“The Fall Doesn’t End You”

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

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

“The Fall Doesn’t End You”

The Bad Batch x Reader

You saw it happening too late.

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

“When have we ever followed orders?”

And then he shot the cable.

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

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

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

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

There.

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

“I see him—” you gasped.

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

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

“You—what are you doing?!”

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

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

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

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

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

Then—

Impact.

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

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

Everything hurt.

But you were alive.

And so was he.

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

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

He was lying a few meters away, not moving.

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

He groaned—loud, agonized.

Good. Groaning was good. That meant breathing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His gaze met yours. Quiet. Sure. Familiar.

“No,” he said. “We aren’t.”

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

“Then let’s move.”

⸻

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

He didn’t complain once.

He never did.

Even bleeding and pale, his mind was sharp.

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

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

A pause.

Then softly, dryly:

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

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

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

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

“Good.”

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

It was there for you.

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

It wasn’t empty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t look up. “I had time.”

There was a moment of silence between you both.

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

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

A beat of silence.

“…Statistically, your survival odds were—”

“Tech.”

He paused.

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

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

⸻

The escape was anything but smooth.

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

One TIE clipped your right engine.

“We’re going down.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⸻

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

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

“TECH?! (Y/N)?!”

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

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

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

You gave a tired nod.

“We made it.”

“You jumped after him,” Hunter said hoarsely.

“I wasn’t letting him go alone.”

“We thought we lost you both.”

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

Then, Omega burst through the crowd.

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

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

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

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

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

“I was. But she caught me.”

Omega pulled back, blinking through tears.

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

You froze for a second, unsure how to respond.

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

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

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

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

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

Neither of you said anything for a while.

Then, softly, he spoke.

“You risked everything.”

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

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

You snorted. “Stars, no.”

“…Good.”

Another silence.

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

And his hand… stayed.

Tags

star wars the bad batch tbb tech clone wars tbb omega tbb hunter tbb wrecker clone force 99 star wars the clone wars sw tbb tbb echo the bad batch crosshair tech the bad batch echo tbb hunter tbb the bad batch X (reader) bad batch x reader tbb fanfiction tbb x you tbb x reader clone x reader star wars fanfic clone trooper x reader bad batch preferences

“Armor for the Skin”

501st x Reader

The overhead lumens slam on like artillery. Groans ripple through the barracks, but you roll out of your bunk already gathering your contraband caddy—a slim duraplast kit labeled “Mk‑III MedPatch”

Fives, half‑dressed and wholly curious, nods at the kit. “Alright, mystery box—you packing bacta or blasters in there?”

You flick the latch. Bottles, tubes, and sachets unfold like a miniature armory—just shinier and pastel‑colored.

“Moisturizer,” you say, dotting cream onto your cheeks. “SPF 50. Sun in space still finds a way.”

Fives blinks. “You’re lotion‑plating your face before breakfast?”

You smile. “Armor for the skin.”

As you pat the sunscreen in, Fives watches, fascinated. “How long does all that take? We get, like, sixty seconds to hit the refresher.”

“Practice,” you reply, capping the tube. “And a bit of multitasking.”

Across the aisle, Jesse mutters, “She’s waxing her cheeks?”—which earns him a smack from Kix.

The medic tilts his head, curious. “Actually, hydrating the epidermis reduces micro‑tears that form when helmets chafe. Fewer micro‑tears, fewer infections.”

Fives groans. “Kix, not you too!”

Tup perks up. “Will it stop my forehead from peeling on desert drops?”

“Only if you commit,” you reply, tossing him a travel‑size tube.

Tup bobbles it. “Commit to… face goop?”

“Commit to self‑care, shiny,” Jesse teases, but he secretly dabs a fingertip of cream on the scar running over his temple when he thinks no one’s watching.

Hardcase flips down from the top bunk, dangling upside‑down. “What about night routine? Can we weaponize it?”

You laugh. “Weaponize hydration?”

You begin to rattle off the list for your routines while shoving items back into the caddy.

Jesse whistles. “That’s more steps than disassembling a DC‑17.”

“It’s upkeep,” you say, snapping the kit shut. “Blasters, armor, skin. Treat them right and they won’t fail mid‑mission.”

Kix, ever the medic, hums thoughtfully. “Prevention over cure—sound protocol.”

Rex marches past the doorway, barking for PT. He notices the cluster around your bunk, eyes the lotions, then decides he’s not paid enough to investigate at 0500. “Five minutes to muster. Whatever you’re doing—do it faster.”

The squad scrambles. You close your caddy with a click, satisfied. Step one: curiosity planted.

As you pass Fives he murmurs, “Armor for the skin, huh?”

“Exactly, vod,” you grin, tapping his chest plate. “And just like yours—it’s personal issue.”

He barks a laugh, then jogs after the others—already plotting how to requisition micellar water under “optical clarity supplies.”

Curiosity piqued, routine revealed. Now the real fun begins.

⸻

An hour later, after PT and standard mess rations, the 501st files toward the strategy room. You’re meant to present local intel, but you duck into the refresher first to rinse sweat and slap on a leave‑in hair mask.

Inside, Tup stares at his reflection, damp curls drooping. “How tight is the towel supposed to be?”

“Snug, not suffocating.” You demonstrate the twist‑and‑tuck, shaping his towel into a tidy turban. He looks like a spa holo‑ad—if spa ads featured wide‑eyed clone troopers in duty blacks.

Rex storms in mid‑lesson. The captain’s expression cycles through confusion, exasperation, acceptance in under a second. “Explain.”

“Deep‑conditioning,” you answer. “Helmet hair’s a war crime.”

Dogma, arms folded behind Rex, scowls. “Regulation headgear only.”

You pat the towel. “Technically, still a head covering.”

Hardcase bursts from a stall, face covered in neon‑green clay. “I CAN’T MOVE MY MOUTH! THIS STUFF SETS LIKE DURASTEEL!”

Kix swoops in with a damp cloth. “That’s the detox mask, vod. Rinse at four minutes, not forty.”

Fives leans in the doorway, filming everything. “Historical documentation, Rex. Posterity.”

Rex pinches the bridge of his nose. “You have two minutes to look like soldiers before General Skywalker arrives.”

Tup whispers, “Uh… do I rinse or…?”

You yank the towel free with a flourish; his curls bounce, glossy. “Ready for battle,” you declare.

Rex sighs. “One minute forty‑five.”

⸻

The 501st rolls in after an endless maintenance drill, expecting lights‑out. Instead, you’ve transformed the common room into a makeshift spa: footlockers draped in clean towels, maintenance lamps angled like vanity lights, and rows of mysterious packets labeled hydrating, brightening, volcanic detox…

Rex stops dead in the doorway, helmet under his arm.

“Vod, why does it smell like a med‑bay and a flower‑shop had a firefight?”

You beam. “Team‑building. Captain’s orders.”

Rex narrows his eyes—he definitely did not give those orders—but one look at the exhausted squad convinces him to play along. You pass out microfiber headbands—Tup’s bun peeks through adorably—then cue soft lo‑fi on a datapad.

⸻

Rex stops dead in the doorway, helmet under his arm.

“Vod, why does it smell like a med‑bay and a flower‑shop had a firefight?”

You beam. “Team‑building. Captain’s orders.”

Rex narrows his eyes—he definitely did not give those orders—but one look at the exhausted squad convinces him to play along.

You pass out microfiber headbands—Tup’s bun peeks through adorably—then cue soft lo‑fi on a datapad.

Fives foams cleanser like he’s icing a ration cake, flicks bubbles at Jesse.

Hardcase grabs an industrial solvent bottle. You snatch it away. “Wrong kind of chemical peel, blaster‑brain.”

Kix demonstrates gentle circular motions; the squad copies, mumbling mock mantras.

Faces disappear beneath colors and cartoons.

Fives foams cleanser like he’s icing a ration cake, flicks bubbles at Jesse.

Hardcase grabs an industrial solvent bottle. You snatch it away. “Wrong kind of chemical peel, blaster‑brain.”

Kix demonstrates gentle circular motions; the squad copies, mumbling mock mantras.

Faces disappear beneath colors and cartoons.

Jesse paints Dogma’s clay mask into perfect camo stripes; Dogma tries to protest, fails, secretly loves it.

Rex sighs as you smooth the sheet onto his face. “If this vid leaks, I’m demoting everyone.”

Tup giggles when the nerf‑printed mask squeaks. Fives records the sound bite for future memes.

Everyone reclines on mesh webbing strung between crates.

The timer pings. Masks come off—revealing eight glowing, ridiculously refreshed faces.

Hardcase flexes. “Feel like I could head‑butt a super tactical droid and leave an imprint.”

Fives snaps a holo of Rex’s newfound radiance. “Captain, you’re shining.”

Rex grumbles, but his skin does glow under the fluorescents. “Get some rack time, troopers. 0600 briefing. And… keep the extra packets. Field supply, understood?”

A chorus of cheerful “Yes, sir!”

You watch them file out, each tucking a sheet‑mask packet into utility belts like contraband. Mission accomplished: the 501st is combat‑ready—and complexion‑ready—for whatever tomorrow throws at them.

⸻

Obi‑Wan strolls through the hangar, robe billowing. He pauses mid‑conversation with Cody, eyes widening at the radiant 501st lined up for deployment.

“My word, gentlemen, you’re positively effulgent.”

Jesse grins—dazzling. “Training and discipline, General.”

Cody side‑eyes Rex. “Whatever you’re doing, send the regimen to the 212th.”

Anakin trots up, spying a stash of leftover masks tucked behind Rex’s pauldron. He plucks one. “Charcoal detox? Padmé swears by these.” He pockets it with a conspiratorial wink.

Rex mutters, “Necessary field supplies, General.”

You walk by, sling a go‑cup of caf into Rex’s free hand. “Don’t forget SPF,” you remind, tapping his helmet.

Rex looked over to Cody, Deadpan “Non‑negotiable, apparently.”

⸻

Blaster fire and powdered sand fill the air. Jesse dives behind a ridge. “Double‑cleanse tonight—this dust is murder on my pores!”

Fives snorts through the comms. “Copy, gorgeous. Bring the aloe.”

Hardcase detonates a bunker, cheers, then yelps, “Mask first, explosions later—got it!”

Rex stands, sand sifting off armor, skin protected under a sheer layer of sunscreen that miraculously survived the firefight. He shakes his head but can’t hide the small smile.

“Alright, 501st,” he calls. “Let’s finish this op—tonight we rehydrate, tomorrow we conquer.”

You chuckle, loading a fresh power‑cell. The war may rage on, but for this legion, victory now comes with a healthy glow.

⸻

A/N

This was a request, however I accidentally deleted the request in my inbox.

Tags

star wars clone wars star wars the clone wars tcw hardcase tcw kix clone medic kix dogma 501st battalion 501st legion captain rex x reader clone x reader star wars fanfic jesse tcw rex x reader kix x reader clone trooper x reader the clone wars headcanons captain rex tcw arc trooper fives x reader clone wars hardcase ct tup

49 notes View Post

areyoufuckingcrazy

1 month ago

peep boost and sinker from the background of what i'm working on because i need motivation to get through rendering it all 😭

37 notes View Post

areyoufuckingcrazy

3 weeks ago

501st Material List 💙🦋🛋️🥶

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

Overall

- “The Warmth Between Wars”🏡

- “Your What?!"🏡

- “Armour for the Skin” 🏡

- “Hearts of the 501st” ❤️

Arc Trooper Fives

- x bounty hunter reader pt.1❤️

- x bounty hunter reader pt.2 ❤️

- x reader “This Life”❤️

- x reader “Name First, Then Trouble”🌶️

- x Sith!Reader “The Worst Luck”❤️

Captain Rex

- x Jedi Reader❤️

- x Villager Reader ❤️

- x reader “what remains”❤️

- x Sith Assassin Reader “only one target”❤️

- x Reader “Ghosts of the Game”

- x Bounty Hunter Reader “Crossfire” multiple characters ❤️

- x Jedi Reader “War On Two Fronts” multiple parts

- “Smile”❤️

- “501st Confidential (Except it’s Not)” ❤️

Arc Trooper Echo

- x Old Republic Jedi Reader❤️

- x Old Republic Jedi Reader pt.2❤️

- “A Ghost in the Circuit” 🏡❤️

Hardcase

- x medic reader ❤️

Kix

- x Jedi reader “stitches & secrets”❤️

- “First Name Basis” ❤️

Overall Material List

Tags

star wars clone wars captain rex arc trooper fives star wars the clone wars clone trooper kix clone trooper hardcase tcw hardcase tcw kix clone medic kix clone trooper fives tcw fives 501st battalion 501st legion captain rex x reader clone x reader star wars fanfic jesse tcw rex x reader kix x reader clone trooper x reader clone trooper preferences the clone wars headcanons captain rex tcw arc trooper fives x reader clone wars hardcase fives x oc

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areyoufuckingcrazy

1 week ago

Oh my gosh I love your writing! I was wondering if you could do a story with Wrecker and a f!jedireader? Where the reader saves his life and he falls in love with her.

Heart of the Wreckage

Wrecker x Female Jedi!Reader

You didn’t ask to be assigned to Clone Force 99.

You preferred structure. Discipline. A command chain you didn’t have to second-guess every five minutes. Instead, you got five walking exceptions to Republic standard procedure—and one of them was already trying to balance a blaster rifle on his nose when you entered the hangar.

The docking bay echoed with the metallic thrum of shifting armor and quiet tension. You stood at the base of the Marauder’s ramp, arms folded, cloak stirring around your boots. Clone Force 99 loomed ahead like a puzzle you hadn’t quite solved—Hunter’s brooding intensity, Tech’s sharp tongue, Crosshair’s narrowed eyes, and then there was Wrecker, already waving enthusiastically at you as if you were old friends.

You blinked. “He’s…very expressive.”

“Get used to it,” Hunter said, deadpan. “He’s also stronger than anyone you’ve ever met, and more loyal.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

This wasn’t your first joint operation with clones, but it was the first time you were paired with them. The “defective” batch. You’d read the reports. Tactical improvisation. Non-reg protocol. Explosive results.

Wrecker bounded forward. “You’re the Jedi, huh? I like your robes—got that windblown, mysterious vibe!”

You raised an eyebrow. “Thank you, I think?”

He gave a grin so wide it made you instinctively smile back.

⸻

The jungle was alive with rot, buzzes, and heat. The Marauder was docked a klick out. You adjusted your lightsaber on your belt and took point through the underbrush, boots silent, posture confident.

“Y’know,” you said over your shoulder, “I’ve read the reports on your squad. Impressive. In a ‘dangerously unregulated’ kind of way.”

“Some of us take that as a compliment,” Tech murmured, tapping at his datapad.

Wrecker, however, just grinned. “You should see us when things blow up. That’s when we really shine.”

You smirked. “I’m not impressed by explosions. I’m impressed by control.”

The moment the words left your mouth, blaster fire rained down from a hidden perimeter.

“Ambush!” Hunter barked.

You didn’t hesitate. Lightsaber flared to life, spinning in a fluid arc as you dropped into the fray. You cut through the first turret with a lazy flourish, pivoting to take out a second.

Behind you, Wrecker charged into enemy fire with a feral roar, ripping a tree trunk out of the ground to use as cover. It was absurd. It was stupid. It worked.

And then it happened—a concussive blast erupted from underfoot.

“Wrecker!” you shouted as he disappeared in a bloom of smoke and dirt.

You dove toward him without thinking. The smoke parted to reveal him half-buried in debris, face bloodied, armor cracked.

No time for the Force. No time for hesitation.

You dropped beside him, heaving metal plating off his chest, fingers scrabbling for a pulse. “You absolute brute,” you hissed, breath tight. “Why didn’t you check for mines?”

He groaned. “Didn’t think… they were sneaky enough…”

His eyelids fluttered.

“Stay with me, big guy,” you muttered, dragging him up with far more strength than your size suggested. “You don’t get to die on my mission.”

A blaster bolt screamed toward you from above.

You whipped your saber upward behind your back, deflecting the shot cleanly. Another followed. Then five.

They were targeting him.

You positioned yourself between Wrecker and the enemy without thinking. Your saber spun in tight arcs, catching bolts from all sides. The jungle lit up in rhythmic flashes of violet and red.

Crosshair’s voice crackled over comms. “Snipers—north treeline!”

“I see them,” you snapped. “But they’re not getting past me.”

One droid tried to flank you from the left—its aim dead-set on Wrecker’s exposed chest. You lunged forward and hurled your saber like a boomerang, slicing through its head. The hilt curved back into your palm as you returned to your guard position over Wrecker.

A glint of movement—a second droideka unfolded ten meters away, shield igniting with a hum.

You narrowed your eyes.

“Alright,” you muttered. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The droideka fired. Rapid-fire bolts slammed into your defenses. You slid forward on instinct, redirecting each bolt into the tree line. You advanced one step at a time, deflecting, pushing, keeping it busy—until suddenly, a heavy explosion cracked the jungle from the opposite side.

Hunter and Crosshair emerged from the flank.

The droideka went down in fire and shrapnel.

You dropped to your knees, panting, your saber still lit in one hand. Then you turned back to Wrecker.

He groaned.

“Stars above,” you exhaled.

“Did…” His voice rasped, dazed. “Did I miss the fun?”

You gave a breathless, relieved laugh.

“You almost were the fun.”

His eyes opened sluggishly, and he blinked at you.

“You stayed?” he croaked.

You stared at him. “Of course I stayed.”

He tried to sit up, wincing immediately. You caught him by the shoulder and pressed him back down.

“Easy,” you said. “I just deflected enough blaster fire to light a city block. Don’t make me fight you too.”

⸻

Wrecker was stable—barely. The field medkit had done what it could. You sat on the ramp of the ship later that evening, arms crossed, watching as he stubbornly limped his way toward you with his torso still wrapped in gauze.

“Shouldn’t you be lying down?” you said.

He grinned, sheepish. “Wanted to say thanks.”

You glanced at him. “For getting blown up?”

“For pulling me out. You didn’t have to.”

“You’re part of the squad,” you replied coolly. “And I don’t leave people behind.”

“But you really went for it,” he said, sinking down beside you. “Didn’t think a Jedi would care that much about a guy like me.”

You snorted. “You think I risk my life for just anyone? Please.”

He looked startled.

You smirked. “You’re lucky I have a soft spot for wrecking balls with big dumb hearts.”

That earned a booming laugh from him. “Aw, c’mon—I ain’t that dumb.”

“I said big dumb heart, not brain. You fought well. Just… try not to step on anything next time.”

He tilted his head, watching you more seriously now. “You’re different from what I expected. Thought Jedi were supposed to be all calm and quiet.”

“I am calm,” you replied loftily. “I just happen to be excellent. And if I don’t remind people of that, who will?”

Wrecker blinked. Then grinned so wide it made something in your chest twist a little. “You’re funny.”

You looked away, suddenly aware of the warmth in your cheeks. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late.”

Silence fell. Comfortable, maybe even a little intimate.

“You really scared me back there,” you admitted finally, voice lower now.

“Scared myself too,” he said. “But it helped, havin’ you there.”

He looked at you then—not with the usual goofy enthusiasm, but something softer. Real. “I like that you don’t treat me like I’m just the muscle.”

You didn’t respond right away. Just nodded, watching a Felucian bird glide overhead.

“…I like that you let me save you,” you said eventually. “Don’t make it a habit.”

Wrecker chuckled and bumped your shoulder with his.

“No promises.”

Tags

star wars clone wars tbb wrecker clone force 99 star wars the clone wars wrecker wrecker tbb wrecker x reader wrecker the bad batch tbb fanfiction tbb x reader clone x reader star wars fanfic clone trooper x reader clone trooper preferences

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areyoufuckingcrazy

1 month ago

Well… I thought it was obvious.

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areyoufuckingcrazy

2 weeks ago

You are SO TALENTED!!!! I love reading your fics so much. There is something so comforting and perfect about how you write. I can’t put my finger on how to explain what I mean other than I really love your style and how you describe things and write the characters. You always start the fics off in a unique way and I love how to interpret people’s ideas into your style!! Would it be okay if I make a tech request please? I was thinking about something kind of idiots to lovers where they are both obviously interested in each other but haven’t made that step yet and everyone is relaxing on the beach (because they deserve it) and reader can’t stop staring at tech and is super obvious and helpless about it. Maybe he gets all flustered and shy about it and the others are teasing them and pushing them together? If you want of course only if you feel inspired! Thank you 💗💗💗 so much love for you and your fics!

That means so much—thank you! Seriously, I’m really honored by your words, truly means a lot 🤍

“Heat Index”

Tech x Reader

The beach wasn’t part of the mission.

It was just…there. Unoccupied. Warm. Irresistible.

Clone Force 99 had been rerouted after a failed rendezvous with Cid’s contact, and with no immediate threats or intel to chase down, Hunter declared something miraculous:

“Stand down for the day. You’ve earned it.”

And that’s how you found yourself on a quiet, sun-drenched coast with the sound of waves in your ears, sand between your toes, and a distinct inability to stop staring at Tech.

You told yourself you were being subtle. Sitting beside him while he recalibrated his datapad, watching him tap at the screen with focused precision, eyes half-hidden behind his signature goggles. You probably looked like you were zoning out—beachy daydreaming, normal and relaxed.

But inside? Inside you were on fire.

It was embarrassing, really, the way your stomach flipped every time he pushed his glasses up or muttered to himself. The man could be describing planetary topography and you’d nod along like he was whispering sweet nothings.

And you weren’t slick. Not even a little.

“Y/N, you’re staring again,” Echo said, not even trying to be discreet as he passed by with a makeshift towel slung around his neck. His prosthetic hand glinted in the sun as he pointed an accusatory thumb your way.

“I’m not,” you mumbled, heat rushing to your face.

“You are,” Wrecker chimed in from where he was wrestling with Omega in the shallows. “Even I noticed. And I was busy winning.”

“You were not!” Omega shouted, shoving at Wrecker’s broad chest as he laughed and face-planted into the surf.

You groaned and covered your face. This was fine. Totally fine. They were just teasing. They always teased.

But Tech?

Oblivious.

He didn’t even look up, still scrolling through data with maddening focus, the sunlight glinting off his goggles. You watched as he adjusted his posture on the towel beneath him, arms flexing under the light linen of his casual shirt—of course he rolled his sleeves. Of course.

“You know,” Crosshair drawled from behind you, “he’s been stealing glances at you all day.”

You jumped.

“What?”

“Mm.” Crosshair didn’t elaborate. He just took a slow sip from the coconut drink Wrecker had found earlier and tilted his head, smirking. “Took you long enough to notice.”

You turned back to Tech quickly, trying not to look like you were checking—but yes. His head was angled just a bit too stiffly toward his datapad, like he’d jerked his gaze away the moment you turned. His fingers weren’t moving. He was paused.

Flustered?

That couldn’t be right. This was Tech. The man had calculated the thermal resistance of Wrecker’s cooking experiments and quoted entire military texts without blinking. Emotion wasn’t his operating system.

…But his ears were a bit pink.

You squinted. No way.

“Hunter,” you hissed toward the Batch’s defacto leader, hoping for confirmation.

He looked up from where he was lounging with a smug expression that had definitely been inherited from Crosshair at some point.

“He likes you. Don’t ask me to interpret how—but yeah. You’re just as obvious as he is.”

You buried your face in your hands again.

This was a mess. A ridiculous, tangled, sun-soaked mess.

And yet—

“Y/N?” Tech’s voice was right beside you. Quiet. Tentative. You startled a little—when had he moved closer?

“I—I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said, and you watched his throat bob as he swallowed hard. “But I noticed a discrepancy in your hydration levels. You haven’t had water in two hours and thirty-seven minutes.”

You blinked. “You’re…tracking my water intake?”

“Well, I’ve been tracking everyone’s. But yours in particular was… below optimal parameters.”

You stared.

He cleared his throat.

“I made this for you,” he added, holding out a homemade drink container fashioned from a modified canteen and what looked like part of a fruit rind. “It’s rehydration-optimized. With, um… taste. I believe that matters to you?”

Your heart did a completely traitorous little leap. “You made me a beach drink?”

His ears turned very pink. “Yes.”

Crosshair made a gagging sound from somewhere behind you.

You took the drink, fingers brushing Tech’s. He didn’t pull away.

“Thanks,” you said softly. “That’s… really sweet.”

He stared at you for a second, expression flickering behind his goggles.

“Would you—” he blurted, then stopped himself. “Would you… be interested in accompanying me on a walk along the beach? For scientific reasons.”

“Scientific reasons?”

“Yes. I’d like to examine the tidal patterns. But also… I’d like to spend time with you.”

You almost laughed in relief, and it was so him, so endearing and awkward and precise, that you couldn’t say no.

“Yeah,” you said, and smiled. “I’d like that.”

The walk started slow.

He kept his hands behind his back at first, clearly trying to keep things casual, but he couldn’t help rattling off bits of data about the tides and the weather patterns. You nodded, asked just enough to keep him talking—but you were watching him more than anything else.

His brow furrowed when he talked, like every thought had to be carefully handled and shaped before it left his mouth. But he got passionate. Excited. Animated.

He gestured toward a tide pool and nearly tripped over a rock, catching himself with a flustered noise that made you giggle. His cheeks turned pink again.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered suddenly.

“What is?”

He turned to you, still awkward, but determined. “I’ve run the probabilities. Of outcomes. Of this… situation.”

“This situation being…?”

“You and me,” he said, like it was a confession he’d been holding in for weeks. “Statistically, the indicators are positive. Even when accounting for external variables and potential mission constraints.”

You bit your lip. “Tech—are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

He hesitated. Then: “I like you. Very much. In a not entirely logical way.”

Your breath caught.

“You do?”

“I have for some time,” he admitted. “I didn’t say anything because I assumed the feelings were not… mutual. And I didn’t want to make things awkward among the squad.”

“Oh,” you said, voice breathy. “You absolute idiot.”

He blinked.

“I like you too,” you said, taking a step closer. “In a totally not-logical-at-all way. Everyone else figured it out ages ago.”

Tech looked stunned.

You took his hand—he startled, but didn’t pull away.

“I wanted to tell you,” you said. “But I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I am, in fact,” he said slowly, “very comfortable at the moment.”

The silence stretched between you, warm and fizzing with promise.

And then—

“Finally!”

You both turned. Wrecker and Echo were standing waist-deep in the surf, cheering.

“I owe you five credits,” Crosshair muttered to Hunter.

You groaned, but couldn’t stop smiling.

“Let them gloat,” Tech said softly, fingers brushing yours again. “We have better things to do.”

“Like?”

“Another kilometer of beach to explore. And perhaps later… dinner. Just the two of us.”

Your stomach fluttered.

“Sounds perfect.”

⸻

Dinner arrived in pieces.

Wrecker had scavenged half the ingredients from the nearby forest—safe and edible, confirmed by Hunter—and Omega, ever the creative one, had helped wrap them in broad leaves and skewer them over a makeshift spit. Echo insisted on seasoning, mumbling something about dignity, and Crosshair contributed by not poisoning the mood with snark.

But you and Tech?

You barely noticed.

You’d spent the entire afternoon orbiting one another, caught in the gravitational pull of what had finally been said and shared. And when Tech suggested you take your food to the far end of the beach—just the two of you—there was no hesitation.

You walked in silence at first, the smell of salt and roasted fruit mingling with the low roar of the tide. The sand cooled beneath your feet as the sun dipped lower, shadows stretching long and purple-blue across the coast. When you reached a quiet, rocky cove framed by tidepools and a sloping dune, Tech paused.

“This will do,” he said.

You laid out the blanket Omega had packed, and he helped you unpack the food with the same precision he brought to every mission. Only this time, you noticed the small things—the way his fingers brushed yours when handing you a wrapped meal, the quiet way he lingered near your side as if anchoring himself.

You sat cross-legged beside him on the blanket. He adjusted his goggles. Again.

“You can take those off, you know,” you said gently.

“I—well, yes, I could, but…”

“But?”

“I prefer to see you clearly.”

Your breath caught. He wasn’t even trying to be smooth. That was the worst part—it was just honesty, simple and unaffected, and it made your chest feel like it had been sun-warmed from the inside out.

He must’ve noticed your reaction because he fumbled with his fork.

“I apologize. Was that too forward?”

“No,” you said quickly. “Just… unexpected.”

A small smile touched his lips. He nudged his glasses up slightly anyway, so you could see more of his eyes.

“Then I shall try to surprise you more often.”

The meal was delicious—maybe not restaurant quality, but easily one of the best things you’d tasted in weeks. The food was secondary, though. The real warmth came from being beside Tech, talking about nothing and everything. His shoulders relaxed the longer you chatted, especially when you teased him lightly about how long it had taken for him to make a move.

“I calculated risk scenarios,” he said indignantly, mouth twitching at the corners.

“Uh-huh. And how’d that go?”

“Well, clearly, I underestimated you.”

You laughed. “You really did.”

After dinner, the sky deepened into indigo, and stars began to prick through the darkness.

You lay back on the blanket with a contented sigh, staring up at the galaxy above. Beside you, Tech adjusted his posture, lying just close enough for your arms to brush.

“The constellations are different from Kamino’s sector,” he murmured. “See that cluster? That’s the Aurigae Trine. It’s only visible from this hemisphere.”

You turned your head to look at him.

“And the one over there?” you asked, pointing.

He followed your gaze, expression thoughtful. “That’s informal. Not officially charted. But some smugglers call it The Serpent’s Tongue.”

“Romantic,” you teased.

“Perhaps not. But…”

He hesitated, then shifted slightly, turning onto his side to face you fully.

“I once thought romance was a variable I would never encounter with clarity,” he said. “It seemed inefficient. Distracting.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And now?”

“Now I find it… illuminating. Like gravitational lensing. Everything bends, but you can see further.”

Your chest tightened with something sweet and aching.

“You always talk like that?” you asked quietly.

He tilted his head. “Do you prefer I don’t?”

“No,” you whispered. “I love it. I love how you see things.”

His gaze softened, and this time, it was his hand that reached for yours.

“I may not always say the right words,” he murmured. “But I will always mean them.”

You laced your fingers with his.

“I know.”

The sky stretched endless above you, starlight threading between the waves and wind. And for once, there was no war. No danger. Just you, and him, and a night that felt like it had waited for years to happen.

Tags

star wars tbb tech clone wars tech clone force 99 star wars the clone wars sw tbb tech tbb tech the bad batch tech x reader tbb fanfiction tbb x reader clone x reader star wars fanfic clone trooper x reader

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areyoufuckingcrazy

2 months ago

Fives fans vs. Fox fans discourse is so lame. Just kiss and makeup PLEASE

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areyoufuckingcrazy

2 months ago