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sinfulsalutations · 10 months ago

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𝕣𝕚𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕨𝕒𝕧𝕖 ⋆*･ﾟ 𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕖𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ ꜱᴇʀɢᴇᴀɴᴛ ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ☆ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴇꜱ ʜᴏᴡ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ʜɪꜱ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴀꜰꜰᴇᴄᴛꜱ ʏᴏᴜ.

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴘᴏʀɴ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴘʟᴏᴛ, ꜰᴇʀᴀʟ+ʜᴏʀɴʏ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ, ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪꜱ ᴘʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ɪɴ ʜᴇᴀᴛ, ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴋɪɴᴋ, ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴀɴᴛᴀꜱɪᴇꜱ, ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴘɪɴɪɴɢ, ʀᴇꜱᴏʟᴠᴇᴅ ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ, ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ ɪꜱ ᴛᴏᴏ ꜱᴇxʏ ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪꜱ ᴏᴡɴ ɢᴏᴏᴅ, ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴜʀʙᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ɢʀɪɴᴅɪɴɢ, ᴍɪʟᴅ ɢᴏʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴡᴏᴜɴᴅꜱ, ɪ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʟᴍᴀᴏ

➼ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ☆ 9.1ᴋ

➼ ᴘᴏᴠ ☆ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ

➼ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ ☆ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ - ᴇᴛʜᴇʟ ᴄᴀɪɴ, ᴍᴏᴏɴꜱᴛʀᴜᴄᴋ - ᴇɴʜʏᴘᴇɴ

⋆ ★ … ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴀᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴇxᴀɢɢᴇʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ, ᴀ ꜰᴜʟʟ ʏᴇᴀʀ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɴɪꜱʜ. ɪ ʙᴇɢᴀɴ ɪᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴊᴜʟʏ ᴏꜰ 2023 ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ᴘᴜᴛᴛɪɴɢ ɪᴛ ᴏꜰꜰ ꜰᴏʀ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴘʀᴏᴊᴇᴄᴛꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀꜱ ɪ ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ᴡᴏʀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ɪᴛ ɪᴛ ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜʜʜʜ ᴏᴏᴘꜱ ɪᴛꜱ ᴀʟᴍᴏꜱᴛ 10ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ. ᴀʟꜱᴏ, ʏᴇᴀʜ, ɪ'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ. ʏᴀʏ? ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ.

➼ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ 18+ ᴅɴɪ

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

Despite the gradual (yet quite quick, in retrospect) increment of your feelings toward the skilled soldier, you do, in fact, notice the blunt sexual appeal of Hunter when you first meet Clone Force 99.

It’s difficult not to; with his long hair you can’t quite place how the Kaminoans allow him to have, the striking skull tattoo, his toned body, and discernable shape even through the heavy armor, you can’t help but flutter your eyelashes and rock your feet back and forth like you’re a schoolgirl all over again. Hunter is the Bad Batch’s essential leader, the closest in appearance to the rivaled ‘regs,’ leading them as their Sergeant and CT-9901, and he stands out more than any other clone you’ve interacted with.

His warm, welcoming, yet slightly wary smile is just as firm as the handshake he gives you when you first meet him, leaning down a little to your height (you’d think clone defects would be the same height, or maybe even shorter than a veritable trooper, but instead you feel enveloped by his vertical. Not that you don’t enjoy the feeling, of course) and nodding firmly.

Then you hear his voice.

It’s only a short sentence; a brief introduction and warm gratitude for joining them as their medic before you acquaint yourself with the rest of the squad. But your ears wrap around the waves of his rough, musky baritone like a magnet. Everything feels as though it’s finally clicked into place and created the perfect picture of your desired man.

Your mind immediately begins to create dreamy rhetoric, wondering silly things to yourself.

Had your mind been aimlessly wandering the galaxy for this long, circling like materials until you finally found an opposite —An opposite so charmingly rugged?

The feeling that rushes through you feels so destined.

Lucky for you, Hunter seems to express his commands frequently with his voice; sometimes hushed through a link, the vibrations of your comm humming pleasantly between the soft undersides of your fingers as he talks.

It always during the times when you’re deep past enemy lines, taking down clankers more efficiently than a Starfleet. Initially too, as you were still trying to memorize their master list of designated plans and being weighed down by the extra weight of regulation armor.

“Don’t go through there yet. Squad of clankers waiting for us.”

“You sure, Hunter? I don’t hear any steps.”

“Take it from the person with enhanced hearing, little medic. Just wait for me.”

Other times when he speaks to you, it’s thunderous commands; ones that he yells out across a field or war front. It frightens you at first, your shoulders jolting and hands instinctively clamping over your ears to deafen the noise, but you quickly realize he’s ordering you to act. Once you get used to the intensity, you come to equally enjoy and indulge how his voice takes on a new edge in fleeting moments of urgency and demand; a once blissful burning of wood turning into threatening crackles, and from there a bleeding forest fire.

“Wrecker, move in! Now, now! Crosshair, how’s the bird's view looking?”

It’s incredibly embarrassing how something as simple as his voice can leave you this breathless. Even from the snide comments he can’t seem to help himself from saying when Wrecker retells stories to you, either from their days as shinies and cadets to missions where you stayed back on the Marauder. Between Tech’s rambling and Wrecker’s enthusiastic narration, the sound of Hunter’s voice becomes even more of a calming sedative to you.

Though it equally arouses you in other moments.

How his morning voice is somehow even lower and raspier than his regular tone is a study that must be researched and conducted by only the galaxy’s best scientists. It seems just so impossible, unbelievable; none of it is inauthentic either—the grogginess is always equally spread through his body, from his tired slouch and ruffled hair, lolling eyes, the unkempt composition of the clothes hung over his broad shoulders and slim waist. It’s unspoken the things you might do if you felt there was even the slimmest chance of starting your every day with that sound so deep and lovely right in your ear.

When he addresses you directly before you both allow yourself the time to sleep, asking you to check on old injuries or patch up new ones he got on the last mission. He always manages to get hurt in the most menial yet bothersome ways, and you’re once again forced into close proximity; you’re beginning to consider paying a few scientists and investigators to study the sexy phenomenon that is Hunter. But either way, you sit legs crossed at the ankles in the cockpit, forcing yourself to zone out on anything he might be saying every few minutes so you don’t have to squirm and change your position in your seat every so often and prevent showing how damn flustered and hot he makes you; in more places than just your cheeks and ears.

In flitting moments you get time to relish in his conjured wavelength, take in the scene you can create with just the sound of his voice; he transports you to a world of the dark morning fog, the red of his bandana the most vibrant sight in your nearest vision as he takes you on the forest floor just like that, no civil thoughts daring to come to each of your minds as he finally gives you the relief you crave for in real life.

Your depraved fantasy of Hunter is all you can dream of when you sit yourself on your fingers, holding back as many of the impoverished whines you wish to let out due to your true desperation for such an attractive man.

And the sweet indulgences you luxuriate in make you selfish. You want more, need to know how he’d sound grunting, moaning your name while his cock lay on your tongue. Or how the oscillations of his words feel on your inner thighs, against your clit when he pushes his fingers past your tight barrier. There’s much more you could learn, could explore if you could attempt an advance. Or simply given something more than slight moments of suggestion that he might have the same deviant desires as you to allow the green light.

You’ve yet to receive such signals. And flimsy fantasies, the work of your fingers to chase unattainable pleasure, and insistent memorization of his voice can only keep you quenched for so long.

“Hunter,” The inadvertent, pathetic whine crawls up your throat the moment you feel his breath on your neck, lingering over your skin even as he pulls back after hearing the noise you make.

“Just a little more,” He reassures you. The hand not firmly gripping your wrist pats your shoulder, and your cheeks flush at the passing fondness. “Let’s try to get one more shot on target and we’ll call it quits, how does that sound?”

With the warmth of your flushed face spreading to the rest of your body, you mutter,

“Sounds good,”

and try to softly shake off your arousal, eyes zeroing in on the middle of the tree, the finger hovering over the trigger surprisingly still. You’re about to take the shot before he starts instructing you again.

“Fix your foot stance,” Hunter gently guides your legs apart with one of his own, fixing the positioning of your feet planted onto the dirt and you take in a deeper breath than you intend to. The fire kindle of his voice and the fire kindle of your core are equal matches now; the husk of his chunked honey tone will certainly turn you to mush if he continues any further, it feels.

Really, how does this oblivious, heart-seizing bastard expect you to keep your focus on this pointless shooting practice when he’s got you this compromised?

“Try again now,” he says after he’s got you in the position he wants. You huff again, letting the fiery stimulation fall to your diaphragm, and breathe down your arousal. Just one hit on the target and you’ll be free of this torture.

But as you lift your arm again, eyes narrowing closer and closer to your prize, the imminent feeling of his leg between yours rears its head. You become so incredibly, annoyingly aware of it, and grimace, biting your lip softly and knitting your eyebrows together to fully get him out of your mind and body. You tug on your bottom lip and pull the trigger.

The bullet lands left side.

A deep groan of frustration leaves you; it sounds much quieter with Hunter’s rumble and grunt in your ear. You gently pull away from his grasp, handing him the blaster, and turn to face him directly. And when you catch that damned expression you promptly decide that you don’t like to see him disappointed; at least, it looks as though he’s disappointed. Eyebrows pinched together with the smallest frown, his chin curled into himself as he looks down at you (Maybe you should look into research for lawyers in the case of when you sue Hunter for the neck pain he’s caused).

“It’s alright,” He assures you, but it doesn’t feel right. And from the way he looks at you, it’s not alright.

“No, it isn’t,” You tell him exactly that, your fingers curling and interlocking together by your stomach. His eyes dart down for a brief moment of scanning, and they don’t linger too long; Maker, you wish you had the power for your eyes not to glue to him and his absolute stature instantly when you enter a space. “I should be better at this by now.”

Hunter clicks his tongue and turns away, as if deep in swirling thought. His gaze comes back to you before you know it.

“You should be,” He agrees, but nothing is degrading or critical in his voice. In his eyes, the wave of gentleness that cascades and shifts his expression, there’s unconditional empathy that you do not deserve and he wouldn’t grace you with if he were to know what you beg him to do to you in your dreams.

“We can try again,” You then insist, but Hunter quickly shakes his head.

“We’ve been working on this for an hour,” He tells you, slickly spinning the blaster back into his holster. He sounds tired as well, a new jaggedness in the smoke tendrils of his voice. “That’s more than enough practice.”

“But I just want to–”

“I know.”

Somehow, those words are more devastating than anything else he’s said. You look back and catch the mysterious glint in his eye, almost as elusive as his words might connotate on a foggy day.

“Trust me,” He continues. You don’t even realize his hand has wandered and softly taken your chin between two fingers until you feel the soft pads brush against your skin; your jaw slacks. He pinches your chin a little tighter to ensure your eyes are fixed on him. “You just want to prove yourself.”

Well, of course, you think to yourself vindictively. It’s enough that you feel ever-so-slightly out of place in a squad of clone troopers, let alone defective ones; not being able to properly handle a blaster in the mere presence of your crush is even more embarrassing. How juvenile.

“We can try again another time. But you’re tired. I can feel it,” He continues. There’s the slightest hint of gentleness you only pick up on because of how you hone all your focus on dissecting and admiring every single crevice of his articulations. Suddenly, he drops your chin, and your head lolls back into place, rather sloppily, and you look up through your eyelashes. “Time for us to sleep, I think.”

With that, Hunter whips around and heads toward the ramp to the Marauder. You’re left there with a smarting jaw, discreetly trying to rub your legs together and take the heat out of the area.

“Alright,” You sigh, glancing around before trotting after him, the white noise keeping your thoughts off of the man in front of you.

Yet, you still picture what his knee had felt like parting your thighs open only half an hour later. Attempting to recreate it with your arm and then your pillow, you give yourself a foggy release and whimper a jumbled version of his name into your pillow before drifting off, body still buzzing with frustration.

The next week, as if the weeks and months before weren’t as excruciating, is pure sexual torture. Not to say it’s entirely filled with frustration and dull aching, however. When you and Hunter have a moment of silence, alone by the cots or the engine or the cockpit together, you both relax into the same, comfortable silence that fills the time.

It’s better to have him not running his mouth off, for sure. You still have to deal with it on deployments and missions, but it’s manageable when you’re knocking down clankers or trying to listen to Tech’s very confusing instructions on how to fly the plane to a certain location to pick them up. But he’s allowing the silence to fester between you two. All the better to preserve the actual sweet, steady relationship you have aside from your fiery attraction, you think.

Hey, it could be worse.

But then the dumbass decides to get himself injured. Get pushed into and dragged against hard durasteel, leaving a gash across his stomach that could challenge Wrecker’s spiderweb scars in its damage. Your jaw practically drops when they return and you see the wound out in the open; you can’t stop yourself before you lurch forward with worried eyes and grasp his wrist around your fingers, pushing him down onto a bench.

As Tech pilots the ship off the planet, the rest all recline and lick their minuscule wounds beside him, while you and Hunter remain cramped in the back, avoiding his gaze and praying to the Maker that he keeps his voice to quiet rough grunts of pain as you try to unclip each different plate of his armor and lay them neatly beside him, tutting when more of his wound is revealed to you.

”Oh my goodness, oh my goodness ohmygoodness,” You stammer to yourself, more and more strained with each breath you take, peeling off the tarnished fabric of his blacks.

“It’s not too bad,” He argues with a soft grin, which slowly fades away when you glare.

“Don’t,” You retort, firm and simple, flashing a genuine look of empathy, and even a drip of fear. If you didn’t know any better, you might think Hunter practically melts under your look with how he slumps and his expression droops. But he’s still an oblivious, sexy fool, you remind yourself.

You don’t even have the energy to fawn over how incredibly attractive he sounds with the rough baritone and anguished sigh-like tone he wears; you instead scramble to open the first aid kit. You can feel his gaze set selectively on you and it doesn’t help. In the corner of your eye, he tilts his head.

“Is everything alright?”

You nod automatically.

“Everything is fine.”

The Marauder jostles in rough air; the ship tilts, your stomach dropping with the altitude change, and you’re unwantedly yanked onto Hunter’s lap with a yelp.

You still for a moment, waiting for the ship to steady again before you become acutely aware of how your chest is almost completely pressed up onto his face. And how your knees are caged over his thighs, your pelvis way too close to his wound for each of your comfort. And pressure against your waist, not too firm but still weighting you to his body–wait, is Hunter holding you to him?

Your eyes widen and you stumble off, stammering nonsensically and afraid to gaze upon his face. You don’t for a long moment, before grabbing the disinfectant and pouring it onto a cloth.

Silence festers between the two of you. When Hunter does speak, it’s not to you.

“Tech! Get her steady, would you?” He yells across the ship, vexed and evidently not in an ideal mood. Tech immediately retorts in his typical, inappropriately casual, intellectual tone,

“That is not a light request, Hunter. I am already trying.”

Hunter scoffs and you finally get the gall to look at him. He exchanges a mutual look of annoyance and manages to grin wider for you. The sight soothes your frayed ends ever so slightly, and you stare down at his stomach again at the wound, biting your lip as you inspect the damage.

Your hands come to the hem of his blacks and you give him a silent ask with your eyes.

“Is it alright if I take this off?”

He hums, which you take as a yes, and you slowly peel it off of his skin, trying very, very hard to ensure your stare doesn’t linger. He looks at you with a mysterious gaze that's too hard to place for your liking. But you just try and shake it off as you slowly dab his wound with the bacta-dipped cloth, pressing it firm against the injury.

When he hisses, you perk up with wide eyes.

“Did that hurt?”

Hunter clenches his teeth and nods slowly, and you pull away with shaky hands. His arms reach out, encircling his fingers around your wrist, and guides them back tenderly.

“It’s alright,” He says, his tone dropping down an octave as your hands tremble again in his grasp. You gain the courage to look up at him, biting your lip softly. The grin he wears manages to soothe your nerves, just a little. “I’ve got you, girl. Just let me guide you so you don’t hurt me.”

You let out a shaky exhale of relief, and he sighs, dipping his chin down, but keeping the intense eye contact.

“How does that sound?”

“Good,” You squeak, the rise and fall of your chest the only constant managing to soothe your fried senses. After a couple of breaths, you finish your thought. “Better.” You press onto a side of his wound, softly spreading the bacta onto it; your eyes don’t separate from his once. “How’s that?”

He huffs, not of frustration or annoyance, but more a comforting relief.

"Fine. Keep going."

The rasp stirs between the space between the two of you, and you take a deep breath before you can do anything else.

With the firm grasp on your wrists and the low tendrils of his voice softly directing you, you continue to tend to his wound, your hands moving deftly over his skin. The thick, intoxicating tension in the air is palpable; the lingering silence between you weighs heavy despite your best attempts to snap yourself out of it and take care of him like you're supposed to.

It's not your fault he just sounds so damn sexy all the time.

"Careful, careful," He tuts when you're stitching up a particularly bad spot, pressing your fingers around the skin and holding it there as you thread the stitch through. "Just a little gentler, please."

Then, "Avoid that spot, please. I can't even-- shit -- breathe without it hurting. Just stitch around it. Yeah, just like that. Good job, little medic," As you're finishing up.

Once you finish wrapping the bandage firmly over the wound and around his waist, taping it firmly to him, he dislodges his fingers from where it's wrapped around your wrist, bringing it to your chin and manhandling you slightly to get a better look into your eyes.

"See, ‘wasn't so bad, was it?" He flashes you a grin, obviously masking the pain etching into his limbs, all to calm your nerves. The fact that he's making such a constant effort to make you feel better despite his state makes you positively soft. "You did great."

You grin back, nodding and averting your eyes.

"Thank you."

There's a pause before he bludgeons you with his next sentence.

"You enjoy getting instructions."

Your eyes widen; you almost drop the first aid kit; everything stills, your chest tight as you process his words. Shit, what the fuck?

What the fuck?

"Wh--What?" You stammer, taking a small step backward and tilting your head to appear more confused and insulted by the accusation. Maybe if you appear offended, he’ll take it back. "Who said that?"

"You don’t need to say it. I can feel it," He continues, gaze thoughtfully fixated on you. He doesn't even falter when you seem to panic. "I can see it." You try to gawk at him to make him feel stupid, make him retract what he's saying, but either he's so certain or you don't seem very convincing.

No matter; you're still fucked.

"You like getting told what to do."

Your heart pounds, and Hunter just sits there, legs spread leisurely, his eyebrow slightly raised in expectation. Seriously, what does he expect you to answer with? Does he want you to fess up and admit how depraved and desperate you are for his touch, then run off mortified to never speak to him again? Surely he doesn’t expect you to take.

Defeated, you sigh and softly run your hands over your work again, avoiding his burning gaze.

"Only from you," you mutter, then immediately pray devotedly to the Maker he doesn't hear. Hunter hums, a tone of question in his voice, then you proceed to figuratively jump off a cliff as you remember this fucker has enhanced senses.

"Why’s that, mesh’la?" He asks. Instinctively, your eyebrows knit together when the new nickname graces your ears.

"What does mesh’la mean?"

Hunter doesn't seem very phased. Can't you just throw him off his rhythm once?

"Don’t worry about that," He quickly excuses your question as a distraction from the question at hand. "But tell me why you only enjoy getting instructions from me."

There's something smug to the way he talks, hidden behind insistent concern and curiosity.

"Why’s that, tell me."

Your hand comes up to hide your face, but he takes it and keeps it away from disfiguring his view of your expression. You want to babble; you can feel your face heating up. Instead, you frown.

"I, uh," You try to discreetly rub your thighs together languidly, easing the tension and buildup of heat in between them. A huff leaves his lips that sounds oddly close to a chuckle.

"Come on," You lift your head, perplexed for a split moment, but then he pats the top of his thigh. You blink once, then twice, then another time for good measure, just to make sure you're seeing correctly. Is he... what's he even implying?

"Sit down. On my lap."

Oh. That’s what.

Your mouth opens, a strange sound bordering on a choke leaving your throat as you try to retort or deny him. He only raises his eyebrows and dips his chin down, gesturing toward his lap again.

You huff, eyebrows knitted, and take a small step toward him, slowly, and you envelop his figure, trapping his legs between your knees and careening slightly, hands still meeting at your stomach, unsure of where to move. He nods encouragingly.

“Good job, just like that,” He praises you, hands slowly rising to rest on the handles of your hips, fingers tracing your waist. You take a sharp intake of breath, eyes drifting down to where your bodies meet, and look back up at him again. Hunter’s wearing this oh-so-innocent, deer-in-headlights expression you know is bantha-shit. “What’s got you so hot and bothered?”

You sough vindictively, averting your eyes.

“Stop teasing me.”

He laughs— though it’s more of a snarky, yet affectionate chuckle. You feel so naked in his presence, given such focused, vehement attention.

“I’m not teasing. Just concerned,” He tells you. The problem is, Hunter does well making you think he’s actually this clueless when he does know and just wants to hear it from your lips.

“Mhm,” You hum sarcastically with a pout.

He manages to grin at you, the corners of his eyes scrunching up as he looks at you. You let your eyes come back to him.

“I can do both, can’t I?” He offers.

“Sure,” You retort.

Squinting his eyes, he casually rubs his hands up and down the sides of your body.

“I’ll figure it out, one way or another,” He affirms, ending the sentence with a wink; you take a deep breath, letting your jaw slack. Hunter keeps talking like there’s nothing thick in the air between you.

“Put your hands on my shoulders.”

You furrow your eyebrows; he pouts like an upset child. Chastising, you huff and do as he says. When your hands shake slightly, he continues giving you instructions. They are so simple, yet they seem so alluring and nuanced in this context. In his voice.

”Steady yourself. Yeah, like that. Good.”

You wiggle your hips slightly, and something boils in his stomach slightly, something bordering on a groan. Your legs are warming up but you have no way to close them and satiate yourself. So all you can do is squirm.

Hunter perks up in concern.

“Are you comfortable?”

You take a moment to respond but then nod.

“Good.” Hunter grins softly, patting your left hip. For a moment, he decides to rake his eyes over you appreciatively, almost in the same way you do when you assume he isn’t looking. “I’m glad.”

Offering a civil smile of mutual understanding, you wiggle your hips, trying to find a better position if you’re going to be compromised on his lap.

”Trail your hands down for me.”

It's hard to deny or disobey him with a voice like that, especially when you know it’s directed toward you. So you slowly let your hands slip from his shoulders and descend his chest and torso.

“Yeah, down,” He encourages you when you reach the top of his wrapped wound. “Maybe try to avoid the gash.”

You lift your hands and let only the pads of your fingers place feather-light touches over the wrapping. When your hands begin to tremble again the further you descend, reaching his pelvis, he tuts to stop you. “That’s a good place to stop.”

You look up again with wide eyes, trying to stop your erratic (embarrassing) trembles and tilt your head. There’s more he’s going to say. At least it seems so.

“Whenever you’re ready, put your hand over my crotch.” He gives you a soft look of reassurance, making sure you’re completely comfortable in this position, before finishing. “I want you to feel me.”

Gasping softly, you pull your hand away, fingers curling into your palm and gripping tightly. A shiver runs through you, and you can’t seem to figure out if it’s from shock or pleasure.

“What?” You begin, eyes flitting from his face and back. “H-Hunter, I shouldn’t.”

“I’m asking you to.” Polite insistence is the game he plays. If this truly is a trap, you might happily fall if it means you get to touch him. He runs his hands over your curves again. “I want you to.”

You tense further, something bordering on fear in your eyes. Hunter notices and frowns while he clarifies:

“Unless you don’t want it. ‘Cause then… we can stop. No hard feelings…”

You can see how he’s getting lost in his thoughts. For a split moment, that perfect composure he holds in your presence fractures; he seems insecure and nervous; anticipating inevitable rejection because he’s pushed you too far.

That isn’t the case.

As you finally press your palm to his bulge, you contain your gasp. He’s big. And so hard.

“Fuck,” He groans, head tilting back. “Feel that?”

Oh kriff, that rumble. It’s warm and smooth yet rough all the same, creeping its way over your skin until you’re forced to keep the faintest whimper from leaving your throat. You string your lips tight and nod.

“Mhm,” Is the only thing that manages to leave your mouth, whiny and soft. You palm him further, as if the fabric would simply tear away and you could finally feel his skin on yours. He hums again, and you’re left looking doe-eyed in his direction. “Shit, Hunter.”

He throws a heavy statement onto you.

“It’s my voice, isn’t it?”

You tilt your head up, containing the urge to gasp.

“What?”

“What’s making you so hot and bothered,” He continues. You want to look away, hide your face in your hands with humiliating embarrassment, but you’re trembling so much on top of him that you can’t even flit your eyes away. “You like my voice. And you like it when I tell you what to do.”

You gasp lightly when you feel his warm hand on your thigh. Your cunt twitches and it really shouldn’t. He’s barely doing anything.

“Well,” he continues, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going to deny it?”

The answer is delivered non-verbally. You relax into his lap, palm pressing further to his bulge, and then you squeeze oh so gently. That heavenly groan graces your ears and you devoutly catalog it into your mind for later recollection.

His chin dips down to catch a glimpse of your hand before he meets your eyes.

“Mesh’la,” he says; even without knowing what it means, just hearing how he speaks with such beguile and worship tells all that you need to know. “Mesh’la… can you do something for me?”

“Yeah. Of course. Anything,” You stammer out with a slack jaw, far too enthusiastic. Hunter doesn’t seem to regard it as anything distorting the absolute utmost respect that he must feel while he has you in his lap with your hand on his dick.

“Slip your pants off.”

It’s practically instinctual how efficiently you gingerly push yourself off of his lap and follow his order. With your hands chastely placed above your waistband, you let your thumbs push past, then await Hunter to grant you to pull them off. His eyes dilate with the view, and he nods.

The pants find their way to the ground clumsily, and you cringe internally at your lack of grace, but when you finally catch sight of Hunter’s expression, perhaps it’s nothing to worry about.

He looks… starved. Hypnotized by the splendor in front of him, for his eyes and his hands and his body only to touch, feel, hold, take.

“You’re… fuck,” he sighs, sounding out of breath, as though you’d just swept his leg and taken him off his feet. His hand methodically strokes up and down his thigh, only lightly grazing the tent in his pants as he takes his eyes over how you look, over and over again.

“You’re stunning,” he finally manages to say. His hand stops stroking to pat his thigh lightly, and his voice simmers in a way you know is on purpose. “C’mere, sit on my lap again.”

“Are you sure?” You ask for permission despite rocking your feet back and forth to shimmy your way back. As you gesture toward the bandages wrapped around his middle, Hunter huffs and frowns with miffed frustration. “You’re still injured.”

Hunter gripes to himself as he pushes himself up, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you to the free space between his two hard, firm thighs. His dexterity surprises you. The warmth radiating from his body does even more.

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

Oh.

Shit.

He looks the part, certainly; you only try to feel the faintest tremble of his fingers when his hands float away from your hips to sit on the top of his legs again,

“Okay,” You mutter aimlessly, reaching up to your face to brush your hair away in a measly attempt to look more presentable. Your voice is just a squeaky little thing, and it’s so incredibly humiliating. “Okay…”

“It’s alright,” Hunter tries to soothe you, and you breathe shallowly.

“I know that.” Your tongue runs over your bottom lip and you heave. “I just…”

Before you’re able to process what’s happening, Hunter’s reaching a hand out to cup your face. Despite the coarseness of his skin, his callouses fall on your cheek, it’s so tender, and you melt into his touch.

“Do you need some guidance, little medic?”

With a slight whine, you nod, letting your lashes flutter. Hunter lets his thumb swipe over your bottom lip, and your mouth parts. He grins at your unprompted compliance.

“Then let me tell you what to do. Let me tell you how to touch yourself and make you come from that, and my voice too.”

A depraved noise is choked out of you.

“Fuck,” your head careens to the side, but his firm hold on the side of your face keeps your gaze on him. His grin turns more into a cheeky smirk.

“How does that sound?” He asks. You nod adamantly before he tries to change his mind, so worried that he’ll push you away at any moment. As though he can read your mind, the hand that was still on the back of your thigh takes a gentle squeeze before trailing up your body, taking appreciative feels of your ass and hips before settling on your waist again.

“Mm…” You hum, reveling in the sensation. “Really good.”

Hunter gives you a half-crooked smile, and you want to cuss him out, or yourself, you’re not sure who to be fed up with.

“Come on, little medic,” He urges you on, patting your hip. “Slip your hand down your panties.”

Wordlessly, you let a trembling hand descend down your body. You have little dignity left in you to try and make yourself appear more seductive, but you hope your image isn’t so repulsive. The moment your fingertips make contact with your heat, your fingers grazing over your mons and clit, your mouth falls open in a silent gasp.

Hunter tilts his head.

“How does it feel? Are you wet?”

He should know already, smug bastard.

“Yeah,” you nod, keening further into his touch when he tilts his chin down, leaning toward your ear.

He takes a gentle lick, so light that if you weren’t in his grasp you wouldn’t have noticed.

“How wet?”

Your hips instinctively buck to rub yourself over your hand, a rush of arousal washing over you.

“Re–“ You swallow a wad of spit sitting on your tongue. “Really wet.”

Hunter’s lips are gentle when they undulate as he speaks oh so close to your ear, quiet and warm, words just for you.

“Just from my voice?” When he asks this time, you don’t detect much smugness; he wants the confirmation and credibility for a foundation of fact he’s built for himself.

You nod, but add on more.

“Not just that.”

“Hm?” His dark rumble travels down your spine and you squirm with pleasant upheaval. Your hand is still awkwardly lodged down your panties with nothing to do.

“Tell me more,” he demands with an assuasive croon. With one last kitten lick that lingers on the shell of your ear, he allows his lips to wander, mouthing against your skin, leaving delicate kisses on your temple, your jaw, and any moles and freckles in his nearest vicinity while he awaits your answer.

“I, uh,” you begin, awaiting to land on a coherent stream of words loosely strung together to fall on your tongue. “your—“

Just as you feel something begin to tie, your gaze drops down. Hunter palms his full erection over his blacks, languidly as though without a care, and the thought of him being aroused by this, aroused by you, slaps your mind into a render less zone.

“—fuck.”

He chuckles right in your damn face, and Maker he’s just too pretty not to kiss. But you resist the temptation with the festering worry of crossing the barrier past simple attraction into affection.

So you swallow slow and hard and try to compose a sentence.

“Your, face—“

Yeah, real eloquent, idiot.

“—That skull tattoo, it’s, well, shit…”

Your tongue wraps around itself again, words becoming more and more hard to piece together the longer you think about it. All that your primal mind begs you to think of is the olympic man presented under you, and the heat that radiates off the both of you.

“Alright now, you don’t have to continue,” Hunter huffs with no real malice contained in his words. It still makes you cringe nonetheless.

“That bad?” You ask with a clenched jaw.

A simple head shake is all you receive, but it’s more than enough to sedate a growing burn in the pit of your stomach. The hand not pressed to his crotch gently holds your hip, thumb swiping over your panties and bare skin; he even dares to let it slip past the waistband. The accurate awareness of your hand pressed to your pussy returns to you.

“Don’t want you to focus your energy on that,” he clarifies, eyes looking into yours with a softness you’ve never associated with Hunter. You’d find it peculiar in a regular conversation, but everything about this interaction has been anything but normal.

You suddenly realize you’re at a loss again. “So what do you want me to do?” You ask because you feel humiliated just straddling him like this.

Hunter puffs out his chest and you prepare yourself for the worst.

A coarse hand presses to your navel, trailing up underneath your shirt to sketch an image of your body underneath, stopping right where “Rub your pussy for me.”

It’s worded like a demand, but he voices it as though it’s a request. Your body wants to tense and retract, but the palm spread over the expanse of your stomach prevents you.

“You can do that,” Hunter encourages you, almost as though you were a creature he’s saddled on to ride. Though in this instance, you’d much rather be the one to ride. “Can’t you? For me?”

With a huff, you look away and nod bashfully. It’s wordless when you begin to move your hand, let your fingers get soaked as they rub up and down, up and down… you’re almost too tense to really feel the sensation, but Hunter’s doting gaze and his firm hand on your stomach keep you grounded. As you collect slick, running your fingers through your folds, it takes heavy petting for you to relax your jaw and let out the most pleasantly pathetic whimper.

Hunter groans, adding fuel to the flame flourishing in your pants, a dark sound of thunder rumbling in the sky, forewarning something much more devastating.

“Yeah, just like that,” he encourages you in that same husky tone following the groan. “Rock your hips too.”

You do so diligently, using your palm to press against your clit as a foundation for the rest of your hand to move leisurely while you rock your hips into himself. Hunter’s hand retracts from your stomach, fingers curling into his palms as he lets his knuckles graze against your skin. When you shiver, he takes it as an invitation to shush you gently against your temple, before his hand falls to your waist again.

The moment you glance down, you have to tip your chin back with an ascendant sigh. He’s got his hand over his clothed erection, palming it with a firm hand, almost absentmindedly as he keeps his eyes on you.

“Fuck, Hunter…” The desperate, embarrassing whimper comes out of you far more loud than you intend. Hunter shushes you gently.

“Keep quiet for me,” he commands; how are you meant to be by him when he speaks like that?

“Good?” He then asks, seemingly seeking approval good enough for him to continue. “Do I sound as good as you imagined?”

You want to say yes, declare it to the entire galaxy, and tell him just how wonderful this man is, but you’re far too overwhelmed by all the pleasurable sensations disrupting your thought process. So instead you nod.

That seems to satisfy Hunter, and the smallest smirk curls on his lips as he watches you squirm and rock your hips into your hands.

“Don’t you as well.”

With a hum, you try to dismiss the comment. But only as you let it sit does the implication of his words sink to your stomach. But he doesn’t allow you to dwell on it for too long, it seems, as he continues,

“I want you to keep touching yourself. Do whatever you need to for me. Whatever makes you come.”

He pats his incredibly intimidating bulge as though it’s an invitation.

“Right here, on my lap.”

You resist the dizzyness that threatens to overtake your senses, but as you steady your breaths, you suddenly feel so exposed. Far too exposed compared to Hunter.

So you try to level the playing field.

“Would you… er…”

If only your words could come out correctly. Hunter raises an eyebrow, perked with a cheeky glint in his eye.

“Hm?” He hums.

You grunt and attempt again to tunnel out the words. Like a plow shoveling out snow or sand.

“It—It feels unfair that I’m the only one here getting off.”

You wince as you finish the sentence. Maker, you sound so clunky and awkward. So much for being seductive.

But Hunter hums with total compliance, letting his hand trail up to where his bottoms cling to his skin.

“‘Guess you’re right.” Slowly, oh-so-slowly, Hunter peels back the waistband of his blacks, letting his hand slip through to free his cock from underneath the garments.

You think you’ve been knocked out for a healthy minute when you get a proper look. You’d never imagine describing a cock as pretty, but just like everything else, Hunter may become an exception. His fingers curl around the base with rather ease, before reaching up with it to his chin. He opens his mouth, letting a wad of spit collect and drop onto his palm, allowing him to stroke his cock with a more slick movement.

Maker, he’s so… so…

No, that can’t be right. His cock is far too thick for his hand to wrap around it so easily. But then you remember his proportions, especially compared to yours. A small chuckle leaves you when you imagine how you might try to wrap a full hand around his length.

Hunter leisurely strokes himself, eyes set on yours with an intensity that makes your stomach leap bounds up to your chest.

“Now it’s more fair, little medic,” he says. “Don’t you think?”

You nod adamantly with no hesitation.

“Yeah, yeah…” Your fingers deftly move to trap your clit between your index and middle, your mouth falling open when you feel the pressure hum over you. “Shit.”

Hunter huffs with a smugly saccharine look, his hand slowly stroking up and down his cock, lingering at the tip before he returns down again.

“You look really good like this.”

You tilt your head and grunt in disbelief. It’s hard to believe him when you feel simultaneously so powerful and so humiliated. Even though he’s just as physically exposed as you, you still feel more vulnerable.

“Do I now?” Despite being sarcastic, you try not to come off too mean.

But then Hunter sighs out the most exasperated, “ Fuck yeah,” his chin tipping upwards as he gathers his breath, tongue darting out to lick his lips, eyes half closed while he squeezes the tip of his dick, and you’re left render less to your own attraction again.

He seems to see the disbelief in your eyes.

“Don’t you believe me, mesh’la?” He asks. You remain still. “You really need me to spell out just how hot you look right now? How sexy .”

“Hunter,” you whine.

He continues without regarding you.

“I’m trying so hard not to— fuck—“ he tenses his stomach as he tries to compose himself. “—just blow my load right now. You’re just so— so pretty and pliant and so damn obedient .” You tremble slightly, and Hunter reaches to hold the back of your neck; not before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, of course.

“Listening to my every order,” he continues, oddly affectionate.

A rush of confidence flows through your veins. You try to smirk, but instead it comes out toothy and bashful.

“That’s my job, sergeant.”

Hunter groans, his fingers curling into your neck, one pressing to your pulse point so purposefully.

“Fuck, don’t say stuff like that,” he says, shaking his head, though he doesn’t seem too displeased. “Or else this’ll be really short.”

You giggle, trying to look away, but Hunter’s grip on your neck keeps your head in place. You blink rapidly, suddenly overwhelmed by his stare. But you can’t. Move.

You whisper out a weak, “Keep talking,” before your eyes shut close. You press your palm to your clit, whining softly. Hunter uses the grip on your neck to bring you in closer, whispering slow and softly into your ear with purposeful oscillations of his lips,

“I wonder how you’ll feel around me.” You sigh out the faintest hint of his name in surprise, just as you begin to press a finger into your entrance. “I bet you’re so tight you’ll squeeze me out. Warm, and hot, and loud .”

“Fuck,” you swear, both in response to his words and to the feeling of a single finger pumping in and out of you. You’ve done little to stimulate yourself and cum, but somehow you’re already feeling an anticipated crawl up of an orgasm.

The things Hunter does to you.

“I want your mouth on my cock too.”

You clench involuntarily o over your finger, bucking your hip so your clit catches against your palm. Oh. He isn’t done.

“‘Thinking we’d both have fun if I tried a hand at commanding you around, fucked your face a little.”

Hunter tilts his head. as though expecting a response, so you nod your head — or tilt your chin down, you’re unsure— and he grins in deep settled approval at your compliance.

“How does that sound, hm?”

In a split moment of respite, while he awaits your response, you gaze down, watch his hand wrap around his cock with more insistence than before, stroke at the same rate you move. The hand on your hip drifts down to hold your hip again, rocking you with more fervor. Inadvertently, the movement forces your fingers in a new direction that grazes your g-spot just so perfectly, and you’re sighing again.

“ Oh… ”

The silence becomes too long for Hunter to bear, and he grunts.

“Answer me, mesh’la,” his tone is commanding, yet not overbearing. You appreciate it considering the sliver of shame remaining in your stomach. “Would you like that?”

“I’d–I’d like it,” you stammer out, slowly rubbing a second finger down your folds before pressing in slowly to meet the other. “A lot … fuck.”

With a tilt of his head, Hunter leans in closer, lips dangerously close to yours and for a split moment you consider pulling away.

“Something the matter?” He asks, but he knows the answer. Hunter can damn well see how your legs begin to twitch and shake more rapidly, the unsteadiness of your breathing as you simultaneously calm yourself and try to bring about your high.

“You fucking know what’s the matter, Hunter,” you bark back.

“I don’t think I’m sure exactly,” he responds dismissively. “Could you say it clearly, just in case?”

Something you hope sounds like a playful growl leaves you, but in reality, it probably sounds like a moth cat purring.

“You bastard .” There’s no real bite to your insult, and Hunter knows it, so he grins.

“I do my best.”

Your pleasure overtakes you and a shiver runs from the top of your spine to your legs, your thumb moving to properly rub your clit.

“Oh, fuck, I’m close,” you’re moaning out before you know it, voice dwindling so you’re not too loud.

“Ah,” Hunter hums, affectionately rubbing your hip. “That’s what I thought. ‘Was just making sure.”

His strokes have become more erratic and frantic, but his composure doesn’t give it away. If you weren’t to gaze down, you’d have no tell how aroused he truly was. Though perhaps that’s how he wants it to be— you’re a pretty mess while he’s the foundation to keep you upright.

Suddenly, he’s talking again, using the hand on your hip to encourage you to keep rocking.

“Come on, you pretty thing,” he rumbles. “Come for me and I’ll come for you.” Then you’re remembering what brought you to this attraction in the first place; that damn voice of his. Truly, and you mean truly, never saw yourself being in this position; situated over Hunter’s lap, touching yourself for him while he gets off to you and only you.

With one more curl of your fingers against your g-spot and your thump insistently rubbing your clit, you’re over the hill, and you’re twitching and rocking your hips over and over in arches of your back, jumbled syllables vaguely making up Hunter’s name spilling from your lips like sticky sweet sugar.

That’s when you hear it. When you glance down to catch his spend start to spill on his bare skin the bandages of his, he groans out the most pleasant incantation of your name you’ve ever heard. The moment the noise graces your ears, you’re certain that you never want to hear anything else. Or at the least, any other version of your name.

A few moments pass where you remain panting in each other's presence, his hands remaining render less at your side, rubbing up and down in uncoordinated patterns, while your hands grip his shoulders. You only start to pull away from him as you catch your bearings— and your dignity.

Hunter interrupts you by grabbing the wrist of the hand you had stuffed down your panties. He leans in closer, tongue darting out like a teasing little offer.

“Can I get a taste, mesh’la?” His voice is slow, and warm, like honey pouring into a pot of tea—in any other situation, it would sedate your nerves. But those words ignite that fuel inside you. You press your fingers still coated in slick to his lips, and he opens his mouth graciously, letting his tongue swirl around your digits with a gracious hum that vibrates your skin. Your other hand drops to his chest just before where the gash begins and holds onto it with a tremorous touch.

Hunter pulls away with a resounding ‘pop’ that makes you cringe, but not pull your eyes away.

“Delicious,” he remarks.

Your face is hot again and Hunter is smiling wide, but you’ve figured out by now he means no malicious intent with his mannerisms. His hand reaches out, cradling your face

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Hunter admires you with a glint in his eye you’ve never seen before. Sure, you’ve seen affection— plenty at this point— but there’s a tenderness to his words as he continues. It still doesn’t feel fair to not return the compliment, however.

“You’re one to talk.”

The only response you get is a scoff.

“Have you ever seen yourself?” He asks, posing the rhetoric as if you’d go out of the way to compliment yourself. It’s hard to feel anything more than pretty when you have the most handsome man trapped between your thighs.

Hunter doesn’t budge — states it like a fact, as though he truly believes it. “I always get ravenous just looking at you.”

“Oh,” You reply dumbly. “I… I didn’t think.” Your ability to talk to Hunter improves after getting off for him, it seems.

“You thought wrong,” he replies, shaking his head slightly with a smile. He leans his head down, looking better at your face before reaching with his palm to hold your cheek with hands so calloused they feel soft.

“You’re a capable woman, a great addition to the batch–” Your cheeks heat up, and he smiles. “--And I think you’re beautiful. Mesh’la. That’s what that means.”

Your hand crawls up slowly against his arm, unknowingly following the pattern of his skeleton tattoo before your much smaller hand is placed against his.

“Hunter…” You whine.

He tilts his head, that goofy smile still stuck on his face. “What?”

“You flatter me.” With a shake of your head, you unpeel yourself from his lap, and Hunter whines so, so soft as you do to the point you almost leap back onto his lap again.

“I’m being honest,” Hunter insists, lazily using the underside of his blacks to clean his spend off his skin and the bandages. You’re standing idly, stupidly, and you know he’s waiting for you to say something— and you do, you do, but you don’t know what.

“Well, thank you,” you finally answer, attempting to compose yourself. You awkwardly place your feet back into the holes of your pants, pulling them up in a swift motion that leaves you put away wet, but you care very little at this point.

You look up at Hunter, appreciatively looking over his features, before a forlorn feeling fills your stomach when you gaze down at his lips. You felt them delicately graze against your ear, wrap around your fingers to gently suck and lap at the spend coating them, yet you haven’t felt them against yours once.

He notices the look on your face.

“Something up?” He asks.

In retrospect, it must’ve been a rush of confidence through your veins after having him in such a vulnerable state only a moment ago, but you truly don’t know where your next words come from.

“Can I have a kiss?”

You expect, hope even, for Hunter to be thrown off his rhythm so he can be on the same level as you for once. Rather he takes a step closer to you, his hand methodically wrapping around the back of your neck again, thumb pressing the juncture between your jaw and throat for that extra leisure, feeling your pulse as he pulls you in for a kiss.

In your dreams, Hunter's kisses are wholly devouring. But in reality, it’s warm, tender, brimming with an underlying passion you least expected. As his lips press against yours, you can feel the velvet caress of his skin, the exchange of breath between the two of you that makes you hum into him.

His other hand rises to gently stroke your back before pulling you closer, and you feel so enveloped in his embrace that neither of you will be harmed again. You press your foreheads together and pull away, each taking slow, savoring breaths.

Truly, you never expected to be in this situation.

“...I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” you mutter shyly, a bashful look on your face. It’s that little smile, that damned voice of his, that delivers the final blow, sending you back into his striking orbit.

“Of course,” Hunter tells you, smooth as ever. “I still haven’t gotten to be inside you.”

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nchlsdmn · 7 months ago

Text

Full Plot of the Cancelled Kashyyyk arc from Star Wars The Clone Wars: Season 7

Planet Kashyyyk is still neutral at this point in the war. Yoda travels to Kashyyyk, and his personal battalion is there waiting for him (they had been sent a couple of days earlier before the arrival of Master Yoda himself) and they inform Yoda that the Trandoshans have been doing deforestation in order to drive the Wookiees away to establish Separatists bases there.

The other reason is to intimidate the Wookiees into joining the Separatists or die off. Yoda senses Count Dooku behind this attack. It was the Wookiees themselves who called on the Republic for help, but being a neutral system – only Yoda and Clone Force 99 alongside Yoda’s personal battalion were sent there, with no additional clone reinforcements. Yodas battalion consists of 41st Scout Troopers and regular white clones with Yoda’s face slapped on their helmet.

As far as Chewbacca's role in this arc, we would have been shown his wife and family. Otherwise, the main Wookie Character is Tarfful. Other Wookies such as different tribes, elders, and children would have been shown as well.

Yoda wants to help the Wookiees so they get in contact with the few remaining villages that still live near a part of the forest which hasn’t been destroyed yet but that is about to be destroyed. Yoda advises them to leave their homes, but the Wookiees don’t want to.

The Trandoshans come with a massive force and they drive the Wookiees out forcibly alongside Yoda, who are thus forced to retreat deeper into the forest and up a river which leads them to a water stream. Yoda and the clones then suggest to bait the enemies following them into an area of the forest so they can drive them away from the Wookiee villages.

Echo, new to Clone Force 99, would have become a sort of super-soldier due to all of his bionic enhancements. He would fit right in with the Bad Batch, and his demeanor changed, since he was now more cold-blooded and composed, as opposed to the indecisiveness that he showed in previous seasons. He serves as a foreshadowing of what Anakin would become.

His lobot-attachment would have been used for communications since he has a communicator close to his forehead, which shows him interfaces that were directly projected into his mind, so he would see them with his eyes but no one else around him would see them.

As for The Bad Batch, they were more accustomed to relating with the Wookiees than the regs. Hunter suggests bold strategies throughout the arc which the other clones weren’t really ok with since the followed more strict protocol. The Bad Batch also had their own hover boat, with their "clone force 99" symbol on it.

In Season 8, it was planned for The Bad Batch to execute Order 66, and they would have been treated as cold blooded assassins, a bane to Jedi. Though it likely wouldn’t have been shown on-screen. However, this arc is mostly to show the Bad Batch working with Yoda and the Wookies.

The clones suggest to burn all the trees down in that area of the forest in order to trap the enemy into their own nest. The Wookiees are against it but they then reluctantly agree that this is the best course of action and their only chance at success. They ask for forgiveness from the trees before doing this, and they then give the clones permission to do so.

Similar to the Bad Batch episode in Season 2, there are Kinrath and Maylyas deeper in the forest, and the elements of Wookies being one with nature is similar to how Yoda, a Jedi, believes in the force. The Bad Batch don't understand it, but they go along with it.

As for the Trandoshans, their leader, Babwa Venomor, was working with the Separatists, for Count Dooku. Some Trandoshans would have had night-vision goggles and snail tanks that they could use to tear through the forest.

The fires manage to slow the Trandoshans down for a bit, but it turns out not to be a definitive solution. After escaping the enemy, Yoda and the Wookiees prepare for war. The Wookiees ask for the help of tree spirits. They venture deep into the jungle in order to go warn the other Wookiee clans that the Trandoshans are coming and to sway them not to join the Separatists.

They use what happened to the Wookiees following Yoda as a motivating factor to tell the others that if the Trandoshans were not stopped, they would soon be coming for them too. In the meantime, the Trandoshans are preparing for battle and they are shown to be very tribal with trophies of dead Wookiee heads nailed to the walls.

In the fourth episode, an all out war rages near the river because the Wookiees wanted to get far away from the trees in order not to harm their environment any further; and the battle ends up on a shore similar the one displayed in Revenge of the Sith.

Separatist craft land with Droid reinforcements, but the Trandoshans are the main enemy forces. One of the Wookies would have ripped off a Trandoshan's arms. Commander Gree and his forces would join the action with Yoda and the Bad Batch.

At the end of the battle, Babwa Venomor gets decapitated by Yoda in the same way Yoda kills Gree in ROTS, and he falls into the river along with his tank. When the battle is over, Kashyyyk agrees to allow the Republic to establish clone bases there, and became an ally of the Wookies, as they foresee a larger Droid Invasion coming in the future.

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areyoufuckingcrazy · 18 days ago

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Hi! I’m not sure if you’ve heard of Epic the musical and the song “There are other ways” but I was thinking a Tech X Reader where he gets lost and comes across a sorceress and she seduces him and it’s very steamy? Lmk if this is ok, if not feel free to delete. Xx

“There Are Other Ways”

Tech x Reader

Tech had been separated from the squad before. Statistically speaking, given the volume of missions they undertook in unpredictable terrain, the odds were precisely 3.8% per assignment. He should have been more prepared for it—should have accounted for environmental disruptions, latent electromagnetic fields, or the possibility of the forest itself being… alive.

Still, none of that explained why his visor fritzed out the moment he crossed the river.

Or why the fog grew thicker when he tried to retrace his steps.

Or why the trees whispered his name like they knew him.

“Tech…”

He halted. The voice came from ahead—feminine, melodic. Not from his comm. And certainly not Omega playing a prank. She didn’t sound like a dream.

His grip tightened on his blaster. “Reveal yourself.”

And you did.

You stepped from the mist as if you belonged to it. Bare feet sinking into moss, the water licking around your ankles. The moon crowned you, making the fine threads of your cloak shimmer like woven starlight. Your gaze was ancient. Curious. Smiling.

“I’ve been waiting,” you said, voice like silk over steel.

Tech’s eyes narrowed behind his visor. “Statistically improbable, considering I had no intention of entering this region of the forest, nor becoming separated from my unit.”

“Perhaps I saw what you could not,” you said, tilting your head. “Or perhaps I called, and you listened.”

He ran a diagnostic scan. No lifeforms detected. No hostile readings. The air was too quiet.

“Are you… Force-sensitive?”

You laughed—a soft, knowing sound that made his stomach tighten.

“I’m something like that. Does it matter?”

“It very much does. If you are a threat, I am obligated to neutralize—”

But you were closer now. He hadn’t seen you move. Your fingers touched the edge of his armor with something like reverence.

“I’m not a threat unless you ask me to be.”

His breath hitched. Just once. Just enough for you to notice.

“You’re… a clone trooper. The mind of your little unit.” You circled him slowly. “Always calculating. Always thinking. Never letting go.”

“I find control to be preferable to chaos,” he said sharply.

“And yet,” you whispered, stepping behind him, your hand brushing the nape of his neck, “you walked into the chaos anyway.”

His fingers twitched. He should have stepped forward. Should have recalibrated his scanner. Should have moved—

But he didn’t.

Because something about your presence tugged at the part of him he kept locked away. The part he filed under unnecessary. Indulgent. Weak.

“Your body,” you murmured, lips brushing the shell of his ear, “wants what your mind won’t allow.”

He stiffened.

You smiled, warm and wicked, stepping in front of him again, your fingers now brushing the soft lining between his chest armor and undersuit. “You wear this like a wall. But you’re still a man beneath it.”

“I am not… easily manipulated,” he managed, though his voice had dropped, deeper than he liked.

“I’m not manipulating you, Tech.” You met his gaze. “I’m offering you a choice. You can walk away. Return to your mission. Your team. Your purpose.”

You stepped closer, and his breath caught as your hand slid beneath the edge of his cowl, your touch feather-light. “Or you can let go. Just for one night. Just this once.”

He shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t. He could list a hundred reasons why this was an anomaly. A deviation. A risk.

And yet—

His hand came up, slowly, almost shaking. Not to stop you. To touch you. To feel you. To confirm you were real.

You leaned in.

“I can show you other ways,” you whispered.

Then your lips brushed his—tentative at first, waiting. And when he didn’t pull away, you deepened the kiss, slow and exploratory, as if trying to map the mind he kept so tightly wound.

Tech’s world tilted.

Because for the first time in years, he wasn’t thinking.

He was feeling.

And when he let his blaster fall to the moss, when his hands found your waist and pulled you against him, when he kissed you back with a desperation he didn’t know he had—

He wasn’t the mind anymore.

He was a man.

His breath stuttered.

Tech wasn’t used to this—not the heat rising in his chest, nor the sensation of lips ghosting down his neck like a whisper meant only for the softest, most hidden parts of him.

Your eyes drank him in—not with hunger, but with reverence. His freckles, his sharp cheekbones, the slight twitch in his jaw that betrayed the storm behind his glasses.

“You’re beautiful,” you said softly.

Tech blinked. “That is… an illogical observation.”

You smiled. “Then your logic needs reprogramming.”

He made a noise—half protest, half breathless laugh—but it caught in his throat when your hands touched the bare skin of his collarbone. Your thumbs pressed lightly into the muscles of his neck. Tech didn’t realize how tense he always was until he felt himself melting beneath your touch.

“Tell me to stop,” you whispered.

“I…” His voice caught. “I cannot.”

You nodded, leaning in until your forehead touched his. “Then don’t.”

He didn’t.

Instead, he kissed you—desperately this time, hands curling at your waist as if anchoring himself to something real, something grounding in the swirling chaos of magic and sensation.

You pressed against him, warm and solid and devastatingly soft. One hand curled into his hair, the other sliding beneath the edge of his armor as you slowly coaxed it free. Piece by piece, you helped him shed it—not forcefully, never rushing. Like a ritual. Like he was something sacred.

When the last plate fell into the moss with a thud, he stood before you stripped of all defenses, chest rising and falling in quiet, stunned silence.

“You’re still thinking,” you said gently, brushing your nose against his.

“I—always think,” he breathed.

“Then let me think for you tonight.”

He didn’t protest when you led him backward into the moss, the magic of the forest warming the ground like a living bed. You straddled his lap, kissing him slow, deep, like you wanted to memorize every stifled sound he made.

Tech’s hands roamed—tentative, reverent, needy. He touched like a man learning to live in his own skin for the first time. Every sigh, every moan, every tremble you pulled from him was a tiny rebellion against the order he clung to.

And gods—how he clung to you instead.

Your magic hummed beneath your skin, wrapping around his ribs like silk. It didn’t control him. It didn’t bend his will. It simply amplified everything he was already feeling, pulling him deeper into you, into this—the illusion, the escape, the exquisite loss of control.

Your mouths met again and again. His glasses were somewhere in the moss. His hands splayed along the curve of your back. And when you whispered his name, over and over, like it was the only truth left in the galaxy—

He whispered yours back like a prayer.

Like he had always known it.

Like logic had never mattered at all.

#clone trooper x reader #clone wars #star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars the clone wars #clone x reader #clone force 99 #tech the bad batch #tech x reader #tbb tech #tech #tech tbb

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toska-writes · 1 year ago

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“Where the stars can shine”

Summary: the fighting never stops, and it never will so it’s in everyone’s best interest to find the calm moments when you can.

Pairing: The Bad Batch x padawan!reader (OF COURSE THIS IS PLATONIC)

Warning: none just so much fluff!

Word count: 1261 (not proof read but what did you expect)

Notes: IM WATCHING THE NEW BAD BATCH SEASON AFTER THIS! So this is my way of manifesting everyone being alright to end the show 🥲

The war never ended, nor would it for anyone who has endured it and its intensity.

One fight always rolled into another and nothing could be done to stop it. The only way to get through it was to find the little cracks in all the bad. The place where the sun could shine and the flowers could grow.

Or in this case, the stars could twinkle.

"This is already too high for me." Wrecker stated loudly hauling himself up the side of the Marauder.

Crosshair, who was currently under Wreck scoffed to himself before clambering up the side like it was nothing. "You never seem to have that problem when we're in the air." He quipped.

"Well I'm inside then." He whined finally being assisted by Hunter who had the small hands of Omega making sure he didn't fall.

You could only laugh at the scene, leaning back on Echo you could feel him laugh too.

"Who do you think's falling off first?" You ask with a smile that was masked by the moonlight.

"The real question is," Echo leaned forward, surprised a little bit that the top of the marauders could fit 5 fully grown clones plus omega and the Jedi padawan. "Who's going to be pushed off first."

You looked back towards him and in an instant you spoke the same word together. "Tech."

Speaking of the devil, Tech's voice rang out as you looked over to where he had an arm pointing something out beyond the horizon.

"-and if you look there you'll be able to see Endor"

Omega's eyes lit up brighter than they have been in the past few days, nothing seemed to be going right for that bad batch no matter how much they tried.

"Have you guys been there?" Omegas eyes scanned the rest of her family that sat gazing with her. The sky on this backwater planet was surprisingly clear, clearer than you thought it would be.

"Eh once or twice." Hunter shrugged it off with a smile as all that Omega could do was gawk up at her big brother.

"Thats an understatement." Crosshair added quietly from beside you. With a nudge to your shoulder he added. "That meat-head over there blew up more than half the forest and got us kicked out. For life."

"Hey!" Wrecker let go of his strong grip of the Marauder with one hand to wave it at the sniper.

Omega giggled giving you a glance as you could help but laugh at the exchange. "Have you?"

You could only smile at the found memories the question brought you. Landing with your Master on a planet you've never even heard of at that time. The trees the towered over you and the abundant shades of green that you didn't even know existed. The faint sound of your master laughing as you stared up from the base of the tall trees fathomed by the hight.

"Yeah I went once I think during the Clone Wars. It was beautiful there." You spoke, the smiles spread from Omegas face to Hunters as he watched you retell the fond memories.

"Well I also did kinda crash into a tree there but other than that the rest was beautiful." Echo hide his laugh behind you as you told the more embarrassing part of the trip.

"I think I did hear about that one." The ex arc trooper spoke out. You shoved him back slightly as your gaze returned to the stars above.

"Now if you all turn your gazes eastward you can spot the Orion constellation which should also mean the Canis Major is pretty close." Tech pointed upward now, his own eyes locked tightly on the stars.

"That one has the brightest star in the whole galaxy right?" Omega filled in, whether Tech wanted to continue himself or not he could only beam down at the girl, who clearly heard this from him before.'

You smiled also recounting when Tech probably told the group for the first time.

The bounty hunters came from nowhere that day, Omega gripped on the back of Echo's armor plate with tears streaking down her face clearly scared.

Tech stood above you the, a data pad scanned over you as Hunter tried to apply some pressure to a wound you sustained on your side. Wrecker and Cross stood around the group, the sniper's gaze fixed on the darken horizon beyond.

Panicked breath sounded out and flown into the barren night, as much as you didn't want to scare Omega more you really could help it. You were scared yourself.

"Do you see that over there." Tech took your free arm in his hand and pointed up to the looming sky with it. "That really bright star?"

You were pulled back from your thoughts with the slightest nudge from Crosshair who spared you a glance, nobody else seemed to notice his movements

"I want to go to all of those planets one day." The words were light from Omega, a smile still evident in her voice.

"You'll definitely need to learn to fly then." You added shooting a look at Tech who finally spared a glance at someone else and was immersed in taking pictures of the different planets and constellations.

"If you can find another ship." Tech said mater-o-factly with a finger in the air.

"Aweeee Tech." Omega did the only thing she could think of, huge tooka eyes found Tech and with the pout of her bottom lip you could almost see the moment Tech cracked.

"More contemplation will be needed for that"

Though Omega wasn't disappointed for long as Crosshair whispered to her. "That's practically a yes."

Hunter laughed now shoving Crosshair back into a lying down position. He noted that his brother looked quite different without his armor, but it was a sight he could get used to.

Opening his mouth Tech was about to defend himself before a snore racked through the air.

"Put someone else to sleep too Techy." Crosshair jabbed a finger at wrecker who still seemed to gripped the ship tightly.

You couldn't blame him though, and is wasn't just because of Tech talking, but you did insist the stars and planets were best to see in the late night. A yawn stifled through you, Echo wasn't the warmest person but the arms that wrapped around you from the clone seemed to do it.

"It's not even that late." Omega protested but her heavy eyelids seemed to contradict her own words.

"No no, we all can't fall asleep up here or it's going to be a pain getting down." Omega curled up into Hunters chest as he spoke. He slowly started to get up.

"One of us should get Wreck." Your own eyelids battled against you as you fought to sit up.

"On it." Crosshair was the last person who you thought would offer but as his leg extended you watched Wrecker rolled over the side.

His startled yell was masked by the thud of him hitting the soft grass below.

"See it wasn't even that far." The skipper shrugged pushing himself over the edge and landing gracefully with even using the side to get down.

You chuckled as you rolled your eyes at the brothers were up to their old antics.

The chill air was a good contrast to the heated days that came before, so much fighting it seemed that it would never end.

Moments like these would always be cherished, and surprisingly Tech wasn't the one to get pushed off the Marauder.

_____________________________________

Taglist:

@arctrooper69 @thereforepizza @padawancat97 @pb-jellybeans @floffytofu @verybadatwriting @solstraalaa @ray-rook @gregorsmissingarmor

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moriaarts · 10 months ago

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ARC Trooper Corporal Jaig

Blorbo the second, Jaig the ARC of the 343rd. In house mother and bleeding heart in disguise. With the text under the cut.

CT - 8407 “Jaig” has proven herself to be a survivor. Calm, collected and aloof, Jaig comes across as a cold and unapproachable soldier. But its a mask of a hunter observing the world for signs of danger.

The name “Jaig” was given to her early in the war when a B1 droid got in close and disarmed her. It’s not in Jaig nature to go down without a fight. It’s not in her nature to go down at all. All clones are trained in hand to hand combat, made stronger and more agile than base humans. But these are necessary against unyielding mechanical fists. Knocked off her feet by a metal backhand, she remember the raw of the wind across the sands, of the LAAT’s, of blaster fire.

She registers the B1s flooding in and going for her batchmates, her squadron, helmet forgotten she goes for the nearest one and shreds out the wires in its neck. It’s a valiant effort. It’s luck. The droid reaches back, grabbing her by the face to pull her off. It’s joints seize and all thats left as it turns on her is the command prompt to shoot and keep shooting. The fucker took her eye. Tore the skin off around it.

The scar that it left was triangular shaded, the skin too smooth for the rest of her face. A jaig eye, Jai’galaar’la sur’haii’se, a shreik-hawk eye, they said. Said her quick thinking took out a platoon of clankers when the droid she hardwired mindlessly shot a downed LAAT, blowing it, sending it crashing on top of the ones storming their trench. She just remembers being pissed because they knocked her bucket off and didn't finish the job. So she gets to trained as an ARC. It’s an honour. And she agrees but it doesn't feel real. Even assigned to the 21st Nova Corps, under the command of Commander Jet, Clone Marshal Commander Bacara, and General Ki Adi Mundi.

She never really like red. Liked the long kama though. She also had not like General Mundi. The rumour was that he had ten wives. The number changed depending on the battalion they were bunking with. It was more like four. But knowing the jedi’s no string policy she's even less of a fan. Even less in the coming months before. Jaig would be with the nova corps for few campaigns. Used to smile when Block chased her around with hair shears. How Duke would always grumbled getting dirt off his armour, and asked how she kept hers so clean and not smelling of wet bantha. But besides that she hadn't known much about herself until they had met them. Two of General Mundi’s wives met them at a medical station one a doctor the other visiting from a relief mission. Pamania. She was lovely. Covered in simple jedi cream robes all except for her eyes. Eyes of deep pools of dark purple, nebulas set in russet skin. They creased when she smiled. Lashes fluttered when she cried. They visited the medical base often. Pamania was gentle with them. Patient and kind, and fierce as a forests fire when they came back in a state. Jaig thinks she liked her. The first one to call her sister. The first to run fingers through her hair rather than playfully pull it when she gave her some self sacrificing crap. The first person to kiss her on the cheek and tell her she had a right to live in this world. War or no war.

Jaig had been younger then, Naive and unsure what to do with such gentle treatment. Who knew an innocent kiss to a clothed cheek would do such damage? Jet had scolded her and within a week she was decommissioned for improper behaviour, officially. Unofficially reassigned in shiny armour to the 343rd.

Bonus:

Jaig loves the twins like her own. Especially Lash, whose quiet sarcasm is a family brand of deflection. She wants more with Ro, but Ro has a whole host of issues to make up with before Jaig is next in line. Doesn’t stop her having the ARF troopers back though. They both got on best, both being recon troops and with her 3rd in command and Ro in 2nd, they often share looks of exasperation and concern at the expense of Kiss.

Here is Captain Kiss x and the rest of the company.

WIP Playlist

#m art #clone wars #star wars clone wars #clone trooper oc #trans #trans clone trooper #Clone Trooper Jaig #captain kiss & company #for anyone curious it was all misinformation #mundi walked in on them pam was fine abt it but he was worried abt other clones getting ideas #they were married for convience but he still cares abt her honour #but by then jet had aslready done damage control #i have a comic im working on as like prectice and half a fic #but i want to flesh ouit their whole story before posting anything #anyway leki is next !

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eobe · 2 months ago

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Forest's hair is a thing like it seems 😁 So this unplanned piece is because my gorgeous chaos vod @lonewolflupe is keeping making me speechless with wholesome feedback 🙈🥰 and because drawing is my love language you get this one 💞🫶 ✨

Voice' love language is singing and as he can't sing all the time and low key loves playing with Forest's hair, he tries to "help" him with braiding.

To answer your question @eclec-tech – the ARF trooper helmets have some kind of extra air conditioner (?) at the back top, that leaves a bit extra space where a folded braid might fit in 😎

I‘ve got problems focussing today 😶‍🌫️ I wanted to tinker at the next GAR Goth Night thing, but my brain isn’t braining. I kind of have worked on this post all the day, sheer luck to have so much time. But I wanted to make some eyes shine and I was as determined as Voice 🤩✨🫶

Hope you enjoy! 🥰

Closeups on clone faces:

„Miffion almoft accomplifft!“ 🤬😂

„Eheheh, vod‘ika stop eating my hair“ 😁

As Forest is a Gen 1 clone, he shares the canine teeth (headcanon) with the Commanders 😽 The reason why he isn’t greying like them yet: No caf 🦊 and no growling 🐺 Only foresting (not giving a shit, connecting with the force and his surroundings, enters a room and everybody calms) 🌲

Taglist: @eclec-tech @lonewolflupe @bixlasagna @returnofthepineapple @sunshinesdaydream @covert1ntrovert @vrycurious @dystopicjumpsuit @chaicilatte @ladylucksrogue @spaceyjessa @freesia-writes

OC tag for my bb @crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf 🫶🌹

And my precious @foxwithadarkside for Owl Squad shenanigans ♥️

Happy and honored that you want to know more about Owl Squad, so have a bit new lore 🫶@headphones-ct-09978

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badbatchdalorian · 2 months ago

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The First Plan 99 - Part 1: Orders

MEDIA: The Bad Batch (2021-2024) CHARACTERS: Hunter & The Bad Batch RATING: T (14+) TAGS: graphic depictions of violence, Hunter-centric, torture, medical torture, psychological torture, aftermath of torture, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, broken bones, family drama, family fluff, protective siblings, non-canon compliant, childhood trauma, anxiety attacks, Crosshair rejoins Clone Force 99 (more here) SUMMARY: Hunter's capture on Daro is more than just a way for Crosshair to set a trap for the rest of their squad, and the sergeant proves just how far he's willing to go to keep his family, including their wayward brother, safe. cross-posted from ao3, where updates are more frequent

PART 1: ORDERS

Hunter chanced one more look at the busy Daro sky. The Havoc Marauder was fading from view, and with it, the four familiar heartbeats that slipped through his senses the same way he’d fallen to the planet’s forested surface.

Tech was obeying Hunter’s order to leave. He could still hear some of the chaos on the comms within his helmet, most notably Omega’s worried shouting and desperate pleading, but he’d already said his piece.

Plan 99 was what this was, even if none of them had the faith to say it, and it was the only viable option from Hunter’s perspective. He had no regrets about this, any of this. They’d still freed a fellow clone, after all; a close friend of Rex’s, Hunter had surmised.

This was a mere exchange, one clone for another, and after all Hunter had done ever since their galaxy fell into disarray on Kaller, he was no doubt the one who deserved to be left behind.

All of these thoughts were rapid-fire as Hunter watched the Imperial troops close in on his position. He’d already sheathed his knife, and now, his gloved hands were rising slowly in surrender. The comms within his helmet finally stopped, proving that either the Marauder had already left atmosphere or that the boys had at least done Hunter the favor of ending the somber torture of hearing Omega in such distress.

Hunter forced himself to focus his senses on these men and their unfamiliar heartbeats. Most, if not all, of these men were forcing their hearts to work harder than they should. They knew who they were up against, and even if the odds were massively stacked against him, they still feared him.

Hunter took more delight in that than he probably should’ve.

“Feeling alright there, lads?” Hunter called out.

Clearly, their commanding officers weren’t as amused. “Disarm him,” the commando who wasn’t currently restraining a bloodthirsty hound ordered.

Hunter allowed it, because he didn’t have a choice. As grim as the circumstances were, he still intended on making it back to his squad somehow. Resisting right now would only make things worse for him and, in the long run, the rest of them.

It was still hard to watch them take his blade, though. Hunter growled, a low sound of frustration, and grinned ferally to himself as he saw some of the troopers flinch. It was again something he took pleasure in.

Once he was fully disarmed, Hunter’s wrists were cuffed in front of him, and two troopers flanked him, each one taking a tight grasp on his arms. Hunter tugged at them out of pure spite, making their grips tighten.

“You gonna comply, Sergeant?” The commando stepped forward, further into Hunter’s space, and kept his blaster lifted at the sergeant. Hunter watched the commando’s thumb toggle the switch on his weapon to stun. “They want you awake for what comes next, and I’d like to deliver on that objective.”

Hunter shrugged the best he could. “Depends.” One of the troopers at his side ripped off his helmet, and Hunter threw the man a harsh glare. “I won’t follow orders I don’t agree with.”

The commando was nearly toe-to-toe with Hunter now, the blue glow of his visor just about eye level with the sergeant. “Is walking too tough a task for your morals, sir?”

Hunter simply raised his brow and never once let his gaze stray from the commando’s visor. “Lead the way, and you’ll find out.”

The commando said nothing, but after a few more heartbeats of staring at Hunter, he hit the barrel of his blaster against Hunter’s shoulder. The sergeant tripped back a step, but the troopers at his side kept him steady as they pulled Hunter along their commanding officer’s tracks. The commando led them into one of the Imperial transports.

Hunter used this precious time to think about his squad. He could only hope that Tech would continue to follow through on the orders Hunter would give if he could, taking them to Ord Mantell to repair the ship—because even the sergeant had seen how many hits the Marauder had taken. More importantly, though, Hunter hoped they would get Gregor proper treatment for his blaster wounds, and that he was properly rendezvoused with Rex.

What Hunter wanted as the leader and protector of their squad was for them to move on and never risk coming back to this treacherous place, instead trusting him to fight his own way back to them. As a brother, though… Hunter couldn’t help hoping, and truly knowing, that the last thing they were gonna do was pretend Hunter wasn’t being held captive here. They would come for him.

And even if Hunter was hoping for it, he didn’t want them to.

Fate, the Force, or whatever it was seemed to have a funny way of working things out. Hunter was finally facing a fitting retribution for what he had done to one of their own. He should have had to see it through, whatever the ending would look like for him. It sure as hell wouldn’t be any shred of loyalty for the Empire, though.

Of course, Hunter was still going to try to get back to his squad, but not for his own sake. It was because he refused to leave them on their own, even if he knew they were all capable enough to keep themselves safe. It was his fault they were in this predicament, wounded by the glaring absence of not one, but two brothers; they didn’t deserve to suffer for it.

And Omega… just the thought of her made Hunter ache, especially as he remembered the way she had begged for him not to do this. He didn’t want to know how she would react if something worse happened to him.

It was really no surprise, then, that the squad was acting as Hunter’s sole motivation to fight his way to freedom somehow, or at least delay whatever the Empire’s plans for him would be. If it was just rotting in a cell, then Hunter could handle that, even if it meant being locked away with his tumultuous thoughts for gods knew how long. If it was something else, something worse, Hunter would still deal with it.

Hunter was forced to focus on his surroundings when the transport touched down. Based on the frequencies thrumming at the sergeant’s temples already, he knew that they had landed back inside the Daro base. There was life and technology all around Hunter, to the point where he had to rein in his senses more than usual. Thankfully, he was already used to it inside this base, considering he had quite literally just infiltrated it—and nearly escaped it.

The transport’s doors opened, and the commando continued to guide Hunter and his flanking troopers through the busy base. Hunter kept his expression neutral, but seeing many of the troopers in the corridors still recovering from his, Tech’s, and Echo’s assault brought him a type of feral joy he struggled to contain. So much for base security, if three troopers were able to take a clone commando from right under their noses.

Hunter was soon able to recognize the detention level, where he had been not all that long ago. He was actually quite amused to realize that they were taking him directly to Gregor’s former cell, no doubt knowing for certain now that it would be empty. That made the corners of Hunter’s lips quirk up in a small smile.

The commando stopped at the empty cell and disabled the ray shield. The troopers all but threw Hunter down inside it, causing the sergeant to stumble and catch himself on his cuffed hands and knees. He turned just in time to throw them a vicious glare as they powered the ray shield back up, and the commando walked away as the other two kept their backs to Hunter and guarded the cell.

Hunter at least got himself to his feet and positioned himself on the bench inside the small room. Not having his helmet, or his knife, itched at his vulnerability, but he refused to dwell on that. Instead, Hunter steadied his breaths, listening for his own heartbeat within his ears, and began to analyze the weak points within the cell.

This wasn’t a perspective Hunter had gotten last time. The sergeant figured that his best chance would be some kind of transfer outside the cell, but he couldn’t be sure that Gregor hadn’t found a way out of this specific room during his first unsuccessful escape attempt.

Looking for a way out brought Hunter’s memories back to the last time his squad was together before his youngest brother’s apparent turn to the Empire, when they were locked within Kamino’s makeshift cell, when Hunter had tried to fight for his brother to stay just to watch him be led away, when Tech had come up with a plan to get them out. Hunter could never have imagined just how badly that would all end.

Dwelling on that part of the past wouldn’t help Hunter now, nor would wishing that Tech were here to find the cell’s weaknesses more easily. Hunter had to do this on his own, and he would, for the sake of his squad.

Unfortunately, Hunter wasn’t alone for long. He could hear the approaching footsteps as soon as they turned into his cell’s corridor. Hunter sat up straighter and reached out for the new heartbeats. There were three, though one of them was familiar enough for Hunter to realize that it was the same commando from before.

Sure enough, three figures—the commando from before, a new commando, and an officer with a crisp uniform—stood in front of the ray shield. The officer nodded at the guard closest to the locking mechanism, and the ray shield disabled itself long enough for the officer and the two commandos to step through.

Hunter narrowed his eyes at the human man as soon as the ray shield went back up. He refused to speak first, but he soon realized the officer wasn’t giving him the chance to do so, anyway.

“Sergeant Hunter of Clone Force 99.” The officer kept his arms tucked politely behind his back. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards, but he gave nothing else away. “Isn’t that what you call yourself, CT-9901?”

Hunter couldn't hold back his threatening growl at the sound of his designation. There were too many overpowering flashes of memories with the longnecks referring to him as such before inflicting the kind of pain that came with being one of the GAR’s only modified soldiers. The derogatory use of that number wasn’t just an experience he and his enhanced brothers had, but the kind of trauma they all had associated with it was devastatingly unique.

Hunter was at least pleased to hear the officer’s heart rate spike at the sound he’d made. The sergeant composed himself quickly, harkening upon the thorough training and life experience he had had as a commanding officer, and simply raised an eyebrow, beckoning—or daring—the officer to continue.

“I must say, Sergeant, I’m thoroughly impressed.” The officer added a nod of respect. “Your squad made effective work of our forces here, and even managed to successfully retrieve one of our prisoners.” He added a huff. “And that wasn’t even your full squad. You were notably down two men.” The officer’s expression grew more smug. “Or just one, nowadays.”

Hunter forced himself to ignore the piercing ache that slashed across his chest like the tip of his own blade. There was a pause, clearly meant for Hunter to fill with words, but the sergeant refused to speak. He wanted to understand this man’s angle first.

“That was quite a risk. One that’s now resulted in you taking the other captive’s place.” The officer cocked his head. “So, Sergeant, what was your objective? Why that clone in particular? There are thousands to choose from, after all, and they’re all the same.”

Hunter’s jaw tightened. The muscles locking into place on his chiseled face would be evident to the three men standing in front of him, but it was better than any more aggressive alternative. Hunter was truly just starting to understand and empathize with regs, courtesy of Echo and Rex, but such a comment about clones still sat sour in his stomach.

“It had to have been important enough for you to be willing to leave yourself, their commanding officer, behind.” The officer feigned pity in a way that had Hunter circling his jaw. “Don’t you know what happens to clones when they lose their chain of command? They need orders to follow. They’ll lose their way. I’m sure you know that, as a sergeant yourself.”

The officer took a few more steps closer to Hunter. The sergeant didn’t move, instead hardening his expression and straightening the way he sat even more. The officer stopped and bent at the waist until his eyes were level with Hunter’s.

“Why risk it, then? Why take that clone?” The officer’s gaze searched Hunter’s. “Your squad doesn’t have a rich history with normal clones, so I doubt this was of your own accord. Who gave you this mission?”

Hunter continued to look the officer dead in the eye as he finally spoke. “We don’t take orders from anyone except ourselves.”

The officer chuckled. “If only that were true. Is it not one of your own who’s become one of our most effective commanders, renowned for his loyalty to following orders?”

That searing pain returned with a burn harsh enough to steal Hunter’s breath for a moment. The chip, Hunter wanted to ground out. It was that damn chip you put in my brother’s head to use him like a puppet.

But that wouldn’t do Hunter any good here, and he wasn’t interested in talking about his youngest sibling with one of the people who was responsible for manipulating him. He simply exhaled a quiet breath through his nose and continued to stare back at the officer.

The Imperial sniffed and altered his course. “In any case, Sergeant, I was still fascinated at what I found when researching you and your squad during your infiltration.” He gave Hunter a quick once-over. “Your ‘name’ comes from your abilities, no? A master tracker?”

Hunter’s frown harshened. The officer’s sly grin widened.

“Your specialty’s with electromagnetic frequencies, correct? You bear a sensitivity to them?”

Hunter’s blood ran cold, but he remained unaffected on the outside. It didn’t take an exceptional mind like Tech’s to know where the officer was going with this.

His silence was damning enough. “Perhaps such electrical currents will be more enticing for you than my meager attempts at civil conversation. Your squad has been noted to have a preference for danger and risk, anyway.”

Hunter’s inner child thrashed inside him, begging for him to fight his way to freedom before they could do such a thing, but he maintained his composure instead. He would get through it the way he always had growing up, when he volunteered himself to answer for his brothers’ outbursts and misunderstood attempts at self-defense. This was no different, really. If anything, he was stronger now.

And he was still doing it to defend his brothers, even those who weren’t enhanced like his own squad—and their sister, his kid, too.

“We do.” Hunter had found his voice, and it was even lower than usual. “So if you really think a few electrical shocks are gonna get me to talk, then…” Hunter shrugged. “Well, it’s your resources going to waste, sir.”

Hunter leaned closer to the officer.

“And all for a clone, huh? Are we not disposable to you?”

The officer looked oddly satisfied. “You misunderstand me, Sergeant. It’s not about a singular clone, especially not the one your squad took. It’s about whoever gave you this mission.” His eyes flashed with wild delight. “And then it’s about the rest of your squad.”

Hunter’s violent itch for problem-solving was getting harder to ignore.

“If just one of you could become such an effective and loyal soldier, then imagine what we could accomplish with the rest of you.”

“That won’t happen.”

The officer grinned wickedly. “You don’t know that.” His gaze flickered down to Hunter’s shackled hands. “And you’re in no position to guarantee it.”

Hunter’s patience for diplomacy had finally dwindled. He stood and shoved his bound hands against the Imperial’s chest, seeing nothing but red as he prepared to raise his arms and bring his fists down as hard he could upon the officer’s head.

But the odds were against him, with two commandos still in the room. One of them stepped forward and slammed the end of their blaster against Hunter’s jaw, and he hit the ground before he could even see it coming. The other side of his head made contact with the cold, hard floor, making stars dance along his vision as sharp lightning bolts of pain radiated from his skull through the rest of his delicate senses.

Still, Hunter lifted his head to face the three men inside his cell, fighting through the daze to scowl at them from the floor. The officer’s words sounded muffled to the ringing in Hunter’s ears, but it didn’t hinder the sergeant from hearing them.

“We’ll allow you an hour or so’s reprieve, Sergeant, and then we shall truly see if your reputation for resilience holds up.”

Hunter narrowed his eyes dangerously at the unnamed officer and his men, ignoring the stinging on his left temple and the aching on his right as he watched them leave the cell. The smell of his own blood became apparent to his senses, too, but Hunter also elected to ignore that even after the ray shield went back up and trapped him alone inside.

Only once there weren’t eyes on him anymore did Hunter fully sit up and rest his back against the bench. He let the back of his aching head lean against it, too, his chin rising as he closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, the soft sound of air entering and leaving his lungs. That sound used to drive Hunter mad when he was first getting a grip on his senses, but right now, it was the most calming thing he had without his brothers’ and sister’s heartbeats nearby.

There was no time to be afraid, nor to take pity on himself. He reminded himself again that it was his necessary retribution for leaving another one of their own behind. He had to be ready for what would come, because the last thing Hunter was willing to do was leave more of his family within the cruel clutches of the Empire.

════════════════════

Echo was unfortunately familiar with leaving brothers behind out of necessity and survival. He was even familiar with the experience of losing a commanding officer and being left to figure things out on his own. That’s what had happened on Rishi Moon, after all, and that wasn’t counting the loss of his own batchmates, his brothers, in the process.

But even he knew that paled in comparison to what this squad was dealing with right now, because Hunter was so much more than their commanding officer—and even more than just their brother. Echo didn’t have to be around for long to know that.

Hunter was the closest thing any of them, Omega included, had to a father, someone who fiercely protected and guided them through a devastatingly harsh galaxy. And he was gone.

The Marauder’s alarms were still blaring in hyperspace. Echo didn’t have to scomp in to know that the shields were in bad shape, and he nearly groaned just thinking about how bad the carbon scoring would be on the exterior hull. Wrecker was still somewhere behind Echo and Tech in the cockpit, hopefully helping Gregor with his blaster wounds, and Omega had gone uncharacteristically silent.

Tech’s gloved fingers were flying over the controls when he finally broke their focused silence. “Echo—.”

“Yeah, I’m on it.” Echo scomped in, allowing the data to run across his vision as the familiar cold seeped into his body. Multiple alerts came up right away, and Echo ran through the necessary sequences to resolve them the best he could. He wanted this done as soon as possible, because he could practically feel this squad reaching their breaking point.

As if he’d summoned it, he soon realized the cause for Omega’s silence: she was saving her breath for this particular outburst.

“Tech!” Omega’s sudden shout was tearful and heartbroken. “You have to take us back!”

Echo quickened his pace as his organic eyesight carefully watched Tech and Omega’s interaction in his periphery. Omega was quickly approaching Tech at the controls, and he was gently, yet firmly, setting a hand on her shoulder to push her away.

“Turn around! Take us back!”

“Omega, we are in hyperspace, now.” Tech’s voice seemed as calm and informative as usual, but Echo could hear the way it subtly wavered. Even their levelest head was shaken up by what had just happened. “There is no way for us to simply ‘turn around’ as you have requested, and Hunter ordered us to leave.”

Omega continued to fight him. “Since when do we follow orders? He… he needs us!”

Tech’s eyes behind his goggles betrayed the grimace he wore under his helmet. “Hunter will manage on his own for now. The Marauder has sustained significant damage and requires thorough repairs if we are to attempt a rescue.” Tech turned his full attention back to the controls. “You must allow me to give these repairs my full attention.”

“We’ll be too late!” Omega’s voice was trembling as much as she was, and soft cries were beginning to bleed into her devastated tone. She tugged at Tech’s right arm. “Please, Tech!”

Echo withdrew his scomp as soon as he had completed the bare minimum of what he had to do to keep the Marauder flying. His helmet was still on as he bent down to take Omega by the waist and lifted her away from Tech.

“No!” Omega tried to fight Echo’s grip, but thanks to the solid metal of his scomp protecting his organic arm and his cybernetic legs, her struggles were no use. “Echo, please! Please tell him!”

“Easy, Omega.” Echo’s voice was as soft as he could possibly make it as he took her away from the cockpit. “Easy, kid.” They passed Gregor and Wrecker in the main hold and continued on to the bunks. “Easy.”

Echo couldn’t carry Omega up the ladder like this, even when she stopped fighting him and instead sat limp within his grasp. Her tiny body was wracking with heartbreaking sobs, though, the adrenaline and devastation hitting her all at once in a way no child should ever have to experience. Echo set Omega down in the closest bunk, Wrecker’s by the look of it, and held her heaving shoulders.

“Breathe, Omega.” Echo lifted his organic hand to remove his helmet and returned it to her shoulder, running his thumb in circles there to soothe her. “Just… take a few minutes. Okay? We’re alright here.”

“But he isn’t!”

Echo’s stomach twisted into a painful knot. “We don’t know that, kid. You trust Hunter to take care of us, right?”

Omega wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt and nodded.

“Then you should trust him to take care of himself, too.” Echo nodded. “Like Tech said, he can manage on his own for now. We’ll go back for him. We just… we have to make sure we can first.”

Echo gestured to the rest of the ship behind him.

“If we don’t help the Marauder now, then she won’t be able to take us back to him later.”

Omega was still crying, but the sounds were softer, now. Echo continued to hold her as she composed herself enough to speak in a quieter voice.

“Why did he do that, Echo?”

Echo let out a soft breath. “He made a choice, Omega. A choice no one should ever have to make.” He made sure Omega was returning his gaze before he went on. “He had to choose between his own safety and the squad’s, and he chose us.”

Omega’s lips wobbled even as she calmed her cries enough to reduce them to pitiful sniffles. Echo remained patient as her eyes flickered wildly around their surroundings, her shoulders hunching in on herself as if she was carrying a burden three times her own weight. Echo’s concern grew even before Omega whispered the hauntingly untrue words.

“It’s my fault.”

Echo blinked a few times. “What are you talking about?”

Omega closed her eyes and lowered her head. “I saw him jump, and I-I couldn’t catch him in time.”

Echo frowned. “Omega, if you had even tried, you probably would’ve been pulled down with him.”

Omega shook her head. “At least he wouldn’t be alone now.”

Echo moved his organic hand to the side of Omega’s face. The gentle gesture encouraged her to reopen her eyes and look at him. He faced her with all the same sincerity that his words held.

“Do you think Hunter would want you blaming yourself for this?”

Omega hesitated before shaking her head. Echo nodded.

“What do you think he’d want you to do, then?”

Omega straightened her shoulders some and wiped her eyes again. “He’d want me to listen to your orders and complete the mission.”

“Exactly, kid.” Echo gave her tear-stained cheek a gentle pat. “And that’s what we’re gonna do, okay? But there’s no point in trying if we don’t even give the Marauder a chance.”

Echo softened as he made his next point.

“This isn’t just hard for you, Omega. Trust me.”

He spared a look at the others. Wrecker was gruffer than usual while helping Gregor, and Echo could notice even at this distance that their strongest brother’s steady hands were shaking more than usual. Tech was still hunched over the controls, and he hadn’t even removed his helmet yet.

“We’re all worried. Tech especially had it hard, having to be the one to make the decision to comply with Hunter’s order.”

Omega’s gaze flashed with guilt as she averted Echo’s stare again. “Did I make him feel worse?”

Echo shrugged. “No one would blame you even if you did.” He let out his own heavy sigh. “This whole situation is karked.”

“Right.” The smallest of smiles started to tug at Omega’s lips. “Karked.”

Echo eyes widened. “Hey, don’t repeat that.” He pointed a cautious finger at Omega. “I’ll be the one in danger if Hunter finds out about this.”

Omega giggled and wiped away the last of her tears. “I won’t tell him.” She let out a breath and glanced towards the cockpit. “How can I help?”

Echo gestured with his head to the gunner’s mount. “For now, you can help us by getting some rest. We’re headin’ back to Ord Mantell, where we can finish making the repairs. Hunter will need all of us at our best, and rest is the best way to guarantee that.”

Omega steadied herself with a deep breath and nodded. “If that’s what’ll help Hunter, I’ll do it.”

Echo returned her nod. “That’s the spirit.” He stood, but kept his grasp on her shoulder, gently guiding her towards the ladder. “I’ll check on the others. Alright?”

Omega nodded again and looked up at Echo with a soft smile. “Thank you, Echo.”

Echo simply gave her shoulder a squeeze and watched as she climbed her way into her private nook. He waited until she was inside to turn around and check on the next member of the squad. Echo strolled over to where Gregor was still sitting by one of the control stations and rested his scomp arm upon the back of it.

“How’s it goin’ over here?” Echo observed the situation the best he could. Wrecker had at least done a decent job with Gregor’s bandages.

“Ah, don’t ya’ worry, I barely feel a thing!” Gregor said with a laugh. Echo was beginning to realize that was just a normal part of the man’s dialect.

“That’s ‘cause I gave ya’ a hypo,” Wrecker grumbled, looking far less amused than he usually would. He stood from where he’d been kneeling in front of the clone commando to set the medkit back where he’d pulled it from.

Echo followed, reaching forward to set a gentle hand on Wrecker’s shoulder. Wrecker paused before he turned his head to face Echo. His expression gave everything away; Wrecker had always been the one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Wrecker blinked past the dampness in his eyes and glanced towards the gunner’s mount.

“How’s the kid?”

“Better.” Echo squeezed Wrecker’s shoulder. “How ‘bout you, big guy?”

Wrecker’s jaw tightened as he faced the medkit again. He shoved it back into its proper place with more force than required. “I wanna go back.” He let out a frustrated huff. “And I hate waitin’.”

“I know.” Echo sighed and shook his head. “I do, too. But as soon as Tech and I are done with the repairs, we can go.”

Wrecker gave Echo an appreciative glance before gesturing with his gaze towards Gregor. “What’re we gonna do with him?” He managed to keep his voice to a whisper in a way that was surprisingly successful. “We can’t wait for Rex to come get ‘im.”

“I agree.” Echo pondered Wrecker’s words for a long moment. “We’ll have to take him somewhere Rex will remember. When we land on Ord Mantell, take Gregor to Cid’s while Tech and I work on the repairs. I’ll comm Rex and tell him to take Gregor from there.”

Wrecker nodded. “I can do that.”

Echo offered him the best smile he could manage. “Thanks, Wreck.” He glanced at the cockpit and gave his jaw a worried tick. “I’m gonna check in with Tech and see what we can fix before we land.”

Wrecker frowned as he also looked back at the cockpit. “He’s bein’ too quiet.”

Echo patted Wrecker’s shoulder. “I’ll take care of it.”

Wrecker gave Echo another appreciative smile before the ARC trooper stepped away from him. He finally returned to the cockpit, where Tech was now working between his datapad and the navicomputer. Echo sat down in the co-pilot’s seat and gazed curiously and carefully at Tech’s work.

“I am ascertaining that we are taking the most efficient route from Daro to Ord Mantell,” Tech answered before Echo could even ask the question. “There is limited, if any, time to spare.”

Echo grimaced. “How’s the Marauder looking?”

Tech sighed and went to adjust his goggles, but upon realizing his helmet was still on, he simply gave up and returned his hand to his datapad. “The ship is functioning for now, but we will have to complete several extensive repairs upon landing if we intend on returning to Daro.”

“That’s fine.” Echo sighed as Tech’s pace in his work never slowed. “We can divide and conquer. You give me exterior repairs and you can handle the interior.”

Tech nodded. “That is satisfactory.”

Echo waited a few beats, but Tech didn’t fill the silence. The ARC trooper let out another breath and stood, stepping forward enough to grab Tech’s helmet and slide it off for him. Tech immediately lifted his hand again to properly adjust his goggles while Echo set his helmet off to the side.

“Tech.”

The engineer cut his eyes at Echo, but didn’t stop his work. Echo set his hand on Tech’s datapad and lowered it.

“Tech…”

Tech’s grip on his datapad tightened as he tugged it away from Echo’s grasp. His eyes were widened in surprise, but Echo could plainly see the other grueling emotions swirling within their depths. Tech was never the type to act on emotions rather than logic, and in this case, he was outright ignoring the former.

“Please do not interrupt, Echo.” Tech straightened himself and frowned at the ARC trooper. “As I said before, time is of the essence. I still have calculations to run about our route, and afterward, I will be compiling the list of priorities for the repairs.”

“Fine.”

Echo held Tech’s shoulder instead as he gave his brother a knowing look. Tech was no doubt the member of the squad who Echo had grown the closest with, as Tech had been instrumental in helping Echo to adjust to his cybernetics and had even lent his hand in making significant modifications that saved Echo a lot of pain and hassle, and Echo was eager to return the favor with his own kind of comfort.

“Just make sure you believe your own words about Hunter. He’ll manage just fine on his own for now.”

Tech’s stare fell. He adjusted his goggles again, although the gesture was completely unnecessary from what Echo could tell.

“And you did the right thing, following his orders. Your actions saved all our lives.”

Tech’s brow shot up. “That is a gross overstatement. However…” Tech relaxed and offered Echo a nod, “the sentiment is much appreciated.”

Echo returned the nod. “Of course.” He patted Tech’s shoulder and sat back in the co-pilot’s chair. “Is there anything I can help with while we’re still en route?”

“Indeed.” Tech didn’t waste a beat as he nodded towards the scomp link. “I would greatly appreciate your assistance in ascertaining the route.”

Echo steadied himself with a breath and gave his scomp a quick spin. “You’ve got it.”

As Echo prepared to launch back into action, he stole a quick, quiet moment for himself, working through his past trauma the way he was always trained to. Hunter was more than capable of fending for himself for now, and he had a hell of a motivation in wanting to get back to his squad. If anything, Echo knew their sergeant’s fierce protectiveness would guide his way back to them.

The only terrifying thought lingering in the back of Echo’s mind was the other wayward member of their squad getting to Hunter first.

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next part

#the bad batch #tbb hunter #sergeant hunter #hunter bad batch #tbb echo #tbb omega #tbb tech #tbb wrecker #tbb crosshair #the bad batch fanfiction #the bad batch fic #the first plan 99 #badbatchdalorian

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awkward-tension-art · 1 year ago

Text

Darkess on Umbara Chp.12 (Rex x Reader)

Chapter 11. Chapter 13.

Friendly-Fire

cw: Rex x Reader, Reader is a medic, incorrect military procedure, graphic descriptions of injuries, blood, swearing, death and battle, Canon character death, Spoilers for the Umbara Arc, Pong Krell is an asshole, reader insert, names of non-canon dead clones, Grief, Dissociation, SUICIDE, friendly-fire, POV of dissociation, reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), if i miss a tag LMK

MINORS DNI

“Stay alert. The enemy has our weapons and our armor, they may try to trick us with an ambush.”

You kept your head up as Rex led the few squads through the dark umbaran forest. He was at the front, pistols ready.

Your location was near the back, keeping close to Tup and Dogma. You’ve learned the two were from the same batch, and it made you wonder.

How could Tup be so…sweet and polite while Dogma was so vindictive and tense?

“Watch out, Dogma!” Case in point, the trooper with a painted tear stopped his friend from stepping on a vine, “I saw that thing attack Hardcase. It'll chew you up and spit you out.” He warned, picking up a fist-sized rock, “Here, watch.” The soldier threw the stone, hitting a dark mound hidden in the ash-colored dirt. As soon as it hit the camouflage beast, the creature growled before waving its tendrils and opening its fanged mouth.

Dogma jumped back, “Ew!”

“Try not to get eaten by them,” You deadpanned, “I won’t be trying to rescue you if you do end up in its mouth.”

He was about to respond before being cut off by a barrage of blue blaster bolts.

Blue? So Krell was right. The Umbarans stole clone weaponry.

“We're under attack!”

The squads began to step backwards, getting behind cover. Two soldiers went down and you rushed past Tup and Dogma to their side. Your training kicked in as you assessed. The closest one to you had a smoking bolt right through his helmet.

Fatal shot. Instant death. His name was Uno.

The other soldier twitched and you grabbed his arm before dragging him behind one of the dark-wooded trees. Two other troopers were behind the cover firing in the direction of the shots.

“I got you,” You spoke to him, taking off his helmet.

No head injuries. Burn on his side. Most likely a graze. His name is Ryder.

An explosion, most likely a grenade, hit the ground a few feet from you. Despite that, you remained calm, “Stay awake, I’m going to fix you right up,” In one swift movement you had a patch out of one of your packs and placed over the blaster burn. You worked quickly, getting him stabilized.

Ryder flinched and groaned, but nodded, “Thanks Doc.”

“Where’s the enemy!?” One of the troopers next to you shouted, clearly unsure where to shoot.

The one kneeling beside him answered, “I don't know! I can't see anything!”

The trooper who asked the question flew back, hitting the ground. His chest had two smoldering holes through it. The plastoid melted and burned, his skin turning to embers from the heat.

Blaster bolts through the heart. Fatal. His name. What was his name? Barr. His name was Barr.

You looked up, spotting Kix tending to a writhing trooper. Another missile hit the tree above him, raining glowing red branches and burning ash down on them.

A blue shot nicked your cover, barely missing your head and you ducked.

“Get those mortars up here!” You heard Rex command. He was somewhere behind cover in front of you.

Good. Stay safe, cyare. You prayed silently to yourself.

Tup and Dogma ran forward, heavy weapons ready. They were followed by a group of about six other men, also armed with mortars. They knelt, keeping low to the ground. They fired, and the sky rang out with a familiar whistle of falling explosives.

The ground trembled with the power from such shots, and smoke began to billow from the woods in front of the 501st squads. You peaked, taking the brief moment to dash to Kix’s side and aid him with the wounded.

Just as you got safely behind cover, blaster bolts fired again from the enemies side.

“Anyone have a visual?” The clone captain asked, keeping behind the massive, black trunk of an umbaran tree. Several shots scraped the wood narrowly missing Rex, but he didn’t even flinch.

Kix stood, leaning out from behind his own cover, he steadied his scope, “Negative. It's too dark.” He dove back, barely dodging a shot directly to the head. After a moment, he peaked again, “Wait! I see them! They're disguised as clones, all right.”

The squads surged forward, charging the moment they had a visual.

Chaos reigned as blasters and grenades littered the air and ground. You kept back and out of sight, grabbing any wounded and getting them behind cover. You could manage with the supplies you had, even if the Umbarans seemed more skilled than usual.

One of the troopers, Filter, beside you cried out and stumbled back. He knelt down, gripping his smoking upper arm.

“Don’t move.” You got to his side and began to tend to his wound.

Direct hit. Bone visible. Muscles burnt. This was similar to the injury you sustained before taking the airbase. You knew exactly what to do.

As you treated him, you looked up, taking in the battlefield. Dead and injured littered the dark ground. Troopers were firing. The very earth shook with each explosion that went off. With dread, you realized you couldn’t see Rex.

You commed him, immediately, “Captain, where are you?” Your heart raced when you didn’t get an answer. You searched the battlefield again.

Your eyes landed on a dead Umbaran wearing clone armor. A puddle of crimson blood was growing larger around the body. You recognized the gold of the 212th.

So that's the supplies that were stolen. Weapons and armor of the 212th…

Your thoughts halted. Do Umbarans bleed red?

“Captain!” Tup’s voice came through the comm, “We're sustaining heavy casualties!”

You were frozen, eyes searching the field, “Rex!?” In your desperation, you commed him again.

He answered, sprinting past you, waving his arms, “Everyone stop firing!” He cried out, clearly panicked and distressed.

Rex? What was going on-?!

“We’re shooting at our own men!” The 501st captain shouted, running straight into the line of fire. He threw off his helmet as he continued to clamor, “They're not Umbarans! They're clones!”

Abandoning safety, you stood, getting out from your cover, eyes wide.

Clones!?

Rex continued forward, commanding his men in a desperate attempt to end the battle, “Take off your helmets! Show them you're not the enemy!”

As he ran through the field, the shots began to wean, but the fight wasn’t entirely over, “Cease fire! They're not Umbarans. They're clones!” Your despairing lover tackled the 212th trooper in front of him and ripped off the trooper's helmet before standing, “Look! We're clones! We're all clones!”

The battle halted in shock and anguish.

The soldiers around you took off their helmets, some dropping them on the ash colored dirt. The 501st began to step out behind cover, coming face to face with the 212th.

Their own brothers.

There was the sound of a blaster loading next to you. Filter had the barrel of his rifle settled under his chin.

“No!” You reached out, only to be too late.

He pulled the trigger.

Your stare was on his unmoving body, eyes wide and arm stretched out.

Fyre. Vim. Oz. Ringo. North. Gabe. Tro. Tess. Zeb. Sante. Reign. Pheon. Dawn. Nim. Jamie. Hek. Recon. Mav. Zeo. Fisher. Hinge. Trident. Iron. Mesh. Steele. Bruno. Zeke. Jumper. Aura. Dia. Silk. Forty. Thrall. Hardcase. Uno. Barr. Filter.

You looked up, eyes spotting Rex across the field. He looked devastated. His knees were on the ground and his head was in his hands.

Be strong. For him.

“Kix, give me your supplies!” You barked, shutting down your emotions. Coldness filled your body and blood. Your focus became sharp. The only sound your ears registered was a high pitched ringing. You no longer felt like yourself.

Save as many of them as you can. Now!

You got to action, searching the dead and triaging the wounded. The world was gone. All that mattered was saving the troopers.

You lost time. At some point, you realized that whenever you blinked, your hands were on a different soldier. The wounds didn’t matter. The blood didn't matter.

You were going to save them.

Someone else joined you in your mission to aid the wounded. Kix, you think. He gathered himself together enough to help.

Save them.

Then, you realized the medic of the 212th was beside you, helping stop the bleeding of a 501st soldier.

Save them.

You blinked again, more time had passed, and you were straddling a 212th soldier. He writhed under you from the pain of you breaking his ribs to perform CPR. Hurt but alive.

Save them. Save them. Save them!

You moved on to another soldier. You held his hand as he died, surrounded by others of both the 212th and the 501st. He had a painted twi’lek girl on his helmet. Once you stood, someone grabbed you.

Hardcase? No. he was gone.

Silk? No. you had gotten him killed earlier.

Your name was called, not your title. Not your rank. Your name. They were trying to claw you back into the present. Your mind refused, you moved on to another trooper. Tending to his wounds before someone else grabbed your wrist, halting you.

Who were you staring at? You knew you recognized them…but you had forgotten names.

Tup? Was Tup alive?

You grabbed the wrist of someone else approaching to your left. In their hand were sedatives, you recognized. The needle was aimed for you.

No. You had work to do. You had to save as many of them as possible.

They dropped the injection, and you stepped away, only to be tackled. The hard earth slammed your mind back into focus.

“You did it! There's no more injured!” Rex was on top of you, keeping you pinned. His brown eyes were wide and full of fear, “You can stop now, Mesh’la.” His breathing was shaky. His cheeks were marked with tears, “You don't need to save anyone else.”

It felt like you woke up. The world around you snapped into place. The ground beneath you was solid. The air in your lungs was crisp, and tasted of smoke and iron. The ringing in your ears disappeared.

With shaky hands, you held your lover's face. He was alive. He was here. So were you. The both of you were here, in the present.

“Are you hurt?” You whispered. Sighing in relief when he shook his head, “What happened, Rex?”

“Krell,” He answered, helping you to your feet, “Krell sent them to these coordinates to stop the enemy. He told the 212th that Umbarans were wearing clone armor.”

He fucking tricked everyone!

Your eyes roamed the former battlefield. The survivors had managed to collect the fallen, and lay their bodies down. You noticed that Kix and the 212th medic were getting names and CT numbers, all to add to the list of casualties. Too many good clones were still, waiting to be marked as dead.

Krell killed them all.

The five stages of grief ran through your body. They hit you in waves, but you remained standing, surveying the world around you.

Denial.

Anger.

Bargaining.

Depression.

And acceptance.

But right now. All you felt was one thing, creating a sixth stage of grief.

Vengeance.

“Something has to be done.” You looked to the captain. The coldness had left your body the moment Rex tackled you. Instead, every cell in your body burned with the heat of rage.

“We all know who's responsible for what happened here,” Like you, your lover held the same wrath. His beautiful eyes were a storm of righteous fury, “I’m getting a squad together. Krell will face justice.”

You wanted in.

#reader insert #captain rex #captain rex x you #captain rex x reader #star wars tcw #star wars x reader #tcw x reader #umbara arc #darkness on umbara #clone trooper tup #clone trooper dogma #501st #212th #star wars #clone wars #my writing

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