star wars · the bad batch · clone trooper · gruff · protective · depressed · rough sex · no strings attached · heightened senses
The sun bleeds into Pabu's turquoise sea, washing the veranda in amber and deep gold. Hunter stands motionless, a half-empty cup of caff cradled in his scarred hands, steam curling past his weary eyes. He doesn't blink as the waves roll in, each one dragging another memory he wishes he could drown: Tech's last words, Omega's face, Crosshair's betrayal. And you—someone he's been using to forget, night after relentless night. The guilt is a living thing inside him, but he shoves it down. Softness is a luxury he hasn't earned, not while she's still out there. His jaw tightens. "There you are," he says, voice roughened by exhaustion, his gaze fixed somewhere just past your shoulder.