okay another thing gnawing my brain. as far as i know we don't actually see Bucky's back when he's shirtless in canon so we don't actually know what the scars look like back there.
relatedly: in the flashbacks in CA:TWS he definitely appears to have a lot of his upper arm left immediately after being "rescued" but the prosthetic we see is grafted directly onto his shoulder.
So it makes me think that early attempts to attach The Arm were rejected by his body and they had to cut more and more of the remaining limb off as it turned necrotic. messed up. yay
Summary: You went through something traumatic and won’t speak to anyone. But Bucky has an idea how to comfort you without words.
Wordcount: 1.3k
Warnings: hurt/comfort. talking with hands (sign). trauma. mental health. crying. gentle Bucky. he has a crush on you.
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“She doesn’t speak a word,” Natasha said as she stepped out of your room.
A small group had formed in the hallway. Steve, Pepper, Bruce, and Tony had been waiting in front of your door.
A few steps away - in the living room, Bucky stood and looked down at the lively city. The sun was already setting and the lights were starting to light up.
He listened to the others’ conversation.
“Whatever happened to her must have been terrible. The poor thing,” Pepper sighed.
Steve nodded in agreement. “I never expected anyone could survive several days down there. The basement was not exactly well isolated. Someone should have heard her.”
The Avengers rescued you from a dilapidated building three days ago. You should have been on a trip with your friends. The team didn’t get the notice that you didn’t show up at the airport until two days later. Presumably your friends thought something had come up or you would have changed your mind about the trip.
Hot anger pulsed in Bucky’s veins at the thought of the things you had to go through. Infinitely many different horror versions rushed past his inner eye. Each one worse than the previous one.
“Maybe we should let Friday talk to her,” Tony said. “People may scare her and it’s easier for her to talk to a computer.”
Bucky snorted at his idea, attracting the attention of the others.
“Do you have anything to say, Barnes?” Tony sounded challenging, but Bucky knew he was secretly out of any ideas. A unique experience.
“A machine can’t help her.”
“And what do you think we should do then?” Natasha asked.
Bucky turned to his friends. A gloomy expression was on his face.
“Nothing at all.” With that he disappeared and left the others a little perplexed in the hallway. They were used to the fact that Bucky was always a bit of a loner and mysterious, but since they took you in he was even stranger than before.
Bucky knew what they thought of him. He saw the alert in their eyes. The worry he would fall back into the Winter Soldier mode at any time. He saw their pity.
And it made him sick.
No one knew what was really going on in him. None of the Avengers knew how deep his feelings were for you. Not even you knew, because he hadn’t dared to tell you before. You were the only person who didn’t look at him like he was fragile like a bomb.
No, when you look at him, Bucky didn’t see fear or pity in your eyes. It felt like you were seeing his real self.
He waited until everyone had fallen asleep to quietly knock on your door. Bucky knew you’d be awake. With quiet steps, he entered your room and closed the door behind him.
When he looked up, he was almost out of breath. You were sitting in the back corner of the room. Crouched together and with eyes wide open. The face told a story of fear and terror.
But still the most beautiful thing he ever laid eyes on.
Bucky tried to stay calm. You seemed so small and fragile that he was afraid to scare you away with a thoughtless movement.
Slowly he walked over to the bed and sat down on the floor next to it. With his back he leaned against the soft mattress. All without saying a word.
Your eyes followed each of his movements and as he sat down, he could hear you breathe a sigh of relief. Bucky realized that it was a reaction to the fact that he wouldn’t get any closer to you. He understood.
For a while, no one said anything. You didn’t even look at each other. The silence in the room was not necessarily unpleasant, but it weighed heavily. For Bucky, it was a sense of understanding, because he once felt the same way. Although he did not know what happened to you, but he knew this expression on your face all too well.
For a while, he had seen it in the mirror every day.
“It was dark there. Am I right?” Bucky finally asked softly and looked around the brightly lit room.
He saw how you cringe barely noticeably and he wanted to punch himself for scaring you.
You gave him a slight nod.
“Does it hurt to speak?” he asked. Bucky wondered if you might have been hurt in the throat, even if he couldn’t see anything like that.
You shake your head.
He nodded. “I understand. You don’t have to say anything if you can’t. I’m just here so you’re not alone. Whatever happened... I’m here for you.”
A shadow chased over your face and briefly Bucky feared he would have said too much but then you raise your hands and make the gesture for Thanks.
A gentle smile played around his lips and he also raised his hands. You’re welcome.
Bucky saw your surprised expression about the fact that he also knew sign language.
I learned to talk with my hands to communicate with my comrades on the battlefield. Some things you never forget.
You nod again. I had no idea.
Bucky shrugged. There’s a lot I haven’t been able to tell you yet.
He saw you become interested. Barely noticeable, your posture changed from closed to curious.
For example?
Bucky thought about it. He was pretty sure that you already knew about his past like everyone else on the team. And it wouldn’t be the best move to talk to you about his trauma when you obviously have something to process yourself.
I speak five languages fluently.
An impressed smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. It wasn’t enough to call it a real smile, but enough to show him that you’re at least not closing yourself off from him.
Did you learn them on your missions? Back then?
Bucky faltered. Surprised that you asked him about his past.
You saw his astonishment and responded with a quick - Sorry!
No! I don’t mind talking to you. He smiled reassuringly. And yes, I have learned some of the languages through my assignments over the years. It made it easier for them to pass the order on to me efficiently.
You hesitate. Can you remember everything?
Bucky swallowed hard. I can remember every detail.
Your hands began to tremble. Also to the pain?
Bucky’s entrails cramped painfully. Not because he remembered the pain, he was used to it.
Only with difficulty did he manage to move his hands calmly and in a controlled manner. Did someone hurt you? Are you in pain?
Tears went into your eyes and jerkily you bury your hands in the oversized hoodie. Bucky didn’t move and it demanded everything from him. Your reaction was answer enough for him. Every fiber in his body screamed at him to take you in his arms and never let go. But he remained there at the foot of the bed. Watch as you turn away from him and let the gaze wander out of the window.
The conversation was over. He had gone too far and you feel cornered. And Bucky accepted the fact that you’re shutting yourself in from him again.
But he still wouldn’t leave you alone.
He lowered his head backwards against the mattress and closed his eyes. If all he could give you was his silent company, then he would persevere here and wait.
After some time, Bucky heard a soft rustle of movement, but he didn’t open his eyes or move a muscle. Waiting, he sat there and listened to your movements.
Then he felt a gentle pressure in his lap and on his chest. You had curled up on him, like a puppy seeking protection. Your head rested directly above his fluttering heart and he felt your fingers clawed into the thick fabric of his hoodie.
“Yes. I was hurt.” Your voice was nothing more than a soft whisper. A scratchy sound that broke Bucky’s heart into a thousand pieces.
He wrapped his arms around your trembling body and gently pressed you against himself. Your sobs kept him awake for the rest of the night, but he was glad he was allowed to be the one who dried your tears.
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Thank you so much for reading! 💙 All interactions are highly appreciated (but please don’t copy my work)
CONTENT: Modern! AU Batchers picking you up for a date. Oh wait, you forgot to bring your mirror. How would you put your lipstick on? Their helmet should do.
RATING: SUGGESTIVE
THE PHOTOS USED ARE NOT MINE! ALL OF THEM WERE FOUND IN PINTEREST AND WERE USED FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY <3
VIEWER DISCRIMINATION IS ADVISED!
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HUNTER
Okay, first date. You got this, Hunter.
Releasing a small sigh, Hunter adjusted his mirror of his Indian Scout Bobber for the tenth time since he arrived in front of your place. Which was fifteen minutes ago. Actually, he was actually fifteen minutes early than your agreed meeting time. Just in case you'd be early too, and he doesn't want to mess this up.
Should I remove my helmet?
Through the dark visor, Hunter peered through his reflection and contemplated whether to keep it on or not. After a silent debate, he decided to keep it. Knowing for a fact you'll come out of that door completely out of this world, he didn't want to risk looking like a complete fool in front of you. Plus, the helmet would hide his reaction well. Be it his eyes widening, his blush deepening, or the way he'll give you a once over to appreciate your appearance.
He remembered the day he met you, just after Omega's dismissal in school. He remembered her taking him by his hand, tugging him towards somewhere. Much to his surprise, someone.
Omega introduced him to her newly made friend, your nephew. Then she directed his attention to you, and he swore all his senses failed to register everything and everyone around him. Just entirely focused on the way you greeted him warmly, the way your lips curled into that breathtaking smile, and how soft your hand felt when you shook his hand.
After that, he might’ve asked Omega more about you, and his sister didn’t waste the chance to tease him about his new crush. Everyday after school, he’d always see you there as well. It took him two weeks for him to make a move, and he will never forget the way your eyes brightened when you said yes.
“Oh, you're here!”
Hunter quickly straightened, his head snapping forward.
Maker.
All the preparation he had prior vanished the moment he saw you. All the practiced greetings and readied compliments died at the back of his throat when you walked closer.
Your first meeting was special, he wouldn't forget the moment when he saw you for the first time weeks ago. But right now, Hunter believed this could rival that moment. His gaze never left you, his body cannot physically move, and his breathing turned a little faster each step you took. His senses sharpened the moment you stood right in front of him, wearing that radiant smile and the perfume that drove him crazy.
Hunter cleared his throat, attempting to recollect himself after being disarmed.
“I don't even have the words right now,” He admitted, voice heavy and rough as he assessed you behind his dark visor. “You're just. . . You look so beautiful. More than beautiful. You always are.”
A rosy hue coated your cheeks, lashes fluttering at the unexpected praise. Your smile widened, eyes gleaming brighter, and he caught himself getting a bit more lost in them.
“Thank you, Hunter. That's really sweet of you.”
“Just the truth, sweetheart.”
“And smooth.”
“I'm a man of many things,” His helmet lowered, so did his voice. “But tonight, I'm a gentleman. You ready for a ride, sweetheart?”
You grinned up at him, catching onto his insinuation. “As long as if it's with you, I always am.”
Something else sharpened within him, something that was definitely not gentlemanly. He reminded himself this was the first date, and he's not supposed to make you uncomfortable by being too forward. Be a gentleman. He repeated those three words to himself, not noticing the way you suddenly grew quiet.
Your quiet gasp brought him back to the present, seeing the alarmed look on your face.
“Shoot, I forgot to put on my lipstick.” Then, you were rummaging for something in your purse. “Do you mind if I put it on for a sec?”
Nodding, Hunter lets you retrieve the tube and uncap the item.
You looked up at him, smiling softly.
“Hold still.”
He blinked, taken back by the command. Until he understood why, freezing in place as your mouth parted and you swept the lipstick across your bottom lip.
Oh, fuck.
That shade. That fucking shade should be illegal.
His eyes sharpened, trained on the way it glided smoothly across your lip. You were using his visor as your mirror, and you were none of the wiser of the growing darkness inside his helmet. He tried not to think about other things, tried not to imagine that color smudged against a glass rim, a straw, his lips, or his—
“Done,” You quipped, pressing your lips together and wiping a finger at the corner. “Thanks for that. Your helmet looks so clean, I couldn't help myself.”
Hunter nodded again, gulping down the growl that threatened to escape his throat. The urge to say, me either, before dragging you back inside your place and completely forgetting why he needed to be a gentleman in the first place.
Instead, he handed you his spare helmet. “Ready, sweetheart?”
You grabbed it from him, frowning slightly in realization. “Fuck, I shouldn't have put it on yet. Now it's gonna get smudged.”
Hunter drew in a sharp breath, mounting his bike and turning on the engine before his restraint could snap.
Don't worry, sweetheart. It's gonna get smudged either way by the end of the night.
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ECHO
It's a first date, Echo. Not marriage.
It might as well have felt like that. Standing in front of the aisle, donned in his most expensive suit, and trying to contain himself from breaking down. Except this time, it was just a date. The first date he has with you. Instead of a suit, he wore his usual black muscle shirt and dark pants. Simple, yet efficient. His stomach churned in nervous flutters, constantly shifting on his feet as he waited.
After a week of prepping, Echo was certain nothing would go wrong.
It'll be fine. Just be yourself.
Except that his heart thrummed louder than the soft hum of his engines. His Triumph Street provided comfort for him, like an anchor that steadied his nerves every low rumble it produced.
He absentmindedly adjusted his helmet, then paused at his indecision whether to remove it or keep it on while you're not here. He weighed the pros and cons. Pro being it could conceal his stunned reaction, which was a highly plausible scenario for tonight, and he felt more secure wearing it. The con was the possible disappointment you'd feel that you can't see his face.
Sighing, Echo crossed his arms and glanced down at the pavement.
He supposed he should thank Omega for making this happen, his little wing woman who pulled all the strings and acted as his cupid. You were one of her teachers, the one she’s been excitedly telling him about since the start of her classes. From her stories, it seemed like you were a class favorite. Omega kept telling him how kind, smart, and beautiful you were. She also told him how patient you could be when it came to troublemakers, and how much he’ll like you if he ever gets to meet you in person.
That day came during a parent conference meeting, and he was the only available one out of all his brothers. It could be fate, or it could just be a coincidence, but the moment he saw you for the first time, Echo knew he was gone.
Omega was right.
He liked you immediately after you greeted him, shaking his prosthetic hand without any problem or judgement. Throughout the meeting, Echo would be lying if he said he wasn’t distracted the whole time. Your kindness shone through the way you showed compassion for your students, and he remembered staying longer after the meeting to ask more questions the other parents already asked—just so he could hear your voice and spend more time with you.
“Echo!”
He sat up straight, trying not to look like he wasn't forgetting his own name even after being exclaimed.
You stepped out of your door, armed with that dazzling smile that blew all his plans away into the wind. And that's when he knew, this was going to be much harder than he thought. Especially when you looked so good. You always did, but tonight, you could rival entire constellations and he understood why people in the ancient times worshipped them.
“You look,” Echo gulped, trailing off in a weak voice. “Wow. Sorry, I'm supposed to be saying something nice. I have something prepared, but this is. . . You're breathtaking.”
It could be a trick by his visor, but he swore your cheeks colored from his words. The warm smile he broke out of your lips calmed him, he must be doing fine so far.
“Know how to charm a girl, huh?” You raised an eyebrow, amused and playful. “You say that to all the girls you pick up on your bike?”
Oh, you're going that way?
Echo smirked underneath his helmet, leaning back against his Triumph Street with an incline of his head.
“I do,” He really hoped it came out as smooth as he thought. “And you're the first. So, is it working?”
“It is. I'm sure the other girls after me will like it too.”
“Yeah, I hope so too.”
“When's your next one?”
“After our first date,” He replied casually, shrugging his shoulders. “If I'm lucky tonight, I'll get a second date with her. Maybe a third too. Who knows? Maybe she'll say yes after the fourth or fifth one.”
You rolled your eyes, laughing lightly. “Okay, Casanova. You better stop before I actually think there are others than me.”
Echo softened at that, gazing at you through the darkness. “There's no one else, ma’am. Only you.”
The blush deepened, and he fought the urge not to run a thumb across your cheek. For a moment, you silently gazed at each other. You peered through his visor as if you could see his eyes, and he took the chance to admire your beauty and traced every feature you have to memory—just in case it would be the last time he'll ever do so.
Then, he noticed your eyes squinting and your breath gasping in realization.
“Wait, I think I forgot my lipstick. Do you mind if I put it on before we go?”
Echo nodded, he'll wait for hours if you asked him to.
You retrieved the lipstick from your purse, smiling up at him as you uncapped it.
“Hold still.”
You didn’t need to tell him twice.
His whole body tensed the moment you leaned forward, briefly confused. When your lips parted lightly, Echo could feel his own doing the same, a stuttered gasp struggling into his lungs as you started to apply the cosmetic over your bottom lip. And fuck, he’s going to be dreaming of that shade. He’s going to be haunted by the images of smudged stains all over him.
Echo tried to force his eyes away, but his own gaze betrayed him. He prayed you wouldn’t hear how his breathing grew heavier beneath his helmet. You stood so close to him, so close he could feel the heat radiating from your body. His prosthetic hand flexed, gripping his bicep harder to stop himself from running a thumb across your lip.
Or slip it past your mouth and—
He found the strength to close his eyes, erasing the intrusive thoughts.
“There,” You rubbed your lips, wiping the excess color from the corners. “Thanks for that. Your helmet has a nice reflection.”
When you stepped back, the trapped air inside him finally escaped.
“Don’t mention it,” Echo forced out, handing you his spare helmet. “You ready to go?”
You smiled, and he tracked the color on your lips as you did. “Yup! Where to first?”
Echo mounted his bike, revving up his engines. “You’ll see.”
And it’s to cover up the fact he forgot all of the places he searched for a week in just the span of ten seconds.
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TECH
The estimated outcome of this night is still uncertain, though I have calculated the probability of our date to have highly favorable results.
Tech laid against his Zero SR/S Electric Sportbike, scrolling through his watch to check on the weather conditions, traffic routes, and his list of planned places he had reserved for this night. He has rehearsed at least fifty-three greeting variations, memorized each line he'd say once you step out that door. He even made an effort to search online shops he figured you'd like, all listed in his notes app just to have more options.
He smoothed his gloves, checked the angles of his mirrors. He tried to regulate his breathing as if he could trick his heart into beating less. . . enthusiastically.
I should not feel nervous. I am more than prepared.
Nonetheless, he checked his watch again for the ninth time. His mind raced, faster than his bike could ever perform, from all the accumulated thoughts.
He recalled the time Omega introduced you, the school librarian who always recommended her books she liked. He noticed the borrowed books she often came home with, surprised by her sudden interest, but not entirely unwelcome. When he inquired her where she got them, she only shrugged and told him about the nice librarian in her new school. That must be the reason why his sister always went home later than usual, she stayed in the school library until he had to fetch her himself.
Until one night, he was so busy with his work that he forgot to fetch her. The panic he felt instantly disappeared when an unfamiliar car pulled over his driveway, and out of the passenger door came Omega. He remembered exiting the house, asking her if she was alright and apologizing for not noticing the time, but she waved him off.
She told him she was fine, and that the librarian was kind enough to drive her home. Tech grew confused, about to ask again, when Omega pointed up and he saw you.
And oh, he didn’t expect someone so. . . captivating.
That night, Tech was forced to host dinner while trying to maintain an air of professionalism. Which quickly fell apart given how Omega kept giggling behind her hand, and how flustered he became every time you smiled at his formality. The routine continued, you’d drive Omega back from school and he’ll prepare dinner for the three of you. But it wasn’t enough, he needed to formally ask you on a date once he made clear of his attraction, and so he did.
The porch lights flickered on, and the door opened just in time for his brain to cease function.
His visor hid the way his eyes widened, but he felt the change stirring within him. A small shock of awareness, all his thoroughly shaped plans dissipating into oblivion the moment you stepped out and waved at him. The curl of your smile weaved around his ribcage, rendering him breathless, and wrung out every confident script he practiced.
Fifty-three lines, and not one was able to formulate into words.
“You made it right on time,” You approached closer, briefly assessing his bike with a low whistle. “And no wonder. She’s all electric, I take it?”
Tech found himself nodding, taken back by your input. “Yes, she is– I mean it is electrically powered. More efficient than fuel or gasoline. Exponentially silent too, the way I prefer it.”
You raised an eyebrow, a glint flickering through your eyes. “So you like them quiet, huh?”
“Yes,” He nodded, about to explain further when he heard you snicker. His cheeks warmed, fortunate to have his helmet on to conceal his flustered reaction. “Oh, you meant– No, that is not what I was–”
“Relax,” You hid another laugh behind a hand, winking at him. “If you impress me tonight, I might change your mind in the future.”
Oh.
Tech could very well short-circuit if he was able to, but he cleared this throat and shifted his gaze away. The night hasn’t started yet, but this was already a turn of events. He had meant to be thorough in his approach. He was certain there will be no outliers that can sabotage his plans. And yet, he had failed to consider one variable that would destroy his defenses with relative ease.
You.
He was about to respond to your last words, when he heard you gasp.
“Oh, before we go.” You retrieved a small cylindrical tube from your purse, gleaming against the streetlight. “Do you mind if I put it on? It’ll only take a sec.”
Glancing at his watch, Tech noted the remaining time and nodded. “Very well, then.”
Smiling at him, you uncapped the tube and leaned forward.
“Hold still.”
He blinked, confused. “What for–”
Oh.
You were using his visor as a mirror, and you were awfully so close to him he could see miniscule details on your features. He catalogued each one, memorizing each detail in rapt attention. But that wasn’t the moment that caught his attention, it was when you placed the lipstick on your bottom lip and swept the color across in a way that tightened his chest.
Suddenly, all logical processes in his brain failed to register.
Because right now, all Tech could think about was his curiosity.
Did your lips feel as soft as they appeared? Will your cosmetic smudge easily if he were ever to find out? Was it your favorite shade to use on a daily basis? But then, his thoughts shifted into a more dangerous territory. One where it involved privacy, the dark, and only minimal lighting so he could see that shade spread from your lips, to his, and back to your skin as he—
“All done,” You tilted your head, studying your reflection through his visor. “Didn’t take too long, did I?”
“Twelve seconds,” Tech snapped back to the present, but his thoughts still lingered to those darkened corners. “Not long. It was. . . adequate.”
You hid the tube away, raising an eyebrow at him. “Adequate for what?”
To calculate how much restraint I possess.
His cheeks burned, thankfully hidden from view by his helmet. “Nevermind that. Shall we?”
Taking his hand, you let him help you mount his bike and wear his spare helmet. “We shall.”
But it seemed like twelve seconds were not enough, because now he has to extend his observation as he felt your arms slide around his waist. And the real test was just about to begin.
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CROSSHAIR
I guess I’m early.
Crosshair swung a leg over his Ducati Diavel V4, propping up his stand and turning off his engine. It hissed one last time, before producing a shuddering hum. He slipped his helmet from his head, ruffling his short silver strands as he placed the helmet on his seat. He didn’t mind waiting, more time for him to think about the activities he planned for the both of you.
There weren’t many, he figured he’d ask you where you wanted to go, or maybe surprise you somewhere you wouldn’t expect.
His idea of a date consisted of following his instincts, letting things fall naturally. Movies were a classic, but too common. Eating out would be best if you haven’t had dinner yet. Or the element of surprise, see where the road takes the both of you and maybe spend the night underneath the stars. He brought a picnic blanket just in case, the idea of stargazing with you sounded perfect for someone like you..
Somewhere quiet, where the both of you could escape from the bustling city roads and smoke-filled streets. Maybe he could take you to that secret spot Omega suggested to him earlier, their little hideaway area up in the mountains. It was the perfect place to stargaze, talk about anything happening in your lives, while the stars could listen from above.
Who would’ve thought I’d be a romantic?
It was Omega who urged him to go on this date, after seeing you in the park when the two of them hang around to eat ice cream after her school. And the moment his sister noticed him staring after you, she excitedly nudged his arm and asked him to go and talk to you. It really took a while for him to stand, he had to win a debate against her but ultimately lost. So, he tried to look unaffected even when his heart pounded wildly beneath his chest as he approached you.
He never expected for you to say yes, let alone be interested in someone like him. A stranger, no less. He remembered your words from that day, as warm and light as the golden hour sun.
“I always see you and your sister here at this time. You take care of her well. Oh, and tell her I said yes.”
Crosshair remembered walking back to Omega, dazed and a little in disbelief, while his sister squealed as she repeatedly shook his arm.
He donned his helmet again, darkness surrounding his vision.
Now, here he was.
“Hey, hot shot.”
And there you were.
Act natural.
He crossed his arms, looking up to see you exit your house. Good thing he wore his helmet just in time, because you didn’t have to see the shock invading his features. Like the first time he saw you, the afternoon sun bathed your figure in an illuminating glow, so bright he was almost convinced you were the sun itself. That’s when he asked himself how he got so lucky?
You stopped right in front of him, not even hiding the way your gaze fell over him.
“You look good in leather,” He blinked in surprise, rarely receiving compliments from anyone other than Omega. “It really suits your vibe. You have this whole bad boy next door energy going.”
“Thanks,” He settled on the nonchalant act, sweeping his own gaze down your body. “You clean up nicely yourself.”
Rolling your eyes, you gave him a small grin. “Just nice? Do I have to melt that ice cold heart of yours first before I earn the rest?”
Crosshair grinned, tilting his head down at you. “You think you can?”
He saw the mischief flashing in your eyes. “I know how I can. You mind me putting on some lipstick first before we go?”
His helmet dipped, voice dipping lower into a drawl. “Go ahead, doll.”
The grin you wore never left, and it looked like trouble. His assumption proved correct when he watched you pull out the lipstick, twisting the cosmetic before your lashes fluttered up.
“Hold still.”
He crossed his arms, waiting for your next move.
You might’ve as well shot him through his heart, because the second your lips parted and you dragged the color across, it stopped beating. His lungs froze as well, unable to breathe properly in every deliberate swipe of that lipstick. Oh, you were dangerous. You knew what you were doing to him. He just wasn’t prepared for you to act so boldly, but he held no complaints.
His gaze remained on the motion, darkening at the sight.
He never knew trouble could have a color, but if it had one, it’d be the shade you wore.
If he removed his helmet right and kissed you, would you taste like trouble as well? Will he taste it on his tongue if he pushed himself deeper? If he asked you to leave more on his skin, would it be the same color as the one on your lips?
“How does it look?” You glanced up, searching for his eyes. “Does it look nicer now?”
Crosshair chuckled, low and dark. “I think it would look nicer on other things.”
The mischief flashed again, brighter. More dangerous. “You’ll have to buy me dinner first, hot shot.”
He tipped his head towards his bike, patting the seat behind him. “Then, I hope you’re hungry.”
The stars can wait. Right now, he’s starving.
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WRECKER
You got this! Just have fun and make her happy.
Wrecker rolled his shoulders around, feeling his blood roar louder than the engines of his Harley Davidson. His hands never left the handlebars, afraid he might topple over if he wasn’t holding onto something. He considered hopping off, doing some light stretches before you appear, but decided against it in case you actually do come out and see him do push-ups on the pavement like an idiot.
He can’t help it. He’s nervous!
Any guy would be on their first date, but it never felt like this before. Wrecker has had those in the past, and he always kept himself collected. So, he didn’t know why he’s so jittery now when it came to you. Maybe because of his massive crush on you, how many weeks he tried and failed to ask you out. The only reason why he gathered up the courage to do so was because of Omega’s help.
The kid didn’t mention her tutor would be someone so pretty! And sweet, funny, and gorgeous. Did he mention you were also beautiful? Like so unbelievably beautiful, he almost didn’t believe you were real.
Before meeting you, Omega already mentioned your name a few times. Though, he always thought you were just another student who volunteered to help her in math. But when you visited their house, Wrecker’s jaw dropped to the floor once he found out you were older. Omega finally introduced you to him, the infamous tutor he believed to be imaginary at first, but you were very much real.
He found out you were the school’s tutor, offering additional help to students who struggled in particular subjects. And knowing Omega’s dislike for math, you signed her up to the roster without any additional charges.
Also, you weren't supposed to do in-house tutorings, but since Omega cannot stop asking you to come over, you figured once wouldn’t hurt.
Once became twice, and twice became often. Until you were in their house every weekend to teach her, but Omega had been planning on getting you closer to him behind the scenes.
And it worked!
Wrecker made sure you always felt welcome whenever you were over, constantly looking forward to your weekly visits like a puppy waiting for their owner to return home. Omega gave him a chance to finally ask you, making the excuse to buy something from the store—leaving the both of you alone in the house.
With nothing to lose, Wrecker blurted out the question in the clumsiest way he could. Lots of stammering, nervous giggling, and coughing every time his voice cracked or raised a pitch higher. His nerves only calmed when he heard the sound of your laughter, and he swore he heard wedding bells at the same time.
When you said yes, Wrecker fought the urge to pick you up and swing you around in his arms.
He could still do that. Oh, he really wanted to do that.
“Hey, Wrecker!”
Wrecker jolted in shock, almost throttling his Harley forward. “Woah, hey! Sorry, lost in thought. Hey, you. . .”
His sentence never got to finish, drifting off into stunned silence when he saw you walk towards him looking all pretty and dolled up. Thank the Maker for his helmet, you would’ve seen red cheeks and heart eyes behind his visor.
You stopped just a foot away from him, beaming at his loss for words. “You were saying?”
He sat straighter, clearing his throat. “You look– Woah, just yeah. You look pretty today. I mean not just today, you look pretty all the time. Every time. But you look prettier today.”
And I’m gonna drive myself off a cliff.
It looked like he said that aloud as well, because you blinked incredulously before you laughed behind your hand.
Oddly enough, it calmed the fireworks in his stomach. “Sorry, just nervous. You always do that to me, and yeah. . . I sound like an idiot right now.’
“You don’t,” Your laughter died down into stifled giggles. “You’re doing great, Wrecker. I’m happy you asked me out.”
“You are?” He perked up. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging violently now. “Oh, just you wait! I’m about to show you all the cool places I know.”
Grinning up at him, you nodded. “Can’t wait! Oh, before we leave. Can I put on some lipstick first?”
“Sure thing, pretty!”
“Thanks! It’ll take just a sec.”
Wrecker waited quietly in his seat, perfectly content in sitting back to watch you.
“Got it,” You opened the tube, leaning closer to him. “Hold still.”
He tilted his head, but obeyed nonetheless. “Huh? Why? Oh.”
Yup, I'm gonna drive off into a cliff.
The fireworks in his stomach returned, shooting up to his lungs and exploding his heart in its wake.
He tensed impossibly still, letting you use the curve of his visor as a mirror. He knew he made the right decision to polish it today, but he’s also panicking what if he polished it too much and you could see the terrified awe in his face through the dark glass. But you looked so focused on your own reflection, and he became so lost in the motion of your lip being pressed and tugged by the lipstick.
Wrecker gulped, trying to save his throat from drying.
Oh, no.
He can’t be thinking of those. He shouldn’t be thinking of those. Not right now. Not like this. You were just applying the finishing touches to your makeup, no problem with that. He definitely shouldn’t be thinking how adorable you looked with your mouth parted like that. He shouldn’t be imagining scenarios where something else was brushing against your lips.
His lips. His thumb. His—
Get it together!
The urge to shake his head to erase the thoughts came up, but he forced himself still until you were done.
“There!” You smiled in satisfaction, and he released a shuddering breath that fogged the insides of his helmet. “Thanks, Wrecker. I might need to do that again later. You okay?”
He nodded frantically, finally broken out of his spell. “Pretty girl– Good! Pretty good. All good! Ready to go?”
Chuckling at his antics, you climbed up behind him as you slipped his spare helmet.
“Careful not to crash, big guy.”
When your arms slid over his waist, chest pressed close to his back, he almost lost balance immediately.
────────────── ★ ───────────────
Had to take a deep dive to find which motorcycle suited them best, also made these longer as a treat. Enjoy ;))
Reader joins the 141 and not even four months in you get the worst callsign yet: hannibal.
Not for some cool reason about taking out enemies or for your ruthlessness. No. Its because ghost took his shirt off once and revealed a torso absolutely covered in bite marks. Literal craters in his skin and chunks torn out type of bites.
And your fucking idiot boyfriend, when asked about them, told everyone blatantly that you like to bite him when jerking him off.
any printer born after 2007 can't print... all they know is bluetooth , hide they usb port, tray feed error, be out of magenta , eat paper & tell HP my social security number
woke: Commander Cody hates Anakin and is mean to him
(in a "tiptoeing-the-line-of-what-i-can-get-away-with / Anakin-can't-figure-out-if-i'm-joking-or-not" way)
Happy Weekend! I was wondering if you could do an angst fic w/ TBB x Fem!Reader where they’re on a mission and the ground crumbles beneath her and she falls and they think she could be dead? Thanks! Xx
Happy Thursday! Sorry for the delay, I hope this is somewhat what you had in mind😊
You moved with your blaster raised and your jaw set, following closely behind Wrecker as the team pushed forward. The rocky terrain was riddled with ravines, fault lines, and fractured earth—left scarred by years of shelling and seismic bombardments. The mission was supposed to be simple: infiltrate a Separatist holdout and extract data.
It was never simple.
“Movement on the northwest cliff,” you called into your comm. “Looks like clankers repositioning.”
“Copy that,” Echo’s voice crackled. “Tech, I’m sending coordinates to your pad.”
Hunter glanced back at you, just a flick of his head, a silent confirmation. You nodded. I’m good.
You were always good. Until the ground gave out beneath you.
It was subtle at first—just a soft shift under your boots, like loose gravel. But then came the snap. A hollow, wrenching crack that echoed through the canyon like thunder. The rock splintered beneath your feet. You didn’t have time to scream.
Just time to look up—into Hunter’s eyes.
“[Y/N]—!”
You dropped.
The last thing you saw was his outstretched hand, just a second too late.
Then the world became air and stone and darkness.
⸻
Above, everything exploded into chaos.
Hunter hit the ridge on his knees, arms dragging at loose rock, clawing like an animal trying to dig you back out. “No, no, no—”
Echo slid in beside him, scanning with one cybernetic arm extended. “I can’t see her. It’s—kriff—it’s a vertical drop. She went straight down.”
“I should’ve grabbed her!” Wrecker was pacing in wild circles, fists clenched, eyes wet. “I was right in front of her—I should’ve—she was right there!”
“She didn’t even scream,” Echo murmured. “She just… vanished.”
“I’m scanning for vitals,” Tech said, already tapping furiously at his datapad, but his voice was thin. “There’s no signal. No movement. Her comm—either it was destroyed in the fall or… or she’s—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Hunter snapped, voice like a knife.
The wind howled through the crevice she’d fallen into, dragging dust and silence with it.
Crosshair stood several meters back, motionless, his DC-17M dangling loosely in his grip.
“Say it,” Echo growled, glaring at him. “You’ve been quiet this whole time. Just say whatever snide thing you’re thinking so we can all lose it together.”
Crosshair’s eyes flicked up, storm-gray and unreadable.
“She’s dead.”
“Shut your mouth!” Wrecker roared, storming toward him, but Echo shoved himself in between.
“She could be alive,” Echo said fiercely, though his voice cracked. “It’s possible. People survive worse.”
Crosshair didn’t move. “Not from that height.”
“I said shut it!” Wrecker shoved him back, but it was all broken fury—guilt bleeding through his rage. “She was smiling, dammit. Right before. She looked at me and said, ‘We’ll all get out of this,’ and I didn’t even answer her back—!”
“Stop.” Hunter’s voice cut clean through the storm.
He stood now, rigid and furious, his back to the team, staring into the void where you’d fallen.
“She’s alive,” he said.
Tech looked up from his pad slowly. “Statistically—”
“I don’t give a damn about statistics.” His voice was hoarse. “I felt her. She was right here. She’s part of us. She wouldn’t just be… gone.”
His hand trembled slightly. Not from fear. From the weight of it.
He was the one who told you to cover the flank. He was the one who said the ridge was stable enough.
She trusted you, Crosshair had said.
No. She trusted him.
And he’d failed her.
Hunter turned and began strapping a rope to his belt.
“Sergeant?” Tech asked cautiously.
“We’re going down there. All of us. We don’t stop until we find her. I don’t care if we have to tear the planet apart.”
Echo moved first. “I’m with you.”
Wrecker stepped up beside them, his breath hitching. “Me too. Always.”
Even Crosshair nodded, silent again.
As Hunter stood at the edge, ready to descend into the place where you vanished, a single thought thundered in his mind:
She can’t be gone.
Not you.
Not when your laugh was still echoing in his ears. Not when you told him last night, during watch, that you’d be careful. Not when he never got to tell you that he needed you more than he ever let on.
He’d find you.
Or die trying.
⸻
The descent into the ravine was slow, agonizing, and silent.
The team moved as one—Hunter leading with a lantern clipped to his belt, casting narrow beams over jagged rock and twisted earth. Echo and Tech followed with scanners, mapping every crevice. Wrecker moved boulders with his bare hands, gritting his teeth with each one. Crosshair, ever the rear guard, watched from behind, but his silence was sharp, eyes flicking everywhere.
Hunter’s voice echoed through the narrow stone corridor. “Check every ledge. Every outcropping.”
“She could’ve hit a rock shelf and rolled,” Echo said, carefully scanning below. “Or worse…”
“Don’t,” Wrecker said. “Don’t even say it. She’s alive. She has to be.”
They moved deeper into the ravine—until the beam of Hunter’s light caught something.
“Wait,” Tech whispered, grabbing Echo’s arm.
There—thirty feet below them, half-buried under collapsed shale and bloodied stone—was a figure.
Your figure.
You were sprawled on your side, your body twisted unnaturally, one leg crushed beneath a slab of rock. Blood soaked through your jacket. Your head had struck something hard—too hard—and you weren’t moving.
Hunter nearly dropped the lantern.
“[Y/N]—!”
He was down the rest of the way before anyone could stop him, crashing to his knees beside you.
“Don’t move her!” Echo shouted, sliding in behind. “Not yet. Let me check—”
But Hunter’s hands were already trembling as they hovered over you, too afraid to touch. Too afraid that this—this fragile, broken thing—was all that was left.
“She’s breathing,” Echo said. “Shallow. Pulse is—kriff—irregular. She’s lost a lot of blood.”
Wrecker dropped beside them, tears already streaking the dust on his cheeks.
“Is she—? She’s gonna make it, right? Echo?”
“She’s unconscious,” Echo said quietly. “And we need to get her out now.”
“Spinal trauma is possible,” Tech added, eyes locked on his scanner. “Multiple fractures. Her femur is broken—bleeding into the tissue. Concussion. Rib damage. Internal bleeding likely.”
Crosshair didn’t come any closer. He stood just at the edge of the light, staring down at you with an unreadable expression.
“You said she was dead,” Wrecker growled, voice shaking.
Crosshair didn’t respond.
Because he knew now—death would’ve been kinder than this.
The med evac was chaotic.
Hunter carried you the entire climb back—refused to let anyone else even try. He held you close to his chest like something fragile, as if you’d fall again if he let go. Your blood had soaked through his armor by the time they reached the surface.
Back on the Marauder, the team worked together in silent urgency. Wrecker helped secure you to the gurney. Echo and Tech patched what they could. Crosshair kept watch, pacing like a trapped animal.
And Hunter… he sat beside you.
His hands were covered in your blood.
“I should’ve caught you,” he whispered.
No one argued. No one corrected him.
Because part of them believed it too.
You twitched in your sleep once—just a small movement, a flicker of pain across your brow—and Hunter nearly leapt out of his seat.
“She moved!” he barked.
“She’s still unconscious,” Tech reminded. “That doesn’t guarantee cognition. The swelling in her brain—”
“I don’t care what the scans say,” Hunter growled. “She’s fighting.”
He reached down and brushed a blood-matted strand of hair from your face.
“You hear me?” he whispered, voice cracking. “You hold on. You fight like you always do. You’re not going to leave us like this.”
Wrecker sat on the floor beside the cot, staring at your hand dangling off the edge.
“You’re not allowed to die, okay?” he said, softly, almost childlike. “You still owe me a rematch.”
Echo leaned against the wall, arms crossed, jaw clenched tight. “She shouldn’t have been the one to fall. It should’ve been—”
“Don’t,” Tech said, just as quiet. “We all blame ourselves. That’s not useful now.”
Only Crosshair said nothing.
But later—when the others had finally dozed off in shifts, and the med droid was running scans—he sat beside you alone.
“Idiots, all of them,” he muttered. “They think they lost you. I know better.”
He rested his hand beside yours.
“You’re not dead. You’re just too damn stubborn.”
There was a pause.
“…So come back. Or I’ll never forgive you.”
You didn’t wake up that night. Or the next.
But your vitals held.
You were still fighting.
And the squad—your family—never left your side.
⸻
It started with a sound.
A weak, choked wheeze from the medbay.
Wrecker heard it first—he’d been sitting on the floor beside your cot for the past hour, humming under his breath and telling you stories like he had every day since they pulled you from the ravine.
But when he heard your breathing stutter—heard that awful, wet gasp—he was on his feet in an instant.
“Tech!”
Footsteps thundered in from the cockpit.
Tech was there in seconds, datapad in one hand, expression already shifting from calculation to panic.
“Vitals are dropping. Pulse erratic. Respiratory distress—dammit—her lung may have collapsed.”
The med droid whirred a warning in binary, and Tech shoved it aside, already working to stabilize you. Wrecker stood frozen, fists clenched at his sides, helpless as machines blared and blood began soaking through your bandages again.
“She was getting better,” Wrecker whispered. “She was breathing normal yesterday. You said she was stabilizing!”
“I said her vitals were holding,” Tech snapped, voice tight and uncharacteristically sharp. “I also said we didn’t know the full extent of internal damage yet. The concussion is worsening. There’s pressure building against her brainstem. Her body is going into systemic shock.”
Tech’s hands moved fast, too fast—grabbing gauze, recalibrating IV drips, re-administering stimulants. But beneath the precision was fear. A gnawing, brittle kind of fear that made his fingers shake.
Your body jerked suddenly—just a twitch, but it sent a ripple of panic through them both.
Tech cursed under his breath. “She needs proper medical facilities. A bacta tank. A neuro-regeneration suite. This ship is not equipped to handle this kind of trauma long-term.”
“So what, we just wait and watch her die?” Wrecker whispered.
“No!” Tech snapped, louder this time. “We don’t let her die.”
He slammed his fist down on the console—just once—but the sound echoed like a gunshot through the Marauder. Wrecker flinched. Tech never lost control. Never raised his voice. Never made a sound unless it meant something.
And now, he looked like he was about to break.
“I’ve calculated a thousand outcomes,” Tech murmured, softer now. “And every variable keeps changing. Her body is unpredictable. She’s unstable. But she’s also resilient. She’s survived things that should’ve killed her ten times over.”
He looked up then, eyes glassy behind his goggles.
“But if we don’t find a way to get her real care—soon—we will lose her.”
Wrecker turned away, one massive hand covering his face. He’d never felt so useless. Not when they’d crashed on Ordo. Not when they’d been stranded on Ryloth. Never like this.
“I don’t know what to do,” he said. “I’m strong. I can carry her. Fight for her. But I can’t fix her, Tech. I can’t even hold her without hurting her worse.”
Tech approached quietly, placing a hand on Wrecker’s shoulder—a rare gesture.
“You are helping,” he said. “You’re keeping her tethered. She needs that. She needs us.”
The med console beeped—soft, steady. A pause.
Then a spike.
Her heart rate surged. Your head tilted slightly to the side. Blood trickled from your nose. Another alarm.
“No, no, no—stay with us,” Tech muttered, already grabbing the stabilizer. “Don’t go. Not yet.”
Wrecker dropped to his knees beside you, voice trembling.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You don’t get to leave like this. You didn’t even finish your story about the time you pantsed Crosshair in front of the general. Remember that?”
He sniffed, brushing a strand of hair from your sweat-slicked face. “You said you’d tell me how you pulled it off without getting court-martialed. Said you’d sing me that dumb lullaby you like. Said you’d stay.”
Your fingers twitched.
A tiny movement. Almost nothing.
But Wrecker gasped.
“She moved!”
Tech’s head snapped up. “What?”
“She moved! Her hand—right here—she twitched.”
Tech scanned you again. “Neurological activity spiked. Minimal, but—”
You let out a weak, pained breath.
Another wheeze. Then a garbled sound—almost like a word, trapped somewhere deep in your throat.
“…H-Hun…ter…”
Both men froze.
Tears filled Wrecker’s eyes.
“She said his name…”
“She’s still in there,” Tech whispered, blinking quickly. “Cognitive reflexes are initiating. That’s… that’s something.”
He turned to Wrecker, and for once, there was nothing cold or clinical in his tone.
“There’s still time.”
They kept watch through the night. Neither slept.
Wrecker read to you from the old datapad you always teased him for hoarding.
Tech adjusted your vitals every hour, even when nothing had changed, just to keep his hands busy.
And in the silence between beeping monitors and heavy breaths, they both spoke to you—about nothing, about everything.
Wrecker told you about the time he and you almost got arrested on Corellia for stealing bad caf. How your laugh had made him feel human again.
Tech told you the probability of your survival was now sitting at 18.6%, up from 9%. And that statistically, if anyone could beat the odds, it was you.
Wrecker chuckled through his tears. “Told you, didn’t I? Too stubborn to die.”
Tech looked down at your still hand, then whispered—just once—“Please… don’t.”
⸻
The Marauder was silent.
Tech had finally collapsed from exhaustion in the co-pilot seat, goggles askew, still clutching the datapad with your vitals. Wrecker was curled on the floor next to your bed, snoring lightly with one hand near yours. Crosshair sat with his back to the far wall, arms crossed, eyes closed—but not asleep.
And Echo stayed awake.
He always did.
He was seated at your bedside, one cybernetic hand gently resting on the edge of the cot. The hum of the ship’s systems filled the space between the heart monitor’s steady rhythm. Your breathing—still shallow, but no longer ragged—was the only music Echo needed.
He hadn’t moved for hours.
You’d gotten worse. Then better. Then worse again. And through all of it, he’d held on. Let the others break. Let them rage. He had to be the one who didn’t fall apart.
But now, as he sat alone in the flickering light, his thumb brushed your bandaged hand—and he whispered, “You can’t keep scaring us like this.”
Your lips moved.
Barely.
He straightened. “Hey…?”
Your fingers twitched under his hand.
Your head shifted slightly on the pillow, a soft whimper escaping your throat. Your eyelashes fluttered—slow, disoriented, like your mind hadn’t caught up to your body.
“Hey.” Echo leaned closer, voice trembling now. “Come on… come on, mesh’la. You’re safe.”
Your eyes opened.
Just a sliver at first. Squinting into the low light.
“…Echo…?”
It was a rasp, a whisper, but it was real.
Echo’s mouth fell open.
And for the first time since the fall—since the screaming, the blood, the race against time—his composure cracked.
You blinked slowly, pain visible behind your glazed eyes. “W-Where…?”
“Still on the Marauder. We haven’t moved. We couldn’t.” His voice was low and hoarse. “You weren’t stable enough.”
Your brow furrowed faintly. “Hurts.”
“I know.” He gently adjusted your oxygen mask, smoothing your hair back. “You took a hell of a fall.”
You tried to shift, but your body betrayed you—wracked with weakness, ribs aching, limbs sluggish.
Echo placed a firm hand on your shoulder. “Don’t move yet. Please. Just stay still.”
You obeyed—too tired to fight it.
“I thought…” You coughed, eyes fluttering. “Thought I heard Wrecker crying.”
Echo actually smiled, though his eyes were wet. “Yeah. That happened.”
You let out the faintest exhale—almost a laugh. “He’s a big softie.”
“Only for you,” Echo whispered, squeezing your hand carefully. “You scared him half to death.”
There was a long pause.
You looked up at him, brow knitting again.
“…You thought I was gone, didn’t you?”
Echo’s throat tightened. “We all did.”
“But you stayed.”
“Of course I stayed.”
Your gaze lingered on him. He looked exhausted. Hollowed out. His prosthetic arm twitched like he’d been clenching it too long.
“You haven’t slept.”
He laughed quietly—bitter and warm all at once. “Didn’t want to miss this.”
Another silence.
And then, so faint it barely reached him, you whispered—
“…I’m sorry.”
Echo stared at you, stunned.
“For what?” he breathed.
“For falling. For worrying you. For being weak.”
His expression broke. “No.”
He leaned in, voice rough. “Don’t ever say that. You didn’t fall because you were weak. You fell because the ground gave out. Because war is cruel. Because life isn’t fair.”
He blinked back tears. “But you lived. And that means more than anything.”
Your vision blurred—not from injury this time, but from the emotion in his voice.
He looked at you like you were the most important thing in the galaxy.
“I thought I lost you,” he said. “And I wasn’t ready.”
You let your eyes close again, overwhelmed by exhaustion—but you smiled softly through cracked lips.
“I’m here.”
He pressed his forehead gently to your hand, exhaling a shaky breath.
“You’re here.”
When the others returned—when Hunter stumbled in and dropped to his knees, when Wrecker cried again, when Crosshair stood frozen for a full minute, just staring—you were already asleep.
But Echo met Hunter’s gaze.
And nodded.
“She woke up.”
And for the first time in days, the silence didn’t feel so heavy.
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.
Do you think Sabine ever off-handedly mentioned how some mandos thought Korkie was the secret love child of the Duchess of mandalore and everyone else was like, “was that not what happened??”
that or everyone else has COMPLETELY different stories
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