one-shot req! not sure if you write for the bad batch, but i can't ever stop thinking about sharing a blunt with crosshair during intimacy >:] ~ 🪱
anon you are ABSOLUTELY CORRECT.
crosshair loves to smoke. especially weed. it brings that peaceful drift that he never finds in his real life. so does being with you. you’re like his own personal drug, but being able to actually smoke around you and be himself— that was rare. he never found someone he was able to do that with. that was why you were a keeper.
in fact, you even shared with him, because when has a lil weed hurt anyone?
but the FIRST TIME you wanted to try it with him? oh you made him go absolutely crazy.
you were practically impaled on his cock, legs wrapped around his waist as he worked into you— face twisted in concentration. he was the quiet type during sex, much more keen on hearing you moan, making you repeat his name over and over like a mantra.
oh my gods and the way he would hover over you to grab his lighter, digging through the top drawer for a blunt. he’d act like nothing was happening as he flicked the lighter, placing the blunt between his lips as he dragged his hips, hand cupping over the lighter, creating a soft glow against his face. his abs and lean body were on full display, tense from all the movement. looking GODLY in the warm light of the fire.
you didn’t even have to ask, you just looking at him a certain way; jutting your chin out towards the blunt.
“yeah? you wanna try some baby?” he raised his eyebrow, looking down at you through hooded eyes as he took in one, long drag. he played with you, stilling his hips when he inhaled, dragging them slowly in as he exhaled, bottoming out completely when done.
“open,” he lightly tapped your cheek, blunt held between his fingers. he placed the blunt in your mouth gently, watching with hungry eyes as you inhaled, coughing lightly with a closed mouth before exhaling. all crosshair could do was look at you with pride, smirking as your body went slack around him.
dont even get me started about the way he’d fill his mouth with smoke, grabbing your jaw with his thumb and index finger, opening your mouth wide enough to lock lips— letting the smoke flow from his mouth into yours as he kissed you.
or or, he’d take a huge hit from the bowl and blow it on your pussy before he eats you out <333
Can I request a Hunter x reader undercover at a masquerade ball one shot?
If they get to dancing in the fic, I got some music that may fit their waltz:
Okay but no seriously like how dare you use the word "may" as if this song isn't ABSOLUTELY PERFECT FOR THEIR WALTZ! You have a direct line to my heart with this one @kombatkid. Bless your beautiful, sweet heart. Howl's Moving Castle (among other Ghibli films) is a top favorite of mine and I have always loved the undercover masquerade trope. Excuse me as I put my writer-ussy into this (I apologize for the phrasing. I am just excited. Also, gender wasn't specified so i went the neutral route! Hope that's okay!
Feel It 💞
Pairing: Hunter x GN!Reader
Warnings:(SFW) angst, fluff, social anxiety, testing boundaries, contemplations of killing someone, hazing, taunting, bullying, secret relationships, undercover formal appearance, first kiss, dancing, loss of confidence, clumsiness, nervousness.
Summary: You thought that things like this only happened in storybooks, never thinking for a second that you would be dressing up in matching regal wear tailored to be identical to Hunter’s for inconspicuous reasons as you both will be going undercover impersonating chaperone security for an “Emancipation Ball” celebrating the eighteenth birthday of Grand Moff Tarkin’s bratty nephew. He revels in torturing his staff and making examples of innocent workers and it was only a matter of time before he cast his trickery onto you and your mission partner.
🚨THIS ONE-SHOT CONTAINS NO SPOILERS🚨
Read on ao3 - 6.5k words
Writing Masterlist - My kofi✨
The starched collar on this uniform is so stiff, it keeps cutting into the conjunction of your chin and neck. Of course, your slouched posture could certainly have a hand in easing this affliction if you had the desire to fix it, but your subconscious denies you that satisfaction. Dark circles under your eyes add to their depressive vacancy. Hunter catches onto your increased deflation of spirit in being in a place like this. No amount of glitter, smiles or silver platters will be enough to conceal the dark and corrupted underbelly that funds these functions. You look like a completely different person in this stark overhead lighting beating down from the oppressive chandeliers secured to the ceiling. Your anxiety takes on a physical representation of your confidence when in a setting you’re not used to or apprehensive about. In addition, you’d definitely venture to say that apprehension would be an understatement.
“How are you holding up?” Hunter is posted at the same entryway as you, meant to be greeters after guests are ushered inside.
“As well as you can probably expect.” You mumble beneath your mask, arm still raised as you dig your leather gloved fingers beneath the stiff collar in hopes that you can stretch it out, if even just a little bit.
“We already got the intel we came here for. Festivities end in about half an hour.” Hunter reassures you that the party will not last much longer, then pauses before speaking to you a bit more sternly this time in a coarse and commanding whisper. “Stop fidgeting with your collar.”
“It’s digging into my neck.” You reason with him annoyedly while yanking at the thick, canvas-like fabric. “I can’t help it.”
“You’ll get us noticed if you keep doing that.” Hunter warns. “Just ignore it.”
“I highly doubt that me adjusting an article of clothing is cause for concern.”
“It is when we’re supposed to be impersonating highly trained security meant to be unphased by even the most unexpected circumstances.”
“I tried to tell you that…”
“Tell me what?”
“I’m not like you.” You shrug, giving up with your collar. “I’m not trained for any of this. I owned a lively little antique store before these assholes decided to raid it for their personal collection. I’m not cut out for guard duty. Why couldn’t you have just gotten Echo to do this with you? Literally anyone else. Anyone but me...”
“Because Tarkin knows our faces, but he doesn’t know yours. It’s mere luck that it’s part of the dress code to have masks or else this mission would be impossible. If push comes to shove, it would be less suspicious if at least one of us could still show our face and not be identified.” Hunter taps on the metallic plating that covers his whole face in a way that only a small slit allows his eyes to view the surroundings. “This tattoo isn’t exactly easy to cover up. And there’s no amount of tailoring that could make the uniform fall symmetrically over Echo’s prosthetics. Not to mention Wrecker couldn’t even fit into the thing-
“Okay okay, I get it.” You cut him off, knowing there is no other way this could have played out that would allow you to avoid being in such an unsettling environment. Not only are the stakes tremendously high while standing directly in the belly of the beast, but you’re inherently resistant to such radical social interactions due to your own fears many would deem as irrational.
Your confidence has been wrecked since every shred of your identity was stripped away from you and collected like it was nothing but a badge to be reclaimed by another. If not for this capable clone force stumbling upon you while destitute and in need of shelter following the clearing out of your shop, you would have never been given the opportunity to have a VIP pass to exclusive access amongst the people closest to the very enemies you despise. Although, now that you’re here, why do you continuously allow them to make you feel so small...?
“Listen to me.” Hunter adds, tilting his head so that you can see his eyes through the face shield. “Being a soldier doesn’t mean you’re fearless. It’s the difference between taking action in the sight of fear, or letting fear control us.”
“You can’t possibly get me to believe that you’ve ever been scared.” Shaking your head, you deny the possibility that Hunter, someone you’ve only ever known as courageous, could feel what you’re going through now.
“All the time. Every day.” His eyes are compressed in a smile you wish you could see. Hearing this come from him brings you to second guess the pity you keep feeding yourself, a toxic poison you drink hoping for someone completely different to suffer the consequences. “We will make it out of this. Trust me.”
The sincerity in his voice is delivered so tenderly in your ears. You nod your head slowly in acceptance, not fully believing the words yet, but leaning harder on their support than you did before. It would be one thing if you were attending just any jovial party, but the Empire prefers to hire their help from shattered unions of the Republic, knowing full well that the servants in their employ are nameless, homeless and otherwise hopeless and at the mercy of the governing bodies in power.
Just as this heartfelt moment was beginning to ease your trepidations, an external force shatters your serendipitously shared intimacy.
“You there!! Come! Assist me with a bit of playful theatrics, would you?”
You and Hunter are frozen in the very fear he was trying to help you overcome. You were told you wouldn’t have to do anything but stand around and look tough. There was no disclosure of any sort of involvement whatsoever, let alone a proverbial spotlight shining directly upon you that would only foreshadow just how concentrated the focus will grow on you both throughout the night. This must be a trial of sorts. A public display of hubris on the birthday boy’s part while imposing episodes of humiliation on yours and Hunter’s.
“What are you staring at me like that for?” The birthday boy scoffs with his pretentious guests growing impatient with the reveal of whatever party favors he plans on showing next. “That wasn’t a request.”
Departing from your post, you and Hunter join the group in the center of the room. Tarkin’s nephew is being followed by a cargo droid carrying some sort of weaponry. The little teenage brat Eagerly tries to open and retrieve the weapon himself but is having trouble, immediately ordering Hutner to tend to his whims. “Make yourself useful and open this for me.”
He then turns to you, raising his hand with his arm outstretched to the wall in the back of the room. “I want you to stand over there.”
Giving Hunter a glance in search of his reassurance again, he acknowledges your need and dips his head ever so slightly, giving you the signal you need to do what was asked of you.
With your back turned, you hear the latches on the box flip open as Hunter pulls the weapon from its case and primes it. You recognize its mechanical whirring and identify it as an energy bow. Turning around, you make note of its fuchsia beam and ornate golden structure. With your back against the wall, the little brat comes scampering towards you just after snatching a ripe meiloorun from a nearby concessions table. The plump fruit is tossed into your grasp as you surmise he’s going to task you with the unthinkable. “Now, I’m sure you’re familiar with this party game, only… I prefer to watch.”
Hunter stands dumbfounded with the bow in his grasp. He was already wary of passing it to the heathen child, but he would much rather the weight of the outcome rest on his shoulders.
“Sir, a weapon like this requires a few test shots to ensure its calibration.” Despite all the shuffling of everyone’s feet on the floor, he can feel you trembling against the wall as he attempts to buy time out of this threatening happenstance. “And even so, are you sure we should be doing something such as this indoors?”
“The matters of what we ‘should’ and ‘shouldn’t’ be doing are irrelevant.” He sneers, a younger reflection of Tarkin’s oppressively moody genetics and it leaves a sour taste in Hunter’s mouth just talking to him. Once forced to salute and stand at attention for his uncle, now having to do the same for him.
“Just be happy you’re not standing against the wall with your friend over there. Now, keep shooting until you knock the fruit off their head!” He commands Hunter and he watches as you shakily lift the little melon and place it atop your uniform cap. It takes a couple moments to stabilize, of which Hunter uses to ready his aim and prime the bow. He hates seeing you in his line of fire, wishing he can direct this bolt to the very people who marvel at your misery. He holds his posture, tall and true for an extended period of time and the boy grows impatient when he notices that Hunter isn’t firing yet. “Are you deaf? I said shoot!”
Hunter looks at you from where you stand, small and shrunken by the distance wedged between you, the melon on your head an even smaller target now; just an orange dot against the Imperial decor that threatens to swallow you whole. He releases the tension of the plasma string and sends an electrified bolt zooming in your direction. To the brat’s surprise, it collides with the meiloorun on the first try, tumbling to the floor and rolling away from you to reveal a charred blemish where the force of the bolt collided with the fruit.
Unbeknownst to the birthday boy, those few seconds Hunter spent stalling were vital seconds used to calibrate the weapon to its truest setting. Disappointed you’ve not dropped to the floor in a pile of your own dead weight, the child deflates when he sees that you’re still standing. You let out rapid gasps, struggling to tame this sudden surge of adrenaline into your veins while also trying not to let the other party goers in on your internal crisis. “No fair! I thought you said this weapon is finicky at the start.”
“Were you hoping for a malfunction?” Hunter challenges the child, treading on thin ice in the eyes of the surrounding adults that enable this behavior while somehow entertaining the birthday boy with a dissection of his morbid psyche.
“Duh!” He tosses his hands in the air while the brainless masses giggle at his rebuttal and Hunter is suddenly petrified by the way no one around him even bothers to speak up against what he’s doing. “Now we have to take things up a notch!”
The boy scans the tables for anything else to use as a target with you as the placeholder for it. His evil eyes land on a candlewick flower nestled into a place setting on one of the decorated tables. He hands it to Hunter with a roll of his eyes and dismisses him to give to you. “Walk this over there to them. I already made the trip once.”
Hunter takes the flower and twirls it between his thumb and middle finger and sighs deeply, his warm breath clouding up in his face guard. His feet drag against the floor as his form has begun to take on the same saddened slouch you seem to wear all the time, only his episode of self-depreciation has only arisen when the safety of your well-being has been threatened. He can’t deny this child, and neither can you. You can only hope that he grows indifferent before things get too unstable.
Hunter doesn’t have to look at you to know your jaw is slamming your teeth against themselves at a million miles a minute, he would be able to hear you anywhere in the estate. He needs you to take what he said before and really trust him. He would never dream of hurting you for the entertainment of others, nor by accident.
He closes in on you, hands you the flower and tries to whisper soothing words to you in hopes to calm you. “Hey. Remember what I said before? I need you to focus on that and nothing else. Got it?”
“Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?” The boy hollers at Hunter and the attention of everyone is drawn to your side of the room.
“I am handing them the flower, sir. Like you requested.” Hunter stands between you and the boy and you are temporarily alleviated by Hunter blocking his sinister stare.
“Shooting it from their hand is easier than shooting it off the top of the head.” He argues, echoing through the room as his voice clashes with the symphonic ambient music. “Put it in their mouth.”
Hunter is the only one who manages to hear your gasp, his fist tightening around the flower’s stem, nearly crushing it. Hunter pivots on his feet to face you. His eyes are filled with regret in getting you in this position, cursing himself and the arguments he tried to sell you only moments prior. The onlookers watch as he lifts your face by the chin with one of his gloved hands and removes your mask. Your mouth hangs open, him keeping your lips parted for a few prolonged seconds before whispering something else to you while looking deeply into your eyes. “Don’t be scared. You’ll be fine. I promise.”
Hunter places the stem between your teeth and shuts your mouth to let you bite on its grassy flavor, stroking your jaw sweetly before turning on his heels and walking away in perfect about-face formation. At this point, you can’t decipher if the nerves you’re feeling are from the risen stakes of this gruesome game, or the little touches of Hunter’s hands upon your skin. Regardless, you struggle to keep your knees from buckling under the pressure.
Hunter returns to his place by the boy’s side and pulls the plasma string back a second time, taking aim. The stem of the flower only extends an inch or so away from your cheek. You concentrate hard on clenching your bite down on it so as to keep the petals stable for Hunter to shoot.
“Fire!” The boy yells. Hunter lets the bolt fly and you impulsively shut your eyes, too full of fright to witness the outcome. A rush of wind wafts over your left cheek and you hear the blasting thud of the bolt coming in contact with the wall behind you. Opening your eyes, you notice the complete absence of the bud of the flower. Turning your head, you see that it has been reduced to ash and nothing else remains of it but the residue it left on the wall and a single petal on the floor. “Wow! You’re good at this!! My uncle really didn’t cut corners with you guys.”
“I would be pleased to show you what other measures I took that did not constitute the cutting of corners.” Tarkin appears and suddenly the tone in the whole ballroom is altered to an elevated state of severity. Before, it was only you, Hunter, and other service personnel that felt threatened by the brat’s presence. Now everyone is being bogged down by a degree of feigned bravado. “What is the meaning of this? Why have you removed them from their posts?”
“Uncle! I was just uhm-
Tarkin snatches the bow from Hunter’s grasp but doesn’t scan him further, focusing solely on his audacious nephew and calculating the goings on himself, looking between Hunter and the scorch marks staining the walls beside you. “And here I thought I could have an unscheduled meeting during this function without any issues.”
Tarkin stores the bow in the very gift box that the droid had brought out and tells it to take it away, turning back to face his nephew. “I thought I told you that it was a present for after the party.”
“I know, but I just couldn’t wait! If anything, this should just tell you that you picked a great gift, Uncle.” The brat is on the cusp of being praised by this tyrant right now and you can see Hunter’s fists clench once more from all the way where you’re standing.
“Ambition says alot about your spirit, but there’s a time and a place for everything, child.” Tarkin wags a wrinkled finger at his kin before placing a hand on his back to anchor him to his side while also guiding him to mingle with other elite members of their family. Hunter is disgusted by this mentoring style, not even thinking to reprimand the boy for the blatant disregard for human life, gambling souls like they’re sabacc chips. “Come along now. I want to show you how it’s really done.”
“Uncle?” The boy questions Tarkin as he snaps his fingers, then points at you and Hunter to follow him. Even more frightened than before, you can only wonder what Tarkin is alluding to.
“Anyone can dodge a bullet if they’re expecting one.” Tarkin speaks as if something like that is so easy, dismissing the difficulty in being dexterous enough to do it as well as having trust in the person firing not to hit you. “If you care to test one’s limits on a completely different scale, you have to get in their head, my child.”
“How do I do that, Uncle?” The boy is a sponge absorbing all the nefarious knowledge Tarkin has to offer.
“Observe.” Tarkin announces, pointing at you and Hunter with one hand and the symphony orchestra with the other. “You two. Center of the room, if you could please.”
His delivery of words is saturated in saccharine kindness as you know better than to believe that anything Tarkin would command would be any better than the things his nephew would think up. Hunter joins you in the center of the room as the ambiance of your surroundings darken with the exception of the overhead light bathing you in its golden glow from above “Do not let each other fall, do not miss your mark, and do not step on each other’s feet. For each of these offenses, I will deploy an MG7 to planets within the system housing rogue insurgents and conspirators against the Empire.”
You and Hunter are still confused as to what he’s requesting and Tarkin sighs, hanging his head before clapping his hands together in summons to a couple of members of the orchestra. Their dead stares tell you that they’re mere drones active only to obey their superiors. You’re being forcibly shoved into Hunter’s space with his arm being placed at the small of your back in a position to lead you with his other hand. You look into the metal slats of Hunter’s face shield and see that his eyes are telling you so much without him even uttering a word. He’s plagued by worry and can hardly hide behind the obscurity of his face covering.
You don’t know if he’s danced before, and your only experience with a common waltz was way back in primary school for a seasonal cotillion. The recalling of this knowledge is dire now as millions of lives currently depend on it. A single misstep and Tarkin will quite literally send a torpedo to an unsuspecting settlement that “might” be harboring insurgents in their eyes.
“I hope you put on quite a show for us! Your little rebellion depends on it.” Tarkin remarks as he and his nephew shuffle to find their place in the shadows of the audience that encircle you and Hunter.
The orchestra signifies the start of their song with a solo piano number to open things up. Tension builds as the tempo finds its place in the dark ambiance. You’re trying to focus too hard on the next beat that occurs instead of just letting Hunter lead you. You can’t find the trust in yourself, let alone him not to fail this deathly trial. The tune takes about a minute of introduction before it initiates the actual waltz tempo and the rest of the orchestra joins in the song, of which Hunter uses to his advantage, communicating things to you under the veil of his mask while swaying back and forth with you.
“We can do this. Focus on me.” Hunter squeezes your hand, his straightened posture likewise improving yours as well and you’ve completely discarded the annoyance of the collar tht was once causing you incessant discomfort. The blackout of the audience is increasingly unnerving, but this wall of darkness that surrounds you certainly makes it easier to imagine there are not in fact dozens of villainous faces staring down your every move hidden within it.
The piano keys slam into a deeper register just as a violin’s cry resounds through the space. The melancholy whine is drawn out and you feel Hunter steady himself, slow his pacing and bow when the triad tune of the waltz finally makes its appearance. Moving once to his left, you follow and bring both feet together. You step forward with your left foot so that Hunter can move back and to your right. Continuing this method, it certainly is enough to break the ice. The steps are predictable for a while, but when sudden musical transitions appear, you and Hunter refrain from putting on a spectacle out of pure terror of making a fateful mistake. However, despite staying with the beat, The spectators are growing bored with this classic display, itching to spot a bit of enthusiasm.
Then comes a voice from the shrouded black that entraps you, “I asked for a show. Do something different or I’ll be sending off the first torpedo.”
Tarkin’s command disrupts your concentration and you nearly step on Hunter’s foot, but he senses your directional faltering and saves you from failure. You gasp, glancing at the floor then back up at Hunter to ensure you’re making the correct movements when you feel another squeeze on your hand. “He’s just trying to mess with us. Don’t let him.”
Every few measures, Hunter pulls away and spins you before resuming the initial position. A move like this is meant for one to be dressed in a gown to elevate the performance, but having donned the same threads as Hunter, you contemplate the effectiveness of your little show.
Suddenly the music evolves into a growing swell of strings with an urgency. Upon this transition, Hunter dips you quite professionally and you hitch your leg up with a sudden kick to add a bit of thrill to the move. You and Hunter proceed, giving into the sudden glee you feel when you’re starting to get the hang of your own moves. Hunter’s closeness to your torso is captivating, the way his strong arms keep you in place while also seamlessly flowing with his movements. You sway with him such as a willow tree waves in the wind, graceful and confident.
As a shy person, it surprises even the most timid when one happens upon a hurdle that calls for their action and they find that they’re able to rise to the occasion. With your chin in the air, back straight, shoulders even and floating on air in Hunter’s grasp, you engage in this synchronized waltz as if born to do it. The dark circles beneath your eyes disappear when your face is finally pulled from the shadows of your uniform cap. Your complexion glows in the radiance of the dance floor and Hunter realizes he’s rather fond of this bright shade of self assuredness he identifies in your features. He sees you just as you are and he adores it.
You stumble a bit when the song unexpectedly shifts to a reiteration of its own introduction, growing stronger and slower with a relentless continuum. The notes are enunciated by the empty echoing of the ballroom chamber and the sudden shift in progression causes a misstep and you quite obviously fumble over the top of Hunter’s foot before he can manage to catch you. With the majority of the orchestra at rest, this mistake was impossible to miss.
The high pitched whine of an alarm resounds, cutting through the symphony as an assumed torpedo is launched and it breaks your focus. You can’t see the torpedo, where it’s been fired off or even what planet it’s hitting. For all you know, he could be bluffing and not killing anyone while choosing to mentally torture you instead. This abrupt interruption causes your movements to be inconsistent for a couple more measures and he takes this as an offense, firing another.
He nearly launches a third but you regain your composure after Hunter whispers to you. “Don’t anticipate the music. Feel it.”
He notices that you’re waiting for every legato pause to tell you what to do before pushing into the next measure when you should be moving with it as a whole. The piano solo picks up in speed with the additional melodic strings enunciating every final note in each measure before the rest of the orchestra continues with the song.
Taking Hunter’s advice, you allow your body to become one with the music. You’re no longer fighting against its flow or anticipating the next move such as you would guess a correct answer on a test. There are no correct answers here, only correct feelings.
In sections where the core melody is showcased, you and Hunter flawlessly execute the starting moves to regain your previously lost footing. Although, you spice things up by adding longer flares between each transition at an accelerated pace with more control and conviction. You begin with a continuous spin in front of Hunter, then he guides you to revolve around him in a circle before making it back to your starting position with your hand on his shoulder and the other being held tightly in his grasp. “That’s it. Keep your eyes on me. You’re perfect.”
Hunter’s words are the blade that severs your anxious ties to this material world. You formed a habit to default to self pity when you’ve had so many reasons to believe it was the only way; be it taught through conditioning or reinforced by your own short-comings. At this point in time, you decide you’re not going to take it anymore. Not from yourself and especially not from anyone else. You were so trapped in hating life and the situation that was forced upon you, but it takes strength to decide to see things differently. The only way to step into your confidence and ensure that you remain in a place of self worth is to recognize that other people’s behaviors toward you says everything about them and what they value while saying absolutely nothing about you in turn.
You completely forget that this room is full of people you despise the most. You and Hunter give Tarkin and his spiteful nephew a remarkable performance, one their guests will certainly brag about to their constituents for years to come, all while harboring additional praises to the Tarkin name. You could care less about their pompous egos garnering any amount of benefit from your anguish, but you and Hunter have hijacked the scene to your advantage. No additional missiles have been launched and you improvise a few moves of your own that Hunter is cleanly able to follow as the song nears its end. The strings’ cadence accelerates into a waterfall of overlapping vibrato blending into one amalgamated tune. You end with a daring twirl with Hunter lifting you off the ground and doing a spin himself. You kick your legs in the direction of the audience as you sweep around in the air before Hunter plants you back on your feet, posing with a sensational swoop as Hunter moves your torso downward in a circle before returning upright to a vertical position just as the last note rings out.
Tarkin proves the jogan doesn’t fall far from the tree when his nephew displays a similar distaste for yours and Hunter’s ability to overcome his challenges. You both survived. That’s true. But the thought of many others paying the price for what could have been prevented still drags on your heart.
“Well! I am quite impressed!” Tarkin emerges from the shadows while giving you and Hunter a vainglorious slow clap before snapping his fingers a single time. The lighting is reverted back to its original state in the blink of an eye and your retinas burn with the stark change. The party goers all begin to clap in unison while muttering things amongst themselves. Even if it didn’t last as long as you hoped, for a little while you felt the freedom of that dark cloud of distress being driven away from your skies. Hunter smoothed out your rough edges. He sewed up your loose ends and planted an encouraging seed in your mind that opens the possibility for new and lovely things to grow. You can’t remember the last time you felt so invigorated.
Hunter’s hand remains clasped in yours and he pushes you behind his form upon Tarkin’s approach. Tarkin and his nephew make note of this display of protection from him that certainly breaks the code of formalities, glancing between them to acknowledge, but ultimately choosing to ignore it.
“Now, I don’t usually do this, but I believe you’ve earned a reward, don’t you agree?” Tarkin looks to his nephew for his input but he shrugs, disinterested of this event already as he departs in search of his next source of entertainment. “Come along. I think you’ll enjoy the flavor. I picked it myself.”
Tarkin brings you and Hunter a few floors up the building to a minimally decorated room at the end of a very long and seemingly forgotten corridor. Since you’re regarded as security guards, the need for a third party to monitor you is unnecessary as they are so certain it is impossible for anyone to breach these quarters. Their primary flaw in this is that they greatly underestimated the industriousness of your and your squad.
A singular round table is placed in the center of the room with a couple cake slices perched on plates atop of it. It is a cream colored cake with bright red ribbon swirls of tart jam throughout with a pale white icing. Hunter is just as astonished as you are when presented with this feigned hospitality. Following his lead, you refuse to sit in acceptance of this offering, opting to remain standing in uneasy protest.
“What’s the matter? Doesn’t everyone like cake?” Tarkin retrieves a fork from the place setting and cuts a little portion off each piece before bringing it to his mouth to showcase neither have been tampered with. His eyes close to savor the taste, smiling and waving the shining article of cutlery about the air in satisfaction. He discards the fork and replaces the missing cutlery with a clean one. “It’s not poisoned if that’s what you’re wondering. I wouldn’t waste a commodity like that on the likes of you.”
You sit at the table and Hunter joins you. Both hands are placed beside the plate where Tarkin can see them. This must be a test of defiance because you could easily drive one of these sharp utensils directly into his jugular. Tarkin dips his head so that he is so close, you can see his pulse dancing in his neck. It is at this point Tarkin notices the reluctance of Hunter in removing his face shield. “Let’s take this off, shall we? You can’t possibly think to enjoy yourself with this on-
“No!” It was something you never prepared to have cross the threshold of your lips, a yell like that. You have no idea where this voice came from, but it certainly stopped Tarkin in his tracks.
“I beg your pardon?” Tarkin directs his attention to you and you stammer, struggling to find the words to offer an excuse so as to not reveal Hunter’s true identity. “Did you just tell me ‘no’?”
“I- uhm…” Your brain is scattered amongst your psyche, scrambling to find a worthy and believable reason for your outburst. “He has a bad scar. Half his face is deformed. He’s self conscious in the way that it makes it hard for him to do things like a normal person, such as eating.”
Tarkin glances between you and Hunter. Strangely enough, you are the one to feel Hunter shaking this time. However, the conviction in your delivery of speech is convincing enough for Tarkin to leave you be. “Hmm… Very well. I shall send for you shortly. Don’t take too long.”
The soles of Tarkin’s boots resound with every step he makes to the door before he closes it. Once gone, you and Hunter heave a sigh of relief that it feels like you’ve been holding in for hours now. Your head falls into the cradle of your hands and you fight back the flood of emotion that has been challenging your concentration the entirety of your stint in this deathly dungeon.
Hunter rips his face shield off in disgust and quickly makes contact through his comm device to the rest of the squad that’s been waiting on stand-by. “Havoc 1 to Havoc 2, be ready for my signal. We’re heading to the roof.”
It is at this moment Hunter sees just how badly this wrecked you. He’s adapted to harsh treatment such as this, so much so that it rolls off his shoulders. You differ in this aspect as their transgressions cling to you such as thistles and thorns, their sting digging into your soul and causing you more pain when you try to pry them off with bloodied hands. Hunter takes a knee in front of you, pulling your hands away from your face to reveal your fatigued eyes. “Look, we’re not to blame for what happened back there. Tarkin was searching for any excuse to do what he did.”
“Whether it was all fake or not, their intention was to hurt us.” Your voice breaks slightly, but you refrain from giving into hysterics as best as you can. Hunter takes your face in his hands and touches his forehead to yours. His presence keeps you centered and with a few steady breaths, Hunter has stabilized you. “H-how did you do that…?”
“I’ve learned a thing or two about calming nerves.” Hunter readjusts your uniform cap and gives you a bit of space while keeping his hold on your hands. “My greatest personal trait used to be an incredible hindrance. It was… very overwhelming when I was younger.”
“I can only imagine how rough that was for you. Especially so young.” Hunter can detect the notes of self-insult in your voice, comparing your struggles to an elite and trained soldier of war. Thankfully, he tells you a bit of information that only a person such as him would be privy to and it certainly does the trick in unburdening you with the weight of innocent lives on your conscience.
“You did far better than you think back there.” Hunter adds, winking in reference to your dance moves and ability to keep an even keel. “And besides, he was lying about the whole thing.”
“Wait, are you saying you knew he was bluffing?” You don’t even bother concealing the astonishment in your voice, retracting your hands from his hold in shock.
“He used to pull the same stunt on his new recruits. Some things never change, I guess.” Hunter shakes his head, standing up and crossing his arms in disapproval.
“Why didn’t you tell me that!” You stand up to meet his gaze and He takes a step back towards the exit door to initiate the escape plan.
“I’m sorry, but it had to be believable. His stupid little game would have never ended if we didn’t give them something.” Hunter offers you his hand in apology and you waste no time in accepting it. He squeezes it and it takes you back to the dance floor where the rest of the world dissipated and it was only you and him gracing that hall. Hunter pulls you into a similar embrace as when you were waltzing with one another, but he places both hands on your back and rests his head on your shoulder. The brown waves at the nape of his neck brush against your cheek and you feel a magnetic pull bringing you down to secure yourself to him in this hold. He sways from left to right in a smaller, more personal two-step, stroking your head and breathing into your neck.
Hunter lifts his head to look at you, eyes moving rapidly in contemplation of something he knows you both want. Your mouths part at the same time, leaning into each other to share a blissful lock of lips. The passionate heat is enough to melt away all your fears of the moment. Hunter’s hands move up your back and shoulders to caress your face, pulling you even deeper into the kiss. “I told you we’d make it through this, didn’t I?”
“I suppose you did.” You murmur through the blushy spell Hunter had cast. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”
“You have no reason to be sorry. I am just glad I got to dance with you.” He kisses you one last time before making his way to the exit door, your hand in his pulling you along behind him. He holds his closed fist up in a signal for you to wait until he ensures the path is clear. You and Hunter were briefed on the blueprints of the Tarkin Estate and if the information there is true, there should be a service hatch across the hall that leads to a secret staircase putting you in a path directly to the roof. “The coast is clear. Stay right behind me.”
You and Hunter navigate the cramped passageway all the way up. Hunter stops at a sealed ventilation door and plants small explosives on its hinges. Without saying a word, he shields you with his body in anticipation of their imminent combustion. He hovers over where you stand a couple steps below him, hugging you close and telling you something that nearly gets drowned out by the beeping charges. “Cover your ears.”
The charges deploy and at last you take in breaths of fresh outdoor air being spun in a dizzying whirlwind by The Marauder’s exhaust. Tech has arrived right on schedule, lowering the boarding steps and closing in on your location fast.
“That looks like our ride!” Hunter climbs out of the hatch first, helping you out while never letting go of your hand the whole sprint to the ship. You know the others are going to want to know everything that happened behind enemy lines, but you’re hoping some things will be kept as yours and Hunter’s precious secret. At least for now…
The Bad Batch landed on Anaxis at the meeting point with the 212th for a special mission. Hunter led the way and greeted Commander Cody who introduced them to Rex.
Cody’s clone troopers loaded onto their flying transport first with The Batch filing in after them. The door slid closed as the ship ascended on its journey to Skako Minor. All was quiet as each soldier stared ahead, contemplating the scope of this mission...until...
...Hunter suddenly started with a coughing fit.
“You ok, Sergeant?” Cody concerned, watched Hunter thump his chest with a closed fist, struggling to articulate his issue.
“Uh...cough...be...ok...”
Then the ruckus began. Cody and Rex watched as each Reg in the 212th violently protested one by one. Falling out of formation like a line of dominoes.
“WHAT THE KRIFF!?”
“Smells like a Rancor crapped in here!”
“What died???”
“I’m gonna die!”
“Who shit themselves???”
One trooper even tried to put his helmet on to avoid the fumes...to find the horrendous smell was trapped in with him, “GAAAAH!”
It wafted up to Cody and Rex who grimaced and gagged.
Every Reg in the 212th angrily glared back at The Batch.
Hunter, ever the gentleman and a leader, tried to take the blame. “Uh, sorry Lads...huh, gag...too many rations for...gag...breakfast.” He exhaled, fanning himself.
An angry Reg spoke up, “NO! I think it was the big guy!!! No way Sergeant Super Smeller did that!!!”
Everyone stared at Wrecker.
“WHAAAT???” Wrecker clearly had NO clue what was going on...as his sense of smell was deader than a Drydak.
Another Reg threw in his guess. “Yeah! The other two look like their asses are so tight you’d hear a SQUEAK!!!”
Tech’s head shot up from his data pad and gazed over alarmed at the Reg who was speaking with authority about HIS anatomy.
“ENOUGH!!!” Cody bellowed. Everyone immediately straightened up to full attention. “Corporal, open the bay door and air it out!”
Rex, speechless, put his hand over his nose.
Tech quietly glanced at Crosshair. There was a satisfied look on Cross’ face with just a hint of a grin. Cross gave Tech the side eye. Tech glared back at Crosshair with his best dignified, “YOU ASSHOLE” expression. Cross just chewed on his toothpick. He was clearly VERY pleased with himself.
Hunter leaned into Crosshair and whispered. “Do it again and I’m personally throwing your ass off this ship.”
“Mhm...Almost worth it.” He snarked back arrogantly.
Even though quiet and still standing at attention, it was clear the 212th Regs were fuming during the rest of the ride to Skako Minor.
Finally landing sometime later, the men filed out of the ship with several of the Regs body checking Wrecker as they walked past.
“HEY!” Wrecker protested.
“Get out of my way you STINKY BEAST!”
“YEAH, were you trying to gas us out back there!!!”
“THAT’S IT! Tech, gimme your repair torch!!!” Wrecker had enough of this BS.
Tech protested “I don’t see how that’s relevant to this situation...”
Wrecker yanked the torch off Tech’s utility belt and turned towards the two Regs.
“For the record...I’M NOT QUIET!” His voice rising.
“What are you going on about STINKY???” The Reg stood his ground sneering.
Wrecker wasn’t going to let this go. “You know what I like to do???”
Both Regs stood there looking at Wrecker, then glanced at each other, then back at Wrecker and just shrugged.
“I LIKE TO BLOW THINGS UP!!!” Wrecker shouted. With that he turned around, bent over, engaged the torch and squeezed out a LOUD fart that sounded like a TUBA BLAST. It ignited like a flame thrower, shooting out a jet of fire from his bum. The blast rolled over both Regs where they stood. Two high pitched Wilhelm screams were heard as both Regs took off running...their heads smoldering.
Wrecker laughed like a maniac...and handed the torch back to Tech.
Tech embarrassedly cleared his throat. “Uh...I assume those soldiers will need medical assistance...”
Rex turned to Cody mortified. “THESE are the guys that are supposed to help us find ECHO???”
“Yep...” Cody deadpanned.
*****************************************
Later, after Kix had medically treated the Regs, Cody marched them over to Wrecker to apologize. Both men were noticeably missing two things: Dignity and their eyebrows.
Wrecker couldn’t help himself. “Whattsamatter? You BOTH look so...SURPRISED!”
The rest of the 212th erupted in hysterical laughter. From then on NOBODY picked on Wrecker and he was the regiment favorite.
Crosshair sat nearby on a boulder watching all the action go down.
Hunter strolled up to Crosshair and kicked his boot. “You know this is all your fault, right?”
Cross pulled out a fresh toothpick, inserting it into his mouth.
“Hmmm...and enjoying EVERY minute of it.”
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Trigger Warning: Brief mentions of wanting to end it all.
This is a Echo one-shot that goes along with my story THE RUNAWAY. Takes place when Echo is still new to the squad, even though that hasn't happened yet in my story.
I apologize for not updating for so long, life got pretty stressful and stupid mental health got bad. But I'm slowly working on the next chapter and hope to have it out soon!
For now, enjoy this little one shot that I'm actually quite proud of! I dedicate this to @violetjedisylveon for giving me the idea for this one-shot!!!!
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Echo woke with a start, expecting to be back inside the stasis chamber that had been his prison for the longest time.
He'd had another nightmare. It was one of those where waking up seemed impossible and filled with droids that poked and prodded while masked people watched, showing no emotion even when the clone cried out in distress and pain. They did nothing, and it seemed the torture would never end. And even if Echo appeared to be shouting, no noise came from him, which made everything all the more terrible.
Heart racing and body coated with sweat, Echo did his best to control his breathing and hoped beyond anything he hadn't made any noise during his tortured slumber that would alert his new teammates. Though blood pounded in his ears, Echo strained to listen from his hammock for any sounds of anyone else waking up.
Thankfully, no one seemed to be awake. Wrecker's thunderous snores most likely drowned out anything, and the raging storm outside that seemed to never stop could have as well. For once, Echo was glad for Kamino's tumultuous weather. But the gratefulness was short lived as a shiver wracked his body, the parts that were human at least.
Despite being covered in sweat, Echo was cold, but it wasn't the type that could be fixed with an extra blanket. No, unfortunately this type of cold was internal, and no amount of blankets or warm drinks could fix it. His nightmares reverted him back to when he was nothing more than a cold slab of meat inside that chamber. He didn't remember much during that time, but one thing he was able to was the freezing subzero temperature.
When he woke up from the nightmares, he'd feel that same coldness again, how that was possible Echo wasn't sure. Maybe the cold, unfeeling cybernetics attached to him played a part who knows. Right now he wanted to rip them off, only he didn't have the strength or will power to do so. It would only draw attention to himself and he didn't want to wake anyone up, or if any of them were awake and merciful to pretend to not notice Echo's distress he didn't want to cause serious concern.
His teammates weren't naive though and Echo unfortunately wasn't the only one with mental scars that would more often than not disrupt sleep. It came with the territory of being a soldier. Sure they were bred for war, but not even the Kaminoans with all their brilliant minds and technology could 100% prevent an organic being from not having some sort of side effect from the harsh battles fought.
The enhanced group of clones had an unspoken agreement amongst themselves. They never spoke of the nightmares. It was easier to pretend they never happened, and they were too stubborn to admit to any sort of weakness. But it was mostly due to the conditioning of the Kaminoans, and the fear of being decommissioned if they appeared to be unstable even if the slightest.
Whispers about what happened with a clone named Tup had eventually reached the Bad Batch's ears, and the prevailing opinion had been that he'd snapped from the stress. However unlikely it seemed, since clones were technically supposed to be immune from that, it still struck concern into every clone and the Bad Batch were no exception though they of course never spoke of it.
Right now, Echo feared more than the rest of them of unraveling and being deemed unfit for duty. Almost every night was filled with kriffing nightmares, being only just shy of four weeks since his rescue. He still wasn't used to his cybernetics and more than once caught himself trying to use his right hand for things before realizing that he didn't have that appendage anymore. It was equal parts frustrating and embarrassing.
Sometimes, deep down, Echo would fight the dark thoughts that wished he'd never awoken from his stasis. That at some point his body gave out from all the experimentation. Or better yet, he'd actually died in that fiery explosion at the Citadel.
Right now, engulfed in the darkness of and trapped in his own mind, Echo wanted nothing more than just some relief from all this. At the very least, he wished to feel warm- feel like a human being again. It could be in his own head but anytime he touched his skin it still felt cold to the touch.
He thought about taking a walk, but was paralyzed and couldn't bring himself to move. Right now, Echo felt, for lack of a better word, broken. Broken.... and cold.
Echo was so immersed in his own thoughts that he didn't notice a pair of sharp glowing eyes watching him from across the room, nor did he see when those eyes came over to the hammock hanging a few feet above the ground.
Echo couldn't help the startled noise that came from his throat when a furry presence suddenly appeared on his stomach. Somehow the tooka completely avoided landing on a part of his body that wasn't robotic thus not knocking the wind out of him - though it was probably on purpose now that he thought about it.
"Get off, Scruffy." Echo murmered crossly, not in the mood to deal with the cat that was definitely against regulations. It was a wonder how the Kaminoans let the squad keep him. Or perhaps they didn't know. Either way, Echo wasn't fond of animals, having dealt with more than enough wild, dangerous ones in the past.
His protest was ignored however, much to his annoyance. Little paws jabbed into his stomach, ribs, and chest as they made their way up Echo's body, and little grunts of pain escaped the clone's lips as a result.
Echo wanted to shove the tooka cat off, but feared being bitten or scratched in retaliation. Even if Scruffy was tiny, who says the cat couldn't cause severe damage? Echo blamed Rishi Moon for his fear of animals. Seeing his brothers get eaten by those Rishi eels still haunted him among everything else.
Imagine Echo’s confusion when Scruffy hopped onto his head. What was the little rat doing?
Echo winced as he felt Scruffy's claws on his bald head, and the cat seemed to be moving in circles for whatever reason. Eventually, the weight settled and Echo felt soft fur instead of paws. Next, he heard a strange sound that came from Scruffy and sent vibrations down Echo's skull. He'd heard this noise before, now that he thought about it. When one of the others would pet Scruffy, he'd make the same sounds. Calli simply had to look at the cat and he'd start doing it. Purring I think Tech called it.
Oddly enough, Echo somehow found it soothing. That, coupled with the heat radiating from the small animal, Echo's eyes started getting droopy once more. The warmth brought on by the tooka/ minature space heater was a foreign feeling.
Even after being rescued he was still surrounded by medical droids that took care of him, and somewhere along the way Echo began to see himself as one as well.
Turns out he needed the touch of another living thing to remind himself that he too was alive and human.
Maybe having this cat around wasn't such a bad thing after all.....
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Hope you liked this!!!! I liked exploring Echo's mind a little bit, and getting into the trauma he's suffered. Echo deserves all the love in the world!!!
𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪
When y/n is injured, they try to hide the severity of it, causing the boys to panic when it’s worse than they realized.
ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤
None. Implied attraction to Hunter because, well, he’s hot.
𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤/𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕤
major injury/nausea/passing out. Doctor Tech. Comforting Wrecker. Sassy Crosshair. Concerned Hunter. You know—the necessities of a hurt/comfort oneshot.
if there’s anything else y’all see that needs tagged, please lmk and I’ll gladly tag it here !
word count: 2.3k
Consciousness hit you subtly and you groaned, setting both feet on the floor. You rubbed your eyes. Yesterday was one that you didn't want to remember, yet it came back to you in an instant. The darkness. A sleepy sigh. You made your body stand, though each sore, aching muscle protested. One step and your right leg gave out, taunting the memory of your fall. Your throat loosed a whimper. Fumbling, you got up. A hand found the far wall so your face wouldn't have to greet the floor again.
You caught your breath, wincing as you moved. Stubbornness made you try again without a gentle touch. You needed to get used to the pain. This attempt to stand on two feet left you weak and defeated. It also sent a familiar nausea your way.
Yesterday, when you'd been hurt, you instantly lost the contents of your stomach. This struck the entire squad by surprise as you possessed a stomach of steel. Nothing could make you vomit. They brought you back to the ship and you passed out the moment your head hit the pillow of the lowest bunk. It wasn't your bunk, but they didn't want to fight you trying to climb. The last thing you remembered was seeing the look of concern in Tech's eyes your focus waned.
Supressing the urge to cry out, you limped through the shuttle. Each and every step made you sicker. Your fists were balled at your sides. Pride encouraged the poker face you plastered on as you went into the cockpit. They didn't need to see you parade such a weak state.
“That's the thing, Hunter. We'll be out of supplies in..." Tech trailed off, squinting at the newly arrived form. You nodded a greeting and found a seat, uncomfortably aware of the four sets of eyes on you.
"Go on,"
“You should be resting," he stated.
"I'm not running, am I?"
He frowned at you, then at his beloved data pad. "We'll be out of supplies in two weeks. It's time we stop back by Kamino to restock."
"How long has it been?" Hunter muttered, giving you a glance.
"Based on each solar—"
"A long time," you hummed. You leaned forward on your elbows, but quickly retracted, finding a sensitive bruise on one elbow. "I'd estimate two and a half months."
Tech paused, gears at work behind his goggles, "You're almost correct. Two months and nineteen days. How'd you know that?"
A shrug and tilt of your head, "I have a good internal clock."
"My internal clock says we've been gone for forever!" Wrecker exclaimed. "I almost lost track of how many successful missions we've done."
Your fingertips graced the fresh bruise on your arm as you released your mind.
The blast hit the hut you’d stood atop as you rained hell on the droids around you. It was a misfire from a destroyed cannon, but it did its job. You awoke when Wrecker lifted a stone from you. When you stood, the world did not. You swore at Tech and threatened to shoot him when he tried to look over you for injuries. They rushed you back, and all you could think was a wistful, ‘don’t tell me I actually got hurt.’
"How are you feeling, Y/N?"
"Huh?" You looked at Hunter.
"You didn't hear any of what we just said, did you?"
Your frown traveled from Hunter to take in each of the boys. They shared the same expression: concern.
"I was thinking,"
"I don't want to alarm you," Tech began, and he looked at Hunter for permission to go on.
"You look almost dead. I've never seen you that pale," Crosshair piped in. His serious tone made your heart drop.
Your trademark tough shell shifted, "Wh—what?"
"Are you feeling alright?" Hunter got to his feet and closed the distance baring a frown. "Be honest. This could be serious."
"I'm fine, Sarge,"
“I want to examine you," Tech said, "Crosshair, you can take over the controls—but be gentle!"
"Right, because I'd love nothing more than to crash the ship," he rolled his eyes.
An extended hand sealed your scattered mind and you glanced up at Hunter. "Where we going?"
"To the bunks. Tech wants to examine you."
"I heard that," you grumbled, standing up.
The next thing you saw was the bottom of the next bunk above you. Inhaling sharply, head foggy, you took in the room. Hunter leaned against the wall, arms folded, scowl engrained in the skull adorning his face as he studied the floor. At least the nausea was gone.
You motioned to swing your feet over the edge of the bed when Hunter whispered, "Stay there, Y/N."
He'd passed over to the bunk and pushed your feet back to the middle of the bunk before your mind caught up. The wealthy of Coruscant were likely more aware of their surroundings than you. You bid yourself close your eyes, and darkness greeted you again with far less abrupt arms.
You stirred at the sound of two distant voices.
“They’ll need to rest up for a few more days, but we can't wait to set it for much longer."
"Do you know how to do that?"
A beat.
“I'll learn."
"Then do it. I reckon you'll need more area-specific anesthetics? I can go into town to get them."
"No need. The ones from the med-kit onboard should suffice."
A sigh.
"Please don't get this wrong, Tech. We need them to be okay."
"They will be. Don't worry."
His gentle hand shook your shoulder and you drew a breath, slowly coming awake. Your first thought revolved around the time. How long had you been asleep? That you couldn't call a single number worried you.
"Good morning, Y/N," Hunter hummed.
Your lips failed to formulate an intelligent reply, so you mumbled your similar return. Your arms wrapped tightly around a soft bundle and you buried your face in it. Red and black fuzz tickled your face and you pulled it back to look at it. It was Lula.
"We need to you to be awake so we can test these pain killers. Once we're sure they work, you can relax."
"What's wrong?"
"You broke your... Tech, which bone is it?"
"The Tibia,"
"You broke your Tibia. That's the shin bone. We need to reset the bone so it'll heal right, but Tech wanted to test the pain killers first."
"Do you feel this?"
A moment of confusion was followed by your looking down at Tech. He was pressing on your exposed shin. The pressure didn't cause any reaction, but the sight of your wounded leg did. Fascinated, you wanted to touch it.
"No, no, lay back down, Y/N." Hunter was pushing you back onto the bed.
"Do you feel this?" You frowned down at him, wondering why he'd repeat his question when it struck you. He was pressing on another part of your leg. This was supposed to hurt.
"I don't feel any of that... is that bad?"
"Quite the opposite, actually."
You caught the skull's armor relax through your peripherals. He turned to you and you met his eyes without a sound. A reassuring smile crossed his lips and you caught yourself thinking about just how handsome this man was. It took a moment to pull you back. Then you heard what he was saying to you.
"You can relax. We'll take it from here."
He didn't have to tell you twice. You were already embracing the darkness with joy, Lula tucked in your grasp. A long time passed, you couldn't be sure how long. When you finally came back, you found yourself drifting away again. This repeated until one time, you were able to hold onto a relative instance of consciousness. The dim room shifted as you sat up and scooted to lean your back against the wall, Lula at your side.
This was not the Marauder.
Foggy eyes scanned the disastrous room, hesitating on the fresh tally marks carved into the wall. They moved to the droid head on a table in the center of the space where Tech and Hunter sat. Eventually your gaze drifted to the pile of dirty blacks and then to the window that was pelted with large raindrops. You hadn't been on Kamino in a long time.
"Good to see you’re awake," Hunter greeted, setting aside the shoulder plate he had been cleaning. He had removed the top half of his armor.
"It hasn't been two weeks already, has it?" You muttered, noticing that Crosshair and Wrecker were gone. "Tech said two weeks."
"It's been three days actually," he moved to lean over your... his bed. Resting his arm on the wall above the rather large alcove, he looked down at you. "I suppose I'll give you the bad news. You went into surgery as soon as we got you back. You've got pins in your leg and an appointment for physical therapy in a few days. Overall, the surgery went well."
"It would have gone better if you hadn't hidden the injury and tried several times to stand on the broken bone." Tech muttered, leaning both elbows on the table as he looked up from the data pad in hand. Then he paused, eyes darting to the side. "On a similar note, I should've recognized the symptoms immediately. Nausea and fatigue are trademark symptoms of a broken bone."
"Hey," you waited until he looked at you, "Don't start the blame game, buddy. That's not happening."
A heavy sigh left his lips and he bobbed his head in agreement, "Sorry. I suppose I'm just flustered over this. Ever since you fell from that building, I knew it had to be worse than you let on, but I didn't want to say anything as I was sure you knew better than I regarding how bad your injuries were."
Hunter, who had been listening until then commented, "None of us realized how bad it was till you passed out in the cockpit."
"I didn't realize..." Searching for a response in a discombobulated mind proved pointless. "I'm sorry. I should've been more forthright."
"We forgive you. I want you to know that we care, Y/N." You found Hunter's dark eyes, "Please tell us next time if you need help."
A beat followed and you nodded. "I will."
A minute later, the door hissed open and in came Wrecker followed closely by Crosshair. They both paused, staring your way. An enormous smile struck Wrecker and he raced over to you like a little kid. Your attention was enveloped in huge arms.
"How are you doing, Y/N?" He held you at arms length and looked at you, brows stitched together. "I was worried sick!"
"I'm doing good, Wreck. I am pretty tired though." You stole a glance at Crosshair who stood near the door toothing a toothpick. "Apparently I have a good poker face,"
The sniper huffed, the corner of his mouth twitching into a rare smile. You turned back to the large man who moved next to Hunter. Wonderment came over you again at the individuality of each man in there.
"Well," began Hunter, "I think now would be a good time to get some brunch. What do you say, boys?"
Wrecker whooped in approval and the others moved to the door while Hunter stayed behind, sitting on the edge of the bed. On his way out, Tech shot Hunter a questioning glance that was answered by a subtle facial queue from their leader. He nodded and followed his brothers through the door.
“You not going to eat?"
He shook his head, "I ate before they got up."
"Ah," you hummed.
Steady raindrops drowned the silence that ensued. The empty look in Hunter's eyes didn't miss your observance. He stared at nothing, all the while staring at the galaxy. You wondered if he knew he did this from time to time.
"Are you okay?"
The light reignited in his eyes and he turned his focus to you, "I will be,"
"Oh?" you raised an eyebrow, "What's up?"
He hesitated, eyeing the floor. "Just... when you passed out? I haven't lost any of my brothers in this squad. For a second, I thought I was going to lose you. I've never really let myself think about that before."
The expression he held when you had woken a few days ago spoke a novel when paired with those words. Every mission that went well grew confidence in the boys. You saw this consistently. That confidence was probably shattered the moment they realized that one of them could get hurt. Did all of them freeze up in a moment of panic when you collapsed?
That image made you shutter. You imagined their expressions pitying you as you failed to hide your pain. The thought of their worry plagued you. It was... mortifying.
“But you made it," he whispered, "and you're alright."
"I am,"
It took half an hour for the others to return. When they did, you found yourself watching in fascination as they interacted. You'd never seen regs behave with such chemistry. Truly, these boys were different. You knew you'd be in good hands while you recovered from this inconvenient injury. The best part was that you'd have four... well, three caring clones to keep your spirits up as you did so.
———
Thanks for reading!
At the end of each one shot, I like to add a little Q&A to interact with readers. Feel free to comment a response!
Q. Have you ever broken a bone? If so, would you be interested in sharing the story?
A. Nope! I've been close a time or two, but I have yet to break any bones
The SECOND Bad Batch Comedy One Shot in the ONE SHIT SERIES
Background: Total sibling drama...ramped up to 1,000! Thankfully this was BEFORE Echo joined, because he would NOT have stayed with these idiots!!! Luckily Omega was spared as well. Set after my one shit "Silent But Deadly" and before "Who Dealt It?". I purposely did not assign a gender to the Twi'lek neighbor for reader reasons. Are YOU, dear reader, the lucky Twi'lek to meet The Batch?
Warning: Total Bathroom Humor. Farts, stinky humor, suggestion of poop, swearing, middle finger, some nudity, someone does Lula dirty.
The Marauder was peacefully quiet as Hunter emerged from the refresher. Tech had dimmed down the lights before chaperoning Wrecker and Crosshair out for an evening on the town.
This past week had been a daunting one for Hunter’s senses and he needed a respite from EVERYTHING.
Hunter tossed his towel away, standing buck naked, and stretched. He’d sleep without the restrictiveness of clothing tonight. The thought made him smile and exhale with a rumble of pleasure.
Leaning over the bunk, he pulled back the crisp immaculately made sheets. Hunter inhaled expecting the scent of a clean bed...
...and nearly fainted!
A horrible miasma of stench assaulted his nose, almost suffocating him!
Hunter jumped back and yanked the refresher door open, flipping on the fan. Then sprinted out of the bunk area, slamming the door shut to block the stink in.
What was supposed to be a comforting night turned out to be nothing close. He was angry about the practical joke. Crosshair knew better! Hunter KNEW it was Crosshair...it has his scent all over it!
While pondering WHY Cross would do such a thing, Hunter strolled over to the pilot's chair and sat down. His rear end contacted the Marauder’s cold rough upholstery.
“DANK FERRICK!” Hunter forgot he was naked as a Noghri and shot back up from the seat. Standing right in front of the windscreen. His loud exclamation caught the attention of the Twi’lek who was inspecting their ship. The ship parked 20 feet away from the Marauder.
The Twi’lek stared at Hunter with a shocked expression. Hunter immediately covered his “goods” with both hands and grinned with embarrassment. The Twi’lek smiled back, signed a thumbs up, winked, and boarded their ship.
“Did I just make a friend???” Hunter was stymied. This was ANYTHING BUT a relaxing night.
**********************
Hunter confronted Crosshair the next morning.
“WHY would you DO something like that!?”
“NO IDEA what you’re going on about Hunter,” Cross sneered. “Heard you have an admirer.”
“Don’t change the subject. I could...smell it was YOU!”
Crosshair just smiled at Hunter’s distress, then walked away.
“We aren’t done here!” Why was Crosshair being so difficult and evasive?
“No... WE certainly aren’t.” Cross flashed his gaze at Wrecker and Tech then exited the Marauder.
Hunter threw up his hands in frustration and walked away.
******************************
“WHY would you DO THAT TO LULA?!” Wrecker lamented.
“I think you know why.” Cross didn’t even bother to look up from polishing his Firepuncher.
Wrecker just stood in shock, then growled “It’s personal now!”
He reeled back and smacked Cross upside the head with Lula, knocking the toothpick from his mouth.
Crosshair threw down his equipment and jumped up, both hands balled into fists.
Wrecker grabbed Cross from the front of his armor, lifting the skinny sniper over his head and began to shake his brother senselessly.
“KNOCK IT OFF!!!”
Both brothers stopped and gazed at Hunter who was now standing in the doorway. Tech had heard the row and pulled Hunter from his conversation with the Twi’lek neighbor to break it up.
“Wrecker! Put Crosshair down!!!”
“AWWW! Can’t you smell what he DID to Lula???”
“Yes...cough...I certainly can.”
“Down. NOW.”
“Grrrr...” Wrecker opened his hand and Cross dropped on his ass upon the metal decking.
“He had it COMING!” Crosshair shot back.
“Just what do you mean?” Hunter inquired.
Cross opened his mouth to expound, then noticed Tech standing behind Hunter. “Are...you RECORDING all of THIS?”
Hunter turned to look at Tech “REALLY???”
Cross was now pissed at a second brother today. “You aren’t going to upload that to your asinine MUMBLER Holoaccount are YOU???”
“It’s STUMBLR” Tech proudly proclaimed adjusting his goggles. “And I may be persuaded to as my ‘asinine followers’ will enjoy watching you get your comeuppance!”
“NERD!”
“Thank you. This won’t be the first time I uploaded your detestable behavior on my Holonet Platform. You currently have 1,892 ‘Frenemies’ on STUMBLR, Crosshair.”
Crosshair flipped off Tech.
Wrecker spoke up “Aye Tech, are you still recording?”
“Yes. ALL the time.”
“GOOD!” Wrecker resumed repeatedly whacking Crosshair across the head with Lula.
“I CAN’T with you guys...” Hunter sighed and walked off the ship to find the Twi’lek.
***********************
Things had died down after a few days. Mostly because everyone kept to themselves and didn’t try to antagonize each other. The sun set and each clone went off to their bunk...
...except for Tech who stayed up to maintenance the Marauder. He sipped his caf then grabbed the power driver to unscrew an inner panel on the ship. As he freed the first bolt, it dropped to the decking and almost narrowly escaped through the small gaps in the floor. Tech caught the bolt with his shoe just in time.
Picking up the bolt he mused, I need to sequester you and your little friends in something secure.
He riffled through his toolbox, looking for something...
I know it’s here...put it back myself... Tech didn’t remember moving ir... Ah, there you are. His hands closed around a small glass jar he had saved for a ‘just in case’ project. He smiled widely as this was the perfect use for the receptacle he had squirreled away for so long.
Tech unscrewed the top of the jar and dropped the bolt in...
...as a horrible odor punched him SQUARE in the NOSE!
Tech gagged and dropped the jar. It hit the decking and exploded loudly into a thousand little shards. The bolt shot out and made its way to a hole in the decking. Tech leapt forward attempting to catch the bolt before he lost it to the underside of the Marauder. He slipped on a large piece of glass and went down on both hands...
...on top of more glass...
...to watch the bolt, disappear through the decking...
...Tech could hear it descend though the guts of the ship...TINK...TINK...TINK...
Then it was gone.
The ruckus woke Hunter. “Tech...you ok?” In his sleepy groggy voice.
Tech pulled his hands up from the floor. Luckily there were no injuries, but the glass shredded both gloves...HIS GOOD PAIR. Tech struggled to keep his voice free of irritated sass. “Yes.”
“Eh...you sure?”
“Quite. Get some sleep Hunter.”
Tech heard Hunter mumble sleepily and turn over in his bunk. Wrecker never stopped loudly snoring. Crosshair however...Tech listened intently...Cross was TOO quiet.
Techs brows furrowed angrily and thought to himself YOU BASTARD! Well...one good turn deserves another!!! He stood, removed the glass embedded gloves, and vowed REVENGE on Crosshair’s head.
*********************
The morning sun peeped up over the horizon as Hunter rolled out of his bunk, more refreshed than he had been in quite a while. He stretched, scratched his bum, and wandered out in his pj’s to grab some caf.
Tech had made a fresh pot, and apparently been up all night. Didn’t strike Hunter as out of the ordinary. Tech usually pulled all-nighters to work on his projects.
“Morning.” Hunter reached for the carafe.
Tech blocked him with a freshly poured mug of caf. “Take this, Hunter.”
“Eh...ok...thanks.” Hunter sniffed the mug then cocked his head and caught the scent of the coffee in the carafe. There was a very slight difference in odor notes, which didn’t slip past Hunter at all.
Tech caught Hunter’s body language. “This is the caf you prefer. That...” Tech nodded his head towards the carafe “...is Crosshairs.”
“Yeeah, ok.” Hunter shook his head, slid into a seat, and decided to just let it go. He sipped his caf, eyes closed to revel in the warm richness of his brew.
Five minutes later Crosshair emerged from the refresher. Showered and shaved, wearing only a crisp white towel around his waist. He arrogantly strolled through the ship and made his way to the caf. “Good morning.”
Hunter opened his eyes and noticed Tech intently watching Crosshair.
Cross grabbed a large mug and filled it to the brim. He took a hefty gulp and sighed. “Oh look...Hunter, your friend is out and about.”
Crosshair straightened up, puffed out his chest and waved seductively at the Twi’lek neighbor. “Rather attractive...”
“Are you FLIRTING???” Hunter growled.
“Jealous?” Crosshair shot back eyeing Hunter while sipping from the mug.
Tech rolled his eyes. But kept intently watching Crosshair.
“I might have to go over and introduce myself...right after I finish my caf.”
“I don’t give a WOMP RATS ASS what YOU do!”
“Did I ruffle your feathers, Hunter? Just trying to be friendly.” Cross drained his mug and set it on the counter. “Since our Sergeant likes to keep the dress code...casual, guess I will too.” He made a beeline for the Marauders outdoor hatch...still wearing NOTHING but the towel.
Hunter shot up out of his seat “DON’T you DARE go out there!”
Crosshair stopped in his tracks, not because Hunter forbade him from leaving the Marauder...
...but because Cross looked suddenly uncomfortable. Then his stomach loudly gurgled. Crosshair turned around now rethinking his earlier plan.
“What did YOU DO?” Crosshair demanded an answer from Tech.
Tech glared back with a diabolical grin. “Punishing your flatulent activity.”
“WHAT???” Both Cross and Hunter exclaimed.
“For the ‘Fart Jar’ Fiasco last night.”
“What jar?” Crosshair held his belly and started to sweat.
“The one in my toolkit you left a...” surprise” in. Honestly Crosshair, you’re acting obtuse.”
“Seriously? Why can’t you all stop touching each other's stuff???” Hunter felt like the ONLY adult on the ship.
Louder gurgling from Crosshair’s belly while he shook his sweaty head. An abdominal cramp had him doubling over. “Not m...”
“THAT WAS ME!” Everyone turned to see Wrecker standing in the doorway, wearing his Republic Underoos, clutching Lula.
“WHAT?” exclaimed Hunter, Tech, and a very painful Crosshair.
“I uh...wanted to get Crosshair back for crop dusting Lula...” He looked VERY guilty.
“Lula had it coming because I was blamed for you stinking up Hunter’s bed!”
“Wait...WHAT?” Hunter was seriously confused. “It SMELLED like Crosshair!”
“Yeah...” Wrecker scratched the back of his neck. “...because I KNOW how to build a stinkbomb.”
Hunter’s face dropped “WHY would you DO THAT to ME???”
Tech chimed in befuddled. “Yes, PLEASE explain WHY you would retaliate against Hunter and I when WE did NOTHING to you???”
“Because...’Wrecker paused and exhaled, then looked at all three of his brothers with fierce conviction. “I wanted to get one over on Cross for LETTING me get blamed by the 212th during our mission on Anaxis! AND because the two of YOU didn’t think I was SMART ENOUGH to pull off something like this!!!”
Hunter and Tech stared like deer in the headlights then glanced at each other.
“TELL ME you all DON’T assume I’m ALWAYS the DUMB one???” Wrecker crossed his arms over his chest.
“OH KRIFF!” Crosshair grabbed his bum with both hands and shuffled off to the refresher. He was ignored by his brothers to deal with his fate.
Hunter spoke first with humility. “NEVER thought you were dumb. Probably do underestimate you at times though. Wrecker, I promise to NEVER do this from now on.”
Wrecker turned to Tech now putting his hands on his hips. “WELL???”
“I’m IMPRESSED.”
Wrecker was mildly shocked.
“Your planning, ingenuity, divide and conquer strategy to create infighting and steer the blame away from yourself...I would ONLY consider such a diabolical scheme from Crosshair.” Tech pushed his glasses up his nose.
“Speaking of which...HOPE he made it to the refresher.” Hunter glanced behind him.
Tech sighed with remorse. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions and spiked his caf.”
“Wrecker NO!”
Wrecker was drinking straight from the carafe (which he usually did due to not having a mug big enough for the clone). Hunter yanked it from Wrecker grasp.
“SPIT!” Wrecker spit the heaping mouthful right back into the carafe.
“Wrecker, you didn’t swallow any cafe, did you?” Tech was EXTREMELY concerned.
“Nope.”
“THANK STARS! Here.” Tech pulled out a Saleucami Delight Juice Box and handed it to Wrecker.
“Do I REALLY want to know what’s in THAT caf???” Hunter swirled the liquid inside the carafe with concern.
“Negative” Tech took the carafe from Hunter and promptly poured it down the Marauder’s galley sink.
*********************
There were horrible noises emanating from the refresher. The smell was no better. Hunter refused to step any closer than the outside door to the bunk room. Held his nose the whole time. Tech sent Wrecker, whose sense of smell was next to nothing to check on Crosshair.
Wrecker gently knocked on the refresher door with his huge fist. “How ya holdin’ up, Cross?”
Nothing.
Then...a small weak strangled voice could be heard from behind the refresher door. “Wrecker...”
“...Yeah?”
“...I’m sorry...” More silence. “...never again...ok?”
“Ok Brother. I’ll...just leave ya to...finish.”
“Mmhm...” More sounds and whimpering.
“Oof.” Wrecker shook his head and walked off to join Hunter and Tech with palpable concern. “Is he gonna be ok?”
“Other than being moderately dehydrated and extremely chapped...most likely. However, he WILL be spending a full day in the refresher.”
Hunter shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Looks like I’m not getting a shower today.”
There was a knock at the Marauder gangplank.
Hunter strolled over and opened the hatch. Their Twi’lek neighbor appeared dressed in Meiloorun pajama bottoms and a tee with the words “I got high in Cloud City” emblazoned on it.
“Hi! Saw everyone was up. Wanted to invite you all over for breakfast at my place.” Pointing to their ship. “Figured since you like to go ‘casual’ I’d catch you early.” Sly grin and a wink.
Hunter grinned and chuckled. “That’s lovely...uh...unfortunately we’re experiencing an issue with our refresher...”
“You and your brothers can use mine!” The Twi’lek smiled warmly. “Uh...unless...It’s not TOO forward a thing to offer?” Nervously twisting their lekku.
“Not at all. LADS! We’ve been invited to breakfast AND to use our neighbor's refresher!” Then followed the delighted Twi’lek to their ship.
“WHOOO-HOOO!” Wrecker was off the ship in a flash, still in his Underoos clutching Lula.
Tech paused and looked back towards the refresher. Should he bother Crosshair now with this new development? He was sure Crosshair would figure it out. Tech shrugged, besides he wasn’t going ANYWHERE anytime soon. Descending the Marauder’s gangplank Tech decided he would check on Cross later.
******************
Back in the refresher, Crosshair heard EVERYTHING. He was damned if they were going to leave and have breakfast without him. Besides...his stomach was starting to feel a tiny bit better...
...then he was hit with ANOTHER deep abdominal cramp!
Crosshair pulled the last few squares off the roll beside him. DANK FERRICK! WAS IT SO KRIFFING HARD TO REPLACE THE ROLL??? Gritting his teeth, it was going to be a full toothpick pack kind of day. Cross felt around beside him and found the spare refresher paper package...
...to find it TOTALLY EMPTY! Crosshair was beyond pissed...so pissed he could have launched himself off the refresher seat into hyperspace!!!
WREEEEECKERRRRR!!!
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“And you love Hunter” Aeryn looked away from the window and down at the girl in shock.
“Who told you that?”
“No one. I can see it.” She looked up at the Jedi expectantly.
“It’s… complicated”
Notes:
This will be one of many one shots featuring my Jedi/OC Aeryn and Hunter.
I have so many oneshots saved on my desktop that I had no idea how to connect but @wanderinginksplot inspired me with thier writing soooo here's my first of many oneshots.
Let me know what you think!
Aeryn watched the young clone curl into Hunter’s side, which made him wince at the impact. These past few days had taken a toll on everyone, not just physically but mentally as well. Aeryn had never seen Hunter so worried before, she could see how much Omega had come to mean to him in such a short amount of time.
Hunter knelt down to her level “Are you Ok Omega? Are you hurt?”
“Why is this happening? Why are the Kaminoans after me?!” The young girl cried.
“Hunter, you have to tell her” Echo said rubbing the back of his neck. Hunter sighed knowing Echo was right, he couldn’t keep the truth from her any longer.
“You’re valuable to them. More than all the other clones, even more than us. You’re different”
“Different? How?” Omega asked.
Aeryn stood up and walked over to place a gentle hand on Omega’s shoulder.
“Let’s get those off of you first and then we can all talk” She said softly pointing at the cuffs on her wrists before looking to Hunter for his approval, who gave it with a nod.
“Come sit down over here” Aeryn said as she guided Omega to one of the seats. She carefully took Omega’s hands in her own before waving a hand over the cuffs unlocking them. Omega looked shocked, still not use to what Aeryn could do, and began to rub her wrists.
“Are you hurt?”
Omega sniffed and shook her head but Aeryn noticed the redness around her wrists.
“May I?” The Jedi asked still keeping her voice low so not to frighten or upset the young girl even further. Omega looked up from her wrists into Aeryn’s eyes before she nodded.
With the lightest of touches she took her wrists in each hand and closed her eyes in concentration. It had been a while since she healed someone this way. Aeryn never noticed that the whole exchange was being watched by Hunter. Omega’s eyes widened as she could feel the ache in her wrists melting away and looked shocked that the redness was completely gone.
“How did you do that?” She gasped.
“It’s a talent only a few Jedi know, I transferred a little of my life force to heal you.” Aeryn said with a smile. “Now let’s get you cleaned up.”
She took the time to wipe the dust and dirt off of Omega’s face before making sure the young clone had something to eat.
Omega watched her the whole time, melting into her gentle touches while wondering if this is what is like to have a mother.
-
“You’re staring” Hunter turned quickly to the voice to see Echo smirking at him.
“I am not.”
“Sure you’re not” Echo laughed. “She’s always been good with kids”
“She has.” Hunter agreed, “I can’t imagine what she went through losing her padawan”
“The war took too much from all of us. But… maybe one day we won’t have to live on the run anymore and some of us can settle down, raise a fa-”
“Echo” Hunter said with a warning
“Hunter, You thought she was dead after Order 66. You have her back. Not everyone gets a chance like that. You should tell her how you feel”
“There’s no time for that.”
Echo rolled his eyes, “why not”
“It’s… complicated”
-
Once Omega was cleaned and fed Aeryn got her up into the gunners mount to sleep.
“You’re safe now Omega. Try and get some sleep.” She said as she turned to walk away.
“Aeryn” a small voice said behind her. “Thank you”
“It was my pleasure.” Aeryn turned to walk away again before the small voice called her back.
“Yes?” The Jedi asked.
Omega looking down at the floor said “ can… can you stay with me until I fall asleep?”
With a soft smile on her lips, she climbed up the steps to the gunner’s mount and sat next to the young girl pulling her into her side.
After a few minutes of looking at the stars passing by Omega asked “Did you ever do this for your Enji?” Aerin was shocked by the question, “Who told you about my padawan?”
“Tech”
“Ah.” She sighed thinking about the young boy, “I did this a few times with Enji when he was very very young. Younglings and even padawans still have trouble regulating their emotions from time to time. So there were times when he would come to me for comfort”
A few moments of silence follow before Omega asked “Why can’t Jedi love?”
“We are not supposed to form attachments, too much emotions can cloud our judgement”
“But you cared for Enji…”
“Yes, I was his master. His teacher”
“But you were the closest thing he had to a parent”
“I guess in a way I was yes and I did grow to care for him greatly”
“And you love Hunter” Aeryn looked away from the window and down at the girl in shock.
“Who told you that?”
“No one. I can see it.” She looked up at the Jedi expectantly.
“It’s… complicated”
“Why?”
With a soft smile Aerin said, “you should get some sleep”
Omega’s shoulders fell as if she was expecting Aerin to give a grand declaration of love but she didn’t have all the answers.
-
A little while later Omega removed herself from Aeryn’s embrace. The Jedi having fallen asleep some time ago.
Omega, careful not to wake her, climbed over the sleeping Jedi and down the ladder. Making her way through the Marauder, she quietly passed by her brothers and made her way to the cockpit to where Hunter was flying.
“Can’t sleep?” He asked as she sat down next to him.
“I keep thinking about the Kaminoans” Omega looked down, “Seeing that place. I don’t want to end up an experiment in a tube”
“That’s not going to happen”
“If I’m as valuable as you say, Lama Su will keep sending bounty hunters after me”
“He can send everyone in the galaxy. YOU have US” He said with assurance.
“And Aeryn?”
Hunter looked back at the sleeping Jedi still in the gunner’s mount. He had seen how protective she was not just for her padawan but also for the men under her command. He knew, that if she was to continue on with them, that she would protect Omega with everything she had.
“And Aeryn” He agreed.
“You can’t fight them all” She said after a moment.
Hunter quickly got out of the captains chair, turned Omega to face him while he kneeled down in front of her.
“Omega, you don’t have to worry. You are never going back to Kamino”
“Promise?”
“I promise” With that she gave him a small smile and then a yawn escaped her.
“You should try and get some more sleep if you can” He said seeing how tired she was.
Omega stood and began to walk back towards her room, passing by snoring Tech, before she stopped and turned back towards Hunter.
“Hunter?” She whispered as to not wake anyone. He turned to look back at her.
“Do you… Do you love Aeryn?” That was not a question he was expecting but he should have seen it coming.
“its complicated Omega.”
“Aeryn said that too, but why does it have to be?” She said a little louder than she meant to but thankfully no one woke.
“Omega, none of us are in a position to have any connections that might put us or the other person at risk if the Empire finds out. Especially Aeryn. If they find out a Jedi survived …” Hunter’s shoulders sagged. “That is why its complicated”
“But that doesn’t mean you both don’t love each other” Omega said final turning to walk back to her room leaving Hunter with a lot to think about.
