The Bad Batch Headcanons - Blog Posts

Need part two but don’t like the joke about giving her back (if omega heard/saw that I would feel like I am unwanted so hopefully that’s cleared up and not joked about especially since she’s a abused teenager who doesn’t need her older brothers talking about taking her back!).

Sorry I love Omega and she’s also been through hell! Every other clone got to be with at least one of their brothers but NOT Omega unfortunately....she was tested on the whole time and most importantly always alone and never allowed to be with her brothers! It’s actually pretty heartbreaking if you ask me!

Can’t wait to read part two though I’m just very protective of her because of the HELL she’s been through ALL alone and no love or support in the slightest!

This two-parter is once again deticated to the wonderful modern batch art of @transformersluna

I will soon be posting these on Archive of our own but I have to wait on that little mail thingy.

Ps: english is not my first language so please dont be too disappointed in my writing but I wanted as many people as possible to be able to read what I write.

TBB-Part of growing up (Part 1)

Clutching the steering wheel tightly with his white knuckled hands, he parked on the side of the road leading to the house of Omega's friend Hera. The two met after Omega's prolonged period of isolation at school and soon became inseparable. So it was no surprise that Hera, who was throwing a big party (supervised, of course) for her 15th birthday, made Omega her special festivities coordinator.

When Hunter dropped her off there that afternoon, he promised to pick her up again, no later than 9 p.m. Rolling her eyes and pointing out that she wasn't a baby anymore that needed constant supervision, they finally agreed on 9:30 p.m. Wide victory smile, she skipped up the stairs to Hera's house and fell into her friend's arms on the porch. Hera's father behind them putting up garlands and fairy lights on the porch roof. He waved at Hunter with a friendly smile, and of course Hunter returned the gesture. And with another wave from Omega, he started the car and drove back home. Biting his lips, he thought of her last words.

-Hunter I'm not a baby anymore-

Something strange twisted in his chest at those words, accompanied by the usual turmoil of guilt. If only they had taken her out of Nala Se's poisonous hands sooner. He refused to call her a mother for what she did to each of them. But that was all over now, and Tech had already told him at least 100 times that, technically, since he didn't know about Omega at all until, she was 9 years old, it wasn't his fault.

However, after they learned of her existence, the top priority was to get her out of the abusive household of Nala Se as soon as possible. This turned out to be much more difficult than anticipated. A long uphill battle that Hunter and his brothers fortunately won. Omega had had to overcome a lot since then. But she had always been able to count on each of them. All Hunter ever wished for her was that she could have a normal childhood and grow up protected. Only, unfortunately, she didn’t have a chance to start that sooner. Bittersweet. He knew everything was better now.

He heard someone shouting behind him and stared into the rearview mirror. A shock of blond hair crept up to the side of the blue work truck. Turning around she waved once more and then reached for the driver's door.

''You're late.'' he sighed, eyebrows raised.

''Just-'' she turned her left wrist ''15 minutes. Sorry,'' she hissed. The apology only half-serious and delivered in a Chrosshair eske tone. He didn't even had to look at his sister, her eye roll almost audible. Defiance graced her face. He shook his head. She seemed to be downright looking for trouble with her brothers lately. Hunter remembered that teenage years were unpleasant but staying calm about a behavior he wouldn't let any of his brothers get away with was particularly challenging. Cross, to everyone's surprise, seemed to be the best at dealing with it. Showed her patience and understanding when no one else had any left. Hunter envied him for that.

Eventually it all would pass, Echo had said, and he clung tightly to that. Swallowing, he turned his head toward her.

''How was it?" he tried to start again.

''Great-'' Her voice sounded dishonest and pressed but for some reason Omega tried to fool him with a smile. She slid down in the passenger seat and leaned her head against the window. -not a good sign- Her features twitched whenever a streetlight illuminated her face. At the next traffic light, he eyed her more closely. Her nose was slightly red, her eyes glassy and dull. An outsider would probably not have noticed this, but Hunter knew better. No something was definetly up. -Was that why she was late?-

''You want to tell me what's going on?’’ His free hand reached for hers but she was faster and quickly slipped it into her jacket pocket. A sting to his heart. ''No. I just want to go home.'' A mixture of exasperation and anger. He pressed his lips together and nodded. With the radio murmuring softly in the background, he began to think.

Was it time for her monthly thing again? He thought back - A quick math break later established not for another two weeks or so- that couldn’t be it then. He cast her a suspicious look out of the corner of his right eye. When that became an issue some time ago, he was very grateful that Tech had taken over that particular conversation. He was very nonchalant and matter of fact about these kinds of situations and everyone, including Omega, appreciated that.

Something seemed to slide heavily into his stomach. He swallowed hard against it. What if someone tried to make advances on her? What if she tried to fight back? He kept hearing on the news that all kinds of things like that happened to young women. Why had he let her go to that stupid party? He growled.

''Hunter- I think Wrecker would prefer if you leave the steering wheel in the car.'' Omega turned to him with a startled look. He looked at his cramped hands which seemed to have parked the car by themselves in front of their house. Unease shook him to his very core. Something seemed to snap behind his pupils.

''We're going to talk about this now.'' his voice almost shouting in the standing car. She put on a pouty face. Her specialty. ''It can't go on like this. We're all not going to take this much longer, and you know that very well.'' Any bottled-up frustration seemed to spill out of him all at once. He knew it wasn't fair to take it out on someone half his age but he couldn't help himself. Maybe a good scolding would finally get her to open up. Heart hammering in his chest, he turned in the seat with his whole body facing her. He saw her blink heavily, heard a gulp and immediately regretted what he was doing. ''Omega-'' he started softly. But it was already too late.

She fled out the door, huffing and sniffling, and slammed the car shut with way more force than needed. He jumped out of the truck and tried to catch up with her. But she was faster. Without taking off her shoes or petting Gonky, she trudged loudly up the stairs to her room.

''Hello?’’ Echo's voice faded from the left side of the house cut off by the slamming of the upper bathroom door.

"LEAVE the house alone, will Ya?" Hunter called after her. He heard something muffled yelling back at him but for everyone’s sake he ignored it.

Hunter's footsteps came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. The squeak from the upper floors attic stairs announced her withdrawal. With another heavy sigh, he sat down on the steps and began to take off his shoes. The little Cat coming closer. Her green eyes sparkling. She meowed softly. ''Hey Gonky-" he stretched his hand further out. ,,Don’t worry. I didn’t forget about you.'' the little grey cat pressed her head affectionately against his shin. He nuzzled the back of her neck with his fingertips. Purring loudly, he lifted her in his arms and went into the living room to join his brothers.

"Well, that didn't seem to go over nicely." Tech chided. His eyes fixated on Hunters expression. He shrugged his shoulders, sitting down beside him. Gonky still in his arms.

"Seems to be her new usual if you ask me." He stared at the TV, not realizing it was turned off. "I cant seem to get through to her." He lowered his eyes on the cat. His breath hitched. "I yelled at her."

Wrecker gasped, Echo and Techs expressions remained neutral patiently waiting for him to continue with his confession. "And Echo before you try to lecture me- I know I shouldn't have. But I tried to guilt trip her to telling me what her problem with us is." The little cat massaged his chest with tandem movements. A short silence with muffled sounds above them followed.

Ever the observant one, Tech said "You shouldn't take hormonal imbalances evoked by adolescence too personal Hunter." His tone offering neither solace nor rebuke. He picked his crossword puzzle back up and scribbled a word into the white squares. Echo leaned forward, facing him. "She'll come around. She always does." He had a reassuring smile to offer, and Hunter took it gladly. His brother was right. He knew that. Even after a particularly bad mood swing, she still searched the company of her brothers. But Hunter couldn't shake the feeling that this was different. He anticipated the worst.

Trying not to startle Gonky he fumbled in his back pocket for his cell. Message from Cross bright on his screen. A gif from their conversation earlier. Too bad he worked night shifts. He could have needed his youngest brother right now. Hunter clicked the icon and typed.

Is it too late to give her back?

Seconds later, a speech bubble appeared. Three smiley faces with tears of laughter.

Fire station? Give me 15 minutes tops. Every word pinched with sarcasm.

Don’t be late. He jokingly wrote and added a scrouchy face for good measure. Clearly trying to overshadow his own insecurities he felt when it came to her parentage. Damn he loved his little sister, but she could push him to his limits, that was for sure. Cross typing again, Hunter hoped it would be something beneficial. But because it was Crosshair he was talking to; he knew it wouldn’t be.

Don't bash your heads in until I get back. I have to hold the camera after all. A gif of a monkey cartoon character swinging his wooden bat. Have to work now. Fucking nighttime walk-throughs.

Huffing he clicked the power button of his cell. Gonky slowly awoke from her tandem movements and began to creep across Hunter's lap between Tech and his crossword puzzle, which he had since finished. They heard heavy footsteps again, complemented by the crashing sound of glass and a loud drawn-out groan. What had gotten into her? Before the party she had seemed ok. Fine even, more than usual in the recent weeks.

His pulse raced as he rose from the couch. Tech pushed Gonky off his lap. ''I'll be right behind you.'' Hunter held him back with one hand and shook his head. No. he had to fix this on his own. To make her feel better about what the hell was bothering her. Starting now.

SOMEONE PLEASE DRAW HER AND ALL HER BROTHERS CRYING IN THEIR OWN WAY!!!! Pretty please please please 🤙🙏

Here’s how the Bad Batch would behave watching Omega in her school play, because why the heck not?!

I would like to thank the @bad-batch-week discord for giving me the prompt “what the batchers would do if they weren’t soldiers”, that led me to this. 

Let me being by saying that they would all cry. All five of them are in tears. That is a given.

Crosshair: Now Cross absolutely will not let anyone see that he’s crying. But he is. She’s just so darn adorable and he can’t cope. He’s so proud of his vod’ika, she was so nervous and took some coaxing to do this, and she’s doing so great. 

Wrecker: Standing. Ovations. Every scene Wrecker is on his feet or letting everyone know that’s his little sister! Crosshair and Tech remind him to save the cheering and applause to the end of the show. He’s so proud he could burst, the tears are flowing, and he whispers to remind his brothers of this every five minutes. 

Tech: Omega’s performance is so profound it’s moved him to tears, and he’s not afraid to show it. Out of all of them, he was the least bothered about seeing this school play, but he’s come out of it a changed man. Truly inspired. Is in charge of filming because Echo is crying too hard. 

Echo: The proudest of moms. Was so sure he could stay composed but the moment that girl skips onstage he’s gone. Immediately hands the phone for Tech to film because his hands are shaking too much. Scolds Wrecker for the constant standing ovations but secretly wants to do the same. He and Hunter spend most of the show holding onto each other, crying.

Hunter: Utter crying wreck. This man is a mess. He loses his composure the moment she comes onstage. That’s his vod’ika! She waves at him excitedly from the stage and he gives her thumbs up. Everytime she catches his eye, its a thumbs up. He needs a nap after the show because he’s so exhausted from crying. Spends most of the show crying on Echo.

Omega: is literally playing a tree. But she’s having the best time.

BONUS HEADCANONS:

- The video of Omega’s performance is a whole mess. Tech is filming, but Crosshair thinks he could do it better. They show the video to Cid and realise it is mainly Crosshair and Tech aggressively whisper-arguing, Wrecker cheering, and Hunter and Echo could be heard sobbing in the background. (this one is inspired by @writegowrite‘s contribution to this thread). 

- Omega gets a louder cheer for playing a tree, than the kids playing the main parts. The Bad Batch have NO shame. Some find it adorable, though.

- They absolutely pick Omega up after the show and give her flowers, and celebrate with lemonade “champagne”. 

- If Omega falls over during the show, they all have to pin Hunter down before he dives onstage. Omega never loses her cool, though. She owns it, strikes a pose and gets right back on her feet. (another great idea from @writegowrite )

- If Omega has a singing solo, it’s over. The five of them are on the floor in a big crying heap.

If anyone wants to draw this, it would actually make my life. This has brought me a ridiculous amount of joy to write. Also pls add to this I beg u.

Love this especially the Crosshair one

How the Bad Batch react to Omega being upset (HC’s)

Hello there!

I have written more Headcanons! I do so enjoy writing these.

This one is a sort of continuation of the last one I did, that you can find right here.

So, as the title stipulates, this one is about the Bad Batch reacting to Omega being upset. It’s gonna be slightly AU, as I will be including Crosshair. Our boys aren’t really shown to be processing their emotions as they are constantly on the move (and are apparently built to withstand stress), so I thought I’d write a little something about how I think they would help Omega process her emotions.

Warnings: Fluff galore! Lots and lots of it. There will be quite a bit of angst and minor mentions of violence. Slightly AU. Some swearing (both English and Mando’a – forgive me if the Mando’a isn’t right. I relied heavily on the internet for the translations). Also, I never got it proof read so sorry in advance if there's any grammar/spelling mistakes!

Happy reading!

Hunter:

· We all know Hunter is stoic and acts like a tough, no-nonsense leader, but under that dark and broody façade is a sweet man who loves Omega with all his heart. She is very precious to him and he’s very glad that they took her with them when they escaped from Kamino.

· She managed to push past his tough exterior and unlock emotions within him that he didn’t even know he had. Watching her grow as a person and experience the galaxy brings him so much happiness and he’s glad that he gets to experience it with her.

· So, when Omega is hurting, he hurts too, and not just because he can sense when she is upset by the way her breathing changes or the sounds of her very quiet sobs that anyone else would struggle to hear.

· He doesn’t like seeing her sad but, in the beginning, he doesn’t quite know what to do when she’s upset, as he’s never really had to deal with an upset child before.

· He doesn’t really go for physical contact with anyone because of his enhanced senses, and at first, he is reluctant to hug her back when she hugs him – usually he would just put his hands on her shoulders and try to talk to her.

· But Omega is too sweet and pure and deserves all the love in the world, so the resolute walls he built up from being a soldier came crashing down and he finally hugged her one day when she was particularly sad and exhausted.

· He just held her close and gently rubbed her shoulders, telling her that everything would be okay, and promised her that he would always be there to look after her. He would never leave her, and he would never let anyone hurt her.

· The hug also puts him at ease too and after a while even his senses become used to it and it doesn’t bother him. He also needs this as much as she does, even if he doesn’t realise it at first. (Tech was right all those months ago when he was rambling about the benefits of a hug).

· He will never push for her to tell him what’s wrong, but will let her know that when she’s ready to talk he will be there to listen and offer support.

· Omega will often fall asleep, safe, and warm, in Hunter’s arms. He sometimes falls asleep too, relieved that he could be there for her and that she was safe in his arms, protected from harm.

Wrecker:

· A lot of people think that Wrecker is just big and loud, so how could he possibly be a comforting presence when someone is upset?

· Well, for one, he is the best hugger out of the Bad Batch and when people are upset, particularly Omega, he is usually the first to notice (after Hunter and his enhanced senses).

· He took to Omega basically straight away when the Bad Batch escaped Kamino with her. They have the same excitable energy and constantly hype each other up.

· They have a very special bond, and he hates seeing her upset and will do anything to see her smile again. Seeing her sad makes him upset and angry. He just wants her to be happy.

· He will scoop her up in his arms and hold her until she calms down, humming a random tune to soothe her.

· He will try to make her laugh by telling awful dad jokes and he will let her hold Lula because Lula helps him when he’s upset. He will also grab the Tooka doll he made her, called AZ, because double the tooka, double the happiness.

· When Omega does finally smile, Wrecker’s heart will soar. He feels that sometimes people judge him and fear him because of his appearance, but when Omega seeks him out when she is upset and he can make her smile again, it makes him realise that maybe people are wrong about him and that he’s wrong about himself - maybe he’s not so scary after all. He does in fact understand the need for subtlety and softness when it comes to comforting someone, despite what appearances suggest.

· When she has calmed down and is ready to talk about what’s wrong, he will be like “Who made you upset? Was it Crosshair? Because I’ll kick his shebs!”

· Once any ass-kickings have been given (if needed), they will seek out some food together (Mantell Mix is a favourite, of course).

· They will laugh and joke and have the biggest grins on their faces, happy to be in each other’s presence.

Tech:

· Tech, the clever clogs that he is, knew how special Omega was from the beginning when he analysed her DNA.

· However, he was still a little awkward around her at first because he, like the rest of his brothers, wasn’t used to having a child around, but they ended up bonding over their mutual love of knowledge and Omega hanging on his every word, especially when it came to teaching her about the Marauder. He likes that she doesn’t brush him off when he tells her facts, and actually asks him more questions and genuinely likes learning what she can from him.

· Now, Tech is a very smart man and has gathered knowledge about what to do if someone is upset, you know, just in case he ever needed to comfort someone.

· In theory, comforting someone seems pretty straightforward, but putting it into practise? Not as straightforward as it seems!

· Omega was upset one day, and usually she would seek out Hunter or Wrecker, but they weren’t there. He knew he had to do something, as he didn’t like to see her upset. But the thought of trying to console her made him slightly uncomfortable. What if he made her feel worse rather than better?

· He pushed his anxiety to the side anyway and asked her what was wrong, but she just sniffed and shook her head, leaving Tech to search his brain for what he should do next. He internally berated himself for being slow in providing comfort, because the longer he took to think of something, the longer Omega was upset.

· After a few long, slightly uncomfortable moments he said “You know, I have read that hugs have been proven to reduce stress and they also release oxytocin- “

· Before he could even finish his sentence, Omega threw her arms around him and held tight. He awkwardly patted her back at first, but then relaxed and hugged her properly. He held her tight and sat quietly for a few moments, letting her get her breathing back under control.

· He also started to feel the benefits of the hug and finished telling Omega why hugs are healthy. She looked up at him and smiled, thanking him for making her feel better. Seeing her smile at him like that made his heart melt and he was so relieved that he could help her feel better. He knew that information about hugs would come in handy one day!

· Omega would then tell the rest of the batchers this and try to get all of them to hug regularly, for the sake of their health! This idea was met with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

Echo:

· Echo wasn’t so sure about having Omega aboard the Marauder at first, mostly because he didn’t think she would be safe travelling with them.

· But then he saw how well she fit in, and he realised that she belonged with them.

· During his time as an ARC trooper, Echo saw some pretty messed up shit on the dangerous missions he was sent on (often with Fives). Some of these missions gave him terrible nightmares, and he would wake up shouting and terrified. Fives would calm him down and hug him, saying “It’s okay, vod, you’re safe”. He would also do the same for Fives if he ever had nightmares. He still has nightmares from when he was imprisoned at Skako Minor.

· One night, Hunter, Wrecker and Tech were out getting supplies, leaving Echo on the ship with Omega and Crosshair. Omega had retired to her room at his request to get some sleep a few hours before.

· He then heard small, quiet whimpers coming from Omega’s little room and immediately went to see if she was ok. By the time he climbed up the ladder, she was awake and looked terrified, and the scared look on her face reminded him of himself and Fives, when they would awaken in the dead of night, from dreams plagued with war and darkness.

· He asked her if she had a nightmare and she nodded her head, so he helped her down the ladder, and took her to sit down in one of the chairs in the cockpit, stopping to get a blanket along the way.

· He put the blanket around her, and she immediately leaned into him, searching for comfort, and he hesitantly put his arms around her, worried that his cybernetics would hurt her.

· However, she didn’t make any sign that his cybernetics bothered her, so he held her more firmly and let her cry, while he whispered, “It’s ok, vod’ika, you’re safe”, just like Fives would whisper to him.

· He let silent tears of his own fall, thinking about how unfair it was that Fives wasn’t there with him, about the war that had taken so many of his brothers. He hated that Omega was going through this, she was too young! He composed himself, putting on the mask of a tough soldier, and asked Omega what her nightmare was about.

· He vowed that night that he would always be there for Omega, no matter what.

Crosshair:

· Crosshair was very against having Omega aboard the Marauder. She was a child, had no combat experience, and would be a liability.

· He found her irritating at first, she and Wrecker were always doing something and were too energetic for his tastes. He tried to avoid her as much he could, which was difficult to do on the Marauder. He was even sarcastic and downright rude to her a few times, which the rest of his brothers reprimanded him for.

· Yet, no matter how sarcastic or unpleasant he was, Omega would still try to talk to him. She always made an effort to ask how he was, to engage him in conversation. And she always made sure he was included in every discussion the group had. She even came to him for advice about shooting her bow on a few occasions.

· She started to grow on him, and after a while he got used to her presence and even started to enjoy it, and he stopped trying to avoid her and actually held conversations with her. She was a little ray of sunlight in their ragtag group. But there was no way in hell he would ever admit that to anyone, he even had trouble admitting that to himself!

· One day, he was asked to stay behind with Omega because she needed a break, whilst the other batchers went to do an easy job for Cid. Apparently Hunter had decided that Wrecker’s, Tech’s and Echo’s skills would be needed more than Crosshair’s for that job.

· He heard Omega crying, and he froze. What the kriff was he supposed to do with a crying child? That was usually Hunter or Wrecker’s territory. Kriff, even Tech and Echo would be a better choice than him.

· But they weren’t there, and he couldn’t very well leave Omega to sit and cry on her own, could he? Even he wasn’t that cold.

· He approached her slowly, and knelt in front of her, intent on asking her what was wrong and trying to fix it as fast as possible. Before he opened his mouth, she threw her arms around him. He sat frozen for what felt like hours, arms limp at his side whilst Omega held him and cried. He brought his arms up and patted her on the back a few times before drawing her slowly away from him and looking at her.

· “Come with me,” he said, and he took her to a little makeshift target practise range he had made for himself to let off some steam when he needed to, making sure she brought her bow with her. They stood side by side like that for a while, Omega shooting her bow and Crosshair occasionally giving her advice on how to shoot more accurately.

· From that point on, Crosshair and Omega became closer and would use the practise range together when everything got a little too much for them. And Crosshair vowed quietly to himself that he would never let anyone harm their little ray of sunshine.

Tag list: @eyecandyeoz @itsjml @kratosfan6632466 @radbatch

(if you wanna be tagged in any of my future stuff just let me know via message!)

Fully headcanon Crosshair to be a David Bowie listener. Idk what it is there's just something about his music that makes me think of @superiorsniper

Hiya lovely! I was wondering if you could do a Bad Batch X blind force sensitive Reader where they did the painting of her on their ship but since she can’t see she doesn’t mention it but the bit are flustered because she’s like their version of a celeb crush because of unorthodox on the battle field.

Very much enjoy reading your stories! 🧡🧡

“Echoes of a Legend”

The Bad Batch x Blind Jedi!Reader

Even before the Order made it official with her rank, she moved through warzones like a rumor given form. Jedi Master [Y/N], field strategist and warrior monk of the Outer Rim campaigns, was a living contradiction—unpredictable, untouchable, devastating.

And blind.

Not metaphorically. Physically. Her eyes were pale and unseeing, but the Force made her a weapon no enemy wanted to face. Not when her saber moved like liquid flame, her bare feet danced across fields of blaster fire, and her instincts cut sharper than any tactical droid could calculate.

Clone troopers told stories of her—how she once Force-flipped an AAT into a ravine because “it was in her way.” How she never issued orders, only spoke suggestions, and somehow her men moved with perfect synchronicity around her. How she’d once been shot clean through the shoulder and kept fighting, citing “mild discomfort.”

To Clone Force 99, she was something between a war icon and a celebrity crush.

They’d never met her. Not officially. But they’d studied her campaigns. Memorized her maneuvers. And after Tech had painstakingly stitched together footage from her battlefield cams, Wrecker had pitched the idea: “We should paint her on the Marauder.”

It had started as a joke.

But then they’d done it.

Nose art, like the old warbirds from Kamino’s ancient archives. Cloak swirling. Lightsaber ignited. Body poised in mid-air, wind tossing her hair. There were probably more elegant ways to honor a Jedi Master. But elegance had never been Clone Force 99’s strong suit.

And now, they were docking on Coruscant.

And she was waiting for them.

“She’s here.”

Hunter stared at the holopad in his hand. Her silhouette stood at the base of the landing platform, backlit by the setting sun, cloak fluttering in the breeze.

“Right,” Echo muttered. “No turning back now.”

“She doesn’t know about the painting,” Crosshair said. It wasn’t a question.

“She’s blind,” Tech replied. “So in all likelihood, no.”

Wrecker, sweating, mumbled, “What if she feels it through the Force?”

No one answered that.

The ramp lowered.

She didn’t move as they descended, but they all felt it—that ripple in the air, like entering the calm center of a storm. She stood still, chin slightly tilted, as if listening to their boots on durasteel. Her hands were clasped loosely behind her back. No lightsaber in sight. But the power radiating off her was unmistakable.

Then she smiled.

“I thought I felt wild energy approaching,” she said, voice warm, low, and confident. “Clone Force 99.”

The voice didn’t match the chaos they’d expected. It was calm. Even soothing.

They all saluted, more out of reflex than formality.

“Master Jedi,” Hunter said, his voice lower than usual.

“‘Master’ is excessive,” you said, tilting your head. “You’re the ones with the art exhibit.”

Hunter’s face went slack. Echo coughed. Tech blinked. Crosshair’s toothpick fell.

Wrecker choked on his own spit.

“…Art?” Echo asked, voice high.

You turned toward the ship—just slightly off to the side.

“The painting. On the nose of your ship. I hear it’s flattering.”

Hunter’s jaw clenched. “You… saw it?”

“No. I heard it. The padawan of the Ninth Battalion told me. With great enthusiasm.”

Wrecker groaned and dropped his helmet onto the ground with a thunk.

“I haven’t looked,” you added gently. “Don’t worry.”

That… only made it worse.

“I wasn’t aware I’d become wartime propaganda,” you continued, starting toward them with measured steps. “But it’s not the strangest thing I’ve encountered.”

Crosshair muttered, “Could’ve fooled me. You yeeted a super tactical droid off a cliff on Umbara.”

“I did,” you replied, smiling faintly. “He was being condescending.”

They walked with you through the plaza toward the Temple, though it felt more like a parade of sheep behind a lion. Despite your calm presence, none of them could relax. Especially not when you turned your head toward them mid-stride and said:

“Which one of you painted it?”

Silence.

Tech cleared his throat. “It was… a collaborative effort. Conceptually mine. Execution—shared.”

You grinned. “Collaborative pin-up Jedi portraiture. You’re pioneers.”

“I’m sorry,” Echo said sincerely. “We meant it as a tribute.”

“I know.” You touched his elbow lightly as you passed. “That’s why I’m not offended.”

Hunter, walking beside you, couldn’t help but glance down. You didn’t wear boots. Just light wrap-around cloth sandals. Not exactly standard issue for a battlefield. But then again, you were anything but standard.

“You don’t need to walk on eggshells around me,” you said to him softly.

“We painted you on our ship,” he replied, the words gravel-rough. “Forgive me if I’m not sure what I can say.”

You turned toward him, unseeing eyes oddly precise. “Say what you mean.”

Wrecker—trailing behind with his helmet under one arm—whispered, “She’s terrifying.”

“Terrifyingly interesting,” Tech whispered back.

“She can hear you,” you called over your shoulder.

Wrecker squeaked.

By the time they reached the Temple steps, all five were sweating—some from nerves, some from heat, some from the sheer existential dread of having their war-crush walking next to them and being nice about the whole embarrassing mural situation.

“You’re staying onboard the Marauder for this mission, aren’t you?” you asked as they paused near the gates.

Hunter nodded. “Yes, Master Jedi.”

“Then I suppose I’ll be seeing myself every time I board.”

Sheer panic.

“But don’t worry,” you added with a smirk, sensing it. “I’ll pretend I don’t know what it looks like.”

Crosshair grumbled, “Or we could repaint it.”

“Don’t,” you said, suddenly serious. “It’s nice to be remembered for something other than war reports.”

And then you were gone—ascending the Temple steps with grace that shouldn’t have belonged to someone without sight, cloak trailing like shadow behind fire.

The Batch stared after you.

“She’s—” Wrecker began.

“I know,” Hunter said, almost reverently.

Echo exhaled. “We’re in trouble.”

Hiya! I absolutely love your writing and always look forward to your posts

I saw that request about the commanders catching you with their helmets on and I was wondering if you could do that but with the bad batch?

Again, love your writing. I hope you have a great day/night!

Hey! Thank you so much—that means a lot to me! 💖

I actually was planning to include the Bad Batch too but wanted to start with just the commanders first.

⸻

HUNTER

You weren’t expecting to get caught.

You were standing in the cockpit, wearing Hunter’s helmet—not for mischief, really, but because you were genuinely curious how he functioned with his enhanced senses dulled. You wanted to know what it was like to see through his eyes. To feel what he felt.

The helmet was heavy. Too heavy.

He walked in mid-thought, and you froze.

Hunter didn’t speak. He just stood there, half in shadow, his brow furrowing slowly like he was processing an entirely new battlefield situation.

You didn’t say anything either. You just… stood there. Helmet on. Stiff-backed. Guilty.

Finally, he stepped forward.

“…That’s mine.”

You took it off and held it out sheepishly. “I wanted to see what you see. It’s filtered. Muffled. How do you live like this?”

Hunter took the helmet from your hands and gave you a long, unreadable look.

“I don’t. I adapt.”

Then he brushed past you—close, deliberate—and you swore his fingers grazed yours just a little longer than necessary.

⸻

WRECKER

“Whoa!”

You heard the booming voice before you could even turn.

You were in the loading bay, helmet pulled low over your face as you tried to figure out how the heck Wrecker even saw through it with one eye. It was like wearing a bucket with a tunnel vision problem.

He charged over with the biggest grin you’d ever seen.

“Look at you! You’re me!”

You pulled the helmet off, grinning. “I don’t know how you walk around with this thing. It’s like being inside a durasteel trash can.”

“I know, right? But it looks great on you!”

He took the helmet back, turning it in his hands, then gave you a wide-eyed look.

“You wanna try my pauldron next?! Or lift something heavy?!”

You laughed. “Maybe next time, big guy.”

Wrecker beamed. “You’re so getting the full Wrecker experience.”

You weren’t sure what that meant, but you were both strangely okay with it.

⸻

TECH

You had only meant to try it on for a second.

But you made the mistake of reading one of his datapads while wearing it. And once the internal HUD booted up? Well, curiosity took over.

Tech returned from the cockpit to find you hunched over in the corner, still wearing his helmet and scanning system diagnostics.

His voice was clipped. “You’re tampering with active interface systems.”

“I’m learning,” you shot back, not looking up.

He blinked, then stepped closer, fingers twitching in that nervous way he did when he wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or horrified.

“You activated my visual overlay filters.”

“I figured out the encryption pattern.”

Now that caught his attention.

He slowly knelt beside you. “How long have you had it on?”

“…Twenty-three minutes?”

He swallowed. “And you’re not… disoriented?”

“Nope. Just slightly overstimulated.”

There was a pause.

Then, quietly: “You may keep it on. Temporarily.”

You turned. “You trust me with your helmet?”

He cleared his throat. “Don’t make it a habit.”

But he was already adjusting the fit at the sides of your head.

⸻

ECHO

Echo did not find it cute.

He found it concerning.

The helmet wasn’t just gear. It was part of his reconstructed identity—a thing he wore not because he wanted to, but because he had to.

So when he saw you on the edge of his bunk, wearing it—your legs swinging slightly, gaze distant—his chest tightened.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice rougher than he meant it to be.

You looked up, startled. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. I was just… wondering what it’s like. Living with this.”

He stepped forward slowly, kneeling to your eye level. “It’s not something I’d want you to understand.”

You pulled the helmet off, placed it in his hands. “I didn’t think about that.”

He let out a quiet breath, then shook his head. “No. You did. That’s why you’re here thinking about it.”

You gave a soft smile. “I wanted to know you better.”

He swallowed hard. “You already do.”

⸻

CROSSHAIR

You knew exactly what you were doing.

And that was the problem.

You sat in the sniper’s perch in the Marauder, elbow on one knee, head tilted just slightly as you stared down at the deck below—wearing his helmet.

You heard the footstep. The sigh.

“Really?” His voice was lazy, drawled out like he wasn’t fazed, but there was a subtle tension underneath.

You didn’t look at him. “I wanted to see what it was like. Looking down on the rest of the world.”

He chuckled once, dry and sharp. “And? Is it satisfying?”

“No. It’s lonely.”

Crosshair was quiet for a long moment. Then he climbed the ladder halfway, leaned against the edge of the platform.

“Don’t get comfortable in it.”

You turned your head, voice just a little softer. “Why not?”

“Because if you wear it any longer, I might start to like it.”

You handed it back.

But you were both thinking about that line for the rest of the day.

Bad Batch/Clone Force 99 Material List 🖤♠️💀🩸💋◾️

|❤️ = Romantic | 🌶️= smut or smut implied |🏡= platonic |

The Bad Batch

- x Jedi Reader “About time you showed up” 🏡

- x Reader “permission to feel” 🏡

- x Fem!Reader “ours” ❤️/🏡

- x Fem!Reader “Seconds”🏡

- x Fem!Reader “undercover temptation” 🌶️

- x reader “Say that again?”❤️

- x reader “Echoes in Dust” ❤️🏡

- x Reader “Secrets in the Shadow”

- “The Scent of Home”🏡

- Helmet Chaos ❤️🏡

Hunter

- x Mandalorian Reader pt.1❤️

- x Mandalorian Reader pt. 2❤️

- x Pabu Reader❤️

- x reader “good looking”❤️

- x reader “Ride” 🌶️

- x reader “What is that smell”❤️

- x Plus sized reader “All the parts of you” ❤️

- x Reader “Flower Tactics”

Tech

- x mechanic reader ❤️

- x Jedi Reader “uncalculated variables”❤️

- x Reader “Theoretical Feelings” ❤️

- x Reader “Statistical Probability of Love” ❤️

- x Reader “Sweet Circuits” ❤️

- x Reader “you talk too much (and I like it)”

- x Fem reader “Recalibration” 🌶️

- x Jealous Reader “More than Calculations”

- x Reader “There are other ways”

-“Exactly Us” ❤️

- “The Fall Doesn’t End You” 🏡/❤️

- “Heat Index” ❤️

- “Terminally Yours” ❤️

Wrecker

- x Shop keeper reader❤️

- x Reader “I wanna wreck our friendship”❤️

- x Reader “Grumpy Hearts and Sunshine Shoulders”❤️

- x reader “Big enough to hold you”❤️

- x Torguta Reader “The Sound of Your Voice”❤️

- “Heart of the Wreckage” ❤️

Echo

- x Senator!Reader❤️

- x reader “safe with you”❤️

- “Operation: Stay Forever” ❤️

Crosshair

- x reader “The Stillness Between Waves❤️

- x reader “just like the rest”❤️

- x Fem!Reader “Right on Target” 🌶️

- “Sharp Eyes” ❤️

Captain Howzer

- x Twi’lek Reader “Quiet Rebellion”❤️

- “A safe place to fall” ❤️

Overall Material List

Hi! I had an idea for a Bad Batch or even 501st x Fem!Reader where the reader has a rather large chest and when it gets hot she wears more revealing items and the boys get distracted and flustered? I love the stuttering and blushing boys and confidence reader stuff. Nothing too explicit or so maybe just flirting and teasing. Hope this is ok! If not I totally understand! Xx

“Too Hot to Handle”

Fem!Reader x The Bad Batch

You had a feeling the Republic’s definition of “temperate” varied wildly from your own. The jungle planet was a boiling mess of humidity and unrelenting heat—and your standard gear? Suffocating. So, you did what any sane woman would do: ditched the jacket, rolled up your tank top, and tied your hair up to survive the heat.

The result? Your… assets were on full display.

“Maker,” you heard someone mutter behind you.

You glanced back over your shoulder, smirking. Tech had walked face-first into a tree branch. Crosshair snorted.

“I told you to look where you’re going.”

“I was looking,” Tech replied, voice just a little too high-pitched to be believable, glasses fogging.

Hunter cleared his throat and tried very hard to keep his eyes on the map in his hands. “Alright. Let’s move out.”

“I don’t mind staying here a bit longer,” Echo said, then instantly regretted it when you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh?” you asked, strolling up to him. “Because of the view?”

Echo flushed crimson from ears to collarbone. “I—I didn’t—I meant the trees. The foliage. The scenery. The mission. Definitely not you.” He looked like he wanted the jungle to swallow him whole.

Crosshair rolled his eyes, muttering something about “bunch of kriffin’ cadets.”

You leaned toward him, hands on your hips. “Not enjoying the view, sniper?”

He gave you a cool look. “I’ve seen better.”

But the twitch at the corner of his mouth told you otherwise.

Wrecker, on the other hand, had absolutely no filter.

“You look awesome!” he beamed. “Kinda like one of those holonet dancers! Only cooler. And better armed!”

You laughed. “Thanks, Wreck. At least someone appreciates fashion.”

Hunter still hadn’t said anything. You stepped closer, just close enough that your shadow fell over him.

“Something wrong, Sarge?”

His gaze finally met yours. His pupils were slightly dilated. “You’re, uh… distracting.”

You grinned. “Good.”

He cleared his throat. “Let’s keep moving. Before someone passes out.”

You turned, leading the squad again with an extra sway in your hips—just for fun.

Behind you, a chorus of groans, a snapped branch, and Tech asking if overheating counted as a medical emergency confirmed one thing:

Mission accomplished.

⸻

You knew exactly what you were doing.

The jungle’s heat hadn’t let up, but neither had the effect your outfit was having on the squad. Sweat clung to your skin, your tank top clinging in all the right (or wrong) places. Every time you adjusted the strap or tugged your top down slightly to cool off, you heard someone behind you trip, cough, or mutter a strangled curse.

Crosshair was chewing on the toothpick like it owed him credits. Echo’s scomp link clinked against his chest plate as he tried and failed to keep his eyes off you. Tech had adjusted his goggles four times in the last minute and was now walking with a datapad suspiciously close to his face—like he was trying to use it as a shield.

And Hunter?

Hunter looked like he was in hell.

You’d catch him watching you—eyes flickering up and down, then away, jaw tight, nostrils flaring like he was trying to rein himself in.

“Everything alright, Sarge?” you asked sweetly, dabbing sweat from your neck and catching his gaze as it dropped.

His voice cracked. “Fine. Just… focused on the terrain.”

“Funny,” you said, stepping close, letting your voice dip low. “I thought the terrain was behind you.”

Crosshair choked.

Hunter exhaled, flustered and trying not to visibly short-circuit. “Focus, all of you. We’ve got a job to do.”

“Hard to focus,” Echo muttered under his breath. “Some of us are… visually impaired by distraction.”

“Visual impairment is no excuse for tactical inefficiency,” Tech said quickly, though his goggles were definitely still fogged.

“You need help cleaning those, Tech?” you offered, reaching for his face.

He actually jumped back. “N-No! That is—unnecessary! I am quite—capable!”

“Ohhh, she’s killing ‘em,” Wrecker laughed, totally unfazed. “This is better than a bar fight!”

“Speak for yourself,” Crosshair growled, barely maintaining composure as you brushed past him.

You were leading again now, hips swaying slightly more than necessary, hair sticking to your damp neck in a way that was definitely catching eyes. You tugged your top lower again and heard an audible thunk—someone had walked into another branch.

“Seriously?” you called over your shoulder, amused.

There was silence, then a shame-filled voice: “…Echo.”

You bit back a laugh.

Hunter suddenly barked, “Break time. Ten minutes.”

The squad dropped like they’d been released from a death march.

You stretched languidly, arms up, chest forward, fully aware of the eyes glued to you.

“Maker,” Hunter muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m gonna lose my mind.”

You leaned in close, hand on your hip, voice like honey. “Want some water, Sergeant?”

He blinked at you. Twice. “If I say yes, are you going to pour it over yourself again?”

“…Maybe.”

He turned a deeper shade of red than his bandana. “You’re evil.”

“You like it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

And just like that—you turned and walked away, leaving five broken clones behind you, questioning every life choice that had led them to this mission.

I saw your fic “What’s that smell” and thought it was absolutely beautiful! I was wondering what would be the rest of the batches reactions to the new smells. I can’t imagine what their ship would smell like and then having it change and maybe even be cleaner. You’re the best! Xx

Their ship would 100% smell like oil, sweat, blaster residue, old caf, dusty armor polish, and wet dog on a good day.

Here is what I believe the rest of the batches reactions are.

Crosshair

The first time he notices it, he’s practically scowling.

He hates things he can’t immediately explain, and suddenly the ship doesn’t smell like burnt wiring and recycled air anymore — it smells like…

something soft.

Something warm.

Something he can’t stop breathing in.

He’s so annoyed about it he follows you around for an entire day, sniffing the air like a pissed-off lothcat, trying to figure out if it’s you or if someone installed a karking air freshener.

When he finally realizes it’s you, he just stands there staring at you for a long second, lips pressed into a tight line.

Then he mutters:

“You smell… distracting.”

Like it’s a personal insult.

Will absolutely lean in closer than necessary just to breathe you in — but if you catch him, he’ll immediately go “Hmph” and pretend you’re the weird one.

Wrecker

Wrecker’s the first to flat-out say it.

He scoops you up into a bone-crushing hug one day, immediately sniffs, and then pulls back with wide, amazed eyes.

“Whoa! You smell amazing! Like… like sunshine! And pastries! And soap!”

He is obsessed after that. Every time you walk by, he inhales dramatically like a toddler discovering their favorite candy.

“Can we keep ya?” he jokes — but he means it. You’re like a walking comfort blanket for him.

The Marauder slowly starts smelling better too because Wrecker starts cleaning more — purely because he wants the nice smell to stick around.

Tech

Tech notices immediately, but being Tech, he processes it differently.

“Interesting,” he says aloud the first time you pass him. “The olfactory change is quite pleasant.”

Then he starts… researching it.

He runs calculations about human pheromones and attraction rates. He theorizes that your presence might lower the crew’s stress levels by up to 23%.

He doesn’t even realize he’s orbiting closer to you during missions until Wrecker points it out.

Embarrassed, he adjusts his goggles and mutters something about “optimal proximity for psychological benefits.”

Translation: You smell good and it’s making his brain short-circuit, help.

Echo

Echo notices it like a punch to the face because he’s so hyperaware of sensory input now.

The Marauder always smells like metal and grime — he’s used to it — but you?

You smell like rain hitting dry ground. Like something clean and alive and real.

It shakes him a little.

Reminds him of before — before the war, before everything.

He tries to be subtle about it, but you catch him lingering near you sometimes, jaw tight like he’s trying not to let himself want it.

One day you brush past him and he closes his eyes for half a second, just breathing you in.

He doesn’t say anything about it for a long time.

Until maybe you tease him — and he finally admits, voice low and rough:

“You make this whole ship feel… less like a graveyard.”

Which might be the most devastatingly sweet thing Echo could ever say.

Hi! I was wondering if you could do a TBB x Fem!Reader +any other clones of your choice, where they keep using pet names in mandoa like cyar'ika, mesh'la, and maybe even riduur?(because they might’ve gotten accidentally married? Love those tropes)

but the reader has no idea what they mean and that they’re pet names or that the batch likes her. Eventually she finds out of course and a bunch of stuttering cute confessions?

Your writing is so amazing and i literally can’t get enough of it! Xx

“Say It Again?”

TBB x Fem!Reader

You had gotten used to the way clones talked — the gruffness, the slang, the camaraderie. But ever since you’d been working more closely with Clone Force 99, you’d noticed something… different.

They used weird words around you. Words you didn’t hear other troopers saying.

Hunter always greeted you with a gentle “Cyar’ika,” accompanied by that intense little half-smile of his.

Wrecker would beam and shout, “Mesh’la! You came!” every time you entered a room — like you were some goddess descending from the stars.

Crosshair, as always, was smug and cool, throwing in a soft “Riduur…” under his breath when he thought you weren’t listening, though you never figured out what it meant. He often smirked when you looked confused, and somehow that made it worse.

Even Tech, who rarely used nicknames at all, had let slip a casual “You’re quite remarkable, mesh’la,” when you helped him debug his datapad. He didn’t look up, but you felt the heat in his voice.

And Echo? Sweet, dependable Echo — he was the least subtle of them all.

“You alright, cyar’ika?”

“You look tired, cyar’ika.”

“Get some rest, cyar’ika.”

You were starting to think “Cyar’ika” meant your actual name.

But something was off. The others never used those words with each other. Only with you.

So, naturally, you asked Rex.

And Rex choked on his caf.

“You—what did Crosshair call you?” he coughed, wiping his chin.

You repeated it: “Rid…uur? I think? I dunno. He said it real low.”

Rex gave you the slowest blink you’d ever seen and then rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Riduur means… spouse. As in… wife. It’s what you call your partner.”

You froze. “What?!”

“And cyar’ika?” he continued, amused. “Sweetheart. Mesh’la is ‘beautiful.’ They’re… Mando’a pet names. Very affectionate.”

The blushing.

The flashbacks.

All those words… those looks… Tech calling you remarkable like it was a scientific fact, Crosshair smirking like he had secrets, Echo’s voice dropping a full octave every time he said cyar’ika…

You marched straight into the Havoc Marauder like a woman on a mission — and promptly forgot how to speak when all five of them looked up at you.

“…You okay, mesh’la?” Hunter asked gently.

You blinked. Your voice cracked. “…You’ve been calling me sweetheart?”

The room went dead silent.

Echo dropped his ration bar.

Wrecker panicked. “Wait—you didn’t know?”

Crosshair chuckled and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Told you she didn’t know.”

Tech frowned at him. “Statistically, the odds of her knowing were—”

“You called me your wife,” you said, pointing at Crosshair like he’d committed a war crime.

He shrugged. “Didn’t hear you complain.”

You stammered something completely unintelligible, covering your face with both hands, and Wrecker let out the loudest, happiest laugh you’d ever heard. “So… does that mean you like us back?”

You peeked through your fingers. “…Us?”

Hunter stepped forward slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “We all… kinda do. Like you. A lot.”

You were red. Like, fruit-on-Ryloth red. “You’re telling me five elite clones have been flirting with me in another language this whole time?!”

“…Yes,” they all mumbled at once.

Crosshair grinned like he’d won a bet. “So… Riduur?”

“Riduur?” Crosshair repeated, lifting a brow like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just dropped a romantic thermal detonator right in front of everyone.

You stared at him. At all of them.

Hunter’s quiet guilt. Echo’s embarrassed fidgeting. Wrecker’s hopeful puppy-dog smile. Tech’s analytical interest. And Crosshair’s smug little smirk that you really wanted to slap off his face… or maybe kiss.

You swallowed. “I—I need a second.”

And then promptly turned on your heel and walked right back out of the Marauder.

⸻

You spent the rest of the day spiraling.

Sweetheart. Beautiful. Wife.

They’d been calling you those for weeks. Months, maybe. You were out here thinking it was some fun cultural expression or inside joke you weren’t in on—and it turns out you were the joke. The target. Of five clone commandos’… affection?

It didn’t feel like a joke, though. It felt sincere. Soft. Safe.

And scary.

Because you liked them. All of them. Differently, but genuinely. The thought of them caring about you—of whispering pet names they grew up hearing in the most intimate, personal ways—made your chest ache in a way you didn’t know how to handle.

⸻

The next day, you avoided them.

The next day, they let you.

The third day, Hunter found you in the mess hall, sat beside you without a word, and handed you a steaming mug of caf.

You looked at him.

He didn’t speak right away. Then: “We’re sorry. If we made you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you blurted out. “I just… didn’t know how to react. I’m still trying to figure it out.”

Hunter nodded, eyes kind. “We can stop. The nicknames, I mean.”

You hesitated. “No. I don’t want you to stop.”

He smiled, just a little. “You sure?”

You nodded. “I think I like them. I just… I want to know what they mean now.”

⸻

So, one by one, the boys showed you.

Wrecker said “mesh’la” every time you helped him carry heavy crates, with a goofy grin that made your stomach flip.

Echo said “cyar’ika” after every quiet conversation, letting the word linger like a promise he wasn’t ready to say aloud yet.

Tech, precise as always, began to offer direct translations.

“You look stunning today, mesh’la—objectively, of course.”

Crosshair didn’t stop with “riduur.” He started calling you “cyar’ika” too—softly, in rare unguarded moments—and he never looked away when he said it. Like he meant it. Like he knew what it was doing to you.

And Hunter? Hunter started saying “ner cyar’ika.” My sweetheart.

⸻

It wasn’t instant.

But slowly, their voices stopped making you flustered—and started making you feel home.

You started saying their names softer. Started touching their arms when you passed. Started blushing less… and smiling more.

And one day, while standing beside Wrecker during maintenance, you reached up on your toes, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “Thanks, cyare.”

He blinked. His whole face lit up like a nova. “You said it back!”

Later, you caught Echo outside the ship. Nervous, swaying slightly on his heels. You pressed your hand into his and whispered, “You can keep calling me cyar’ika, you know.”

He looked down at you with wide eyes. “You really don’t mind?”

You shook your head. “I like it.”

And Tech, when you repeated “mesh’la” with a teasing little lilt, glanced at you and—just this once—forgot what he was doing.

Even Crosshair dropped his toothpick when you looked him dead in the eye and whispered: “You keep calling me your riduur. What does that make you, then?”

He blinked. Once. Then smiled. Really smiled. “Yours.”

⸻

By the time you curled up beside Hunter one quiet night, your head on his shoulder and his hand tracing slow circles on your back, he murmured “ner cyar’ika” and you didn’t freeze or stammer.

You just smiled.

Because now you knew.

And you finally, finally understood that you’d never been the joke.

You’d always been the reason they smiled.

Helllo! I was wondering if you could a spicy bad batch x fem!reader where she used to be a dancer/singer in like a sleezy club, did what was best for easy money. But an op comes up and she needs to it again and the boys didn’t know she had a history of it and are like “oh shit” find it hot but get jealous of the other men. Idk if this makes sense 😅

love your wring! Xx

“Undercover Temptation”

Bad Batch x Fem!Reader | Spice + Jealousy

⸻

The mission sounded simple enough.

Infiltrate a seedy club on Pantora. Gather intel on a black-market arms dealer that frequented the place. Blend in. Make contact. Get out.

Cid had been vague about the details, just that it required “a certain skill set.” And when her eyes landed on you, there was a flicker of something like smugness.

“You’ll fit right in, sweetheart,” she’d said. “Used to be your scene, didn’t it?”

The Batch didn’t know what she meant by that. But you did.

You’d left that part of your life behind when you joined up with Clone Force 99. The sleezy clubs, the music, the makeup, the stage lights — the easy money, the wandering hands. You’d done what you had to. You were good at it. Too good.

Omega had stayed behind, thank the Maker.

⸻

The club on Pantora was everything you remembered from your past life — sweat-slick air, glitter, smoke, and the kind of stares that made your skin crawl in ways you’d long buried.

Cid hadn’t exactly warned the Batch what she was getting them into. Just said it was a “special assignment” and only you could pull it off.

You hadn’t worn this in a long time — short, shimmering dress clinging to every curve, makeup smoky and sharp, hair teased and wild. A performer. A seductress. A mask you’d once worn to survive.

But stepping out into the room full of hardened clones, nothing could’ve prepared you for the heat in their eyes.

Hunter looked you up and down, slow and deliberate, his brows furrowed like he was trying to remember how to breathe.

Wrecker’s jaw dropped, cheeks flushed. “Maker, baby…”

Echo stared like he’d short-circuited.

Tech made an odd choking sound behind his datapad.

And then there was Crosshair.

He had a toothpick between his lips, eyes dragging over your legs, slow and dark. “Didn’t know you used to work a stage,” he murmured, voice like smoke. “That explains a lot.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you smirked.

He grinned. “Means now I know why the hell I’ve been dreamin’ about you on your knees.”

Echo made a noise of protest. Wrecker looked like he was about to explode. Hunter didn’t say anything — but his fists were clenched.

You went on stage anyway. Because this was the mission.

You knew how to move. Knew how to keep attention. The intel target was in the VIP booth — you’d been instructed to lure him out, get close, plant a tracker, and distract him while Tech accessed his datapad remotely.

But the Batch? Yeah, they were distracted too.

Crosshair watched from the shadows, his shoulders tense, jaw tight. He was normally smooth, sarcastic — but this? This had him on edge.

Hunter paced by the back exit like a caged animal.

Wrecker glared at every man who so much as breathed in your direction.

Echo kept muttering, “She shouldn’t have to do this,” under his breath.

Tech… he was sweating. You were pretty sure his goggles fogged up.

The moment it all went to hell was when a drunk mercenary tried to grab you mid-performance.

Your eyes had locked with Hunter’s for a split second — a silent signal — when a hand yanked you roughly by the waist, spinning you mid-dance. You tensed immediately, smile faltering.

The guy was laughing, leering, pulling you flush against him.

And Hunter moved like a damn predator.

One second he was at the exit, the next, he was slamming the guy into the stage floor, snarling, “Don’t. Touch. Her.”

You barely had time to react before Crosshair had his rifle out, providing overwatch from the rafters, eyes sharp and deadly.

Echo pulled you behind him protectively.

Wrecker cracked his knuckles with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “You touched the wrong girl, pal.”

Tech looked like he wanted to kill the man — but also couldn’t stop blinking at you in that outfit.

The bar erupted into chaos.

Shots rang out.

You ducked low as the crowd screamed and scattered. Your target made a run for it — but not before Tech tagged his datapad. Crosshair clipped his shoulder with a clean shot. Wrecker handled two mercs trying to flank you.

You moved to help Hunter — but he was down.

Your heart dropped.

You rushed to his side, kneeling beside him. “Hunter!”

He was bleeding — blaster bolt to the shoulder, unfocused eyes still locked on you. “’M fine,” he rasped. “Saw… saw that guy grab you. Should’ve—shit—moved faster.”

You pressed a hand to the wound. “Don’t be an idiot. I’ve had worse hands on me. We’re getting you out.”

“Not while you’re still dressed like that,” he muttered weakly.

Behind you, Crosshair took out another would-be attacker, and growled through clenched teeth, “If anyone else touches her tonight, I’m leaving bodies.”

Echo lifted Hunter over his shoulder while Wrecker covered the retreat. Tech dragged you out by the hand, pulling you through a back hallway while still rattling off data from the merc’s pad.

“You… that performance,” Tech blurted, breathless. “I’ll be reviewing the security footage later. For… mission purposes.”

You just grinned, eyes flicking to where Crosshair covered the rear, rifle smoking.

Back on the ship, patched up and safe, Hunter leaned against the medbay wall, arm in a sling.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said.

You leaned in, brushing hair from his face. “Yes, I did. It was the job.”

“Next time,” he growled, “you wear that in our quarters. For us. No one else.”

Wrecker appeared in the doorway. “You gonna do another show, babe? I got credits.”

Echo followed. “Don’t encourage her.”

Tech was already setting up a holoprojector. “I have some… strategic questions about your technique.”

Crosshair just smirked from the shadows, toothpick twitching.

“Next time,” he said, “I’m bringing handcuffs.”

Your smile turned wicked. “Oh? For the targets?”

His smirk widened. “No.”

You’re writing is amazing! I had two things

1: What is a trope you love writing?

2: Can there be a Bad batch x reader, where she’s loves to cook. When she joins them she cooks for them and they love her cooking (once they get used to having something other than ration bars). Maybe she even sends them with packed lunches for when they go off.

Thank you x

I don’t have a trope in particular I like writing, but I’m a sucker for a good enemies to lovers or anything angsty or tragic

⸻

“Seconds”

The Bad Batch x Fem!Reader

⸻

They weren’t sure what to make of you at first.

A civilian-turned-ally. Handy in a fight, steady under pressure, and weirdly good at organizing their storage crates. But most of all, you cooked. Like, really cooked.

No one had expected it—not after surviving off ration bars, battlefield meals, and the occasional mystery stew Crosshair pretended didn’t come from a can. But then you’d shown up with a patched-together portable burner and the stubborn attitude of someone determined to make something edible from nothing. And you did.

The first time you cooked, it had stunned them into silence.

The scent of simmering broth wafted through the corridors of the Marauder, followed by spices and roasted meat and something buttery that made Wrecker’s eyes water.

Tech was the first to speak, nose twitching. “That is not protein paste.”

“Unless someone’s finally weaponized it,” Echo said, cautiously hopeful.

Hunter didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned in the doorway of the galley with arms crossed, watching the way you moved—calm, focused, humming to yourself as you stirred a bubbling pot. There was something disarming about the scene. Domestic. Gentle. Strange.

Crosshair gave a low whistle from where he lounged. “Are we keeping this one?”

No one answered. But no one said no.

⸻

It became tradition fast.

You cooked whenever there was downtime, wherever there were ingredients. You scavenged herbs on jungle moons, traded for spices in backwater towns, stretched every credit and crumb into something warm. Something human. You’d hand them plates and bowls and containers like they were weapons before a battle—only these made them feel… grounded.

Every day you could. Breakfasts on quiet mornings. Late dinners after brutal missions. You adapted what ingredients you had, learned what they each liked—Tech hated onions but loved citrus, Crosshair liked spicy food that burned the tongue, Echo had a sweet tooth he tried to hide, and Hunter… Hunter liked comfort food. He’d never say it out loud, but you caught the softness in his expression whenever you made something simple and warm. Like home.

They never asked you to. But they stopped saying no.

Eventually, you started packing lunches for them. Personalized. Thoughtful.

Crosshair’s were spicy and wrapped with a snarky note.

Wrecker’s came with double servings and a warning label.

Tech’s included clean utensils and clear labels, because of course they did.

Echo’s always had a little dessert tucked in the side

Hunter’s would just have little doodle/picture you’d drawn

⸻

They’d left you behind this time. Not because you couldn’t handle yourself, but because someone had to stay with Omega. She wasn’t ready for this mission, and neither were you—still recovering from the last one, a blaster graze healing at your ribs.

The ship was quiet. Omega wandered in around dinner time, drawn by the smell of whatever you were cooking.

She climbed up onto the counter like it was the most natural thing in the world, chin resting on her hands as she watched you slice vegetables and stir broth.

“That smells better than anything I’ve ever had on Kamino,” she said dreamily.

You smiled. “I’ll take that as the highest of compliments.”

She watched you for a while, head tilting. “You always look really happy when you cook.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

You thought about it as you stirred. “Because food makes people feel safe. Even in the middle of a war, a good meal can remind you what it’s like to be human.”

Omega was quiet for a beat. Then: “You make them feel safe.”

You didn’t answer right away.

She squinted up at you. “You really care about them, huh?”

You nodded. “They’ve been through hell. They deserve someone to care.”

She grinned slowly. “You’ve got a crush on one of them.”

You almost dropped the spoon.

“Excuse me?”

She giggled. “I knew it!”

You tried (and failed) to play it cool. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on,” she said, sliding off the counter. “You pack lunches. You make special snacks. You stitched Wrecker’s sleeve when it ripped, even though he didn’t ask. You added hot sauce to Crosshair’s meal because he once said it tasted better. You kept Tech’s favorite tea even though no one else drinks it. And you stayed up all night once just to make sure Echo’s respirator didn’t fail after that dust storm.”

She paused, smirking. “One of those meant more.”

You turned back to the pot. “You are way too observant.”

She laughed. “So, who is it? Wrecker?”

“No.”

“Tech?”

“Definitely not.”

“Echo?”

“Closer.”

“Crosshair?”

You gave her a look.

She grinned wide. “Fine, fine. I won’t guess. For now.”

You stirred the pot again and said, softly, “It doesn’t matter.”

Omega’s voice was gentler. “Why not?”

You shrugged. “Because maybe it’s safer this way. Just being part of this… this crew. This little found family. It’s enough.”

She looked at you for a long moment. Then she slid onto a nearby stool and rested her chin in her hand again.

“They’ll be back soon,” she said. “You gonna tell them dinner’s ready?”

You smiled quietly, not looking up. “They’ll smell it.”

hello! this is my first time sending any sort of request so i hope this is the right place! i absolutely love your writing and was wondering if you could write Hunter x a plus sized f reader (more specifically a reader struggling with loving her body). maybe sfw with a hint of suggestiveness? thank you!! <3

“All the parts of you”

Hunter x Plus-Sized Fem!Reader

⸻

You stared at your reflection in the mirror of the Marauder’s fresher, scowling as you tugged at your shirt. It clung to the softest parts of you. The waistband of your pants had folded over—again—and if you stood a certain way, your stomach looked—

“Like a whole moon orbiting around me,” you muttered under your breath, smirking bitterly. “Galactic gravitational pull and all.”

It was your thing, after all. Make the joke before anyone else could. Keep it light. Pretend you didn’t care. Pretend you didn’t hurt.

You didn’t hear Hunter step in.

“You always talk about yourself like that when you think no one’s listening?”

Your heart skipped, stomach sinking faster than gravity.

You turned. “Well, yeah. Someone’s gotta say it. Might as well be me before someone beats me to the punchline.”

He didn’t laugh. Not even a twitch of a smirk.

“Don’t do that,” he said, voice low and steady.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to brush past him. “It’s just a joke, Sarge.”

His hand came up, gentle but firm, stopping you before you could flee.

“It’s not funny,” he said. “Not to me.”

You tried to shrug it off, even as your throat tightened. “Relax. I’m not fishing for compliments. I’m just realistic, you know? Built like a bantha in body armor. It’s fine.”

He blinked slowly. Once.

Then, “Don’t say that about my girl.”

Your breath caught. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he interrupted. “I haven’t said it yet, but you are.”

Your protest fizzled somewhere in your chest.

He stepped closer, and now his hand was on your waist—your soft waist, the one you avoided letting anyone touch—like it belonged there.

“Do you know how hard it is for me to keep my hands off you when you wear that shirt?”

You blinked. “You mean the shirt that makes me look like a wrapped ration pack?”

“I mean the shirt that hugs you in all the right places,” he murmured, sliding his hand along the curve of your hip like it was art. “The one that reminds me exactly how good you’d feel in my arms. Or on my lap. Or under me.”

Your cheeks burned. “Hunter…”

“I love how you look,” he said. “But more than that, I love you. All the parts you try to cover. All the jokes you use to hide the things you’re still learning to live with.”

His tone was quiet. Serious.

“You don’t need to pretend with me.”

Your throat ached. Your hands twitched at your sides like they didn’t know whether to cover your face or grab his.

“I don’t know how to believe you,” you admitted softly.

“That’s okay,” he said. “Let me believe it for both of us until you can.”

You stared at him, all your words gone, and he kissed you—slow, reverent, grounding.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like something to fix.

You felt like someone wanted.

⸻

Later that night, you made another joke about needing “extra rations to fuel all this real estate,” and he didn’t hesitate.

He pulled you flush against him, kissed your neck, and growled in your ear:

“I hope you’ve got extra, sweetheart. I plan to spend all night exploring every damn inch of you.”

⸻

A/N - kind self inserted here, I’m a bigger girl and tend to make the jokes before anyone else can, not that most do

Hiiii! Could you do a Bad Batch x Fem!Reader where she’s like their new general (a force user but not a Jedi) where she’s trying to keep her distance to stay professional and to not fall for them but maybe she wakes up from a nightmare or has a really bad day and she goes to wrecker and sees if those hugs are still available? The others obviously see and a bunch of cute confessions? Love all the additions you add too!! Love all your work! Xx

“Permission to Feel”

Bad Batch x Fem!Reader

The Clone Force 99 barracks were quiet for once.

No late-night sparring, no Tech rattling off schematics, no arguments about snacks between Wrecker and Echo. Even Crosshair wasn’t brooding out loud. Just silence—and the hum of hyperspace.

You should have been grateful. Instead, you sat on your bunk with your face buried in your hands, heart hammering from the aftershocks of a nightmare you couldn’t quite shake.

You weren’t a Jedi. You never claimed to be. Not trained in their ways, not chained to their rules. You were something… other. The people on your homeworld called you “Witchblade.” A war hero. A force of nature. The Republic called you General.

But tonight, you were just a woman shaking in the dark, trying not to feel too much.

And failing.

The vision—whatever it was—had left your skin cold and your chest too tight. It wasn’t just war. It was loss. Familiar faces, falling.

You told yourself it was just stress. Just echoes from the Force. Nothing real.

But you couldn’t stay in this room.

Your feet found the floor before your mind caught up. You moved through the ship barefoot, shoulders hunched, arms crossed like you could hide the vulnerability leaking from your ribs.

Wrecker’s door was cracked open. Dim lights. Soft snoring. His massive frame curled on a bunk made way too small.

You hesitated. So many reasons not to do this. Not to cross that line. Not to give in.

But still—you whispered, “Wrecker?”

He stirred. Blinking. Yawning. “Hey, General…” His voice was warm and rough, like gravel and sunlight. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer at first. Then: “Are those hugs… still available?”

He was already opening his arms before you finished.

You didn’t cry. Not really. But when your face pressed against his chest and his arms wrapped around you like a fortress, you breathed in a way you hadn’t in days. Weeks. Maybe ever.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

You nodded against him. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

You felt the bed shift behind you, and only then realized others had stirred. You didn’t need to turn to know Hunter was standing in the doorway now, gaze sharp but not judging. Crosshair leaned against the frame, arms crossed but brows drawn together. Echo hovered behind him, concern etched into the lines around his eyes. Tech, as usual, said nothing—but his gaze softened when it landed on you.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” you mumbled, pulling back.

Wrecker held you a second longer, then let go gently. “It’s okay. You’re allowed.”

You sat back. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable now. Just… full. With things unsaid.

Hunter stepped in first. Sat across from you, elbows on his knees. “You don’t have to carry everything by yourself, you know.”

“I’m your commanding officer,” you said quietly.

“You’re you,” Crosshair replied, from the doorway. “That outranks any title.”

“I wasn’t trying to—” you started, but Echo interrupted gently.

“You were trying not to fall for us. We noticed.”

You blinked. “What?”

Wrecker chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, you’re not as subtle as you think, General.”

Tech pushed his goggles up. “Statistically, we have all exhibited signs of attachment. It is entirely mutual.”

Your heart stuttered.

Hunter leaned closer. “We don’t expect anything. We just… we care. And if you want this—want us—you’re not alone.”

You looked at them. Really looked.

These men—outcasts, experiments, your greatest allies—they weren’t just soldiers under your command. They were your anchor. And maybe you were theirs.

You exhaled, tension uncoiling from your shoulders like a storm breaking.

“Then… maybe I’ll stop pretending I don’t want you.”

Hunter smiled softly. “That’d be a good start.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes. “Finally.”

Wrecker just wrapped his arm around your shoulder again, and you leaned into it like it was the safest place in the galaxy.

Wrecker never stopped holding you.

He rested his chin on your head now, gently rocking you. “You don’t have to say anything,” he rumbled. “Not tonight. You can just stay.”

That simple.

You can just stay.

And so you did.

You stayed.

Sat nestled between the one who understood your silence (Echo), the one who sensed your pain (Hunter), the one who read your walls like blueprints (Tech), the one who’d never admit he cared but always acted like he did (Crosshair), and the one who’d give you the biggest piece of his heart without needing anything back (Wrecker).

Eventually, someone—maybe Echo, maybe Tech—tossed a blanket over your shoulders. Wrecker shifted, cradling your body like it was made of starlight and trauma. Hunter sat beside you, his hand finding your knee, thumb stroking softly in rhythm with your breath.

You drifted off like that.

Not in your quarters.

Not alone.

But safe, for once.

Warm, held, and finally—finally—seen.

“Grumpy Hearts and Sunshine Shoulders”

Wrecker x Female Reader

⸻

The ocean was too blue. The sky was too clear. The people were too… happy.

It annoyed you.

Not because it was bad—it wasn’t. Pabu was a dream. A sanctuary. A rare piece of untouched paradise in a galaxy still licking its wounds. But after everything you’d seen, done, survived, the cheerfulness of it all hit you like sunburn on old scars.

So when Wrecker waved at you the first morning you arrived—big smile, bigger voice, bouncing down the stone steps like a gundark on caf—you nearly turned around and left.

But you didn’t.

You stayed. You unpacked. You avoided him for two days.

And then?

He showed up outside your door with a grin and a crate of fresh fruit.

“You need help settin’ up?” he asked, already peeking past your shoulder like he owned the place.

You crossed your arms. “You just looking for an excuse to snoop?”

Wrecker blinked, then grinned wider. “Only a little.”

You tried not to smile. You failed. He saw.

“You smiled! I saw it, so no denying it!” he said, delighted, as if he’d won a war.

“That wasn’t a smile. That was… mild amusement. Don’t get cocky.”

“Oh, your smile is so beautiful!” he declared, plopping the crate on your counter like he lived there. “I’d love to see it more often.”

You raised a brow. “Flattery? Really?”

“Not flattery,” he said, serious for a second. “Just the truth.”

And just like that, your walls cracked a little.

⸻

A week passed. Then two. You stopped flinching when he knocked. You started helping him haul supplies. You let him drag you into town gatherings, always with the same grin and the same cheer.

“You’re definitely the only person I would do this for,” you grumbled once, dragging your boots through the sand on the way to a lantern festival.

“I know!” Wrecker beamed, looping a thick arm around your shoulder. “I’m special.”

“You’re loud.”

“I’m charming.”

You snorted. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You smiled again.”

“Damn it.”

⸻

One night, you found yourself sitting beside him on the docks. The moon cast silver streaks across the water, and Wrecker was humming some out-of-tune melody you didn’t recognize.

“You ever stop being cheerful?” you asked quietly.

He shrugged. “Used to. After Crosshair left, and after Echo… yeah. I had some bad days. Real bad. But Omega helped. So did Pabu.”

You nodded slowly.

He looked at you, more thoughtful now. “You got bad days too, huh?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Then, quietly: “Sometimes it feels wrong to enjoy peace. Like I haven’t earned it.”

Wrecker shifted closer. His hand brushed yours, warm and solid. “You don’t gotta earn peace. You just gotta accept it.”

You looked at him, brow tight. “You make it sound easy.”

He grinned. “Nah. It ain’t. But I’m here. Omega’s here. You’re not alone.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“I’ll do it,” you whispered after a long pause, “but only because you asked me to.”

“Do what?”

You finally leaned your head against his shoulder.

“Try. To enjoy it. This place. You.”

Wrecker’s face turned redder than a sunset. “Well, hey, no pressure, but—I really like it when you smile.”

You chuckled.

Then, finally—finally—you smiled again.

“Theoretical Feelings”

Tech x Female Reader

⸻

“Tech, you’re smarter than you look,” you said, fingers flying across the datapad as you recalibrated the long-range scanner’s neural relays.

Tech didn’t even glance up. “Is that a compliment for my intelligence or an insult for my appearance?”

You smirked, biting the inside of your cheek. “Maybe both. You’ll never know.”

That got him. He looked at you over the rim of his goggles, blinking once. “You are remarkably cryptic for someone so precise in data analysis.”

“And you’re remarkably dense for someone with a photographic memory.”

He opened his mouth—no doubt to deliver a factually loaded rebuttal—but Omega’s groan from the doorway cut him off.

“Ugh, will you two just kiss already?”

Wrecker let out a bark of laughter from the other side of the room. “They’re both so smart and yet so stupid. It’s kinda impressive, honestly.”

Hunter passed by without even looking up from his weapon check. “I give it three more arguments before one of them short-circuits.”

Echo, lounging at the gunner’s console, rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen better communication from malfunctioning droids.”

You turned bright red. “We’re not—! I mean, it’s not like that.”

Tech, completely deadpan: “I fail to see the logic in a kiss solving anything.”

“Oh my stars,” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You’d think two geniuses wouldn’t be so emotionally… constipated.”

Omega laughed as she flopped into a chair. “Is that what it’s called?”

“Yes,” you said, shooting Tech a sidelong glance. “He’s got a whole datacard full of tactical strategy, but apparently no folder for feelings.”

“I have folders,” Tech protested, indignant. “I just haven’t… opened them.”

You crossed your arms and leaned back in your seat. “Well, maybe you should. Before I go flirt with Echo just to see if he can keep up.”

Tech’s goggles glinted as he straightened, spine stiff. “That would be inefficient. Echo’s humor is marginally less compatible with yours. Statistically, I am the superior match.”

The room went dead silent.

Even Hunter looked up.

“…What?” Tech asked, genuinely confused. “Was that not the correct response?”

You blinked, lips parting, but nothing came out at first. Finally, you leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table.

“Tech,” you said slowly. “Are you… trying to court me via statistics?”

“Well, that is the language I am most fluent in,” he said, as if it were obvious. “I have also calculated the probability of your reciprocal affection to be relatively high, based on prolonged eye contact, increased heart rate during proximity, and your tendency to brush your hair back when speaking to me.”

Your face went completely warm. “You noticed that?”

“I notice everything about you,” he said plainly. “I simply haven’t known what to do with the information.”

Your heart stuttered—because for all his clinical language, there was vulnerability behind it. Soft. Honest. Tech didn’t lie. He just struggled to feel out loud.

You offered a small smile. “You don’t have to do anything… except meet me halfway.”

He tilted his head. “Can you define halfway in this context?”

You stood up, stepped in front of him, and placed your hand gently on the side of his face—just enough pressure for his breath to catch. He froze like a statue.

“This,” you whispered, “is halfway.”

“Oh,” Tech said softly, eyes wide behind his goggles. “I see.”

And then—slowly, cautiously, with all the finesse of a man defusing a bomb—he leaned forward and kissed you.

Echo let out a low whistle. Wrecker whooped. Omega cheered.

Hunter smirked to himself. “About time.”

When you pulled back, Tech looked dazed. Awestruck.

You grinned and nudged his shoulder. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Tech adjusted his goggles. “I must say… I found it remarkably agreeable.”

“You’re so weird,” you whispered, grinning.

He smiled back. “Yes. But apparently, I am your kind of weird.”

⸻

Hi! Could I request a Crosshair x Reader? The reader was a medic in the GAR and would occasionally be called to treat the Bad Batch and loved to over-the-top flirt with Crosshair. After Order 66, the reader treats him after the fall of Kamino, and is reunited again on Tantiss?

Thank you for the request!

Because I’m evil I made this really sad and tragic - hope you enjoy!

⸻

Title: “Just Like the Rest”

Crosshair x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Injury, death, angst

When you first met Crosshair, he was bleeding all over your medbay floor.

Not dramatically, of course. That wasn’t his style. He’d taken a blaster graze to the ribs, shrugged it off, and sat on the edge of your cot like he couldn’t care less if he passed out.

“You should’ve come in hours ago,” you said, kneeling to check the wound. “This is going to scar.”

Crosshair’s eyes barely flicked toward you. “Scars don’t matter.”

You raised a brow. “To you, maybe. I, on the other hand, take pride in my handiwork.”

His lip curled in the barest ghost of amusement. You took it as encouragement.

You started showing up whenever they did. Crosshair got injured just enough to give you an excuse to flirt outrageously. You called him things like “sniper sweetheart,” “sharp shot,” and once, when you were feeling particularly bold, “cross and handsome.”

He rolled his eyes, glared, told you to shut up more times than you could count—but he never really pushed you away.

You weren’t blind. You saw the way his gaze lingered when you turned to walk away. The way he always sat a little too still when you touched him—like he was trying not to feel something.

⸻

You pressed the gauze a little firmer than necessary against Crosshair’s side.

“Careful,” he grunted.

You smirked, dabbing the bacta. “Sorry, sniper. Didn’t realize your pain tolerance was that low.”

Crosshair didn’t dignify that with a response. Just narrowed his eyes at you and clenched his jaw.

You loved getting under his skin. The other clones were easy to treat. Grateful. Polite. But Crosshair? He glared like you’d personally insulted his rifle every time you patched him up.

It made him interesting.

“You know,” you added, taping down the final dressing with a wink, “if you ever want me to kiss it better, just say the word.”

Crosshair exhaled sharply through his nose—something between irritation and disbelief.

“You ever shut up?”

You leaned in close, your voice dropping to a purr. “Not for you.”

And then you walked off, grinning to yourself, because Crosshair might’ve looked annoyed, but you caught it—the way his eyes lingered just a second too long.

You never expected anything from it. It was just a game. A slow, stupid, hopeful kind of game.

And then the war ended.

⸻

The transition from the Republic to the Empire didn’t faze you at first.

Same job. Same uniform. New symbol on your chest.

You weren’t naïve, just tired. The war had dragged on for years. Maybe peace, even under control, wasn’t the worst thing.

Besides, you were just a medic. You weren’t in charge of policies or invasions. You fixed what was broken. Saved who you could. And in your mind, the war was finally over.

You didn’t question the new rules. Not then. Not when Crosshair disappeared. Not even when Kamino began to feel… emptier.

When the call came in that Crosshair had returned—injured during the fall of Kamino—you were the one they requested. Of course you were.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That you were just a medic, doing your job. Nothing more.

But when you saw him again, lying on that cold table, soaked in sea water and rage, something shifted.

“You’re quiet,” you said as you cleaned blood from his temple.

He didn’t answer.

“You could say something. Like ‘Hi, I missed you,’ or even just a classy grunt.”

Crosshair stared at the ceiling like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“I thought you were dead,” you admitted softly, your voice losing the humor. “And then I thought… maybe that would’ve been easier.”

His gaze finally cut to yours—sharp and cold. “Didn’t stop you from joining them.”

You stiffened.

“I didn’t know what was happening, Cross,” you said. “None of us did. I didn’t even see the Jedi fall. I was in a medtent treating troopers shot by their own.”

He said nothing.

“I stayed. I helped. I didn’t know you’d… chosen to stay too. Not like this.”

His voice was quiet, bitter. “So you’re leaving again?”

“I wasn’t supposed to be here at all. They only brought me in to stabilize you.”

He scoffed. “Figures. You’re just like the rest.”

That sentence struck you harder than any wound you’d treated.

Your hand froze on his bandage. Your throat tightened.

You stepped back.

“You think I didn’t care?” you said, barely more than a whisper. “I flirted with you for years, you emotionally constipated bastard. You could’ve said something. You could’ve stayed.”

He didn’t answer. He just looked away.

And this time, you were the one to leave.

⸻

The Imperial Research Facility on Tantiss was hell in sterile form.

You hated it the moment you arrived. The black walls. The quiet whispers. The clones in cages. The scientists with dead eyes.

But you told yourself you had no choice. You’d seen too much to be let go. You’d signed too many lines, accepted too many transfers.

And if you were going to be stuck in this nightmare, you might as well try to help the ones left inside it.

So you stitched up soldiers with no names. You treated mutations the Empire refused to acknowledge. You whispered comforts to dying experiments when no one else would.

And then one day—you saw him again.

You found him slumped against a wall, one arm dragging uselessly, his uniform half-burned.

“Crosshair.”

He blinked blearily. When he saw your face, he flinched like you’d hit him.

“Oh,” he said. “Of course. You.”

“I should’ve guessed you’d find a way to almost die again.”

You knelt beside him, voice low. “Let me help you.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched you with a raw, wounded anger that made your stomach twist.

“You knew I was here,” you said. “Didn’t you?”

“I heard rumors,” he rasped. “Didn’t believe it. Figured if you were here, you’d have visited. Unless that was too much effort.”

You stared at him. “You think I wanted this?”

“You chose this,” he said coldly. “You always do.”

You wanted to scream. To shake him. To make him see what this place had done to you. What the Empire really was. But Crosshair didn’t want sympathy. He wanted someone to hate.

And you were easy to hate.

Even if the way his fingers brushed yours when you patched his shoulder said otherwise.

Even if you still smelled like the cheap soap he used to mock, and he still remembered exactly how you smiled when you wrapped his wounds.

Even if he was still in love with you—and still convinced that meant nothing.

⸻

Tantiss was built to be soulless—white halls, dead lights, silence where screams should’ve been. You learned how to survive here by becoming invisible.

But now you were doing something dangerous. Stupid, even.

You were trusting again.

Crosshair hadn’t spoken much after that first time you treated him—just short questions, sarcastic comments, clipped observations. But he stopped flinching when you approached. Stopped spitting daggers every time your fingers brushed his skin.

And sometimes, on the rare nights when the lights dimmed and the cameras looked the other way, he’d ask things.

“Did you know what they were doing here?”

“Do you regret staying?”

“Why did you help me?”

You answered every question honestly, because lies were for people who didn’t already carry each other’s ghosts.

And then came her—a ghost you didn’t expect.

Omega.

They brought her in bruised, shackled, but defiant. You knew who she was—of course you did. You knew what she meant to Crosshair even if he’d never say it.

The first time you saw her, you crouched beside her cot and said:

“Name’s [Y/N]. I’m not here to hurt you.”

Omega didn’t trust you, not at first. But you earned it, one moment at a time.

You fixed her shoulder. Snuck her extra food. Sat with her at night when the lights made her cry.

Crosshair was the one who really got her to open up.

She’d whisper across the room in the dark.

“You look grumpy, but you’re not really.”

Crosshair muttered something like “Keep telling yourself that.”

She smiled.

You’d watch them from the corner of the lab. A tired soldier and a fierce little kid, clinging to the only family they had left.

You started planning.

You spent weeks preparing—disabling door locks, stealing access codes, memorizing shift schedules. You taught Omega how to sneak. You warned Crosshair how many guards you couldn’t distract.

The night came fast.

Crosshair didn’t ask questions—he moved like a man with nothing to lose. Omega stuck to his side like a shadow. You guided them through hallways, down lifts, past sleeping monsters in bacta tanks.

You reached the final corridor, the one that led to the hangar.

That’s when he stopped.

“Where’s your gear?” Crosshair asked. “We don’t have time to backtrack.”

You shook your head. “I’m not going.”

He stared at you like you’d just said the sky was falling.

“What the hell do you mean, you’re not going?”

“I’m on every manifest. Every shift schedule. Every system. I don’t make it out. Not without putting you both at risk.”

Omega grabbed your hand. “But we can’t just leave you!”

You smiled—God, it hurt to smile. “You have to. You’re the only ones who still have a shot.”

Crosshair stepped forward, chest heaving. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Maybe,” you said softly, “but I’m making the call.”

He didn’t say anything for a long time. Just stared. Like he wanted to remember everything about you—your face, your scent, your voice when you weren’t bleeding or angry.

And then, quietly:

“I should’ve said something. Before. Kamino. You deserved more than—”

“I knew,” you said. “I always knew.”

You kissed him. Once. Brief. Like a secret passed between souls.

“Get her out,” you whispered.

And then you ran back toward the alarms.

⸻

The cuffs chafed against your wrists, biting into raw skin. The interrogation room was colder than usual—designed to break people long before the scalpel touched skin.

You weren’t broken.

Not yet.

Dr. Royce Hemlock entered like he always did: calm, unbothered, surgical. He closed the door behind him with a quiet hiss. No guards. He didn’t need them.

He looked at you like a specimen already tagged for dissection.

“Dr. [Y/L/N],” he said softly, hands clasped behind his back. “You’ve been busy.”

You didn’t speak.

He circled you, like a predator measuring bone width and muscle density.

“You falsified clearance reports. Tampered with door access logs. Administered unauthorized sedation doses. Facilitated the escape of two highly valuable assets. All while wearing the Empire’s crest on your coat.”

You tilted your chin up. “You forgot ‘ate the last slice of cake in the mess.’”

Hemlock’s smile was thin, sterile.

“I misjudged you,” he said. “I assumed your compliance stemmed from belief. But it seems it was convenience.”

“It was survival,” you corrected. “Until I realized survival meant becoming the monster.”

He stopped behind you, his voice like ice against your neck.

“Do you know what fascinates me, Doctor?” he asked. “Loyalty. The anatomy of it. How some will kill for it. Die for it. And how others—like you—will throw it away for a defective clone and a girl with a soft voice and wild eyes.”

Your voice didn’t shake.

“They had more humanity than anyone in this facility.”

Hemlock’s footsteps were deliberate as he moved back in front of you. He looked down like you were an experiment that had failed on the table.

“Your medical clearance is revoked. Your name will be stripped from the archives. You will die here, and no one will remember you.”

You met his gaze. “Then you’ll never know how I did it.”

That made his mouth twitch. Just slightly.

“You think you’re clever,” he said. “But you’re just like all the rest. Sentimental. Weak. Replaceable.”

You leaned forward, blood on your lip, defiance burning in your chest.

“No,” you said. “I’m unforgettable.”

Hemlock pressed the execution order into the datapad.

“Take her to Sector E,” he told the guard at the door. “Immediate termination.”

As the guards hauled you to your feet, you locked eyes with Hemlock one last time.

“You’ll lose,” you said. “Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But someone will bring this place to the ground.”

He tilted his head, amused.

“And who will that be? The sniper who tried to kill his brothers? The child?”

You smiled through bloodied teeth.

“They’re more than you’ll ever be.”

⸻

They didn’t let you say goodbye.

They didn’t let you scream.

But you didn’t beg.

You thought of Crosshair. Of Omega. Of the escape you made possible.

And you went quietly.

Because monsters didn’t get the satisfaction of your fear.

⸻

Later, through intercepted comms, Crosshair would hear the clinical report:

“Subject [Y/N] – execution carried out. Cause of death: biological termination. Body transferred to incineration chamber.”

He replayed that sentence ten times before he crushed the headset in his hand.

Hunter didn’t say anything.

Wrecker just placed a heavy hand on his brother’s shoulder.

And Crosshair—who hadn’t prayed in his life—looked out at the stars, and wished he believed in something that could carry your soul home.

Hi! I don’t know if you’re doing requests, if not ignore this. I love your writing! My request would be bad batch x Jedi!reader( can be gen) where it’s their reaction to you having to save them and do a bunch of cool badass force moves to get to them. 🩷

Absolutely— I will gladly take any request x

I hope you enjoy this, I kinda went off on my own little world at the end.

⸻

Title: “About Time You Showed Up”

Bad batch x Jedi!Reader

The op was supposed to be simple: get in, grab the intel, get out.

So naturally, it was a disaster by hour two.

The Bad Batch was cornered inside a decrepit refinery complex, hunkered behind a wall of overturned crates as blaster fire lit up the air. Explosions cracked the walls. Wrecker was bleeding. Tech’s datapad was sparking. Crosshair was out of ammo.

Hunter muttered a curse. “We need backup. Now.”

Crosshair scoffed. “You mean the Jedi?”

“Don’t say it like it’s a bad thing,” Tech said, wincing as he adjusted his shattered goggles. “They are highly efficient warriors, after all.”

“Well, ours is late,” Echo gritted, shielding Wrecker with a dented durasteel panel. “And I don’t think those guys outside are going to politely wait for her.”

Then, like the Force heard them bickering—

The air dropped a few degrees.

The wind shifted.

And then the main door of the facility exploded inward—not from detonite or a charge, but like something had pushed it in with terrifying, silent power.

Smoke billowed.

And out of it stepped you.

Cloak trailing behind you, lightsaber already humming in your hand, you walked into the chaos like you were late to a dinner party—not a battlefield.

“Sorry I’m late,” you said, lifting your hand.

Three enemy droids shot into the air like ragdolls, slammed into a pipe overhead, and sparked out. “Had a bit of traffic.”

Wrecker blinked. “That… was awesome.”

Hunter stared as you leapt forward, deflecting blaster bolts without looking. “Remind me never to complain about Jedi again.”

You moved like a shadow. One second you were blocking a shot, the next you were throwing your saber, calling it back mid-spin, flipping off a wall, and dragging a pair of guards toward each other with the Force so they knocked heads and dropped.

“Show off,” Crosshair muttered, but there was something weirdly close to admiration in his tone.

“Excuse me?” you called as you force-pulled a turret off its base and crushed it into a ball. “You want to do this next time, sharpshooter?”

“I mean… I wouldn’t mind the view,” Crosshair said under his breath.

Tech, oddly calm amid the chaos, adjusted his goggles with a broken-off screw. “Fascinating. You manipulated five separate Force events within a span of—”

“I’ll send you a diagram later!” you called.

You sliced the control panel, opened the bulkhead, and gestured. “Come on, boys. I’m not babysitting this op all day.”

Hunter helped Wrecker to his feet. “That was… intense.”

Echo gave you a half-grin. “We’d be dead if you hadn’t shown.”

“You would be,” you said smugly. “Good thing I like you.”

“Is that a Jedi flirting?” Crosshair drawled. “Should I be worried about a lightsaber through my chest or a date?”

You raised a brow. “Depends. Are you always this cocky, or is it the blood loss talking?”

Crosshair smirked. “You tell me.”

As the team jogged after you, Tech whispered to Echo, “I believe this is what organic beings refer to as ‘tension.’”

“You think?” Echo grinned, ducking blaster fire as you launched an enemy into a vat of molten ore with a flick of your hand.

“Let’s save the flirty quips for after we’re not being shot at,” Hunter grumbled—but he wasn’t exactly not smiling.

You stopped mid-run, looked over your shoulder, and grinned. “Then pick up the pace, boys. You can flirt after we survive.”

⸻

The air inside the safehouse was still hazy from Wrecker’s attempt at cooking, and someone had definitely patched Crosshair’s blaster wound with duct tape and attitude.

But everyone was alive. And that was saying something.

You were seated cross-legged on a crate, calmly cleaning your lightsaber with the kind of peace only someone who had deflected about 200 blaster bolts could muster. The Force hummed around you, quiet but alert.

Hunter dropped onto the floor nearby, arms resting on his knees. “You always fight like that?”

You looked up, raising a brow. “Like what?”

“Like gravity doesn’t apply to you and you’re mad at every object in a ten-meter radius.”

You grinned. “Only when people I care about are in trouble.”

Crosshair, lounging against the wall with his arms crossed, scoffed. “So, you do care.”

“Don’t get excited,” you teased. “I’d do the same for my hydrospanner.”

Wrecker burst out laughing while Crosshair smirked like he’d just been promoted.

Echo, who was calmly running diagnostics on his arm, chimed in: “I don’t know. I think you’ve got favorites.”

You shrugged. “Maybe.”

Tech looked up from where he was scanning his datapad, eyes sharp behind his cracked goggles. “You know, from a technical standpoint, some of your techniques—particularly the telekinetic manipulation mid-flight—could be extremely beneficial in combat.”

You tilted your head. “Are you saying you want to train with me, Tech?”

He cleared his throat. “For research purposes, of course.”

Echo leaned back against a support beam. “I wouldn’t mind a session or two either. Might pick up a move or two that doesn’t involve being thrown across a battlefield.”

“I think I should go first,” Hunter said mildly. “Since I’m the one who has to keep all of you alive.”

Wrecker raised a hand. “Hey, I want to train with the Jedi too!”

You looked around at all of them. “Let me guess… you all want to train now?”

“Better than watching Crosshair try to flirt,” Echo muttered.

“I don’t flirt,” Crosshair said flatly.

“You stared at their hands for five minutes straight,” Hunter pointed out.

Crosshair didn’t deny it. “They’ve got good saber grip. It’s tactical.”

You smirked and slowly stood, clipping your saber back to your belt. “Alright. We’ll start tomorrow. One at a time. You’ll get a feel for the Force, and I’ll see who whines the least when they land flat on their back.”

“I never whine,” Crosshair muttered.

“Good,” you said with a wicked grin. “You’ll be first.”

Wrecker fist-pumped. Tech adjusted his datapad like it was a test. Echo and Hunter shared a look that said, We’re all going to die.

You stretched your arms and turned to leave.

“Oh,” you added over your shoulder. “And if you’re all so eager to get closer to the Force… don’t forget it can read minds.”

Five men froze. Completely.

You didn’t have to look to know exactly which ones had immediately panicked.

Yeah. You were going to have fun with this.

⸻

You stood in the middle of the field, arms crossed, calm as ever.

The Bad Batch lined up in front of you like misbehaving cadets at a very weird summer camp. Wrecker was bouncing on his heels. Crosshair looked bored already. Echo was trying to focus. Tech was holding a notebook. And Hunter—Hunter was watching you like he was trying to anticipate your every move. Again.

“Alright,” you said, voice light. “Rule number one: you are not Force-sensitive. So stop trying to feel it. You’ll just give yourself a migraine.”

Tech quietly lowered his fingers from his temple and put his notebook away.

“Instead,” you continued, pacing in front of them like an instructor, “we’re going to focus on reflexes, awareness, and how not to swing a lightsaber into your own leg.”

Wrecker raised his hand. “Wait—do we get lightsabers?”

You blinked. “Do you want to lose an arm?”

Wrecker grinned. “Kinda depends on the story I can tell after.”

Echo muttered, “Maker help us.”

You tossed a training baton at Crosshair, who caught it one-handed with zero enthusiasm.

“Let’s see how you handle this, sharpshooter,” you said, smirking. “Try to block me.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes. “I don’t need a magic trick to win a duel.”

You raised your training blade. “That’s cute. Try to last thirty seconds.”

What followed was the most stubborn, cocky, and utterly chaotic sparring session you had ever experienced.

Crosshair lasted eighteen seconds. He blamed the sun.

Hunter was fast, perceptive, and nearly knocked you off your feet once, but then got distracted when you smiled at him. He never admitted it.

Echo was calculated but got annoyed when you used a Force push to trip him mid-roll. “Not fair,” he growled, flat on his back.

“I told you I’d use it,” you shrugged.

Tech kept trying to guess your next move based on logic. Unfortunately, you were using the Force. And chaos.

“I have a theory,” he said, face-down in the grass.

“I’m sure you do.”

Then came Wrecker.

“Alright,” he said, grinning like a kid about to break a toy, “gimme your best shot.”

You dodged his first three swings. The fourth came very close.

“Easy, big guy,” you huffed, ducking under his arm. “This is training, not deathmatch—”

“Oops!” Wrecker slipped on a rock, stumbled forward, and you had to Force-jump to avoid being pancaked. You landed behind him, breathing hard.

“That was… impressive,” you managed.

“Did I pass?” he asked, hopeful.

“Pass? You almost Force-chucked me into next week!”

“Cool.”

Later, as the group collapsed in a sweaty, bruised heap under a tree, you sat cross-legged nearby, sipping from a canteen.

“I’ll admit,” you said with a sly grin, “you’re all… slightly less hopeless than I expected.”

“High praise,” Echo muttered.

Crosshair lay back, arms behind his head. “So when’s the advanced class?”

You tossed a pebble at his head. “Never.”

Tech looked up from scribbling notes. “I would still like to record your movement patterns. Possibly… for private analysis.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Private?”

Hunter cleared his throat, cutting in fast. “I’d be up for a meditation session. Just us.”

You blinked. “You meditate?”

“I do now.”

Wrecker sat up. “Wait, I want to meditate too!”

“No, you don’t,” Echo sighed.

You lay back in the grass beside them, arms tucked under your head, eyes half-closed. “You know… for a bunch of non-sensitive, chaos-wielding commandos… you’re not so bad.”

Crosshair, eyes closed, smirked. “Careful, Jedi. Keep talking like that, and we might start thinking you like us.”

You smirked back. “I do like you. I just like kicking your asses more.”

“I wanna wreck our friendship”

Wrecker x GN!Reader

⸻

“Why’d you bring me flowers?” you asked, squinting up at Wrecker from the cot in your makeshift corner of the Marauder. You’d twisted your ankle on the last mission—nothing dramatic, just stupid—and now he’d shown up with a bouquet of local wildflowers. Half of them were wilted. One had a bug.

He scratched the back of his head, sheepish grin spreading wide. “’Cause you got hurt. And you like pretty things.”

“You carried me bridal-style over your shoulder,” you reminded him, raising a brow. “Pretty sure that’s enough.”

Wrecker snorted. “You weigh nothin’. I carry crates heavier than you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

He chuckled and plopped down beside you, taking up half the damn space as usual. Your thigh touched his and neither of you moved away. You hadn’t for weeks. Months, maybe. The casual touches had crept in like sunlight through cracked blinds—innocent, warm, and unavoidable.

You’d always loved Wrecker’s energy. Loud, wild, reckless. But lately, you were noticing things you hadn’t before. The way he’d glance at you when he thought you weren’t looking. The way his laugh softened when you were the one making him smile. The way his hand would linger a little longer when helping you up.

You weren’t stupid. You knew what it was.

But… you didn’t know what he wanted.

“You okay?” he asked suddenly, voice gentler than you expected.

You blinked. “Yeah. Why?”

“You got that thinky look. The one you get when you’re worried I’ll jump off something too high again.”

You laughed. “That’s a fair worry.”

He leaned closer. “You sure you’re okay? ‘Cause, uh… I’ve been meanin’ to ask you somethin’.”

Your heart stuttered. “Shoot.”

He rubbed his palms against his thighs. “We been friends a long time, yeah? And it’s been real good. I like you. A lot. Like, a lot a lot. More than just the regular ‘I’d body slam a bounty hunter for you’ kinda like.”

You stared at him.

“I think I like you best when you’re just with me and no one else.”

“You, uh…” he swallowed. “You ever think about us? Bein’ more?”

You looked at Wrecker—your best friend. Your chaos. Your safety.

“I do,” you said softly. “I think about it. All the time.”

His eyes lit up like a sunrise. “Yeah?!”

You laughed, heart fluttering. “Yeah.”

“Well, kriff,” he grinned, scooping you into a hug so strong it knocked the air out of your lungs, “you should’ve said something sooner!”

“I didn’t know if you felt the same!” you wheezed, still laughing as your ankle throbbed in protest.

He looked at you with a soft kind of wonder. “You’re my favorite person, y’know that?”

You touched his cheek, grinning. “Wrecker?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re mine too.”

⸻

Title: Good Looking

Hunter x Reader

⸻

The cantina flickered with low, golden light. One of those places where time didn’t move right—where music played like a memory, and everyone spoke a little softer after dark.

You sat on the edge of a cracked booth, legs stretched, nursing a cheap drink you weren’t really drinking. Your armor was off, your hair a mess, and there was still grime on your hands from the skirmish earlier that day. You should’ve been back at the ship, cleaning up or passing out. But you weren’t.

Because he was still here.

Hunter leaned against the bar, arms crossed, talking quietly to the bartender. His bandana was off for once, letting those wild curls fall free around his face. He looked tired—always did—but he still stood like he carried the weight of everyone else’s safety before his own. That kind of burden was its own kind of beauty.

You didn’t realize you were staring until he turned and caught you.

He didn’t look away.

Neither did you.

Eventually, he walked over. Sat across from you without asking, sliding into the cracked booth like it had always been meant for two.

“You okay?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Still got all my limbs.”

He smirked. “That’s a start.”

You studied him under the flickering cantina lights. He was always so composed in battle, so sharp, so focused. But like this, up close and quiet, there was something softer behind his eyes. Something a little tired. A little lonely.

“You’re always looking after everyone else,” you said suddenly, voice low. “Who looks after you?”

Hunter blinked, caught off guard by the question. He looked down, then back at you with a small, dry laugh. “You know… I don’t really think about it.”

“You should.”

You reached out and brushed a thumb across his knuckles—just once, just enough.

He didn’t flinch.

“You’re good looking when you’re not pretending to be indestructible,” you murmured. The words slipped out like a secret.

Hunter tilted his head, smile crooked, eyes watching you like he was trying to decide if he was dreaming or if he just hadn’t let himself want this before.

“You’ve been drinking,” he said.

You held his gaze. “A little. But I’d say it sober.”

He leaned forward, forearms on the table, his voice low and gravelly. “Then say it again.”

You felt your breath hitch, just a little.

“You’re good looking, Hunter,” you said. “But I think I like you even more when you let yourself feel.”

A beat passed. Two. He looked down at your hand, still near his. Then he reached for it—gently, carefully, like something fragile in a war-torn world.

“I think I feel too much when I’m around you,” he said. “And that scares me more than battle ever could.”

You didn’t answer. Just let the silence sit between you—heavy, intimate, real.

The music kept playing. The world outside kept spinning. But for now, it was just the two of you, sitting across from each other like the war had paused. Like the night belonged to people who’d been scarred, and tired, and still dared to want something more.