#tbb prompt event

[freesia-writes]

Bad Batch Prompt Event #1

Much love to @arctrooper69 for making this official, and I can't wait to see what anyone else has written for these prompts! I'm gonna post the SFW part one here and NSFW part two over on @spicy-clones.

Hunter x F!Reader WORD COUNT 3000 my bad! Content: some basic medical descriptions, reader gets her butt smacked at 79s, and a wee bit o kissin. GONNA USE MY SEXY DIVIDERS WITH @pinkiemme's art since it's HUNTER! :D

“Seriously?” you sighed. “This again?”

“This is completely different than last time,” came the smooth reply, earning both a snort and an eyeroll from you. 

“It’s almost exactly the same.”

“Different arm.”

“Oh my gosh.” Your almost-laugh was overshadowed by concern and frustration as you made quick work of the injury and carefully wrapped the gauze around his bicep, trying not to pay too close attention to the gentle curves of the muscles and tendons, the light dusting of hair, the scars and bruises… You cleared your throat, shaking your head minutely and looking back up to his face. That wasn’t any better. His sharp eyes gazed steadily at you, framed by his distinctive nose and the strands of hair that brushed the sides of his face.

“Well thanks as always,” he said quietly, the hint of a rare smile touching the corner of his lips, which were almost always curved in the ghost of a frown from the burdens he carried. You tried to ignore the flutter in your chest, instead nodding and picking up your datapad abruptly to see what else was on the agenda for the Kamino medical bay that day. You looked back to him, offering a small smile and an honest exhortation.

“Take care of yourself, Hunter.”

* * * 

You were surprised to see him only a week later, stepping into line behind you in the mess hall with the rest of his squad. They were normally a boisterous bunch, but there seemed to be a heaviness upon them as they moved rather listlessly. Perhaps a mission gone awry, perhaps the regular wear and tear of being mere property in a seemingly endless war. You caught Hunter’s eye as he moved to the front of his group, setting his tray on the shelf beside yours as you slid down the food line. 

“You alright?” you asked softly, startling yourself with the gentleness and vulnerability in your own voice and cringing at the fact that you didn’t even lead with a “hello”. 

“Yeah,” he said automatically, his flat affect provoking more anxiety than you’d like. You left it at that, unable to stifle the simultaneous warmth and concern emanating from you. You didn’t know what it was about his mere presence, but he exuded both competence and compassion, intelligence and wit, and you perceived the weight of responsibility that hung over his head, both a gift and a curse of his engineered fate. 

You’d come to enjoy his med bay visits more and more, although it was never the ideal circumstances to meet. The elaborate fantasies you concocted as you drifted off to sleep were far more appealing, consisting of stargazing cuddles, fancy galas, coffee shop chats, and many other situations you’d want to share with him. As corny as it seemed, more than all of it, you simply wanted to know him, to know the inner workings of his mind, his joys and worries, the things that made him laugh, the way he liked his caf… It wasn’t the first time in your life that you’d harbored a crush for someone who was as unattainable as they were oblivious of your affections, so you settled to daydream and enjoy the times you did get to share. 

It helped that your occupation allowed you some quiet moments and gentle touches here and there. Although, perhaps “helped” was the wrong word. 

* * * 

“We need you in room 6 immediately,” crackled the voice on your commlink, and you set aside the instruments you’d been cleaning and adjusting, heading that way with urgency. When the door slid open, you felt a jolt of electricity run through your body at the sight of a hulking clone on the exam table, covered in dried blood and haphazardly-wrapped bandages. You knew who it was without seeing his face, which was almost entirely obscured, and before your emotions could catch up, you snapped into work mode.

“What are we dealing with?” you asked the others, who were moving in smooth synchronization to free his head and scan him head to toe. 

“CT-9903. Explosion and shrapnel, blunt force trauma, multiple lacerations…” your assistant reported, eyes flitting across the scanner screen.

“That’s gonna leave a mark,” your other colleague said, stuffing the wads of bandages into the garbage and pulling on a fresh set of gloves. 

“Let’s get to work,” you muttered. 

A few hours later, he was cleaned up and sleeping comfortably, one eye closed serenely beneath a spiral of neatly-wrapped gauze that covered the rest of his head. You slipped into the room and tapped the screens, confirming the notes your assistant had entered, then rested a hand on his broad forearm, watching his chest rise and fall and sending out all the comforting and healing vibes you could muster. 

“He seems alright,” came a smooth, low voice from behind you, making you jump and emit the tiniest squawk. You whirled around to see Hunter in a chair in the corner, reclining with his legs crossed out in front of him. He’d phrased it as a statement but the inflection of his voice indicated a question, and you exhaled in an attempt to regain your composure.

“First of all, hi. Next time, can you greet me when I come into the room instead of scaring the crap out of me?” you said, accompanied with a little laugh that sounded forced. 

“We’ll see,” he returned evenly, keeping his face straight despite your smirk.

“That’s an order, Sergeant,” you attempted, delighting in the slight spark in his eyes as he raised his eyebrows.

“Oh really,” he said, lowering his chin just enough to bring some hair across his forehead as he regarded you with a stare that you could have sworn held a hint of smolder. But perhaps you were seeing what you wanted to see. Your fingers twitched at your sides, yearning to stroke the tufts back from his face… and other stuff…

“Yeah, anyway…” you said suddenly, clearing your throat and turning businesslike all of a sudden. “He should be fine. We’ll run some more tests when he wakes up to check on his hearing. The lacerations should heal easily, and he was lucky enough to avoid any serious contusions, somehow. I don’t know what you all were doing out there but this guy needs a thicker helmet.”

“I’ll make sure to request that from the armory.”

“I’m sure they’ll be wildly helpful and accommodating.”

“Always.”

A silence fell for a moment, then he rose to his feet, stretching to his full height and picking up his backpack.  He slung it across his shoulders, along with the concerns and duties that awaited him, and gave you a cordial nod. 

“Thanks for taking care of him,” he said with genuine sincerity, regarding you with fondness as he stepped closer. Your heart skipped a beat and you felt frozen to the spot, mind racing with a million scenarios you’d envisioned that started out just like this. 

“Just doing my job… sir,” you said feebly, swallowing hard as he moved the tiniest bit nearer. You gazed at his eyes, brown at first glance but peppered with pale green and gray upon closer inspection. You could swear you felt the sparks flying between the two of you… until he spoke, shifting slightly to your side. 

“Gotta… head out…” he muttered, and you suddenly realized he had actually been trying to get past you. Flushed with hot embarrassment, you moved aside in a flash, turning away to hide your reddening cheeks. 

“Sorry, I didn’t sleep too much last night,” you explained quickly, trying not to stutter. “The old brain isn’t working quite so well today.”

“I’m glad you performed cranial surgery on Wrecker, then,” Hunter observed, and you buried your face in a hand.

“I mean, it wasn’t really surgery, but good point,” you laughed, thoroughly mortified now.

You didn’t see the pursed lips hiding his smile as he turned and disappeared out the door. 

* * * 

You were deeply saddened at first when you were transferred from the Kamino medical bay to the general medical center on Coruscant. But, as your fellow clone-obsessed friend reminded you, you would be able to go with her to 79s on your nights off, where you could enjoy the company of the types of men you’d come to prefer. It had been a hellish week, with too many patients and too few staff members, and you had worked yourself to the bone. It was as good a time as any to blow off some steam, so it took only a little urging from your friend for you to change into some going out clothes, fix up your hair a bit, and hit the town with her. 

Typically one for softness and gentleness, you felt an edge to yourself that night. Perhaps it was the build up of all of the frustrating situations at work, but whatever the cause, you didn’t feel like putting up with any kind of BS. So when the first trooper you walked past tried to smack your butt, you turned on him with the raging fury of a thousand suns and gave him a piece of your mind. Your friend stared at you, dumbfounded, and you heard some chuckles and comments from the crowd. Turning away before you melted into an apology, you stalked off to the corner booth you had left your stuff in.

“That was brutal,” a smoky voice said, and you were floored at the sight of Hunter sliding into the booth next to you. Your friend winked at you from where she stood at the bar, still flirting with a couple of troopers. You stared at him, speechless, and he held his hands up in surrender. “I’ll clear out if you’re going to chew me out like that guy. Just wanted to say hi. Haven’t seen you in the med bay in a while.“

“No, stay!“ You said, more eagerness in your voice than you would like to admit. “They transferred me here…”

“And you just had to get your clone fix?”

You blushed, palming your face before taking a long swig of your drink. It was a stiff one, and a fitting way to end your week. 

“Just kidding,” he continued, “We both know you just miss yelling at people.” 

“Oh, I’m such a yeller,” you rolled your eyes. You had never been anything but gentle and kind with him and the other patients. And he knew it.

Before long, you both found yourselves lost in conversation, and it felt as though your dreams were coming true. Details of his life and thoughts were flowing freely, well, as freely as possible considering the covert nature of most of his experiences, and the two of you settled into a comfortable rhythm as you nursed your drinks and regarded one another. You shared about your training days, mishaps and mayhem, and your goals for the future. He was happy to listen, answering questions but also content to simply sit. You didn’t want to admit just how much you were thrilled by the entire situation. 

“Refills?” You asked, gesturing to the empty glasses on the table. He nodded, but then followed you out of the booth. As the two of you leaned against the bar, waiting to be acknowledged, you tilted your head at him, feeling slightly emboldened for a moment, but it quickly melted when his eyes met yours.

“Yes?” He asked, a smirk on his own face. 

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he teased. “Looks like you’ve got something you want to say.”

“Maybe there’s lots I want to say,” you clapped back, putting your hand on your hip. “But I don’t think I’m going to.” You gave him a sassy smile in an attempt to hide the complete and total whirlwind of thoughts raging for consideration within you. 

He took a step closer, coming into your personal space, and his hand that rested on the bar counter was dangerously close to your waist. You could almost feel his touch, without any contact being made at all. His eyes were dark beneath his brows, his sharp profile illuminated by the colorful lights all around, and your heart skipped a beat. 

“You sure?” he purred, a smug look on his face as though he knew the effect he had on you. “Nothing at all?”

“You’re the worst,” you stammered, dropping your chin and fixing your stair on the ground beside you.

“Yeah,” he conceded with a snort. “Well, you still like me.”

Your head flew up faster than a ship jumping into hyperspace, and you stared at him in utter shock as your stomach plunged. Your mouth fell open a little bit as you frantically searched for words, coming up with none and snapping it shut again. He shifted the tiniest fraction closer, looming over you now in a way that would be intimidating if your veins weren’t coursing with adrenaline and the sheer desire to grab his shirt and show him all that you couldn’t say. 

“Thought so,” he said with a satisfied rumble of laughter that made your knees weak.

“I don’t… I mean, I couldn’t…” You fumbled hopelessly, turning away a tiny bit as you grappled for any kind of response.

“Hey lady,” a clone voice said from behind you. “ This guy bothering you?” You turned around to see a trooper with his head closely shaved except for some intricate designs along the sides. He was standing tall, an inch or two over Hunter, and had a warm intensity to his gaze that showed genuine concern more than creepiness or bravado.

You looked back to Hunter, who was still leaning on the bar, relaxed and unbothered. He lifted his eyebrows at you, uncharacteristically playful, and said, “Well?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” you said to the blue-armored clone, who gave you a polite nod before leaving with one last suspicious glare at Hunter.

“So… you were saying?” Hunter poked, tilting his head at you and fanning the flame. Was he flirting? For real? Or just trying to make you flustered, for his own fun and entertainment? 

“Now you’re just being cruel,” you whined, and he laughed, an authentic, deep sound that made you swoon. 

“I would never.”

“Hunter, we’ve got to go,” a pert voice broke through your fantasy, and you turned to see a bespectacled man with a serious face standing beside Hunter, who looked at you with an unreadable expression as your heart sank and disappointment lay heavy over the two of you.

“Well. Hope I see you again,” he admitted, a wistful tone to his voice as he brushed his fingers across the back of your hand, sending a jolt of electricity through you, and dipped his head in goodbye before disappearing out the front door. 

You went home to your “personal massager” that night. 

* * * 

You were finishing the patient notes for the day as you bent over your screen at work, tapping away with diligence as you looked forward to freedom for the evening. It had been nearly a week since you’d seen Hunter at 79s, and you’d been kicking yourself for not speaking up more, or flirting more, or making a move, or something. You doubted your paths would cross again, as your friend shared that she’d only seen Clone Force 99 at the bar once before, and she was quite the regular. Bringing your thoughts back to the present, you groaned inwardly as your comm pinged with an incoming message, and you considered not looking at it to avoid any calls to stay late. But curiosity got the better of you, and you took a look at the screen. 

//18:42//-ENCRYPTED- {Chewed out any regs lately?}

Your mouth fell open, brow furrowed, as you studied the message. It wasn’t an internal memo, nor was it from any sort of source you’d seen before. It couldn't be… Could it? You smirked, curious to try something that might seem inconspicuous if it were, in fact, an error, but might be playful if it were him.

//18:43// - {Unfamiliar source number, identification needed.}

The response seemed to take ages.

//18:47//-ENCRYPTED- {Identification can be provided in the maintenance alleyway of the med center.}

You were embarrassed how quickly you got there. 

The door swung open into a long, narrow gap between the large hospital buildings, filled with random parts and trash chutes, and your heart leapt in your chest when you saw his gray and red armor.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, positively thrilled and unable to hide it.

“I… Well… I don’t know,” Hunter admitted with a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I haven’t been able to get you off my mind since we had to leave… So I thought it might need some medical attention.” 

Now it was your turn to laugh, the sheer delight of it all cascading over you. “Oh, and a crusty alleyway seems like a very sterile environment.” He grinned, shaking his head, and you caught a glimpse of his own vulnerability, realizing that he, too, was fairly out of sorts when it came to smooth talk and flirtation. Somehow, that made you feel better, and all the regrets and “what ifs” of the last number of days began a relentless protest in your mind. “Well, let’s see what I can do,” you murmured, stepping closer to where he leaned against the wall. His eyebrows climbed up his head, giving away his utter surprise, and the sight gave you tingles. 

“I… ah…” he began, but you leaned into him a little, fueled by months of daydreams and a lifetime of self-loathing for all the opportunities you were too cowardly to take hold of. Plus, his sheepishness and his admission were all you’d needed to hear, and there was an undeniable affection in his eyes that melted you to the core. 

“Let’s see if we can help you out a bit?” you offered, simultaneously cringing and delighting at the complete and total ridiculousness of it all. But then he tilted his head and lifted a single, curled finger to your chin, tipping it up toward his face and sealing your fate as hopelessly enthralled. His dark eyes glittered with warmth and trepidation, and the next thing you knew, your lips were pressed against his, eyes closed, arms around his neck. 

It was so soft, so absolutely mind-blowingly perfect; your entire body was electrified as his own arms wrapped around you. You felt him exhale, his nose against your cheek, and you were overwhelmed with joy at his closeness, his vulnerability, his all-consuming presence that filled your senses. His body formed around yours, his mouth still gently nestled against your own, and you melted a little further into him, wishing that it would never end. 

When you finally did separate with a soft smack of the lips, you left your faces close, your eyes darting to his, which remained closed for an extra second before slowly opening with a relaxed warmth that had you feeling weak all over again. You couldn’t resist leaning your forehead against his own, reaching a hand up to caress his cheek for a moment before begrudgingly pulling back a bit. 

“Thank you,” you whispered lamely, and he exhaled through his nose.

“Thank you,” he echoed, sheepish and disarmed. 

“Please contact me anytime you need any sort of medical attention,” you continued, wrinkling your nose at just how terrible it all sounded, but he snickered, slowly releasing you with a nod.

“My job is quite harmful.”

Are you 18+? Interested in a smutty part two? Click here. ;)

Tag List: @littlefeatherr @foreverdaydreaming1 @littlemissbshine @dreamie411 @skellymom @followthepurrgil @the-hexfiles @1vlouds @ughhhhfoff @coraex @gt13tbbart @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @secondaryrealm @hellhound5925 @thew0nderer2342 @cloneloverrrrr @clonethirstingisreal @kimiheartblade @mooncommlink @stardusthuntress @starstofillmydream @eyecandyeoz @dhawerdaverd @ladylucksrogue @thiswitchloves9904 @eternal-transcience @cw80831 @adh-d2 @techmexicanvieja @ezras-left-thumb @trixie2023 @sleepycreativewriter @nonsenseandm3mes @mlichaelm @nahoney22 @mary-on-the-contrary @sverdgeir @roam-rs @starsaboveclones @falconfeather23435 @lightwise @solstraalaa @chishiyas-favorite57 @hipwell @lamiliani @catoo @smw-on-kamino

Click here to join or leave the tag list.

[summer-of-bad-batch]

Summer of Bad Batch 2025 has officially begun!! And with it, the introduction of event banners!!

The absolutely AMAZING banners below the cut were created by fellow Bad Batch fandom enthusiasts. These talented individuals gifted us with fantastic pieces to use alongside our prompt fills here on Tumblr!

To use banners…simply:

Save the image you want to use

Add the image to your fill post

You then can use the image as a heading to your fill to let everyone know that your creative genius is for this event!

(You can also find page dividers here!)

Thank you to all the amazing artists that contributed banners this year!! 🤗

Banners by @pandorademos:

Banners by @leapingbadger:

Banners by @tlmtwelve:

Banners by @blackseafoam:

Banner by @sxpaiscia:

Banners by @totallywizard07:

Banner by @callsign-denmark:

Banners by @probadbatch:

Banner by @the-little-moment

Banner by @imperialsprig

[archivewriter1ont]

And that's a wrap for @may01st!

I think this is the only time-based fic "challenge" or collection that I've actually ever completed?! Probably because it was a week instead of a month, and it was fun!

Thanks @littletroggo for putting this together, and for the lovely banner art for every single day!

Masterlist of my fics for May01st:

After the War: Words: 2,358

After the Loss: Words: 1,052

First Drink: Words: 1,069

Horseshoes and Hand Grenades: Words: 501

They’ll Have To Go Through Me: Words: 601

Dumplings and Dominoes: Words: 501

Watching Your Back: Words: 627

[gun-roswell]

Chapters: 3/3 Fandom: Star Wars: The Bad Batch (Cartoon), Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Clone Force 99 | Bad Batch/CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives Characters: CT-9904 | Crosshair, CT-21-0408 | CT-1409 | Echo, CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives, CT-9901 | Hunter, CT-9902 | Tech, CT-9903 | Wrecker, CT-7567 | Rex, CC-2224 | Cody, CC-3636 | Wolffe, Clone Commander Mayday (Star Wars), CC-1010 | Fox Additional Tags: The bad Batch Appreciation Week 2024, tbbaw2024, tbb appreciation week 2024, polybatch, Cloneshipping | Clone Trooper/Clone Trooper Relationships (Star Wars), Rescue Missions, The Corrie Guard, Everyone lives, Prejudice, Forgive and Move on? Series: Part 14 of The Bad Batch Appreciation Week, Part 24 of The Poly Batch/The Poly Conglomerate Summary:

Saving Fox with the rest of the Corries was no small feat to pull. Alas, there is some bad blood between Fox and Fives.

TBB APP WEEK /POLYBATCH SERIES

@tbb-appreciation-week​ ***

Note from the Author: 
This is my final story for this years The Bad Batch Appreciation Week of 2024!   A day late but here it is!!!

It's been a hoot and a half!!! Hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did: D Same time next year?

Thank you all who read, commented and left for kudos for my fics!!! I really appreciate you all so very much :D:D:D

[tbb-appreciation-week]

So regarding the AU's. For example, the Top Gun AU.

Do we do "Star Wars and Top Gun combined" or "Bad Batch in the Top Gun franchise"

Hey dearie!

Either way is good! Interpret it in the way you like the most! It can be TBB characters dropped in the Top Gun verse or vice versa where Top Gun characters turned out to be rebels, or simply an AU where there is a New Republic initiative to make the equivalent to Top Gun in the GFFA after the war... Or simply you can focus on the pilot/flying thing and not so much on Top Gun thing.

As long as someone is a pilot and flying a ship, you're good!

[nahoney22]

Poisonous Thoughts***

The Bad Batch PROMPT EVENT

Crosshair X F!Reader

word count: 1.6k

prompts:

Person A: go fuck yourself

Person B: fuck me yourself, you coward.

With your relationship already on the rocks, Crosshair’s jealousy about your friendship with Howzer only adds fuel to the fire.

warnings: NSFW, 18+. sexual themes and explicit language. Jealous Crosshair, name calling, angsty, slight spoilers for episodes 6&7, implied blowjobs, mutual pining, first kiss, enemies to friends to friends to enemies to enemies to lovers. This was pretty bad and messy and all over the place. Order 66 mention.

authors note: part of the TBB PROMPT EVENT by @arctrooper69, @dumfanting & @freesia-writes. Thanks for the tag 🤍 and seeing as most people wanted me to write for Crosshair in my last poll it seems only fitting to do this!

Your relationship with Crosshair was chaotic, to say the least.

From initial animosity to a begrudging tolerance, and finally to friendship within a span of a few months, you found yourself developing a deep emotional connection with the Marksman. A very deep one. He was the kind of person who you would search for in a crowded room, wanting him to get you away from it all.

Your feelings for him left you in a state of confusion for quite some time, thoughts almost poisoned and fueled by a hope that perhaps he felt the same. There were signs—his genuine smiles reserved only for you, his seeking of your advice in moments of need, and the subtle shifts in his demeanor around you.

Then came Order 66.

When it began, you lost him. The moment it was issued, you felt his absence keenly not physically but mentally. He suddenly turned cold. And then he was gone.

And despite the anger that filled your heart for months, you almost found solace in considering his actions to be his inhibitor chip. There was a glimmer of hope but when Kamino fell, his unwavering loyalty to the new Empire blinded him.

The memory of that night alone in your bunk, crying until your throat burned, never faded. You even entertained the desperate idea of pleading with Hunter to turn back and bring him onboard, but deep down, you knew it was futile. Your love for him was over before it truly began.

Months later, as things spiraled from bad to worse, you found yourselves reunited. In that moment, your mind was a blank slate. You didn't know how to react or what to feel. Your emotions oscillated between love and hatred, a cycle that seemed endless. But there was a bitterness in you.

Each day brought another round of tiptoeing around Crosshair. While the others seemed to have moved past his past transgressions, eager to bury the hatchet, for you, it felt like starting over from square one.

He exuded the same coldness and distance that characterized your initial encounters, his silence speaking volumes. That is until Howzer spoke to you.

As you engaged in small talk with Howzer, Crosshair couldn't resist interjecting with his unwelcome remarks. You understood Howzer's animosity towards Crosshair, but what puzzled you was Crosshair's hostility towards him. You shot him bitter glares whenever he spoke out of turn, only for him to leave before any response could be made.

What was his problem?

This scenario repeated itself several times. From the corner of the room, you could feel the weight of that familiar glare from times past, and as your eyes met, Crosshair's stare remained unyielding.

One evening, yourself and Crosshair found yourselves aboard the Remora with Echo. "You and Howzer seem... close," his drawling voice came from behind you, causing you to momentarily freeze, shooting Echo an annoyed glance as he awaited your response.

"I speak to him the same amount as I speak to everyone else," you retorted, rolling your eyes after mustering your voice, refusing to turn around to face Crosshair.

"Funny," he began, "I don't recall you speaking to me that much."

Gazing out of the window, a slow realisation dawned upon you. He was jealous. The absurdity of it all almost made you smirk. Despite the flutter in your stomach wondering why he could be jealous, you relished in the opportunity to make him squirm first. "Perhaps he has more riveting conversational qualities."

Echo audibly inhaled a deep breath, seemingly perpetually caught in the crossfire of arguments involving Crosshair and someone else. Meeting Crosshair's gaze this time, a small scowl etched onto his face, you continued, "I have my doubts."

"No need to," you added, meeting his gaze squarely. "I don't see him wanting to talk to you anyway. And the same goes for me."

"Thought you grew up from being a brat?" His words ignited a fiery rage within you, prompting you to rise to your feet. "And I thought you had some more respect for yourself. But you're just a jealous little man," you shot back, your words laced with venom.

Echo swiftly intervened, positioning himself between the two of you. "Can you guys do this elsewhere? All this bickering is giving me a headache."

Crosshair's gaze shifted away from yours, his demeanor faltering. "Gladly," he muttered before stalking off, leaving you to follow in his wake.

Once out of earshot, you wasted no time in confronting him. "Got nothing else to say, huh?" you challenged. "Are you going to try and deny that you're jealous?"

"I have nothing to be jealous about," he snarled, plucking the toothpick from his lips and slamming it to the ground. "You're not mine."

You couldn't help but laugh, a bitter edge to your tone. "You're right about that. You had your chance, and you blew it."

For a moment, you watched as he froze, his expression betraying a hint of confusion. "What do you mean I 'blew it'?" he demanded, his voice tinged with incredulity.

Suddenly, the weight of your words hit you, and you found yourself looking down, shaking your head. "Nothing. I didn't mean to say that," you murmured, hoping to retract your statement.

"I don't believe you," he countered, stepping closer, his presence enveloping you entirely. "You never liked me."

A sudden pang of realisation struck your heart. With your stomach tied in knots, you met his intense gaze. "Is that what you always thought?"

He continued to stare you down, searching for any hint of deception, but to his surprise, he found none. Yet, his stubbornness refused to accept it. "You're lying," he insisted, his voice firm.

"No," you muttered, your voice trembling with emotion, "but I wish I was."

He scoffed dismissively, turning his back on you with a bitter twist to his expression. "I don't get you. If you had these feelings, why did you never tell me?" His voice cracked with frustration, his shoulders tense with unresolved tension.

"I could say the same," you shot back, your bravery tinged with desperation, clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way you did. But as his gaze met yours, a storm of conflicting emotions raged within you.

His frustrated glare softened briefly, revealing a glimpse of vulnerability before he turned away again, his back a wall of defense.

Memories flooded your mind—quiet moments shared between you, moments where unspoken words hung heavy in the air, suffocating in their silence. You remembered the times when he seemed on the verge of opening up, only to retreat into himself.

In that moment, a surge of resentment bubbled within him, fueled by months of unanswered questions and unspoken truths. "Go fuck yourself," he spat, his words dripping with anger and self-loathing. Yet beneath the anger and hurt, there lingered a flicker of longing, a desperate yearning for connection buried deep within both of you, waiting to be acknowledged.

“Go fuck me yourself, you coward.” The words tumbled from your lips before you could even process them, but in that heated moment, consequences be damned.

He whirled around, his gaze piercing into yours as he strode towards you with purpose, until you were backed up against the wall, his breath hot against your face. "Say. That. Again," he demanded, his voice laced with urgency, his eyes searching yours for any sign of sincerity.

It wasn't a threat; it was a plea, a desperate plea for honesty amidst the chaos of emotions swirling between the both of you. Did you mean it? Of course. Of course you fucking did.

Your breath hitched in your throat as tears threatened to spill from your eyes, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Crosshair, I..." you began, your voice faltering as you struggled to find the right words to express the tumult of feelings coursing through you.

"I know," he murmured softly, his gaze softening as he understood, as if everything that needed to be said had already been said.

Leaning down, he pressed his lips against yours in a swift yet tender kiss, his hands cradling your face gently, overwhelming you with a rush of warmth and longing that eclipsed both of your poisonous thoughts.

“Come with me,” he rasps against your lips, a gentle tug on your hand that had you willingly coming with him and far, far away from Echo’s ears.

He guides you through the ship until you both come to the refresher, both of you tumbling inside as your kisses become fervent, desperate and needy.

He pulls back for a moment, gazing down at you as if to see you were real and not a figment of his imagination before his lips latch onto your neck, sucking and bruising your skin. You whine in pleasure, keeling into his body as your hands move down to his crotch.

Softly, you palm against his erection, gasping as you feel the outline of his hardening cock. “I want you Cross,” you gasp as his teeth graze along your flesh.

He growls low and guttural, but understands, “I know kitten,” his hands travel up the underside of your shirt, fingers stroking against your breasts as his hips involuntarily jerk into the touch of your hand, “as soon as we get back to Pabu… fuck, I can’t even begin to tell you what I’m going to do to you.”

You grin, a sultry laugh parting your lips. “Perhaps you should show me.”

“Refresher isn’t big enough.” He grunts, “but I could give you a taster?”

His tone is suggestive and your core pangs with arousal at the possibilities. “How so?”

He gazes down at you, one hand now cupping your jaw with his thumb dancing over your lower lip. There’s a longing, a love in his eyes but unmistakably there’s one of pure lust too. “Get on your knees and find out.”

More Crosshair Works

Masterlist

Tags: @thiswitchloves9904 @lulalovez @photogirl894 @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad @imalovernotahater @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @mssbridgerton @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz x @jesseeka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri i @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @pb-jellybeans s @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @the-bad-batch-baroness

[vodika-vibes]

hi hi! for your follower event, can i request hunter with peridot or topaz? either one, you can pick! maybe something fluffy on pabu or the marauder?

This Love

Summary: There’s not a lot of space on the Marauder and most of the time Hunter bemoans that fact. Sometimes, however, he loves how little space there is.

Pairing: TBB Hunter x F!Reader

Word Count: 785

Prompt: Topaz - Affectionate Love

Warnings: Uh...suggestive at the end.

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly @clonethirstingisreal (tagging you because Hunter took over this story and I think you'll like it)

A/N: So this was supposed to be soft and sweet, and it still is. But someone added some chili powder to the sugar giving it a little kick at the end. Sorry.

The Marauder is a small ship.

Originally designed to carry four men, it now carries five men, one woman, one child, and a dog.

And while Hunter would be the first person to say that he’s thrilled to have his family around him, sometimes the lack of privacy is…annoying. It means that he doesn’t actually ever get any alone time with her, his cyare.

Well, sort of. The lack of space means that he gets to share a bed with his cyare every night. Simply because there’s nowhere else for her to sleep. And while she probably could have shared Omega’s bunk, Hunter is more than happy to be able to sleep with her pressed against his side. 

Even better, she put her foot down and made little curtains to give all of the bunks some privacy.

Originally it was just for Omega, but then Crosshair wanted one. And then Echo. 

And in the end, she plopped herself on a crate in the cargo bay and sewed enough curtains for everyone to have one. And then she bullied Tech into adding curtain rods to everyone’s bunk.

It’s the closest thing to ‘“privacy” that they’ve ever had.

Taking her with them on the Marauder was probably the smartest thing they’ve ever done. Even if she does have more enemies than a woman her age should.

Hunter’s gaze drifts from the ceiling of his bunk, to the woman nestled against his side. They’ve long since worked out that Hunter sleeps better when her back is against the wall and he’s able to act as her shield, even while in the safety of the Marauder.

She stirs, as though she can feel his eyes on her, and blinks sleepy eyes at him. It’s really too early to be awake, for either of them, but Hunter just smiles at her and reaches over to brush some hair out of her face.

“Morning,” He murmurs as he allows the pads of his fingers to drag lightly down her cheek.

“Mmmorning,” She shifts so that her head is resting on his shoulder and she rubs her nose against his neck, “What time is it?”

“Early.” He replies as he lightly shifts so that he’s laying on his side and facing her, smiling apologetically as her head falls back to their shared pillow, “You can go back to sleep.” He lightly trails his fingers down her bare arm, a small smile pulling his lips up as she shivers under his touch.

“With you looking at me like that?” She asks, her voice hushed.

Hunter chuckles and shifts one more time, until he’s half laying over her, “I’m not looking at you in any specific way.” He murmurs as he presses his forehead against hers.

“Are you sure?” She teases, the exhaustion slowly leaving her gaze as Hunter allows his fingers to trail over her body.

“This is how I always look at you.” He confirms. 

Her arms come up to circle his neck, and a light tug encourages him to press his chest against hers, pinning her to bed beneath him, a pretty smile crosses her lips, “Good morning, Hunter.” She whispers.

Hunter chuckles and lightly presses his lips against her jaw, before dragging them, slowly, to rest under her ear, “It is a good morning,” He agrees, “You know, I’ve been toying with letting you get enough money to buy a bigger ship. But I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t share a bed with you.”

“Who says that we’d have to stop sharing,” She murmurs, her head tilting slightly to allow him more access to her neck, “Between me an’ Tech, we could get enough money to get a ship with private rooms-”

“Tempting,” Hunter lavishes the spot under her ear with lingering kisses and nibbles for long enough that she releases a heavy breath, and then he moves to press his lips against hers, “I’ll talk to him about it.” He nips her lower lip, “Last thing you need, cyar’ika, is another cartel after your head.”

“I’m not worried, you’ll protect me.” Her fingers tangle in his hair and she tugs lightly, though even that light tug was enough to knock the breath from his lugs.

“Kriff, you can’t do that cyar’ika,” Hunter rasps, “My vod’e are on the other side of the curtain.”

Her lips curl up into a teasing smile, “Well then, you’d better be quiet. Hm?”

He groans quietly. “Ka’ra, I love you.”

Her smile widens, and she lightly kisses his jaw, “I love you too. And, when I’m done this morning, you’re not going to remember any basic.”

And Hunter grins as excitement heats his blood.

Stars, he really is a lucky asshole.

[floofyroro]

A Blooming Ruse

Pairing: Crosshair/f!reader

Words: 7533 

Tags/warnings: fake dating, forced proximity, island life on Pabu, gardener!reader, gardener!crosshair, grandparent OCs, Pabuan OCs, narcissism (reader's relative), slight NSFW (making out)

Summary: When Crosshair surprises you with an enticing proposition, your world turns upside down. Despite the uncharted waters, you accept. If it means avoiding your grandmother's incessant meddling, you'll do anything.

A/N: My entry for Pabu's Festival of Love celebration by @tbb-appreciation-week. I've had this drafted since last Spring so I'm happy to dust it off for this lovely event.

Read on AO3

If a higher being exists, Crosshair wouldn’t know.

Having witnessed firsthand the horrors of war and carrying out the Empire’s will on top of that, he errs on the side of agnostic. He does know, however, that something, whether it be the Force or the Maker or whatever, has it out for him because he’s a magnet for awkward, anxiety-inducing social situations. 

Right now, he wishes he could leave the vicinity and sleep for ten rotations straight.

As it is, the universe has other plans for him.

“Well?”

The older lady continues to peer down at him as she stands across the plot of tomatoes. Her expression reads as expectant, mingled with curiosity and… Something else.

Crosshair has never been good with civilians. He once preferred his solidarity up in the rafters, keeping a close eye on every movement, every variation through a narrow scope. Hunter was primarily responsible with handling the civvies if the mission ever required it anyway.

But lately the need for high ground is no longer pressing nor relevant. He hasn’t had a reason to dust off Firepuncher in months. It currently sits in its case, untouched in the corner of his bedroom. 

So now, he rolls the toothpick to a corner of his mouth before sighing through the nose. The afternoon sun beats down on his back as he swiftly plucks one last weed from the vegetable bed. Crosshair attempts to remain cordial when he responds:

“No. I’m not… seeing anyone at the moment.”

It feels asinine, this conversation with Eira. He’s aware she has an affinity for digging into other people’s business but he’s never been on the receiving end of it before. He’d seen it with you, her granddaughter, but he’d never thought twice that her penchant for gossip would soon be directed towards him.

It must be his lucky day.

As he slips off his gardening gloves, Eira’s eyes dip down once to his mechanical prosthetic before locking back onto his gaze. 

“Are all of your brothers single?”

Crosshair wants to inhale the toothpick into his mouth and swallow it. He wonders what would happen if he did. 

Would he choke? 

“No,” he replies, grabbing his gloves and weeding tool before coming to a stand. They’re shoved into his belted caddy as he surveys the freshly turned dirt mounding around the staked plants before him. It took most of the afternoon to weed every bed, which is something he surprisingly doesn’t mind, given how meditative the task is itself when he’s alone. 

He had felt your absence this afternoon, unused to not having someone who’d delegate other projects onto him. This prompted Crosshair to imagine a smaller frame, acting as a constant shadow who would point out which plots needed to be watered, which stalks were ready for harvest, or which insects were considered pests or allies. 

A weird development for him but whatever.

When Eira clears her throat, he realizes he’s gone silent again. He mulls over his words as he reaches a hand to massage his right forearm.

“My brother Tech has Phee.” 

“Ah,” she says with a nod, understanding plain in her features. He figured she’d be familiar with Phee. Daily life on Pabu isn’t exactly conducive to privacy, as everyone seems to know everyone, and if they don’t, they’ll make a point to invite the newcomers over in attempts to dig their dirty little paws into other people’s business.

The Batch would know. When they had permanently become residents, it seemed like the island wouldn’t stop celebrating with picnics and evening barbecues. This is apparently paramount to the inhabitants, a tradition that’s grown over the last few months whenever new residents settle in. 

Which is often. The intentions are always kind, of course, despite how uncomfortable it makes Crosshair feel. At this point, he thinks he’s met the entire population but can only recall a handful of names, if at that.

“A good man. He must have his priorities straight.” 

The toothpick swivels as he chews on it.

Are Tech’s priorities straight because he’s with Phee? Or is it merely because he is pursuing someone romantically which then makes him superior in Eira’s eyes? 

Her wrinkled hands are no longer resting on her hips, a positive sign that Crosshair has come to know as appeasement.

She shifts from one leg to the other and says, “I know a young lady who lives just down the street. She’s the carpenter’s daughter. Maker, what was her name? Mildred? Millie? I can’t recall but she’s sprightly girl who always smiles when we cross paths—”

He tunes her out. Crosshair doesn’t know if he’s interested in… whatever it is that Eira’s so adamant about all the time. 

He’s heard her rant to you on many occasions about potential… partners? Boyfriends? He isn’t exactly sure. It’s not his business to begin with, but he’s often within earshot when Eira drills you about your previous dates. 

It was fine. But I don’t want any commitments right now, is what you tell her time and time again.

Presently, Crosshair lets Eira continue her stream of consciousness as she toddles behind him on the dirt path leading into the old equipment shed. The air is humid, an aspect of island life for which Crosshair feels nothing but apathy.

Sweating means he’s outside. Being outside means he’s not inside, isolating himself in his room from his siblings. Can’t have that happening anymore.

His kelpcotton shirt clings to his torso as he unbuckles his caddy and deposits it onto his designated shelf space. His hands rearrange the tools into a neat and orderly pile and then dusts off his gloves before discarding them on top of everything else.

“—so what do you think?” 

His prosthetic hand halts midair as he reaches to take off his bucket hat. 

Kriff. What was she saying? 

Fragments of her monologue float around in his head but it isn’t much. Something about dinner and a girl…

Messy, short curls fall across his forehead as he removes his hat. He runs a hand through them out of habit, making a mental note to ask Omega for a trim when he returns home. The hat, courtesy of you when you realized he didn’t own any sort of sun protection, is plopped on top of his other work essentials. It’s a worn article, something he uses daily, but part of Crosshair secretly relishes in the fact that it used to smell nice. 

Maybe he should take it home and wash it.

When he looks over, Eira’s features are twisted into an expression reminiscent of Wrecker’s shit-eating grin after winning a game of sabacc.

“Uh,” he says, because he’s unable to muster anything coherent at the moment. He curses the Kaminoans for the umpteenth time, wondering why, out of all of the genetically engineered qualities within him, words fail him more often than not lately. 

This could also be due to the fact that he’s attempting to cut back on the snark for Omega’s sake. Less snark equals more awkward silences.

“Perfect! I’ll ask her tomorrow. I’m sure she’ll say yes, she’s a sharp one—”

A flare of panic flickers in his chest. How did this old woman interpret his lack of response as an affirmative? It’s a bit of a reach, even for her. He tries to come up with an excuse but every reply would garner an earful from Omega, if she were to hear him.

How should he handle this?

He lets himself imagine for a moment that he did say ‘yes’ to Eira. 

A faceless woman appears in his mind. She’s sitting at a table, the surroundings similar to his preferred caf shop in the upper levels of the island. Having never been on a date before, he isn’t certain how he would feel. More likely than not, he assumes he would feel scrutinized, as if this lady is trying to gauge whether he’s worthy of her time and attention. 

But that’s not what gives him pause. 

No, it’s the fact that as he tries to imagine this woman and give her more prominent characteristics, she starts resembling…

Hmm.

He chews harder on the toothpick.

On second thought, Crosshair decides he doesn't like the idea of going on a date with a stranger.

Before he’s able to muster a polite ‘no,’ the old woman cuts him off with a surprised croak.

“Ah, there she is!”

Eira is already out of the shed and waddling over to the gate entrance when Crosshair hears your voice before he sees you. Some of the tension coiling in his chest starts to unwind. 

You’re beaming, hauling a basket of overflowing floral bouquets as you swing the garden center gates open and approach, excitement palpable with each of your steps. The color of the day is green, judging by your bandana. The small fabric somehow manages to tame the wild locks of hair that he’s only ever seen pulled back by whatever weaving techniques you’ve mastered.

Crosshair doesn’t consider himself overly perceptive to such benign things like appearance but that doesn’t mean that he hasn’t noticed your apparent collection of colorful head scarves and hats. They suit you, in a way. Maybe they’re endearing because it reminds him of Hunter and Omega. 

“Shep said yes to featuring our flowers!”

Eira grabs the basket from you and places it down before wrapping you into a fierce hug. “I had no doubt that he would, dear. That was a brilliant idea,” she coos, loosening her hold to pat the sides of your arms, “you suggesting we offer our blooms for the Festival of Love event.”

Your bright eyes turn shy, the corners of your mouth pulling into a small grin as you peer away from your grandmother to Crosshair, who stands outside the shed with his hands in his pockets. 

He doesn’t recall your eyes ever dulling. If anything, they seem to sparkle whenever your attention is on him.

Not that he’s noticed, of course. 

“Well, I can’t take all of the credit. Crosshair is sick of tending to the dahlias. And can we blame him? Those tubers are rather cumbersome as you well know.”

Crosshair sighs once for dramatic effect, the corners of his mouth betraying his mirth. “One can only pick so many snails off the stocks, Eira. Not to mention the staking… and the constant watering.”

You shoot your grandmother a grin. “To translate; he’s ready to lay the blooms to rest.” 

Eira rolls her eyes, feigning exasperation. “Yes, well, those tubers are older than the both of you combined. I’d rather pass a painful and slow death than let them go to waste.”

She softens marginally. “I suppose you’ll both have your work cut out for you, arranging all of those bouquets together. The Festival is in less than a week so time is of the essence! But for now, I think we ought to call it a day. Crosshair,” she suddenly interjects his name like it’s almost a curse, “don’t you forget to grab a bucket or two of those bloomberries. We’re overflowing in the storage room as it is and we shouldn’t let them waste.”

Crosshair mutters something along the lines of ‘no need to tell me twice,’ and nods to both you and your grandmother before heading back to the Center to bring what he’ll suspect will make Omega’s day. No doubt will her eyes grow big when she sees the fruit. He’s sure it’ll be another puzzle for Wrecker to solve in the kitchen as they figure out ways to preserve the fruit or make the most use out of baking with it.

The tart-sweetness of the fruit coats his tongue as he pops one between his lips. The cobblestones that lead him home are brimming with other islanders, the top of the hour prime time for early evening commutes back to their families. After tomorrow, it’ll be a market day for the Center. He technically has the day off, but he’ll probably show up to the greenhouse and find you among cut flowers and messy foliage as you attempt to meet the demands of Shep’s requests for the Festival. 

After that, he supposes he could help Tech out in the workshop by being his brother’s lackey for the latest technological pursuit for the sake of the island. It’s not like Crosshair has anything else planned—

It dawns on him suddenly; he forgot to tell Eira ‘no’ about the carpenter’s daughter.

Kriff.

He peers up at the cloudless sky and sighs.

Shoving Crosshair into the supply closet was not on the afternoon agenda.

While it may not be your best idea, you’re running on a volatile mix of adrenaline and horror, all because you saw your grandmother hobbling towards the gardens with a familiar short man in tow. 

Bronson. 

Thirty-five and divorced with two kids, he runs the fish shop by the docks. While everyone regards him as the happy-go-lucky fisherman, you get the heebie jeebies whenever you look at his bearded face. He normally sports a jacket that reeks of alcohol as well. It’s a low blow to your pride for Eira to even suggest him as a potential romantic partner.

The first time she’d mentioned him, you had no qualms in giving her an earful. However, your efforts proved fruitless. Trying to reason with her is like trying to convince an Imperial officer that they’re a terrorist. She usually proceeds to scold you and in Bronson’s case, she retorted that ‘it’s bad luck to judge others by their past and appearance.’

“I don’t give a tooka’s ass about bad luck, especially considering how his wife left him because he prioritizes fishing above everything else.”

“Stability, granddaughter. What he offers is stability.” 

You’d been furious at her insinuation. It’s not like you haven’t fought tooth and nail to get the Garden Center running at full efficiency. Writing grant proposals, dedicating your weekends to the farmers markets, having to be your own hiring manager on top of it all. Stability is your middle name, for crying out loud.

But It’s grown to be a lot of responsibility. It’s nearly time to consolidate your workload, having recently added more hands to the team and buying new harvest droids. All of this is in the name of streamlining the process so that you can separate all of the work from your personal life. 

Which, coincidentally, hardly exists. You can blame your poor work-life balance on your grandma. She’s proving to grow trickier as the years pass.

Bronson still hasn’t spotted you yet. You drop the watering hose into the garden bed, discard your gloves, all of which prompts Crosshair to pause his pruning of the plume shrubs. 

“What’s wrong?”

You don’t hear him. You stare ahead and map out all possible exits, trying to figure out how you could escape without being seen or causing a scene. They’re nearly to the gate, and you think that if you can sneak off to the—

“Hey,” Crosshair’s tone is firmer now. Suddenly, the flight kicks in. 

You’ve never run into the Garden Center like your life depended on it before but there’s a first for everything. Heart pounding, you survey the main room and debate hiding behind the old leather couch. Unreliable, considering Grandma will probably give Bronson a full-fledged Center tour, which should only be for employees or volunteers. 

Not that she cares.

The door behind slings open and the rational part of you knows it has to be Crosshair but you still startle and make for the first logical solution to your predicament; hiding in the supply closet. 

“What,” he says from behind you, “are you doing?” 

You swing open the closet and quickly shoot a furtive glance through the entrance windows to see that the emerging figures are still far away enough for you to pull this off.

Crosshair follows your line of sight, his eyebrows furrowing as he stares. Not a moment later, his scrutiny relaxes.

“Another one of Eira’s ploys?”

“Yeah,” you say, unable to explain just how embarrassed and frustrated you truly feel. You run a hand across the back of your neck, slick skin coating your palm with sweat. Your chest tightens and it’s enough to encourage you to pull the door closed, yearning for privacy.

Except that Crosshair wraps a hand around the frame of it and pries it back open.

“Cross—”

“Do I need to talk to him?”

HIs words are abrupt. He peers back over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes. The lines of his tattoo shifts as his expression darkens.

“I said,” he directs his gaze back to you, “do I need to talk to him? Or do I tell your grandma that you’re feeling ill—”

The prospect of Crosshair speaking on your behalf sounds downright mortifying. You should be able to confront her yourself. In a perfect world, you’d have the gall to do it. But alas, here you are, fleeing like a coward. 

“No! Noo, no, no, just—”

Your hands act on their own accord, reaching out to grasp Crosshair by the neckline of his shirt and pulling hard. He releases a surprised grunt before stumbling into the cramped space next to you. As you reach for the doorknob behind him, he’s pushed against the shelving in order to make room for your efforts.

The door slams closed with a forceful tug and then it’s pitch black. 

Which is Makersent, because you’re practically embracing Crosshair in this position.

“Hit the light,” he says, his voice betraying no indication of what he’s feeling.

You pull back before his words register but then you have to press into him once again to find purchase for the switch—

“For Force sake,” he mutters and okay, his mouth is right next to your ear. Has he always sounded like that? He’s unmoving against you but you can feel, based off the way his torso presses against your chest, just how built he actually is—

He turns abruptly in an attempt to give you more leeway but it proves to be the wrong move. Your balance is thrown off kilter and with no sight to aid you in regaining any semblance of equilibrium, you’re about to faceplant because… why not? 

Let’s add to your piling mortification.

An arm snakes around your midsection, catching you mid-plummet, and you think you hear him grunt as he rights your balance with surprising precision.

(You shouldn’t kid yourself. This man has been precise since day one. You’ve seen the way he stakes the tomatoes.) 

A cold metal palm presses against the skin of your exposed lower back, your shirt evidently deciding to ride up without your consent. It’s his mechanical hand, holding you up. You have to remind yourself to breathe. 

Which is another mistake because a waft of tilled earth, sweat, and something distinctly minty hits your nose, reminding you of the herb beds situated at the front of the center. You risk another deep inhale, daring to inch closer. The light still isn’t on and you will yourself to relax, despite being hyper aware of the close proximity and of every point of contact where you both touch.

Each of your breaths brushes against his own. Which, you aren’t complaining since his scent is a welcome reprieve against the damp smell that is signature to this old closet.

At this point, maybe confronting Bronson would be less daunting than whatever this is. Sharing close quarters with your favorite employee (you’d never admit as much to him) isn’t exactly ideal.

But then that slippery, bearded smile flashes once in your mind and that’s enough to tell you otherwise.

You also really don’t want to see Crosshair’s expression right now. 

“That bad, huh?”

Maybe it’s just because his face must be inches away from yours but his voice seems to reverberate through you, trailing all the way to your toes. You’re struck with the odd thought that despite how gravelly it sounds, it’s… nice.

“Yeah,” you croak, a bead of sweat trailing down the back of your neck. “She’s relentless. I’m… starting to get sick of it.”

You feel a huff of air across your face. 

“I don’t blame you.”

Definitely mint. He must’ve eaten a few leaves from the herb garden. Now that you think about it, he’s almost always chewing on something.

After a moment, he releases his hold on you and a silence blankets you both. The air feels stuffy against your exposed skin, mingling with the humidity of outside. This building could really use a functional cooling system. Soon enough, that’ll change; you’d spent the last week pouring over crude plans and trying to figure which upgrade to take first. Grandma certainly made her two credits clear on what she would do, but not without making you feel guilty.

“Update that sign first. You should consider changing the Center name to honor your grandpa.”

“I think aesthetics are the last thing on my mind, grandma. I’d rather focus on functionality first.”

She didn’t take it well. You apologized over coffee the next morning. You’re trying to take the reins on this and view it as your passion project but to no avail. Though you’ve yet to establish that boundary, it can wait, given what other things are currently taking precedence. 

“I’m… about to pry.”

He takes a deep breath.

“With this… ‘seeing people’ thing,” he says and you wonder if he’s gesturing because you hear his arms drop to his sides, “have you told her to just… stop?”

You pick at your nails. 

Telling Eira ‘no’ is like driving a boat headfirst into a summer thunderstorm. You’ve dropped hints here and there. You had mentioned many times that you aren’t looking to commit to anyone. Dating isn’t a priority right now, especially with the promise of what’s to come for the island gardens. But Eira, stubborn as she is, dismisses each attempt you’ve made, waving a hand in your face or clicking with her tongue before saying that you’re well into your twenties and that it’s time to consider your options. 

“Which are limited,” she always reminds you. One of the many quirks of living on a small island is that she’s right; there aren’t many eligible bachelors to choose from, so in her eyes, ‘one should pick soon before it’s too late.’

“I have,” you finally tell Crosshair, keeping your head down. “She’s not very good at listening.” 

Another huff. He probably detects the euphemism. 

Oddly enough, you feel yourself getting defensive on her behalf because despite how troublesome she is, she’s still family. At the end of the day, her opinion holds weight. Probably more weight than it should, to be honest.

Regardless, this translates as a bite in your tone when you ask, “Why?” 

He stills. Now that you think about it, this is probably the first time he’s ever inquired about your personal life. In the past, he’s taken your rambling in stride but it’s all usually work-related. He never pries and instead listens intently or offers advice when prompted. It’s the exact opposite of how Eira functions. 

That’s probably why you’ve inadvertently started to gravitate towards him. 

You roll your bottom lip between your teeth as you wait for him to answer. It’s not like you asked for his advice this time. But then again, Crosshair doesn’t talk unless it’s warranted, usually opting to stay quiet as you assign new projects to him or rant to him about the dangers of felucian stag-beetles infesting the crops. 

A humorous part of you thinks that maybe this is his round-about way of trying to make you feel better.

“I—”

He’s interrupted by the sound of the Center entrance swinging open with a light chime of a bell.

Your fidgeting hands drop to clenched fists.

“—she must’ve ran home for a midday meal. Sorry ‘bout that, Bronson.”

“It’s no problem. I see her at the marketstands on occasion so perhaps I’ll chat with her next time she’s around. You said she’s interested?”

You blanch. 

You said she’s interested?

A flicker of heat floods your cheeks at the prospect of Grandma lying. It shouldn’t come as a surprise; you’ve witnessed her half-truths before but had opted to brush them off, not giving them too much stock. This, however, stings more than you care to admit. 

Your eyes start to smart as you conjure a scenario where Bronson makes a move. You could give him the cold shoulder. Make up a lie that you’re already seeing someone. The latter thought makes you pause because he’d ask who it is and you can’t really make up a person in a tight-knit community.

Maybe you could even scream in his face. That would get your point across, right? But then everyone would witness it and if there’s anything you’ve learned about living on Pabu over the last four years, it’s that the island's affinity for gossip spreads like wildfire. 

No thanks. You send a silent prayer to the universe that Bronson forgets. Or finds someone else to focus his sleazy energy on.

Actually, no, you wouldn’t wish his advances upon anyone.

Eira’s giving him a tour around the facility, veering from the breakroom to the greenroom where the new seedlings are sowed. Another door clicks closed.

“You’re trembling,” comes that familiar drawl. 

Large palms jar you out of your thoughts, resting on the sides of your shoulders. His fingers wrap gently around your exposed skin and it causes your spine to straighten. One palm is cold, while the other is warm. You’ve wondered about his prosthetic before. On occasion, you’ll catch him massaging the muscle of his forearm attached to the mechanical workings. 

Eira’s voice echoes through the building again, though it’s more distant as you release your breath.

“I don’t know how to tell her off. How to make her stop.” You don’t appreciate how feeble your voice sounds. 

“She and Grandpa… are my only family. The war was tough on us all. I just don’t want to lose anyone else.”  

His thumbs begin to brush in an up and down motion. It’s oddly… gentle of him. Your shoulders gradually sink down with each second that passes, his touch easing away the tension.

Crosshair considers for a moment before asking, “What if… you already had someone?” 

You squint up at Crosshair but the darkness serves to be disappointing. You suddenly yearn for bright, clinical lights to shine directly onto him so you could see exactly which emotion is present across that profile of his. 

“Uh,” you clear your throat, “You’re gonna need to, uh, spell that one out for me. I’m not following.” 

His thumbs still. 

What if you already had someone?

You turn the words over and over in your mind, trying to parse his meaning until his touch leaves you.

“We pretend,” he says, as if this proposition is as easy as commenting on the weather. 

We?

A million questions swirl in your head as you gauge the possibilities; pretending to what, exactly? 

Be a couple? You and him? 

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you hadn’t considered Crosshair before. He and his brothers stick out like sore thumbs whenever they’re in public and that’s primarily due to the fact that they’re extremely popular with everyone, including introverted Crosshair. You could chalk it up to their efforts to keep Pabu safe, or their military training, or something else. But the reality is that they’re not only talented individuals, but they’re also all very attractive. 

What would pretending with Crosshair even entail? Holding hands while you walk alongside the garden beds? A kiss on the cheek in front of Grandma to appease her desires?

Despite the absurdity of the situation, your gut isn’t lurching. It’s… a solid idea, one that could grant you a momentary break from Eira’s nagging so that you can allocate more time with the Center expansion. Knowing Crosshair, he wouldn’t nag. You’re certain there would be no expectations from him.

But It would have to be temporary. That’s the only stipulation; it can’t last forever, because first of all, you don’t want to put Crosshair through that and second of all…

Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. 

To make matters simpler, Crosshair is easy on the eyes. That’s not something you’ve entertained for long because again, you have other things to worry about. But you’ve watched him haul overgrown squash to the market plaza with no signs of physical strain. He once fended off a garden viper, sparing you a slightly amused smirk after seeing how it made you jump out of your own skin. 

That was the first time he made your face flush.

His gruff demeanor aside, you trust that he means well because he’s never led you astray before, his work ethic proof enough since he always shows up day after day and carries out each task without complaint. Never once has he indicated that he minds working alongside you.

That particular thought alone makes your stomach flip.

Presently, you don’t see him shift from one foot to the other as much as feel him do so. 

“We pretend,” you echo. In the distant background, Bronson releases a dry laugh and it causes you to tense up.

“Yes,” he whispers, keeping his voice low. “It would… help us both catch a break. From Eira.”

It dawns on you then. A familiar blonde flashes in your mind. 

“What about Millie?” 

“Who?”

This isn’t lining up. Grandma said Crosshair agreed to a date with Millie—

Ah.

“You actually didn’t agree to meet with her, did you? The carpenter’s daughter?”

Irritation taints his sigh. “No, I never did. Eira mistook my silence as confirmation.”

By the Maker.

Hot emotion washes over you again because this time, someone else is suffering at the brunt of her agenda. “I’m sorry,” you say, not realizing how loud your voice is growing, “but Grandma needs to get a kriffing grip—”

A hand clamps over your mouth. You startle against the firmness of his skin against your lips, pressing a gasp into his palm when he leans in and murmurs, “Quiet.”

His hand isn’t bruising. It slots over your mouth, bringing a waft of dirt to your nose. The stillness of your body contrasts against the turmoil rolling in your mind like night and day. As you're held against Crosshair, that telltale honeyed-voice hits your ears, loud and too close for comfort. You must’ve been too focused on what Crosshair proposed to notice that they’d left the greenroom.

“—that was probably a moon-yo nearby. You’ve heard that they can parrot human words back occasionally, right? Odd little creatures but bright nonetheless. I’ll walk you out to the door, Bronson, I appreciate you coming—”

The bell chimes as the door closes with thud and the relief is overwhelming enough that you momentarily forget the hand cupping your lips. You sigh, unthinking as you practically slink against Crosshair’s palm, the exhale from your nose trickling against his skin. He withdraws his touch and suddenly the embarrassment of his actions to quiet you is now at the forefront of your mind.

If you felt weird earlier, it’s incomparable to how you feel now. ‘We pretend ‘ is an internal echo that will inevitably nestle its way into your head for the next foreseeable future and you aren’t sure what to make of it. He’s made his own motivations clear for proposing the idea but it still strikes you as odd. The anomaly that is Crosshair and his reserved nature around you doesn’t quite fit this proposition.

And yet, a quiet part of you is growing fond of the idea. 

“Okay,” you break the silence, gripping tightly for the remaining stores of courage that are somehow responsible for what you’re about to say, “I think we should give it a shot. Let’s… Pretend. I’ll do anything at this point to get her off my ass.” 

You try to keep your tone light. This isn’t a terribly serious matter anyway, right? It’s good to keep in mind that Crosshair has been a soldier all of his life and you can only imagine how many covert missions he’s carried out so it would make sense that he would handle this in a similar manner. 

Yes, because you’re so infamous for being stealthy. Said no one ever.

Your own faults aside, you pray that you can pull this off. 

“Fine by me,” he finally says. Silence lapses between you both again. You take a moment to listen outwards. The Center is seemingly empty with the lack of toddling old ladies and  middle-aged men. The constant hum from the energy generator is the only noise. Now would be the opportune time to leave before Grandma returns, but…

It suddenly feels daunting, leaving this closet. You’d be stepping out into reality again, but this time with a fake boyfriend in tow. 

You’re wondering if he feels as uncomfortable as you are when he adds, “Just… Don’t take anything I say personally, alright?”

Before you’re able to discern his meaning, the bell rings again and you let out an inaudible curse. 

Her gait is uneven and purposeful. As each of her steps draws closer, so does your mounting anxiety. She knows, you worry. She knows about the lie already and she’s about to draw the proverbial curtain away to expose you and strip away any shred of dignity that remains.

Crosshair hisses your name, the sound foreign against your ears. Despite how gentle his hand is, the cold metal stings against your hot cheek, your head jerking away before he firmly slides up his durasteel hand across your skin to cradle the side of your head. 

“You’ll have to follow me,” he says, the words too fast for you to process.

“Follow you?” Your mouth is suddenly dry, the words sticking like cotton.

“My lead,” he stresses.

Before you’re able to divine his meaning, his other hand wraps around your waist to pull your body against him. 

Time slows as his mouth slots against yours. 

It’s nonsensical, the way your lips part in surprise. Your heart is hammering loud enough to drown out everything else. All you feel is him; his looming figure that seems to wrap around you with ease, his legs tangling with your own, his hand on your face, his mouth against yours. A chill runs down your spine when his grip tightens but then his lips, warm and surprisingly supple, begin to move.

He tastes like mint leaves, you think deliriously. What’s more is how you respond in a split second of impulsivity, meeting his movements with brushes of your own, pressing firmly against him. A low sound reverberates from his chest, making your skin bloom with gooseflesh as you reach to wrap your arms around his shoulders, coming up to your toes. He meets you halfway, lowering himself to ease your efforts. A fog settles over you, your fingers tangling into the mess of curls at the nape of his neck. It prompts him to do the same, except instead of only grasping at your hair, he gently tugs, inadvertently coaxing your mouth open to moan.

His tongue brushes across your lower lip once and when you tilt your head back more to grant him better access, Crosshair seizes the opportunity; his soft, hot muscle licks and twists, but he welcomes your own advances against him with unpracticed, eager effort. You feel as though you’ve dissolved completely into a puddle, your belly simmering with dizzying want.

But it’s fleeting, as all good things are, because the door slams open.

The sound alone makes your eyes fly open as you straighten in Crosshair’s embrace, breaking the kiss. If you weren’t so close to his face, you would’ve completely missed his startled expression. Despite the onslaught of blinding light, he gently continues to hold you, and to your surprise, he closes his eyes and bends down to rest his forehead against yours.

“We’re a bit busy here,” he says, his words lacking any real bite with how his chest heaves lightly. He lifts away from you and casts a glare towards Eira. You risk a glance, uncertain as to what you’ll find, but judging by the hanging mouth and wide eyes… 

She’s beside herself.

“Clearly,” Eira finally says, the word nearly as airy as you are. She clears her throat, her movements awkward as she coughs once into a closed fist. “Well. I was right then.”

You scrunch your nose slightly in confusion. “You knew?”

If she notices the patchiness in your voice, Eira doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she crosses her arms and purses those thin lips with a hum. “Saved you the embarrassment, I did. Could’ve walked straight up to the door and gave Bronson a run for his money.”

Uh huh, sure. More like you saved yourself from the embarrassment, you thought sourly. You detect her behavior for what it is, an out for her mistake, but you nod despite yourself.

She waves a dismissive hand, closing her eyes as she says, “Whatever you two were doing is between you and the Maker. My question is,” she shoots a disapproving look at Crosshair, who meets her with a cool, indifferent stare, “why didn’t you act on this sooner, mister?”

Curious, you raise your gaze back to Crosshair and the gravity of what you just exchanged with him presses against you with unprecedented force. The nerves reemerge, making your palms clammy as you steal a glance at his lips. You… kissed him. 

To be fair, he kissed you. But you’d reciprocated, almost eager as you explored this new dynamic with him. How will this change things between you both? What happens when you call the ruse off? Most likely he’d want to find work somewhere else, which makes perfect sense.

But it doesn’t explain the pang in your sternum at the thought of him leaving. It’s only because he’s valuable to the Center; his dedication to show up early and leave late has you worrying more often than not, but he claims to have nothing better to do and enjoys the hands-on labor. There’s a handful of other volunteers who show up occasionally but they’re not nearly as driven as Crosshair is.

Regardless, you decide then and there that you don’t want things to change between you both when this all ends. You’d hate to lose him. 

“Who says I didn’t?”

He still has an arm loosely wrapped around your back, but his touch trails down until finding the curve of your waist. His hand stills, resting casually against your hip as if it’s the easiest decision he’s ever made.

Eira coughs again. “Well then.” She continues to stare, her eyes flickering between you both in some sort of silent contemplation. It’s alarming then, when she breaks into a wide grin.

“It all worked out in the end, didn’t it? Maybe I should’ve brought Bronson sooner. All you two needed was a small push—”

“Grandma,” you interrupt, not hiding the exasperation in your voice because of course she would try to take credit for this. Of all the conclusions, she thought Bronson was the catalyst for you ending up in a supply closet with Crosshair.

…Technically she’s not wrong. 

She raises her hands in mock defense, bowing her head slightly. “Alright, alright. Enough from me. Believe it or not, I’ve had enough excitement for one day so I think I’ll head home.” 

You take a deep, steadying breath, nodding encouragingly despite how dizzy you still feel. “Yeah, that’s… That’s a good idea.”

Eira stares at you for a moment longer, almost calculatingly before her eyes dip down to the Crosshair’s hand on your waist. She turns, muttering something about ‘under the Center roof too’ and makes her way towards the entryway to grab her bag and leave.

It’s agonizing to wait. Every second spent within the confines of the closet with Crosshair proves to be a test of patience, but Eira seems to be in no rush, slowly shifting through her bag for her shawl. Once it’s wrapped around her hunched shoulders, she reaches for the door handle but then pauses.

“You best be walking her home every night. You hear?”

It’s cold when Crosshair finally lets go of you. He shifts from one foot to the other, bringing a hand to rub across his five o’clock shadow. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, his voice tired but confident. 

She leaves without another word. You feel as though you can finally breathe, like the sky has cleared and the wind has died. But then… 

It’s just you and Crosshair again.

The moment stretches. Uncertainty prods at you, a fickle thing that makes you sheepishly tuck a strand of hair behind one ear before peering up at the former soldier.

His gaze is downward with brows drawn into contemplation, as if his boots are the most interesting spectacle to behold. You quietly study him amidst the thickening tension, noticing for the first time that his exposed arms are speckled with patches of dirt. Along the expanse of his arms, you spy veins that cord around the lean muscle of his forearms, trailing all the way up to the lower half of his biceps until fabric meets flesh. 

Crosshair is normally pragmatic with his clothing; variety doesn’t seem to be a priority with how he cycles between the same set of tops and pants every week. The normal jacket he sports is absent, you realize for the first time. He must’ve shed it outside before following you. You figure it’s his military background that’s kept him routine and content with simple clothing, a factor still very much prevalent despite being retired. 

When your eyes slink from his shoulders to his neck, you catch a subtle change in your peripherals, causing you to meet his gaze.

Half of his mouth is upturned into a small smirk. He remains silent, however, and reaches a hand behind to slink something out of his back trouser pocket.

A small box is procured. With practised movements, it’s already lodged back into his pants before you realize that he’s placed a toothpick into his mouth.

Your mind seems to short circuit when you realize that his lips have reddened ever so slightly.

You aren’t sure how to breach the obvious bantha in the room. Do you talk about what just happened? Is that… fine? It might make him uncomfortable. Maybe this is part of the ‘pretending’ agreement; there’s no use in discussing what happened because what’s done is done and reminding him of what he had to endure to save your ass would surely leave a sour taste in his mouth.

Unless he liked it just as much as you did. The thought seems far-fetched; it’s unlikely that he’s interested in pursuing a romantic partner, given how much he works and how he spends any of his free time with his own brothers and sister.

“So, um… Back to it, then?” 

It’s definitely not your best work, you’ll admit. But being out in the gardens seems far less suffocating than whatever this is. In fact, you’re certain one of the beds is overflowing with water because you forgot to turn the spigot off during your frenzy to evade the confrontation from earlier. 

It makes sense then that you don’t wait for his response and make for the door. 

He clears throat. “Was that… fine?”

You halt, halfway across the breakroom. He must be asking if he had accidentally crossed a line already.

The thought is oddly considerate and makes your cheeks warm. Part of yourself thinks that it was a solid strategic move on his part. It certainly did the job of convincing Eira. And deep down, you didn’t mind the spontaneity of it all.

It was more than fine. But instead of saying as much, you flounder. “Uh, yeah!” Your voice is a bit more high-pitched than you’d like so you cough once and play it off. “I mean, yeah, that was fine.”

It’s mortifying, feeling this vulnerable in front of him. You need fresh air now.

“Yeah,” you say again, waving a hand at him, “don’t worry about it. I’d say we did our future selves a favor. Now there won’t be any more meddling on grandma’s part. So… this is a win. I think.”

He starts to approach with his usual purposeful steps, which makes you turn towards the door. His long legs make it easy to catch up and before you even have a hand on the handle, the door swings open.

Crosshair is… holding it open for you. 

You mutter your thanks, hoping the warmth in your cheeks isn’t as blatant to him as it feels to you. You duck under his arm and step back into the thrush of the outdoor beds. The fresh air clears your head as you trod to the watering system near the shed.

It’ll be a long afternoon, you think. A droid is activated with its tell-tale beeps and whirring, indicating that Crosshair has turned on a harvesting droid.

But at least he won’t have to go on a date with the carpenter’s daughter anymore.

I'm not entirely happy with this :') But I might write more parts in the future if I get around to it. I have 8 chapters outlined so far. If I decide to follow through with a longfic, I'll be needing a beta reader. Please reach out if this would interest you!

Masterlist

[summer-of-bad-batch]

Prompt voting has come to an end, and here is a sneak peek at some of our results 🥳

These amazing prompts stayed in the lead almost the entire week! We closed the polls with over 150 ballots cast 💜

Thank you to everyone who voted and shared the event!

The rest of the results will be a secret until the week they are dropped! 🤫

🥇Top 1-13th Prompts = Our Main Prompts

🥈Top 14-26th Prompts = Our Alternate Prompts

🥉Top 27-39th Prompts = Our Weekly Bonus Prompts

What in the galaxy are weekly bonus prompts??

I’m so glad you asked!!!

Weekly Bonus Prompts will be released every Wednesday—but they aren’t chosen at random! There will be a fun way the bonus prompt will be chosen by YOU 👈

Don’t worry—the weekly bonus prompt will not change the participation levels and the number of prompt fills needed to be a Completionist (1-13 fills) or an Overachiever (13-25+ fills).

But it will give even more prompts to choose from! Not to mention, the new participation level: Ultra Overachiever (39 fills)!

✨💫✨💫✨

This week, I will be sorting and prepping the prompts and getting ready to drop the first prompt set on Sunday, June 1st 🥳🥳🥳

[archivewriter1ont]

After the War

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65308402

Summary:

Five years ago, the Sith known as Palpatine was killed and the Clone Wars ended with Republic and Separatist peace. Fives lives, the Bad Batch and Omega live happily on Pabu, Tech and Phee have a baby (and so do Cody and Riyo), and Fox and his Twi’lek wife adopt clone tubies. Yes, this is a fix-it. FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF.

Day 6 of May01st 2025 Prompts: Alternate Universe!

@may01st

[gun-roswell]

Chapters: 3/3 Fandom: Star Wars: The Bad Batch (Cartoon), Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: CT-9904 | Crosshair/CT-9902 | Tech Characters: CT-9904 | Crosshair, CT-9902 | Tech, CT-21-0408 | CT-1409 | Echo, CT-9901 | Hunter, CT-9903 | Wrecker Additional Tags: tbb appreciation week 2024, tbbaw2024, The bad Batch Appreciation Week 2024, Established Relationship, Misunderstandings, Fluff and Angst, Cloneshipping | Clone Trooper/Clone Trooper Relationships (Star Wars), AU/TCW ERA Series: Part 1 of The Bad Batch Appreciation Week, Part 10 of Crosshair/Tech

Summary: Tech is very vigilant, always tapping keys, recording everything. Alas, missing that one special thing just the same? The one thing he’d forgotten which could get him into a just wee bit of trouble?

AU/TCW ERA

The Bad Batch Appreciation Week Day One Prompts: Don't Miss a Thing/ "Will you wait for me?”/ Almost getting caught

Part of Tech/Crosshair // The Bad Batch Appreciation Week series /collection

@tbb-appreciation-week​

[tbb-appreciation-week]

@tbb-appreciation-week Presents:

[Banner made by the wonderful @photogirl894. Thank you bestie!]

SIGN-UP OPEN!!!

Hello! Happy New Year and welcome to the 2025 edition of Pabu's Festival of Love! Inspired by the Ewoks’ annual celebration of kinship and love on Endor, a tradition later adopted throughout the galaxy far, far away, let’s celebrate all kinds of love with The Bad Batch.

Here’s the plan. To sign up, fill out the form linked below and tell me what type of prompts you want (have in mind that we're celebrating all kinds of love; familiar, friendship, and romantic included). New questions will appear with every choice you make. But choose wisely, the sign-up form is limited to one per participant.

I'll begin sending out the prompts on January 15th but leave the sign-up open till the end of the month.

Each participant will receive two prompts to work with, but you decide which one to use (it can be both). Posting day will be Friday, February 14, 2025 (Your time zone).

If you have any question about the form or the event, please send me an ask or DM here on Tumblr.

PS: Share and reblog to spread the word around!!

@clonefandomevents, @swfandomevents

[twinsunstars]

WIP tag game - thanks @bossboudicca for the tag!

rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

i'll just share some that i'm comfortable sharing publicly right now...

wherever your world is (chapter 2) - my tbb little mermaid au still in the works (chapter 2 coming very soon!!)

backstory 6 - this is literally the file name of one of the backstories for one character in my what if au

cadets./"you really think you're going without me? not going to happen." - the file name of my upcoming prompt fill for the summer of bad batch event

a day in the life of a sith - a qimir (the acolyte) fic being figured out bc he's a very intriguing character

jedi dance ritual - the current file name of a top secret fic

no pressure tags: @royallykt @locitawritingsblog @third-generation-female-warrior @orion-tyche @lukascastelan @fritoley @ladywren7 and anyone else who wants to do this!!

[orangez3st]

HEYA FOLKS if you're not aware yet I'm posting Star Wars drabbles about canon and of course legends characters till the end of the month! So if you wanna catch up here's the link to the masterpost 💛

These aren't x reader or x oc—they're all interactions between 100% existing characters so have a go y'all ✊🏼

Spoilers bcs why not: featuring characters from Andor, TCW, Tech and Echo (and maybe some more from TBB?), some more canon pairings, one (1) Foxiyo, one (1) Dartain (pls gimme ideas what Repcomm ship to write), AND one rarepair of which I'm sure I'm the only shipper in the galaxy

Comment your prompts and/or pairings if you want me to write an exactly-100-word drabble of them 💛

[vodika-vibes]

Hello! Congratulations on the followers! I saw your asks for the event are open and was hoping to get a soulmate AU with Wrecker or Tech. Hurt/comfort if your up for it.

Lost

Summary: When you were a child, you never found any items that belonged to someone else in your things. Your parents reassured you to the best of their abilities, telling you that your soulmate was probably just very neat and didn’t lose things. But, by the time you reach your teenage years, you’ve accepted that while your soulmate might be yours, you’re not necessarily theirs.

Pairing: TBB Wrecker x F!Reader

Word Count: 2784

Warnings: Enough angst that I made myself weepy, but there's a happy ending. Reader is described as having hair and is referred to by the nickname Haze.

Prompt: Soulmate AU - when you lose an item, it ends up in your soul mates possession.

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: So, you didn't specify which Soul mate AU you wanted, so I went through a list and picked one that I thought sounded interesting. I hope you don't mind!

“There you are,” You don’t look up from your computer screen at the familiar voice of Suture, the leader of this group of teenagers and young adults. “So, Haze,” you pause as he calls you by your assigned nickname, “What do you have for me?”

“Do you think that slicing is magic, Suture?” You ask, your fingers moving across the keyboard again, “If I’m not careful we’ll get caught. And we do not want to be caught.”

He drops down on one of the crates that line the wall behind you, “Yeah, yeah. I know. I’m just eager.”

You sigh and turn on your stool, “What do you even want this list for, Suture?”

“It’s a list of soulmates. Why do you think I want this list?”

You sigh once more and turn back to the computer, “I know you’re salty about not having a soulmate, Suture, but you really need to let it go.”

“And you’re not?”

“I’ve come to terms with the fact that my soulmate belongs to someone else. It doesn’t make me want to make other people as miserable as me.”

Suture laughs, “You say that, Haze, but you joined this group too. You’re just as bitter as me. You just haven’t admitted it yet.”

“Is there something you need or are you just here to make me hate you?” You ask sharply.

“Wann join me in bed?” Suture asks with a leer.

“I want you to leave me alone so I can focus.” You bite out in retort, “If you want someone in your bed, go and ask Diamond. She’s not busy.”

“You’ll join me eventually.”

“No. I won’t. I’m doing this one job, and then I’m moving on to a more reasonable cell.”

“Suit yourself. You don’t know what you’re missing out on.”

You hear, more than see, him get up and stalk out of your workroom. And you exhale slowly before you focus your attention back on your work. As soon as you finish this, you’re gone.

There’s the sound of heavy footsteps behind you, and you release an explosive sigh, “I thought I said—” You whirl around to glare at Suture, only to pause and blink at the man standing behind you. “You’re not Suture.”

“Nope.” Spoiler, a Kiffar man, says with an easy grin. “I can go and get him if you’d like.”

“Please don’t.”

He laughs and pulls a small crate over to sit next to you, “He’s been harassing you again?”

“He seems to think that he’s charming enough to convince me to stay.” You reply as you look away from him and glance back at the computer, “He’s not.”

Spoiler laughs again, and leans on the table, “Hey, Haze?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you here?”

You pause and shoot him a confused look, “Like, in general, or—?”

He grins, “I mean, why’d you join this group?”

“That’s a dumb question, Spoiler. We both know that there isn’t anywhere else for someone like to me go.” You reply, “People without soulmates aren’t welcome. Anywhere.”

“You’re not like the rest of them, Haze.”

You continue typing, “If you’re not careful people are going to peg you for a narc, Jedi.”

“You had me pegged the moment you met me, didn’t you?”

“You weren’t trying all that hard to hide yourself from me.”

“True. You’re a decent person. Don’t have anything to do with any other the others. That’s why I’m so surprised that you’re here. That you’re helping.” 

You sigh softly, “What do you want from me, Spoiler?”

“I want you to be smart about this.” He hisses, “This, right here, it’s going to ruin your life. And not just your life, the lives of hundreds of children.”

You’re quiet for a moment, “...why should they get to be happy?”

Spoiler sighs, “You don’t believe that.”

“...no. I don’t.”

“May I make a suggestion?”

“Can I stop you?”

“No.”

You sigh, “Go ahead.”

Spoiler drops a handful of credits on the table, “Take your laptop and go and get a caf.”

You shoot him a bewildered look, “Sorry?”

“Haze, you don’t want to be here for the next couple of hours. Alright?”

You stare at him, your eyes wide. And then, slowly, you close your laptop and grab the handful of credits. “Alright.”

“Good girl.” Spoiler walks you to the exit, and, as nice as he can, shoves you out of the hide-out and slams the door behind you.

You stare at the closed door for a moment, before you turn on your heels and head towards your favorite cafe. It offers a free internet connection, so long as you buy something. 

It’s also a nice place to hear some juicy gossip.

But, most importantly, they sell your favorite sandwich and you’re starving. 

The cafe is small and out of the way, not the most popular of the cafes in the area, it’s also not the cheapest, but they offer the best firewalls and their meals are filling, so you take a single table in the back corner and open your computer to a blank email and stare at it for a moment.

It’s been months since you’ve contacted your mom.

You should message her more often.

Slowly, you type out the first sentence, ‘Hi mom, I know it’s been a while-” and then you stop. What are you supposed to say? What can you say?

You’re pulled from your spiraling thoughts when someone stops next to your table, “Can I ask what sandwich that is? It smells amazing.”

The man standing next to your table is massive, a veritable wall of muscle, though he has a kind smile on his face. 

“Oh, this is the Manager’s Special with extra veggies on naan bread. It’s not the cheapest on the menu, but it’s very filling.”

“Hm, I’ll have to give it a try. Thanks.”

“No problem.” You reply, absently, as you focus your attention back on the email. And, maybe if you had been paying more attention, you wouldn’t have noticed the bracelet wrapped around his wrist.

But you were only half paying attention. So, naturally, the simple bracelet jumps out at you. 

And you realize that you know that bracelet.

Your dad had it specially made for you for your sixteenth birthday. The inner band has a simple phrase, Your worth isn’t based on other people, while the outside was decorated with vines and flowers.

You loved it. 

It was meant to be a birthday and a “you’re enough as you are” present. But it vanished two months after you got it. 

Honestly, you thought your brother stole it and gave it to his soulmate. It was the major breaking point in your family. Especially since your brother never denied stealing it, and doubled down on taking it.

You open your mouth to say something to the stranger, but he’s already moved away from your table. So, instead, you watch. You watch as he joins a group of men, his brothers probably.

You watch as a woman, laughingly, smacks his shoulder, bumps him with hers, and then wraps her arms around him in a hug.

And your heart shatters.

Your gaze drops to your laptop, and the blinking cursor that seems to be taunting you. 

Of course. Of course, you’re not his soul mate. 

You knew this. You’ve known this for years.

You’re not good enough to have a soul mate.

Maybe you’re just like the others. Just as hopeless. Just as broken.

You switch tabs and stare at the hack you’ve been working on for days. All you have to do is hit enter, and Suture will have all of the information he needs for his attack.

You press enter, and hundreds of people will die.

You rest your fingers on the enter key and then pull your hand away from your computer.

You can’t do it.

You can’t sentence one hundred children to death, and one hundred others to a life of loneliness. 

Quickly, before you can think again, you delete all of your work, and close the program, ensuring that you won’t be able to recover it.

You stare at the blank screen for a moment, and then you close your laptop and slide it into your bag. 

You’ll get your bracelet back, and then you’ll leave. You know the cell on Alderaan is a lot more political than terroristic, maybe they require a slicer.

Quickly, you wrap up what’s left of your lunch and slide it into your bag as well, and then you stand and walk over to the large man.

“Excuse me.” You say, once you standing at that table.

“Can we help you?” The man with long hair asks.

You pull a small slip of paper out of your bag, the insurance claim for the bracelet. “My father had that bracelet,” You point to the bracelet around the large man’s wrist, “made for me when I was 16. Here’s the insurance claim for it. I’d like it back.”

The man picks up the paper, and looks at it, and then at the bracelet itself, before he nods, and pulls it off, “Here you go. I’ve been keeping it safe for you.” He says with a smile.

“Thanks.” You take the bracelet and the insurance claim back, “Sorry for bothering you.”

“You can join us, if you like?” The man with glasses offers, “There is plenty of room.”

You don’t meet his gaze, or anyone elses, “It’s better I don’t, I think. Sorry, again. I’ll be more careful with my stuff.”

“You don’t have—” The large man starts, but you flee before he can finish his sentence. It’s better this way.

You’re less likely to get hurt.

Wrecker stares at the place his soul mate was just standing, and then turns his helpless gaze to his brothers. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, you didn’t.” Hunter replies, reassuringly, “But you should go after her.”

“Just be careful to not scare her.” Crosshair warns. 

“I’m not going to do it intentionally.” Wrecker bites out at his younger brother, before he gets to his feet and follows his soul mate out of the cafe. 

She’s easy enough to track, now that he knows what she looks like, and she’s not trying to avoid detection. 

He hopes she’s not just shy, he’d feel awful following her if she was running away because she was shy.

But, at the same time, Wrecker has been longing for this day since he was a cadet. Since the first time a piece of her clothing appeared in his bed. The day that bracelet appeared, mixed in with what few belongings he could lay claim to, he vowed that he would one day return it to her.

It was clear to him that someone loved her a lot.

Now he knows that it was a gift from her parents. 

Though he can’t help but wonder why she looked so sad when she took the bracelet back. Surely she should have been happy, right?

Although—

She might think that he’s not her soulmate. It’s not like he owns anything that he can afford to get lost. So if her stuff went missing, and she never found anything that wasn’t hers, it would make sense that she might think that he’s not her soulmate.

His heart aches at the thought. She must have been so lonely.

Plus, it’s not like people who don’t have soul mates are treated well. The treatment of the clones improved, a lot, as soon as people found out that they had soul mates too.

So, not only would she have felt alone…she would have been looked down on.

Poor thing. How is he supposed to apologize for that?

Wrecker trails after her, through the crowded streets, until she ducks down a much less busy street. He doesn’t mind if she knows that he’s following her, though he does slow down when an older man approaches her.

“Haze.”

“Suture.” Her voice is soft, but there’s steel underlying her voice.

Wrecker has never been more attracted to someone in his life.

“What happened? Did you finish the code?” Suture demands. 

“I finished it.”

“And?”

“I deleted it.”

There’s silence for a moment, and Wrecker moves closer, suddenly having a bad feeling as to this conversation. 

“You. You deleted it.” Suture repeats.

Haze’s eyes flicker to Wrecker, and then back to Suture, “I deleted it.”

“Why?” Suture asks through a laugh, “Why would you do that? This was our great equilizer. We were finally going to make them treat us the same—”

“It wouldn’t have worked. You’d be classified as a terrorist. And I don’t help terrorists.” Haze says strongly.

Suture lets out another disbelieving laugh, and he takes several steps away from her, before he spins and his fist collides with her cheek. Haze stumbles backwards, but Suture isn’t able to get off any more blows before Wrecker is between them.

“Maybe you should try beating up on someone a little bigger than her,” Wrecker growls, not the least bit afraid of using his size to intimidate the man who just attacked his soulmate.

Suture takes a step back, and then another one. And then he laughs, “You can’t protect her everywhere.” He threatens, “I will get my pound of flesh from her one way or another.”

The tension drains from Wrecker’s shoulders as Suture runs off, and he turns to look at Haze. She’s rubbing her rapidly bruising cheek, but she still won’t look at him. 

“Haze, right?” Wrecker ducks his head slightly to try and catch her eyes, “Are you alright?”

“Haze is fine. And I’m…fine. Just fine.” She pauses, “Sorry, again. You shouldn’t have had to get involved.”

“Of course I’m going to get involved. You’re my soul mate.” Wrecker says gently.

Her head snaps up, and Wrecker’s heart aches when he sees tears in her eyes, “That’s not right. I don’t have a soul mate.” The way she says it, as though the words are being ripped from her lips, makes him want to wrap her in his arms and promise that no one will ever hurt her again. 

“I don’t think that’s right,” Wrecker replies, gently reaching out to tuck a strand of hair off her face.

“It is right! There’s something wrong with me—”

“No.” Wrecker interrupts, “No, there isn’t.”

“How can you possibly know that?” She’s crying now, and this time Wrecker doesn’t stop from pulling her into his arms. Her hands curl into the thin material of his shirt, and Wrecker’s arms tighten around her.

“I’m a clone, Haze.” He whispers, “You never found anything of mine because I never had anything to lose.”

She shakes her head, as if she doesn’t believe him. 

“Hey, hey.” He brings his hands up to cup her face, “Look at me.” Her eyes are watery, and tears still roll down her face, and Wrecker still thinks she’s the most stunning woman he’s ever seen, “What does you’re heart tell you?”

She trembles under his hands, “That’s you’re my soul mate.” She admits.

“My heart tells me the same thing.” Gently, he wipes her tears off her face, “I’ve loved you since the first time you lost a shirt. It was black and red, and I turned it into a stuffed animal so I could keep it with me everywhere.”

A shaky laugh falls from her, “I remember that shirt. I thought mom threw it away because there was a massive hole in it.”

“There was a pretty big hole in it.” Wrecker admits, and then a small smile crosses his lips, “I still have them.”

“Them?”

“Everything you’ve ever lost. I keep them in a box under my bunk. Just waiting for the day that I’d meet you, so I could return them.”

She sniffles, “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that. It’s what soul mates do.” Wrecker ducks his head and lightly kisses a tear off her cheek, “So, how about we go back to the cafe? You can meet my brothers, and you can tell us about this Suture character?”

She shakes her head, “No, I need to leave. If he catches me alone, he’ll kill me.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

She stares at him, and then, slowly, a smile crosses her lips, “I guess, you are pretty big, aren’t you?”

“I’m gonna tell you a secret,” Wrecker leans in, “I’m also pretty protective.”

She looks surprised, and then a startled giggle falls from her lips. “Alright. I suppose I’d like to meet your brothers.”

Wrecker beams at her, “You’re going to be the happiest soul mate ever. You’ve had enough sadness for one lifetime.”

Haze ducks her head, “Yeah. I guess I have.”

[darthkote]

Star Wars Fanfiction Request Guidelines | OPEN

Hi! I wanna try to write more each day, even if it's just small blurbs or pairing I might not typically write or think about (: I still reserve the right to say no, of course, but to make it easier, I wanted to compile a list of what I won't write/am willing to write. My ao3 -> darthkote

Below are the guidelines to help you craft a prompt that aligns with my writing preferences.

Minors DNI.

Content I Am Willing to Write

Stories rated GA to E.

Pairings of any gender or sexual identity. If you would like narrator/characters to use varying pronouns than those used in Canon, mention it!

Violence, gore, smut, where appropriate for the plot/prompt.

AUs grounded in realism within Star Wars Canon or Legends.

Canon compliant stories (I'll do my best to stay away from fanon if you so wish!)

Clone-shipping

Hurt/Comfort, angst, whump.

Polycules. Platonic, romantic, etc.

X reader. Won't use "y/n"

Content I Will Not Write

Underage characters in sexual situations.

Modern AU. Just not into it, I'm sorry.

Basically, feel free to request anything that falls into these guidelines. If something not listed makes me uncomfortable or disinterests me, I will address it directly as it arises.

Critical Details for Prompts

When submitting your prompt, consider the following elements to help guide the story:

1. Core Concept

What is the central idea or “what if” scenario?

2. Characters

Which characters are the focus?

Are there specific relationships to explore (e.g., romantic, platonic, familial)?

Any characters you’d like excluded?

3. Setting and Timeline

Where does the story take place (e.g., a specific planet, ship, or environment)?

When does it occur in the Star Wars timeline?

Note: I haven’t fully explored the Imperial Era or beyond yet. As I watch more, I will remove this note to reflect that! I have finished TBB and have not moved forward. I am progressing in timeline order in my own time. + Have watched the og trilogy.

4. Tone and Themes

What kind of tone should the story have (e.g., lighthearted, angsty, hopeful)?

Are there specific themes (e.g., redemption, survival, found family) to explore?

Click here for SFW and here for NSFW.

5. Plot Details

Are there key events or plot points you'd like included?

Should the story be action-heavy, dialogue-driven, or a balance of both?

6. Relationships

Specify the type of relationship dynamics (e.g., slow burn romance, mentor-apprentice, camaraderie).

Include whether relationships are romantic, platonic, or unrequited, etc.

7. Style and Structure

Do you have a preferred POV (e.g., first-person, third-person limited)?

Length preference (e.g., short drabble, one-shot, multi-chapter epic)?

8. Canon and AUs

Should the story adhere to Star Wars Canon or Legends, or can it diverge?

If AU, how far does it deviate?

9. Visuals and Atmosphere

Do you have specific imagery or sensory details in mind?

Example: “A dreamlike sequence during Obi-Wan’s meditation.”

10. Dialogue or Scenes

Any specific dialogue or moments to include?

Example: “Have Cody reflect on his scars during a quiet moment.”

11. Avoidances and Triggers

Are there topics, elements, or scenarios you’d like avoided?

12. Inspirations

Share any inspirations: quotes, songs, other fanfics, or Star Wars media.

13. Ending

Specify what type of ending you envision (e.g., happy, tragic, open-ended).

Note:

These are just guidelines—you don’t need to include every single detail when making a request. However, please keep in mind my personal boundaries.