#clone gunners

[dystopicjumpsuit]

I Wish All Readers a Very Hunter Life Day

A/N: This is a gift for @captainpains for the @cloneficgiftexchange Life Day Exchange. Prompt (will be in BOLD RED): "I know I love you and all, but you are really making this really hard for me!"

Pairing: Hunter x Reader (Fem; has hair)

Rating: M (minors DNI)

Wordcount: 2K

Warnings and tags: a minor guilt trip; light Life Day angst with a happy ending; Hunter is in his fratboy era; SMUT; hair pulling; oral sex; rough sex; biting; marking; dirty talk; praise kink; glove kink; armor kink; protected PIV (Reader is on space birth control/STI protection); strong language; fluff

Summary: Hunter may be a bit of a Life Day Grinch, but that doesn’t stop him from distracting you when the war threatens to keep you from spending Life Day with your family.

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Hunter didn’t mean to eavesdrop. If anything, you dropped the eave on him. He stalked toward the Marauder, supplies in tow after a successful run to the open-air market on this Maker-forsaken backwater of a planet. As he approached the ship, his enhanced senses meant he couldn’t help overhearing your low, strained voice—or the fact that you were definitely crying.

“I wish I could be there, but there’s just no way,” you said.

“I just don’t want you to miss your nephew’s first Life Day, sweetie.” 

The woman’s voice was unfamiliar, and Hunter slowed down, analyzing the situation.

“I know, Mom…” you sniffled a little bit. “I love you, but you are making this really hard for me. It’s not like I asked to be deployed to an active war zone.”

Hunter stopped in his tracks, frowning. He knew Life Day was coming up, but to be honest, he hadn’t thought much about it. It had always seemed more like a holiday for nat-borns, though he knew some of the regs had started to join in the celebrations since the war had broken out and they’d begun to interact with beings from other cultures.

It all seemed a bit excessive, if he was honest. A whole festival, just to celebrate family? He spent all his time with his brothers. He didn’t need to binge-watch Holomark Life Day flicks and decorate a kriffin’ tree, too—no matter how many times Wrecker asked. 

But still. You were a nat-born, and for the first time, it occurred to him just how much of a strain it must be on you to be plunged into the chaos and peril of the battlefield without even having the comfort of your family close by. You’d never mentioned it, and he had never wondered why until now.

He walked up the ramp of the Marauder, stomping a little harder than necessary to give you ample warning that he was back, and he heard you hurriedly end the comm just before he entered the ship.

“Hey,” you said with a forced smile. “Supply run go okay?”

“Mm-hmm,” he grunted, dropping the crate and kicking off the lid.

“Where’s the rest of the squad?”

“Still out,” he replied, moving closer to you and raising his hand to your chin, tilting your face so he could inspect it. “You’ve been cryin’.”

Your eyes widened, and you pulled away. “No, I haven’t.”

He let you go, ignoring your blatant lie. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Nothing to talk about,” you replied, dumping out the crate and beginning to stash the supplies in a cabinet.

He watched you silently for a moment, then crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall, his gaze fixed on your face. “Wanna forget about it?”

You huffed an impatient laugh through your nose as you continued your work. “Why? Did you buy some kyrf while you were at the market?”

Hunter grimaced at your jab, remembering the particularly horrific after-effects of too many shots of kyrf liquor the last time the squad went to 79’s on shore leave. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind.”

“What, then?” You tossed the last of the supplies into the cabinet, then slammed the door and turned to him.

His dark eyes dropped to your lips. “I could distract you.”

You stared back at him in silence for a long beat. You couldn’t possibly have heard him right.

“What?” you asked blankly. 

He smirked—damn his stupid, handsome face—and leaned closer to you. You resisted the urge to swallow when he did, knowing he’d hear you. Instead, you put on your grumpiest expression and deflected like a champ.

“I’m not playing sabacc with you again,” you said with a scowl. “You cheat.”

“I just notice your tells. That's not cheating.”

“It is when you have enhanced senses,” you retorted.

“Not like I can turn ‘em off,” he pointed out. “For example, right now, you have a tell.”

You raised your eyebrows but didn’t respond. He reached out and trailed his fingertips up the inside of your wrist, leaning close enough to whisper in your ear.

“Your heart is racing, little one.”

You yanked your wrist away from him. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.” His gaze filled with an intense heat as he stared into your eyes. His face was close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. “The others won’t be back for hours. It’s your call. Tell me to piss off, and I’ll go for a run and never touch you again. Or…”

Your heart hammered in your chest, and you just knew the cocky son of a tube could hear it. Your voice sounded embarrassingly breathless as you echoed, “Or…”

“... or, you could let me take your mind off things.”

You forced yourself to breathe at a normal pace—maybe even too normal; who karking knew? Hunter, that’s who, you thought bitterly. He probably has the whole damned squad’s breathing patterns memorized. You considered his offer, not that it was easy to make a rational decision when he was standing so close to you, smelling goddamned delicious and looking even better. 

Gods, his mouth is just. Right. There.

When you didn’t reply after a few moments, he asked, “I think we’ve been dancing around this long enough, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I guess we have.”

Duraplast armor made a surprisingly good handle as you grabbed him and pulled him against yourself. Your lips crashed together. His hands cupped your face and his fingers tangled in your hair as teeth and tongues clashed, your bodies coming together in a desperate, frantic embrace. Your hands scrambled and roamed over his armor as you searched for access that you simply couldn’t find.

You growled with frustration, and Hunter laughed quietly as he kissed his way across your jaw and down your throat. “Why the hurry, pretty girl? We’ve got time.”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you hadn’t gotten laid in as many months as me,” you muttered, fumbling at his crotchplate. “How the kriff does this thing work?!”

A telltale zipping sound alerted you to the fact that Hunter was having significantly more success in getting you out of your flightsuit. He tugged it down your shoulders and let it drop down your body, following its progress with his mouth. He reached your compression bra and yanked it off over your head. You had no idea where it landed as he flung it across the ship, but you hoped it wouldn’t be too hard to locate it later.

That’d be fun to explain to Crosshair, you thought with a slightly horrified shudder.

Any concerns you had about your missing undergarment fled your mind about half a second later. Hunter’s lips closed around your nipple, swirling his tongue as he squeezed and teased your other breast, the rough fabric of his glove providing a shockingly pleasurable abrasion. Your head fell backward to rest against the durasteel wall, a hoarse moan tearing from your throat.

Hunter responded immediately, scraping his teeth across your skin, then smoothing his warm tongue over the bite mark. You shivered at the sensation, and he dropped abruptly to his knees, gripping your ass in both hands as he pulled you hard against his face. His tongue slid into you as his lips pressed over your cunt.

“Oh, fuck,” he murmured. “You’re delicious. And wet, holy kriff. So, so wet—”

Your legs nearly gave out, and you clutched his head for balance.

“Goddamn,” he hissed as your fingers tangled in his hair. “Pull it harder.”

You complied, tugging his hair firmly, and his eyes drifted blissfully closed as he leaned close and breathed in your scent. He flicked his tongue over your clit and back into you again and again, alternating between kissing and licking and sucking on your sensitive skin until your legs trembled. Distantly, you heard a clatter of plastoid on durasteel, and then he stood, spinning you around and pushing you forward to lean against the wall of the ship as he gripped your hips and pressed his knee between your thighs, urging them apart.

“Implant?” he asked hoarsely.

“Y—yes,” you confirmed, forcing your brain to focus on the question.

You felt his cock nudge between your thighs, and then he thrust into you, barely giving you time to adjust. His cuisses were cold as they pressed against your thighs, hard against your soft skin, and his hand snaked around your body to cup your breast as he pulled you upright and backward onto his chest. He held you upright as he thrust into you, and with his other hand, he slid his fingers over your cunt, massaging your clit and pressing against your mound firmly. He was still wearing his gloves, and the fabric felt unbelievable on your skin.

“You like it rough, don’t you, pretty girl?” he growled in your ear. “You like it when I use that perfect little pussy, don’t you, sweet thing?”

“Yes,” you gasped, your breath punching out of your lungs as he thrust particularly hard into you. “Fuck, yes—”

He sank his teeth into your shoulder abruptly, and your words cut off in a scream. He began to work his fingertips in tight, rapid circles over your clit as he kissed over your sore, abused skin. That’s definitely leaving a mark, you thought distantly, as a rush of fresh arousal flooded you.

“That’s right,” he murmured smoothly. “Just like that, good girl. Sweet little doll, taking my cock so well. Gonna come for me?”

“Uh-huh,” you groaned, feeling all the muscles in your center begin to tense.

“Use your words, little one,” he whispered, his breath teasing your neck and ear as his teeth closed softly on your earlobe.

“I am—I’m—FUCK!” You cried out loudly as your orgasm tore through you, pleasure exploding from the base of your spine and bursting through your body.

“That’s it, love,” he said, speeding up his pace. “Feels so good—so fuckin’ perfect, such a good girl—where do you want it, darlin’?”

“Inside,” you gasped.

“You sure?” he asked, his hips stuttering slightly as his hand suddenly clenched harder around your breast.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Fill me up.”

“Fu—ah, kriff!” he grunted, thrusting hard, and you felt heat flood your cunt as he spilled into you. 

He pressed his hot, open mouth against your neck, sucking hard on your skin as he groaned loudly, clutching you hard against his rigid armor in an almost painfully tight embrace. Slowly, he loosened his grip, reaching out to lean his forearm against the wall in front of you for support.

“You all right?” he panted, kissing your head gently.

“Yeah,” you replied. 

“Armor didn’t hurt?”

“No, it was actually kind of hot,” you replied. “I can’t lie, I was kind of hoping to see how far down your tattoo goes, though.”

He laughed quietly into your hair. “Who said we’re finished? I told you the squad wouldn’t be back for hours.”

Two weeks later, the Marauder lurched and dropped out of hyperspace. You glanced up from your datapad, curious.

“Are we back to Coruscant already? I thought we wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow.”

“We require an emergency stop for repairs,” Tech replied.

You looked out the viewport and gasped as you recognized a familiar sight. “Tech, this is my home planet!”

“That so?” A quiet, smoky voice sounded from close behind you. You turned to see Hunter leaning against the cockpit doorway, an inscrutable expression on his face.

“Unfortunately, it appears that every part supply shop in the system is closed to observe the final rotation of the Life Day celebration,” Tech said. 

“Shame,” Hunter remarked. “Guess we’ll have to stick around at least until tomorrow.”

You stared at Hunter, and then at Tech, and finally out the viewport at the swirling atmosphere of your homeworld.

“Don’t suppose you know anywhere worth visiting in this system,” Wrecker said with a twinkle in his good eye as he joined you in the cockpit.

Your eyes stung with unexpected tears that you ruthlessly blinked back as you turned to look at your squad, who watched you with varying degrees of interest. Your heart squeezed.

“Yeah,” you replied at last. “How would you boys like to meet my other family?”

---

Want more Hunter x Reader? Check out this fluffy, slightly sexy first kiss ficlet.

[clonefandomevents]

Announcing Specialist Bingo Card!

This month's new Bingo is a little different to the others, in that there are no prompts to choose from. Instead, it will be the 25 different specialties the clone troopers have, and to make a fill you will have to create something for the specific specialty. They can be oc's or canon clones, as long as they suit each category.

Specialties are:

Snow, Sand, Flame, Dive/Aqua, SpecOps, Slicer, Heavy Guns, ARC, ARF, Commando, Medic, Pilot, Maintenance, CommTech, Bridge Crew, Riot Trooper, Paratrooper, Bomb Squad, Flight Crew, Cadet, Mess Crew, Trainer, Officer, Security, Shiny.

[offscreendeath]

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Just attacked a yard with weeds as tall as I am with a weed wacker. Totally wasn't thinking this the entire time

[rjchang122]

[for-the-sake-of-color]

Goodbye from the 398th Ordinance Corps Sprig! [x]

Welcome to the 218th Urban Crisis Response Sprig! [x]

It turns out being in a Diffuser squad on loan to the 'Experts in everything that goes Boom' Corps may not be quite the best fit for Specialist 'Greatest fear is being Vaporized' Sprig, so on the request of his new Captain, Jet, he transfers out of the 398th Ordinance Corps (Helix and the 398th belong to @fives-girlfriend) to 218th Urban Crisis Response, or 'Glorified Port Security' uhh which generally encounters explosives closer to dynamite than proton bombs.

Captain Helix could probably agree there are worse ways to lose a soldier than a unit transfer; Although when he see's where Sprigs going.... well he wont be able to say it's worse than most alternatives but he can certainly question the Specialist's judgement, because Crisis Company certainly know how to make first impressions. Sprig's just happy to get the hell out of there, no offense, Sir.

Looks like Torch's 'I'm a little silly little guy, you wouldn't hit a silly little guy?' routine did not quite pan out this time

[l0nesome-dreams]

My chaos man 🥹💕💖✨

[starglow-art]

Brynner Sketch Dump!!

Ok imma be honest I have no clue how tumblr works. I’ve had a blog page thing for years and still don’t know how this freak’n place works tbh. I’m just gonna post whatever because I can

[queenangst]

ok i wish i could explain d20 things to my non-d20 fan friends but it’s just too hard. talking about any one character or moment requires six hours of explaining the context

[atticfish]

aso ep12 try not to cry challenge failed miserably (thought too hard about sundry sidney)

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

Such a Good Girl

Crosshair can’t shake this strange feeling in his chest, especially after you save his ass during a mission. Perhaps it's worth finally exploring.

Pairing: Crosshair x f!reader

Word count: 4.2k

Rating: NSFW 18+ MINORS DNI!!

Warnings: praise kink, competency kink, pet names, Cross hates having feelings but has to deal with them anyway, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), fingering, heavy eye contact, dirty talk, the armour stays on, light D/s tones, sprinkle of quirofilia, idiots falling in love, mention of inappropriate use of rifle rest, brief Soft!Cross, brief aftercare.

A/N: DBB once described Cross as ‘a coiled snake’, and it’s the most fitting description I’ve ever read.

The ache had started in your calves but was now working up your thighs. You tossed and turned in the small bunk, trying desperately to get comfortable, but nothing worked. With a quiet groan of frustration, you sat up, your flimsy standard-issue blanket tossed aside, and hauled yourself off the bed.

Bare feet on the durasteel floor, you winced as the cold shot up your legs. It took a moment for you to walk without wobbling, but you persevered, quietly moving past the other bunks. Hunter, Wrecker, and Tech had conked out when you entered hyperspace, with Crosshair taking the first watch.

The last mission had been rough – the intel you’d received from Command had been flawed, vastly underestimating the number of droids you’d have to face. Then a damn electrical storm had rolled in, thrown out your comms, and messed with Hunter’s senses. Everything that could’ve gone wrong had, but you shouldn’t have been surprised given everything that had happened over the last year.

A whole year. It had gone past in the blink of an eye. You could still remember the day you’d been introduced to Clone Force 99 and assigned as their civilian handler. It was your job to keep in contact with Command, feed the boys their missions, and ensure they had everything they needed to complete their work and return safely.

While most handlers chose to remain on Kamino, away from the blaster fire and chaos, you’d elected to go with the Batch, to live on the Marauder with them and share their barracks on the rare occasion you could return to base. After all, you couldn’t keep them safe if you weren’t with them.

They’d been distant with you at first – still polite, of course, but hadn’t opened up or engaged in conversation about anything other than the current mission.

Wrecker had cracked after a month, inviting you to watch a holofilm with him in the gunner’s nest. Tech had been next, optimising your datapad when you’d been in the fresher. Hunter followed afterwards, teaching you how to play dejarik. And then Crosshair had been last, sitting silently beside you to field strip and reassemble his rifle before he’d pushed it in your direction for you to repeat his actions.

They were your family now, The four chaotic brothers.

But they’d come close to becoming three today.

Your slow, steadier steps continue through the ship until you reach the closed cockpit doors. It was a courtesy for whoever was on watch to close the doors and dampen any noise for those resting. Pressing your palm against the panel nearby, the door gave a quiet whoosh as it opened, sealing shut behind you as you stepped in.

The cockpit was quiet; a lone figure sat in the co-pilot chair. “You’re meant to be sleeping.” The serpentine slink of Crosshair’s voice filled the space as he turned the chair around to see who was up, momentary surprise flickering in his eyes as he caught sight of you before he tampered it back down.

“Would if I could, Cross.” You answered dryly, sitting in the seat behind him. The nickname slipped out easily these days, though you could remember the scowl the sniper had thrown your way the first time you’d used it. Ultimately, he’d warmed to it and secretly enjoyed every time you used it.

“Hell’s wrong with you?” He asked as you shifted in the seat, the well-worn leather giving a little as you tried to get comfortable. He pushed his toothpick to the other side of his mouth with his tongue, sharp eyes raking over your body as he took quick stock of your condition.

Your lips fell into a flat line as you stared incredulously at the man opposite you. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe my whole body is protesting because I had to race up the side of a damn mountain this afternoon to save my snarky sniper from a platoon of droids.” You huffed, the tension palpable in your voice.

As usual, Crosshair had found the best vantage point during the mission, but the unexpectedly large number of droids had caught you all off guard. You’d been mid-way through fighting a platoon back when you’d spotted another cresting over the mountain. Crosshair had been focused on picking off the droids coming after you and his brothers, and without comms to alert him, you’d been left with two options – furiously field sign the warning and pray he caught it through his scope or haul ass up the mountain and deal with the problem yourself.

You’d chosen the latter.

Your blaster bolt had cut through the first droid just as they’d rounded the corner and spotted Crosshair in a prone position, his rifle aimed down the mountain. And though every muscle in your body had burned and protested, you’d valiantly held them back long enough for him to turn and help fight them off.

The corner of Crosshair’s lip twitched, a tinge of amusement in his hawkish gaze. “Your snarky sniper?” He quips, trying to ignore the warmth in his body at your words.

“Of course, that’s what you take out of that. Not the fact that my legs feel like they’re on fire.” You roll your eyes, arms folding across your chest as you meet his gaze. You weren’t really mad, and you both knew it.

For a moment, you silently stare at each other until Crosshair breaks the contact and reaches down, drawing your legs up onto his lap. A noise of surprise slips past your lips as you slide down a bit in the chair, but you adjust your position. His thumbs press against your ankles, sliding slowly up your calf as he works out the ache in your muscles, one leg at a time. His hands are surprisingly gentle as he pushes and rubs, the pain starting to fade with every pass of his fingers.

The cockpit falls silent again, the streaks of hyperspace throwing soft light through the space, illuminating Crosshair from behind like a halo. The idea has you suppressing a smile, knowing he’d baulk at such a comparison.

He can feel the weight of your gaze on him, but he studiously ignores it, focussing instead on trying to ease your pain. He’d been so intent on ensuring the safety of his brothers, picking off the droids attacking them, that he’d missed your scramble up the mountain. It had only been the sound of your blaster fire nearby that had snapped his attention to you and the oncoming droids. As much as he hated to admit it, he’d have likely been overwhelmed without your quick actions. He was better than any Reg, without a doubt, but without backup, an entire platoon of droids was too much even for him.

The surprise he’d felt at seeing you up on the mountain with him had been short-lived, replaced with a strange sense of attraction as he watched you protect him before instinct kicked in, and he’d joined you in the fight. That feeling had returned just now when you’d called him yours and prompted him to reach for you to ease your aches. It was confusing and infuriating. Sure, over the last year, he’d fleetingly thought of you in a less than professional way, but he’d never had the urge to act on it until today.

Your body sinks into the chair, relaxing as the tension is worked out of your legs. It feels too damn good, and a moan slips from your lips before you can stop it, your eyes widening as you inhale sharply, going stock still. Crosshair’s hands pause, toothpick slowly sliding to the other side of his mouth as he finally lifts his gaze, those sharp brown eyes dancing with something dangerous. “What an unexpectedly pretty sound, kitten.”

A strangled noise escapes you, wide eyes locked onto the sniper. The nickname is nothing new, usually thrown at you with a playful barb or some snark, but this time it’s different. This time, he purrs it.

“S-Sorry.” You stammer, clearing your throat as you try desperately to ignore the sudden heat in your belly. “It slipped out. Felt good.” You gesture vaguely towards your legs before pulling them out of Crosshair’s lap. But those slender fingers of his wrap around your ankles, keeping them in place, his eyes refusing to leave yours.

Crosshair knows he’s playing a dangerous game right now, knows he’s teetering on the edge of something that could go favourably for you both or go wildly wrong. But your moan…fuck. He’s grateful his codpiece hides his half-hard cock as one of his hands trails up your calves, skimming across your knees and thighs. He stops himself from sliding his hand under the hem of the oversized sleep shirt you’re wearing, a strange pang of something clawing at his chest as he realises it’s one of Wrecker’s old shirts.

Your own chest is rising and falling rapidly with tiny breaths. Crosshair’s eyes take in the flutter of your pulse in your neck, the way you’re watching him so intently. The pads of his fingers smooth across your thigh as he weighs up the situation. He could play this off, joke about riling you up and never mention it again. Or, he could figure out this strange feeling and why he’s picturing you naked, writhing beneath him with nothing but pleasure painted on your gorgeous face.

He, too, chooses the latter.

“You did good today.” He states lowly, fingers skirting ever so slightly under the hem of your shirt, eyes focused on your face. That feeling in his chest expands as he watches your pupils dilate as you inhale shakily.

Warmth sits in your belly, the compliment curling around you like a blanket on a cold day. “Just doing my job.” You decide to play it off, even though the words and the way he’s touching you make your heart pound a little wildly. You’d never been good at accepting praise and certainly weren’t expecting it from Crosshair.

“Maybe. But I’d like to thank you properly.” He tilts his head ever so slightly, the usual bite to his words gone as his eyes flit down to watch his fingers shift, dragging down the inside of your knee.

Brows furrowing for a second, you swallow, wondering if you’re reading the room correctly. “Are you…propositioning me?” You ask quietly, a shiver sliding down your spine as Crosshair’s fingers still.

His eyes lift, locking onto you. And the silence stretches.

You can’t deny he’s a good-looking man, nor can you deny how your heart somersaults when you see the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips after you say something amusing or when he reaches around you for something and crowds into your space. Now, watching him, you swear you can see a hint of apprehension in his eyes.

“Forget it.” Crosshair insists, going to move your legs from his lap. He feels stupid for even suggesting it – you could have any man in the galaxy; why would you want him?

You grasp his wrist, having moved on instinct. Focusing on him, your expression softens as he avoids your gaze, shifting that damn toothpick across his mouth again. You reach for it with your free hand, prying it gently from his mouth. The motion makes him finally look at you, and you can see the walls he’s trying to put back up. That can’t happen. “I don’t want to forget it.” You confess, your eyes momentarily betraying you as you glance at his lips.

His mouth is on you before you know it, firm, demanding lips pressed against yours. The toothpick falls to the floor. Hands grasp at your thighs, hauling you into his lap. You go willingly, tongue sliding against his lips, seeking entrance to deepen the kiss. One of your hands slides to the nape of his neck, and the other grasps at his bicep.

Crosshair’s mind is spinning, though he forces himself to appear composed. Your gentle weight in his lap is delicious, the way your ass presses against him, your hands clutching him. That feeling in his chest grows, and he silently luxuriates in it, lips parting as he feels your tongue pressing forward. He tastes you, a groan erupting from low in his throat. There’s something else he wants to taste more.

Supporting your body, he eases you back until you’re sprawled once more in the opposite seat. His lips refuse to leave yours, steady hands positioning you at the edge of the chair before he pulls back. Watching as your eyes flutter open, his cock strains against his codpiece. You’re breathing rapidly, lips shiny, desire burning in your pretty eyes. He did that to you. He can’t fight back his pride.

Dropping to his knees, Crosshair barely feels the cold floor beneath him, his armour buffering the impact and the temperature. Hands slide back up your thighs, fingers hooking on your panties. They slide down your legs quickly, and a smirk tilts his lips as he pulls them off you, eyes locked on yours as he tucks the scrap of fabric safely in one of the pouches on his belt.

Drawing your legs over his shoulders, he leans in, breaking the eye contact to take in the beautiful sight of your pussy spread before him like a buffet.

It’ll be the best meal he’s ever had.

The edges of Crosshair’s armour bite into your thighs, but the sting of pain evaporates the moment he drags his tongue through your slick folds. Head thunking back against the seat, your hips buck as you gasp. 

“Maker, your pussy tastes good.” You hear the slink of his voice, a needy whine leaving you as you glance down to watch him feast. The almost permanent frown lines on his face are gone, a borderline serene look on his features as his tongue presses against your entrance, pulling a stuttered exhale from you.

His eyes snap open at the sound, watching up the length of your body as you writhe when he flicks his tongue across your clit, sucking the sensitive bud. The taste of you on his tongue is addictive, and though he’d deny it if he’s ever asked, he could quite happily live between your thighs. Right hand sliding up under your sleep shirt, he drags his fingers across the gentle swell of your breasts. You’d always been softness and smiles where he was hard edges and scowls. His other hand joins the party, two fingers pressing against your entrance, sinking in slowly as his tongue laves over your clit.

He silently preens as your hips buck, back arching while you moan. But then you’re tapping his hand under your shirt, head tilting down so you can catch his gaze. “Swap hands. Please.” You insist, a desperate look in your eyes.

Crosshair isn’t sure why it matters, but he does as you ask, sliding his right hand down your body as he removes his left from your pussy. Swapping them over, he presses his pointer and middle finger into you, prying his mouth from your clit so his thumb can run firm circles across it.

“You gonna tell me why, doll?” He questions, tongue darting out to lick his lips and enjoy your taste as he watches you cant your hips, chasing the pleasure his fingers are bringing you.

Heat rushes across your cheeks, and you avert your eyes, a mix of pleasure and shame flowing through you. “It’s…” You start, cutting yourself off with another moan as Crosshair twists his fingers, firmly pressing their pads to your g-spot.

Crosshair smirks, delight blooming inside him at your reaction. He stills his actions. “You can have more of that if you tell me…” He bargains, enjoying your groan.

Swallowing thickly, you bite the proverbial bullet. “Trigger finger.” You admit, eyes screwing shut.

The delight blooming in Crosshair’s chest now flits across his face. That wasn’t the answer he’d expected, but it went straight to his cock. “You like that thought, of my trigger finger buried in your pretty pussy, coaxing you to cum?” He teases, repeatedly pressing against your g-spot, rewarding you for your honesty. “Knowing this same finger will keep you safe on the next mission…”

Nodding eagerly, you rock your hips, chasing the building pleasure. “Yes. Always feel safe with you. Please, I wanna cum.” Desperation coats your voice.

Your admission makes him feel good – knowing how much you rely on him. Watching the slide of his fingers in and out of you, the way you writhe with every press against your g-spot and circle of your clit, he makes a slight noise of approval. “You really did do well today.” He comments lowly, enjoying the little whine you let out at the praise. “And brave girls get rewarded.” He tacks on, enjoying your chest’s rapid rise and fall as you pant, your hips still rocking, grinding against his hand. “You can cum.”

You’d never wanted a man’s permission to climax before, but something about Crosshair makes you want to please him. His fingers crook a little more, a little more pressure added to your clit, and you finally cry out his name. The pleasure slams into you, making you gasp as it floods your body, the tension snapping as your hips and thighs shake through your release. Your mind feels foggy, but you’re distantly aware of his fingers still buried inside you, drawing you through your orgasm.

Watching you fall apart might just be Crosshair’s new favourite thing. Your body is beautiful, the noises you make are absolutely sinful, and the thing clawing at his chest earlier is soothed, knowing he was the one bringing you such pleasure.

As you come down from the high, trying desperately to catch your breath, you feel yourself lifted, manhandled onto Crosshair’s lap as he retakes his place in the co-pilot’s chair. “There you go. So good for me.” The low rasp of his voice brushes against your ear. You feel something press against your lips, and your eyes open to see your sniper pressing two fingers to your mouth — the two fingers that had been buried inside you.

“Taste yourself. Get them nice and clean.” He instructs eyes darkening as he watches you suck them into your mouth, feels your tongue swirling around them, cheeks hollowing. And you hold his gaze will you do it, sending his heart racing and making his cock throb.

You make a show of cleaning him off, moaning around his steady fingers, the taste of your release hitting your tongue. Slowly sliding your lips up, a small ‘pop’ fills the cockpit as you pull off them. The effect you’re having on Crosshair is achingly obvious – his hawkish eyes are filled with a swirl of emotions, his hips shifting underneath you.

“On your knees, kitten.” He commands, easing you down gently off his lap, hands guiding you to the floor. You shudder as the durasteel meets your warm skin, Crosshair’s legs parting until you rest between them. Eyes tracking up his body, you slide your hands across his armour, fingers finding the small gap between the plates on his thighs. The brief contact makes him grunt, and you smirk as you reach his codpiece, undoing the latches and prying it off.

You knew the boys chucked their armour around, the katarn-class kit could withstand more than regular plastoid, but you placed his codpiece down on the floor with reverence. After all, it was part of what kept him safe.

Crosshair watches you intently, swallowing thickly as you place his armour down on the ground. An odd sensation of nervousness crashes into him as your eyes return to his body, homing in on his hard cock, which strains again his blacks. He tampers the feeling down – you’re not the first woman to get her hands on him, but he silently acknowledges that you’re the most important.

The cockpit is quiet again as you lean forward, focused on his outline. Your lips ghost across the taut fabric, the contact dragging a sharp grunt from Crosshair. His right hand finds its way into your hair, holding you steadily as you pull the waistband of his blacks down, revealing him.

Tongue darting across your lips, you tuck his blacks under his balls, pushing them up just so. Dicks weren’t inherently lovely to look at – or at least the ones you’d seen up until now weren’t. However, Crosshair was in an entirely different league.

Just the right thickness and a little longer than average, he curved gently to the right. Heavy balls sat just below, and you had to suppress a smile at the thatch of neat, silvery hair at the base of him. The colour wasn’t a fashion choice after all.

Wrapping your fingers around his base, you look up as you press soft kisses along his underside, dragging your tongue across velvety skin. His groan echoes around the room, fingers tightening in your hair. “Keep looking at me like that, doll. Let me see those pretty eyes.” He instructs, voice low and coiled, igniting heat in your belly.

Your lips wrap around the tip, tongue sliding into his slit to lap up the small bead of pre-cum. His hips buck and you bring your free hand up to rest against his abs to help stabilise yourself and apply gentle pressure to keep him seated. Your eyes stay locked on his, holding steadfast even as you bob your head, moaning unabashedly at his weight on your tongue.

Pulling off him completely, you dragged the head of his cock across your lips, shiny with your spit, watching him track the movement. Laving your tongue across him, you take him back into your mouth, sliding down a couple of centimetres, cheeks hollowing.

Crosshair knows he’s fucked. That strange feeling in his chest…yeah, he knows what it is now.

He can’t pretend this is some random hookup, that he’s just thanking you for saving him earlier. He can’t pretend it wouldn’t bother him for other men to hit on you during shore leave or for you to go home with them. You’re his. And while he might not be able to say it yet, he’ll damn well show it.

His free hand moves to your chin, gently tilting your head so he can slide in further, gasping as he feels the head of his cock bump against the back of your throat. “So perfect at sucking my cock. There’s my good girl.” He croons, watching how your eyes light up, how you bob your head that little bit faster, making him hiss with pleasure.

Spurred on, you take a deep breath and press forward, sliding more of him into your mouth until you can feel him in your throat. You exhale through your nose, hearing his choked moan before you pull back, desperately in need of air. You cough, drawing in a ragged breath, a string of saliva still connecting you to his flushed cock.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” Crosshair grits out, feeling his balls tighten with every glide of your lips across his shaft. Your mouth was heaven – warm and wet – and it only excited him more for the day he could bury himself inside your pussy.

Alas, the Marauder wasn’t the most comfortable place for that. And with what he had in mind, you’d need a comfortable surface.

Taking him back in your mouth, you set a steady pace, feeling the twinges of ache starting in your jaw. But you push through, deep-throating him repeatedly until you can feel his thighs tremble and see how tight his balls are. Your focus shifts to the tip, lips wrapped perfectly around it as you suck and lick, tongue flicking against his frenulum on the upstroke.

He was moving more, unable to stay still as he hurtled towards the edge. Your eyes darted to his rifle rest, the winged extension shifting as he grasped the arm of the chair, knuckles white. It didn’t escape his notice, and a foul thought crossed his mind. “Think you could take it, kitten? Fuck, you’d look so pretty with it buried inside you.” He voiced, hips thrusting upwards as he chased his orgasm. He’d never be able to look at the piece of armour the same way again if it had been inside your gorgeous body.

You moaned around his cock at the idea, and that was all it took. Fingers tangled in your hair tapped at your scalp in warning seconds before Crosshair let out a stuttered groan, hips pressing forward as he came. The tang of him filled your mouth, and you greedily swallowed down everything he gave you, tongue gliding softly around the head of him as he collapsed back against the co-pilot seat. Gently, you cleaned him up, licking the last remnants of his release away, knowing he was extra sensitive.

He guides you off the floor, dragging you back onto his lap, his softening cock pressing against your damp folds. One of his thumbs tugs at your lower lip as you finish licking them clean, and his gorgeous brown eyes are focused on you as you both catch your breath. For a moment, you see a hint of vulnerability pass through him, and he leans in to give you an unexpectedly soft kiss. “Maybe I should save that fine ass of yours some more.” You murmur, voice a little hoarse.

Crosshair’s fingers move to your jaw, and he gently massages it, having spotted the subtle twitch of the aching muscles. The corners of his lips quirked up ever so slightly in a small smile. “I’ll be sure to thank you every time.”

[panther-os]

Brief Guide for Star Wars Writers

DC-15A Rifle:

Used for formal events and ceremonies, and as a sniper rifle in the field.

DC-15A Carbine:

A short rifle used in most combat situations during the early days of the Clone Wars.

DC-15S Rifle Carbine:

A stretched out version of the '15A Carbine, easier to hold and to aim. Patented in the middle of the clone wars and afterwards saw widespread distribution throughout the GAR.

DC-17 Hand Blaster:

Small pistols, typically dual-wielded, but some clones (like Commander Gree) carried only one. Versatile and lighter and better suited to small spaces than the DC-15 series weaponry, at the cost of a shorter range of fire.

Z-6 Rotary Cannon:

A Big Fucking Gun (TM), heavy and unwieldy, especially unsuited for close range. Best for large scale battles in wide open areas, such as Umbara before the jungle. Used by clone heavy gunners like Hevy and Hardcase (pictured above). Does not have a stun setting like the DC series weapons do.

[paperback-rascal]

This illustration is tied to an idea I came up with @kalm5, after I binge watched videos about various vending machines.

The explanation of the premise is under the cut/read more!

Enjoy!

What if clones have only a set amount of meals per rotation? no snacks, no nothing - just the basic, the most effective meals evenly spread out throughout the day. It’s the only food they have. The only unlimited food item available to them without restriction is water... just plain water.

However, there are vending machines scattered throughout every Kamino training facility that can be used by clones for additional snacks (or even more “luxurious” items such as salt/sugar/spices, better grade chocolate, authentic caff/tea, weak beer/alcohol, etc.). The vending machines also have limits of items a clone can get per rotation to limit potential abuse of the system.

The availability of such items is depended on the status quo and performance score each clone has and develops over the years (the score is stored at the forearm chip, so to use a vending machine clones have to swipe their wrists against it’s panel) - the bigger the score the broader assortment of items are available.

Cadets get their points based on their exam scores, battle simulation statistics, etc.

The score clones got in their youth are later transferred as a base score at the beginning of their military career.

The success rate, performance on the field, getting medals, etc. is later added to it - raising it. It also can be lowered due to misdemeanors, refusal to carry on orders, breaking rules, etc.

Despite all CT-[numbers] clones having the same baseline of items available, there are variations or perks for each occupation: medics get different additional assortment of items than sappers, who have different perks than gunners, pilots and so on.

Maintenance staff has the same limitations as cadets. So 99 has the same level-access to goods as kids/teens, thus he can get like... Star Wars equivalent of stale salted crackers, granola bars and juice.

A major points boost is a promotion to higher military rank - especially to commanding position or high preference variants like ARCs or spec-ops (it unlocks more options)

The biggest availability, however, have CC-[numbers] clones.

Some of the perks are just simply locked behind a status quo. So even an perfect behavior and 100% success rate wouldn’t give a “plain” CT-number access to for example... alcoholic beverages - it’s only for CC-[numbers]. CC-[numbers] also can be locked out of certain perks if their score gets low enough.

The best example would be captain Rex who despite being a commanding officer can’t get the same items as his college, commander Cody. Due to Rex being a CT-number. So it’s always a bit awkward when he tags along with other commanding officers but he can get an energy drink or black coffee at best.

---

Funnily enough, of all software at Kamino, nothing is so well guarded as vending machines - it’s unhackable while the vending machines are borderline indestructible. It’s the most frequently updated/modified equipment due to clones always finding loopholes to cheat the system.

The origin of the vending machines was that Kaminoans tried to use the idea of conditioned response to encourage clones to train harder and be more obedient in the field - they hoped it would rewire clones brains, linking high performance with luxurious goods.

However what the long necks didn’t accounted for is that clones are well... humans and turned vending machines to social interaction that has an internal structure known only to clones. one of such interaction is that many clones with high performance score would often get items to those with lowered ones - especially at 501st where thinking outside the box is preferable military tactic by their general, thus many clones from 501st would end up with low performance score at Kamino framework despite being the most decorated of soldiers.

The same goes with Clone Force 99 who have 100% success rate, but also accumulated many misdemeanors and complaints.

===

STAR WARS: The Clone Wars/The Bad Batch © George Lucas/ Dave Filoni/ LucasFilm/ Disney

[incorrectbatfam]

Okay, so I want a little angst fic where Robs twins and Milo get kidnapped, and the kidnapper is doing the whole cliche thing with ‘cHoOsE oNe, will your twins or Milo live??’ and, Rob thinks, it should be obvious, right? Pick ur twins! But, it’s a difficult decision, he can’t let any of them die, and he’s stressing Tf out. Like, Milo is fourteen! And the twins love him! (Kinds? He bullies them sometimes but it’s fineee)

At the end, the bats come and save them, but it’s still an eye opening experience.

The Gooners Christmas kidnapping fic that exactly one (1) person asked for

Word count: 3,375

———————

“What’s the password?”

Milo chuckled. “Jackie, you’re only supposed to do that when you get picked up from school.”

“Dad said to always ask before getting in the car with anyone,” the six-year-old replied. 

“But you know me.”

“What if you’re a shapeshifting alien trying to abduct us? Or an evil robot clone?” 

He sighed. “Unicorn ice cream. Now are we going Christmas shopping or not?”

“Sure,” she said, “when Gunner quits being a slowpoke.”

As if on cue, the other boy stumbled out of the three’s shared bedroom, tugging his blue snow boots on. Since he didn’t know how to tie the laces yet, Milo kneeled down and helped him.

“Now remember, the mall’s gonna be really busy, so what do we do if we get separated?”

“Meet at the food court,” they say in unison.

“And what do we not do?”

“Go to a security guard.”

“And why don’t we do that?”

“Because they don’t work for people like us.”

“Good job.” He patted the pom-poms topping their matching hats. 

Once Milo buckled the twins in and put his favorite rock album on, they set off. There was a light dusting of snow on top of the salt laid down earlier that morning, but the fifteen-year-old managed to weave through the holiday traffic and beat the lights in time to snag the last parking spot at Gotham City’s shopping hotspot. 

“Any idea what you’re gonna get your dad?” he asked as they walked into the bustling shopping mall. 

“How about a watch?” said Jackie. “I saw a really cool gold one last week.”

“Hm… maybe,” he said. “Gunner, what about you? Any thoughts?”

Gunner stifled a laugh. “Pants.”

Milo rolled his eyes playfully. The kid was in that phase where pants were the funniest thing in the world. But in the nine months since he started living with the Steelers, Milo hadn’t seen Rob get anything—buying or stealing—for himself. It was always for the kids or to sell on the internet. And, frankly, the man looked like he spent a year on a deserted island. 

“We’ll start with pants,” he said.

“What about you?” Jackie asked. “What are you gonna get him?”

“I’m not sure.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Probably something as a thanks for, you know, not leaving me to the wolves.”

“Like what?”

Gunner said, “How about a World’s Best Dad mug?”

“That might work for you, but he’s not my dad,” said Milo. He shrugged. “Eh, I’ll figure it out.” 

They perused a few clothing stores, the twins pointing out pieces of clothing their dad might like. Milo kept a mental inventory as he fiddled with the magnet in his coat pocket. He also made notes about where the cameras and security guards were placed. 

After about an hour, the kids were whining about being hungry (breakfast wasn’t exactly filling—they shared an egg and a slice of toast between them). Milo took them to the food court and used some cash he pickpocketed the other day to buy them both kids’ meals from the Batburger pop-up stall. 

Once they sat down, he said, “I’m gonna go get the gifts for your dad. Do you guys have your phone?”

Jackie and Gunner nodded and pulled out matching rose gold and black smartphones, respectively, that totally weren’t stolen and jailbroken. 

“Good. Stay here and don’t move. I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes. Call me if you need anything.”

Milo still had a thing or two to learn before he could begin swiping electronics and jewelry, but shoplifting clothing was easy. He grabbed a shopping bag from behind an unoccupied register and wove through the aisles for the list of things from earlier. He took them to the dressing room and removed the security tags with his trusty magnet before putting the clothes in the bag. Then, for good measure, he stuck them back onto random clothes throughout the store before walking out while using his phone like any other teenager. 

When he didn’t see the twins at the food court, there was a small spark of panic. He called Jackie and it rang three times before she answered. 

“We’re in the bathroom,” she said. 

He should’ve noticed the quiver in her voice. When he stepped into the all-gender restroom, he was met by the kids pressed against the wall with a haggard middle-aged man towering over them. 

Gunner cried out, “Milo!”

As the door fell shut, the stranger whirled around, pointing a sawed-off shotgun at Milo. “You with them?”

Stunned, Milo nodded numbly. He wasn’t sure if that was the right move or not. 

The man’s hands trembled. “Do as I say or I shoot.”

Milo reached for his batarang—the one he found on the street—inside his jacket, but before he could grab it, the man walked around him and prodded Milo in the back with the barrel. 

“I know you heard me. Now all three of you move it.” 

The bathroom was five steps from the exit, so there wasn’t any chance to make a getaway without putting Jackie and Gunner at risk. They were ushered roughly into a white van with the peeling logo of an electric company. A second person was in the driver’s seat so the guy with the gun got into the seatless back with them. He slammed the door shut. Milo motioned for the twins to get behind him. 

The driver turned the radio up as they made their way onto the road. 

Smart. Milo thought. Mask any calls for help. This obviously wasn’t the kidnappers’ first rodeo. 

But neither was it Milo’s. Being a runaway street kid, he had his fair share of close calls with bastard adults who tried to manipulate him because of his age. While he couldn’t call himself an expert, he had a general gist of how these situations went. 

Traveling at sixty miles per hour in a windowless van with no clue where they were headed, Milo didn’t have an upper hand. He needed information. Something was better than nothing. 

He studied the man with them, who had tucked the gun away. Even in the dark, he could see the man wasn’t doing well for himself. The worn-out clothes plus the crudeness of his weapon ruled out the mafia. What would Falcone or Maroni want with some random kids from Burnside, anyway? Milo could also rule out some of the major Rogues—Riddler, Two-Face, and Mr. Freeze all had standards. 

The man’s graying blonde hair and beard were both overgrown. His face was hollow and his breath smelled like spoiled leftovers. Clearly, he hadn’t taken care of himself in a long time. Mental break? But unless it was a case of folie a deux, there’s no way he could’ve gotten a second person to be his getaway driver. More likely than not, he was on his last legs and holding people for ransom was his Hail Mary. 

Milo also tried to analyze the man’s body language, but the low light and the moving van made it difficult. Kellin would’ve probably deduced everything with their assassin training by now. 

He glanced over his shoulder at Jackie and Gunner. Gunner always had more braggadocio, but underneath he got more scared easily, and Milo saw it in the way the kid clung to his sister’s arm with tears running down his cherubic face. Jackie appeared calmer, but her big brown eyes looked up at Milo, silently begging him to do something.

Milo took a deep breath and turned to their kidnapper. “You mind telling me what you want with us?”

“We don’t want anything from you,” the man replied. 

“Then what? You gonna sell us? Because we’re pretty unmarketable.” 

“No,” he said. “This isn’t about you. It’s about your father.”

“Axel Carr? Good luck with that. I’m as dead to him as he is to me.”

The man pointed to the twins. “I meant theirs.”

“How do you know their dad?” Milo asked slowly, careful not to let a name slip in case the man was bluffing. 

“I worked with Rob Steeler under Scarecrow. When he left, instead of getting promoted, they let our entire crew go since we lost our key player.”

The man was clearly getting started and Milo hoped he’d keep going until the boy could formulate a plan. 

“My whole life torpedoed after that. No gigs meant no income. No income plus a disabled kid meant I had to give up custody.”

While unfortunate, Milo was more focused on the clock and speedometer up front. Eight minutes had passed since they started driving and the speed had stayed consistent. The hum underneath the wheels told him they were still on the highway. 

“Without that money, I can’t get my kid back. So here’s what’s gonna happen.”

They came to a stop and there was the sound of a garage door opening and closing. Gun back in hand, the man prodded them out. 

“I’m gonna make Steeler pay,” he said. “He gives me cash for his little tikes. Otherwise, if I can’t have my family, then neither can he.” He turned to Milo and cocked the gun. “As for you, I’m afraid I can’t have any witnesses.”

“Wait!” Milo exclaimed before the man put his finger on the trigger. “Don’t you think killing me right away will cause a huge scene? You’ll end up with cops at the doorstep before you can even ask for the money.”

The driver muttered something to the gunman.

“True,” the gunman said.

The driver whispered something else. The gunman’s face lit up and he nodded. 

“Better idea,” he said. “I was going for around thirty grand. That’s ten grand for each of you. For each one he can bring me, I’ll let you go home.”

Jackie piped up. “What if he can’t?”

The man smiled. “For your sake, little girl, you better hope he does.” 

The gunman forced the three to surrender their phones while the driver bound them with rope to a water pipe against the wall. The windowless garage offered no clues to the outside, but the fishy smell in the air meant they were close to the harbor. It hadn’t been used in a long time because every step someone took left a footprint in the dust. Off to one side, underneath a mountain of scrap wood and netting, was a speedboat with a gaping hole in the hull. On the other side was a small, messy work table where the driver and gunman were making the ransom call. 

“Milo, what do we do?” Gunner whispered. 

“Just stay here and don’t move unless I tell you to,” he replied. “I’m gonna get us out of this.”

“What if you get hurt?” Jackie asked. 

He smiled. “Remember when I did a cartwheel with a twisted ankle? A little hurt doesn’t bother me.”

His arms were pinned to his side, but he managed to maneuver them enough to grab his magnet and batarang. Normally he would have had a trunk full of inventory to work with but this was going to have to do. 

While the kidnappers were on the call, he sliced himself out of the ropes with the batarang. He also loosened Jackie and Gunner’s restraints to prepare for a quick escape. 

The only exit was the garage door, controlled by a red button on the wall. If he was one of the bat-people, he could easily throw the batarang and hit the tiny target far away, but as just Milo, the risks far outweighed his chance of success. Normally he would have tried anyway, but he had the kids with him. 

He gestured to Gunner’s boots. “I need to borrow something real quick.”

The boy nodded. Milo undid the laces, resulting in two long strings in his hands. He tied them together to create a single, even longer cord, which he then put the batarang on one end of. 

The kidnappers turned toward them and the gunman shouted, “Hey!”

Milo muttered a prayer to Wonder Woman on the off chance that’s her thing. 

He twirled the string and released it. It wrapped around the driver’s knee, causing the man to stumble and fall. His joint cracking echoed through the garage and a red stain grew on his cargo pants. 

He reeled it in before throwing it at the gunman’s face. The tip grazed the man’s cheek, drawing a thin trickle of blood, before spinning back around into Milo’s hand. Milo threw a punch, but the man caught it. The gunman twisted before shoving Milo to the ground and pointing the shotgun at him. 

“Had fun playing Robin?” the man asked, finger nearing the trigger. 

Stall. That was all there was left to do. 

“Heroes are overrated. They always have to follow some stupid code,” Milo said, doing all he could to keep his voice steady. “You and I have more in common than you think.”

“Whatever deal you’re trying to cut won’t work,” the gunman replied. “Steeler’s already on his way and he accepted all my terms.” 

“What if I tell everyone what you did? Then what?”

The gunman laughed. “Tell who? The same cops you’re always running from? Don’t think I didn’t do my homework on your little posse.”

The driver was pretty much down for the count because he was still on the floor with the pool of blood slowly growing. Plus, he didn’t seem like the fighting type to begin with. Unless there were more kidnappers lurking, Milo just had to make sure the gunman stayed focused on him. 

“Your kid. How old are they?” Milo asked. 

“He’s ten, and unlike you, he’s actually suffering. He didn’t bring it on himself after a fight with daddy.” 

That plucked a nerve. For a disheveled ex-henchman, the man knew a lot. 

Milo clenched his jaw. “And what would he say if he knew about this? Even if you get the money, what makes you think he’d want anything to do with you?”

Smack. 

Milo fell back as the gun met his temple. His head throbbed and black speckles swam in front of his eyes. His fingers traced over the spot and came back red. Through the dull ringing in his right ear, he heard the twins cry out his name. 

He turned back to the gunman, still kneeling. “If you’d do this to us, what’s stopping you from doing it to him?”

This time, a kick to the stomach forced the wind out of him. He doubled over, gasping. He reached for the batarang but the gunman kicked it away. 

The man raised his gun for another strike but the garage door interrupted him. 

“Step away from the kids.”

The twins exclaimed, “Dad!”

Rob made brief but reassuring eye contact with them before turning to the kidnapper. 

“I got as much as I could, Frederickson. Now let go of my kids.” 

The kidnapper walked over and snatched the water-stained blue duffel bag out of Rob’s hand. He opened it and counted through the banded bills before turning back to Rob. 

“I said thirty grand. This is only twenty-five.”

“That's all I got, I’m telling you! Just take it and let my kids and I go home.” 

“We had a deal.”

While the two men went back and forth, Milo crawled over to the batarang. The open garage door meant the bright lights inside flooded the harbor with nothing blocking the way. The bright lightbulbs dangled from the ceiling. 

It was sheer luck the batarang flew over the adults’ heads and wrapped around the base of the brightest light bulb before dangling in front of it. It wasn’t very distinct, but his makeshift Bat-Signal would have to do. 

The man cocked the gun. “Now you gotta pick. It’s them…” He pointed it at the twins. “Or him.” He pointed at Milo.

What kind of choice is that? Milo thought. Of course pick them.

Rob stood there as if nailed to the spot, fists clenched. 

“Fredrickson, think about this,” he said, his normally firm voice edging on pleading. “Is five thousand dollars worth having this on your conscience?”

“You were always the soft one,” the man sneered. “You never let it on around the boss until our last sting.”

“There’s ransom and then there’s this,” Rob said. “Fredrickson. Darren. You’re not okay.” 

“Rob,” Milo said. 

The men’s heads both swiveled around. 

Milo swallowed. “Give him what he wants and he’ll be out of your hair. It’s obvious. Pick the twins.”

Rob sputtered, eyes wide. “I-I…” 

“You trust me on the field all the time,” he said. “So do it again.”

“I can’t.”

The gunman said, “So the little ones go.”

“No!” Rob yelled. “I just—I just need…”

“Take. Your. Pick.” 

His eyes darted between Milo and the twins. Milo knew his boss was an idiot at times and the proof was right here. The twins were younger. There were two of them as opposed to one of him. They were actually Rob’s. 

Before the gunman could repeat himself again, a brand new voice chimed in. 

“I’ve seen this trope before. Spoiler alert: the good guys win.”

With a swish of her purple cape, Spoiler released her grapple and knocked the shotgun away. She coiled the rope around the gunman before kneeing him in the ribs. Milo didn’t think much of heroes given how they beat up people like him and Rob, but he couldn’t help but marvel at each fluid strike. As easy as one, two, three, four, and five. 

The gunman hit the ground and she clasped a pair of handcuffs on him. Nearby, Orphan collected the driver. 

Spoiler crouched beside the twins and freed them. “Are you guys alright?”

They nodded. Gunner said, “Is the supervillain defeated?”

“I’d hardly call him super, but yes,” she said. “He’s not gonna bother you anymore.” 

As red and blue lights flooded the room, Milo’s head pulsed even harder like a kick drum at a rock show. Some of the blood from his temple dripped onto the floor. His stomach rolled. 

Rob answered some of Spoiler’s questions before she set them loose. Of course cops would be at the scene. Why didn’t Milo think of that?

The twins ran into their dad’s arms and he scooped them up. Milo had never seen his boss so relieved or so scared. He staggered to his feet, one hand in the brick wall for balance. His head spun and a sharp pain was finally sinking in. 

Rob put the kids down and turned toward Milo. 

“I’m sorry,” Milo said. “It’s my fault we got into this mess and—”

He was cut off by a pair of arms wrapping around him. 

“Rob, what—”

“Just shut up and take it.” 

The hug ended before Milo could fully register it. After one of the medics patched his wound, all they had left to do was go home and pretend this never happened. Business as usual. 

“The car’s still at the mall,” he said. 

“I borrowed one from Otto,” Rob replied. “I’ll get ours in the morning.”

Once they were back at the apartment, Rob tucked the twins into bed with an extra-long story. Meanwhile, Milo cleaned himself up in the cubicle-sized bathroom and changed into something more comfortable. 

He tried to sleep after that but wound up tossing and turning for hours, replaying the night’s events in his head. What if he hadn’t left the twins alone? What if he’d brought a better weapon? The Steelers were already hanging by a thread and he just cost them twenty-five grand. If one of the others was in his position, they could’ve figured a way out by themselves. Blaise would’ve siphoned the gas from the van and turned it into a flamethrower. Booker and Molly would’ve been better negotiators. Kellin would’ve fought their way through.

The door opened. The thin bar of light cut between his side of the room and the sleeping twins’ bunk bed. 

“It’s two o’clock,” Rob said. 

Milo propped himself up on his elbow. “And?”

“I could hear you down the hall. You’re gonna wake the twins up at this rate.”

“Not on the clock, not my boss.”

Rob quietly chuckled. “Get some sleep. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”

[intricatechaosofyou]

Sewing Lessons

Fandom: The Bad Batch; Star Wars

Summary: Life Day is quickly approaching, so you and Omega set out to give your boys some gifts.

Using the prompts “Did you get us matching pajamas?”

Warnings: sewing needles (no one gets poked, they just exist), kissing, I am unaware if mistletoe is a thing in the Star Wars universe but it is now so deal with it

Author’s note: Happy Life Day Exchange @wizardmandoo !! It was great getting to write for you. I hope you enjoy this story and have a fantastic Life Day season, babe!

And thank you to @cloneficgiftexchange for putting this together!! This was my first exchange and I’m so glad to take part!

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Strands of green hung around Omega’s door frame as she sat in the gunner’s mount that served as her makeshift room. The young girl had never experienced a real Life Day before. Kamino wasn’t known for their festivities; the long-necks claimed they took away from their work time. So although the boys didn’t have much experience actually celebrating the holiday either, they all tried their best to give Omega a perfect first Life Day.

Hunter had let you all stop for a few days on a snowy planet. With enough supplies, he figured you could take a break somewhere festive for the holiday.

Wrecker had let Omega sit atop his shoulders to hang up homemade garland around the Marauder.

Tech had taught her about the history behind the holiday, telling her everything he had learned from the Holonet.

Crosshair had taught her to make the perfect snowball and helped her perfect her aim.

And Echo told her stories every night before bed he had heard back during his days celebrating Life Day in the 501st.

Yes, all the boys had done their best to give Omega a perfect Life Day. But Omega was even more excited to give them a perfect Life Day. The girl had the biggest heart, so that’s how you found yourself crammed in the gunner’s mount with her, carefully watching as she stitched her design.

She had wanted to give the boys gifts, and when you recommended pajama pants, she jumped at the idea. The boys only had their blacks and sometimes the Marauder could get cold, even for them.

So the two of you found the perfect red and black pants that would match the team’s colors, and Omega was insistent on adding the Clone Force 99 symbol onto the pants, skull and all.

“It’ll be perfect!” She claimed.

So you found the sewing kit you kept in case someone’s clothes needed repair and showed her how to sew.

The girl was very intent in her escapades, listening and watching your stitching intently. She put her all into making the design. And when she was disappointed about her stitches being crooked, you reassured her that her brothers would love them no matter how they looked.

“I’m done with Tech’s,” she announced, holding up the pants to show the freshly sewn design on the left leg.

“Perfect, Megs. Now only Echo’s and Hunter’s left.” You took the garment from her and folded them up to add them to the pile of finished gifts.

She nodded and began to thread her needle when Wrecker called her name from the cockpit.

“I got something else to hang up!” He called.

Placing her supplies down, she rushed down the ladder to help Wrecker hang up another decoration.

You laughed and climbed down from her room as she took off. You smiled at the small girl before looking to your left, finding Hunter leaning against the wall, arms crossed across his chest.

“Hey there, Sarge,” you smiled.

He smiled and glanced over at Omega. “You two are certainly spending a lot of time up there.”

“Just having a little girl time.”

His eyebrow raised at your response. Although it wasn’t a complete lie, it wasn’t the complete truth either.

“Anything I should be concerned about?” He questioned.

You adamantly shook your head. “Nope!”

He smirked and leaned in to whisper in your ear so Omega wouldn’t overhear him. “No Life Day gifts hidden up there?”

You gasped and gently hit his arm. “How dare you accuse us of hiding something!”

He rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t move away from you. “Don’t worry, I won’t ruin the surprise, cyar’ika.”

“You better not,” you retorted as Omega came rushing back up to the two of you.

She immediately grabbed your hand and tugged you back towards her project. You didn’t resist the girl’s pull and sent Hunter a wink before heading back to Omega’s little room.

———————

The seven of you sat in the middle of the hull of the Marauder. Omega had practically been bouncing off the walls as the time to exchange gifts came around. She happily handed each of them their gifts. Even though you didn’t have enough credits to wrap them in something nice, it was clear by the look on their faces that they appreciated the gesture.

As they unfolded the garments, Hunter smiled at you. “Did you get us matching pajamas?”

You nodded and gestured to the girl beside you. “Megs is the mastermind behind this one. She wanted to do something special for you boys.”

“Do you like it?” The young girl asked, eyes sparkling in anticipation.

“They’re perfect, Omega,” Echo replied.

“They’ve even got our symbol on ‘em!” Wrecker shouted, glee evident in his voice as he held up the pants. “Looks great!”

Omega smiled and happily retold the story of sewing the symbol on as the boys listened, indulging her in the exaggerated tale. Even Crosshair had a small smile on his face as Omega spoke.

You happily listened along from your spot on the floor when you felt a hand on your shoulder. Looking up, you found Hunter standing above you. Subtly, he tilted his head towards the doorway of the cockpit.

Getting the message, you nodded and stood up, careful not to interrupt Omega’s story as you two made your way to the cockpit.

“What’s up, Hunter?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper as you stood in the doorway.

There was a pause as he considered his next words, fingers twitching as if he was twirling his vibroblade between them.

“I wanted to thank you. For the pants,” he finally said.

“Megs and I just want our boys to be comfortable,” you responded, heat blooming in your chest. “Thanks for not spoiling the surprise.”

A smirk made its way onto his face and he leaned back against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. “So you two were hiding Life Day gifts.”

“We weren’t hiding anything. We just evaded your senses,” you lied, smiling innocently at the sergeant.

Hunter clicked his tongue. “Nothing evades my senses, cyar’ika.”

You tensed slightly, wondering if that was true. Could he hear the way your heart was fluttering in your chest? Could he see the way you smiled just a little bit bigger when you saw him? Could he feel how your skin was always warm when he was around?

Hunter opened his mouth, no doubt to tease you again, when Crosshair’s voice rang out through the ship.

“The mistletoe seemed to evade your senses though.”

You glanced at the team’s sniper, brow furrowing before looking above your head.

There it was. A small plant hung from the cockpit’s doorway: the new decoration Omega and Wrecker had hung up a few days prior.

Glancing back at Crosshair, you found that the rest of the team was staring at you.

“What‘s so important about mistletoe?” Omega asked innocently.

“It means they gotta kiss,” Echo explained, a teasing lilt in his voice as he glanced at the two of you.

“Technically—“

Tech was quickly cut off when Wrecker shoved him.

“Shush!”

You turned back to Hunter, slightly confused when you saw the small smirk on his face.

“Hunter…”

One of his hands came up to cradle your jaw, tilting your face towards his.

He leaned in, nose brushing yours. “I told you. Nothing evades my senses.”

Before you could respond, you felt his lips press against yours. It was completely intoxicating, and you grabbed his shoulders to keep yourself steady. The kiss was filled with such precision, every movement careful but filled with such feeling, you felt like you were drowning in him.

As Hunter pulled back from you, the rest of the world came crashing back on you. The cheers of his brothers, the feel of his blacks beneath your fingers, and yet you could only focus on his eyes and how they remained fixed on you.

You, stumbling over yourself as your mind tried to catch up.

Your head spun as you connected the dots, the fact he brought you over here purposely, knowing the mistletoe hung above you.

Just to kiss you?

It seemed surreal, the ghost of Hunter’s lips still on yours. But it was real.

A smirk spread across your lips. “I’m glad you liked the present.”

“That’s all you have to say?” He asked.

“Happy Life Day,” you whispered, before reconnecting your lips, earning another round of hoots and hollers from his brothers and Omega.

And as you two rejoined the group, Hunter’s arm draped across your waist, you smiled to yourself. Happy Life Day indeed.

[clonehub]

My HC is that different classes of clones have diff body types. So the heavy gunners are much bigger and the pilots are shorter, etc.