Summary: He’s the sergeant. Tall, dark, and handsome, even if he is broody, he may not have anything to lose, but she does.
Warnings: Canon typical violence, language, and abuse.
Clone Force 99 was a squadron of four troopers who were more than irregular—they were spectacularly astonishing. The squadron’s file had no pictures, no names, only CT numbers, and their cadet training statistics—the best cadet training statistics Bright Eyes had ever seen, and she had seen a lot of those over the years, as evidenced by the pictures of graduated cadets littering her office walls.
“Clone Force 99 is a special operations squad that works missions so covert that it is said only Cody knows of them,” Shem grinned as she wiggled her fingers in Bright’s face. Bright giggled and swatted Shem away, returning to the datapad in hand. The two SWs sat on Bright’s bed, drinking their morning caff as they went over Clone Force’s file.
“Have you spoken to Cody about them? Their previous SWs left very few case notes about them. And 90% of the file is redacted,” Bright questioned.
Shem shrugged it off, sipping her caff, “I sent him a message when I realized he was their direct mission report officer. I’m waiting for his response. I also put in a medical inquiry about the big guy. After you mentioned the scarring on his ear in the hanger yesterday, I tried to cross-reference existing medical files, but I don’t have security clearance for that.”
“We never have clearance for anything when it matters,” Bright muttered, shaking her head.
“Wanna read about the Sergeant? He is quite handsome and I saw the way you two were looking at each other in the hangar yesterday,” Shem teased, waving the datapad at Bright Eyes.
“As handsome as he might be,” Bright Eyes swatted away the datapad, “He is off limits for us both. Need I remind you if we are caught having affairs, we can lose our license, the troopers can die and we can be imprisoned!” If the Kaminoans, or anybody else, caught a whiff of unethical practice, Bright Eyes would lose her job and her license to work as an SW in any capacity- and Shem knew that. Being an SW gave Bright Eyes something to live for. If she decided it wasn’t working for the GAR, she’d find others to help- communities to better- that is if she had a license to work. She wasn’t sure what she was without her work.
“Life is more than threats. Someday the war will be over and our paths will diverge from Kamino. Let yourself have a little fun in the meantime,” Shem slipped her hand over Bright Eyes’ knee, and gave her a gentle smile, “Yeah?”
Hunter sighed as he washed off the last streaks of shaving cream, the warm water an idyllic luxury against his skin. After a year in blistering tundra and sweltering deserts, the cooling water washed away the bone-deep grime a sonic could never. He had stood under the spray until his fingers pruned, selfishly using as much hot water as he wanted- simply because he could. He then wrapped his hair up in an old shirt and shaved. He karkin’ hated Kamino, but at least it had guaranteed hot showers. The barracks door faintly slid open just as he took down his hair, squeezing the dripping water out with the shirt.
“Ah, that would be the stench. We can’t quite seem to get rid of it. I’m Tech. You must be our new SW.”
Tech’s voice came muffled through the fresher door, no doubt setting his tools down to give his full attention to their guest.
“No, Shem’s your assigned social worker. I’m running an errand for Commander Cody. You can call me Bright Eyes.”
Bright Eyes- the pretty woman from the hangar, told by her voice's matching sound. Hunter smirked as he tied a clean bandana around his forehead to keep his curly locks out of his face. It was nice to know Bright Eyes, a beautiful woman, thought he was attractive. Knowing a pretty woman thought he was handsome was enough to boost his ego for the day, if not a week. However, the SWs had a higher turnover rate than the Shinies. Like every other SW the Batch had interacted with, she would be gone by the end of the standard month.
“You changed the HVAC system? Isn’t that illegal or something?” Bright Eyes’ chuckled lightly. Hunter leaned against the sink, staring at his waiting stack of armor.
Cody was expecting the Sergeant. Despite now being clean, Hunter had no choice but to don his dirty kit that refused to get clean. The GAR waited for nobody and did not care to give precious resources for dress uniforms. Theirs was the black body suit and armor kit, and no more. It was all Hunter had aside from his bandana.
“You gonna tell?” Wrecker threatened.
Hunter rolled his eyes. Clones had no real power over staff on Kamino, no control over anyone except themselves. Hunter reached for his kit. Even control between ranks seemed like a façade most of the time.
“Nah, that’s unnecessary paperwork and trouble. Is this how you changed the lighting? Impressive.” Bright Eyes seemed sweet, but from a distance, so did street cats.
“According to your file, you have an impressive list of accomplishments yourself-”
“And repercussions. How did a sweet little SW end up on the Kaminoan watch list?” Crosshair interrupted, mocking her slightly.
Hunter lifted his bucket into his hands, furrowing his brow. How was she alive? Nobody stayed on Kamino once they made the watch list. They either left or… disappeared. He inhaled deeply as he clipped his bucket to his belt before exiting the fresher.
“I’m… I’m on the watch list?” Bright Eyes muttered.
Hunter leaned on the dark chrome wall beside the door, crossing his arms. None except Crosshair had noticed his entrance, giving him the luxury of watching her shoulders stiffen and brow furrow.
A quick pulse thumped through the air from Bright’s chest, and the distinct sweet scent of her body’s chemistry wafted through his nose with the GAR soap he had showered with. Hunter decided it would be the last thing he would want to sense before he died if he had to choose between that or the Marauder’s stench. Then again, bleach was preferable to the lingering stench of month’s long campaigns.
“Who cares! That’s pretty badass!” Wrecker complemented from across the room, standing up. The SW blinked slowly, eyelashes fluttering like a curtain over the shifting color in her eyes, making Hunter knit his eyebrows together. What had this woman done to catch the attention of Lama Su?
“Badass until the Kaminoans try her for treason,” Hunter spoke from his wall. Her eyes jolted to him, making his breath shudder at the sudden intensity behind them. Her teeth ground briefly.
Karking hells, Hunter hated that sound.
“They’ll have to find substantial proof first. Completely- irrefutable- proof.” Her eyes flicked over Hunter’s face, carefully examining him like prey, waiting to see if their predator was dead.
“You already have a list of infractions if you are on the watch list. The Kaminoans don’t need substantial proof,” Hunter advised, narrowing his eyes at her. A little scrunch between her eyebrows appeared, making Bright Eyes look equal parts endearing and terrifying.
Her chin tilted up slightly as she widened her stance. Her scent started to tinge sour with a bitter musk. Crosshair squinted his left eye at Hunter, sliding smoothly between the woman and Hunter, enjoying the verbal volley. Few people aside from Crosshair challenged Hunter, and Crosshair ate it up like one of his toothpicks.
“Not if the person citing the infractions is proven… incompetent in their work.” She tucked her hands behind her back and gave a coy smile. Hunter glanced at Crosshair, who tried to hide his amusement. “Cody is asking for you, Sergeant. You’ll meet with him in my office.”
“Your office?” Tech questioned. “Seems unlikely for a superior officer to meet in a social worker’s office, and, if I may add, out of Commander Cody’s character.”
“You would understand if you sat on my couch. Most comfortable seat on this slughole.” Bright Eyes shrugged, waving it off. Wrecker tilted his head backward and wildly laughed, making Hunter smile lightly.
“Tech, when I come back, I want a status report on the state of the Marauder,” he pushed off the wall as he made his way to the door. “Are you coming, SW?”
“On your six, Sarge.” She muttered, following him into the hall. He slowed his steps, allowing her to catch up.
Now that they were out of the room, he could pinpoint the lavender and vanilla fragrance she wore, tinged with a bare alcohol base. Importing non-military goods on Kamino, like the perfume she wore, was illegal. Smuggling did happen; everyone knew that, but no one could pinpoint how to request specific goods. They just showed up. That’s how Crosshair got his toothpicks. He knew a guy who knew a guy who knew someone else. They rounded the corner and stepped into the elevator before Bright Eyes spoke.
“Do you make it a habit of keeping your appearance in regs except for your hair?” Her lip curled as she tilted her chin back to look at him. “Not that I care or anything.”
Hunter shrugged and tucked his thumbs in his belt as she referenced his clean-shaven face. “Nobody has said anything to me yet, sweetheart. Why? Going to write me up for it?” Bright’s steady pulse jumped and quickened slightly. Her eyes darted to the floor before stubbornly lifting upwards. Hunter smirked at her attempts to hide her flustered state. It was… cute. He couldn’t remember when he met a woman who elicited that thought. The only women he ever considered cute were women who lived in holofilms and news clips.
“Did you want me to?” Bright glanced up at him, her teasing smile returning.
“Be my guest. Make sure to note I, ‘just liked the look’, ma’am.” The door opened, but he didn’t miss the intoxicating waft of her scent as she passed him. Bright Eyes laughed, tilting her head back with glittering eyes. His eyes slid over her shoulders, traveling down to the bend of her waist. His eyes jolted back up to the back of her head before they could slide lower to the enticing bend at the base of her spine.
Stopping at the door in a hall of duplicate doors, Bright Eyes slid a badge over a sensor after typing in an access code.
“Welcome to my office. Make yourself comfortable, Sergeant Hunter.”
Her office held a wooden desk with a cramped and messy shelf full of books, tablets, and binders stacked left to right and up and down. Several pictures of her surrounded by groups of shinnies and cadets alike scattered over the walls like oily fingerprints on a dark datapad screen. Bright Eyes had been on Kamino for a while. What had she done in that time to warrant the Kaminoan’s attention?
Bright Eyes slid behind the desk to sit while Hunter sat on the couch. She was correct; he thought as he sunk into the cushions—best karkin’ seat in this shithole.
“While you wait for Cody, will you fill out some paperwork for Shem? She needed you to fill in some gaps for her,” She bent down to pull a datapad from her shelf and slid it open. “SW Poth’s case notes were, to be honest, grossly optimistic and short-sighted. Shem wanted to know how accurate some of the statements were.”
“That’s putting it lightly,” Hunter grumbled, stretching his legs. Her couch was comfortable. Bright glanced across the small room at him, smirking from under her lashes.
“Told you it was comfortable. What happened with Poth?” She asked, leaning forward in her seat. She gave him her full attention, eyes soaking in every little detail of his face. His whole life’s goal was to get in and out with as minimal attraction from the Republic as possible. Her attention, he could soak up like a sponge and get high off without consequence.
“Crosshair and Wrecker got to her. She couldn’t stand Wrecker’s need to destroy shit and Crosshair’s piss poor attitude.”
Her comm unexpectedly buzzed, making Bright Eyes frown, glancing down at it. She stood and gently smiled, dimpling her left cheek as she offered him the datapad.
“Feel free to take off your boots and kick your feet up. Cody should be here any second. I have to meet with a cadet.”
Hunter thanked her and took the pad from her hand. Her nails, painted a bright coral color, had chipped and flaked chiefly away. Did she smuggle nail polish, too? Why would she flaunt something illegal under the Kaminoans' noses? She could die for it.
“How long have you been stationed on Kamino?” Hunter asked carefully, trying to gauge her.
“Too long,” Bright chuckled, her sweet scent returning. “I was first assigned just after the attack on Kamino. There was a mass exodus of SWs after it. I was one of the lucky few to get assigned to fill the void.” She reached into a drawer and pulled her hair back. The Batch wasn’t on Kamino during the attack, but he remembered when the news came to them years ago. He didn’t know a single trooper who didn’t remember the attack.
“That was a long time ago. How many cycles have you graduated over the years?” Hunter asked.
“All but, um… one kid,” She trailed off, reminding him of that look Crosshair got after a night's terror. Her breath caught as she carefully pressed a hand against her side, clenching the fabric of her shirt. Hunter leaned forward as her heart rate picked up, and a bitter smell radiated from her. Her hand trembled slightly, and her eyes were dark and dim.
“That’s remarkable for being stationed on Kamino as long as you have been,” He offered, focusing on the positive as he might have done for Wrecker. Bright Eyes inhaled sharply and forced a smile. The door opened, and Commander Cody strolled in, prompting Hunter to stand at attention.
“As you were, Sergeant.” Hunter nodded and sat back down as Bright Eyes gathered her things. Commander Cody removed his bucket and set it on a hook by the door, watching her momentarily.
“Is everything okay, Ad’ika?”
“Yeah, it's been a long day.” She flashed that same forced smile at the Commander, who raised an eyebrow at her.
“Make sure you get some rest tonight. I don’t want to see you before 0800 tomorrow.” Commander Cody groaned as he sat down in the other plush chair beside Hunter.
“Maybe you should be the one to worry about getting rest,” she teased, pushing in her chair. Her eyes flitted around her desk before glancing at her shelf. Hunter smirked, watching her stand to her full height. “Let me know when you’re done here, Cody,” she turned to Hunter, flashing her teeth. “See you around, Sergeant.”
“Ma’am,” He tilted his head down only to catch a whiff of headiness. It made his eyes widen slightly, and his breath caught. He refused to move his eyes from the back of her head as she exited with a quiet hiss of the doors. Hunter blinked and sat down, taking a deep breath, begging his mind to refocus on the mission details and the Commander.
“What did you two talk about?” The Commander accused Hunter, narrowing his eyes. Hunter furrowed his brow at his superior and shook his head, not used to the hiss directed at him.
“Her graduation rate, sir?” Hunter sat up taller in his chair, internally preparing for a reaming. The Commander sighed deeply, glancing up at the ceiling.
“If you see her again, do not mention it. A general rule of thumb with that one is not to mention the last cycle, her graduation rate, or her politics. It will get her into more trouble than she is prepared to handle.” Cody glanced at a frame on her wall of a cadet squadron, and Hunter’s eyes widened.
There, surrounded by recently graduated cadets, was Bright Eyes on a medical bed, wrapped in bandages, weakly smiling. If he ever saw the pretty SW again, he hoped to find some answers, but something in his gut told him that was as unlikely as the odds of ever seeing Bright Eyes again.
Paperwork- the bane of her existence. Bright Eyes rubbed at her tired eyes, propping her chin on her hand. She had been awake with Delta Group Cadets the last three nights, supervising their training. None of their trainers or handlers wanted to do so, leaving the kids to ask her for supervision. They were in danger of failing if they didn’t receive the extra training. They couldn’t fail another simulation.
Bright Eyes exhaled sharply as her scars burned. Her side ached deeply, the scars feeling as if they were pulling the skin apart. Lifting her shirt, she lifted the bottom edge of her breast band. Closing her eyes, she leaned back in her seat, trying to breathe through the phantom pains.
It had been a brutal three nights for her and the boys. But they had figured it out independently, only with a bit of guidance from her. While she knew nothing about military tactics or strategy, she did know about communication and group dynamics.
“Do you have bacta cream?” Rex’s voice gently spoke from the threshold of her office. She cracked her eye open to see him propped up against the wall. He regarded her gently, eyes taking in the sight of her scars. He, most likely, had seen worse in battle. “Looks irritated.”
“No. The med team thought it wasn’t bad enough to warrant a prescription,” Bright grumbled, using her feet to swivel her chair from left to right. “You can come in, you know. My couch is always open.” Rex chuckled and shook his head.
“As tempting as that is, I cannot. I have a meeting with General Skywalker and Commander Asoka,” He paused, glancing around her office. “Why did they think it was not bad enough? It looks irritated.”
“Aside from Outer Rim rations?” Bright shrugged, gesturing to her body. “I’m a woman. I can’t even get mild painkillers for my periods. They think I’m being dramatic.” She wiggled her fingers and lifted her eyebrow. Rex shook his head and reached to unclip his bucket.
“They have not spent much time with the 501st if they think you are dramatic.” Bright gave a full belly laugh and shook her head.
“No, they haven’t.” she giggled. Rex cracked a smirk and glanced at the hall.
“I came to let you know Cody and I are shipping out this afternoon. We won’t be able to see you before then,” Rex muttered. “Are you going to be okay, ad’ika?”
“I’ve been shot, not killed,” Bright scoffed. “Besides, I’ve got a lot more to get done before I can think about death.”
“Like your project with Shem?” Rex raised an eyebrow at her. The Testimonial Project was central to her work on Kamino. With Shem, they collected testimonies of abuse at the hands of the Kaminoans and the Republic. They would smuggle them off the planet and hope they got into the right senator’s hands. If not, they indeed were published in the media.
“Yeah. I haven’t been participating much since my injury. Thankfully, the only thing I’ve been accused of so far is smuggling nail polish. There was a slap on the wrist for that last standard month, but the Kaminoans don’t suspect anything else,” Bright paused and sighed. “I was informed that I am on the watch list. I can’t leave Kamino if I want to return now.”
“On what grounds?” Rex questioned, crossing his arms. “You have not violated any laws aside from smuggling.”
Bright laughed bitterly. “Rex,” she sighed. I am the second-senior social worker on Kamino. We don’t last long. They’ll find a way to get rid of me like they find ways to get rid of all of us. I’m surprised they haven’t found a reason to oust Shem.”
“Well, we are only as good as we are useful to the Republic,” Rex commented. “I am sorry we have to leave. Cody and I were hoping to be here for another week.”
“Don’t apologize. The Republic needs you and so does your jedi,” Bright Eyes winked at Rex before breaking into giggles.
“You think you are so funny, don’t you, ad’ika?”
“I’m hilarious, thank you.” Bright snorted. Rex gave her a little salute and left, leaving her office quiet once again. She glanced over at her wall of photos, some in frames but most taped to the wall. She hoped she would be allowed to take the pictures with her when it was time for her to leave Kamino.
Summary: The Bad Batch returns after over a year away from Kamino. But things are not the same with a noisy Bright Eyed girl.
A/N: This is my last and final attempt to update my story. I love this story but wanted to update it as I've grown as a writer. Thanks to @lizartgurl for feeding my brain worms and @saradika-graphics for the paragraph break images.
Warnings: Canon typical violence, language, and abuse.
“Where are we at with the drive stabilization?” Hunter barked, cursing as the wires he held sparked and died. It would be a miracle if they made it out of hyperspace, much less Kamino, with the severe damage done to his ship.
“Kriff!” Wrecker bellowed as the Marauder lurched. His skull smacked against the metal bar as Hunter worked with Tech and Crosshair to keep the ship in one piece.
Fueling lines ruptured to Hunter’s left, leaking a foul, acidic stench. Lights flickered on the control panel, and an alarm wailed behind him, a shrill reminder of his ship’s frail capabilities. Hunter wondered where he could jam his knife into the wiring to make it karking stop for five seconds.
“We are almost to Kamino,” Tech announced over the chaos. Hunter spared a glance to the combusted right flank which burned a bright yellow.
“Get us there faster!” Wrecker complained. Hunter took a deep breath and closed his eyes. An electrical coupling went out to his left, increasing the colors flashing behind his eyes. He tightened his bandana. He just needed to make it through the next five seconds—and then the next five seconds.
“Everyone, strap in. We’ll have to land in the water unless we can slow our momentum,” Hunter spoke before sliding into a free seat once his vod strapped in.
“I’m going to be sick!” Wrecker yelled as the Marauder bounced from turbulence.
Hunter blinked slowly and began to count: One, two…
“Don’t you karking vomit on me again!” Crosshair yelled. Hunter took another deep breath and gritted his teeth. They were almost home.
Three, four…
“Breaking out of hyperspace in three… two… one…”
Hunter’s stomach flung into his neck. Clenching the seat in his hands, his molars ground together as the bile rose in his throat. Flames burst on the rear right flank as they broke the atmosphere, and the rain of Kamino did little to stop it.
Five. They were home.
“Bay 218 is cleared and ready for arrival. Please proceed.”
Two emergency ships flanked the Batch, extinguishing the flames. Hunter sighed as lightning illuminated the northeast landing bay through the sheets of rain. Tech seamlessly guided them through the small hangar doors with steady hands, his racing heart the only sign of distress—the vibrations biting at Hunter’s skin.
“Preparing for landing,” Crosshair spoke, flipping a switch. There was one final sweep and drop before the Marauder touched down, sparking against the metal floors as she slid across the flooring. Hunter added the landing gear to the growing repair list.
Clone Force 99 sat for a moment, taking a breath. They had done it. Three hundred rotations away from home and a few close calls, they finally were home for some well deserved rest and repair. Though Hunter doubted it would be very long before the Grand Army of the Republic decided they needed the Batch’s help again.
Wrecker slammed the safety bar up and rubbed where he had hit his head, “Great flying, Tech!”
“Thank you, but I—”
Crosshair shoved out of his seat, blocking Hunter’s view of Tech. Metallic blaster residue wafted with his quick passing of Hunter, toothpick tucked between his white teeth.
“Are we clear to get off?” Hunter interrupted, flipping switches to turn off the control panel. A deep ringing sounded as Crosshair slammed his steel-toed boot into the door.
"The Karking door is stuck!” Cross hissed, kicking it again with more force. The door bounced open, bobbing back and forth, refusing to open fully.
“Let me get it!” Wrecker laughed.
“No, don’t-” Before Crosshair could stop him, Wrecker took off, jumping on the door and using his shoulder to break it open. The steps clattered down, and Wrecker fell out of the Marauder, thunking onto the concrete floors. Crosshair stepped onto the steps and over Wrecker’s body, no doubt making a snide remark.
Hunter shook his head, turning to Tech who already had his datapad out, “Good job flying, Tech. Come on.” Hunter gestured for his vod to exit first.
“You might wish to know we have a new assigned social worker, by the way. S.W. Shem,” Tech typed as he strolled off the ship.
“We get reassigned every two months. Does this surprise you?” Hunter smirked, removing his helmet. He stood atop the steps, surveying the ashen scorch marks scarring their ship. They had their repair work cut out for them, but at least they had supplies on Kamino compared to the backwater planets they had come from. The hair on Hunter’s arms lifted, the weight of a gaze settling over his skin- someone was watching. Hunter swept the room, finding most personnel tuned to either the Marauder or their tasks.
“Why would I?” A soft voice floated from the wall where a pair of women sat on cargo crates. The woman with blue hair gestured to the Marauder, smirking.
“That’s the Sargent. He’s your type. Tall, dark, handsome; blunt to match, according to SW Poth’s notes.”
Hunter blinked. Never in his life had he been considered attractive, and he hadn’t particularly thought about it either. He looked like every other clone except for his skull tattoo and long hair. His eyes slid to the other SW in question, covering her face in her hands. Shaking her head, she slid off the crate and looked up to address the blue haired SW. Her glimmering eyes narrowed, reminding him of a loth cat, as she tugged at the side of her jumpsuit, pressing her lips together. Her jumpsuit showed off the curve of her hips and waist and the long line of her legs.
Hunter snapped his eyes back to her face, her pretty eyes sparkling in the lights…
“Are you kidding me? That’s completely unethical, Shem,” The pretty woman hissed, head darting as if worried about someone overhearing her. “I’m already one misstep away from losing my job. I can’t afford schoolgirl jokes that’ll cost everything else.”
Hunter narrowed his eyes, observing her determined steps to the door. She hesitated at the threshold, stopping. Turning around, her eyes scanned the room until they landed on the Marauder. The hanger, blessedly, became din in those seconds as they locked eyes, her lips parting in an inaudible exhale. Hunter licked his dry lips and nodded his head in acknowledgement. Something harsh glimmered behind her pretty eyes, determined and precise, before she turned on her heel, her nose tilted up.
“She’s pretty,” Crosshair teased, drawing Hunter’s gaze away from the closing doors. He rolled his eyes.
“Who’s she?” Wrecker questioned Tech.
“Must be medical personnel or an SW. I do not know; however, I will find out.”
“Goodie. Hunter can finally get his-”
“Enough, Crosshair. Unload while I report to Cody,” Hunter hissed, gesturing for Tech to follow him to the debrief rooms.
Bright Eyes sat in her office with a stack of data pads, signing off on paperwork between cadet observations. While her roommate Shem ran psychological evaluations for the 212th, Bright worked alongside a few other SWs to track the psychological development of cadets. Bright worked specifically with failing cadets as a last-ditch effort to prevent cadets from being decommissioned. A cost-saving measure for the Kaminoans.
The office door opened and Shem strolled in with two cups of caff. Smiling, Bright Eyes accepted the caff as Shem made herself at home on the couch.
“I thought your office would be crawling with ankle biters,” Shem teased.
“Usually yes. But no cadets today. They have their lessons,” Bright Eyes bit back a yawn. “I thought you would be doing intake with your new special ops team?”
Shem narrowed her eyes, always too worried for Bright Eyes’ wellbeing, “Not yet. I had to cover some other psych files today. Did you know their case has been passed from caseworker to caseworker? Nobody wants them for more than the three-month requirement period.”
Bright Eyes smirked, raising an eyebrow at her roommate, “If I didn’t know better, it sounds like you’re baiting me to read their files. Something you should have read before they got planet-side, perhaps?”
“Oh come on! Troublesome troopers are your specialty! You would love reading their files,” Shem giggled.
“Bantha shit!” Bright Eyes laughed. “So I can read them to do your work for you? Nice try. Read the damn files yourself!” Her laugh turned into a wince as she held her side just as Commander Cody and Rex strolled into her office.
“Where are all the cadets?” Cody teased, removing his bucket.
“Clearly hiding because they knew you were planet side,” Shem teased, moving over on the couch to make room for the men.
“Very funny. Don’t you have my men to hound with your tests?” Cody smirked, setting his bucket on the table. Bright Eyes yawned again as she set her data pad to the side to pick up a new one. “Why the yawning?”
“Just tired. Yeah right. Wanna tell them about the nightmares?” Shem prompted.
“Thanks for sharing on my behalf,” Bright Eyes sarcastically replied. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Ruussan, you were shot,” Rex injected, furrowing his brow. “By one of your cadets! That has never happened on Kamino.”
“It wasn’t his fault!” Bright Eyes shouted, standing from her seat, pressing a hand to her side. “It was mine. He was having a flashback with a startle response and I couldn’t help him deescalate. He is dead because of me.”
“He is dead because the Kaminoans put him in decommissioning and found him defaulted,” Cody gently reminded. “You can’t save us all, Ruussan.”
“Not from the Kaminoans and not from ourselves,” Rex added, placing a hand on Bright’s shoulder. “Besides, what you two are doing with the Testimonial Project is above and beyond what anyone has done for us Clones. We need you both alive, Ruussan. One cadet for all of us Clones is a small price for freedom.”
Out of all the places that the Jedi council sent you to Hoth had probably to be the far worst next to Umbara and of course the separatists had to build one of their bases here, as you fought with a few different droids you didn’t realize their weight was making the ice crack beneath you.
It wasn’t until you found yourself submerged into the icy waters that you realized what just happened, your body shook as you quickly informed the others. “N-no rush or anything but… I’m stuck in the water.”
Hunter:
“You’re what?” “I-I fell through the ice and I can’t crawl out.” Hunter quickly rushed to go help you, once he carefully pulled you out of the water he kept you close to his chest as your body trembled and shook.
“I hate the cold.” You mumbled “Hunter get her back to the Marauder and warm her up quickly, we can handle the rest of the droids.” Tech said on the comms.
Hunter held you close to him as he carried you back the Marauder, “you need to get rid of those wet clothes It’s making it worse.”
You chuckled, “if I knew I was going swimming sarg I would’ve bought some spare of clothes.”
Hunter didn’t hesitate to give you one of his spare blacks.
Once he saw that you body trembled less and felt like it was safe enough to leave you alone without being worried about you getting hypothermia, he left you alone on the marauder and went back to the others.
Crosshair:
“Damn droids.. on my way to you now general.” Crosshair said as he rushed to your location, once he helped you out of the water he told the others he was going to help you back the marauder and get you warmed up.
“W-weird I thought you would’ve called me dumb.” You said as you clung onto crosshair, “I’ll insult you after I make sure you don’t get hypothermia.”
Once on the ship Crosshair sets you down on his bunk “you do realize you’re going to have to remove your clothes right?”
“Sorry cross I didn’t bring any spare clothes and I doubt the others would want to see me … nude.” Crosshair rolled his eyes before tossing you one of his blacks.
“Awe you do care.”
“I could always take them back-“
“No! I’m just joking.” You said as you quickly removed your wet clothes and slipped on the clothes that crosshair let you borrow.
Wrecker:
Before Hunter could even ask Wrecker to help he’s already taken off in your direction, “I’ve got you general.” When Wrecker picks you up out of the water he’s already cradling you closer to him, “Wrecker how the heck did you stay so warm especially here in Hoth?”
He shrugs “beats me, let’s get you back to the ship.”
Back at the marauder wrecker gives you one of his blacks to wear after you told him you didn’t have any spare clothes to wear, you giggled it was way too big on you.
“It’s too big isn’t it?”
“I don’t mind thank you Wrecker.” He made sure to wrap you in a lot of blankets before leaving you alone.
Tech:
“General are you alright?” Tech already knew it was important to get you out of the water as soon as possible before the hypothermia set in, with a quick pull Tech was able to help you out of the water.
“R-Remind me to never come to this planet again.” You said as you trembled against Tech.
“Depends if they don’t send us here again.”
“I’ll fight them on it.”
Tech helped you back to the ship, “you should change your clothes general, your wet clothes can still make you go into hypothermia.”
You let out a groan “I don’t have clothes to change into Tech.”
You saw Tech disappear before returning back, “here I had a spare shirt.”
“Why do you-“
“You’d be surprised what happens during some missions without you there,general.”
Echo:
“I’ll head over there.” Echo said to the rest as he quickly ran to where you fell in, “General Y/N are you alright?” He’s quick to lend you a hand on getting out of the water “out of all my years as a padawan… and I fall in when I’m a general.” You mumbled embarrassed.
“Don’t worry about it, let’s get you out of the cold.” Echo brings you closer to him trying to keep you warm as possibly as he can as he takes you back to the marauder.
“Did you injure yourself when you feel through the ice?” Echo asked “nah just my ego I should’ve paid more attention when the ice was starting to break.”
“We all get distracted at times general, you should probably get out of those clothes.”
You sheepishly smiled “I didn’t bring extra clothes..”
“I think I got something for you to borrow I’ll be back.”
You waited patiently for Echo to come back and when he did he gave you his spare blacks, “you know I would ask why you have spare clothes but seeing now I get it.”
The Batch Have a Terrible Bad Day - TBB Fic - by @electrikworm (Ao3 link)
A Little Bit of Tender - Hunter/Fennec/Tech/Reader NSFW - by @bring-backup-99 (ao3 link)
Vodika's painful idea - Tech Fic - by @vodika-vibes
Hunter and the Librarian - Hunter x OC ( SFW but may turn NSFW in the future) - by @clonethirstingisreal (link to master list)
Stronger Together - Rex x Reader, Crosshair x Reader fic 18+ (not sure if nsfw) - by @cloneflo99
Shadows of the Force - Hunter x OC, Crosshair x OC - by @jedi-princess-kestis (masterlist link)
Will It Ever Be Enough? - Hunter x GN!Reader (Mentions of sex, but nothing explicit so fairly safe) - by @elslittlestories
Cute - Tech x Reader (with a baby! <3) - by @jedipoodoo
Hand Signals - Wrecker x Reader - by @eclec-tech (Ao3 Link)
Activated Mind - Bad Batch Fic - by @apocalyp-tech-a
He's Not Heavy, He's my Brother - Bad Batch Fic - by @therisingdarkness (Ao3 Link)
The Hardest Word - Bad Batch Fic - by @therisingdarkness (Ao3 link)
Rival the Stars - Hunter x F!Reader - by @523rdrebel
A Little Bit of Normal - Crosshair x M!Reader - by @yoitsjay
Medical Care with Wrecker - Wrecker x GN!Reader - by @freesia-writes
A Day Out with Uncle Cross - Crosshair Fic - by @haybellewrites (Ao3 link)
Gonna Try with a Little Help From My Friends - Echo Fic - by @haybellewrites (Ao3 Link)
Remind Me of Us - Echo x Reader NSFW - by @sev-on-kamino
Fives Times the Batch Protected Each Other and One Time They Didn't - Bad Batch Fic - by Archivewriter1 on A03
Magnetic Pull - Bad Batch Fic (72 chapters, read at your own pace <3) - by The_Absent_Minded_One on A03
5 Times The Bad Batch Are Held By Their Teammates - Bad Batch fic - by helo572 on A03
Sweet Sounds - Tech x Phee NSFW - By sleepy_catz on A03
Mechanical Immunities - Echo fic - by @sadiecoocoo
Lessons in Anatomy and Affection - Hunter x Reader NSFW - by @multi-fan-dom-madness
Echo of Your Mind - Echo x Reader NSFW ( just in case.. cause mild smut?) - by @lonewolflupe
fatal dis|at|traction - Hunter x Reader Smut - by @221bshrlocked
It's Touching - Crosshair x Reader - by @climberjedi
We Could Be More - Crosshair x Reader (18+ not quite nsfw... but mentions of it kinda?)- by @vodika-vibes
Caught on Camera - Tech x Reader NSFW - by @stellarbit
So Long as We're Together- Wrecker x Reader -by @vodika-vibes
But Do Remember Often - Tech x F!Reader - By @stellarbit
Lovestruck - Tech x F!reader -By @bruh-myguy-what
Home - Howzer x Reader NSFW - by @sinfulsalutations
Girls Day - Howzer x Reader - by @coffeeandbatboys
My Heart - Mayday x Reader - By @imabeautifulbutterfly
No One Can Stop Me, Not Even Gravity or Nasa - Han/Leia - by magneticwave on A03
Happenstance - Hondo Ohnaka x Reader NSFW - by @sinisterexaggerator
The Mand'alor's Allit - Jaster Mereel x Reader - by @vodika-vibes
Just Once More - Jango Fett x Reader NSFW - by @vodika-vibes
Sheep Song - Boba Fett fic - by @syn0vial (Ao3 link)
No Regrets (When I'm with You)- Boba Fett x Reader NSFW @acatalystrising
Love Like Yours - Boba Fett x Reader NSFW - @acatalystrising
The Duality of Us - Boba Fett x Reader NSFW - @acatalystrising (Link to Masterlist)
Spoiled - Boba Fett x Reader NSFW - by @vodika-vibes
Like you - Boba/Fennec - by Fate_steps_in on A03
Football Coach!Boba AU Ficlet- Boba Fett x F!Reader NSFW- by @maybege
Grasp and Tug - Din x F!Reader NSFW - by BeskarandBlasters (Link is to a reblog from @clawdee as the author deleted their tumblr and Ao3 as their fics were being stolen and reposted.)
Bound - Din Djarin x Reader NSFW - by @charnelhouse
Waiting - Din Djarin x Reader NSFW by @charnelhouse
Released - Din Djarin x Reader NSFW by @charnelhouse
For You - Din Djarin x Reader NSFW by @charnelhouse (these four are a series)
Comfort - Thrawn x Reader - by @phant0msworld
Unnamed fic - Thrawn x Reader - by @vibratingskull
in each hand slaughter - Oshamir SFW - by thefudge on Ao3
Summary: [Modern/Neighbors AU] You had long since become a true member of Hunter's family, even if it took him over five years to actually admit to you how he feels.
Prompts: gift exchange || "i hope you know how much i love you" (which was slightly modified to fit the fic - i hope that's okay!)
Note: this is one of my contributions to the @cloneficgiftexchange life day exchange, which i ran! i was so excited to receive @captainpains as my giftee, and i wanted to write something silly, fluffy, and fun for you :) hope you enjoy!
Clone Troopers Masterlist
Holiday advertisements were playing on practically every channel as you flipped through the stations on the TV, different snippets of Life Day music being cut short with each press of the remote. It’s not that you were tired of the holidays or that you disliked them, but right now everything was a constant reminder of the fact that you wouldn’t have anyone to spend them with this year. Your sister and her family would be spending the holidays at a soccer tournament for your nephew, so you didn’t really envy her, but it still meant that you would be spending Life Day completely alone for the first time.
An infomercial for a fancy kind of chiller was lighting up the screen as you turned back to check on Omega. Hunched over the kitchen table with homework spread out in front of you, she was hard at work. You worked at the school she attended (though you didn’t usually see her at all during the day), so you drove her home in the afternoons and made sure she didn’t accidentally set the house on fire until her dad got home from work.
“You almost done over there?” you asked, a smile on your face. This evening, Hunter had told you that he would be home a little later than usual, so you had a small surprise for Omega.
“Just two more math problems!” she called back, still focused intently on the papers in front of her. “I already did my social studies homework.”
You hummed in response as you turned your attention back to the TV, not wanting to bother her while she was still working. Despite the fact that it was a Friday and she technically didn’t have to finish everything, you had heard stories in the past of forgotten projects and her rushing to get everything done before bed on Sunday night, which you weren’t looking to facilitate.
A few moments later though, you were getting up from Hunter’s (incredibly comfortable) armchair and pulling a folder out of your bag. “Since it’s gonna be us this evening, I thought we could order a pizza and then make some Life Day cookies,” you said, watching Omega’s face light up at the idea.
“Yes!” Omega said, running over and throwing her arms around you as you pulled out a cookie recipe. “Can we get the tooka shaped pizza from Dex’s?”
“Of course!” You said, returning her hug. You knew that Hunter tried his best to be there for her, but the fact that he was a single dad certainly made things a little more difficult. He had confided in you that he picked up some overtime to make sure he could get the best Life Day gifts for Omega, but she didn’t know that, and you could tell she was probably feeling a little sad that she didn’t see him as much.
A little while later, after the two of you were done tearing into your adorably shaped dinner, ingredients for cookies were being removed from cabinets as you asked Omega about her plans for Life Day.
“My uncles are going to come over and we’ll have a big dinner,” she said. “I think next weekend my dad and I are going to put up the decorations.”
“That’s great,” you said. “Do you know what you’re going to get your dad and uncles yet?”
Omega shook her head. “I don’t, and I don’t think the holiday market at school will have things they’d want.”
You laughed; she was certainly right about that statement. The school holiday market, which was great for getting kids used to handling money and making a budget based on how many people they had to buy gifts for, was not the best place to look for meaningful presents. “I’m sure your dad and uncles would appreciate anything, as long as it came from you.”
You weren’t lying about that. Living next door to Hunter and Omega for the past five years meant that you were also close with her uncles and even some of her extended family, and many a summer night had been spent sitting around the fire pit in their backyard, drinking with Hunter and his brothers as Omega hung out with her friends on the swingset. You knew for a fact that even if she handed them a pile of painted bantha shit, Tech, Wrecker, Echo, and even Crosshair would smile and pretend she had gifted them a priceless artifact.
“I know,” she said, placing her measuring cup in the container of sugar and starting to scoop out what the recipe required. “But I still want to get them something nice.”
“Why don’t you ask your dad to take you out shopping?” you asked. “He’s spent enough time with his brothers to help you pick something out.”
Omega nodded. “That’s a good idea.”
“And if you want, I can help you out when it comes to shopping for your dad,” you said. “I don’t even know what I’m going to get him anyway.”
Your statement was not one you considered to be scandalous or abnormal, but Omega stopped what she was doing to stare incredulously in your direction. “Why are you getting my dad a gift?”
The real answer was considerably more complicated, but you didn’t dare get into that with a middle schooler as you stood in the center of her kitchen. “Because we’re friends,” you said. “I got him and your uncles something last year, why would this year be any different?”
“Oh,” was Omega’s response, and the way she latched onto your words certainly struck you as odd. There was no way she picked up on your feelings for her father, you had done so well hiding them from everyone (yourself included, since you didn’t even realize you liked Hunter until a little over a year ago). “I forgot how long we’ve known you.”
“That’s okay, sometimes I do the same thing,” you said, a smile on your face. “You can make it up to me by telling me what your dad might want for Life Day though.”
The young girl paused before speaking. “There is this caf machine he’s been looking at,” she said. “But I think it’s pretty expensive.”
You nodded as Omega tried to remember the name of the machine, but it just wasn’t coming to her. “Don’t worry about it,” you said. “If he talks about it again, let me know and we can look for it when we go shopping. If you still want to go shopping with me of course.” Omega nodded brightly, and the conversation trailed off as things began to require your full attention.
Hunter walked in the door about an hour later, and the house was alight with laughter as the two of you rolled out cookies and dipped them in sprinkles and sugar before placing them on baking sheets. The moment she noticed her dad, Omega dropped her rolling pin and ran over to tackle him in a hug, effectively covering him in flour as it transferred from her clothes.
“I can tell,” he said, gaze meeting yours as he surveyed his (now very messy) kitchen.
“We’re almost done,” you said warmly, holding up the last dough ball that has yet to be shaped. “Do you want to do the honors?”
Hunter nodded, walking over to you (after a quick detour to the sink, where Omega made him wash his hands) and taking the rolling pin from where it had been discarded before, and with a little bit of help, the last cookie took shape.
Once the kitchen had been cleaned and the cookies lay cooling, it was just you and Hunter. “Thank you for doing this with her,” he said sincerely. “I know she can tell I’ve been gone longer than usual.”
You nodded. “She doesn’t blame you, but I think she worries.”
“I know,” Hunter sighed. “Maker, I wish things were easier.”
“You’re definitely not alone with that sentiment.”
“I have the week after Life Day off, I think I’m going to see if she wants to do anything special.”
“That’s a good idea,” you said. “I know things get busy as you’re planning everything for the holiday.”
Hunter nodded. “Yeah. At least you only host half the time.”
“And this year I don’t have to do anything,” you said, continuing when Hunter shot you a quizzical look. “My sister and her family are going to a soccer tournament over break, so I’ll have the day to myself.”
“You should come over here,” was his immediate response, followed by a rushed “only if you want to.”
“Please, you know I enjoy spending time with your family,” you laughed. “I don’t want to be any trouble though, if things are already planned.”
Now it was his turn to scoff. “You could never be a bother,” he said. “I promise.”
“Then I’ll be there,” you said.
The smile he gave you in response nearly stopped your heart right then and there. Now your gift for him definitely had to be perfect.
***
The rotations until Life Day were slipping away faster than Hunter could have ever expected, and it still felt like he hadn’t even started preparing. There was still so much to shop for, plan for, and don’t even get him started on the pile of gifts for his daughter slowly accumulating in the trunk of his car and the back of his closet (that would all need to be wrapped when she wasn’t around to peek at them).
It was something of a relief when you offered to take Omega shopping for Life Day presents one weekend, because that meant he could recruit his brothers to help out in other ways and he didn’t have to worry about Omega walking in and seeing any of her gifts.
Tech and Crosshair were in charge of gift wrapping, and they operated like a well-oiled machine as they sat on the floor in the living room, tinsel, bows and patterned rolls of paper spread all within arm’s reach. The mountain of presents had been pulled from their hiding places, and it appears that Hunter may have gone a little overboard this year when shopping for Omega.
Echo and Wrecker were in charge of the menu and the grocery list for Life Day dinner, and Hunter could hear the playful bickering between the two as they squabbled over how many side dishes they should have and whether or not three dessert options was too much (Wrecker believed there should be at least five options, a sentiment Hunter did not disagree with, if he was being honest).
His job out of all this was looking at the gifts already purchased and making a list of people he still needed to shop for, along with making sure the gifts they had for Omega’s teachers were done. Omega would (hopefully) be returning from her outing today with presents purchased for all her uncles, but that still meant Hunter had to buy something for them, as well as for a few other friends. He had just finished the list of people he would need to shop for when he heard Crosshair’s voice over his shoulder.
“I expected that we’d be low on the list of priorities, but your girlfriend? That’s just mean.”
Hunter, his mind still running through a list of all the people he knew in an effort to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anyone, looked up at him with confusion. “What are you talking about? I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Crosshair raised his eyebrows, and everyone else in the house stopped what they were doing to stare at Hunter, because they knew exactly where this conversation was heading. “Really? Where’s your kid right now?”
“She’s with-” Hunter started to respond before catching on to his brother’s implication. “How many times do I have to tell you that we’re not together?”
“You could be, if you just asked her out already. Honestly, if you keep at this pace Omega will have bought a house of her own before you even think about making a move.”
A heaving sigh left Hunter’s mouth. “First of all, I don’t like her in that way.”
Before he could continue his statement, the house erupted with laughter (a reaction that Hunter did not appreciate). “Give it up Hunter,” Echo said as he looked up from the menu he was penning. “Omega practically calls her mom and you get a stupid look on your face whenever you mention her.”
As much as he would have liked to continue denying his feelings to protect his pride, Hunter had to admit that his brothers were right. He had been absolutely smitten from the first moment he met you five years ago. You had knocked on their door to introduce yourself, with homemade muffins in your hands and a smile on your face, and he had almost forgotten how to talk. As the years went by and you got closer and closer to him and his daughter, it had become increasingly more difficult to ignore the attraction he felt. “Fine, you di’kuts are right,” he said. “But she doesn’t feel the same way, and I’m not going to ruin the positive relationship she has with Omega. Besides, I can’t afford an actual babysitter.”
“Omega is more than capable of spending the afternoons by herself, and she could take the bus home after school,” Tech said. “Also, you are decidedly incorrect about her not feeling the same way.”
“Guys-”
“It’s true!” Wrecker boomed. “We’ve spent enough time with her at your summer barbecues to catch how she looks at you.”
“And now she’s coming to Life Day dinner,” Crosshair said. “Face it Hunter, you’re in love.”
“I invited her because she didn’t have anywhere else to go!”
“Two things can be true at the same time,” Tech said.
“Maybe you could say something on Life Day,” Wrecker cut in. “What are you going to get her?”
There was a significant pause before Hunter responded, his voice much quieter than it had been before. “I don’t know.”
Hunter loved his brothers, he truly did. But right now, as they rattled off endless suggestions of things he could get you, he wanted to be anywhere else but here at the moment.
The feeling of his phone buzzing in his pocket provided a welcome distraction, and he looked down to see your name on the screen. Omega and I are going out to lunch and then we’ll be home, you’ve got about an hour left to finish wrapping her gifts, the text message read.
Thanks for the heads up, he texted back. I’ll make sure things are all cleaned up by then.
No matter how hard he tried to hide the smile that crossed his face, it was an impossible feat, as was getting his brothers to stop teasing him and get back to work, since they really didn’t have much time to get everything done.
He still needed to think about a gift for you, and time was certainly running out. Trying to ignore the way his brain wandered towards easy daydreams was another unattainable goal, and he couldn’t help but play through all different scenarios in his head of you and him, hearts and souls intertwined in domestic bliss.
As much as he didn’t want to admit it, his brothers were right. Five years was long enough, he just needed to find the courage to actually tell you how he felt without chickening out, and maybe this Life Day he would prove successful.
***
Hunter’s home was less than a minute walk for you, but your heart was racing as you stepped up to the front door, as if you had run a marathon on the way. But the homemade cake you had brought was balanced precariously atop the gifts in your hands, and a single misstep could have spelled imminent disaster.
Thankfully, the door opened before you had finished ascending the porch stairs, and Hunter immediately pulled the cake from the top of the gift stack. “Need any other help?” he asked.
“No, but thank you,” you breathed, stepping inside and immediately walking through to the living room. Once the presents in your arms were deposited safely next to the tree, you were nearly tackled in a hug.
“Happy Life Day!” Omega said brightly, arms tight around your middle.
“Happy Life Day to you too,” you said, unable to keep a goofy smile from appearing on your face. Despite the fact that you didn’t live here, something about this space, and especially these people, felt like home in a way you could never truly articulate.
When Omega finally let you go, you turned to Hunter. “Am I the first one here?” Even though you lived next door, you would have thought someone else would be here by now, especially since you arrived a little late (trying to close your own door with the gifts and cake was quite a challenge, but you managed).
Hunter nodded. “The others aren’t supposed to be here for another half hour,” he said. “Omega wanted to give you your gift as early as possible.”
You looked back at Omega, who was practically vibrating with excitement. “Well, I can’t leave her waiting any longer, can I?”
After being directed to the couch, you watched Hunter sit down on the armchair across the room with a smile on his face. As Omega brought over a small box wrapped in tooka-patterned paper, you jokingly shook it, feeling something heavy rustle around. As you tore open the paper and opened the box, your eyes widened.
Glittering in the light of the tree across the room were two crystalline statues of your favorite animal. You had spent many hours doodling with Omega when she was younger at her kitchen table, and it was clear that this gift was her idea, as she had seen enough of your attempts at drawing these to know they were your favorite. “I love them,” you said sincerely, placing the statues on the couch side table before sweeping her up in a hug. “Do you want to open your gift now?” you asked, and her eyes lit up.
Hunter watched in amusement as you walked over to the tree and presented Omega’s two gifts to her. She was much less gentle with the wrapping than you were, but that didn’t really matter. “Wow!” she said as she realized what it was, eyes wide as she took in the present, a high-quality set of paints, paintbrushes, and a pack of canvases, since she talked all the time about how much she enjoyed painting in art class.
Hunter opened his mouth, probably to prompt his daughter to say thank you, but she beat him to it, wrapping you in a hug once more and babbling excitedly about what she’s going to paint with her new supplies.
When she finally let you go, you got up from the couch and stepped over towards the tree, where you picked up a large box and presented it to Hunter. His eyes widened. “For me?”
“Yes!” you said. “Omega helped me pick it out, so technically it’s from both of us.”
He took the box from you. “It’s heavy.”
You watched with bated breath as he ripped open the paper, a smile crossing his face as he realized what it was. “Omega spilled the beans about you wanting a new caf machine,” you said. “And I’ll admit, we did get a slightly better model than the one you have now.”
“That’s an understatement,” he said, staring at the graphics on the box that outlined all the different things this machine could do. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“I wanted to,” you said, and the two of you locked eyes for a moment. There was so much you wanted to tell him, but you didn’t exactly want to do it with an audience.
“Thank you,” he said warmly, putting the box down to get up from his chair. He moved to hug you, but his daughter beat him to it. You had hugged Omega so many times today that part of your mind wished Hunter was the one to wrap your arms around you, but you tried to push those thoughts away.
After the moment had ended, you immediately moved to grab the used wrapping paper from the floor, and Omega took off somewhere else in the house, excitedly talking about how she couldn’t wait for her uncles to arrive.
You and Hunter worked like you could read each others’ minds, something you only noticed when you realized that you had wordlessly begun setting out hors d'oeuvres on the table in preparation for the rest of the family to arrive. Maker, things just felt so right here, with him, so much so that you never wanted to leave.
“Hey,” Hunter’s voice interrupted your thoughts. “You didn’t open all your gifts yet.”
You looked at him with a confused look on your face. “But-”
He shook his head. “We- I have one more thing for you.”
You took note of the way he corrected himself, watching as he left the kitchen and returned with a small box in his hands. It was completely silent as you tore open the paper and popped open the jewelry box to reveal a simple necklace, your first initial hanging from a silver chain.
“I didn’t know what to get you, and then my brothers got in my head about making sure I got something good, so-”
“Hunter,” you said softly, cutting off his rambling. “I love it.”
He breathed an obvious sigh of relief, and you gently put the box down on the counter before moving towards him, throwing your arms around him and breathing in his scent. He returned the hug, and you felt as though you might die right here and now. You had hugged Hunter before, but they had always been quick goodbyes and polite greetings, never something like his.
As you moved to pull away, he gripped your side a little tighter. “Wait,” he said, voice soft. Your faces were much closer than they had ever been before, and you wondered if he could hear the way your heart was beating faster than usual.
“What is it?” you breathed.
“Can I kiss you?”
Despite having daydreamed about him saying those words to you multiple times since you met, it took a few seconds for you to register that they were actually leaving his lips at this moment. “Yes,” you responded, allowing him to close the gap between you.
Kissing Hunter was like coming upon an oasis in the desert, the feeling of his lips on yours suddenly becoming a desperate need. If you were dreaming, you never wanted to wake up. One of your hands moved to his hair as his tightened around your waist, every ounce of passion that both of you had been keeping locked away finally bubbling to the forefront.
The sound of excited shrieking was what finally detached your lips from each other, and you both turned to see Omega standing in the doorway of the kitchen, a smile on her face. “Does this mean I can call you mom?” she asked, looking expectantly at you.
Hunter shifted where he stood. “Omega-”
But before he could say anything, you jumped in. “If you promise not to say anything to your uncles, yes.”
She nodded excitedly and ran up to the two of you for a hug before mumbling something about giving you space, leaving the room as empty as it had been a minute ago.
“I’m sorry if I’m overstepping,” you said quickly. “If you don’t want her to call me that I can tell her I was mistaken.”
“I was about to tell her that it was your decision,” he said warmly. “I don’t want you to think that just because we kissed I was expecting anything more.”
“What if I wanted something more?” you asked. “Hunter, I’ve cared about you for so long now I barely even noticed my feelings until a year ago. But there’s no mistaking how I feel anymore, and I want you to know how much I love you.”
He pulled you into another hug. “I think I fell in love with you the moment we met,” he said. “My brothers have been bugging me about you for longer than I want to admit.”
You laughed, only imagining the types of teasing he has endured over the last few years. “Then let’s go for it.”
Hunter responded by leaning down to kiss you again, and you certainly weren’t complaining.
The next thing to grab your attention was the sound of the doorbell ringing, and you pulled away from Hunter (who, swear to Maker, emitted something of a whine as he lost contact with your lips). “How long do you think it’s going to take Omega to spill the beans?” you whispered as you heard her footsteps through the house, no doubt moving to open the door for whichever of her uncles had arrived first.
“Seconds, probably,” he whispered back.
You laughed. “Come on, let’s go see who it is.”
“Do we have to?”
Playfully swatting his shoulder as his face morphed into a pout, you nodded before pulling away from his touch.
You greeted Crosshair with a bright smile and a polite hug, and he didn’t say anything about knowing what had just transpired between you and his brother moments before, so there was a small sliver of hope that Omega had been able to keep your secret.
However, the moment you sat down on the couch with a plate of snacks, you could feel your phone buzz in your pocket, and a text from Crosshair to both you and Hunter reflected on the home screen.
Have a good makeout session?
Before you could think about what to say, a response from Hunter followed.
Did Omega tell you?
Crosshair, who was sitting on the armchair as Omega rooted around under the tree for his gift, just smiled as he typed back.
She didn’t have to, one look at your hair told me everything I needed to know.
Hunter quickly tried to tame his hair where your hands had mussed it, and Crosshair just watched with an amused smile. As the doorbell rang once more and Omega ran to greet the next arrival, a sincere smile appeared on his face. “Congrats you two.”
“Thanks,” you said sincerely. “We finally figured things out.”
As Hunter sat down on the couch next to you and intertwined your fingers with his, you realized that you couldn’t have dreamed of a more perfect Life Day, and you would never again have to consider spending the holiday alone.
- the end -
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Summary: In the heart of the Republic Senate on Coruscant, a young senator shakes the stability of the government by presenting a bill that threatens the plans of hundreds of powerful individuals in the galaxy. Given the risk on her life while the bill remains in dispute, the bad batch are assigned as the new team in charge of the senator's security. And despite the political differences between the squad sergeant and the senator, which fill their working relationship with tension and complications, soon they will realize that in a galaxy full of injustices and horrors, the existence of the other can offer a little light to the most powerless. And, perhaps, even for each other.
Pairing: Hunter x Original Female Character
Warnings/tags: Graphic violence | Mentions of genocide or mass murders | Government corruption and manipulation | Attempted murder | Graphic language | Anxiety and panick attacks | Gun violence | PTSD | Mentions of refugees of war | Terrorism | War and Violence | War crimes | Sexual harassment | Sleep disorders | Intrusive thoughts | Descriptions of death (including children and animals) | Blackmail | Explosions | Gang violence | Kidnapping | Military service and deployment | Riots | Enemies to lovers | Slowburn | Bodyguard romance | Overprotective Hunter
Set during the events of The Clone Wars (Echo is not included as member of Clone Force 99 during most part of this story)
PRELUDE | CHAPTER ONE: YOU WON'T FIND A BETTER SQUADRON | CHAPTER TWO: NAIVE IDEALS | CHAPTER THREE: A BAD FEELING ABOUT IT | CHAPTER FOUR: I WANT TO KEEP YOU FROM BEING NECESSARY | CHAPTER FIVE: NO SAFE PLACE | CHAPTER SIX: WORTH MORE DEAD | CHAPTER SEVEN: UNHOLY TO DEMOCRACY | CHAPTER EIGHT: DAGGER TO THE NECK | CHAPTER NINE: SUNRAYS OF BLOOD | CHAPTER TEN: A WORLD ALIVE | CHAPTER ELEVEN: A TYRANT'S VICTORY | CHAPTER TWELVE: JAWA-BRAINED ANIMAL | CHAPTER THIRTEEN: HALF-TRUTHS | ONGOING
summary: An unfortunate mistake rewards you with a fortunate encounter, and this undercover soldier is nothing like you could have expected.
pairing: hunter (the bad batch) x reader
tags: meet-cute, alcohol mentions/consumption, mentions of harassment, flirting, suggestiveness, protective hunter, one (1) gratuitous steamy kiss, tech is always at the scene of the crime, pre-tcw s7
rating: T
word count: 3.556k
main masterlist • hunter masterlist
It was another rowdy crowd tonight. You really should’ve known, considering the fact that the tourist season was nearly upon your town already. With the war still raging on in the galaxy, people were flocking here by the hundreds, eager to get away from the conflict on their own homeworlds.
You heaved a sigh as you carefully balanced the tray of drinks you’d just collected from the bar. Wrestling your way through these crowds was far from your favorite thing to do, but it was better than being stuck behind the bar itself for countless hours. It was, ironically, safer this way, too. Not that you could ever fully escape the wandering eyes, comments, and even the touches, but the freedom to run or fight if necessary was a comfort nonetheless.
Pitiful little excuse mes wouldn’t do you any good out here, so you simply announced your presence by jutting your elbows and shoulders into the people you were trying to pass. You could at least finally see the table you were heading for, which was a gift in a crowd this thick, especially at such a late hour.
You were just thinking about how excited you were to finally go home for the night when you suddenly heard a commotion beside you.
“Hey, watch where’ur goin’!”
“No, you watch it!”
You rolled your eyes. There was nothing quite like a classic ego-off. Hopefully, they both lost—and hopefully, they kept you out of it.
But you should’ve known better than to think you’d actually have good luck with that.
The guy closest to you got shoved by the other, and the timing couldn’t have been worse. Caught in the crossfire, you were also shoved right into something solid, hard enough to make every drink on your tray splatter on you and whatever, or whoever, you’d run into.
Unfortunately, you were in the center of the cantina, so it couldn’t have been a wall. It had to have been a person, a patron who was most likely going to want to fight you, now.
You were about to curse the pair of egotistical maniacs out when you suddenly realized the person you’d run into was steadying you with a hand on your elbow and another on your opposite arm.
“You alright?”
You spun around to face them, but you were too distracted by the fact that nearly the entire front of their white shirt was now stained in the purple hue of one of the drinks you’d been carrying.
You let out a worried gasp and reached from the rag you kept tucked into your pocket. “I’m so sorry, sir! Let me get that for you.” As you tried your best to dry and blot out the stain in the patron’s shirt, you couldn’t help muttering in contempt. “Kriffing boys spilling some damn good drinks over a pointless ego battle…”
You only stopped when you realized that your efforts were to no avail; this poor person’s shirt was stained for good. You let out a sigh, but the breath got caught in your throat when you blinked a few times and realized exactly what, or who, you were looking at.
You weren’t trying to ogle this man, you really weren’t, but it was hard when the first thing your eyes were stuck to was the sight of the now-transparent fabric of his sleeveless tunic clinging to perhaps the most toned set of muscles you had ever seen before in your life.
Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but the more you observed, the more you were convinced that you weren’t actually being hyperbolic.
The man’s face was just as sculpted as the rest of him, though half his face was cast in the dark shadow of what looked like a giant skull tattoo, matching the one that was printed on his red bandana. That matched the scarf hung around his neck, fabric that his dark, shoulder-length hair was brushing against. He still had his hands on you, which were wrapped up to his elbows in a light-colored fabric, but the touch was soft enough to indicate that he meant no harm.
Thank the Force that the last thing you caught were his eyes, because you wouldn’t have been able to look away if you’d done that first.
“‘Damn good drinks,’ huh?” The corners of the man’s mouth started to rise as his brown gaze flickered over you. “Do they taste as good as they look on you?”
Your brow shot up at that. Maybe it was the mere fact you were attracted to him, or that you couldn’t sense any ill intent like you could with the others, but you weren’t disgusted by his advances.
No, they made the temperature in the room rise to a really dangerous height.
You returned the once-over and offered a thoughtful hum. “Maybe, but they definitely don’t taste as good as they look on you, so don’t be too disappointed.” You huffed and focused on righting the capsized cups on your tray. “Can I get you one as a token of apology?”
The man shifted slightly in front of you, and with a quick glance, you realized he was blocking you from getting hit by another shove that came from a new direction. He absorbed the movement as if it were nothing. You furrowed your brow, watching as his arms and shoulders barely flexed at the motion.
Suddenly, you were realizing that this had to be the body of a soldier. But he obviously wasn’t a droid, and he certainly didn’t look like a clone…
“You don’t owe me an apology.” He nodded, making the stray hairs that stuck out of his bandana bounce against his forehead. “Wasn’t really my brightest idea to wear a white shirt to a place like this, anyway.”
You chuckled and shrugged. “Well, thank the Force you did.” You winked and gestured with your head towards the bar. “Can I still get you that drink, anyway?”
He smiled. “Sure. I’ve got some time to kill.”
You looked down when warmth started to rush into the tips of your ears. That downward glance could only last a moment, because soon, you had to shove your way through the rowdy crowd. Amazingly, though, they started to part much more easily for you, and it only took a quick look behind you to realize why.
This man was just about shoving everyone aside and casting warning glances to anyone who dared to react to it. Even just the way he was walking screamed danger to a potential opponent.
He was definitely a soldier, but for who or what, you weren’t sure. At this point, you really didn’t care, because your heart was speaking a lot louder than your brain when it came to him.
You brought him to the furthest edge of the bar, a private enough corner where you could get behind it and make him a drink yourself. You’d still have to remake the ones you spilled, but if you were being honest, that wasn’t really your biggest priority right now. They could wait a few extra minutes.
“So…” you stole a glance up at him, “you got a name?”
He huffed and rested his wrapped forearms upon the bartop, leaning forward enough for you to hear him over the din of the rowdy patrons. “You can just call me Hunter.”
You hummed and stared more than you really had to at the cups you tossed between your hands. “Is that what you are?”
“A bounty hunter?” He scoffed. “Have I made that bad of an impression on you already?”
You laughed at that. Only someone operating under some kind of honor code would have such a strong distaste for bounty hunters. You had no doubt now that you knew what he was.
“Then what’s a soldier like you doing out here, so far away from the front lines?”
“Who says I’m a soldier?”
You stopped what you were doing and looked at him with an eyebrow raised. “I don’t know, Hunter. Maybe it’s the giant tactical pack you’ve got slung on your back, or those heavily-trained arms you’ve clearly put on display.”
A light sparkled in Hunter’s eyes as the corners of his lips rose in a subtle smirk. “You seem to know a lot about arms.”
You returned his mischievous smile. “Only because I like staring at yours.” You nodded towards his stained shirt. “You want the drink that was spilled on you, or the one that got on me?”
Hunter looked down at himself and circled his jaw. He shrugged before he lifted his head and met your gaze again. “You choose.”
You considered his words for a moment as you searched his eyes. In the lighting of the bar, they glowed more amber, which only made them even more captivating. You fought not to lose yourself within them as you ultimately nodded. “Alright.”
You focused on getting all the right ingredients together, all the while sensing the heat of his gaze on you. Fighting back another smile, you decided to question him further.
“Care to explain why you don’t look like a clone when you clearly are one?”
“So long as you tell me why your heart’s beating so fast.”
That gave you pause. He was right—your heart hadn’t stopped hammering against your chest ever since you got your first good look at him—but there was no way he would know that without feeling your pulse himself, or at least taking a strangely accurate guess.
You narrowed your eyes at him as you gripped the glass and shaker tighter in your hands. “How would you even know that?”
Hunter’s brow lifted. “Would you call me crazy if I told you that it actually answers your first question?”
You relaxed again and gave him a nod. “Fine, you’ve got my interest.” You tried to calm your racing heart, if only out of spite.
“I’m an enhanced clone. My squad and I were each given different traits that are ‘desirable’ in soldiers.”
You spared him a single glance. Thankfully, he didn’t look uncomfortable discussing this. That wasn’t your end goal, even if you did at least want to know what you were getting yourself into. “And what does that have to do with my heartbeat?”
Hunter chuckled. “Well, I’m named after my enhancement.”
As you shook the concoction inside the mixer, you pondered his words. A hunter, and a heartbeat… and shoving people aside before they’d even come close to you…
“You’re telling me you can… hear my heartbeat?”
Hunter’s head bobbed. “In a way.” He tapped his fingers along the bartop. “Enhanced senses. My strong suit is electromagnetic frequencies, but I can pick up on some organic things, too.” He nodded at you. “The louder a heartbeat, the easier it is for me to hear it.”
You pretended to scowl for the sake of your dignity as you strained the drink into his glass. “Yeah, well, it’s hard not to have a racing heart in a place like this.”
Hunter hummed. “That’s fair.” He gestured with a thumb to the crowds behind him. “Is it always like this?”
You exhaled heavily and shook your head. “It wasn’t before, but the longer the war goes on, the worse it gets. We’re an escape for a lot of people, it seems.”
You picked up the glass and slid it over to him.
“Here. Let me know what you think.”
Before you could pull your hand off the glass, Hunter placed his there, his fingers brushing yours as they drifted by one another. You caught his stare, and you could’ve sworn he sent you the quickest wink you’d ever seen before he drew his first sip.
And there went all chances of slowing down your racing heart. He was certainly gonna notice that with his apparent enhanced senses. Damn it.
You tasked yourself with remaking the other patrons’ drinks while Hunter offered his review. “It is damn good.” He shrugged in your periphery. “But still not as good as it looks on you.”
You laughed. “Well, that’s because it’s the one I spilled on you.” You spared him a quick glance of approval. “So something must be wrong with your ‘enhanced’ taste buds.”
You enjoyed watching him hide his new flush by taking another sip of the drink, but the weight of his identity was beginning to settle in. A clone soldier, an enhanced one, was here. That had to mean the war wouldn’t be far behind.
“Since you’re here,” you paused for a second as you shook another drink, “does that mean I should be getting ready for the war to come to my doorstep?”
Hunter grew more serious as he shook his head. “No. You’re safe here.” He gestured towards the cantina’s only entrance. “We’re just gathering some intel.”
“‘We’?” You smiled down at the drinks. “So, that squad of yours is around here, too?”
“Not here, but yeah, they’re on-world.”
With the drinks now finished, you set them on the tray and took a second to look Hunter in the eye. There was something here, and there was a lot he was giving you—and you needed to know what the real reasoning was behind it.
“Why are you telling me all this, Hunter?” You tilted your head at him. “Seems like pretty confidential information for a random civilian like me to know.”
Hunter held your stare even as he tipped his head back to empty out the rest of his glass. Once he was done, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m a good judge of character.”
You blinked at him a few times before smiling. What a simple yet profound way of establishing trust.
Thankfully for him, he was right, and any of his secrets would die with you.
“Well, I’ve got to get these back over there, so…” You lifted the tray and glanced at the table at the far end of the cantina.
Hunter nodded and pushed himself off the bartop. You prepared to bid him farewell, but instead, he lingered. “I’ll clear a path for you this time.”
All you could muster was an appreciative glance before Hunter stepped forward and essentially pushed your way through the crowd. No one even got near you this time, certainly not close enough to make the drinks topple over. Hunter hung back once you eventually reached the table, and you quietly thanked him as you passed him.
“Here you are.” You kept your customer service voice engaged as you dealt out the drinks and smiled. “Sorry about the wait. It’s a bit crazy here tonight.”
The patrons just shrugged, clearly unaware of the extra few minutes you spent flirting with the enhanced clone trooper rather than making their drinks. You tucked the tray under your arm and turned around, surprised to see that Hunter was still there waiting for you.
You gave him another once-over. That drink stain on his shirt really stuck out like a bantha in a porg nest, if it was even possible for anyone’s eyes to get past his eyes, face, and arms.
The look he was giving you in return was either saying the same thing about your clothes or something very different, a little more similar to what you wanted him to be thinking.
“You know,” you took a step closer to him, “we should have some extra tunics from our uniforms in the back if you want one to cover…” you gazed down at his stain, “that.”
Hunter’s gaze glowed dangerously. “Oh, yeah?”
You nodded slowly. “I mean, we could at least check.”
Hunter smirked as he echoed your question from earlier. “We’?”
You waved him off. “It’s too crazy here tonight for anyone to care that you’re back there.”
Hunter shrugged. Apparently, he was easily convinced. “Alright. Where’re we headed?”
You pointed at a door on the back wall, and Hunter nodded before he pushed through the crowd once again. At this point, it was hard to imagine that he wasn’t listening to your heart practically flying through your chest. You didn’t even know why this was happening, especially so fast, but you had to echo Hunter’s earlier sentiment: you were a good judge of character.
What was one stolen moment with an enhanced clone trooper?
Hunter stepped aside to let you key in the passcode on the doorway of the storage room, and once it slid open, you led the way inside. After verifying that you were alone, you waved Hunter in. The door closed behind him, and after securing it, you turned to him.
It would’ve been impossible to get a good look at him in the dimness of the space, anyway, but you were both gravitating to each other before any looks could be given. You cupped his chiseled jaw at the exact moment he held your waist, closing the gap between the two of you and giving into the magnetic pull that had first forced you two together in the night’s rowdy crowds.
And you had never been more grateful for two egotistical maniacs’ stupid quarrel before.
Hunter kissed you like he’d known you for ages, exuding a breathless amount of passion that should’ve been impossible for a soldier as seasoned as himself. All you could do was try to match that energy, parting your lips and surely making a mess of the hair he clearly wanted to grow beyond what you assumed was regulation. You let one hand stay there, but the other was too curious, tracing the same lines of muscle your eyes had been beholden to ever since you first saw him.
During a quick break for air, you pulled back until you hit the wall behind you, this time urging him even closer than before. The second his mouth was on yours, you lost all sense of anything else, only able to think about the warmth you found there—and the feeling of his hips caressing yours in the very same rhythm.
You weren’t sure exactly how those senses of his worked, but somehow, he was igniting every single one of yours in a way you’d never experienced before.
You were in the middle of lowering your hands from his neck to seek a more fervent exploration when he caught both your wrists, holding them in an achingly gentle yet firm grasp as he lifted them over your own head. When he pushed himself into you even more intensely, his tongue in your mouth and his hips on yours, you could feel it so much more without being distracted by touching the rest of him.
Yeah, this was definitely a man who understood senses.
You were stuck between proposing and offering him all your possessions when the sudden chiming of a comlink sounded from Hunter’s belt. The two of you broke apart with heavy breaths, his forehead still close enough to yours for you to feel the wisps of his hair brushing against your skin as he clearly fought the urge to sigh.
“Sorry. Give me just a second.”
Hunter’s voice, which was already fairly rough as it was, was even rougher from your passionate moment as he released your wrists and stepped away. You couldn’t have stopped watching him even if you wanted to as he unclipped the comlink and activated it.
“Tech, report.”
“I have acquired the necessary data.” You raised your brow at the voice that spoke on the other end of Hunter’s comm. They sounded even less like a clone than Hunter himself did. “We may make our egress, unless there is any additional research you wish to pursue.”
“Yeah, I’ve got a loose end I want to tie up.” You scoffed at that. Loose end? “We'll meet back at the Marauder.”
“Affirmative.”
Hunter sighed as he set the comlink back on his belt. “Sorry about that.” He ran a hand over his head. “Duty calls.”
“Yeah.” You shrugged. “Gotta’ tie up your loose end, now.”
Hunter froze before he let out a heavy exhale. “Kriff, that sounded bad, didn’t it?”
You couldn’t help laughing. “Hey, you’ve done better than most by catching it so fast.”
Hunter chuckled and stepped back over to you. “Here.”
He took something from his belt and reached for your hand, setting it inside your palm and closing your fist around it. It was something circular and metallic, judging by how cool it was against your skin.
“To keep in touch.” Hunter nodded at you. “Next time, the drink’s on me.”
“It was technically already on you this time.” You gestured with your eyes to his stained shirt.
Hunter huffed with amusement. “You know what I mean.”
You smiled at him. “Sure.”
You opened the door for him, and he stopped to give you a wink you wouldn’t miss this time before he disappeared into the thick of the crowd. You leaned your shoulder against the threshold, staring down at the communicator in your grasp. Biting back a smile, you slipped it inside your pocket.
Maybe there was an advantage to the war getting a little closer, after all.
So, let me guess– you just started a new book, right? And you’re stumped. You have no idea how much an AK47 goes for nowadays. I get ya, cousin. Tough world we live in. A writer’s gotta know, but them NSA hounds are after ya 24/7. I know, cousin, I know. If there was only a way to find out all of this rather edgy information without getting yourself in trouble…
You’re in luck, cousin. I have just the thing for ya.
It’s called Havocscope. It’s got information and prices for all sorts of edgy information. Ever wondered how much cocaine costs by the gram, or how much a kidney sells for, or (worst of all) how much it costs to hire an assassin?
I got your back, cousin. Just head over to Havocscope.
((PS: In case you’re wondering, Havocscope is a database full of information regarding the criminal underworld. The information you will find there has been taken from newspapers and police reports. It’s perfectly legal, no need to worry about the NSA hounds, cousin ;p))
Want more writerly content? Follow maxkirin.tumblr.com!
“Below are selected prices that are paid to professional assassins by criminal organizations and drug cartels for a contract hit.
In Australia, the median price to hire a hit man is $13,610 (9,800 Euros), with the price going up to $83,000 (60,000 Euros) based on the task.
In Mexico, the cost for a low level assassin is $208 (150 Euros), and up to $20,832 (15,000 Euros) for a higher profile target like a police chief.
The prices paid in Argentina are between $3,749 (2,700 Euros) to $5,555 (4,000 Euros) per hit.
Government statistics in Spain state that 40 assassinations take place each year, with prices for the hit ranging between $27 (20 Euros) to $69,000 (50,000 Euros).”
So cheap! I always thought things like this would cost more than $1 million…
Despite the gradual (yet quite quick, in retrospect) increment of your feelings toward the skilled soldier, you do, in fact, notice the blunt sexual appeal of Hunter when you first meet Clone Force 99.
It’s difficult not to; with his long hair you can’t quite place how the Kaminoans allow him to have, the striking skull tattoo, his toned body, and discernable shape even through the heavy armor, you can’t help but flutter your eyelashes and rock your feet back and forth like you’re a schoolgirl all over again. Hunter is the Bad Batch’s essential leader, the closest in appearance to the rivaled ‘regs,’ leading them as their Sergeant and CT-9901, and he stands out more than any other clone you’ve interacted with.
His warm, welcoming, yet slightly wary smile is just as firm as the handshake he gives you when you first meet him, leaning down a little to your height (you’d think clone defects would be the same height, or maybe even shorter than a veritable trooper, but instead you feel enveloped by his vertical. Not that you don’t enjoy the feeling, of course) and nodding firmly.
Then you hear his voice.
It’s only a short sentence; a brief introduction and warm gratitude for joining them as their medic before you acquaint yourself with the rest of the squad. But your ears wrap around the waves of his rough, musky baritone like a magnet. Everything feels as though it’s finally clicked into place and created the perfect picture of your desired man.
Your mind immediately begins to create dreamy rhetoric, wondering silly things to yourself.
Had your mind been aimlessly wandering the galaxy for this long, circling like materials until you finally found an opposite —An opposite so charmingly rugged?
The feeling that rushes through you feels so destined.
Lucky for you, Hunter seems to express his commands frequently with his voice; sometimes hushed through a link, the vibrations of your comm humming pleasantly between the soft undersides of your fingers as he talks.
It always during the times when you’re deep past enemy lines, taking down clankers more efficiently than a Starfleet. Initially too, as you were still trying to memorize their master list of designated plans and being weighed down by the extra weight of regulation armor.
“Don’t go through there yet. Squad of clankers waiting for us.”
“You sure, Hunter? I don’t hear any steps.”
“Take it from the person with enhanced hearing, little medic. Just wait for me.”
Other times when he speaks to you, it’s thunderous commands; ones that he yells out across a field or war front. It frightens you at first, your shoulders jolting and hands instinctively clamping over your ears to deafen the noise, but you quickly realize he’s ordering you to act. Once you get used to the intensity, you come to equally enjoy and indulge how his voice takes on a new edge in fleeting moments of urgency and demand; a once blissful burning of wood turning into threatening crackles, and from there a bleeding forest fire.
It’s incredibly embarrassing how something as simple as his voice can leave you this breathless. Even from the snide comments he can’t seem to help himself from saying when Wrecker retells stories to you, either from their days as shinies and cadets to missions where you stayed back on the Marauder. Between Tech’s rambling and Wrecker’s enthusiastic narration, the sound of Hunter’s voice becomes even more of a calming sedative to you.
Though it equally arouses you in other moments.
How his morning voice is somehow even lower and raspier than his regular tone is a study that must be researched and conducted by only the galaxy’s best scientists. It seems just so impossible, unbelievable; none of it is inauthentic either—the grogginess is always equally spread through his body, from his tired slouch and ruffled hair, lolling eyes, the unkempt composition of the clothes hung over his broad shoulders and slim waist. It’s unspoken the things you might do if you felt there was even the slimmest chance of starting your every day with that sound so deep and lovely right in your ear.
When he addresses you directly before you both allow yourself the time to sleep, asking you to check on old injuries or patch up new ones he got on the last mission. He always manages to get hurt in the most menial yet bothersome ways, and you’re once again forced into close proximity; you’re beginning to consider paying a few scientists and investigators to study the sexy phenomenon that is Hunter. But either way, you sit legs crossed at the ankles in the cockpit, forcing yourself to zone out on anything he might be saying every few minutes so you don’t have to squirm and change your position in your seat every so often and prevent showing how damn flustered and hot he makes you; in more places than just your cheeks and ears.
In flitting moments you get time to relish in his conjured wavelength, take in the scene you can create with just the sound of his voice; he transports you to a world of the dark morning fog, the red of his bandana the most vibrant sight in your nearest vision as he takes you on the forest floor just like that, no civil thoughts daring to come to each of your minds as he finally gives you the relief you crave for in real life.
Your depraved fantasy of Hunter is all you can dream of when you sit yourself on your fingers, holding back as many of the impoverished whines you wish to let out due to your true desperation for such an attractive man.
And the sweet indulgences you luxuriate in make you selfish. You want more, need to know how he’d sound grunting, moaning your name while his cock lay on your tongue. Or how the oscillations of his words feel on your inner thighs, against your clit when he pushes his fingers past your tight barrier. There’s much more you could learn, could explore if you could attempt an advance. Or simply given something more than slight moments of suggestion that he might have the same deviant desires as you to allow the green light.
You’ve yet to receive such signals. And flimsy fantasies, the work of your fingers to chase unattainable pleasure, and insistent memorization of his voice can only keep you quenched for so long.
-
“Hunter,” The inadvertent, pathetic whine crawls up your throat the moment you feel his breath on your neck, lingering over your skin even as he pulls back after hearing the noise you make.
“Just a little more,” He reassures you. The hand not firmly gripping your wrist pats your shoulder, and your cheeks flush at the passing fondness. “Let’s try to get one more shot on target and we’ll call it quits, how does that sound?”
With the warmth of your flushed face spreading to the rest of your body, you mutter,
“Sounds good,”
and try to softly shake off your arousal, eyes zeroing in on the middle of the tree, the finger hovering over the trigger surprisingly still. You’re about to take the shot before he starts instructing you again.
“Fix your foot stance,” Hunter gently guides your legs apart with one of his own, fixing the positioning of your feet planted onto the dirt and you take in a deeper breath than you intend to. The fire kindle of his voice and the fire kindle of your core are equal matches now; the husk of his chunked honey tone will certainly turn you to mush if he continues any further, it feels.
Really, how does this oblivious, heart-seizing bastard expect you to keep your focus on this pointless shooting practice when he’s got you this compromised?
“Try again now,” he says after he’s got you in the position he wants. You huff again, letting the fiery stimulation fall to your diaphragm, and breathe down your arousal. Just one hit on the target and you’ll be free of this torture.
But as you lift your arm again, eyes narrowing closer and closer to your prize, the imminent feeling of his leg between yours rears its head. You become so incredibly, annoyingly aware of it, and grimace, biting your lip softly and knitting your eyebrows together to fully get him out of your mind and body. You tug on your bottom lip and pull the trigger.
The bullet lands left side.
A deep groan of frustration leaves you; it sounds much quieter with Hunter’s rumble and grunt in your ear. You gently pull away from his grasp, handing him the blaster, and turn to face him directly. And when you catch that damned expression you promptly decide that you don’t like to see him disappointed; at least, it looks as though he’s disappointed. Eyebrows pinched together with the smallest frown, his chin curled into himself as he looks down at you (Maybe you should look into research for lawyers in the case of when you sue Hunter for the neck pain he’s caused).
“It’s alright,” He assures you, but it doesn’t feel right. And from the way he looks at you, it’s not alright.
“No, it isn’t,” You tell him exactly that, your fingers curling and interlocking together by your stomach. His eyes dart down for a brief moment of scanning, and they don’t linger too long; Maker, you wish you had the power for your eyes not to glue to him and his absolute stature instantly when you enter a space. “I should be better at this by now.”
Hunter clicks his tongue and turns away, as if deep in swirling thought. His gaze comes back to you before you know it.
“You should be,” He agrees, but nothing is degrading or critical in his voice. In his eyes, the wave of gentleness that cascades and shifts his expression, there’s unconditional empathy that you do not deserve and he wouldn’t grace you with if he were to know what you beg him to do to you in your dreams.
“We can try again,” You then insist, but Hunter quickly shakes his head.
“We’ve been working on this for an hour,” He tells you, slickly spinning the blaster back into his holster. He sounds tired as well, a new jaggedness in the smoke tendrils of his voice. “That’s more than enough practice.”
“But I just want to–”
“I know.”
Somehow, those words are more devastating than anything else he’s said. You look back and catch the mysterious glint in his eye, almost as elusive as his words might connotate on a foggy day.
“Trust me,” He continues. You don’t even realize his hand has wandered and softly taken your chin between two fingers until you feel the soft pads brush against your skin; your jaw slacks. He pinches your chin a little tighter to ensure your eyes are fixed on him. “You just want to prove yourself.”
Well, of course, you think to yourself vindictively. It’s enough that you feel ever-so-slightly out of place in a squad of clone troopers, let alone defective ones; not being able to properly handle a blaster in the mere presence of your crush is even more embarrassing. How juvenile.
“We can try again another time. But you’re tired. I can feel it,” He continues. There’s the slightest hint of gentleness you only pick up on because of how you hone all your focus on dissecting and admiring every single crevice of his articulations. Suddenly, he drops your chin, and your head lolls back into place, rather sloppily, and you look up through your eyelashes. “Time for us to sleep, I think.”
With that, Hunter whips around and heads toward the ramp to the Marauder. You’re left there with a smarting jaw, discreetly trying to rub your legs together and take the heat out of the area.
“Alright,” You sigh, glancing around before trotting after him, the white noise keeping your thoughts off of the man in front of you.
Yet, you still picture what his knee had felt like parting your thighs open only half an hour later. Attempting to recreate it with your arm and then your pillow, you give yourself a foggy release and whimper a jumbled version of his name into your pillow before drifting off, body still buzzing with frustration.
-
The next week, as if the weeks and months before weren’t as excruciating, is pure sexual torture. Not to say it’s entirely filled with frustration and dull aching, however. When you and Hunter have a moment of silence, alone by the cots or the engine or the cockpit together, you both relax into the same, comfortable silence that fills the time.
It’s better to have him not running his mouth off, for sure. You still have to deal with it on deployments and missions, but it’s manageable when you’re knocking down clankers or trying to listen to Tech’s very confusing instructions on how to fly the plane to a certain location to pick them up. But he’s allowing the silence to fester between you two. All the better to preserve the actual sweet, steady relationship you have aside from your fiery attraction, you think.
Hey, it could be worse.
But then the dumbass decides to get himself injured. Get pushed into and dragged against hard durasteel, leaving a gash across his stomach that could challenge Wrecker’s spiderweb scars in its damage. Your jaw practically drops when they return and you see the wound out in the open; you can’t stop yourself before you lurch forward with worried eyes and grasp his wrist around your fingers, pushing him down onto a bench.
As Tech pilots the ship off the planet, the rest all recline and lick their minuscule wounds beside him, while you and Hunter remain cramped in the back, avoiding his gaze and praying to the Maker that he keeps his voice to quiet rough grunts of pain as you try to unclip each different plate of his armor and lay them neatly beside him, tutting when more of his wound is revealed to you.
”Oh my goodness, oh my goodness ohmygoodness,” You stammer to yourself, more and more strained with each breath you take, peeling off the tarnished fabric of his blacks.
“It’s not too bad,” He argues with a soft grin, which slowly fades away when you glare.
“Don’t,” You retort, firm and simple, flashing a genuine look of empathy, and even a drip of fear. If you didn’t know any better, you might think Hunter practically melts under your look with how he slumps and his expression droops. But he’s still an oblivious, sexy fool, you remind yourself.
You don’t even have the energy to fawn over how incredibly attractive he sounds with the rough baritone and anguished sigh-like tone he wears; you instead scramble to open the first aid kit. You can feel his gaze set selectively on you and it doesn’t help. In the corner of your eye, he tilts his head.
“Is everything alright?”
You nod automatically.
“Everything is fine.”
The Marauder jostles in rough air; the ship tilts, your stomach dropping with the altitude change, and you’re unwantedly yanked onto Hunter’s lap with a yelp.
You still for a moment, waiting for the ship to steady again before you become acutely aware of how your chest is almost completely pressed up onto his face. And how your knees are caged over his thighs, your pelvis way too close to his wound for each of your comfort. And pressure against your waist, not too firm but still weighting you to his body–wait, is Hunter holding you to him?
Your eyes widen and you stumble off, stammering nonsensically and afraid to gaze upon his face. You don’t for a long moment, before grabbing the disinfectant and pouring it onto a cloth.
Silence festers between the two of you. When Hunter does speak, it’s not to you.
“Tech! Get her steady, would you?” He yells across the ship, vexed and evidently not in an ideal mood. Tech immediately retorts in his typical, inappropriately casual, intellectual tone,
“That is not a light request, Hunter. I am already trying.”
Hunter scoffs and you finally get the gall to look at him. He exchanges a mutual look of annoyance and manages to grin wider for you. The sight soothes your frayed ends ever so slightly, and you stare down at his stomach again at the wound, biting your lip as you inspect the damage.
Your hands come to the hem of his blacks and you give him a silent ask with your eyes.
“Is it alright if I take this off?”
He hums, which you take as a yes, and you slowly peel it off of his skin, trying very, very hard to ensure your stare doesn’t linger. He looks at you with a mysterious gaze that's too hard to place for your liking. But you just try and shake it off as you slowly dab his wound with the bacta-dipped cloth, pressing it firm against the injury.
When he hisses, you perk up with wide eyes.
“Did that hurt?”
Hunter clenches his teeth and nods slowly, and you pull away with shaky hands. His arms reach out, encircling his fingers around your wrist, and guides them back tenderly.
“It’s alright,” He says, his tone dropping down an octave as your hands tremble again in his grasp. You gain the courage to look up at him, biting your lip softly. The grin he wears manages to soothe your nerves, just a little. “I’ve got you, girl. Just let me guide you so you don’t hurt me.”
You let out a shaky exhale of relief, and he sighs, dipping his chin down, but keeping the intense eye contact.
“How does that sound?”
“Good,” You squeak, the rise and fall of your chest the only constant managing to soothe your fried senses. After a couple of breaths, you finish your thought. “Better.” You press onto a side of his wound, softly spreading the bacta onto it; your eyes don’t separate from his once. “How’s that?”
He huffs, not of frustration or annoyance, but more a comforting relief.
"Fine. Keep going."
The rasp stirs between the space between the two of you, and you take a deep breath before you can do anything else.
With the firm grasp on your wrists and the low tendrils of his voice softly directing you, you continue to tend to his wound, your hands moving deftly over his skin. The thick, intoxicating tension in the air is palpable; the lingering silence between you weighs heavy despite your best attempts to snap yourself out of it and take care of him like you're supposed to.
It's not your fault he just sounds so damn sexy all the time.
"Careful, careful," He tuts when you're stitching up a particularly bad spot, pressing your fingers around the skin and holding it there as you thread the stitch through. "Just a little gentler, please."
Then, "Avoid that spot, please. I can't even-- shit -- breathe without it hurting. Just stitch around it. Yeah, just like that. Good job, little medic," As you're finishing up.
Once you finish wrapping the bandage firmly over the wound and around his waist, taping it firmly to him, he dislodges his fingers from where it's wrapped around your wrist, bringing it to your chin and manhandling you slightly to get a better look into your eyes.
"See, ‘wasn't so bad, was it?" He flashes you a grin, obviously masking the pain etching into his limbs, all to calm your nerves. The fact that he's making such a constant effort to make you feel better despite his state makes you positively soft. "You did great."
You grin back, nodding and averting your eyes.
"Thank you."
There's a pause before he bludgeons you with his next sentence.
"You enjoy getting instructions."
Your eyes widen; you almost drop the first aid kit; everything stills, your chest tight as you process his words. Shit, what the fuck?
What the fuck?
"Wh--What?" You stammer, taking a small step backward and tilting your head to appear more confused and insulted by the accusation. Maybe if you appear offended, he’ll take it back. "Who said that?"
"You don’t need to say it. I can feel it," He continues, gaze thoughtfully fixated on you. He doesn't even falter when you seem to panic. "I can see it." You try to gawk at him to make him feel stupid, make him retract what he's saying, but either he's so certain or you don't seem very convincing.
No matter; you're still fucked.
"You like getting told what to do."
Your heart pounds, and Hunter just sits there, legs spread leisurely, his eyebrow slightly raised in expectation. Seriously, what does he expect you to answer with? Does he want you to fess up and admit how depraved and desperate you are for his touch, then run off mortified to never speak to him again? Surely he doesn’t expect you to take.
Defeated, you sigh and softly run your hands over your work again, avoiding his burning gaze.
"Only from you," you mutter, then immediately pray devotedly to the Maker he doesn't hear. Hunter hums, a tone of question in his voice, then you proceed to figuratively jump off a cliff as you remember this fucker has enhanced senses.
"Why’s that, mesh’la?" He asks. Instinctively, your eyebrows knit together when the new nickname graces your ears.
"What does mesh’la mean?"
Hunter doesn't seem very phased. Can't you just throw him off his rhythm once?
"Don’t worry about that," He quickly excuses your question as a distraction from the question at hand. "But tell me why you only enjoy getting instructions from me."
There's something smug to the way he talks, hidden behind insistent concern and curiosity.
"Why’s that, tell me."
Your hand comes up to hide your face, but he takes it and keeps it away from disfiguring his view of your expression. You want to babble; you can feel your face heating up. Instead, you frown.
"I, uh," You try to discreetly rub your thighs together languidly, easing the tension and buildup of heat in between them. A huff leaves his lips that sounds oddly close to a chuckle.
"Come on," You lift your head, perplexed for a split moment, but then he pats the top of his thigh. You blink once, then twice, then another time for good measure, just to make sure you're seeing correctly. Is he... what's he even implying?
"Sit down. On my lap."
Oh. That’s what.
Your mouth opens, a strange sound bordering on a choke leaving your throat as you try to retort or deny him. He only raises his eyebrows and dips his chin down, gesturing toward his lap again.
You huff, eyebrows knitted, and take a small step toward him, slowly, and you envelop his figure, trapping his legs between your knees and careening slightly, hands still meeting at your stomach, unsure of where to move. He nods encouragingly.
“Good job, just like that,” He praises you, hands slowly rising to rest on the handles of your hips, fingers tracing your waist. You take a sharp intake of breath, eyes drifting down to where your bodies meet, and look back up at him again. Hunter’s wearing this oh-so-innocent, deer-in-headlights expression you know is bantha-shit. “What’s got you so hot and bothered?”
You sough vindictively, averting your eyes.
“Stop teasing me.”
He laughs— though it’s more of a snarky, yet affectionate chuckle. You feel so naked in his presence, given such focused, vehement attention.
“I’m not teasing. Just concerned,” He tells you. The problem is, Hunter does well making you think he’s actually this clueless when he does know and just wants to hear it from your lips.
“Mhm,” You hum sarcastically with a pout.
He manages to grin at you, the corners of his eyes scrunching up as he looks at you. You let your eyes come back to him.
“I can do both, can’t I?” He offers.
“Sure,” You retort.
Squinting his eyes, he casually rubs his hands up and down the sides of your body.
“I’ll figure it out, one way or another,” He affirms, ending the sentence with a wink; you take a deep breath, letting your jaw slack. Hunter keeps talking like there’s nothing thick in the air between you.
“Put your hands on my shoulders.”
You furrow your eyebrows; he pouts like an upset child. Chastising, you huff and do as he says. When your hands shake slightly, he continues giving you instructions. They are so simple, yet they seem so alluring and nuanced in this context. In his voice.
”Steady yourself. Yeah, like that. Good.”
You wiggle your hips slightly, and something boils in his stomach slightly, something bordering on a groan. Your legs are warming up but you have no way to close them and satiate yourself. So all you can do is squirm.
Hunter perks up in concern.
“Are you comfortable?”
You take a moment to respond but then nod.
“Good.” Hunter grins softly, patting your left hip. For a moment, he decides to rake his eyes over you appreciatively, almost in the same way you do when you assume he isn’t looking. “I’m glad.”
Offering a civil smile of mutual understanding, you wiggle your hips, trying to find a better position if you’re going to be compromised on his lap.
”Trail your hands down for me.”
It's hard to deny or disobey him with a voice like that, especially when you know it’s directed toward you. So you slowly let your hands slip from his shoulders and descend his chest and torso.
“Yeah, down,” He encourages you when you reach the top of his wrapped wound. “Maybe try to avoid the gash.”
You lift your hands and let only the pads of your fingers place feather-light touches over the wrapping. When your hands begin to tremble again the further you descend, reaching his pelvis, he tuts to stop you. “That’s a good place to stop.”
You look up again with wide eyes, trying to stop your erratic (embarrassing) trembles and tilt your head. There’s more he’s going to say. At least it seems so.
“Whenever you’re ready, put your hand over my crotch.” He gives you a soft look of reassurance, making sure you’re completely comfortable in this position, before finishing. “I want you to feel me.”
Gasping softly, you pull your hand away, fingers curling into your palm and gripping tightly. A shiver runs through you, and you can’t seem to figure out if it’s from shock or pleasure.
“What?” You begin, eyes flitting from his face and back. “H-Hunter, I shouldn’t.”
“I’m asking you to.” Polite insistence is the game he plays. If this truly is a trap, you might happily fall if it means you get to touch him. He runs his hands over your curves again. “I want you to.”
You tense further, something bordering on fear in your eyes. Hunter notices and frowns while he clarifies:
“Unless you don’t want it. ‘Cause then… we can stop. No hard feelings…”
You can see how he’s getting lost in his thoughts. For a split moment, that perfect composure he holds in your presence fractures; he seems insecure and nervous; anticipating inevitable rejection because he’s pushed you too far.
That isn’t the case.
As you finally press your palm to his bulge, you contain your gasp. He’s big. And so hard.
“Fuck,” He groans, head tilting back. “Feel that?”
Oh kriff, that rumble. It’s warm and smooth yet rough all the same, creeping its way over your skin until you’re forced to keep the faintest whimper from leaving your throat. You string your lips tight and nod.
“Mhm,” Is the only thing that manages to leave your mouth, whiny and soft. You palm him further, as if the fabric would simply tear away and you could finally feel his skin on yours. He hums again, and you’re left looking doe-eyed in his direction. “Shit, Hunter.”
He throws a heavy statement onto you.
“It’s my voice, isn’t it?”
You tilt your head up, containing the urge to gasp.
“What?”
“What’s making you so hot and bothered,” He continues. You want to look away, hide your face in your hands with humiliating embarrassment, but you’re trembling so much on top of him that you can’t even flit your eyes away. “You like my voice. And you like it when I tell you what to do.”
You gasp lightly when you feel his warm hand on your thigh. Your cunt twitches and it really shouldn’t. He’s barely doing anything.
“Well,” he continues, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going to deny it?”
The answer is delivered non-verbally. You relax into his lap, palm pressing further to his bulge, and then you squeeze oh so gently. That heavenly groan graces your ears and you devoutly catalog it into your mind for later recollection.
His chin dips down to catch a glimpse of your hand before he meets your eyes.
“Mesh’la,” he says; even without knowing what it means, just hearing how he speaks with such beguile and worship tells all that you need to know. “Mesh’la… can you do something for me?”
“Yeah. Of course. Anything,” You stammer out with a slack jaw, far too enthusiastic. Hunter doesn’t seem to regard it as anything distorting the absolute utmost respect that he must feel while he has you in his lap with your hand on his dick.
“Slip your pants off.”
It’s practically instinctual how efficiently you gingerly push yourself off of his lap and follow his order. With your hands chastely placed above your waistband, you let your thumbs push past, then await Hunter to grant you to pull them off. His eyes dilate with the view, and he nods.
The pants find their way to the ground clumsily, and you cringe internally at your lack of grace, but when you finally catch sight of Hunter’s expression, perhaps it’s nothing to worry about.
He looks… starved. Hypnotized by the splendor in front of him, for his eyes and his hands and his body only to touch, feel, hold, take.
“You’re… fuck,” he sighs, sounding out of breath, as though you’d just swept his leg and taken him off his feet. His hand methodically strokes up and down his thigh, only lightly grazing the tent in his pants as he takes his eyes over how you look, over and over again.
“You’re stunning,” he finally manages to say. His hand stops stroking to pat his thigh lightly, and his voice simmers in a way you know is on purpose. “C’mere, sit on my lap again.”
“Are you sure?” You ask for permission despite rocking your feet back and forth to shimmy your way back. As you gesture toward the bandages wrapped around his middle, Hunter huffs and frowns with miffed frustration. “You’re still injured.”
Hunter gripes to himself as he pushes himself up, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you to the free space between his two hard, firm thighs. His dexterity surprises you. The warmth radiating from his body does even more.
“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”
Oh.
Shit.
He looks the part, certainly; you only try to feel the faintest tremble of his fingers when his hands float away from your hips to sit on the top of his legs again,
“Okay,” You mutter aimlessly, reaching up to your face to brush your hair away in a measly attempt to look more presentable. Your voice is just a squeaky little thing, and it’s so incredibly humiliating. “Okay…”
“It’s alright,” Hunter tries to soothe you, and you breathe shallowly.
“I know that.” Your tongue runs over your bottom lip and you heave. “I just…”
Before you’re able to process what’s happening, Hunter’s reaching a hand out to cup your face. Despite the coarseness of his skin, his callouses fall on your cheek, it’s so tender, and you melt into his touch.
“Do you need some guidance, little medic?”
With a slight whine, you nod, letting your lashes flutter. Hunter lets his thumb swipe over your bottom lip, and your mouth parts. He grins at your unprompted compliance.
“Then let me tell you what to do. Let me tell you how to touch yourself and make you come from that, and my voice too.”
A depraved noise is choked out of you.
“Fuck,” your head careens to the side, but his firm hold on the side of your face keeps your gaze on him. His grin turns more into a cheeky smirk.
“How does that sound?” He asks. You nod adamantly before he tries to change his mind, so worried that he’ll push you away at any moment. As though he can read your mind, the hand that was still on the back of your thigh takes a gentle squeeze before trailing up your body, taking appreciative feels of your ass and hips before settling on your waist again.
“Mm…” You hum, reveling in the sensation. “Really good.”
Hunter gives you a half-crooked smile, and you want to cuss him out, or yourself, you’re not sure who to be fed up with.
“Come on, little medic,” He urges you on, patting your hip. “Slip your hand down your panties.”
Wordlessly, you let a trembling hand descend down your body. You have little dignity left in you to try and make yourself appear more seductive, but you hope your image isn’t so repulsive. The moment your fingertips make contact with your heat, your fingers grazing over your mons and clit, your mouth falls open in a silent gasp.
Hunter tilts his head.
“How does it feel? Are you wet?”
He should know already, smug bastard.
“Yeah,” you nod, keening further into his touch when he tilts his chin down, leaning toward your ear.
He takes a gentle lick, so light that if you weren’t in his grasp you wouldn’t have noticed.
“How wet?”
Your hips instinctively buck to rub yourself over your hand, a rush of arousal washing over you.
“Re–“ You swallow a wad of spit sitting on your tongue. “Really wet.”
Hunter’s lips are gentle when they undulate as he speaks oh so close to your ear, quiet and warm, words just for you.
“Just from my voice?” When he asks this time, you don’t detect much smugness; he wants the confirmation and credibility for a foundation of fact he’s built for himself.
You nod, but add on more.
“Not just that.”
“Hm?” His dark rumble travels down your spine and you squirm with pleasant upheaval. Your hand is still awkwardly lodged down your panties with nothing to do.
“Tell me more,” he demands with an assuasive croon. With one last kitten lick that lingers on the shell of your ear, he allows his lips to wander, mouthing against your skin, leaving delicate kisses on your temple, your jaw, and any moles and freckles in his nearest vicinity while he awaits your answer.
“I, uh,” you begin, awaiting to land on a coherent stream of words loosely strung together to fall on your tongue. “your—“
Just as you feel something begin to tie, your gaze drops down. Hunter palms his full erection over his blacks, languidly as though without a care, and the thought of him being aroused by this, aroused by you, slaps your mind into a render less zone.
“—fuck.”
He chuckles right in your damn face, and Maker he’s just too pretty not to kiss. But you resist the temptation with the festering worry of crossing the barrier past simple attraction into affection.
So you swallow slow and hard and try to compose a sentence.
“Your, face—“
Yeah, real eloquent, idiot.
“—That skull tattoo, it’s, well, shit…”
Your tongue wraps around itself again, words becoming more and more hard to piece together the longer you think about it. All that your primal mind begs you to think of is the olympic man presented under you, and the heat that radiates off the both of you.
“Alright now, you don’t have to continue,” Hunter huffs with no real malice contained in his words. It still makes you cringe nonetheless.
“That bad?” You ask with a clenched jaw.
A simple head shake is all you receive, but it’s more than enough to sedate a growing burn in the pit of your stomach. The hand not pressed to his crotch gently holds your hip, thumb swiping over your panties and bare skin; he even dares to let it slip past the waistband. The accurate awareness of your hand pressed to your pussy returns to you.
“Don’t want you to focus your energy on that,” he clarifies, eyes looking into yours with a softness you’ve never associated with Hunter. You’d find it peculiar in a regular conversation, but everything about this interaction has been anything but normal.
You suddenly realize you’re at a loss again. “So what do you want me to do?” You ask because you feel humiliated just straddling him like this.
Hunter puffs out his chest and you prepare yourself for the worst.
A coarse hand presses to your navel, trailing up underneath your shirt to sketch an image of your body underneath, stopping right where “Rub your pussy for me.”
It’s worded like a demand, but he voices it as though it’s a request. Your body wants to tense and retract, but the palm spread over the expanse of your stomach prevents you.
“You can do that,” Hunter encourages you, almost as though you were a creature he’s saddled on to ride. Though in this instance, you’d much rather be the one to ride. “Can’t you? For me?”
With a huff, you look away and nod bashfully. It’s wordless when you begin to move your hand, let your fingers get soaked as they rub up and down, up and down… you’re almost too tense to really feel the sensation, but Hunter’s doting gaze and his firm hand on your stomach keep you grounded. As you collect slick, running your fingers through your folds, it takes heavy petting for you to relax your jaw and let out the most pleasantly pathetic whimper.
Hunter groans, adding fuel to the flame flourishing in your pants, a dark sound of thunder rumbling in the sky, forewarning something much more devastating.
“Yeah, just like that,” he encourages you in that same husky tone following the groan. “Rock your hips too.”
You do so diligently, using your palm to press against your clit as a foundation for the rest of your hand to move leisurely while you rock your hips into himself. Hunter’s hand retracts from your stomach, fingers curling into his palms as he lets his knuckles graze against your skin. When you shiver, he takes it as an invitation to shush you gently against your temple, before his hand falls to your waist again.
The moment you glance down, you have to tip your chin back with an ascendant sigh. He’s got his hand over his clothed erection, palming it with a firm hand, almost absentmindedly as he keeps his eyes on you.
“Fuck, Hunter…” The desperate, embarrassing whimper comes out of you far more loud than you intend. Hunter shushes you gently.
“Keep quiet for me,” he commands; how are you meant to be by him when he speaks like that?
“Good?” He then asks, seemingly seeking approval good enough for him to continue. “Do I sound as good as you imagined?”
You want to say yes, declare it to the entire galaxy, and tell him just how wonderful this man is, but you’re far too overwhelmed by all the pleasurable sensations disrupting your thought process. So instead you nod.
That seems to satisfy Hunter, and the smallest smirk curls on his lips as he watches you squirm and rock your hips into your hands.
“Don’t you as well.”
With a hum, you try to dismiss the comment. But only as you let it sit does the implication of his words sink to your stomach. But he doesn’t allow you to dwell on it for too long, it seems, as he continues,
“I want you to keep touching yourself. Do whatever you need to for me. Whatever makes you come.”
He pats his incredibly intimidating bulge as though it’s an invitation.
“Right here, on my lap.”
You resist the dizzyness that threatens to overtake your senses, but as you steady your breaths, you suddenly feel so exposed. Far too exposed compared to Hunter.
So you try to level the playing field.
“Would you… er…”
If only your words could come out correctly. Hunter raises an eyebrow, perked with a cheeky glint in his eye.
“Hm?” He hums.
You grunt and attempt again to tunnel out the words. Like a plow shoveling out snow or sand.
“It—It feels unfair that I’m the only one here getting off.”
You wince as you finish the sentence. Maker, you sound so clunky and awkward. So much for being seductive.
But Hunter hums with total compliance, letting his hand trail up to where his bottoms cling to his skin.
“‘Guess you’re right.” Slowly, oh-so-slowly, Hunter peels back the waistband of his blacks, letting his hand slip through to free his cock from underneath the garments.
You think you’ve been knocked out for a healthy minute when you get a proper look. You’d never imagine describing a cock as pretty, but just like everything else, Hunter may become an exception. His fingers curl around the base with rather ease, before reaching up with it to his chin. He opens his mouth, letting a wad of spit collect and drop onto his palm, allowing him to stroke his cock with a more slick movement.
Maker, he’s so… so…
No, that can’t be right. His cock is far too thick for his hand to wrap around it so easily. But then you remember his proportions, especially compared to yours. A small chuckle leaves you when you imagine how you might try to wrap a full hand around his length.
Hunter leisurely strokes himself, eyes set on yours with an intensity that makes your stomach leap bounds up to your chest.
“Now it’s more fair, little medic,” he says. “Don’t you think?”
You nod adamantly with no hesitation.
“Yeah, yeah…” Your fingers deftly move to trap your clit between your index and middle, your mouth falling open when you feel the pressure hum over you. “Shit.”
Hunter huffs with a smugly saccharine look, his hand slowly stroking up and down his cock, lingering at the tip before he returns down again.
“You look really good like this.”
You tilt your head and grunt in disbelief. It’s hard to believe him when you feel simultaneously so powerful and so humiliated. Even though he’s just as physically exposed as you, you still feel more vulnerable.
“Do I now?” Despite being sarcastic, you try not to come off too mean.
But then Hunter sighs out the most exasperated, “ Fuck yeah,” his chin tipping upwards as he gathers his breath, tongue darting out to lick his lips, eyes half closed while he squeezes the tip of his dick, and you’re left render less to your own attraction again.
He seems to see the disbelief in your eyes.
“Don’t you believe me, mesh’la?” He asks. You remain still. “You really need me to spell out just how hot you look right now? How sexy .”
“Hunter,” you whine.
He continues without regarding you.
“I’m trying so hard not to— fuck—“ he tenses his stomach as he tries to compose himself. “—just blow my load right now. You’re just so— so pretty and pliant and so damn obedient .” You tremble slightly, and Hunter reaches to hold the back of your neck; not before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, of course.
“Listening to my every order,” he continues, oddly affectionate.
A rush of confidence flows through your veins. You try to smirk, but instead it comes out toothy and bashful.
“That’s my job, sergeant.”
Hunter groans, his fingers curling into your neck, one pressing to your pulse point so purposefully.
“Fuck, don’t say stuff like that,” he says, shaking his head, though he doesn’t seem too displeased. “Or else this’ll be really short.”
You giggle, trying to look away, but Hunter’s grip on your neck keeps your head in place. You blink rapidly, suddenly overwhelmed by his stare. But you can’t. Move.
You whisper out a weak, “Keep talking,” before your eyes shut close. You press your palm to your clit, whining softly. Hunter uses the grip on your neck to bring you in closer, whispering slow and softly into your ear with purposeful oscillations of his lips,
“I wonder how you’ll feel around me.” You sigh out the faintest hint of his name in surprise, just as you begin to press a finger into your entrance. “I bet you’re so tight you’ll squeeze me out. Warm, and hot, and loud .”
“Fuck,” you swear, both in response to his words and to the feeling of a single finger pumping in and out of you. You’ve done little to stimulate yourself and cum, but somehow you’re already feeling an anticipated crawl up of an orgasm.
The things Hunter does to you.
“I want your mouth on my cock too.”
You clench involuntarily o over your finger, bucking your hip so your clit catches against your palm. Oh. He isn’t done.
“‘Thinking we’d both have fun if I tried a hand at commanding you around, fucked your face a little.”
Hunter tilts his head. as though expecting a response, so you nod your head — or tilt your chin down, you’re unsure— and he grins in deep settled approval at your compliance.
“How does that sound, hm?”
In a split moment of respite, while he awaits your response, you gaze down, watch his hand wrap around his cock with more insistence than before, stroke at the same rate you move. The hand on your hip drifts down to hold your hip again, rocking you with more fervor. Inadvertently, the movement forces your fingers in a new direction that grazes your g-spot just so perfectly, and you’re sighing again.
“ Oh… ”
The silence becomes too long for Hunter to bear, and he grunts.
“Answer me, mesh’la,” his tone is commanding, yet not overbearing. You appreciate it considering the sliver of shame remaining in your stomach. “Would you like that?”
“I’d–I’d like it,” you stammer out, slowly rubbing a second finger down your folds before pressing in slowly to meet the other. “A lot … fuck.”
With a tilt of his head, Hunter leans in closer, lips dangerously close to yours and for a split moment you consider pulling away.
“Something the matter?” He asks, but he knows the answer. Hunter can damn well see how your legs begin to twitch and shake more rapidly, the unsteadiness of your breathing as you simultaneously calm yourself and try to bring about your high.
“You fucking know what’s the matter, Hunter,” you bark back.
“I don’t think I’m sure exactly,” he responds dismissively. “Could you say it clearly, just in case?”
Something you hope sounds like a playful growl leaves you, but in reality, it probably sounds like a moth cat purring.
“You bastard .” There’s no real bite to your insult, and Hunter knows it, so he grins.
“I do my best.”
Your pleasure overtakes you and a shiver runs from the top of your spine to your legs, your thumb moving to properly rub your clit.
“Oh, fuck, I’m close,” you’re moaning out before you know it, voice dwindling so you’re not too loud.
“Ah,” Hunter hums, affectionately rubbing your hip. “That’s what I thought. ‘Was just making sure.”
His strokes have become more erratic and frantic, but his composure doesn’t give it away. If you weren’t to gaze down, you’d have no tell how aroused he truly was. Though perhaps that’s how he wants it to be— you’re a pretty mess while he’s the foundation to keep you upright.
Suddenly, he’s talking again, using the hand on your hip to encourage you to keep rocking.
“Come on, you pretty thing,” he rumbles. “Come for me and I’ll come for you.” Then you’re remembering what brought you to this attraction in the first place; that damn voice of his. Truly, and you mean truly, never saw yourself being in this position; situated over Hunter’s lap, touching yourself for him while he gets off to you and only you.
With one more curl of your fingers against your g-spot and your thump insistently rubbing your clit, you’re over the hill, and you’re twitching and rocking your hips over and over in arches of your back, jumbled syllables vaguely making up Hunter’s name spilling from your lips like sticky sweet sugar.
That’s when you hear it. When you glance down to catch his spend start to spill on his bare skin the bandages of his, he groans out the most pleasant incantation of your name you’ve ever heard. The moment the noise graces your ears, you’re certain that you never want to hear anything else. Or at the least, any other version of your name.
A few moments pass where you remain panting in each other's presence, his hands remaining render less at your side, rubbing up and down in uncoordinated patterns, while your hands grip his shoulders. You only start to pull away from him as you catch your bearings— and your dignity.
Hunter interrupts you by grabbing the wrist of the hand you had stuffed down your panties. He leans in closer, tongue darting out like a teasing little offer.
“Can I get a taste, mesh’la?” His voice is slow, and warm, like honey pouring into a pot of tea—in any other situation, it would sedate your nerves. But those words ignite that fuel inside you. You press your fingers still coated in slick to his lips, and he opens his mouth graciously, letting his tongue swirl around your digits with a gracious hum that vibrates your skin. Your other hand drops to his chest just before where the gash begins and holds onto it with a tremorous touch.
Hunter pulls away with a resounding ‘pop’ that makes you cringe, but not pull your eyes away.
“Delicious,” he remarks.
Your face is hot again and Hunter is smiling wide, but you’ve figured out by now he means no malicious intent with his mannerisms. His hand reaches out, cradling your face
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Hunter admires you with a glint in his eye you’ve never seen before. Sure, you’ve seen affection— plenty at this point— but there’s a tenderness to his words as he continues. It still doesn’t feel fair to not return the compliment, however.
“You’re one to talk.”
The only response you get is a scoff.
“Have you ever seen yourself?” He asks, posing the rhetoric as if you’d go out of the way to compliment yourself. It’s hard to feel anything more than pretty when you have the most handsome man trapped between your thighs.
Hunter doesn’t budge — states it like a fact, as though he truly believes it. “I always get ravenous just looking at you.”
“Oh,” You reply dumbly. “I… I didn’t think.” Your ability to talk to Hunter improves after getting off for him, it seems.
“You thought wrong,” he replies, shaking his head slightly with a smile. He leans his head down, looking better at your face before reaching with his palm to hold your cheek with hands so calloused they feel soft.
“You’re a capable woman, a great addition to the batch–” Your cheeks heat up, and he smiles. “--And I think you’re beautiful. Mesh’la. That’s what that means.”
Your hand crawls up slowly against his arm, unknowingly following the pattern of his skeleton tattoo before your much smaller hand is placed against his.
“Hunter…” You whine.
He tilts his head, that goofy smile still stuck on his face. “What?”
“You flatter me.” With a shake of your head, you unpeel yourself from his lap, and Hunter whines so, so soft as you do to the point you almost leap back onto his lap again.
“I’m being honest,” Hunter insists, lazily using the underside of his blacks to clean his spend off his skin and the bandages. You’re standing idly, stupidly, and you know he’s waiting for you to say something— and you do, you do, but you don’t know what.
“Well, thank you,” you finally answer, attempting to compose yourself. You awkwardly place your feet back into the holes of your pants, pulling them up in a swift motion that leaves you put away wet, but you care very little at this point.
You look up at Hunter, appreciatively looking over his features, before a forlorn feeling fills your stomach when you gaze down at his lips. You felt them delicately graze against your ear, wrap around your fingers to gently suck and lap at the spend coating them, yet you haven’t felt them against yours once.
He notices the look on your face.
“Something up?” He asks.
In retrospect, it must’ve been a rush of confidence through your veins after having him in such a vulnerable state only a moment ago, but you truly don’t know where your next words come from.
“Can I have a kiss?”
You expect, hope even, for Hunter to be thrown off his rhythm so he can be on the same level as you for once. Rather he takes a step closer to you, his hand methodically wrapping around the back of your neck again, thumb pressing the juncture between your jaw and throat for that extra leisure, feeling your pulse as he pulls you in for a kiss.
In your dreams, Hunter's kisses are wholly devouring. But in reality, it’s warm, tender, brimming with an underlying passion you least expected. As his lips press against yours, you can feel the velvet caress of his skin, the exchange of breath between the two of you that makes you hum into him.
His other hand rises to gently stroke your back before pulling you closer, and you feel so enveloped in his embrace that neither of you will be harmed again. You press your foreheads together and pull away, each taking slow, savoring breaths.
Truly, you never expected to be in this situation.
“...I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” you mutter shyly, a bashful look on your face. It’s that little smile, that damned voice of his, that delivers the final blow, sending you back into his striking orbit.
“Of course,” Hunter tells you, smooth as ever. “I still haven’t gotten to be inside you.”
Summary: The Senator has spent the last couple weeks locked inside, but now wants nothing more than to go outside. The others need to find a way to get her outside without being spotted or recognized.
Warning: mention of the shooter, vial of blood is alluded to, characters have slight anxiety, mutual pining, suggestive talk, weaponry mentioned (not used)
Pairing: Hunter x Fem!Reader Senator
Type: Short Series
Word Count: 5.4k
Series Masterlist
The day following the attack was spent talking to The Coruscant Security Force. They had come to the apartment to investigate the destruction, opening a brand new case file against the shooter. While some officers were snapping photographs of the scene, the other ones were questioning the people who witnessed the attack.
In the meantime, Crosshair made sure to keep a close eye out the window with his sniper in hand. His eyes scanned the city skyline thoroughly. By the couches, Senator Rayna and Hunter gave their statements to an officer. The man took notes on a pad of paper.
"And where you able to get a good look at the shooter? Maybe what they were wearing," the officer suggested.
"No, we didn't get a good look. It was quite dark out and we went in the best position to look at them," Hunter explained. Even with his heightened senses, Hunter wasn't able to get a great look before he fired his shot.
Just then, Tech came to approach the small group. He held his data pad in one hand and a small vial of blood in the other. He passed the vial to the officer.
"This might be of some assistance to you," Tech told the officer. "It was found on the rooftop where the shooter was located. That is their blood."
The officer went to open his mouth to question how he managed to get a sample of the shooter's blood, but the technical clone beat him to talking by saying:
"You should be able to run a DNA diagnosis test to pinpoint who it is exactly. Then you can release a warrant for his arrest," Tech explained to the officer as if he didn't know how to do his job. He typed away at his data pad.
The senator was forced to stuff her lips into her mouth in hopes of stifling a small laugh. She glanced up at the sergeant who gave her a shrug and a look that said: "That's Tech for you."
"R-Right. We'll get right on that and get back to you once the results are in," the officer stammered over his words. "We should have this place cleaned up in a few days. I presume you have a place to stay?"
"She does," Hunter interjected before Y/n could speak for herself. He left it at that, not wishing to disclose where the senator was staying just in case unwanted ears were listening.
The officer gave a firm nod of the head, showing them appreciation for their willingness to answer their questions. "Thank you for your time."
Over the next couple weeks, Senator Rayna was fully immersed in her work back at the office. Her schedule consisted of attending meetings, writing her speech, and sitting in on what was happening at the senate. All the while, the Bad Batch escorted her to every function. They kept a close eye on her while being fully aware of the dangers that could accompany them.
It had been many weeks since the attack at the high-rise, which was now the longest amount of time between attacks. Something was not right. His suspicious grew with each passing day. That only made him want to take extra precautions when accompanying the senator out.
"I don't like it," Hunter grumbled more to himself. He paced back and forth across the office.
The senator spared him a quick glance before returning her attention to the papers in front of her. "Stop pacing," Senator Rayna spoke from behind her paper.
"It's been weeks and nothing. We haven't heard a thing from this guy," Hunter complained. He raised his hand to gesture out the window.
"Well, I am most certainly thankful for that. You're not the one who's a target here," Senator Rayna stated. He slumped down into a chair facing her desk. He fidgeted with his fingers nervously; his eyes darting around the room.
"He's gonna strike. I just know it," Hunter claimed.
"Hunter," Y/n spoke softly. "I think you're a little paranoid."
"And you're not?" Hunter inquired, glancing at her.
"Not anymore," Y/n confessed with a soft smile on her face. He stared directly at her with a hint of intrigue in his eyes.
"Why?"
"Because I have you," Y/n explained. She felt herself getting lost in those dark brown eyes of his. She quickly snapped out of it and redirected her gaze away from him. She cleared her throat awkwardly. "A-And your brothers looking out for me," Y/n added.
The senator pretended to go back to her work, but she was secretly thinking about the sergeant in front of her. She tried so hard to push those thoughts away, knowing that it wasn't right to be pining after and crushing over her sergeant who was assigned to protect her. It wasn't like he could reciprocate the feelings; he was a clone after all and they were programmed to not meddle in those matters.
Despite the looks, Hunter wasn't void of all emotions. In fact, as of recently, Hunter discovered that he was shifting towards having a more domesticated heart. His thoughts wandered back to his friend named Cut who was a deserter clone settled on Saleucami. He had gone so far as to marry a Twi'lek named Suu and have two children together.
The difference between Hunter and Cut were their priorities in life. While Cut found purpose in providing for his family, Hunter was still a soldier for the Republic and served in the war. Now, Hunter envied the life Cut made for himself and wished that someday after the war, he'd be able to seek the same kind of life for himself.
However, despite this optimist approach that the war would end, there was still a matter at hand. Once the war ended, Hunter may be free to chose a life for himself, but Y/n would not be. She'd still be a senator, sitting through meetings and making grand speeches. She herself would be working hard to make the galaxy a better place. That was something that Hunter would never be able to pull her away from. It was her purpose.
Which was why, for the past few months, Hunter tried to distance himself from the senator emotionally. He still needed to be in close proximity to her in order to keep her safe, but he simply wouldn't allow himself to become too attached. One day, they'd have to go their separate ways and that would be the end of it.
This was a tricky task for him. His head screamed to stop, but his heart pleaded to try. Once the senator returned to her apartment after it was fully restored, Hunter found it incredibly difficult to stay away from his bed aboard the Marauder. His once undisturbed bed now smelled so strongly of lavender that it drove his senses wild.
More often than not, Hunter came to discover how she was constantly invading his senses. Whether the senator wore a particularly flattering dress or gingerly touched his arm, it drove him wild. He tried wearing his helmet more, igniting the feature that blocked out those senses for his own sake.
But right now, sitting in her company, Hunter wasn't wearing his helmet. He stared at her longingly, admiring the way a few baby hairs fell around her face. He also seemed to catch the soft pink tone on her cheeks, but she quickly shielded her face from him behind a piece of paper. The gentle flutter of her heartbeat did not go unnoticed either.
Just then, the door to the office slid open to reveal the other four members of the squad. They had just come back from grabbing lunch in the cafeteria downstairs. They figured, given the quietness over the past couple weeks, that they could afford sneaking down for quick bite to eat. But that had been an hour ago.
"Took you long enough," Hunter huffed. He crossed his arms over his chest, seemingly unamused by their prolonged absence.
"That's because Wrecker kept going back for more food," Echo scoffed.
"It never ends," Wrecker exclaimed with a bright smile on his face. He came around the side of the chair. "They let you take as much food as you want. I haven't been this full in a long time."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Y/n smiled at him.
"So," Wrecker clasped his hands together rather loudly. "What's on the docket for today?"
"Nothing," Tech and Y/n replied simultaneously.
"Her schedule is empty," Tech spoke. His nose was buried deep into his data pad.
"No meetings? No speeches?" Wrecker questioned. He seemed rather confused as he felt there was almost always something the senator had to do. But it was only two hours past noon.
"Not really," Y/n shrugged her shoulders. "I initially planned to spend the whole day finishing writing my speech, but now, I'd like to do something else."
"What did you have in mind?" Hunter inquired curiously.
When the senator saw all eyes on her, she felt her nerves go uneasy. She twiddled with the pen in her hands, thinking about what she was about to say. She didn't know if it was such a good idea after all.
"I-I'd like to go out," Y/n confessed timidly.
The room remained silent for a moment. The senator glanced between each of the clones in attempts to read their expressions and predict who was going to speak up first. Sure enough, the sarge was the first one to speak for his brothers. He cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Out?" Hunter clarified.
"Your speech is in two days," Tech pointed out.
"Shouldn't you prioritize that?" Echo questioned.
"I haven't been able to properly go outside for weeks," Y/n ignored them. She threw her hands up in defeat, resting against the back of her chair. "The most fresh air I get is going between here and my place."
"Do you really think it's a good idea to go out in public? With everything going on?" Echo chimed in.
"Not to mention the fact that you have easily one of the most recognizable faces on Coruscant," Tech pointed out.
"I'd wear a disguise," Y/n replied.
"Really? A disguise," Hunter held back a laugh.
"Believe it or not: I do own civvy clothes," Y/n reassured them.
"I'd pay to see that," Wrecker laughed. He rather forcefully nudged Crosshair who was standing right beside him, but he just shook his head in annoyance.
Trying to ignore his brother's comment, Hunter found himself leaning forward in the seat. He came up with a hypothetical situation. "Say we do go out, what would you even want to do?" Hunter asked her.
"Anything," Y/n sighed. "Just get me out of this office."
For a moment, Hunter contemplated the choice to leave. He averted his gaze to ponder some more. He found feel his brothers gazing at him expectingly, which made him realize just how much they too wanted to get out. The risk was almost too high given that she had a massive target painted on her back.
Sensing how he was leaning more towards a negative response, the senator quickly rose to her feet and rounded the side of her desk. She knelt down on the floor right beside his chair. She placed a hand on his forearm which drew his attention towards it. Her eyes were pleading, begging for a little freedom.
"Twenty credits says he caves," Crosshair said discreetly to his twin standing right beside him.
Before Tech was able to accept the challenge, Wrecker spoke up quietly. "You're on."
To which Tech rolled his eyes. He went back to his data pad.
"Please sarge," Y/n urged. Her other hand went up to trace his fingers gently, coaxing him to watch her intently. She drew small shapes on his palm. Her eyes flickered up to him. "Just for a little while?"
Finally, Hunter began to withdraw his hand away from her in a slow manner. He flexed his hand once or twice to get rid of the feeling of her fingers having just graced him. He refused to look at her.
"Fine," Hunter sighed heavily.
A bright smile grew across her lips. She thought about throwing her arms around him for an embrace, but she figured that she may be overstepping if she did so. Instead, Y/n stood to her feet from her spot. She could barely contain her excitement.
In the background, Wrecker and Tech went to place their twenty credits into Crosshair's expecting hand. Both of them looking rather solemn, but the third was rather pleased with his new change. He pocketed the credits into a pouch.
Before Y/n was able to turn away, Hunter reached out to grab her wrist. The excitement was quickly disappeared from her face. Now she wondered if he'd changed his mind. She went to look down at him, fearful of what he was about to say.
Under his fingers, Hunter felt her pulse growing faster on her wrist and he could hear the thumping of her heart. He wasn't sure if it was anxiety or excitement coming from her. But he spoke to her to get his point across.
"But if we are doing this, you are gonna do things my way," Hunter's sulky voice ordered. His eyes flickered up to meet hers in a stern glare. "You got that?"
"Yes sir," Y/n gulped.
Upon hearing this, Hunter instinctively tightened his grip on her wrist without realizing it. It drew a small gasp out of her lips which only spurred him on more. Now satisfied with her answer, Hunter began to release his grip on her. He gestured to the side as if to encourage her to keep moving.
As the senator walked away, Hunter redirected his line of attention to his band of brothers standing on the sidelines. He had already come up with a plan to execute this outing.
"Go back to the Marauder," Hunter spoke to the muscles of the group. "We are going to need the old crate."
A few minutes later, Wrecker had returned to the office carrying a massive crate in his hands. He brought it to the center of the room and dropped it on the floor, which resulted in a loud thump. Opening the lid of the crate, Tech began digging through the various items within it. He was searching for something in particular.
Without glancing up, Tech grabbed something black and handed it to Hunter. He strode across the room towards the senator, offering the odd black material to her. She furrowed her eyebrows upon further inspection.
"What is this?" Y/n inquired. She gingerly took hold of the material.
"We call them blacks," Hunter stated.
"And what am I supposed to do with it?"
"Take off your clothes," Hunter explained. Her eyes snapped up to his face, showing the evident look of surprise in her eyes. He finished what he was saying: "And put these on."
Silently, Senator Rayna nodded her head understandingly. She went towards the restroom on the other side of the room, stepping inside and closing the door behind her for privacy.
With Hunter's eyes still locked on the door, Crosshair approached his side. His eyes followed the line of his brother's. He adjusted the toothpick in the corner of his mouth.
"Didn't take you for the flirting type," Crosshair noted. His voice sounded like it was poison in the brother's ear; like it was laced with ill intent.
"I'm not," Hunter spoke firmly without taking his eyes off the door. "Just telling her what to do."
"You're a horrible liar," Crosshair scoffed with a shake of the head. He proceeded to turn away from him and return to his other brothers side by the crate.
Just a moment later, the door creaked open ever so slightly, but it successfully drew the attention of all the clones. They looked up to watch the young senator emerge from the private space. Their eyebrows shot up in slight surprise once she finally stepped into their view.
The blacks were designed to fit any body shape, which meant that the material naturally looked small before one put it on. It was truly a "one size fits all" type of clothing. And boy, did it show.
It fit her body like a black glove. The black material hugged her figure so tightly that it showed every single curve of her body. While to some, it may look incredibly uncomfortable, it was actually one of the softest materials available in the galaxy. It was lightweight, versatile, and rather cheap. Every soldier for the Republic wore blacks under their armor.
Breaking the silence, Wrecker let out a wolf whistle which only brought a swift nudge in the side from Echo. She avoided their gazes expertly, keeping her eyes on the ground. She shuffled across the small stretch, bringing her arms to cross against her chest.
"I-It feels odd wearing just this," Y/n said honestly.
"You'll get used to it," Hunter reassured her, feeling a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Found it!" Tech exclaimed from behind them. The rest of them redirected their attention towards him.
Finally, Tech retrieved a single piece of black armor from the crate. It was a clone chest piece. He held it up for further examination. However, Senator Rayna only furrowed her eyebrows in slight confusion once again. She had no idea what he was doing with a piece of armor.
"This will do nicely," Tech stated with a nod. He rounded the side of the crate to offer the chest piece to the senator.
But she initially didn't take it from him, which meant he'd need to explain his motives to her.
"I have taken the liberty of riffling through our old armor crate. Given your physique, I have selected one of Echo's old chest pieces." Tech pushed the chest plate into her hands.
"You want to me put this on?" Y/n questioned.
"That's the plan," Hunter interjected.
"So I look like a clone?"
"So you have protection," Hunter corrected. He raised a single finger to emphasis his words. "Along with a disguise."
"I won't fit in this," Y/n exclaimed. She tried holding up the chest plate to look at it closer, but it was incredibly heavy.
"Which is why I provided you with Echo's piece. He's the smallest," Tech stated as a matter of factly.
"Hey," Echo chimed in, taking offense.
Before the senator was able to protest, Hunter had already taken the chest plate out of her hands and was fitting it over her head. She slipped her arms through the holes on the side. He moved the piece of armor around until it was comfortable resting on her chest.
In the meantime, Tech and Echo began to bring the other pieces over for assembly. They handed each piece to the sergeant who knew exactly where they went on the body. The senator was beginning to feel the armor's weight as the pauldrons were attached to her shoulders.
"It feels quite heavy," Y/n realized.
"That is because it is katarn-class armor, which is much more stronger and more resilient than your typical plastoid clone armor. It will weight approximately 45 pounds once put together," Tech explained as he fitted a spare piece to her side.
"Is this really necessary?" Y/n wondered. She raised her arms upwards as the belt was attached across her waist.
"Provided that this may save your life by deflecting a blaster shot, then yes, I would say it's necessary." Tech shrugged.
"Hunter," Echo redirected. He quickly tossed him another piece from the crate, which he caught without looking.
While distracted by Tech's rambling, she didn't even notice the hands that grabbed her hips and directed her body to turn. She shuffled on her feet until she was fully facing the sergeant. He slowly lowered himself to the ground, getting on his knees in front of her.
For some unknown reason, Y/n felt something ignite within the pit of her stomach at the sight of him on his knees in front of her. She felt his fingers encircle around her ankle, silently encouraging her to lift it up. He fitted the thigh gauntlet through her foot, sliding it up the long length of her leg.
His fingers brushed against the inside of her thigh, which pulled the smallest gasp out of her. The sergeant couldn't contain the sly smirk from tugging at the corners of his lips. He felt her eyes burning into the top of his head, documenting his every move. He secured the piece as tightly as possible before glancing up at her.
She could have sworn she saw his eyes darken.
"Don't give me that look," Y/n begged quietly. She tore her gaze away from the sergeant's captivating eyes in hopes of hiding her blush. She tried to balance on one foot.
"What look?" Hunter teased.
"You know what I am talking about," Y/n insisted with a playful roll of the eyes. He chuckled deeply to himself.
Now moving, Tech shifted in his stance beside her which resulted in her loosing her balance slightly. She stumbled to the side, but she placed her hand on the sergeant's shoulder for better balance. Her hand was desperately close to his neck; so much close that she felt the strands of hair tickling her fingers.
For the time being, Hunter needed to push those feelings down once again. He fought the desire to feel her fingers threaded through his hair and tugging at his locks. He felt a slight flutter in the pit of his stomach, feeling the blood flow shifting south.
A heavy lump in his throat was forming as one of her fingers delicately brushed against the side of his neck where his pulse would be.
Through distractions, Hunter focused on finishing the task at hand. He secured one of the knee pads before moving onto fitting the boot onto her foot. After this, he began working on the other leg, helping her get into each respectable piece until she started to look like a clone trooper.
Upon completion, Hunter began to rise to his feet. He let out a small groan when he felt his knees popping, but he ignored the aching pain. He stood at his full height, towering over her. He held up the final piece into view.
"I'm not wearing that," Y/n stated with the most unamused look on her face.
"It's a codpiece," Hunter explained.
"I know what it is. I am not putting it on," Y/n said with a shake of the head.
"You won't pass as a clone if you're not wearing it," Hunter argued. This wasn’t convincing enough for her. "It would look even weirder if you weren't wearing it."
"He's right," Tech's unwanted opinion came out of nowhere.
"Fine," Y/n grumbled in slight defeat. She stopped him before he could go down on his knees again. She took the codpiece out of his grasp. "But I'll put it on myself."
"As you wish," Hunter gave up easily with hands raised in defense.
Fitting the final piece, Y/n put her hands out to show off her new black clone armor She looked at each of the clones for their thoughts about how she appeared. She most certainly could pass for a clone with the exception of the missing helmet.
"Woah! You look just like us," Wrecker exclaimed with a broad smile on his face.
"That's kinda the point," Crosshair mumbled beside him.
"Not without this," Echo jumped in. He tossed a spare helmet over to her, which she caught awkwardly. She surveyed the helmet, staring down where the eyepiece was.
"Who's helmet is this? Another one of Echo's pieces?" Y/n wondered.
"It's actually one of my old ones," Hunter confessed. He scratched the back of his neck.
"Oh," Y/n nodded. She now saw the resemblance between his old and new helmet. "I see."
Stepping forward, Hunter took the helmet out of her hands. He turned the helmet around and raised it above her head. He lowered it onto her until her face disappeared behind it. He kept his hands on the sides.
"This okay?" Hunter asked.
"Yeah," Y/n's voice came through the modulator. He slowly removed his hands from the helmet, but her gaze remained on him. "Thanks," Y/n spoke softly.
Putting distance between them, Hunter went back to his brothers' side. He rifled through the craft one final time, looking for an old holster for a blaster. He pulled out a regular black one before handing it over to Tech.
"This is the final piece," Tech explained to her. He fitted the belt around her waist so that the holster fell over the side of her thigh.
"A holster?" Y/n questioned.
"For your blaster," Tech said while briefly glancing up at her.
"I don't carry a blaster," Y/n informed him.
"It's just for today. It's all for looks. You won't have to use it," Hunter chimed in. His arms were crossed over his chest.
Next, Tech took one of his own spare blasters out of his backpack. He handed the weapon to her for which she held for a second. She examined the weapon carefully, rotating it. She slid it right into the holster at her side, bringing the disguise to completion.
Upon leaving the main building, the Bad Batch began walking down the street and blended into the crowd of citizens. They made sure to keep their eyes open, realizing that an unexpected attack could occur at any given time. Not only was the senator a target, there was also a high chance that the other members that become recognizable targets for the unknown shooter.
Walking through the crowd, Y/n quickly came to realize how little passing people were looking at them. They still got the occasional glances from some, but that was obviously because of their unique clone features.
The senator and sergeant were currently walking a few steps ahead of the small squad. They picked up their own conversation.
"It's weird being unrecognizable to people in public," Y/n whispered to the sergeant striding beside her. She remembered what she was wearing though.
"Clones are everywhere," Hunter explained to her. "We all look the same so people don't need to look twice at something they've already seen."
"Well, not all of you look the same." Though she was wearing a helmet, he was able to hear the smile in her voice.
"Which is often a downside," Hunter stated. "Because then, people look."
"I'm sorry," Y/n spoke with true sincerity in her tone.
"We didn't ask to be made," Hunter replied. "But our differences...we see them as a bit of a perk. Even though they make us outcasts."
The small group had just managed to round the corner of the street, heading in one direction. The others didn't seem the least bit interested in the conversation. Instead, they focused their attention on their surroundings for added precaution.
"What's it like to have heightened senses? I imagine a place as busy as Coruscant is hard to endure," Y/n took note.
"I've...grown accustomed to it," Hunter hinted. It wasn't just Coruscant that he had grown attuned to.
"I'm sure you'll be glad once it's behind you," Y/n breathed a long sigh.
For a moment, Hunter contemplated her choice of words carefully. While she had redirected her attention back towards the sidewalk in front of her, he found himself staring at her profile.
"Have you ever thought about it?" Hunter inquired.
She glanced up at him. "About what?"
"Leaving this place?" He gestured to the grand skyscrapers.
"Well, this is my home. I was born here and I grew up here. I rarely leave unless for business matters." She seemed to shrug her shoulders. "It's a bit like Kamino for you."
The sergeant remained silent.
"Kamino is your home, is it not?" Y/n pressed. She now peered up at him with curious eyes.
"That's where they made us, trained us." Hunter agreed. His voice grew solemn as he spoke truthfully. "But it's not much like a real home. We spend more time on our ship than we do back there."
"If you did settle down--after the war, where would you go?" Y/n shifted the direction of the conversation in attempts of making it more lighthearted. She waited for his answer patiently.
"Never really thought about it," Hunter shrugged. "Never imagined a life outside the war."
"I'm sure it'll end soon," Senator Rayna often spoke with optimism. "For me, if I were to leave the planet, I'd want to go somewhere quiet."
Hunter released a small chuckle at this. "Coruscant too busy for you?"
"Always moving," Y/n insisted upon it. She watched her foot be placed in front of the other. The two of them grew silent for a moment. That was until she spoke up again: "Maybe there'd be a beach."
"You want to live on a beach?" Hunter wondered.
"I've never been to the beach," Senator Rayna corrected him. She spoke with such a dreamy voice as if she was envisioning it now. "I'd just like to relax in the silence and listen to the waves crashing."
"That does sound nice," the sergeant agreed with a small nod of the head.
"You think it's silly."
"I think it's good to have dreams," Hunter altered.
In that exact moment, Hunter felt her arm brush against his own, which made him realize how close they were walking together. They both lowered their gazes to the ground. They seemed to enjoy the silence between them because it wasn't awkward at all.
Unbeknownst to them, the others had been watching their exchange with curious eyes. However, they weren't really able to hear the conversation clearly. They only heard the senator laughing a few times at something he'd said. All this to say that they looked at one another with the same look on their faces. A face that read: "There is something going on between them."
"I'll take you to the beach one day," Hunter offered quietly.
Her head snapped up to look directly at him. "You would?"
The sergeant nodded his head silently in agreement. He promised her: "Just the two of us."
"I'd like that," Y/n confessed sheepishly.
As the two of them walked alongside each other, their shoulders would occasionally brush together. Barely any words were further exchanged between the two, which resulted in a tender silence falling over them. They each felt this giddy bubbly feeling in the pits of their stomachs.
Ever so gently, Hunter felt the back of his hand graze against hers. This happened a handful of other times as they toured the streets of the city. He tried to see her reaction when it happened through the corner of his eye, but she never pulled away from him.
After a while, Hunter gathered the smallest amount of courage to tease the back of her hand with his pinky finger. He was testing the waters, half expecting it to go rather poorly for him. But he once again found that she remained silent and didn't withdraw from him.
Slowly, Hunter curled that single finger to hook around her own. He held it as gently as possible in fear of breaking it. He waited with a sharp breath held in his chest. But she never pulled away.
Feeling contact only ignited a burning flame in the pit of her stomach, resulting in the heat rising to her face. Her heart began to flutter like a hummingbird's wings and her smile only grew wider under her helmet. She wanted nothing more than to link the rest of their fingers together until they were properly holding hands, but she knew she wouldn't be able to.
For now, Y/n would have to be content with this. And she truly was.
By the time evening had come, Senator Rayna was safely back at her own place. She worked on the finishing touches of her speech, changing a few things to her liking. A sound knock came from her bedroom door and she invited them in without thought.
Naturally, Echo had pushed the door open in a silent manner. He was the only one on duty for tonight, which meant he was stationed at her door for the next couple hours. He held a small pile of papers with his good hand.
"These came for you," Echo explained. He stole a quick glance at the paper on the top.
"Bring 'em over," Y/n encouraged with a wave of her hand. He strode across the room, setting the stack of papers down on the desk beside her speech.
"I'll leave you to it," Echo dismissed himself. He knew that she was close to finishing her speech and would prefer to work alone. He walked back to the entrance of her room, shutting the door behind him. His hand lingered on the handle as he tried to process what he had seen on the top of the pile.
Now alone in the room, Y/n's eyes had shifted to the small stack on her right side. The paper on the top of the pile had red ink that indicated where it came from and it's utmost importance. It was an application form which came from the Coruscant Guard.
The Coruscant Guard had sent this to inform her of available troopers in their rank. This was something that they were unable to offer her a couple weeks ago when she really needed the escort. Now, things had changed.
The only thing she'd need to do was fill out the application for a new escort. The Coruscant Guard would take the time to process her application, eventually sending a new set of guards to accompany her like they had beforehand.
An issue arose with this. If the senator were to receive new guards, that meant her current escort would be transferred. They'd return to the front lines, heading back to the war. She contemplated her next step.
At first, Senator Rayna thought about the small squad that had grown on her the past couple weeks. She figured that they'd probably prefer to return to the war effort. They were much too gifted to be stuck escorting her around the city. Their skills had so much value, guaranteeing success in the war. They'd want her to fill out the application. They could go back to all the action; that's what they liked.
For some unknown reason, Senator Rayna's mindset began to shift into a more selfish one. She told herself how she'd never felt more safe than when this squad was beside her, remembering how the last two guards had been killed protecting her. And she thoroughly enjoyed their company...one more than the rest.
Taking the application in her hands, Y/n made a final decision. She tossed the piece of paper into the drawer of her desk. Without this, the Coruscant Guard wouldn't send a new escort to her aid and the Bad Batch would remain with her in the meantime. This is what she wanted.
This felt like a longer chapter but I did take out one scene where Hunter helps her take off the armor (lot of sexual tension there). Let me know if I should still post the now deleted scene!
My friend and I were talking, somehow ended up with the topic of Thriller Bark.
I rewatched the episode where Zoro tries to make a deal with Kuma about exchanging his life instead of Luffy's, and how Sanji puts a stop it by trying to do what Zoro's doing, only for Zoro to knock him out.
Then while Zoro talks with Kuma again, I noticed how he throws/places his swords near/within reach of Sanji's body. And then goes, "hey, let's do this someplace else".
It's quite obvious, but Zoro was ready to die, and he believed that to the extent where he doesn't want his lifeless body to be immediately seen. Kuma wants Luffy's head, and Zoro readily offers his own instead. Everyone knows this already, I know, but it's just--he really did believe he's going to die in that moment.
And what did he do? He placed his swords right near Sanji's body.
Thriller Bark pretty much happens after what happened in Long Ring Long and Water 7.
It's just blowing my fucking mind how this is the first time I'm realising this! Zoro basically said, "I trust you with the most important extensions of me". Zoro keeps saying "take my head in place of Luffy's" and there's no doubt that he means it literally and figuratively! I'm fucking shaking in my seat.
Because he wants, when Sanji eventually wakes up, for Sanji to see his Shusui, Wado, and Kitetsu and keep them safe in his stead when he does die. It's fucking! UGH!? Because what happens next? Sanji wakes up, sees his swords and knows something's wrong.
Anyway, that tangent aside. This. This trust is mirrored in Wano with their death pact. I can't think if it happened before Wano but the thing with Wano is the first thing that popped into my head.
It's mirrored in Wano where Sanji lays his life for Zoro to take when he felt like he was changing. "You entrusted your life to me, let me trust my life to you".
And oh my GOD when Zoro is basically wrapped up in bandages and falls asleep, yeah, no I'm leaving this here, I'm going to slam my head against the wall.
how can anyone from the crew take Zoro and Sanji serious when they're LITERALLY IN EACH OTHER'S FACES when arguing, someone just push them so they could kiss and shut up.
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