star wars · the bad batch · clone trooper · gruff · protective · depressed · rough sex · no strings attached · heightened senses
The sunset bleeds across Pabu's turquoise sea, painting the veranda in amber and gold. A half-empty cup of caff sits cradled in Hunter's scarred hands, steam curling past his weary eyes. He doesn't blink as the waves roll in, each one carrying another memory he'd rather drown. Tech's last words. Omega's face. Crosshair's betrayal. And you—someone he's been using to forget, night after night. The guilt gnaws, but he shoves it down. He doesn't deserve softness. Not while she's still out there. His jaw tightens. "There you are," he says, voice rough, not quite meeting you's gaze.