Armored, helmeted, and carrying blasters. These might be more than just locals.”

“Anything else?” Hunter asks.

“They’re waving their hands at each other.”

Hunter holds out his hand for the binoculars, and Crosshair hands them over.

“Sign language,” says Hunter. “Either they don’t want to be heard, or they can’t hear. I can’t feel how many there are. The ship is interfering too much.”

“Are they doing anything to the ship?” you ask.

“Not from the outside. Who knows what they’re doing inside of it.”

“I have encrypted all information present on board our ship,” says Tech from next to Crosshair. “It would be nearly impossible for them to elicit any intelligence from its databanks.”

“I’m more worried about them gutting it,” says Hunter darkly.

To your surprise, he does not hand the binoculars to Tech next—he hands them to you. Nodding in thanks, you take them, and try not to think about the way his shoulder presses against yours. You fine-tune the focusing knob until you have a clear view of the people standing in front of the ship.

Then you almost drop the binoculars.

Hunter notices the jerk of your hand immediately. “What’s going on?” he asks, alarmed.

What’s going on? What’s going on?

What’s going on is that you are never getting that ship back, and you’re all in deep shit, and you’re starting to wonder if you really will quit your job this time.

Kark. This.

“Those are Third Hand,” you say.

“Third Hand?”

“Mercenaries. They’re…” you trail off as you watch one of the distant figures make a wide sweeping motion with his right arm. You wrack your brain trying to remember what it means, but it’s been years since you’ve encountered one of the Third Hand. Usually, the correct response to encountering one is to run very fast in the other direction and pray to anybody who will listen that they don’t follow you…and not to ask them for sign language lessons. The only reason you even recognize them is because their appearance is so distinctive: Ubese filter helmets and cortosis-weave plate armor, painted in swirling multicolored hues with jagged black symbols on top, studded with spikes. The effect is like a monstrous creature emerging from a beautiful supernova. These ones have relatively few spikes each—a good sign, but not a great one.

“What?” Hunter asks.

You refocus yourself. “They’re Ubese mercenaries. Very good ones. Usually contract with the Spice Cartel.”

“So what are they doing out here?”

“Nothing good. If there are six here, there are probably at least twelve in the area.”

“How do you know there are six? Can you see them?”

You’ve mentally catalogued everything you’ll be able to learn from looking, so you hand the binoculars back to Hunter.

“Third Hand always travel in groups of threes. There are three outside, so there will probably be three inside.”

“Six is manageable,” he says.

…manageable? He’s joking. He has to be joking. The man who used to start fist-fights to defend his brothers would not turn them into target practice for the Third Hand.

But his voice is deadly serious.

“Six against four?” you ask, incredulous.

“Six against five.”

“I’m not wearing armor. I’m not a soldier. I don’t count.”

“I’ll still take those odds. We need to complete the mission, which means we need to scout the other large bases on this moon. And for that, we need our ship.”

“They’re armed to the teeth and don’t shy away from killing people like you do.”

“We’ve had worse. We need to complete the mission,” he repeats.

“Hunter, what is wrong with you?” you whisper-scream, utterly furious but fully aware of how exposed your position is. “Do you actually think it’s a good idea to take on six extraordinarily well-trained mercenaries just for a ship? Any sane officer would turn his men around right now and send for evac!”

“We don’t need an evac!”

“Stars help us, Hunter, stop trying to be a hero! Why can’t you just be normal?”

Hunter goes deathly still.

Silence falls upon you; the air seems to turn brittle. You glance between the men. Crosshair is staring at you coldly. Wrecker is fidgeting, his eyebrows raised in alarm. Tech is glancing between you, Hunter, and the display on his Hud, his fingers still tapping against his wrist comm.

Hunter isn’t looking at you.

“We have never been normal,” he mutters.

The word seems laced with poison, and your chest clenches. Of course you had to go and put your foot in your mouth. Of course you picked the one adjective that would feel so personal to him. His expression is angry, but somehow you get the feeling that it runs deeper than that.

“Hunter,” you say, softer this time. “This is a suicide mission.”

“Then don’t come.”

Stubborn man! “Has it not occurred to you that I don’t want you to die? Any of you?”

Hunter does look at you now, his face a mix of so many emotions that it’s become unreadable. You meet his dark eyes and hold his gaze, willing him to understand. Willing him to trust you.

“We’ll be going home with one less ship and no information,” he says. Damn him. “We don’t even know where the datapad is, now.

Something about that sentence catches in your mind. You don’t even know where the datapad is. You don’t…

…no, you do.

It all clicks together.

“Yes, we do.”

“What?” the men chorus, sounding more alike than they ever have.

“You told me that there’s a small outpost near here, right?”

“That outpost was far too small and poorly-manned to contain the datapad we’re looking for,” says Tech. “The Separatists would never leave something so valuable so vulnerable.”

“But what if it is well-guarded? Just not by droids.”

Hunter shifts, turns to look at you for real now. The anger hasn’t entirely faded from his face, but there’s something else there now, a new glint. “Are you saying that the outpost is guarded by these mercenaries, and the datapad is actually being kept there?”

“It’s the best explanation. How much do you know about the outpost?”

All four men glance at each other. Wrecker grins.

“Well,” says Tech, “when I sliced into the Separatist servers…”

~~~

The plan is insane.

The plan is so utterly insane that you wonder if it wouldn’t be better just to take on six mercenaries in a firefight to get the ship back.

The outpost is less than an hour’s hike from the ship; the clones were able to land close to it because it lacks the long-range ship detection system that the large base had. The mercenaries have only been at the ship for twenty minutes or so, and based on what you know of the Third Hand, they will pick it apart piece by piece before they’re satisfied. That takes six men out of the running, but the second the alarm sounds at the base, your countdown will begin.

Hunter and his bizarre superhuman abilities prove invaluable. From this range, he can tell you that there are somewhere around forty droids, and that they’re remotely controlled. Tech has been able to override certain models of remote-control battle droids in the past, and he’s confident in his ability to do so here.

Crosshair will set up on the hill overlooking the outpost and cover Wrecker, who will launch an artillery attack against the east end. You, Tech, and Hunter will sneak in through the north entrance, where Tech will slice into a terminal and take control of the droids to attack the mercenaries. You and Hunter will look for the datapad, and once you have it, you’ll steal a ship and escape.

So, just normal Taungsday things.

“If anything goes wrong,” you say, “we scrap the mission. If their scanners are strong enough to detect us, we quit. If the droids are the wrong model, we quit. If there are more than fifteen men, we quit.”

Tech, Wrecker, and Crosshair agree.

Hunter just glares at you.

The trek to the base is made in silence. Your trigger finger is itchy, and you startle at things that shouldn’t bother you: small animals darting between the rocks, your foot sinking to deep into mud, Crosshair clearing his throat. The group walks in single file: Hunter, Tech, Wrecker, you, and Crosshair. You can’t see Hunter from here. It’s better that way.

At one point, Wrecker falls back a little to walk side by side with you. He leans down a little, as if to whisper conspiratorily. The effect is comical—he really just ends up hovering far above your head.

“We, uhh…we failed our last two missions. It was bad. The Admiral said that Hunter made a bad call, and if we couldn’t do the next one, we’d be sent back to Kamino. Said if we couldn’t function like a normal squad, we shouldn’t be here.”

“So if you fail…”

“Tech and me go to maintenance. Hunter and Crosshair have to teach the cadets. Hunter doesn’t mind it”—you remember his careful instruction with the blaster, and a smile flickers across your face—”but he’d rather be out here.”

“Well, then,” you say, shoulders straightening. “We better not fail.”

~~~

The first ten minutes are a dramatic, spectacular victory.

There’s more firepower packed into Wrecker’s rucksack than you could possibly have imagined. The ground shakes when he begins his assault, and a small part of you worries that he might do his job too well, and send the outpost crashing into a pile of rubble. But, though Wrecker might not always come across this way, you spent much of yesterday listening to stories about him: the man is brilliant with explosives. What you wouldn’t give to be watching the display through Crosshair’s scope right now.

Tech, Hunter, and you manage to sneak into the base with little issue. All of the alarms in the base are already going off, so your illicit entry adds nothing new to the cacophany. Quick as a flash, Tech slices into the outpost’s computer system, and then the real fun begins.

The droids are only B1s, but the great strength of B1s is their numbers and their complete disregard for their own safety. Through the outpost surveillance system, you watch the Third Hand mercenaries scramble to deal with the chaos wrought by explosions on one side and traitorous battle droids on the other. There seem to be nine of them here, and before you and Hunter even set out to look for the datapad, four are already dead or seriously wounded.

(Although you know that they’ve all killed more people than you could count, you still wince at the carnage.)

When all of them seem sufficiently occupied, you and Hunter set out, blasters locked and loaded. After three turns—right, left, right—Hunter motions down a narrow corridor.

“You go that way, look on the west side. There’s nobody there, and there’s a communications room about fifty feet down. I’m going south, this way.”

You resist the urge to argue with him, as much as you want to. He took a chance, trusting you, and now you need to do the same for him.

“Comm me if you find anything,” you say.

“I will.”

You’re sprinting down the hallway when you hear him call out, “Be careful!”

One by one, you sweep the rooms off of the hallway. Most of them are small storage rooms or engine rooms, with one small dormitory. At last, you reach the communications room. Knowing that this is the room most likely to have people in it, your heart pounds as you open the door as fast as you can, blaster raised. It’s empty.

Adrenaline keeps coursing through you as you search the entire room, looking for the datapad. There’s nothing. On your way out, you notice a box of empty data sticks. It’s not what you’re here for, but you shove one of them in the nearest console and wait for it to download the basic schematics of the computer. There’s no time to go searching through the computers for information—there’s probably nothing useful on them, anyway—but you’re hoping that knowing what kind of tech the Separatists are using might help somebody back at HQ.

Bzzz. Your comm goes off.

“Hunter?”

“I found the datapad. It’s at the end of the south corridor I went down, at the very end on the left.”

“On my way,” you say.

In the privacy of the empty room, you allow yourself a sigh of relief. This is not your standard sort of operation. Explosions are still shaking the compound, though they’re beginning to slow down, and you eject the datastick even though it’s not quite finished. You’re here for one thing, and Hunter has found it. Only a few more minutes. Then you can all get off of this planet.

Luckily, you encounter no mercenaries during your sprint to where Hunter is. When you arrive, you find him leaned over a datapad that’s been detached from the main console, a strange-looking datastick plugged into its main port. Hunter glances back and nods a greeting at you.

“Almost done,” he says.

You fiddle with one of the datasticks that you swiped from the communications room, ready to switch yours with his the moment that his download is finished. The next twenty seconds feel like eternity.

Then: green light.

Hunter yanks his datastick out of the console. Then, wiith a flash of movement so fast you can barely processed what just happened, he sinks his vibroblade into the datapad and tears it down the center, splitting the machine into two sparking hunks of ruined metal.

~~~

Here’s the thing:

You’re a spy. Spies have rules. Perhaps chief among those rules is, “Don’t trust anyone.” Especially, “Don’t trust foreign special operatives who you just met yesterday.”

Here’s the thing:

That intel was kept on an encrypted datapad that could not be accessed remotely. It was not backed up. And Hunter just destroyed it beyond any hope of recovery. While his mission is safe and secure in his pocket, yours is a complete loss. And he did that on purpose.

Here’s the thing:

Until five seconds ago, you actually liked him.

It takes a moment before your brain truly catches up, and by then he’s moving towards the exit.

“Let’s go!” he calls.

You hate your traitorous legs for the way they heed his order without question, pounding against the concrete floor as the two of you sprint through the halls of the compound. You hate your traitorous hands for firmly gripping your blaster, not once reaching out to grab him by the shoulder and stop him. You hate your traitorous voice for not crying out in protest, for not calling him a liar and a cheat and a terrible excuse for a human being.

You hate yourself for doing as he says, even as his betrayal lies in a smoking heap behind you.

Your body moves automatically, dodging behind a corner when you see a mercenary. Hunter strafes in the opposite direction and takes a few shots at the man. By the thump you hear, you presume that one of them landed.

“Bet you’re glad you don’t have a ‘normal’ soldier with you right now,” Hunter quips.

Anger rises in your throat. Is that really what he’s hung up on? Your single comment, that’s what made him destroy that datapad, ruining your mission? Maybe you’d understand better if he’d done it for the sake of the Republic, but this just feels like a low blow.

As you round the next corner, Hunter pulls off his helmet and tilts his head, apparently listening for something. Briefly, his eyes flicker to yours, and he gives you a cocky half-smile.

Asshole, you think. It’s a petty word and a petty thought, but your anger is pulsing through your body with every beat of your heart, every memory you’ve formed in the past day suddenly tainted. Quieter, but just as poignant, is a deep feeling of shame. Were you really fooled by a handsome face and a few acts of kindness? Is this the man he’s been all along?

You shake your head to clear the thoughts away. Right now, you need to focus. This is the final leg of the plan: you and Hunter have to get to the far north-east side of the compound, where three ships are kept in a tiny hangar: two fighters, and one shuttle.

Hunter is yelling at Tech through comms: “Tech! Open the door into the hangar and get over here!”

You can see the door slowly open up ahead.

So close.

You’re nearly to the door, making a beeline for the nearest fighter, when you hear Hunter shout.

Then something slams you into the wall. Heat envelopes you, carried on a strong gust of wind. You struggle to take a breath.

One second passes.

The sound of blaster fire rings in your ears.

Two seconds pass.

You finally realize what’s happening. Hunter is pressed against you, his arms held up to protect your head. It wasn’t a something that threw you against the wall just now; it was him, pushing you out of the way of what seems to have been a grenade.

“Got ‘im!” Wrecker yells over comms. The sound rings in your ears, tender from the sound of the explosion.

“If my counting was correct, that was the last of the Third Hand,” says Tech.

“Not the last,” says Crosshair. “I see the other six. They’re on their way here. Four minutes.”

Hunter shifts away now, and you try to take a full breath full the smoke.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

You nod. Your voice feels too raw to work right now.

“Come on, we don’t have much time.”

Emotions are bouncing around your head like a damned pinball machine, and you push them all away, focusing on the task at hand: you need to get to a ship. You need to escape. So you follow Hunter through the door and into the hangar. The wind has changed, blowing the smoke of Wrecker’s explosions away from you, and you breathe deeply as you run.

To your surprise, Hunter doesn’t make for the shuttle. He makes for the nearest fighter, instead. Across the hangar, you can see Wrecker wave.

“Wrecker!” Hunter yells. “Start the shuttle!”

“On it!” Wrecker calls back.

“I thought you were all going together,” you say.

“We are. I need to give you this, first.”

Hunter takes your hand and presses something small and hard into it. The tips of his fingers are warm and calloused, and though you could count on his hand the number of times you’ve touched, he feels as familiar as a home.

“Here,” he says. The warmth is gone as quickly as it came as he pulls away, ducking around the fighter to look around the hangar, scanning for enemies.

All you can think to say is: “What?”

“You can access it with the code 223-228-24!”

“What is it?”

“The datastick. Don’t access it until you’re in a secure position.”

“I don’t understand. You destroyed the datapad.”

Hunter turns to look at you and cocks his head. “I got a copy first.”

“Just one, though.”

“I downloaded it to my wrist comm. This is the original.”

Oh.

Oh!

You want to sigh-laugh-sob with relief. Hunter was never leaving you out to dry. His comment about being a normal soldier…that was teasing. You were running for your lives, being shot at, and he was teasing you.

“Thank you,” you whisper, because your voice can’t be trusted in full.

Hunter only shakes his head. “Don’t thank me. We’d have been dead men without you.”

“Not…not the datastick. I just…”

Words stick in your throat. There’s an ocean between you and Hunter that you can’t seem to cross, the crash of its waves inaudible over the pounding of your heart. There’s an ocean between you, and it’s only an arm span across. Words stick in your throat, but your feet…

Your feet are as light as ever, and you find yourself standing in front of him, looking up into dark eyes that finally seem readable. Hope and fear flicker across them in equal measure.

You move slowly, telegraphing your movement to give him a chance to pull away, but he doesn’t. The world stills, and you brush the gentlest kiss on his left cheek, where ink meets blank skin.

(If it were quieter, you would hear his delicate inhale as your lips touched him.)

“Thank you,” you murmur.

You start to step away, hoping—praying, maybe, to all the stars that will listen—that your message was received and decoded. Then a warm hand, calloused from war and gentled from compassion, takes yours. This time, there is nothing for him to give you; there is only an affection that feels so out of place and so, so right. His other hand tilts your chin up.

When he kisses you, all you can think is, finally.

It’s everything that the past two days haven’t been: slow, unsure, and tender. You feel yourself smiling despite yourself. You feel him smile back, and the kiss is broken in the best way possible: with soft laughter.

Time is slipping like water between your fingers.

You kiss him again. And a third time. You’re starting to wonder whether you’ll ever tire of it when the rumble of a ship tugs you from your bliss. It’s Hunter who pulls away first.

“You’ll be okay?” he asks.

The ghost of a smile still lingers on his face, but his brow is knit together with concern.

“I’ll be fine,” you reassure him. “Really. I’m a professional.”

Hunter snorts. “We found you in prison.”

“Occupational hazard!”

Hunter’s laugh is brighter than you’ve ever heard it, and sadder all the same. You brush a finger along his jaw, as if you can catch that laugh in your hand and tuck it in your pocket.

“I’ll see you around, Sergeant,” you say.

Hunter nods. “I’ll see you around.”

The way he turns is abrupt, as if forcing himself to move before he changes his mind. You waste precious seconds watching him sprint across the tarmac and up the ramp of the ship,

Hunter doesn’t look back, but as you watch the ship’s engines ignite, you can almost feel his gaze still lingering on your face.

Time to go.

Somehow, it doesn’t feel like a goodbye.

#TBBE24 #by orbital-mirror #tbb hunter x reader

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cloneficgiftexchange · 13 days

Text

Built to Fall

a submission for the 2024 clone bingo event hosted by @karttaylir-darasuum , as well as the bad batch @cloneficgiftexchange - my gift to @221bshrlocked !!!

Pairing: Hunter x f!Reader

Content: tbb s3 happy-ish ending AU (our s2 survivors + Crosshair live happily ever after on Pabu), mutual pining, some angst; title inspired by "Mind Over Matter" by Young the Giant

“You’re getting better. You might end up better than me one day.”

Omega’s nose crinkles playfully. “I’m not sure Tech would call that a good use of my skillset.”

“Well, Tech’s not here. Arts and crafts are way more fun than ship schematics anyway.”

“You’ve got that right,” she says, and you think she sounds just like her brothers.

She’s a smart kid, probably the smartest kid you’ve ever met, so she catches on to new things fast. Her fingers are agile and quick, and her mind is always running. How she hasn’t outsmarted the entire island by now is a mystery to you.

Today’s lesson, if you can call spending time with the sweetest and funniest soul in the galaxy a lesson, is learning how to string kukui nuts and shells into a necklace. There are plenty others who have mastered this art, who craft elegant strands of nuts and shells that look more like art than mere jewelry, and Omega is definitely better at it than you are, but it makes you smile, gives you something to do when your hands are restless and your mind is prone to wonder. And it helps that you can barter with your nicer pieces.

The waves roll gently up and down the shore, bubbling over the rocks and soaking the sand that’s crumpled up by your feet. There aren’t many seashells left, which means you’ll have to go hunting for more soon. You’re just about to suggest it when an embarrassingly loud grumble comes from deep in your belly. You freeze; Omega’s bright, attentive eyes flicker to you, and you both dissolve into a fit of giggles.

That’s how he finds you – lounging in the sand, your leggings rolled up to your knees, and cackling like a goblin.

“Having fun?”

Hunter’s shadow falls lengthwise over you. He’s placed his hands on his hips in a poor imitation of a scolding father, but his faux seriousness is entirely marred by the smile he doesn’t bother to hide.

Omega grins. “More fun than you are!”

“Now that I believe.” He steps around you so he can crouch in the space between you both and your heart very much doesn’t jump at the new proximity. Definitely not. “What’s all this?”

“We’re making necklaces. See?” Her latest creation is promptly displayed on her splayed fingers.

He takes a moment to study it. The shells are tiny already, but they’re even smaller in his hand, dwarfed by the length and breadth of his thumb and forefinger. You’re not sure why you notice that out of everything. It’s a silly thing to notice.

“You did this all on your own?” he marvels.

“Well...” Omega looks to you with a hint of shyness. “I had a little help.”

She's far too modest. “Very little,” you correct. “I just showed her how.” One of your baskets is quickly exchanged for Omega’s necklace, much to Hunter’s surprise. It is, after all, half full of stranded shells and nuts. “She’s a natural.”

Hunter’s brows shoot so high up his face until you’re half afraid they’ll jump right off. He looks to Omega, then you, then back to her. “You made all of these?”

For a moment it seems she’s not sure how to respond. She scratches awkwardly at the back of her neck for a bit, hesitant, even flustered, before finally nodding. “I might’ve gotten a little carried away.”

“Omega,” her brother sighs, and it’s all tender and proud, the way a father should be. Something warm alights in your heart at the sight. “These are wonderful.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He smiles, and so does she, and that secret desire you pretend not to have, the one that delights at his nearness and the gentle affection he bestows so generously to his siblings, the softness hiding beneath his battle-hardened exterior, explodes inside your chest like a blossom finally unfurling.

“I hate to pull you away,” he continues after a moment, “but it’s time to eat.”

Omega groans but doesn’t protest beyond that. She’s quick on her feet, gathering up her things and haphazardly dropping them into the basket she then perches on her hip. You, on the other hand, are a bit slower than that. Pabu works many miracles, but it doesn’t make you any younger or faster, no matter how refreshing the sea air may be. Your own basket of seashells and kukui is organized and fastened shut, then your shoes gathered in your hand, and then – and then you find Hunter’s hand extended to you.

You brush off your shock as quickly as you can, hoping it doesn’t linger, that it isn’t noticeable, and take the offer with a smile that matches his own. The contact is brief, far too short for your liking, but it quickens your pulse enough that you fear your heart will catapult from the cavity of your chest all because he looked at you, touched you, and it’s all you ever dream of.

His fingerprints still burn into your skin long after his hands have withdrawn. You almost wish they would scar if only to have a physical reminder of him when he’s gone.

“Thanks.”

He nods, and the sun shines golden on his face. There’s a wordless moment where he extends his hand to you again and you think he’ll take hold of you a second time, guide you off the beach like that, and you’re not even sure you’ll survive such a thing, but then you realize he’s asking for your basket. And you’re disappointed, but so, so relieved.

“That’s okay, I got i-”

His fingers curl around the basket handle, gentle but firm. There’s no room for discussion, not as he tugs it free and settles it under his own arm, not as he tells you in everything but words that he will carry this thing for you, he will carry anything you need, anything you want, and you never need to ask. You only wish that he would do it because he cares.

“You don’t have to do that, y’know.”

Hunter’s brow furrows, but you blink and it’s gone. “I know,” he says.

The walk from the beach to Shep’s house is relatively short, but it always flies by when you walk it with him. Perhaps because he makes you feel safe, secure, because he makes you smile when no one else can. Perhaps because you never want these moments to end. Perhaps because, if you’re really honest with yourself, you know that he fills the part of your heart that longs for more, no matter how uncertain you are if he would ever allow himself such a thing.

Dinner at Shep’s is never a simple affair, but it’s always happy. Good food, pleasant chatter, the sound of Omega, Wrecker, and Lyana’s laughter, Phee’s gently barbed remarks and Crosshair’s witty retorts, Batcher barking and huffing between gulps of food, and even the more serious conversations shared between Hunter and Shep tend to be more comforting than not. It’s home, plain and simple. It was never meant to be, not for you, but somehow… somehow that’s exactly what it’s become. He doesn’t know, at least you don’t think he does, but none of it would’ve happened without him, without that too-good heart of his beating fast and strong below his bones, that heart you wish you could call your own one day.

Funny how easy it is to be foolish, isn’t it?

“You’re quiet tonight.”

Shep’s followed you to the balcony where you’ve chosen to watch the last remnants of the sunset as the colors bleed into the clouds and the dark, stormy shroud of night begins to fall.

You tilt your head back, trying and failing to catch a glimpse of the starts through the clouds. “Sorry. Just had something on my mind, I guess.”

He nods, as if he understands, and you truly think he does. He’s a wise sort of man, kind and smart in a way that only experience can provide. “You know you can always speak your mind.” His forearms find the lip of the balcony the same way yours have. “If something’s bothering you-”

“It’s not you, Shep.” You don’t dare say what it is, but you almost wonder if he knows. “I have a little too much to think about sometimes, y’know?”

“I do,” he says, and he nods again. You think he’s about to say something else, but he’s stopped by the weight of a hand upon his elbow, the gentle intrusion of Hunter’s presence as he steps into the conversation.

“Sorry to interrupt.” He gestures to the expanse of clouds as if it were a perfectly normal thing to do. Though for him, you suppose it is. “We’ve got bad weather incoming. Probably best for everyone to head home now.”

Shep agrees, and the others are quick to hurry back to their own hovels or to the Marauder, but Hunter walks you home. You both know he doesn’t need to. And, you think, you both know he’s only doing this because he feels duty-bound. It hurts, but you revel in his company all the same, just for these few moments.

“I should go,” he says once you’re both inside, dripping the beginnings of the storm onto the stone floor, but he seems loathe to admit it.

You both spare a glance out the window. The rain’s already coming down harder than it was just a minute ago. It’s pattering hard atop the roof and there’s enough force behind it that you’re almost afraid it’ll blow your windchimes clean off.

“Hunter, you’ll get soaked. At least stay until it’s eased up a bit.”

That’s the least you can do, isn’t it? After everything?

But rather than immediately accept the offer, Hunter grimaces. His entire body stills and starts to shift away from you, not a lot, not even in a way that might be noticeable to anyone else, but you know him, his tells, all the subtle ways his body responds to the world around him. You recognize immediately that he’s uncomfortable and that knowledge hits you right in the gut, sharper than a vibroblade.

He shakes his head, politely. “No, I, I should go. I’ll be fine.”

It’s the fact that he refuses to even look at you that does you in.

And you know you should let it pass. Really, you do. Take the blow and roll with the remaining punches the way he and his brothers do, but you’re not strong like they are, and your heart is so much more fragile than theirs.

You sigh. “Why d’you have to be like this?”

Impossibly dark eyes flicker in the muted lighting, landing somewhere near yours. “What?”

“If you don’t like me, Hunter, just say it. You don’t have to pretend, okay? That just makes it worse.”

His tattoo crinkles as his face shifts, each line of inkwork rippling until he’s frowning at you so intently that the weight of it feels enough to crush you. Then his head tilts and the coils of his hair fall over his eyes, and he’s so beautiful that you think you might cry.

“What are you talking about?”

Maker, is he really gonna make you say it?

A brief turn of your shoulder gives you the spare moments you need to compose yourself, and as you survey the tiny hovel you’ve turned into a home, you find yourself thinking again of that last night on Ord Mantell. The night you realized Tech was dead and Omega was gone, and you knew your life would never be the same again…

It’s a goddamn Imperial fleet. You’ve never seen so many ships at once before. They crowd the sky, faintly and briefly illuminated by streaks of lightning and the few pricks of light coming from the city as they descend. You don’t know why they’re here, but you don’t really need to. You know there’s only one thing on Ord Mantell precious enough to draw the Empire out here and it’s not any one of the petty criminals or their shady deals passed under the table and off the books.

If you had any of their comm channels, you’d be satisfied with asking if everything’s alright, if they need a place to stay. But you don’t. Instead, you run. It was a boring night off anyway.

The bar is trashed when you get there. Tables overturned, blaster marks scorched into the walls. Cid’s nowhere to be found and neither are the clones, and it leaves a terrible, sinking feeling in your gut. None of this is right.

Stumbling back outside, you see a handful of Imperial ships lifting off, one already shooting for the outer reaches of the atmosphere. Whatever they’d come for, they’d clearly found it, and Maker, you prayed it wasn’t any of them. Anyone, anything but them.

You come stumbling into the landing zone just as the boys come through the far end, already approaching their ship. Your throat is raw and your entire body hurts from being pushed far beyond its usual limit.

“What, what happened?” you gasp between desperate mouthfuls of air, hands clutching your knees as you double over. “The Empire-”

It’s then that Hunter comes swooping into your personal space, so close that he takes up every inch of it, totally filling your vision until the shadow of his tattoo and the dark glinting of his eyes is all you can see. There’s no time for your stomach to flip or your face to flush hot. There’s only time enough for him to grab you and push until your back hits solid durasteel. It’s cold, sharp, violent where it digs into your back, but no colder than the quiet rage you see carved into Hunter’s face now.

“You sold us out.”

You’re too confused to be offended. “What?”

His forearm finds your throat and presses until you’re properly pinned between him and whatever unyielding thing he’s backed you into, and when you look up at him, you find that you’re afraid of him for the first time in your life. He looks murderous.

“Hunt- Hunter! What are you talking abo-?”

“They took her.” He's clearly furious, but there’s a deceptive calm about him that rattles you to your bones. It’s not the calm and quiet demeanor of a battle-hardened soldier, but the cool and distant resolve of a man on the edge of desperation. “Because of your boss. Care t’ tell me why?”

You struggle to look over his shoulder to the others behind him. None of them have come to your aid, though Echo looks like he’s about to. And Wrecker... What the hell happened to put him in a neck brace? You look back to Hunter, seeking his face for something you’re not even sure you know how to name, only to find his body wrapped in bandages and his face bruised. Something’s not right, something more than just the Empire.

They took her. Took… who?

You glance at the others again. Wait. Where’s Tech? Where’s Omega?

His words pierce through your heart when they cycle round your head again.

They took her.

No.

Your boss.

She wouldn’t. She... she couldn’t. To them, maybe, but to Omega?

“Hunter,” you croak with a voice that cracks under the weight of your horror, “where’s Omega?”

Nostrils flaring, he presses harder into you until you actually choke, his teeth bared and gritted, flashing white against his skin. It’s the most monstrous you’ve ever seen him. “You tell me.”

You’ll kill her. If he lets you live, you’ll march yourself down to the parlor and kill Cid yourself. Doesn’t matter that you’ve never flared beyond the supernova of a rookie punch, you’ll level a blaster at her head. That is, if Hunter permits you to live past the next few minutes. You’re honestly not sure if he will. But then, if you’d kill for Omega, you don’t think you want to know what kinds of atrocities her brother would commit. Perhaps you’ll learn firsthand.

Echo stops him, but he cuts it concerningly close. Air rushes through your lungs so quickly that it hurts, and you find yourself wilting until your legs give out.

His voice wrapping around the syllables of your name is enough to bring you back to the present, to the cold, dismal reality of the disaster of a relationship your friendship has become. You look to the hand at your wrist, the long, calloused fingers and the scars that crisscross his knuckles, the swirling tattoos atop his bones that disappear beneath the cuff of his sleeve, then up to his shoulder, his chin, the flared base of his nose, and then to his eyes. You swear you dream of them every night.

“What is it?” he asks in that deep, rumbling timbre of his.

You’re so heartbroken that all you can do is smile. “What do you think?” Flashes of an offered hand, the lifting of a basket, the quirk of a smile when you crack a joke or the lifting of a brow when you manage to surprise him, the lingering of his gaze when the nights draw dark and your mind is dulled with sleep – they all filter through your thoughts in a single instant. “You don’t have to keep making it up to me. What happened on Ord Mantell is done, Hunter. I just…” You shouldn’t say it, you should keep it buried deep inside your heart and let the wound fester until you burst, but now that you’ve started you find you can’t stop. “I just wish you’d stop killing yourself trying to earn my forgiveness when I gave it to you a long time ago. Especially when I know you hate me.”

The storm rages on while you fall into silence. The wind whips and whistles against the windows, the rain pummels the ground, and all the while you wait for Hunter to finally admit what you’ve known to be true for the past year.

Instead, he loosens his grip until his hand falls away and you hear, rather than see, the dropping of his shoulders in the way he sounds utterly wrecked when he mutters, “Is that what you think?”

Your breath stalls in your chest. “Isn’t it true?”

“No,” he says too quickly. Like he’s lying, like he’s trying to cover his tracks.

“Hunter-”

“You really think that?”

“Fuck, of course I do!” You turn on him and gesture to the awkward, uncertain tilt of his body as if it were the most offensive sight you’d ever seen. “Look at you, you don’t even want to be near me! You act like I burn you half the time we touch. What the hell else am I supposed to think?”

If ever you’ve seen Hunter wish he could crawl into his skin and die, now would be it. All it does is further affirm what you’ve long suspected, and it kills you, the same way it’s been killing him to re-earn your favor. You can’t do this anymore. You can’t pretend like you’re not head over heels in love with him, despite how much he hates you, despite knowing he might have killed you once not so long ago. Despite everything, you love him. And he will never love you back.

You storm to the door and slap your hand against the controls. It hisses open as the sharp winds of the storm come bursting in. Half the house seems ready to blow away, but you don’t care.

“Get out.” Even though it’s the exact opposite of what you want. “Now.”

And because he hates you, he acquiesces. Head bowed low and his eyes cast to the floor, Hunter steps outside without so much as a farewell, and he takes your heart with him.

You’re not sure how much time passes between then and now. It could be a whole hour, or a few seconds of your heartbeat thundering inside your ears. Does it matter?

“I wish I’d never met you.” He’s almost certainly gone by now, but you find yourself wishing that he could hear you. You want him to hurt as much as you do now. “I wish I’d never fallen for your stupid face.” You rub the back of your hand over your eyes and nose, and it comes back wet with your grief. “Wish I’d never gone to Ord Mantell, and I wish I’d never fucking met you, and I wish, I wish…”

Say it, says the little voice in the back of your head. You’re too tired now to fight it.

“I wish I could’ve loved anyone but you.”

No one responds. There are no frantic confessions of mutual feelings, no gentle knocking at your door. Not that you’d expected there to be, but a part of you had hoped. No, Hunter’s gone and you’ve made a fool of yourself for no reason at all. You dread to think what tomorrow will bring in this storm’s wake, how the chaos will have torn your new home into tatters, how Hunter will watch you with the same distant, burning eyes that break your heart and stitch it back together all at once, how the island will feel as foreign as it did the night you first arrived. You’ve already started mourning the daily gathering’s at Shep’s, the way Wrecker makes you laugh and Phee tells her stories, and Hunter loves Omega like the daughter she almost is, and now it’s all gone, forever, and maybe, just maybe, you were lost to the depths of your heart that very first day that the Marauder touched down on Ord Mantell and the squad came into Cid’s. Maybe you were never meant for finer things like requited love and a place to belong to.

It’s this endless spiral of illogical conclusions and shattered dreams that Hunter returns to. You never hear the door open, nor the worsening of the storm, but you do hear the soft squeak of his boots on stone, the gently trembling exhale of his breath as he squats beside you. You turn as he comes to you, your face damp and snotty, and it’s embarrassing, but he doesn’t care. How could he when he takes your face in his hand like he was made to do it? His headband is soaked and his hair is dripping wet, the tight coils of his bangs now plastered to his skin.

“Don’t cry.”

You only cry harder, but this time Hunter pulls you to him. You let him. He’s soaked, just like you said he would be.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers with your head tucked beneath his chin and your shoulders shaking under his fingers. “I’m sorry.”

“You left,” you sniffle.

One of his hands finds your neck. It’s cold, but the touch sparks tendrils of warmth down to your toes. This way, your head is tilted back and his is inclined toward you, almost as if…

“You asked me to.” His breath fans across your face, down your throat, dipping low like the path his eyes take as he assesses you. “I don’t hate you. I never have.”

You could fight him on it. You could, but you can’t find the words. You can’t find any words. You don’t know what to say. Kriff, you can barely think right now with the way he’s holding you, watching you, how completely he fills every one of your senses.

“I don’t… know how to do this. I’ve already hurt you before, I don’t- I can’t do that again.”

There’s a hesitancy there, though. You see it in his eyes, in the set of his bones, somehow managing to pull away from you while still staying so deeply entwined with you. He’s unsure all over again, perhaps even as unsure as you are.

“Hunter…” Your hand finds his face, unbidden but perfect all the same, and he leans into you. “I already forgave you. You don’t have to-”

“I heard you.”

He… Huh?

Frowning, you start to pull away as you blink through the confusion and the watery film along the bottom of your eyes. “What?”

He tightens his arms about you to draw you closer and while your pulse skyrockets, you’re not sure if it’s because you’re terrified that he’s so close or panicking because he’s just close enough. You can smell him, now – the faint tones of sweat and sea salt and the wine from dinner – and you swear it’s enough to capsize you. Hunter lowers his gaze, then his face, so, so close to yours that he’s the only thing you see. And you think, you hope, he’ll kiss you, but you’re afraid of what might happen if he does.

“I heard you,” he says again, softer this time. His brows have pressed together above his nose as he focuses upon the spot just below your own. “Cyare… All this time, I thought I didn’t deserve you. I didn’t know.” His nose bumps yours. “Cyare,” and you hope one day he tells you what it means, “can I?”

You don’t need to ask what he means. You only have to nod. “Yes,” you murmur, and that’s when he kisses you.

It’s a cautious thing, so hesitant and timid, but Maker it’s beautiful. Even if this is all he ever gives you, it would be enough to know that he tried, that you learned his taste and his touch when it felt like the world was crashing down around you.

“I’m sorry,” he says before trying again, more frantic, more eager as his mouth presses into yours.

“I forgive you,” you promise before burying your hands in his hair.

The next few moments are a flurry of adrenaline and kisses peppered on skin, the rustling of fabric and the creaking of the sofa when it takes your combined weight. Hunter seems to have found his confidence along the way, and you’ve found your courage, and it ends with his teeth at your lips, and your tongue at his throat, and confessions pouring from you the more he gives and the longer he takes.

“I couldn’t, couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He nips at your jaw. “It’s always been you, Hunter. Always.” He kisses your cheek, then your brow, then the corner of your mouth, hands trailing across your hips and arms as he goes. “I love you. I’m sorry for everything, I just love you so mu-”

His kisses steal the tail end of your confession, drawing into his mouth to mingle with his own until you swear the two of you become one.

“’s alright, mesh’la, ‘s alright. I know.” The bump in his nose is a caress against your cheek as he nuzzles into you. “I feel the same.”

It’s not perfect, this thing between you, and it isn’t easy, but it was always worth fighting for. You were always meant to fall for Hunter, and he was always meant to fall for you. You hope you never stop falling. And he swears never to stop catching you.

prompt(s)/inspiration: “You’re always on my mind.” | “Why can’t you see that it’ll always be you?” + jewelry

taglist: @moodymisty @the-rain-on-kamino @wolffegirlsunite @kaminocasey @arandomnerdsblog578

#TBBE24 #by imarvelatthestars #tbb hunter x reader

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cloneficgiftexchange · 14 days

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Pairing: Wrecker x f!reader

Title: Sweet Promises

Summary: A fun night out at 79s ends abruptly when the Bad Batch gets called on a mission.

Words: 1.4k

Warnings: mild angst

Prompt: “Be careful.” - “I’m always careful.”- “Your medical records say otherwise.”

My gift for @intricatechaosofyou for the @cloneficgiftexchange hosted by @ghostofskywalker.

Divider by @stars-n-spice

Read on AO3.

You’re having the best time. The Bad Batch was on leave on Coruscant, and you’d been able to spend more than a few hours with your favorite person, Wrecker. The two of you had started dating after the huge trooper had saved you from a group of clones who’d gotten too rowdy one night at 79s where you waited tables.

The troopers had tried to get you to sit at their table with them when you’d dropped off their last round of drinks. When you’d said that you couldn’t, since you were working, one of the troopers had grabbed your wrist and tried to pull you down on the bench seat next to him. Panic had jolted through you, and you’d been about to yell for help, when a huge hand closed around the forearm of the clone who held you.

“She said, ‘no’,” a deep, gravelly voice had said from behind you.

The trooper who held you looked up, a drunken smirk on his lips, only to lose all color from his face. He released you and you tried to back away, only to run into a body.

“Tell her you’re sorry,” the voice of your rescuer said. He was still holding the arm of the clone who’d grabbed you and you were trapped between the two of them.

The man met your eyes. “Sorry, miss. Didn’t mean any harm.”

You nodded. “It’s fine.” All you wanted to do was get back to work and forget the incident.

The man behind you released the other clone and moved away. You breathed a little easier without him looming behind you. You turned to thank him, and instead just stared. He was the biggest Human you’d ever seen. Taller and broader than any other clone.

His face flushed as you continued to stare, and he ran a hand over his scarred head. You kicked yourself mentally. He probably thought you were put off by his scars and dead white eye.

“Sorry if I overstepped,” the huge man said.

He turned away, and you finally found your voice.

“Thank you!” you practically shouted.

He turned back. You smiled shyly at him.

“Thank you,” you said, in a normal tone. “I’m grateful for your help.”

The big man smiled, and your heart fluttered. He had a really nice smile.

“Wrecker!” A tall, slender clone with silvery hair beckoned to your rescuer.

“See ya ‘round,” Wrecker said, and hurried to the table his squad was sharing with a group of clones in 212th gold paint.

You’d watched Wrecker for the rest of the evening. His hearty laugh boomed out over the thumping music, and he immediately stood out no matter where he was. By the time Wrecker and his brothers moved toward the exit at the end of the night, you’d made a decision.

You hurried toward him and called his name.

You held out a piece of flimsi with your personal comm code on it to him. “Would you comm me next time you’re on planet? I’d like to spend some time with you.”

The look of surprise on his face was entirely endearing.

“I believe she means for you to take the flimsi,” a clone wearing goggles said, nudging Wrecker.

Wrecker took the flimsi and a grin spread across his face. “I’ll give you a call,” he promised.

The rest was history.

Now, several months later, you had a whole tenday with Wrecker. You didn’t get to see him much, with how often he was away on missions, but somehow fate or the Force had smiled on the two of you. You’d already had three wonderful days together. Tonight, you and Wrecker had decided to meet the rest of the Batch at 79s for some drinks and dancing.

You and Wrecker returned to the booth the Batch had claimed after spending a while on the dance floor. You gratefully took the glass of water Hunter passed your way. Wrecker reached over you to take another glass from Hunter.

You snagged a blazing hot, boneless nuna wing from the plate in front of Crosshair and offered it to Wrecker.

“Thanks, mesh’la,” he said, before taking the morsel from your fingertips with his teeth.

“Anything for you, big guy,” you said, licking your fingers clean.

Crosshair said, “You two are so cute it’s disgusting.”

Wrecker just grinned and punched his brother playfully in the arm.

“Where’d Tech go?” you asked, taking another wing for yourself.

“He went outside for some air,” Hunter said. “I was just going to check on him.”

With that, Hunter excused himself. A new song started, and a cute orange-skinned Twi’lek approached Crosshair, asking him to dance. To your surprise, the sniper agreed.

You snuggled into Wrecker’s side and the two of you fed bites to each other as you talked about plans for the next couple of days.

When you spotted Hunter and Tech approaching, you felt your stomach drop. Hunter’s mouth was set in a grim line. They snagged Crosshair from the dance floor and made their way to the table.

"This doesn’t look good,” Wrecker said, sitting up straighter.

“We just got a mission,” Hunter said. “We leave at 0400, and need to report back to the barracks now.” He shot you a sympathetic look. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault,” you said, trying to put on a brave face. But your heart rebelled at the thought of Wrecker’s, and the rest of the Batch’s, leave being cut short.

Wrecker’s arm tightened around you, and you looked up at him. He was scowling down at the table. You lifted a hand to cup his cheek, stroking a thumb across his cheekbone.

“We’ll just pick up our plans when you get back,” you said.

His expression softened. “Sorry, mesh’la.”

“I understand,” you said. “What you’re doing is important. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Wrecker turned his head and pressed a kiss into your palm. You walked with Wrecker and his brothers outside to the landing platform where a military aircar was waiting for them.

You wrapped your arms around Wrecker’s broad frame and rested your head on his chest.

"Be careful," you said, hugging him as tightly as you could.

"I'm always careful," Wrecker replied, stroking a hand down your back.

"Your medical records would indicate otherwise," Tech said, goggled gaze glued to his datapad.

You felt the blood drain from your face and you looked up at Wrecker with wide eyes.

"Tech." Hunter's tone was warning.

"I'm merely stating a fact," Tech defended. "She said he should be careful, and he lied.”

“Hey, I didn’t lie!” Wrecker glowered at Tech.

“My research indicates that open, honest communication is a pillar of a healthy relationship," Tech said as if Wrecker hadn’t spoken. “I am just trying to facilitate.”

"I don't think it’s your place to interfere like that," Hunter said.

Wrecker nodded. “Yeah. I don’t think you should be interfering.”

“Wrecker,” you said, your voice soft and trembling. You could feel moisture gathering in the corners of your eyes. You tried to blink it away, but that just sent a tear trickling down your cheek. You hurried to wipe it away. You wanted to be strong for your soldier.

“Aww, don’t cry, mesh’la.” Wrecker hugged you gently. “I’m careful as I can be in the middle of a war. I promise.”

“I know you are,” you said, leaning into Wrecker’s embrace.

You almost couldn’t let him go. The thought that he’d leave in the morning, and be gone for weeks or months, made your knees quake.

He rested his forehead against yours and said, “I’ll be careful, pretty girl. I promise.”

Taking a steadying breath, you nodded. “I know you will.”

He gave you a final kiss, then joined his brothers in the aircar that would take them back to the GAR barracks.

On the ride back to your apartment, you kept reminding yourself that Wrecker had always come back to you, and this time would be no different.

* * *

Weeks later, when Wrecker finally showed up on your doorstep, you dragged him into your apartment and threw your arms around his waist.

“Did you get hurt?” you asked.

You pulled back and ran your hands over his armor, feeling for any new dings or scratches.

“I’m fine, cyare,” he said, taking your hands in his. “I got to blow some stuff up and the Seps are down a few hundred more battle droids.”

You looked into his eyes and knew he was telling the truth. A knot that had tightened in your chest since he’d left finally unwound.

“Good,” you said, hugging him again. You rapped your knuckles against his chest plate. “Take this off and go get a shower. I’ll make your favorite dinner, and we can watch a holovid if you want.”

Wrecker leaned down to kiss you, then grinned broadly. “That sounds like the best plan I’ve heard in weeks.”

Tag list: @littledragonlady @flowered-bicycles @dragonrider9905

#TBBE24 #by ladysongmaster #tbb wrecker x reader

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cloneficgiftexchange · 14 days

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right now there are 26 of 33 stories up!

as of the time i’m posting this, we have 19 stories from the exchange up!! there are still more to come, but if you haven't already make sure to check out the ones already on this blog!! i guarantee you won't regret it!!

#i'll probably start sending out messages to those who have been radio silent tomorrow morning just to make sure things are ok!!

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cloneficgiftexchange · 14 days

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This fic is for @starjedi86

Prompt: "You're my home too, you know

Minors DO NOT ENGAGE, there be adult themes here!

The Commander

Your days as a padawan were not what you expected. From the safety of the temple, you were quickly installed on Kamino and learning intergalactic diplomacy, military strategy, training and so much more. The clones were your focus as soon as your Master expressed interest in overseeing their training. It was not the adventure you had anticipated when you were chosen as a padawan, but as you came closer to your trials, it became something of a passion.

The clones were good men, loyal, trustworthy and engineered with hearts of gold. It was hard not to fall in love with each of them you came in contact with. Their force signatures were unique and beautiful, and it pained you to know most of the would never return to Kamino. Those bright lights would be snuffed out in a matter of weeks. It was truly a test of your Jedi skill not to let that make you bitter. And as the war came to a close, you thought you saw the end of losing men you’d grown fond of.

Oh how wrong you were.

Something terrible was going to happen. You felt it in your gut, a sharp sense of dread in the force. Your master, General Shaak Ti, could feel it too. A storm cloud coalesced around the young clone Omega, Nala Se’s pet project. Master Ti told you to run, to hide, to find a ship and just go. She told you to take the maintenance corridors instead of the main hallways. Take only what you could carry on your person, her stash of credits and your lightsaber. Squeezing her as she embraced your much smaller body against her familiar robes, you fought off your tears. You didn’t look back.

You hid until it was quiet, taking refuge in a crate filled with rations. You filled your pockets and crammed as many as you could into your already over-stuffed pack of necessities and waited. You waited even though you felt the moment your bond with Master Ti was severed, the moment she became one with the force. Silent tears stained your sweaty face, but still, you waited.

In the hangar, troopers were bringing out gear and supplies that looked like personal belongings. You listened, learning Omega was in the brig. When a lone ship parked outside the hanger and Clone Force 99 entered, you watched and listened.

“Find Omega and meet back at the ship,” Hunter said.

You wanted to warn them that they were being watched, but it was your chance. As the squad was taken into custody, stripped of their gear and marched inside Tipoca City, the urge to run out into the storm and to their ship had you starting to creep out of your hiding place. Patience, young Padawan, you heard your master’s voice in your mind like a cool breeze.

“The Admiral wants their ship brought in and put in storage mode.” The voice of a clone rang out close to your hiding place and you stiffened. Sweat broke out on your brow. You held your breath.

“I’ll bring it in if you want to start reports.” Yet another clone replied, coming closer as he spoke.

You nearly lost control of your bladder. But closing your eyes and pulling on the force, you calmed your racing heart and sat still and silent in your crate, listening to the sound of the ship being brought into the hangar. The two clones chatted about their assignments, and were soon exiting the hangar after the others, leaving you in the damp darkness. Looking at your chrono, you planned. Fifteen minutes and you would close the bay doors to the halls of Tipoca City. Peering over the crate you could see the controls. Then you would load as much of the crate of rations you were hiding in into the abandoned ship and go. The hangar doors to the raging storm outside were still open, the planet beyond cloaked in darkness and the static of heavy rain.

Fifteen minutes later pressed your mind out toward the bay doors, cutting off Tipoca City from the hangar and leapt out of the crate. With haste you turned on the skid and quickly moved the rations to the ship, opening the cargo door and beginning to load boxes into the space. When the cargo space was full you called upon the Force to bring the last remaining cases into the ship. You winced as the gangplank lowered, pausing for a long moment to make sure you were still alone. Only the sound of wind and rain and your own heavy breathing stilled your rabbiting heart and you quickly floated the rations into the ship.

The modified Omicron-class attack shuttle was not a model you had flown before. Taking a look around, you noted that the men who used this ship had made it a home. Posters on the walls and personal touches here and there made it obvious that this was not just a means of transport. A ship was a ship however and this one was a means of staying alive. Sitting down in the pilot’s seat, you assessed the instrument panel and adjusted the yoke to be more comfortable for your smaller frame. The seat protested as it moved from a position it had apparently been in for quite some time. The fuel gauge was reading at nearly full and the emergency reserve was full. Good. You began taking the ship out of full shut-down, restarting the primary generator, hyperdrive and engine. It was rare that a ship was completely shut down. It’s electric generator was usually kept running to allow pilots to jump in and start it up quickly. The generator powered the instrument panel, security functions and allowed the primary flight engines to be engaged. This would take a minute.

It was a minute you didn’t have by the sound of the bay doors opening and the hurried footsteps of several individuals had you whipping your head around.

“Everybody gear up. We’re going after Crosshair. Tech, get this ship ready to go.” The Sargent’s voice was tight. The others could be heard clasping armor onto their bodies. One of them was looking for something in particular.

“You won’t have to go far.” The younger voice was female, but clearly the accent of the clones on Kamino. Omega.

“Is that Crosshair?” A sense of dread and wrongness swirled through the words. You were frozen in place, listening to the clones and feeling something bright fall loose at the seams. Something was being broken: a trust, a brotherhood.

Blaster fire jerked you out of your daze, and footsteps up the gangplank had you reaching for your lightsaber.

“Commander?” A clone wearing goggles stood at the cockpit door, his helmet slipping from his arms. “What are you doing here?”

You floundered for a moment, gaping at him. “Escaping Kamino, same as you.” The two of you regarded one another for a long moment.

“Tech! Get this ship in the air!” The cry from outside had you both in action.

You turned back to the controls and began the start-up sequence. The clone reached over you and flicked a few extra switches over your head.

“Can you fly?”

“Yes, just get everyone on board.” You instructed, priming the fuel tanks and hoping that it really wasn’t necessary. The clone went back to the gangplank, blasters drawn. The engines roared to life.

“What the hell is going on Tech?” The Sargent’s voice was high and panicked.

“We’re on!” The goggles clone called, his voice strained. Tech, then.

You punched the engine and grabbed the yoke, taking no time to take stock of who was on board. You were singularly focused on getting as far away from Kamino as possible.

“Who is flying this ship?” A more gruff voice asked.

“The commander. Master Shaak Ti’s padawan.” Tech replied.

“Hold still!” “Ow!” “You’ll be fine.” “Is this what you were looking for?” “My Lula!” A girlish giggle. You listened, but your focus was flying on flying the ship.

“Commander.” The Sargent’s voice approached you cautiously, slowly sliding into the periphery of your vision.

“Sargent Hunter.” Your eyes slid toward him, finding his face stoic. Cold.

“So you’re our stowaway?”

You chuckled humorlessly. “I suppose I am. I… I didn’t think you would be back.” Having broken atmosphere with no one following, you switched on the autopilot. Swiveling around in the chair, you faced Hunter fully. “I’m sorry.”

Hunter rubbed his face. He looked tired. Indeed, his presence in the Force was heavy.

Omega, Tech and a giant of a clone supported by his brothers stepped into the cockpit.

“Commander!” The pale clone with cybernetic modifications stood up straighter, pulling his much larger brother up with him. The bigger man winced and rubbed at his shoulder.

“Ow! Did we steal a Jedi?” The larger clone looked mortified.

“No. I think the Jedi was trying to steal our ship.” Hunter supplied.

You floundered for words.

“I think the Commander was just in the right place at the right time.” Omega chimed in.

You let your relief and gratitude waft over to the girl through the Force. “I’m sorry. I… I needed a way out. I filled the cargo hold with rations… If it’s any consolation.”

Hunter sighed, the others looking to him for direction. “We’re all in the same predicament, I guess. Were you headed anywhere particular?”

You bit your lip and shook your head. “I’m afraid anywhere I go I’ll be recognized as a Jedi. I can’t go back to Coruscant.”

“How about your friends?” Omega asked, turning to the clones. “Could any of them help us?”

“That would be a short list.” Tech readjusted his goggles on his face. “Excuse me Commander, you are in my seat.”

You scrambled out of the pilot’s seat and stood behind it sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Well, there is one place.” Hunter considered. “Tech, set a course for J-19.”

“What’s at J-19?” The pale clone asked, beating you to the punch.

Hunter grinned. “We know a guy.”

A sense of wonder and adventure began pouring off Omega. She walked into the cockpit proper, gazing out the window.

“You’ve never been off Kamino, have you?” You asked delicately.

“I’ve never been anywhere.” She replied.

Hunter glanced at you. “You’re not going to want to miss this view.” He offered her the copilot’s seat as Tech prepped the hyperdrive.

Waiting until Omega was sat down, Tech counted down to the hyperspace jump. The stretched stars painted her irises in swirling blue light, a tiny smile playing on her lips. Hunter watched the girl fondly. He looked up to find you watching him. He nodded toward midship in a silent bid for you to follow.

***

Hunter, Tech, Wrecker, Echo and Omega: your new squad for the foreseeable future. They took your presence on their ship in stride, more than a little grateful for the extra rations. In the interest of transparency, you offered the credits you’d taken from Master Ti’s quarters, which Hunter tucked away in a safe compartment.

You told them, as calmly as possible, how you felt a great rending tear in the Force, and then there were troopers at the door, yelling about treason. You explained how you skirted the armed men and found your Master distraught, taken her instruction to heart and ran. They told you, as succinctly as they could, about Kaller, Master Billaba and Caleb Dume. Crosshair’s fall into a dark, dark place. Saw Gererra on Onderon. The Empire. It was a lot to take in. Grief, disbelief, despair permeated the air of the ship.

When you’d finally had enough and couldn’t stop the tears from falling, it was Echo’s warm hand on your back, rubbing slow circles of comfort there as the others drifted away. Echo offered you a blanket, apologizing for not having anything better. You waved him off with a thin smile and took the blanket. Curling up in the seat at the midship computer, you fell into a fitful sleep. You were quite aware of his eyes on you.

Cut and Suu were a surprise. A defector going off to live the life of a father and a farmer and a husband? It wasn’t something you ever considered. But here they were, living a quiet life, and preparing to find something even more remote. Jek and Shaaeha were in awe of you. They pulled you bodily into their game of catch with Omega. You delighted the three of them with Force tricks on the ball, hovering it just above their heads. Taking pity on the giggling children, you floated Jek up to the ball as he howled with laughter. Echo and Hunter watched you from the doorway. Hunter grinned, while Echo scowled.

“You have eyes on you.” Suu said as you helped her pack a small bag of clothing.

Your blank stare made her laugh.

“Echo tracks your every move, you know.” Sun’s blue eyes crinkled at the corners as she spoke. “They are all very fond of you, but there is something there.”

You floundered for words. “I’m very fond of all of them.”

“Don’t look so scared! You are no longer bound to your old way of life. We all need a little joy in these dark times.” Suu shrugged, “Take what happiness you can.”

You fell into contemplation then. It was broken only by the sound of Hunter yelling at Tech through the comlink.

Later, after getting Cut, Suu and their children on a transport off-world, fighting off a squad of troopers and needing to use your lightsaber to cut the ship free of a mag-boot, it felt like you were back where you started, wondering where to go and what to do.

Echo sat watching you sleep, wondering whether his luck was bad or good. He’d been blown up, but he’d lived and been found. Now, the one person he’d never thought he’d see again was living in close quarters with him. You, the Commander. Like most clones, you were one of the few women they’d ever seen, let alone interacted with, and for a handful, you were a first crush they would never forget. Echo was one such clone. His deep dive into regulation manuals was all about you. What were the regulations on asking you to film night in the barracks? Was he allowed to ask you to spar? If anyone found out he had a crush on you, would he be decommissioned? Would you? For all his squad teased him about how often he would wax poetic about you, he loved you all the more.

Here though, in the Marauder, there were few places where a person wasn’t in close proximity to someone else. Echo tried valiantly to both be where he could be of help to you, and keep his distance. It was a difficult dance. And you knew. It was hard not to feel the attraction, interest and desire rolling off Echo from everywhere in the ship. You couldn’t read his mind, per se, but you could feel all the things he wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding. Everyone else felt a kinship with you, especially after fighting off Fennec Shand on Pantora, but Echo’s affinity for you was loud.

In those first few weeks, finding warmth in the vast vacuum of space was difficult. You knew most of the other Jedi were gone. You hid your abilities as well as you could and the disconnect from the Force was painful. You were uncomfortable in your own skin.

“Why don’t you take my rack, Commander. I have first watch.” Echo offered, extending his hand to where you sat on the floor, trying to rest.

“I couldn’t –” You started.

He finished, “I insist.”

He held your hand all the way to the small sleeping compartment, tucking the thin blanket over your shoulders. You smiled at him, grateful. His pale face turned a lovely shade of pink.

From then on he would take the watch shift before you, and “forget” to wake you for yours. He found you liked tea, rather than caf and somehow snagged you some. And those nights when you couldn’t sleep, he kept you company watching the stars race by in the cockpit. Echo was a perfect gentleman and it was driving you crazy. He would volunteer to stay behind with the ship whenever the squad went to meet with Cid, knowing you were too big of a liability. Cid would sell you out in a heartbeat. A bonafide Jedi would leave her set for life; the bounty for any Jedi was more money than any of you could fathom.

One such night, sitting in the cockpit, watching the Ord Mantell life move on around the ship, you finally opened yourself to Echo. Feeling stagnate and very much alone, you broke the silence.

“What are we doing, Echo?” You asked, feet up on the dash, hugging your knees.

Echo swallowed a drink from the canteen he had up to his lips. “Waiting for the others.” He side-eyed you.

“We’re stuck in this ship for days on end, all six of us… And I still feel so lonely. You are all so lovely, but there’s this distance, you know? I don’t know if its because you’re used to having a Jedi as a commanding officer or because I’m natborn, or a woman…”

“You don’t feel like you’re a part of this team?” Echo said softly.

You looked over at him and nodded, your throat suddenly feeling tight, tears springing to your eyes. Echo reached over and put him scomp on your shoulder.

“When I came back, from Skako Minor, I didn’t think I fit anywhere either. Sometimes I still don’t. I don’t do well with solitude, never have. But now, with all this,” he gestured to his cybernetics, “Well, lets just say I’m not very huggable anymore.” His smile was thin and sad.

“Is it true what Master Ti told me about cadets making cuddle piles and sleeping in each other’s bunks?” You quipped.

“Cadets?” Echo scoffed. “The Bad Batch did it all the time before Omega. Fives and I used to -” Grief zinged through him, nearly visibly in the Force; he swallowed thickly. “We slept in the same bunk a lot. It helped, with the nightmares.”

“You miss him a lot, don’t you?” Your voice, soft and full of understanding, made Echo want to tell you everything.

He looked out the viewport. “I do. I miss all my brothers from the 501st. But Fives was… special.”

You reached over and put a hand on Echo’s thigh. “I know,” you said, “I know he was.”

Echo met your eyes and smiled.

It was easier then, to sit shoulder to shoulder with Echo, to touch him and silently ask for those little touches that make human beings feel like people. His scowl slowly morphed into an eager, wide-eyed smile whenever you came near. If the rest of the squad noticed, they didn’t say anything.

After a failed mission to Corellia, Tech was too wired to sleep, sending Echo to the back of the ship to rest. Wrecker rattled the odds and ends loose in the ship with his snoring as Hunter slept soundly with a pair of headphones over his ears. Echo crept to the storage locker and grabbed another blanket as quietly as he could. As he carefully started back to the seats at the midship computer, you reached out from his bunk to graze your fingers along his as he passed. He gave a start, leaning down to see you smirking from under your own blanket.

“You can keep my bunk.” Echo said quietly.

You shook your head. “I’m cold.”

Ever the gentleman, Echo shook out the blanket he was holding and began to drape it over you. He kneeled on the thin mattress to better cover you, but as he moved away, you captured his scomp link and pulled him close.

“I meant, we can share,” you offered, lifting both blankets and scooting as close to the bulkhead as you could.

Echo blinked at you.

Then he slipped between the blankets next to you, bringing his arm under your head to let you lay against his unarmored chest. It took a moment for you both to find a comfortable position in the tiny space, but as you settled, it began to feel as though you should have always been there, holding his cybernetic arm against your chest as his big hand lay splayed against your back. You could hear his very human heart thumping in his chest. It was a long time before it slowed and you both fell asleep.

Rex was unexpected. It was a balm to Echo’s soul to know one of his closest brothers was alive and fighting. And for Rex, guilt, sorrow and disbelief enveloped you both as he embraced you. He spent awhile with the squad at Cid’s before they brought him back to the ship. You didn’t know each other well, but with so many Jedi lost, just knowing one survived was clearly something he needed to see with his own eyes. He let one traitorous tear fall before he got ahold of himself and was able to explain his involvement with the women you’d met on Corellia. The bubble burst when Wrecker’s recurring headache made an appearance, which had Rex reaching for his blaster, demanding they all get their chips removed. You stood at the top of the gangplank and pulled it out of his hand with the Force, the entire squad startled. You didn’t use your gift often, for fear of detection, but you weren’t going to let anyone pull a blaster on your men.

“You tell us how to get these chips out, Captain.” You said icily, letting Echo pull the blaster out of your grasp.

“It’s alright cyare,” Echo said quietly, tossing the blaster back to Rex.

A look was exchanged between Rex and Hunter. “I have an idea on how to make that happen. I’ll be in touch.” Rex looked from Echo to you and back again, a grin playing on his lips, before walking quickly out of the hangar.

It wasn’t long until Rex sent coordinates to Bracca. To see the rusting corpses of the ships and transports was a startling reminder of all you had lost. And when Wrecker’s chip activated, you nearly gave up. The gentle giant of a man who had become like a brother in the months since the end of the war turned into a wholly different person, dead set on ending your life. It was the first time since leaving Kamino that you broke down and cried. For Wrecker, for the souls lost in battles fought with these skeletonized ships all around you, for your uncertain future.

Holding Omega behind yourself, you pleaded with Wrecker. “You don’t want to hurt us Wrecker. We’re your friends. Your family.” The sound of Rex’s blaster cut through your fragile voice and as the big man fell in front of you, a sob of relief and resign left your lips.

And as Echo held you and you all waited for Wrecker to wake, you made a silent promise. No more waiting. No more wasting time. There might not be a tomorrow. So as Echo lay down on the table to get his chip taken out, you pressed a lingering, but chaste kiss to his lips.

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” you reassured him. He held on to your hand until he fell unconscious.

Turning around, Rex and the rest of the squad just stood there, grinning back at you.

Walking through the Venator with Echo was spooky. Gathering ordinance and information would definitely clear your debt with Cid, but something was setting your teeth on edge.

“Whatever happened to the plan to find a planet and just lay low? Start over?” You asked as Echo stopped the cart on which you had taken a ride to the armory.

“Cid happened,” he shrugged. “Once we pay her back, we’ll be able to move on.” He began placing empty crates on the cart.

You snorted a laugh. “Cid would sell her own mother for a profit if she could.”

“We don’t know she hasn’t.” Echo smirked as he set a crate down next to you, bringing his face close.

It was like you had been doing it all along, this tantalizing display of affection. Your smiles met, fitting perfectly together in a slow kiss. He bent over onto the crate to lean more fully into it as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Less smoochin, more moochin!” Wrecker’s big voice filled the tomb-like space. He passed you both to grab a large case of explosives.

Echo met your eyes, delight sparking behind his golden irises as he pulled away.

And then all hell broke loose.

***

Losing Omega to another bounty hunter was devastating. Hunter was very nearly killed. You could do little to assist in finding her, other than offering the guys your strength and hope. It was ultimately your faith in Omega that brought her back to you unharmed; you knew she was a smart, capable girl who could think on her feet.

In the wake of losing Omega and finding her again, the subject of going to ground was once again at the forefront of your mind. Once Omega was safely in the gunner’s nest, you closed the blast door to the cockpit and started the long-overdue conversation.

“What’s the plan fellas? There are bounty hunters after Omega because what, she’s got first generation Fett DNA?” You sat on the armrest of Echo’s seat, rubbing the cold of space from your arms. “We should have taken Cut’s advice and gone off on our own.”

“Can we do that if we still owe Cid?” Wrecker asked.

Tech pushed his goggles up,“Cid is problematic,” he said.

Hunter sighed. “Is it worth it to have Cid after us too?”

Echo sat up in his seat, putting an arm around your waist. “If we can keep off the bounty hunter’s radar, we can stay off hers.”

“This indentured servitude Cid has us in is bullshit.” You swiped a hand over your tired eyes.

Everyone fell silent, despair and worry permeating the Force around you. Omega was safely ensconced in her little room in the gunner’s nest. Away from you all.

“Wait.” You shook your head as an idea began to form. Everyone turned to you with hope in their eyes. “We’re looking at this all wrong. Why can’t we do both?”

“What do you mean?” Wrecker asked, scratching at his inhibitor chip scar.

“I mean, what if we found a place to lay low, Omega and I? Then you can pull jobs for Cid until she’s paid off.”

Echo shook his head. “I don’t like the idea of separating.”

You smiled down at him. “It would only be for a little while. She and I are your biggest liability.”

“Omega is going to hate this idea.” Hunter said, sitting back in his seat, thoughtful.

Tech looked up from his datapad. “We’ll have to encrypt the the flight logs on the Marauder. Perhaps sell it before we come back.”

“But, you’ll be on your own!” Wrecker looked sick at the prospect.

“We’ll have time to get a proper home set up for you. I still have the credits from my Master.” You rubbed Echo’s shoulders, giving him as reassuring a smile as you could.

“The plan is solid. Selling the ship just before we disappear will give us a little bit of a cushion.” Tech said.

With a heavy sigh, Hunter nodded his agreement. “Let’s research planets to settle down on.”

Parting ways with the men of Clone Force 99 would be bittersweet. There would be no contact until they could come back on their own. After touching down in the northern hemisphere of Sorgan, among the mountains and forests, you all set to work in earnest. You had picked a large clearing near a tributary of a large river. While Sorgan wasn’t completely uninhabited, you were far from any population centers. Tech’s long-range scans picked up several small villages at least two days away on foot. Taking Omega’s medical droid AZI and the GONK droid from the ship to keep on the planet was a measured decision in the interest of safety. If either you or Omega were injured, there would be no other help.

For a week, you all toiled over a small shelter dug into the side of a large hill, reinforced with lumber from the surrounding forest. It wasn’t luxurious by any means, but it would do. Tech set up a security perimeter and Hunter fashioned a culvert that diverted fish from the main stream which made it easy to pluck them out of the water. Echo helped you catalog all the flora that could be eaten, digging up a few berry bushes and plucking edible mushrooms to seed the areas near your new home.

It was on one such walk on a hot afternoon that Echo finally broke the tension that had been bubbling between you, knowing it wouldn’t be long before you parted. The Sorgan sun was making the ports in his skull glisten like fairy lights as you walked along the newly worn path.

“I’m going to miss you,” Echo said softly, breaking the comfortable silence. He glanced over to you and was met with your sad smile.

“You’ll make it back to me.” You took his hand in yours. “I can feel it.”

Echo stopped walking and leaned down to kiss you. His lips were soft and tentative on yours. He pulled away and looked into your eyes, his own golden brown orbs serious and steely. He said your name like a prayer before taking your lips again and pushing you against the nearest tree. In only his lower armor, you could wrap your arms around him, feel the lithe musculature of his back under your hands. He held you there, pressed as close as two people could get, as if he could sink into you. As you ran your hands down his abdomen, he sucked in a sharp breath and pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, squeezing his eyes closed tight. You could feel his arousal, his distinct walls thrown up haphazardly, trying to keep his desire at bay. He whispered your name again, this time as a curse.

You threw all caution to the sweet forest wind. “I want you, Echo.” You breathed the words against his lips and he trembled, pressing impossibly closer.

“You can’t just say things like that cyare.” He pressed his cheek against yours.

You pulled Echo impossibly closer. “This might be our only chance.”

His eyes popped open. “I don’t want to claim you as mine and just fly off.” His voice cracked with emotion.

You smiled then. Your beautiful, honorable Echo, holding himself back. “Cyar’ika, I’m already yours.” You pressed up on your toes to kiss him fully.

Something broke inside Echo then, and the air swirled eddies of leaves around you as he reached under your thighs and carried you away from the path. He lay you down on a patch of moss in the sunshine, his adoration clear on his face. You giggled (giggled!) as he hastily pulled off the remainder of his armor and helped you out of your clothes. And when you were bare to each other, he lay down next to you on the forest floor a tiny smile of satisfaction on his lips. His big hand caressed down your body, mapping every dip and curve as it went. His scomp link as cool on the small of your back where you lay in his arms. His body was a work of art, human skin and solid muscle studded with access ports and cybernetics.

Echo was intent on experiencing every cry and whimper he could pull from you as he explored your body with his mouth and hand. Even his cybernetic limb helped hold you down as you squirmed beneath him when his lips found your sex wet and wanting. You came apart on his tongue, chanting his name like a song, his eyes never leaving your face. And as you blinked up at the jewel blue sky and he kissed the inside of your thighs, you knew you’d never have anything or anyone more perfect. The look of utter bliss as you stroked him and then guided him inside you would live forever in your memory. He kissed you breathless, letting you both adjust for a moment, letting you taste yourself on his lips. Then he was moving inside you like he was always meant to be there, making your body sing. His hand was tangled in your hair and his other arm kept your leg hiked over his hip. Birds flew overhead, calling out as if sharing your joy. You could feel the coil tightening quickly inside you both, the end coming much too fast. He tucked his head against your throat, his lips against your ear, hips stuttering.

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, ner mesh’la dala,” he rasped into your ear as the coil threatened to snap. “Gar cuyir ner yaim.” He pressed himself as deeply as he could as your bodies both sparked and snapped in bliss.

It was twilight before you found the energy to make the walk back to your little homestead. You wanted to stay wrapped up in him forever, walking back tucked under his arm. As the fire outside your little home came into view, you realized this might be the last time you were together alone for awhile. You wrapped your arms around Echo and looked up into his honeyed gaze.

“You’re my home too, you know?” You said softly.

Even in the waning light you could see his cheeks darken to a lovely shade of pink. He simply kissed your forehead and pulled you along to the camp.

Two days later you and Omega watched the Marauder lift off from the emerald green lawn of the Sorgan forest for the last time.

Time passes slowly when you’re waiting for someone to return. But as you struggle to survive in the forest, with only a growing teenager and two droids for company, the days seem to pass quickly. It’s a strange dichotomy. You struggle with monotony, with the unknown, with longing. You learn a lot about yourself and about raising a child as you wait, time for trial and error you seem to have in abundance. Omega, in her infinite desire to explore, found a krill pond a few hours hike from your home. She promptly endeavored to replicate their habitat closer to home and soon had a deep, square pond dug. It took her over a standard month to see the handful of krill she caught flourish into a sustainable ecosystem, but her patience paid off. You spent your days tending to the little garden next to your home, gathering wild tubers in the forest and trying your hand at different crafts with the natural materials all around you. About two months after the squad left, you found a family of quail on the other side of the stream. They showed no fear and you were able to sneak a few of their eggs away while they roosted in the trees. Until your snares proved useful, the quail eggs were a nice addition to your staple of wild-caught fish.

You didn’t see another human being for six months. Your clothes had gone threadbare and Omega was growing so fast you thought she might have to go naked if any of her clothing got any shorter on her limbs. It was not without trepidation that you ventured to the closest village with what dried fish and quails eggs you could spare to trade. The locals gave you a wide berth as you entered their village late on the third day of your journey, an elderly woman you came to know as Hilde welcoming you. They spoke basic and were very hospitable. They fed you and found you both new clothes. Omega was delighted by the other children, wearing herself out playing tag. Laden with food, seeds and cloth, you left the little village with knowledge and friendship, promising to return with more eggs when you could.

You were content for the first time in a long time as you came to the last few miles of your journey home, Omega chattering about the other children and all she had learned about the krill. She was not to be deterred from learning to brew spotchka, even if she wasn’t allowed any. You were more excited about using the brew to dye your new cloth. But as you came to the well-worn path to home, you stopped. The smell of smoke and dust burned your nostrils and you dropped your laden pack where you stood. Omega’s eyes grew large as she saw you freeze, setting her own pack down in the dust as well. You motioned for her to stay put as you went around the security perimeter Tech had set up so long ago. You got halfway around to where you could see the back of the compound, an unfamiliar freighter having touched down on the other side of the stream. Someone had started a fire in the fire pit and made themselves comfortable. Something was frying over the fire and voices could be heard in the camp.

Just as familiarity washed over you, Omega’s yell echoed across the camp.

“Hunter!”

The man himself came barreling out of your home as Omega came running down the path. She launched herself at him and held on tight.

Wrecker and Tech came into view, all wearing civilian clothing. You came out of your hiding place, your heart lighter than it had been in months.

“Commander!” Wrecker pulled you into a bear hug, lifting you off your feet. You squeezed him back, reveling in his presence and the joy radiating from each of them.

You hugged each of them in turn, Wrecker, Tech and Hunter…. As you pulled from Hunter’s embrace, they all turned toward the stream where two men stood watching the exchange. Crosshair looked you up and down, giving you a courteous nod. Echo, however, was beaming. Suddenly no one else existed. One moment he was backlit in a golden halo by the setting sun and the next you were in his arms, enveloped by the feel and the scent of him. Neither of you realized you were both crying until he pulled back from a soft, languid kiss and smiled down at you, wiping away the tears on your cheeks. You used your thumbs to wipe away his tears.

“Welcome home,” you said, taking his hand and leading him back to the others.

“Yaim,” Echo said softly, squeezing your hand.

#TBBE24 #by heavenseed76 #tbb echo x reader #nsfw

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cloneficgiftexchange · 14 days

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Step Into The Daylight

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Requested - @cc--2224 as part of @cloneficgiftexchange

Prompt - "Well, I’m sorry I fell in love with you, okay? But it happened and I can’t do anything about it.” “You... What?” & "I never wanted anyone to feel bad for me, especially not you"

The sun streaming through the windows did little to fight against the coldness he felt, he knew the room was warm, he knew the cold he felt deep in his bones wasn’t there and yet he couldn’t fight the shivers that wracked his body. It didn’t matter that he could see the small room his brother’s had shown him to once they landed on the planet, in his mind he was still there, still in that cold, small cell with no hope of escaping.

He’d been there for so long, long enough that he had lost track of the days. He could have planned an escape, could have made some attempt to leave their torture but what for? There was nothing waiting for him outside of his cell anymore.

Gone was his relationship with his brothers, gone was the easy back and forth banter with Wrecker, gone were the late night talks with Hunter, gone were the days him and Tech would sit together, his brother’s voice filling the silence without expecting anything back from Crosshair, gone was Echo’s steady presence, at his side whenever he needed it.

Gone were you.

Gone were the early mornings when the rest of his brothers were still asleep, only you and Crosshair awake in the cockpit holding a warm cup of caff and filling the space with softly spoken conversation. Gone were the days spent trying to stick by your side, gone were the stolen glances and lingering touches, gone was sneaking away after missions to explore together, gone were the chances he took to watch you smile, gone was the promise he’d tell you how he felt tomorrow.

Crosshair had run out of tomorrow’s a long time ago.

After all he had done, all the pain he had put his brothers through, the pain he had put you through, this was the least he deserved.

And so when the chance came to make his escape, to leave the pain and the torture behind he hesitated. The cell door was open, it would be so easy to leave and yet he hesitated.

If the kid hadn’t been there, if her life didn’t depend on him getting her out he knows he would have stayed where he was, he would have rotted in that cell for as long as they decided he was useful alive.

Now he was free and somehow he felt more confined than ever. It wasn’t just because Hunter wouldn’t take his eyes off him, it wasn’t because Wrecker hovered or the fact Omega had seemed to attach herself to him. It didn’t even have anything to do with the fact that you were here, stars above Crosshair couldn’t think of a time he would ever have ignored your presence and yet now he did everything to stay away from you, not able to face you yet.

No, it wasn’t because of you or his brothers that Crosshair felt confined. It was because he didn’t deserve this freedom, in his head he was still in the cold cell, destined to rot away.

Crosshair stood from the floor, unable to lay there any longer. The room had a bed tucked against the wall but Crosshair had only managed about ten minutes of tossing and turning on it before he gave the bed up for the floor, the bed too soft compared to what he had become used to.

Everyone else was still asleep as he made his way outside, no real destination in mind. His feet carried him through side streets until they grew sore and only then did he make his way back, stopping not too far away from where the others were to sit on the sand, the sun shining blindingly on the water.

He didn’t deserve to be here.

“I used to come here.” A voice interrupted him some time later, a voice he recognised all too well. “It’s quiet, no one ever comes here.”

Crosshair didn’t turn to look at you, he couldn’t bring himself to do it but when you sat next to him it was too much. He went to stand but your hand softly grabbing his stopped him.

“Please stop running away.” You pleaded softly and Crosshair didn’t have to look at you to know your eyes were teary but he did anyway, his heart aching for having made you this way.

“I can’t do this.” He told you quietly, forcing his gaze away from yours and looking back out at the water.

“I don’t know what happened to you,” You said after a moment's silence and Crosshair balled his hand into a fist, silently begging you to stop talking. “I don’t know what they did to you and you don’t have to tell me but-”

“But nothing.” He spat angrily, glaring at the sea and instantly hating himself for lashing out at you, so he tried again, softer this time. “But nothing. What they did to me was nothing less than I deserved.”

“Don’t say that.” You said, head shaking as you tried to compose yourself.

“It’s the truth, I tried to kill you, kill my brothers…I hurt you all and for what? For the Empire to throw my loyalty in my face.” Crosshair shrugged.

“For what it’s worth, I never gave up on you.” You told Crosshair, looking away from him as you spoke. “It didn’t matter what you did, how far you strayed from us, I never gave up on you.”

“You should have.” He muttered. “Everyone else did, Hunter doesn’t trust me, Wrecker wants to but he knows I’m nothing more than a lost cause.”

“That’s not true. Hunter’s just being Hunter, he needs time to adjust, needs time to figure things out in his head and then he’ll want to talk to you. Yeah you’re both gonna throw out words you don’t mean, maybe a punch or two but after that…it’s Hunter, he’s glad you’re back. As for Wrecker he wants to come to you, you know that as much as I do but he’s scared, he doesn’t want to spook you so he’s waiting for you to make the first move.” You explained, keeping your voice soft, not turning to face Crosshair as he turned to look at you.

“What about you?” He finally asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“I was with Wrecker. I kept my distance and waited to see what your move was. Turns out your move was to avoid everyone.” You laughed and Crosshair felt himself relax a little, the sound one he hadn't heard in so long and it somehow managed to push out some of the cold he felt. “I feel for you, Cross, I do. Stars only know what the Empire did to you but you’re free now, don’t let them win, don’t shut us out.”

“I never wanted anyone to feel bad for me, especially not you.” Crosshair said after a long pause of silence and you laughed again.

“We all feel bad for you, despite everything you’re one of us.” You told him so sincerely that Crosshair felt like he’d been punched in the stomach at the speed his breath was stolen from him.

You turned to face him, a small smile on your face and you hesitated for only a moment before you reached out and took his hand in yours, entwining your fingers together.

“I don’t deserve any of this,” Crosshair forced out and you smiled at him softly. “I don’t deserve you, you should be running away from me, leave me behind and move on.”

“Well, I’m sorry but I fell in love with you, okay?” You told him, watching as his eyes widened in complete disbelief. “It happened and I can’t do anything about it.”

“You…what?” Crosshair choked, for so long he had dreamed of you and him, of a life where you could possibly want him but it was such a far off dream, something that would never become a reality and now you were saying the words he had longed to hear for years.

“You’re stuck with me, Cross, I’m not going anywhere, I’m not running away. You’re it for me, always have been.” You said, laughing as a tear or two managed to slip down your cheek and Crosshair only second guessed himself for a moment before his hand cupped your cheek and he softly brushed the tears away, his thumb caressing your cheek bone.

“I don’t deserve you.” He repeated and you smiled brightly at him. “But I will spend the rest of my life trying.”

“I love you.” You told him again, watching as his eyes became watery and he rested his forehead against yours.

“I love you too, so much.” He choked out and you couldn’t stop yourself from closing the small distance between the two of you, Crosshair not hesitating to meet you in the middle.

Crosshair’s hand on your cheek moved to your hair, pulling you impossibly closer as he kissed you, savouring every second of the feeling, something he had longed for and convinced himself he could never have.

Eventually the two of you needed to pull apart for air, breathing heavily but not going far from each other, foreheads together as you both smiled at the other.

For the first time in so long Crosshair didn’t feel a single bit of cold, his body was warm, his heart racing as he held you close. For the first time in a long time Crosshair didn’t feel numb, he didn’t feel pain or fear.

It felt like he was finally off that awful planet, it felt like he had finally left his cold cell behind and stepped into the daylight, able to feel the sun of Pabu for the first time and it was because of you, you were the source of this warmth, this love, this joy, this overwhelming relief that things would be better.

For the first time in a very long time Crosshair felt like things would be okay, he had you, he swore he’d make amends with his brothers, spend the rest of his life making up for everything, spend the rest of his life proving he was worthy of yours and his brother’s love. It felt easier, it felt doable with you at his side once again.

----

Thank you so much for reading!

Crosshair Taglist /

@ughhhhfoff, @callsign-jinx, @venuskywaker, @bobaprint, @solstraalaa, @narcissa-of-kaas, @waytoooldforthis78, @the1sunshine1girl

#TBBE24 #by imaginesfordifferentfandoms #tbb crosshair x reader

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cloneficgiftexchange · 14 days

Text

We'll Make It Out

Summary: As the new Jedi Commander of the Bad Batch you aren’t exactly well liked by your new team, who view you as a babysitter. Except for Echo, who understands better then most what it’s like to be on the outside. When a mission goes sideways you start to lose faith in yourself, in your squad, in everyone but Echo, who won’t let you give up.

Character: Echo and F!Jedireader (no use of Y/N)

Word Count: 2,782

Warnings: Canon typical violence and peril, minor injury, mention of blood.... I think that's it.

A/N: This is my second entry for the incredible secret gift exchange hosted by @cloneficgiftexchange you are so incredible and thank you so much for doing these amazing events, and giving me a reason to finally write again! I have never gotten to write for any of the Bad Batch boys and I was super excited to do this prompt especially as I got to explore the Batch's earlier days and work in a little about the way they may have originally viewed Echo and a new leader of the squad. It definitely took me out of my comfort zone, but I took a risk and tried something new for the wonderful @orbital-mirror. I hope you enjoy this fun little piece as much as I enjoyed writing it!! As always, any comments or reblogs with your thoughts are appreciated.

“Echo, look out!” You shouted to be heard about the blaster fire as you raced towards the former arc trooper currently being surrounded and cornered by a legion of Droids.

He spun towards your voice and managed to blast the three shots needed to dismantle the droids that had snuck up behind him, while you ignited your lightsabers and flipped in front of him to slice through the remaining ones there.

“I’ll handle the rest of these you get that door open and try not to trip the alarm this time,” you ordered. Echo grumbled something but it was hard to hear through his helmet modulator as he jogged toward the metal door built against the mountainside you were currently cornered on. Inserting his scop into the lock and beginning to twist as he typed hurriedly on the pad.

You took a stance in front of him and spun your two lightsabers back and forth as you guarded him and yourself from the relentless blaster fire. Your eyes scanned back and forth as you reached out and connected with the force around you. Feeling the reverberations in the ground and the change in the air pressure as you blocked each blast by near instinct alone.

“I don’t mean to rush you, but there’s more coming,” you said breathlessly. A sheen of sweat coated your forehead as you tossed one of your sabers up high in the air, reaching your hand out and using the force to shove the first few rows of the advancing battalion back into each other. The clock of metal and their high-pitched voices adding to the chaos as you spun and caught your saber again before it hit the ground.

“I’m doing the best I—got it! Go get inside I’ll cover you,” Echo said loudly. You didn’t even hesitate as you felt him stand and move towards you. You blocked one more shot before you took off into the dark maw of the now open tunnel, turning and calling out for Echo as he walked backwards into the tunnel after you.

One press of your fingers has your lightsabers disengaged and back on your belt before you flick your wrist to close the door and spin the lock. Echo blasts the control panel with two shots.

“How long will that buy us?” You ask. Shifting on your feet and doing a poor job of keeping the nerves from your voice. Regretting volunteering for an assignment you clearly weren’t ready for.

“Not long enough,” Echo replied dryly.

“That’s very helpful thank you,” you said with only a hint of sarcasm as Echo gives you five more seconds to catch your breath before he starts moving deeper into the tunnels. Hugging the wall with his body as he taps the side of his helmet to turn on the light there. You just reignite one of your lightsabers.

You couldn’t see his face behind his gray and red helmet, the matching colors of the squad you’d been newly appointed, the same squad who were not at all happy to have a Jedi babysitting them. Especially one so young. A newly minted jedi knight. A product of a war that needed more commanders and generals then there were master’s and knights to fill. You hadn’t been ready for the trials, you’d tried to argue against them, but your master said you were ready, and you had passed them easily enough. Yet, the seed of doubt had remained. Growing and festering like a vine around your heart, all the way until you’d been sent to Kamino to work with a newly minted, highly specialized squad. They’d been on assignments before without a Jedi, but a recent mission had gone sideways and resulted in half the team coming back in various casts and bandages, requiring month long stays in Bacta tanks before they could resume training. Plus, they’d gained a new member, a former Arc Trooper and rescued POW. Since then, the Generals had decided the Bad Batch could use a Jedi’s supervision. At least temporarily.

No one on the squad had been happy with your appearance. No one that is except for Echo. He always made sure you had a seat and were included in plans, even if the others looked at you suspiciously and had on more than one occasion tried to leave you. He stood up for you when the others got snippy or ignored you entirely. You knew realistically that he was simply doing it because he was used to following a Jedi’s command, part of you couldn’t help the warm feeling that spread over your chest every time he did something kind for you. A feeling you did your best to mediate away every morning. To little effect.

“Come on, the coordinates Tech gave us show the control room should be down this hall and to the left,” Echo’s voice cut through your wondering thoughts and brought you back to him.

Nodding your head you searched up ahead through the force for any signatures of life but found nothing. You took that to mean the other members of your squad had done their part in causing a diversion leaving you and Echo free to get the stollen plans and leave behind a virus that would wipe out the Separatist’s systems here.

Easy.

“Hey! You’re not supposed to be here,” a droid called when you unlocked the door to the control room. His metal finger pointed at you while he reached for his blaster. Echo and you were swifter.

“Get the files to Tech and plant the virus I’ll watch the door,” you said. Stepping back into the hallway as Echo inserted his scomp link into the port and began to search for the files.

“On it commander,” he replied. His eyes shifting over the screen far faster then you could keep up with.

You really wished they’d drop it with the commander title and just call you your name but, that seemed a habit you couldn’t break any of them of. Though you got the impression only Echo actually did it as a respect for your authority, of which you question daily. Especially now as you flicked your gaze to the hallway, a sense of dread building at the base of your spine as you could hear the banging of droids firing against the metal door. You tried to find the peace within yourself that always seemed easier for those around you to find. Imagining you were back at the Temple, sitting underneath the flowering tree in the courtyard as you watched the pink petals float down to the pebbled ground. The image only helped for a moment as you refocused your attention back to Echo. He seemed unfazed by any of it. Working quickly and silently aside from the faint whirring of his scop every now and then. Somehow, he looked more at peace then you did.

“Are you almost—”

Bang! The sound of the door at the end of the hall being blown to bits made you wince and reignite your saber on instinct. Echo was already beside you when you turned back to get him. His hand on your bicep as if he intended to yank you somewhere. The sounds of droids shouting orders and marching down the hall in time with your rapid heartbeat made you ignore whatever Echo’s hand there had meant and instead trade your sabers out for your comm link as the pair of you raced down the hall.

“Tech please tell me you’re there?”

“Yes, commander we read you,” Tech’s voice was staticky. Probably due to being underground but you hoped he could hear you enough as you sprinted for your life. Opening and closing any doors you came across.

“We’re going to need an immediate pick up!” You shouted a little more frantically then you meant to.

“Sorry commander that’ll have to wait,” Tech said again.

“Wait for what?!” you shouted back.

“It seems your earlier light show display set off a series of silent alarms that alerted the commander of the base that we are here. So, we’re—” There was a pause as the static grew worse and Hunter’s muffled voice could be heard shouting something about Fighter’s on their tail. “Yes, yes, I see them. We’re fine.”

“Tech!” Echo shouted now through his own comm.

“We will have to use the secondary agreed extraction point as the first one is now overrun.”

“We won’t make it to the second extraction point,” Echo says as you force open another door which had dead ended in a hanger bay. There’s no way out.

“See this is why we shouldn’t have agreed to work with a Jedi. Or a reg,” Crosshair’s voice drawled over the comms. You didn’t need the force to sense his aggravated disapproval that he and his brothers were being forced to reassess their plans for the two of you. That they were being thrown back into danger because of you.

“Stow it Crosshair,” Echo snapped. “Just be at the extraction point. We’ll make it there.”

You did not share his hope as you slammed the door on a droid’s face, ducking the incoming blaster shot he’d managed to get off. They were right. This was your fault. Your poor leadership instincts had led you and Echo to be trapped down here while the others were trapped in the sky.

“Copy that,” Tech’s voice said plainly and then the comm cut out.

The second extraction point was several miles away from the command tunnels you were in now, there was no way you were going to make it there. Not trapped like you were with a virus about to short circuit every piece of technology in here and a battalion of droids outside the only blast door you could see.

“Commander over here.”

You didn’t know when Echo had left your side, but you followed his voice until you found him halfway in a small gunship used to protect the supply ships that came in and out of here. It was just big enough for two people. A pilot and a gunner.

“Can you fly this ship?”

“I—” The droids were carving their way through the door. You couldn’t do this. Sure you could fly the ship but what then? The mission had gone wrong because of you. If someone else would have been here they wouldn’t have needed lightsabers, they wouldn’t have tripped the silent alarms. Echo would be safe. The men you were supposed to lead and protect would be safe.

“Commander,” Echo’s voice pulled your attention back to him as he pulled his helmet off and looked at you with a face that was so stern yet he had the softest pair of eyes you’d ever seen. “Our only way out of here is this ship. Now I can’t fly it, so I need you to do it. Okay? Can you do that? Please,” he added. His attention still solely dedicated to you despite the banging and shouting coming from behind the pair of you and the racing of your own heart. Right here there was only him. Only Echo.

“Yeah,” you breathe out. Clearing your throat and nodding your head. “Yes, I can fly it.”

“Then get in and get it started, I’ll open the bay doors and we can go.” He’s gone again before you can argue.

Hoping in the cockpit your hands move on their own. Using your memory and placing trust in the force that hums around you louder than before, you flip the engine switches and grip the controls steering it around into position as you wait for Echo to swing himself up onto the wing and then flip into the gunner’s seat behind you.

The canopy doesn’t close fast enough. You’re too focused on the controls. The force tugs and pulls your attention to the back but you ignore it in favor of making sure you don’t crash. It’s only after you hear a muffled scream of agony that’s quickly swallowed up by the sound of the roaring engine that you bother to look back. To see Echo’s shoulder smoking with a brand-new blaster wound through it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Echo, we have to stop,” you begged as you marched through the heavy underbrush in search of the clearing that was pinging on your outstretched data pad. “Please, I know I’m no doctor, but I can patch you up.”

“It’s fine commander I’m… fine,” Echo’s voice was weak and even though he’d turned off the sound on their walk so you couldn’t hear the pained breaths and heavy pants, you could feel them there. Feel them in the way his force signature wavered and spiked. Hotter and louder than it usually was and growing colder.

“No, you’re not fine you—”

“Commander please!” he panted loudly. Resting his scomp against a tree to get some weight off his legs as he looked over at you. You winced at his harsh tone and even if you couldn’t see his face, the way he lowered his voice showed he regretted it. “I’m fine. There are scouts looking for us and if we don’t make it to the extraction point, we could be stuck here.”

“And if you bleed out on the way there then were both dead anyway.”

“No, you’ll be fine. You keep going if I start to—”

“I’m not leaving you Echo! You’re stuck with me out here, so if you pass out from blood loss then I’m going to sit down right next to you and face whatever comes for us. Even if it kills the both of us. It’s my job to protect you, so stop arguing with me and sit down so I can patch you up.”

Echo stood frozen in front of you before finally solely nodding his head. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeated. Walking over to him and helping him sit so you could take off his shoulder piece and helmet to assess the damage. It wasn’t as bad as you expected, but his blacks were quickly filling up with blood and the circular wound was blackened. You pulled a Bacta patch from your kit and carefully applied it to his shoulder. Apologizing at the slight hiss that left his lips as you did so.

“It’s fine Meshla,” he whispered. His eyes widening when we realized what he’d said. Apologizing and looking away as you went back to work.

“What does that mean?” you asked.

“What?”

“Mesh’la,” you repeated.

He looked away again and flushed a faint pink along his pale cheeks. Pausing for a moment before looking back over at and giving you a gentle smile. One you’d never seen before.

“We make it out of this I’ll tell you,” He promised.

“That’s not fair,” you whined. Leaning down to kiss the bandage you’d put on his shoulder without thinking about it. “How will I know if we don’t make it out?”

“I…” he gaped at you for a moment, and it was only his bewildered expression that made you realize what you’d done. Now it was your turn to blush and duck your head. Handing him back his shoulder piece and helping him attach it without looking anywhere near his eyes.

You force lifted his helmet over to your hands as the pair of you stood. Running your fingers over the edge of it before offering it back to him. His gloved hand brushed yours for the briefest of moments when he took it back.

“Then I guess it will just have to be a mystery,” he said quietly again. His tone almost hinting that he was smiling again, and it was enough to make you meet his eyes again. Rewarded for a fraction of second with a smile you could tell used to cross his face more often.

“We’ll make it out,” you said firmly. Wrapping your hands briefly around the hilts of your lightsabers and finding yourself calm again despite it all. Not because you’d imagined the tree at the Temple, or your master’s kind teachings, but because Echo was smiling at you.

“You know I meant if we survive the whole war, right?” he almost teased as he clicked his helmet back into place. Leaving you with only the memory of his smile to reply for the rest of your life.

“No, no, no can’t change the rules like that,” you argued with no intentional malice. Letting yourself laugh quietly for the first time in…. too long. “You alright enough to walk again?”

He nodded his head. “Wherever you lead commander.”

#TBBE24 #by alegendoftomorrow #tbb echo x reader

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