The Bad Batch X (reader) - Blog Posts

This was super duper sweet <3

who needs a reason? (Echo x Reader)

I've had these in my drafts for a year and I'm just now getting to them with three hours until midnight. Happy New Year and happy season two, everyone!

Notes: Mostly fluff, mentions of Echo's PTSD in regards to explosions, Echo's insecure about his appearance.

Wrecker's love of explosions was particularly evident as Cid enlisted his and Tech's help with the fireworks display. Echo, however, was a bit more tense concerning the whole thing. It seemed that every once in a while, everyone forgot that he had quite literally been blown up.

"What would you like to do for the new year?" you asked him.

Echo rested his chin on your shoulder, "I'd really just like to get some peace and quiet, cyar'ika."

You glanced around the Parlor. Cid had a couple distinguished clients visiting tonight, the kind that preferred to keep a low profile. She was throwing this New Year's party in order to help them blend in, which meant more work for the rest of you.

"You think they'd miss us for a couple hours?" You asked as you finished cleaning the last of Cid's drinking glasses. Omega and Hunter were unloading the last of the drinks behind the bar, and Ketch and Bolo were stringing up the lights.

"You'd better not be breakin' any of my glasses, sweetheart!" Cid snapped in your direction. You rolled her eyes at her usual irritability and set down the last of the glasses.

A couple hours later, the party was in full swing. Cid's Parlor was full of people you'd met once or twice during your time on Ord Mantell.

Wrecker had found someone he could rant to about the fireworks display he'd planned, and Omega listened with rapt attention. Ketch and Bolo's brawls over the slot machines were becoming a popular form of entertainment, and you and Echo were stuck serving drinks behind the bar.

Tech and Hunter approached you two, and Echo got them their usuals.

"Cid's friends?" He asked.

"In her office. She said to come out and see if you needed any help," Hunter took a long gulp.

"We've been doing alright-"

"We could use a break," You spoke over Echo, squeezing his arm. He looked at you in surprise, but Tech just nodded. Hunter winked at you, and you pulled Echo to the exit, up the stairs, and to the streets above.

It didn't snow on Ord Mantell. Too much pollution made the planet too warm for that, so you were met with a downpour of rain. Still, it was a welcome sensation to the heavy air of the Parlor, shut up below the ground.

"You are something," Echo shook his head with a chuckle, staring up into the rain.

"Hey, you're the one who said you liked me," You shrugged.

"Huh, I guess I did, didn't I?" With a devilish grin Echo wrapped his arms around your waist, yanking you off your feet and spinning you around and out to the center of the street, where you were both caught in the pouring rain.

You shrieked with delight, begging him to spin you faster and faster. He stumbled once, and set you down before you could trip and fall into one of the puddles nearby.

"Well, we're here now, what do we do?" Echo asked, taking both of your hands in his.

You looked up and down the empty the street. The rain prevented people from bringing their celebrations outside, and Wrecker might have to cancel his beloved fireworks display.

"We should head inside," You chuckled sheepishly. Strands of your hair were starting to stick to your face.

Hand in hand, the two of you ran through the rain to the Marauder, where you both changed into a fresh set of clothes and sat together on Echo's bunk.

"Think the others will come looking for us?" He asked. He was holding your hand again, his thumb brushing back and forth across your knuckles.

"Who cares? Cid's people showed up, she won't mind."

Echo nodded, satisfied with your reasoning. You scooted closer, draping your legs across his lap and resting your forehead against his.

"You're so pretty," You whispered.

"Shut up," He chuckled immediately. You gently smacked his shoulder.

"I mean it!" You said.

Echo still chuckled, "Can you at least tell me what parts of me you think are pretty?"

You cocked one eyebrow at the challenge.

"Your loyalty."

Echo snorted. "My sense of loyalty...is pretty?"

"Hush," You hissed, "It's very attractive, and it totally makes me weak in the knees."

"Okay," Echo chuckled again, and his scomp arm wrapped around your waist to pull you closer.

"You don't take kark from anyone. You know your own value, and it's immensely beautiful."

"I thought you said I was pretty," He teased.

"You can be pretty and beautiful!" You insisted. You took his cheeks in your hands so that he could sense the weight of your sincerity.

"And your eyes," You said at last, tracing his cheekbone with your finger. Echo had no snarky comment for that one.

"They're so bright, so full of life. They're so warm, and they make me feel safe."

Echo's breath stuttered in his throat as he stared up at you. It was like he was seeing you for the first time.

Your nose brushed against his. "Do I need a reason to think that you're pretty?" you whispered timidly.

Echo's hand came up behind your neck, "Maybe not. But...it does feel good to hear it from you."

You ducked your head to hide a smile as your lips brushed against his cheeks, "I'll tell you anytime you want me to."

Echo hummed happily, "Thanks, cyar'ika."

A tinny chime echoed through the hold, and the two of you jumped up, worried that someone else had returned to the ship. But it was just the ship's chronometer, letting you know that it was officially midnight.

"Well, Happy New Year?" Echo laughed off his nerves.

"Happy New Year," You laughed, hiding for face in his chest for a moment. Echo gently tilted your chin upwards to look at him.

"Can I give you a kiss?"

"Hmm...do you need a reason for that one too?"

Echo shook his head, a smile breaking out across his face, "Never."

His lips claimed yours, and the only rumbling to reach your ears was the rain thrumming against the hull of the ship.

Only two more days until Bad Batch Season Two!

AHHHH I NEED MORE 😍🥰😍🥰😍🥰

✗ ERROR 158 ✗

Author’s note: Some fluff between the smuts and what is more than likely going to be the first part of an ongoing series of loosely tied together Echo one shots because I love him and have zero self control. The planet in this is loosely inspired by the CCSD footage for season 2.

Summary: Omega decides to play matchmaker.

Relationships: Tbb!Echo/Fem!Reader

Warnings: None really, other than Omega being a little devil and some fluff

Words: 2227

Echo had spent time on planets of pretty much every common climate one could think of. Though out of them all, tropical planets would have to be his personal favorite. He never had the time to enjoy it when he was part of GAR, but now that he did...

The sound of water hitting against the beach, rustling of tropical plants in the wind, and that fresh smell of seawater. It was pleasant, unlike the constant pouring rain and storming he’d gotten so used to on Kamino. Part of him had considered taking a dip in the ocean, though he wasn’t quite sure how exactly his menagerie of cybernetics would react to the salinity in the water.

They also had far more important things to do than trot around like this was some sort of vacation, even though he’d caught both you and Omega dipping your feet in the water twice already. Tech had scolded the two of you saying there was multiple carnivorous creatures in the water of the planet and to get out, though you were both pretty sure he was just upset you were just taking a break.

Echo had actually just spotted the two of you quickly drying off your legs and admiring some shells you’d both picked up, and Echo decided to keep quiet and help you avoid Tech’s ire. Hunter is fixing one of their blasters while Wrecker is attempting to bench increasingly heavier and heavier crates. Meanwhile Tech is working on a personal project, while also looking over whatever study material he’d given Omega awhile back.

Overall things just feel, nice.

For at least five minutes it doesn’t feel like everyone is hot on their heels, trying to gun them down the minute they have the chance. Echo is just relishing in the time to just breathe.

At least until you’re no longer the one keeping Omega entertained, and she wanders her way to him while he’s halfway underneath the Marauder’s control panel in the cockpit. She peers around attempting to see what he’s doing, and Echo takes a glance to see her standing there. The bottoms of her trousers are wet, from where the waves lapped higher than expected.

“Has the ‘carnivorous wildlife’ decided to take a chunk out of either of you yet?” Omega rolls her eyes, remembering when Tech had said that not long ago.

“We didn’t see anything, I don’t get what he’s so worried about.” Echo adjusts underneath the control panel.

“You two better hope there’s nothing, or that’ll be one awful ‘I told you so’.” Echo can’t help but laugh at his own little joke, before watching the way Omega shows off one of the shells she’d found on the beach. She pulls out another you’d found and given to her, admiring the way the opalescence shines on the inside of the shell. Omega had lived pretty much every moment of her life stuck in a lab on Kamino, and still found so many things exciting and brand new. You enjoy doing those things with her, and Echo finds it endearing.

“That’s what she said, but I don’t really think she believes Tech either.” Omega puts the shells back in her pockets and watches the way Echo had quite visibly perked at your mention. If he was interested before, he very much was now that you were part of the conversation. It’s hard for him to help himself from doing, even as he attempts to busy himself with working on this mess of wires.

“You know,”

Omega’s rocking back and forth on her heels, hands behind her back while wearing a curious and hopeful expression. Echo hums in acknowledgment of her, but she doesn’t have his full attention yet.

“She really likes you...”

Echo crooks his torso to the side and looks out from underneath the control panel and gives Omega an almost sympathetic look.

“Yeah, she’s nice.”

The sentence is short, but he means no snide undertone to it. You were nice; Nice to all of them, all the clones before everything happened, to him. Even after Skako Minor when he’d scared the life out of you with the way he looked so different. Nice to all of them after they’d dragged you into this mess, someone who wasn’t even part of GAR to begin with. Omega however seems displeased anyways, and her knowing smile goes away replaced with a furrowed brow.

“No, not like that,” Echo turned away to work on the ship, though he does give her a glance from the corner of his eyes that reads unimpressed and a bit suspicious.

“I mean, she likes you.”

Omega emphasizes and leans in closer, though once again fails to get Echo to give her anything but yet another shake of his head.

“She’s just nice, you’re reading too deep into it.” She’s a kid, Echo just figures she’d managed to watch a cringey holodrama for teens on the net in their few moments of downtime and now has all these silly ideas in her head. Meanwhile Omega crosses her arms and looks over her shoulder. You’re talking to Wrecker, and with him being so loud you’re completely distracted.

“I know that she draws a lot of art when we’re in hyperspace,” Omega takes a cautious step closer so she can be quieter, meanwhile Echo adjusts to try and get a better angle on whatever he’s fixing. There’s a cord deep inside the control panel he needs to get to, but it requires him to really reach inside...

“I saw what she’s been making; Most of them are of you.”

WHAM!

Finally, now she has Echo’s interest. Almost too much of it however, as Echo suddenly knocks his head into the underside of the control panel with a grunt of pain. Omega looks almost concerned for a moment, before Echo asks:

“She does?”

The pain hasn’t even faded from his forehead, but he’s far more interested in this. He can’t help it; Can’t help the weak spot he has for you, and the way his heart slammed against his chest at the idea that you’d been watching and drawing him when he hadn’t been paying attention. How you found anything inspirational about him he had nary a guess, but in a way that is so hopelessly love struck he can’t say he minds in the slightest.

“Yeah, when we were walking on the beach yesterday she was talking about how she really likes you and that-” Echo turns to try and look at her more face on, even if he’s still on his back. He just hopes that his face doesn’t visibly show how surprisingly warm it feels on his cheeks.

“Omega… If she told you something in confidence-” She quickly moves her hands to shush him. He feels he makes the right choice in telling her to not gossip, but Echo can’t help but really want to know what you’d said.

“I didn’t say anything! I was just, telling you that she makes a lot of nice art.” She’s clearly hiding a smile, even if she’s attempting to hold a stoic face.

And while Echo thinks he probably shouldn’t be, he can’t help but feel his heart race a little faster a the idea that you might maybe like him. But that’s something he’s thought for awhile, long before they’d ended up here.

Omega seems to use his silence as the perfect time to leave, trying to find something to maintain her curiosity now that she’s dropped this heavy tidbit of information onto him.

Echo silently gets back to work, letting out a long but quiet sigh. There’s so many things to get done, and he hasn’t the time to think about silly things. As he does so he takes note of the peaceful quiet in the ship, though there is sound not long after.

There’s footsteps coming closer, and he can tell by the pattern that it’s more than likely you. Your voice speaking up affirms the suspicion, and also increases his heart rate dramatically.

“You two have a good chat?” Echo reaches for another tool with his good hand and hums, seeing your legs standing beside his own. You soon decide to sit down, cross-legged beside his knees now more at face level for him.

“Yeah, just told her to watch out for the carnivorous wildlife.” If he was anticipating the sentence to get a reaction out of you he succeeded; Watching your face and seeing the way you sigh and rub your hands against your face and groan.

“Ok, if one more person mentions this I swear I will actually go insane. The one in a million chance of getting wounded by a rogue carnivorous fish has become the hot topic of this ship for far too long.”

He laughs at the way you clearly seem to be at your wits end when it comes to that whole thing, and you both stop talking for a moment until Echo does finally speak back up. It takes him a moment to find the way he wants to word this, and hoping it doesn’t come out completely love struck.

“She uh, did tell me something.”

You hum, perking up a little as you look at him. He stops working on what he’d been doing for a moment, pulling out from underneath the control panel to sit up and look you more head on. There’s a little bit of something, probably lubricant, on the side of his cheek that he hadn’t noticed yet.

“She said that you, were making art of me.” he says, and your face instantly starts feeling boiling hot.

Echo was never supposed to find out about that! It was just some dumb thing you’d been doing to pass the tons of boring time in hyperspace, and that you’d probably delete and pretend never existed. They were a sign of your hopelessly bleeding heart and feelings, and not something that Echo was ever supposed to hear. Though the absolute embarrassment you let out a tense breath of air through your nose.

“I swear, that little-” You cover your mouth with your hand, feeling more than a little bit embarrassed. Part of you wants to just run, but you’d have to come back here anyways, you couldn’t just become one with the wilds.

You’d just, casually mentioned it to Omega, and in that moment had completely forgotten that she might end up telling him. The way Echo had said it sounded like you were a creep staring at the back of his head non-stop, which was exactly the opposite of what you wanted to be to him. You’re so stuck reeling in your own embarrassment you almost don’t hear Echo speak again.

“That was stupid I really shouldn’t have said that-” You’re shaking your head and hands, squeezing your eyes shut and sighing.

“No no it’s fine just, Maker now you probably think I’m creepy or somethin-”

“No!” His sudden outburst startles you, enough so that he quickly backtracks.

“I mean, no. I don’t find it creepy. I think it’s kind of flattering, actually. Didn’t think I was anything worth doing art of.” It’s nice to hear that he doesn’t think you’re weird, but his self-deprecating attitude is a little concerning.

“I think you are.” You say, voice quieter than it had been earlier. Echo laughs, rubbing the area when his skin meets his scomp link attachment.

“Well, you’re the first then.”

He’s smiling at you, and you can’t help but smile back even as your face grows hot. You’ve always had a bit of a crush on Echo, ever since you first met him, so you can’t help but feel your heart flip in your chest.

Interrupting your moment is the distant sound of Omega’s voice, demanding someone to ‘keep out’. Her plea seems to go largely unanswered however, as both Hunter and Tech push by her anyways, and see you and Echo sitting on the floor in the cockpit. Tech is just here to grab something and leave, meanwhile Hunter lingers.

“Up to something in here? Omega was really keen on keeping us all out.” You were going to scold that girl for sure, but also sneak her a high five for letting you get this moment along with Echo.

“Oh, us? Nah we’re not up to anything.”

Hunter doesn’t seem to be entirely convinced, but lets the topic drop. You turn back to Echo and smile, covering your mouth as you try not to let out a laugh. Once Hunter leaves you both alone again, you move to get onto your knees but not leave quite yet.

“I’ll go help them and leave you with, whatever you’re working on down there.” Echo partly doesn’t even remember what he had been doing; Most of the time he’d been too distracted by the thought of you.

Before you move to get back to your feet you lean inward, putting one hand on Echo’s shoulder and leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek. It’s afterward you quickly get up and scurry away, leaving Echo alone again.

Echo swears he can still feel your soft lips on his cheek, even know he logically knows it isn’t the case. His throat his tight and he swallows, laying back down to try and get back to work.

Echo was already having enough trouble trying to keep his head on straight but now? Knowing that you felt the same as him?

He’s absolutely fucked.

Echo and Reader are having a moment (hugging and talking softly)

Hunter and Tech are looking at them with proud and loving eyes. As Wrecker is walking towards them, Hunter’s spidey senses flare up. He has this feeling that Wreckers enthusiastic volume will kill the mood for Echo and Reader.

Hunter without thinking , jumps and slams himself onto Wrecker preventing him from breaking up the lovely couple.

Bonus: Tech runs and tries shush Wrecker

I have been fed with this beautiful fic 🥹

Would you mind doing a jealous Echo (of Hunter or Tech) x reader? 🫣

They aren’t in a relationship yet but Hunter or Tech brothers try to give Echo an incentive to ask the reader out.

Thanks 🙏🏼

The music was loud and the lights were flashing, it was a regular night at 79s and Echo was ready to relax....until he saw you.

He swore he couldn't breathe when he caught sight of you, up at the bar surrounded by your friends, throwing back your head to down your glass.

Hunter noticed right away, and nudged Tech's foot beneath the table before nodding to Echo. The newest member of the Bad Batch had been quiet all night long, and this was the first time they'd seen Echo take an interest in something that wasn't strategy on the battlefield.

Across the bar, your eyes met his, and you offered a shy little wave. Dumbfounded at his luck, Echo waved back, his eyes shining with joy.

"Are you going to buy them a drink?" Tech asked.

"Wha- who?" Echo stammered over his words as his cheeks grew hot.

"Don't deny it, vod, you've been staring at 'em for half the night," Hunter leaned back in their booth, giving Echo a clear field of vision as you laughed at one of your friend's jokes.

Echo almost stood up, then stopped himself. "You really think they'd say yes to someone like me?" He asked.

"They're at the one bar on Coruscaunt that actively caters to clones. It's not completely insane to assume they'd be interested in you."

Echo held up his scomp, "Even with this?"

Hunter sighed. Despite The Bad Batch's efforts to show Echo how their differences made them stronger, Echo struggled with his cybernetic enhancements. It made sense of course, none of them looked the way he did, and he'd only had a few months to get used to them as compared to them with their entire lives.

"Then you won't mind if I ask them for a dance, would you?" Hunter stood up and slid out of the booth. Echo made a few noises of protest that were lost to the music. Hunter winked at his brother, and expertly wove through the crowd to the bar. Echo could only watch in horror as Hunter asked you to dance, begging that you would say no. Unfortunately, you accepted with a smile that made his heart stop, and Hunter led you out onto the dance floor.

Echo shriveled back into himself, completely missing the look in your eyes as you scanned the bar for him again. But Tech didn't.

Tech leaned back in the booth and sipped his drink. "Cheer up, Echo, there's always next dance." Echo kicked him under the table.

Tech slammed his datapad on the table, "Echo, if you continue to feel sorry for yourself without even trying I'm afraid you won't get much pity from us."

"It's easy for you and Hunter, you have mesh'las lining up to talk to you everywhere we go. Of course they were gonna say yes to him!"

Tech pinched the bridge of his nose, "Echo, if they were to reject you purely on the principle of your prosthetics, then they were never worth knowing in the first place."

Silence hung over the Batch's booth as the music screamed around them. Tech sighed and picked up his datapad again, intent on finishing the scientific article he'd been reading. By the time he looked up again, Echo was gone.

Above the beat of the base, Echo could hear Hunter's discussion with you, and it sounded like you were talking about him.

"I've got this brother of mine who's helpless when it comes to romance. Would you mind giving him a few pointers?"

"I'd love to, where is he?" You asked.

Hunter turned just as Echo pulled up alongside you both, "Aha, here he is!" Hunter clapped Echo on the shoulder, pulling him towards you, "This is Echo, the GAR's most brilliant strategist."

"Thanks," Echo coughed out.

Hunter stepped aside and clapped his hands with a smug smile, "Well, I'll leave you to it!" He slipped back into the crowd, humming along to the music as the song changed.

That left you and Echo in the middle of the dance floor.

"Uh, hi. I'm Echo." He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

You smiled that heart-stopping smile again. "I know. I was hoping you'd ask me to dance tonight."

Echo blinked. "You were?"

"Of course! I've only been making eyes at you all night," You teased. You took one of his arms and placed it on your waist.

"Your brother said you needed some pointers on romance?" You prompted. Echo could hardly believe you were actually talking to him, much less think of a reply. You pulled him close and gently draped your arm across his shoulders, gently swaying to the beat of the music.

"Is this okay? I'm not making you uncomfortable, am I?" You asked, all hint of teasing vanished from your voice for a moment.

Echo quickly shook his head and went for your other hand as he'd seen all the vode doing with their dance partners, only to realize at the last second that it was his scomp arm. Not missing a beat, you grasped the scomp as you would anyone else's hand.

"You're not as bad at dancing as your brother made it out to be," Your light teasing returned, and Echo was just relieved he hadn't completely messed things up.

"That's a relief," He laughed nervously, "I was afraid they'd given me two left feet."

You threw your head back laughing, and in a burst of confidence, Echo spun you back into a dip. He was pretty sure he heard a whoop of encouragement from Hunter.

The song ended, and Echo brought you back up to your feet. His own started wobbling as you gave him that smile that had been making him melt the entire night. Fortunately, you looped your arms around his.

"So this is the part where we get drinks together. Am I paying, or are you?" You tapped the skull symbol on his chestplate.

Echo allowed himself to grin for the first time all night, "Allow me, mesh'la."

Graves of Memories Passed Away

ARC Trooper Echo x Reader Fluff

Summary: Echo was so quiet and kept to himself for a while after he'd been found. But yet, the medic of his team caught his eyes with a energetic personality, booming laughter, bright eyes, and voice of controller chaos. Why did he exactly like you?

Warnings: Just a whole bunch sweet of flashbacks, a bit of angst actually, mentions of Fives' death

GIF NOT MINE!!

•--•

The bar was lively today. Not in the sense that there were a lot of people, but in the sense that everyone was relaxed. You'd all finished your mission yesterday and Cid saw how pent up even you were, so she allowed a small break. But she was happy too, seeing past her grumpy smile was the joking Cid that was enjoying Hunter's company.

But you, oh you were why the whole bar was so lively. At least, that's how Echo saw it. Your laughter was booming across the bar as Wrecker, you and Omega all were playing a card game. That sweet laughter, no wonder he loved you more than anything. Even more than Omega (don't tell Hunter he said that though).

Your mouth was open, teeth showing as you laughed at one of Wrecker's stupid jokes, Omega coming back with someone more clever in return. Smart kid, she always had a good comeback; and a way to make you smile. The top of your nose was scrunched as your eyebrows leaned to press together. Omega was giggling, watching you. His heart melted at the two of you - it always did, seeing the corners of your eyes crease with happiness whenever his little sister cracked a joke. He hoped one day he'd see a sight like that again, with a different kid, one you both named and watched come into the world. One day.

"Why is it that you find her so fascinating?" Tech asked, rubbing his index finger against the glass. He had moved his gaze from the liquid to Echo, a light tilt of his head and a look of pure curiosity. "I figured maybe you'd go for someone more... calm?"

Echo's face was somewhere between shocked and trying to find an answer. There were many answers, but what was one that Tech would like? Multiple, Tech would always want multiple answers, as many as there was.

"I guess- well, have you ever heard the speculation that you love someone that resembles your closest family member in personality?" Echo asked, envisioning Fives laughing at his words and clapping him on the shoulder with a taunt in mind, 'Maybe that's why I always liked the sassy ones!'

Tech looked surprised at that, "No, I've actually never heard that one. But please continue."

Echo cleared his throat, trying to ward off the image of Fives making fun of him for even believing such a stupid quip. "Well, I guess I see a lot of Fives in her. She's so out there and not embarrassed for being seen or heard. She's funny and confident and she just has this feeling of home to her. She's so smart too, hides it behind all that beauty. Fives used to be the same - he was second to you Tech, extremely smart, just was hidden behind his looks and hair."

"Not as smart as Echo though!" you cheered, mouth wide with a smile spread from cheek to cheek. Fives sat there on the other side of the booth in 79's with his eyebrows furrowed from the lack of attention as you sat next to Echo, his arm wrapped around your shoulders tightly.

"I'm as smart as Echo, you just can't see it past this sexxyyy exteriorrr," Fives said, drawing out the two words as he ran his hands playfully up and down his chest. He looked ridiculous, getting more giggles from you.

You returned the gesture by rubbing your hands across Echo's chest, "Echo's sexier than you, loser."

"We both look the same, di'kut."

"Liar, look at him," you reached up and squished Echo's cheeks together, him side-eyeing you with an unamused expression even if you knew he found it funny, "His right eye twitches when you make fun of me. And he's just soooo handsome," you pressed kisses all over his cheek, leaving lip-gloss marks across his tanned skin.

Tech wasn't focused on his drink anymore, his hand being the only thing that suggested he still knew about it. He watched Echo's eyes sparkle as he talked about the two people he loved most; though only one was still with him.

With a smirk, indicating Tech wanted to lose some of the legitimacy of how he usually spoke, he stated, "Of all the memories you've talked about, he's never come off as the smart type."

"He never did."

"We're gonna get in trouble," Echo spoke softly into your ear, making you smirk and turn to capture his lips in a mischievous kiss. When you broke from it, you still had that stupid look on your face; it made his heart flip every time he saw it.

"My sweet Echo, we'll be fine, you were the one that said you were hungry," you whispered back, giggling sweetly as you snuck through the kitchen on Kamino. Fives had found a back entrance that was always locked - lucky for the Domino Twins, Echo had a hot girlfriend that could lock pick. Fives' words exactly.

Echo grumbled, "I don't want you in trouble cause I was hungry."

"Can you guys stop initiating a reproductive ritual right now, I'm hungry as fuck!" Fives whisper-yelled.

"Watch your mouth vod."

"'Watch your mouth vod.'" Fives mocked back, holding up his hand like it was a sock puppet to make the pretend Echo talk in a high-pitched voice. That earned a slap to the arm by your Arc Trooper boyfriend.

"What did you mean by she 'has a feeling of home to her'? I do not understand what that entails."

Echo looked back at the girl he had loved for years and years. She'd always been there, by his side, telling him how much she loved him, how she felt about him, what he meant to her. For someone that looked like the most basic clone ever made, she loved Echo more than she had loved anyone. All those rotations, alone with only the men that had always been around her. She'd lost a lot but she still waited for him, even when Fives died, her hope almost gone, she waited.

"Echo, can we talk?" you sweet voice rung through his head as he turned around. You invited him over, cooked dinner for the two of you and laughed with him the entire night. The absence of Fives was weird, Echo wasn't used to Y/n completely leaving Fives out of a hangout night, but he didn't question anything.

Echo saw you, hair blowing in the wind, covered in a hoodie that was way too large for you with shorts he had to strangle himself not to admire. The clone got up, walking over to you and looking at you with curious eyes. You looked so tiny and nervous with your bottom lip quivering as you looked at him. You didn't look upset though, you just looked like you were about to explode if you didn't see him.

"I- I think that I love you," you whispered, reaching up to rest your hand on his cheek. He'd know you for months, laughed with you forever, been your partner in crime since the day you had met. The feeling of your soft skin resting on his face, breeze blowing against him.

Echo moved his hands to your waist, holding you in his hands like you were made of glass, "Mesh'la, I've.. I believe I've always loved you."

The kiss he was sucked into killed him. Destroyed him. If Echo ever left you, he'd never love again and he believed that with all of his heart. The moment you two shared completely ruined him, he didn't believe there was love other than this. He'd be destined to live out life with you till he died.

"It means that I love her. You'll understand, trust me. Everyone deserves to understand."

You dropped your datapad on the floor, making a loud sound across the hangar. You looked at Echo with a sadness he had never seen you wear. You were so happy all that time ago. But then Fives had left you, the only person who soothed the pain to numbness.

Tears rose, turning your eyes into glossy marbles. You ran at him, maybe with the armor on it would be a heavy hit, but you gave up all sense of logic. Hitting him hard, you clung to him, arms around his neck. But he did what he knew best; Echo caught you in his arms, your feet barley touching the ground as he hid his face in your neck.

You were real. He felt Hunter staring at him but he didn't care. His girl was alive. When Echo let you back on your feet, you held his arms with soft fingers. You were crying, the skin around your eyes red and damp and your nose also red and irritated.

"Echo, my Echo, I knew you'd be alive."

"I did promise you that I wouldn't go anywhere," Echo joked, smiling so wide, tears threatening his own eyes. He felt safe, the least tense he'd been in forever.

"So uhhhh, are we getting a new teammate?" Wrecker asked, voice booming from behind the two of you.

"I hope so," Tech responded, taking a sip out of his glass, "Though it's not likely."

Echo only laughed, shaking his head at the stubborn nerd. 'You also thought it was,' Fives teased before fading into the background as he always did when Echo's thoughts stopped rushing around. They'd stopped a lot recently, ever since the day you first referred to the Havoc as home.

•--•

Masterlist

Hiya lovely! I was wondering if you could do a Bad Batch X blind force sensitive Reader where they did the painting of her on their ship but since she can’t see she doesn’t mention it but the bit are flustered because she’s like their version of a celeb crush because of unorthodox on the battle field.

Very much enjoy reading your stories! 🧡🧡

“Echoes of a Legend”

The Bad Batch x Blind Jedi!Reader

Even before the Order made it official with her rank, she moved through warzones like a rumor given form. Jedi Master [Y/N], field strategist and warrior monk of the Outer Rim campaigns, was a living contradiction—unpredictable, untouchable, devastating.

And blind.

Not metaphorically. Physically. Her eyes were pale and unseeing, but the Force made her a weapon no enemy wanted to face. Not when her saber moved like liquid flame, her bare feet danced across fields of blaster fire, and her instincts cut sharper than any tactical droid could calculate.

Clone troopers told stories of her—how she once Force-flipped an AAT into a ravine because “it was in her way.” How she never issued orders, only spoke suggestions, and somehow her men moved with perfect synchronicity around her. How she’d once been shot clean through the shoulder and kept fighting, citing “mild discomfort.”

To Clone Force 99, she was something between a war icon and a celebrity crush.

They’d never met her. Not officially. But they’d studied her campaigns. Memorized her maneuvers. And after Tech had painstakingly stitched together footage from her battlefield cams, Wrecker had pitched the idea: “We should paint her on the Marauder.”

It had started as a joke.

But then they’d done it.

Nose art, like the old warbirds from Kamino’s ancient archives. Cloak swirling. Lightsaber ignited. Body poised in mid-air, wind tossing her hair. There were probably more elegant ways to honor a Jedi Master. But elegance had never been Clone Force 99’s strong suit.

And now, they were docking on Coruscant.

And she was waiting for them.

“She’s here.”

Hunter stared at the holopad in his hand. Her silhouette stood at the base of the landing platform, backlit by the setting sun, cloak fluttering in the breeze.

“Right,” Echo muttered. “No turning back now.”

“She doesn’t know about the painting,” Crosshair said. It wasn’t a question.

“She’s blind,” Tech replied. “So in all likelihood, no.”

Wrecker, sweating, mumbled, “What if she feels it through the Force?”

No one answered that.

The ramp lowered.

She didn’t move as they descended, but they all felt it—that ripple in the air, like entering the calm center of a storm. She stood still, chin slightly tilted, as if listening to their boots on durasteel. Her hands were clasped loosely behind her back. No lightsaber in sight. But the power radiating off her was unmistakable.

Then she smiled.

“I thought I felt wild energy approaching,” she said, voice warm, low, and confident. “Clone Force 99.”

The voice didn’t match the chaos they’d expected. It was calm. Even soothing.

They all saluted, more out of reflex than formality.

“Master Jedi,” Hunter said, his voice lower than usual.

“‘Master’ is excessive,” you said, tilting your head. “You’re the ones with the art exhibit.”

Hunter’s face went slack. Echo coughed. Tech blinked. Crosshair’s toothpick fell.

Wrecker choked on his own spit.

“…Art?” Echo asked, voice high.

You turned toward the ship—just slightly off to the side.

“The painting. On the nose of your ship. I hear it’s flattering.”

Hunter’s jaw clenched. “You… saw it?”

“No. I heard it. The padawan of the Ninth Battalion told me. With great enthusiasm.”

Wrecker groaned and dropped his helmet onto the ground with a thunk.

“I haven’t looked,” you added gently. “Don’t worry.”

That… only made it worse.

“I wasn’t aware I’d become wartime propaganda,” you continued, starting toward them with measured steps. “But it’s not the strangest thing I’ve encountered.”

Crosshair muttered, “Could’ve fooled me. You yeeted a super tactical droid off a cliff on Umbara.”

“I did,” you replied, smiling faintly. “He was being condescending.”

They walked with you through the plaza toward the Temple, though it felt more like a parade of sheep behind a lion. Despite your calm presence, none of them could relax. Especially not when you turned your head toward them mid-stride and said:

“Which one of you painted it?”

Silence.

Tech cleared his throat. “It was… a collaborative effort. Conceptually mine. Execution—shared.”

You grinned. “Collaborative pin-up Jedi portraiture. You’re pioneers.”

“I’m sorry,” Echo said sincerely. “We meant it as a tribute.”

“I know.” You touched his elbow lightly as you passed. “That’s why I’m not offended.”

Hunter, walking beside you, couldn’t help but glance down. You didn’t wear boots. Just light wrap-around cloth sandals. Not exactly standard issue for a battlefield. But then again, you were anything but standard.

“You don’t need to walk on eggshells around me,” you said to him softly.

“We painted you on our ship,” he replied, the words gravel-rough. “Forgive me if I’m not sure what I can say.”

You turned toward him, unseeing eyes oddly precise. “Say what you mean.”

Wrecker—trailing behind with his helmet under one arm—whispered, “She’s terrifying.”

“Terrifyingly interesting,” Tech whispered back.

“She can hear you,” you called over your shoulder.

Wrecker squeaked.

By the time they reached the Temple steps, all five were sweating—some from nerves, some from heat, some from the sheer existential dread of having their war-crush walking next to them and being nice about the whole embarrassing mural situation.

“You’re staying onboard the Marauder for this mission, aren’t you?” you asked as they paused near the gates.

Hunter nodded. “Yes, Master Jedi.”

“Then I suppose I’ll be seeing myself every time I board.”

Sheer panic.

“But don’t worry,” you added with a smirk, sensing it. “I’ll pretend I don’t know what it looks like.”

Crosshair grumbled, “Or we could repaint it.”

“Don’t,” you said, suddenly serious. “It’s nice to be remembered for something other than war reports.”

And then you were gone—ascending the Temple steps with grace that shouldn’t have belonged to someone without sight, cloak trailing like shadow behind fire.

The Batch stared after you.

“She’s—” Wrecker began.

“I know,” Hunter said, almost reverently.

Echo exhaled. “We’re in trouble.”

Hiya! I absolutely love your writing and always look forward to your posts

I saw that request about the commanders catching you with their helmets on and I was wondering if you could do that but with the bad batch?

Again, love your writing. I hope you have a great day/night!

Hey! Thank you so much—that means a lot to me! 💖

I actually was planning to include the Bad Batch too but wanted to start with just the commanders first.

⸻

HUNTER

You weren’t expecting to get caught.

You were standing in the cockpit, wearing Hunter’s helmet—not for mischief, really, but because you were genuinely curious how he functioned with his enhanced senses dulled. You wanted to know what it was like to see through his eyes. To feel what he felt.

The helmet was heavy. Too heavy.

He walked in mid-thought, and you froze.

Hunter didn’t speak. He just stood there, half in shadow, his brow furrowing slowly like he was processing an entirely new battlefield situation.

You didn’t say anything either. You just… stood there. Helmet on. Stiff-backed. Guilty.

Finally, he stepped forward.

“…That’s mine.”

You took it off and held it out sheepishly. “I wanted to see what you see. It’s filtered. Muffled. How do you live like this?”

Hunter took the helmet from your hands and gave you a long, unreadable look.

“I don’t. I adapt.”

Then he brushed past you—close, deliberate—and you swore his fingers grazed yours just a little longer than necessary.

⸻

WRECKER

“Whoa!”

You heard the booming voice before you could even turn.

You were in the loading bay, helmet pulled low over your face as you tried to figure out how the heck Wrecker even saw through it with one eye. It was like wearing a bucket with a tunnel vision problem.

He charged over with the biggest grin you’d ever seen.

“Look at you! You’re me!”

You pulled the helmet off, grinning. “I don’t know how you walk around with this thing. It’s like being inside a durasteel trash can.”

“I know, right? But it looks great on you!”

He took the helmet back, turning it in his hands, then gave you a wide-eyed look.

“You wanna try my pauldron next?! Or lift something heavy?!”

You laughed. “Maybe next time, big guy.”

Wrecker beamed. “You’re so getting the full Wrecker experience.”

You weren’t sure what that meant, but you were both strangely okay with it.

⸻

TECH

You had only meant to try it on for a second.

But you made the mistake of reading one of his datapads while wearing it. And once the internal HUD booted up? Well, curiosity took over.

Tech returned from the cockpit to find you hunched over in the corner, still wearing his helmet and scanning system diagnostics.

His voice was clipped. “You’re tampering with active interface systems.”

“I’m learning,” you shot back, not looking up.

He blinked, then stepped closer, fingers twitching in that nervous way he did when he wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or horrified.

“You activated my visual overlay filters.”

“I figured out the encryption pattern.”

Now that caught his attention.

He slowly knelt beside you. “How long have you had it on?”

“…Twenty-three minutes?”

He swallowed. “And you’re not… disoriented?”

“Nope. Just slightly overstimulated.”

There was a pause.

Then, quietly: “You may keep it on. Temporarily.”

You turned. “You trust me with your helmet?”

He cleared his throat. “Don’t make it a habit.”

But he was already adjusting the fit at the sides of your head.

⸻

ECHO

Echo did not find it cute.

He found it concerning.

The helmet wasn’t just gear. It was part of his reconstructed identity—a thing he wore not because he wanted to, but because he had to.

So when he saw you on the edge of his bunk, wearing it—your legs swinging slightly, gaze distant—his chest tightened.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice rougher than he meant it to be.

You looked up, startled. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. I was just… wondering what it’s like. Living with this.”

He stepped forward slowly, kneeling to your eye level. “It’s not something I’d want you to understand.”

You pulled the helmet off, placed it in his hands. “I didn’t think about that.”

He let out a quiet breath, then shook his head. “No. You did. That’s why you’re here thinking about it.”

You gave a soft smile. “I wanted to know you better.”

He swallowed hard. “You already do.”

⸻

CROSSHAIR

You knew exactly what you were doing.

And that was the problem.

You sat in the sniper’s perch in the Marauder, elbow on one knee, head tilted just slightly as you stared down at the deck below—wearing his helmet.

You heard the footstep. The sigh.

“Really?” His voice was lazy, drawled out like he wasn’t fazed, but there was a subtle tension underneath.

You didn’t look at him. “I wanted to see what it was like. Looking down on the rest of the world.”

He chuckled once, dry and sharp. “And? Is it satisfying?”

“No. It’s lonely.”

Crosshair was quiet for a long moment. Then he climbed the ladder halfway, leaned against the edge of the platform.

“Don’t get comfortable in it.”

You turned your head, voice just a little softer. “Why not?”

“Because if you wear it any longer, I might start to like it.”

You handed it back.

But you were both thinking about that line for the rest of the day.

Every time you answer one of my requests i giggle and kick my feet while having a little happy meltdown as i read it. Your fics genuinely brighten my day and they make me so happy <3

Anyways-

What about a crosshair x reader where the reader is really happy go lucky and doesn't care about his snarky comments at all (sometimes shooting back a few). BUT- cross lowkey has a crush on them and his comments are his way of flirting. The reader picks up on this and starts "flirting" back with insults and the rest of tbb thinks they're crazy.

Also maybe the reader is also a really good sniper which is why they even caught crosshair's attention in the first place

Ok bye darling i hope you have a good day／night <3

Thank you xx I truly appreciate all the love and comments I get on all my fics ❤️

“Sharp Eyes”

Crosshair x Reader

Blaster‑clean silence ruled the gun‑rack alcove until you flipped the long‑range sight guard open with a soft click.

Crosshair’s pale eyes slid your way. “That latch is louder than your entire trigger discipline.”

You grinned. “Funny—coming from the guy who coughs every time he exhales. You swallowing sand again, long‑neck?”

Echo, working on the nav console across the corridor, winced as though a thermal detonator had rolled under his boots. Wrecker mouthed They’re both crazy, and went back to bench‑pressing a cargo crate.

Crosshair’s lips tugged into what passed for a smile. “Keep rattling, sunshine. Won’t change the grouping on your last target sheet.”

You tilted the datapad so he could see the tight cluster of holes—dead‑center, half‑credit size. “Looks like it changed yours, though. Jealousy kicks the barrel left, apparently.”

For half a heartbeat his eyebrows lifted—barely—but you caught it. That microscopic flash of you‑impressed‑me that he could never quite smother.

He lounged against the bulkhead, toothpick rolling between his lips. “Blind luck.”



“Luck’s just skill nobody believes in yet,” you shot back, sliding the toothpick from his mouth with two fingers before he could react. You tucked it behind your ear, matching his lazy stance. “Besides, you’ve been staring since Ord Mantell. If my shooting’s so bad, why watch?”

Hunter’s tread slowed as he passed, sensing the static but wisely continuing on. Tech muttered from the upper gantry, “Statistical probability of combustive banter reaching critical mass: ninety‑two percent.”

Crosshair’s voice dropped, all gravel and embarrassment he’d rather chew than admit. “Maybe I appreciate a challenge.”

You leaned in, noses a breath apart. “Maybe you appreciate the view.”

Wrecker’s crate hit the deck with a clang. “I knew it! They like‑like each other!” Echo groaned, “Please don’t say ‘like‑like.’”

Crosshair didn’t move, but the tip of his ear darkened. “Put my toothpick back.”

You placed it between his lips, brushing gloved fingertips over the scratch on his chin. “Earn it aft‑side, sharpshooter.”

He caught your wrist—not rough, just sure. “Next op, fifty‑meter wind, angled shot, moving speeder. One bullet. Loser buys rations for a month.”

“Make it two shots,” you purred, pulling free. “One for the target—one to carve my initials in your ego.”

Behind you, the squad’s collective groan thudded louder than artillery. But as you strode toward the weapons locker, you felt his gaze marking every step—steady, precise, unmistakably interested.

And for once, Crosshair let the toothpick rest perfectly still, the curve of his mouth admitting what his words never would: he’d just been out‑sniped at his own game—and he liked it.

Hey! I’m not sure if you’re still doing requests if not completely ignore this lol

But if you are I would love to see a version of TBB x reader where she falls with tech during Plan 99 and they have to survive together and make it back ♥️

“The Fall Doesn’t End You”

The Bad Batch x Reader

You saw it happening too late.

Tech’s voice—calm, resolved, final—echoed over the comms:

“When have we ever followed orders?”

And then he shot the cable.

You screamed his name as the rail car detached and plummeted.

You didn’t think. You couldn’t think. You just ran and jumped.

The world turned into chaos. Smoke. Fire. Wind tearing at your skin. The others were screaming over the comms, but it all became static in your ears.

Your jetpack roared to life, catching you mid-fall. You dove through the air, scanning through smoke and debris—

There.

Tech was falling fast, arms flailing for balance, unable to stabilize.

“I see him—” you gasped.

You slammed into him midair, arms locking tight around his chest.

The jolt nearly knocked the breath out of you both. He twisted in your grip, shocked, eyes wide behind those cracked lenses.

“You—what are you doing?!”

“Saving you, obviously,” you grunted, arms straining as the added weight pulled hard against your pack.

The thrusters shrieked in protest, struggling to adjust. Too much mass. Too much speed.

“I’m going to burn the stabilizers!” you snapped. “Hold on!”

The blast from the pack kicked against the drop, slowing your descent—but not enough. The treeline raced up toward you. Your HUD flashed a critical warning. You’d burn out before you cleared the ridge.

You flipped, twisting mid-air to cushion him as much as you could.

Then—

Impact.

A scream tore from your throat as the world shattered around you. Dirt. Leaves. Stone. The smell of ozone and blood. Something cracked inside your chest. Your pack gave a final shuddering pop before it died completely, hissing smoke.

You rolled, skidding through the underbrush. Your helmet cracked against the earth, and the world blurred at the edges.

Everything hurt.

But you were alive.

And so was he.

You groaned and dragged yourself up, muscles screaming. Your armor was scorched, one gauntlet bent out of shape, ribs probably cracked.

“Tech,” you rasped, blinking through your visor. “Tech—are you—?”

He was lying a few meters away, not moving.

Panic surged in your throat. You stumbled over to him, dropping to your knees.

He groaned—loud, agonized.

Good. Groaning was good. That meant breathing.

“Are you hurt?” you asked, fingers trembling as you touched his faceplate, carefully pried the helmet off. His brow was bleeding now, from the impact, not the fall. His lip was split.

“Left leg…” he grit out. “Something’s wrong. I heard a pop. Possibly dislocated. And my wrist…”

“Don’t move,” you said, voice hardening as you hit your survival mode.

He looked at you, dazed. “You—you caught me.”

“Yeah.” You pulled a half-smirk. “Might wanna say thank you when you’re not bleeding.”

He gave a sharp, breathless huff that might’ve been a laugh.

Then his eyes flicked to your pack, lying in a heap of fried circuits and blackened wires.

“…You’re not flying us out of here, are you?”

You glanced at the damage and exhaled grimly. “Not a chance.”

Your wristplate buzzed. The comm was faint, barely functioning, but you caught Hunter’s voice—choppy, panicked. Static swallowed most of it.

You switched it off. If you could hear them, the Empire might too.

You looked back at Tech. His hand was already moving to retrieve his broken goggles. Always thinking. Always working.

You knelt beside him, breath still ragged, and said low, “We’re not dying here.”

His gaze met yours. Quiet. Sure. Familiar.

“No,” he said. “We aren’t.”

You tightened your grip on your blaster, your hand brushing his for a second longer than necessary.

“Then let’s move.”

⸻

The forest was dense and unforgiving, branches clawing at your armor like hands trying to drag you down. Your muscles burned, and your ribs throbbed with every breath, but you carried Tech over your shoulder, his leg now firmly splinted with scavenged durasteel rods and cloth from your ruined cape.

He didn’t complain once.

He never did.

Even bleeding and pale, his mind was sharp.

“There’s a decommissioned Imperial scout outpost approximately 6.2 kilometers north. If they haven’t wiped the databanks, I might be able to reroute a distress beacon—or override one of their transports.”

“You’re bleeding out,” you grunted. “And I can’t run on half a lung, so let’s just focus on getting there without dying.”

A pause.

Then softly, dryly:

“You’re quite bossy when you’re in pain.”

“You only just noticing?” You smirked through your cracked visor.

“Your wrist?” you asked, eyes scanning the treeline as you pushed through the brush.

“Relocated,” he muttered, breathless but focused. “Painful, but functional.”

“Good.”

His lip twitched. That half-smile — the one that barely anyone else ever noticed.

It was there for you.

You found the outpost by nightfall, hidden beneath a rock shelf, half-collapsed and long abandoned.

It wasn’t empty.

Two scout troopers still patrolled its perimeter—lazy, inattentive. You took them both out silently. One to the throat, the other dropped with a knife to the back.

You dragged Tech inside. He immediately began work at a busted console while you blocked the entry with a broken speeder and set charges at the entrance — just in case.

“Can you fly a Zeta-class transport?” he asked from the shadows.

You blinked. “I can break a Zeta-class in six different ways. Flying one? Yeah.”

He nodded once, expression unreadable, even as he struggled to stay upright.

“Good. There’s one still intact on the lower dock.”

His hands moved fast, bloodied fingers typing commands and bypass codes. “If we time this right, we can access the flight deck and use their call codes to leave under the guise of a refueling run.”

You stared at him. “You think of all this while hanging off my shoulder in the forest?”

He didn’t look up. “I had time.”

There was a moment of silence between you both.

“You shouldn’t have jumped,” he said suddenly, voice soft.

You didn’t look at him. “You shouldn’t have fallen.”

A beat of silence.

“…Statistically, your survival odds were—”

“Tech.”

He paused.

You finally turned to him. “If you say the odds were against me, I’ll break your other leg.”

His eyes flicked down. Another twitch of his lips. “Noted.”

⸻

The escape was anything but smooth.

You blasted off the dock just as alarms blared through the ruined outpost. A TIE patrol picked up your trajectory within minutes, but your flight path was erratic and unpredictable — Tech feeding you nav data mid-chase, even while clutching his leg and gritting his teeth through the pain.

One TIE clipped your right engine.

“We’re going down.”

“Not on my watch,” you hissed, flipping switches, forcing power to the thrusters with every ounce of skill you’d ever learned. The transport rocked violently but didn’t fail.

It took every dirty flying trick in the book, but you broke atmosphere, hit lightspeed, and screamed into the void.

Only when the stars elongated in the viewport did you sag back into the pilot’s seat, chest heaving.

From the co-pilot’s chair, Tech exhaled, his head resting against the panel.

“See?” you whispered. “Told you we weren’t dying.”

His voice came softly. “You’re infuriating.”

You gave him a faint grin. “You’re welcome.”

⸻

When you limped off the stolen transport at the far end of the Ord Mantell hangar, the world felt both heavier and lighter.

You barely took two steps before Wrecker barreled into view, yelling your names like a freight train.

“TECH?! (Y/N)?!”

You barely had time to raise your hand before you were scooped up in a Wrecker hug, your cracked ribs screaming in protest.

Tech was half-carried by Echo, who swore under his breath and held him like he was glass.

Hunter came in slower, quieter—eyes wide with disbelief. He said nothing at first, just looked at you both, jaw tight.

You gave a tired nod.

“We made it.”

“You jumped after him,” Hunter said hoarsely.

“I wasn’t letting him go alone.”

“We thought we lost you both.”

You shrugged, voice rough. “You almost did.”

Then, Omega burst through the crowd.

She barreled past the others, braid flying, and threw herself at Tech, tears streaming down her cheeks.

She collided into Tech so hard it nearly knocked him over—arms thrown around his waist, sobbing into his chestplate. He froze for half a second.

Then, slowly, awkwardly—he put his arms around her.

“I thought you were gone,” she choked out.

He glanced at you over her shoulder. His voice was soft, quiet, and full of something he didn’t have a name for.

“I was. But she caught me.”

Omega pulled back, blinking through tears.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for bringing him back.”

You froze for a second, unsure how to respond.

Then you rested your gloved hand on her head. “Couldn’t leave him. Not even if he wanted me to.”

“But,” you added, “I did have to carry him across half of Eriadu. That’s worth something.”

Tech, for once, didn’t have a comeback. He simply looked at you with those calculating, unreadable eyes of his.

And in that quiet moment, you understood each other completely.

Later That Night Tech sat beside you on the Marauder ramp, stars glittering overhead.

Neither of you said anything for a while.

Then, softly, he spoke.

“You risked everything.”

You leaned back against the hull, shoulder grazing his. “So did you.”

He hesitated. “You don’t… expect me to say anything emotional, do you?”

You snorted. “Stars, no.”

“…Good.”

Another silence.

Then, your fingers brushed his — just slightly. Not grabbing. Just there.

And his hand… stayed.

hi!! I adored your recent tech fic “more than calculations” abd was wondering if I could request something between tech and a reader who doesn’t flirt or do all the romance things kind of how tech is? I love the idea of them having the same way of showing each other love and they just understand each other even if others don’t really understand how they are together! I hope that made a bit of sense 🙈🩷 thank you!! 💗

“Exactly Us”

Tech x Reader

“Are you two… together?”

Omega blinked up at you, head tilted with that signature mix of innocent curiosity and surgical precision, like she was investigating the oddities of adult behavior again.

Tech glanced up from his datapad, not the least bit ruffled. You didn’t look away from the gear you were calibrating, either. A beat passed.

“Yes,” you both said in perfect unison.

Omega squinted, unconvinced.

“But you don’t do anything!” she exclaimed, arms flailing slightly. “No hand-holding, no kissing, no—ugh—staring at each other like Wrecker and that woman from the food stalls!”

You shrugged. “We fixed the water pump system together last night. That was plenty.”

Tech nodded. “And we enjoy our shared quiet time between 2100 and 2130 hours. Typically on the cliffside bench.”

Omega made a face. “That’s it?”

“That is a significant amount of bonding,” Tech replied, tapping at his datapad. “Just because it doesn’t conform to more overt romantic displays does not mean the bond is any less valid.”

You added, without looking up, “We don’t need to prove anything.”

Omega grumbled and wandered off, muttering something about how weird grownups were. You smirked faintly.

When the datapad made a soft chime, Tech turned it toward you. It was a thermal reading—your shared analysis project on the geothermal vents near the northern cliffs.

“You were correct,” he said, adjusting his goggles. “There is a secondary vent system. I suspect it branches beneath the island’s reef shelf.”

You leaned closer to the screen. “Nice. That’ll stabilize the water temps around the farms. You wanna go check it out?”

“Affirmative,” he said. Then, after a pause: “I enjoy when we do these things together.”

You looked up at him and nodded, your version of “I do too.”

The two of you set out across Pabu, walking in companionable silence. You didn’t talk much. You didn’t have to. There was a rhythm, an ease to your presence beside each other. When you handed Tech a scanner without being asked, or when he adjusted your toolbelt with a small, thoughtful flick of his fingers — that was your version of affection.

Sometimes, Wrecker would nudge Crosshair (visiting, grumbling, but always watching) and whisper, “How do they even like each other?”

Crosshair would reply, “They don’t need to. They get each other.”

Later, the sun dipped low, casting warm gold across the cliffs. You and Tech sat side by side on your usual bench. No words. Just a datapad between you, exchanging quiet theories, occasionally pointing at the sea when a bird swooped or a current shifted strangely.

Tech finally broke the silence.

“Most people… expect something different from a relationship. More expression. More effort.”

You looked at him. “This is effort. Just a different kind.”

His lips curled slightly at the edge — his version of a full grin.

“I concur.”

After a moment, he added, “You are the first person I’ve encountered who does not require translation of my silence.”

You gave a small smile and leaned just enough to bump your shoulder against his. “And you’re the first person who doesn’t expect me to say things I don’t feel like saying out loud.”

He reached over and adjusted your sleeve where it had folded weirdly. Not romantic. Not flashy. Just… quietly right.

Behind you, somewhere near the beach, Omega was laughing, chasing a crab and antagonising Crosshair.

But here, in this quiet little corner of peace, you and Tech sat in absolute understanding.

No need to explain. No need to perform. Just existing.

Exactly as you were.

Exactly together.

Bad Batch/Clone Force 99 Material List 🖤♠️💀🩸💋◾️

|❤️ = Romantic | 🌶️= smut or smut implied |🏡= platonic |

The Bad Batch

- x Jedi Reader “About time you showed up” 🏡

- x Reader “permission to feel” 🏡

- x Fem!Reader “ours” ❤️/🏡

- x Fem!Reader “Seconds”🏡

- x Fem!Reader “undercover temptation” 🌶️

- x reader “Say that again?”❤️

- x reader “Echoes in Dust” ❤️🏡

- x Reader “Secrets in the Shadow”

- “The Scent of Home”🏡

- Helmet Chaos ❤️🏡

Hunter

- x Mandalorian Reader pt.1❤️

- x Mandalorian Reader pt. 2❤️

- x Pabu Reader❤️

- x reader “good looking”❤️

- x reader “Ride” 🌶️

- x reader “What is that smell”❤️

- x Plus sized reader “All the parts of you” ❤️

- x Reader “Flower Tactics”

Tech

- x mechanic reader ❤️

- x Jedi Reader “uncalculated variables”❤️

- x Reader “Theoretical Feelings” ❤️

- x Reader “Statistical Probability of Love” ❤️

- x Reader “Sweet Circuits” ❤️

- x Reader “you talk too much (and I like it)”

- x Fem reader “Recalibration” 🌶️

- x Jealous Reader “More than Calculations”

- x Reader “There are other ways”

-“Exactly Us” ❤️

- “The Fall Doesn’t End You” 🏡/❤️

- “Heat Index” ❤️

- “Terminally Yours” ❤️

Wrecker

- x Shop keeper reader❤️

- x Reader “I wanna wreck our friendship”❤️

- x Reader “Grumpy Hearts and Sunshine Shoulders”❤️

- x reader “Big enough to hold you”❤️

- x Torguta Reader “The Sound of Your Voice”❤️

- “Heart of the Wreckage” ❤️

Echo

- x Senator!Reader❤️

- x reader “safe with you”❤️

- “Operation: Stay Forever” ❤️

Crosshair

- x reader “The Stillness Between Waves❤️

- x reader “just like the rest”❤️

- x Fem!Reader “Right on Target” 🌶️

- “Sharp Eyes” ❤️

Captain Howzer

- x Twi’lek Reader “Quiet Rebellion”❤️

- “A safe place to fall” ❤️

Overall Material List

Hi, I saw request are open so I hope sending this is okay:). I had an idea that been lingering and I’d like to see if you could write it, possibly? Imagine a reader getting jealous about the friendship between Tech and Phee. I guess in this scenario reader and tech are an established couple? It honestly could go anyway you’d like it to:) My thoughts on this aren’t fully fleshed out so feel free to go crazy with this!:) I just love jealous tropes.

“More Than Calculations”

Tech x Jealous Reader

You didn’t mean to watch them.

It just… kept happening.

You were sitting at the workbench, fiddling with a half-stripped blaster that didn’t need fixing. From the corner of your eye, you could see them—Phee perched on a crate, animated, leaning closer to Tech as he adjusted something on his datapad.

She laughed again, this carefree, almost flirty kind of laugh that curled around your spine like a hook.

“That’s incredible,” she said, bumping her shoulder lightly into his. “You know more about lost hyperspace lanes than some of the old-timers back on Skara Nal.”

Tech pushed his goggles up, his voice as even as always. “Well, yes. I’ve extensively studied astro-cartography from several civilizations. Your planet’s archival inconsistencies, however, are particularly fascinating—”

“Oh, I know. That’s why I like talking to you.” Phee grinned, her hand brushing against his arm.

You clenched your jaw.

She didn’t mean anything by it, right? She was just… being Phee. Loud, curious, magnetic.

But still.

It didn’t sit right. The way she touched him. The way Tech didn’t even flinch or notice. You knew he wasn’t wired like other people—emotions weren’t instinctive for him. He didn’t register subtle cues, or the way someone’s gaze lingered just a moment too long. And he sure as hell didn’t understand flirting, not unless it came with a schematic.

But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Later that night, after Phee had left for wherever she stored herself when not draped across your crew’s day-to-day, you found Tech alone in the cockpit, typing furiously into his datapad.

You stood there for a moment, arms folded, watching him.

He didn’t look up. “I am currently cataloging several of Phee’s findings regarding Nabooan artifacts. Some of the data is poorly organized, but she has a surprising eye for—”

“You two seem close,” you interrupted, trying to sound neutral. The words landed heavy.

Tech finally looked up.

“Who?” he asked.

“Phee.”

He blinked. “Ah. I suppose. We have engaged in mutual information exchange on several occasions. Her questions, though often imprecise, are not unintelligent.”

You sat beside him, slowly. “You don’t… think she’s being a little too friendly?”

He tilted his head, confused. “Friendly?”

You sighed. “Touchy. Flirty. You don’t notice the way she leans into you? Or calls you ‘Brown eyes’?”

Tech frowned slightly, processing. “She is expressive. That is her personality.”

“Yeah, well, it’s starting to feel like she’s trying to rewrite your personality while she’s at it.”

There was silence. You hated how small your voice had gotten.

“I just… I don’t like the way she looks at you.”

Tech regarded you with quiet intensity, the kind he reserved for situations he didn’t quite know how to calculate. “Are you implying you feel… threatened?”

You stared at your hands. “I don’t know. Maybe. She’s got this charm, this thing that draws people in. And I… I know I’m not always easy. I’m not flirty or magnetic. I just— I love you. A lot. And I guess I just… worry that it’s not enough to keep someone’s attention.”

His brow furrowed, and then he reached out, gently brushing your hand with his. “You are not somebody, cyare. You are my person. I do not compare you to others. There is no calculation in that. No contest. You… are the constant.”

You looked up, heart catching.

“Then why don’t you ever push her away?” you asked quietly. “Even just a little?”

Tech took a moment. “Because it never occurred to me that she might need to be pushed away. But if it makes you uncomfortable—”

“It does.”

“—then I will create distance. Immediately.”

You blinked. “Really?”

“Of course,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the galaxy. “Your comfort is more important than her enthusiasm.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. He squeezed your hand. “Next time, just tell me. I know I miss things. But I will always listen to you.”

Just then, as if summoned, Phee’s voice rang out down the hall: “Hey Brown Eyes, you got a minute?”

You tensed instinctively, but Tech didn’t even glance at the door. His gaze stayed on you, steady and unshakable.

“I’m currently engaged,” he called back. “Perhaps later.”

There was a pause. Then a short, “Huh. Alright.”

You could almost hear the smile behind it.

When the silence settled again, Tech leaned in and said softly, “May I continue cataloging your facial expressions now? I find them far more interesting.”

You rolled your eyes and kissed him, right on the mouth.

“Only if you add ‘jealous’ to the data bank,” you teased.

He kissed you again. “Already done.”

Hi! I had an idea for a Bad Batch or even 501st x Fem!Reader where the reader has a rather large chest and when it gets hot she wears more revealing items and the boys get distracted and flustered? I love the stuttering and blushing boys and confidence reader stuff. Nothing too explicit or so maybe just flirting and teasing. Hope this is ok! If not I totally understand! Xx

“Too Hot to Handle”

Fem!Reader x The Bad Batch

You had a feeling the Republic’s definition of “temperate” varied wildly from your own. The jungle planet was a boiling mess of humidity and unrelenting heat—and your standard gear? Suffocating. So, you did what any sane woman would do: ditched the jacket, rolled up your tank top, and tied your hair up to survive the heat.

The result? Your… assets were on full display.

“Maker,” you heard someone mutter behind you.

You glanced back over your shoulder, smirking. Tech had walked face-first into a tree branch. Crosshair snorted.

“I told you to look where you’re going.”

“I was looking,” Tech replied, voice just a little too high-pitched to be believable, glasses fogging.

Hunter cleared his throat and tried very hard to keep his eyes on the map in his hands. “Alright. Let’s move out.”

“I don’t mind staying here a bit longer,” Echo said, then instantly regretted it when you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh?” you asked, strolling up to him. “Because of the view?”

Echo flushed crimson from ears to collarbone. “I—I didn’t—I meant the trees. The foliage. The scenery. The mission. Definitely not you.” He looked like he wanted the jungle to swallow him whole.

Crosshair rolled his eyes, muttering something about “bunch of kriffin’ cadets.”

You leaned toward him, hands on your hips. “Not enjoying the view, sniper?”

He gave you a cool look. “I’ve seen better.”

But the twitch at the corner of his mouth told you otherwise.

Wrecker, on the other hand, had absolutely no filter.

“You look awesome!” he beamed. “Kinda like one of those holonet dancers! Only cooler. And better armed!”

You laughed. “Thanks, Wreck. At least someone appreciates fashion.”

Hunter still hadn’t said anything. You stepped closer, just close enough that your shadow fell over him.

“Something wrong, Sarge?”

His gaze finally met yours. His pupils were slightly dilated. “You’re, uh… distracting.”

You grinned. “Good.”

He cleared his throat. “Let’s keep moving. Before someone passes out.”

You turned, leading the squad again with an extra sway in your hips—just for fun.

Behind you, a chorus of groans, a snapped branch, and Tech asking if overheating counted as a medical emergency confirmed one thing:

Mission accomplished.

⸻

You knew exactly what you were doing.

The jungle’s heat hadn’t let up, but neither had the effect your outfit was having on the squad. Sweat clung to your skin, your tank top clinging in all the right (or wrong) places. Every time you adjusted the strap or tugged your top down slightly to cool off, you heard someone behind you trip, cough, or mutter a strangled curse.

Crosshair was chewing on the toothpick like it owed him credits. Echo’s scomp link clinked against his chest plate as he tried and failed to keep his eyes off you. Tech had adjusted his goggles four times in the last minute and was now walking with a datapad suspiciously close to his face—like he was trying to use it as a shield.

And Hunter?

Hunter looked like he was in hell.

You’d catch him watching you—eyes flickering up and down, then away, jaw tight, nostrils flaring like he was trying to rein himself in.

“Everything alright, Sarge?” you asked sweetly, dabbing sweat from your neck and catching his gaze as it dropped.

His voice cracked. “Fine. Just… focused on the terrain.”

“Funny,” you said, stepping close, letting your voice dip low. “I thought the terrain was behind you.”

Crosshair choked.

Hunter exhaled, flustered and trying not to visibly short-circuit. “Focus, all of you. We’ve got a job to do.”

“Hard to focus,” Echo muttered under his breath. “Some of us are… visually impaired by distraction.”

“Visual impairment is no excuse for tactical inefficiency,” Tech said quickly, though his goggles were definitely still fogged.

“You need help cleaning those, Tech?” you offered, reaching for his face.

He actually jumped back. “N-No! That is—unnecessary! I am quite—capable!”

“Ohhh, she’s killing ‘em,” Wrecker laughed, totally unfazed. “This is better than a bar fight!”

“Speak for yourself,” Crosshair growled, barely maintaining composure as you brushed past him.

You were leading again now, hips swaying slightly more than necessary, hair sticking to your damp neck in a way that was definitely catching eyes. You tugged your top lower again and heard an audible thunk—someone had walked into another branch.

“Seriously?” you called over your shoulder, amused.

There was silence, then a shame-filled voice: “…Echo.”

You bit back a laugh.

Hunter suddenly barked, “Break time. Ten minutes.”

The squad dropped like they’d been released from a death march.

You stretched languidly, arms up, chest forward, fully aware of the eyes glued to you.

“Maker,” Hunter muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m gonna lose my mind.”

You leaned in close, hand on your hip, voice like honey. “Want some water, Sergeant?”

He blinked at you. Twice. “If I say yes, are you going to pour it over yourself again?”

“…Maybe.”

He turned a deeper shade of red than his bandana. “You’re evil.”

“You like it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

And just like that—you turned and walked away, leaving five broken clones behind you, questioning every life choice that had led them to this mission.

Hi! I was so happy to see you take requests!! I was wondering if you could do a Hunter X reader where she takes care of his hair? Plays with it and brushes it maybe then he confesses his love for her?

You write so beautifully and I would love to see any of your added flare! 💖

“Flower Tactics”

Hunter x Reader

You’d never admit it out loud, but you were obsessed with Hunter’s hair.

Not just in a “wow, that man is rugged and beautiful” kind of way—which he was, obviously—but in a “let me run my fingers through it and brush it until it shines like war-hardened silk” kind of way. It was therapeutic. Meditative. And, much to your delight, he let you do it.

Today, he sat cross-legged on a crate while you perched behind him on a bench, methodically brushing through his dark locks. His bandana was off, laying beside him, and he looked entirely too relaxed for a trained soldier.

“Y’know,” you mused as you carefully untangled a knot, “if you were any more relaxed, I’d think you were napping.”

“I might be,” Hunter replied, voice low and content. “Your fingers are dangerous. You could put a rancor to sleep with that touch.”

“Is that a compliment or a warning?”

“Both.”

You laughed and leaned forward slightly, tugging the brush down again. “So… you’re telling me I have tactical hair magic?”

“I’m saying if you ever turn on us, brushing me into unconsciousness would be an effective ambush.”

A beat passed.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said sweetly, and Hunter let out a low, amused chuckle.

“I like her,” Wrecker announced from across the Marauder’s hull. He was munching on something that definitely wasn’t a vegetable. “She’s got a whole plan to take you down, and you’re just sittin’ there like a sleepy tooka.”

“Only because you’re jealous I’ve got hair to brush,” Hunter quipped back.

Wrecker puffed out his chest dramatically. “You think if I glue some on, she’ll brush mine too?”

“No,” you replied immediately. “But I’ll draw flowers on your scalp.”

Tech sighed. “Please don’t encourage him.”

“Oh, I’m not encouraging,” you grinned. “I’m enabling. Very different.”

You reached into the little pouch at your side and pulled out a tiny cluster of wildflowers—yellow, blue, soft white. Carefully, you started weaving them into Hunter’s braid.

He noticed.

“…Are you putting flowers in my hair?” His voice held that dangerous edge, but you could hear the smile buried underneath.

“Absolutely.”

“I’m a soldier.”

“Even soldiers deserve to look cute.”

“Cute?” he asked, amused.

“Devastatingly cute,” you corrected, giving the braid a final tug. “There. Now you’re battle-ready and bouquet-chic.”

From the back, Echo groaned. “I can’t believe I’m seeing this.”

“You’re just mad no one wants to flower-bomb your hair,” you teased.

“He doesn’t have any,” Omega piped up helpfully, skipping into the room. She stopped in front of Hunter and beamed. “You look so pretty!”

Hunter raised an eyebrow. “Pretty, huh?”

“You should let her do your hair every day,” Omega added slyly. “You smile more when she’s touching it.”

Hunter froze. So did you.

Wrecker burst into laughter so loud it shook the crate.

“Oof! She got you good!” he said, pointing at Hunter like it was the funniest thing he’d seen all week.

You cleared your throat, cheeks warm. “Smart kid.”

“She’s not wrong,” Hunter muttered.

You blinked. “…What?”

Hunter turned, slowly, looking up at you with that intense expression that made your brain short-circuit. “I do smile more when you touch me.”

It wasn’t a tease. It wasn’t a joke.

He meant it.

Your breath caught in your throat. “That’s… dangerous information.”

“I trust you with it.” His gaze softened. “And maybe a little more than that.”

You stared at him, heart hammering. “Are you saying…?”

“I’m saying I love it when you brush my hair. I love it when you laugh. I love it when you drive the others crazy, and when you sneak me extra caf rations, and when you make even this ship feel like home.”

Wrecker snorted. “Finally.”

Echo made a gagging noise. Tech muttered, “Statistically speaking, it was only a matter of time.”

Omega clapped her hands and declared, “About time!”

Hunter smiled up at you through his flower-crowned braid. “So? What do you say?”

You bent down and kissed his forehead, fingers brushing gently through his hair. “I say… I’m going to need a lot more flowers.”

⸻

The ship had gone still.

No snark from Echo. No clanking from Wrecker. No light tinkering from Tech. Even Omega was tucked into her bunk, curled up with Lula like the galaxy couldn’t touch her.

And in the silence of that rare peace, Hunter sat on the edge of your bed with his back to you, braid still woven down his back, the tiny wildflowers now a little wilted from the heat of the day.

You stepped behind him quietly, holding the soft brush he always let you use. Always yours to borrow.

“Can I?” you asked gently, even though you both already knew the answer.

Hunter nodded once. “Please.”

So you started at the bottom—slowly, carefully loosening the braid, your fingers delicate. The petals came free one by one, falling onto the blanket like pieces of some strange memory.

He didn’t speak. Not yet.

And you didn’t push him.

Instead, you moved gently through his hair, unwinding the tightness of the day. With each pass of your hands, his shoulders lowered, his breath slowed.

You didn’t need the words.

But you wanted them.

You loved him. You’d known it for a while now. And maybe you were scared that if you said it, it would break the fragile, perfect peace that this quiet moment gave you both.

But you didn’t have to say it first.

He did.

Softly. Barely above a whisper. Like it had been resting on his tongue all day, just waiting to be safe enough to speak.

“I love you.”

You froze—just for a breath. Then smiled so softly it ached in your chest.

“I know,” you whispered back, fingers brushing behind his ear. “I’ve known.”

He turned to look at you. Hair loose, shadowed eyes soft, vulnerability written in every line of his face.

“Then why haven’t you said it?”

You leaned in, resting your forehead against his. “Because I wanted you to say it first.”

Hunter huffed out a tiny laugh. “Tactical move.”

“Always,” you smiled.

He reached up and cupped your jaw gently, his touch feather-light. “I love you,” he repeated, more sure now. “Not just when you’re brushing my hair. Not just when you’re teasing the others. Always.”

You kissed him this time—slow and lingering, hands tangled in his now-loose hair, wild and soft between your fingers.

“I love you too,” you whispered into the space between your lips.

The flowers were gone. The braid undone.

But somehow, this moment felt even more whole.

“Recalibration”

Tech x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Suggestive content, spicy tension, clothing still on, touches and innuendo, mild dominance/control themes

You’d noticed it before—how Tech’s fingers twitched just slightly when you leaned over him to grab a datapad. How his jaw clenched when you touched his shoulder in passing. The way his eyes—behind those lenses—followed you a fraction too long.

You didn’t push. Not at first. But you knew.

You knew.

And you waited.

Until now.

The Marauder was parked and quiet. Everyone else was either sleeping or out doing recon. You stayed behind under the excuse of “gear maintenance,” but Tech knew that was a lie. You could see it in the way he hadn’t looked up from his diagnostics once since you sat down across from him. But the corner of his mouth twitched like he was waiting for something.

The tension was coiled between you like a tripwire.

You stretched, slowly, arms overhead—shirt lifting just slightly at the waist—and Tech’s eyes flicked upward before he caught himself and looked back down.

But not fast enough.

You smiled.

“Problem, Tech?”

He adjusted his goggles. “No. Merely running recalibrations on the navigation matrix. Your movement caught my periphery.”

“My movement?”

He paused. “…yes.”

You stood and crossed to him, leaning on the console, your hip nearly brushing his shoulder.

“I don’t think it’s the matrix that needs recalibrating.”

He stilled.

When he looked up this time, there was something… not clinical in his expression. Something sharp. Focused. Hungry.

“You’re provoking a reaction,” he said, voice low.

“I know.”

He rose slowly, the air between you crackling with heat. He stepped forward—and kept stepping until your back hit the bulkhead behind you. The flat metal cooled your skin where your spine met it. His hand came up beside your head, not touching but close enough to make your breath catch.

“I’ve been very patient,” he murmured, eyes scanning yours like he was mapping terrain.

“Too patient,” you said, voice a whisper.

His hand ghosted up your arm. “You want satisfaction.”

It wasn’t a question.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

He leaned in, lips brushing your jaw—not quite kissing, not yet. His hand slipped around your waist, fingers splayed, controlling without force.

“I’m accustomed to solving problems with precision,” he said, mouth at your ear now, voice as steady as a scalpel. “And I have studied you—extensively.”

You let out a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh.

“You’ve been studying me?”

“I observe everything,” he said simply. “The way your breath hitches when I remove my gloves. The way your pupils dilate when I speak close to your ear. The way you pretend not to notice when I watch you.”

His hand moved lower—fingertips dragging slowly, teasing over fabric.

“I’ve considered all variables,” he went on. “The tension. The time. The proximity. And I’ve concluded…”

His lips finally pressed to yours—precise, controlled, until you responded with something not controlled at all. Then he let go. Just a little.

You moaned against his mouth, hands gripping the front of his gear, pulling him in. His kiss deepened, mouth commanding now, and he pressed you harder into the wall, like he’d been waiting months for this.

Maybe he had.

When he pulled back, barely, he breathed:

“I am very thorough.”

You laughed, a little breathless, a little wrecked.

“I can tell.”

Tech’s hand curved along the inside of your thigh, over clothes, but still enough to make you shudder.

He tilted his head. “Your reaction suggests positive feedback.”

You kissed him again—harder this time—and gasped against his mouth. “Keep going and I’ll give you a damn thesis.”

His smirk was quick and hot and wicked.

“Excellent. I do enjoy peer-reviewed results.”

And then he was kissing you again, touch deliberate, every movement calculated for maximum effect—like you were another piece of tech he had mastered. Only this time, you were the one burning under his hands, unraveling under precision.

No chaos.

No wild passion.

Just sharp edges.

Purpose.

Satisfaction.

Happy Weekend! I was wondering if you could do an angst fic w/ TBB x Fem!Reader where they’re on a mission and the ground crumbles beneath her and she falls and they think she could be dead? Thanks! Xx

Happy Thursday! Sorry for the delay, I hope this is somewhat what you had in mind😊

“Echoes in the Dust”

The Bad Batch x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Falling, presumed death, grief, survivor’s guilt, panic

The ridge was narrow. Too narrow.

You moved with your blaster raised and your jaw set, following closely behind Wrecker as the team pushed forward. The rocky terrain was riddled with ravines, fault lines, and fractured earth—left scarred by years of shelling and seismic bombardments. The mission was supposed to be simple: infiltrate a Separatist holdout and extract data.

It was never simple.

“Movement on the northwest cliff,” you called into your comm. “Looks like clankers repositioning.”

“Copy that,” Echo’s voice crackled. “Tech, I’m sending coordinates to your pad.”

Hunter glanced back at you, just a flick of his head, a silent confirmation. You nodded. I’m good.

You were always good. Until the ground gave out beneath you.

It was subtle at first—just a soft shift under your boots, like loose gravel. But then came the snap. A hollow, wrenching crack that echoed through the canyon like thunder. The rock splintered beneath your feet. You didn’t have time to scream.

Just time to look up—into Hunter’s eyes.

“[Y/N]—!”

You dropped.

The last thing you saw was his outstretched hand, just a second too late.

Then the world became air and stone and darkness.

⸻

Above, everything exploded into chaos.

Hunter hit the ridge on his knees, arms dragging at loose rock, clawing like an animal trying to dig you back out. “No, no, no—”

Echo slid in beside him, scanning with one cybernetic arm extended. “I can’t see her. It’s—kriff—it’s a vertical drop. She went straight down.”

“I should’ve grabbed her!” Wrecker was pacing in wild circles, fists clenched, eyes wet. “I was right in front of her—I should’ve—she was right there!”

“She didn’t even scream,” Echo murmured. “She just… vanished.”

“I’m scanning for vitals,” Tech said, already tapping furiously at his datapad, but his voice was thin. “There’s no signal. No movement. Her comm—either it was destroyed in the fall or… or she’s—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Hunter snapped, voice like a knife.

The wind howled through the crevice she’d fallen into, dragging dust and silence with it.

Crosshair stood several meters back, motionless, his DC-17M dangling loosely in his grip.

“Say it,” Echo growled, glaring at him. “You’ve been quiet this whole time. Just say whatever snide thing you’re thinking so we can all lose it together.”

Crosshair’s eyes flicked up, storm-gray and unreadable.

“She’s dead.”

“Shut your mouth!” Wrecker roared, storming toward him, but Echo shoved himself in between.

“She could be alive,” Echo said fiercely, though his voice cracked. “It’s possible. People survive worse.”

Crosshair didn’t move. “Not from that height.”

“I said shut it!” Wrecker shoved him back, but it was all broken fury—guilt bleeding through his rage. “She was smiling, dammit. Right before. She looked at me and said, ‘We’ll all get out of this,’ and I didn’t even answer her back—!”

“Stop.” Hunter’s voice cut clean through the storm.

He stood now, rigid and furious, his back to the team, staring into the void where you’d fallen.

“She’s alive,” he said.

Tech looked up from his pad slowly. “Statistically—”

“I don’t give a damn about statistics.” His voice was hoarse. “I felt her. She was right here. She’s part of us. She wouldn’t just be… gone.”

His hand trembled slightly. Not from fear. From the weight of it.

He was the one who told you to cover the flank. He was the one who said the ridge was stable enough.

She trusted you, Crosshair had said.

No. She trusted him.

And he’d failed her.

Hunter turned and began strapping a rope to his belt.

“Sergeant?” Tech asked cautiously.

“We’re going down there. All of us. We don’t stop until we find her. I don’t care if we have to tear the planet apart.”

Echo moved first. “I’m with you.”

Wrecker stepped up beside them, his breath hitching. “Me too. Always.”

Even Crosshair nodded, silent again.

As Hunter stood at the edge, ready to descend into the place where you vanished, a single thought thundered in his mind:

She can’t be gone.

Not you.

Not when your laugh was still echoing in his ears. Not when you told him last night, during watch, that you’d be careful. Not when he never got to tell you that he needed you more than he ever let on.

He’d find you.

Or die trying.

⸻

The descent into the ravine was slow, agonizing, and silent.

The team moved as one—Hunter leading with a lantern clipped to his belt, casting narrow beams over jagged rock and twisted earth. Echo and Tech followed with scanners, mapping every crevice. Wrecker moved boulders with his bare hands, gritting his teeth with each one. Crosshair, ever the rear guard, watched from behind, but his silence was sharp, eyes flicking everywhere.

Hunter’s voice echoed through the narrow stone corridor. “Check every ledge. Every outcropping.”

“She could’ve hit a rock shelf and rolled,” Echo said, carefully scanning below. “Or worse…”

“Don’t,” Wrecker said. “Don’t even say it. She’s alive. She has to be.”

They moved deeper into the ravine—until the beam of Hunter’s light caught something.

“Wait,” Tech whispered, grabbing Echo’s arm.

There—thirty feet below them, half-buried under collapsed shale and bloodied stone—was a figure.

Your figure.

You were sprawled on your side, your body twisted unnaturally, one leg crushed beneath a slab of rock. Blood soaked through your jacket. Your head had struck something hard—too hard—and you weren’t moving.

Hunter nearly dropped the lantern.

“[Y/N]—!”

He was down the rest of the way before anyone could stop him, crashing to his knees beside you.

“Don’t move her!” Echo shouted, sliding in behind. “Not yet. Let me check—”

But Hunter’s hands were already trembling as they hovered over you, too afraid to touch. Too afraid that this—this fragile, broken thing—was all that was left.

“She’s breathing,” Echo said. “Shallow. Pulse is—kriff—irregular. She’s lost a lot of blood.”

Wrecker dropped beside them, tears already streaking the dust on his cheeks.

“Is she—? She’s gonna make it, right? Echo?”

“She’s unconscious,” Echo said quietly. “And we need to get her out now.”

“Spinal trauma is possible,” Tech added, eyes locked on his scanner. “Multiple fractures. Her femur is broken—bleeding into the tissue. Concussion. Rib damage. Internal bleeding likely.”

Crosshair didn’t come any closer. He stood just at the edge of the light, staring down at you with an unreadable expression.

“You said she was dead,” Wrecker growled, voice shaking.

Crosshair didn’t respond.

Because he knew now—death would’ve been kinder than this.

The med evac was chaotic.

Hunter carried you the entire climb back—refused to let anyone else even try. He held you close to his chest like something fragile, as if you’d fall again if he let go. Your blood had soaked through his armor by the time they reached the surface.

Back on the Marauder, the team worked together in silent urgency. Wrecker helped secure you to the gurney. Echo and Tech patched what they could. Crosshair kept watch, pacing like a trapped animal.

And Hunter… he sat beside you.

His hands were covered in your blood.

“I should’ve caught you,” he whispered.

No one argued. No one corrected him.

Because part of them believed it too.

You twitched in your sleep once—just a small movement, a flicker of pain across your brow—and Hunter nearly leapt out of his seat.

“She moved!” he barked.

“She’s still unconscious,” Tech reminded. “That doesn’t guarantee cognition. The swelling in her brain—”

“I don’t care what the scans say,” Hunter growled. “She’s fighting.”

He reached down and brushed a blood-matted strand of hair from your face.

“You hear me?” he whispered, voice cracking. “You hold on. You fight like you always do. You’re not going to leave us like this.”

Wrecker sat on the floor beside the cot, staring at your hand dangling off the edge.

“You’re not allowed to die, okay?” he said, softly, almost childlike. “You still owe me a rematch.”

Echo leaned against the wall, arms crossed, jaw clenched tight. “She shouldn’t have been the one to fall. It should’ve been—”

“Don’t,” Tech said, just as quiet. “We all blame ourselves. That’s not useful now.”

Only Crosshair said nothing.

But later—when the others had finally dozed off in shifts, and the med droid was running scans—he sat beside you alone.

“Idiots, all of them,” he muttered. “They think they lost you. I know better.”

He rested his hand beside yours.

“You’re not dead. You’re just too damn stubborn.”

There was a pause.

“…So come back. Or I’ll never forgive you.”

You didn’t wake up that night. Or the next.

But your vitals held.

You were still fighting.

And the squad—your family—never left your side.

⸻

It started with a sound.

A weak, choked wheeze from the medbay.

Wrecker heard it first—he’d been sitting on the floor beside your cot for the past hour, humming under his breath and telling you stories like he had every day since they pulled you from the ravine.

But when he heard your breathing stutter—heard that awful, wet gasp—he was on his feet in an instant.

“Tech!”

Footsteps thundered in from the cockpit.

Tech was there in seconds, datapad in one hand, expression already shifting from calculation to panic.

“Vitals are dropping. Pulse erratic. Respiratory distress—dammit—her lung may have collapsed.”

The med droid whirred a warning in binary, and Tech shoved it aside, already working to stabilize you. Wrecker stood frozen, fists clenched at his sides, helpless as machines blared and blood began soaking through your bandages again.

“She was getting better,” Wrecker whispered. “She was breathing normal yesterday. You said she was stabilizing!”

“I said her vitals were holding,” Tech snapped, voice tight and uncharacteristically sharp. “I also said we didn’t know the full extent of internal damage yet. The concussion is worsening. There’s pressure building against her brainstem. Her body is going into systemic shock.”

“Then fix it!” Wrecker’s voice cracked. “You fix everything! Please—”

Tech’s hands moved fast, too fast—grabbing gauze, recalibrating IV drips, re-administering stimulants. But beneath the precision was fear. A gnawing, brittle kind of fear that made his fingers shake.

“I’m trying,” Tech said, barely above a whisper now. “I’m trying, Wrecker.”

Your body jerked suddenly—just a twitch, but it sent a ripple of panic through them both.

Tech cursed under his breath. “She needs proper medical facilities. A bacta tank. A neuro-regeneration suite. This ship is not equipped to handle this kind of trauma long-term.”

“So what, we just wait and watch her die?” Wrecker whispered.

“No!” Tech snapped, louder this time. “We don’t let her die.”

He slammed his fist down on the console—just once—but the sound echoed like a gunshot through the Marauder. Wrecker flinched. Tech never lost control. Never raised his voice. Never made a sound unless it meant something.

And now, he looked like he was about to break.

“I’ve calculated a thousand outcomes,” Tech murmured, softer now. “And every variable keeps changing. Her body is unpredictable. She’s unstable. But she’s also resilient. She’s survived things that should’ve killed her ten times over.”

He looked up then, eyes glassy behind his goggles.

“But if we don’t find a way to get her real care—soon—we will lose her.”

Wrecker turned away, one massive hand covering his face. He’d never felt so useless. Not when they’d crashed on Ordo. Not when they’d been stranded on Ryloth. Never like this.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said. “I’m strong. I can carry her. Fight for her. But I can’t fix her, Tech. I can’t even hold her without hurting her worse.”

Tech approached quietly, placing a hand on Wrecker’s shoulder—a rare gesture.

“You are helping,” he said. “You’re keeping her tethered. She needs that. She needs us.”

The med console beeped—soft, steady. A pause.

Then a spike.

Her heart rate surged. Your head tilted slightly to the side. Blood trickled from your nose. Another alarm.

“No, no, no—stay with us,” Tech muttered, already grabbing the stabilizer. “Don’t go. Not yet.”

Wrecker dropped to his knees beside you, voice trembling.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You don’t get to leave like this. You didn’t even finish your story about the time you pantsed Crosshair in front of the general. Remember that?”

He sniffed, brushing a strand of hair from your sweat-slicked face. “You said you’d tell me how you pulled it off without getting court-martialed. Said you’d sing me that dumb lullaby you like. Said you’d stay.”

Your fingers twitched.

A tiny movement. Almost nothing.

But Wrecker gasped.

“She moved!”

Tech’s head snapped up. “What?”

“She moved! Her hand—right here—she twitched.”

Tech scanned you again. “Neurological activity spiked. Minimal, but—”

You let out a weak, pained breath.

Another wheeze. Then a garbled sound—almost like a word, trapped somewhere deep in your throat.

“…H-Hun…ter…”

Both men froze.

Tears filled Wrecker’s eyes.

“She said his name…”

“She’s still in there,” Tech whispered, blinking quickly. “Cognitive reflexes are initiating. That’s… that’s something.”

He turned to Wrecker, and for once, there was nothing cold or clinical in his tone.

“There’s still time.”

They kept watch through the night. Neither slept.

Wrecker read to you from the old datapad you always teased him for hoarding.

Tech adjusted your vitals every hour, even when nothing had changed, just to keep his hands busy.

And in the silence between beeping monitors and heavy breaths, they both spoke to you—about nothing, about everything.

Wrecker told you about the time he and you almost got arrested on Corellia for stealing bad caf. How your laugh had made him feel human again.

Tech told you the probability of your survival was now sitting at 18.6%, up from 9%. And that statistically, if anyone could beat the odds, it was you.

Wrecker chuckled through his tears. “Told you, didn’t I? Too stubborn to die.”

Tech looked down at your still hand, then whispered—just once—“Please… don’t.”

⸻

The Marauder was silent.

Tech had finally collapsed from exhaustion in the co-pilot seat, goggles askew, still clutching the datapad with your vitals. Wrecker was curled on the floor next to your bed, snoring lightly with one hand near yours. Crosshair sat with his back to the far wall, arms crossed, eyes closed—but not asleep.

And Echo stayed awake.

He always did.

He was seated at your bedside, one cybernetic hand gently resting on the edge of the cot. The hum of the ship’s systems filled the space between the heart monitor’s steady rhythm. Your breathing—still shallow, but no longer ragged—was the only music Echo needed.

He hadn’t moved for hours.

You’d gotten worse. Then better. Then worse again. And through all of it, he’d held on. Let the others break. Let them rage. He had to be the one who didn’t fall apart.

But now, as he sat alone in the flickering light, his thumb brushed your bandaged hand—and he whispered, “You can’t keep scaring us like this.”

Your lips moved.

Barely.

He straightened. “Hey…?”

Your fingers twitched under his hand.

Your head shifted slightly on the pillow, a soft whimper escaping your throat. Your eyelashes fluttered—slow, disoriented, like your mind hadn’t caught up to your body.

“Hey.” Echo leaned closer, voice trembling now. “Come on… come on, mesh’la. You’re safe.”

Your eyes opened.

Just a sliver at first. Squinting into the low light.

“…Echo…?”

It was a rasp, a whisper, but it was real.

Echo’s mouth fell open.

And for the first time since the fall—since the screaming, the blood, the race against time—his composure cracked.

You blinked slowly, pain visible behind your glazed eyes. “W-Where…?”

“Still on the Marauder. We haven’t moved. We couldn’t.” His voice was low and hoarse. “You weren’t stable enough.”

Your brow furrowed faintly. “Hurts.”

“I know.” He gently adjusted your oxygen mask, smoothing your hair back. “You took a hell of a fall.”

You tried to shift, but your body betrayed you—wracked with weakness, ribs aching, limbs sluggish.

Echo placed a firm hand on your shoulder. “Don’t move yet. Please. Just stay still.”

You obeyed—too tired to fight it.

“I thought…” You coughed, eyes fluttering. “Thought I heard Wrecker crying.”

Echo actually smiled, though his eyes were wet. “Yeah. That happened.”

You let out the faintest exhale—almost a laugh. “He’s a big softie.”

“Only for you,” Echo whispered, squeezing your hand carefully. “You scared him half to death.”

There was a long pause.

You looked up at him, brow knitting again.

“…You thought I was gone, didn’t you?”

Echo’s throat tightened. “We all did.”

“But you stayed.”

“Of course I stayed.”

Your gaze lingered on him. He looked exhausted. Hollowed out. His prosthetic arm twitched like he’d been clenching it too long.

“You haven’t slept.”

He laughed quietly—bitter and warm all at once. “Didn’t want to miss this.”

Another silence.

And then, so faint it barely reached him, you whispered—

“…I’m sorry.”

Echo stared at you, stunned.

“For what?” he breathed.

“For falling. For worrying you. For being weak.”

His expression broke. “No.”

He leaned in, voice rough. “Don’t ever say that. You didn’t fall because you were weak. You fell because the ground gave out. Because war is cruel. Because life isn’t fair.”

He blinked back tears. “But you lived. And that means more than anything.”

Your vision blurred—not from injury this time, but from the emotion in his voice.

He looked at you like you were the most important thing in the galaxy.

“I thought I lost you,” he said. “And I wasn’t ready.”

You let your eyes close again, overwhelmed by exhaustion—but you smiled softly through cracked lips.

“I’m here.”

He pressed his forehead gently to your hand, exhaling a shaky breath.

“You’re here.”

When the others returned—when Hunter stumbled in and dropped to his knees, when Wrecker cried again, when Crosshair stood frozen for a full minute, just staring—you were already asleep.

But Echo met Hunter’s gaze.

And nodded.

“She woke up.”

And for the first time in days, the silence didn’t feel so heavy.

“You Talk Too Much (And I Like It)”

Tech x Reader

You always had a lot to say. About everything. Planets, food, stories from childhood, dreams you had the night before, conspiracy theories, music recommendations, the absolute travesty that was the vending machine on Cid’s ship. Most people tuned you out after five minutes. Echo smiled politely. Wrecker nodded along even if he didn’t follow. Hunter gave that big brother, I’m listening but please stop look. But Tech—

Well, Tech never said much at all.

You were sitting beside him in the Marauder, your legs crossed on the seat, recounting—quite animatedly—a story about the time you tried to fix a speeder bike and ended up launching it through your neighbor’s wall. Your hands flailed in the air like you were directing a play.

“And I swear, it wasn’t even my fault! The wiring was labeled wrong, and boom! Gone. Just through the wall. Like—whoosh!” You gestured dramatically. “And the guy didn’t even get mad! He just looked at me like, ‘Again?’ Like it was normal! I mean, do you know how often something has to happen for someone to say ‘again’ like that?”

You laughed at your own story, expecting the usual silence or maybe a smirk.

But Tech didn’t even glance away from his datapad. “Statistically, it would take three prior incidents to normalize an event to that degree of resignation.”

You blinked.

“What?”

“Assuming he’s of average emotional intelligence,” Tech continued, typing something, “and factoring in a baseline tolerance for property damage, he would need to experience approximately three similar accidents before responding without distress.”

You stared at him for a moment, a grin creeping onto your face. “That’s… actually really interesting.”

“I ran a simulation once on behavioral desensitization. It was… enlightening,” he added, finally sparing you a glance over his lenses.

“Tech,” you said, leaning in slightly, “do you actually listen when I ramble?”

He looked confused. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I dunno… I talk a lot. Like, a lot a lot. You’re always so quiet.”

“I am processing,” he replied. “You provide a considerable amount of verbal data, but I do not find it unappealing.”

“…That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about me talking too much.”

He tilted his head, brows slightly raised. “It is?”

You laughed, this time softer. “You’re kind of weird, Tech.”

“Correct.”

“But I like that.”

He hesitated for a beat, then reached into his tool belt and held out a tiny, modified comm unit. “I made this for you.”

You blinked. “What is it?”

“It’s a personal recorder. For your stories. In case I’m not around to listen… or if you wish to remember them later.”

Your heart stuttered.

“Tech… that’s the sweetest, nerdiest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

He adjusted his goggles. “You are enthusiastic and loud. But I find the consistency of your presence… statistically comforting.”

You bit your lip to keep from grinning too hard.

“Wanna hear another story?” you asked.

“I’ve already adjusted the comm’s storage capacity for it.”

You didn’t know how to describe the warmth blooming in your chest—but you didn’t need to.

Tech already had a formula for it.

⸻

It started with the recorder.

Then came the noise-canceling earpieces—not for him, but for you. “In case you ever want silence but don’t want to stop talking,” he’d explained, eyes glued to a schematic, oblivious to how much your heart melted.

He began cataloguing your favorite snacks and replicating them with a portable food synthesizer. “I’ve programmed your preferred balance of salt and sweetness,” he said one night, handing you a makeshift granola bar that tasted weirdly perfect.

The best part? He never made a big deal about it. Just slipped things into your life like you’d always been part of his code.

One evening, after a mission that left the team bruised but alive, you found yourselves alone in the cockpit of the Marauder. The others were sleeping, recovering. You weren’t tired. You rarely were when Tech was nearby.

You sat cross-legged in the copilot’s seat, chewing absently on a snack bar, eyeing him as he fiddled with his datapad.

“Tech,” you said, drawing his attention with a sing-song tone.

“Hm?”

“You always listen to me talk about my stuff. But you never tell me about yours.”

He didn’t look up. “That is because my interests are largely theoretical and statistically uninteresting to the average person.”

You snorted. “Okay, first, I’m not average. And second—says who?”

He paused. “I… suppose I assumed.”

“Well, you assumed wrong. Come on, tell me something. Anything. What do you like, Tech?”

He shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. “I like many things. Theoretical physics, starship schematics, linguistic anomalies…”

You leaned in. “No, not like a list. Talk to me. Like I talk to you.”

He looked at you. Really looked. You’d never seen him nervous before. But this? This was vulnerable. And Tech didn’t do vulnerable. Not in the usual sense.

Still, after a moment, he gave a small nod.

“I find… gravitational lensing phenomena quite fascinating,” he began, almost shyly. “When a massive object distorts space-time, it bends light around it. It allows us to see stars that would otherwise be hidden. It’s a rare glimpse into the unreachable, a way to observe what we otherwise could not.”

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden spark in his voice.

“And—when you combine that with redshift patterns and the curvature metrics of distant galaxies—”

He was off.

Tech’s eyes lit up behind his goggles. His hands moved as he talked, describing invisible models in the air. The way he spoke was fast, clumsy, full of jargon, and absolutely beautiful. He was so excited. The same way you were when you told your stories.

You didn’t interrupt. You didn’t tease. You just smiled and let him go.

Eventually, his words slowed, and he caught himself, clearing his throat.

“I… apologize. I may have over-answered your question.”

“No,” you said softly. “You were perfect.”

His eyes met yours.

You reached over and touched his hand. He froze, then slowly turned his palm to hold yours.

“Tech,” you murmured, “when you talk like that, it makes me want to kiss you.”

He blinked. “Statistically, that is a highly favorable reaction.”

You grinned. “Tech.”

“Yes?”

“I’m gonna kiss you now.”

He hesitated a beat. “Proceed”

And when your lips touched his, soft and warm and a little clumsy, he exhaled like it was the first time he’d let go of logic and just felt something.

Afterward, still holding your hand, he said, “You make even chaos… feel structured.”

And you decided right then that you were never going to stop talking. Because if you kept talking long enough, Tech would keep listening—and maybe, just maybe, he’d keep answering too.

“The Sound of Your Voice”

Wrecker x Togruta Reader

The sunset painted Pabu’s sky in thick, golden brushstrokes, casting long shadows over the peaceful island. Waves lapped lazily against the cliffs below, and somewhere distant, children’s laughter drifted on the breeze.

Wrecker walked carefully behind you, boots thudding heavily against the worn footpath. In contrast, you moved with a graceful lightness, bare feet brushing over the earth as if you were part of it. He wasn’t paying much attention to where he was, though.

Not when you were walking beside him, your vibrant montrals catching the light, your voice weaving a story he barely understood but couldn’t get enough of.

You stopped near a bluff overlooking the water, turning back to him with a smile.

“You can sit, if you like,” you said softly.

Wrecker flopped down without hesitation, arms resting on his knees. He watched curiously as you remained standing, closing your eyes and spreading your toes against the soil. You tilted your face up toward the stars, breathing deep, like you were drinking in the very air.

After a long, peaceful moment, you opened your eyes and looked down at him.

“Togruta believe the land is part of us,” you began, voice like a gentle tide, steady and warm. “The soil carries the memory of life. Every step we take barefoot, we are sharing in that memory. Feeling the heartbeat of the world.”

Wrecker blinked up at you, utterly enchanted but thoroughly confused. “The dirt’s got a heartbeat?” he asked, scratching the side of his head.

You laughed, soft and melodious, not mocking him — just delighted by his earnestness.

“In a way. It’s not something you hear with your ears. You feel it here.” You placed your palm over your chest, just above your heart.

Wrecker copied the gesture clumsily, his big hand thudding against his chest plate with a solid thunk. He winced. “Maybe I oughta take this armor off first, huh?”

You smiled and knelt beside him, resting lightly on your heels. Your robes pooled around your legs, and your toes stayed firmly rooted in the soil.

“You don’t have to be Togruta to feel the connection. Just… still your mind. Listen.”

Wrecker frowned a little in concentration, shutting his eyes tight, shoulders tensing like he was preparing for battle.

You bit back a laugh. “Not so hard. Relax.”

He cracked an eye open at you, a sheepish grin tugging at his mouth. “I ain’t too good at this kinda thing,” he admitted. “S’pose I don’t really hear nothin’ except you talkin’.”

You tilted your head slightly, your montrals twitching at the gentle evening breeze.

“That’s alright,” you said, reaching out and gently taking his gloved hand in yours. His hand swallowed yours easily. “Maybe you don’t need to hear the earth tonight. Maybe… it’s enough just to listen to me.”

Wrecker’s cheeks flushed warm, and he gave a low, bashful chuckle.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I like listenin’ to ya. Your voice makes everythin’ seem… calmer. Better.”

The two of you sat there, hand in hand, the ocean’s lullaby wrapping around you. Above, the stars wheeled lazily across the night sky, ancient and eternal — just like the bond between living beings and the worlds that cradled them.

And Wrecker, big and loud and rough around the edges, had never felt so peaceful just sitting still.

Just listening to you.

Just feeling — maybe, just a little — the heartbeat of the land beneath him.

Wrecker shifted, glancing down at your bare feet pressed into the soil, then at his own heavy boots. He frowned, thoughtful.

“Do ya think… it’d help if I took these off?” he asked, voice low, almost shy.

You smiled warmly, tilting your head. “Maybe. It might help you feel what I feel.”

He grunted, leaning back to unbuckle his boots. It took him a moment — the armor clasps were stubborn — but finally, with a huff, he yanked them off and peeled away his thick socks too.

The second his bare feet touched the earth, he froze.

“Maker, that’s weird,” he blurted. “It’s all… squishy!”

You laughed, covering your mouth with your hand to hide your amusement. Wrecker wiggled his toes uncertainly, then gave a surprised grin.

“Feels kinda nice, though.”

You nodded, the moonlight catching the gentle curve of your smile. “Togruta believe that the land is not just something we live on — it’s something we live with. Every creature, every plant, every stone is part of a greater whole. We’re taught to listen, to feel… to never see ourselves as separate.”

Wrecker watched you with wide, focused eyes, the way he did when he was on a mission, except softer now, like the whole world had narrowed down to just you and your words.

You continued, your voice smooth and full of quiet passion. “When we walk barefoot, we are honoring the connection. Letting the world know we are its children, not its masters.”

There was a long silence, broken only by the murmur of the ocean below.

Wrecker let out a slow breath, his toes curling into the soil. He looked at you for a long moment, then said, with a sincerity that made your heart flutter:

“You got such a beautiful voice.”

You felt your cheeks warm, your montrals picking up the slight tremble of emotion in his words.

“I don’t really get all of it,” Wrecker added with a crooked grin, “but when you talk, it’s like… like everything’s alright. Even if I don’t understand it all, I wanna keep listenin’.”

You smiled, shy but radiant, and shifted closer, the two of you sitting barefoot in the cool dirt, connected not just to the land, but to something deeper.

And under the endless Pabu sky, with your voice weaving through the night air, Wrecker decided he didn’t need to understand everything.

He just needed you.

I saw your fic “What’s that smell” and thought it was absolutely beautiful! I was wondering what would be the rest of the batches reactions to the new smells. I can’t imagine what their ship would smell like and then having it change and maybe even be cleaner. You’re the best! Xx

Their ship would 100% smell like oil, sweat, blaster residue, old caf, dusty armor polish, and wet dog on a good day.

Here is what I believe the rest of the batches reactions are.

Crosshair

The first time he notices it, he’s practically scowling.

He hates things he can’t immediately explain, and suddenly the ship doesn’t smell like burnt wiring and recycled air anymore — it smells like…

something soft.

Something warm.

Something he can’t stop breathing in.

He’s so annoyed about it he follows you around for an entire day, sniffing the air like a pissed-off lothcat, trying to figure out if it’s you or if someone installed a karking air freshener.

When he finally realizes it’s you, he just stands there staring at you for a long second, lips pressed into a tight line.

Then he mutters:

“You smell… distracting.”

Like it’s a personal insult.

Will absolutely lean in closer than necessary just to breathe you in — but if you catch him, he’ll immediately go “Hmph” and pretend you’re the weird one.

Wrecker

Wrecker’s the first to flat-out say it.

He scoops you up into a bone-crushing hug one day, immediately sniffs, and then pulls back with wide, amazed eyes.

“Whoa! You smell amazing! Like… like sunshine! And pastries! And soap!”

He is obsessed after that. Every time you walk by, he inhales dramatically like a toddler discovering their favorite candy.

“Can we keep ya?” he jokes — but he means it. You’re like a walking comfort blanket for him.

The Marauder slowly starts smelling better too because Wrecker starts cleaning more — purely because he wants the nice smell to stick around.

Tech

Tech notices immediately, but being Tech, he processes it differently.

“Interesting,” he says aloud the first time you pass him. “The olfactory change is quite pleasant.”

Then he starts… researching it.

He runs calculations about human pheromones and attraction rates. He theorizes that your presence might lower the crew’s stress levels by up to 23%.

He doesn’t even realize he’s orbiting closer to you during missions until Wrecker points it out.

Embarrassed, he adjusts his goggles and mutters something about “optimal proximity for psychological benefits.”

Translation: You smell good and it’s making his brain short-circuit, help.

Echo

Echo notices it like a punch to the face because he’s so hyperaware of sensory input now.

The Marauder always smells like metal and grime — he’s used to it — but you?

You smell like rain hitting dry ground. Like something clean and alive and real.

It shakes him a little.

Reminds him of before — before the war, before everything.

He tries to be subtle about it, but you catch him lingering near you sometimes, jaw tight like he’s trying not to let himself want it.

One day you brush past him and he closes his eyes for half a second, just breathing you in.

He doesn’t say anything about it for a long time.

Until maybe you tease him — and he finally admits, voice low and rough:

“You make this whole ship feel… less like a graveyard.”

Which might be the most devastatingly sweet thing Echo could ever say.

Hi! I was wondering if you could do a TBB x Fem!Reader +any other clones of your choice, where they keep using pet names in mandoa like cyar'ika, mesh'la, and maybe even riduur?(because they might’ve gotten accidentally married? Love those tropes)

but the reader has no idea what they mean and that they’re pet names or that the batch likes her. Eventually she finds out of course and a bunch of stuttering cute confessions?

Your writing is so amazing and i literally can’t get enough of it! Xx

“Say It Again?”

TBB x Fem!Reader

You had gotten used to the way clones talked — the gruffness, the slang, the camaraderie. But ever since you’d been working more closely with Clone Force 99, you’d noticed something… different.

They used weird words around you. Words you didn’t hear other troopers saying.

Hunter always greeted you with a gentle “Cyar’ika,” accompanied by that intense little half-smile of his.

Wrecker would beam and shout, “Mesh’la! You came!” every time you entered a room — like you were some goddess descending from the stars.

Crosshair, as always, was smug and cool, throwing in a soft “Riduur…” under his breath when he thought you weren’t listening, though you never figured out what it meant. He often smirked when you looked confused, and somehow that made it worse.

Even Tech, who rarely used nicknames at all, had let slip a casual “You’re quite remarkable, mesh’la,” when you helped him debug his datapad. He didn’t look up, but you felt the heat in his voice.

And Echo? Sweet, dependable Echo — he was the least subtle of them all.

“You alright, cyar’ika?”

“You look tired, cyar’ika.”

“Get some rest, cyar’ika.”

You were starting to think “Cyar’ika” meant your actual name.

But something was off. The others never used those words with each other. Only with you.

So, naturally, you asked Rex.

And Rex choked on his caf.

“You—what did Crosshair call you?” he coughed, wiping his chin.

You repeated it: “Rid…uur? I think? I dunno. He said it real low.”

Rex gave you the slowest blink you’d ever seen and then rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Riduur means… spouse. As in… wife. It’s what you call your partner.”

You froze. “What?!”

“And cyar’ika?” he continued, amused. “Sweetheart. Mesh’la is ‘beautiful.’ They’re… Mando’a pet names. Very affectionate.”

The blushing.

The flashbacks.

All those words… those looks… Tech calling you remarkable like it was a scientific fact, Crosshair smirking like he had secrets, Echo’s voice dropping a full octave every time he said cyar’ika…

You marched straight into the Havoc Marauder like a woman on a mission — and promptly forgot how to speak when all five of them looked up at you.

“…You okay, mesh’la?” Hunter asked gently.

You blinked. Your voice cracked. “…You’ve been calling me sweetheart?”

The room went dead silent.

Echo dropped his ration bar.

Wrecker panicked. “Wait—you didn’t know?”

Crosshair chuckled and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Told you she didn’t know.”

Tech frowned at him. “Statistically, the odds of her knowing were—”

“You called me your wife,” you said, pointing at Crosshair like he’d committed a war crime.

He shrugged. “Didn’t hear you complain.”

You stammered something completely unintelligible, covering your face with both hands, and Wrecker let out the loudest, happiest laugh you’d ever heard. “So… does that mean you like us back?”

You peeked through your fingers. “…Us?”

Hunter stepped forward slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “We all… kinda do. Like you. A lot.”

You were red. Like, fruit-on-Ryloth red. “You’re telling me five elite clones have been flirting with me in another language this whole time?!”

“…Yes,” they all mumbled at once.

Crosshair grinned like he’d won a bet. “So… Riduur?”

“Riduur?” Crosshair repeated, lifting a brow like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just dropped a romantic thermal detonator right in front of everyone.

You stared at him. At all of them.

Hunter’s quiet guilt. Echo’s embarrassed fidgeting. Wrecker’s hopeful puppy-dog smile. Tech’s analytical interest. And Crosshair’s smug little smirk that you really wanted to slap off his face… or maybe kiss.

You swallowed. “I—I need a second.”

And then promptly turned on your heel and walked right back out of the Marauder.

⸻

You spent the rest of the day spiraling.

Sweetheart. Beautiful. Wife.

They’d been calling you those for weeks. Months, maybe. You were out here thinking it was some fun cultural expression or inside joke you weren’t in on—and it turns out you were the joke. The target. Of five clone commandos’… affection?

It didn’t feel like a joke, though. It felt sincere. Soft. Safe.

And scary.

Because you liked them. All of them. Differently, but genuinely. The thought of them caring about you—of whispering pet names they grew up hearing in the most intimate, personal ways—made your chest ache in a way you didn’t know how to handle.

⸻

The next day, you avoided them.

The next day, they let you.

The third day, Hunter found you in the mess hall, sat beside you without a word, and handed you a steaming mug of caf.

You looked at him.

He didn’t speak right away. Then: “We’re sorry. If we made you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you blurted out. “I just… didn’t know how to react. I’m still trying to figure it out.”

Hunter nodded, eyes kind. “We can stop. The nicknames, I mean.”

You hesitated. “No. I don’t want you to stop.”

He smiled, just a little. “You sure?”

You nodded. “I think I like them. I just… I want to know what they mean now.”

⸻

So, one by one, the boys showed you.

Wrecker said “mesh’la” every time you helped him carry heavy crates, with a goofy grin that made your stomach flip.

Echo said “cyar’ika” after every quiet conversation, letting the word linger like a promise he wasn’t ready to say aloud yet.

Tech, precise as always, began to offer direct translations.

“You look stunning today, mesh’la—objectively, of course.”

Crosshair didn’t stop with “riduur.” He started calling you “cyar’ika” too—softly, in rare unguarded moments—and he never looked away when he said it. Like he meant it. Like he knew what it was doing to you.

And Hunter? Hunter started saying “ner cyar’ika.” My sweetheart.

⸻

It wasn’t instant.

But slowly, their voices stopped making you flustered—and started making you feel home.

You started saying their names softer. Started touching their arms when you passed. Started blushing less… and smiling more.

And one day, while standing beside Wrecker during maintenance, you reached up on your toes, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “Thanks, cyare.”

He blinked. His whole face lit up like a nova. “You said it back!”

Later, you caught Echo outside the ship. Nervous, swaying slightly on his heels. You pressed your hand into his and whispered, “You can keep calling me cyar’ika, you know.”

He looked down at you with wide eyes. “You really don’t mind?”

You shook your head. “I like it.”

And Tech, when you repeated “mesh’la” with a teasing little lilt, glanced at you and—just this once—forgot what he was doing.

Even Crosshair dropped his toothpick when you looked him dead in the eye and whispered: “You keep calling me your riduur. What does that make you, then?”

He blinked. Once. Then smiled. Really smiled. “Yours.”

⸻

By the time you curled up beside Hunter one quiet night, your head on his shoulder and his hand tracing slow circles on your back, he murmured “ner cyar’ika” and you didn’t freeze or stammer.

You just smiled.

Because now you knew.

And you finally, finally understood that you’d never been the joke.

You’d always been the reason they smiled.

Hi, me again! Could I request a comfort fic with either Rex, Fox, or Echo? This last week has been so hard with my depression- where everyday tasks, like getting ready for work, feel overwhelming. I love your stories; they are the literary equivalent of a mug of tea and a cozy blanket.

Thank you so much —it truly means the world to me. I really appreciate and am touched that my stories could bring a little comfort for you during a tough time. I hope the following is what you wanted and brings a bit of comfort xo

⸻

“Safe With You”

Echo x Reader

The hum of the Marauder was a soft lull in the background, like a lullaby Echo had never known he needed. You sat curled in a blanket on the makeshift bench-seat of the ship’s common area, half-asleep but unwilling to move to your bunk just yet. It wasn’t just the nightmares. It was the quiet loneliness that always settled too deep in your bones after the lights dimmed.

Footsteps echoed—soft but mechanical—and you already knew it was him.

Echo always walked like he didn’t want to be noticed. Like maybe the durasteel in his limbs made him take up too much space. But to you, he never felt like too much. He felt like safety.

“Can’t sleep again?” his voice was a quiet murmur, meant for you alone.

You opened your eyes and gave him a small, sheepish smile. “Was just… thinking.”

He tilted his head as he sat across from you, his cybernetic hand resting on the edge of the bench. “Thinking, huh? Dangerous pastime.”

“Yeah, well, I’m known for my recklessness,” you said, trying to joke, but it came out thin.

Echo’s eyes softened as he looked at you, shadows under his own eyes betraying he hadn’t had much rest either. The war had ended, but peace still felt like a foreign language.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he said gently, glancing down. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

You blinked a few times. No one had said that to you in a long time. Not like that. Not like they meant it.

“I’m tired of being strong all the time,” you admitted, voice small. “It’s like… the second I stop, everything I’ve been holding up comes crashing down.”

Echo didn’t say anything for a moment, and then he stood—tall, quiet—and crossed to your side. He sat down beside you on your bed, shoulder to shoulder, warm despite the metal. Without asking, he pulled the blanket over the both of you.

You leaned into him, and he let you.

“You don’t have to hold everything up,” he said, pressing his forehead gently to yours. “I’ve got you.”

Your breath hitched, and when your hand found his— you felt the weight of the world ease off your chest, even just a little.

“I feel safe with you,” you whispered.

Echo smiled, barely there but real. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believed it.

The silence between you wasn’t heavy anymore. It was soft—like a warm blanket pulled over the both of you, tighter than the one wrapped around your shoulders.

Echo leaned into the wall behind him, tugging you along with him so that your head rested just over his heart. It beat steady under your cheek, a gentle rhythm that grounded you more than you expected.

“I used to hate the quiet,” he said, his voice low, like he was afraid to wake the stars outside the viewport. “When I was in the Citadel, then with the Techno Union… silence meant something bad was coming. I’d brace for pain, or for someone to take another piece of me away.”

Your arms tightened around his waist, your hand resting on the seam where flesh met metal.

“But now,” he continued, fingers lightly stroking your shoulder through the blanket, “it’s different. Now it’s just… peace. You make the silence feel safe.”

You didn’t trust your voice, so you nodded against him, letting his words settle into you like rain on parched ground.

A moment passed. Then another. Your breathing slowed, syncing with his. The last remnants of your anxiety started to unwind, like frayed threads being gently tucked away.

Echo shifted just enough to tilt your chin up with his fingers—so gentle it made your eyes sting.

“I know I don’t have much to offer,” he murmured. “Not like I used to. But whatever I have left… you can have it. All of it.”

Before you could answer—before you could even think to—he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Slow. Reverent. Like a promise.

You closed your eyes and let it linger, feeling the way his lips trembled just slightly, like he was holding back all the emotion he wasn’t sure he deserved to feel.

“You’re everything I need,” you whispered against his chest. “You always have been.”

He held you tighter, letting out a breath like he’d been waiting a lifetime to hear that.

And for the rest of the night, you stayed there in his arms, wrapped in warmth, in safety, in the kind of love that didn’t demand anything but presence. The galaxy could wait.

For now, you were exactly where you belonged.

happy Monday friend! Can I request some angst and fluff with wrecker that ends in cuddles please? I could use a giant hug today! Thank you so much for being awesome

“Big Enough to Hold You”

Wrecker x Reader

You didn’t mean to snap at him.

It wasn’t Wrecker’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, really. The day had just been too much—the mission gone sideways, another evac too close to the edge, too many people screaming, not enough time. You’d gotten separated. Lost track of him. Thought—just for a moment—you’d lost him for good.

And when he came back, grinning like he always did, banged up but fine…

You’d yelled.

“Don’t do that to me again!”

His smile faded instantly, eyes wide like a kicked tooka.

“I—I didn’t mean to—”

“I thought you were dead, Wrecker!”

Silence followed your words like a stormcloud.

You didn’t wait for him to respond. Just turned on your heel and left the ship’s ramp, sitting down hard on a nearby crate, hands shaking, throat tight. You weren’t even mad at him. You were scared. You were so damn scared.

And then you heard the heavy footsteps.

Slow. Hesitant.

You didn’t look up, but you felt the weight of him settle next to you. Big. Warm. Safe.

“…M’sorry,” Wrecker said quietly.

You blinked. Looked up.

He was staring at the ground, fingers picking at his gloves, like he thought you might still snap. Like he was afraid you wouldn’t want him close.

That hurt more than anything else.

“No,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. I just… you scared me, Wrecker.”

His brow furrowed. “I didn’t mean to. I was just trying to hold the line ‘til Hunter pulled you out. Wasn’t gonna let ‘em get near you.”

“I know,” you said, throat tight. “That’s the problem.”

He looked at you then—really looked. And whatever he saw on your face must’ve broken something in him, because the next second you were swept into the warmest, strongest hug you’d ever known.

“I’m right here,” he said into your hair. “I’m big enough to hold anything you’re feeling, alright? Scared, sad, mad—don’t matter. Just don’t shut me out.”

You clung to him. Just melted into that broad chest, buried your face in his neck and breathed. He smelled like metal and burn marks and something warm and safe. Like home.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you said, voice muffled.

“You won’t,” he promised. “Not if I got anything to say about it.”

He shifted, adjusting you easily in his lap until you were curled into him like a child, his arms wrapped around you like a fortress. He rocked you gently—just a little—and hummed something soft under his breath. You didn’t know the tune. You didn’t need to.

Time passed. Neither of you moved.

Eventually, he whispered, “You good now?”

You nodded against his chest. “Better now.”

“Good,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “’Cause I ain’t lettin’ go for a while.”

And he didn’t.

The rocking slowed, and his hand settled at the back of your head, big fingers threading through your hair with slow, careful strokes. Your breathing evened out against his chest, your fingers still curled in his shirt like you were afraid he’d disappear if you let go.

He noticed.

He always noticed.

Wrecker didn’t say anything—just held you tighter, chin resting on your head like it belonged there. Like you belonged there.

“You sleepin’?” he murmured after a while, voice hushed and tender.

No answer.

A soft smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He shifted his grip, effortlessly lifting you into his arms like you weighed nothing, like you were precious. Your cheek rested against his shoulder, breath warm against his skin.

The others were quiet in their bunks. Tech was reading. Echo nodded in greeting. Hunter glanced over but didn’t say a word—he just smiled, soft and knowing, and went back to sharpening his knife.

Wrecker nudged the door to your shared space open with his boot and brought you inside.

The lights were low. The sheets were turned down.

He set you down on the bed with all the care in the galaxy, brushing a hand over your hair, tucking the blanket around you. You stirred slightly—just enough to mumble his name in a sleep-heavy voice.

“Wreck…”

“I’m here,” he said, instantly, quietly. “I’m right here, sweetheart.”

You reached for him blindly. “Don’t go.”

His heart cracked in two. “Not goin’ anywhere.”

He climbed into bed beside you, the mattress dipping beneath his size, and pulled you into him like a gravity well. One arm beneath your head, the other wrapped securely around your waist, your head nestled beneath his chin.

Your body relaxed completely—safe, warm, wrapped in the scent and strength of him.

You were already asleep again.

But he didn’t sleep for a while. He just lay there, holding you, watching your chest rise and fall with every breath. A gentle giant wrapped around the most important person in his world.

And when he did sleep, it was with a soft smile, because for once he knew you were safe.

And you knew you were loved.

I love how you write tech! And how you have him all flustered is written amazingly!

As someone who is high functioning, I love hearing people talk about what they’re interested in. Could you do a tech x Fem!reader where she loves listening to him and he gets flustered and add some of your own flare to it? Xx

“Sweet Circuits”

Tech x Reader

⸻

The cantina was its usual mess of sour drinks, old booths, and worse music. A storm brewed outside, the dusty kind that stuck to your clothes and made the whole world feel static-charged. Inside, though, it was warm. Dim. Safe.

And across from you, Tech was talking—hands animated, datapad in one hand, drink in the other (untouched, as usual).

“You see, the issue with the ion displacer isn’t so much the core processor as it is the overcompensating voltage feedback. Most engineers forget to recalibrate the thermal sync, which is frankly a rookie mistake.”

You nodded slowly, chin in your hand. Not because you were bored—but because watching him talk was like being allowed to peek inside a galaxy of stars. Not many people noticed how his eyes lit up, how fast he moved when he was in his element. He was like a hyperdrive: complex, brilliant, and far too often overlooked.

“I mean,” he went on, tapping something on his datapad, “with the right calibration, you can amplify power efficiency by at least 23.8 percent. If you’re clever about it. Which, most are not.”

“You’re clever,” you said simply, before you could think to dial it back.

He paused. Blinked. Looked up from the pad, blinking again behind his goggles as if the compliment hadn’t quite registered.

“Pardon?”

“You’re clever,” you repeated, letting a little smile curve your lips. “I like hearing you talk about this stuff.”

Tech straightened, shoulders going stiff like someone had just issued a direct order. His ears flushed a soft pink beneath the curl of his hair.

“You… do?” His voice had gone up just slightly, like you’d knocked him off-balance. “I was under the impression that most people find my commentary… verbose. Occasionally overwhelming.”

“Not me.” You shrugged. “It’s nice. Makes me feel like the galaxy still has things worth understanding. Even if I’ll never understand them as well as you.”

He stared at you for a moment too long.

Then, very slowly, he lowered the datapad. His fingers twitched near the edge of it, like they weren’t sure what to do without typing.

“I… appreciate that.”

Silence settled between you. Not awkward. Just… soft. Outside, thunder rolled. Inside, Tech leaned back in the booth, flustered but visibly trying to play it cool.

“If you’d like,” he added, voice quieter now, “I could explain the modular wiring system I built for Hunter’s blade gauntlet. It incorporates… well, it incorporates some rather interesting electroreactive alloy.”

You grinned.

“I’d love that.”

And so he talked, and you listened, both of you orbiting the same quiet space—two people who had survived too much, holding on to the little things that still made the galaxy feel… good.

Tech was halfway into an explanation about conductive filament lengths—his voice smoothing out, more relaxed now that he knew you actually wanted to hear him—when a sharp voice cut through the low hum of the cantina.

“Well, well. Isn’t this cozy.”

You turned to see Cid standing a few feet away, arms crossed, one brow raised like she’d caught the two of you holding hands under the table—which, for the record, you weren’t. Yet.

Tech sat up straighter immediately, clearly thrown, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes.

“Good evening, Cid,” he said, formal as ever.

Cid glanced between the two of you, unimpressed. “You sweet on him or just have a death wish sittin’ through all that tech talk?” she asked, jabbing a clawed thumb toward you, then Tech.

You smirked. “A little from column A, little from column B.”

Cid snorted. “Well, hate to break up the love-in, but if you two are done whispering sweet circuits to each other, we’ve got a situation.”

Tech’s expression snapped back into mission-mode like a switch had been flipped. “What sort of situation?”

“Kind that pays, if you don’t mess it up,” she said, tossing a datapad onto the table with a clatter. “Package needs retrieving. Discreetly. You’re the brains, and she”—she gestured to you with a smirk—“is the only one who doesn’t treat the clientele like targets.”

“I do not—” Tech started, clearly offended.

You cut him off gently, patting his arm. “It’s fine, Tech. She’s just mad she interrupted the best lecture I’ve had all week.”

Cid made a gagging sound and walked off, muttering about nerd love and people trying to run a business.

Once she was gone, Tech turned to you with a strange look—half embarrassed, half something warmer.

“Did you… mean that?”

You looked at him.

“Of course I did. You’re brilliant. And kind. And you make me feel like I can actually understand the stars, not just look up at them.”

That flushed-pink look returned to his ears again. He swallowed.

“Well then,” he said, offering you his hand with a shy, almost formal air. “Shall we retrieve a package, Miss…?”

You took his hand, letting your fingers linger just a bit longer than necessary.

“We shall, Mr Genius.”

And as you stood, his hand still holding yours, you noticed the datapad had been left behind on the table—still open to the schematic he’d made just for fun, just to show you something he loved.

And you realized, maybe he hadn’t really been explaining it for the sake of talking.

Maybe he’d just wanted you to understand him.

⸻

Helllo! I was wondering if you could a spicy bad batch x fem!reader where she used to be a dancer/singer in like a sleezy club, did what was best for easy money. But an op comes up and she needs to it again and the boys didn’t know she had a history of it and are like “oh shit” find it hot but get jealous of the other men. Idk if this makes sense 😅

love your wring! Xx

“Undercover Temptation”

Bad Batch x Fem!Reader | Spice + Jealousy

⸻

The mission sounded simple enough.

Infiltrate a seedy club on Pantora. Gather intel on a black-market arms dealer that frequented the place. Blend in. Make contact. Get out.

Cid had been vague about the details, just that it required “a certain skill set.” And when her eyes landed on you, there was a flicker of something like smugness.

“You’ll fit right in, sweetheart,” she’d said. “Used to be your scene, didn’t it?”

The Batch didn’t know what she meant by that. But you did.

You’d left that part of your life behind when you joined up with Clone Force 99. The sleezy clubs, the music, the makeup, the stage lights — the easy money, the wandering hands. You’d done what you had to. You were good at it. Too good.

Omega had stayed behind, thank the Maker.

⸻

The club on Pantora was everything you remembered from your past life — sweat-slick air, glitter, smoke, and the kind of stares that made your skin crawl in ways you’d long buried.

Cid hadn’t exactly warned the Batch what she was getting them into. Just said it was a “special assignment” and only you could pull it off.

You hadn’t worn this in a long time — short, shimmering dress clinging to every curve, makeup smoky and sharp, hair teased and wild. A performer. A seductress. A mask you’d once worn to survive.

But stepping out into the room full of hardened clones, nothing could’ve prepared you for the heat in their eyes.

Hunter looked you up and down, slow and deliberate, his brows furrowed like he was trying to remember how to breathe.

Wrecker’s jaw dropped, cheeks flushed. “Maker, baby…”

Echo stared like he’d short-circuited.

Tech made an odd choking sound behind his datapad.

And then there was Crosshair.

He had a toothpick between his lips, eyes dragging over your legs, slow and dark. “Didn’t know you used to work a stage,” he murmured, voice like smoke. “That explains a lot.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you smirked.

He grinned. “Means now I know why the hell I’ve been dreamin’ about you on your knees.”

Echo made a noise of protest. Wrecker looked like he was about to explode. Hunter didn’t say anything — but his fists were clenched.

You went on stage anyway. Because this was the mission.

You knew how to move. Knew how to keep attention. The intel target was in the VIP booth — you’d been instructed to lure him out, get close, plant a tracker, and distract him while Tech accessed his datapad remotely.

But the Batch? Yeah, they were distracted too.

Crosshair watched from the shadows, his shoulders tense, jaw tight. He was normally smooth, sarcastic — but this? This had him on edge.

Hunter paced by the back exit like a caged animal.

Wrecker glared at every man who so much as breathed in your direction.

Echo kept muttering, “She shouldn’t have to do this,” under his breath.

Tech… he was sweating. You were pretty sure his goggles fogged up.

The moment it all went to hell was when a drunk mercenary tried to grab you mid-performance.

Your eyes had locked with Hunter’s for a split second — a silent signal — when a hand yanked you roughly by the waist, spinning you mid-dance. You tensed immediately, smile faltering.

The guy was laughing, leering, pulling you flush against him.

And Hunter moved like a damn predator.

One second he was at the exit, the next, he was slamming the guy into the stage floor, snarling, “Don’t. Touch. Her.”

You barely had time to react before Crosshair had his rifle out, providing overwatch from the rafters, eyes sharp and deadly.

Echo pulled you behind him protectively.

Wrecker cracked his knuckles with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “You touched the wrong girl, pal.”

Tech looked like he wanted to kill the man — but also couldn’t stop blinking at you in that outfit.

The bar erupted into chaos.

Shots rang out.

You ducked low as the crowd screamed and scattered. Your target made a run for it — but not before Tech tagged his datapad. Crosshair clipped his shoulder with a clean shot. Wrecker handled two mercs trying to flank you.

You moved to help Hunter — but he was down.

Your heart dropped.

You rushed to his side, kneeling beside him. “Hunter!”

He was bleeding — blaster bolt to the shoulder, unfocused eyes still locked on you. “’M fine,” he rasped. “Saw… saw that guy grab you. Should’ve—shit—moved faster.”

You pressed a hand to the wound. “Don’t be an idiot. I’ve had worse hands on me. We’re getting you out.”

“Not while you’re still dressed like that,” he muttered weakly.

Behind you, Crosshair took out another would-be attacker, and growled through clenched teeth, “If anyone else touches her tonight, I’m leaving bodies.”

Echo lifted Hunter over his shoulder while Wrecker covered the retreat. Tech dragged you out by the hand, pulling you through a back hallway while still rattling off data from the merc’s pad.

“You… that performance,” Tech blurted, breathless. “I’ll be reviewing the security footage later. For… mission purposes.”

You just grinned, eyes flicking to where Crosshair covered the rear, rifle smoking.

Back on the ship, patched up and safe, Hunter leaned against the medbay wall, arm in a sling.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said.

You leaned in, brushing hair from his face. “Yes, I did. It was the job.”

“Next time,” he growled, “you wear that in our quarters. For us. No one else.”

Wrecker appeared in the doorway. “You gonna do another show, babe? I got credits.”

Echo followed. “Don’t encourage her.”

Tech was already setting up a holoprojector. “I have some… strategic questions about your technique.”

Crosshair just smirked from the shadows, toothpick twitching.

“Next time,” he said, “I’m bringing handcuffs.”

Your smile turned wicked. “Oh? For the targets?”

His smirk widened. “No.”

Hi! Your writing is superb and I love your fic with the reader and Crosshair bantering. Do you think you could do a Crosshair x Fem!reader where she finally gets him flustered and blushing? Maybe a bit of spice at the end if that’s ok? Xx

“Right on Target”

Crosshair x Fem!Reader

Warnings: No explicit smut, but it’s definitely mature

⸻

Crosshair was used to being in control—of his aim, of his surroundings, of people. He liked it that way.

What he didn’t like was how you always had a retort ready for him, sharp as the toothpick between his teeth.

“Your stalking’s getting obvious, sharpshooter,” you drawled, slinging your rifle over your shoulder as he fell into step beside you. “Didn’t know you liked watching me walk that much.”

“I wasn’t watching you walk,” he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow. “So you were watching my ass. Got it.”

He glanced away, jaw tight, a faint flush creeping up his neck.

Score one.

“You’re lucky I’m into grumpy, brooding types who pretend they don’t care.”

“I don’t.”

“Mmhm,” you said, voice thick with amusement. “That why you always hover when I’m patching up, or growl when I flirt with other clones?”

He stopped walking. You didn’t. Not until he grabbed your wrist, tugging you back with just enough force to make it known he was done playing.

“I don’t growl.”

“Oh, honey,” you smirked, stepping in close. “You practically purr when you’re jealous.”

His eyes narrowed, but his pulse jumped beneath your fingertips. You hadn’t meant to touch his chest—but your hand was there now, and he wasn’t moving.

“Careful,” he warned, voice low.

You tilted your head. “Why? You gonna shoot me?”

“No. But I might do something you’ll like.”

You gave him a slow, wicked grin. “That’s the idea.”

And that’s when it happened—the blush. Subtle at first, just a dusting of pink across those high cheekbones. But you saw it. He knew you saw it.

“You’re blushing,” you whispered, grinning like you’d just landed a perfect headshot.

He scoffed. “It’s hot in here.”

“We’re on Hoth.”

Silence. You let it stretch. Delicious, victorious silence.

“…You gonna keep staring, or—”

You silenced him with a kiss—soft, heated, and just enough tongue to make his breath hitch. His hand gripped your waist in reflex, grounding, needing.

“You gonna let me keep talking like that,” you breathed against his lips, “or are you finally gonna shut me up properly?”

He backed you into the nearest wall faster than you could blink, lips crashing against yours harder this time, heat surging between you both like a live wire. When he pulled back, his voice was husky, feral.

“Be careful what you ask for.”

You smirked, heart hammering. “Right on target.”

The wall was cold at your back, but Crosshair was not.

His body pressed flush to yours, lean and strong, caging you in with one hand braced above your head and the other gripping your hip like you might slip through his fingers if he didn’t anchor you.

“You’ve got a real smart mouth,” he muttered, voice dark and ragged.

“I know,” you breathed, dragging your nails lightly down the front of his blacks. “You like it.”

He growled—a low, almost feral sound—then tilted your chin up with his gloved fingers and kissed you again. This time, there was no holding back. Teeth, tongue, heat. He kissed like he fought—focused, controlled, but with a dangerous edge that said he might snap.

You wanted him to snap.

Your fingers slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, dragging along the sharp dip of his waist. His abs flexed beneath your touch, and his breath caught.

“What’s wrong, Cross?” you purred, nipping at his jaw. “You usually have so much to say.”

“I’m busy shutting you up,” he rasped.

And oh—he did.

His hands were everywhere now, sliding up your thighs, gripping your hips, tugging you closer. You rolled your hips against his and felt just how not unaffected he was. The air between you grew hot, heavy, thick with need.

“You wanna keep teasing,” he whispered in your ear, breath hot against your skin, “I’ll make good on every threat I’ve ever made.”

Your eyes fluttered shut at the promise laced in his tone. He sounded dangerous. And you? You’d never wanted anything more.

“I dare you.”

He chuckled, low and rough, and it did something to you.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Oh, I do,” you said, curling your fingers in his shirt and pulling him closer. “And I want all of it.”

He kissed you again, slower this time—possessive, claiming, his. His teeth grazed your bottom lip as he pulled away, eyes locked on yours, pupils blown wide with heat.

“Later,” he murmured, brushing his mouth over yours. “When we’re not seconds from being interrupted by someone like Wrecker.”

You groaned. “He would walk in right now.”

“Which is why,” he said, voice sharp and wicked, “you’re going to think about this all day until I do something about it.”

He stepped back, leaving you breathless, flushed, and absolutely wrecked.

And the smirk he shot you?

It said he knew exactly what he’d done.

I love how you write Tech! Could I request something with him and a super clumsy and oblivious reader please? Thank you!

Thank you! Sometimes I feel like I write him too robotic like ahaha

⸻

“Statistical Probability of Love”

Tech x Reader

⸻

Tech had calculated—twice, actually—that if he complimented you at least three times a day, you might eventually understand he was flirting. The odds weren’t stellar (34.7%, to be exact), but he was determined to try.

“Your ocular symmetry is… exceptionally pleasing,” he said one afternoon, eyes never leaving his datapad.

You blinked up at him, mid-attempt to carry a large crate that was clearly too heavy for you. “Uh… thanks? Are you saying my eyeballs match?”

“Precisely.”

You smiled, almost tripping over your own feet as you finally got the crate to the other side of the Marauder. “Cool. I like symmetry. Good for… art. And, like… walking straight.”

Tech stared after you, baffled. That had been his best one yet. He even rehearsed it.

⸻

Later, you were in the cockpit, absolutely tangled in the cords you were trying to organize. Wrecker had asked you to help. He did not, however, explain how not to fall into a mess of wires like some kind of malfunctioning protocol droid.

“You seem to find yourself in precarious entanglements at an impressively consistent rate,” Tech noted, crouching beside you with a slight smirk.

You groaned dramatically. “It’s a talent. Maybe I should join a circus.”

“I find it… endearing,” he muttered.

You were too busy trying to untangle your foot from a power cable to hear him.

⸻

It got worse.

He started trying “casual” physical contact. A light touch on the shoulder here, a hand on your back when guiding you through the hull. Subtle. Calculated. Measured. He was certain you’d notice.

You? You thought he was just awkward and accidentally touchy.

Once, he brushed your hand while passing you a tool. You jolted, dropped the hydrospanner on your foot, then thanked him for it.

“You—you thanked me?” Tech asked later, clearly flustered. “I caused minor bodily harm!”

“Yeah, but it kinda woke me up. I was zoning out hard.”

He turned away, muttering something about “social cues being an imprecise science.”

⸻

Hunter noticed first. “You gonna tell her you like her or keep complimenting her neural pathways until she dies of old age?”

“I am trying to initiate courtship gradually,” Tech replied, defensive. “She is just… uniquely unresponsive to conventional—or unconventional—methods.”

“She’s got no idea,” Echo chimed in, amused. “You could tell her she was beautiful in binary and she’d thank you for a firmware update.”

⸻

Eventually, Tech snapped.

“Your clumsiness is statistically improbable and yet, inexplicably, I find myself drawn to it. To you. In a—romantic sense.”

You blinked at him from the floor, where you’d just slipped on your own jacket.

“Oh,” you said. “Wait. You’re… flirting with me?”

“I have been flirting with you.”

“For how long?”

“Seventeen days, four hours, and—”

“Tech. You should’ve just said something.”

“I did! Your neural symmetry, the entanglement commentary, the guiding hand—”

“Okay, yeah, that’s on me,” you admitted, grinning sheepishly. “I’m a bit slow.”

“Not slow,” he corrected. “Just… delightfully oblivious.”

“…Was that another flirt?”

“Affirmative.”

You laughed. “Okay, I’m catching on now.”

“Statistically overdue,” he muttered.

But you leaned over, kissed his cheek, and said, “Worth the wait?”

His ears turned red. “Yes. Highly.”

⸻

You’re writing is amazing! I had two things

1: What is a trope you love writing?

2: Can there be a Bad batch x reader, where she’s loves to cook. When she joins them she cooks for them and they love her cooking (once they get used to having something other than ration bars). Maybe she even sends them with packed lunches for when they go off.

Thank you x

I don’t have a trope in particular I like writing, but I’m a sucker for a good enemies to lovers or anything angsty or tragic

⸻

“Seconds”

The Bad Batch x Fem!Reader

⸻

They weren’t sure what to make of you at first.

A civilian-turned-ally. Handy in a fight, steady under pressure, and weirdly good at organizing their storage crates. But most of all, you cooked. Like, really cooked.

No one had expected it—not after surviving off ration bars, battlefield meals, and the occasional mystery stew Crosshair pretended didn’t come from a can. But then you’d shown up with a patched-together portable burner and the stubborn attitude of someone determined to make something edible from nothing. And you did.

The first time you cooked, it had stunned them into silence.

The scent of simmering broth wafted through the corridors of the Marauder, followed by spices and roasted meat and something buttery that made Wrecker’s eyes water.

Tech was the first to speak, nose twitching. “That is not protein paste.”

“Unless someone’s finally weaponized it,” Echo said, cautiously hopeful.

Hunter didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned in the doorway of the galley with arms crossed, watching the way you moved—calm, focused, humming to yourself as you stirred a bubbling pot. There was something disarming about the scene. Domestic. Gentle. Strange.

Crosshair gave a low whistle from where he lounged. “Are we keeping this one?”

No one answered. But no one said no.

⸻

It became tradition fast.

You cooked whenever there was downtime, wherever there were ingredients. You scavenged herbs on jungle moons, traded for spices in backwater towns, stretched every credit and crumb into something warm. Something human. You’d hand them plates and bowls and containers like they were weapons before a battle—only these made them feel… grounded.

Every day you could. Breakfasts on quiet mornings. Late dinners after brutal missions. You adapted what ingredients you had, learned what they each liked—Tech hated onions but loved citrus, Crosshair liked spicy food that burned the tongue, Echo had a sweet tooth he tried to hide, and Hunter… Hunter liked comfort food. He’d never say it out loud, but you caught the softness in his expression whenever you made something simple and warm. Like home.

They never asked you to. But they stopped saying no.

Eventually, you started packing lunches for them. Personalized. Thoughtful.

Crosshair’s were spicy and wrapped with a snarky note.

Wrecker’s came with double servings and a warning label.

Tech’s included clean utensils and clear labels, because of course they did.

Echo’s always had a little dessert tucked in the side

Hunter’s would just have little doodle/picture you’d drawn

⸻

They’d left you behind this time. Not because you couldn’t handle yourself, but because someone had to stay with Omega. She wasn’t ready for this mission, and neither were you—still recovering from the last one, a blaster graze healing at your ribs.

The ship was quiet. Omega wandered in around dinner time, drawn by the smell of whatever you were cooking.

She climbed up onto the counter like it was the most natural thing in the world, chin resting on her hands as she watched you slice vegetables and stir broth.

“That smells better than anything I’ve ever had on Kamino,” she said dreamily.

You smiled. “I’ll take that as the highest of compliments.”

She watched you for a while, head tilting. “You always look really happy when you cook.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

You thought about it as you stirred. “Because food makes people feel safe. Even in the middle of a war, a good meal can remind you what it’s like to be human.”

Omega was quiet for a beat. Then: “You make them feel safe.”

You didn’t answer right away.

She squinted up at you. “You really care about them, huh?”

You nodded. “They’ve been through hell. They deserve someone to care.”

She grinned slowly. “You’ve got a crush on one of them.”

You almost dropped the spoon.

“Excuse me?”

She giggled. “I knew it!”

You tried (and failed) to play it cool. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on,” she said, sliding off the counter. “You pack lunches. You make special snacks. You stitched Wrecker’s sleeve when it ripped, even though he didn’t ask. You added hot sauce to Crosshair’s meal because he once said it tasted better. You kept Tech’s favorite tea even though no one else drinks it. And you stayed up all night once just to make sure Echo’s respirator didn’t fail after that dust storm.”

She paused, smirking. “One of those meant more.”

You turned back to the pot. “You are way too observant.”

She laughed. “So, who is it? Wrecker?”

“No.”

“Tech?”

“Definitely not.”

“Echo?”

“Closer.”

“Crosshair?”

You gave her a look.

She grinned wide. “Fine, fine. I won’t guess. For now.”

You stirred the pot again and said, softly, “It doesn’t matter.”

Omega’s voice was gentler. “Why not?”

You shrugged. “Because maybe it’s safer this way. Just being part of this… this crew. This little found family. It’s enough.”

She looked at you for a long moment. Then she slid onto a nearby stool and rested her chin in her hand again.

“They’ll be back soon,” she said. “You gonna tell them dinner’s ready?”

You smiled quietly, not looking up. “They’ll smell it.”

Hi! I was wondering if you could do a Bad Batch x Fem!Reader where they haven’t realized how much they like her and having her apart of the team because they didn’t want to get attached but then they see her with other clones having fun and being tactical and huggy with them. I’m a sucker for jealous tropes and the “she’s ours” stuff! Thank you! Xx

“Ours”

The Bad Batch x Fem!Reader

Featuring: Commander Wolffe, Boost, Sinker (104th)

⸻

The Bad Batch didn’t realize how much they liked having you around—until you weren’t just around them anymore.

You’d been reassigned temporarily to assist the 104th Battalion for a joint operation, something about terrain recon and hostile base infiltration. The job was meant to be routine. Easy. Quick. But it had stretched to three weeks, and that was three weeks too long for Clone Force 99.

“She’s fine,” Tech said for the third time that day, eyes on his datapad but noticeably less focused than usual.

“Of course she’s fine,” Crosshair muttered. “She’s annoying. Won’t shut up. Talks too much. Laughs at stupid jokes.”

“She does make the barracks less quiet,” Echo added, but his words sounded more like a confession than a complaint.

Hunter remained quiet, brooding in the corner, arms crossed. Wrecker finally broke the silence.

“I miss her.”

No one argued.

⸻

When they finally returned to Anaxes to regroup, they weren’t expecting to find you on the tarmac—leaning against a gunship, laughing with Commander Wolffe and his men.

You had your arm slung around Sinker’s shoulder, mid-sparring banter, sweat-slicked and flushed from training. Boost was tossing a ration bar at you like it was a long-running inside joke, and Wolffe—stoic, grumpy Wolffe—was standing beside you with the faintest upward tug at the corner of his mouth.

You laughed and said something that made the entire squad snort.

Wrecker stopped dead in his tracks. “Wait—are they hugging her?”

Crosshair’s scowl darkened. “Why the hell is she touching Sinker?”

“She’s laughing,” Echo muttered. “At his joke.”

Hunter’s jaw ticked. “Let’s go.”

⸻

You saw them before they could storm up and cause a scene—which, let’s be real, was already inevitable.

“Hey!” you called out cheerfully, waving them over. “Look who finally decided to show up. I was beginning to think you all forgot about me.”

“We didn’t,” Hunter said. The rest of them were staring daggers past you at the Wolfpack.

Wolffe raised a brow and drawled, “We took real good care of her. Didn’t we, boys?”

“Too good,” Sinker smirked. “She’s basically one of us now.”

“She is one of us,” Boost added, throwing his arm around your shoulders with obnoxious ease. “Got the bite to match.”

You didn’t see it, but every member of the Bad Batch visibly twitched.

“She’s not a stray,” Crosshair hissed, stepping forward.

“Could’ve fooled us,” Wolffe shot back, “considering how quick you were to let her slip away.”

“Wasn’t our choice,” Tech said stiffly.

“You sure?” Sinker smirked. “Didn’t seem like you were fighting too hard to keep her.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Okay, woah, no testosterone fights on the landing pad, please.”

Wrecker pointed dramatically. “You hugged him!”

You blinked. “You’ve hugged me!”

“Yeah but that’s different!” he whined.

“Why?” you challenged.

Silence.

Hunter stepped forward, voice lower now. “Because you’re ours.”

Your breath caught.

Wolffe’s grin turned downright wolfish. “Took ‘em long enough.”

You looked between both squads, caught between amusement and surprise. “So let me get this straight… the 104th is adopting me, the Bad Batch is reclaiming me, and I didn’t even get a say?”

“You always get a say,” Hunter said, quieter now. “But we want you to know how we feel.”

“And how’s that?”

Wrecker was first. “I missed you.”

“I hated not having you around,” Echo added.

“Everything was quiet,” Tech admitted.

“You’re mine,” Crosshair said, almost growled. “Ours.”

Your eyes flicked to Wolffe and his boys.

Wolffe shrugged. “Guess we’ll let you go this time.”

Sinker grinned. “But if they mess up, you know where to find us.”

You snorted. “What is this, the clone version of a custody battle?”

Boost winked. “Only if it means you come back for visitation rights.”

You laughed. “Alright, alright. I’ll go home. But I am visiting the 104th again. You guys are a riot.”

Hunter stepped closer, head tilting. “As long as you come back to us.”

You smiled, softening. “Always.”

The air between you and the Batch shifted—less tension, more heat, more home. Hunter didn’t touch you, not yet, but his presence lingered close, electric.

You turned back toward Wolffe and the others, grinning. “Thanks for everything, boys.”

Sinker gave you a two-finger salute. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“Yeah,” Boost chimed in, winking. “Just remember which pack took you in first.”

You rolled your eyes, walking backward toward your original squad. “You’re all insufferable.”

“And you love it,” Wolffe called after you.

echoed behind you.

Then, low—too low for most ears, but not for Hunter’s enhanced senses—Wolffe muttered to his boys, voice almost casual:

“She’s still got a bit of wolf in her now. Let’s hope they can keep up.”

Hunter stopped walking.

His head tilted just enough to catch the last of the words. Not angry. Not threatened. Just… cold.

Possessive.

His jaw flexed.

Crosshair noticed first. “Problem?”

Hunter didn’t answer right away. His gaze flicked to your back—laughing with Wrecker about something stupid—and then back to the 104th retreating into the barracks.

“No,” he said finally. “No problem.”

But when he looked forward again, his voice was steel-wrapped velvet.

“They can howl all they want.”

He caught up to you in two strides.

“We’re the ones she’s running with.”

hello! this is my first time sending any sort of request so i hope this is the right place! i absolutely love your writing and was wondering if you could write Hunter x a plus sized f reader (more specifically a reader struggling with loving her body). maybe sfw with a hint of suggestiveness? thank you!! <3

“All the parts of you”

Hunter x Plus-Sized Fem!Reader

⸻

You stared at your reflection in the mirror of the Marauder’s fresher, scowling as you tugged at your shirt. It clung to the softest parts of you. The waistband of your pants had folded over—again—and if you stood a certain way, your stomach looked—

“Like a whole moon orbiting around me,” you muttered under your breath, smirking bitterly. “Galactic gravitational pull and all.”

It was your thing, after all. Make the joke before anyone else could. Keep it light. Pretend you didn’t care. Pretend you didn’t hurt.

You didn’t hear Hunter step in.

“You always talk about yourself like that when you think no one’s listening?”

Your heart skipped, stomach sinking faster than gravity.

You turned. “Well, yeah. Someone’s gotta say it. Might as well be me before someone beats me to the punchline.”

He didn’t laugh. Not even a twitch of a smirk.

“Don’t do that,” he said, voice low and steady.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to brush past him. “It’s just a joke, Sarge.”

His hand came up, gentle but firm, stopping you before you could flee.

“It’s not funny,” he said. “Not to me.”

You tried to shrug it off, even as your throat tightened. “Relax. I’m not fishing for compliments. I’m just realistic, you know? Built like a bantha in body armor. It’s fine.”

He blinked slowly. Once.

Then, “Don’t say that about my girl.”

Your breath caught. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he interrupted. “I haven’t said it yet, but you are.”

Your protest fizzled somewhere in your chest.

He stepped closer, and now his hand was on your waist—your soft waist, the one you avoided letting anyone touch—like it belonged there.

“Do you know how hard it is for me to keep my hands off you when you wear that shirt?”

You blinked. “You mean the shirt that makes me look like a wrapped ration pack?”

“I mean the shirt that hugs you in all the right places,” he murmured, sliding his hand along the curve of your hip like it was art. “The one that reminds me exactly how good you’d feel in my arms. Or on my lap. Or under me.”

Your cheeks burned. “Hunter…”

“I love how you look,” he said. “But more than that, I love you. All the parts you try to cover. All the jokes you use to hide the things you’re still learning to live with.”

His tone was quiet. Serious.

“You don’t need to pretend with me.”

Your throat ached. Your hands twitched at your sides like they didn’t know whether to cover your face or grab his.

“I don’t know how to believe you,” you admitted softly.

“That’s okay,” he said. “Let me believe it for both of us until you can.”

You stared at him, all your words gone, and he kissed you—slow, reverent, grounding.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like something to fix.

You felt like someone wanted.

⸻

Later that night, you made another joke about needing “extra rations to fuel all this real estate,” and he didn’t hesitate.

He pulled you flush against him, kissed your neck, and growled in your ear:

“I hope you’ve got extra, sweetheart. I plan to spend all night exploring every damn inch of you.”

⸻

A/N - kind self inserted here, I’m a bigger girl and tend to make the jokes before anyone else can, not that most do

Hiiii! Could you do a Bad Batch x Fem!Reader where she’s like their new general (a force user but not a Jedi) where she’s trying to keep her distance to stay professional and to not fall for them but maybe she wakes up from a nightmare or has a really bad day and she goes to wrecker and sees if those hugs are still available? The others obviously see and a bunch of cute confessions? Love all the additions you add too!! Love all your work! Xx

“Permission to Feel”

Bad Batch x Fem!Reader

The Clone Force 99 barracks were quiet for once.

No late-night sparring, no Tech rattling off schematics, no arguments about snacks between Wrecker and Echo. Even Crosshair wasn’t brooding out loud. Just silence—and the hum of hyperspace.

You should have been grateful. Instead, you sat on your bunk with your face buried in your hands, heart hammering from the aftershocks of a nightmare you couldn’t quite shake.

You weren’t a Jedi. You never claimed to be. Not trained in their ways, not chained to their rules. You were something… other. The people on your homeworld called you “Witchblade.” A war hero. A force of nature. The Republic called you General.

But tonight, you were just a woman shaking in the dark, trying not to feel too much.

And failing.

The vision—whatever it was—had left your skin cold and your chest too tight. It wasn’t just war. It was loss. Familiar faces, falling.

You told yourself it was just stress. Just echoes from the Force. Nothing real.

But you couldn’t stay in this room.

Your feet found the floor before your mind caught up. You moved through the ship barefoot, shoulders hunched, arms crossed like you could hide the vulnerability leaking from your ribs.

Wrecker’s door was cracked open. Dim lights. Soft snoring. His massive frame curled on a bunk made way too small.

You hesitated. So many reasons not to do this. Not to cross that line. Not to give in.

But still—you whispered, “Wrecker?”

He stirred. Blinking. Yawning. “Hey, General…” His voice was warm and rough, like gravel and sunlight. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer at first. Then: “Are those hugs… still available?”

He was already opening his arms before you finished.

You didn’t cry. Not really. But when your face pressed against his chest and his arms wrapped around you like a fortress, you breathed in a way you hadn’t in days. Weeks. Maybe ever.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

You nodded against him. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

You felt the bed shift behind you, and only then realized others had stirred. You didn’t need to turn to know Hunter was standing in the doorway now, gaze sharp but not judging. Crosshair leaned against the frame, arms crossed but brows drawn together. Echo hovered behind him, concern etched into the lines around his eyes. Tech, as usual, said nothing—but his gaze softened when it landed on you.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” you mumbled, pulling back.

Wrecker held you a second longer, then let go gently. “It’s okay. You’re allowed.”

You sat back. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable now. Just… full. With things unsaid.

Hunter stepped in first. Sat across from you, elbows on his knees. “You don’t have to carry everything by yourself, you know.”

“I’m your commanding officer,” you said quietly.

“You’re you,” Crosshair replied, from the doorway. “That outranks any title.”

“I wasn’t trying to—” you started, but Echo interrupted gently.

“You were trying not to fall for us. We noticed.”

You blinked. “What?”

Wrecker chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, you’re not as subtle as you think, General.”

Tech pushed his goggles up. “Statistically, we have all exhibited signs of attachment. It is entirely mutual.”

Your heart stuttered.

Hunter leaned closer. “We don’t expect anything. We just… we care. And if you want this—want us—you’re not alone.”

You looked at them. Really looked.

These men—outcasts, experiments, your greatest allies—they weren’t just soldiers under your command. They were your anchor. And maybe you were theirs.

You exhaled, tension uncoiling from your shoulders like a storm breaking.

“Then… maybe I’ll stop pretending I don’t want you.”

Hunter smiled softly. “That’d be a good start.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes. “Finally.”

Wrecker just wrapped his arm around your shoulder again, and you leaned into it like it was the safest place in the galaxy.

Wrecker never stopped holding you.

He rested his chin on your head now, gently rocking you. “You don’t have to say anything,” he rumbled. “Not tonight. You can just stay.”

That simple.

You can just stay.

And so you did.

You stayed.

Sat nestled between the one who understood your silence (Echo), the one who sensed your pain (Hunter), the one who read your walls like blueprints (Tech), the one who’d never admit he cared but always acted like he did (Crosshair), and the one who’d give you the biggest piece of his heart without needing anything back (Wrecker).

Eventually, someone—maybe Echo, maybe Tech—tossed a blanket over your shoulders. Wrecker shifted, cradling your body like it was made of starlight and trauma. Hunter sat beside you, his hand finding your knee, thumb stroking softly in rhythm with your breath.

You drifted off like that.

Not in your quarters.

Not alone.

But safe, for once.

Warm, held, and finally—finally—seen.