summary: Hunter has always treated you slightly different and Omega is determined to find out why
word count: 2.1k
!reader goes by she/her pronouns!
The bright suns of Plurax make you wince, your arm instinctively coming up to shield your eyes. Shuffling out of the Marauder, you’re about to follow Echo down the steps when a hand suddenly appears in front of you.
“Oh!” you abruptly stop, almost colliding with it. Looking over to identify the owner of the hand, Hunter comes into view, an amused smile playing at his lips.
Already on the ground below, he stretches his gloved hand up to you, offering some support as you exit. You give him a grateful smile “Thanks Sarge”.
Slipping your hand into his, Hunter gives you a small, reassuring squeeze and you continue your descent down.
You’re not sure why you were so surprised by the action, after all, this isn’t a rare occurrence. In fact, it’s the opposite. Whether you have to jump a few feet from a ship or simply walk down a landing platform, Hunter always offers you his hand.
Every. Single. Time.
Once your feet reach the ground, he nods his head and reluctantly lets his hand fall from yours. His grip on his helmet, placed neatly underneath his other arm tightens for a moment as he wonders if he should have said more to you.
Oblivious to Hunter’s internal worries, you walk over to the rest of the batch and listen to Tech’s recap of the plan.
Turning back to the ship, Hunter taps the command panel and watches as the Marauder begins to close. Sensing eyes on him, he glances over his shoulder to the rest of the batch, only to realise none of them are paying much attention to him.
Casting his gaze downwards, his eyes meet Omega’s, who peers up at him curiously.
“Why do you always do that?” she asks.
“So we won’t get raided,” he shrugs as if the answer is obvious “or worse, if someone sees a ship like this unlocked, they’ll steal it and get a few thousands credits for it, especially with the amount of upgrades it has”.
“What? No, not that” Omega rolls her eyes, returning Hunter’s ‘that should be obvious’ tone.
When Omega says your name, Hunter’s eyes go wide, his posture becoming stiff as she elaborates “You always help her off the ship… why?”. His eyes flick over to you as Omega talks, hoping you didn’t hear her say your name.
Thankfully you’re too busy listening to Tech, who’s explaining your part of the mission to you.
“Just to be nice, I guess” he mumbles his response, trying to keep his voice low.
“But you don’t do it for Wrecker or Tech or Echo… hey, you don’t do that for me either!” she exclaims, a tinge of annoyance in her voice.
Hunter shakes his head, his mind turning to mush as he tries to think of an easy explanation “Well, that’s because you don’t need help getting off the ship”.
It’s like he can see the cogs turning in Omega’s head, already cringing at his answer as she questions “... but she needs help? She can’t get off the ship if you don’t hold her hand?”.
Oh Kriff.
“Well, no, that’s not what I meant-” he starts but Omega quickly talks over him. “Is she not good with balance? Is it like how Wrecker doesn’t like heights?”.
Before Hunter can form a response, Wrecker loudly interrupts them, the mere mention of his fear getting his full attention.
“Heights?!” Wrecker repeats, drawing everyone’s focus to Hunter and Omega. Throwing his head back, Wrecker lets out a whine “Oh please tell me this mission doesn’t involve heights”.
“Plurax is a relatively flat planet,” Tech interjects, his eyes still fixed on his datapad “and considering our main objective is to extract the bacta pods found in the small medical facility, I doubt heights will be involved”.
Wrecker lets out a sigh of relief, his shoulders deflating. “Phew, you almost got me that time, Hunter” he chuckles.
Hunter nods, hoping to quickly brush past this entire situation. “Right, well let’s get this over and done with” taking his helmet from underneath his arm, Hunter places it on his head.
“But what about my quest-” Omega starts but Hunter cuts her off, acutely aware that you as well as the others are still listening “Later, Omega. All that matters right now is the mission”. With a sigh, she nods her head.
***
After successfully retrieving the bacta pods, the Marauder is quiet… for once. The hum of the ship speeding through hyperspace fills the silence as everyone gets some much needed rest.
Peering out of her room, Omega holds on to Lula the tooka doll as she scans the bunks. Wrecker sleeps in one, his arm obscuring his face and thankfully muffling his snores. On the other bunk, Tech is fast asleep and judging by the pile of blankets on the upper bunk, you’re asleep up there.
Tip-toeing past, Echo comes into view. He’s seated at the table, head resting on his arm as he mumbles in his sleep. Continuing on her journey, Hunter is the last person for Omega to see, his seated form visible when she approaches the cockpit. Slowly, she nears him.
From the corner of his eye, Hunter notices Omega, subtly watching as she quietly walks forward. “You should be asleep” Hunter’s voice cuts through the silence, making Omega stop in her tracks.
She sighs, giving up her attempt to sneak “But I can’t, I’m not tired”. Hopping up on the seat beside him, Omega keeps Lula close to her, curling up on the chair.
Hunter doesn’t reply. He knows how hard it is to go from being on high alert on a mission to being told to get some rest, adrenaline still coursing through your veins.
He remembers the first few missions he ever went on and how hard it was to rest, his senses too overwhelmed to even comprehend the idea of sleep.
“You did it again, y’know” Omega says, pulling his attention back to her.
“What?” Hunter has a suspicious feeling he knows what she’s talking about but he hopes if he feigns some kind of ignorance then hopefully she’ll drop it.
“You helped her back onto the ship,” she explains, some sarcasm in her voice as she teases “when we were leaving Plurax… she must have really bad balance if you have to help her all the time”.
Head dipping down, Hunter’s hair obscures his face. “Omega,” he groans “she doesn't have balance problems, it’s just… look, it’s better if you let this go, ok?”.
“But why?” she drops her legs down, leaving them dangle freely.
“It’s… complicated”.
“How?” she presses, shrugging as she mumbles “I’m just curious”.
“Yeah, too curious,” Hunter says with an affectionate scoff and shake of his head.
Trying to simplify it, Omega begins listing out “Earlier you said that you do it to be nice but you only do it for her, nobody else! She doesn’t need you to do it since she doesn’t actually have any balance problems, hmmm and it’s pretty obvious you don’t like it when people point it out”. Hunter grimaces the more Omega goes on.
Thinking out loud, she furrows her brow “I wonder if she notices, I mean it’s pretty obvious so she must have by now…maybe I should ask her”.
“What? No!“ Hunter is quick to sit on the edge of his seat, facing Omega fully “You can’t do that, that’s a direct order”. Despite his pleading look, Omega simply raises an eyebrow, knowing she’s got him right where she wants him.
“Okay, I won’t ask her,” she complies before adding “but you have to tell me why!”.
Hunter sighs. A part of him is impressed, equally proud of her determination as well as cursing it. Sighing, he avoids her eye contact as he tries to explain.
“Well, since she’s not… uh, a clone… I just want to make sure… that, um… that she feels welcome” yes, Hunter is making this up as he goes. It’s true, of course but not his main reason.
Omega is not convinced, her face the epitome of disappointment. Not giving in, she replies “Yeah, that’s nice and all, Hunter but I don’t think that’s why”.
Hunter’s body deflates, putting his face in his hands. Even if he wants to, he doesn’t think he can get the words out. This is something he’s never had to verbalise before nor is it something he’s had to admit to anybody.
With his face still covered, he hears Omega’s voice “Can I tell you my theory?”.
He doesn’t reply and yet Omega continues “I think you like her”. Hunter can hear her smile in her tone, removing his hands to confirm his suspicions.
Watching for his reaction, Omega beams up at him. “And I mean like like her” she adds with the wiggle of her eyebrows.
Hunter keeps his face still, unsure how to react.
“I mean, it’s not a bad thing if you do,” she shrugs, offering some reassurance “I think it’s kinda cute, especially since she like likes you too”.
He freezes.
What?
Judging by the stunned look on Hunter’s face, Omega explains “I overheard her saying it to Echo, she said something about her heart racing whenever you’re around and being paranoid over it. I didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing at first but every time you do something nice for her, she gets all lovey-dovey so I think it’s a good thing”.
“Lovey-dovey?” Hunter scrunches up his face, not quite believing what his sister is saying.
“Yeah, like this” clutching her hands together, Omega tries her best to bat her eyelashes as she lets out a comically loud sigh before giving Hunter a goofy smile.
With a grin tugging at his lips, he dismisses “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her do that before”.
“That’s because you always look away!” she exclaims “ooh, I’ll have to add that to the list; you’re really bad at keeping eye contact with her”.
He rolls his eyes but the idea that maybe, just maybe you like him too distracts Hunter from properly deflecting Omega’s addition to her list. Even the idea of their being some hope that you feel the same way is enough to send Hunter’s head spinning.
Yawning, Omega hops down from her seat “I’m just saying, it would be a shame if you both like like each other but never tell one another”.
Hunter stays quiet, though he knows she’s right. “Anyways, I’ll try to get some sleep, night Hunter” giving him one last smile, Omega leaves him alone with his thoughts.
Taking a deep breath, Hunter leans back in his seat, resting one of his legs by the command panel as he looks out at the whirling blue lights of hyperspace. Hunter closes his eyes, trying to centre himself. Only you could daze him as much as this and make it feel so damn exciting.
Were the signs that you liked him back always there? For a guy with heightened senses, he presumed he would have picked up on it… but Omega is right, he doesn’t exactly hold eye contact with you. And whenever he hears the loud beating of a heart when you’re near, he hurriedly assumes it’s his own.
Speaking of his senses, he can tell Omega is still there, hovering by the doorway. He waits a few seconds, giving her the time to speak but she doesn’t.
Hunter knows where this is going, presuming she’ll either ask him to carry her back to bed or try to convince him to get her a snack. He takes his time opening his eyes again, turning his upper body to look at her.
Hunter can feel his stomach drop. His body automatically freezing as if you won’t see him if he doesn’t move.
You give him an equally bewildered look, a twist of anxiety in your gut. “Can we talk?” you ask, the words coming out quieter than expected.
Hunter has one main question on his mind: how much have you heard? And yet he doesn’t ask that question, instead blurting out “But I thought you were sleeping?”.
Is that a question? Or a statement? Hunter has no idea, his brain utterly scattered.
You smile nervously. “I was getting ready to go to sleep,” you reveal “I was just in the refresher”.
Pointing to the door to the refresher, Hunter’s heart lurches at how close it is to the cockpit, knowing you’ve definitely heard everything.
Clearing his throat, Hunter nods “Yeah, let’s talk”. It’s better to talk this through now, while everyone else is asleep.
He isn’t sure how this will go, still doubtful that you could actually like him back. But there’s only one way to find out. Hunter gives you a small smile as you sit where Omega was minutes ago. Once you’re comfortably seated, Hunter takes a deep breath and begins…
Hello!! I just started The Bad Batch and I'm already obsessed 🥶🥶.
Echo and Wrecker need more love 🫶
Can I req them (separately pls) with a gf or wife who dotes on them? She's always doing things for them and checking in on them. Just If they like it or not, if they get embarrassed, ECT.
Also, Love your bio 🫶✝️
author's note: Thanks so much for your request and compliment, anon! Hope this what you're looking for! (p/s: I apologize how short this is. I wrote this at 1 am.)
warning(s); none, just fluff.
divider by: @benkeibear
ECHO
At first, it caught Echo off guard.
Given that he's been through the unthinkable and had lost many brothers along the way, —and that Echo's a pure gentleman and rather spend time caring for you— he isn't quite sure how to handle your constant doting. He's never one to enjoy being the center of attention because he's well aware he can take care of himself. But even so, your physical affection —especially in front of others—is something he's struggled with only because this relationship was new to him and he cares about you so much.
Aware that your doting is well-intentioned, Echo can't seem to find the words to tell you that it makes him feel embarrassed....especially in front of the squad.
Despite the squad already being aware of your relationship, Echo can't stand the sideways glances between Tech and Hunter when you've fussed over a miniscule scratch on his cheek he got from a mission. Or when Wrecker can't seem to let go of the fact that you both are helplessly in love with each other when you offer to dress Echo's wounds.
"Y/N."
Echo says your name quietly one day when the ship is empty. He pulls you close, presses a kiss to your forehead, and assures you he should be doing the protecting and ensuring you had everything you needed. In more ways than one, he conveys to you that your constant doting makes him feel...shy, for lack of a better word.
You can't help but look at his scomp, the grey lines on his forehead, the miniscule battle scars from previous missions. It was in that moment you realized how strong he was amid the amount of trauma he had endured.
"These scars...they're nothing," he assures you before pulling back to kiss the back of your hand. "I can take care of myself. It's you I'm worried about."
Gently, Echo turns your palm upwards to inspect your hand scarred and slightly blistered from yesterday's mission.
"This is nothing," you try and say without a wince. But he's already guiding over to the nearest bench. One look from Echo erases the lie you're holding on your tongue. Wordlessly, he starts wrapping your hand, taking care of you like a boyfriend should.
WRECKER
Out of all the entire Batch, Wrecker would love your doting the most.
As someone who's used to drawing attention to himself, Wrecker doesn't mind that you dote on him, even in front of the Batch. The constant check-ins, the flurry of cheek kisses in front of the others and in private; the impromptu love bursts that come in the form of surprise hugs —that often result in you being scooped up out of nowhere—are moments that Wrecker lives for.
Constantly being thrown around by the creatures the squad comes in contact with, Wrecker suffers a lot of scratches, bruises, and bumps. But these afflictions don't bother him because he knows that later they'll be worth the reward of your tending to his wounds.
Whether your swiping away red marks on his face or dressing a wound, Wrecker relishes in your closeness. No matter the time, he'll drop everything to let you change his bandages just so he can have your undivided attention.
"But I just changed your bandages," you pointed out as you unwrap the fabric with a soft laugh.
"Uh, I was hoping you could change them again. Feels a little loose," he replies with a shy grin.
Of course, you can't decline your significant other's request. As you work on the second layer of bandages, you can feel his eyes on you, a smile on his lips as he enjoys you taking care of him.
Crosshair x chronically ill/disabled reader? I'm a disabled female and there's not a lot of fics out there that represent me
Oh my sweet!! I am also chronically ill/disabled and it really can be sucky. I am sure that our issues are different, so I'm going to pull a little bit from my own experiences.
Fluff and comfort, female reader. They're done with fighting and they're chilling on their cool beach planet. I hope this helps you 💚🧄
"Mesh'la," The voice was raspy and soft with a stunning lack of its typical venom. Nothing followed, no suggestions or questions- just space for you to fill. Except you couldn't bring yourself to.
This shit sucked. It was hard to remember when it wasn't like this in the midst of it. Swimming in pain made it difficult to remember what soldi ground felt like. Dizzying. Spinning. Drowning, even-
"Hey." A hand grasped your arm- not harshly, but firm still, keeping you in place. "You're hurting."
What would you normally say? A quip? A snarky comment to his question? The pain couldn't even spare you that, though, and you just kept your eyes shut. You only inclined your head to indicate a yes before you felt him pulling you down.
Warm sand met your body and you were pulled against him. War hardened a man, but ending it made him soften to you. He said no words, just holding you, the tremoring hand of his resting against your back.
Between wave crashes, you wandered if he missed when his hand didn't hurt. If he cursed the state of it, called it stupid.
"I do," Crosshair muttered. "Most days, actually. But less than before."
Kark. You said that out loud. Your face warmed from embarassment, but you just chuffed softly against him. It took another two breaths before you asked (and heard yourself this time), "It really gets better?"
"Yes. And no." Crosshair shifted slightly, hand still resting on you. "The pain never does. You learn to deal with it however best you can."
"And... Is that the better or...?"
Even though your eyes were still squeezed shut, you could envision his lips pursed in thought from the considerate hum he gave before his response. His denim pants were rough as you laid your head in his lap, but his presence itself was comforting. "I would say that is the better part," He finally decided. "You learn what you can do, and your... limitations." Shame filled every syllable, but he spoke quickly to move away from any potential spin-off conversations. His fingers scratched your scalp gently, the fingers trembing slightly with the repeating movement of his joints. "But you learn. Some days it is better."
"And others?"
There was quiet. Again, he did not answer- but he didn't need to, really. The weight of the sun pressed down from above, healing in some ways, on this planet where war no longer exsisted. Hopefully, by the next sunrise, you would feel a little better, and if not, at least you had someone who understood and would stand by you through it all.
Warnings: Mentions events that took place in "The Crossing", Kissy
“You’ve been awfully quiet.” The low rumble of his voice echoed softly in your ear. As his gloved hand sought yours, you released a sigh, shoulders sinking in relief as his presence soothed your nerves.
You took note of Wrecker hauling a boulder on the other side of the dimly-lit tunnel, granting you and Hunter a moment to converse in some semblance of privacy.
“Omega and Tech have been gone for a while,” you said finally. “I just hope everything’s okay.”
Hunter clasped his hand over your own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You relished the contact, leaning into his side.
“They’ll check in soon.”
His profile betrayed no underlying fear. No uncertainty. Even while Cid’s bogus mission went awry, getting worse and worse by the hour, he’d hardly looked phased. It was a wonder.
When the ship was stolen and the crew broke out into debates about who was at fault, he calmly redirected the team’s energy with the simple statement that arguing was not helping the situation.
While Wrecker grumbled and griped about how long it would take to dig your way out from the collapsed tunnel, Hunter made the argument that complaining would not make it go any faster.
He was right in both cases, and yet even you could not stave off the doubts that crept into your mind. Would you all make it out in one piece? Could you get the Marauder back? How many failed missions would it take for Cid to turn on the lot of you? And now, would Tech and Omega be alright?
His level-headed nature was almost enough to convince you there was no reason to be concerned.
Almost.
Hunter turned to face you completely, the corner of his lips turning up. “Everything will be alright.” His brown eyes searched your face, measuring your expression, hopeful that his words put you at ease.
A familiar, nagging thought crept its way back in. You felt the need to pout under his gaze, lifting a brow.
His amusement grew at your shift as you pulled away slightly. “What?”
“You don’t exactly reassure the others this much.”
Hunter leaned forward, countering your withdrawal by gently pulling you back into his space, so that you had nowhere to look but at him. You met his eyes and felt helplessly drawn in at the tenderness they held. “The others don’t quite worry like you do, sweetheart.”
Your lips parted with a reply that itched to be heard, but you couldn’t bring yourself to utter it. As much as you wanted to protest, his statement wasn’t exactly inaccurate. Besides, it was hard to argue when his lips found your neck.
“I just…don’t want you to think I can’t handle things like the rest of you,” you breathed, hands gripping broad shoulders as he trailed a series of soft kisses toward your ear.
There. You’d said it. The thing that had been weighing on you for quite some time. The reason that you’d fallen silent in the last few hours.
“Not for a second,” he murmured. “You are one of the strongest people I know. I actually think it’s…adorable how you worry for everyone.”
“Adorable?” You hadn’t expected to hear that word from him, huffing quietly. “Yeah, right.” Your breath hitched in your throat when he nuzzled against the base of your neck.
“Utterly.” His tone was heavy with sincerity.
“Well,” you exhaled slowly. “I was not aware of that.”
“You look after each member of the squad in a way we’ve never been looked after before,” he continued, lifting his head to meet your gaze once more. “Before you came along, do you think anyone worried about us?”
His question pierced you like a blade. Before you joined, the squad had been on mission after mission, taking on the riskiest of tasks for the sake of the Republic… without anyone to worry besides each other.
You buried your face in his chest, squeezing him tighter as he sighed. “Either way, it’s only a matter of time until we’re out of here and find a transport.”
“Uh yeah,” Wrecker interjected, huffing. “You guys done? We’ve still got a lot of boulders to move.”
You and Hunter separated, him rolling his eyes while you smiled apologetically. “Sorry, Wreck. You’re doing a great job.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He waved your comment off humorously and stepped aside so you could join him at the wall of collapsed rock. You nudged him and knelt down to start rolling the nearest one, stealing a look at Hunter.
The sergeant was at your side in a moment to help, and just like that, you were dead set on getting out.
Pairing: Tech x female reader
Summary: You’re an ex-imperial who has a crush on Tech. He’s awkward about it. Until he’s not.
Rating: Explicit (18+, minors DNI)
Warnings/tags: crack treated seriously, smut, unprotected PIV, awkward flirting, oral sex, first kisses, accidental exhibitionism, lots of bad jokes, slight angst
Word count: 5.4K
Notes: It’s smutty crack treated seriously, guys. Read on AO3.
The planet you land on isn’t anything special. It’s a humid swamp world in the Outer Rim that offers enough seclusion for even the Empire’s Most Wanted to pass by unnoticed.
You, being the kind and selfless individual you are, decide to help with repairs while Clone Force 99 are on a supply run. It’s the first time the ship has made planet fall in weeks and everyone is a bit stir-crazy, jumping at the chance to stretch their legs. Prolonged time spent in hyperspace has that effect.
Before he left, you told Hunter that your status as an ex-Imperial put an unnecessary target on their back. You’re still wearing your Imperial uniform, after all, and you know for a fact that the Empire is not exactly merciful to deserters. Especially deserters that committed high treason. Like aiding Clone Force 99’s escape from an Imperial prison.
You definitely didn’t just jump at the chance to stay behind because Tech opted to. That would be ridiculous.
You feel your face heat at the thought.
(What? His goggles are cute.)
The truth is, there’s been something – a tension, as it were – between the two of you since you arrived on board. You know it, he knows it. You’ve been orbiting around each other for some weeks now, and this is the first time you’ve been alone –
“Can you spare a minute?” Tech calls out, pulling you away from your thoughts. You swivel in your chair and shift your attention to him, a bit surprised.
“I was beginning to think you didn’t realise I was on board,” you reply as you make your way to the cockpit where Tech is currently fiddling with some wires.
“You’re...very hard to miss,” Tech replies and your heart skips a beat. “The ship is far too small to miss another sentient being’s presence.”
“Right,” you mutter while taking a seat, trying not to sound too deflated. So maybe he didn’t feel that tension. “What do you need help with?”
“I am taking this opportunity to rewrite the ship’s central comm unit to be more covert when passing through areas with increased Imperial traffic. If I can update the ship’s communication infrastructure to resemble that of a first generation Imperial craft, then we will considerably reduce our chances of being identified. Which is why I am particularly glad you stayed behind today. Considering your, er, history.” He fiddles with a mess of wires in front of him, not once looking up.
“And here I was thinking you wanted me around because you enjoyed my company,” you playfully jab.
“There’s that, too,” Tech replies. “Though it would be advantageous if you could list all of the Imperial access codes you can remember. The computer and I can do some pattern recognition to better–,” he cut himself off and anxiously rubbed the back of his neck. “Apologies, you don’t need a long-winded explanation. If you’re happy to share, you can do so whenever you’re ready.”
You consider protesting and telling him that you find his rambling cute, but you decide not to dwell on it for his sake. You list the codes you remember from the Academy. You keep talking, relaying any tangential intel relating to access codes. If it’s irrelevant, Tech doesn’t stop you.
He is silent for a few moments analysing the data you’ve given him. You watch him closely, admiring the way his brow furrows and his lips purse while he’s concentrating.
“You trust me then?” you venture to say. You play with your hands in your lap. “Even though I was with the Empire?”
“You’re helping us now,” Tech replies, as if it’s obvious. He is still inputting data into the datapad he is holding when he continues, “You trust us, it would seem. And we were soldiers programmed upon our creation to destroy the Republic.”
You fumble over your next words.
“That’s – it’s entirely different.”
“And from my perspective, all that matters is where you are now,” he states with finality.
“Well,” you say shyly, “I like where I am.”
Tech smirks despite himself, briefly glancing up at you from his datapad.
You hold his gaze for a moment, before settling into a comfortable silence. You sit in next to him for several minutes, revelling in his closeness like a brezak basking under the Zygerrian sun. It’s only when you notice yourself blushing like a teenager that you decide to make yourself useful and actually help with repairs like you promised.
++++++++++++++++++++
“Would you mind holding this wire out of the way for me while I solder the capacitors for the localised memory bank?” Tech calls, breaking your concentration. The illumination device you were repairing could wait.
You have no idea what Tech means, if his string of words means anything, and you survey his makeshift workbench for a hint. Several panels are detached, limply dangling from a few brightly coloured wires. Tech is focusing his attention on a large panel that is plugged into a cylindrical storage device.
“Maker, that’s a big data stick,” you can’t help but mutter.
Tech makes an incoherent choking sound.
You do as requested and lean over his shoulder to take hold of the wire he specified between your thumb and forefinger. The fabric of your sleeves brushes against his shoulder armour and it feels as though there is a static shift in the air, like the air around you is alive and humming.
And Tech gulps with the contact. He types a few sets of numbers into his datapad with excess force, seriously testing the build quality of the device. His posture is especially rigid as focuses on testing the wires currently in his lap.
Your pulse is racing. It’s as if each second that passes without a confession threatens to rip apart the very fabric of reality.
“Tech?” He has to feel this too, right? “Why...why did you stay behind today?” you ask, careful to keep your voice even. You need him to say it, admit that he feels it, too. You’re desperate for it.
“You can let go now,” he replied, pointedly ignoring your question.
You let go of the wire, but make no move to step away from him. You’re acutely aware of yourself right now and suddenly self-conscious: about the deep shade of crimson enveloping your face, the way you’re breathing, the clamminess you can feel on your palms. You hope you smell alright and silently pray that any traces of caf on your breath are long gone.
Several seconds pass before Tech looks up, over his shoulder at you. His face briefly flickers with concern.
“Your flushed features and increased heart rate indicates that you are nervous,” he remarks.
Maker, is it that obvious, you cringe.
Your mouth is dry and you contemplate making an excuse, but your brain does not want to cooperate.
“Sometimes I –,” you begin. Void, here I go. “Sometimes I get nervous around you,” you admit, attempting to make your confession sound as casual as possible. You bite your bottom lip in a way that you hope will be interpreted as sensual, or, at the very least, cute.
And Tech? Tech is flustered. Like visibly shaken, blushing furiously, two-steps-away-from-hyperventilating, kind of flustered.
“Please do not be nervous,” he responds tightly. Each word is taking considerable effort to be spoken. “I already told you: we trust you. I am not a threat to you.”
The poor guy. There’s no way he can really be misinterpreting that –.
“No, no, it’s a good kind of nervous,” you attempt to clarify.
“Nervousness is not conducive to high quality work,” Tech chokes out.
“No, I mean like giddy. I feel giddy around you.”
Come on, Tech.
“Would you like a chair–.”
“Stars, Tech, I like you!”
Tech...errors. He attempts to start several sentences with no success before mumbling an excuse that he has to go, “fix the reverse polarity capacitive inductor,” which, to your knowledge, is definitely not a real thing.
So maybe that could have gone better. All things considered, he did seem affected by your admission. On the other hand, he also left the room entirely.
Your face burns with embarrassment and, hey, maybe this backwater planet could make a decent home. Maybe the swamp water would be safe for consumption and you could spend the rest of your days foraging for swamp... berries. Sure, it might be a little uncomfortable, but no less uncomfortable than staying here for one more second.
And this is why you don’t admit your feelings to anyone. Ever.
Ugh. You were so confident, too. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to transport to another star system.
The door to the ‘fresher shuts, followed by a slight scuffle of feet, and a thunk that sounds decidedly like a head hitting the door.
You briefly consider leaving the ship to attempt to meet up with the rest of the Bad Batch. It’s been far too long since you’ve breathed fresh, clean, air and you feel a second wave of self-pity wash over you as you contemplate the thought of breathing in the smell of Wrecker’s feet for several more weeks in the Marauder’s circulated air. They hadn’t been gone longer than a standard hour and there was a clear path to get into town. You could still salvage the day, you could still stretch your legs–
‘Oh you want to know why I suddenly decided to join you, Hunter, after promising I’d help fix the ship? Funny story, I was trying to seduce your brother and he rejected me!’
You physically cringe at that. On second thought, maybe just pretending this didn’t happen would be the easier option. Lesser of two evils and all that.
Well, you’ve endured worse situations than this. Swamp berries, if they exist, probably won’t offer enough sustenance anyway, you conclude. You turn your attention to fixing several access panels that require little to no attention.
++++++++++++++++++++
It takes a long while for Tech to exit the ‘fresher. The door opens with a hiss and you stiffen, not looking up until he briskly walks past you and resumes his makeshift work station in the cockpit. Once he is seated and his back is facing you and you can hear the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on his datapad, you allow your entire body to relax.
You look back down to your newest project: fixing the swivel action on a chair. You’re not entirely sure if the chair needed to swivel, or whether it was supposed to, but it does now. At least Omega would have fun with that.
“Can you spare another minute?” Tech says after a considerable stretch of silence.
His comment catches you off-guard. It’s fine, it’s fine, you are just going to pretend like nothing happened. You can just carry on helping with actual repairs like you promised.
“I’m coming,” you say, while putting your entire weight into tightening a screw.
Tech coughs slightly.
“The, uh, I need your help with the cum system. The comm system!” he stutters.
Your eyes widen and decide it’s best not to comment, furiously thinking about the fact that Tech rarely makes mistakes. You wipe your hands on your trousers and stride over to the cockpit where Tech is fiddling with some wires on his lap.
“Take these,” he says while coiling a piece of wire to make a conductor. He pushes right through the awkwardness and places a handful of resistors in your outstretched hand.
You stand there in silence for several moments before you drum your fingers on the back of his chair. He makes no move to immediately utilise the resistors, so you resign yourself to stand there and watch him work. (You suppress a sigh – you wish you weren’t attracted to him at this moment, but here you are, drawn in by his confidence and fixated on watching his nimble fingers work their magic.)
Normally, you’d have already lost your patience. But not now, not when you are trying to decipher just what exactly Tech was trying to accomplish by calling you over and ignoring you. And that’s when you realise that Tech either forgot you were there or forgot to give you whichever menial task he originally intended.
But there’s absolutely no chance that Tech makes two mistakes within the same standard year, never mind two mistakes within the same afternoon.
You start to wonder if he even has any use for the resistors. Your knowledge of technology is limited, but you really don’t see how they’d be useful with his current task. Maybe this is Tech’s uncharacteristically inefficient way to try to initiate conversation. You really hope you’re not completely misreading the situation, but it’s not like you have any pride left to lose.
“Why did you stay behind today, Tech?” you ask quietly, voice tinged with apprehension and perhaps an unmistakable eagerness. You phrase it more like a statement than a question this time.
He continues to fidget, his leg bouncing anxiously as he works.
“I did some research,” he blurts. “Regarding intimacy between human males and human females.”
Huh.
“I read the specifics on how to kiss,” he continues, “but I fear that I am a bit out of my depth as to how I am supposed to initiate it.” He is still fussing with the wires in his lap, not quite able to look up at you.
“You...want to kiss?” you surmise, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. “Me?”
“Very much so.”
A grin breaks across your face and the sharp sting of Tech’s previous rejection immediately melts away. You deposit the handful of resistors in a tray containing various tools Tech had been using throughout the day before taking a tentative step forward from behind the chair. He cranes his neck to look at you, an unfamiliar expression that you’re not quite able to decipher written across his face.
You reach your hand out to caress his cheek, and sliding your hand down to his chin to guide it upwards as you bend down to bring your lips to his. The kiss is chaste, at first, but Tech proves himself a quick study as slightly parts his lips to deepen the kiss. His goggles nudge against your face and you’re pretty sure you’re leaving a greasy cheek print on one of them.
You pull away to gauge his reaction.
“Was that... satisfactory?” he asks, seemingly dazed. His eyes are hooded and still focused on your lips.
“It was perfect.” You offer a small smile.
He removes the goggles to clean one side of them with a nearby cloth. So you were leaving a cheek print. Once his goggles are back in place, he’s looking at you like he can’t quite believe you’re real, his golden brown eyes blinking owlishly at you.
“I apologise for leaving you earlier. I did not anticipate you returning my affections – it did not seem probable. And I was, regrettably, not prepared,” he mumbles.
“Probable?” It’s your turn to malfunction. You want to usher a thousand reassurances at once.
“Well, no.” Tech shifts his weight uncomfortably, not quite able to meet your eyes. “Hunter or Crosshair usually are the ones who capture the affections of –,”
“I like your goggles,” you interrupt in a rush before you surge forward to press your lips against his, hoping to convey just how much you return his affections. It’s a messy, urgent kiss that Tech returns with equal fervour. His fingers find their way into your hair, pulling you closer.
When you finally break the kiss, you straighten your back and take both of his hands in yours and take small, hesitant steps backwards, encouraging Tech to stand. As he does, the project he is working on slides off of his lap and clatters to the floor. He pays it no attention as he closes the distance between you, his eyes darkened with lust. He kisses you with renewed purpose as his hands wrap around your waist, roaming across your body, before they settle firmly on your ass.
Your hips grind into his codpiece and Tech lets out a low groan that goes straight to your core. He moves to kiss the curve of your neck, sucking at the delicate skin and making you squirm. The dampness between your legs becomes apparent and you press yourself closer to him, desperate for friction where you need it the most. As if he can read your mind, he trails a hand from your ass and places it between your legs, grazing over your clit before cupping your cunt. You involuntarily rock into his hand and moan into his mouth, hardly recognising the sounds you’re making.
Tech’s hand abruptly stills as he draws back to meet your eyes. His expression mirrors yours: searching wide eyes filled with longing, a silent acknowledgement passes between you as you reach the point of no return.
And in that moment you are struck with the urge to want nothing more than his cock in your mouth.
“Can I?” you blurt, glancing downward, hoping he is able to intuit exactly what you are suggesting in that moment.
“You may.” You allow the grammatical correction to slip by. “But I’ve never–,” he begins.
You don’t break eye contact and you begin to drop to your knees. He’s looking at you with his eyes wide, mouth slack. Tech’s bulged codpiece is mere inches from your face, and it’s in that moment that you realise that you have no idea how to undress this man.
And this, this is when you start to worry.
Does it have a latch? Does it even come off?
Your eyes dart from left to right looking for some sort of hint as to how it could be removed. You’re half tempted to just plant a smooch on the armour or the kiss inside of his thigh and pretend that all of this was intentional.
“I can get that,” Tech helpfully chimes in, blessedly oblivious to your internal struggle. He removes the pelvic plate with ease and, to your relief, you can see the shape of his erection straining under a layer of thick black fabric. Black fabric that conforms to his body shape exceedingly well. You reach out to feel his length, gently cupping his balls through the fabric before applying more pressure as you palm his shaft. He soft groan escapes his lips.
It catches you a little off guard, actually, to see him so hard. Knowing he’s been hard underneath his armour this entire time. Wondering when else he’s been hard and you had been none the wiser.
His cock has an attractive silhouette – it’s thicker than you expected and you can feel the patch of pre-cum that dampens the black fabric near his tip. You reach for his waistband and pull it down before slowly wrapping a hand around his shaft. He hisses with the contact and brings a white-knuckled fist to his lips.
You peer up at him through your lashes and you lick your lips, preparing to tease him a bit before taking him as deep as you can manage.
And that’s when something inside Tech snaps.
He looks down at you with wild eyes and places his hand on the back of your head to guide your mouth to his cock, apparently unable to continue the role of a passive observer for any longer. Clearly intent at putting his newfound research to good use. You lick a wet stripe from the base to the tip, before taking him in your mouth, the pre-cum tangy on your tongue. His grip tightens on your hair the same time he tilts his hips forward to push his cock further and you hollow your cheeks, sucking hard enough to make Tech groan and his knees buckle. He braces himself against the back of the pilot’s chair, captivated at the sight your mouth stretched around his length.
You begin to bob your head in a steady rhythm, taking him as deep as you’re able. You drag your tongue and press it flush on the underside of his cock, looking up at Tech with wide doe eyes, batting your eyelashes prettily as he struggles to maintain composure. You continue your pace until sweat starts to bead at his temple and his breathing becomes less controlled.
Patience isn’t your strong point and you’re too pent up not to touch yourself. You bring your free hand down your trousers, between your thighs, running your fingers through your wet folds and hum at the sensation. Tech’s hips stutter with the vibrations and his face contorts in what looks like a pained grimace. He takes a miniature step back and your lips leave his cock with a pop. He’s breathing heavily now and his weeping cock is painfully hard, his balls tight.
“I don’t want to finish in your mouth, mesh’la,” he pants, voice low.
You nod dumbly, currently unable to form a coherent thought or tear your eyes away from his erect length, only inches away from your face.
Tech takes hold of both of your forearms, helping you get to your feet, before wrapping his hands around your thighs, picking you up with surprising ease. You lock your thighs around his torso as he strides over to press you against one of the auxiliary control panels adjacent to the co-pilot’s chair in the cockpit. The incline on the panel is steep and the pressure of his hips against yours is the only thing keeping you from sliding down.
“Let me taste you,” Tech groans against your ear.
You let out a frustrated whine and desperately move to unclasp your trousers as Tech works to open your shirt. You shudder once the cool air hits your sweat-dampened skin and Tech messily palms your exposed breast while nipping at your neck. He helps you shimmy out of your clothing while holding you in firmly place before discarding them on the floor of he Marauder.
And this is how you find yourself spread eagle on the Marauder's control panel in possibly the most undignified position you’ve ever been in.
He goes to remove his goggles and you stop him.
“If they’re not uncomfortable for you, I’d like for you to leave them on.” He quirks a brow at you, quizzical. “What? I told you that they’re cute.”
His face evolves from sceptical to bashful in a few moments.
“Very well, then. I can leave them on.”
Tech moves his hands under your thighs as he lowers himself, draping your legs across each of his shoulders with surprising gentleness for a man who looks like he is ready to devour you. Once he’s on his knees and comfortably supporting your weight, keeping you pressed against the console, he places an open-mouthed kiss on the inside of your thigh.
“A-are you okay with this?” you manage to stutter out. It’s not like you haven’t pictured his head between your thighs before, but something about his head actually being between your thighs fills you with a nervousness you hadn’t anticipated.
He mumbles his assurances against your clit. He begins with slow, languid licks and you suck in a sharp breath as you feel yourself craving more and have to stop yourself from violently bucking your hips up.
Okay, so he’s actually really good at this. You know you really shouldn’t be that surprised, Tech is nothing if not thorough with his research and it’s, er, practical applications. Any thoughts of humour at Tech’s expense are, however, ripped from your mind when he sinks a single finger inside your cunt. His finger curls with a precision that only Tech could manage and you moan in encouragement as he pumps it in and out.
You squirm when he hits the spot that makes you want to beg for more and you feel your bare ass hit a button on the console. The next thing you hear is a soft swish swish sound of the Marauder's screen wipers that you inadvertently turned on. Mercifully, it doesn’t break Tech’s concentration and his hands continue to grip your hips, holding your cunt to his face.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you chant. You writhe again and another button sounds its activation. Nothing immediately makes itself known. You hope it’s not something like a proton torpedo firing into the swampy area the Marauder landed in. Not because there’s anything nearby, but because you’ll die if Tech stops here.
He moans into your core as he brings a hand down to grip his leaking cock, desperate for some friction.
“Kriff,” you grunt at the sight of him fucking his fist, only to hear Tech utter the same exclamation at the same time.
“Is there an echo in here or something?” You smile at him, offering a half-laugh before your face contorts with pleasure once again and you hiss through your teeth.
“Yes?” a new, tinny voice chimes in on the overhead speaker system. “This is Echo... You’ve, uh, turned on the short range comm system.”
You knew Tech was a good soldier, but the reflexes in which he slammed the short range comm transmitter with his free hand surprised you. He didn’t move himself from between your thighs and skilfully cut off the transmission while continuing to work your clit with his tongue and your cunt with his finger.
Before you could die from embarrassment and wonder just how much Echo and the rest of the Batch heard, Tech adds another finger and your entire body jerks and tenses.
“I’ve – ah, right there – Maker, that feels good. I’ve never been with anyone who is patient enough to let me come,” you manage to say through gritted teeth.
“My research indicated that it can take around 20 standard minutes for women to orgasm if properly relaxed, why would others stop prematurely?” Tech replies, only briefly removing his mouth from your cunt to reply.
“Selfishness?” you guess.
Tech seemed to take your admission (and ability to form sentences) personally, clearly intent on rendering you incapacitated. He returns to his attention to your clit and maintains his rhythm, teasing a third finger near your entrance. You whine at the sensation and move to hold Tech’s head in place, because if he stops now, there’s no way you’ll ever forgive him. The pressure that’s been mounting in your core finally, finally peaks and your entire body tenses as you surrender to your climax.
“Tech,” you whine, unable to formulate thoughts, let alone words.
He assures you with a soft groan and tightens his grip on your hip. He can feel your walls clenching around his fingers as he guides you through your climax.
As you come down from your orgasm, you feel like you’ve spent a year in bacta. You can’t move. Honestly, your bones are like Andorian jelly. The feeling is only temporary, however, as you’re overcome with the desire – no, need – to be filled.
“In me,” you urge. “Now.”
He adjusts his goggles and looks at you, spread out, completely ready for him.
“Lie back then.”
Tech settles between your thighs and nudges his cock head against your entrance. He takes a breath to steady himself, rubbing his length through your folds, covering it in your arousal.
“So wet and ready for me, mesh’la.”
Your hands wildly grasp at his chest plate, fingernails scratching along the plastoid, desperate to hold onto anything to anchor you. You meet his mouth with a graceless kiss, before he finally sinks into you.
“You’re tight,” he grits out.
He waits a few moments letting you adjust to his size before he begins to move. He restrains himself, slowly rolling his hips as your cunt stretches around his length.
“More,” you plead, breathlessly. “Please.”
Your encouragement is all he needs before he snaps his hips against yours, setting an unrelenting rhythm. He rocks into you harder with each thrust of his hips, his plastoid leg places slapping your skin.
“You feel so good, cyar'ika,” he pants. You surge upwards to greet his lips with a messy kiss, which only spurs him on to fuck you faster. “You’re, ah, taking me so well.”
“Fuck –,” you whine.
His grip tightens and his whole body starts to tense – he’s dangerously close to coming undone. And that’s when you notice his pace start to slow, his movements clearly distracted.
“Tech?” you mumble. You focus your eyes on his face and he looks dazed, you can practically hear him thinking. You’re about to ask him what’s wrong, but he doesn’t give you any time to panic.
“Elevate your hips by seven to ten degrees,” he states through heavy breaths.
“What?” Definitely not what you were expecting him to say.
Tech seems unfazed by your apparent annoyance. He wordlessly repositions himself, grabbing both of your hips and raising them slightly, holding your body up so it’s just the sharp incline of the console and Tech’s hands keeping you in place.
He began thrusting in earnest again, his eyes screwing shut in pleasure. And, Maker, he was right. The new angle hits a spot that makes your toes curl and you lose the ability to speak almost instantly and mewl helplessly as Tech fucks into you.
You made an undignified noise as you gripped his bicep, desperate to hold onto something, feeling the pressure mount in your core. With Tech’s hands busy holding you in place as he maintains a brutal pace, you bring a hand down to your clit, still wet with spit and your own essence. You barely have to touch yourself before you feel your body screaming for release.
“’M coming,” is all the warning you are able to give him before your cunt spasms around his twitching cock as your vision whites out. Tech grunts at the sensation, unable to hold his own climax off any longer.
“Where do you want me to –,” he grates out.
“Anywhere,” you cut him off, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm. “Just want to feel you.”
“Fuck, mesh’la, I’m going to come,” Tech groans, desperately chasing his release with harsh thrusts. His hips forcefully buck into you before his cock stiffens and he spills himself inside of you. He buries his face in your neck, slowly pumping you full of his cum, before he slumps against you. “Bid jate par me,” he mumbles into your neck, barely audible. “Gotal par me.”
You don’t know Mando’a, but whatever he is saying, the way he is saying it, sends a pleasant chill over your body.
You’re both still breathing heavily when Tech gingerly places you back down with a surprising gentleness for someone who had just been fucking you within an inch of your life. He’s in no rush to remove himself from you, but when his softened cock does slip out and his cum leaks out of you and onto the console, he helps you slide down. When your feet touch the floor, your legs wobble slightly and Tech has to grasp your forearms to steady you, softly chuckling at the state you’re in.
And when you look at him, he looks positively debauched. Sated, but debauched. You probably look worse.
In one swift motion he bends down, brings an arm down under your knees, and lifts you up. You wrap your arms around your neck while he carries you to his bunk. His cool armour against your overheated skin is a welcome sensation and you press yourself closer.
“Your research paid off,” you mumble into his chest as he sets you down on his bed.
“Please do not act so surprised by that.”
++++++++++++++++++++
You and Tech aren’t quite finished with the repairs by the time the Batch return hours later, long after the moons have risen and the bioluminescent plants surrounding the ship have begun to glow. If the squad notice you’re sitting a bit too close to Tech, your thigh pressing comfortably against his, they don’t say anything.
Neither of you were expecting to defile the Marauder all day and Tech was frantically fixing the lever on a storage hatch access panel, attempting to make up for lost time.
“Wrecker!” Echo shouts. “Clean up after yourself, for kriff’s sake.”
“Why?” Wrecker drawls, stomping towards the cockpit. “What did I do this time?”
“You’ve spilled your juice on the console again, all the keys are stuck in place.”
summary: your first impression of your soulmate is that they have no idea what a trash can is. years later they still don’t know about trash cans but apparently had a frighteningly large gun.
req: i’m requesting soulmate prompt 3 with crosshair but if not then fox?!?!?! thank you love, take care and GET SLEEP - @murdertoothpick
a/n: i’m still confused as to how i was able to write 5k words for this bastard. y’all better like this bc otherwise i will be looking for the nearest cliff and throwing myself off it. that is all.
warnings: cursing, one (1) soft wrecker and crosshair moment, crosshair comes 🤏🏻 close to murdering tech, shenanigans
requests are open!
on the way to work, you blindly reach for your speeder keys in the bowl by your front door. it’s a normal action when you’re heading to work, nothing to worry about on a typical day. key word: typical.
“son of a- ugh!” you shout and immediately retract your hand from the bowl. next to your keys was yet another chewed toothpick that your soulmate tossed away without a care, the splintered wood the reason you were holding your hand protectively to your chest. when you meet them, you swear you’re gonna give your soulmate an earful about how gross and inconvenient their toothpicks are when just trying to go about your day. maybe buy them a trash can as a first gift as a semi-joke.
you know you lose stuff a lot, but it’s never anything that gross (you don’t think) or that can hurt them if they weren’t paying attention. there were very few things that your soulmate lost that weren’t errant toothpicks; it made you feel a twinge of guilt when you threw the abundant toothpicks away but seriously, what were you going to do with dozens of chewed toothpicks?
being a secretary for the coruscant guard was no glamour job, but it paid well and you always came home with an interesting story or two. there wasn’t much downtime even on a good day but you didn’t mind the chaos. it kept you on your toes and paid the rent. the days, which started out as tedious and draining, gradually grew shorter when you started to make friends with some of the clones that frequented your desk.
some of the friendships were instantaneous; you bought a bone and some treats for grizzer once and ever since, hound has called you his favorite civvie. other friendships took time to cultivate into something stronger, that trust harder to earn; lunch breaks spent with commanders being forced to rest, sometimes with gossip flowing or a comfortable silence. it took several months, but you learned that commander fox was a hardcore gossiper and somehow had the best access to what thorn calls “piping hot tea.”
“good morning, eros!” you called to a familiar trooper as you made your way to your desk. he waved with a smile as he approached, taking his usual perch on the corner.
“hey birdie, got something for me?” eros took to calling you birdie when the two of you would spend lunches together. any gossip you relayed to him was kept under the guise of “a little bird told me” to save face, and the nickname just stuck with the rest of the guard.
“as a matter of fact,” you reply, digging in your bag for a moment before pulling out two bottles of expensive bath soaps that made his eyes widen comically. “my friend gave these to me but didn’t remember that i was allergic to the main ingredient. thought you would enjoy them.”
the resulting grin on his face could power the entire senate building. “thank you! kriff birdie, you didn’t have to do that! i-“
“i know i didn’t have to, but i did.” you turned away from him for a moment to log into the data system so you could begin the day’s work. “now get outta here kid, you’re bothering me!” you chuckle as you say the inside joke (a reference to the one time stone had to interact with a senator’s young son) and he pats your cheek with a grin before he departs.
it’s less than an hour before another toothpick graces your morning. you roll your eyes at it fondly before tossing it into the trash can under your desk. at this rate, you could have built a wood hut on some backwater moon out of the things and run away from all responsibilities. your soulmate would probably think it’s as idiotic a thought as you do and you chuckle to yourself at the absurdity.
a clatter on your desk registers in your mind. thinking it’s a trooper preparing to give you paperwork or stop for idle chitchat, you give a small wave and ask what they need.
you get no answer.
that’s weird. they might not have heard you, so you ask your question again.
still nothing.
your eyes flit up to where an average trooper’s eye level is and find nothing still. you start forming ideas for payback if it turns out to be one of thire’s stupid pranks again, turning back to your work.
that’s when your eyes find the weapon. “holy shit!! what in the- fox!! thorn!!” none of the men you knew would just leave firearms on your desk, which was what made this weapon’s sudden appearance incredibly baffling. and even then, you’d never seen one that looked quite like this before.
footsteps pounded on the floor at your shout, both commanders and any surrounding clones immediately rushing to your aid. you could see the eyes of the ones without their helmets bulge from their heads in shock. “birdie, where the kriff did you get a firepuncher?”
you scrunched your face in confusion for a moment before realizing that the model name must be firepuncher. weird, but okay. “if i knew where the thing came from, i wouldn’t have shouted!”
fox was the first to approach the gun with notable caution. “it’s a 773 alright,” he mumbles as he looks it over. it had several modifications that were very rare to come by for an average trooper, much less a secretary. it looked to be gar-issue, which he confirmed when he read the familiar firearms coding system that cataloged every blaster manufactured for the war effort. it just compounded the confusion as to how it got there; how would a guardsman get his hands on such a modified beauty of a rifle, and why would they just leave it with you?
“i’m gonna take it down to the armory, see if they can search its code in the gar systems. thorn, check surveillance. there’s a chance our perp was caught by one of the cameras.” the men around him nod, a couple of them giving you reassuring glances and small embraces. they couldn’t imagine how frazzled you were about this, and not to mention how worried they are about your safety with this bizarre circumstance. “birdie, come with me. they’ll probably want to ask you a few questions.”
eros squeezed your hand, noticing that the idea of being interrogated by the armory has you a bit uncomfortable. “it’ll be fine birdie, fox won’t feed you to the wolves. he likes you too much.” you laughed at him and let yourself be escorted to the armory.
“and you just found it on your desk?”
“why is that so hard to believe?” the weapons inventory specialist was grilling you about what you just learned was called a 773 firepuncher. you’d have lost your patience long ago if it weren’t for your friend’s reassuring hand on your back. “i was working when i heard a thud on my desk. thought it was a trooper but when i looked, this thing was just laying there!”
despite the circumstances that brought you to the armory, you enjoyed the meticulous organization of the room, how everything had a place specifically for that one thing. weapons and accessories you couldn’t even imagine were stored here and you just casually walked by them every day.
there were a few things out on a nearby table that caught your eye while fox handled the rest of the business. some were easily identified, grenades and the like (too many late nights spent at home watching holodramas), but there was a small pile of small reflective discs that were oddly familiar.
to you, they were handheld mirrors, maybe kept in a bag for makeup on the go or whatnot. your soulmate has lost two of them; you kept them in a box in the top of your closet for safekeeping with the other non-toothpick relics from your soulmate. any reason why the guard would have makeup mirrors lying around was beyond you — wait a minute! the guard wouldn’t have compact mirrors laying around in the armory. so if they weren’t normal mirrors, what were they?
“hey fox, what’re these?” you have the sense to not pick them up, instead waving your finger around them. the armorer had their back turned to your friend while digging through the munitions database, leaving fox to wander the armory however he pleased.
he approached you with a smile. “those, birdie,” he replies while picking up several of them, studying them reverently, “are bolt reflectors. they work similar to pinball — place them around a space and shoot a blaster at one, and the blaster bolt will bounce along them like a path.”
your eyes lit up. “i have two of these at home, my soulmate lost them! i just thought they were makeup mirrors, but-“
“you have these at home?!” you almost put the commander into cardiac arrest with the admission.
“yeah, it’s not like i knew-“
“hold on a second!” the armorer shushed you both. “so you just found the bolt reflectors?” you nod. “and then the firepuncher just magically showed up on your desk?”
fox’s comm chirped. thorn’s voice confirmed what the armorer was slowly beginning to suspect: there was no one seen on any of the cameras depositing the weapon onto your desk, and you didn’t pull it out of your belongings. the thing seemingly appeared out of thin air.
fox thanked his brother before hanging up, no closer to answers in his own mind than he was five minutes ago. when he looked to the armorer though, they seemed to know exactly what was happening. “so what does this mean?”
they smirked as they looked at you and the baffled commander. “it means,” they pulled up the weapons logs on their datapad, “that your soulmate is most likely the owner of this 773 firepuncher.”
seriously?! how does a soulmate go from leaving toothpicks behind like footprints to losing an entire blaster rifle? “well whose is it then?”
“goes by crosshair, a member of clone force 99,” they hit a few more icons on their datapad and pulled up another page. “and they’ll be landing planetside in three days’ time.”
three days! three days? three days?! that’s no decent amount of time to prepare for meeting your soulmate! once you got your answers from the armory, fox led you back to your desk with a grounding hand between your shoulder blades.
“if you need to go home for the day, i understand. this is a lot of information to take in.” the twinge of sympathy in his voice makes it unclear whether he’s talking about finding out when you can meet your soulmate, or if it’s because your soulmate is a clone.
you know he internally hates the idea of you leaving for the day; you doing your job makes his job easier. the fact he was offering the option meant a lot, but you knew him well enough not to take him up on it. and how were you supposed to just twiddle your thumbs at home until then? news flash, you weren’t.
“you can’t get rid of me that easy.”
fox nods in thanks, silently relieved that you decided to stay. he isn’t sure what else to say except that he’s there if you need him, so he gives your shoulder a squeeze and a few more words of reassurance.
the longest three days of your life have now begun.
“how do you lose an entire 773?”
“if i knew how it happened, i would have kept it from happening!”
“maker’s sake, bickering about it won’t bring the karking thing back!”
tensions aboard the marauder have been at an all time high for the past several hours. the mission was a success (by mere technicality), but everything that could have gone wrong, did go wrong. tech did everyone a favor by keeping the team updated on the likelihoods of each misstep and every concentrated disaster in real time, which was a real morale booster.
to start, the wrong files were given to the team before the start of the mission. every vantage point and building schematic that they memorized was in vain and incredibly useless, leaving them to walk in blind.
to add flair to the fiasco, tech was shot, wrecker dislocated his shoulder, and there was an avalanche on the hill where crosshair was in position. said avalanche resulted in crosshair losing his prized 773 firepuncher and plunging the inhabitants of the havoc marauder into a state of chaos.
the closest base that had a firepuncher was on coruscant, three days out and somehow exactly where they were supposed to be for their next mission’s briefing. it was quite strange for there to be only one cataloged firepuncher on coruscant of all places, where hardly any of the guardsman needed such weaponry. the serial number wasn’t attached, which would normally be a bit fishy, but no one felt like looking this gift blurrg in the mouth. they were just going to take it as a win and keep on keeping on.
“just shut up and get some rest, we have three days till we hit the triple zero.” with that, hunter retreated to his bunk to find respite from tech and crosshair’s bickering.
crosshair wasn’t able to rest. he felt like shit; that 773 was the same one he’d been using since his first mission off kamino and losing it was like losing a limb. tech’s barrage of complaints about how everything turned out added fuel to the fire and all he wanted was to just curl up in his bunk and not wake up for a month.
but he had responsibilities and enough pride for him and his brothers to spare. moping wasn’t allowed no matter how warranted he believed it to be.
as he retreated to his bunk, he played through everything during the mission that led him to where he was now.
could he have found another vantage point that wasn’t involved in the rock slide that would have given his brothers the same, if not better, cover? what if he had held on to his rifle a bit tighter, jumped off the rocks he was perched on earlier? would he still have it then?
he was without his rifle (he named her naberrie but no one knew that but him) and felt utterly incompetent. what kind of sniper loses his rifle? he wasn’t some shiny reg that didn’t know what he was doing, he was an enhanced sniper! that rifle is his life and he just lost it like a fool.
loud clanging from outside his bunk had him rolling to face the wall. he didn’t want to deal with whatever this was about to be but as usual, he wasn’t given a choice in the matter.
“cross,” wrecker called from just outside his bunk. very seldom was wrecker’s voice that soft and quiet but here he was almost whispering.
crosshair, in intrigue and slight worry about what could get wrecker to sound like that, rolled back over and faced his brother. “what is it, wrecker?”
“i’m sorry you lost naberrie,” his hand was rubbing the back of his neck, eyes downcast and not as bright as normal. “i know she means a lot to you.”
he wasn’t prepared for wrecker to know what he named his rifle but his younger brother didn’t give him time to dwell on how he knew that information. “if i lost lula, i don’t know what i’d do.” if he didn’t want to listen to the rest of what wrecker was going to say, he would have made a snide remark about how crosshair thinks his brother would react to losing his tooka plushie.
“don’t think that naberrie is what makes you a good shot though,” one of his hands reached for crosshair’s shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze. “that rifle didn’t keep us safe on missions, cross. it’s always been you.”
wrecker left crosshair to his thoughts with a soft smile. out of all the things his brother could have said, that was not one he had planned on hearing. it didn’t quite get rid of all the negativity he had been feeling, but it did help him not go to sleep angry.
the past three days yielded a drastic uptick in chewed toothpicks being scattered through your environment. your first thought was that it had to do with the rifle fox was keeping safe in his office. since the armorer said your soulmate was a sniper, you could only imagine how anxious they’d be about losing their primary weapon. you just hoped they were doing okay.
no other information was given to you about the unit your soulmate was from; despite your role as secretary for the guard, you were still more or less a civvie. it was a pile of bantha shit in your opinion, but none of the guardsman who knew anything about clone force 99 would tell you anything. you’d think you were asking them to put a blaster to the chancellor’s head with how adamant they were about not telling you anything.
a cleared throat called your attention away from your wandering thoughts. “excuse me? are you alright?”
“yes, i’m sorry. what can i do for you?”
the clone in front of you… was almost not a clone at all. if he weren’t kitted up and not in front of your desk, you would’ve thought he was a civilian. “yes, i came to pick up a 773 firepuncher and the armorer directed me to speak to a commander fox. would he happen to be in his office at the moment?”
“may i ask who needs to speak with him?” this just seems like a simple request a normal secretary would make, but little did he know.
what you knew was your soulmate’s name: crosshair. if this wasn’t crosshair (you didn’t think it was), they couldn’t take the rifle with them. it was ingenious and you thanked your stars that you were good friends with the commander.
“my name is tech. i’m from clone force 99, we sent the request for it three days ago.”
you knew this wasn’t crosshair! you’re not sure how you knew, but your gut knew. but the clone in front of you was in crosshair’s squad, which almost made up for the fact you still weren’t meeting your soulmate.
you commed fox and told him that tech was there to retrieve the rifle and his reply was swift and exactly as planned. “i’m sorry tech, but commander fox directly ordered me to not allow anyone that isn’t your squad’s sniper to retrieve the firepuncher.”
the man was thrown off by your words. he was dumbstruck and probably about to turn indignant, but whatever he was about to say was cut off by his vambrace beeping.
“did you get it?”
“the commander wouldn’t let me have it. his secretary said that crosshair specifically had to be the one to retrieve it, which is highly peculiar.”
an exasperated groan came from the vambrace. “just head on back, we can send him after it later.”
“roger that.”
you smiled at the trooper, hoping that his squad wasn’t too put out by the plan you were executing. “i’m so sorry about this, tech. i could try and convince the armory to part with a few toys to make up for the wasted trip if you’d like.” you said that with more confidence than someone who only learned its location three days ago should have, but it passed.
he pondered this a moment before accepting the offer. before he turned to leave, he saw something fall from the corner of his eye.
you were turning back to your datascreens when you were hit in the face with something you couldn’t identify. “ow! what in the world?” you found the culprit on the edge of your desk and when your brain identified it, you wanted to scream. “alright, that’s it! i’m buying that asshole a trash can as soon as i leave today! this is ridiculous!”
tech didn’t think anything of it at first. maybe one of the clones in passing flicked the toothpick at you while they were walking by and you were frustrated at them. once again he was about to leave but his hud started blinking at him, saying that it found traces of crosshair’s dna nearby.
now that couldn’t be right. crosshair wasn't even here with him and had never, to tech’s knowledge, been to this sector of the guardsman offices. his curiosity piqued, he asked to scan your desk and the area around it to see what could possibly have triggered his hud to send that alert. once you gave him permission, he began to search the area.
there was a multitude of small splotches of residual dna scattered on and around your desk that belonged to cross. tech knew for an absolute fact that none of the batch was in or anywhere close to coruscant during some of the approximate aging of the dna splotches. he looked at you and there was some on your face! and there was some on the thing in your hand that must have hit you-
oh holy maker, that’s a toothpick in your hand.
tech’s brain is speeding miles a minute as it tries to comprehend what could possibly explain this. each spot of residual dna is the approximate size of a toothpick, all with similar lengths and widths. the toothpick that just hit you in the face not only had crosshair’s dna on it, but the dna was absurdly fresh. the toothpick materialized out of thin air, he saw it happen.
he had come to a conclusion in moments, but he just had to test it. there was no way he was wrong about this though, not in a thousand years.
tech called for your attention once again, a glint in his eyes that you recognized as hellbent determination. “although you can’t give me the rifle, could you possibly give me its identifier code? describe its physical appearance in any way?”
every free moment since you found it has been spent studying that rifle, every scuff and mechanism that made it work. you wanted to learn about this thing that was so integral to your soulmate’s life, to who they were as a person. you knew it’s identifier code by heart and the armorer taught you how your soulmate used it.
there was even the tiniest word in aurabesh on the barrel — naberrie — which you recognized as senator amidala’s born last name. your soulmate must have named the rifle after her, a fact you found endearing.
you started with the identification code and after that, added a few of the unique characteristics that made the rifle special to your soulmate. the more you talked, the more awestruck tech appeared to grow.
“this is absolutely astonishing…” he takes a thoughtful pause, his eyebrows raising when he thinks of something else to say. “do you happen to have any bolt reflectors as well?”
with how interested tech was in everything you had to say, you would have thought he was your soulmate instead. it became apparent quickly that this was just how he is.
his current line of questioning was about some of the other things you’d found of crosshair’s while adding tidbits of information about the few things crosshair found that he knew about. turns out, crosshair was extremely secretive about your things. it was sweet that he was so protective of the things you lost but to tech right now, it was a hindrance to his discoveries.
you’d pause here and there while you worked, giving him more of your attention in small spurts. currently he was telling you the story of how crosshair found one of your high heeled shoes mid-battle. you had a feeling that tech wasn’t exaggerating when he spoke of him throwing it into a group of droids as a distraction and nailing one directly in the face.
you turned back to your work after a good fit of laughter, reaching for your stylus that you used to sign important documents in the place you would’ve swore you left it.
tech was quick to notice you looking for something and asked you what it was and what it looked like. you thought that maybe he was going to help you find the thing, but nope. he picked up his comm and asked crosshair if he had seen your stylus.
to his credit, crosshair didn’t let his perturbation be heard through the comm as he confirmed that yes, he did in fact, have your stylus.
“in that case,” tech gave you a look that said watch this before he continued. “i found naberrie and those reflectors you lost back on shangri-la.”
“you what?!” crosshair knew exactly what his brother was implying and couldn’t believe he didn’t think of his soulmate having naberrie after he lost it. but for tech to have found them first? he wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or enraged.
“i thought you’d be thanking me for finding your soulmate. talk to commander fox’s secretary, they’ll take care of everything.”
click.
tech had never felt so smug in his life. he knew the time before crosshair sought revenge for his antics was numbered, but he never felt prouder of his abilities. “as much as i’ve enjoyed talking to you, i fear that it may be time for me to go. we’ll keep in touch.”
he rose to leave and you got up with him, giving him a small farewell hug. “maybe i can soften him up so cross won’t throttle you in your sleep.”
“who knows? stranger things have happened today.” he hugs you back with a moment’s hesitation before leaving you to your work.
crosshair tore through the coruscant guard offices like a bat out of hell. finding the nearest trooper, he grabbed them by the bicep and snatched them into his space. “where is fox’s secretary?”
tech tried his luck by pulling that stunt with the stylus. cross and his brothers knew that tech had cameras installed in the marauder and that he could pull up the feed at any time. that’s the only way he could have known about the stylus. he couldn’t let himself believe otherwise.
the trooper didn’t seem too startled at crosshair’s brashness. “oh you’re looking for birdie? just follow the signs to fox’s office, they’ll be sitting right in front of his office at the desk.”
jackpot.
he quickly pushed the trooper aside before continuing his trek.
“you’re welcome!” the trooper called and crosshair just waved a hand in dismissal. he didn’t have time to deal with meaningless pleasantries with a reg, he needed answers. the toothpick between his lips cracked in two under the pressure. with a huff, he spit the useless thing out and continued.
crosshair soon found that the only difference between this building and kamino was that this one had directional signs. all the hallways in both buildings were painted the same as all the others and were just as winding, and they tested his rapidly dwindling reservoir of patience far too much.
it felt like hours before he finally found himself in front of the commander’s office and in front of him was your desk.
your empty desk.
he couldn’t believe it. all this searching and walking and anticipating to find an empty desk. oh he was gonna murder tech when he got back to the ship, that slimy weasel. using not just his rifle, but his soulmate as prank material was a line brothers just don’t cross.
he turned on a dime, itching to set upon his warpath and rain fury down upon his brother. then, he was going to tell hunter what happened and watch with sadistic glee as he tore into the dirty liar himself.
you were walking back to your desk one moment, then flat on your ass the next after bumping into something that definitely wasn’t there when you went to the refresher. getting up from the floor to see what could have possibly knocked you over, your eyes only had a moment to capture the stranger in front of you before something all too familiar landed directly into your eye.
“son of a bitch! seriously?!” make that two trash cans on your shopping list because this was out of hand. the toothpick was barely together, snapped by your soulmate’s teeth into a ninety degree angle and holding on by a splinter.
crosshair watched as you got up and immediately started to hold your eye. “are you okay?” he wants to smack himself for the ridiculous question. clearly you weren’t fine, you just had something fall into your eye.
nodding at the stranger, you wipe your eye one more time before walking back to your desk with a slight limp. did he really bump into you that hard? “i’m fine, thank you. my soulmate just has an affinity for spitting toothpicks wherever they deem fit and this is the second time one of them has landed on my face.”
you sighed and rolled your eyes, plopping down into your chair. “believe it or not, that’s actually not the weirdest thing they’ve lost. earlier this week i had a 773 firepuncher just show up at my desk before lunch,” you wave a hand in dismissal as you turn your chair to face him. “but you probably don’t care about that. now what can i do for you, trooper?”
crosshair was dumbstruck. the toothpicks, the rifle… it’s all coming together. “are you the one they call ‘birdie?’”
“yes i am, did you need anything specific?”
your eyes take in the clone in front of you. he was another that you wouldn’t have called a clone if he were wearing civvies. he was extremely tall and sinewy, his slate grey armor adding bulk that he wouldn’t have otherwise. silver hair cut short and a sharp jaw and chin, and a crosshair tattoo across his eye.
wait a minute, a crosshair tattoo! if he was here on official business you’d have to ask for his name anyways, it wouldn’t hurt anything. you’re about to ask the fated question when he begins talking once again.
“i’m here for a 773 firepuncher, my brother told me to find you.”
"BEING A PART OF CROSSHAIR'S IMPERIAL SQUAD (THE BAD BATCH)"
requester: anon // request here
"ES-07-- are you paying attention?"
You snapped your attention back to the briefing in the hangar, temporarily distracted by the ships leaving for another mission, one that your team would soon be joining. You felt a hot flash of panic, from being called by name, from standing out amongst your squad, and not in a good way.
"Yes, sir," you said, staring down at the hangar floor. "Sorry, sir."
"That's the second time you've been distracted this week," Crosshair said. "For someone so dedicated to the cause, you seem to be having a lot of... other thoughts."
You glanced up, unsure if you should answer, and for a moment the two of you made eye contact. The back of your neck felt like it was burning under his stare. You couldn't tell what he was thinking, or what he suspected of you.
"We'll be splitting the squad into two teams," Crosshair said. "ES-01 will be leading the first, and ES-07 will be putting their navigation skills to use on the second. As long as they can handle that."
Have you ever found yourself laying in bed and wondering “hmmm but what if Hunter was laying next to me?”. If the answer is yes then these headcanons are for you!
500 words, SFW
This man cannot get enough of you. You’re so caring, putting his senses first and always being cautious, making sure not to overstimulate him when cuddling in bed.
But honestly?
Hunter adores it when you both cuddle and he can be enveloped by all things you. The way you invade his senses is intoxicating to him.
Ending a long and strenuous day with his arms around you is perfection to him. All of his worries fading away and the scent of you bringing him much happier thoughts.
Hunter usually likes to spoon you.
He likes being the big spoon because it makes him feel like he’s protecting you, keeping you safe from whatever the night may bring. And, spooning is quite a structured sleeping position, lessening the chances of you moving around in your sleep or any of your limbs accidentally hitting him during the night (it happened one time and he swears it was the best punch you’ve ever accidentally thrown).
But some nights, he doesn’t mind it if you literally sleep on top of him. That way, you’re like his own personal weighted blanket who’ll also give him kisses and head rubs.
Thankfully, Hunter isn’t much of a snorer and the most noise you’ll hear from him is the occasional mumble. Whenever this happens, Hunter normally wakes himself thanks to his mumbling. But he’s quick to fall asleep again, burying his nose in your hair and securely wrapping his arms around you to ground himself.
Hunter rarely sleeps in, only after rough missions and even at that, Hunter accidentally sleeps in. Usually, he’s up before you, giving you an extra hour or so of sleep before gently nudging you awake.
You might be able to persuade him to get back into bed for some extra cuddles but be aware, Hunter is carrying out of bed no matter how comfortable you get afterwards.
On the nights you can’t sleep, Hunter has no problem staying up with you. Even if you’re not in a talkative mood, he’ll sit with you in the cockpit, silently watching the stars together. No matter what, Hunter wants to be there for you, so don’t expect him to leave anytime soon.
If you want to talk, Hunter will listen intently to your restless ramblings, a small but relieved smile tugging at his lips when your eyelids begin to close and your rambling becomes mumbling as you drift off to sleep.
Being as quiet as possible he’ll wrap a blanket around you and stay on guard for the night, making sure the ship stays on track and that none of the others make too much noise.
And while you can try to return the favour and stay awake whenever he can't sleep, Hunter always urges you to get some rest, his arms holding you close as he rests on his head on your chest.
Hunter can stay in that position forever, the thudding of your heartbeat and the steadiness of your breathing slowly lulling him to sleep.
