Areyoufuckingcrazy - The Walking Apocalypse

i'm still at the restaurant btw. if u even care

Hello! Can you do a bad batch x fem!reader where she’s been with them for a bit but they still have an outwardly showed her that they like her but they get close to her/touch her whenever they’re uncomfortable because she might smell/remind them of home(their ship) and she doesn’t really notice at first but when she does it’s all “aw you really do like me!”

Have a good night or day! 💗💕

“The Scent of Home”

Bad Batch x Reader

You’d been traveling with Clone Force 99 for just long enough that your “guest” status had evolved into something more like “resident stowaway they couldn’t get rid of.” Not that you were complaining. The Marauder might not have been luxury living, but it was safe, the crew was (mostly) stable, and there was always something to laugh about—usually Wrecker tripping over his own boots or Tech getting roped into arguments with Gonk.

Still, there was a weird undercurrent to life aboard the ship.

They were… close. Physically. Constantly. And it wasn’t like they were trying to make you uncomfortable, but sometimes, you wondered if the entire squad had collectively decided you didn’t have a personal bubble. You’d turn around and find Echo right over your shoulder while you were cooking rations. Crosshair would sit beside you on missions when there were other seats available. Hunter always managed to casually lean his arm over the back of your chair during briefings. And Tech—sweet, literal, constantly-tapping-on-a-datapad Tech—had started borrowing your jackets when he got cold. Without asking.

You weren’t mad about it. Just… confused.

“Do clone squads not believe in personal space?” you muttered under your breath one evening, squashed between Echo and Wrecker on the narrow seating bench while Hunter briefed the team on their next mission.

“What’s that?” Wrecker asked, already distracted by trying to sneak some of the ration bar you’d left in your pocket.

“Nothing,” you grumbled, tugging it away from him. “Just wondering if elbows have to touch for squad cohesion.”

Echo gave you a slow side-eye and didn’t move away.

⸻

It wasn’t until the fourth night in a row that you found Tech asleep in your chair, legs propped on your bunk, datapad resting on his chest like a satisfied pet, that something in your brain started to itch. You stared at him from the doorway, arms crossed.

“Tech.”

Nothing.

“Tech.”

He stirred, blinked once, then sat up and blinked again like you’d startled him from a dream. “Oh. I—apologies. I must have dozed off.”

“You’re in my chair.”

“Yes, I am aware.” He didn’t move.

“You have your own seat, you know.”

He looked genuinely confused. “I do. But yours is—warmer.”

You squinted. “Warmer?”

“It smells like… here.” He blinked. “Like the ship. Like the inside of the cockpit when we’ve been in hyperspace too long. It’s familiar. Soothing.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it again. “You mean it smells like me.”

“Yes,” he said easily, then added after a beat, “That was not meant to be an intrusive observation.”

You stared at him. “You fell asleep in my chair because I smell like the Marauder?”

“Yes. Precisely.” He paused. “It’s… comforting.”

It took you a full thirty seconds to connect that to the moment yesterday when Crosshair had leaned just a little too close while cleaning his rifle and muttered something about “the smell of ion grease and coffee,” or that time Hunter had caught your wrist absentmindedly and inhaled before letting go like nothing had happened.

You turned on your heel and went straight to the galley. Echo was there, pouring caf, looking sleep-deprived and deeply unrepentant.

“Do all of you use me like some kind of emotional support blanket?”

He paused mid-pour. “Not on purpose.”

“That is not comforting!”

“I mean—” He cleared his throat. “You remind us of home.”

You blinked. “I live here. On the ship.”

“Yes, but… you smell like the inside of it now. You’ve been here long enough. You’re part of it.”

“That’s not normal.”

“Define normal,” Echo said mildly.

⸻

Later that night, you caught Wrecker curled up on your bunk, nose buried deep in your pillow. The image might’ve been cuter if it didn’t confirm every weird suspicion you’d had for weeks.

“Wrecker.”

He cracked one eye open and grinned, not even trying to move. “It smells like you.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“I like it.” He snuggled in further, like a massive, affectionate tooka. “Smells like the Marauder.”

You sighed, but your heart did something traitorous and warm.

“You guys really are emotionally stunted, huh?”

“Hey,” came Hunter’s voice from the doorway, sounding suspiciously amused. “That’s offensive.”

“Is it?” You crossed your arms and turned toward him. “Because instead of telling me you liked me, you all decided to casually absorb my scent like loth-cats?”

Crosshair strolled past behind him, muttering, “Didn’t realize she’d catch on this fast.”

“I didn’t catch on! You basically rolled in my laundry!”

Tech emerged from the cockpit, pushing up his goggles. “To clarify, I merely borrowed your jacket.”

You jabbed a finger in his direction. “You napped in my scent.”

He paused. “Yes… but respectfully.”

There was a long, awkward silence before Wrecker added cheerfully, “We just like you, that’s all.”

You blinked, thrown off by the sudden earnestness. “Like me?”

“Yeah,” he said, as if it were obvious. “You make it feel like home.”

Hunter stepped closer, expression softening in that careful, deliberate way of his. “We didn’t know how to say it. You came into our lives like a storm and just… stayed. It got easier when you were here. Like we could breathe again.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes from the background. “You’re all terrible at subtlety.”

“I don’t think ‘sniffing my blankets’ qualifies as subtle.”

“Would it help,” Echo said slowly, “if we just admitted it properly?”

You stared at them—five elite clone troopers, all looking at you with some variation of awkward affection or hopeful confusion.

“You’re all idiots,” you said finally, grinning despite yourself.

“But… our idiots?” Tech offered, voice hopeful.

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah. Fine. My idiots.”

Wrecker threw his arms up in celebration from your bunk, nearly taking out the overhead panel. “Knew it!”

What Remains

Captain Rex x Reader

Warnings: Injury, emotional vulnerability, PTSD, heavy angst, post-war trauma.

⸻

You’d found the distress signal by accident.

A flicker on a broken console. Weak. Nearly buried under layers of static, bouncing endlessly off dead satellites like a ghost signal. Most people wouldn’t have noticed it.

But you weren’t most people.

And the frequency?

It was clone code.

You tracked it to a crumbling outpost on a desolate moon—half buried in dust storms, long abandoned by the Republic, forgotten by the Empire.

Your ship touched down rough. You didn’t wait for the storm to pass. You ran.

And then you heard him.

At first, it was just static. Then faint words bled through the interference—raspy, broken, desperate.

“Hello?…This is CT-7567…Rex…please—”

Static.

“…can’t…move…legs—I need—”

More static. Then a choked, cracking breath.

“I don’t wanna die like this…”

Your heart stopped.

You sprinted through the busted corridors, blaster drawn, shouting his name.

“Rex!”

Then you heard it.

Closer now.

“Please…somebody…I—”

His voice was barely human—childlike, even. Like pain had stripped away all the command, all the strength, all the control he used to wear like armor.

And finally—you found him.

Pinned beneath collapsed durasteel. Blood everywhere. One leg crushed, helmet off, face pale with shock and dirt. His chestplate was cracked straight through.

His eyes were glassy. He didn’t see you yet.

“Help…help…please…Jesse…Kic…Fives—” His voice cracked. “…Anakin?”

Your heart shattered.

You dropped your blaster and knelt beside him. “Rex—Rex, it’s me.”

His eyes flicked toward you, unfocused. “Y-you’re not…I can’t…I c-can’t feel my legs…”

You cupped his cheek. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

His fingers twitched like he was trying to reach for you. “D-don’t leave. Please…don’t leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, throat tight. “You’re safe now. Just hold on.”

Tears blurred your vision as you started clearing the debris, carefully, trying not to make it worse. He winced, hissed, bit down a scream.

“Hurts…”

“I know. I know, Rex. I’ve got you.”

You triggered your comm for evac, barely holding it together. Your hands were shaking. You’d never seen him like this. Not Rex. Not your Rex.

He had always been the strong one. The steady one. The soldier who stood when everyone else fell.

But now?

Now he was just a man.

Bleeding. Scared. Alone.

You gathered him into your arms when the debris was off, whispering to him over and over—“I’ve got you, I’ve got you”—like a lifeline. His blood soaked your jacket, but you didn’t care. He buried his face against your shoulder, barely conscious.

“I—I thought I was dead,” he mumbled. “I kept calling…no one came…no one came…”

You closed your eyes.

“Well, I did,” you whispered into his hair. “I came for you.”

⸻

He woke up in pieces.

A white ceiling. The smell of antiseptic. A faint hum of low-grade shielding. The dull, distant pain in his leg—muted by the good stuff, but still there.

And your voice.

He could hear you before he could turn his head.

“I know you’re awake, Rex.”

He blinked. You were sitting beside his cot, reading something, legs pulled up under you, soft shirt half-wrinkled. You looked like you hadn’t slept much. He hated that.

“How long?”

“Three days since I found you. Two since the surgery. You’ve been in and out.”

He nodded, slowly. “You… stayed.”

You closed your book. “Of course I did.”

He turned his head away from you. “You shouldn’t have.”

There was no heat in it. No real push. Just… guilt.

You didn’t answer at first. You watched his hands—trembling slightly, like they were remembering something he hadn’t said out loud yet.

Rex had always been good at holding the line. At being unshakable. Calm. Controlled.

But he wasn’t now.

He was tired. The kind of tired that lives under your skin. That no bacta tank or stim shot can fix.

“I called for them,” he said suddenly. Quiet. His voice hollow.

You said nothing. Let him go on.

“I thought I was going to die. I was calling for people who’ve been dead for years. I knew they were dead. But I kept saying their names.”

You reached for his hand.

He didn’t pull away.

“I heard your voice last,” he whispered. “And I thought… maybe I was already gone.”

“You’re not.”

He nodded again. Then after a pause—“Maybe I should be.”

Your breath caught.

“I’m not… I don’t know who I am anymore,” he continued. “The war’s over. The men are scattered. My brothers are dead or… worse. I spent years holding it all together and now it’s all just—”

He clenched his jaw. “Gone.”

You rubbed your thumb over his knuckles.

“Sometimes I wake up thinking I’m still on Umbara,” he said after a long moment. “Other times I forget Fives is gone. Or Jesse. And then it hits me again. And again. And it’s like dying over and over.”

You got up slowly, sitting on the edge of the cot, so close your knees brushed.

“You’re still here, Rex. And you don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”

He looked at you then.

Really looked at you.

You, with sleep-deprived eyes and your voice so soft it made something inside him tremble. You, who found him when no one else was listening. You, who stayed.

His voice cracked. “I don’t know how to let go of it.”

“You don’t have to. Not all at once. Not even forever. But maybe… just for tonight?”

You slid beside him, gently, until his head could rest against your shoulder.

He was shaking.

It wasn’t obvious. It wasn’t loud. But it was real.

You wrapped your arm around him.

He didn’t say anything after that.

He didn’t need to.

⸻

Later, long after he fell asleep—finally at peace for the first time in years—you whispered against his temple:

“I came for you, Rex. I’ll always come for you.”

And you stayed, holding him through the silence, while the storm raged somewhere far away.

this is the peak of my artistic career

Star Wars: Bad batch - Luscious Locks

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

“Crossfire” pt.8

Commander Cody x Reader x Captain Rex

The twin suns of Tatooine dipped below the horizon, casting a soft, fiery glow across the sand dunes. The planet’s desolation had an eerie beauty to it—one that had become a quiet refuge for the reader and the child. For months now, they’d kept to the edges of this forgotten world, far from the eyes of the Republic and Separatists alike.

The loth cat, whom they’d found scrabbling through the dust on the outskirts of their makeshift farm, had become an unlikely companion. Its sleek, blue-grey fur had started to grow back, its eyes glinting with a sharpness that matched the desert itself. It was, without a doubt, a symbol of something still clinging to life in the emptiness of their exile. And, despite the grueling hardships they’d faced before this, there was a strange comfort in its presence.

The mechanic shop was a far cry from the quiet isolation of a farm. The reader had quickly adapted to the new environment—fixing speeders, engines, and droids. It was more familiar to her than the tedious cycle of planting crops and praying for a harvest. Tatooine had no shortage of broken-down machines, and the demand for repairs was constant. It kept them busy.

The small, makeshift shop was wedged between a cantina and a market stall. Despite its modest size, it was functional. She’d painted a faded sign with crude lettering—Repair & Salvage. Inside, the shop was a cluttered paradise of parts and tools. The air always smelled faintly of oil, rust, and the heat of the desert sun that relentlessly beat down on everything.

The child, now quietly watching her work with his small hands, had started to pick up bits of the trade. He was clever, inquisitive—his Force sensitivity seemed to lend itself to the work, too. But there was still that feeling of unease lingering in the air, something unspoken between them. Despite their time together, she hadn’t fully explained why she’d saved him, why she’d taken him in. And in return, he hadn’t pressed her for answers. Perhaps he didn’t need them.

“Fixing things feels easier than farming,” she muttered one evening, wiping oil from her hands as she glanced over at the boy.

He didn’t respond immediately, focused on cleaning a small tool he’d just finished using. He’d been learning quickly.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he finally said, his voice a mix of curiosity and the wariness he’d developed over time. “But, do you miss… I mean, we could’ve been anywhere, right?”

She paused. The sound of the desert wind whistled faintly through the cracks in the shop walls, but she didn’t answer immediately. There was a silence in the room as the loth cat padded over and jumped onto a nearby crate, curling up into a ball. The child’s question hung in the air.

“Do you miss it? Being with them?” he repeated, voice quieter this time.

It took her a moment before she spoke. She stood and leaned against the workbench, looking out toward the open door. The desert stretched endlessly beyond, quiet except for the distant hum of a passing speeder.

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “But we’re safer here. And it’s… simpler.” Her voice faltered for a moment, her gaze lingering on the horizon before it shifted back to him. “We can keep you safe here. That’s what matters.”

The child nodded slowly, but she could see the wheels turning in his head, the lingering doubt. He was old enough to understand that safety wasn’t always as simple as finding a new place to hide.

But she couldn’t bring herself to tell him that hiding was only temporary, that the world would eventually catch up to them. She wouldn’t let that happen, not if she could help it. And she wasn’t sure if that made her a fool, but it was the only thing she could do to atone for what she’d dragged him into.

Their quiet life in the desert was their only solace. She’d gotten used to the sound of the loth cat’s purring in the corner, to the child’s shy attempts to fix things beside her, and even to the heat of the desert sun that felt like it never stopped beating down on the sand.

But as days bled into months, the feeling of being watched—of being hunted—never quite left. She couldn’t shake the sensation that someone, somewhere, knew where they were. Even on this barren world, she couldn’t escape what had been set into motion. The ghost of the Republic, of the Jedi, of Palpatine and his web of lies, was still out there, waiting for her to slip.

One day, while she was working on a speeder engine, a familiar sound—a crackle through the comm—broke the stillness of the shop. Her hand froze, mid-repair. Her eyes shot to the communicator on the counter.

“Don’t even think about it,” she muttered under her breath, hoping it wasn’t what she feared.

The transmission crackled again, louder this time. She wiped her greasy hands on a rag and sighed, reluctantly walking over to the comm. Her fingers hovered over the switch. She hesitated. The child’s curious gaze fixed on her, but he didn’t say anything.

With a deep breath, she pressed the button.

“Yes?”

It was Rex’s voice. Strong. Familiar.

“Hey,” he said, his tone almost tentative. “Where are you?”

She glanced back at the child, who was now fidgeting with a broken droid part. He didn’t look up, but the tension in the room was palpable. She bit her lip.

“Somewhere safe,” she replied, her voice cold. “Not where you want to be.”

There was a pause on the other end, Rex’s voice quiet for a moment, like he was weighing his next words. “We’ve been looking for you. You’ve been gone a while. The Jedi are still—”

“I’m not interested in the Jedi,” she interrupted sharply. “I told you, I’m done with that. You should be, too.”

Another silence, heavy, before he responded again, quieter now. “Look, I don’t care where you are. I don’t care about the Jedi or the Separatists. I care about you.”

She exhaled sharply. She could hear the weight in his words, feel it pull at the corners of her heart. But she had to stay strong.

“I’m not the same person you knew, Rex,” she said, her voice softening but still firm. “I can’t—”

“We’re coming for you,” Rex cut in, a promise hidden beneath his words. “Wherever you are. We’ll find you.”

The line went silent again, but this time, she didn’t reach for the comm to hang up. She stood still, her eyes drifting to the child, who had now stopped fidgeting and was staring at her intently. For a moment, she wasn’t sure what to say next.

But the choice had already been made. She couldn’t let the past come for them—not now.

“Stay where you are, Rex,” she said, her voice low. “This life… it’s the only one we can have now.”

The transmission ended abruptly, and as the static faded, she felt the weight of her decision sink deep into her chest. She couldn’t outrun her past forever, but she had to try. For the kid’s sake. For hers.

The comm clicked off, and the desert wind whistled through the cracks in the walls once more.

⸻

*After order 66*

The heat of Tatooine never relented, always oppressive, always relentless. The twin suns glared down, but in the small mechanic shop, the air was thick with the hum of droids and the scent of oil. The faint noise of the desert outside was a constant, but it had become part of her rhythm now. The shop was her sanctuary, her space of peace—and for a while, it had felt like the world had forgotten her.

She had heard the whispers, of course—the rumors of Rex’s death, of Cody’s desertion from the Empire. The news had spread in quiet circles, murmured over cantina tables and in back-alley conversations. But she hadn’t believed them—not fully. She couldn’t. She’d mourned them, both of them. And with that mourning, something cold had settled in her heart. The truth she couldn’t face, the possibility that both men, once so important to her, were lost to her forever, had nearly shattered her.

But now, in the stillness of her shop, as she wiped grease from her hands, she heard the sound of footsteps outside the door—two sets, both heavy with purpose. A faint chill ran down her spine, her senses on alert, even after all this time.

She wiped her hands again, her mind racing. It had been months—years, even—since she’d had a real visitor, someone who wasn’t just passing through the dusty town, looking for a quick fix. Her first instinct was to ignore it, to retreat into the silence of her world. But she couldn’t. Not this time.

She turned her back to the door, taking a deep breath, unsure whether to brace herself or pretend nothing was coming. But then the door creaked open, the soft jingle of the bell above signaling an arrival.

“Morning, ma’am,” a voice said.

She froze.

It wasn’t just the familiarity in the voice—it was the tone, the cadence, the weight of it. A voice she hadn’t heard in what felt like a lifetime.

Her heart stopped, her breath caught in her throat. Slowly, she turned, her eyes locking onto two figures standing in the doorway. Two familiar figures—no, too familiar. One was tall, his hair a bit longer than she remembered but still as worn as ever. His posture was stiff, but there was that same quiet intensity in his eyes. The other was just as imposing, broad-shouldered, his face still marked with the same stoic expression, though his gaze now held something darker. Something more… raw.

“Rex?” she whispered, unable to believe what she was seeing. She looked at Cody, and her throat tightened as recognition flooded her.

They stood there, like ghosts come to life, wearing the familiar gear of the Republic clones, but now twisted, aged, and worn by time. They were still wearing the armor, but it was scratched, weathered, and battered, not the pristine white she had once known.

“Not the best welcome we’ve had, huh?” Rex said, his voice laced with a dry humor she remembered too well, though there was something hesitant in his tone.

Her knees nearly buckled as she stared at him, her heart thumping in her chest. “How—how are you here? How are you both here?” she stammered, stepping back slightly, unsure of what to make of it all.

“We heard a lot of things,” Cody replied, his voice deep and serious. “About the kid. About the Empire. We couldn’t… we couldn’t stay away any longer.”

“Is it really you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn’t want to believe it. Part of her didn’t want to face the possibility that this was real—that they were truly standing there in front of her.

Cody stepped forward, his hand reaching out as if to steady her, but she backed away instinctively.

“I swear, it’s us,” Rex said quietly, watching her carefully. “We’re still alive, still standing. After all this time… we couldn’t let you stay alone. Not anymore.”

She swallowed hard, feeling something warm and painful flood her chest. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but her words caught in her throat.

“How? What happened?” she asked, finally finding her voice again, but even her tone was filled with disbelief.

Rex and Cody exchanged a look, their expressions heavy. There were so many things they both needed to explain—too many things. But neither of them was sure where to start.

“We’re deserters now,” Cody said flatly. “The Empire doesn’t want us anymore. After what happened… after Order 66…” He trailed off, his words thick with the weight of their shared past. “We couldn’t stay loyal to them. Not after all they did. Not after we saw the truth.”

“We couldn’t stand by and let them control us,” Rex added, his voice quieter, filled with regret and guilt. “The Republic turned into something else. And we both walked away. We couldn’t just pretend it didn’t happen. We tried to move on, but… we couldn’t forget you. Or the kid.”

“Why didn’t you come sooner?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “I thought you were… I thought you were dead. I mourned both of you. I believed the rumors.”

Cody’s jaw tightened, and Rex’s eyes softened with something like sorrow. “We had to keep our distance,” Rex said. “We didn’t want to lead anyone to you, especially after what happened. We thought… we thought if we stayed hidden long enough, it might be safer for you. But we didn’t want to lose you, either.”

She nodded slowly, as if processing everything at once. The shock, the disbelief, the pain. It had been so long. Too long.

“Why come here now?” she asked, her voice steadying as she wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. “What’s the point of all this?”

Rex stepped closer, his gaze intense. “We just want to be with you. Help. If you’ll let us. We can’t go back to what we were. But maybe we can move forward, together. The three of us.”

The child, who had been quietly watching from the corner, suddenly walked over, looking up at them with wide eyes. “Are they… the ones from before?”

She looked down at the boy and then back at Rex and Cody, a soft, bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. “Yes,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “They’re the ones.”

Cody gave a small nod in return, his face unreadable but soft. “And we’ll do what we can to keep you both safe. If you’ll have us.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of their shared past, and the unspoken understanding that nothing was ever going to be the same as it was before. Yet, despite everything, here they were—alive, standing together once again.

Her heart, which had been a tangled mess for so long, slowly began to settle, and with it, the promise of something new. Something that, despite all the pain and the losses, felt like it could be worth fighting for.

“Then stay,” she said, her voice steady. “Stay with me. Stay with us.”

The sun had set on Tatooine, the twin moons casting long shadows across the desert. The familiar, yet bittersweet weight of the night settled over the small mechanic shop, but something was different. There was an unspoken tension, a fragile peace woven through the air.

Inside the shop, the hum of tools and machines was the only sound, the soft whirring of droids as they worked on various repairs. The child, now safely nestled in the corner with a toy in his hands, had grown accustomed to the rhythm of life here, as had she. But tonight was different. Tonight, there was a quiet anticipation—one that stirred within her chest, making her feel both hopeful and uncertain.

Rex and Cody were here, standing by her side in a way they hadn’t been before. The space they shared wasn’t just that of comrades or soldiers—it was the space of something far more complex, fragile, and yet, somehow, stronger than anything she had known before.

They hadn’t talked much about the past, not yet. Not everything. The war, the betrayal, the chaos—they still lived in their memories like ghosts. But there was time for that later. Tonight wasn’t about the past. It was about rebuilding, about forging something new.

Cody stood by the door, his posture relaxed, though his eyes still carried the weight of everything they’d all been through. Rex was sitting at the table, his gaze drifting between her and the child, a hint of a smile on his lips. The same quiet intensity lingered in his eyes, but tonight, it felt less like a burden and more like a promise.

She looked at them, her heart catching in her throat. For so long, she had feared she was alone, that the world had moved on without her. She had convinced herself that the bonds they once shared were lost to time, erased by the chaos of the galaxy. But here they were, standing before her—not as clones, not as soldiers—but as something more. Something that might just survive.

“You know,” she said, her voice quiet, but firm. “I thought I was done fighting. Done running. I thought the past would always catch up to me.”

Cody tilted his head, his gaze softening. “We all thought we were done fighting.”

Rex nodded, his expression serious but warm. “But sometimes, the fight isn’t over. Sometimes, we get a chance to do things differently. And we’re here, for whatever comes next.”

She took a deep breath, letting the words sink in. Her heart ached with the weight of everything—everything they had lost, everything they had fought for. But as she looked at Rex and Cody, something settled in her chest. She realized that while the war might have shaped them, it didn’t define them. They were more than just soldiers, more than just their pasts. They were a part of something new.

The child looked up at her, his bright eyes filled with hope. “Are you going to stay with them now?”

Her heart fluttered, and she nodded, a small smile pulling at her lips. “Yes,” she said softly. “I’m going to stay. We’re all going to stay.”

She turned back to Rex and Cody, her gaze lingering between them. For a moment, the weight of everything they had gone through felt like it was fading. It was still there, lingering in the background, but it no longer defined them. Not anymore. They had a future, one they would build together, in this quiet corner of the galaxy.

The quiet hum of the shop filled the space around them, a steady rhythm that was somehow comforting. They had been through war, through loss, through pain—but here, in this small mechanic shop on a distant desert world, they had found something else. Peace. Hope. And maybe, just maybe, a chance to heal.

As the night stretched on, they sat together, the world outside growing darker and quieter. But inside, there was a warmth that none of them had felt in a long time.

And for the first time in years, she let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different.

They had survived. Together. And they would continue to, one step at a time.

The future was uncertain, but for once, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that they were together. And that was enough.

Previous Chapter

A/N

I absolutely hate how I ended this, but tbh I also absolutely suck at endings so this makes sense.

more angst since y’all liked it last time

“Brothers in the Making” pt.3

Command Squad x Reader

The fortress was carved straight into the mountainside — dark metal and cold stone, its towers punching through the mist like jagged teeth. Separatist banners snapped in the wind, and scout droids buzzed along the perimeter like angry insects.

You crouched with Obi-Wan behind a ridge just above the valley floor. The cadets were lined up beside you, low and quiet, eyes locked on the compound.

Anakin was, unsurprisingly, nowhere to be seen.

“Alright,” you whispered, tapping your datapad. “I count four main patrol paths. One blind spot. Minimal aerial surveillance.”

Kenobi nodded. “We can use the cliffside tunnel. I’ve seen this kind of layout before — there’s usually an access vent leading into the communications wing.”

You turned to your boys. “No heroics. Stay behind cover, stick to the plan, and no loud noises. Got it?”

They all nodded.

Except for Bacara, who raised a hand like he had a question.

You narrowed your eyes. “If this is about blowing something up—”

“I wasn’t gonna say that.”

“No loud noises.”

“Fine.”

Just as you leaned in to start your descent, a distant buzz and then a crash echoed from the other side of the fortress wall.

Everyone froze.

Obi-Wan sighed deeply. “That wasn’t us, was it?”

You didn’t answer — because right then, Anakin skidded down the slope, cloak half-burnt, covered in dust and grinning like an idiot.

“Hey!” he called, too loud. “Good news! I found a side entrance—”

A siren wailed.

Turrets rotated.

Searchlights snapped to life and started scanning the cliffs.

You turned, face blank. “Did you trigger an alarm?”

Anakin pointed behind him. “Technically? The droid did.”

Rex, next to you, groaned into his gloves. “We’re all gonna die.”

Kenobi was already getting up, lightsaber in hand, perfectly composed as chaos exploded below.

“Plans change,” he muttered. “We improvise.”

“Oh yes,” you said flatly, drawing your blaster. “Let’s all just improvise our way into a heavily armed Separatist base. That’s definitely how I planned to spend my day.”

He gave you a look as you both started moving down the slope.

“You know,” Obi-Wan said over the rising noise, “I never thought I’d see the day you would be the voice of reason.”

You ducked behind a boulder, covering the cadets as they followed in. “Yeah, well, someone has to be the adult while your Padawan’s off starting a land war with a power converter.”

He chuckled under his breath. “You could always take him. Add him to your little army of foundlings.”

You gave him a flat look. “I already have five too many.”

Behind you, Fox tripped over his own boots and nearly bowled into Cody.

Kenobi raised an eyebrow.

You added: “And they bite.”

————

Inside the base, it was colder than the mountain winds outside — all durasteel corridors and flickering lights, the buzz of power conduits echoing through the walls like a warning.

You crouched behind a support pillar as another pair of droid sentries clanked past. The group had slipped in through the broken emergency access hatch Anakin had accidentally discovered — half of it still smoldering from whatever he'd done to override the lock.

You turned to Obi-Wan in a sharp whisper. “Splitting up is a terrible idea.”

“It’s efficient,” he replied calmly, peering around the corner. “You and I retrieve the senator’s daughter. Anakin and your foundlings run a perimeter diversion.”

“They’re kids.”

“It’s efficient,” he replied calmly, peering around the corner. “You and I retrieve the senator’s daughter. Anakin and your cadets run a perimeter diversion.”

“They’re kids.”

“Your kids,” he said smoothly. “And as you’ve reminded me — foundlings are expected to fight.”

You clenched your jaw. “They’re not ready for this.”

He met your eyes. “Neither were we, once.”

That stopped you cold.

He lowered his voice, just a touch. “They need the experience. He needs the responsibility.”

You looked across the corridor — to where Anakin was gesturing wildly with his hands, trying to give the cadets some kind of whispered briefing. Bacara was clearly ignoring him. Wolffe already had a stun grenade in hand.

You exhaled through your nose. “If they die—”

“They won’t.”

You gave him one last glare, then looked back at the boys. “If anything goes wrong, scream.”

Fox raised a hand. “Like—?”

“I will hear you. I will end whoever hurt you. Just scream.”

The cadets nodded, suddenly a lot more serious.

Anakin gave a quick salute. “We’ll meet you back at the east exit.”

Obi-Wan glanced at you. “Shall we?”

You rolled your eyes and moved out, both of you slipping into the shadowed hallway like water down a blade.

———

Your part of the mission was quick and clean. Every step was coordinated — you swept forward through dark halls while Obi-Wan silently disabled security systems, his movements graceful and lethal.

You’d never worked with a Jedi like this before — and you had to admit, it was… oddly satisfying.

No words were wasted. He moved, you moved. You dropped a droid with a blaster shot, he caught its partner’s blaster arm mid-swing and twisted it clean off. The two of you cleared the detention block in under four minutes.

“Cell 14,” Obi-Wan said, checking the datapad he pulled from a guard’s belt.

You were already unlocking the panel.

Inside, the senator’s daughter was scared but unharmed — pale, dressed in rich fabric, bound at the wrists.

“I’ve got her,” you said, pulling her close and cutting the ties.

She stared up at you. “Who are you?”

You gave her a faint smile. “Someone your mother owes a drink.”

———

Elsewhere, it was less smooth.

Anakin’s plan — and you used the word plan very loosely — had apparently included sneaking into the droid depot and causing a “small, contained distraction.”

That turned into blowing up a weapons rack, stealing a tank, and getting stuck in a three-way chase down the hallway with spider droids, sirens, and Wolffe yelling, “I SAID I WASN’T GONNA BLOW ANYTHING UP, BUT THEN HE HANDED ME A DETONATOR—”

“I thought it was a flashlight!” Anakin shouted back.

Rex was clutching the controls of the tank like his life depended on it. Bacara was on top of the thing firing wildly and screaming gleefully. Cody and Fox were halfway hanging out of the hatch, shouting directions and laughing hysterically.

“THIS IS NOT STEALTH!” Fox screamed.

“I’M DISTRACTING THEM!” Bacara grinned. “DISTRACTION MISSION SUCCESSFUL!”

“DEFINITELY not ready,” you muttered, back with Obi-Wan as you made your way to the rendezvous.

You could hear the tank before you even saw them.

Obi-Wan glanced sideways at you with a completely straight face. “Would now be a bad time to say you were right?”

You stared at the smoke trail in the distance. “I hate you.”

———

The escape was… a mess.

They made it out, of course. Somehow.

With a half-destroyed tank rolling in front of the group as cover, explosions at their backs, and Anakin cheering like they’d just won a podrace, the cadets had sprinted across the canyon with blaster bolts chasing their heels.

You’d covered the senator’s daughter with your own body the whole way.

Kenobi had deflected shot after shot, graceful and impassive, the calm center of a storm.

Once they’d finally cleared the base and reconnected with the ship, you spent the first ten minutes pacing the ramp with your helmet tucked under your arm, muttering curses in three different languages.

Then, after a full headcount and emergency takeoff, you finally collapsed into a seat in the main hold.

Everyone was quiet.

Even Anakin.

The cadets sat in a circle, scratched and bruised, letting adrenaline drain from their systems. You watched them from your spot, arms crossed, boots heavy on the floor.

Cody was staring at his hands like they didn’t belong to him.

Fox hadn’t said a word.

Bacara was still grinning, but it was thinner now.

You leaned forward, voice low. “You all did good.”

Five pairs of eyes turned to you.

“Not perfect. Not clean. But good,” you said, and your voice softened, just a touch. “You followed orders. You adapted. You survived.”

Wolffe swallowed, eyes flicking to the floor.

You stood, stepping forward, and placed a hand on the back of Cody’s neck — warm and grounding.

“You saw war today. The real thing. Not just drills. Not just training. And you all made it out.”

There was silence again.

Then Bacara mumbled, “Even if Skywalker tried to kill us all.”

“I heard that,” Anakin called from the cockpit.

“Good.”

You turned toward the boys again. “Rest up. You earned it.”

As they started to settle into sleep wherever they could — curled in corners of the hold, some using their packs as pillows — you moved quietly to the front of the ship.

Kenobi was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching the stars pass through the viewports.

“You think they’re alright?” you asked, keeping your voice low.

He glanced at you. “They will be.”

You tilted your head. “So. What happened to your ship, exactly?”

He didn’t blink. “Mysterious failure.”

“Uh huh.”

“Sabotage, maybe.”

“Right.”

“Couldn’t possibly have been someone crash landing our ship.”

You sighed. “You Jedi are the worst.”

“I get that a lot.”

———

You hated the smell of Coruscant. Too clean. Too bright. Like chrome and false smiles.

But the senator’s estate was quiet, at least. High above the clouds, the landing platform was bordered by hanging gardens and silent droids, the building towering like a temple to wealth and secrecy.

You disembarked with the senator’s daughter at your side — safe, whole, and grateful.

The senator met you personally, eyes shining with relief. They pulled you into a tight embrace and whispered, “I owe you everything.”

Then they looked at your five cadets, lined up neatly and looking everywhere but directly at the senator.

“These boys…” the senator said slowly. “Are they—?”

You cut in smoothly. “Foundlings. Mine.”

A pause.

The senator raised an eyebrow. “Fascinating. They’re… sharp. Disciplined.”

“Lucky genes,” you said, smiling coolly.

Behind you, Fox was mouthing don’t say anything at Wolffe, who was visibly biting his tongue.

The senator looked thoughtful. “You know… there may be a place for them in security, when the time is right. We could find funding. Official channels.”

Your blood went cold.

But you smiled anyway.

“I’ll think about it.”

The senator nodded, clearly meaning well — but clearly dangerous.

You filed it away. Another warning.

They were not ready to be seen.

Not yet.

That night, back on the ship, the boys sat on the floor around you again, waiting for your orders.

But you just looked at them — really looked at them.

Wolffe’s bruise under his eye. Rex’s busted knuckles. Bacara’s scraped cheek. Cody’s silence. Fox’s slumped shoulders.

You said nothing at first.

Then, softly: “You did good.”

Five sets of eyes flicked up.

You gave them a small nod. “Get some rest. More training tomorrow.”

“Yes, buir,” they all said at once.

And you didn’t correct them.

Not this time.

————

Kamino had never felt this quiet.

Rain still lashed against the glass corridors. The white lights still hummed. Clones still trained, marched, sparred. But the air carried a tension now — tight and sterile, like the Kaminoans were watching every step.

Because they were.

The cadets noticed it first.

Extra cameras in the mess hall.

Silent observers hovering near the training chambers.

One of the newer units mentioned being taken aside and scanned after sparring.

And then, there was the way the five field cadets were treated.

Rex, Cody, Bacara, Fox, and Wolffe.

They were whispered about now — envied, doubted, even resented.

Rex heard a pair of cadets muttering behind his back in the armory.

“Think they’re better than us.”

“Just ‘cause they left Kamino.”

Bacara caught a shove in the hallway.

Fox started training harder, angrier.

You noticed it — how they stuck close together now. A small, tight unit. Good for war. Bad for brothers.

You were in the middle of correcting Bacara’s form during a sparring drill when you saw Jango watching from the overlook.

He didn’t call out to you. Just tilted his head, a silent signal.

You followed.

He was leaning against the wall in a private corridor, arms crossed.

“They’re pissed,” he said, voice low and steady.

You didn’t need to ask who.

“The Kaminoans?”

He nodded once. “Didn’t like you taking your cadets off-world. Especially not without their approval. You rattled their control.”

You leaned your back against the wall, arms folded. “That was your idea.”

He huffed a short breath of amusement. “They’re already talking about locking down field excursions. Increased isolation protocols.”

Your jaw tensed. “They’re kids. Not droids.”

“They’re property,” he said bitterly. “According to Kamino.”

You looked down at the floor, teeth clenched.

“They’re more than that,” you muttered.

He gave you a look. “Then you better teach them to act like it. Before this place eats them alive.”

————

Later that day, it happened.

Two cadets shoved Fox after a sparring match. Said he thought he was too good for the rest of them now.

Fox didn’t fight back.

But Wolffe did.

Cody pulled him off before it escalated, but not before everyone saw.

The whole training floor went dead silent.

You walked into the middle of it.

And no one said a word.

You turned, looking around at all of them — rows of half-grown clones, armor scuffed, breath caught.

“Line up.”

They did.

All of them. Even the ones still panting from the fight.

You stood in front of them, helmet tucked under your arm, rain streaking down the windows behind you.

“I’ve been too soft on you.”

A murmur rippled through the room.

You raised your voice.

“I wanted you to feel like brothers. I wanted you to find your names. To find yourselves. But that doesn’t mean forgetting what you are.”

You started to pace, slow and sharp.

“You are soldiers. You are Mandalorian-trained. You are disciplined. And above all — you are loyal.”

A pause.

“Not to me. To each other.”

They watched you like they were trying to breathe your words in.

“This?” You pointed at the dried blood on Wolffe’s lip. “This jealousy? This division? It’s not strength. It’s weakness. And weakness gets you killed.”

You stopped walking, facing them head-on.

“I don’t care who went off-world. I don’t care who hasn’t earned a name yet. You are brothers. And from today on, the training gets harder. The drills get longer. The expectations rise.”

A long, steady beat.

“Earn your place. Earn your name. Earn each other.”

No one moved.

No one dared.

You dropped your voice just enough.

“This is your warning. Tomorrow — the real training begins.”

You turned on your heel and walked out.

Behind you, they stood taller.

Silent.

Together.

————

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“You Talk Too Much (And I Like It)”

Tech x Reader

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

Well, Tech never said much at all.

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

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

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

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

You blinked.

“What?”

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

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

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

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

He looked confused. “Why wouldn’t I?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Correct.”

“But I like that.”

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

You blinked. “What is it?”

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

Your heart stuttered.

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

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

You bit your lip to keep from grinning too hard.

“Wanna hear another story?” you asked.

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

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

Tech already had a formula for it.

⸻

It started with the recorder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

He paused. “I… suppose I assumed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was off.

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes met yours.

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

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

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

You grinned. “Tech.”

“Yes?”

“I’m gonna kiss you now.”

He hesitated a beat. “Proceed”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crosshair

The first time he notices it, he’s practically scowling.

He hates things he can’t immediately explain, and suddenly the ship doesn’t smell like burnt wiring and recycled air anymore — it smells like…

something soft.

Something warm.

Something he can’t stop breathing in.

He’s so annoyed about it he follows you around for an entire day, sniffing the air like a pissed-off lothcat, trying to figure out if it’s you or if someone installed a karking air freshener.

When he finally realizes it’s you, he just stands there staring at you for a long second, lips pressed into a tight line.

Then he mutters:

“You smell… distracting.”

Like it’s a personal insult.

Will absolutely lean in closer than necessary just to breathe you in — but if you catch him, he’ll immediately go “Hmph” and pretend you’re the weird one.

Wrecker

Wrecker’s the first to flat-out say it.

He scoops you up into a bone-crushing hug one day, immediately sniffs, and then pulls back with wide, amazed eyes.

“Whoa! You smell amazing! Like… like sunshine! And pastries! And soap!”

He is obsessed after that. Every time you walk by, he inhales dramatically like a toddler discovering their favorite candy.

“Can we keep ya?” he jokes — but he means it. You’re like a walking comfort blanket for him.

The Marauder slowly starts smelling better too because Wrecker starts cleaning more — purely because he wants the nice smell to stick around.

Tech

Tech notices immediately, but being Tech, he processes it differently.

“Interesting,” he says aloud the first time you pass him. “The olfactory change is quite pleasant.”

Then he starts… researching it.

He runs calculations about human pheromones and attraction rates. He theorizes that your presence might lower the crew’s stress levels by up to 23%.

He doesn’t even realize he’s orbiting closer to you during missions until Wrecker points it out.

Embarrassed, he adjusts his goggles and mutters something about “optimal proximity for psychological benefits.”

Translation: You smell good and it’s making his brain short-circuit, help.

Echo

Echo notices it like a punch to the face because he’s so hyperaware of sensory input now.

The Marauder always smells like metal and grime — he’s used to it — but you?

You smell like rain hitting dry ground. Like something clean and alive and real.

It shakes him a little.

Reminds him of before — before the war, before everything.

He tries to be subtle about it, but you catch him lingering near you sometimes, jaw tight like he’s trying not to let himself want it.

One day you brush past him and he closes his eyes for half a second, just breathing you in.

He doesn’t say anything about it for a long time.

Until maybe you tease him — and he finally admits, voice low and rough:

“You make this whole ship feel… less like a graveyard.”

Which might be the most devastatingly sweet thing Echo could ever say.