Wrecker grew up in the Bronx with his three brothers, the son of New Zealand immigrants, a few streets over from his older cousins Echo and Fives. He was conscripted into the Army in 1942 at eighteen and was quickly pulled into the Office of Strategic Services by Captain Rex. Alongside his brothers, he became an integral part of the 99th OSS Operational Group — the Bad Batch. His specialty among them is explosives, finding new and creative uses for each bomb in the arsenal.
Not long after being drafted, he was caught in a bad accident. It left scarring across the left side of his body, cost him the sight in his left eye, and took most of the hearing in his left ear.
Of the four brothers, Wrecker is the loudest and the hardest to miss. He is quick to laugh, quick to act, and genuinely fond of just about everyone he meets. While in active duty, he wrote to his younger sister Omega as much as he could, sending letters stuffed with small trinkets found on missions and drawings he’d made for her.
After the war, he took a job at the Copacabana as a bouncer, a perfect position for his large stature, and one that continues to keep his family close.
High quality art images, references, and taglist under the cut! ~
While the rest of the shadow collective are resting, the night-brothers sneak out to explore their territory.
During their nocturnal expedition, they stumble upon an underground fighting club. Itching to blow out some steam with an opportunity to get extra credits, the zabraks could not refuse and enter the place.
Let just say… after a few rounds Scorn met a new friend.
(The background is from the movie Sherlock Holmes)
the bad batch x s/o with different health conditions
a/n: idk how relatable this is to y'all but i feel like if anyone were to understand what it means to live with something that makes ur body different then it would be them. idk this is just important to me :)
gn reader
warnings: none
thinking about hunter with a s/o who is deaf or hard of hearing. he's been trained to draw blood with his heightened senses, a soldier molded so carefully that the last thing he'd know how to do is take care of someone. but he hears the things you don't, extra sharp in scoping out your surroundings to keep you safe. both of you reach for each other and lace your fingers together when you feel a sound vibrating against the soles of your feet. he squeezes your hand and brushes his lips over your earlobe, tickling you softly with a kiss. you've been teaching him how to sign, surprised one day when you notice he's made a drastic improvement, which is how you know he's been practicing to talk to you (and asking tech for help).
thinking about tech with a s/o who has a chronic illness. he doesn't think of you as a burden or a means to an end; he sees you as a person. he understands when it's difficult to get out of bed, stroking the top of your head for as long as you want his company. you catch him knocked out in front of a screen after researching your condition for hours, his glasses crooked over his nose from falling asleep by accident. he knows you can take care of yourself, but he wants to be there for you as much as possible, even coming with you to your appointments. the usually introverted man you know is suddenly sharp and stern with your doctors, helping you validate your pain when you feel overlooked in advocating for yourself.
thinking about wrecker with a s/o who experiences muscle weakness, fatigue, chronic pain, something that you'd think would clash with his high energy and superhuman strength at first glance. your instinct is to steer clear of someone his size, but he's so incredibly gentle with you, consciously making the decision to learn how to handle you carefully without treating you like glass. he's super encouraging as he offers to work out with you and do physical therapy together, and you laugh when he blows out a tired breath, mumbling, "whew, dunno how you do it..." he knows you're not weak, but he offers you his strength, cradling you to his chest in his large arms as he whispers that you're the strongest person he knows.
thinking about crosshair with a s/o who is blind. his eyes are his strength on the field, so your different experiences are fascinating to each other. you can't see his long, pretty fingers, but you can feel them wrap around your wrist to bring your hand to his face, quiet as he lets you touch his features. he holds his breath, unable to speak through the careful sensation of your fingertips tracing over his eyelids before running down the bridge of his nose. his lips part slightly when you touch his mouth, and you're not sure if he's smiling until you feel your way around the curve. he's not usually open to just anyone's perceptions, but he knows he's safe with you, even a bit cheeky as he draws your hand down his chest, hearing your breath hitch.
thinking about echo with a s/o who has prosthetic limbs, just like him. your love for each other primarily manifests as support and understanding, knowing you're in this together. he's constantly hounding you for not being careful with yourself, grumbling about how "you never listen" as he kneels down and fixes your prosthetic for you. you keep him in check, too, especially because he's the most selfless person you know, often neglecting his own health to focus on his loved ones (including you). you notice each other's pained, hidden winces from flared-up phantom pain, giving each other the same concerned stare that's met with a reassuring shake of your head. you're a team, and you trust him to stay with you for the long run.
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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.
