Delta Squad Material List🧡❤️💚💛

this is the peak of my artistic career

“War on Two Fronts” pt.8 (Final Part)

Captain Rex x Reader x Commander Bacara

The cantina had never felt so alive.

Over the last several weeks, she had joined the Bad Batch on a few of Cid’s more difficult jobs. Recovery runs, extractions, a few tight infiltration missions—each one forging a subtle bond between them. She and Hunter found common ground in silent understanding, Wrecker made her laugh despite herself, and even Tech, with his logic and curiosity, had started asking her opinion more often than not.

Cid still didn’t know her full story. The Trandoshan just assumed she was another burned-out merc who’d gone to ground after the war, hiding her past in the quiet monotony of bar work. And that suited the her just fine. The fewer people who knew, the safer everyone was.

But on one mission—one where they’d helped two bold sisters named Rafa and Trace Martez—she’d felt it again. That familiar pull in the Force, that reminder of what she used to be. Rafa had seen it too, maybe not for what it was, but she’d looked at her like someone who knew the fight wasn’t over yet. Trace had even asked if they’d ever met before.

She had only shaken her head. “Not in this lifetime.”

Now, back at Cid’s, sweaty and aching and dusty from another run, the Batch filed in ahead of her. Her boots dragged slightly, exhaustion settling in her bones like old echoes. She was about to hang her blaster at the rack when her breath caught—sharp, immediate, deep.

She felt him before she saw him.

The Force surged like a wave just under her skin. A presence wrapped in memory and loyalty and grief. Her head snapped up.

Standing in the corner of Cid’s parlor, talking low with Hunter, was Captain Rex.

He hadn’t changed much—still clad in familiar white and blue armor, cloak drawn over one shoulder, a little more wear on his face, a little more heaviness behind his eyes. His gaze was sharp as ever.

And then his eyes locked with hers.

The world fell away.

She didn’t breathe. Neither did he.

“Rex?” she said, barely a whisper.

Cid squinted at her. “Wait—you two know each other?”

Neither answered.

“Holy kriff,” Wrecker muttered.

The room fell into silence. Even Tech looked up from his scanner, blinking rapidly.

She took a step forward, heart in her throat. He took one too.

“…You’re alive,” Rex finally said.

“So are you,” she whispered back.

Rex’s voice broke just slightly. “I thought I lost you on Mygeeto.”

She wanted to say a thousand things. She wanted to cry. Or maybe scream. Instead, she smiled—tight and aching.

“You almost did.”

“You were reported dead,” Rex said, his voice lower now, almost reverent. “The logs said your ship was shot down before it cleared Mygeeto’s atmosphere. That you never made it off-world.”

She blinked, her mouth parting as if to speak, but nothing came at first. Her throat tightened.

“No,” she said finally. “That… never happened. I made it out clean. No damage. No one even fired at my ship.”

Rex stared at her, confusion shadowing his face. “That doesn’t make sense. That kind of discrepancy… someone altered the report.”

Her heart began to pound harder now, a slow, rising pressure like air being sucked out of the room.

A beat passed.

“…Bacara,” she said aloud, but not to Rex—more like to herself. The name slipped out like a bitter taste on her tongue.

It didn’t make sense. And yet, it did. The moment on the battlefield, when his blaster had locked on her with terrifying precision—then hesitated. Just for a breath. And she had felt something underneath the chip-induced obedience. A pause. A struggle.

And then the fake report.

Did he lie? The thought whispered through her like a crack of light through stormclouds. Did he lie to protect me?

But the thought was gone as quickly as it came—burned out by the searing heat of Rex’s presence.

“Doesn’t matter,” she muttered, shaking it off, forcing herself back to the now. “I survived. That’s what matters.”

Rex wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was looking past her, to the others.

To the rest of the Batch.

His body tensed, like a wire pulled too tight.

“…You haven’t removed your chips,” Rex said suddenly, voice sharp and cold as a vibroblade.

The Bad Batch stilled.

“What?” Echo stepped forward. “Rex—”

“I said,” Rex growled, stepping into the middle of the group, “you haven’t removed your inhibitor chips. After everything we’ve seen—after what happened to her—you’re still walking around with those things in your heads?”

“We haven’t had an episode,” Tech offered calmly. “We believe our mutation suppresses its effectiveness.”

Rex’s hand hovered near his blaster now.

“Belief isn’t good enough. You’re a threat to her.”

The reader stepped between them, her heart in her throat.

“Rex—”

“No,” he said, not to her, but about her. “She barely survived the last time a squad turned on her. You really want to gamble her life again?”

Hunter met Rex’s fury head-on, calm but firm. “We’re not your enemy.”

“Not yet,” Rex snapped. “But I’ve seen what those chips do. I felt it tear my mind apart. You think just because you haven’t activated, it won’t happen? You don’t get to risk her.”

The reader put a hand on his chest, stopping him, grounding him.

“I can take care of myself,” she said quietly. “They’ve had plenty of chances. And they haven’t.”

But Rex’s gaze didn’t soften. Not yet.

“I lost everything,” he said, finally looking at her again. “Don’t ask me to stand by and watch it happen again. Not to you.”

⸻

The makeshift medbay in the old star cruiser felt colder than the cantina ever had. The surgical pod hissed softly as Tech monitored the vitals, his face pale in the glow of the console.

Wrecker sat on the edge of the table, visibly uneasy.

“I really don’t like this, guys,” he muttered, voice strained. “This doesn’t feel right.”

Hunter stepped forward, voice calm. “You’ll be okay. We’ve all done it now, Wreck. You’re the last one.”

The reader stood to the side, hands clasped tightly. She had helped on this mission, grown close to them over the weeks. The thought of any of them hurting her—or Omega—was almost impossible. But she’d seen what the chip could do. She had lived it.

“You trust me, don’t you?” Omega asked softly, standing near Wrecker’s knee.

Wrecker gave her a pained smile. “’Course I do, kid.”

She left his side reluctantly as Tech activated the procedure.

Then it began.

Sparks of pain registered on the screen—neural surges, error readings. Wrecker groaned, clutching his head.

The reader’s breath hitched.

“Tech?” Echo stepped forward. “That’s not normal—”

Wrecker’s growl cut through the room. His hands gripped the edges of the table until they bent under his strength.

He lunged.

Tech hit the emergency release—but too late. Wrecker was up, snarling, wild-eyed.

“You’re all traitors!” he shouted.

Hunter shoved Omega behind him. “Wrecker, fight it!”

“In violation of Order 66!” he bellowed, locking eyes with the reader.

She barely had time to ignite her saber as he charged.

They clashed hard—fist to blade. Sparks flew. Her heart pounded. He was trying to kill her.

He wasn’t Wrecker anymore.

“You don’t want to do this!” she cried, dodging as he smashed a console.

Echo and Hunter tried to flank him, but he threw them aside effortlessly. He moved toward Omega next—drawn to the Jedi-adjacent signature she carried.

“No!” the reader screamed, hurling him back with the Force.

That dazed him just long enough for Tech to line up the stun shot—two bursts of blue light—and Wrecker dropped to the ground, unconscious.

The silence afterward felt deafening.

Omega rushed into the reader’s arms, trembling.

“I-It wasn’t him,” she whispered. “That wasn’t Wrecker…”

The reader just held her tightly, blinking away her own tears.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.”

The cruiser’s medbay was quiet again, the hum of the equipment the only sound as Wrecker stirred.

He groaned, eyes fluttering open, then blinked blearily at the harsh lighting above. The reader stood near the far wall, arms crossed, eyes guarded. Omega was asleep in a nearby chair, curled up beneath a blanket.

Wrecker sat up slowly, then immediately winced. “Urgh… what happened?”

Hunter leaned forward, cautious. “You don’t remember?”

Wrecker rubbed his temple. “Just… pain. Then nothing.”

Tech stood near the console. “Your inhibitor chip activated. We had to stun you to prevent serious harm.”

Wrecker glanced around, gaze slowly landing on the reader. His heart dropped.

“I—I hurt you, didn’t I?” he rasped.

She didn’t speak at first. Her jaw was tight, her knuckles white where they gripped her sleeves.

“You tried to kill me,” she said quietly. “Tried to kill Omega.”

Wrecker’s shoulders slumped, devastated.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, barely able to get the words out. “I couldn’t stop it… I wasn’t me. I’d never hurt you. Or her.”

The reader finally stepped closer. “I know,” she said. “It wasn’t you. It was the chip.”

“But it was me,” Wrecker insisted. “It was my hands. My voice. I said those things…”

Omega stirred then, blinking awake. She saw Wrecker sitting up and scrambled over, hugging him fiercely before anyone could stop her.

He held her gently, cradling her as if she were made of glass. His voice cracked when he whispered, “I’m sorry, kid.”

“I forgive you,” she murmured.

The room went still.

The reader watched them, throat tight. The bruises on her arms still throbbed. But the sincerity in Wrecker’s voice, the pain in his eyes—it reached something inside her.

She gave a small nod. “So do I.”

Wrecker looked up, eyes glassy. “Really?”

She stepped closer, touching his shoulder. “You were the last one with that thing in your head. It’s over now. You’re still Wrecker.”

He exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath for days.

Echo gave him a nod. “You’re one of us. Always.”

Tech cleared his throat. “Now that we’re all… unchipped, we can begin operating more freely. No more sudden execution protocols.”

Hunter placed a hand on Wrecker’s arm. “We move forward together.”

Wrecker nodded slowly, and Omega curled back up beside him, calmer now.

The reader stepped back, quietly observing them.

Something had changed in her too. Watching them risk everything for one another, seeing how hard they fought to stay together, to be together—it stirred something she hadn’t let herself feel in a long time:

Hope.

⸻

Ord Mantell’s night air was thick with the scent of dust and ion fuel, the stars low and heavy above the cluttered skyline.

She stood alone on the overlook behind Cid’s parlor, arms folded against the breeze, her lightsaber weighing heavy at her side. It was the first time she’d clipped it there in months.

She didn’t flinch when Rex approached. She felt him before she heard him.

“You sure?” he asked, stopping beside her.

She nodded, slow. “Yeah.”

They stood in silence for a long time. The clatter of cantina noise bled faintly through the walls. Somewhere below, Wrecker was likely teaching Omega how to throw a punch without breaking her wrist. Echo would be reading. Hunter brooding. Tech lecturing some poor soul who made the mistake of asking a question.

They’d become a strange sort of family. And that made this harder.

“I’m not running,” she finally said. “Not from them. But I can’t keep hiding in a bar like the war never happened.”

“You don’t owe anyone an explanation,” Rex said quietly.

She turned to look at him, really look at him—his expression weary, but his posture still sharp. There was always weight behind his gaze, but now it was heavier. Lonelier. She recognized it. She felt it too.

“I think I owe them a goodbye,” she said.

⸻

Inside, the Batch were gathered around the table. She stood before them, her saber now visibly clipped to her hip.

They all turned. Omega was the first to speak. “You’re leaving?”

“I am,” she said. Her voice didn’t shake. “With Rex.”

A beat of silence.

Hunter stood. “You’re sure?”

She nodded. “You all gave me something I didn’t realize I needed. But I can’t stay here while there’s still a fight out there.”

Tech removed his goggles briefly, nodding with rare sincerity. “You’ve always been capable. I suspected it the moment I saw you cleaning barstools like you’d rather stab someone.”

That earned a faint laugh, even from her.

Wrecker stepped forward, wrapping her in a careful, crushing hug. “Just don’t get shot or anything.”

“I’ll try not to,” she muttered into his chestplate.

Echo approached last, meeting her gaze with quiet understanding. “Stay safe. And if you ever need us—”

“I’ll find you,” she said. “I promise.”

Omega flung herself into her arms, teary-eyed but brave. “Will you visit?”

“If I can,” she whispered. “I’ll try.”

⸻

Outside again, Rex waited by the speeder. She joined him in silence, the saber at her hip now humming softly against her side.

“You ready?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “But I’m going anyway.”

Rex smirked faintly. “Good answer.”

They mounted the speeder, and as it took off into the dark, she didn’t look back.

Not because she didn’t care.

But because it hurt too much.

And because the future waited.

⸻

*Time Skip*

The AT-TE creaked in the dry wind, its repurposed hull groaning like an old man settling into bed. Panels of mismatched metal were welded over the gaps, creating a patchwork home that had weathered years of storms, dust, and silence. A line of vapor-trapped cables ran down from a salvaged power generator, and the front cannon had long since been converted into a lookout perch—with an old caf pot hanging just beneath it.

Out here on Seelos, nothing moved fast—except time.

She sat alone atop the forward deck, legs dangling over the edge, her lightsaber in a locked case at her feet. She hadn’t opened it in years. Some days she forgot it was even there. Other days, her hand would rest on it unconsciously, like a phantom limb that still itched.

Behind her, laughter echoed from inside—Gregor’s wild cackle, Wolffe grumbling that something in the stew “smelled too fresh,” and Rex… softer now, slower in his step, but still unmistakably him.

He didn’t wear armor anymore. Not really. The old pauldrons were used as patch plates on the AT-TE, and his helmet rested on a shelf with a layer of dust thick enough to write in. His hair was white now, and his back bent a little more with each passing year. She could see the toll the war had taken on his body—clones weren’t built for longevity. But his eyes? Those still held that sharp, earnest fire when he looked at her.

They had made a quiet life together. A small garden. A stripped-down comm dish for the occasional transmission. She cooked. He read. Some mornings they sat in silence with caf, the sun rising red over the Seelos horizon like blood on sand.

And yet, there were moments—when the wind howled just so, or when night came too quiet—when her thoughts drifted elsewhere.

To him.

To Bacara.

She hadn’t seen him since Mygeeto. Since she watched him gun down Master Mundi without hesitation—since he turned on her with no emotion at all, like a stranger wearing a familiar face. But sometimes, she wondered. He’d lied in his report. She was sure of it. He said her ship was shot down before it breached the atmosphere… but it wasn’t. He let her go.

Why?

And where was he now?

Did he ever think about her? Did the chip ever break like it did in Rex? Or did he die a soldier, still bound to the Empire? Still hunting Jedi in the shadows of a life that used to mean more?

She shook the thought away.

She had Rex.

And this peace… this was real.

The perimeter alarm chirped—one long tone, then two short. A ship. Small. Civilian or rebel-modified. Old programming still made her spine go rigid.

She stood, heart steady but alert, as the vessel descended into view. The dust curled beneath it, kicking up into the dusk-lit sky.

By the time it touched down, she was already at the foot of the AT-TE, hand hovering instinctively near the saber case tucked behind the front hatch.

Then the ramp lowered.

She felt it.

The Force.

Before they even stepped out.

Two Jedi.

A Mandalorian.

And a Lasat.

Ezra Bridger emerged first, cautious and respectful. Sabine Wren followed, helmet in hand, and Zeb let out a low grunt of approval at the sight of the old war walker.

And then him.

The Jedi.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Not because he was a stranger.

Because he wasn’t.

Caleb Dume.

He didn’t look the same—not exactly. Older now, guarded. His hair longer, beard fuller, movements tighter like someone who had lived on the edge too long.

But she knew those eyes.

“Kanan Jarrus,” he introduced himself, stepping forward.

She didn’t return the greeting immediately. Her voice was quiet. “I knew you as Caleb.”

He stiffened, face unreadable. The others exchanged a glance. The Lasat’s hand twitched near his weapon, but Hera gently put a hand on his arm.

Kanan didn’t deny it. “Then you’re…?”

“I was with Master Mace Windus second padawan,” she said. “I remember you at the Temple. You were small. Loud. You used to sneak into the archives to look at holos of war reports.”

His expression softened. “That sounds like me.”

“You survived.”

“So did you.”

They stood in silence for a moment. The past stretched like a shadow between them.

Ezra finally stepped in. “Do the numbers CT-7567 mean anything to you? Ashoka Tano said he might help us establish a network… fight back against the Empire.”

Behind her, footsteps thudded—Rex stepping out of the AT-TE, wiping his hands with a rag, eyebrows raised as he spotted the group.

“Told ya they’d find us eventually,” Gregor called from the hatch, cheerful as ever.

The reader didn’t take her eyes off Kanan.

He was studying Rex, but his focus kept flicking back to her.

She could feel the tension like a storm behind his eyes. The chip. Order 66. Old scars. Unspoken pain.

She understood. But this wasn’t about the past anymore.

This was the beginning of something new.

A new hope.

⸻

Previous Chapter

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.

Hiya babes! Hope you’re doing well! Just outta say I absolutely adore your writing and always brings a smile to my face when you post!!

I was hoping you could do an angst fic where it’s the boys reactions to you jumping in front of them taking a hit/bolt. You can choose the clone group! Xxx

Thank you so much — seriously, your kind words mean the world to me!! I’m so glad my writing can bring a little light to your day 💛

I hope you don’t mind that I decided to go with the Wolf pack for this one. I hope you enjoy 🫶

⸻

“For the Pack”

Reader x 104th Battalion (Wolffe, Sinker, Boost)

⸻

You don’t think. You just move. That’s what instinct does when family is in danger.

The air was thick with heat and cordite, the jungle humid enough to choke on. Blasterfire lit the treeline in wild flashes—red bolts cutting through the green like angry stars. You pressed forward with your saber raised, breath tight in your chest, the Force buzzing like a live wire beneath your skin.

This wasn’t supposed to be a heavy engagement. Just a scouting mission. Routine.

But nothing about war ever stays routine for long.

“Wolffe, move it! You’re exposed!” you shouted, watching him duck behind cover just as two more shots chewed bark over his head.

“Copy that,” Wolffe growled, popping off a few retaliatory blasts. “Boost! Sinker! Sweep the right flank and flush that nest!”

“Already on it!” Boost called from somewhere in the brush.

“We’re getting pinned down out here!” Sinker added, tone sharp but controlled.

You moved closer to Wolffe, saber up, covering his retreat as he repositioned behind the half-blown trunk of a felled tree. The rest of the battalion had spread out, covering the ridgeline, trying to locate the sniper.

That’s when it hit you—the feeling.

The Force spiked.

Time slowed.

A heartbeat ahead of the moment, you felt it: danger, aimed at someone you couldn’t let go.

Wolffe was turning. He wasn’t going to make it in time.

You didn’t think. You just moved.

A leap. A cry. A single instant of instinct and fear and absolute certainty.

And then the bolt hit you square in the back.

Wolffe didn’t register what happened right away. One moment he was turning to call out an order, the next there was a flash of blue, the hum of a saber, and a sickening crack of a body hitting the dirt.

“—[Y/N]?!”

You were lying on your side, smoke rising from your robes, your saber a few meters away, deactivated.

You weren’t moving.

Sinker screamed something wordless over comms. Boost shouted your name.

“MEDIC!” Wolffe was already moving. “Get me a medic now!”

He slid to his knees beside you, hands already tearing open the fabric around the wound, even though he didn’t know what the hell he was doing—just doing. There was too much blood. Too much heat coming off your skin. You were smaller than him, younger, not armored like they were. You were a Jedi, yeah, but also just a kid compared to the rest of them.

His kid. Their kid.

And you’d taken a shot meant for him.

⸻

Hours Later you were in bacta now. Still alive. Barely.

The medics said it was touch and go. The bolt had burned through muscle and clipped something vital. You’d coded once during evac, but they brought you back. Your saber had been returned to Plo Koon, its emitter dented from where it had slammed into the ground.

Wolffe sat in the corner of the medbay, helmet off, armor streaked with dried blood—your blood. He hadn’t moved in two hours.

“Why the hell would she do that?” Sinker muttered, pacing with his helmet tucked under one arm. He was flushed, angry. “We wear armor for a reason. We train for this. She’s a Jedi, not a clone. She’s not supposed to—”

“Be willing to die for us?” Boost cut in, voice tired. “Guess she missed that memo.”

Sinker let out a long, low sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face. “We’re the ones who throw ourselves in front of people. That’s the job. That’s our job.”

Plo Koon stood at your bedside, one hand lightly resting on the glass of the tank. He’d been silent for most of it, his calm presence a strange contrast to the chaos.

“She has always seen you as more than soldiers,” he said gently. “You are her brothers. Her family.”

Wolffe finally spoke, his voice low and rough. “She’s part of the pack. And the pack protects its own.”

“But she nearly died protecting you, Commander,” Boost said. “What does that make us?”

“Alive,” Wolffe answered. “That’s what it makes us. And when she wakes up, she’s going to be reminded that we never leave one of our own behind.”

Sinker stopped pacing, jaw clenched.

“She’s not gonna get off easy for this.”

“Oh, hell no,” Boost muttered. “Soon as she’s conscious, I’m yelling at her.”

“Not before me,” Wolffe said, standing finally. “I’ve got seniority.”

They tried to joke—tried to banter—but it didn’t land. Not yet.

⸻

Your vision was blurry. Everything felt heavy. And sore. So sore.

“Hey—hey! She’s waking up!”

Voices. Familiar. Warm.

You blinked hard. One blurry helmet. Then two. Then a third face appeared—scarred, grim, but so full of relief it almost didn’t look like Wolffe.

“About damn time,” he muttered. “Thought we were gonna have to start arguing over who got to carry your sorry ass out of here.”

You tried to speak, but all that came out was a croaky whisper: “Pack…”

Boost leaned in closer. “Yeah. We’re here.”

Sinker had a hand pressed to your arm, trying not to squeeze too hard. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

You smiled weakly. “Didn’t think about it.”

“No kidding,” Wolffe said, arms crossed now. “You jump in front of another bolt like that and we’re stapling your robes to the floor.”

Plo Koon stepped forward, voice kind and firm. “Rest now, little one. You have done more than enough. The pack is safe. Because of you.”

You let your eyes fall shut again, not from pain this time—but because you knew they were watching over you.

Always would.

My characters are so happy right now :) Should I... ruin... everything?

I hope you have an amazing day today!! Your blog makes me so happy and it’s always a joy to read your stuff. Thank you for the happiness you bring to my life! Have a good weekend!

Ahh, thank you so much!! 🥹💖 Your message absolutely made my day—it means the world to know my writing brings you joy. Truly! I’m so grateful for your kindness and support. I hope you have an amazing weekend too—you deserve all the good things!! 💫✨

Hello, hope this is an ok ask but I was wondering if you could Omega and Fem!Reader where the reader takes an omega on a mother-daughter outing? And the boys see just how much of having a mother figure in omegas life is beneficial? Maybe omega has some attempts of trying to set you up with one of her brothers so you have a reason to stay? Funny shenanigans ensue as omega tries to push her brothers toward you (and succeeds with one of them, your choice of who)

Hope this makes sense! ♥️

“Operation: Stay Forever”

The Bad Batch x Reader

Omega was practically vibrating with excitement as she tugged your hand through the streets of Pabu, her curls bouncing and her voice a mile a minute.

“We’re gonna get snacks, and go to the market, and you have to help me pick a new dress—Hunter says all mine are covered in grease stains but I think they’re just lived in—and maybe we can do something with my hair later! Do you know how to braid? Of course you do, you’re amazing!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, heart full. “I do know how to braid. You want one with beads or ribbons?”

Omega gasped like you’d just offered her the throne of Naboo.

“Beads. Obviously. Ribbons are for formal events. This is casual fabulosity.”

You smiled, following her into the plaza. “Of course. Casual fabulosity. My mistake.”

Hunter squinted as he watched the two of you walk away, Omega’s hand in yours, already talking your ear off.

“…She never talks that much to Tech.”

Wrecker laughed. “That’s ‘cause Tech tried to explain fabrics to her like he was listing battle specs. She just wanted to know if it was twirly.”

Echo leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “She needed this.”

“She’s had us,” Crosshair said simply, though he looked less like he was arguing and more like he was observing.

Echo’s brow lifted. “She’s had four brothers and a droid. That’s not the same thing as having a mother figure.” He glanced at Hunter. “Which I keep telling you. For years.”

“Oh, come on,” Wrecker grinned. “You were basically the mom until she met [Y/N].”

Echo didn’t miss a beat. “And you were the big toddler I was babysitting.”

Hunter snorted. “Can’t argue there.”

⸻

Omega twirled in her new outfit—a bright tunic you’d helped her pick, complete with beads braided into her hair. You’d spent the last hour painting your nails and hers, sipping local fruit teas, and chatting about everything from your favorite foods to who the you thought the cutest clone was.

“So…” Omega said slowly, squinting up at you with faux innocence. “Do you like anyone?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You know. Like like.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Because I think one of my brothers likes you.”

You choked on your tea. “I’m sorry—what?”

“Well, it’s obvious. Everyone likes you. But I think Echo likes you. Or maybe Hunter.” She tapped her chin. “Definitely not Crosshair. He’s weird. He called feelings ‘tactical liabilities.’”

You laughed despite yourself. “That sounds about right.”

“But you could be the mom! Then you’d have to stay! I’ve decided.”

You raised a brow. “That why you’ve been dragging me by the hand all day like a trophy?”

“Yes,” she said proudly.

⸻

You returned to the Batch’s quarters just in time to find the guys lounging around post-dinner. Omega skipped ahead of you, proudly showing off her outfit and beads.

“Look what we did! She’s so good at braiding, and she picked this out, and—oh!” She turned, sly grin in place. “You know, she really likes men who are good with kids.”

Hunter arched a brow.

Echo narrowed his eyes.

Crosshair rolled his.

Wrecker leaned forward excitedly. “Ooooh. Is this one of those matchmaking things again?”

“Again?!” you hissed, turning to Omega.

Omega threw her hands up. “I’m just trying to help! She’s amazing, and you all need help with social cues.”

Echo blinked slowly. “I’m going to get blamed for this, aren’t I?”

Hunter sighed, rubbing his temple. “Omega—”

“I mean,” Omega went on innocently, “she is pretty, and Echo’s the responsible one, but maybe a bit too serious. Hunter, you’re too emotionally constipated—”

“Hey!”

“Crosshair’s a walking red flag—”

“Not inaccurate,” Echo muttered.

“—and Wrecker’s a brother to everyone. Which means Echo is the best option. Or maybe Hunter if he could manage one emotional conversation without running off into the jungle.”

Hunter looked like he was reconsidering all his life choices. “Omega, you’re grounded.”

“You can’t ground me. I have diplomatic immunity,” she beamed.

Wrecker burst out laughing.

You were crying with laughter now, face flushed. “I can’t believe you just called Crosshair a red flag.”

“She’s not wrong,” Crosshair said, leaning back with an almost-smile.

Echo, still composed, finally looked your way. “You’re really good with her.”

You smiled. “She’s easy to love.”

He paused. “Yeah. She is.”

Your eyes met. The moment hung—just long enough for Omega to wiggle her eyebrows dramatically in the background like a gremlin.

Echo sighed. “Omega, if you don’t stop matchmaking, I’m going to let Crosshair do your next math lesson.”

Her horror was immediate. “You wouldn’t!”

“Oh, I would.”

Crosshair smiled slowly. “I’ll make flashcards.”

⸻

Later that night, you were helping Omega with her beads and hair.

“Did I mess it up?” she asked suddenly. “Trying to push things?”

You looked at her in the mirror and smiled softly.

“No. You just reminded me how lucky I am to be here.”

She smiled back, cheeks a little pink. “You’re not gonna leave, right?”

You pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Not unless Crosshair actually makes those flashcards.”

“Please don’t leave,” she said dramatically, “I’m not ready for that.”

Neither were you.

And honestly?

You weren’t going anywhere.

⸻

The next morning, you found Omega hunched over the small dining table with a data pad, scraps of paper, crayons, and a very serious expression. Wrecker walked by, glanced at the mess, and raised a brow.

“Whatcha doin’, kid?”

“Mission planning,” Omega said without looking up.

“For what, exactly?”

She tapped the screen with finality. “Operation Wedding Bells.”

Wrecker blinked. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

By midday, Hunter had found out.

Because Omega had tried to get his measurements.

“For the suit, obviously,” she said.

Hunter rubbed his temples like he had a migraine. “What suit?”

“For the wedding. Between Echo and [Y/N].”

You nearly dropped the tray of food you were carrying. “Omega.”

She held up the data pad and pointed to a crude drawing of a beach, some flowers, and what you assumed was Echo in some sort of tuxedo with his armor still on. “Do you want a sunset wedding or a moonlight one? I can make either happen. I’ve already got Crosshair assigned to security. And I told Tech that he could officiate.”

Echo stared at her blankly. “Why Tech?”

“He’s got that ‘wise old man’ vibe now.”

“I’m no older then the rest.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got the vibe.”

Hunter sighed. “You’re grounded.”

“You can’t ground me,” Omega said, standing up and striking a dramatic pose. “I’m planning a wedding.”

⸻

The sun was setting, warm orange light spilling over the ocean, casting long shadows across the sand.

You were sitting quietly, sipping a cool drink and letting the breeze brush across your skin, when Echo stepped out and joined you. He had something in his hands—a small, folded piece of paper, clearly drawn by Omega.

“She gave this to me,” he said, handing it to you.

You opened it.

It was another “wedding plan.” The two of you were stick figures holding hands, surrounded by a bunch of questionably drawn flowers, and what looked like Wrecker as a ring bearer. At the bottom, in bold handwriting, Omega had written:

“You’re already a family. This just makes it official.”

Your heart squeezed.

“She really wants you to stay,” Echo said softly, sitting beside you. “We all do.”

You glanced at him. “You too?”

He met your eyes, and there was something vulnerable there—an honesty he didn’t often allow himself to show.

“I think I’ve wanted that since the moment you helped her with that first braid. You made her feel… safe. And seen. That means everything to me.”

You smiled, heart thudding. “You know she called you the responsible one, right? Said you were the best option.”

A ghost of a smile pulled at his lips. “Guess I’ve got her endorsement.”

You nudged his arm lightly. “I’d take it seriously. She’s planning outfits now.”

Echo chuckled, quiet and warm. “Of course she is.”

The silence between you stretched into something comfortable, like warmth curling around your chest.

“She’s not wrong though,” you said softly.

Echo turned to you, brows lifting just slightly. “About what?”

You looked at him then, really looked. At the man who had lost so much, given so much, and still stood tall—quiet, steadfast, kind.

“That you’re the best option.”

There was a beat. Then another.

He reached out, hesitating only for a second before his gloved fingers brushed yours.

“I’d like to prove her right.”

You didn’t need any more words than that.

Your fingers laced with his as the sun slipped below the horizon.

Back inside, Omega leaned over the data pad and added a final touch to the sketch.

A heart.

Right over where your stick figures stood, holding hands.

She beamed.

“Mission success.”

⸻

Star Wars: Bad batch - Luscious Locks

[The Bad Batch are sitting down at a table to eat an actual meal] Crosshair: [absolutely disgusted] Hunter, I swear. If I find ONE MORE HAIR in my food… Hunter: Jealous of my luscious locks? 😏 Crosshair: That’s it! I’m shaving you bald. [Under his breath] Never had to deal with this in the empire. Omega: Don’t! Hunter’s senses will be dulled! Hunter: Yeah, Crosshair. Listen to the kid. My- wait. What? Omega: Hunter’s hair amplifies his senses by acting as an extension of his nervous system. Hunter: Oh, really? 😑 What about smell? Omega: Nose hair. Hunter: Sight? Omega: Eyelashes. Hunter: Hearing? Omega: Ear hair. Hunter: …Fashion sense? Echo: Pft! That ‘tactical’ scarf says otherwise. Hunter: It messes with facial recognition! Echo: How? We share the same face. [Hunter and Echo start bickering] Crosshair, to Tech: She’s kidding, right? Tech: Wrecker, don’t touch that! [Leaves without answering] Crosshair: She’s kidding, right?!