This Definitely Isn’t All Of Them But Some Of My Favorites.

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.

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.

Cadet Echo, to Fives: It's okay to be sad, sometimes we need to let our feelings out, just let yourself be sad.

99: Oh that's so lovely, well done. Why is he crying?

Echo: I hit him.

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 didn't comment on a fic I liked because I don't think the author would care or remember my comment anyway". fanfic writer here, I still remember comments I got on my fics from seven years ago. I still think about them and they still make me smile. your kind comments are what motivates us and what helps us keep writing.

I personally know writers who take screenshot and print out comments they got from their readers.

TL;DR comments matter to us writers more than you think. if you like a fanfic, never be shy to let the author know ♡

Hi! I’m not sure if you’ve heard of Epic the musical and the song “There are other ways” but I was thinking a Tech X Reader where he gets lost and comes across a sorceress and she seduces him and it’s very steamy? Lmk if this is ok, if not feel free to delete. Xx

“There Are Other Ways”

Tech x Reader

Tech had been separated from the squad before. Statistically speaking, given the volume of missions they undertook in unpredictable terrain, the odds were precisely 3.8% per assignment. He should have been more prepared for it—should have accounted for environmental disruptions, latent electromagnetic fields, or the possibility of the forest itself being… alive.

Still, none of that explained why his visor fritzed out the moment he crossed the river.

Or why the fog grew thicker when he tried to retrace his steps.

Or why the trees whispered his name like they knew him.

“Tech…”

He halted. The voice came from ahead—feminine, melodic. Not from his comm. And certainly not Omega playing a prank. She didn’t sound like a dream.

His grip tightened on his blaster. “Reveal yourself.”

And you did.

You stepped from the mist as if you belonged to it. Bare feet sinking into moss, the water licking around your ankles. The moon crowned you, making the fine threads of your cloak shimmer like woven starlight. Your gaze was ancient. Curious. Smiling.

“I’ve been waiting,” you said, voice like silk over steel.

Tech’s eyes narrowed behind his visor. “Statistically improbable, considering I had no intention of entering this region of the forest, nor becoming separated from my unit.”

“Perhaps I saw what you could not,” you said, tilting your head. “Or perhaps I called, and you listened.”

He ran a diagnostic scan. No lifeforms detected. No hostile readings. The air was too quiet.

“Are you… Force-sensitive?”

You laughed—a soft, knowing sound that made his stomach tighten.

“I’m something like that. Does it matter?”

“It very much does. If you are a threat, I am obligated to neutralize—”

But you were closer now. He hadn’t seen you move. Your fingers touched the edge of his armor with something like reverence.

“I’m not a threat unless you ask me to be.”

His breath hitched. Just once. Just enough for you to notice.

“You’re… a clone trooper. The mind of your little unit.” You circled him slowly. “Always calculating. Always thinking. Never letting go.”

“I find control to be preferable to chaos,” he said sharply.

“And yet,” you whispered, stepping behind him, your hand brushing the nape of his neck, “you walked into the chaos anyway.”

His fingers twitched. He should have stepped forward. Should have recalibrated his scanner. Should have moved—

But he didn’t.

Because something about your presence tugged at the part of him he kept locked away. The part he filed under unnecessary. Indulgent. Weak.

“Your body,” you murmured, lips brushing the shell of his ear, “wants what your mind won’t allow.”

He stiffened.

You smiled, warm and wicked, stepping in front of him again, your fingers now brushing the soft lining between his chest armor and undersuit. “You wear this like a wall. But you’re still a man beneath it.”

“I am not… easily manipulated,” he managed, though his voice had dropped, deeper than he liked.

“I’m not manipulating you, Tech.” You met his gaze. “I’m offering you a choice. You can walk away. Return to your mission. Your team. Your purpose.”

You stepped closer, and his breath caught as your hand slid beneath the edge of his cowl, your touch feather-light. “Or you can let go. Just for one night. Just this once.”

He shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t. He could list a hundred reasons why this was an anomaly. A deviation. A risk.

And yet—

His hand came up, slowly, almost shaking. Not to stop you. To touch you. To feel you. To confirm you were real.

You leaned in.

“I can show you other ways,” you whispered.

Then your lips brushed his—tentative at first, waiting. And when he didn’t pull away, you deepened the kiss, slow and exploratory, as if trying to map the mind he kept so tightly wound.

Tech’s world tilted.

Because for the first time in years, he wasn’t thinking.

He was feeling.

And when he let his blaster fall to the moss, when his hands found your waist and pulled you against him, when he kissed you back with a desperation he didn’t know he had—

He wasn’t the mind anymore.

He was a man.

His breath stuttered.

Tech wasn’t used to this—not the heat rising in his chest, nor the sensation of lips ghosting down his neck like a whisper meant only for the softest, most hidden parts of him.

Your eyes drank him in—not with hunger, but with reverence. His freckles, his sharp cheekbones, the slight twitch in his jaw that betrayed the storm behind his glasses.

“You’re beautiful,” you said softly.

Tech blinked. “That is… an illogical observation.”

You smiled. “Then your logic needs reprogramming.”

He made a noise—half protest, half breathless laugh—but it caught in his throat when your hands touched the bare skin of his collarbone. Your thumbs pressed lightly into the muscles of his neck. Tech didn’t realize how tense he always was until he felt himself melting beneath your touch.

“Tell me to stop,” you whispered.

“I…” His voice caught. “I cannot.”

You nodded, leaning in until your forehead touched his. “Then don’t.”

He didn’t.

Instead, he kissed you—desperately this time, hands curling at your waist as if anchoring himself to something real, something grounding in the swirling chaos of magic and sensation.

You pressed against him, warm and solid and devastatingly soft. One hand curled into his hair, the other sliding beneath the edge of his armor as you slowly coaxed it free. Piece by piece, you helped him shed it—not forcefully, never rushing. Like a ritual. Like he was something sacred.

When the last plate fell into the moss with a thud, he stood before you stripped of all defenses, chest rising and falling in quiet, stunned silence.

“You’re still thinking,” you said gently, brushing your nose against his.

“I—always think,” he breathed.

“Then let me think for you tonight.”

He didn’t protest when you led him backward into the moss, the magic of the forest warming the ground like a living bed. You straddled his lap, kissing him slow, deep, like you wanted to memorize every stifled sound he made.

Tech’s hands roamed—tentative, reverent, needy. He touched like a man learning to live in his own skin for the first time. Every sigh, every moan, every tremble you pulled from him was a tiny rebellion against the order he clung to.

And gods—how he clung to you instead.

Your magic hummed beneath your skin, wrapping around his ribs like silk. It didn’t control him. It didn’t bend his will. It simply amplified everything he was already feeling, pulling him deeper into you, into this—the illusion, the escape, the exquisite loss of control.

Your mouths met again and again. His glasses were somewhere in the moss. His hands splayed along the curve of your back. And when you whispered his name, over and over, like it was the only truth left in the galaxy—

He whispered yours back like a prayer.

Like he had always known it.

Like logic had never mattered at all.

“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

happy cody day!!!!!!

Commander Fox x singer/PA Reader pt. 1

Summary: By day, she’s a chaotic assistant in the Coruscant Guard; by night, a smoky-voiced singer who captivates even the most disciplined clones—especially Commander Fox. But when a botched assignment, a bounty hunter’s warning, she realizes the spotlight might just get her killed.

_ _ _ _

The lights of Coruscant were always loud. Flashing neon signs, sirens echoing through levels, speeders zipping like angry wasps. But nothing ever drowned out the voice of the girl at the mic.

She leaned into it like she was born there, bathed in deep blue and violet lights at 99's bar, voice smoky and honey-sweet. She didn't sing like someone performing—she sang like she was telling secrets. And every clone in the place leaned in to hear them.

Fox never stayed for the full set. Not really. He'd linger just outside the threshold long enough to catch the tail end of her voice wrapping around the words of a love song or a low bluesy rebellion tune before disappearing into the shadows, unreadable as ever.

He knew her name.

He knew too much, if he was honest with himself.

---

By some minor miracle of cosmic misalignment, she showed up to work the next day.

Coruscant Guard HQ was sterile and sharp—exactly the opposite of her. The moment she stepped through the entrance, dragging a caf that was more sugar than stimulant, every other assistant looked up like they were seeing a ghost they didn't like.

"She lives," one of them muttered under their breath.

She gave a mock-curtsy, her usual smirk tugging at her lips. "I aim to disappoint."

Her desk was dusty. Her holopad had messages backed up from a week ago. And Fox's office door was—blessedly—closed.

She plopped into her chair, kicking off her boots and spinning once in her chair before sipping her caf and pretending to care about her job.

Unfortunately, today was not going to let her coast.

One of the other assistants—a tight-bunned brunette with a permanently clenched jaw—strolled over, datapad in hand and an expression that said *we're about to screw you over and enjoy it.*

"You're up," the woman said. "Cad Bane's in holding. He needs to be walked through his rights, legal rep options, the whole thing."

The reader blinked. "You want *me* to go talk to *Cad Bane?* The bounty hunter with the murder-happy fingers and sexy lizard eyes?"

"Commander Fox signed off on it."

*Bullshit,* she thought. But aloud, she said, "Well, at least it won't be boring."

---

Security in the lower levels of Guard HQ was tight, and the guards scanned her badge twice—partly because she never came down here, partly because nobody believed she had clearance.

"Try not to get killed," one said dryly as he buzzed her into the cell block.

"Aw, you do care," she winked.

The room was cold. Lit only by flickering fluorescents, with reinforced transparisteel separating her from the infamous Duros bounty hunter. He sat, cuffs in place, slouched like he owned the room even in chains.

"Well, well," Cad Bane drawled, red eyes narrowing with amusement. "Don't recognize you. They finally lettin' in pretty faces to read us our bedtime stories?"

She ignored the spike of fear in her chest and sat across from him, activating the datapad. "Cad Bane. You are being held by the Coruscant Guard for multiple counts of—well, a lot. I'm supposed to inform you of your legal rights and representation—"

"Save it," he said, voice low. "You're not just an assistant."

Her brow twitched. "Excuse me?"

"You smell like city smoke and spice trails. Not paper. Not politics. I've seen girls like you in cantinas two moons from Coruscant, drinkin' with outlaws and singin' like heartbreak's a language." His smile widened. "And I've seen that face. You got a past. And it's catchin' up."

She stood, blood running colder than the cell. "We're done here."

"Hope the Commander's watchin'," Cad added lazily. "He's got eyes on you. Like you're his favorite secret."

She turned and walked—*fast*.

---

Fox was waiting at the end of the hallway when she emerged, helm on, arms crossed, motionless like a statue.

"Commander," she said, voice trying to stay casual even as adrenaline buzzed in her fingers. "Didn't think I rated high enough for personal escorts."

"Why were you down there alone?" His voice was calm. Too calm.

"You signed off on it."

"I didn't."

Her stomach sank. The air between them thickened, tension clicking into place like a blaster being loaded.

"I'll speak to the others," Fox said, stepping closer. "But next time you walk into a room with someone like Cad Bane, you *tell me* first."

She raised a brow. "Since when do you care what I do?"

"I don't," he said too fast.

But she caught it—*the tiny flicker of something human beneath the armor.*

She tilted her head, smirk tugging at her lips again. "If you're going to keep me alive, Commander, I'm going to need to see you at the next open mic night."

Fox turned away.

"I don't attend bars," he said over his shoulder.

"Good," she called back. "Because I'm not singing for the others."

He paused. Just once. Barely. Then he walked on.

She didn't need to see his face to know he was smiling.

---

She walked back into the offices wearing oversized shades, yesterday's eyeliner, and the confidence of someone who refused to admit she probably shouldn't have tequila before 4 a.m.

The moment she crossed the threshold, tight-bun Trina zeroed in.

"Hope you enjoyed your field trip," Trina said, arms folded, sarcasm sharp enough to cut durasteel.

"I did, actually. Made a new friend. His hobbies include threats and murder. You'd get along great," the reader shot back, grabbing her caf and sipping without breaking eye contact.

Trina sneered. "You weren't supposed to go alone. But I guess you're just reckless enough to survive it."

The reader stepped closer, voice dropping. "You sent me because you thought I'd panic. You wanted a show."

"Well, if Commander Fox cares so much, maybe he should stop playing bodyguard and just transfer you to front-line entertainment," Trina snapped.

"Jealousy isn't a good look on you."

"It's not jealousy. It's resentment. You don't work, you vanish for days, and yet he always clears your screw-ups."

She leaned in. "Maybe he just likes me better."

Trina's jaw clenched, "Since you're suddenly here, again, congratulations—you're finishing the Cad Bane intake. Legal processing. Standard rights. You can handle reading, yeah?"

The reader smiled sweetly. "Absolutely. Hooked on Phonics."

---

Two security scans and a passive-aggressive threat from a sergeant later, she was back in the lower cells, now much more aware of just how many surveillance cams were watching her.

Cad Bane looked even more smug than before.

"Well, ain't this a pleasant surprise," he drawled, shackles clicking as he shifted in his seat. "You just can't stay away from me, huh?"

She dropped into the chair across from him, datapad in hand, face expressionless.

"Cad Bane," she began, voice clipped and professional, "you are currently being held under charges of murder, kidnapping, sabotage, resisting arrest, impersonating a Jedi, and approximately thirty-seven other counts I don't have time to read. I am required by Republic protocol to inform you of the following."

He tilted his head, red eyes watching her like a predator amused by a small animal reading from a script.

"You have the right to remain silent," she continued. "You are entitled to legal representation. If you do not have a representative of your own, the Republic will provide you with one."

Bane snorted. "You mean one of those clean little lawyer droids with sticks up their circuits? Pass."

She didn't blink. "Do you currently have your own legal representation?"

"I'll let you know when I feel like cooperating."

She tapped on the datapad, noting his response.

"Further information about the trial process and detention terms will be provided at your next hearing."

"You're not very warm," he mused.

"I'm not here to be."

"Pity. I liked earliers sass."

She stood up. "Try not to escape before sentencing."

"Tell your Commander I said hello."

That stopped her. Just for a second.

Bane smiled wider. "What? You thought no one noticed?"

She didn't give him the satisfaction of a reply. She left with her heart thudding harder than she wanted to admit.

That night, 79's was packed wall to wall with off-duty clones, local droids trying to dance, and smugglers pretending not to be smugglers. She stood under the lights, voice curling around a jazz-infused battle hymn she'd rewritten to sound like a love song.

And there, in the shadows by the bar, armor glinting like red wine under lights—

Commander Fox.

She didn't falter. Not when her eyes met his. Not when her voice dipped into a sultry bridge, not when he didn't look away once.

After the show, she took the back exit—like always. And like always, she sensed the wrongness first.

A chill up her spine. A presence behind her, too quiet, too deliberate.

She spun. "You're not a fan, are you?"

The woman stepped out of the shadows with a predator's grace.

Aurra Sing.

"You're more interesting than I expected," she said. "Tied to the Guard. Friendly with a Commander. Eyes and ears on all the right rooms."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Aurra's lip curled. "Doesn't matter. You're on my radar now."

And she vanished.

Back in her apartment, she barely kicked off her boots when there was a knock at the door. She checked the screen.

Fox.

Still in full armor. Still unreadable.

"I saw her," he said before she could speak. "Aurra Sing. She was following you."

"I noticed," she said, trying to sound casual. "What, did you tail me all the way from 79's?"

"I don't trust bounty hunters."

"Not even the ones who sing?"

He didn't answer. Either he didn't get the joke, or he was to concerned to laugh.

"You came to my show," she said softly. "Why?"

"I was off-duty."

"Sure. That's why you were in full armor. Just blending in."

A beat passed. Then he said, "You were good."

"I'm always good."

Another silence stretched between them. Less awkward, more charged.

"You're not safe," Fox said finally. "You shouldn't be alone."

"Yeah? You offering to babysit me?"

He almost smiled. Almost. Then, wordless, he stepped back into the corridor.

The door closed.

But for a moment longer, she stood there, heartbeat loud, his words echoing in her mind.

You're not safe.

And for the first time in a long time, she believed it.

———

Part 2

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.