#bad batch preferences

“Just a Teeny Prick, Sweetheart”

Bad Batch x Reader

Hunter was tired.

Exhausted, really. The kind of tired that seeps into the marrow of your bones, the kind that sleep doesn’t fix anymore. He was holding his squad together with sheer willpower, dwindling rations, and stim packs, and Tech had said something the other day that actually stuck:

“Statistically, it would be more efficient to outsource a trained medic. We are ill-equipped for sustained self-triage.”

That, paired with Wrecker nearly bleeding out after a skirmish on Corellia because someone (Echo) had “accidentally” used the wrong bacta dilution, finally pushed Hunter to agree.

You came highly recommended.

And you were… different.

⸻

The first time they saw you in action, you were crouched over Wrecker’s arm, cooing at him like he was a scared child.

“I know it stings, baby. Just a teeny prick, okay? You’re doing so good, honey.”

Wrecker—literal tank of a man, bruiser of nightmares—was blushing.

Like, full-body, ears-pink, avoiding-eye-contact blushing.

Hunter stood behind you blinking slowly. Tech actually stopped typing. Echo raised an eyebrow. Crosshair made a noise in his throat that might have been a suppressed laugh.

You, of course, were oblivious to the storm you’d just kicked off.

“All done!” you announced brightly, patting Wrecker’s arm as you bandaged it up. “You were so brave, sweetheart. Go on, get yourself a treat.”

Wrecker beamed. Like a puppy who’d been told he was a good boy.

And from that moment on, everything changed.

⸻

Hunter didn’t mean to stare. He really didn’t.

But he started noticing things.

The way your voice softened when you worked on him—“Deep breath, baby. In and out, just like that—good boy.”—and he’d nearly dropped dead right there. The way your hands lingered just a second too long when you pressed a bacta patch to his ribs. How your touch didn’t hurt even when it should.

He’d caught himself looking at you more than once while you cleaned your kit or tucked your hair behind your ear. You hummed while organizing supplies. You smelled like sterile wipes and something sweet. You called him “darlin’” once and he had to physically leave the room.

He started volunteering for med checks even when he was fine. “Just making sure I’m cleared for the next mission.”

You smiled every time. “Of course, sweet boy.”

Hunter was not okay.

⸻

Tech was confused at first. Your bedside manner was… statistically illogical. Surely grown men didn’t need to be called “sugar” or “darlin’” to survive triage.

And yet—

“You did amazing, sweetheart,” you said once, after removing a shard from his thigh. “So still, such a good patient.”

He’d never flushed so fast. His datapad nearly slipped from his fingers. The next day, he updated your medical database for efficiency—and also uploaded a music playlist that made you beam and say “Oh! This is perfect, thank you sugar.”

He recalibrated your scanner after that.

And your med droid.

And the lighting in the medbay.

And then started inventing reasons to come back. “Mild tinnitus,” “possible corneal abrasion,” “a faint ache in my ankle.” All documented. All excuses.

He was fine.

He was not fine.

⸻

Echo didn’t trust you at first. Too soft-spoken. Too sweet.

But then he watched you work during a firefight—calm under pressure, patching him mid-cover behind crates while blaster fire flew overhead.

You were gentle, but you didn’t flinch. Not once.

“You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you. Just keep pressure there, that’s it.”

He looked at you sideways, something twisting in his chest.

Later, after the fight, you came to check his stitches. “You really held it together,” you said with a warm smile. “Tough cookie.”

He snorted. “I’ve been called worse.”

You tilted your head. “Well, I call you Echo. And you’re one of my favorites.”

He didn’t know what to say. He just nodded and looked away.

And when you touched his metal arm without flinching—even thanked him for holding his own gauze—he felt… seen.

He was used to being patched up. But not to being cared for.

Now he sits just a little closer to you at meals. Offers you the first ration bar. He pretends not to notice when you call him “honey” again.

But he does.

⸻

Crosshair didn’t say anything for a long time.

He watched you. A lot. Silently. Unnervingly.

He noticed how your hands didn’t shake, how your tone stayed steady. You never flinched from his scars. You never forced him to speak.

One day, you caught him cleaning his rifle with a nasty cut on his hand.

“Cross,” you said gently, crouching beside him. “That’s gonna get infected, baby. C’mere.”

He raised a brow. “You call all your patients baby?”

You smirked. “Only the stubborn ones.”

He let you clean it. Didn’t complain once. Not even when you blew gently on the wound before bandaging it. His ears turned red, though.

“You’re good at this,” he said quietly.

You winked. “Don’t tell the others. They’ll want special treatment.”

He definitely did not steal one of your gloves to keep in his kit later.

Definitely not.

⸻

Wrecker had it bad.

From the second you cooed at him and called him “sweet boy,” he was gone.

He came to you for everything. Paper cuts. Headaches. “Funny feelings in his tummy” that were totally not butterflies. He’d pretend to limp just to get you to touch his shoulder.

And you? You were so nice about it.

“Oh, baby, you poor thing. Let me kiss it better.”

You didn’t actually kiss it. But he thought about asking. Just once.

He made you a little plushie out of spare parts and gave it to you with a bashful grin. “It’s you! Well, kinda. I made it ‘cause you always take care of us.”

You squealed. Hugged it to your chest. “This is the cutest thing anyone’s ever made me!”

Wrecker nearly passed out.

⸻

Eventually…

You start to notice.

How they hover just a little too long. How they all suddenly have “injuries” every time you do inventory. How they flinch slightly—but in a good way—when you call them sweetheart.

One night, you say it out loud at dinner.

“You boys sure do get hurt a lot. Almost like you’re doing it on purpose.”

They all freeze.

Then Echo coughs. Tech pushes up his goggles. Wrecker drops a fork. Crosshair mutters, “Told you it was obvious.” And Hunter—poor Hunter—rubs the back of his neck and avoids your eyes.

You lean forward, resting your chin in your hand with a smile.

“It’s okay,” you say sweetly. “I don’t mind being the team’s favorite. As long as I get paid in compliments.”

Wrecker nearly yells, “YOU’RE SO PRETTY.”

Tech immediately corrects, “Statistically, she has extremely symmetrical features.”

Crosshair sighs. “Maker, you’re all pathetic.”

Hunter just looks at you, dead serious. “You keep us together. You matter.”

You blink. A little stunned.

Then you grin. “Guess I better stock up on bacta patches, huh?”

(Sfw, fluff)

Hunter: It may take him a while to go to sleep depending on how he's doing. If he's absolutely and completely exhausted, and things are calm, he can fall asleep upright in any of the seats. But other times, if there's a lot going on in his mind (which happens often), it takes longer. He'll just lay there, staring at the ceiling and occasionally clearing his throat every few minutes. He may shift once or twice to get comfortable, but not much more than that. If you're with him, he will try his best not to disturb you, but he isn't opposed to a short, quiet talk. Hearing your voice, knowing you're safe, helps him relax. When he is out, he's fairly still and quiet. He's usually the first one up after Crosshair.

Wrecker: This guy is usually one of the first to sleep. He can pass out just about anywhere. Once he is out, it takes a lot to wake him because he sleeps very deeply. He snores, and on occasion he will shift or roll over. He also has a tendency to mumble. Usually, it is a few words or broken sentences, pieces of dreams he's having. If you're with him, he will most definitely cuddle you. It gets a little warm considering his body temp is higher. He tends to be one of the last ones to wake despite being the first to sleep. The man likes his sleepies.

Tech: He is often the last to sleep. Being that he usually has multiple projects going on at a time, it's very rare that he can just settle down without tinkering for a while first. If you somehow get him to nap with you before he's reached the point of utter exhaustion, he may be a little conversational. He'd try his best to keep from disturbing you if you are too tired to talk, but he'd prefer to have freedom to muse over things aloud, even if you're too sleepy to respond. When he does finally pass out, he's still. He doesn't sleep as much as he should, so when he does, it's pretty deep. He has the tendency to mutter things, pieces of information that are actually coherent even if they are random.

Echo: He has good nights, but some bad ones. Sometimes, he can't quite get to sleep right away- too many things running through his head in the moments of quiet. He prefers to have company, someone to talk quietly with or simply occupy the space with him so that he isn't left alone with his thoughts. If you're with him, he finds it takes less time to relax. When he does fall asleep, he fidgets and twitches a bit. He isn't necessarily a light sleeper, but he doesn't quite pass out so deeply as Wrecker does. He gets nightmares once in a while, which will cause him to wake up in a state of distress. He is grateful when someone is there to assure him everything's alright and coax him back to sleep.

A/N: First fic of 2022! I’m back from my unplanned hiatus (with a new, functioning laptop) with another entry into The Dad Batch series! I super appreciate the love y’all gave the Wrecker one [the original post unfortunately got deleted, but I just reuploaded it], and I hope this pleases my fellow Tech girls! As before, there’s some story (mainly the number of children + the genders that I envisioned each having), but otherwise this is a reader | Y/N insert.

(I know clones are canonically sterile, just pretend with me that our favorite genetically modified squad is not)

Description: Tech x Fem!Reader | Rating: General audiences. No warnings: just indulgent, domestic fluff! | Gif credit: user sergeant-hunter

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

“Parenting is a science that can be understood and mastered like any other.”

That’s the stance Tech confidently took at first, anyway

It didn’t take long after for him to figure out that it wasn’t quite so precise

He was surprisingly calm when you told him that you were pregnant, even when you questioned him about it

“Well, why wouldn’t I be? There is no one else I would have as my partner and the mother of my child. I have no reason to worry.”

His words, methodic as they were, were all the assurance you needed

You knew he was overjoyed in his own, logical way

In the days following, he continually mentioned your pregnancy and his enthusiasm for fatherhood every chance he got; Hunter eventually had to order him to stop bringing it up while they were “on duty”

He is a Book Parent™

If there was a file, book, pamphlet, or database about pregnancy and child rearing, you can bet he had them all read and memorized before your second trimester even arrived

Tech has never been exceedingly verbose about his affection, but he more than proves the depths of his care for you with his actions

Although you were often sick during the early months of your pregnancy, you couldn’t have been in better hands

Tech is an excellent caretaker

There’s no ailment this man doesn’t have a fix for, and even if there were, he would have a cure invented in two shakes of a gundark’s tail

“You require additional rest and nutrition when you are with child. It is my duty and my honor to provide it to you, along with anything else you may desire.”

Whatever you wanted, he would either retrieve it or make it himself - the reclining chair he fashioned for your aching back was, in your opinion, his greatest invention ever

Often your greatest need was simply his company, which he gladly provided, reading to you many nights until you fell asleep with your head on his shoulder

Your child would never, ever want for knowledge

Tech ensured that your baby’s nursery was stocked with the galaxy’s greatest works on every subject imaginable

You were going to explain to him that it would be several years before they would be able to read any of it, and several more to understand even half of it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it after seeing how much pride it gave him to supply his child with the knowledge he treasures so much

He loved rubbing your pregnant belly and sharing with you the endless facts he’d learned about motherhood

“Infants establish a familiar bond with their mother in the womb simply through the sound of her voice,” he informed proudly

“Does it work for fathers too?” you asked with a smile

“The data is inconclusive. I am, however, willing to test that theory.”

When the time came to fly to the hospital, he was as level-headed as ever, and it was probably the smoothest flight you’d ever been on with him at the helm

His enduring calm soothed your nerves and helped you focus during labor

He never let go of your hand, reminding you of your breathing techniques and constantly reassuring you

You gave birth to a healthy baby boy, and in the moment that Tech first laid eyes on his son, he was struck speechless

Dad Mode Activated

Thanks to his extensive research, he knew instantly how to cradle an infant, bringing him to your side when the doctors were finished

“Hello, little one,” he smiled, tears in his eyes, “We are your parents, and we’re delighted to meet you. Officially.”

The excitement of that day never faded - if there was a code for parenting, Tech was determined to crack it

He is a master at changing - you didn’t know it was possible to switch a diaper that fast, but Dank Ferrik, were you grateful he could

When your son is fussy, Tech loves to sing lullabies to him, especially ones in other languages

His favorite is a traditional Mandalorian song that your little one loves so much, every time he sings it, it puts your baby to sleep without fail

Tech was eager to introduce his adorable offspring to his brothers and Omega

Matching Father + Son goggles

It only took a few months to realize that your son inherited his father’s challenged eyesight, but Tech was more than happy to make a special pair of goggles for his little face

He continued to craft new ones as your baby grew, always thinking of ways to improve them

Omega finds their matching eyewear endlessly amusing (as do you)

“It’s like they’re twins!”

There’s nothing he can’t fix

He has every broken toy repaired before the tears can even dry

He also often find ways to “improve” certain playthings to make your little one that much happier - the Bantha and Reek toys he modified to have “authentic vocal patterns” are your son’s absolute favorite

You did have to draw the line at your tinkerer’s idea for a model starfighter with functioning, to-scale boosters

Everything is a learning moment

Although you couldn’t be more grateful for his dedication to all things dad, sometimes you have gently remind Tech that some concepts, like the ecological impact of modified hyperspeed engines, don’t need to be explained to a three-year-old

Luckily, your son also inherited his father’s inquisitive nature

As limitless as the questions of a toddler are, Tech’s thoughtful answers seem to be just as infinite; it warms your heart to see how closely Tech listens to your little one’s half-babbled inquiries

Fieldtrips

Tech saw to it that his son would grow up with an appreciation for all cultures- it seemed like your kid had been to every museum, library, and gallery Coruscant had to offer by age five

After encouraging your beau to also include playgrounds, zoos, and a few sugary snacks on the itinerary, he soon achieved a healthy balance of educational incursions and “necessary adolescent antics”

Wrecker is a huge help with fun times as well, more than happy to take his favorite nephew and “Aunt Omega” out for a flight around the city to get sweet treats

Although between the two of you, Tech was more inclined to be the disciplinarian, the occasion rarely calls for it - logical discussions are usually sufficient for your already well-mannered child, as opposed methods like time outs and groundings which Tech insists are “unpredictable and unpleasant for both child and parent”

You weren’t so sure at first, but the results were undeniable as your boy grew up almost always choosing reason over impulse, getting top marks in all his classes at academy and never once needing discipline

Tech never misses an opportunity to boast about this, incredibly proud of his son in all his pursuits

The family that hacks together, stays together

As soon as your son was old enough, Tech began teaching him everything he knew about technology, communications, engineering, and most importantly, how to hack it all

Mini-Me

While your boy definitely takes after you in temperament, and is a bit more inclined to hands-on solutions over data and calculation, he is the spitting image of his daddy, goggles and all

When they stand beside each other (especially since your son hit a growth spurt), you often have to do a double take

Flying lessons

Tech was thrilled when your son showed an interest in learning how to fly, and perhaps to the detriment of pilots and their ships everywhere, he turned out to be a natural

Just like his father, he’s a risk-taker in the pilot’s seat, occasionally pulling maneuvers that even Tech admits are “decidedly dubious”

After that first time, you never forgot again to fly with an empty stomach

Kissing

------------

Crosshair

Favorite Place: Just behind your ear and along your jaw. He prefers to wrap his arms around you from behind and these places are easier to reach. Plus they’re more sensitive and he likes to watch you squirm.

Makeouts: Definitely. And frequently. Whenever he gets back from a mission, you do something he finds hot, or just because he hasn’t kissed you in awhile.

First Kiss:

It was hot on Techitua. Dusty too. You lowered your shades on your nose, a polarized version of Tech’s goggles as Crosshair opened a case on the ground.

A makeshift shooting range was set up parallel to the Marauder, a metal piece with a target spray painted on it placed at a distance of 25 meters.

Hunter had told you that if you wanted to stay on board, you needed to know how to defend yourself and assigned you to Crosshair, without even asking if you had any prior experience.

“Alright. I don’t expect you to be top notch with this thing.” Crosshair said, his tone borderline patronizing as he removed a small blaster from the case. “Blasters take a lot of practice to use correctly and you’re only a doctor. I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t hit anything.”

You raised an eyebrow at him and took the blaster from his hand. Barely looking at the target, you took aim and fired one, two, three, four, five shots.

Crosshair’s slack jaw and a quick glance told you they all hit the bullseye.

“You forget, soldier,” You said smugly. “I’m an army doctor. I can rip you apart and put you back together just as easily.”

Crosshair’s toothpick hit the dirt and then he was on you, smashing his lips to your hungrily.

.*(*)*..**(*)**...**(***)**...**(*)**..*(*)*.

Echo

Favorite place: Your hand. He likes to hold your hand and bring it up to his lips for absentminded kisses. When you cup his face, he turns his head and presses kisses to your palm.

Makeouts: Not too often. He’s shy after all his modifications and you definitely have to initiate them, but once he relaxes, then he’s into it.

First Kiss:

“Dang ferreck!” You swore as the control panel of the rescued radio shocked you for the fifth time that night.

You gave it a swift thump on the top in retaliation, gritting your teeth.

You needed this to work. It had to work. It’d been so long since you heard real music.

Another try at the wiring and another spark that singed your fingertips. You let out another string of curses and tossed your screwdriver onto the counter with a clank before thumping your forehead against the table repeatedly.

There was a gentle touch on your back that stopped your assault on your cranium. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. You could feel the poke of Echo’s prosthetic through your tunic.

“You alright?” He asked.

“No,” You grumbled into the metal.

Echo sighed quietly and after some shifting behind you, you raised your head to see his human hand disconnect two crossed wires and reconnect them at new points. There was a fizz of static and then a gentle song began to float through the speakers.

You let out a whoop of joy and leaped to your feet, grabbing the clone by his collar to pull him down for a quick kiss.

“Thank you!” You squealed, snatching up your screwdriver again and leaving Echo standing there, stunned and pink.

.*(*)*..**(*)**...**(***)**...**(*)**..*(*)*.

Hunter

Favorite place: Your neck. He likes to feel your pulse point and kiss the sunmarks and spots along your skin. It’s also one of the best places for him to get your scent.

Makeouts: Not as often as Crosshair, but frequent. He likes to be affectionate with you and when he gets time or feels stressed, being around you and close to you is his priority.

First Kiss:

You’d been separated from the Batch in a marketplace and were now wandering aimlessly.

As you passed an alleyway you heard a whistle and a man sidled up to you.

“Hey gorgeous,” He said. “Where you going?”

“Away from you,” You muttered, but he heard it anyway and snorted. “Feisty girl.”

A gag rose up in your throat and you increased your pace. Behind you the man called. “Hey I’m talking to you! Though I appreciate the view!”

A hand landed on your butt and you whirled, fist raised to deck the stranger for daring to touch you. Before you could though, someone stepped between you and punched him, hard.

You looked up to see Hunter, a deep scowl on his tattooed face as he glowered at your harasser.

“Don’t touch her,” He growled, drawing up to his full height.

The man spat and launched himself at Hunter, sending them both rolling to the ground.

There was some yelling and sounds of fists hitting bodies before Hunter scrambled to his feet breathing hard as your harasser lay on the ground, groaning.

Hunter turned to you with worried eyes and you punched him in the arm hard and then quickly pecked his lips. “You didn’t have to make a scene.”

“Sorry,” He said, not sounding sorry at all as he pulled you in for another kiss.

.*(*)*..**(*)**...**(***)**...**(*)**..*(*)*.

Tech

Favorite place: Your forehead and temples. He can get so busy with this or that and a quick peck to the forehead is his go-to for affection when he’s caught up in something.

Makeouts: Usually whenever he gets an idea he wants to try with you. He learned affection mainly from books so he’s picking up more and more as he goes. Usually you initiate the sessions. However, when he gains confidence later in the relationship, things get more serious as he experiments.

First Kiss:

“Tech?” You called from the porch of your hideout. Hunter had sent you to fetch the male for dinner and so far he was nowhere to be found.

“In here!” The clone called and you followed the sound into the shed to see Tech holding two vials above a pot.

“What’re you doing?” You asked leaning on the doorframe.

“I’m testing a theory. The substance excreted from the fire salamanders’ skin may have some properties that can boost our explosives.” He replied, carefully tipping the vial of white powder in, followed by the orange liquid.

“And you thought it was a good idea to test that in my shed?” You said, quirking a brow.

The technician had the decency to look a little abashed. “Well it isn’t in the house.”

He set the tubes aside and picked up a firestarter, holding it over the pot. “And a spark to trigger the reaction..”

Crack. Fwoomp! Boom!

The small windows shattered and you ducked as a blaze burst up from the pot and then died out just as quickly, sending up a cloud of ash and dust.

When the smoke receded, you heard Tech give a small cough and looked over to see his whole face covered in soot and the front of his normally gelled back hair spiked up.

You burst into giggles, picking up a small cloth from the worktable and approaching the clone to wipe his goggles clean.

He blinked at you from behind the lenses, like he was surprised to see you and you smiled. “That went well.”

Tech gave you a sheepish look. “I’m sorry about the windows. I’ll fix them tomorrow.”

You laughed again, waving him off. “It’s alright. I was prepared for damages when I brought you lot here.”

He gave you a grateful look and suddenly you couldn’t help yourself, darting forward and pecking his lips.

Tech immediately turned scarlet. “What was that for?”

You shrugged. “For being you.”

And then you passed him the cloth with a wink. “Hunter says dinner’s ready. You should probably clean up a bit before you come inside.”

.*(*)*..**(*)**...**(***)**...**(*)**..*(*)*.

Wrecker

Favorite place: Your cheeks and nose. He likes to pepper kisses all over your face. He’s so enraptured by you that he wants to keep you close at all times to make sure you’re real. Plus he’s a massive cuddlebug.

Makeouts: On occasion. But this boy is too much of a teddy bear for anything more than gentle loving touches. He’s slow and sweet and so very careful with you.

First Kiss:

The Batch was pinned down in an abandoned bunker as a gang faction gathered outside. Echo was doing his best to reboot the turrets while Tech worked on the doors, but unless it happened fast, you weren’t getting out of this unscathed.

You were peering out one of the broken windows with Hunter, Crosshair, and Wrecker picking off grunts where you could, but they had greater numbers and illegal firepower.

A shot from a bike mounted turret hit the wall above your lookout and the ceiling caved in, causing Wrecker tackle you, cradling you to him as he rolled away.

“You alright?” He asked, pushing off of you, his voice higher than normal.

“Yeah.” You said and Hunter swore as glass shattered behind you.

“Echo!! What’s the status on those defense systems?!”

“Same as you asked thirty seconds ago!” Echo snapped. “These circuits are rubbish! This place should have been scrapped for parts years ago!”

Parts.

A light bulb went off in your brain and you immediately turned to Wrecker. “Give me a charge!”

“Why?!”

“Trust me!”

He gave you a look you couldn’t read under the helmet, but dropped an explosive in your palm.

Immediately you started dismantling it. “I need a gravmag, some wires, and anything explosive we can spare. Oh and Echo’s arm.”

“What?” Said Echo.

You ignored him and started your hunt for parts as you snatched a screwdriver, a multipurpose laser tool, and pliers from Tech’s backpack, stripped a console, broke Crosshair’s gravmag off of his grappling hook, and took three more charges from Wrecker. You dismantled, screwed, and rewired before beckoning Echo over and having him weld it all together.

“(Y/N),” Wrecker asked as he fired off another shot. “What are you doing?”

You waved him off as you activated your new, shoddy weapon of mass destruction and bolted for the window, lobbing it as hard and far as you could.

“Hit the dirt!” You yelled and there was a large boom and the whole building rattled.

When the dust cleared, you beamed proudly at the clear landscape.

The gang that had been surrounding your hiding place was now lying unconscious having been thrown a good 50 meters in all directions at extreme speeds.

“What-“ Said Crosshair in his rare stunned tone. “What did you do?”

“Simply,” You said. “I reversed the polarity and made it into a big bang.”

Wrecker whooped and tossed his helmet aside, scooping you into a bear hug and peppering kisses all over your face. “THAT’S MY GIRL!”

You turned pink and he drew back from you enough to press a sweet kiss to your lips, which only served to fill your face with crimson.

There was an awkward cough from one of his brothers and Wrecker turned a similar shade of red, setting you back on the ground.

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

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.

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

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.