Tbb Hunter: one shot story's

A quiet place to rest

-Summary: Sleeping during thunderstorms is hard, especially with enhanced senses, but you've always been a quiet place for Hunter to rest.

I couldn't find the author of this one shot but it they are on Tumblr, if you find them before me please lmk who it is.
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Thunder cracked across the sky, illuminating the barracks on Kamino. Storms were common on the water planet, and you’d long learnt to love them. Tonight, you’d opted to camp out on the large couch that Wrecker had procured from Maker knows where and watch the storm as it rolled past Tipoca City.

Around you, the boys snoozed. These days, two years deep into the war, they could sleep through almost anything.

Two years. It had gone past in the blink of an eye. You could still remember the day you’d been introduced to Clone Force 99 and assigned as their civilian handler. It was your job to keep in contact with Command, feed the boys their missions, and ensure they had everything they needed to complete their work and return safely.

While most handlers chose to remain on Kamino, away from the blaster fire and chaos, you’d elected to go with the Batch, to live on the Marauder with them and share their barracks on the rare occasion you could return to base. After all, you couldn’t keep them safe if you weren’t with them.

“Can’t sleep?” The quiet, smoky rasp of Hunter’s voice graced your ears as he circled the couch, sitting down at your side. He was as nimble on his feet as a lothcat – you'd lost count of how many times he’d made you jump by suddenly appearing next to you.

Head turning to look at the man by your side, you admired the sharp line of his jaw, the tattoo that shaded half of his face, and the bags that were a permanent feature under his dark eyes. A constant reminder of the pressure he was under as the squad’s leader. “Still winding down.” You answer just as quietly. The last few missions had been tough, back-to-back with barely a few hours downtime between them. Your mind was too noisy for rest. “Can’t sleep either?”

Hunter’s gaze flits to the large window at your question, a small noise of discomfort sliding past his lips. “Lightening.” His answer is only one word, but it explains everything. The storm was messing with his senses, producing a strong electric field that he couldn’t tune out. He’d tried all his usual techniques for blocking it to no avail. So, he’d resigned himself to a night awake, and a thumping migraine in the morning.

“Here…” You murmur, stretching out a little on the couch before patting your lap in invitation. Sometimes after tough missions, Hunter would seek you out, sitting for a while in your presence, bringing the focus of his senses onto you so he could then slowly draw them back under control.

Hunter didn’t need to be told twice. He shifts, laying down across the couch, head resting in your lap, cheek pressed to your bare leg. Your fingers find their way into his hair – bandana-less and ruffled from trying to sleep. As your nails drag across his scalp, he lets out a small sigh, warmth seeping through him at the gentle action. Slowly he starts to hone in on you, letting the soft scent of your shampoo fill his lungs as he takes a deep breath, the slow thud of your heartbeat ringing in his ears, the feel of your bare thighs beneath his cheek and the warmth coming from your body. The fact you slept in one of Wrecker’s old shirts – oversized on you and skimming mid-thigh – was both a blessing and a curse.

“Any better?” You ask softly, gazing down at him, watching as his eyes slide shut and he lets out a soft sigh, the tension in his body starting to melt away. You loved these moments, when he relinquished his fearless leader persona.

“Mhm.” Hunter murmurs, feeling the pounding in his skull starting to recede the longer he rests in your lap and soaks up your affection. But he’s greedy, and he wants more, even though he knows he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t be having anything other than professional thoughts about you. But that’s all they’ll stay for now, though – thoughts.

You fall into a comfortable silence as he rests in your lap. Slowly your hand moves from his hair to brush across his shoulder, and then down his arm, fingers dancing across tattooed skin. You’d been surprised to learn that the tattoo which shades half his face continues downwards to darken half his body too. Eventually, you find his hand, sliding your fingers against his to lace them together. It’s only a second before Hunter’s thumb moves to press against your wrist, right on your pulse point, giving him something else to focus on.

The storm continues to rage on outside, and together you sit through it quietly. It’s another hour or so before it passes, though the sky remains clouded and grey. You hadn’t spoken a word to each other during it – lost in your thoughts, coming down from the last few missions. “How’s your head?” You ask Hunter softly, breaking the silence as you give his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Easing.” He breathes a sigh of relief, his senses settling as the storm moves past Tipoca City. He’ll still feel it anywhere on the planet, but the further away it moves the less grief it gives him. Giving your hand a squeeze in return, Hunter’s greed flares again and this time he allows himself to give in to it. Pulling your hand closer, he cradles it to his chest as he remains resting in your lap, dropping a kiss on the smooth skin on the back of your hand. The action pulls a soft chuckle from you, the sound one of his absolute favourites, and he soaks it up like a man stuck in the sands of Tattooine. He notes how your heart pounds a little more fiercely too, but he opts not to say anything, privately relishing the effect such a simple act can have.

You know your heart is beating quickly, but you’d long given up trying to mask it. There was no fooling Hunter’s senses, and you were starting to suspect he was purposefully doing things to set your pulse racing anyway – he’d been a lot more open with his affection as of late.

“Try and get some sleep.” You murmur, gazing down at his profile, marvelling at this incredible man curled against you. His hair had been smoothed a little from your strokes, and the tension in his shoulders was gone now. He was even more gorgeous than usual, softer and quieter, without the weight of the squad's safety on his mind now they were safely in their bunks nearby.

Hunter stifles a yawn, burrowing closer towards you and your body heat. The tendrils of sleep are pulling at him, beckoning him into the abyss. And with your request, he’s even more powerless to fight it. He knows even an hour or two of rest will do him good, and with you keeping watch, he’s never felt safer. “Anything for you, cyar’ika.”