clone characters when you tell them "you're so big" during sex
a/n: gotta let them know yk
afab reader
warnings: sexual content
"oh—you're so big—" you gasp, digging your nails into his back...
hunter lets out a sharp, raspy groan as he drops his forehead to yours, damp from the sweat slick across his body. he presses his nose up against your face and says, "you can take it," slowly moving his hips back and forth. his breath hitches when he feels you squeeze tight around him, stretching out just to swallow him up with a wet sucking sound. "mmm, there you go..." he murmurs, "just like that..."
tech fits your mouths together in a soft, soothing kiss, tricking you into thinking he'll show mercy until his fingers press down on your stomach, gingerly feeling where the length of his cock pulses inside of you with a bulging imprint of evidence. you squirm and whine under him, struggling to kiss him back as he whispers, "you'll certainly feel it for the next few days..." a little smug for your liking.
wrecker grunts, "you're so tight," into your chest, not pausing his relentless thrusts that slam against your hips. your praise just urges him even more, feeding his hunger to show you just how big he really is—just how good he wants to make you feel. you claw at his broad shoulders and hang onto him for dear life, your eyes rolling back from how deep and rough he hits your g-spot.
crosshair smirks and rubs a slow, nimble finger over your clit to relax your walls around him, staring down at you as your breath comes in hard and heavy. "oh, you're not getting second thoughts, are you?" he mocks, "because that would be a shame..." you moan and wrap your arms around his waist to prove you're not backing out, driving him deeper, causing him to hiss and suck his teeth.
echo grips your jaw firmly and stares down at you, asking, "not hurting you, am i?" gentling the pace of his hips to control himself. you throw your head back and reply, "mm-mm...you're perfect..." grabbing at his neck. he lets your foreheads knock together with a low chuckle and kisses the tip of your nose, rolling his hips against yours deep and slow through the heat between your trembling thighs.
wolffe weakens against his will when you praise him. he's the one folding even though he has your legs folded over his shoulders, bullying his cock through your wet, slick folds with an unforgivingly harsh back and forth of his hips. his face warms as he mutters, "don't fuckin' sweet-talk me," trying to act like your words aren't getting to him. you cradle the back of his head through a breathy moan and purr, "mm, but you feel so good," stroking his hair as he fucks into you harder and groans deeply into your ear. he chases the soft "yess—ohh, right there..." that falls from your lips, the noises that tell him he's made perfectly for you and only you.
fox fucks you like he's pissed, and he honestly probably is—always in a state of annoyance. your words catch him off guard, but his hips don't falter as he drives himself inside of you, holding your legs open with a firm, pushy hand. "flattery, huh?" he tilts his head to the side, smirking cruelly, "mm, don't think that's gonna let you off the hook..." but he likes hearing it anyway.
cody drops his face to your shoulder, also gasping from the sting of your nails raking down his back. his muscles flex and tighten under your touch, and his body sinks down onto yours as he thrusts into you deeper, leaving no space between your hips. he feels you shaking, which makes him smirk and murmur, "you want me to slow down?" chuckling in expectation when you shake your head.
mayday hums in content as he kisses you, smiling against your lips. "think you're just too tight," he whispers hoarsely, "you comfortable?" his gaze is soft when he pulls back despite the rough and dirty sounds joining your bodies together. you cup his face, scratching his beard slightly. "mhm," you sigh, pulling him back in for another warm, open-mouthed kiss that tingles your body with butterflies.
rex blushes with humility, but the confidence in his eyes indicates that you're not telling him anything new. his cheeks are dusted pink as he kisses you, nibbling at your bottom lip with a soft whisper, "you feel so good," groaning when you start moving your hips to meet his, following his sensually precise rhythm. "fuck, you're killing me..." he whimpers quietly against your ear, suddenly panting hard.
fives devours your praise with a shit-eating grin. he leans in close, his lips brushing yours as he rasps, "yeah, you feel that, huh?" he snaps his hips roughly, smirking when your mouth falls open in a breathy cry that he swallows up, moaning into the kiss, his tongue sliding over yours. "fuck, you're so tight..." he kisses down your chin to suck on your neck, groaning, "this pussy's fucking made for me, mhm..."
kix kisses your forehead, his voice tender and sweet as he whispers, "shh, just breathe, i got you...yeah, just relax..." you wrap your arms around his neck, whimpering through his slow, gentle thrusts, patient to break you open. he kisses down your face, pressing his lips against your eyelids before brushing them over your mouth, where he locks them together with a low moan.
jesse could cum just from the sound of your voice telling him something so dangerously sexy. he slants his mouth over yours in a sloppy kiss, panting hard and heavy against you in uncontrollable waves that match the pace of his hips grinding into yours. "mm, fuck, don't say that," he moans, burying his face into the crook of your neck, "not gonna last if you keep teasing..."
hardcase smirks at you, wide and arrogant as your words fuel his ego. "you're not surprised, are you?" he rasps, pressing your foreheads together. he looks down to watch his cock disappear into your pussy, reappearing just to get sucked back in with a dirty, desperate squeeze. he glances back up, his eyes dancing with pleasure...and trouble. "yeah, know you can take it..."
gregor chuckles under his breath and lets a breathy whine escape through this amused sound. "mm, you're sweet, baby," he kisses you, his lips moving against yours lazily. his words trail off into a sleepy, sex-drunk mumble, "so, so sweet...so soft...fuck, that's it..." it's like he's talking to himself as he kisses your face, light as a feather compared to the strong strokes of his cock rutting through you.
howzer smirks and leans down, teasing you a bit as he whispers, "oh, yeah?" you bury your face into the pillow, embarrassed, which causes him to grab your jaw and force your gaze back onto him. "aww, don't get shy on me..." he murmurs, kissing you before he rolls his hips into yours at a deeper angle to get you to gasp again. he swallows your sounds up, covering his mouth with yours in a harder kiss.
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the bad batch( and clones you want to add) and the soft/endearing habits that they have/do around you
Clones x gn reader: soft/endearing habits
Includes TBB, Rex, Wolffe, Cody, Fox
warnings: none
Hunter:
Always leans in a little bit when you speak even tho he doesn't have to, just wants you to be able to visibly tell he's listening and it becomes a subconscious thing
Keeps track of things you're running low on and replaces them without being asked
"Tests" things for you first like if you're walking somewhere unfamiliar he'll be the first one to step over unstable ground, or will like test the temperature of food/drinks before handing it to you and warn you if it's too hot (STOP BURNING YOUR TONGUE FOR ME I CAN SEE ITS STEAMING LIKE DAMN)
Tech:
Narrates what he's doing more when you're around or if he's talking to someone else he'll add little clarifications clearly meant for you even if he doesn't look at you
Repeats words/phrases you use more often over time and starts picking up YOUR habits without even realizing it
Whenever you're sitting side by side he angles his body so you can see what he's working on even if you haven't shown any interest
Wrecker:
Keeps track of what you don't finish eating, like if you leave the last bite of something or consistently avoid a certain ration component he'll remember and make sure you stop getting it, or if he notices something you especially like he'll make sure you get it more often
Instinctively shields your head in tight spaces, like when entering doorways or stepping into vehicles he puts a hand up to the doorframe to make sure you don't bump your head. does this even if you're short enough that this isn't an issue, it's almost completely subconscious on his part just cause he's used to bumping his head on things and doesn't want you to
Gives you the "best part" of whatever he has, like if he splits something in half to share with you he gives you the "better" half, or in bed makes sure you have the best pillow, stuff like that
Crosshair:
Whenever he hands you anything he opens/preps it first. like opens bottles before handing them to you, calibrates equipment to whatever your preference is, etc
Fidgets with your hand or sleeve a lot whenever you're sitting/standing close, or if you have long hair he'll idly kinda play with it
Has a specific little touch to communicate that he loves you instead of having to say it verbally, like the squeezing your hand 3 times thing
Echo:
Repeats things you say really quietly under his breath so that he remembers them, can be literally anything. like sometimes they're things that you're reminding him to do, sometimes compliments you give him that he wants to remember, sometimes just random things you say that he likes and wants to commit to memory
Hums really low under his breath when he's relaxed and doesn't even really realize he's doing it. you'll be cuddling and he'll just start humming really quietly and when you point it out he's like wha
Speaks to you more quietly/calmly than he speaks to anyone else, like will be speaking to other people in his usual gruff tone but then he has to say something to you and intentionally softens it just subtly
Rex:
Touches you in some way whenever he passes by you, even if it's quick/he's in a hurry or whatever he'll quickly brush his hand against your shoulder or lower back or give your arm a quick squeeze because it feels wrong to pass you without acknowledgment
Always gives you a little smile whenever you catch his eye, even if he's busy/in a conversation with someone else/not in a good mood the corner of his mouth quirks up without fail when he happens to make eye contact with you
Always makes sure you're settled before he relaxes, makes sure you're comfortable and don't need anything and THEN he can relax
Wolffe:
Always absently rubs your back when he hugs you
Adjusts your clothes and stuff randomly even if you don't really need him to, just grumbles and fixes your clothes as an excuse to touch you
Scrunches up his face when he's concentrating and it's really cute but if you say that he will literally be so fucking offended (and scrunches up his face even more)
Cody:
Does things like bringing a jacket for you places even when you insist you don't need one just in case
Hands you things PROPERLY every time, like tools or cups or whatever he'll hand you handle-first, and waits for a second to make sure you've got it before letting go
Squints his eyes whenever he reads anything even though his eyesight is perfectly fine
Fox:
Always positions things within your reach when you sit down, like moving a drink closer or turning something so it's easier to grab
Grumbles in his sleep whenever you shift away, doesn't fully wake up just starts grumbling and wont stop till you come close again
Whenever he's about to sneeze he tries to stop it and scrunches up his face really unintentionally comically. always fails and sneezes violently af
*Slaps the table* hear me out, any clones or haggle of clones realizing that the reader never heard their number even once just their adopted nickname/name until like one day their tilt their head at the pad and ask, "Who's this??"
TBB, Rex, Cody, Fox, and Wolffe X GN!Reader: reacting to you not knowing their prefixes
Warnings: None!
A/N: This was so cute! Thank you for the request!!!
Hunter
"What does this mean?" You ask, pointing at the odd code on Hunter's data pad as he finishes up a report. "That's my CT Code." he responds, unsure on where you were going with this as he sees your lips purse together in thought. "Like a password?" He raises a brow, turning to face you fully. "What?" You press you lips together and slowly shake your head. "So that's a no..?"
Tech
"What's with all the numbers?" You point at Tech's screen as you sit on the edge of his pilot seat. "That is my designation. CT-9902 is how the Kaminoans identified me before I adopted my current name," he answers casually, scrolling through the list and pointing out his brothers numbers, too. "Tech...that's not--that's not right." He shrugs, "In a moral sense, but it is too efficient in properly identifying the large mass of clones to abandon the system."
Wrecker
"Hey, Wrecker? What's this number carved into your bunk?" The hunk of a man stops lifting his weights, setting them down with a loud clank before coming up behind you and throwing his arm around your shoulder. "Eh, that's my number. Don't need it anymore since I got my name." You tilt your head back to look him in the eye. "Your number?" He laughs a little, "its like my old name, you know?" "...your old name was a number!?"
Crosshair
"CT-9904...what does that mean?" You glance over at Crosshair, having seen the number before logging into your system on his data pad. He straightens against the wall, eyes narrowing and toothpick snapping between his teeth. "Just ignore it," he snarls, and you frown at his sudden distaste. "Well not after that reaction, I won't." He rolls his eyes, pushing off the wall and snatching the data pad from your hands. "Do me a favor, doll, and just forget it."
Echo
"Tech mentioned something about a designation number, do you know anything about that?" You start out of nowhere, and Echo pauses his task to turn to you with a curious look. "We all have them. They're identifiers for us clones, well, at least for the Kaminoans." You sigh softly, kicking your feet against the crate you sat on, "Yeah, but what does it mean, mean?" Echo frowns, suddenly more interested in his task than in you for once. "Maybe its best you don't know."
Rex
"CT-7567," you say aloud, and Rex startles from packing his gear, head whipping around to stare at you in shock. "What did you just call me?" a hum of surprise slips past your lips and you shake your head quickly, "I wasn't calling you, I was reading the number on your weapons case." His shoulders fall in relief, and he tries to play it off quickly before you start questioning anything. "Oh, that makes sense..." But the crack in his voice is a dead giveaway, and you come up behind him like a dark shadow. "Rex...why did you think I was calling you?"
Cody
"Why do you always sign your reports with that number?" Cody's hand stills in your hair at that question, his data pad held high enough that you can see it as you lay next to him in bed. "Its just how they know it me, baby. Don't worry about it." He kisses your forehead, thinking that's the end of it, when you mumble quietly into his chest. "But why don't you just use your real name?" He just shrugs and says he doesn't know, heart warming at how your refer to his name as his real one.
Fox
"His name is Fox," you spit under your breath, glaring at the official that just left the Senate Rotunda. He swears at you, and Fox quickly grips your arm and drags you off into a quiet corner where no one can see the both of you. "I'm honored you're willing to defend me like that but I don't need you getting in trouble in the process," he hisses, voice sounding even more snake-like through his helmet. "Why do they call you that?" You ask, and he shakes his head, loosening his grip, his fingers softly brushing against your skin. "Because only my partner gets to call me Fox."
Wolffe
"You know...Sinker mentioned something about you having a CC number, whatever that means." Wolffe grunts in response, barely even looking your way as he lays on your couch, an arm over his forehead. "Are you going to say anything?" You shuffle over to his side, nudging his leg with your knee. "I wouldn't worry about it," is all he says, falling into a silence that leaves no room for more questions. But you're determined to find out...after he stops snoring.
what if like. bad batch x reader where reader is a medic (HUNTER CANT DO EVERYTHING HES TIRED 😭) whom they have hired and taken in as part of the team. she’s really understanding and sweet and the type to call all her patients ‘sweetie, or honey, or baby’ in like an ‘i know it hurts, sweet boy just a teeeeny little prick, okay?’ sort of way. so the batch like all separately start to have teeny little crushes.
“Just a Teeny Prick, Sweetheart”
Bad Batch x Reader
Hunter was tired.
Exhausted, really. The kind of tired that seeps into the marrow of your bones, the kind that sleep doesn’t fix anymore. He was holding his squad together with sheer willpower, dwindling rations, and stim packs, and Tech had said something the other day that actually stuck:
“Statistically, it would be more efficient to outsource a trained medic. We are ill-equipped for sustained self-triage.”
That, paired with Wrecker nearly bleeding out after a skirmish on Corellia because someone (Echo) had “accidentally” used the wrong bacta dilution, finally pushed Hunter to agree.
You came highly recommended.
And you were… different.
⸻
The first time they saw you in action, you were crouched over Wrecker’s arm, cooing at him like he was a scared child.
“I know it stings, baby. Just a teeny prick, okay? You’re doing so good, honey.”
Wrecker—literal tank of a man, bruiser of nightmares—was blushing.
Hunter stood behind you blinking slowly. Tech actually stopped typing. Echo raised an eyebrow. Crosshair made a noise in his throat that might have been a suppressed laugh.
You, of course, were oblivious to the storm you’d just kicked off.
“All done!” you announced brightly, patting Wrecker’s arm as you bandaged it up. “You were so brave, sweetheart. Go on, get yourself a treat.”
Wrecker beamed. Like a puppy who’d been told he was a good boy.
And from that moment on, everything changed.
⸻
Hunter didn’t mean to stare. He really didn’t.
But he started noticing things.
The way your voice softened when you worked on him—“Deep breath, baby. In and out, just like that—good boy.”—and he’d nearly dropped dead right there. The way your hands lingered just a second too long when you pressed a bacta patch to his ribs. How your touch didn’t hurt even when it should.
He’d caught himself looking at you more than once while you cleaned your kit or tucked your hair behind your ear. You hummed while organizing supplies. You smelled like sterile wipes and something sweet. You called him “darlin’” once and he had to physically leave the room.
He started volunteering for med checks even when he was fine. “Just making sure I’m cleared for the next mission.”
You smiled every time. “Of course, sweet boy.”
Hunter was not okay.
⸻
Tech was confused at first. Your bedside manner was… statistically illogical. Surely grown men didn’t need to be called “sugar” or “darlin’” to survive triage.
And yet—
“You did amazing, sweetheart,” you said once, after removing a shard from his thigh. “So still, such a good patient.”
He’d never flushed so fast. His datapad nearly slipped from his fingers. The next day, he updated your medical database for efficiency—and also uploaded a music playlist that made you beam and say “Oh! This is perfect, thank you sugar.”
He recalibrated your scanner after that.
And your med droid.
And the lighting in the medbay.
And then started inventing reasons to come back. “Mild tinnitus,” “possible corneal abrasion,” “a faint ache in my ankle.” All documented. All excuses.
He was fine.
He was not fine.
⸻
Echo didn’t trust you at first. Too soft-spoken. Too sweet.
But then he watched you work during a firefight—calm under pressure, patching him mid-cover behind crates while blaster fire flew overhead.
He looked at you sideways, something twisting in his chest.
Later, after the fight, you came to check his stitches. “You really held it together,” you said with a warm smile. “Tough cookie.”
He snorted. “I’ve been called worse.”
You tilted your head. “Well, I call you Echo. And you’re one of my favorites.”
He didn’t know what to say. He just nodded and looked away.
And when you touched his metal arm without flinching—even thanked him for holding his own gauze—he felt… seen.
He was used to being patched up. But not to being cared for.
Now he sits just a little closer to you at meals. Offers you the first ration bar. He pretends not to notice when you call him “honey” again.
But he does.
⸻
Crosshair didn’t say anything for a long time.
He watched you. A lot. Silently. Unnervingly.
He noticed how your hands didn’t shake, how your tone stayed steady. You never flinched from his scars. You never forced him to speak.
One day, you caught him cleaning his rifle with a nasty cut on his hand.
“Cross,” you said gently, crouching beside him. “That’s gonna get infected, baby. C’mere.”
He raised a brow. “You call all your patients baby?”
You smirked. “Only the stubborn ones.”
He let you clean it. Didn’t complain once. Not even when you blew gently on the wound before bandaging it. His ears turned red, though.
“You’re good at this,” he said quietly.
You winked. “Don’t tell the others. They’ll want special treatment.”
He definitely did not steal one of your gloves to keep in his kit later.
Definitely not.
⸻
Wrecker had it bad.
From the second you cooed at him and called him “sweet boy,” he was gone.
He came to you for everything. Paper cuts. Headaches. “Funny feelings in his tummy” that were totally not butterflies. He’d pretend to limp just to get you to touch his shoulder.
And you? You were so nice about it.
“Oh, baby, you poor thing. Let me kiss it better.”
You didn’t actually kiss it. But he thought about asking. Just once.
He made you a little plushie out of spare parts and gave it to you with a bashful grin. “It’s you! Well, kinda. I made it ‘cause you always take care of us.”
You squealed. Hugged it to your chest. “This is the cutest thing anyone’s ever made me!”
Wrecker nearly passed out.
⸻
Eventually…
You start to notice.
How they hover just a little too long. How they all suddenly have “injuries” every time you do inventory. How they flinch slightly—but in a good way—when you call them sweetheart.
One night, you say it out loud at dinner.
“You boys sure do get hurt a lot. Almost like you’re doing it on purpose.”
They all freeze.
Then Echo coughs. Tech pushes up his goggles. Wrecker drops a fork. Crosshair mutters, “Told you it was obvious.” And Hunter—poor Hunter—rubs the back of his neck and avoids your eyes.
You lean forward, resting your chin in your hand with a smile.
“It’s okay,” you say sweetly. “I don’t mind being the team’s favorite. As long as I get paid in compliments.”
Wrecker nearly yells, “YOU’RE SO PRETTY.”
Tech immediately corrects, “Statistically, she has extremely symmetrical features.”
Crosshair sighs. “Maker, you’re all pathetic.”
Hunter just looks at you, dead serious. “You keep us together. You matter.”
You blink. A little stunned.
Then you grin. “Guess I better stock up on bacta patches, huh?”
hello! i've just recently discovered your work, and i absolutely love it!🥹
is it possible that you could write some hcs about the bad batch accidentally seeing fem!reader's panties? (it can be an accidental upskirt, or whatever you prefer)
maybe the reader is embarrassed at first, (same with the clones) but she eventually reassures them that she doesn't mind that they got a peek?
if this isn't your thing, please don't feel pressured to write it! and if you do decide to, thank you!❤️
The Panty Problem***
Pairings: Clone Force 99 X Female Reader
Plot: How tue boys react to accidentally seeing your panties.
Warnings: NSFW, 18+ only. Implied sexual themes, accidental voyeurism, explicit language, flirting, teasing, embarrassed reader and batcher. Non established relationships, female reader wearing panties.
Authors Note: thanks for the kind words anon. Hopefully these will suffice ❤️
Hunter - 381 words
The music in the club thrums against your skin. You’d been instructed to dress alluringly for the job and apparently, you’d succeeded. Around halfway through the mission of infiltrating a seedy club, your legs bare and catching the neon lights, it had made Hunter’s eyes flick down to them more than once.
He tried to hide it. But you caught him. His jaw would tighten slightly, his gaze quickly darting away before you could see.
So, you pretend not to notice… mostly because the reaction feels delicious.
Halfway through the infiltration, you had leaned over a table to scan a data chip. Unfortunatley, the angle forces your skirt upward just a bit but also just enough.
You hear Hunter curse under his breath. Quiet, harsh and something reverent.
Before you can ask, he steps forward abruptly, planting himself between you and the rest of the club. His chest nearly brushes your back, and his hand subtly goes to your hip, steadying you.
“Hunter?” you breathe, startled by his sudden presence as you look over your shoulder at him.
“I can… see your panties.”
Heat floods your cheeks. You stand up straighter, skirt falling back into place, feeling a little flustered. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“No, no. Don’t apologise.” He clears his throat, voice tight. “I shouldn’t have been looking. I just… didn’t want anyone else to.”
Your heart thuds and this time, not from embarrassment. Instead from the way he says it; possessive without meaning to be.
You speak before thinking: “I don’t mind you looking.”
Hunter stills, pupils wide in the dark. “…You don’t?”
You shake your head, smiling softly as if to ease him. “I trust you. You’re not gonna make it weird.”
He breathes out like you just knocked the wind out of him. His hand is still on your hip to which you’re both fully aware. Yet, neither of you mentions it.
Then, because you’re feeling bold and because his fluster is ridiculously attractive, you tilt your head and tease:
“So… be honest with me. Does black suit me?”
For the first time tonight, Hunter looks genuinely lost. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
“Stars—” he mutters, voice dropping even lower. “…You’re gonna kill me.”
And he absolutely cannot stop imagining that glimpse of lace now.
Echo - 551 words
The Marauder was a mess. As always.
He mutters to himself as he digs around for the medkit, brushing aside tangled wires, ration wrappers, datapads, and whatever else the others have tossed around.
Then he spots it: a thin, white strap looped over the edge of your bunk curtain. “Finally,” he sighs, grabbing it.
He gives it a tug and it resists but after one more tug, it slides free and Echo freezes immediately.
Because what he’s holding is not a medkit strap. Not at all.
It’s your underwear.
White, delicate, very intricate and unlike anything he’s ever seen before.
Ribbons, straps, soft textured fabric, the kind that looks expensive and meant to sit high on the hips. The little garter-style attachments confuse him even more. He turns it in his hand, brow furrowing.
“What—? How does this even work?” he whispers.
He runs his thumb over the soft detailing. Not only does it look expensive, it feels expensive. Soft and pretty. Too pretty.
His cheeks heat. You wear things like this?
He can’t help imagining— No. Stop. Maker, stop.
He’s still staring down at it, eyes wide and body going hot, when a soft throat-clear cuts through the room.
Echo’s head whips up.
You’re standing there. You look from the underwear in his hand …back up to his face.
Your expression? Amused. Curious. A little blushy with embarrassment. But very much not upset.
Echo, however, looks like he’s about to overheat.
“I— I— stars— I’m sorry, I thought it was part of the medkit and I grabbed it and—” He still hasn’t let go.
You step closer slowly. Your eyes are bright with barely hidden laughter.
“Echo,” you say gently, “it’s alright.”
“I shouldn’t be holding this,” he stammers. “I didn’t mean to see anything.”
“But I don’t mind you seeing,” you say with a small laugh, tilting your head at him in a sweet, almost innocent way that makes his stomach burn. “I shouldn’t have left them out.”
His eyes widen slightly. “You don’t mind?”
“Not at all,” you say warmly.
Echo glances down again at the complex tangle of straps and lace in his hand.
“Why do you have a pair like this?” he blurts, instantly regretting it. “I— I mean— not that you can’t— I just… it’s very… elaborate.”
You smile, a little shy, and reach out to gently take the lingerie from his hand. “Sometimes,” you murmur, “I like to feel sexy. Even if no one else sees.”
Echo goes absolutely still.
“And,” you add with a teasing lift of your brow, “you never know. I could get lucky one day.”
The words hit him like a blaster bolt. His mouth opens. No sound comes out.
You bring the lingerie up between you both, letting the white straps cascade over your fingers.
“You attach this part to stockings,” you explain sweetly, “and this lace sits high on the waist. It’s actually not as complicated as it looks.”
The only thing he could do was stare at this point.
“Echo,” you say softly, “if you want… I can show you.”
His breath catches. “…Show me?” he repeats, voice low and shaky.
You step even closer, close enough that your breath brushes his cheek. “Uh-huh. Only if you want to,” you whisper.
And he definitely, unmistakably wants to.
Wrecker - 422 words
The training room hums with the low echo of footsteps and equipment, bright lights reflecting off Kamino's silver floors. You’re on your mat with Wrecker, doing stretches before sparring. Your workout gear is snug and overly flattering.
Wrecker lifts one of the heaviest bars like it weighs nothing, curling it while watching you from the corner of his eye. After all, he finds it’s impossible not to watch you. You stretch forward, bending deep into a hamstring stretch, and—
There they are.
A flash of hot pink poking above your workout pants. Bright, bold (especially for just going to the gym) and Completely unexpected.
Wrecker’s grip falters. “Woah,” he blurts under his breath, eyes going wide.
Then he drops the entire heavy bar with a thunderous metallic CLANG.
You jerk upright, startled. “Wrecker?!” you rush toward him. “Are you okay?”
He’s standing stiffly, hands half raised like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. His cheeks are on fire. “Yeah, uh… I’m fine!” he sputters. “Just… dropped it.”
But even as he tries to play it cool, his gaze flicks down again. He can’t help it. The hot pink waistband is still poking out at him like it’s screaming for attention.
You follow his eyes and then you realise. “Oh,” you breathe out, a little laugh bubbling from your lips to hide your embarrassment. You tug the waistband of your workout pants up to fix it. “Oops. Guess they slipped.”
He rubs the back of his neck with his hand.“Uh… yeah. I didn’t mean to look,” he says honestly. “It just… sorta happened.”
You smile softly, stepping closer, gentle reassurance in your touch as you brush his arm.
“It’s okay, Wrecker,” you say warmly. “Really. I don’t mind you looking.”
“...Really?” he asks, voice cracking adorably.
You nod. “Really.”
He wipes his brow dramatically, like he’s about to faint from relief.
“Kriff, sweetheart,” he huffs out, giving a breathless laugh, “you nearly made me pass out.”
You tilt your head. “Because of my panties?” You ask innocently, hips swaying a little.
“Because of you,” he says without hesitation, grin going crooked and a little bold. “Pink looks real good on you. ’Specially when it’s peekin’ out like that.”
His eyes flick down once more, this time on purpose, and he bites his lip in a way that tells you he’s absolutely imagining it again. “And, uh…” he adds, lowering his voice as he steps a little closer, “If you ever wanna… stretch like that again, maybe warn me first. Or don’t.”
Tech - 635 words
You smooth your dress one last time. A black, floaty, knee-length, dress that sways beautifully when you move. It was enough to give you confidence for your date.
You’re halfway down the ramp when Tech’s voice echoes from somewhere inside the cockpit, calling your name.
“Do you have a moment to lend a hand?”
You hesitate about keeping your date waiting but it was Tech and you enjoyed his company even if it’s for a minute or two.
“Of course. What do you need?”
He’s on his back beneath the flight console, only his boots and the legs visible. “There is a circuit panel that requires manual activation. I need you to flip the second and fourth switches while I observe the internal response.”
“Easy,” you say, stepping into the cockpit.
You move to the controls, leaning slightly forward to reach the panel and followed his instructions. Just out of reach of a spanner, he slides further out from underneath to grab it but then, he looks up.
And immediately goes still.
Because from his position underneath you… he gets a perfect, accidental view directly beneath your dress.
Your legs are right there and so were your panties. a lacy, elegant, emerald shade of green are revealed.
Tech inhales sharply and wrenches his gaze away instantly, cheeks flaming, eyes squeezing shut like that’ll erase the image. (It doesn’t)
“Tech? Is that working?” you call out cheerfully unaware.
His voice comes out strangled. “Yes, yes, that is— ah— that is sufficient, actually—”
Then he jerks too fast and cracks his head on the panel.
“Tech?!”
He slides out from beneath the console, rubbing his head and trying to pretend he’s not so burning so hot he’s practically overheating the ship.
“I am fine. Perfectly fine. Thank you for your assistance.” He says as he stands up.
You smile warmly. “Anytime. Now, I should go—”
And that’s when something curls hot and unwelcome in Tech’s chest.
A strange, sharp emotion he doesn’t like acknowledging:
Jealousy.
Because someone else, someone who isn’t him, gets to see you this way.
It bursts out before he can stop it. “Emerald suits you.”
You stop mid-step. “Huh?”
Tech blinks at you, realises what he said, panics internally, and tries to clarify which naturally makes everything worse.
“I mean your undergarments— your panties—”
He winces as your eyes widen at his words.
“I saw them while you were adjusting the switches. I apologise. The angle was… unfortunate.”
You stare at him, face hot as your hands fly up to cover your cheeks.
“Oh shit… Tech—”
He immediately shakes his head, hands raised.
“There is absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. I should not have been looking in that direction. The fault lies entirely with the geometry of my position.”
“Tech,” you say through your hands, half mortified, half laughing, “it was an accident.”
“Yes,” he agrees quickly. “Entirely unintentional. Though - aesthetically speaking - emerald is a highly flattering colour on you.”
You drop your hands and blink at him. He’s serious.
Your eyes drop shyly for a second, then lift again with soft boldness. “…I don’t think I would have minded if you saw a little more.”
Tech malfunctions. Visibly. His mouth opens but no sound comes out.
You step toward him and lean in just slightly, voice warm and teasing:
“You know, if you’d worked up the nerve to ask me out yourself… today’s view could’ve been intentional.”
He swallows so hard it felt like swallowing a marble. “Intentional,” he repeats in a whisper, like the concept itself is short-circuiting him.
“Ask me when I get back,” you murmur. “My date might not be a good one, after all)
And then you walk out of the cockpit, leaving Tech standing there.
He’s frozen in place and absolutely determined that he will ask you the moment you return.
Crosshair - 496 words
Your house on Pabu is quiet, warm, filled with the sound of ocean wind through the open balcony doors. You’re in your bedroom trying on new underwear. Teal lace, a little racy, matching bra, the kind of set you bought “just because.”
You’re adjusting the straps, turning to the side in the mirror, when the door suddenly swings open.
Crosshair steps in and stops dead.
You freeze too, body burning under his stare.
He blinks once, jaw tightening just a fraction.
“You could’ve locked the damn door.” he snaps, voice sharp as a knife.
Automatically, you throw your arms over yourself, scrambling for your clothes.
“Crosshair! Knock! What are you—”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling through his teeth. “I was looking for you. Didn’t know you’d be… putting on a fashion show.”
You yank on a shirt and shorts as fast as you can, pulse hammering. “You could’ve knocked,” you fire back, pushing past him toward the hall.
He’s leaning against the wall now, arms folded, jaw tight.
But something’s off.
He won’t look at you.
You stop, chest still tight with embarrassment. “…Crosshair?”
He doesn’t answer, making you sigh quietly.
“Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. You just startled me.”
His fingers toy with the toothpick behind his ear, but his voice is steady, low.
“Don’t apologise.”
You step out onto your balcony, trying to cool off. The breeze hits your skin, calming you. You rest your elbows on the railing, staring at the ocean.
You hear Crosshair shift behind you.
You glance back and catch his eyes very blatantly, unmistakably, glued to your rear.
You raise a brow. “Really?”
He curses under his breath, jams the toothpick between his lips, and finally meets your eyes.
“Not… my intention,” he mutters.
“You sure?” you tease, heat rising to your cheeks.
He narrows his eyes, irritated at being caught but the flush on his neck betrays him.
“I’m not embarrassed,” he says coolly.
“Oh?” You fold your arms. “Then what was that little freak-out about?”
He exhales slowly, gaze dragging over your face with a rawness you rarely see from him.
“I just…” A pause, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “…would’ve preferred seeing you like that with your permission.”
Crosshair stares at you, expression unreadable, but his pupils blown just a little.
Something bold rises up in you: heat, bravery, curiosity.
“Well,” you murmur, pushing off the balcony railing and taking slow steps toward your bedroom door.
“…maybe I give my permission now.”
You almost chokes on his toothpick, his brows lifting in surprise
Your hand touches the doorframe and you hold his gaze. He watches you like a man trying very hard not to lunge.
“…You’re inviting me to look?” he asks, voice low and disbelieving.
You smile daringly. “If you want to.”
The toothpick nearly slips from his mouth.
You turn and walk back inside your room.
And behind you, you hear the soft, controlled footsteps of Crosshair following.
I just had this idea. I like the hc that for the clones, if their commanding officer calls them by their number = your mom calling you by your full name.
Could you do one when their SO calls them by their number, and they just know they are in trouble 😭🙏
Clones x gn reader: you calling them by their number
warnings: none
A/N: ahhh that's such a fun idea!! i hc that some of them have a really complicated relationship with their numbers so you might be on thin ice with that one xD
comments and reblogs are very appreaciated!! :D
The Bad Batch
Hunter
"CT-9901"
"What?!" Hunter's voice is biting. He hates whenever his number is used. It reminds him that he's supposed to be defective, even if he doesn't feel like it. It has been used against his squad way too many times. But then he notices little signs of your body, how tense you are, your heartbeat that is way too fast, your breathing…
Hunter takes a breath, running a hand through his hair and putting the knife he'd been sharpening down. "Don't," he mutters, more to himself as a warning. He knows he's about to say something stupid, he already did by the looks of it. He doesn't need to make it worse.
Tech
"CT-9902"
"That would be my designation. Is there a reason you are using it instead of my name?" Tech readjusts his googles for the tenth time in the last few minutes. The two of you had engaged in a heated argument about certain comments he was making that he did not see a problem with and he refusea to listen to another perspective.
You think maybe using the number would make him at least pause, let you get a word in, and seemingly it does.
Tech knows something was wrong when you used his number because it sounds so similar to the regs and Kaminoans using it whenever he annoyed them but you are different. You know that and you have never used it this way before so that could only mean one thing; you were pissed. Royally.
Tech put his datapad down, turning his full attention towards you. He cannot undo the words he's said but he can at least listen from now. "Explain my error. I will listen now."
Wrecker
"CT-9903"
Wrecker stops. He hadn't heard his number in a long time. With the batch having numbers this similar, they are rarely used and his name is just something that fit him quite well so for you to use it…
"Oh… I'm sorry. Did I do something wrong?" His voice turns quieter, softer. He drops the crate he is holding. It was fine, nothing fragile anyway. You are more important. Wrecker tries to wrack his brain about what he did wrong. "I'm sorry. I… really am. Uhm, I don't know what I did wrong but— I'm sorry."
Crosshair
"CT-9904"
He snaps to attention immediately, his mouth audibly clicking shut. He hasn't heard his number ever since he defected from the Empire and you know it was something he avoided thinking about as much as possible.
So for you to use it against him, he knows he fucked up but he doesn't know how to react. On one hand, he wants to apologise and make it right but on the other hand, that number triggered him in a way that leaves him unbalanced.
"That's low," Crosshair's voice is razor-thin but there's no anger in his eyes, just something raw and wounded. "If you want me to listen, fine. But don't use their language against me."
Echo
"CT-1409"
Once those numbers left your mouth, Echo froze. The only time it is ever used these days is in medical settings and those always left him hollow afterwards. He stares at the floor for a few seconds, processing.
When he looks up, his expression is tired. Not angry. Just… exhausted.
“Wow,” he says softly. “Okay. I deserved that.” He runs a hand over his head. “I’ll fix it. Whatever it was. Just… please don’t do that again. I hear those numbers in my nightmares enough as it is.”
Commanders
Wolffe
"CC-3636"
Wolffe goes rigid. He's used to being called "Commander" or "Sir" by his men. But for you he has always been just "Wolffe". He scans your expression with narrowed eyes.
"Want to run that by me again?" he growls, but there's flicker of unease beneath the gruff exterior. He crosses his arms, a defensive posture. He knows he’s been difficult lately. He just didn’t think you’d notice — or care — enough to pull this card.
Fox
"CC-1010"
Fox flinches. Actually flinches.
His number was a curse. It’s the number on the report every time a Corrie Guard falls. It’s the number Palpatine’s office used to summon him at 3 AM. Hearing it from your lips feels like a betrayal.
He doesn’t get angry. He just looks… defeated. He pulls his helmet back on, the visor hiding his eyes. “Message received,” he says, his voice flat and filtered through the comms. “Loud and clear.”
Cody
"CC-2224"
Cody stops writing his report. He sets the stylus down with a deliberate click. He turns in his chair, looking at you with that calm, measured gaze that all great commanders seem to have. He’s not scared. You two have had fights and arguments before and have resolved them all just fine.
That you used his number was new, and it made him pause but also want to listen to you more.
"Alright. That serious, is it?" He asks quietly. He doesn't apologize yet, he doesn't know what for yet, but he's giving you his full undivided attention. "Well, talk to me, dear. I'm listening."
501st
Rex
"CT-7567"
Rex blinks once. Twice. He carefully sets his helmet on the table a gesture of surrender. He knows that if you’re bringing out the number, this isn’t a battle he’s going to win with authority.
“Alright, mesh’la,” he says, holding up his hands. “You got me. What’d I do?” He’s trying to keep his tone light, but his ears are slightly red. He hates being reminded that he’s a number to the GAR. To you, he wants to be just Rex.
Fives
"CT-5555"
"Yes, that's my full name, you know you can just say Fives to save time," Fives replies, ever the cocky one. But you don't laugh, don't even smile like usually. You just glare.
His smile falters. Then it dies completely. He pushes off the wall, suddenly serious. “Oh.” He swallows hard. “It’s like that, is it?” He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly looking very young. “I’ll, uh… I’ll just go wait in the barracks until you’re ready to talk. Or yell. Whichever you feel like.”
Jesse
"CT-5597"
Jesse freezes mid-laugh. He was just joking around with Kix, but the sound of his number, sharp and cold, cuts through the noise like a vibroblade.
He turns slowly, his shoulders tensing. "Is there a problem?" he asks, his voice slipping into a more neutral and respectful tone. He’s slipped into ‘soldier mode’ to protect himself from the emotional whiplash.
Kix
"CT-6116"
Kix sighs. A deep, world-weary sigh that only the medic of the 501st can truly master.
He sets down his medical kit and crosses over to you. He doesn’t look scared or angry, he's wrestled so many delirious soldiers that the difference between his name and number didn't mean much to him on days like these.
He gently takes your chin, tilting your head to check your pupils. “Your blood pressure is up. Talk to me.”
Hardcase
He doesn't get it at first when you say his number, turning towards you with a smile. "Yep, that's my number. Did you memorize it? That's so sweet!"
It takes him a full five seconds to see the look on your face. Then his energetic bouncing stops and his eyes go wide. “Oh. Oh no. I’m in trouble, aren’t I? Is it the explosives? I bet it was the explosive. I swear it wasn't my fault I can fix it tho—"
Dogma
"CT-6922"
Dogma stands up even straighter, which feels almost impossible since he always stands at attention. He responds to his number like a droid to a command. "Yes?"
But then he sees the fury in your eyes, the disappointment and his gaze falls to his boots, realising that it's you he disappointed and that's somehow worse than facing the disappointemnt of authority. "I see…" he says quietly. "What did I do wrong?"
Tup
"CT-5385"
Tup’s bottom lip trembles slightly. He’s so sensitive, so eager to please. Hearing his number from you feels like a physical blow. He sets down the little droid he was tinkering with and walks over to you, his brown eyes wide and glossy.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, not even knowing what for. “I don’t like that. It sounds wrong when you say it.” You already feel bad having ever used the number.
Misc.
Howzer
He pauses with his cup of caf halfway to his lips as you say his number. He doesn't get defensive or flinch. He just sets the cup down and looks at you with those steady, honest eyes. The scar on his cheek pulls slightly as he offers a small smile.
“That bad, huh?” He holds out his hand to you. “Come here. If you’re pulling out the designation, then I deserve whatever lecture is coming. But can we do it sitting down? I have a feeling it’s a long one.”
