Formerly known as volcano_facts and miawolf45. 28 year old nerd with ADHD and currently hyperfixated on the Batch Batch and Clone Wars. I write fanfiction for a lot of things so feel free to ask. Masterlist is pinned! Thanks, I love you ❤️
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I write for many fandoms including - but not limited to - LOTR, Star Wars (all shows/movies/characters), Marvel, etc - if you want to request anything please send me an ask or a message.
Prompt Lists (lists are not made by me): Hurt/Comfort | Fluff -- feel free to send in your own!
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Clone Wars
Clone Medic Kix:
Nightmares
Come Here Often?
Stayin' Alive
The Hands of Father Time
My Sunshine is Sleeping
Born for This
Busy, Busy
ARC Trooper Fives:
All the Stars in the Sky
Everybody Talks
My Cinderella
Hardcase:
If I Don't Make It Back Alive
Ghosts of You
Captain Rex:
Running Home
Stay
Commander Fox:
A Duty of Forgiveness
Jesse:
Good Soldiers
Eyes Like Champagne
Til the Last Shot's Fired
Commander Wolffe:
In the Middle of the Night
Don't Miss Me
Love is a Battlefield
Come Let Me Love You
Obi-Wan Kenobi:
Jedi Come Down
Marshal Commander Cody:
Forgive Me, My Love
Shining Star
Mysterious Ways
Original Characters:
The Last Mission
What Hurts the Most
The Bad Batch
If It's Cracked... Don't Fix It (A Bad Batch crack fic)
inspiring obi wan quotes for intellectuals to ponder.
we’ve all heard “If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine” and “The truth is often what we make of it”, but I bet you are unfamiliar with these gems.
A sudden illness overtakes Doc as she and her squad find themselves trapped in a wintry outpost.
This can absolutely be read as a standalone fem oc x Crosshair fic, but for those familiar with Doc's Misadventures (hi! I love you!), this happens between An Ode to Artists and Fool's Errand. (Sorry it took a bit - this ended up being longer than I meant it to. Also, there will be a part 2) Also also, another huge thanks to the lovelies in Discord for helping catching typos and encouraging me to make it worse!!
Denial comes far too easily in those early hours; when grogginess can be excused - expected after a long mission on a miserable world where the air had been laced with icy frosts, sore muscles mere consequence of trudging through shoulder-high snowbanks, and that pounding in my head nothing more than dehydration. But Echo hadn’t been shivering. Tech voiced no concerns about the climate controls or life support systems within the tiny outpost where we’d taken shelter awaiting the storm to clear enough for us to try to reach our ship. And the thick layer of sweat soaking mockingly into my hair and plastering the suddenly too-rough fabric of my blacks against skin that hadn’t been nearly as sensitive the day before was far harder to dismiss.
Still, I willed myself to ignore it, to pretend, stifling the groan as I painstakingly swung my legs over the edge of a bed that could be called generous only in light of the offensively minuscule cots we’d grown accustomed to aboard the Marauder, pointedly forbidding myself from noting the clear outline of dampness darkening the sheets where I’d laid, the tangy scent of sweat heavy in air that I struggled to breathe through the congestion already clogging my sinuses and settling deep into my lungs.
I couldn’t remember Crosshair leaving; only vaguely certain he’d been here when I’d fallen asleep, cursing the stark chill of my body against his as we shivered beneath the lingering frost of the outside air. I hadn’t argued when Hunter volunteered to take first watch, nor when Tech agreed to take the second and Echo third, though some tinge of guilt reminded me that they hadn’t asked me purely from some sense of a pity I couldn’t let myself dwell on, at least not until I could breathe without my teeth clattering.
The small bunkroom was empty now, twin rows of perfectly kept bedding clearly illustrating that the others had yet to even attempt sleep. That should have bothered me more than it did… couldn’t focus on it, though, not when it was such a struggle to merely heave my armor into place, lips pulling into a weak scowl at how nothing seemed to fit right though I couldn’t bring myself to care enough to try to figure out why.
The room spun for the first few steps toward the door, and I had to lean forward, hand darting out to one of the empty beds to steady myself, visor fogging at the suddenly too-deep breaths causing my body to rock slightly, jaw hanging open. Just a head rush… I’d slept too long…
It lasted several seconds longer than it should have, but my balance gradually evened out to something near enough to normal for me to stand up once more, albeit with a slump that I begrudgingly blamed on a chill I knew had little to do with the cold.
Didn’t matter. We were on a mission. I couldn’t afford to hide away in the bunkroom in utter ignorance to the well-being of my squad. So, I walked, fighting the dizziness still taunting my every step, and I hated how I winced at the deafening hiss of the door sliding open, head throbbing in sync to my too-quick heartbeat.
It took a moment to catch the echo of voices humming from the far end of the hall, but just hearing them, knowing that they were near, granted both a comfort in the simple knowledge that they were here, that they were safe, as well as an encouragement to keep going, to fall into the rote motions of my role among them and treasure what mindlessness it might allow.
But then those distant voices fell silent, and I felt myself pause, tensing as my attention locked on the far corner.
“…Force’s sake.” Crosshair’s low growl pierced the quiet in time to the scrape of a chair being roughly pushed atop the hard floor, and I felt my shoulders draw back defensively before he even rounded the corner, those gleaming eyes already narrowed in a glare. “What the kriff are you doing out of bed?” He practically snarled, and I couldn’t stifle the confused, “w-what?” in time to make sense of his ire.
“Cross.” Hunter called, hushed warning clear in the deep timber of his smokey voice. Crosshair shot an impatient scowl over his shoulder before turning his attention back to me.
“You’re barely standing.” He pressed, arms taut as they looped across his chest. “Get back to bed before I have to carry your sorry shebs there.”
“Wh- no, I'm… I’m not going back to bed.” I stated, tripping over my words initially before managing to hold onto a single thought.
“Intentionally placing additional strain on your already compromised system will only prolong your illness.” Tech joined his brother in the hall, for once undistracted by some device or scrap of half-disassembled equipment, and my jaw ground at the imposing wall the two of them formed.
“It’s just a cold.” I dismissed vehemently, forcing my shoulders back and my chin up though they couldn’t see the frown tugging at my lips.
“Unless you’ve preformed a rapid antig-”
“I don’t give a damn if it’s a cold or the kriffing plague,” Crosshair interrupted, earning a sharp look from the brilliant pilot, “You’re sick.”
“I’m-”
“Doc.” Hunter pressed, strides almost apologetic as he stepped into view. “No one’s hurt. There’s no reason for you not to get some rest.”
“I’m supposed to be monitoring life support.” I argued, scowling at how weak it sounded. “And I have reports to write… they wanted…” The illusion of strength wavered, posture faltering as a too heavy breath fluttered unsteadily through ground teeth, body seizing beneath a sudden tremor that caught with mocking clarity through my modulator, and I couldn’t risk looking at them as I pretended that shiver wasn’t bleeding into my voice, “A, um… analysis on… turning this place into a… an emergency medcenter.” My hand rose listlessly to motion toward the surrounding building as though I hadn’t noticed Crosshair’s approaching footsteps, but when he reached for my helmet, when he pulled it free with movements far too careful for the impatience that had sharpened his words, I couldn’t hide the way my eyes ground shut against the blinding brightness of the hall, entire body curling forward with another violent shutter.
“It would make a shit medcenter.” That impatience was still there though he’d lowered his retort to an oddly gentle whisper. “Storms make it too hard to reach. Analysis done.” I let out a heavy breath, empty glare rising to find far too much concern in those attentive eyes for even the façade of my own annoyance.
“She can do all that in here.” Wrecker offered, rugged voice hushed into something far too timid for the powerful man. “Then we c’n keep an eye on her, and she don’t gotta be all alone in there.” Crosshair looked back toward the neighboring room though Wrecker remained just out of sight. When he turned back to me, however, it was with a silent plea that robbed whatever desperation for independence had driven me from the bunkroom in the first place, and I felt impossibly weak without it, head shifting in a barely-there nod.
Without waiting for any further prompting or arguing or delay, he crossed that final step, arm sliding tightly around my back until it seemed he was the only thing keeping me from crumbling, and I barely managed to bite back the whimper threatening to catch on a breath that shook even harder for the warmth I felt mocking me through the hard plates of armor between us.
“I’ll getcha somethin’ to rest on.” I could hear the breadth of his smile as Wrecker tread quickly past us.
Now void of even my own denial, I turned heavily into Crosshair’s embrace, slumping against his chest with a far too pitiful sigh, relieved at how readily he caught me, how his body curled so subtly around mine as his lips brushed against my hair.
“Come on,” he murmured, easing me forward just enough to prompt a half-step, “before I really do have to carry you.” I let out a small groan, more petulant than anything, but offered no further complaint before willing motion into my too-heavy limbs.
“… hate being sick…” I grumbled, and my heart jumped at the way his arms tightened around me.
“Then stop pushing yourself so damn hard.” He growled, but there was a softness in that low rasp that left me pressing closer against him.
Within mere minutes, Wrecker had a mattress pressed against the base of the center console, where the vent filtered air heated by the internal components to offer a constant warm breeze that drew a shameless moan from me as I nestled beneath it, body still curled into Crosshair’s side where he’d wordlessly sat leaning against the small mound of pillows, armor cast aside that I might thrill in the feeling of his lean form cradling me against him.
“Yeah, Cross did about the same thing.” The towering man chuckled, earning a snarl from the sniper, but whatever scathing retort he nearly spat fell silent as I shifted more comfortably against him. My eyes roamed to the datapad hazardously draped across my thighs, mind anywhere but the useless report awaiting my attention.
“Where’s…?” I started to ask before biting back the question, heart twisting at the still gnawing ache of how readily Echo seemed to evade me.
“Patrol.” Crosshair answered just a beat too sharply, and I felt myself wilt beneath something I didn’t want to name, be it guilt or sorrow or some crippling combination of the two, instead forcing my thoughts toward something just as worrying.
“Don’t want to get you sick…” I whispered, teeth gnawing on my lower lip, and I nearly felt his eyes roll.
“We don’t get colds.” He practically scowled, earning a tiny huff of laughter from me.
My eyes ached from squinting at the screen for far too long, cursing the blurry text as my shoulders bucked with a poorly stifled cough. Cross was dozing lightly, head tilted back against the console as his torso rose and fell in a slow, lazy rhythm. With an impatient, resigned sigh, I let the datapad drop back down atop my thigh, shifting to rest my cheek heavily against his chest, envious of his effortless breaths as my own lungs ached with the effort.
Another cough left the air catching in my throat as I struggled to silence it, but another came immediately after, and another until I had to lock my hand over my mouth to stifle it, the gesture useless amidst the way my diaphragm bucked, heart sinking as the movement roused the barely conscious man I lay curled up against.
“Mm… you ‘kay?” he mumbled, head rolling wearily toward me though he didn't bother with opening his eyes.
“Hm… m-hm.” I tried to hum, but it sounded more like a grunt from the effort it took to control my traitorous lungs, and that guilt grew as his brows drew together, abandoning the fringes of sleep to look down at me. Lip caught between my teeth, I quickly lowered my head, cheeks warming from more than just illness.
“Hey.” He called more pointedly, and I reluctantly forced myself to meet his gaze as his free hand moved to whisper against my jaw before touching his wrist to my forehead, frown deepening. “… you’re burning up…”
I drew a short breath, excuse bating atop my tongue, but that little gasp was too much, body folding forward with a violent series of coughs. My throat burned from it, head pounding, spinning; all thought of dismissing his growing concern caving as my lungs screamed for air.
“Kriff – Tech!” He shouted, but the others were already moving, crowding in as I clawed uselessly at my chest.
“This is precisely why I suggested a preemptive-"
“Just do something, dammit!” Crosshair snarled, hand sweeping along my back in a rhythm far too quick to offer any real comfort.
“M'fi- … m'fine.” I wheezed, hunching forward slightly as though I might escape the blurs of dark expressions staring at me.
“I can hear your lungs from here… that's not fine.” Hunter said, voice unnervingly quiet.
“It’s… s…” The slurred fragments of speech broke into a groan I couldn't bite back as another tremor tore through me, and I nearly whined as Crosshair pushed himself away, easing me down atop the creaky mattress alone.
Drowning. My jaw craned open with a gasp as that pressure in my chest suddenly grew, heels dragging atop the sheets as I struggled to haul myself back up. A flurry of shouted curses and orders boomed about the room as several hands grabbed onto my arms and shoulders, wrenching me upright. Too fast. The room spun, head lolling forward. Someone was yelling, and I strained to push through the heavy fog clouding my mind, wincing at the deafening crackle of air being drawn harshly through lips just hinting at a pained grimace.
“-vere pneumonia, but for it to develop this quickly is-”
“I don’t care about probabilities, Tech. What can we do to help her?” I wanted to snap at Hunter for cutting his brother off. Again. But that panic of suffocation left my breath too ragged to even attempt speech.
“This isn’t a medbay.” Tech replied sharply. “The supplies we have access to are extremely limited.”
“So, raid her damn medbag.” Crosshair ordered, and I vaguely realized he was pressed against my left side with Tech hovering to my right, his hand still held firmly to my shoulder to steady me.
“I have.” He bit back. “She carries equipment and supplies for acute symptoms, not severe illnesses that require a full course of antibiotics and supplemental oxygen.” I tried not to acknowledge the growing dread as I blinked back that lingering haze.
“You’re saying there’s nothing in there that we can use?” Hunter practically barked, and I finally managed to glance up to find him on a knee at the foot of the mattress, broad form blocking out the room around us.
“No, I’m merely stating that we’re operating with sub-par supplies and conditions, so what relief we can realistically offer is less that ideal.”
“Hey.” I grunted, striving for some sliver of mock-offence, but the sound was too brittle, voice frayed. Still, they instantly fell silent, attention darting back to me.
“I wasn’t implying any fault in how you’ve packed your medbag,” Tech offered, a softness in his words that made me want to melt against him, “however, circumstances like this aren’t generally considered during routine missions.”
“‘s… ‘s not… not tha’ bad when ‘m… s-sitting.” I stammered, cursing how that relentless shiver broke my already weak voice and left my aching muscles burning from overuse. The way Hunter’s expression darkened left me painfully certain none of them found any comfort in my attempted reassurance.
“Then we'll get you more pillows.” He murmured, and I wanted to be annoyed at the glimmer of pity quieting that low rumble… but I treasured the little flutter of warmth it sent trilling through me, the tiny relief it offered from the nauseating dance of fire and ice churning beneath my skin.
“Are you able to drink?” Tech's hand tightened around my shoulder for just a fleeting moment before finally moving away, and Crosshair took the opportunity to pull me more firmly against him as his brother reached for a canteen. “You're losing a substantial volume of fluid. I can administer an IV if preferable, but you should at least attempt to have some water.” I grimaced at the truth in his words, at how the clothes clung to my skin from an icy sweat that left the air around me too heavy, humid; stomach churning at the itch of it slipping down my neck and spine despite the violent chill that left my joints aching.
He’d removed the lid and brought the lip of the plastoid container to my lips before I’d even managed to nod, but I quickly pulled away, shaking hand wavering between us.
“I'll… don't… hmm… con… contaminate it…” My lips stumbled over the broken objection, jaw trembling too hard and breath stuttering too frequently for it to harbor any strength as a tiny whimper slipped between the words.
“I assure you, we have ample water sources.” I wasn’t used to hearing him whisper. “Right now, keeping you hydrated is a far greater concern.” And found myself unable to even try to doubt him. When he gently tilted the rim of the canteen toward me once more, I couldn't help but let my lips part for him, fingers automatically reaching for the canteen, too weak and unsteady to help, but he didn't brush me away.
My throat felt too stiff, the action of simply swallowing the cool water a far greater struggle than it should have been; what ought to be effortless suddenly clumsy as I struggled with just those few sips before faltering, choking, body jerking beneath harsh coughs that rekindled the consuming hurt shooting through my head with every frantic beat of my heart as my lungs burned from the strain.
Curses snarling through clenched teeth, Crosshair lunged forward with me, one arm wrapping around my chest to keep me steady while the other began to slam firmly between my shoulder blades as though he could help dislodge whatever miniscule traces of water left me sputtering for breath but he froze after the second one as my back arched away from him with a pitiful whine, and I told myself it was merely my own mind lapsing when I thought I felt his hands shake against me.
“I'll… prepare an IV…” The apology in Tech's voice left me wanting to scream an apology of my own. I wanted to beg them to just leave me to suffer through this in isolation rather than share in that suffering through vain attempts to help. I wanted to promise them that this would pass and I'd be fine, so they didn't need to regard me with a concern that left their footsteps muffled and speech lowered into careful whispers. I wanted to pretend that when Crosshair’s hand returned to my back with a soothing caress rather than that nearly frantic tapping, I didn't crumble with something too close to a sob for any of us to pretend otherwise, that I didn't let myself turn toward him with desperate, jilted movements, legs tangling in the sheets as my arms tried and failed to reach for him; that I didn't let out that weak, broken whimper as he dragged me back against him, arms locking about my waist and chest, one hand clawing into my hair as my jaw craned open around strained breaths, each one wheezing in a way that left him tensing with dread.
I barely noticed Tech gently untangle my hand from Crosshair's shirt until the chill of disinfectant left me convulsing with another violent shiver.
“Easy.” He murmured, “I'll try to be quick.” I didn't turn away from the safety of Crosshair's embrace, face pressed against the crook of his neck as though I might simply disappear into his warmth.
I was no stranger to needles, nor did I share in the fear they so often brought, but the way the nerves shrieked beneath that small pinch left my entire body bucking with a strangled gasp. I didn't see the startled look steal over Tech's face, but I felt how his hands tensed around mine for just a brief moment before he eased the needle in deeper, a displeased hum catching behind ground lips. With a quiet tsk, he pulled back, thumb pressing firmly against the tiny puncture.
“Apologies… I should have insisted on doing this earlier. Dehydration tends to make it substantially more difficult to place an IV, and it seems we can add hypersensitivity to your list of symptoms now…” He added with a slow sigh.
“You missed it?!” Cross nearly spat.
“Dehydration results in reduced blood volume, making veins more likely to roll or collapse, which is precisely what-”
“She never missed your vein when-”
“…Cross…” I barely managed to mumble his name, face cringing at the pressure in my head growing with his every harsh word. His jaw clicked shut, body rocking with a forcefully controlled exhale as his thumb swept apologetically along my hairline.
“Maybe you should take a walk, Crosshair.” Hunter’s voice went quiet, and the room seemed to pause in its wake as the weight of the air grew stifling; the silence it wrought seeming only to emphasize the painful wheeze I was trying so hard to muffle.
“No.” He responded lowly, hard eyes locked on his brother with an unspoken threat that left my heart pounding even faster.
“You don’t need to leave, but I would advise you focus on calming her rather than berating me.” There was a compromise in his words as Tech broke that heavy silence that did little to ease the defensiveness leaving Crosshair’s body taut around mine, but the seething man offered no rebuke as his brother began gently rolling up the sleeve of my shirt. I tried to bite back the little wince at how my skin balked at even that gentle pressure, but they both heard it, and his hands instantly paused.
“It might be easiest to simply cut this.” Tech offered, that foreign softness again sending a little trill flitting through my chest. I started to turn toward him, but abandoned the movement midway, head merely nodding weakly. I hated the way my body tensed for the coming shriek of tearing fabric, but his movements held such care that I didn’t feel the chill of metal as he eased the sheers between the fabric and his fingers, cutting through it so delicately that it wasn’t until feeling that rush of relief as that pressure around my arm suddenly vanished that I even realized he’d started, body deflating against Crosshair with a breathy sob.
“Shh…” Another day, I might have smiled at the uncertainty in his hushed murmur, but in that moment, I merely treasured him for the comfort it offered, body shivering pleasantly at the dance of his breath through my hair.
“This may be uncomfortable, but I don’t want to risk blowing another vein.” Tech warned apologetically, and I didn’t need to look to know he was retrieving one of the thin lengths of elastic to tie around my arm. Still, I wasn’t expecting how it pinched as he tightened it, body cringing with a whimper I tried uselessly to bite back. They’d never bothered me before… but everything felt sharper, nerves panicking at every touch like it was fire.
“Look at me.” Crosshair’s hand slid from my hair to cup my jaw, raising my gaze to meet his despite how impossibly heavy everything felt, how my head lolled limply against his palm, eyes parted just enough to glimpse him. “Just focus on me.” He ordered, and I tried to pretend I hadn’t felt the piercing chill dart through me as Tech disinfected the delicate skin in the crook of my elbow, how my muscles burned from that ceaseless tremble as I focused on meeting those piercing eyes.
“H… h-hap…pily.” I stammered with some heartbreaking facsimile of a smirk. The way his brow hitched ever so slightly with amusement was worth the effort, but it quickly faded back into that deep concern as my torso bucked with coughs I only barely managed to fight back, face turning into the gentleness of his palm for a long moment as I struggled to regain control of my diaphragm.
“I understand it’s painful, but coughing is an important part of breaking up the infection in your lungs.” Tech chided, cradling my arm patiently as he waited for it to pass. I couldn’t try to form a response for several seconds, the entirety of my dwindling strength focused solely on drawing air into my too tight chest.
“D… di… dizzy when… when I c-cough.” I said, words blurring together between sluggish lips and clattering teeth, and I regretted admitting it the instant I heard the heavy breath leave his lips.
“We’ll check the facilities again for a supply of supplemental oxygen… for now, just focus on breathing as deeply as you can.” I let out a noncommittal hum, pointedly turning my attention back to the calluses of Crosshair’s thumb shifting delicately along my cheek as Tech began feeling for a vein. “Would you like a warning?” He barely whispered it, as though that might grant me some façade of denial that he’d felt the need to even offer. I shook my head, willing it to just be done, that I might be allowed to simply close my eyes and escape for a moment.
“Hey, eyes on me.” Crosshair… I think I tried to scowl at the order, head resting even more heavily into his touch. “Doc.” He pressed. By the time the needle slid into my arm, I’d forgotten to anticipate the hurt it would bring, choked gasp ripping what little air I’d manage to drag into my lungs from me in a sudden rush. “… okay… easy, just… just breathe with me.” I hated the nervousness in his voice… It sounded wrong… but I couldn’t bring myself to do anything more than huddle against him as my body trembled.
Next Chapter (coming soon since this was actually written and added retroactively...)
Continue Reading (Next arc)
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Omgggggg it's been so long since I've read anything of yours (my own fault, not yours 😜) I've missed you!!! I've missed good ole Doc and her boys! Love this!!!!
𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 SUMMARY: Hunter teaches you how to use a blaster but gets distracted (by you)
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: warning this is really bad but the idea is there ig. The concept of Hunter bad batch teaching you how to fire a blaster
Paring: yearner!hunter x jedi!reader
Warnings: none :p
As you go to sit down on one of the barstools in Cid’s luminescent parlor your leg gives out slightly as you catch yourself on the bar table. An uncomfortable sting of pain shoots through your upper hamstring causing your balance to falter.
Oh great you think to yourself.
Testing the waters you go to put the slightest weight on it once more. The pain spiking through your muscle returning instantly, causing your brows to furrow. Nope. You breathe a sigh of frustration, this being the last thing you needed. Your body was already under enough turmoil as is. You, a Jedi unable to wield the two things that primarily make you…you was taking its toll, having to now result to hand to hand combat only. Not that you weren’t capable, you were very - but your body screamed for respite. With the Empire now glazing its dark glow across the galaxy, prejudice against Jedi was now something you had to be mindful of. The automatic motion of hoisting your lightsaber off your belt now became a resistance you had to endure. Not to mention how insufferable a certain Sergeant was about keeping those two things hidden. “The Empire is already after the kid, I won’t let you become a second target” But your training could only go so far.
“you alright?” a familiar voice cracking the silence of your inconvenient mishap. “yeah just” limping as you turn to face him you see concern etching Hunter's face “I think I pulled something” you say uncomfortably, the pain now lingering along your skin. You reach out your left hand to grip onto the bar limping towards him, starving your leg of any pressure. He makes his way over to you just as your leg gives out once again causing him to quickly catch you, your hands automatically latching onto his forearms for any sort of let up. The pain causing tears to prick your eyes and brows to crease, you hiss “I think it’s time I teach you how to use a blaster, yeah?” he humors slightly, concern nevertheless present in his tone. You look up at him unamused. Blasters were so…uncivilized , something that your master never even considered mentioning in training. You were to be humoring nevertheless offending a Jedi if you were to place one in their hand.
Your expression practically told everything that Hunter needed to know “if I have to” you say reluctantly, steadily straightening your posture to gather any sort of balance, your hands still latched onto his armored forearms. Using his body as leverage you make your pathetic effort to walk over to wear Omega days before was scaring off customers with her Zyggerian bow, her lucky shots scorching the timbered walls. Hunter makes his way behind you, handing you his blaster. They felt heavier than they looked, much different to the sway of a lightsaber. You adjust your grip on the unfamiliar equipment, raising it towards the graffiti lined target. Suddenly Hunter’s hands make their way down to your hips, repositioning them gently creating a firmer stance “keep your shoulders level and feet planted” his voice softly grazing your ears as he stands behind you, back pressed against his chest. You take a deep breath, more to calm the butterflies that were practically going haywire in your stomach than preparation for the shot.
You wink your right eye close, focusing on the target in front of you but Hunter's presence was obnoxious to say the least. Both hands resting on your hips gently as his head leans close to your temple, meeting your eye level “steady” he says, his voice trailing just above a whisper, almost as though if it were to go up an octave the blaster will somehow trigger itself. You clear your head temporarily, finding a moment of clarity where you pull the trigger. The shot hitting the bullseye.
You lower the blaster slightly, your shoulders going limp as your lips curl into an amused smile “hm, I’m a natural” you coy “or just a lucky shot, try again” he muses, you raise the blaster once more, repeating the process of winking your right eye shut to then clearing your head, taking the moment of short lived clarity, reaching out into the force, you shoot. You hit the target once again “that another lucky shot?-” you humor, spinning round to face him your breath hitches slightly, his face exponentially closer than anticipated. His face freezes as does yours, your hands bracing to rest on his chest. Your heart skips several beats as you feel his beat underneath the palm of your hand “should probably try again” Hunter reverberates, it being clear his mind is so obviously somewhere else. A moment of clouded clarity ringing the air as you both pause for a brief moment, the moment being what exactly? You couldn’t figure it out.
Ever since Order 66 where Hunter stunned those clone troopers on Kaller rescuing you, there’s been this constant feeling that never ages whenever you’re around him. From the moment he persuaded you to come with him with those pleading eyes and outreached hands to the nerves that bore your stomach when he grabbed your wrist to drag you up that iced hill, the care that he encompassed you with so quickly bore butterflies in your stomach.
His gaze trails down to your lips briefly, his eyes glazed over with a slight yearning. It’s as though the planet stills on its axis, everything else slowing down around you both.
You swallow thickly, his hands continuing to rest on your waist as his thumbs softly dig into the flesh of your hips. An action moreover to tether himself to the ground, making sure that this wasn’t a cruel dream. “Hunter” your voice cracking the silence that binds you both. He doesn’t respond with his words but with the tentative motion of tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Mmm?” he hums as his gaze follows the line his hand traces as it rests in the crook of your neck, his thumb easing against the nape of your jaw.
And if divine timing were ever on your side, today was the day it decided to oppose you as Wrecker and Omega blaringly made their way down the arched staircase, Wrecker's barreling voice shattering the once thinly stretched silence that filled the parlor. Hunter lets go of you faster than you could register causing you to fall slightly, not realising how much you were leaning into him, the stinging pain making an unwelcoming return. “kriff sorry” Hunter mutters, stuttering back as you once again brace yourself against his forearms. You turn to look at the two onlookers, Omega’s face painted with a smug countenance, an eyebrow quirked up knowingly as she makes her way over to the holotable. Wrecker on the other hand was blissfully ignorant, a bag of mantell mix in hand while the other drops a handful into his mouth. Reluctantly you let go of Hunter with a courtesies glance before making your way to sit across from Omega “stow it” you murmur, her giggles softly stifled as she covers her mouth with her hand.
Sorry to bug you again. I think my first message was cut off.
Please, if you see fit, I'd like to include one of your works (giving you full credit, it's yours, not mine) in a multichapter fic I'm working called "Wolffe" on AO3
The work is "Don't Miss Me." It's the love letter from Wolffe written on the battlefield. It's beautiful and I've read it dozens of times. I've written him a response from my character, Zahara. I hope to hear from you.
Yes, I could write a new letter from him, but yours is so lovely ...
If it's no or you choose not to answer, I respect your choice. I love your work and thank you for sharing your art with the world.
With respect and admiration,
Your follower,
NurseKyra
26th of October, 2025.
Sure! Just as long as you give me credit 😉 Also send me a link bc I'd love to see your response ❤️ Thanks so much for asking!
Author's note: Sometimes, knowing that someone will miss you once you're gone is what you need to keep going. I know that sounds strange, but it's what I needed when I wrote this fic. I hope it reminds you that you are loved and cherished by those around you.
______
Until that day, you’d thought slow-motion deaths were just the dramatizations of holofilms. You’d seen more death than you could even begin to comprehend, and it was always fast. Always over in the blink of an eye. A blaster shot to a vital organ, and then a motionless body on the ground. Maybe there was mercy in the speed.
The world never slowed as rebels were cut down around you. If anything, it sped up, like some part of your mind was trying to fast forward through the bloodshed.
But when a speeding blast slammed right into your chestplate, the battlefield stopped breathing. You were suspended midair for a moment as the red streak cut through your chestplate. You were blown back in half-time, like you were slowly sinking to the bottom of the sea. You could feel the impact of the shot on your chest, blunt and heavy, as though a proton torpedo had fallen right on top of you. The chestplate snapped in a clean break down the midline. Your breath mixed with the clouds of dust in the air, as you braced to hit the ground.
The shot wasn’t fatal. Your chestpiece had stopped it. There would be nasty bruises for a while, but you’d live.
If only there wasn’t another shot, following the trajectory of the first, shot from the same blaster. It emerged from enemy lines through the smog of the battlefield. Your eyes tracked it the whole way, thinking that it looked awfully like a lost lightning bolt. There was nothing that could be done as it sought its home in your chest just under the base of your sternum.
You don’t remember the rest of the fall, only blinking your eyes open and looking up at the plastoid-armored stormtroopers nearly stepping on top of you as they charged forward to engage the rebels you were fighting beside.
Everyone was slow– running through bacta. Your heartbeat marched along in time with them.
There was no pain in your body– that’s what frightened you most. Feeling nothing meant worse damage than feeling something. There was just a high-pitched ringing piercing through distorted, muffled chaos. Thoughts slipped through your mind’s grasp.
The experience was very much like being underwater– the battlefield was at the mercy of the current, and you were a leaf sinking into its depths.
How nice it would be to rest at the bottom of the sea, you thought, eyes growing heavy. The air hummed with the crackle of blaster fire, comets of red cutting through the pandemonium. A sizzling bolt struck a soldier on your right, and he fell to the ground, not too far from you. With the barest of movements, you turned your head to look at him. His helmet had slipped off and rolled away. His eyes were unblinklingly open. A swift death. A mercy.
You turned your attention back to the sky. Sunset approached, shrouding the turmoil with deep blues. And you were a leaf again.
Time drifted lazily, and you witnessed it all. The screams had ceased, an an eerie quiet consumed the field, littered with the fallen.
Like the tide, rational thought brushed your mind, and then retreated, over and over and over again. You wondered if you were going to die, and if your family would find you. Would they be able to among the carnage? Had they been shot down too?
And then those thoughts were replaced by blissful ignorance as the tide carried them out to sea.
Every time that you could think, you thought about your family. Worried about them. Longed for them to be here with you. Why were you still awake if you were only going to fade? You weren’t afforded the mercy of a swift death; you hoped that meant there was something better waiting for you.
Maybe I won’t die, you mused. Maybe they’ll find me in time. The weightlessness of your body told you otherwise. Maybe I’m already dead. That didn’t seem quite right either. In any case, there was no pain, no sensation in your body besides a soft warmth. Blood, maybe.
The only thing that you were certain about was that you didn’t want to die alone. You were waiting, holding on for something.
The tide swept out, drawing a few warm tears down your cheeks.
When it came back in, you heard muffled yelling. You listened to the sound with curiosity, thinking that it was awfully familiar, that you’d heard it a million times.
“Y/n!”
Yes! That was your name, the one that was still yours, even though it felt like that life was long swept away. The voice was familiar too. His voice. Hunter’s voice.
He was somewhere on the battlefield that you couldn’t see, shouting your name into the void.
A tsunami of clarity crashed down on you.
You were injured.
Hunter was looking for you.
You tugged on the earthly tether to your body which used to be a thick rope and was now a thread. You demanded your mouth to open, and threw everything you had into your cry. “Hunter!” It was broken and weak, and perhaps no louder than your regular speaking voice, but it was all you could manage, and thankfully, your lover had enhanced senses.
He was kneeling at your side, propping you up against a rock when you came to again.
“Hunter,” you wheezed. “You’re here.” Your eyes trailed down your abdomen. Hunter balled up a white cloth and hovered over the charred skin visible under your torn shirt.
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice uncharacteristically wavy. “This is going to hurt.” He pressed hard into your wound.
“It doesn’t.”
The white cloth turned crimson in moments.
You couldn’t read his face as he used his chin to active his comm. “Tech, Y/N needs medical evac now. I’m sending our coordinates.”
Tech’s voice crackled through the comm, and so did blasterfire. “Held up at the moment. Be there as quick as possible.”
Hunter’s face was a mask of stoicism, but there was terror in his eyes.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll get you help.”
“I’m not worried, Hunter. Not about me.”
The last of the white cloth was devoured by spreading crimson. The sargent searched for another piece of fabric to add on top, but every piece of clothing around was held in place by armor.
“It’s fine, Hunter,” you breathed as his eyes flitted across your surroundings.
He looked you dead in the eyes, disbelieving. “No, it’s not. Put pressure on this. I’m going to find something to stop your bleeding.”
“No, please don’t go,” you begged, trying to reach for him, but the most you could do was twitch your fingers. “Just stay. Just be with me. It’s okay.”
He cradled your face with a bloody palm. “You’re not thinking straight. I have to stop the bleeding. You’re going to live. Just stay awake.”
His touch left your face as he replaced his hand with your limp one over the blood-soaked cloth. Your heart thumped painfully as he stood to leave.
“Remember your promise?” You asked as a last effort to get him to stay. He froze. “You said that I wouldn’t die alone.”
He didn’t turn to face you yet, but his head bowed to his chest. He remembered that conversation in the medbay all too well.
It was the first time you’d danced on death’s threshhold, and you’d thought you were never going to see your family again. He’d made the promise as he kissed the top of your head, and every time you charged into battle, you brushed off your terror by remembering it. You wouldn’t die alone.
“I’m dying, Hunter. I know it. The only reason I’m still alive is so that you can keep your promise. Please don’t go.”
“I know,” he said, voice breaking. He turned to you, and tears shimmered on his cheeks in the last light of day. He fell to his knees, placing one hand over yours on the wound, the other brushing your hair from your face. “I know.”
“Will you stay?” You asked, riding the line between consciousness and unconsciousness.
“Always.” His put pressure on the wound still, even though you were already slipping from your body.
You smiled weakly. “Tell me something nice.”
You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. Inside and out.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
His laughter was teary, but it warmed you all the same. “There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t love you. And there never will be.”
The sincerity choked you up. Hunter wiped away your tears, old and new, as you said, “I don’t know why I’m sad. I’m the lucky one. I don’t know what I would do if you were the one shot.”
Hunter’s comm blinked, and he patched the connection through.
“The outpost is secure. We are inbound.”
Hunter responded with a simple affirmative.
“Will you stay awake for me, mesh’la? Tech’s on his way. It’s going to be okay.”
There was a hope in his eyes that you couldn’t bear to snuff out, so you nodded, lying for him. “I’m in good hands.”
Despite your chapped lips and bloody face, Hunter pressed a soft kiss to your mouth. “We’ll make it out of this, mesh’la. There’s a whole future ahead of us.”
You smiled. “Tell me.”
“As soon as you get out of the hospital, we’ll head straight to Pabu. There’s a bungalow I saw last time that would be perfect for us. It’s got this beautiful tree in the front with a perfect branch for a swing. I remember how much you liked the swing at Cut and Sue’s. I’ll get a boat and take you out on the water to watch the sunset as many times as you like. And Omega will get to be a kid for once, and we’ll watch her grow up. And when she brings a boyfriend or a girlfriend home, I’ll play the part of the overprotective dad–”
You laughed. “That poor kid.”
He thumbed your cheek. “And if it’s in the cards for us, maybe we’ll have a baby of our own. We’ll have family dinners every week, and I’ll get old and grey and you’ll be as beautiful as ever, even when our kids are all grown up. You’ll always be gorgeous. And then it will be the two of us again. Maybe we can go travel the galaxy if we’re not too tired. Every morning, I’ll wake up with you in my arms and wonder what I did to deserve you.”
Your foreheads touched, and you tried to convey everything that was too difficult to say through the barrier of your minds, hoping it made it to Hunter through the point of connnection.
“I didn’t know you’d thought so much about this,” you said.
He nodded. “When I look at you, I see the rest of my life.”
A sound must have startled him, because he squinted into the distance, hardened expression melting into cautious relief. “They’re here,” he breathed as though he didn’t truly believe it himself, squeezing your shoulder. “They’re almost here. Just hang on a little longer, love.”
Hunter said something else, but he was standing on the shore and you were sinking to the depths. Whatever it was rippled past your ear without going in. He held your face in both hands, calling to you, yelling at you to stay as blurry figures gathered around you. Omega grabbed your other hand and you took in the sight of her in between wearisome blinks. Wrecker’s heavy hand was on your shoulder, and Tech was replacing the soiled cloth on your wound with bandages and bacta, not that you felt any of it. And Crosshair hovered a step away, as though frightened that he might burn you or the other way around. But he at last kneeled to the ground, gripping your leg to hold you in your body.
Any fear that you still held dissipated into thin air. You weren’t dying alone. They would never let that happen.
That string you held onto stretched impossibly thin, threatening to break at any moment. When it did, you would reach the bottom of the sea, and you would know only peace. And your family would grieve you, and miss you, and cherish their memories of you. They too, would one day find their peace. And in whatever life followed this one, you’d be there waiting for them.
Their voices melded into one plea to stay with them. But the tether was a spider’s gossamer now, splintering and snapping at last.
With your last breath, you whispered, “Thank you for keeping your promise.”
Ahhhh! Bruh, you almost got me in tears! 💔💔💔 😭😭😭 I love the intense emotion written here. I could feel it. And it hurts.... It hurts my poor little heart. I love this ❤️💔
Small epiphany about the Marauder's interior. I was thinking about the whole galley thing from Sanctuary--note I am on team 'I don't actually care' in this regard but anyways--and looking at the concept art, and I realized something.
See these two posters? They might be on roll-up doors. That would explain why it's narrow here--there's storage and a food prep space, maybe a small stovetop, in there. I bet it could also hold a bathroom. I'd always wondered at why amidships was so cramped and this could be why.
An option for the fic writers. I'll edit the layout post at some point.
You should absolutely read Amber‘s sacred text, by the way. Such a delicious slow burn that will probably mislead you in the best possible way... if you’re anything like me. She writes cryptic so well👀
Hey, thanks for the shout-out, @freesia-writes !! 💜
I do have a lot of Clone mini fics and such as well as my Bad Batch Hunter x OC longfic, "Sun and Rain", which is still being written, but there's PLENTY to read already 😊😊
May I also recommend these wonderful Clone Wars/Bad Batch authors? 🥰
@moonstrider9904
@l-lend
@darthzero22
@jedi-hawkins
@jedipoodoo
@arctrooper69
@probadbatch
@clonethirstingisreal
@eyecandyeoz
@im-no-jedi
@dragonrider9905
@techs-stitches
@ilikemymendarkandfictional
@nahoney22
I'm sure there are others I'm missing that I just can't think of at the moment, but yes, check them out, too!! 💜
escharotomy (noun)
1. a surgical procedure used to treat full-thickness (third-degree) burns.
2. something Crosshair never wants to see performed on his brother ever again.
Or, Hunter is self-sacrificial when it comes to safety of his brothers, and Crosshair has had enough.
prompt: caught in an explosion
word count: 18,801
pairing: none (gen)
notes: I REALLY MISS THE BAD BATCH RAHHHHHHHH but also welcome sanctuary era. this fic is novel-adjacent 💖
If your kids or your beloveds accidentally get into a trouble, this quote is the best line to say to them. Let them know it’s OK to ask for help when accident happens.
Rating: M (no smut/spicy content but discussion of sex)
You head to 79s with your favorite unit. Kix walks you home.
part 1 part 2 part 3
Kix is going to lose his mind.
It’s been hours, and yet each and every time you get up, his eyes zero in on your legs. He can’t help it. Really.
It’s not like he hasn’t seen bare legs before. But it’s the first time he’s seen your bare legs. (To be fair you do have tights on under your dress, but they’re fishnets; they’re also driving him insane). Part of him wants to strangle Jesse for inviting you to 79s while they’re planetside on Coruscant.
But a larger part of him is thrilled his brother had pity on him because now he gets to see you out of your uniform, and he’s losing it. He thinks you need to wear this every day. Fuck the GAR and their drab uniform; you’re glowing like this. And your legs…
His gaze drops back down to said offenders as you make your way back from the bar.
You’re sipping on your drink, plunking a beer down in front of him.
“Looked like you were getting a little low.” Kix’s face heats up as he glances at the way your lips wrap around your straw. What is wrong with him?
As you slide in next to Fives, Echo snickers at Kix, who is stuck watching your mouth.
“Hey, nothing for me?” he hears Fives ask. You snort, taking another sip of your drink, and Kix manages to drag his eyes to the foam that’s settling at the top of his beer.
“Listen, Jesse was gonna get you something, but I’m afraid we’ve lost him to a Twi’lek for the night. But you don’t need anymore to drink, Fives. Back me up, doctor.” Your foot taps lightly against Kix’s calf.
He jerks back to attention, grimacing a little. He’s a solider, he shouldn’t be stunned into stupidity by you, and yet his eyes hover towards your lips anyway.
“Not technically a doctor.” You pout a little at his rebuttal, foot still gently knocking into his calf. He’s so fucked.
“No fun,” you whine. Kix’s jaw clenches. He knows he’s playing right into your hand, but he can’t stop himself.
“I am plenty fun.” He does his best to ignore the way Echo shakes his head, pitying him. But you're delighted, jumping to your feet.
“Oh yeah? Prove it.”
Kix is being pulled up and to the dance floor before he can process what’s happening. Gone is the safety of sitting at a booth, and instead, he’s surrounded by throngs of people. He can't even cower inside his bucket, as he left it sitting with his brothers' in a shiny set of four on the table.
But his anxieties are quickly forgotten about when you lightly drape your arms around his neck. Oh no, all he can focus on now is you.
The confidence you exuded earlier has vanished, but only a slight pinch in between your brows indicates what could possibly be going on in your head.
“Hi,” you say quietly, barely audible over the thumping music.
“Hi,” Kix answers back, doing his best to gently rest his hands on your waist.
“This ok?” you ask. He knows this answer is important. It’s his chance to opt-out, to deescalate this to something strictly platonic, something professional and GAR approved.
“Yeah,” he chokes out, mouth moving before he can make a rational decision. Fuck.
You just beam up at him. “Cool.”
And your hips begin to move to the music, but you stay pressed against him.
Kix inhales unsteadily, slowly trying to move in sync with you. It’s hard with everyone around (he swears he can feel Rex staring holes into the back of his head, and he bailed on their night out).
So he shuts his eyes, trying to move his body on beat, trying to just feel you and the music. It's some sort of synth-pop from a Coruscanti local that's been everywhere recently. But music aside, Kix feels like he’s on fire when you dance this close to him.
But eventually, you untangle yourself from him, movements becoming a little wider, a little bigger as you dance, lost in whatever you’re feeling; Kix orbits around you slowly, happy to be basking in your glow, happy you want him near.
He’s not sure how long the two of you dance. Surely longer than he normally would stay out with his vode, but he can’t bear to leave your side; the thought of someone else taking his spot makes his skin crawl. So he dances and dances until he aches a little, and he’s rewarded when you wrap your arms around his neck again and lean against him.
“Tired,” you bemoan, eyes shut as your head rests against him.
Kix ignores the way his heart races in his chest, and he shoves down the embarrassment that rises when he realizes you can probably tell. He just sways gently with you, enjoying the moment.
“I’ll take you home.” Again, the words come out before he can stop them, and he panics a little as you still. But then you lift your head from his chest, eyes wide and soft as you gaze at him.
“Really?” He nods, thumb mindlessly stroking your back. You drag him back to the table, where Echo and Jesse sit with a Twi’lek and Pantoran woman he doesn’t know. Fives is long gone by now, helmet missing from the lineup.
Despite the urge to put it on, Kix leaves his with Echo and Jesse, mentally begging one of them to take it back to the barracks. He doesn't want to look at you obscured by plastoid and glass.
“Bye, guys. Kix’s taking me home,” you say, voice coming out louder than you think. You’re holding onto Kix’s arm tightly, and he recognizes a bleary look in your eyes.
How much did you have to drink? You seemed fine earlier, just tired if anything. He mentally kicks himself for not keeping track. Some medic he is.
“Yeah, yeah. Making sure you get home in one piece,” he mumbles, face warm at how openly affectionate you’re right now. Jesse smirks at him, and Kix’s eyes drop to the ground.
He’s on autopilot as you direct him to an air taxi and around the subsequent blocks that are in between the air taxi drop-off and your apartment complex. When you stop at your building, he frowns. Sure, it’s on a mid-level but your safety is of the utmost priority, and this building’s security is not cutting it.
He’s eyeing about 10 different paths a faceless attacker could take before he realizes you're dragging him forward and through the doors of the building. That’s fine. He should make sure you should make it to your unit. That’s it. No other reason.
When you’re at your door, you drag your fingernails up and down his plastoid-covered arm, nevertheless sending shivers down his spine.
“Do you wanna come in?” you ask, your free hand already typing in the code to your room. He doesn’t have much of a choice as you tug him into your little apartment.
He can scope out the place. Make sure the premises is safe. And then that’s it. Back to his bunk.
While you kick off your heels and collapse onto the couch, Kix takes in your apartment. He’s struck by how you everything is. From the artwork on the wall to the colored kitchen appliances, everything feels like you. If he tries hard enough he can picture you haggling for your lamps, and petting different rugs until you picked the softest one.
It’s so full of life and color here. Not at all regulation.
At some point you flipped to your stomach, choosing to watch him silently, eyes all soft and demure. Kix is struck by how intimate this all feels, and anxiety bubbles up inside of him as he feels very out of place. A hard-cut monster bred for war in your soft little apartment.
“I should probably get going,” Kix says reluctantly, rubbing his head. “They’re going to assume the worst.” His tone darkens a little, and Jesse’s smirks and Fives’ laugh echo and resonate in his head.
“I don’t mind that.”
Your voice cuts through the noise in his head, silencing everything. He stares at you, and the way you’re looking at him. With half-lidded eyes and a partially open mouth, you look pleased and in a mood to say things without a filter. Kix doesn’t miss the way you push your chest out slightly towards him. He inhales sharply, throat feeling dry.
Something hot stirs to life in Kix’s gut, and he aches at those four words. You like the idea that his brothers think he’s fucking you. The thought of the implications burns bright and fast through him. His jaw tenses.
“Well I mean-” you continue, misunderstanding his silence.
“I do,” he cuts you off firmly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I do mind.”
The quiet sits heavy in the air for a second, and then you deflate, crestfallen at the way he shut you down. Your eyes glue themselves to the floor as you shift your body to try and subconsciously make yourself smaller on the couch. (Kix feels like a pervert noticing the way your dress shifts to reveal more skin). He sighs trying to think of how to explain this to you right now.
“I mean that in the sense that I care about your reputation, as well as my own,” Kix explains, wanting to undo whatever hurt he causes.
“I don’t want them thinking I’ll take advantage of you when you’re not sober.” You seem placated by that, nodding quietly. It’s a logical reason, one that spares your feelings, but it’s cold. Not at all what you had wanted him to say.
And if he understood you correctly, you had liked the idea of having sex with him, had been pleased with the idea of everyone thinking you were together. (His codpiece feels uncomfortably tight). The thought sits with him for a minute, stoking his ego as he basks in lust that travels through his body.
“And if I were to fuck you, it’s going to be when you’re in your right mind and can remember…everything.”
Something white hot and primal has hijacked Kix’s brain, a need to let you know you’re not crazy and the desire isn’t one-sided. He’s left staring at you blankly, heart racing as he lets himself slip into a vague daydream that involves making you squirm and pant on this little couch. Another time. If you'll let him.
“Oh,” you say dumbly, staring at him. Sober enough to put the pieces together, but drunk enough to not string together a proper response.
Fuck, maybe he shouldn’t have said anything.
“Oh,” he says back, watching as a slow and sappy smile spreads out on your face. Well, that’s a good sign. He slowly backs up towards the door, keeping his eyes on you.
“Goodnight, Kix,” you mumble, smiling at him and pushing yourself up to rest on the couch.
He feels a lick of heat rush through him at the site of your chest pressed against the arm of your couch, fishnet-covered legs kicked up behind you, eyelashes batting at him so prettily.
His eyes glide over the back of your upper thighs where the hem of your dress rests against your fishnet-covered skin. He wonders if you’d let him kiss your skin there, if you’d let him bite.
In a matter of seconds, you’ve managed to reverse the upper hand he had, keeping him wrapped around your finger. Good. As it should be.
“Goodnight,” he chokes out, exiting your apartment and leaning on the wall next to the door as it slides shut and locks.
He wishes he could hide in his bucket. He knows his face is flushed, and he can feel his cock twitching.
Oh, this is bad. He shakes his head a little as he pushes off the door, heading back to the lower floors. With you, he forgets himself; with you, he feels like a person. Very bad, indeed.
The noise of the Coruscant streets bombards his ears, making it harder to think, but he’s grateful for the somewhat fresh air. It’ll be nice to clear his head as he heads back to the barracks.
But it’s a fool's errand to believe he’ll be thinking about anything but your lips and that swath of skin on the back of your upper thighs.
Part (13) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!
If I ever say there'll only be one more chapter in an arc... just... ignore that. Very similar to a wedding photographer saying "just one more picture." Lies. It's all lies.
Warnings: Reference to child being injured, standard guilt and regret, mild injury description and medical procedure, panic, profanity, mild brotherly teasing
WC: 4,461
“Any dizziness or problems with your vision?” The routine words left with little thought toward either the question itself or the dismissive answer given, and the man before me clearly resonated that disinterest, bright green eyes never turning from the girl tucked firmly into his side. I hadn’t seen their reunion, but the depth of their love for each other, the relief in finally finding themselves together once more lay plainly in how inseparable they’d been since he’d boarded, flanked by Wrecker and Echo, as Tech darted past to get the Marauder airborne before anyone had even begun reaching for the crash seats.
“Your… um, your man – the clone – the… with the glasses…” He muttered, hand motioning vaguely toward the cockpit, “he already asked me all this.” I had to steal a short breath to bite back the rush of annoyance at his generalized labels.
“I imagine he did.” I responded in a pointedly professional tone. “Tech is extremely capable in several fields, including medical, but you know how it is, Senator: we all have our own paperwork.” He let out an absent hum, hand coming back up to slide gently down his daughter’s hair.
“To the best of your knowledge, did you lose consciousness at any point?” I continued, but he didn’t turn back to me.
“Was she hurt?” The sudden quiet of his question caught me off guard, attention lifting to find him nearly curled around the dozing child. “Areeya… was she hurt?” He pressed, fighting back the tears clawing up his throat. I didn’t answer for a moment, unsure if he was the type to lash out and blame anyone but himself for what happened; stomach churning over the danger such a man might pose… but I remembered the Senator from Alderaan… how kind he’d been…
“Yes.” I whispered, gaze studying him carefully for some sign of warning, but he didn’t lash out; didn’t turn toward me with rage in those eyes he’d clearly passed on to her. “A ship she was on crashed… but she was lucky – my squad secured her well enough to prevent all but some minor injuries – small burns on her legs, a few bruises.” His eyes instantly travelled over the tiny form in search of any signs of such trauma. “I’ve already treated it – she probably won’t even scar.” He was still for a moment, and then a tremor stole through him. It was so slight, I nearly missed it, but then another seized his shoulders. And another.
I lingered for only a moment as he began to break. There were questions I still needed to ask, tests I was required to run… but not now. The man before me was a politician. He’d likely sent countless to their deaths from the comfort of some mansion absent a moment’s thought toward what widows they left behind. Maybe he’d been responsible for withholding resources desperately needed by the army. Maybe he’d spoken out against increasing provisions, or refused to entertain thought toward measures of caring for the soldiers once the war was over. Maybe not. Maybe he was one of the good ones – someone who recognized clones for the very real, very human people they were and acknowledged the horrors “leaders" like him subjected them to…
Regardless, in that moment, his career didn’t matter. He was a father. And he was mourning his failures in protecting the child who still sought nothing more than the safety of his embrace. And that was a moment not meant for the eyes of a stranger.
I gently rested my hand on his shoulder, fingers briefly tightening for what glimmer of comfort that silent gesture might offer before standing and treading toward the fore of the ship, footsteps echoing quietly about the otherwise empty cabin.
In the cockpit, Wrecker lounged across the pair of chairs behind the copilot’s seat, surprisingly soft snores just catching on slow, deep breaths, clearly having fallen asleep mid-conversation with his brother. Tech glanced only briefly toward me as I sat beside him before letting his gaze return to the datapad balanced on his thighs, jaw taut with annoyance from, I could only imagine, his inability to hold the device with the hand still strapped to his chest.
I watched the light trails of hyperspace gleaming against the soft yellow shielding eyes narrowed above a tense frown, and I didn’t need to look at the small screen to know what he was reading.
“Hunter…” He started, but, in a rare moment of hesitation, let the following words remain unspoken.
“Yeah.” It was barely a whisper, legs pulling up to tuck against my chest as I watched him. He didn’t look at me, but his attention shifted away from the hastily written medical report I’d typed out while waiting for them to return, and I briefly wondered if he’d blame me for everything Echo had been so eager to dismiss. Part of me hoped he would, that someone else might justify the guilt still raging in my chest.
“There’s no record of brain damage from the most recent scan.” My arms tightened around my knees at the façade of hope forced into his words.
“Nothing serious, no.” I confirmed before continuing quietly, reluctantly, “Field scanners are pretty limited for fine detail, though.” He knew that, and I hated how effortlessly that simple fact robbed him of whatever denial he’d so briefly clung to. “I’ll know more after we rendezvous with the Vigilance. Unless he wakes up before then.” I added, and my teeth worried absently at my lip from the silence that followed.
“How’s your arm?” He didn’t respond for several seconds, his gaze finally shifting almost disdainfully toward the restrained limb.
“Unusable.” He replied with more than a touch of impatience before forcing out a small sigh and continuing, “but I believe your stitches are holding.” A tiny huff of laughter caught in my throat that made his lips bunch slightly.
“Mind if I take a look?” Some of that tension eased from his shoulders, attention shifting back to me as the screen to his datapad went dark.
“If you believe it would be beneficial.” He yielded, leaning back slightly against his seat.
“I believe the last thing we need right now is for one of you guys to get an infection.” I responded, pushing myself to my feet, and the look of offense that instantly pulled at his face drew a barely restrained chuckle from me.
“I would recognize the signs of infection long before it became dire.” I flashed him a smile at the chastising words, settling lightly onto my knees beside him.
“You focus on getting us back to the GAR.” I replied warmly. “I’ll make sure your arm doesn’t fall off.” He merely hummed dryly in response, and I couldn’t help but be struck by the stillness around us, by the violent juxta of that quiet against the chaos I’d found myself in the center of mere hours prior, and I savored it in the way I carefully freed him of the brace, movements just shy of reverent as I began stripping him of what armor he’d been able to slip on around the thick bandages.
“I didn’t think you’d still be able to rescue the Senator after we had to blow the walls early.” I murmured, words hushed.
“It… wasn’t easy.” He admitted, voice catching slightly at even the tiny strain of supporting the weight of his forearm, and I quickly guided him forward to rest the limb on his thigh. “Echo and I were forced to crash the speeder into his transport to prevent them from taking off.” I paused, taken aback by the lengths they’d had to go to.
“If you keep crashing things, the GAR’s not going to let you fly anymore.” I teased. His brow hitched as he glanced toward me from the corner of his eyes, but his expression softened slightly at the little smirk warming the mockery of accusation narrowing my gaze.
“I believe this maneuver would more appropriately be referred to as tactical misuse of an appropriated transport.” I didn’t try to hide the way my face contorted around a barely muffled laughter, and thrilled in the almost shy smile just managing to toy with his lips.
“Wouldn’t’a had to ‘tactically misuse’ anything if yuh’d just let me blow that last charge.” Wrecker mumbled, appearing to all the worlds as though he were still asleep save for his good eye peaking groggily at us.
“Had you detonated the final charge, there was a non-zero likelihood of the Senator being caught in the explosion.” Tech retorted, and it was clearly not the first time he’d had to voice that argument.
“Ahh, he’d’ve been fine.” Wreck dismissed with a lazy wave of his hand. “The clanker’s had ‘im way in the back. Maybe a couple ‘a bruises, but then we wouldn’t’ve had to run all the way up here!” I had to fight the wince at the thought of him running up the steep hill, knee only just beginning to heal.
“Your way likely would have resulted in our primary objective being injured or rendered unconscious, in which case we likely would have needed to carry him to the Marauder as that transport was a large enough target for even the B1’s to accurately hit.” I let out a small sigh as Wrecker drew a breath to respond, clearly more amused by the ease with which he could pester his brother than any desire to actually prove his point.
“Not if we blew them up, too!”
“The amount of explosives needed to terminate the entirety of the Separatist forces would most certainly have resulted in our own deaths, as well…”
It wasn’t a clean line. The metal that had torn into his arm was jagged and hot, and the scar would clearly proclaim just how frightful the wound had been. He didn’t look down as I checked the severity of the swelling, inspecting the countless stitches for signs of tearing, and I realized that Wrecker’s bickering was far more intentional than I’d initially assumed. He was offering a distraction. Even after all the time I’d spent with them, the effort I’d put into earning their trust and easing their fears, I knew what horrors haunted their youth, knew how ingrained their terror was of allowing anyone beyond their own brothers to care for them.
Maybe that knowledge should have hurt. Maybe I should have been insulted or annoyed, but I felt only gratitude. Despite that fear, Tech made no effort to pull away from my touch, and Wrecker’s laughter felt so effortless as he continued prodding his brother with senseless taunts and jests. I wondered if Tech knew, if he was intentionally allowing himself to be bated. Probably. The thought made me smile, though I knew there was a sorrow behind it I couldn’t quite hide.
“How’s the pain?” I asked softly as I finished securing a fresh bandage. His eyes flashed only briefly from me to the crisp linen before darting pointedly to the unlit screen of his datapad.
“Tolerable.” He answered, and I rolled my eyes with a short huff.
“Tech.” I pressed, and his shoulders dropped slightly.
“In so long as I do not attempt to use it, the pain is nominal.” He reassured me, voice lowering into something near a whisper. I don’t think I’d ever heard him talk like that before. There was an unspoken apology and gratitude and warmth, and something about it sent a wave of static dancing through my chest. I hadn’t expected it, couldn’t recover in time to even grant myself a shred of denial that he didn’t notice, eyes catching his for just a moment before quickly looking away.
“If that changes,” I murmured as though there was no threat of heat creeping up my neck, “let me know.” Stealing a quick breath, I forced aside that lingering thrill and fell back into rote phrases and warnings. “It’s not just about pain management. That wound was severe. If there’s any sign of infection, we need to catch it early.” His hesitation had nothing to do with his injury, but he belatedly nodded in response.
“Speaking of pain management,” I continued, voice rising as I turned to look at Wrecker, and I tried not to calculate how much he’d been able to see around the broad backrest of the pilot’s chair, “how bad did that hike mess with your knee?” Something between a grin and a wince flashed across his scarred face.
“Already got one ‘a them ice packs on it.” He offered with a note of remorse, and I didn’t hide the way my brows rose in surprised approval. “It’s helpin’ some, but…” His cheeks warmed slightly, jaw shifting with an almost abashed nervousness, “it’s still pretty stiff… Think you’ll have time to…” His hand swept toward it with a shrug, and my expression warmed.
“I want to scan it again – make sure nothing got damaged, but, yeah, I think another massage is a great idea.” He instantly relaxed at the reassuring murmur. “Are you okay to wait a few minutes, though? I want to run back to check on Cross and Hunter first.”
“‘Course!” He replied without hesitation, and my heart ached for how quickly he answered, how ready he was to put his brothers before himself… but nearly an hour had passed since I’d left the medbay, since I’d watched that damn, wonderful line dance across the monitor. It didn’t matter that several alarms would blare through the entire ship should that change… I needed to see it, to feel it once more before that anxiety might ease.
The Senator had shifted just enough about the crash couch to cradle his daughter, Areeya, against his chest, and both appeared to be asleep. Echo wasn’t in the cabin with them, nor was he in the kitchenette or fresher. I’d just resolved to search for him after checking on the others when I finally reached the medbay.
“Dammit, Crosshair!” I nearly shouted, body already surging forward before the door finished opening. He’d forced his legs beneath him, body trembling as he leaned heavily against the wall. Blood slid toward his wrist where he’d ripped the IV from his arm, and his shoulders jerked with each harsh breath. “What the hell are you doing? You shouldn’t be-” My words fell short as I reached him, hand darting to his chest to steady him, but he jerked away with a violent scowl, and I couldn’t help but freeze.
“I’m fine!” He growled through clenched teeth. “I’m not staying in this kriffing medbay!” I was so taken aback by not only that venom I’d nearly forgotten the taste of, but also by the strange frenzy in his hoarse voice.
“You didn’t give a damn about that last night.” I retorted, and I could hear the confusion simmering beneath my annoyance, the insult gnawing through my chest that I had to fight to suppress in order to slip back into some semblance of gentleness in the face of his outburst. “Cross, it’s alright. Just talk to-”
“Talking isn’t going to give me my damn eyes back!” He snarled, teeth bared, and his head jerked to the side at the distant sound of the air cyclers kicking on. I barely noticed that quiet hum anymore, but he flinched as though someone was screaming mere inches from his ear.
“Crosshair, your eyes are healing. They aren’t-”
“Just shut up!” He roared, and I instantly fell silent, something cold and wrong coiling about my chest at the sound of fractured gasps catching between ground teeth, at the sight of his chest bucking with each panicked flinch as he fought to regain some sliver of control over his shaking legs, the limbs stealing tiny, rushed steps as he felt for the edge of Hunter’s cot. “…damn it…” He growled, but whatever remorse twisted through him quickly vanished beneath the safety of his rage as he cursed again. “Damn it!”
Without another word, he pushed himself harshly forward, hand stretched out to maintain some bit of contact against the wall as he all but darted for the door, and I didn’t have time to move before his shoulder rammed into me with enough force to knock me back several steps with a quiet “oof”. I heard the sudden intake of breath, the way his lips parted around what he’d never admit to being a sob as a desperate apology strained to leap from his tongue, but, in the same instant, he was moving again, head tucked toward his chest as he threw himself from the room.
“Cross!” I called, my own sob shamelessly ripping the air from my lungs. It hurt not to go after him, not to sprint through the hall and lock him in an embrace until he stopped shaking, but I knew that would only make it worse. Trapped. How could he not feel trapped when he could see nothing but darkness around him? As worried as I was, as desperately as I longed to help him, I knew that he’d find more comfort in a few minutes alone, in stealing himself away of his own strength and volition than in what honeyed words or gentle touches I might offer… A few minutes… then I’d grant myself some excuse to seek him out…
My eyes dropped to Hunter, to that blessed monitor that I knew was cursed to haunt my dreams for years to come as I studied the display. Steady. Strong. Stronger than I had any right to hope for, and I felt myself wilt beneath a shaking sigh at the color just beginning to return to what meager patches of skin were free of the deep purples and sickly yellows of bruises that were finally beginning to fade.
I tried not to rush, fingers reaching out to feel his pulse before turning my attention to the tube still piercing his side. It wasn’t dripping anymore, but I couldn’t bring myself to remove it. Not yet. Another scan. A fresh IV bag. A stolen moment to rest my hand lightly atop his chest as I tried to ignore the palm-shaped outline over his sternum, an echo of that near-grief just threatening to overcome me before forcing myself to move; to clean up the liquid already beginning to soak into both cots from Crosshair’s crudely detached saline bag.
“Everything’s looking good.” I told him. It didn’t matter that he was unconscious. I wanted him to know. “You’re going to be in a world of pain when you wake up, but you’ll be okay.” Feeling those words on my tongue, hearing them and knowing there was no hint of deceit or deception amidst the syllables offered a far greater comfort than I’d expected, and I granted myself just a moment longer to grasp his hand tightly in mine, to savor the warmth of him before finally pushing myself to stand once more. “I’ll come back to check on you again soon – need to figure out a way to deal with that damn brother of yours, first…”
I didn’t have to look far. He didn’t like being down low. I didn’t know if it was an innate drive or something drilled into him through a lifetime of training, but he gravitated toward high places; trees, rocks, even something as simple as claiming the upper bunk.
“Cross?” I called gently as I entered the bunkroom. He didn’t move, body curled tightly atop his bed, that familiar, scratchy blanket wrapped awkwardly around him where the fabric had clearly folded but he’d been unable to straighten it. “You’re going to bleed all over your sheets… Can I at least put a bandaid on your arm?” My voice was barely louder than a whisper, words slowed, unrushed and void of the guilt churning through my stomach. Shouldn’t have left him… I should have made sure someone was with him so he wouldn’t wake up alone…
Several seconds passed in a tense silence, before, almost begrudgingly, he tried to offer me his arm, but that tangled fabric snagged around his wrist, instantly earning a strangled growl as he tried to wrench the limb free, and I could see how badly he was still shaking.
“Hold on – hold on. I’ve got it.” I murmured quickly, already hopping onto the now empty frame of Hunter’s bed to reach him, but he’d already managed to fling the coiled blanket away, and I had to bite back a sigh at the mess of crimson already smeared about the crook of his elbow. Balancing awkwardly atop the metal tubing underfoot, I gently slipped my fingers beneath his arm, pointedly ignoring the flinch he couldn’t quite fight back, and began dabbing at the stained skin.
“I know you probably want to be alone,” I started, voice hushed, lazy, as though I wasn’t pouring the entirety of my focus toward willing some measure of calm into him, as though I was somehow more concerned with the miniscule prick from the torn IV site than I was the crippling display of shear terror from the man I’d so readily found myself viewing as impervious to such things, invulnerable…
I’d seen the others break; seen Hunter ruined at the threat of losing one of us, Wrecker crushed beneath the fear of a child, Tech robbed of his brilliant mind and left floundering, and Echo… I remembered holding him through nightmares, remembered how readily he held me in turn, and I felt my heart stutter with a dread that only grew the longer he somehow managed to hide from me… but Crosshair…
I’d seen his rage. I’d felt the biting edge of his indifference. And I’d grown to love them with the same fervor that now filled me upon finding him watching me with far kinder emotions; amusement when my own stubbornness led to fights, grief when reality seemed bound to tear us apart, and something far sweeter when no one else was there to bear witness, when stolen moments allowed for a softness forbidden amidst the harshness of what stations happenstance had forced upon us. This, however… This was raw in a way I’d never wanted to see. This was cruel and wrong and wrought with a hopelessness no whispered reassurances could touch.
“But I still have some work to do with Wrecker’s knee, and I’d prefer to do that with him laying down.” I continued speaking with that same, unconcerned, almost mumbled cadence, casually securing a small bandage over the tiny hole before guiding his arm back over his chest, hand lingering for just a moment longer. “Is it okay if I bring him in here with you?” Again he paused, belatedly reaching out to wrench the blanket back over him. I knew that blanket had nothing to do with the cold, needing, instead, some cover to hide the way he trembled.
“… fine.” He muttered, mouth taut with a harsh frown.
“Okay.” I whispered, finally allowing a sliver of worry to just bleed through, and I stepped down before he had the chance to lash out at the sound of it, pointedly letting my footsteps tap loudly against the metal floors so he could hear me.
“Wreck.” I called upon returning to cockpit. The way his posture instantly changed, shoulders pulling back as he sat up straighter, attention quickly locking on me left me no uncertainty that he heard every ounce of unspoken pleas yet to leave my lips. “Mind if we do this in the bunkroom?” He was quiet for a moment. I tried to think of how to explain what I was really asking, how to warn him about the state Crosshair’s temporary blindness had rendered him into but he didn’t need me to voice it.
“Yeah.” He replied with that understanding and patience I’d forever love him for.
Tech shift just enough to meet my gaze, studying me for a moment before speaking.
“Crosshair…?” I offered a tense smile.
“He’s not handling it well.” I admitted, barely breathing the words. Tech’s eyes turned back to watch Wrecker carefully begin climbing up the ladder before returning to me, head bobbing in a small nod. Without another word, he turned back to the viewport, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the delay before actually taking in any of the data flashing across the control panel. Later, if he allowed, I resolved to bring Crosshair in here, to allow the brothers a moment of their own to recover from the maelstrom of emotions this cursed mission had brought.
“I said I was sorry!” Wrecker’s voice reverberated through the ship without even the faintest hint of that stillness he’d regarded me with barely a minute prior, and I quickly trailed after him, unsurprised to see the alarm in the Senator’s eyes as I passed through the cabin, reaching the bunkroom just in time to catch Crosshair’s seething retort.
“Sorry doesn’t get the kriffing dents out of my muzzle!”
“Well, we’ll jus’ get yuh another one at the Vigilance.” His response wavered between an apology and a dismissal.
“I don’t use regulation parts.” He scowled.
“I’m not letting a single one of you behind a gun again for at least a month, anyway.” I interrupted with an impatience of my own that carried the grief and guilt and regret we all suffered beneath in some way.
Wrecker lounged comfortably across his cot while Crosshair still lay curled tightly atop his, though he’d pushed himself up as though to glare at the man through the thick bandages about his eyes.
“Plenty ‘a time to get a replacement!” Wrecker beamed, and neither of us drew attention to the flash of gratitude I sent him. It felt like years had passed since that terrifying moment – since forcing myself back into the burning carcass of the wrecked transport to save Tech only to find Wrecker leaning hazardously on the Firepuncher with that tiny girl over his shoulder.
“I brought you in here to deal with that knee, not so you could start a fight.” The feigned reprimand only earned a knowing smile from the gentle man.
“Not my fault he’s so picky about that hunk of metal.”
“Hunk of-!"
“Enough.” My voice rose just enough to echo slightly, and I had to bite back a chuckle at Wrecker's little smirk as he began tugging at the waist of his blacks.
“If it makes you feel any better, him using your rifle like that was probably the only reason he was able to save Areeya.” I murmured up to the seething sniper.
“It doesn’t.” He responded curtly. I didn't try to silence that bout of laughter, and thrilled in the subtle way his shoulders relaxed at the sound.
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