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daimyosprincess · 1 year

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SOME REX AND RELAXATION

—PAIRING: Rebels!Captain Rex x F!Reader

—SUMMARY: After a hard week, Rex makes it his mission to see that you forget all about it.

—WORD COUNT: 3.3k

—RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, Rebels!Rex, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is an adult), Dom/sub vibes, Daddy kink (bc I can’t help myself), nipple play, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering

Please let me know if I missed anything! Mando'a translations are at the end.

—AUTHOR'S NOTES: I miss Rex so this is getting posted today!!! After a rough week a bit ago, I started writing this as a comfort fic to make myself feel better and boy howdy, by the the end of it I was feeling way better 😈 Also: Rex, Wolffe, and Gregor deserve to live in comfy cottages in pastoral peace for the rest of their beautiful days. And I've decided that the clones age normally after the age of 25 so they have nice long lives ahead of them :)

This is my first ever Rex fic and I want to give a big shout out to my resident Rexpert @rexxdjarin for betaing this fic, I hope I did our captain justice 💙 Also thank you to @cloned-eyes for letting me use their amazing Rex art in my header!! That fresh out the shower Rex was some delicious inspo for this fic 🫠

Read on AO3 — Masterlist — Taglist

The only thing worse than the day you’ve had was this week as a whole. Nothing had gone right with the New Republic school going up in town, and somehow the solution to several of those problems was what you’d said a week ago… but only when that bureaucratic sop from Coruscant said it. Not to mention the pipes burst in your apartment, you slipped down some stairs in front of a street full of people (with the worst bruise of your entire life to prove it), and to top it all off, you dropped your overpriced caf all over your shoes this morning.

Not a great week.

At this point, you’re only one minor inconvenience away from snapping—the fact that it’s the end of the work week is the only thing keeping you together. And, of course, your perfect, wonderful captain of a boyfriend, Rex. You’ve been staying at his farmhouse while repairs are made to the water lines that caused the damage at your place.

He and his brothers, Gregor and Wolffe, had come to your quiet little agricultural planet a couple years ago and fixed up a few of the old houses at the edge town to live in. They mostly keep to themselves, but are always willing to lend a helping hand when it’s needed, whether it’s making repairs after the annual monsoon, donating fresh produce for school meals, or digging out flooded irrigation ditches. They are good men and the town accepts them as part of their own, even if Wolffe is a little grumpy and Gregor turns all the local women into giggling messes when he’s around.

The three of them are mending a fence on the far side of the property when you arrive at the farmstead. Usually you would have taken your speeder over for a chat, but you don’t think you have it in you after today. All you want to do is take off your bra and flop face-down on Rex’s couch to wait for the world to stop sucking—which is exactly how Rex finds you when he comes inside a few minutes later.

“Another great day then, mesh’la?” he teases with the mirth of a man who already knows his question’s answer. His work boots make a thud on the stone tiles as he pulls them off.

Without looking up, you grunt a “no” into the cushions and shake your head.

“Do you want to come shower with me or do you need some alone time?”

“Alone time,” your muffled voice answers, “then Rex time. Lots and lots of Rex time.”

His warm chuckle and beard graze delightfully over the back of your neck as he bends to press a kiss to your hair. “Alright then, pretty girl. Just relax and I’ll be back to give you all the time in the world, okay?” You give him another muffled affirmative and he squeezes your calf affectionately before heading to the ‘fresher.

Maker, he’s good to you.

A year ago you would have never thought you’d find yourself in a long-term relationship with an ex-clone trooper who’s old enough to be your father, or that you would be calling said ex-clone trooper Daddy while he makes you see stars. The Force works in mysterious ways, you suppose… not that you’re complaining. Far from it.

Your relationship with Rex might have come as a surprise but you’ve never been happier: things with him are as close to perfect as they can get. He cares for you, makes you feel so safe and loved and warm that you could melt into a puddle at his feet, and you adore him. He’s kind, strong, and compassionate, a good leader through and through. The galaxy has never made a finer man, and not to mention, a finer lover.

Eventually, you muster the strength to roll yourself off the couch and ditch your work clothes for your much more comfortable loungewear, deciding to forgo panties as a nice little surprise for your boyfriend. Snuggling under his covers that smell of him, you flip onto your stomach to scroll through your datapad. Efficient as always, Rex doesn’t make you wait long, the ‘fresher door sliding open a few minutes later. The comforting, woody smell of his soap fills your nose as you take in his broad frame glistening from his shower.

Kark, he looks good. All broad shoulders and bronze skin, thick and perfect. How has no one made a statue of this man?

Noticing your interested stare, he winks as he hangs his towel on its hook. “Feeling better, mesh’la?”

You hum your delight and click off your tablet to give him your full attention. “Yeah, could be better, though,” you add with a sneaky smile.

“Oh yeah? How?” Flicking off the ‘fresher light, he starts towards you. The mischievous glint in your boyfriend’s eye is more than enough to get your blood pumping, especially combined with his shirtless upper half.

You flip up the covers next to you, grinning up at him. “Well for starters, you could get in the bed with me, handsome.” His brown eyes sparkle when he returns the expression, the corners of his eyes crinkling fondly. “And then you can hold me and make me forget all about this entire kriffing week.”

Your captain is quite good at making you forget things, whether it be a bad day or your own name.

Obliging as always, Rex slides in behind you and loops an arm around your waist to pull you flush against his bare chest. Your body reacts immediately to his touch, the tension in your muscles slacking. He nuzzles into your neck, making you giggle from the way his beard tickles the sensitive skin there, and starts kissing every bit of you his lips can reach. When you try to squirm away from him and his beard, squealing and panting from your laughter, he just locks his big arms around you and keeps going.

“Eeee! Rex! S-stop, you’re tickling me-you’re tickling me!”

In between smacking kisses, he chuckles into your ear. “I thought you said you want me to make you forget about this week, mesh’la.” His hold loosens enough for you to wriggle around to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck and admiring how handsome he is up close.

You brush your lips over his, gently running your nails down the back of his neck and savoring the way he shivers at your soft touches; knowing you have such an effect on him makes your skin hot. “Well Captain,” you drawl with syrupy sweetness, “I was thinking something more along the lines of… this.” You roll your hips against his, sighing at the pleasant sensation.

Rex groans his rumbling approval and drops his large hands to your ass to grind you harder against his center. “Anything you want, baby, just tell me and it’s yours.”

You know what you want: to be taken care of after this shit-show of a week, to be kissed and loved and cherished like only he can, doted on and held safe in his arms. You want to completely let go and surrender—no more thoughts, no more worries, just him. Just Rex. Your perfect, perfect Rex.

Capturing his lips in an indulgent kiss, you whine your desire into his mouth when you break for air, not caring how needy you sound.

He shushes you with gentle sounds, stroking over your hair. “Of course, sweetheart,” he coos in a sinfully sweet voice, cradling your face between his palms, “you’ve had a hard week… yeah, I know, I know. You need Daddy to make it all better, don’t you?” He pulls you crushingly tight against the strong line of his body, just how he knows you like, holding all your pieces together so you don’t have to.

“Please,” you gasp, burrowing deeper into him, “Don’t wanna… don’t wanna be anymore. Just wanna be yours.” The ache of existence in your chest is already beginning to melt underneath his weight, replaced by the tender warmth of his devoted attention. The edges of your mind go liquid as you let him pour you into his mold.

“Daddy’s going to take care of you, all you have to do is listen and let him make you feel good, okay, babygirl?” You bob your head in a nod, your eyes starry and wide as you await his next instruction. Rubbing the back of your neck, Rex places an affectionate kiss on your forehead for your obedience. “Good girl. Now turn over, face out and back to me… lift your arms… yeah, just like that,” he murmurs as he slides your top off, planting wet kisses on the new skin exposed to him.

His battle-worn hands skim up the swell of your tummy to take in breasts. You’re already buzzing in eager anticipation. You push into his touch, pressing your chest out in an offer of more, and you’re to be quickly rewarded with a low groan and his fingers rolling your sensitive nipples deliciously slow. Wanting heat rises through you like a flame catching to dry tender while little mewls of pleasure fall from your lips.

“So beautiful, so warm, my sweet cyar’ika,” he purrs between more lush kisses, “I know this makes you feel good… I’m going to give those perfect tits the attention they deserve.” He gives your peaked tips a gentle pinch and you moan, the electric sensation shooting straight to swollen clit. Smiling at your vocal pleasure, Rex begins an erotic rhythm that has you bucking your hips as his fingers alternate between pinching and rolling.

“Ooohhh, y-you feel so… you feel s-so good,” you whine, writhing against his ministrations. With the way his breathing has gone hot and ragged in your ear, you swear it could be enough to make you come untouched.

“That’s it, pretty girl, just feel the pleasure… just concentrate on how good you feel, nothing else,” he instructs, his deep voice like golden honey to your ears. “Daddy’s got you now, he’s gonna take care of everything. He doesn’t like seeing his baby so stressed and unhappy.” Rex latches onto your pulse point, sucking your heated flesh into his mouth and sending waves of pleasure throbbing through your nerves.

“Nev-never unhappy with you,” you pant, reaching your hand back to push him deeper into your neck. Rex is your shining sun who banishes all of life’s many darknesses, and the match which lights the fire of your loins. He’s everything to you, and right now, he’s all you can feel and see and smell. It’s utterly divine.

“Mmm, that makes me so happy to hear, you know why? Making you happy, taking care of my beautiful babygirl… it makes me happy. Daddy loves being there for his cyar’ika and he’d do anything to put a smile on her face, you know that?” Cupping your jaw, he tilts your head back to steal the little gasps of delight dripping sugary-thick from your lips. As hot and heavy as things have become, Rex doesn’t rush. He takes his time licking into your mouth and nibbling on your slicked bottom lip, all the while kneading and rolling your breasts, ever the man to keep his word.

Molten heat rushes through your veins as his words pour over your skin, spurring you onto new heights under his generous hands—the deep swell of his voice loosens the taunt aggravation of the week still stowed in your muscles. You’re like lavish wax under his care, worked pliable by him then molded into a work of weightless art, your very existence something to be admired.

His calloused fingertips sweep over the plushness of your lower belly, the shimmering heat of your arousal converging at his touch. When he dips below the fabric of your waistband, he sucks in a breath. “No panties, pretty girl? Now you’re the one spoiling me,” he groans, his cock twitching against the cage of your back.

You let out a delighted, breathy giggle at his body’s reaction to the discovery. “I thought you might like that,” you breathe out fond and pleased, “I did it just for you.”

He brushes lower, his middle finger tracing over the damp seam of your folds and a whimper sneaks through your smile at the feathery sensation. It’s these light, almost subatomic touches that make you come loose at the seams—and he knows it. Inside the year that you’ve been together, Rex has learned your body intimately, its history and inner workings revealed in the hours you spent in his arms.

“I love to hear your sweet little laugh, and I love to know that you’re smiling,” he murmurs affectionately, cupping your slick mound, “I’m so proud of you for letting me take some of the weight off you after this difficult week.” He takes a moment to plant kisses in the soft crook of your neck and up to your ear before continuing. “Now, just lie back, let me make you feel all warm and sweet. I want to watch you melt for me… melt and leave me with all your sweet honey to lick up.”

Each word shaped by his rich rasp further unmoors you from your senses. That sensual tingling feeling of submission bubbles pleasantly across your mind, your bones softening to downey cotton as you lose yourself to the sound of Rex’s voice. You can’t tell where the vibration of your own sounds of pleasure end and his begin, but it doesn’t matter. You’re safe, so, so safe and happy here in the glowing space between his arms. If only you could have him inside, too…

“C-can I have more, please? Want more of you, baby,” you pant, grinding into his palm between your thighs.

“Of course, mesh’la, you can have whatever you like. Anything and everything, all you have to do is ask.” Pressing into your lower lips, he spreads you apart. Your teeth immediately catch your lip when his trigger finger begins languidly sliding over your buzzing clit; the delicious friction fans the flames of your desire, heating you from the inside out. A rumble of satisfaction rolls up his chest when your head falls back against his shoulder with a contented sigh.

Rex takes advantage of the new access you allowed him, dragging his hot lips over your collarbone to nip and suck little marks onto your heated skin. “Mmm, I love touching you, I love feeling you,” he hums, thick and heady, “I want you to feel how much I care about you…” He scrapes his teeth up your tender throat to capture your mouth with his own.

Stars-Maker-kriff does he kiss like a god. A king amongst men, really, who- “Oh!”

Your eyes fly open as your captain easily flips you under him like a ragdoll, pulling your pants down and flinging them over his shoulder in one fluid motion that has you gushing.

“That’s better,” he mutters between hot mouthed-kisses down your sternum and over your tummy. The way his beard scrapes over your skin has chillbumps flowering all over. “It fills me up with so much happiness when I get to love on my sweet cyar’ika and take care of her. Makes everything else go away for me, too, sweetheart. I get to just focus on you.”

His large hands skate down your ribs then down the curve of your hips to massage the fullness of your thighs. “I’ve been waiting to worship this perfect pussy, pull all those pretty sounds out of you while you come over and over… just like you deserve.”

You’re nothing more than a warm soup of sparkling sensation, swirling around the ache building in your core. Rex isn’t usually one to tease you, but it feels like he’s taking an eternity to make it between your-

“Ohhhh, Reeeex!”

Wrapping his thick arms around your thighs, he literally lifts you up to his mouth, moaning like a man tasting some paradisic fruit after months in the desert. “Fuck, babygirl, your little pussy… I could feel hot and needy it was when you were rubbing up against me, how wet and messy you were… but this? Kark. I’m so lucky to be able to kiss all over this beautiful cunt. So lucky to have this pussy, this ass,” he gives an appreciative squeeze to your behind, “and this sweet little girl all to myself.”

The air is suctioned from your lungs by the gravity of his pleasure; it’s unrelenting and all-consuming, it’s all you can comprehend. Squeezing your eyes shut in focus, you manage a reply. “S-so l-lucky to have you, Rex. You’re s-so good to me… love you… love you so much.” You cut off with a shuddering cry when he sucks your bud between his lips, not caring that you’re swiftly losing a battle you don’t want to win.

“I love you so much, my mesh’la,” he pants into your heat. “My sweet, precious girl, I’m going to give you my fingers, okay? Gonna give you just what you need so you can come all over my face.” He slips two of his fingers in his mouth, sucking and releasing them with pop before easing into your soaked entrance. The twin sounds of your satisfaction fill the room, the stout stretch of his fingers making you moan while the clutch of your cunt has your captain grunting praises against your clit.

“Kark, you’re so tight and wet, so perfect… clenching around me,” he crooks his fingers as much as he can in the restrictive walls, “Don’t hold back, beautiful, let me hear you. Let me hear how good you feel.”

His words scorch your nerves to ash with a molten magma of pleasure that erupts from your core. Your spine bows up, making Rex find the soul-shattering spot that makes you scream in ecstasy. The world around you snaps into sharp focus, bright and loud before exploding in a shower of stars and lambent energy. You’re unmade, unwound down to your most basal form of hot-blooded, carnal need where time and worldly matters no longer reign in your existence. Primal satisfaction and the thrill of euphoria rule you instead for several effervescent moments.

When the flood of electricity flowing from every cell and synapse begins to ebb to jolting aftershocks, the sweet praise of your lover floats over you in warm waves. “So beautiful like this… keep going mesh’la, take what you need… I love you so much… love making you feel good, love feeling your perfect pussy on my fingers…”

Reverent kisses are bestowed like offerings to the divinity of your pleasure as you materialize back into reality one pounding heartbeat at a time. Joy radiates from every molecule in your body, the stress of the mortal coil dissolved and washed far away, leaving you light, free, and happy. You want nothing more than to revel in this glorious sensation with the love of your life, and you call out to your captain with a breezy sigh, “Rex…”

“Cyare…”

“Want you close, my love, want you to hold me.”

You barely register his movement in your hazy after-glow, but soon your chest is pressed against a familiar wall of muscle and there’s a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Snuggling into his open warmth, you nuzzle into his neck and inhale Rex’s timber-fresh scent.

Safe… happy… love. Him. Forever.

Your hazy thoughts drift across the clear sky of your mind, eventually coalescing into a nebulous sentiment your lips can form around. “Rex… love you so much… thank you, baby.”

Curling around you tighter, Rex’s beard brushes over your shoulder as he leans in to kiss your temple. “Anything for you, my sweet, perfect girl,” he smiles into your hair, “You are everything to me, the light of an old soldier’s life. I will always take care of you, my mesh’la, no matter what.”

And with the certainty only love can bring, you know him to be true.

MANDO'A TRANSLATIONS

cyare - beloved, love

cyar’ika - sweetheart, darling, (a diminutive of cyare)

mesh'la - beautiful

#once again i will think i am clever with these titles lmao #zwei writes #captain rex #captain rex x reader #captain rex x f!reader #captain rex x you #captain rex fanfic #captain rex fanfiction #captain rex smut #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #fanfic #some rex and relaxation fic

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xecutivecucumber · 6 months

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Executive Cucumber's thoughts on the Bad Batch: Season 3x06 and 3x07 (I'm pretty sure I'm formatting this differently every time. Oh well)

Okay, there's a subject I'm going to have to postpone until the end of the post because I want all my thoughts on that to be together: the main operative clone. And the rest might be slightly out of order. I'm also doing this before I see anyone else's thoughts, just so we get the pure version.

Let's go!

I honestly thought that Senator Singh and Riyo were dead meat. But no, they're fine because REX IS COOLER THAN ANYONE. Ugh that man. Freaking throwing the grenade back at him.

Clones are beautiful. That is all.

THAT'S THAT ONE PLACE FROM THE OG CLONE WARS MOVIE!!! TETH!!!

Howzer I love you but if you touch Crosshair we will be having words.

I am actually really proud of Crosshair and his restraint this episode. He could have been really cutting to Howzer.

OMEGA WITH THE TOOTHPIIIIICKS and Hunter is jealouuuus

EDIT: ECHO AND THE CROSSBOW HE'S SO SWEET

WHAT DID THEY DO TO YOU CROSSHAIR

It's really nice to see normal clones being normal again. (Too bad it doesn't last)

There's something up with Omega. I'm not going to lie, I think that she and Rex are going to plan to get her captured in order to track her back to Tantiss.

HOWZER STOP DISTRUSTING CROSSHAIR THIS MOMENT

I appreciate that Hunter doesn't seem to distrust Crosshair during this point.

...they really shouldn't have brought that operative back.

Rex is considering stealing Omega, I swear. I love that he gets down to her level.

WOOOOOOOOOOOLFFE (Plo would be so disappointed in you)

It's...odd to see these normal troopers with him.

It's also strange that he cannot comprehend that the clones could be traitors at first.

STOP DYING YOU BEAUTIFUL REGS

'She only bites half the time' I'm pretty sure Omega is lying here but I don't care.

CROSSHAIR IS SUCH A WORRIED DAD HOLY CRAP. 'Oh, I'm much worse' I LOVE YOU

And this just gives such a little insight into how the Batch was when they were together. I have a feeling that Crosshair was a fusser and a nagger.

And I love how Howzer's natural and correct conclusion is: 'no one evil could love that child.' (Unless you're Nala Se)

Hey, actual candor from Crosshair. I keep saying this is who he always was under it all, but I do think he's healed somewhat, at least towards regs. The healing power of Omega.

'Too bad' I LOVE THIS MAN

STOP DYING REGS

Rex talking down Wolffe reminded me so much of him trying to talk Jesse down. So ow.

Okay, what ROCK have they shoved Wolffe under for the last YEAR??? YES THE EMPIRE WOULD GET RID OF THE CLONES YOU DOG BRAINED IDIOT

(Plo would be proud that you let them go)

...they just killed all of Rex's clones, except Howzer and Gregor. And I have a bad feeling about Howzer. STOP TAKING THINGS FROM REX HASN'T HE LOST ENOUGH???

Okay here we are, at the big topic. Hold onto your pants.

That operative clone. Is. Tech. Because if he is not, they are purposefully using the narrative to deceive us.

I might miss a few things, but that's because I'm up past my bedtime and I've been up too late the last few days.

1. The falling and water parallels. This clone falls a LOT during this episode and dives into a lot of water. He even falls into mist. This time it's to kill and capture his siblings instead of save them.

2. The injury. This clone is hobbling around a lot after his injury, which was immediately reminiscent of Tech's broken leg at the beginning of season 2. Both of them are forcing themselves past their limit to achieve a mission. Specifically with injured legs.

3. General attitude and demeanor. In combination with the stealth and injury, this clone has a more hunched posture. His speech patterns are more formal, though we haven't really heard a lot of other clone operatives talk with their helmets on. But he's also apparently allergic to orders. I first thought that he'd be out of the chain of command, but they would have told Wolffe that he wasn't in charge of the operative if that were the case. Or the operative would have straight up told him 'I don't take orders from you' instead of staring awkwardly at him. Instead he runs off and does his own thing. While injured. Not to mention the buttons on his gauntlet. The other clone operatives don't have those.

4. The cybernetic legs. Now we don't know for sure if Tech would have cybernetic legs, but it seems likely for a severely injured trooper. And when Crosshair is looking at the heat signature, you can see that his legs are blue instead of yellow or red. No heat. Not organic.

5. What he says to Crosshair. 'You could have been one of us.' 'You chose the wrong side.' Yes, he's talking about Crosshair resisting the re-education. But flip it on its head real quick. 'You could have been one of us. One of the Bad Batch.' 'You chose the wrong side. The Empire.' Those lines very easily have double meanings.

6. An interesting one is when he starts moving rocks after the explosion. Why would he do that? Why not immediately go find another way in? He's moving only the smaller rocks. There's a large one in the way that he couldn't move himself. And he doesn't get the rest of the troopers to come move it when they arrive. He almost seems confused.

Like he's somewhere else after an explosion, having to move rocks. Like in the Crossing.

I know that this hardly seem like iron clad evidence. But in the language of story telling, it's practically screaming in our faces.

And I'm so glad he's back. I missed him. He won't be himself for a while, but I legitimately believe we'll get one last fight with the Batch all together. Because brain washing is a heck of a lot easier to fix than being dead.

My sister is doing the good work and creating a tik token about it, and I'll probably share it here when she's finished.

(We're getting the episode 'Identity Crisis ON MY BIRTHDAY and so help me if that's about Tech)

Honestly I thought I'd be more excited, but I spent the entire two episodes forcing myself into not having expectations and also I might be in shock.

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zoeykallus · 1 year

Note

Hi! I hope that you are having a good time and have been able to get some rest.

I would like to make a request featuring clones of your choice.

How do you think the Clones would react to meeting their S/O's sibling, who happens to be their identical twin?

Sounds like fun 😊

So, I picked some clones and scenarios that came to mind 😅

Fives/Rex/Crosshair/Gregor x TwinReader HCs - I've Seen That Face Before

Fluff/Humor/Confusion

_____________

Fives

He comes swinging into your apartment as usual, with the spare key he got from you last week. He doesn't know that your sister is visiting. You are in the open kitchen and can see him coming into the living room. Just the way Fives is, he puts an arm around your sibling's waist and says, "Hello, beautiful, I missed you". But at the same moment he says the words, you see his facial expression change. "Something's wrong here," he says quietly, confused, alarmed. "You must be Fives," your twin says dryly, squirming out of his arm, "I can say Fives, can't I?" "Uh, sure, but you can also call me confused." Then he hears you laugh and looks in your direction. He lets out a sigh of relief and comes over to you, hugging you and kissing your face. "There you are," he says with a grin. "Yes, and I see you've met my twin sibling as well". Fives nods to your sibling with a shy smile and says meekly, "Sorry for the stormy greeting."

Your twin waves it off, "Don't worry, you wouldn't believe how often we get confused". Fives laughs and says amused, "You do know I'm a clone, right? Mix-ups with outsiders are a daily occurrence for us. Well, now I know how it feels to be on the other end of this situation"

Rex

He is so stressed, you have a date, but due to a chain of unfavorable circumstances beyond his control, he is late, almost a whole hour. He arrives at the meeting place, the small coffee shop where you met, at the table where your twin is sitting and waiting for you because you are still getting pastries. Rex knows that you wanted to bring a sibling, but he doesn't know about your resemblance. He kisses your surprised twin on the cheek, presses the bouquet of flowers into their hand, and your twin looks at him, blinking, as he sits down across from them at the small table. "I'm so sorry darling, I know we're going to miss the movie, but maybe we can still make the night screening" "Rex-" He raises his hands and interrupts your twin, "I know, I know, it's happened a few times now, unfortunately because of work. I'll make it up to you. I promise," he smiles suggestively, leans forward a bit across the table and says conspiratorially, "Tonight, when we're alone again, I'll spoil you rotten." "Rex I-" He continues smiling mischievously, "The full program anything you want, I'll be your slave tonight...or you're mine depending on what you feel like" "Rex-"

He blinks and stares at your twin. "Where's your sibling anyway, didn't they want to go to the movies with us?" Your twin finally blurts out, "I AM THE SIBLING!" Rex stiffens, stares thunderstruck at the person he has in front of him, then notices a few tiny little differences. If he hadn't been so rattled, he might have noticed sooner. "Oh... oh maker" He sees you coming toward the table and repeats, "Oh dear maker.... please don't tell how much I just embarrassed myself" Rex says quietly pleading with your twin. "Let's see how well I like you after tonight," Rex gets in response with a cheeky little grin.

Crosshair

He already knows that he will meet your twin, he is more or less prepared. And even though he's used to seeing many of the same faces through his clone brothers, he's still a bit surprised when he sees you with your sibling. "And you're sure you're not from Kamino?" he asks dryly. You chuckle. "No, Cross, we're not clones," you assure him. Your twin seems less amused, eyeing your boyfriend critically. Then he does something thoughtless, a stupid joke he quickly regrets. "It's good to know that there's a second copy of you. If it doesn't work out between us, maybe it will work out with the twin". Your twin says dryly, "Certainly not. Better get rid of that idiot fast". Crosshair wants to sink into the ground, but he raises his hands placatingly. "Woah, relax. It was just a joke. Admittedly a stupid joke, as I have to say now in retrospect. It sounded more amusing in my mind." Your twin rolls their eyes, and Crosshair realizes he's gotten himself in hot water. He looks at you cautiously, seeking help. "Kitten, you know it was just a stupid joke, right?" You laugh softly, roll your eyes, and say, "Of course I do." Your twin, however, can't quite warm up to your partner, and that probably won't change.

Gregor

He comes to the meeting place and sees you both there. With his shy little chuckle, he says, "Okay, firstly, I'm sober, I just wanted to establish that. But I still see you double, darling." You both roll your eyes but have to giggle anyway. "Cute," says your twin. "Told you so," you say with a laugh, pointing to the seat next to you, whereupon Gregor sits down with you and presses a kiss to your temple. Your twin asks, "And, how is it for you, to know that there is a twin?" Gregor shrugs and says lightly, "Well, I have a lot of brothers who are practically identical. Your sister doesn't have a problem with that either, does she?" You both nod. "Good point," you say with a smile, "But you're still unique." Gregor kisses your forehead again, "That's sweet of you, but there are also differences between you two that I saw right away. I'm sure there are a few more that you only find out over time" "Like what, for example," you ask curiously.

"Your posture, the way you move, is different, not too much, but enough that it's noticeable when you look closely. The way you talk, emphasize words. Even in appearance, there are very subtle, differences, hardly noticeable if you don't look closely, but they are there." Your twin says, "You should hold on to that one, he seems smart and attentive, especially the latter is rare to find." You say with a satisfied smile, "Don't worry, I plan to do just that." Gregor says with his trademark giggle, "And I'll be happy to let you hold me."

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

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#star wars #crosshair #fives #rex #gregor #captain gregor #captain rex #arc 5555 fives #ct 7567 #clone headcanons #star wars headcanons #twins #headcanon #asks #requests #rex x reader #fives x reader #gregor x reader #crosshair x reader

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wardenparker · 1 year

Text

The Viper's Bride - ch 15

Oberyn Martell x female reader x Ellaria Sand x OC Co-written with @absurdthirst

The second Prince of Dorne has lived under the illusion that he would not be forced to wed for his entire life. He has enough lovers and illegitimate children to make him a legend across Westeros, and the love of his soulmate Ellaria Sand to content him. But a contract between his brother and a lord from the north will catapult him into a match that may prove to be as complicated as it is intriguing. Especially when he learns that you already have a soulmate of your own.

Rating: Mature, but as always this blog is 18+ Word Count: 11.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: terrible parents, age gap 10+ years, arranged marriage, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, internalized homophobia. Reader is described as having hair long enough to braid. This is a MMFFF polycule, folx. Get on board or don't click to keep reading. Pregnancy!* Talk of previous grievances, incest reference (Lannisters gonna Lannister), blink and you'll miss it mention of homelessness. As always, there is sexy talk. It is Oberyn, after all. Summary: The day before Oberyn is to represent Tyrion in the Trial by Combat, your extended and elaborate family comes together to celebrate in anticipation of the fight. Notes: First up, I'm working extra shifts and even though it's my dream job I'm tired y'all 😂 so sorry for any errors I missed. But also! We're almost at the end here, folx! We'll have one more chapter after this and then the epilogue. Thank you all so much for sticking around to watch this polycule grow!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14

It is three days before the Mountain arrives in King’s Landing. The Trial by Combat had been announced throughout the capital on the day it was agreed and the days since had been dedicated to the building of a great arena for the event. Every noble in the keep thought of it as no more than sport — every noble except the members of your party and Tyrion Lannister himself, who all had far more at stake. For the group of you, the days of anticipation have been agony.

“They are simply playing a game.” Oberyn hisses, standing in nothing but his breeches as he sharpens the spear he wishes to take into the ring. He’s already discarded several, broken in training, though he is now resting until the time where he faces Gregor. “Wishing to gain the upper hand by delaying, thinking I will become impatient.” He scoffs. “As if I have not waited years for this.”

“They have no idea of your true determination, lover.” Ellaria has seen so many shades and versions of this need for revenge that no part of it could surprise her anymore. She knows it could have been the singular focus that drive him mad, and that it is oddly fortunate that he escaped that fate.

“They do not know me or the Dornish need for justice.” He muses grimly. “They will discover it, publicly.”

“And then we will be rid of this place.” You have Margaery’s hand in yours as the two of you sit on the nearby chaise together, and you squeeze it gently in your fingers. It has only been a few days but the news of her marriage to the new Dornish lord had caused an outpouring of sentiment against her family and her specifically. Thankfully, Olenna Tyrell seemed more amused by it than anything and promised her granddaughter that they would all forget when the next scandal broke.

“I am looking forward to seeing Dorne.” She admits as she glances over to where Raeden is sprawled with Ellaria on another chaise. “I have heard about it and wish to marvel at its bright beauty myself. Especially the Water Gardens.”

“You could have your honeymoon there,” Ellaria suggests, leaning over to kiss Raeden and glad to talk about something other than tomorrow’s fight. “Locked up in your rooms fucking to your heart’s content until you are full of your lord’s babe, and then you can rest in the Gardens for all your pregnancy.”

“Perhaps I can also sample the prince’s cock once I am carrying Raeden’s heir.” She wears a small smirk as she greedily watches the lean lines of the older man. She’s sucked his cock, several times, but like Raeden with you, he would not risk her husband’s true heir being called into question.

“I would very much like to watch that,” you hum, turning your head to nip at her neck and pulling the younger woman into your lap. The two of you have become much closer in just a few days, much to the delight of your husbands.

“I will be very eager to sample your cunt.” Oberyn chuckles, looking up from his spear. “Although tonight.” He grunts, his eyes dark and lusty when he looks at Raeden. “I want to have your husband tonight.”

The statement hangs in the air between all of you, and Raeden is the first to nod. “You will. You will have me.”

It has been a long time coming, Margaery knows this, even with as short a time as she has been tangled in this group. Not once has she felt slighted because she does not bear any marks on her skin from the four of you. “It will be a night to celebrate.” She decides. “In anticipation of your victory.”

“You will witness true victory tomorrow.” Ellaria agrees, fire in her eyes as she gazes up at Oberyn. “They all will.”

He’s sure of himself, almost to the point of brashness, but he has also commanded his own company with the Second Sons. Survived the fighting pits and his reputation was well earned. Still, he is grateful for the support of his soulmates and his lovers. “Yes they will.”

“We should feast tonight.” The idea had formed in your mind yesterday and lingered, something that you have learned to pay attention to. The idea that it could – however unlikely he seems to think the possibility – be your last night with your husband makes you want to sob like you have just heard the news that he would be champion all over again.

Oberyn turns towards you, watching you for a moment before he nods. “Get dressed, Princess.” He decides. “You and I will go to the market and order our feast.”

There is no reason to point out that Cal or Leyth could easily see the Dornishman in the market. Everyone here knows that. But he wants to spend time with you, and you want more than anything to hold his arm while you walk and pretend it is simply a normal day. “I will only take a few minutes,” you promise him, pulling yourself up off the chaise and away from a reluctant-to-let-go Margaery.

“Take your time.” He smirks. “Wear something beautiful.” He wants you to be seen, wants to be seen with you. Firmly believing appearances can affect the memory of the day.

“I have just the thing.” Enough weeks had passed in the Capitol that you had been able to order gowns from a dressmaker with knowledge of Dornish fashion, and you had intended to save it for your arrival in your new home, but this seems far more important. You disappear into the next room to extract it from your trunk with a smile. Oberyn will be quite surprised.

Oberyn sets the spear down and walks over to the table that has a bowl of clean water with soap and cloths next to it. As much sex as everyone has been indulging in, it had seemed prudent to keep the water on hand. He starts to bathe his chest, sweaty from the day and wishing to freshen up while he waits.

The group of you have all packed. Determined to leave King’s Landing in just two days’ time, most things have been put away for the journey. What is left to amuse yourselves with is sex, books from the keep’s library — and usually more sex. The difference is only when Oberyn and Raeden are in the practice ring, but when they return they are usually ravenous for company.

It takes little more than ten minutes for you to emerge from the chamber in the gown that you had carefully selected the colors and fabrics of weeks earlier — gold trim making the colors of fire seem to dance with every step you take. The sheer outer layer sparkles and shines, and the layer underneath flows while still showing off your figure. It preserves that feeling of modesty that you are accustomed to with significantly less fabric and a form unmistakably Dornish flare. Even your slippers are more like the ones Ellaria wears each day, leather platforms tying halfway up your calves with amber lacing. “Are you ready, my prince?”

“Star.” Oberyn’s eyes widen and he groans as he takes in your appearance. “I will have to wear my sword so no one could try to steal you from me.” He hums, cock twitching in his breeches. “The seamstress who made this for you deserves every coin you paid her and then a hefty sum.”

"There are others," you promise him, glad to see the light in his eyes even over something as simple as a dress. "I gave her double her fee when I saw how fine the work was. Do you...do you truly like it? I know you have said many times that you wished I wore more Dornish style gowns."

“If I could show you now how much I like it, we would not feast tonight.” He growls, fingers tracing over your bare shoulder and sighing softly at your softness.

"You will show me later." Later, when he has all of you at his beck and call for whatever it is he might desire. But for now you take his hand and kiss his palm tenderly. "Let us go and walk. We will show the capitol that Dorne is not afraid."

“That’s my girl.” He curls his arm up and wraps your hand around it, looking at Margaery, Raeden and Ellaria. “We will be back. And I will want all of us in bed. So make sure you do not tire yourselves out.” He chuckles.

"I swear it," Ellaria chuckles, with one hand over her heart. "I will teach our newlyweds about edging if they need attention."

Margaery tilts her head curiously and smirks at Ellaria. “What is that?” She asks innocently.

The chuckle turns to a throaty, pleased laugh, and Ellaria sits up to kiss Oberyn before bringing Margaery into her arms. "Go and enjoy yourself, lover," she tells him with a lascivious grin. "We will be well occupied here."

“Come, Star.” Oberyn smiles as he guides you out of the chambers and immediately runs into one of Cersei’s servants. “Splendid.” He hums, leaning into the girl. “More water is needed.” He tells her. “There will be an orgy in these rooms tonight.”

She looks positively affronted by the notion but nods nervously, scurrying away as fast as her feet will carry her. "I suppose it does not matter that Cal could easily have fetched our water?" You ask, raising one eyebrow at him as you continue down the hallway. "You would far rather that it get back to Cersei's ears."

“Absolutely.” He chuckles and starts the slow, unconcerned stroll with you towards the front doors of the Keep. “She will either stay far away or have to come interrupt. Either way, I will now that she is wondering who is in the chambers moaning.”

"Whomever we want to be." A few months into your arrangement - and your marriage - it is safe to say that you are far more comfortable with yourself and with sex than ever before. "And that bothers her, too."

“I would like Cal and Leyth with us tonight, my love.” He ventures, patting your hand. “Do you have any objections? Only if they wish to join.” He won’t force them to, of course. He wouldn’t do that, but he wants to touch them again and tonight seems to be a fine night to do so.

"No objections at all." He could ask you for the moon and you would only tell him that you need to find a ladder tall enough. "They have missed being invited to your bed."

“As long as you are comfortable with it.” There has been plenty to keep him occupied and satisfied throughout the last weeks, especially discovering the relationship with you, so he had not ventured to invite anyone else.

“My love,” you squeeze his arm gently under your hand as you walk together. “There is very little you could ask for tonight that I would hesitate to grant you. I hope you understand that.”

Exiting the keep, Oberyn is quiet for a little while, thinking of what he wishes to say. It is only when the crowds begin to gather, farther away from the castle does he begin. “My love,” he sighs softly. “I have sent word to my brother.” He tells you. “Informing him of our valid marriage and my expectant heir.”

“That is good.” Once, he had thought to breeze into Sunspear and amuse himself with informing Doran of what was technically your elopement. The fact that he has done otherwise is sobering, but somehow comforting in its realism. “I am sure he will be very glad of the news when it arrives, considering how upset you were when you left Dorne.”

“Word would have already reached him.” He tells you quietly. “I sent a raven the day I took on being Tyrion’s champion.” He admits, looking past the merchants stalls as they come into view towards the harbor. “I also made sure that Raeden’s house is secure. My brother would do right by him.”

“Thank you, my love. I know it means the world to him.” It sounds as though Oberyn has been getting his affairs in order, and the implications of that make your shoulders tighten and your limbs feel heavy as you walk together. Tomorrow he will fight to the death to honor and revenge this sister, and the terrifying truth is that he could be the one to lose. As cocky - and as talented a fighter - as he is, Oberyn is not a stupid man. “Should the need come, I will make sure your Sand Snakes are as well cared for as you could ever wish. Ellaria and I will not let them want for anything.”

“I will be there to see them.” Oberyn promises. “However.” He slides his arm down to take your hand in his and bring it up to his lips. “Every Dornish lord here, all their men, will see you safely from the city.” He promises. After he had accepted the role, he had gone to see them, without Raeden so he could speak frankly to them. He wanted to make sure the other lords would wholly accept your lover as Lord Sunstone. They were happy to have a new lord amongst the ranks, especially one who chose Dorne. “You need not fear any abuse.”

“I do not.” And that, thankfully, you can count on the truth. The lords of Dorne had been surprised by your sudden appearance in Oberyn’s life but accepted you fully. “And I know that you will do everything in your power to come home with us. I do not doubt that even for a moment.” You do not doubt it, but you have learned a healthy fear of the unknown.

“I will.” He agrees, squeezing your hand and smirking at you. “Let is plan this feast. I wish to make sure that we have a night to remember.”

“It would be impossible to forget a night with you.” As sentimental a thing as it is to say, you truly do mean it. Oberyn has changed so much about your life and all of it has been for the better — how could you forget even a moment of that?

“I wanted to tell you this privately.” He admits quietly. “I know that you are scared and I will win, but I thought it would making you feel better. In case the worst happens.”

“I am scared.” There is no use denying that and you would not be cruel enough to disrespect him like that. “But only because I know that life is unpredictable. And I am grateful that you are open with me. That you understand it is not that I do not believe in you. Because that is the furthest from the truth.”

“All men must have some fear.” Oberyn admits quietly. “Do not have fear is to not wish to live. And then you have already died.” He watches the people that move past the two of you and hums. “The true test of a man is conquering that fear and not letting it turn him into a coward. Using the fear for his own purposes.”

“I will have to remember that.” In the meantime, because the fear you have is for him, you lace your fingers together tightly as you walk. “May I ask you something, love?”

“Anything.” He insists. “You know that, my love. I will hide nothing from you.”

“You may object to the request and I would understand that.” He nods when your eyes meet his and you return the gesture, biting your lip slightly. “I—it is only that…I cannot stop thinking of the baby.” So much so that your hand has been unconsciously resting on the side of your still unchanged belly as you walk. “If anything were to happen to you tomorrow…I wondered if we might be able to choose a name? You should know your ninth daughter’s name, if the worst happens.”

“I think we should also pick out a son’s name.” Oberyn grunts, even though he is smiling. “For the boy the babe might be.”

“I think if I were to bear you a son, no one would believe he was yours,” you half-joke, glad that Oberyn is humoring your anxieties and making the topic sweet instead of calling out your nerves.

“They will when he looks just like me and fights at the first insult to his mother.” He predicts with a proud grin.

“Perhaps that would be enough.” You smile at the thought, though it is a thin thing. Somehow in your heart you know that carrying another of his daughters is more likely than anything. Still, it is best to be prepared. “But you would not have him named for you.”

“I believe the boy needs to forge his own reputation, not live in the shadow of mine.” Names have meaning in this time, and he would not saddle his son with his. Giving him freedom to be whomever he chose to be. “That is why I would not name a son after me.”

“Then you would not want to name him after any family? Our only after you?” The logic does make sense to you, and you nod as you walk. The marketplace is open and though people may stare you have learned to pay them no mind.

“Only after myself.” He pauses and turns towards you. “But I forbid you naming the child after your bitch of a mother.” He warns, not wishing the revisiting the past every time you looks upon a girl with that name.

“I would rather name her after my father’s soulmate that I never even met then name her after the woman who abused me,” you agree, shaking your head sadly.

“Apologies, my love.” Oberyn leans in to kiss your lips softly. “Forget I mentioned it.”

“Mentioned what?” Willing yourself to simply forget the mention of her and move on, you offer Oberyn a bright smile and steal another kiss. “I believe we were choosing names for a son?”

“Do you have any ideas?” He asks curiously. Wondering if you had imagined the names of your children before now.

"I used to tease Antony that I would name my son for him any time he did me a small favor." The sweet, nostalgic memory of an older brother doting on his younger sister brings a bittersweet smile to your face. As much as you might have told your brothers that they drove you crazy, you miss them desperately. "Anytime he did something as little as bringing me a pencil to write with, I would dramatically declare that I would honor him with naming my son Antony. It was...just a silly thing. But I suppose I never thought of anything beyond that."

“Would you wish to use that name or a piece of it?” He asks, smiling softly at the image of a young girl promising her older brother to name her son after him.

"Antony is a good name." Strong but not harsh, you had always thought it a very nice name aside from all the of the teasing. "And...Antonia is lovely, as well?"

“Naming our daughter after your brother?” He barks out a laugh even as he seriously thinks about it. “I like it.” He admits. “Antonia Martell.” He shrugs. “Rolls off the tongue better than my thought towards a name.”

"What was yours?" He has named eight daughters already, you cannot discount any ideas he might have with so much practice behind him.

“Marella.” He shrugs slightly, unconcerned. He will name the babe whatever makes you happy and be proud of it.

"Oh, that's lovely." Rolling it over in your mind though, you frown a moment later. "Although Marella Martell would be quite the tongue twister."

“Technically, she would be Princess Marella of Dorne, when people address her.” He teases. “But Antonia is much nicer.”

"I wish she was here already." It feels like a ridiculous thing to lament, but you wish it so that he could hold her. Because the fear that Oberyn might never meet his next child is creeping up your neck as if it were high tide on the rocks.

“She will come when she is ready.” Even if he teases you about giving him a male heir, he feels like you are carrying a girl. “Squawking and screaming as she shakes her fist at the world.”

You squeeze his hand again as you swallow your fears, and turn into the marketplace with him. “She will be so adored.”

“By so many.” He agrees, sighing softly. “I cannot wait to show you Dorne.”

“I hope you will show me everything.” In the weeks and months since your marriage, you have become more and more eager to see your new home. “Every time Ellaria speaks of the Water Gardens, I ache to see them.”

“We will swim in the gardens naked.” He tells you with a grin. “After the children are asleep.”

“I see you already have plans for conceiving your tenth child,” you tease, knowing he means sooner than that.

“Perhaps.” He chuckles and reaches over to rub your stomach. “I do not think we will stop at one child.”

“I certainly will not stop sharing your bed.” You could be more vulgar, but you are in public.

“It would be a dour day when you decided to stop sleeping in my bed.” He grunts. He does not think that would ever happen, despite originally thinking you would never share his bed.

“Dour would be correct,” you hum with equal dislike for the idea. “The only way it would happen would be very sad circumstances.” Very sad as in one of your deaths, and you are reminded again what tomorrow morning will bring.

“Do not think on it.” He can tell you are worrying about tomorrow again. He cannot give you more guarantees than he already has, and he will not insult you by demanding you not worry.

"I will try." Strolling together a little further, the stall where the Dornishman you have come to know as Salin sells his prepared foods is swarming with people. Since word had gotten out that Prince Oberyn enjoyed his recipes, he had been receiving more and more business.

“Salin.” Oberyn greets the man warmly, like he would any of his countrymen. “How does your day fare?”

"Very well, my prince and princess." Salin has come to recognize the sight of all of Oberyn's household, and always welcomes all of you with open arms. Today, he reaches for a fried pastry full of chopped roasted nuts, honey, and sweet dates and offers it to you. "I have heard a rumour, your Graces," he admits, smiling broadly when you accept the pastry with glee. "That you are to be congratulated?"

The prince huffs, even as he grins proudly. “Which one of them told you?” He asks, sure that Ellaria would have mentioned it since you were craving dates lately.

"I was not sworn to secrecy, so I do not fear telling you that it was your lovely paramour." He smiles even more broadly and puts one hand over his heart. "I would like to offer, if it pleases you, to send the recipe for my date cake with you when you return to Sunspear. Your cook will have no trouble recreating it, and I was told the princess enjoyed it very much."

“I would be very grateful for it.” Oberyn nods and tilts his head towards the man. “If you ever wish to come back to Dorne, I will give you a place in the palace to cook for our house.”

"You are..." Salin swallows thickly, looking between the two of you. "Your Grace is most generous." His voice wavers and his other hand comes up to his heart. "I left my mother and siblings there when I came to King's Landing and...until your patronage...did not have the money for passage to go home again."

Oberyn frowns, hating King’s Landing as much as the next Dornishman and looks towards you. “We are leaving King’s Landing. After the tournament.” He informs the merchant who has provided so many meals for his lovers and his wife. “The ship will be crowded, but I am sure we can find room for you if you wish to sail home?” He asks.

"I do." He murmurs, expression still aghast. "I wish to return home more than anything." The man looks as though he could cry, and something inside of you cracks a little, making your reach out to gently squeeze his arm in reassurance. "We had come to ask you to prepare us one last feast, but this is far better. We are happy to have you return with us."

“I-- I will prepare you the feast that would put all feasts to shame.” He agrees quickly. If he is leaving, he will need to deplete his stores. “And if your offer is genuine, I would be honored to prepare meals on the ship for your family.”

You do not even need to look over at Oberyn to know that the offer was real, but still your eyes find your husband's profile and you nod to Salin with a smile. "We will be the ones who are honoured, Salin. And thank you for this," you hold up the pastry, which you have already tried a bite of and will have demolished the sweet treat in less than another minute. "Truly, your talent is unparalleled. You either had a remarkable teacher or your talents are a gift from the gods."

“My mother.” He informs you proudly. “She runs a small tavern in Sunspear.” He beams and nods towards your pastry. “Although that is something special. It is a treat that she had made for her soulmate.” He frowns slightly but recovers to smile at the both of you.

"He had very good taste." The shadow that falls over his face does not escape you, but you do not feel your have the right to press. Instead you simply add, "And must have been a very lucky man."

“Perhaps.” That is all he will say about the man he has never met, although he looks back at the pair of you expectantly. “Do you wish me to just send whatever I make or is there something special you wish to have?” He’s not unaware that Oberyn will be in the tournament tomorrow, that he could possibly die. So tonight is a celebration feast in preparation for his victory.

"The prince favours your spicy lamb, but everything else is up to you. Whatever you feel your finest or favourite dishes are to prepare. And there are seven of us, so be generous." Everything he makes is delicious, so you have no doubt that it will all be wonderful.

Bobbling his head eagerly, Salin immediately starts to think about what he can send to the Keep. “I will have it prepared. Is there a time you will need it?”

"No sooner than usual," you assure him, knowing that your intention to eat and spend the rest of the night indulging in pleasure is shared by everyone in your small household.

“I will deliver it myself.” He promises, shaking his head when Oberyn pulls out his coin purse. “No, please. It would be my pleasure.”

"We would be remiss in offering you a place in our household and then not paying you for that talent of yours we so appreciate." The shake of your head matches his and you reach out to touch his arm again. "Please. Allow us to show you the respect you deserve."

“You are kind and gracious.” His lip trembles slightly. “My mother will be very grateful to have her oldest son back.”

Nearer now to being a mother than you ever have been before in your life, you already cannot imagine what separating from your oldest child would be like, other than being positively devastating. '"Whatever brought you to King's Landing, I hope that it was worth the trip, and that returning home will bring you just as much joy."

“My trip was in vain but I learned a valuable lesson.” He promises. “The return trip home will be much sweeter, although your patronage has made my little stand a success.”

"Perhaps the gods have given you something just as valuable that you have not yet realized." Wishing not to leave the man feeling poorly about anything at all - if you can help it - you find yourself wishing it was as easy as offering to spend time with him. To listen to his story. To find out what had happened and see if there is some way you can help. But again, you remind yourself not to force the situation. You are already giving him a way to return to his family, and that seems to be a help in its own right.

Salin nods and smiles at the Princess of Dorne and her husband. “The gods gave surely shined down in my humble soul.” He acknowledges before handing you another pastry. “For your walk, your highness.”

“You are very generous, my friend. Thank you.” With a nod of your head, you and Oberyn continue walking, leaving Salin to his work. There is much to be done before tonight, apparently, because he disappears into the back of his stall immediately. “He seems to be very glad to go home again.”

“Is there anywhere else you wish to go?” Oberyn asks you indulgently. The dress you are wearing is fine and causing many heads to turn, making him grip your hand proudly as you continue towards the water.

“I would visit every seller here just to prolong our walk,” you admit, nibbling at the treat that Salin handed you as you walk hand in hand with Oberyn. “Perhaps we could visit our smith friend once more before we leave?” An amused smile forms on your lips when his eyes slip past your face to your chest. “Or would you like to also offer passage to my dressmaker, since you seem so fond of her work?”

He snorts, and sends you an amused smirk. “If I could cart all the talented workers away from King’s Landing as a strike against the Lannisters. I would.” He jokes. “But perhaps we should see what other baubles we can purchase for amusement.”

“I know one that would amuse both you and Raeden.” You hum, making yourself walk by the bookseller’s stall without stopping. If you do, you might simply stay there the whole day. “I wonder if the goldsmith might have another necklace of thin chains for Margaery to match with myself and Ellaria.”

Oberyn grunts, his cock twitching and he hums in agreement. “It would be a very pleasant view, three gorgeous women, completely naked except for the chains around their necks.”

“It would be lovely to see.” You and Margaery seem to be the only ones who were surprised by how close you have become and how quickly, and your may or may not be looking forward to the sight yourself.

“Perhaps there is another bauble we can find for the three of you to wear tomorrow.” Oberyn muses. “I wish to see all three of you in very revealing dress. You will be on the sidelines.”

"We will wear anything you choose, love." It is very literally the least that the three of you can do, and you know that although you will all - Raeden included - be worried, you will be a united front of pride for Dorne.

“Good.” While there will be some who do not care what the lovers of Oberyn wear, just the three- four- of you being there will be an insult to the people who matter most in the private portion of this skirmish. Until he brings all their sins to the light for the Seven Kingdoms to see.

"It will be no small statement to have Margaery beside us. For the four of us to appear united in appearance as well?" It is an incredibly simple yet effective means of making your delegation seem all the more powerful, and you know that every small tactic counts. "It will disarm some of those in the capital who foolishly think Dorne to be less civilized."

“Exactly.” He is always pleased with you when you know why he is doing something. The cleverness of your minds makes him think that you would have been named your father’s heir of you had been born a man.

"Would you have us matching?" You ask him, thinking that that would take some effort to achieve by the morning. "Or wearing an emblem somehow?"

“Perhaps we will find something. If not, then there are…dresses in my trunk you could wear.” He admits with a small chuckle.

"There are more dresses in your trunks?" By this time you would have assumed that Ellaria had wore every stitch of clothing brought from Dorne to the northern capital, but apparently that assumption would be incorrect.

“If you wish to call them dresses.” He smirks. “There is more skin showing than fabric.”

"If only my belly were already swollen," you smirk up at him as you slow in your walk and come to a stop at the jeweler's stall. "That would be quite a sight to be shown off."

“One I will love to see when it happens. Especially since the dress will show off your belly.” Oberyn’s eyes narrow as he takes in the jewels on display.

"Your Graces." The man bows deeply to see you approach, the sight of the two of you together being most welcome to him. He knows it will end in a large purchase, if nothing else, and others had taken notice of the Dornish prince's patronage of his business. It had brought him enormous good fortune in the months since your first visit. "What is it you search for today?"

“Another necklace.” Oberyn informs him with a smirk. “Just like the one for my wife and my paramour. I wish to clasp it around our other lover’s neck.”

"I confess, I wondered if you might desire another." Disappearing from view for just a few seconds, the merchant comes back again with a small wooden box. He lifts the lid, showing off another glinting necklace of delicate chains. "Your reputation, after all, precedes you."

“Do you have a smaller version of this?” Oberyn asks as he traces the necklace with his fingers. “More…masculine?”

"Smaller as in…fewer strands?" The man's head tilts to one side, making sure he understands correctly.

“Fewer strands, more…” he turns to you with a frown. “I want one for Raeden.” He tells you.

"I assumed as much, when you wanted one more masculine." The expression on his face is half frustration and half plaintive, and you cup his cheek in your hand lovingly. "Do you want it to be worn under his robes tomorrow, or do you want it to be worn in bed, my love?"

“Both.” He grunts, looking at you with dark, lust filled eyes. “But I want him to wear it tomorrow. Showing on his bare chest to match your. United and under House Martell’s protection.”

"The prince desires another necklace with fewer, thicker chains," you inform the jeweler, squeezing Oberyn's hands in yours and pressing a kiss to his lips. "And it should be made to accommodate a broader chest."

The jeweler has questions but he keeps them to himself. Although the design might be on display after the custom jewelry is sold and discreetly mentioned that the Prince of Dorne bought for a male lover. It might be of interest to the right discreet party.

“It will be needed by tonight.” Neither you nor Oberyn would be willing to wait until morning and risk not having it be ready, but you are certain that Oberyn will want Raeden to wear the chains tonight, as well.

“Of course.” He knows now that the prince will not blink at the cost so he does not even warn him about the extra price for expedited work. The prince is a man who wants what he wants when he wants it with no regard to cost.

“What other new baubles have you? Any of your clever wife’s designs?” The puzzle ring that you gave to Oberyn is a favorite, and your eyes start to search through the trays of fine pieces right away.

“There is a wide selection.” He agrees eagerly, rushing over to show them to you. “Your interest and admiration has made her designs improve and her love of it increase.”

“I am very glad to hear it.” Oberyn has begun searching a different part of the stall, and you follows the merchant’s lead to look at the designs that his wife has made. “What is the piece she is most proud of? I wish to see it.”

“There is a bracelet design that my wife is very pleased with.” The latest designed may have been with a slight Dornish flair due to the Prince’s patronage. The bracelets have several bangles wove in between each other and can be pulled apart, but when they are in a solid mass, they give the illusion of being one solid piece, the bursting sun of Dorne etched into the gold.

“Oh, she is clever!” You hum happily when the merchant presents you with the multi-strand bracelet. “And your craftsmanship is exquisite, ser. It seems that no matter you you make, you and your wife are quite the formidable team.”

Delighted that you like it, he moves to grab the other ones. "I took the liberty of making several." He informs you. "Because I know that your group likes to have matching sets."

“We certainly do.” The stone in the middle of each Dornish sun is the only difference between the bracelets - one deep green, one pink-red, one orange, one yellow, one milky white, one rich blue, and one clear purple. They are stunning together and you beckon Oberyn closer to look. “There are seven, my love.” Your face shines with delight.

"Why seven?" Oberyn asks curiously. He could see if there were eight, for his daughters or two because of his last order of necklaces.

“You, Raeden, and Cal.” You have three bracelets beside your right hand, and then beside your left you point out the other four. “Ellaria, me, Margaery, and Leyth.”

"No, my love." He grunts. "I was asking the jeweler why he crafted seven bracelets."

The jeweler in question blushes, clearing his throat at the prince’s pointed attention. He was not going to call attention to the number after you seemed so delighted with the fact that there were seven. “In truth, your Grace?” He would shove his hands in his pockets in embarrassment if he had any. “There are three or four more being finished just this day. I thought to have a wide collection of colors for your Graces to choose from, that is all.”

"I will take them all." Oberyn decides, looking back at you to find you smiling down at the bracelet with a dreamy expression on your face. "What do you think, my love? For any others we might bring into our fold?" He hums. "Or perhaps..." He slides his hand around your waist and your stomach. "Perhaps as gifts for our children."

“They seem fitting for your girls, don’t you think?” If there are so many, that is. The idea of more cannot be banished from your mind. You must remember that Oberyn has a plan. “Hopefully they all have different favourite colors.”

The mention of ‘his girls’ makes Oberyn’s head snap back to the jeweler. “These bracelets.” He tells him. “I want eight more. Except instead of bursting suns, I want snakes. Coiled snakes with the different colored jewel in the eye.”

“It…is too much to do in one night.” The jeweler tells him with obvious regret and just a touch of fear. “Perhaps it could be done in two if everyone worked through the night…but I know that you are not one to wait, your Grace.”

"We will be leaving for Dorne in two days." He tells the jeweler. "Have them done by the time the ship leaves the harbor and I will give you a bonus to make it worth the effort."

“Yes, your Grace.” The man bows rather frantically, scooping up the few things that he had already talked to the two of you about, and dashing into the back of his stall. When his apprentice appears just a few moments later, you smile with the knowledge that he is going straight to work. It is not even the man’s own son he has sent to man his stall. He will be working well into the night.

"I will give my sand snakes the bracelets he is crafting now." He tells you with a proud smirk. "They will love them." He had been searching for gifts for his girls, always bringing them something when he has to travel and the bracelets would be perfect.

“They will make a beautiful gift, my love.” For his eight - soon, nine - children, a token from the trip when their father wed will hopefully be something to celebrate and not frown upon. “They will look well with the necklaces that Ellaria is bringing to each of your daughters.”

“She loves all of them.” He hums happily, smiling softly. “You will love them too, I hope.”

“I have no doubt.” One of your hands rests gently on his arm and you smile. “I cannot wait to meet them.”

“They will be waiting for us when we arrive in Sunspear.” He informs you with complete surety. “Expect many questions.”

“I expect they will have many.” Just imagining it makes you giggle, thinking of the youngest ones especially. The older girls you will be able to be more straightforward with. “Luckily we are bringing them a new grandfather as well, who will dote on them endlessly no matter who their mother is.” Being able to acquaint your father with the situations that resulted in all of Oberyn’s daughters’ births, he has been excited to meet them ever since. Once he saw how loving your husband can be and how happy you are, nothing else mattered.

“He had been surprisingly welcoming.” He had anticipated a bit of distance from his wife’s father, but he has been to dinner several times. “He will enjoy Dorne.” He frowns slightly. “I have written my brother about Marlee as well. To see if we can find her.”

“You are entirely too good, my love.” Losing her — and discovering why he had lost her — has been a reopened wound for your father, who has clung to all news and stories of Dorne in response. As though he might hear her name in one of them unwittingly.

“There is no stone I would leave unturned if my soulmate was lost to me.” He tells you, his hand sliding along your arm to tangle his fingers with yours.

“I believe I can confidently say that neither Ellaria nor I will ever leave your side.” Still, your fingers tangling tightly in his as though trying to convince him. “There is nothing in the Seven Hells that could ever tempt me away, my love.”

“That is good.” He squeezes your hand and smirks. “I will be very satisfied with being surrounded by my soulmates and our lovers for a long time.”

“Our trip home will be an interesting one, with so many of us in such close company,” you smirk up at your husband as you walk. “I imagine we will spend much time in our quarters.”

Oberyn chuckles. “I do not think Cersei imagined her gift to her daughter would ferry so many of her people away on it.”

“I suppose I can only be grateful that my family had a long-standing connection to Dorne and not to Casterly Rock.” You shudder slightly at the idea and cringe. “Imagine my mother’s victory if she had sold me to the Lannisters instead.”

“I would not wish such a fate on you.” He growls, protective of you despite the fact you are safe in his arms. “A husband with one hand who fucks his sister.”

“I would not wish such a fate on anyone.” It would have been her triumph, to manage something like that. You know how lucky and how grateful you are to have been promised to Oberyn. “I am grateful to be madly in love with my husband instead.”

“What is not to love?” He asks arrogantly with a small wink. He looks around the market again and then turns you back towards the books. “Should you not pick another dozen books for the trip to Dorne?”

“You have been so generous with growing my library that my trunks may weigh more than Margaery’s dowry.” Still, you are not about to protest. Not for a moment. “I may spend the entire journey home with my nose in a book.”

“The captain I have hired for the trip home is strong. He will have crew to move them.” He’s unconcerned with that, more interested in your happiness than anything.

“My husband indulges me.” And the adoration on your face is very clear as he leads you back toward the bookseller. “He is soft and tender hearted and sweet.”

“If you think me soft, do not be frightened tomorrow.” He jokes. He knows that you mean he is soft when it comes to you and Ellaria and how he indulges you.

“Ellaria has told me about Mereen,” you admit, leaning close to his side as you come to stop in front of the bookseller’s stall. “How you fight. What to expect.”

“I have survived many battles.” He nods. “I expect to survive many more.” He let’s go of your hand and pats your ass affectionately. “Go find the books you wish to read to me while you are sitting on my cock later on.”

******

There is a thickness, a palpable tension in the air, when you and Oberyn return from the marketplace. The jeweler had already sent by his delivery of the things Oberyn purchased which were already made, and the note from him listed the price for the items being created, which Oberyn barely glanced at. The delivery of your books, the scarves you found for Ellaria and Margaery, and the baby blanket made by the dressmaker who had crafted your Dornish-style gowns — all of it is waiting for you when you finally return. But the truest shock is that your father has apparently been spending time with Raeden, Ellaria, and Margaery this afternoon.

He hugs you when you drift into the room on Oberyn’s arm and shakes Oberyn’s hands warmly. “I thought I would pay my respects tonight instead of distracting you with well wishes in the morning.” He tells your husband honestly.

While he had not thought much of your father when he first met the man, he had been sorely impressed with his insight since your mother’s departure. They had several frank and interesting conversations and Oberyn had refrained from engaging in his normal pleasures that he might with another lord, taking him to a whorehouse. “Many thanks.” He offers with a smile. “Join us, we are having a Dornish feast delivered by the best cook outside of her boarders.” He boasts. “In fact, I have offered him a place in the palace kitchens and he will sail with us when we depart.”

“We are bringing Salin home with us?” Ellaria sounds delighted with the idea and her fingers trace up your arm. “I think the princess had a hand in this. For the love of date cakes,” she teases.

“It was Oberyn,” you admit, laughing at how right Ellaria is about your craving. “But I am certainly not upset about it.”

“I would be delighted to stay.” Your father perks up at the mention of Dornish food. “It has been some time since I have had a good Dornish meal. The cooks would alter the recipes at home to their tastes.” He huffs, aware that his mother had written them done very specifically.

“Salin is extraordinarily talented.” Even Margaery is looking forward to the meal, having been fully converted to the cuisine of her new home with the first meal she tried. “He prepared the feast we are the night Raeden and I were wed and I have never tasted anything more magnificent.”

“Then I am eager to sample this cooking. My Marlee was a magnificent cook and I would often tease her that she would make a fortune selling her food.” Your father hums, knowing no one would fault him for speaking of his soulmate.

“I would like to hear more of her, if you are willing.” Speaking of Marlee seems to soothe your father and you must admit to being curious about the woman who could have been your mother.

“She was always smiling, always humming a little tune under her breath while she worked.” He tells you. “Making these delicious little tarts. I could eat a hundred of them.”

"How did you meet?" There is tea from the keep's kitchens while you await Salin's arrival with your dinner, and you offer a seat in front of the fire to your father.

“In Dorne.” He looks over at you fondly, smiling with the bittersweet smile of a man who is remembering a better time. “We had traveled back for my grandfather’s funeral. Mother was beside herself and my father could not leave. So I volunteered to escort her.” He had been brash and young, but already a good soldier. Handy with a sword. “I was bored by the grieving in the house, so I had snuck down to the kitchens.” He sighs. “She was baking. Flour on her cheek and singing a song as she mixed bread dough.”

“She worked for Grandmother’s family?” That is a surprise, and certainly makes you wish you had been bold enough to tell him about Raeden sooner. He would have been far more sympathetic than you knew.

“Yes.” He nods, his eyes sliding over to where Raeden is sitting with Margaery. “Although I think your path was leading you here.” He tells you, knowing what is whirling in that clever mind of yours. “She was beautiful. Raven black hair and yet…she had green eyes. The color of a watery jade.”

“So you fell in love over a secret meeting and a loaf of bread?” There is nothing sad or even melancholy in the life you have now, so you try to keep the conversation happy.

“The scar on my neck.” He pulls down the edge of his undershirt and his robe to expose the old, silvery scar. “It was new and fresh. Her dress showed it.” He shares a knowing grin with Oberyn. “She was mine from the first moment.”

“That sounds terribly romantic,” Margaery sighs, still softly envious of anyone who knows their soulmate or who has ever known them. “To have such definitive proof. To never wonder. It sounds remarkable.”

Her husband tightens his hold around her, offering her comfort. Everyone in this room knows that Margaery’s soulmate died without her ever knowing who it was. “If matching marks are ever discovered.” He murmurs softly. “They will be welcomed into our home.” It is the least he could offer considering the two sets of marks he bears, and the relationships he has with both women.

“If I ever have a set of marks appear?” Margaery nuzzles against him, glancing over at you before looking back to his eyes. “I hope that they will be yours or Star’s.”

“I would wear three sets of scars proudly.” He murmurs, bumping his nose against her cheek and then kissing her lips.

“As would I.” If the gods ever saw fit to give you three soulmates, you could not be happier to have one of them be Margaery.

“You are too generous.” Despite her inexperience, she has come to love to dynamic between the three of you especially, although she also enjoys time with Ellaria and Oberyn. Even if Oberyn had not yet fucked her.

“The gods have twice blessed you, pumpkin.” Your father chuckles. He still not quite understand the dynamic at play, but has decided that as long as you are happy, he does not need to. “To heap more upon you would be showing favoritism.”

“I would not expect anything less from gods concerning Star.” Ellaria chuckles quietly. She winks at you. “Perhaps the gods will send another wonderful person into Margaery’s life to add to our blessings.”

Glancing over at your husband, you bite back a grin and you wink at his as he so often does to you. "We will need a bed the size of you entire chamber if we continue to add members to our group."

You father clears his throat, reminding himself that he does not need to ask questions about things he does not wish to know. You are happy, and that is a rarity in life. “Dinner will be delightful, I’m sure.”

"It will." Leyth appears in the doorway, blessedly distracting from your embarrassment and ushering in Salin with his baskets upon baskets of delicious food.

“Salin, you outdo yourself every time.” Ellaria rises graceful and moves to greet the man with a charming smile and a hug. “Oberyn tells us you will be sailing back to Dorne with us?”

"The prince has most graciously offered to allow me to return home with your party." His hand is over his heart as he sets down the baskets from his other arm and Ellaria begins to unload them all over the large dining table. "I am most grateful to be able to see my family again."

“You must join us tonight.” Oberyn decides, motioning to the table. “We will be spending time together in much less spacious confines, let us drink and celebrate with delicious food tonight.”

"I could not impose--" Salin begins, but you immediately shake your head to stop him.

"Please," you insist, motioning for everyone to gather around the table. "We will not stand on ceremony tonight, but feast and celebrate as friends and family. We insist."

Looking around the table, Salin sees nothing but encouraging smiles and the murmurs of agreement, and he nods. "Your Graces are very kind. It would be my honour to join you."

There is something familiar about the young man. It tugs at your father’s thoughts but he tries to dismiss it as simply being nostalgic for his soulmate and everything to do with a culture he had much preferred to the rigid standards of the North.

Sitting down together at the table is indeed like an odd group of friends and family, but it is welcoming for that. Cal and Leyth join you instead of eating separately. Ellaria's mood is bright and boisterous. She speaks with Oberyn and Salin of home with such nostalgia that your father practically sighs with longing, and the rest of you who have never been to Dorne are hanging on every word.

Raeden leans back, watching the group with a smile as he strokes Margaery’s arm. Looking at the group that he has come to care for very much and squirms slightly in anticipation for things to come. It was not as if he had meant to wait to be with Oberyn. The moment had just never really come to be quite yet, but he want it so badly he cannot wait for the night to continue.

“I hope you will all forgive the indulgence,” Salin is saying as he begins to unpack the beautiful containers of sweet treats he prepared for dessert. “I have catered to her Grace’s cravings for our final course. Date cakes, figs with soft cheese, honey soaked fried dough, and crispy pastry with honey and nut filling. All of the princess’s favourites that I have been fortunate to discover so far.”

“Salin.” Your eyes grow as wide as saucers at the spread, practically giggling with glee. “You are far too kind and far too indulgent.”

The pastry with honey and nut filling makes your father tilt his head curiously as he finishes up his own meal. Easily enjoying the best Dornish meal he has had since he has been to the country. Watching as you pile a clean plate high with the delicacies with an indulgent chuckle.

“Try them, Papa.” You insist, moving the plate of crispy, sticky pastry toward your father. “I promise you will not be disappointed. Salin is a magician.”

Once offered, your father eagerly reaches for the pastry, likening it to one he has had many years ago and takes a bite quickly. "Mmmmmhhhhh." The moan is immediate and louder than he would have normally given over any good food. "I-- this tastes exactly like the tarts my soulmate would make."

“Are they traditional?” The question is for anyone at the table who would know - Salin, of course, but Oberyn or Ellaria, too.

“Not especially, your Grace.” Salon’s expression is apologetic. “They are a family recipe. My mother would make them for special dinners. Birthdays, usually.”

"This-- this is exactly like Marlee would make." Your father groans again after another bite. "She added a touch of anise. Not too much or it would overpower the nuts, she always said." He shoves the rest of the tart into his mouth and reaches for another.

Confused, Salin tilts his head and watches as your father seems entranced by the sweets. “You knew my mother?” He asks, not entirely sure how that could be.

The air is sucked out of the room and the tart in his hand falls to the table as your father's head whips around to gape at the man who had served the food. "Your mother?" He chokes out. "Your mother is Marlee Sand?"

“I—yes?” Confused even further as to why this fact has caused such a reaction in the older nobleman, Salin nods. “Marlee Brude, after marrying my sisters’ father. But she was born Marlee Sand.”

"She-- she's dead." The blood rushes to his ears and his head is swimming as he rolls his eyes over to you desperately. "She told me she was dead." He whispers, begging you to confirm that your mother told him that his soulmate was killed.

“I am sure it is a coincidence.” Although, which your father clutching your hand so tightly, your confidence wanes. “Sand is the most common name in Dorne. And surely Marlee is—”

“Is an unusual name.” Ellaria cuts in, glancing between the two of you and Salin. “Not unheard of, but not common.”

“And my mother is very much alive,” Salin adds, still not quite understanding what is happened. “I had a letter from her not a fortnight ago.”

"I don't understand.." He shakes his head, clinging to you and looking at Salin with a more critical eye before he gasps. "Boy." He barks, although Salin is a man grown and not a boy. "Do you have your mother's eyes or your fathers?" He demands.

Salin huffs, being well past thirty years of age and no longer a boy. “My father’s, according to my mother. Much good though that may do me.”

“Pumpkin.” He reaches for your jaw and cradles it gently as he looks from your eyes, his eyes, and then towards the man who shares those eyes. “How-- is it possible?” He whispers quietly.

"You cannot be my father, sir, no matter how much coincidence maybe at play tonight." It is all a little too much for Salin, and he pushes away from the table with a frown. "My father was some far-flung Northern lord who chose money over his soulmate. He married a shrew of a woman and never gave my mother a second thought."

That makes him frown, shaking his head and letting go of your chin to stand, swaying slightly at the revelation that this is his son sitting in front of him. “I can swear on my honor I have thought of your mother every day I have been apart from her.” He tells Salin. “I was led to believe that she had returned to Dorne when my betrothal was announced, as I was trying to convince my father to let me marry Marlee.”

"It cannot be." The color drains from Salin's face even as he stands to face your father. His father? There is something familiar reflected in the older man's face that makes him hesitate, but as he glances away to try to take a shaky breath, his eyes fall on your father's neck. Or - specifically - on the decades old scar that mars his skin. It is that scar that makes him gasp and his eyes dart up to the older man's again. "Tell me how you got that scar." He demands.

“A small skirmish on the northern boarder of our lands when I was young.” It was the first time he had killed a man, and he had barely escaped with his life. He had told Marlee about it one night after sex, her giggling as he had re-enacted it completely nude. He sees that Salin might believe him. “Have you see it before?”

"Do you know what truly happened to the Marlee Sand that you knew?" There is anger there, or at least frustration and surprise, and Salin bristles slightly when your father's story matches what his mother told him of the scar she wears from her soulmate. "Why she returned to Dorne?"

“My bitch of a wife had confessed just weeks ago that she had paid a solider to have her killed.” Your father’s anger rides across his face, a dark storm cloud of emotions that has him curling his fists. He had missed Marlee for years and then mourned her over the past weeks, now to find out she was still living? It is almost too much to bear.

"That soldier had a change of heart." Salin murmurs, feeling the impossibility of the situation slam through him with determination. "He told her to run, and she did." His shoulders hunch, disbelief clouding his features as he shakes his head. "I am Salin Sand because she was driven from your lands. It was many years before she even acknowledged a man's attention. My sisters are young, yet. Young like Lady Sunstone."

The chair in front of him is the only thing that keeps his kneels from buckling as your father learns his soulmate is really alive. Still bearing no marks from her on his body, he had never considered she was alive. “Son.” He chokes out, nearly sobbing at the fact that this man is his grown son. “Tell me she is well. That she is happy?”

Before Salin can even think, he finds himself embracing your father - his father - with tears pooling in his eyes. "I think she will be again," he admits, shaking a little as he processes everything that has happened today. He has gone from simply being able to return home to returning home with his father. "She has been a widow these last few years, but I know she has never forgotten you. In fact--" He pulls away just enough to look at the scar again, fully digesting its existence and the existence of the man who wears it. "She had sent me to learn of you. That...that is why I left Dorne."

“She-- you did?” He’s astonished because he had never seen you before tonight. “I-- did you ever come to the Vale?” He asks, immediately suspicious of his bitch of a wife. Even if she hadn’t rubbed the knowledge of his bastard son in his face, she might have sent him away and never let him know.

“I was robbed on my first night in King’s Landing.” Salin sighs. “I opened my stall in the marketplace as a way to earn the money to return home, but clearly I have been unsuccessful.” Living hand to mouth is difficult for anyone, but it had been particularly embarrassing to have to live in his stall the first few weeks. Things had improved, but not enough. Not until Prince Oberyn.

“I-- I didn’t know of you.” He tells him, hating that they had pulled apart to continue talking. Even as the rest of the table looks on with great curiosity, he only had eyes for his eldest child. “Or I would have- I would have brought her home.” He knows that marriage wouldn’t have been allowed but Marlee and Salin would have been safe, protected and loved.

“It seems I was meant always to have sisters.” The younger man laughs, finally looking over to where you are still sitting - dumbfounded - at the table before his eyes cut back to his father. “Mother will be glad to know you have not forgotten her.”

“I will-- would you allow me to see her?” His eyes are hopeful but there may be too much resentment there to let it be possible. The idea of seeing his soulmate again has him wishing he was already in Dorne.

“It will be up to her.” Even as a young boy who wished to defend her, Salin understood that his mother was strong enough to choose her life for herself. “I have already sent a raven home to tell her that I will be returning with the prince and princess. She will be waiting at the docks for my arrival. I only ask that you allow me to tell her you are there first. To not ambush her.”

It is nearly a miracle that he does not make himself lightheaded, he is nodding so quickly. “Of course.” He agrees before he looks around the table at the rest of the group. “Would you--” he clears his throat. “Would you like to come to my chambers?” He asks, knowing you are eager to celebrate with your husband and he wants to talk to Salin more. “I have wine, or stronger spirits. We can talk?” He is hopeful, biting his lip as he looks at the son that he has missed out on his entire life with. Wishing to know everything about him.

“You are not going anywhere until I am allowed to embrace my oldest brother.” The idea of all of it has overwhelmed you, but the smile on your face is soft and dreamlike. How utterly right that your father should be able to have again what had been stolen from him. That he will have the chance to know his eldest child.

Salin seems almost shocked that you would be wanting a hug, but he’s opening his arms immediately and moving towards the woman who he now knows is his sister. “Gladly. Without you and the prince, this would not be.”

“We will all have time to get to know each other much better on the voyage home.” The warmth of the embrace is genuine — two shocked individuals taking what is in front of them and fully accepting it head on. “And I hope you will find it a comfortable thing to call us by our given names now that we are family.”

“It-- it will take time, Princess.” Salin admits with a small smile as he pulls back. “Perhaps his feelings will change once we change his last name to mine.” Your fathers interjects. “If he is willing to be claimed.”

“We will have that conversation.” There are many mixed feelings that Salin has had about his father over his lifetime. Now, with an entire family being offered to him, the thing he wants first is simply to know this man. “But tonight, let us simply begin to know each other. More will come in time.”

“Come.” The older man nods and motions towards the door. “If we talk too late into the night, there is another bed you can sleep in if you have no wish to walk the roads of King’s Landing.”

It is almost surreal to watch your father and brother step away together. The tension that had filled the room seems to dissipate all at once, and you fall down again in your seat beside Raeden with a sigh. “That was…unexpected.”

“Completely astounding.” Oberyn muses thoughtfully, still reclined in his chair and shaking his head. “Fate is playing in your life, Star. The Gods have truly taken an interest.”

______

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withlove-xixi · 3 months

Text

— SLIGHT OF HAND: cowboy!gregor x m!reader

ᥫ cw: pet names ᥫ wc: 2618 ★ WRITTEN AS PART OF THE PJM GOTCHA FOR GAZA (@PJMaction on twitter) cross posted on ao3

— THE MAGIC TOUCH, THE MAGIC WORDS. BLINK AND YOU'LL MISS IT.

[♡]: it was quick; a thrill of adrenaline that shakes your spirits wide awake, a rush that floods your senses and leaves you blind, craving more. gregor knew what he was doing, he was well aware of the effect he had on people. you, my dear, were no exemption; you were the rush he had been dying to chase.

CHATTER, CLINK, RUSTLE, CHATTER, the typical noise from the bar; grown from a chaotic haze familiar to a familiar warm buzz in your ear. In your time working there, you had come around to love the noise, even found a sense of peace in it; a stillness within the complete and utter disruption around you. It would've been strange for most people, who might've come up to you where you stand working at the bar to complain (just as many have before), but to you, it would be your own slice of serenity, a piece of home. The chattering, the clinking, the rustling, and the yelling.

Right, the yelling.

That, you could live without. The drunken arguments from one man, the slurred and tasteless comeback of another. Really, your patrons didn't fight much, you thanked God they didn't, but alas, they were only human, just men. There were nights, though scarce between your regulars and far more common whenever a new face would pass by, that a fight would break out, some alcohol-clouded crude argument that would inevitably lead to punches being thrown and guns being drawn. Those nights were the worst. All the broken glass, all the threatening to kill, all the yelling. God! You could really, really live without the yelling. Especially now as one of your regulars (who happened to typically be involved whenever a fight would break out) violently grabs onto the collar of another patron (one who typically kept quiet and calm). The people around their booth were doing their best to calm down both parties, gingerly trying to pry them away from each other with the gentle pleas and the sweet promise of more booze, though it was obviously, very much, ineffective. You sigh, hanging your head a bit lower as you place down the glasses you had been wiping dry. If things got more physical— which you sensed would happen sooner than you liked —you were definitely going to be expected to intervene.

Now, you weren't the strongest guy, though definitely able to keep yourself out of trouble when needed, and you weren't the most intimidating one either, however (more so, unfortunately, for you, at least) you were one of the two men that worked at the bar, the rest of your coworkers being girls. And as much as you hated trying to stop fights (and ultimately physically having to drag or kick them out when they had absolutely refused to stop fighting), you hated even more the idea of having your coworkers do it instead. They were all such sweet girls, they didn't deserve to go through all that trouble because you didn't like doing it.

You picture in your head how things would go, already feeling the potential accidental punches that would be thrown at you just because you were doing your job and stopping the two from ripping each other apart. You sigh again, as you walk out from behind the bar, rubbing your nape dejectedly, earning looks of sympathy from your coworkers. You smile at them, small and gentle, as if to say that there wasn't anything to do to help it. Whatever happens, happens.

You saunter over to the commotion, allowing your feet to drag across the beer stained wooden floor. The yelling got louder the closer you got, the more it did the more dread you felt bubbling in the deepest pits of your gut. You kept your head low, involuntarily for the most part, focusing your eyes on the floor, the feet, anything to keep your mind off of your impending doom. Bracing yourself in case they would turn their aggression towards you, you muster up your courage, mentally preparing yourself for what's to come.

As your feet land at the edge of the booth, you notice the shift in the mood; the stillness. Chatter, clink, rustle, chatter— no, yelling. What?

Your gaze trails upwards, puzzled and curious, and lands on a scene that makes you draw a quick and quiet gasp. At the table, the second customer, the quieter one who wouldn’t typically pick fights, backed up further into the booth, hands up in surrender and he tried to play things coolly; adjacent to him, pulled up to his tip toes, was the first customer, his collar bunched up in the big hands of a handsome stranger.

Dumbfounded, you stand there stupidly for a second before shaking things off. The stranger— now that you’ve looked at him a bit longer, you realize he isn’t actually a stranger, but in fact, one of your usual patrons. He was one of the quieter ones who sat alone in some tucked away corner of the bar —glanced at you from the shadow of his hat, a big dark red thing that sat comfortably on his head and framed his messy brown hair around his face. He had the other patron caged between his body and the end of the table, causing the poor man to bend backwards at an uncomfortable angle as the hatted man leaned forward. A smirk graced his handsome features, for a moment directed at you, before he turned his attention to the man in front of him.

He shook his head in mock disappointment. “You folk should know better than to give pretty boy over ‘ere any more trouble he wants.” He said, voice deep, thick, velvety. You swore he was intentionally making it deeper than usual. He nods his head in your direction when he says “pretty boy”, and you aren’t quite sure whether you should blush or be worried.

The other man raised his hands in surrender, his face ridden in panic. You notice just now the shining glint of metal discreetly pressing against the man’s rib, hidden by the tattered cloak of the cowboy in front of you. Instantly, you recognize what it is and take an instinctive step forward, causing both men to turn towards you.

You muster up your courage, feeling your heart hammer against your rib cage and the blood slowly drain from your face. “Put… Put that thing down.” You say, as calmly and sternly as you can, trying your best not to let your voice falter.

The man in the hat looked at you with furrowed brows, opening his mouth to speak before he glanced down at his other arm. He let out a small huff that seemed as if he was amused. He stood straighter, still keeping the other patron’s collar firmly in his hand as he twirls his gun around and slots it in the holster on his side.

“My ‘pologies, darlin’.” He said, playfully, which ticked you off considering how worried he just had you a few minutes ago. His eyes flicked towards you for a second, causing him to smile slightly at your expression. “Wasn’t g’nna use the nasty thing, don’t worry. Just to scare the fella, is all.”

Somehow you weren’t entirely reassured, but you let out a small sigh of relief regardless. The other patron seemed somewhat relieved as well, surely the poor guy was regretting picking fights now. He glanced between you and the man pinning him against the table, a silent plea for you to intervene further.

“Could you let him go too?” Your voice hard, but polite. Guy had a gun after all, you couldn’t go around scolding him haphazardly, though a small part of you felt like he meant it when he said he wouldn’t use it.

He glanced at you for a bit, as if taking your request into consideration or sizing you up (you hoped it was the first), then let out a small exhale, deciding he was amused by your words. He shrugged lightly, slowly loosening his grip and letting the fabric slip out of his grasp.

“Better behave, boy,” what seemed like a warning, felt more like a command as the other patron nodded profusely and carefully scurried away from the man. He adjusted his hat with a small amused smile. His mouth opened to speak as he turned to you, but he was quickly met with your irritated expression. He definitely didn’t expect you to have such a sour look on your face, it was obvious how his smile immediately dropped and how his eyebrows raised, wrinkling his forehead.

You point your index finger at him. “What the hell was that!” You chided, brows furrowed, nose wrinkled.

He looked nervous, a drastic juxtaposition to confident demeanor earlier. “I was just… Was just tryin’ ta’ stop ‘em, dar—”

“It doesn’t matter! A fight’s a fight regardless of your intention…”

“Samsa. G-Gregor Samsa...”

“Mister Samsa—”

“Could… Could call me Greg—”

“Mister Samsa.”

As you scolded him, the more he lost his footing, his confidence. You watched as Gregor Samsa tried to discreetly hide his face under the shadow of his hat, scruff lined cheeks tinted a very light shade of pink. Gregor Samsa, who had just carried himself with such a suave aura, who had without a second thought had threatened to shoot a man, reverted into a sopping wet kitten, pouting and trying desperately to explain himself as you continued to rat him off. It was almost impressive, this sudden switch in demeanor; how a dog could bark but couldn’t bite. It was like he was a different person really, you might’ve dwelled on it a bit more— wondered which side was how he truly was —if you weren’t busy chiding the poor man, who very much looked like he was going to shrivel up like a raisin.

At this point, the audience that had been eyeing the booth had died down, finding you scolding some poor cowboy infinitely less interesting than a potential fist fight. Most people had gone back to their previous musings, drinking and laughing as if nothing had happened at all. Gregor seemed to notice, the quiet air only adding to his awkwardness.

He pouts at you, looking pathetic as ever. “Just wanted to help…” He mutters quietly.

You sighed, defeated. Part of you began to feel a bit bad for the guy too, plus he looked really sorry at the moment. You held back your tongue despite wanting to say a few things more and ultimately just shook your head and made your way back to your post behind the counter, mind already returning to all the glasses you had to dry and also to do a quick inventory check in the stock room.

Gregor followed behind you, like a little puppy to his owner. “H-hey, hang on!” He called, trailing a couple of steps behind you as you continued to walk back to the bar, ignoring him as his footsteps grew louder.

As soon as you were stationed back at the counter, Gregor appeared in front of you, hastily seating himself on a bar stool and nearly slipping as he did. His hands extend in front of him in some sort of pleading manner.

“L-Lemme make it up to ya’, darlin’!” His voice faltering, but you could tell he was slowly regaining his previous confidence.

You quirked an eyebrow at him before returning to your work, picking up the glasses you had washed earlier and gently running a cloth to dry them.

“I mean it, sugar!” He said with a nervous smile.

You hum in response, setting a newly dried glass on the space beside you before you pick up the next to give it the same treatment. “You’re quite insistent, Mr. Samsa.” You said with the slightest hint of amusement. He seemed to have picked up on it, his shoulders relaxing slightly and his hands finally settling against the hard wood of the counter.

His smile gains its confidence, growing a bit wider as he watches you work. “Just want yer attention.” Gregor shrugged as if it were no big deal (though with the sorry state you had him in earlier, you doubted he was as nonchalant about it as he presented himself to be).

Another hum from you as you allow your thoughts on the guy to process. You’d have to admit, your shift could’ve gone worse. Having an attractive man follow you around as you worked was better than how most of your nights went (and, to be completely fair, he did stop that fight from getting any worse, as much as you disliked how he did it). With your attention still focused on your work, you could feel his gaze on you, watching you like a cat about to pounce, like a puppy waiting for your praise. It was like he was tunnel visioning into you the way his brown eyes followed your every movement, how they seemed to study your hands, your face, your hair. Honestly, it shocked you a bit how enamored he seemed with you. On a typical night, he’d only come up to you and order his typical drink and sit in silence at the counter or on some dark corner of the bar. Tonight was so different; like he had been stalking you, studying you, and tonight he was finally ready to pounce.

After a good while of silence, you finally speak again. “And how exactly do you expect to make it up to me, Mr. Samsa?” You asked, keeping your voice as nonchalant as possible despite the bubbling excitement that caused your heartbeat to accelerate.

Gregor perked up at your response, sitting a bit straighter. His lips twitch slightly before forming a content smile on his face. “How’s dinner sound? Someplace fancy ‘n stuff?” He’s testing the waters, walking himself on thin ice.

You glance sideways at him, momentarily pausing what you’re doing, cheeks growing the absolute lightest shade of pink as his proposition sinks in (plus with how your mind quickly replays the way he called you those silly pet names). You shake the thought away just as quickly as it came, turning back to your work and setting the newly dried glass on the side before you put your attention to Gregor. Your arms settle a few inches away from his as you lean closer to him, using your arms to support your weight.

“You’re asking me out,” you said matter of factly; a statement, not a question.

“Been wantin’ to for a while.” Gregor replied, leaning towards you. His smirk grows as he moves. “Been interested in ya’ for a while too, sugar.”

Your face grew warm, making him smile a bit wider. His hand moves from its place on the table, reaching over to gently graze your chin, index finger comfortable curled against your skin, gingerly coaxing you a bit closer. Now your face is really, really warm.

“What d’ya say, darlin’?” He asked, voice thick and rich like caramel. You were certain now more than ever that he was intentionally making it deeper than usual.

You swallow your spit, eyebrows cinching together on instinct as you directly into his eyes. Your heart hammers against your chest as you feel adrenaline shoot through your veins, it makes you feel like you’re hypersensitive to your environment; your skin where it meets his tingles. His warmth seeps into your flesh and it sends a rush straight through your heart. You felt like you were burning.

Gregor feels the same, the same adrenaline courses through his veins as he stares deeply into your eyes, patiently waiting for your answer as his finger lightly caresses your warm skin. He feels the same rush in your veins, the same urge to sink your teeth into more. He’s aware of your effect on him and his effect on you. Brown eyes studied as your lips quivered, as your skin heated like it was burning; like he had set you on fire, like he was the flame.

#ꔛ xixi writes #limbus company #limbus gregor #limbus company x reader #x reader #male reader #gregor samsa x reader #lbc x reader #limbus gregor x reader #gregor lbc #dividers by cafekitsune

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arcsimper5 · 11 months

Text

Passing

Guess whose brain decided it was on an angst trip this morning?

Post BB AU No pairing Just a short comm form drabble about things that have happened.

Warning for angst, major character death and grief. Characters features: Echo, Wrecker, Omega, Hunter, Crosshair, Tech, Riyo Chuchi, Rex.

I wish I was writing this under better circumstances, but I know that, were the positions reversed, I’d want to know.

It’s been far too long, and we’ve left so much unsaid. I never realised how quickly time would pass.

We buried Echo under the huge oak tree at the end of the garden today.

Hunter still hasn’t spoken since he passed. In a way, we all knew it was coming. The nerves connecting his legs died a long time ago, his scomp shorting his implants out more often than not.

Rex is here too. He… isn’t good.

He still blames himself for sending Echo out. We all know Echo would have gone anyway, but survivor’s guilt hits hard. He’s staying for a while with two other troopers, Wolffe and Gregor. They’re nice, a bit quiet, but that’s to be expected.

Senator Chuchi showed up as well. Well, former Senator. She was dressed all in black. She didn’t stop crying.

I didn’t even know she and Echo were involved in any way. Apparently, they had a ‘thing’ once. Rex won’t elaborate. He still treats me like a kid, but at least it seemed to make him smile thinking about it.

There’s been so much we missed with Echo when he left with Rex. Part of me thinks we should have gone too.

That might be why Hunter is so quiet, if he’s thinking the same.

He’s getting old, he knows that. Echo knew that. But he kept fighting. Kept trying to take down the Empire.

Now it all feels a bit… empty.

The Empire is still there and still hurting people, and Echo is… he’s under the dirt, at rest, finally. He’s with his brothers. He’s back with Fives. I never knew Fives, but he told me so many stories.

I keep crying, but I know it’s selfish.I want him here. But his brothers are there. Most of them. Not you. Not Hunter.

Gonky has just sat next to the tree all day. He doesn’t seem to understand. Maybe he thinks Echo is charging, that he’ll wake up when he’s done. I tried to explain. It didn’t help.

The house is busy. I don’t like it.

Hunter prefers it quiet. Too much going on overwhelms him nowadays. His headaches are getting worse.

We tried to contact Tech a few rotations ago. His comm is still dead.

I know he doesn’t want to talk to any of us after what happened, but I thought he should know. You were always closest to him. If you see him, tell him…

Tell him we miss him.

Wrecker misses him.

He’s adjusted to losing his other eye well, all things considered. There are still times he feels useless, and he says as much. Today was hard.

He wanted to carry Echo down the garden, to help, but he couldn’t. He’s still sat by the lake. I think he might stay out there all night.

I’m going to clean up. There’s a lot to do now.

We’re cooking Pantoran roast porg tonight.

Riyo said it was Echo’s favourite. I’ve never tried it. I hope we can learn how to cook it. It would be nice to keep a bit of his memory with us.

A lot has happened, I know. But you should come home soon. It would be good to see you. It would be nice to visit Echo with you.

I’m not even sure if you’ll read this, but if you got this far, I only want you to know one thing.

We love you, Crosshair. And we’ll always be waiting.

#star wars #tcw #the bad batch #star wars the clone wars #the clone wars #clone wars #tbb #captain rex #tbb hunter angst #tbb echo #tbb wrecker #tbb omega #tbb tech #tbb crosshair #tbb hunter #angst fic #drabble #daniwrites

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fanfoolishness · 5 months

Text

Breathless

After Crosshair nearly drowns in 3x07 - Extraction, the Batch head back to Pabu to rest and regroup. But the danger isn't over yet, and they'll need to work together to save one of their own. Crosshair angst, medical whump, hurt/comfort, family feels. Canon-compliant/missing scene, ~5100 words.

-----

The Remora was dark and quiet, the soft glow of emergency lights the only illumination. Crosshair tried to curl up into one of the narrow bunks, though his long legs made it an awkward fit. He’d stripped down to his under armor, but still couldn’t seem to get comfortable. Wrecker hadn’t even bothered trying, instead flinging down an emergency blanket on the floor and falling asleep beside Batcher in his full gear. The hound snored contentedly, her massive head resting on his thigh. Across the gap, Omega lay on her own borrowed bunk, the glint of her eyes revealing she was still awake.

“You ought to get some rest,” Crosshair said, stifling a cough. “You must be tired.”

Her smile was faint in the dark, but still unmistakable. “And you aren’t?”

“I’m laying down, aren’t I?” he retorted.

“Fair enough,” she said. She shifted, rolling over onto her back. “What do you think Hunter’s talking about with Rex and Echo?”

Howzer, Gregor, Rex and Hunter had stayed up in the cockpit with Echo. Crosshair’s hand fumbled at his side, though in the dark, he didn’t have to hide it. “Intelligence. Next steps.” He took a deep breath, his chest heavy. The Empire, still looking for Omega. Trying to take her back to --

He coughed again, trying to suppress it to keep from waking Batcher. Wrecker, he knew from long experience, could sleep through anything.

Omega sat up and peered at him, large eyes squinting in the dim light. “Are you all right, Crosshair? It was -- it looked close, back there.”

He waved his hand at her dismissively. “It’s been closer.”

Water rushing into his nose and mouth and throat, hands against his shoulders, feet pedaling uselessly --

He coughed again, rubbing his chest. “I’m fine.”

Even in the dark, her skeptical look was clear and deeply annoyed. The kid was nothing if not stubborn. She frowned at him. “What was wrong with him?”

“Who?” he asked, though he knew perfectly well. The shadow’s cold voice rippled through his mind, a frisson spreading through the cracks in the walls he’d put up around Tantiss. He took another deep breath.

“That operative. He was different,” she said slowly. “The others were scared of him, weren't they?”

He hesitated, but knew she’d keep asking if he didn’t give her something. “They erased his memory. He’s nothing now. Nobody.”

“The Empire can do that?” Omega whispered, horrified.

“Not the Empire,” said Crosshair dully. “Hemlock.”

She recoiled, and he knew he’d said too much, turned the conversation too dangerous. He shouldn’t have said it. Should have kept it locked in his head with the other things he didn’t dare name. Especially around the kid.

He rubbed his face, his breath coming more quickly. He must have been more tired than he’d thought. “Forget I said anything.”

“I can’t,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself. “I thought Tantiss was a prison, and endless tests. That’s all I ever saw of it. But there was more?” She scrubbed at her face with the back of her hand. “We have to get them out of there. We have to.”

His hand quaked, trapped in the crook of his elbow where he knew Omega couldn’t see it. He swallowed, tasting a hint of something metallic. He couldn’t keep talking about this. It was too much. Too close to what they’d done to him, what they’d tried to do to him, what they’d done to the others --

He blinked, mind going hazy. He could feel exhaustion creeping over him, threatening sleep any moment. “I’m sure they’re working on it,” he managed, trying to sound reassuring. “You’ve met Rex. They’re all brothers to him.”

“To us, too,” Omega said plaintively, but her voice went faint, and he drifted off into the dark.

-----

Crosshair stared defiantly into Hunter’s eyes, but the stunner took him by surprise. He’d been expecting the blaster bolt. He sank to his knees, mind blanking, and for a time he knew nothing.

Until cold salt water dripped onto his head, his face, into his nose and mouth. It poured in over his legs, creeping up his thighs, up to his waist. The shock of it took his breath away. He could feel it climbing, and around him, Omega and the medical droid panicked. His hands hammered at the debris trapping him, the water closing over his head -- the fear and the panic were crushing him --

Hands on his shoulders, hands on his shoulders, pressing him into the riverbed, cold freshwater smothering, hands flailing -- faltering --

You had your chance to be one of us

You had your chance

He was starving again like the platform on Kamino, the lack of food gnawing, roaring, ravening, until there would be nothing left of him -- but it was air, air he begged for, needed desperately, was dying for--

Hemlock’s features, painted in boney whites and dark shadows, looming under sickly green lights, sick smile twisting his face into something inhuman. CT-9904, you have been selected for a most important… opportunity…

Something skittering around the back of his mind, the thought that maybe this wasn’t just a dream -- that it was getting harder and harder to breathe, chest aching, breath short, throat raw --

You chose the wrong side --

-----

Hunter startled awake from the chair he’d been dozing on. He wasn’t sure what had awoken him at first. There was the hum of Echo’s ship around him, complex machinery and circuitry crackling together in an electromagnetic haze that he’d long thought of as the sound of hyperspace. There were quiet murmurs between Echo and Rex, tapping on the consoles from Howzer, Gregor humming a little tune under his breath. Further out he could hear the familiar heft of Wrecker’s breathing, and the newer sound of Batcher snoring loudly. But he couldn’t place Crosshair and Omega -- not at first.

There was a new sound, faint and muffled. Something like breathing, but off. He felt a twinge in his gut. Something wasn’t right.

He was halfway to the bunks when familiar footsteps closed the distance and Omega hurried out of the sleeping quarters, eyes wide. “Hunter, come quick. Something’s wrong with Crosshair.”

“What kind of wrong?” he asked sharply.

“He was coughing in his sleep,” she explained. “He told me earlier he was fine, but I woke him up when he kept coughing. We got him to sit up, but he can’t catch his breath. Wrecker’s with him --”

The door slid open. Someone had hit the lights, and he hissed at the sudden brightness after the muted dark, shielding his eyes with a hand. He blinked to recalibrate himself and saw Crosshair sitting awkwardly on the ground against his bunk, Wrecker beside him, a hand on his shoulder.

“Just breathe, Crosshair. It’s all right,” Wrecker said anxiously.

Batcher whined at them, pawing at Crosshair’s leg. He didn’t respond.

“Crosshair,” said Hunter, kneeling in front of him.

Crosshair turned to look at him with an effort, his face ashen. He was sitting up strangely, arms bent and propped up on his knees, hunched over himself. And he was breathing far too fast, shoulders heaving, mouth half-open. He closed his eyes with a grimace, but didn’t -- couldn’t -- speak.

Wrecker’s face was sheer worry. “He needs a medic, and we don’t got one,” he said urgently. “How far out are we from Pabu?”

Hunter tapped his comms. “Echo, we need a medikit. Now. Crosshair’s laid up, and it looks bad.”

“What happened?” Echo asked. “He seemed all right earlier --”

“He almost drowned back there. I don’t know, it must have been worse than we thought.” We should have checked him over when we boarded. Should have made sure -- “He needs oxygen. And we need a medic. How far are we from Pabu? AZI can treat him, but we need time.”

We’re not losing him now.

“Another hour. I’ll be right there. Rex, you handle things up here. Crosshair’s down.”

Rex’s voice, faint through the comms. “I’m on it.”

“Hunter, is he going to be okay?” Omega asked, crouching down beside Crosshair. She reached out, laying her hand on his shoulder. He pulled away in a wracking cough, hand flying up to try and cover his mouth. Clear but blood-tinged fluid spattered against his palm.

Hunter swore under his breath, recalling some of their early training. They’d all had basic field medic training, though Tech had been far and away the best at it, with Crosshair a distant second. It came back to him now, flickers of memory from the cadet days. Something to do with nearly drowning, a sort of secondary drowning that could hit later on and be just as deadly.

“He’ll be fine, Omega,” said Hunter automatically. He had to be. He couldn’t lose another brother --

Crosshair bowed over himself, coughing again, then trying to catch ragged breaths. “Right,” he gasped. “Fine.” He waved a hand weakly in front of him, as if trying to push them away, but hung his head. Hunter could hear the breaths rattling in his chest, wet and heavy and difficult.

“Hey, take it easy,” Wrecker warned. “Stop sassing.”

“Wrecker!” Omega exclaimed indignantly.

“Well, he was, weren’t you, Crosshair?” Wrecker asked, giving him an anxious but hopeful smile.

Crosshair nodded slightly, then closed his eyes, rubbing at his chest with one hand.

Wrecker laughed, though it was a far cry from his usual booming laughter. “See? He’ll be all right, kid.” He lowered his voice, then leaned towards Crosshair’s ear. “You’ll be all right.”

The door slid open and Echo strode in, medikit tucked under his arm. “Let me get in there, take a look.” They wordlessly moved aside, making space for Echo to kneel beside him.

Echo worked quickly, throwing open the medikit and handing an oxygen mask and concentrator to Hunter to assemble. He pieced it together and went to press the mask to Crosshair’s face, but Crosshair shook him off irritably and grabbed the mask himself, digging his face into it and clawing the straps into place over his head.

They watched him tensely as he breathed hard into the mask. His eyes slid closed for a moment, the tension in his face easing. His color looked less muddy already.

The scanner in Echo’s hand lit up in red, alarms beeping. “Scanner says there’s fluid in the lungs. Oxygen saturation’s down. I don’t think I’ve got anything here that would help besides the oxygen, but…” He examined the numbers, then peered at Crosshair’s face. “Vitals are improving on the oxygen. I think if he stays stable like this, he’ll be all right to get to AZI.”

“Thank you, Echo,” Omega said, tears in her eyes. She let out a long sigh, hugging herself, and Hunter laid a hand on her shoulder. She leaned against him, giving him a watery smile, and he drew her close.

She can’t lose another brother, either.

”How’re you feeling now?” Wrecker asked eagerly.

Crosshair squinted his eyes open, coughing again. Reddish fluid clung to the inside of the oxygen mask. He glared at it. “Not dead… yet,” he bit out.

”Don’t try to talk,” Echo said as the scanner flashed red again. “You just work on breathing.” He glanced around. “You want to stay down here? We could move you back to the bed.”

Crosshair shook his head, leaning forward, stretching his neck out to get more air. Hunter felt sick. Helpless.

Like he had after Eriadu —

He found himself speaking to Echo. “You focus on getting us back to Pabu. We’ll stay with him.”

“Take it easy, Crosshair,” said Echo, handing the scanner over to Hunter. He reached out, holding Crosshair’s shoulder and giving him a quiet nod. “A little cough won’t take you out. You’re too stubborn for that.”

Crosshair attempted a faint smirk, though the effect was muted by the mask over his nose and mouth. Echo turned back to Hunter. “Make sure he keeps that thing on, and keep him quiet. Chatterbox like him, talking’ll just make things worse.”

Hunter smiled slightly. He’d missed Echo’s sarcasm. “We’ll keep the conversation to a minimum.”

“We’re on it,” Wrecker agreed.

Echo got to his feet and headed back to the cockpit. Batcher whuffed sadly, inching closer to Crosshair until her chin rested on top of his foot. The hound really had taken to him, even though Omega had told him how she’d been the one to tame her. He guessed Batcher and Crosshair had that much in common.

Omega crawled back beside Crosshair, leaning her head against the bed behind them. She looked up at him hopefully, but he hadn’t noticed, face screwing up with effort again, eyes tightly closed. The sound of his breathing, wet and rattling and wrong, was overwhelming in Hunter’s ears.

Hunter stared down at the scanner in his hands, running it over Crosshair again. Oxygen was still well below normal, but the sensor flashed a warning yellow instead of a blaring red. He sighed. He could deal with that.

He glanced up, seeing a small shift out of the corner of his eye. Omega reached out, patting Crosshair’s shoulder, then leaving her hand there. Crosshair glanced at her, but did not move away.

Hunter watched them, a painful mix of emotions tumbling in the back of his mind. He trusted Echo’s read that Crosshair was going to make it back to Pabu, and he knew AZI had been able to pull them back from serious injury before. But that still didn’t make it any easier to see his brother so vulnerable, shoulders and chest heaving with the struggle to breathe.

And seeing Omega being so kind to him, her empathy boundless, hurt in a different way. Seeing Crosshair with her hand on his shoulder, after remembering how he’d bristled toward her and pushed her away before, was so good. But knowing that Crosshair could have been with them in the beginning if it hadn’t been for the chip, that he could have gotten to know Omega all along with the rest of them, that neither of them would have had to go through the experiments on Tantiss if things had been different —

Hunter let out a long, even breath through his nostrils, willing his mind to settle.

Wrecker had started talking, probably trying to distract Crosshair and Omega. “This is nothing. Remember the time that grenade knocked you out for two days?”

Crosshair flicked his eyes over to Wrecker, then rolled them expertly, as if to say Of course I don’t, I was knocked out.

“Oh! Right!”

“What happened?” Omega asked curiously.

”Well, battle droids are usually idiots, right? We were on this backwater Separatist world. Forget the name. Crosshair was way up on the hill in cover, picking them off one by one. Decimating them! You should have seen him. Really in his element,” Wrecker said proudly, spreading his hands wide as if to paint the picture of the battlefield. “But this platoon had a tactical droid on their side. Must have figured out we had a sniper in the mix and triangulated his position. Sent a grenade up —“ Wrecker winced.

Hunter remembered it well. Their mad scramble up the hillside, their comms crackling —

“Crosshair!”

“He’s not responding —“

“We don’t leave anyone behind —“

Tech had been the one to find him, his voice urgent. “He’s down. We need to get him to a medic —“

He shook away the image of Crosshair limp on the ground, helmet blasted ten feet away, blood from his ears streaking his silver hair.

Hunter cleared his throat. “We got him out safely,” he said, continuing the story. “Wrecker carried him, and Tech and I covered them until we got back to the ship. We thought he was a goner.”

”But he was okay —“ Omega said.

”Clearly,” Crosshair muttered, though there was a hint of a smile at the edges of his mouth.

”Woke up two days later on Kamino, asking for a toothpick,” Wrecker said. “Nothing ever keeps you down for long, Cross. Hell, tomorrow you’ll probably be back to normal and all annoyed we were worried about you.”

”I’m annoyed now,” Crosshair wheezed. The scanner flashed red, and Hunter shook his head.

”Hey, watch it,” he said warningly, holding up the scanner. He shifted where he sat, sighing. “Wish you’d have said something before it got this bad,” he said before he could stop himself.

Crosshair shrugged slightly. This time when he spoke, it was slowly, with deep breaths between each word. His vitals stayed yellow instead of dipping back into red. “I thought — it was nothing.” He paused, closed his eyes, breathed deeper. “I don’t like to complain.”

”You complain about everything!” Hunter exclaimed, exasperated. At least this was Crosshair as he remembered him. “You couldn’t have mentioned you couldn’t breathe?”

”Hunter,” Omega said. “It wasn’t like this when we got on board. It got worse later.”

Crosshair gestured to Omega, as if to say, See?

“All right, all right. Sorry, Crosshair.”

”Ahhh, you’re just worried about him,” Wrecker said warmly. He reached out, giving Hunter a nudge. He had to admit Wrecker had a point.

Echo’s voice came through on Hunter’s comms. “We’re dropping out of hyperspace. How’s he doing?”

”Stable. Except when he’s a chatterbox,” said Hunter. “We’ll go for AZI once we land.”

The ship shifted out of hyperspace, Hunter’s stomach swooping with the familiar sensation. “Wrecker, you run and get AZI. Tell him what happened to Crosshair, his symptoms. Omega and I will stay here. Make sure he brings any supplies he’s got, and a stretcher, too.”

”On it,” said Wrecker, getting to his feet. “Hang in there, Cross.” He headed out to the main cabin, leaving Hunter, Omega and Batcher alone with Crosshair.

He heard the landing gear descend, felt the ship settle to the ground. One step closer to helping their brother.

The wait felt interminably long, though it was only a few minutes. Batcher whined, wagging her tail, her homely face looking almost concerned. Omega reached out and patted her, though her eyes were fixed on Crosshair.

Hunter watched them both closely. The scanner still read yellow, but Hunter felt more uneasy with every passing moment. Crosshair’s breathing rattled in the quiet, the rate steadily rising.

He coughed again suddenly, so violently that he doubled over himself, gagging and choking. Hunter was there in a flash, dropping the scanner and whipping the oxygen mask off so Crosshair could cough up reddish-clear foam onto the floor. Batcher whimpered. The scanner alarmed from the floor, red lights flashing on the screen.

Crosshair slumped forward. Hunter caught him from hitting the floor, keeping his head facing down, fluid leaking from his nose. “Kriff,” he swore, pulling off his scarf and mopping his brother’s face with it, then shoving the oxygen mask back over his mouth and nose. “Breathe for me, Cross, come on.”

”Crosshair!” Omega cried, picking up the sensor and watching it anxiously. “He’s back in the red. Hunter, what do we do?”

Crosshair gasped, jerking upright. One hand clawed at his chest, the other at the oxygen mask, knocking it off. “Can’t -- breathe —“ he sputtered, flailing. Hunter pinned his hands to his sides as Crosshair struggled, his breathing growing harsher with every breath, his lips going blue. He’s panicking, Hunter realized. They needed help —

The doors opened, AZI floating in and Wrecker close behind with a collapsible stretcher in his hands. “Hell —“ Wrecker exclaimed.

Omega scrambled out of the way as AZI darted forward to Crosshair’s side. AZI scanned him, then hovered close and injected Crosshair with something in the hip. Crosshair struggled in Hunter’s arms for a few more breaths.

Did it work? Hunter wondered.

Then he felt his brother relaxing, Crosshair’s arms drooping into his lap. Crosshair felt suddenly boneless, his face slack, eyes half-open, but his breathing came more easily. Hunter pulled the oxygen mask back into place and sat back beside him, one arm around his shoulders, keeping him upright.

“What did you give him?” Hunter asked.

”A mild sedative,” said AZI. “It is common for delirium to occur in respiratory distress. This will allow him to breathe more freely without the sensation and fear of drowning.”

“He felt like he was drowning?” Omega whispered.

”Yes,” said AZI matter-of-factly. “Sentients report the sensation of pulmonary edema is most consistent with the sensation of drowning. It may cause an intense fear response and irrational behavior.”

“But is he going to be all right?” Wrecker interjected.

Crosshair mumbled something unintelligible, sagging against Hunter. AZI swiveled, checking his vitals once more.

“Yes, with time, rest, and oxygenation. But had you not provided adequate oxygenation in transit he may not have survived this journey.”

A wave of cold passed over Hunter. If we hadn’t heard him….

He shook it away, gazing at Crosshair’s face. But they had heard him, they’d gotten him treatment.

He was going to be all right. That was enough.

-----

Crosshair slowly came back to himself. Where was he? There was something on his face, a strange sensation in his chest. Through his closed eyes he sensed it was late morning, bright sunlight just on the other side of his awareness. Something had gone wrong. What was it --

He reached up, touching the thing on his face. An oxygen mask. He focused on it, on the sensation of cool, scentless air blowing softly against his skin, the way it felt to breathe in. It seemed to be harder than it should be, requiring thought and effort for each breath, but he also had the distinct sensation that this was better than before.

He cautiously cracked open his eyelids, keeping them half-lidded to guard against the bright sunlight streaming in through a nearby window. He gazed around. Wrecker, Hunter, Omega and Echo sat against the walls of the small room, having apparently fallen asleep where they sat.

He swallowed, his eyes stinging. It was coming back to him now in flashes --

“Crosshair! Crosshair, wake up! Can you hear me? Wrecker, help, something’s wrong with Crosshair --”

“Here, I got you. Just breathe, Crosshair, it’s all right --”

Hunter’s face grave, fear in his eyes --

Echo’s hand on his shoulder -- like Skako Minor --

Blind panic, he couldn’t breathe hard enough for what he needed, he was frantic, desperate, he was dying --

“Sentients report the sensation of pulmonary edema is most consistent with the sensation of drowning --”

“You’re awake,” Hunter murmured. He stirred, slowly unfolding himself and getting to his feet. He sat down on the end of Crosshair’s bed, tilting his head to look at him. He looked exhausted. “How do you feel? I can get the droid.”

Crosshair shook his head. “Better.” He took a deep breath. He felt something like crackling, deep in his chest, but nothing like the terrible crushing pressure from last night. He spoke carefully, slowly, and the heaviness in his chest stayed manageable. “Where are we?”

“Back on Pabu,” Hunter said, keeping his voice down for the sleepers. “You started having trouble on the way back from Teth. I… I guess that fight at the waterfall was worse than it seemed.”

Crosshair turned his face away, blanching.

“Sorry,” said Hunter. “I guess I wouldn’t want to think about it either.”

“It’s… fine,” he said stiffly. He glanced at the others, fast asleep. “Worried?”

“Yeah, we were,” Hunter said. “AZI said it was close. If Omega hadn’t woken you up and gotten help, it might have gone differently.”

Crosshair smiled slightly. That kid. She really did manage to act like she was the older one. It didn’t surprise him; just another way he owed her. “Lucky she was there.”

“Yeah.” Hunter rubbed his face with one hand. “Glad you’re doing better.” He let out a long sigh, glancing around the room at Echo, Wrecker and Omega fast asleep. Batcher was at their feet, sleeping just as deeply. “Huh. Almost makes me think of old times.”

Crosshair knew what he meant instantly. “‘Sleepovers,’” he managed before coughing deeply, reflexively making a fist despite the oxygen mask between his hand and his mouth. “Like on Kamino.”

Hunter’s eyes widened slightly in concern, before his facial expression relaxed once more. He nodded at the term, Wrecker’s name for their habit. “Any time one of us was sent to the hospital wing. Remember how it used to drive the medical droids crazy?”

“Sneaking in,” Crosshair managed. “As cadets.” The four of them had been so isolated from the regs that missing any one of them had been too much. He remembered swearing on it with the others, small hands stacked atop each other’s, a fierce vow to never leave one of them behind.

How many cycles had they had by then? Three, maybe four? They’d held fast to it, whether it was a hospital stay for observations on their enhancements or recovery after an injury (with Wrecker, injuries were sometimes a monthly affair). It had got to where the droids stopped bothering trying to usher them out, and had simply accepted that if one came, the others followed.

Hunter shook his head. “Reminds me of the Firepuncher incident.”

Crosshair groaned. “You would.”

The tips of his ears flushed warmly. He’d been the size of an unenhanced thirteen-year-old -- if taller and lankier than the others his age -- the first time the armory technician had set a 773 Firepuncher into his arms. “I’m not so sure about this,” the technician had warned, his reg’s face skeptical until Crosshair showed him his training statistics and certifications on a variety of other weapons. The Firepuncher was next up on his list to learn, and he’d been raring to try it for months. “Still, though, watch for that kick.”

“I’ll be fine,” Crosshair had said confidently. He remembered hefting the rifle, checking his stance, his breathing, his steadiness. It was awfully heavy. But he raised his face close to the scope, took aim --

Crack. The target glowed, smoking with a decent shot. But Crosshair was flat on the ground, gasping, pain radiating through his neck and arm.

Hunter’s chuckle broke him from his reverie. “I remember how stubborn you were. Insisted it was the only rifle you’d use from here on out, even though it broke your collarbone.”

“It’s a good weapon.” Crosshair scowled. He’d felt mortified, wrapped up in a sling after his scan, furious that he wasn’t stronger like Wrecker. He’d been determined at that point to master it.

“We were all impressed, you know.”

“Huh.” He supposed Hunter was right. He saw them back on Kamino, crowded around his bed. Wrecker had been crowing about how he’d graduated to the serious blasters, Hunter was grinning proudly at him, and Tech had eagerly explained the specifications of the Firepuncher and its customization options, full of ideas for how Crosshair could use it in the future.

But Tech wasn’t against the wall now, head resting on Wrecker’s shoulder or bent over his datapad. It made his chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with the cough or the oxygen mask.

“This isn’t…” He wheezed. “... so impressive.”

“You survived. That’s everything, Crosshair.” Hunter looked down at his hands, considering. “And he didn’t. No one could have survived going over those falls.”

No one. Right? His hand shook.

A sound from across the room caused them both to turn. “Crosshair?” Omega asked sleepily, rubbing her eyes. “You’re awake?”

“Yes.”

She got to her feet, hurrying to his side and laying her hand on his arm. It still startled him, how small her hands were, how strangely comforting it felt, feeling her hand rest against his arm. She beamed up at him.

“You look a lot better,” she said brightly. Beside her, Batcher put a huge paw on the bed, panting happily.

“Agreed,” said Hunter. “But we should probably let him rest --”

“Crosshair!” Wrecker boomed. He towered over Omega. He reached out and slapped Crosshair on the shoulder, much more gently than usual. “See! Knew you wouldn’t be down for long.”

“It’s the stubbornness,” Echo said, yawning. “Keeps him going.”

“If you only knew,” Crosshair said. Wrecker roared with laughter, and the others grinned, relief clear on their faces.

Crosshair took another deep breath, his chest feeling a little clearer, his breathing a little easier.

He remembered the days after Bracca, not a single visit from his new unit, his head throbbing from the burns and the removal of the chip, nothing to do but stare at the sterile white walls of the Kaminoan medical wing. He remembered his recovery ward on Coruscant after he was rescued from that platform; long endless rotations of barely being able to eat, his body still struggling to process food again, medical droids his only visitors. He remembered Tantiss, given a few meager days to recover from frostbite and exposure and injury before the torture began, Emerie’s dispassionate face, Hemlock’s mocking, measured tones.

Omega shifted her hand, resting it on his. It was trembling again, but the weight of her hand helped keep it still. She gave him a small, quiet smile while the others laughed and talked amongst themselves.

He nodded a soft thank you to her, then looked up at all of them as the door opened.

“Greetings! It is time for CT-9904’s vitals to be assessed,” AZI announced. “He has been steadily improving through the night, and should recover fully.” His head swiveled from side to side at the small crowd around the bed, and they hastily stepped aside, making room for him. “CT-9904, would you prefer privacy as you recover? I can insist they leave for your wellbeing, if that is required.”

They looked at him. Crosshair took another deep breath, swallowing, and waved a hand. “They can stay,” he rasped. “As long as they keep it down.”

“Very well!” AZI chirped.

As the droid took his readings, Crosshair glanced around at them, Batcher wagging near the foot of the bed, Omega rumpled and happy, Wrecker trying and failing to stay on the quiet side, Echo wearing a dry, relaxed grin, Hunter watching him with only a hint of worry still on his face. He caught Hunter’s eye, holding out his hand and twitching his fingers.

Hunter laughed softly. “Unbelievable.” He turned, rummaging in the stack of Crosshair’s armor and supplies piled up near the bed. He came back around, pressing a toothpick into Crosshair’s hand.

“Thanks,” he said. He slipped the oxygen mask up for a moment, bit down on the toothpick, and adjusted the mask back into place. It was awkward, but if he angled the toothpick just right, it worked.

“Now he’s back,” Wrecker laughed.

Crosshair leaned back against his pillow, taking care to stay upright, closing his eyes and working the toothpick in his teeth. A small smile quirked the edges of his mouth.

Yes. He was back, wasn’t he?

His breath crackled faintly in his chest, a reminder of how close things had been. He knew there was still danger -- Hemlock hunting Omega, the shadow operatives and the secrets they carried, the tremor twisting his hand even now, weeks out of Tantiss.

But Crosshair took a deep breath. He was still here to fight another day.

And he wasn’t alone.

#the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #crosshair tbb #crosshair the bad batch #hunter bad batch #hunter the bad batch #the bad batch hunter #the bad batch crosshair #my batcher fic

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the-oc-lass · 5 months

Text

EVERYONE WHO MISSES TECH, PLEASE STAND

Because Dave Filoni really looked at us and said “FUCK YOUR TECH DREAMS!”

Tech did not return and I am screaming.

Anyway, please enjoy Tech and a Baby

Crosshair and a Baby

Wrecker and a Baby

Gregor and a Baby

Echo and a Baby

Full fic below the cut in case you don't want to go to Ao3:

Tech isn’t what you would call a “baby guy.” Babies are illogical and can’t be reasoned with. At least once they reach a certain age, you can start communicating and getting some understanding out of them. Unfortunately for Tech, baby Echo “Ec” Yothia is still just that: a baby. None of this is to say that Tech doesn’t love Ec because, no, no, he does. He just tends to find himself a little…Uncertain when it comes to the child. He prefers to simply observe others interacting with him rather than truly engaging with the child himself.

So, of course, he would find himself in this situation. Ec’s mother, Rayona, has been working herself incredibly hard for the clone rebellion. As the acting pseudo-General and one of two resident Jedi, she takes what she does very seriously. She’s worked herself so hard, in fact, that Echo, as their resident Rayona-specialist, has taken it upon himself to start enforcing nap times for her. This is fine. Usually, it’s Echo or one of the other Bad Batch squad members that sit or lay with her to make sure she actually rests, some even resorting to lying on top of her. The problem is, Rex has Hunter and Wrecker helping him with a job and Crosshair is preoccupied with Omega. Apparently, Rayona is extra unwilling today, so Echo said it would be best for him to enforce nap time. Which leaves Tech with the baby.

“Are you absolutely certain that you cannot come and watch over him? I am not equipt for the caretaking of an infant,” he says into his comm. He can hear Crosshair laughing on the other side of the transmission, but it’s Omega who answers.

“Sorry, Tech. Crosshair and I are busy with Plaa and Ky right now.” Ah, of course. Rayona’s Jedi friend and her padawan/adopted daughter. Crosshair has taken a rather keen interest in them. “Have you asked any of the others?”

“I have accounted for everyone else in the base. They are all either busy or not currently able to properly watch over Ec. While I am not equipped to care for him, I will not pass Ec off to someone who has more pressing matters to attend to. His safety is prioritized over my own comfort,” Tech says. He adjusts his goggles slightly. “I will attend to him. Thank you for your help, Omega.”

“Good luck, Tech!” With that cheerful send-off, Omega is gone and Tech is once again alone with his thoughts and the infant. Ec stares up at him with big brown eyes, taking a moment before he smiles and reaches up toward Tech’s face, gurgling. His hand waves toward Tech’s eyes in particular, and Tech quickly deduces that he must be able to see his reflection in Tech’s goggles. He shifts the child away slightly, hoping to avoid getting any small fingerprints on his goggles. After taking a few moments to consider what he could possibly do with the child, he comes up with an idea.

For the time being, Tech sets up Ec’s feeding chair near his workstation and places Ec in it. This will allow him to monitor the child but will prevent Ec from possibly grabbing something he shouldn’t. With Ec out of his lap for the moment, Tech is able to work on his latest project. It is, however, a project for Ec. A common problem is that Ec constantly needs to be held since there aren’t many good places to put him down. Tech has been working on a solution for that. Simply put, a hovering pram for Ec to rest in. It would make it easier to transport him around while still having one’s arms free. Tech decided to fit it with an energy shield, should the day ever come when they need to move the baby through an active battlefield. He also asked about mounting small automatic turrets to shoot anyone not in a specific scan-related database, but Rayona had very quickly nixed that idea. Despite his well-cited argument about the turrets keeping Ec safe, she’d argued that it was “too dangerous” for the rest of them. A rather preposterous concern, if you ask Tech, but he went along with Rayona’s wishes. She is Ec’s mother and Tech respects her too much to go against her will. It’s easy for him to focus all his attention on the project in front of him…At first. After approximately three minutes and thirty-six seconds, Ec begins to babble. Tech ignores him at first. He can’t expect the infant to be quiet, after all. They’re only quiet when they sleep. However, it quickly becomes clear that Ec is seeking attention and Tech looks over at him.

“Yes?” he prompts, though he knows Ec won’t respond. Ec giggles and smiles at him, and Tech adjusts his goggles as he considers what to do. Ec seemed pleased that Tech spoke to him, which makes sense considering that infants recognize the sounds of speech. After Rayona had Ec, Tech also read that speaking to infants helps their cognitive development, meaning they’re able to acquire speech and language skills sooner. Perhaps he could help move that process along. Yes, that solution will do nicely. Tech pulls the feeding chair a little closer to his side, turning it slightly so that Ec can watch him work. “Now, Ec, while I understand that you do not currently have the capacity to understand me, I assure you that listening to me will help with your mental development. Now, as you can see, I’m currently wiring together the necessary controls to activate and deactivate the energy shield over the body of the pram. Once that is complete I will finish calibrating the repulsorlift and set it to the inner shell, which will allow your pram to hover, therefore making you easier to transport. I should also incorporate a sensor so that the pram can be summoned from a distance, and the sensor can be synced to your mother and-”

“Why are you sayin’ all that to him?” Tech lifts his head from his work, turning to look over his shoulder. Ah, it seems that Wrecker and Hunter have returned. Tech adjusts his goggles again.

“I had read that speaking to an infant helps with their mental development, especially when it pertains to speech skills,” he says. Wrecker blinks, clearly confused, and Tech sighs. “If I continue to talk to Ec, it is likely that he will learn to talk more quickly.” Now Wrecker’s eyes widen with understanding.

“Oh. I get it. But why all that…Smart stuff? Doesn’t he want to hear about baby stuff?” he asks. Tech glances at Ec, who he finds looking back at him. When Tech’s eyes land on him, Ec smiles and babbles slightly. Tech smiles slightly in satisfaction before looking back at Wrecker.

“I believe my ‘smart stuff’ is plenty entertaining for Ec. Perhaps he will retain some of it and someday have an intellect matching my own,” he says, perhaps just a little proudly. Hunter appears at Wrecker’s side, helmet held against his hip.

“Does that mean you don’t want us to take him? Omega mentioned that you weren’t sure what to do with him,” he says. Tech once again looks down at Ec, who is still smiling at him.

“No. He may remain with me,” he says after a moment. Hunter shrugs, then gestures to Wrecker with his head. The two leave and Tech turns back to his project, though not without briefly brushing some of Ec’s hair back. “Now, where was I? Ah, yes. I should consider making some sort of gauntlet or chip to ensure that your pram can be summoned to…”

#the bad batch #the bad batch tech #sw tbb #tbb #tbb tech #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #clone force 99 #bad batch #star wars the bad batch #I miss him so much your honor #bring back my boy 2024 #tech and a baby #baby fic #baby fluff

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sinfulsalutations · 1 year

Text

𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕤𝕚𝕩 ⋆*･ﾟ 𝕥𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝 𝕘𝕖𝕒𝕣 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕘𝕠𝕣

⋆ ★ ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 2023 ʟɪɴᴇᴜᴘ

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴀɪɴ ɢʀᴇɢᴏʀ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ᴛʜɪɢʜ ʀɪᴅɪɴɢ, ᴅʀʏ ʜᴜᴍᴘɪɴɢ, ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʟᴏᴛʜᴇꜱ

⋆ ★ ʟᴀᴢɪʟʏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ, ʀᴜꜱʜᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴀʏ ʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴋɪɴᴋʏ ᴛʜᴀɴ ɪ ᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ ɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʙᴜᴛ ʙᴇᴀʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ, ɪᴛ'ꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴀ ʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴄᴏᴜᴘʟᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴀʏꜱ. ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ

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

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

He’s finally home.

Just when it’d been a beating a month marking Gregor’s latest deployment, he barges through your door, body still covered head to toe in his commander gear, arms wide open awaiting you to fall into them.

You do. No hesitation coursing through your veins fueled by a pounding heart, you keep him firmly to your chest, breathing in his presence until it finally proves that he’s here, back where he belongs.

Gregor guides you by the hand to the couch, giggling softly as he sits down and pulls you down to him by the waist.

“Come `ere,” he attempts to hoist you onto his lap; you hesitate, gazing down at his lap. Not one piece of his armor has yet found its way to the floor.

“You’re still…” You begin, but Gregor quickly clicks his tongue with a shake of his head.

“So?” He raises an eyebrow with a smile. “Does it discomfort you when sitting on my lap?”

You think upon it for a moment before shaking your head.

“Then I see no problem. I need cuddles sooner than later.”

Rolling your eyes, you finally let him pull you on top to rest firmly on his lap. Your legs wrap around his middle and your hands meet behind his neck, smiling brilliantly. Gregor giggles.

“`Feels nice,” He remarks, kissing the tip of your nose, “to be back.”

“Yeah,” you agree in a hushed voice, savoring the proximity you’ve been robbed of the past month.

Another hearty laugh bursts out of him, his chest rumbling against yours and his knee bumping up. You hum at the sensation, his touch stirring up desires you’ve kept at bay for too long. Gregor’s gaze drifts down to your lips and a smile spreads across his face.

“Really missed you,” he murmurs, trailing a finger down your cheek.

“I know,” you reassure his confession with a soft peck. “Missed you too.”

When he squeezes your hip to pull you into his hold further, you squeak with the slow slide of your clothed pussy over his gear. His thigh plates are sturdy, just a little more solid than his actual thigh. But the end of it flicking against you already sends you to a sense of frenzy, so riled up from lacking his touch for so long.

You whine. He raises an eyebrow.

“Sensitive?” Another sudden giggle escapes him as he presses his thumbs into the pressure points of your hips, making your knees buckle.

You nod small, raising an eyebrow as he bumps his thigh up again.

“C’mon,” he urges, giggling when your mouth falls agape. “Go ahead.”

With a gawk, Gregor corrects his words to be more clear.

“Take your pleasure.

Stammering, you pull back and gaze down where you sit in his lap, imagining how awkward or uncomfortable he might feel in his position

“You’re–you’re still in all your gear,” you mutter.

He tilts his head as if it isn’t an obstacle.

“Do you think that matters to me?” He pulls you down further into his lap, forcing your spread thighs to press entirely to him. You gasp, and then he states what he wishes firmly.

“I want you to mark it up, mesh’la. So I always remember you when I’m gone.”

How does he manage to be pure filth and sweetness at the same time? You’ve yet to find out, nor spend time figuring as you slowly begin to rock your clothed cunt up and down his thigh plate. Gregor groans pleasantly.

“Yeah, do that,” He rasps. “Don’t stop, never stop.”

He always seems to get off on your pleasure just as much as you. The mere prospect sends you practically grinding shamelessly onto him, gripping any piece of plastoid you can curl your fingers around to steady yourself. Any wrong move and you could slip or fall off of him. He certainly isn’t keeping you the most stable.

You’re depraved, you’re vile, you’re incredibly desperate.

But so is Gregor. Which makes it semble something just a little less singularly embarrassing.

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dystopicjumpsuit · 1 year

Text

Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 1

Remember Us

Rating: T (rating varies by chapter; mature content will be tagged; regardless of rating, minors DNI)

Pairings: Echo x Riyo Chuchi; Gregor x OFC Cerra Kilian

Wordcount: 2.8k

Warnings: minor angst

Suggested Listening:

Summary: Soldiers. Heroes. Deserters. Traitors. They've been called many things. As the Galactic Empire rises from the ashes of the Republic, a small group of clone troopers and their allies will find a new identity: Rebels.

Echo, Rex, and Gregor are on a mission to save as many of their brothers as they can. The task is daunting, and their friends are few. But from these small and desperate beginnings will come a spark of resistance that will set the galaxy ablaze.

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings and "Do It Again," but all three fics can be read as stand-alones.

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Remember us—if at all—not as lost violent souls, but only as the hollow men.

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

The Marauder pushed off the landing platform with a roar of thrusters and rose through the underworld portal until it disappeared in the swirl of air speeder and starship traffic. The repair shop where Rex had set up his base of operations was deep in the lower levels of Coruscant, and Echo knew the ship would keep ascending long after he lost sight of it before it reached the surface. His decision to part ways with the Batch had seemed very straightforward and logical as he’d discussed it with Hunter, Wrecker, and Tech, but in the face of Omega’s tearful farewell, his resolve had nearly crumbled.

He knew that the rest of the Batch would never let any harm come to the girl; her safety was their only priority. But Echo needed to do more to help his fellow clones, and with Rex, he would finally be in a position to do so. And so he merely watched as the ship departed, bearing his brothers and sister back to Ord Mantell and Cid’s endlessly questionable jobs.

He turned to rejoin Rex and Senator Chuchi. They had been conversing discreetly, giving him privacy and space as he said his goodbyes. The senator watched him now, her luminous eyes soft.

“It’s very brave of you, Echo, to stay behind and join our network after everything you’ve been through,” she said.

“Thank you, Senator,” he said, “but I’ve never been one to back down from a fight.”

“Please, call me Riyo,” she said.

Echo nodded as Rex clapped him on the shoulder.

“Come on, brother,” his old captain said. “I’ll show you around.”

The tour didn’t take long. The repair shop apparently belonged to Trace Martez, the young thief Echo had encountered on Corellia. Rex had taken over the shop when Coruscant got a little too hot for the Martez sisters’ comfort. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement: Rex needed a home base, and Trace needed someone to make sure the shop didn’t fall victim to the seedier elements of the underworld. Rex had set up a kitchen, a temporary barracks, and a small training gym at the back of the shop. There was a tiny room that served as a makeshift office and command center, and finally a communal refresher with two open shower stalls, an enclosed toilet, and a small sink. The garage contained few creature comforts; mostly they just used crates for furniture, though there was a broken-down old sofa with a holotable set up in front of it.

The accommodations were spare and shabby, which was familiar to Echo, but he was struck by how out-of-place Riyo looked in the shop. With her elegant clothing and elaborate hairstyle, she looked far too delicate and fine for her surroundings. Still, she didn’t display either judgment or discomfort at the sparseness of the shop. Echo stole occasional glances at her, admiring the soft curves of her face, the graceful line of her throat, the way her wide, intelligent eyes took in everything around her, missing not a single detail. He wondered how to describe the exact shade of her hair. Was it mauve? Or maybe violet was more accurate. Her gaze shifted to him, and he looked away quickly.

The unmistakable whine of a speeder bike landing on the platform outside interrupted his train of thought, and soon footsteps echoed through the shop.

“Rex? You here?” a woman’s voice called.

“Back here, Cerra,” Rex replied. “I have someone I want you to meet.”

The woman strode into view, faltering a little when she spotted Echo.

“Echo, I’d like you to meet Cerra Kilian,” Rex said. “She handles logistics. Very good at getting things clones aren’t supposed to have.”

“Nice to meet you, Cerra,” Echo said.

The woman clasped Echo’s hand in a reserved greeting and nodded at Riyo. “A pleasure, Echo. Senator, it’s good to see you again.”

“And you as well, Cerra,” Riyo replied.

The contrast between the two women could not have been more stark. Riyo was lovely, with her wide, golden eyes, azure skin, and glossy lavender—no, lilac—hair. Everything about her was soft and feminine and fragile, almost ethereal. Cerra was taller and more solid, her face more angular, and everything about her spoke of practical decisions, from her buzzed head, to her faded mechanic’s coveralls and sturdy boots. More striking, though, was the difference in their expressions. While Riyo’s face was gentle and easy to read, Cerra’s guarded eyes revealed nothing of her thoughts.

“Got a lead on that electro capsule the clone assassin used,” Cerra said.

“What did you learn?” Rex asked.

“It isn’t underworld tech,” Cerra said. “At least, not as far as any of my contacts could tell. More likely military-grade.”

“Then it probably was Rampart’s work,” Rex said grimly.

“Hard to say,” Cerra said. “We know somebody was pulling Rampart’s strings. I’ll keep looking.”

“I hope I don’t sound selfish, but I can’t help wondering. Do you think I might still be in danger?” Riyo asked.

Cerra looked at Rex, wordlessly deferring to him.

“It’s difficult to say,” Rex said. “For now, it wouldn’t be a bad idea for your guards to take additional precautions.”

“I can take a look at their security protocols and offer a few suggestions, if you’d like,” Echo offered.

“Thank you,” Riyo said, gazing up at him with gratitude in her eyes. “I would imagine that someone as accomplished at infiltration as an ARC Trooper would be the best person to find weaknesses in security.”

“Former ARC Trooper,” Echo said, wondering what else Rex had told her about him.

“I don’t think anyone could forget ARC training,” Rex said with a quiet laugh.

Cerra’s eyes flickered to the front entrance of the repair shop, and Echo turned automatically, preparing for a threat. Instead, he recognized a familiar face.

“Didn’t realize we were having a party,” Gregor said as he strode into the room and clasped Echo’s forearm in greeting. “Good to have you with us, Echo.”

The commando nodded at Rex and Riyo, then draped his arm casually over Cerra’s shoulders and handed her a travel cup. The woman pushed him off with an indistinct grumble, but she took the cup with the barest hint of a smile.

“I got some intel on a clone in the 41st Elite Corps who wants to get out. Name’s Fireball, do you know him?” Gregor asked.

“I’ve met him,” Rex said. “Good man. Good soldier.”

“Is the 41st still on Kashyyyk?” Echo asked. “I was there recently. Rex, it could get ugly.”

“It’ll take some time to plan,” Rex said noncommittally.

“That’s not the only thing we’ll need to plan,” Gregor said. “If we’re going to be extracting clones, we’re going to need a way to get the inhibitor chips out of their heads. AZI took mine out on Ord Mantell, but we don’t have a medical droid of our own.”

“Karthon chop fields,” Cerra said. Riyo and the three clones all turned to her. “I’ve been looking into it. My source says there are at least three downed Venators slated for decommissioning on Karthon. We can pull the surgical pod from one of the med bays and set it up here.”

“It’s risky,” Rex said.

“Not as risky as Lotho Minor or Bracca, now that the Empire has stepped up security after your adventure there last year,” Cerra said. “I can get it, but I’ll need help. Gregor, you in?”

“I’d like Echo to go with you on this one,” Rex interjected.

Cerra didn’t react except to nod. “It’s going to take a few days to get the supplies together.”

Over the next few days, Echo began to get a feel for the small group living in the repair shop. Rex was right: his organization was spread thin. Echo wasn’t exactly sure how many others were involved, but at the moment, the only people besides himself who were at the garage were Rex, Cerra, and Gregor. Any others were either deployed on missions or based elsewhere. The three of them were run ragged. Rex looked even more exhausted than he had during the war. Cerra was quiet and remote, keeping to herself and rarely instigating conversations. Gregor was the only one who still seemed to have a sense of humor.

In addition to running missions with Rex, Gregor was the self-appointed quartermaster and chef of the group. He was a surprisingly good cook, and when Echo complimented the food, the commando grinned.

“It’s nice to be the one in charge of the kitchen instead of just washing dishes,” he said.

“If I start cooking, does that mean I can skip dish duty?” Cerra asked.

“No thanks, I’ve tasted your cooking,” Gregor laughed, his eyes bright.

“Rude, but fair,” Cerra acknowledged.

It was the night before Echo was due to travel to Karthon with Cerra. The group sprawled around the holotable, chatting quietly as they ate Gregor’s spicy yobshrimp stew. Echo was jittery. He wasn’t nervous about the mission itself; he’d completed hundreds of missions. But they were always with his brothers or a Jedi. This was his first time with a civilian. Still, Rex obviously trusted Cerra enough to send her after the surgical pod, so Echo tried to quiet his nerves.

“I can take KP tonight,” Echo offered, looking for a distraction.

“You’re on,” Cerra said immediately.

“Sucker,” Gregor giggled.

The kitchen was a spectacular mess, and it took some time for Echo to finish cleaning up. By the time he did, he could hear music blasting from the training gym, and he went to investigate.

Gregor leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, as he watched Rex spar with Cerra. Her face was flushed with exertion, and beads of sweat speckled her forehead and dripped down her temples. Echo could tell that Rex was holding back, though Cerra had surprisingly good form. She clearly had training, but it wasn’t enough against an opponent who was taller, stronger, heavier, and had been trained literally from birth to be a killing machine. Gregor occasionally tossed out a dispassionate suggestion or command, focusing on techniques specifically for fighting a larger combatant.

“Pull guard, Cerra, just like we practiced,” the commando coached.

Cerra grabbed Rex’s forearm and took him to the ground, locking her legs around his waist. Echo immediately recognized the move; he’d practiced it often enough during ARC training. He hadn’t sparred with anyone in ages, and he wondered if his prosthetic legs were agile enough to do it. He suspected so; though they were not quite as dexterous as his legs had formerly been, they made up for it in durability and strength. A single kick would be strong enough to snap a limb or break a spine.

“That’s better, Cerra,” Rex praised.

“Next time, rotate your foot to the outside,” Gregor said, unimpressed. “Unless you want to break your own ankle or get your leg pinned.”

Cerra slapped Rex on the back of the head. “Stop taking it easy on me.”

He grinned down at her. “Sorry, kid. Gotta walk before you can run.”

“First of all, I’m twice your age, and secondly, a real opponent won’t pull their punches,” she said.

“That’s why you have a blaster,” Rex replied calmly. “Want to go again?”

She nodded, but Gregor intervened. “You need to rest up for tomorrow’s mission.”

Cerra released Rex immediately, and he stood to his feet, then extended a hand and pulled her up from the mat. She was breathing hard, and Gregor tossed her a towel to dry off. She spotted Echo and acknowledged him with a jerk of her chin.

“Maybe Echo can teach me some sweet ARC moves while we’re en route to Karthon,” she said.

“Didn’t Fives show you any?” Gregor asked.

Rex winced, but Cerra mopped her face and arms with the towel.

“A few,” she said.

“You knew Fives?” Echo asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m going to hop in the shower.”

“I can’t believe we’re taking that rust-bucket to Karthon,” Echo said.

The rickety shuttle was practically an antique. The sublight drive rattled alarmingly when it started up, and even the hydraulic struts for the ramp only worked about half the time.

“It’s old, but it still has some tricks thanks to Trace,” Rex said. “It’ll get you there and back. Besides, it’s the only ship we have with a cargo hold big enough to transport the surgical pod.”

“She’ll fly all right,” Cerra said as she joined them. “Not fast. Hopefully she won’t leak like a sieve.”

Rex was holding two travel mugs of caf, and he handed one to Cerra.

“You’re a god among men,” she said, taking a blissful sip.

“Is the other one for me?” Echo asked.

“Kark no,” Rex said, chugging half the liquid in one go. “Get your own.”

Cerra strode up the ramp and flopped into the co-pilot’s seat. “Don’t worry, Echo, we can stop at Starcups on the way out.”

Echo pulled a face. “Starcups barely qualifies as caf. More like syrup and blue milk that once heard a rumor about caf.”

“Still gets the job done,” Cerra shrugged. “Let’s roll.”

In the slow, dilapidated old shuttle, it was a full day’s jump to Karthon. Cerra was mostly silent once they entered hyperspace, tinkering with the electronic guts of a clone armor cuirass that she’d modified heavily. Echo, accustomed to Wrecker and Omega’s raucous banter and Tech’s spontaneous infodumps, found the silence deafening. He wished Gregor had come with them on the mission. The commando’s relaxed attitude and cheerful personality seemed to pull Cerra out of her shell in a way that Echo had not yet figured out how to do. He was no sparkling conversationalist, but he didn’t enjoy silence and solitude—not any more.

It had only been a few days, but he missed the Batch. He missed Tech’s monologues as they copiloted the Marauder on long hyperspace jumps. He missed Omega’s endless questions and cheerful commentary. He thought of the way the tears had welled in her eyes as she hugged him goodbye, and his chest ached at the memory.

The cuirass sparked, and Cerra flinched and cursed.

“Need a hand?” Echo offered.

Cerra sighed and dragged a hand across her eyes. “I think I fried one of the connectors when I heated the plastoid to reshape the chestplate. The control unit fits, but I can’t get it to sync with the HUD.”

She passed the cuirass to Echo, who inspected it closely. She was right; there was a tiny scorch mark on one of the connectors.

“We’ll have to salvage another chestplate to get replacements,” he said. “Decent chance we’ll find some on Karthon.”

“At least it’ll give me some protection for now,” she said. “I’ll just have to go without a helmet until I can get it fixed.”

“I can help with the modifications, if you’d like,” Echo offered. “I have some experience with armor mods.”

“So I see,” she said, eyeing his custom suit. “I figured your armor wasn’t exactly off the rack.”

Echo chuckled. “Not exactly. My squadmate Tech helped me with my first set of armor after Skako Minor, but this set I modified myself. I added some extra features. Aside from the obvious.” He gestured to his scomp.

“What kind of features?” she asked.

“Electrical surge prevention,” he said.

She nodded. “Kix told me you got a hell of a jolt at Anaxes.”

“You knew Kix as well as Fives?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “He’s gone, too.”

Darkness flickered across her face, but she took a deep breath and her usual stoicism slid back into place. Echo reached out to lay his hand on her shoulder, but something about her posture made him think she wouldn’t appreciate the gesture. He faltered and dropped his hand back to his side. After a time, he broke the silence.

“So,” he said. “How well did you know Fives?”

“Pretty well,” she said flatly. “So how about those sweet ARC moves?”

He wanted to push, wanted to know more. Rex had given him the bare-bones account of Fives’s death, but there never seemed to be enough time to actually process it. Cerra was the only person in Echo’s life other than Rex who had known his twin, but her walls seemed to be made of durasteel, reinforced with beskar. And the last thing he wanted to do was scug her off right before he headed into a mission, trusting her to have his back.

“Rex went through ARC training, too, you know,” Echo pointed out. “He knows all those moves. But I can show you a trick or two that I learned from Clone Force 99.”

---

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