#Crosshair x “Bells”

[523rdrebel]

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

Chapter 10 - The Start of Something New

Chapter Summary: Crosshair, Bells, and the Batch enjoy the Festival. Bells and Crosshair take small steps to learn how to navigate their relationship.

Rating: T, SFW

Warnings: None

A/N: So so sorry for taking so long to continue this story. I went on hiatus and then hit an unfortunate bout of writer's block. Fair warning this chapter begins Part Two of Sunflowers and Blasters which will have a bit of a tonal shift. We are still focusing on Crosshair and Bells's relationship, but I'll be introducing more original characters, quite a lot of backstory for our favorite sunshine medic, and even some angst and action. If that isn't something you're interested in, no worries, and no pressure to keep reading. <3

Thanks so much for your patience with me and I hope you enjoy!

Crosshair divider by Snotbuggle, Star and Moon Dividers by Saradi

Wrecker came up in between them wrapping his arms around their shoulders and dragging them along with a firm squeeze back toward the festival, “Come on, you two! There’s a whole festival to enjoy…together.” He wiggled his eyebrows and laughed, loud and boisterous.

“Ugh–” Crosshair groaned and rolled his eyes, but didn’t fight Wrecker guiding them back towards the Festival.

Once they reentered the bright, joyful lights, surrounded once again by the cacophony of sound from a village temporarily uninhibited by responsibilities, Wrecker released the pair and jogged off as he caught sight of Daisy passing nearby, drawn like a moth to a flame.

Left alone, there was this weight of uncertain pressure between Crosshair and Isabella. They’d flirted often, drawn inexplicably towards each other from the moment Crosshair had entered Isabella’s clinic, but now, they stood on the precipice of an undeniable change. They stood close together but not touching, hesitant but with an electric undercurrent of expectation. Isabella glanced to the side, observing Crosshair’s body language for any clues on his thoughts. Her hand twitched and she fought the urge to grab his hand and drag him along.

She heard Crosshair sigh through his nose, bringing her gaze back to his face as he rolled his eyes. The back of his hand brushed against hers, electric sparks shooting through her body causing a barely suppressed shiver.

“Well…” Isabella began, leaning slightly to brush her shoulder against his, “Where to?”

He leans in conspiratorially, “We could just leave…”

“Not so fast, Cross. You can’t go to a Festival and not play obviously rigged games. It’s tradition.”

“Rigged games–”

“Come on!” Instinctively she reached out for his hand, but stopped short and instead held out her hand palm up. An invitation.

Crosshair eyed the hand for only a moment before grasping her open palm within his, reveling in the sensation of her soft, warm fingers wrapped around his. He let her lead him through the busy streets of the festival, much as Omega had led them earlier that evening, his eyes cataloging her form- her hair, her smile, her bright, twinkling laugh. How long would he be able to hold on to her? How long until he broke her, too? But he pushed those unwelcome thoughts down, down into his mind avoiding the cold grip of fear he was all too accustomed to.

The evening passed in a dizzying blur of activity. Bells led Crosshair to all of her favorite sections of the Festival: Lantern lighting, hand crafted art and trinkets, exotic foods, dancers and musical performers and games of skill. At one game Wrecker took on a feat of strength, lifting a large boulder and spinning around to launch the rock across a number of lines indicating the distance thrown. Shep, surprisingly, tossed his boulder just a hair farther than Wrecker to the shocked cheers of many onlookers. Wrecker congratulated Shep with a crushing hug, lifting the man off the ground and laughing joyously.

Echo and Hunter challenged Crosshair and Tech to a game strategy and cooperation, followed shortly after by Wrecker and Omega who joined the competition. One of each team of two was blindfolded and sent into a maze, the partner perched atop their shoulders to direct them through the maze. It was a highly competitive game, each team yelling directions and orders or attempting to distract or mislead the opposing team. Hunter, Tech, and Wrecker were blindfolded, their partners secured upon their shoulders and the game began. Echo kept purposely directing Hunter into walls when he tried to use his heightened senses to tell Echo where he thought they should go. Crosshair communicated almost solely through various forms of grunts and growls, frustrating Tech to no end, “Use. Your. Words. Crosshair.”  Wrecker and Omega made it through the maze in less than five minutes, having no difficulties communicating and Omega only directed them to a dead end twice. Wrecker and Omega were adorned with beautifully crafted flower crowns for their victory and Wrecker promptly offered his to a blushing, giggling Daisy.

Bells nudged Crosshair with her elbow, directing his attention towards Wrecker and Daisy, “He went off to talk to Dai-sy.” She beamed at the pair across the way, “She's my favorite baker on the island. Wrecker’s had a crush on her for ages…”

Crosshair rolled his eyes, “I know– he’s been insufferable. Mooning at her for months.”

“He asked me for some advice, didn’t quite know how to start talking to her.”

“You?” He remarked dryly.

She elbowed his waist sharply this time, “Believe it or not, Cross, I am actually a woman. I’m familiar with our wiley ways.” She wiggled her fingers at him playfully.

“Do go on…”

“Excuse you! Those are protected trade secrets. I can't reveal them to just anybody.”

He snorted and directed another eye roll at her.

She sighed and shook her head, then shrugged, “Well, I’m hungry. Come with me?”

“I suppose. Wouldn't want to leave you and your wiley ways unsupervised…”

After their hunger was satisfied, they decided upon one last game. “Saving the best for last,” she’d said, and led him to a stall with a rudimentary game of accuracy. The stall was set up with holo-targets at three levels of difficulty and an old short-range training blaster rifle was provided for all who wished to take on the “challenge.” Crosshair scoffed, but Bells beamed at him and stepped up to the stall.

Crosshair stood back observing quietly, taking it all in. He was happy, happier than he'd been in a long time, if ever. He watched Bells laughing with Wrecker who had come over to cheer for her.

He watched as she set her stance like he’d taught her, leveled the rifle, and took aim. She was still wearing his borrowed jacket. The corner of his mouth twitched. He approached her from behind while she took her first two shots, nailing the bullseye, then just to the right. She aimed again, nailing the next two with intense focus. He smirked and ran a hand up her back under his jacket and leaned close to whisper in her ear, “Don’t get distracted…” She jumped, barely hitting the outer ring of the target and she turned on him, blushing profusely, “Cross!”

Crosshair chuckled quietly, “Works every time…” His gaze swept over the targets, “Well, you still hit the target…barely. Might have to work on your focus, Bells.”

She crossed her arms over her chest with a huff, mumbling under her breath, “Kiss the man once in a secluded garden and suddenly he gets bold.”

It was getting late, the crowds had thinned and many stalls had begun to clear away. Lighting around the Festival areas were dimmed to a low, soft ambiance. Hunter and Omega had bid their goodnights an hour or so prior and the rest of the Batch had scattered elsewhere. Crosshair and Bells walked the darkened quiet streets of Pabu’s upper levels, meandering a path towards Bells’s home. When they finally approach the door, Bells tapped the entry pad and the door opened with a woosh. The pair lingered in the entrance, hushed and unwilling to break the spell and end the night.

After what could have been seconds or hours, locked in a stalemate with ever encroaching time, Crosshair wraped one arm around her waist and pulled her close. The other hand softly cradled the back of her neck and he pressed a soft, teasing kiss to her lips before releasing her with a knowing smirk, “‘Night, Bells.” Once again he walked out her door leaving her breathless and hopelessly wanting more. 

She shook her head and slowly began getting ready for bed, her mind occupied with a mixture of memories and sensations from the evening and fanciful fabrications of an evermore possible future. As she exited the ‘fresher, her busy mind was abruptly broken from its revelry by a strange beeping sound. Isabella froze, listening for the sound.  It came from a storage unit she hadn’t touched since arriving on Pabu some years ago. The sound stopped and she squeezed her eyes shut against the burning cold dread, clenched her jaw, and climbed into bed. With some effort, she redirected her thoughts back to the pleasant events of the evening, her breathing slowing until sleep finally found her.

She dreamt of a beautiful picnic with friends and loved ones from Pabu. Desi and Taayo were there, a young, nameless child crawling around them. Crosshair was there, as were his brothers and sister, the banter and laughter flowing freely. Other residents of Pabu made an appearance as well. All the while, a shadow hovered just out of sight, at the corners of her vision she knew it was there. She knew the shadow, but could not recall it’s name. She turned to ask, only to have it move once more just outside of her vision and then was gone. The rest of the night no more dreams troubled her.

Ye Olde Taglist:

@jediknightjana @dangraccoon @wizardofrozz @freesia-writes @mythical-illustrator

@echoxbuggs @trixie2023 @ezras-left-thumb @sweetcream-coldfoam

@anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @starrylothcat @secondaryrealm @arctrooper69

@littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @sev-on-kamino @dystopicjumpsuit @idontgetanysleep

@clonemedickix @followthepurrgil @clonethirstingisreal

#rebelwrites #Suflowers & Blasters #Crosshair x OC #OC - Dr. Isabella Ramót #Grumpy & Sunshine #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #Rebel Writes #Sunflowers & Blasters #Sunflowers and Blasters #crosshair x oc #Crosshair x “Bells” #Crosshair x Dr. Isabella Ramot #Star War AU #star wars #the bad batch #tbb #tbb crosshair #tbb Omega #Slow Burn #Sibling Meddling #tbb wrecker #chapter 10 #Sunflowers and Blasters Part 2 #Part Two #Long Fic #Happy Bad Batch Eve #Happy Tech Tuesday #TBB Fluff

[nadvs]

watch and learn (part seven)

pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x female reader

rating explicit 18+

content warning drug and alcohol use

summary it takes one conversation with your college dorm neighbor to know you won’t get along. rafe is loud, rude, and short-tempered. after he overhears you talking about a disappointing fling, he loses his confidence in his sexual abilities and suggests you start hooking up to both improve your skills in the bedroom. you can’t stand him, but it’s too good of an offer to turn down.

» masterlist

*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

The next morning, you sleep in, recovering from the party. Your head is still foggy as you scroll through your phone in bed, thinking about last night.

You spent a lot of time with Blake. He was nice and charming and all you did was talk and share innocent touches. He’s nothing but green flags.

Yet your mind kept reminding you of Rafe. And it kept replaying the sight of him kissing another girl.

Something between you two shifted the other day, when you dropped by after his dad’s visit. You agreed that you were friends. And then did something that friends definitely don’t do.

Then, of course, he took a few days to be a jerk. But last night, he mustered up a sorry for you, flirting with you again.

It’s almost like he’s leaving breadcrumbs, making you think he has feelings, with the possessiveness and the compliments and the looks he gives you. But time and time and time again, Rafe proves to you that he’s a douchebag who’s not looking for anything more than sex.

And neither are you, you remind yourself. Not with Rafe. He would break your heart if given the chance. And you’re not giving him the chance.

You see a text from Rafe from a couple of hours ago: you up?

You reply: i am now.

You open Instagram to see that Blake posted a story a few minutes ago. It’s a photo of a sign on the side of a building. He’s at a paintball range with his frat brothers. It must be another bonding event.

The text on the photo reads: let’s goooo red team.

You reply to the story: putting all my money on the red team.

He responds: I’ll win for you :)

Rafe has never played paintball before, but it couldn’t have come at a better time. His gun is loaded with blue pellets and he has Blake in his sights before the starting bell even rings.

This will be the best way to release his anger over the fact that he’s losing you. Well, other than getting naked with you and fucking until he can’t think straight. But you weren’t answering your phone this morning. So, this’ll do.

The field is vast under the cloudy sky, cluttered full of obstacles and barriers and embankments. When the game starts, Rafe has one goal and one goal only.

He hates how you were smiling at Blake last night. He hates how you touched his shoulder. How you laughed. How close you were.

Mere minutes into the game, he’s behind a colorfully splattered wall and finally finds Blake in his crosshairs. His finger presses down on the trigger over and over and over again, each pop loud and echoing, coating the front of Blake’s vest with bright blue drops of paint.

“Jesus, Rafe, I think you got him, man!” one of his teammates shouts with a laugh.

Even though one of his buddies on the red team nails Rafe in his arm a couple of times near the end of the round, the game ends in a blue team victory.

As the boys make their way back into the building, Blake shoves Rafe’s shoulder.

“The fuck was that, Cameron?” Blake asks, pointing to his vest, sheathed in blue. His smile is wide, but his tone is sharp. He’s trying to hide it, but he seems actually pissed off. Good.

“My bad, man,” Rafe half-chuckles, lifting his helmet off his head. “Got lost in the game. I love to win.”

The high from winning this stupid game is so intensely gratifying that Rafe wants to keep beating Blake in everything. Including in getting your attention.

When Rafe checks his phone as they leave the range, he sees you finally responded. He’s craving you now, but he’ll see you in a few hours at tonight’s party. And he wants Blake to see you with him.

He was stupid to think he could stay away from you. He’s going to see you as many times as you let him before your touches with Blake have more meaning behind them.

The “anything but clothes” party is slated to start at the Sigma Chi house in a few minutes. You and Liv decide to show up right on time to hang out with the guys and drink before the liquor runs out.

You made a stop at a party store off-campus to buy rolls of caution tape together, deciding to wrap the bright yellow nylon into haphazard tube tops and mini skirts, stuck together with clear packing tape. You’re careful so that the sticky tape is only on the caution tape, not directly touching any skin at all.

When you enter the house, you follow the noise in the kitchen. A group of frat boys are in the dining room, setting up the keg and putting out cups.

Blake and Rafe are standing with four other guys, talking as they set up.

Rafe should’ve put more effort into what he wore. He has a towel around his hips and when you walk in wearing next to nothing, he regrets it immediately. A boner would be way too fucking obvious.

Blake greets you with a side-hug and Rafe cracks his knuckles under the table.

“Hey, how was paintball?” you ask. “Did you win?”

“Lost and I’m wounded.” Blake’s wearing a plastic bag over his chest and another around his hips. He puts his hand over his sternum, the bag crinkling beneath his fingers.

“What the hell happened?” you laugh, placing your hand on his. He pretends to wince in pain when you touch him, making you laugh again. The sight makes Rafe scowl.

“Rafe went all Scarface on him,” Sam says. You look to Rafe, and at the same time, glass shatters in the kitchen behind you.

“Shit!” a guy shouts.

“So glad tomorrow’s thing is outside,” Blake mumbles. “This place is a mess and it’s only gonna get worse.”

“What’s tomorrow?” you ask.

“Family day,” Sam says. “We’re having a barbecue.”

“Do you guys have something going on every weekend?” Liv asks.

“Pretty much,” Blake in a bragging tone.

“And when do you study?” you say.

“During the week, fun police,” Blake mumbles with a playful smile. You hate the label and think back to a conversation you had with him over text about nicknames.

“Don’t call me that, babe,” you respond. Blake told you before that he loathes being called babe.

Rafe doesn’t know you’re saying it ironically. And he’s trying not to lose his mind. He looks down at his beer and takes another sip.

A moment passes and he doesn’t notice that Blake is trying to get his attention until he realizes seven pairs of eyes are on him.

“What?” Rafe asks.

“Who are you bringing tomorrow?” Blake repeats.

“I’m not coming.” Rafe can’t imagine even mentioning the event to anyone in his family.

“What? Why not?” Blake says. “I need to meet who raised you to be so fucking competitive.”

Rafe looks away the same way he did when you confronted his dad for yelling at him. It’s not exactly annoyance in his expression, like you’re used to seeing. It’s discomfort. Embarrassment.

You don’t want anyone to grill him. Not about his family. You can still hear the way his father snapped at him, asked what he was crying for.

“Sounds like you’re just mad that you’re such an easy target,” you say to Blake, primarily to take everyone’s eyes off of Rafe.

You earn a few jeers, heads turning back in your direction. Rafe’s eyes find yours and you glance at him to see a softened expression, the hard lines in his face suddenly gone.

“I’d like to see you try to play paintball,” Blake says.

“Yeah, you’re really selling it,” you respond sarcastically, snapping your gaze back to meet his.

“What other events do you guys have planned?” Liv asks.

As Blake goes into the schedule for the rest of the year - including a community service drive, a Sadie Hawkins formal, and a camping trip - Rafe can’t keep his eyes off of you.

He can’t forget how you stood up to his father, a total stranger, and told him to calm down. He can’t forget how happy your silly little gift made him.

Maybe you were just flirting with Blake, but he wonders if you purposely took the attention off of him, knowing what you know about his family.

You two are friends that have great sex, he knows that, but he’s staring at you like you’re more. You can be irritating and a tight-ass, but you’re kind and thoughtful, too.

Rafe looks away. These thoughts make him uneasy all over. He’s not a feelings kind of guy. And Blake is so obviously your type and Rafe is nothing like him.

He’s not stupid. Anything more than sex between you two would be ridiculous.

The house fills up with partygoers quickly, air thickening, music loud and conversations even louder.

Later on in the night, Rafe’s buzzed and standing by the keg, watching you dance with your friend. The way you roll your hips reminds him of how you move when you’re on top of him and he needs to force himself to look away before he gets hard. Again.

Eventually, he notices you head towards the back of the house alone and he takes the opportunity to talk to you.

When you leave the bathroom and head down the dark hallway back towards the party, you notice Rafe leaning by the wall, a beer bottle in his hand. There’s only a handful of people around, engaging in quiet, private conversation as the music throbs around you.

“Hey,” he says. He wishes he thought of something more clever to say, but he’s pretty close to being drunk.

It’s kind of sweet that he’s waiting here for you. But then you remind yourself he’s just horny.

“Hey,” you say, eyes flitting down his athletic body and to the navy blue towel sitting at his hips. “Pretty lazy of you to use a towel.”

“Nah, it’s smart,” he quips. “That tape is perfect for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you say.

“You can read, can’t you?” Rafe simply says, his hand ghosting over the bold CAUTION on your chest. You look down at the way his long fingers just barely brush over your breasts, imagining the way they were massaging you earlier this week.

The reminder sends a swirl of warm passion in your core. You want him again. And again. And again.

“Are you trying to say I’m dangerous? I’m not the one attacking people during an innocent game of paintball.”

“I got hit, too, okay?” Rafe complains. He brings his right arm forward, showing you his flexed bicep.

“I don’t see anything,” you laugh.

“These red marks are turning into bruises,” he says, pointing to his skin. “I’ll need you to take care of me.”

“I think you’re just being a fuckboy,” you respond.

Rafe’s smirk is playful and inviting and you realize you’re only inches away from each other, eyes connected and smiles mirrored.

You want to see him naked again. Neither of you had any pointers last time you hooked up, but that doesn’t mean you’re done learning, right?

“I’ve never gotten a ‘you up?’ text at ten in the morning,” you say. Admittedly, you were a little dejected that he didn’t reply to your message earlier today.

“You woke up late,” Rafe says, eyebrows quirking up for a second. “When’d you even get home?”

In reality, he wants to know if you were with Blake. He didn’t see you at last night’s party after he made out with a girl just to unsuccessfully make you jealous. Maybe you messed around with Blake and stayed up late with him.

“I don’t remember,” you admit with a defeated laugh. “I think I need to cool it on the partying. You frat boys never stop. I can’t believe how many things you guys have going on.”

Rafe breathes a sardonic chuckle, looking down, and you’re immediately reminded of tomorrow’s event.

Just like that, the air between you shifts. You’re both thinking of the same thing. You’re painfully aware of it.

Silence settles between you and you nervously scratch your arm.

“I wouldn’t want to bring him, either,” you finally say. Rafe’s eyes meet yours. He instantly knows you’re talking about his father.

Now he’s sure you weren’t just carrying on conversation with Blake earlier. You purposely took the attention off of him. Because you’re friends. Friends help each other.

“Yeah,” is all Rafe can say.

“Did you…” you say softly. “Do you not have anyone else you’d want to come?”

Rafe thinks of his life back home. His father, who never shies away from expressing his disappointment. His step-mother, who he has no relationship with. Sarah, who’s the clear favorite. Wheezie, who Rafe actually likes and sort of misses, but wouldn’t be able to visit on her own.

“No,” he admits. “It’s… I don’t have that kind of family.”

“Must be why you’re into this whole frat thing,” you say. You can’t stop yourself from trying to understand his complexities.

Rafe didn’t think about it that way. But the sense of camaraderie he has with his frat brothers, except for one in particular, does give him a sense of belonging he’s been chasing forever. He didn’t even realize it until you said it.

But that’s what you do. You make him think and feel things he hasn’t before and it’s so uncomfortable and exciting at the same time.

“You’re…” Rafe tugs at his earlobe. “You’re a really nice person.”

“What?” You laugh in disbelief. Is he being sweet to you outside of the bedroom?

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” he says. “When he asked me why I’m not going tomorrow, you changed the subject.”

He can’t say Blake’s name.

“Guilty,” you say. You settle into eye contact that’s unlike anything you two have shared before. Rafe huffs, wanting to force away the tension sitting in his chest.

“I think you’re into this whole frat thing, too, by the way,” he says. He leans even closer to you, blue eyes focused on your lips.

“Not at all,” you joke, shaking your head. “I hate you guys.”

“Really,” Rafe mutters, his tone low. “Even me?”

“Especially you.”

“You don’t remember what you said last time we fucked? When I asked if I could put it in?”

Your skin burns as you think back to the way he asked you if you were ready before burying into you.

“You must be thinking about another girl,” you say. He won’t even entertain the thought.

“You said please,” he rasps.

“Well, at least I have manners,” you reply, looking him in the eye as anticipation curls in your stomach, refusing to shy away.

“You gonna beg me for it again?”

“I did not beg,” you respond.

You want to tease him even more, tell him you thought you were experts now, so what’s the point of hooking up anymore? But you don’t need it to be instructional to have sex with him. He doesn’t seem to need it, either.

“Don’t tell me you’re still shy about liking it.” His smirk is taunting. This cracks you, a smile spreading on your face again, your eyes trailing down his bare chest.

“Maybe,” you tease. It’s a lie. You’re not shy at all anymore. The sense of shame you felt around sex before is gone. At least with Rafe, it has.

“How can you be shy when you’re wearing that?” Rafe asks. “Showing fucking everything.”

“You’re one to talk,” you say, nose crinkling. The way you cock your head as you gaze at his body, your lashes fluttering as you blink, makes his gut warm and his groin tighten. Wow. He really doesn’t even need to touch you to get hard.

“And don’t act like you don’t like my outfit,” you say, meeting his eyes again. You shock yourself with your forwardness. He looks pleasantly surprised, too.

You hear your name being shouted. Liv rushes towards you, hands pressed over her chest.

“My tape broke,” she laughs. “I almost flashed everyone.”

“Really?” you gasp. Rafe is annoyed that you got interrupted, but he finds that he really likes what caring for somebody looks like on you. Your eyes deepen. Your brows lower. Your guard is down. You’re stunning.

“We should’ve brought extra tape,” Liv says.

“We can borrow a shirt,” you suggest. “Let’s find Blake.”

Rafe is seething. Blake. Of fucking course.

You offer Rafe a tight smile before taking your friend’s hand and walking in front of her to shield her.

When you find Blake, he leads you and Liv upstairs to his room, scrambling through his dresser to find a shirt for Liv.

“I’m not gonna get kicked out for wearing clothes, am I? It’s against the rules,” Liv says.

“No, only ‘cause you’re friends with fun police over here,” Blake replies, smiling over his shoulder as he hands a black shirt to Liv. “Special privileges.”

“I told you not to call me that,” you say with a laugh. Liv pulls the shirt over her head.

“Thanks!” she calls as she walks out of the room, a grin on her face. You know she’s purposely leaving you alone with Blake.

You meet Blake’s eyes, standing in the middle of his quiet, private room.

“Study fort’s gone,” you notice, looking down at his bare floor.

“Oh. Yeah,” he says stiffly. It’s awkward between you and you’re not sure why. “You look…”

Blake doesn’t finish his sentence. You knew he was a bit on the shy side, but he’s actually nervous.

You would normally find it endearing. But because of the intoxicating way Rafe was talking to you downstairs, how he’s so unafraid of telling you how attracted he is to you, you feel tense around Blake for the first time.

Still, intrigue coarses through you. You like him. You want him to flirt with you and to touch you and to finally kiss you. But he’s still.

Rafe spots your friend in the crowd with a t-shirt on. And you’re not next to her. He pushes through people to stand beside Liv and ask her where you are.

“Upstairs with Blake,” Liv simply responds. Rafe glances up the staircase, lips twisting as he nods. He stalks away, storming through the house with no real idea of where to go.

He paces around for a few minutes. He wants to rush upstairs and hurt Blake. Badly. Without a paintball gun this time. The thought of you being up there in his room, of his hands on you, of him on top of you… It’s too much. He’s grinding his teeth so hard that it hurts.

Rafe has had enough. He heads back towards the front of the house, not sure what the hell he’ll do if he walks in on Blake on top of you, but before he can go upstairs, he sees you in the crowd, chatting with your friend.

“I left you alone up there for a reason,” Liv says quietly when you approach her.

“Oh, I’m aware,” you laugh. “But the vibe was weird, so I left. I think we were both nervous.”

After Blake couldn’t finish his sentence, you thanked him for helping your friend and split.

“Do you not like him?” Liv asks.

You do. But you think you like someone else, too. And it’s terrifying.

Rafe weaves through the crowds, approaching you, his fingers gently wrapping around your wrist. You watch him duck to speak into your ear.

“Leave with me,” he says so only you can hear him over the music. You look at Liv, who has a sly, knowing expression on her face.

“I can’t abandon my friend just to hook up with you,” you say to him. A painful pang of rejection twists inside him.

“But do you want to?” Rafe asks. He needs to be sure. What if your next words are that you’re with Blake now?

Your pulse is racing. The promise of another night with Rafe is electrifying.

“Yes,” you admit. He smiles to himself, pulling back to look at Liv.

“You gonna be okay if she leaves?” Rafe says, tilting his head towards you.

“Of course, if she wants to,” Liv replies with an amused laugh.

Rafe pulls you towards him, out of the crowd. And for once, he’s actually glad to see Blake, who’s standing by the keg with a few friends.

He wraps his arm around your waist, mumbling to you that he’s going to rip that stupid tape off of you, as he glares at Blake, who’s staring at you two with a disconcerted grimace.

He leads you out of the rowdy house, grip tight on you as if he could lose you again.

The second you’re in Rafe’s dorm room, his hands are on your ass, fingers dipping under the tape. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, kissing him heatedly as you stand by his bed.

You can smell his cologne and his shampoo as his tongue runs over yours.

“You know everyone was looking at you tonight, right?” he says between kisses.

“No,” you scoff. While he’s helped you gain some confidence, you can’t imagine thinking of yourself as the most desired girl in a room.

“I told you not to do that,” he says against your lips. You feel the nylon around your ass lift off your skin as he tugs it away, pulling apart the material, tape unsticking.

“Do what?” you mutter. He grips your ass, feeling the fabric of your underwear on his palms. You lower a hand to undo the knot keeping up the towel on him.

“You pretend like you’re not beautiful and it pisses me off,” he says. Beautiful. He said hot before. But not beautiful. He never used that word with you. “How hard do I have to fuck you for you to get it?”

“Rafe,” you gasp with a giggle.

“How hard?” he asks. “Until you can’t talk?”

His towel drops and he kisses your neck, tugging at the tape bound around your chest. You shift to wrap your hand around his length over his boxers, aching for the feeling of him inside of you.

Rafe loves that you touch him like this now, without any hesitation. He rips the tape off of your chest, his fingers burning.

While you wore panties just in case, you’re glad you went without a bra simply because of the way Rafe breathes when he looks down to see your bare chest.

He fondles your tits with eager, rough movements, squeezing as he clenches his jaw.

“Every guy was staring at you, but only I get to do this.” His lips are against your neck, breath hot.

You tense for a second. He shouldn’t say shit like this. His words are possessive and tender and way too fucking heavy.

But you push yourself out of your head, focusing on how you feel physically, forgetting the emotions that have slowly been tacking themselves onto you like the crumpled tape on the floor.

You dip your hand into his boxers, wrapping your hand around his girth. Rafe inhales sharply, squeezing his eyes shut as you stroke him slowly. You drag your hand to his tip, feeling the warm precum and spreading it with your thumb.

“Fuck,” he groans.

“You like that?” you whisper with a smile. It’s exciting talking like this. You were always quiet when hooking up with a guy, but Rafe has pushed you completely out of your shell.

“Get on my bed,” he says gruffly, pressing your hips back. You lie down, watching his cock spring out of his boxers when he tugs them off.

Rafe almost asks to skip the condom, but it feels too intimate. Too serious. And he’s sure you’d say no.

You pull your panties off as he rolls on the latex and gets on his knees, sinking onto the mattress, hands gripping your ankles. He shifts and rests your ankles on his broad shoulders, his hands skimming down your legs.

He drags a thumb over your wet clit, gazing down at you with yearning as he spreads your slick arousal over you. You moan at the sensation, realizing just how sensitive you are from how long it’s been and how much you missed him.

“You’re fucking soaked,” Rafe rasps. “Who got you like this, baby?”

“You did,” you reply. The words coming out of your mouth are so fucking soothing. He can’t think about anyone else doing this to you. Only him.

Rafe pulls his hand off of you to grip your thigh and holds his cock at its base with his other hand, tapping it over your middle. You look at him, eyes meeting in an exquisite, mutual longing.

“Say please,” he teases.

“You say please,” you reply, smirking. Rafe shakes his head in disbelief and awe and desire, his hair falling over his forehead.

He can’t wait. He guides himself into you, slipping in so easily, feeling just how drenched and tight and warm you are. He groans as you take him in with a deep breath, tilting to feel the curve of his cock.

“That’s so fucking nice,” he whispers, watching himself push into you. “Your pussy is so fucking nice.”

His fingers dig into your thigh as he pulls back and pushes in again. You throw your head back as he shoves himself into you, filling you completely, the pressure hard and incredible.

Rafe’s thumb is on your clit again, rubbing in circles as he thrusts, making you tremble. Your mouth is agape, your hands above your head as he pleasures you.

It’s such a phenomenal view to him. Pleasure written on your face, your tits bouncing, your chest heaving, your body jolting.

You feel your stomach tighten, the rising sensation making you moan. Rafe starts to go harder, rubbing faster, a smile curling on his lips as he watches you.

“I…” you breathe. “Fuck, I…”

“Can’t talk?” he rasps, amused. You bite your bottom lip and moan a giggle, willing yourself to look at him before he has to tell you to.

His gaze is piercing into you as you feel yourself dissolve into ecstasy, your body going numb before it heats with the most amazing feeling you’ve ever had.

Rafe feels you clenching around his cock and he leans over to get as deep into you as possible, your legs bending as his shoulders push you forward.

After you come down from your orgasm, he places his hand on your cheek, dipping his thumb into your mouth.

You stare at him as he drives into you and you wrap your lips around his thumb, tasting yourself. Rafe might just go crazy. You take him so much better than he’s ever had before.

He tightens and you watch the euphoria wash over his face, his brows furrowing and his lips parting. You love that you can do this to him, that a man so commanding and dominant and brash crumbles like this when he’s inside you.

He cums in hard pulses, hips bucking with every jerk, seeing stars. When he slowly pulls out, you close your eyes, sighing in pleasure.

Your palms rest over your eyes, feeling high off the feeling as you feel him shift off the mattress. When you catch your breath, you open your eyes to see Rafe offering you a towel.

“You have fun?” he asks. You can tell he’s trying to do the whole aftercare thing, but because it’s not genuine, you’d rather not play along.

It’s clear he wants you to leave with the way he’s holding out the towel, surely wishing you’d cover up and go. You’re not surprised. You sit up, taking the towel and wrapping it around your body.

“C-minus,” you say.

“What?”

“Kidding,” you laugh. You stand to leave and decide to let him deal with the mess of caution tape on his floor, desperate to be alone so you can pull yourself together.

You go so suddenly that Rafe watches his door shut with confusion. He thought you’d wipe yourself down with the towel he gave you, maybe sit a while with him.

He oddly wanted you to stay a little bit. He liked joking around with you earlier tonight. It was fun.

But you were so eager to go. Probably because Rafe is the kind of guy you fuck and forget, and Blake is the kind of guy you make love to and stick around for.

He knows that he’s in a competition he’ll eventually lose because he can’t offer you a relationship. You said yourself he’d be the worst boyfriend ever the night he told you not to cuddle him.

But he’ll happily take these nights with you for as long as possible. And he’ll keep fighting for as many as he can.

When you make it to your dorm, you sit on your bed, breathless. Just when you think the sex can’t get any better with Rafe, it does.

He almost disappointed you with his lack of emotion afterwards, but you’re glad you didn’t give him the power to. He’ll always let you down in that department. As long as you keep any feelings for him at bay, you know you’ll be fine.

After you feel a bit calmer, you check your phone to see five texts.

Liv: didn’t get a chance to tell you but rafe is down BAD for you

Liv: when i told him you were upstairs with blake he looked like he was about to kill someone

Liv: hope you have fun lol :)

Liv: i sure am… i made out with sam after you left… oops

Then you see a block of text in the next notification.

Blake: Gotta be honest. I wanted to kiss you when we were in my room but you make me really nervous haha. Can I take you on a date? A real one. Not just a study date lol. All good if you’re not into it. Let me know.

(part eight)

author’s note: thank you anon for this iconic idea!!

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

#ps if you saw me say this series will be eight parts i updated it to ten!!! #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #obx smut #rafe x y/n #rafe cameron smut #rafe x you #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and y/n #rafe cameron and reader

[zoeykallus]

I just woke up from a very vivid fever dream involving Tech and thought I had to capture it. So I decided to make it an X - Reader one-shot and fill in the usual Dream-gaps. If you find any mistakes, feel free to keep them, my fever is high enough to fry eggs on my ribcage, so I'm assuming some typos must have crept in. I file this under 'slightly complicated Fluff'. It might be a little silly too, after all, it was a fever dream.

Tech x Fem!Reader – One-Shot – Distractions

Warnings: Annoying Crosshair/Idiots in Love

________

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some cough syrup)

You see Tech working on the Marauder outside, sit down near him on one of the many boxes of spare parts standing around him, and watch him for a while. He is fully concentrated, hasn't even noticed your presence yet, is completely in his element, in a focused tunnel, while he works. When you finally ask, "What are you doing?" Startled, he straightens up a little too quickly, bumps his head on the outer hull of the ship and rubs his head with a soft sigh. Tech finally turns to you and looks at you briefly, pushing his goggles up the bridge of his nose with a nimble finger. "Replace a few burnt-out parts, our last mission didn't leave the Marauder unscathed" He frowns briefly, then says before turning back to his work, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't always sneak up on me like that" You smirk and look at the back of his head, as he has turned back around when you say, "I'm not sneaking, you're just hyper-focused again" You hear him sigh softly again. As he loosens one of the charred pieces he says, "Maybe, but you could have cleared your throat" "Maybe I should put a bell on my neck," you joke amusedly. Tech comments, "That would work too, but after a while it would probably be annoying for you and those around you"

You watch him in silence for a little while, then offer, "Want me to take a look at your head?" Tech pauses for a moment and asks, "Why should you?" You roll your eyes with a smile and say, "Because it's pretty, but mostly because you hit it" He glances over his shoulder very briefly, but long enough for you to see how his cheeks have taken on a slightly rosy tint. "I'm fine," Tech waves it off, continues working, stretches out his hand and says, "Better pass me the welding blaster" You glance over the scattered tools and grab the only one that looks anything like a welding blaster. Tech doesn't complain when you pass it to him, so it must be the right one. You ask him curious questions for a while, not necessarily because you're interested in the tool, more because you want to talk to him, hoping for a conversation. You really like Tech, much more than you wanted to admit to yourself for a while. But Tech is a little... different, it's not so easy to get close to him or make small talk. For a while, he patiently answers all your questions, but from one moment to the next, his tone becomes a little more irritable.

"Do you have to ask me all these questions? I work here and would like to concentrate on my task in peace" You swallow, blink, and don't know what to say at first. Then you suddenly hear Hunter's voice next to you, "You guys all right?" "Sure," you say, forcing yourself to smile briefly and hurrying away, your heart pounding uncomfortably. It stings more than you want to admit that Tech has practically shooed you away. Some distance away, but still in sight, you sit down with your holopad on the speeder you came here with and browse aimlessly around the holonet to keep your hands busy. Tech hears Hunter sigh and turns around. When he sees that you are no longer in your seat, he frowns in surprise. He looks around and finally catches sight of you by your speeder. He blinks, thinking, he hadn't actually wanted to scare you away. Tech actually likes having you around, but you're the only person who manages to distract him, to break his concentration, which he can't handle too well. When he hears your voice, his whole mind is automatically occupied with listening to you, recognizing nuances, soaking them up like a sponge, enjoying them. However, this is a hindrance at work.

Tech senses that Hunter is looking at him and returns his gaze. The squad leader stands there, his arms crossed in front of his chest, the typical expression on his face that he always has when something interpersonal has gone over Tech's head. "You know you hurt her?" Hunter asks quietly, patiently. Tech sighs, "I do now" Hunter puts a hand on his shoulder and says, "'Brother, I'm certainly no expert, but I think she really likes you. And judging by the way you react to her sometimes, albeit often very subtly, you like her too." Tech turns the tool in his hands and watches you from a distance for a while, unsure. He shrugs and says, "Well, I was able to rule out a virus" Hunter frowns questioningly. "I don't understand" Tech explains in his typical matter-of-fact tone, "My body and mind react to her, I get warm around her, her voice throws me off balance, her laugh tingles under my skin. To be honest, at first I thought these were symptoms of illness" Hunter raises his eyebrows and suppresses a grin, then clears his throat and says, "Now I understand. Well, maybe you should go over to her. Talk to her."

Your attention is stubbornly focused on the holopad in your hand, you don't look up once, even though you sense that you are being watched. You don't look up either when you hear footsteps and finally Tech clearing his throat. When you don't respond, he says uncertainly, "I'm sorry I snapped at you" "Okay," you say calmly. Somehow Tech was expecting a different reaction, or more, because he's still standing there staring at you while you stare at your holopad, which is currently showing an advertisement for some instant meal. "Are you mad at me?" he suddenly asks, so uncertainly that you almost look up from your holopad. "No, Tech," you say a little more gently. "I don't believe you" Surprised, you look up and look at him. You look at each other in silence for what feels like an eternity. Crosshair walks past in the background and grumbles, "Kiss each other already, nobody can watch this anymore" You both look briefly in his direction, but the Sniper doesn't even stop to wait for your reaction. Tech yells after him, "That interjection was uncalled for!"

"Was it?" you ask quietly. Tech very slowly turns back to you. "Excuse me?" You blink, look at his face, and your courage leaves you again. You wave it off. "Oh, nothing." Tech sighs and sits down next to you on the speeder, his long legs reaching down to the ground, while yours are slightly bent and resting on the footboard of the speeder. After a while, you hear him say, "At the risk of embarrassing myself and making myself look vulnerable, I'd like to confess something to you" You turn your head in his direction to look at him. He swallows as he realizes he has your full attention. He finally opens his mouth and says, "I like you" You can't help but smile automatically. "How much?" you ask again, much more boldly.

Tech blinks, he hadn't expected this question. "You want a measurable comparison?" he asks, surprised. You nod with a grin. Tech slightly blushes and says, "Okay, you don't seem angry anymore, that's a good start. Let me think for a minute." "Okay. Take your time." Suddenly, his eyes light up, and you realize that he has just found a way to tell you how much he likes you. "Remember, you once asked me what the best thing about being part of this squad was?" You nod and say, "Yeah, you said the Marauders and flying it" Tech clears his throat and his cheeks turn rosy again as he says, "I like you more than the Marauders, and more than flying" You beam at him, and you know he's going to start arguing with you and yet you say, "I like you even more" Tech pauses, he smiles but then says matter-of-factly, "That's not possible" "Of course it is," you insist, amused.

You discuss back and forth for a while, comparing how much you like each other and Tech even makes calculations in the end. Crosshair, meanwhile, is standing behind you, more or less sneaking up on you and listening to you, arms crossed in front of his chest, rolling his eyes every few seconds. Tech shows you his holopad, "See, my probability calculation contradicts your assumption" You show him yours on which you have drawn a heart in a paint program and say, "And mine contradicts your calculation" Tech frowns, "That's a heart, not a-" "HEY!" Crosshair's loud exclamation makes you both jump off the speeder, startled, and Tech automatically shoves you behind him protectively. Tech snorts, "Was that really necessary?" Crosshair looks at you with his piercing gaze and says, "Didn't I tell you two to kiss?" "You're rude," you say, still recovering from your shock. "Tell me something new," Crosshair says dryly, "For example, that you kissed each other." "That's none of your business," says Tech indignantly.

"So no," the Sniper says, rolling his eyes and backing away again. You look up at Tech and say, "Maybe we really should?" He blinks several times then asks uncertainly, "Kiss?" As you nod, Tech licks his lips, wondering if he's used his lip balm today, how many hours it's been since he brushed his teeth and if he's eaten anything since then. While his thoughts are still running nervously over each other, he feels your fingers gently reach into the collar of his Blacks that sticks out of the top of his armor and pull him in your direction. Suddenly his head is completely empty, but his heart is beating incredibly fast and his pulse is racing. At the same moment his warm lips gently touch yours, somewhere in the distance you hear Crosshair shout, "GET A ROOM YOU TWO!"

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@allsystemsblue

@palliateclaw

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@extrahotpixels

@hated-by-me

@hunterxcrosshair

@malicemercy

@bebopsworld

@echos-girlfriend

@cpnt616

@dangraccoon

@jediknightjana

@pb-jellybeans

@antishadow2021

@sleepycreativewriter

@projectdreamwalker

@1vlouds

#star wars #tbb #the bad batch #clone force 99 #sw tbb #tech #tbb tech #crosshair #bad batch tech #clone trooper tech x reader #tech x reader #tech x you #tbb tech x reader #tech the bad batch #tech tbb #tech bad batch #the bad batch tech #bad batch crosshair #crosshair bad batch #hunter #Tech Fluff #fluff #love for clones #fever dreams #romance #idiots in love #love confessions

[starqueensthings]

Dork Love: Part One (of probably three because I can’t be tamed)

AO3 | Next Chapter

Summary: A scowling stranger brings a damaged riflescope into your store for repair and, always willing to defer responsibility for the sake of charity, you take on the challenge. When you return it to him, he brings along another… obstacle. An adorably goggled, bad-postured obstacle who seems as infatuated with your intelligence, as you are with his twinkly (magnified) eyes.

Pairing: GN!Reader x Tech (can also be read as ND!GN!Reader x ND!Tech if you squint)

POV/Rating/WC: 2nd, all readers welcome, 6355 Words.

A/N: This masquerades as a Crosshair fic at first, but I was insistent on writing something other than Medic!Reader for this one, and Tech is not the kind of man that develops intimacy quickly so it’s structured as a slow burn with a little more backstory. Extra thanks to @staycalmandhugaclone for beta reading this one… twice. She catches all my made up words (slajacked? embarriered? LOL) and makes my disjointed writing readable. LYSM ❤️

A heavy sigh, laden with guilt and culpability, left your lips at the sight of the impending workload behind your cash register. The teetering stack of acrylic trays, each holding the paid invoice of an order in need of processing, sat benignly on the counter, awaiting the moment that you would finally succumb to the gnaw of responsibility and turn your wandering attention to them. The smattering of plastic containers that you’d locked the door on without even a breath of anxiety, your overstimulated mind full of assurances that you’d gift them your undivided attention the following morning, had somehow mutated into a looming tower of things to do and the desperate desire to defer them again now consumed you.

The impeccant ring of the bell that hung above the door had thankfully silenced, and the void of its tinkling alarm saw a peaceful moment of respite and a fresh mug of caf wreathed by hands covered in dried lens polish and seemingly permanently stained with the ink of your trusty red lens pen.

In spite of the lingering exhaustion and the continuous ache in your feet, every complaint that threatened to spill from your tongue was swallowed and substituted with a quiet murmur of appreciation. Since you’d purchased the optical store from your uncle, you’d been blessed with an expanding clientele and an increasing revenue, though despite the economic growth, the inception of your ownership had been fraught with challenges. Your uncle was, and always had been, a kooky and eccentric old chap, and one that had stubbornly deferred his retirement from the industry for decades too long. His later, wizened years had seen him develop a peculiar and surreptitious habit of concealing his deteriorating mind with impugnable, makeshift repairs on his already ancient optical equipment. More troublesome than his DIY endeavours, however, was the recurrent burying of evidence, ensuring that his mounting financial hardship was conveniently camouflaged and ‘misplaced’ with the several hundred overdue invoices. Three consecutive years later, and thousands of credits funnelled regrettably yet optimistically into the pocket of an accountant, the metaphorical dumpster-fire that you purchased from your father’s zany older brother had finally turned profitable.

The storefront was auspiciously located on the uppermost level of Coruscant’s nefarious ‘Underworld’, meaning the demographics of your clientele was as diverse as the galaxy was. Politicians, concealing their bulging wallets beneath expertly-sewn and ornate robes, were some of your favourite customers to interact with, as years of experience in medical sales had seen you master the tactful art of disengaging lowball negotiations. Paradoxically, it was the impoverished customers making their way up from the callous clutches of the lower levels that posed your biggest challenge; their often heartbreaking stories of systemic neglect fueled the philanthropic flame that flickered deep in your gut. The inception of the war had enchained many in the shackles of financial hardship and desperation, and while pleading ignorance and naivety was the route that many Coruscanti citizens opted to take, the desire to temporarily close your shop and traverse the galaxy doing missionary work was becoming difficult to stifle.

Yet you were as logical as you were benevolent, and despite the constant pull towards a life of nomadic altruism, the fact remained that you had invested too many days and even more credits resurrecting this business to simply abandon it in its infancy.

The squeak of the rolling desk chair echoed around the quiescent room as you sat yourself down behind the computer, determined to use the hot caf in your hands as a catalyst to ignite the engines of motivation into life. The chrono on the wall ticked on, unaffected by the looming task list that you continued to abscond from; moments stretched to minutes, your hands poised and motionless over the keyboard, and the resolve to work kept simply evaporating, wafting into the air and vanishing faster than the steam from your mug.

‘Damnit, I forgot to water my plants this morning…’ Your eyes were affixed on a the pair of prescription swimming goggles nestled in the tray that you’d perched in front of you nearly twenty minutes ago, yet the mental image of your limp fig tree, neglected the decency of water for the second straight week, was all your unfocussed eyes could see. ‘But I should probably prune it before I water it… and if I’m going through the hassle of pruning it, I should probably repot it fi—’

The sudden jangling of the bell broke you from your listless stupor, sending a startled jerk through your shoulders and pulling your gaze upward to the figure stepping into your space. The detail of his appearance remained momentarily obscured, shrouded in the shadows cast by the bright sunlight pouring in the door behind him, though it was immediately apparent by the rigid armour that enveloped his tall frame that he was a soldier or mercenary of sorts.

“Hello,” you called to him, alerting him of your presence behind the counter, but his response to the greeting and the small smile you’d hitched onto your face, was nothing more than a nod of acknowledgement, his eyes narrowing slightly as they darted around the walls of your shop.

Curiosity tipped your head to one side, and you watched him with reserved intrigue as he neared the counter, his big, metallic boots thunking heavily on the wood floors with every step. The armament that adorned his figure was dark, and unlike anything you’d seen before. The clone troopers on Coruscant typically wore protective suits of white plastoid, and were conversationally quite warm and friendly, but this man’s presence, complete with a frown and a crosshair tattoo, issued none of those vibes.

“What can I do for you?” you probed, ignoring the protest of your aching feet as you stood and met him across the counter. He hastened to fold his arms over his chest, throwing into sharp relief the sniper pole extending proudly from his left shoulder bell.

“What do you know about scopes?” he asked you, the smoke that bathed his words raising the small hairs on the back of your neck.

“What kind of scopes?” you quizzed back to him, wrenching your eyes from the intimidating tool on his shoulder. “Oculars? Speculars?”

“Rifle.” In stark contrast to the way he carried himself— slithering and softly, as if he funneled every effort into not preventing his movements from making a sound, his reply was direct, curt, and impatient, and despite your best efforts to repress it, the contradiction pulled a small smirk onto your face.

“I should have known,” you answered apologetically, gesturing with a flick of your eyes towards the pole on his pauldron, and for the second time in as many minutes, he forewent a spoken response, instead flicking his eyebrows and letting the ghost of a laugh huff from his nose.

“I studied a decent amount,” you continued, bewilderment budding inside of you as the peculiar stranger reached around to a pouch on his belt and retracted a toothpick. “But we don’t sell them. We’re mainly a spectacle sho—”

“I’m not buying,” he interrupted with another impatient little shake of his head. “There’s something… off… with mine.”

The intentionally vague nature of his complaint prompted the arch of your left eyebrow to raise, and it was with genuine perplexity that you replied. “Off? In what way?”

The rhythmic dance of toothpick across scowling lips filled the silent space of his hesitation, and the shadow of scepticism flitted behind his eyes as he peered down his nose at you.

“It sounds idiotic,” he muttered through teeth clenched around his wooden pacifier, “But the visuals are being distorted… and it seems to be at random.”

Your brows furrowed against the continued ambiguity of his complaints, and though you would never voice it aloud, his grievance did sound somewhat idiotic and nonsensical. Intermittent distortion through a set of lenses was not a concept you had ever come across, as typically someone’s vision was either clear, or it wasn’t. His hesitation to provide the description now seemed warranted, and it was your turn to entertain a scowled moment of hesitancy as you fought to digest his undetailed explanation.

“I’m not following you,” you sighed, both coming up short on an explanation and growing increasingly wary of his man-of-few-words attitude. “Do you have it with you?”

He unfolded his arms from their knot across his chest, exposing a thin, black plastoid case previously invisible by the tight ensconce of his gloved hand. The rigid container looked vaguely familiar to you, though your mind barely had a moment to dawdle in potential recognition before he was deftly unlatching the closure on the lid and pulling the scope from its velvet bedding.

Eyes widening with wonder, you collected the tool from him, your outstretched hand instantly sagging under the unexpected weight of the equipment. Your exposure to military grade weapon accessories, and knowledge of the various optical tools available for combat was limited, but one did not have to be an expert in the field to know this was a highly sophisticated, and highly coveted tool.

“Sometimes I’ll line up a shot with no issue,” he divulged, his sharp eyes dissecting your movements as you rotated the scope delicately in your fingers. “Other times, the image of the target seems warped. But I haven’t been able to establish a pattern, and none of my brothers see anything wrong.”

“Hmm,” you acknowledged, concentration pulling your lips tightly to one side. “That’s definitely… odd… and it seems random? Intermittent?”

He offered nothing but a small grunt of confirmation, supervising your twiddling of the tool with unwarranted intensity as if poised to pounce should you dare to mishandle his prized possession, but curiosity had entirely banished your unease of his demeanour, and it was eagerly that you returned the ocular to your eye.

The Snellen chart, hung at eye level across the room and inscribed letters of varying sizes, became the recipient of your attention; while designed to measure how effectively one could see at a specific distance without their glasses on, it acted appropriately well as a makeshift visual barometer for your diagnostics. Though despite alternating eyes, rotating the scope both clockwise and counterclockwise, and shifting your position behind the counter to create a variance in lighting, you failed to see anything that was overtly distorted or warped. The notion that you may not be able to solve the stranger’s problem simply because you couldn’t see it to diagnose it, pulled a disappointed frown onto your lips, usurping the confident determination you’d felt only minutes previously.

Still, he watched you mercilessly, impatience and expectation etched into the every superficial crease on his forehead. It was only as you moved to the lower the scope, prepared to sadly explain that he’d have to try elsewhere, did your departing gaze finally catch a micro glimpse of the issue. The distortion was there… but barely, and his brothers’ failure to corroborate the issue became instantly validated.

“Interesting,” you mused under your breath, locking your gaze on the minutely warped quadrant of the chart and turning the scope slowly in your fingers. “I think I see what you’re talking about,” you continued quietly, your refusal to lose sight of the issue subconsciously keeping the tone of your voice hushed. “It… it doesn’t seem like an issue of direct clarity, so the integrity of the lens coating must be intact… and the reticle itself is orientated at the correct rotation, so that rules out the first focal plane…”

Your hushed diagnostic rambling trailed away to silence as a theory emerged to the forefront of your mind. Before his frowning lips could wrap themselves around a sardonic response, you lowered the equipment from your eye, gripped it tightly in your hand, and flung your arm aggressively downwards, a motion reminiscent of trying to force a small amount of ketchup through the opening of a large bottle. His posture straightened hastily, and his horrified expression on his lithe face combined with the sharp gasp that slapped his throat, had you momentarily fearful he might pluck the toothpick from its clamp between his teeth and toss it at you like a javelin.

“Kriff, be careful.” It was not a request but a demand, leaving his lips in a hiss that suited his demeanor much more than that curt impatience he’d emanated earlier. “That’s my favourite scope.”

His warning went ignored, a prideful self-satisfaction smothering the duress of his mistrust as you peered through the scope again and found the resolution you had expected. “Ha,” you cheered in a whisper, orienting yourself towards him again. “Look now. Tell me if it’s any different.” You held the weighty scope out to him and gestured to the chart across the room. Still tinged with the horror brought on by your seemingly impulsive disregard for his property, his scowl intensified, exacerbated by a budding sense of scrutiny, but despite his dubious disbelief, he took the tool from your extended palm and brought it to his tattooed eye.

The speed in which he ran the scope through his own set of visual diagnostics was nothing short of remarkable, and it was this behavior, not the hissed warnings of care that reinforced his attachment to the tool. “Hmm,” he eventually grunted, his expression now impassive. “Seems normal actually.”

Eager to share your theory, you shifted your weight to your elbows. “I’m thinking the second focal plane might have dislodged in the chamber somehow,” you advised him. “Is there quite a bit of recoil from your rifle?”

A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, almost entirely banishing the tension in his brow and softening his expression to a nearly unidentifiable degree, and it was only barely that you contained the smile threatening to engulf your own features. “She’s got a bit of a kick,” he admitted slyly, flicking the toothpick noisily with the tip of his tongue. “But that’s not going to change. So what now?”

You sighed through your nose, gaze affixed on the piece of equipment clutched in his long fingers as a merciless tug-of-war erupted in your mind. It had been years since the opportunity to tinker with something as niche and unique as a long-range rifle scope had fallen into your hands, but the mountain of work already awaiting your attention was formidable, and could not be ethically delayed any longer.

“I’ll see what I can do,” you offered, sheer curiosity sending a right hook in the direction of your better judgement. “But I won’t be able to identify the root of the problem, or the solution, until I take it apart and run diagnostics on the individual pieces.”

His softened expression receded entirely, the soggy strip of wood in his teeth continuing to dance across now scowling lips as he cocked a dark eyebrow and glowered at you, but you matched the reemergence of mistrust with a neutral stare, drumming your nails lightly on the desk between you and watching the cogs of indecision turn behind his eyes. His top lip flattened slightly, tense with threats and warnings of caution that he longed to voice aloud, but he was as aware as he was cranky; his desperation for a solution seemingly outweighing his skepticism, and he restrained every admonishment lingering on his tongue.

“Like I said,” he snarled, refusing to soften the glare he was sending your way. “It’s my favourite scope.”

You swallowed against a mixture of disappointment and offense, embittered that this unnecessarily stern man had actively sought your help with his problem, but was too suspicious and wary to grant you the permission to fix it, despite having seemingly identified the root of the issue before his eyes. You hitched an ingenuine smile to your face and shrugged, perching yourself back on the seat of your squeaky desk chair and pulling the swimming goggles towards you. “It’s your choice,” you reminded him, rousing your slumbering monitor to life with the prod of your finger. “You can leave it and be no worse off… or I can take it apart and have a go at fixing it.”

Silence ensued in the following moment, a quiet broken only by the occasional click of wood against molar and the rhythmic tapping of your fingers on the keyboard, but despite his seemingly steadfast refusal to accept your offer, he didn’t move from his perch against the counter.

“Fine,” he grumbled, taking you by surprise and immediately stealing your attention back. “But I fly out at sunset, so I’ll need it back before then.”

“I can do that.” Thrilled by the valid excuse to delay ordering it (and its neglected comrades) for another few hours, you happily pushed the acrylic tray housing the goggles away from you and stood from your chair. “I close up shop before then anyways. Actually, there’s a shooting range about a block west of here. I can meet you there in a couple hours, and you can fire off a couple shots to see if my handiwork holds up.”

“Deal.” He stood up straight and plucked the strip of wood from his lips, flicking it to the floor at his feet without a second thought. “Name’s Crosshair.”

“Crosshair,” you repeated after offering your name in return, and with a gesture towards the tattoo around his eye you said: “Should have known.”

***

The sun that had so refreshingly bathed the planet that afternoon was readying itself for another night of slumber, sinking ever lower toward the horizon with each passing minute, and its void in the musty industrial building sent a shiver down your back.

A small alcove set into the wall, adorned with a smattering safety notices, acted as a landing zone for those entering and exiting the active firing lanes. An obnoxiously heavy, rolling durasteel door separated the two areas, and it was with an almost comical level of exertion that you managed to roll the door ajar just wide enough to squeeze through the gap. The audible rumble of the long-ago seized wheels was lost amongst the echoing din that bathed your ears in the room beyond; each of the two dozen lanes occupied by a duo of armed beings, jeering at each other over missed shots and poor grips.

If the sniper pole protruding menacingly from his shoulder wasn’t enough to make him easily distinguishable in the shadows opposite, then the stunning contrast of his silver hair and his dark armour certainly was, and it was with haste that you crossed the room toward his pacing position. The separation from his prized possession seemed to have rendered him, shockingly, more impatient than hours previously, the soggy toothpick between his frowning lips dancing ceaselessly while the thumb on each of his hands aggressively cracked the knuckles of its neighbouring fingers. But while his appearance and obvious restlessness had initially captured your attention, it did not hold it. Something else caught your eye… someone else.

A second man stood in close proximity to the sniper, almost identical in height though the stoop in his posture, brought on by the intent downwards gaze toward the device clutched in his hands, ensured a less imposing presence than his broad shouldered, glaring neighbour. He seemed at first glance, to be an extraordinary dichotomy to his companion, the perfect ying to Crosshair’s yang; where one’s hair shone brightly in the light of the buzzing fluorescent bulbs overhead, the other’s reflected the dark of shadowed corners, where one’s cuirass was deliberately painted dark, the other’s remained white, adorned with colour only minimally, and where Crosshair’s impatience was evident, with his sharp eyes darting mercilessly around the room, his companion seemed content to remain still, gaze affixed to the screen only inches from his nose.

‘Must be one of his brothers,’ you concluded as you approached the loitering duo.

Crosshair detected your arrival almost immediately; the intensity of his unrelenting gaze as you crossed the room to his position rendered your friendly “hello,” completely redundant. A double-take interrupted the greeting poised on your tongue for his companion, the unexpected allure of his features, thrown into relief by close proximity and the fleeting shift of his attention from the device in his hands to you, rendered you briefly inarticulate.

He continued to look remarkably different from his brother at second glance, with a squarer jaw, fuller lips, a more substantial frame (disguised by poor posture, a slight bow in his legs, and significantly less armour), and a set of dark goggles framing a pair of stunningly warm, brown eyes.

“Any luck?” Crosshair probed impatiently, opting to forgo niceties for the second time that day.

“Yeah, some,” you assuaged with a nod, tearing your gaze away from his brother. “My first assumptions were largely correct. The second focal plane must have dislodged in the scope’s housing at some point. Unless you knocked it pretty forcefully against something, a theory I can rule-out based on the otherwise pristine condition of the equipment, it was likely the extended period of repeated recoil that caused the dislocation.”

The large, goggled eyes had directed themselves to you again, this time almost urgently and paired with an abrupt jerk of his head in your direction. The jarring motion stole your attention mid-sentence, the recited explanation rolling off your tongue turning laggy and discombobulated under the intensity of his wide-eyed, astonished stare. Your eyebrows lifted slightly as you turned to face the slack jawed stranger, but no sooner did your gaze fall onto his blushing face, did he avert his focus from you again.

“Okay, and?” Crosshair asked, his probe prompting you to frantically try and find the lost train of thought from the previous second.

“Honestly,” you continued, redirecting your attention to the sniper, “With how minutely displaced the lens was, I’m impressed you even noticed.”

“Impressed?” Crosshair repeated, cocking an eyebrow in apparent disbelief. “Why?”

“Well… mathematically, any change in the relative vertex distance between focal planes will cause a deviation in the refracted ray, thus distorting the perceived real image…” The goggled man’s head snapped violently upwards again, his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates as his attention darted back and forth between you and his silver haired brother. “...but the second focal plane was only dislodged by about a millimetre. You must have pretty fantastic eyesight to pick up on such a small visual misalignment.” A fleeting glance to your right confirmed that the goggled man’s twinkly brown eyes were affixed on you, and it was with a foreign sense of budding shyness, that you extended the plastoid box out to Crosshair.

“Did you fix it?” he queried, collecting the offering and promptly unlatching the lid.

“Only temporarily, unfortunately.” A disappointed grimace weighed down your response. “It likely happened during the initial dislodging, but the bevel that holds the lens in place is significantly chipped. I’ve re-embedded it into its grooved housing, but I wouldn’t rely on it being a permanent solution.”

The disappointment that saturated your explanation did not seem to be mutual as the sniper wasted no time dropping to a knee beside you and pulling the pack from his shoulders. He retrieved the scope from its enclosement first, abandoning its container to the stone floor at your feet, before collecting and clicking together the deconstructed rifle parts that he wore on his back. Eager to avoid being accidentally knocked by the intimidatingly long rifle barrel being mounted into place, you turned and took a small step sideways.

The toe of your boot, however, didn’t descend as gracefully as you’d intended, instead snagging itself upon something domed and rigid, simultaneously sending your right ankle tipping sideways, and your arms outwards in a frantic motion to stabilize yourself. It wasn’t until you’d steadied the breath in your lungs that your eyes located the tripping hazard, ready to kick it away lest you step on it again. Embarrassment flooded your veins. It was a boot…

“Oh kriff, I’m sorry!” you cried, immediately relieving your fingers of their iron grip around the goggled man’s forearm. “I should have looked before I moved. Did I hurt you?”

Fuelled by the pounding of your heart in your chest, a heat rose quickly and earnestly to your cheeks as dazzling brown eyes widened behind those goggles again. An awkward silence expanded in the air between you as he failed to answer, and you hastily shifted your attention to Crosshair’s retreating figure, reconstructed rifle pointed upwards to the ceiling as he headed towards the nearby shooting lane.

“You did not. Our footwear is impregnated with a multilayered durasteel core that is able to withstand over 150kg of pressure, and you do not appear to have a mass equivalent to or exceeding that. However, the unanticipated need to anchor yourself with my arm nearly caused me to drop my datapad.”

It may have been the curt, matter-of-fact tone in which he spoke, another complete inverse to the slithery smoke of his brothers voice; it may have been the awkward and inelegant cadence of his reply; it may have been the adorable shift of his goggles on the bridge of his nose as he averted his gaze from you again that triggered a flutter in your gut, but for the second time, you found yourself momentarily tongue-tied.

“That would have been bad,” you somehow managed to force out under the duress of the giddy smile fighting to adorn your lips.

“Indeed,” he breathed.

His attention returned bashfully to the illuminated screen in his hands, the tops of his ears reddening slightly against the brush of his dark hairline, and you took the deviation of his gaze as an opportunity to survey his goggles. It was not the untraditional choice of eyewear that warranted your curiousity, as a strapped goggle was an entirely appropriate choice for a soldier who was likely constantly active, nor was it the recording device, mounted expertly along his right temple and aglow in the dim lighting of the corner either. It was his lenses: tragically thick, horribly smudged, and inducing a degree of magnification that you saw only rarely in the industry.

‘Poor hyperopes,’ you thought to yourself, the inherent squint of his eyes as they fought to focus through a series of ungodly fingerprints pulling an adoring smile onto your lips.

“Sorry if this is a little strange but… can I clean your lenses?” You spoke deliberately lightly and aloofly, intent on ensuring that he took no offense to your offer, and it was with a subdued tentativeness that you watched the adam’s apple bob in his throat.

“Clean my lenses?” he repeated, returning his gaze to you with dark brows knitted slightly in befuddlement.

“Yes,” you confirmed, blindly reaching into your bag for your trusted, green microfiber cloth. “They are filthy, and I don’t know how you can see anything.”

An unexplained affection welled inside of you as his thin fingers nimbly shifted his goggles again, exposing the repeated gesture as a soothing motion; the smallest of irrelevant movements acting as a pacifier against situations where discomfort threatened to provoke him.

“I did not realize the poor nature of their condition,” he admitted, indefinitely suspending the back and forth of his attention by stowing his datapad away into one of many pouches around his waist.

“You wouldn’t,” you answered with a small shrug and a smile, watching his features tense momentarily under the duress of pulling his goggles off. “Hyperopic, or ‘far-sighted’ people, by nature, struggle to see anything in the immediate vicinity of their gaze. That’s why they can never tell if their glasses are dirty or their lenses are scratched. So… you can’t help it.”

“You… are correct.” He answered slowly, his tone still dripping in what sounded like pleasant astonishment as he extended his goggles out to you. “A mutation in my genetic structure caused an innocent yet bothersome bilateral malformation of my corneas, resulting in a significant degree of hyperopia.”

“That’s probably putting it lightly.” A small chuckle left your mouth as you swaddled the left lens with your cloth and began to deftly wipe away the sea of fingerprints. Much like Crosshair had while his precious scope was being tended to in the foreign clutches of a stranger, this man watched your practiced hands intently and possessively as you worked to polish away any signs of a smudge.

The fluorescent bulbs suspended two-dozen feet above you were nowhere near as effective as the optical-grade backlit yellow panel that sat in the corner of your workshop, but were just luminescent enough to affirm you’d removed the last of the oily smears before you pocketed your cloth. A knowing smirk peeled its way across your lips as you shifted the lenses to-and-fro in front of your mildly squinted eyes, observing how the biconcavity on the front surface bent the reflection of the overhead light. “What’s the nature of your prescription?” you questioned as your left eye closed and your fingers rotated his goggles. “I’m assuming just based on the Against-Motion principle, that you’re probably around a +8.00? Maybe a +9.00?”

He blinked rapidly and repeatedly, seemingly trying to rid his vision of the anatomical blur that would forever plague him in the void of his goggles before answering.“I… am not certain of the exact dioptric correction,” he divulged, now grinding his knuckles into his eyes. “But I believe your estimation to be accurate. I am impressed that you could make such a determination based loosely on the principles of magnification alone.”

“It’s my job.” While you were able to modestly shrug away the giddiness of his inferred praise, your composure was no match for the accentuation of his sharp jawline, thrown into relief as the first hint of a smile tugged his cheek toward his ear. “I handle dozens of lenses every day,” you continued, averting your eyes to the goggles you held out to him. “I’m well practiced.”

“That is obvious.”

The affable response waiting just behind your smirking lips was halted in place by the return of the sniper as he reappeared at his brother’s side, his lithe face impassive and his rifle already snuggled into its cradle in his pack.

“Big improvement,” he uttered, the nod of appreciation that followed his words filling you with a mixture of relief and pride. “What do I owe you?”

“Not a thing,” you answered with a dismissing wave of the hand. The sight of notoriously scowling lips now taut behind a satisfied smile was enough to support that delaying your nefarious to-do list, while undeniably irresponsible, was the right decision. “It was actually nice to have a bit of a challenge for once. Like I said, it’ll hold for a while but it’s not a forever fix.”

“Disappointing.” Faster than it had come, the sly smile on his face disappeared, replaced in a breath by a glum grimace as he plucked the toothpick from the tight clamp of his teeth and flicked it to the floor at his feet. “Pretty sure that model is out of production now.”

“Sure is,” you confirmed, sympathetically matching his grimace with one of your own. “I did some research today—” (goggles snapped his head in your direction again) “—from the limited information that I could find, your model was the last that incorporated a biconcave first focal plane. But… I actually found an alternative tucked away in my workshop.” You reached a hand blindly into your bag, the keys to your speeder jingling as you roughly pushed them aside in search of the stiff plastoid box you’d shoved into the depths before leaving work. “The internal components are the same, but the barrel attachment clip differs from yours.”

Crosshair spared the offering only a microglance before the crease between his dark brows deepened, his top lip flattening at the thick layer of dust that blanketed the white plastoid case. You grinned apologetically at the sight of his disgusted expression, and an understanding began to click together like puzzle pieces in your mind. Crosshair’s man-of-few-words ethos was not one of implied supremacy as you had initially presumed, he simply communicated more effectively with his expressions and mannerisms than he did with words.

“The box looks like it hasn’t been touched in centuries,” you admitted, pushing the case into his chest, “but the scope itself is pristine. You’re welcome to keep it if you think it’s suitable.”

His gaze danced across your features skeptically as if dissecting it for any sign of an ulterior motive that hadn’t managed to previously identify, but the reassurance you offered by means of a small smile must have silenced his concerns, as he moved to unlatch the container and flip it open.

It was barely an hour after Crosshair had departed your establishment that you realized why the plastoid case that housed his scope had seemed vaguely familiar to you, and it was with a sense of excited urgency that you’d jogged to the back corner of your workshop and snatched the step stool from beside the broom. Tucked away on the top shelf of a precariously hung cupboard above the lens polisher and caked several decades worth of dust, the white box sat seemingly waiting for you. Countless times in the past had it been regarded as nothing but left over detritus from your uncle, unceremoniously pushed aside and ignored as you fervently looked for something else among the clutter, but today, as recognition had flared inside of you, it’s time in the spotlight had finally come.

The sniper’s abnormally long digits pulled the foreign scope from its foam mattress, hovering it in front of his tattooed eye while turning to orient himself toward the target sheets on the opposite wall.

“Hm… not bad actually,” he relented a moment later, turning back around and holding the scope out to his brother. “Tech, do you think you could modify the barrel attachment?”

So his name is Tech. The wordless introduction ensured another flush of your cheeks, and eager to repress the giddy smile that threatened to expose you, you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth and ignored the brown–eyed man still passively gaping in your direction.

Crosshair shook the scope impatiently in the space between them, seemingly hoping the motion would shatter the muted reverie in which his brother was currently enthralled. “Tech? …Tech.”

“Um… yes,” Tech confirmed to your surprise, having collected the tool from his brother and agreeing to the task without even sparing it a glance. “Yes… I am able to… attach… myself.”

The chuckle that threatened to spill from your lips forced your gaze to the floor. The weathered and worn painted concrete beneath your boots was nothing but the epitome of lusterless and drossy, but in this moment of featherbrained awkwardness, you’d never seen a more interesting floor.

“Maker, since when can you not talk?” Crosshair hissed through clenched teeth.

Hot in the face and growing increasingly embarrassed by both the awkwardness of the conversation and the rapid emergence of this schoolgirl crush, you turned your attention back to your bag, thrusting your hand into its depths once again and pretending to dig around for something. Your peripheral vision saw Tech shift his goggles on his nose again, and immediately retract the datapad from his waist pouch.

You cleared your throat quietly before adjusting your bag on your shoulder and swinging your keyring noisily around your finger. Tech was blushing furiously and had turned his gaze to the screen of his small device, fingers dancing across the multicoloured buttons as if he’d injected rocket fuel directly into his knuckles. Crosshair, on the tail end of an elaborate eye roll, shook his head impatiently and huffed.

“You sure about this?” he asked you, tapping the lid of the plastoid box in his hands.

“Absolutely,” you answered without even the thought of hesitation. “It was just taking up very limited cupboard space so, if you want it, it’s yours.”

He nodded once, surveying your expression fleetingly once more before tucking the parcel under his arm. “Thanks again,” he mumbled, tossing you a casual three-fingered salute of acknowledgement before turning on his heel and heading the opposite way to the heavy, sliding door.

The sudden abandonment at the hands of his brother seemed to have roused Tech from his vigorous tango of typing, and his magnified eyes flickered to yours only briefly before darting towards the door. Mild amusement pulled another smile to your lips as discomfort erupted across his features; his jaw tensed, his posture straightened, and despite having spent the previous dozen minutes intermittently gawking at you, he now avoided your gaze.

“You better go,” you smirked, gesturing towards the disappearing head of silver hair. “It was nice to meet you. Good luck going… wherever it is that you’re going.”

“The ideology of ‘luck’ is illogical,” he intoned, raising a know-it-all finger into the air, the gesture somehow only intensifying your affection for him though he continued to evade eye contact, “but the sentiments are appreciated. And it was a pleasure gaining your acquaintance as well.”

His stooped frame made it barely three long paces before an urgent idea erupted in your mind. “Tech, wait!”

He turned his slumped shoulders back around to face you, mild curiosity etched into the small furrow in his brow as he lowered his datapad and held it limply at his side. “Keep this,” you offered, extending out the green microfiber cloth to him. “You need it more than I do.”

He stared, adorably flummoxed, at the fabric in your hand. “Keep it in one of your six hundred pockets,” you added with a goofy smirk and small gesture down to the series of cargo belts that seemingly adorned every inch of his tall frame. A mildly affronted expression ghosted across his face, but it was succeeded almost instantly by the same small smile that had sent your heart aflutter earlier. He took the cloth from you with a small nod, tucking it into the pouch perched just above a dangling spanner wrench on his hip, before muttering a quiet “goodbye” and continuing toward the door.

#the bad batch #bad batch #bad batch fanfic #tech x reader #tech x gn!reader #tech x you #starqueenswrittenworks #starqueensedits

[freesia-writes]

if it's not too much trouble could I request gn reader x crosshair with number 16 🫣 and preferably cross saying the "line"

thanks so much and congrats on 500 followers 😊💕

Never too much trouble. <3 Hope I did it justice!

Crosshair: #16 - "I've seen the way you look at me, when you think I'm not looking. You don't think I've noticed…"

Word Count: 2.7k Content: Kissin, Harder Kissin, and general Crosshair a**holery.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The door to the shop swung open with a dainty tinkle from the bell, and you looked up from your book behind the counter to see who it was. Him again. That lanky newcomer who had originally visited a few weeks ago with a similarly tall, skinny man he’d introduced as his brother. They were both equipped with a curious array of armor, splashed with red accents across the gray, and were quite unique-looking, catching your interest immediately. The first had approached the counter with a squint of scrutiny at the menu, scanning the lists of loose-leaf teas you offered, and the second had simply lurked behind, lazily rolling a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. 

“For increased muscular vascularity and general circulation, which of the following options would you surmise is the most concentrated and potent? The cinnamon green tea or the hawthorne root tea?” the bespectacled one inquired, looking up to you and continuing quickly as though his question needed to be justified, “I understand they are both useful for that purpose, but am curious if you’re aware of the concentration levels of your particular strains.”

He was regarding you so earnestly that you couldn’t tell whether to be pissed off or amused, but the eyeroll from his companion behind him pushed you more toward amusement. You made a thinking face, twisting your lips to one side and furrowing your brow, and considered the question. To be completely honest, you didn’t have a damn clue, but didn’t want to appear completely inept. Fortunately, your pondering was interrupted by the impatient lurker.

“We’ll just take four of whichever one tastes the least disgusting,” he hissed, and his smooth, silken voice gave you a surprising case of tingles down your spine. You couldn’t help but laugh at his approach to the matter, and he raised an eyebrow at your levity in response to his seemingly intimidating demeanor. 

“Definitely the cinnamon green tea,” you affirmed, turning to begin preparing them at his brother’s shrug and nod. “The hawthorne root is… an acquired taste… Although you might like it.” You directed the last little jab at the brooding one in the back, suddenly emboldened for some reason. He had some kind of magnetism about him, and you were always up for some playful verbal sparring. 

“An astute assessment,” the first one chimed in. “Crosshair is particularly fond of things that most others dislike,” he said factually, earning yet another eye roll as his brother turned to wait in a nearby booth, completely ignoring both of you. “I am Tech,” the first one offered, moving the conversation along. “How much will it be?” 

You finished your transaction, passed the steaming hot cups to them in a carrier that neatly held all four together, and wished them a good day, watching them disappear out the door, thoughts lingering on Grumpy Toothpick man. His silvery gray hair had made him look older than the other, but his sharp face and brown eyes were not aged at all. You found yourself ruminating with an unnatural amount of curiosity over the next few days, replaying the interaction in your head and trying to nail down what it was that you found so fascinating about him. 

They had made a habit of coming in after that, about every few days, sometimes longer. They tried different teas, and Crosshair was occasionally accompanied by different members of the squad. You enjoyed meeting Hunter and Wrecker and smugly noted that Crosshair had been part of the group for every visit. You tried to make small talk, but Wrecker was the only one who seemed to enjoy it, while the rest were not even remotely interested but would put up with it for the sake of civility. Crosshair, however, had developed a little competition with you, where the two of you would exchange little jabs and playful snarky comments each time. 

It felt ridiculous, but you felt a growing suspicion that there was a lot more to him than what you were seeing on the surface, and there was an inescapable desire to find out what it was. During one of their visits, while Wrecker bullied a scowling Crosshair in the corner, Tech dropped a data card on the counter, pushing it toward you with a proud look on his face.

“Here is a detailed comparison of the types of teas from across the galaxy, with insightful information about a variety of their uses and applications, as drinks and many other options,” he prattled, tapping it with his finger as he spoke.

“Aw, Tech, thank you! That sounds fantastic,” you answered sincerely, feeling warmed that he had gone out of his way. "That was kind of you to think of me."

“It was Crosshair, actually,” Tech said abruptly, “Although, on second thought, perhaps he didn’t want me to say anything since he made me bring it up here. Disregard that, please.”

You chuckled at the way he treated you like a computer that could be given such straightforward tasks, and also felt a little flutter in your chest at an overt sign of kindness from the aloof sniper. You glanced over at him in the corner, where he was digging an elbow into Wrecker’s side as he held him in a headlock, rustling his gray hair with an oversized hand, and smiled fondly. Once the drinks were made and handed out, the three of them headed for the door, and you decided to go for it.

“Hey, Crosshair, could I have a word real quick?” you said, voice cracking even though you were trying to sound confident. 

Without answering, he hung back while the others continued out to the street, slowly turning to face you and leaning against the door frame. They always seemed to visit during the quietest hours, and you were grateful for the lack of an audience as you approached, suddenly becoming aware of his height and how it made his presence a little more intimidating the closer you came. 

“Problem?” he crooned, and the reaction within you felt disproportionate. What the kriff was so alluring about him anyway?

“No. I just wanted to thank you for the tea data. That was sweet,” you trying to keep your tone light and easy-going.

“Mm,” he rumbled, shifting uncomfortably on his feet, “Tech found it.” 

“Ah,” you said, heart sinking a little at his diversion. “Well, I appreciate it.”

He nodded, sidling out the door without another word.

The next couple of visits had you noticing that Crosshair was notably absent from the group, and you were kicking yourself for scaring him off. But there was also a sense of indignation. He was the only one able to share anything beyond hello and goodbye? You couldn’t quite pin him down but decided to let it go. You didn’t have time for games. Perhaps you'd have engaged in it when you were younger, but now you were more confident in what you wanted and what you were willing to do. Let him reach out if he wanted any sense of connection. 

Their visits begin to shift, and the squad would sometimes enjoy their drinks in a corner booth, working on various armor repairs, datapad inquiries, or weapon inspections. You snuck glances as often as you could, marveling at his intimidating rifle as well as the adeptness with which he handled it. You’d always been a sucker for the type that needed to be drawn out of their shell, and you found your mind wandering toward him more often. You did your best to keep your eyes on your book where you sat behind the counter during the quiet hours while they tinkered, chatted, and enjoyed their drinks, but you also did take every opportunity to try to engage him in conversation above and beyond the witty jabs. It felt like he was toying with you, seeming to be more friendly and connective one visit, then being equally aloof and reserved the next. The tension was mesmerizing, and while your friends told you that you were an idiot for entertaining any of it, it was an enticing little perk in your otherwise quiet life.

Until it wasn’t. One day, when you felt as though you were drowning in a cascade of bad news that you had received all at once, from your landlord changing your contract to a hugely painful family divide, Crosshair walked in by himself. It was almost closing time, and the exhaustion of holding up a cheerful façade all day to your customers was wearing you down to the last nerve.

“What’ll it be today?” you asked flatly, as he approached the counter.

“That’s not very good customer service,” Crosshair needled, arching a sharp eyebrow at you. Even his silken purr wasn’t enough to pull you out of your funk, and you slumped onto one hip, eyeing him with thinly veiled frustration.

“I’m not in the mood for it tonight, Crosshair,” you snapped, and both his eyebrows joined together high on his forehead. “What’ll it be?” He squinted and scowled, repeating the usual order and pushing a few credits across the counter. As you picked them up, tapping on the register, you kept your eyes down, unwilling to engage. “Sorry,” you mumbled finally, the anger slowly ebbing away as he quietly waited without pressing. “It’s been the worst day in a long time.”

“Hmm,” he answered, in as much of a sympathetic tone as you believed you’d ever get from him, and you turned to make the drinks. The silence between the two of you was palpable, and where most people would busy themselves with a datapad, or look around, or chat with a friend while they waited for their orders, he stood still, quiet, observing. It was unnerving, and you felt a mess of emotions, simultaneously wanting to punch him and rip his shirt off. You made a mental note to go to bed early, or perhaps to go to a club and forget it all so you could return to your usual clear head. 

“Here you go,” you grumbled, pushing the four-cup carrier toward him across the counter. He watched it come his way, then slowly lifted his gaze to your face. You could feel it, and couldn’t resist meeting his eyes, your heart skipping a beat at the smoldering intensity in their amber depths. He slowly moved forward, wrapping his long fingers around the edges of the carrier, and you noticed out of the blue that his mouth was missing its usual toothpick. Why you were looking at his mouth, you didn’t know, but you noticed the slight curve of his thin bottom lip, the gentle peaks of his upper... You snapped out of it, turning to pick up a rag at the far end of the counter and venture out to wipe off some tables. 

He smirked at your retreating back, picking up the order and heading for the door. But as he reached it, he set his cups on the table to the side, slowly turning around to meet you where you were furiously scrubbing a sticky spot on the corner booth, taking out all your pent-up frustration via a microfiber towel on its surface. You didn’t even hear him approach, whether it was because he was silent as a cat or you were thoroughly engrossed in cursing various elements of your life, but when his hand suddenly covered yours, stopping your frantic wiping, you startled in surprise, jerking your head up with a slightly embarrassing yelp. 

“Geez, Crosshair,” you breathed, not knowing that the way you exhaled his name sent a flush of warmth through his body. “What are you doing?” Truth be told, he didn’t really know, but the simmering interest and desire had been growing within him as well, and your vulnerable state had sparked an oddly protective sense in him. Not that he would ever admit it.

"I've seen the way you look at me, when you think I'm not looking. You don't think I've noticed…" he said, voice barely above a whisper, just enough to have that rich timbre that lingered in your ears. An exhilarating chill went through your body, and you noticed he still hadn’t removed his hand from yours. You stared into his face, incomprehensibly severe yet somehow soft, and felt your stomach flip as he tilted his head, regarding you with a gentleness you’d never seen before. “I thought perhaps I could lift your spirits a little,” he purred, and you swallowed. Hard. It was a whirlwind of responses running through your head, from a flushed yearning to an indignant rage. He lowered his head slightly, still gazing at you from beneath his distinctive eyebrows, and you went with the latter. 

“What the kriff?!” you began, and he flinched but didn’t recoil. You jerked your hand out from under his, jabbing a finger into his chest as you continued, “You think you can just be hot and then cold, friendly and then distant, and just swoop in thinking you’re hot sh*t all of a sudden?” You took a deep breath, readying another barrage, but he lifted a single, slender finger to your lips, somehow taking all the wind out of your sails. 

“Would you like me to leave?” he whispered, and your resolve melted away at the reaction you got from the mere touch of his hand. You shook your head minutely, unable to take your eyes from his, and he instead brushed the backs of his fingertips across your cheek. In all the times you’d imagined what he would be like in a romantic sense (which was never, thankyouverymuch), you’d always taken him for the rough, cold sort -- very different from the warmth and precision with which he was caressing your face. Your hand tightened around the rag as he leaned closer, one millimeter at a time, and breathed his response: “Good.” 

Whether it was the culmination of the emotional roller coaster of the day, or the angsty yearning you’d been harboring toward him, or the insanely sensual way he was able to purr a single word and send a hot flash of desire through your very core, it sent you over the edge. You closed the distance between your faces in a second, pressing your lips to his with all the urgency and need that was spilling over. His arms were around you immediately, a tiny, smug chuckle rumbling in his chest as he kissed you, gently at first, then with a slight edge as he nipped your bottom lip. Your hands pressed into his back, fingers tightening with passion. 

It felt like a second and an eternity when you separated, taking a deep breath, and you pushed some hair out of your flustered face with a shaky hand. You were flushed across both cheeks, eyes wide with surprise and delight, and stood in stark contrast to the icy cool composure that enrobed him. That incensed you a bit, so you gave him a playful smack on the shoulder, earning a squint in return. 

“You don’t get to be totally chill all the time,” you quipped, and his snarky retort was lost in oblivion as he kissed you again. He stepped closer, pressing his body against yours, making your knees feel wobbly. Your hand roved up his neck, fingers weaving through his silver hair, and nestled against the back of his head. He deepened the kiss, flicking then sliding his tongue against yours in a way that sent sparks through your head as your mouths met again and again. You clenched his hair in a gentle fist, eliciting a growl of desire from Crosshair, and you knew you were hopelessly lost. 

When you parted minutes later, slightly sweaty and in complete disarray, he released you slowly, his hand lingering on your waist as you leaned against the tall booth backrest behind you. The rest was a blur -- cheesy comments about what had happened, sarcastic retorts, and beneath it all, a new sense of vulnerability, connection, and authenticity. Crosshair took his room-temperature drinks out the door, back to his smooth-moving self, and you stared after him, still in a daze. His foot jammed in the door just as it was about to close, and he leaned back in. 

“By the way,” he tossed, “I don’t even like tea.”

---------------------------------------

FULL DISCLOSURE -- the setting/meeting of this Crosshair/reader was inspired by this fic by MelMorganne99 on Ao3. I tweaked it to be a tea shop, and it’s not an AU, but still felt as though credit was due. If you’re looking for a long, engaging, fun, amazing AU slow burn with Crosshair and an OC, give it a read!

Roasted, Brewed & Served with Attitude - MelMorganne99 - Star Wars: The Bad Batch (Cartoon) [Archive of Our Own]

---------------------------------------

Tag List: @littlefeatherr @arctrooper69 @foreverdaydreaming1 @littlemissbshine @dreamie411 @skellymom @followthepurrgil @the-hexfiles @ghostperson69 @secondaryrealm @hellhound5925 @thew0nderer2342 @cloneloverrrrr @kashasenpai @clonethirstingisreal @dukeoftheblackstar @kimiheartblade @mooncommlink @stardusthuntress @starstofillmydream @eyecandyeoz @dhawerdaverd @ladylucksrogue @thiswitchloves9904 @tech-aficionado @foodmoneyandcats @eternal-transcience @cw80831 @adh-d2 @techmexicanvieja @ezras-left-thumb @trixie2023 @sleepycreativewriter @nonsenseandm3mes @mlichaelm @nahoney22 @mary-on-the-contrary @sverdgeir @roam-rs @starsaboveclones @falconfeather23435 @lightwise @solstraalaa @chishiyas-favorite57 @have-a-hiddles @internm0thb0y

Click here to join or leave the tag list.

Also, I can only have 50 people tagged in one post, so that's the limit for the tag list. If you're not reblogging and engaging, I'm gonna have to scoot you off to make room for others. ❤️

#the bad batch #tbb #bad batch #star wars the bad batch #tbb fanfiction #star wars tbb #the bad batch fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #fanfic request #fic request #follower celebration #crosshair is a little shit

[l-lend]

Creator Self-Promotion

Rules: post the first lines of your last 10 fics you posted. If you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics.

"But K, I don't write but I still create can I still play?"

Post your last 10 pieces and give us a play by play. What was the inspiration? Any fun facts you can share with us?

Anyway let's get on with it

1. Fishing for Compliments - Merman!Crosshair x F!Reader

A sigh passed the young woman’s lips as the sun began to disappear beneath the waves. The waves rocked her quaint vessel as if it were a mother soothing her child. Her meal as well as a plate of identical food remained untouched as she kept her gaze to the depths. Every ripple of its surface a reminder of the mounting minutes that her company kept her waiting.

2. Drop Me a Line - Wrecker x F!Reader

The young woman stifled a yawn as she continued to work the mass of dough to her standards to be plopped into pans to bake. She continued working the dough sparing glances to the chrono on the wall as the sky outside began to lighten with the sunrise. Her pulse spiked when the chrono was checked again. She abandoned the lump of dough as she snatched up a pastry box. The bell chiming as the door opened and closed.

3. Budding Romance - Rex x F!Reader

“And you’re sure you’ll have them there.”

“A bit of faith would be nice, Anakin.”

4. Skin in the Game - Wrecker x OC (Rina) (18+ Please view responsibly)

Wrecker was on the hunt. Thankfully the Marauder held only a few spaces to hide away as he searched the ship. His target tucked away by the sensors. Vibroblade twirling between his fingers while his idle gaze stared at the screen. The demolitions expert took a breath, hoping to find answers.

5. Hair Support - Tup x Reader

The days of the Clone Wars tended to drag on in between assignments. Thankfully, the Republic saw it fit to dispatch your research team with a clone legion escort to ensure the lush jungle planet would not eat you and your colleagues alive. It was in the sweltering heat of the afternoon that one of your study binges was interrupted. You shook your head knowing who dared tread into your tent.

6. Interrogations - Echo x F!Reader (18+ Please view responsibly)

The former arc trooper sighed. Another fruitless attempt at slipping free of his bonds. The chair he was bound to chilled any amount of exposed skin. The room kept dark to prevent him from gathering his bearings. He bided his time, waiting for the tell-tale clicking of his keeper. It was a whisper at first but grew louder as the automatic doors parted.

7. Personal Tastes - Hunter x F!Reader

Strands of meat sizzled and spat as she flipped the tangled mass. Her work distracting from the pair of eyes watching you from the doorway. Her culinary tasks from the staccato chops of a knife to peppers to the accented clink of a mortar and pestle offered a calming tune.

8. Just This Once, Everyone Lives - Rex x Reader

Your bottom lip remained captured between your teeth as the speeder came to a stop. The building looming over the city streets twinkled in the night. A beacon for personnel to gather while dressed to the nines. A hand curled around yours, smoothing over your knuckles.

9. Keep Away - UniversityAU Wrecker x Reader

You filed out with your fellow undergrads as your last class for the afternoon let out. the professor's voice offering mention of the end of the first sprint. You traversed amongst the student body's current before veering off to a corridor. The current loosening its grasp the closer you ventured toward the sanctuary of paper and ink.

10. Nothing Fight - Crosshair x F!Reader

It could be easy to say Clone Force 99 had a culture separate from the sea of clones. Clone medics would be reassigned in the blink of an eye and nat born medics often assigned whoever pissed off the higher ups. This led to your current long term assignment. Having a medic on board being the main reason one of your patients was released to his squad early pending observations.

NPT - @photogirl894 @rain-on-kamino @tecker @techs-stitches @littlemissmanga @annwayne @fakegingerrights @merkitty49 @moodymisty @starrylothcat

Wanna promote your work here too? Do it!

#self promo chain

[spacemagicandlaserswords]

Open and Waiting (Chapter 2)

Gif from this post by @ashr-jedi

Summary: Hunter makes an appearance. You continue to warm Tech’s cock with your mouth and ruminate on previous experiences with Crosshair, Wrecker and Echo.  

Relationships: Tech x f!reader, a little bit of Hunter x f!reader, mentions of Crosshair x f!reader, Echo x f!reader and Wrecker x f!reader

Warnings: NSFW, cock warming, voyeurism, domination, submission, Dominant Tech, submissive reader, poor self worth, feelings, smut with feelings, sexual inexperience, inexperienced reader, polyamory, gag reflex, pretend sci-fi technology/science, pretend Star Wars planets and locations, not beta read. Mentions of: Deep throating, face fucking, fingering, thigh fucking, tit fucking, bukkake, cum as lube, finger fucking, grinding, toys, butt plug.

Word Count: 2085 (Chapter 2)

Authors Notes: Please read the warnings! And please let me know if you enjoyed it. The filth continues. Interspersed with … feelings? In my smut? It’s more likely than you think. 

I realised I forgot to give any context for where this story sits timeline wise and who the character of the reader is! Timeline wise, this happens at some nebulous point after Echo joins The Bad Batch and before Order 66. The reader is part of the Batch but beyond that you can interpret them however you wish. The most common example I've seen is a medic but a jedi, mechanic, intelligence officer or some other random reason for the reader being in the squad could all work as well. Whatever works for you. The main thing is that the reader is a submissive that the Batch share between themselves and are the reader's dominants. The Batch are all Dom’s in the AU of this fic, but they all have different ways of approaching it, which you’ll hopefully get a little inkling of in this chapter.

Chapters: One, Three, Four, Five, Six | Ao3

Open and Waiting (Chapter 2) 

I don’t know how much time passes but eventually I hear the faint hiss of the cockpit door opening and a soft, smooth stride moves out into the main area of the ship.

Hunter.

Our sergeant can be completely silent when he wants to be, so he’s deliberately making sure his approach can be heard. An existence created purely for tracking means that he’s basically permanently stealthy. It can be decidedly startling when he just appears next to you out of nowhere. We really need to put a bell on him or something. Though he’d probably figure out how to move so that it didn’t make a sound. Sneaky bastard.

A gruff voice at the end of the workbench announces his arrival.

“That’s in more bits than when I saw it last.”

“Yes.” Tech replies. “I hypothesised that the size of the casing could be reduced by 2.56% if I reconfigured the internal power connectors into a series of bi-linear couplings. I am currently applying this theory to the prototype you see before you, hence the 'bits' on the workbench.”

“That’s a lot of parts to shove into a small box.” responds Hunter.

“They will fit.” Tech testily replies.

“I don’t doubt that.” Hunter answers.   

There’s a brief pause while Tech zaps something and Hunter shifts slightly to the side.

I think I’m being inspected.

Hunter definitely can’t have missed that I’m currently naked, kneeling between Tech’s thighs with my eyes closed, hands restrained behind my back and Tech’s cock stuffed in my mouth.

“You went with the leather cuffs then.” Hunter states.

I am definitely being inspected.

“They are more suited to the purposes of this exercise.” Tech explains. “The focus is on sensation and submission and as an introduction to this practice, I thought it pertinent to ease into the experience gently. The leather cuffs provide an acceptable level of restraint and serve as a reminder of their position, both physically and mentally.”

“Plus you made them.” Hunter adds.

“Correct. Both the wrist cuffs and collar are of my own design and creation.” Tech replies.

They’re talking about me like I’m not even here. Like I’m not currently desperately drooling around Tech’s cock, unable to move or escape their gaze. The thought makes my pussy throb.

“Oh, she’s enjoying this.” Hunter laughs.

“I trust you can smell her arousal.” Tech asks, though it’s not framed as a question.

“Yup.” Hunter answers. “I could smell her in the cockpit like she was in there. It’s stronger than usual.”

“I have observed a number of indicators of her heightened state of arousal myself.” Tech adds.

“Is this what she’s been worrying about?” asks Hunter.

“If by ‘this’, you mean the practice of cock warming that the two of us are currently engaging in, then yes.” Tech replies.

“You’ve just got your dick in her mouth.” Hunter observes bluntly.

“Yes.” replies Tech. “That is the point.”

There’s a rather telling pause and I can just picture the looks that are being exchanged. An arched, tattooed eyebrow is probably being met with a decidedly unimpressed flat stare emanating from behind yellow lenses. Another slip of drool spills from the corner of my stretched mouth and runs down my chin to join the rest of the mess that is covering my face.

Tech shifts and launches into a lecture. There’s probably a finger being raised.

“Cock warming is the practice of placing one's cock in an orifice of one's partner. This can be done via the mouth, rear or vagina, if the penetratee possesses that particular genitalia. The cock is then left inside the partner's orifice where they are to keep it warm. The name speaks for itself. Outside of the basic principle of the act, the parties involved can agree on various additional stipulations, such as how long the penetratee must keep their partner's cock inside them or if they are allowed to move or make noise. I have read numerous accounts where both partners extol the virtues of this practice, describing it as surprisingly peaceful and an excellent way of entering subspace.”

“I’m sure it’s enjoyable, I’ve just never heard of it, that’s all.” Hunter supplies.

“I must admit that I was not overly familiar with the practice myself but it has proved to be a most enjoyable addition to our play thus far.” Tech provides.

I could already tell he was enjoying it, given the harness of his erection currently occupying my mouth. Hearing the verbal confirmation just adds to the feeling of deep satisfaction and submission warming in my chest. Another shiver runs through my body and I can feel more of my saliva pool in my mouth.

“Was there a reason for your interruption of my work?” Tech directs at Hunter in a slightly curt manner.

“That’s not the only thing I’m interrupting” Hunter snarks back.

“Quite.” Tech leaves the implication implicit.

Hunter sighs briefly before adding “Yeah we got a comm from the 369th.”

“Ah. Are they still experiencing difficulty with the Separatist base built into the side of the Markontia Gorge on Bezril IX?” Tech asks, fully aware of the answer already.

“Yeah, they might need our help with their current campaign but nothing’s confirmed yet so we’re on standby for now. If they need us to blast a hole into the Seppie base then we should hear back by the next rotation.” Hunter adds.

“Wrecker will be pleased.” Tech comments.

“I can think of something else that would please Wrecker.” Hunter slyly hints at.

“Wrecker may make use of our shared submissive when it is his turn.” Tech replies swiftly, irascible intent laced through the words, making it crystal clear that I am his right now.

“Additionally, he has made it quite clear that he does not wish to test the limits of her capacity for oral penetration until her gag reflex has improved.” Tech adds.

A slice of shame and disappointment cuts through me. I’ve always had problems with my gag reflex. Lack of experience will do that to you, I guess. I’ve been slowly working on improving it and they’ve all been so gentle and careful and patient with me. I desperately want to be able to deep throat each of them or be face fucked into a wall one day. At the moment though, the best I can manage is the tip of one of their cocks at the back of my mouth and even that still sets the damn thing off sometimes.

Wrecker has been so sweet about it. There is no denying that he is exceptionally well endowed and that his cock is, well, enormous, to put it bluntly. The poor man is well aware of it too. There is nothing I’d love more than to be absolutely impaled on his thick cock, but the first time I saw it I did worry that I’d never be able to fit it in me. I still do but we’re slowly getting there. He’s been so wonderful and understanding of my current abilities and their limits. Wrecker is such a beautiful human to experience pleasure with. He’s so full of joy about the entire thing. I didn’t have a great deal of experience before somehow ending up with all of them and I’d never had a joyful sexual encounter before Wrecker. I didn’t even know it was possible and had burst into tears afterwards. He’d been so alarmed and concerned that he’d inadvertently hurt me but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Thankfully, he’s the most emotionally intelligent out of all of them and we’d had a wide-ranging, open and reassuring conversation about sexual experience and intimacy as I lay curled against his chest. I still struggle with tensing up sometimes and Wrecker has been a great boon in getting me more accustomed to preparation. He’s a big proponent of lube and has a whole assortment of different types that we’re slowly working our way through. One or two of his fingers are more than enough to open me up and I could have those big, thick, slicked up digits sliding in and out of me for hours.

And there is nothing quite so wondrous as lying there laughing and kissing and giggling as he fucks my thighs. Wrecker has been very keen to emphasise that there’s more to sex than just penetration and we’ve been exploring some intriguingly varied ways to experience pleasure together. The first time he’d fucked my tits was something else. His oleaginous, lubed cock sliding between my breasts, cupped in his massive hands as his fingers and thumb played with my nipples. When he’d finally exploded all over my chest, neck and face, I don’t think I’d ever been covered in quite so much cum.

Well, at least not until we had that bukkake session. Trying to get cum out of your hair in a sonic is difficult to say the least and Hunter ended up hand washing it out for me. It had been worth it though for the way they had all looked down at me while they pumped their cocks and came all over my obedient, kneeled form, mouth hanging open and tongue out to catch as much as I could.

I’d knelt there afterwards like a statue. Covered in their cum, stained and claimed in their release. Rivets of translucent white slowly running down my skin. I could feel it pool in the hollow of my neck and drip off my nipples. It sounds ridiculous but in that moment I just wished I could exist like that forever, eternally marked as theirs. Just like I wish I could openly and proudly display the marks they leave on my skin, claims bruised into my neck for all to see. They are all such wonderful dominants, each unique in their own approach. I’m eternally thankful that they all chose me to be their submissive. I would happily serve at their feet and allow them to use me as they pleased for the rest of my existence if this damn war wasn’t going on.

I do need to work on having a bit more self preservation though. One of them is bad enough but whenever they end up scheming together, they start coming up with Plans and Ideas. That’s how I then found myself wiping their cum off me with my hands before eating it in front of them like some lewd and licentious spectacle. Being made to finger yourself using the cum of your dominants as lube while they watch is also a whole new level of depravity. I’d had to beg each of them for permission to cum before I’d finally been allowed to finger fuck myself into oblivion.  

Wrecker isn’t the only one that is explicitly clear that their boundaries for playing with me are guided by my current abilities. Crosshair steadfastly refuses to even entertain my suggestion of face fucking until I can, in his words, “keep my balls against your chin, doll”. Echo had gone all serious when I had timidly requested to go down on him for the first time. There had been some stern yet heart-felt words about the importance of pacing and not rushing into things or pressuring yourself to try something you’re not ready for. We’d ended up grinding against each other instead, which was just as enjoyable. It meant I got to watch him come undone as I thrust my hips into his groin and then he’d made me straddle his leg and grind myself to completion on his thigh. There is something about the sensation of smooth durasteel gliding under your wet, sensitive pussy and pressing against your clit that is otherworldly. I’ll have to ask Tech if he’s able to shape some kind of toy out of the metal. A durasteel butt plug sounds like an excellent idea.

I still wish I could do more for them and wasn’t trapped in my own body and mind. The discontent and shame at my perceived failures is still there, despite how well I might be managing to warm Tech’s cock with my mouth at the moment. My lips are wrapped around a decent amount of his length and the tip of his cock is fairly close to the back of my mouth but I could always do more and try to get him a little deeper. I take a steadying breath through my nose, will my throat to relax and move to take more of him in.

------

Author’s Note: Tiny bit of a cliffhanger! This is mainly because I wrote this all in a giant keyboard mashing haze with absolutely no thoughts of structure. Going back while editing and trying to figure out where to shove in chapters to break it up has been a bit tricky, so if they’re a tad clunky that’s why.

You’ll see how Tech reacts in Chapter 3, along with some musings on previous sessions with Hunter and Crosshair. 

Taglist: @queenariesofnarnia @skywlker-sluvtt @techs-assistant

#fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction #tech x reader #hunter x reader #crosshair x reader #wrecker x reader #echo x reader #tech x female reader #tech x f!reader #tech x fem!reader #tech fanfiction #tech fanfic #the bad batch #tbb #star wars #tech #tbb tech #tbb fanfiction #star wars fanfiction

[fandom-friday]

Hi Karrde! Welcome back to Fandom Friday! So happy to see you restarting this series; I always love seeing people's recommendations.

This week, I want to shout out @523rdrebel's wonderful series Sunflowers & Blasters, an everybody lives Bad Batch au featuring Crosshair x F!OC Isabella Ramót (Bells). Rebel does such an incredible job with Crosshair's characterization, and Bells is an absolute delight.

Thank you for all the work you put in to Fandom Friday; I so appreciate how much effort you go to to support the fandom.

And thank YOU for sending stuff in, DJ! Couldn't do it without y'all!!

And YES WE DO LOVE AN EVERYBODY LIVES AU! I find writing Crosshair's characterization can sometimes be so difficult just because we haven't gotten much of it, but I love the idea of throwing him in with an OC to bounce off of, and Bells sounds like an absolutely wonderful addition to the universe! Thanks so much for sending this in!

Participate in Fandom Friday to show your favorite creators from this week some love! :)

#FANDOM FRIDAY #creator appreciation #fic rec #fanfiction #fan fic #star wars #the bad batch #tbb #crosshair #crosshair x oc #OC Isabella Ramót

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Thanks so much for tagging me, @cocoamoonmalfoy (who also made the v pretty graphic above!!)

Rules: Shout out 1 of your newer works, 1 you're super proud of, and 1 of your older works!!

1) eggs in heaven

Masters of the Air | Gale x Bucky | 1.2k | T

Gale wondered, was it still beautiful with the windows shot out, the German planes in their crosshairs and them in theirs? Would it be beautiful again, he wanted to ask John.

This was my first fic for my current fandom! I love rereading this because seeing how I (or anyone) wrote a character for the first time always fascinates me. How do I describe their mannerisms, their internal tensions, the tone of their presence? Sometimes you learn the most by going back to the start!

2) For Now, We May Remain Silent

Spider-Man | Peter x MJ | 179k | T

And even though his hands are shaking when he places them on his thighs and pushes up from the curb, Peter totally understands. He understands how he’s just disqualified himself from having a place in Michelle’s life. He understands, with the force of the asteroid colliding with Earth to wipe out the dinosaurs, that he’s in love with her.

I'm never not gonna talk about this one. My Pride and Prejudice AU baby! It's the longest thing I've ever written, and the AUiest AU I will probably ever attempt. A labour of love from start to finish. The feeling of sitting at my desk and turning the pages of Pride and Prejudice as I wrote will always be with me.

3) All the Belles and Whistles

Bridgerton | Eloise x Penelope | 11.4k | T

If catching Colin’s eye in a way that made him think of marriage had proved impossible, kissing Eloise was even more impossible than impossible. How was it that [Penelope] had accomplished the unlikeliest thing? Everything was upside-down and oh, she would associate late summer with Eloise forever and if she could be Lady Whistledown today, she could be near to El always.

With season 3 of Bridgerton (FINALLY) almost here, I recently reread this one! I'm so excited to see Polin in TV canon, but I had to write a lil Peneloise first. I love these girls and wanted to watch/make them fall in love. A very satisfying fic to write and read, if I do say so myself.

Tagging: All writers reading this! Hype your work! Luxuriate in it! You worked hard and you deserve it!

#Self-Rec Saturday #my writing #tag game #MotA #Masters of the Air #Gale 'Buck' Cleven #John 'Bucky' Egan #Bucky x Buck #spideychelle #Spider-Man #Peter Parker #Michelle Jones #Bridgerton #Penelope Featherington #Eloise Bridgerton #Peneloise #Penelope x Eloise

[alteredphoenix]

So how do markings from Embleos supposed to work? The shapes they take on as soon as it’s embedded into the skin (or in Celia’s case whatever happened to it to go into her right eye) are too specific to be called random, so they’re probably formed as a sort of “this is what you represent on a symbolic level” or “this is where the strength of your abilities comes from” or even “this is the shape you personally chose to have”.

Those first two statements seem more likely as pretty much everyone’s tats have recognizable shapes a’la Yelsy’s is a flower on her chest, Celia’s is a crosshair, Lisette’s appears to be a wasp of some sort (?) on her thigh, Hugo’s is a wing on his back, etc. But then you have something like Leo’s, which doesn’t bring to mind any specific shape other than it runs up his right arm in an X pattern (although my other thought was that it reminds me of blood), Michelle’s is...I don’t know what it is except it’s two crescents that almost form a question mark (or moons?) and a teeny-tiny cross on the lower crescent (and it’s anyone guess what that’s supposed to mean for her if we go by the first statement, but for it to be right by her carotid pulse a’la her neck possibly indicates it represents life/death if we go by the second statement), and who knows what Lucien’s is supposed to be because AFAIK we never see it but it’s on his chest and he’s clearly not compatible with it.

OTOH there’s also the possibility that the Primordials might have something to do with Embleos - and Reactors, because the Empire has to be getting all that mana somewhere to be manufacturing them, but this post isn’t about them - or deciding who gets their boon(s) (therefore throwing all but the first statement out the window by bringing in a fourth statement “this is what you represent on a symbolic level because we believe this is what you are deep down/your truest self”) because, while I don’t know about the rest of Blaze (beyond Yelsy being the only person to permanently see Toto), Celia choosing/having the Embleo in her eye and Origin a’la King of the Beasts a’la GOD having God’s Eye AKA the gift of clairvoyance, can’t just be a coincidence and should be setting off alarm bells because there is no way in hell the Federation’s upper echelons aren’t going to hear about some random sixteen-year-old girl that placed second to dead last in the elite knight academy while having the foresight of the leader of the Primordial Beasts that’s sleeping (dead?) in stone and not overlook her.

#tales of luminaria #like something's going on in the federation for them to allow leo and hugo to join blaze despite failing the exams #and for an outside party to look at celia & go 'this girl doesn't have any powers' despite her having an embleo #and considers her a candidate - for what it's anyone's guess #i was thinking 'well maybe he's looking for someone to replace vicar kanon' #except the vicar is a young woman so it can't be age-related & she doesn't seem to suffer from any sicknesses #so my only other guess is either she's a possible candidate for whoever the observer answers to or something else entirely #also it should be notd that not everyone who gets an embleo receives a tat #but i always found it odd in a cast of 21 celia's the only one among the jerle faction to not have a tat #like you'd think she'd have the marks form around her eye - except that doesn't happen #would it even be possible for marks to form on a body part away from the embleo? #unless the crosshair is supposed to be considered the mark in her eye #but that's green and not black like the other tats #so where does that leave the actual physical embleo? did it just straight up dissolve? #all the other embleos have skin & muscle to embed into but an eyeball's an organ #so unless that thing evaporated i better hope aedis has anesthesia & they put celia under before the embleo was put in place #that's another thing: i actually thought she lost that eye or was born w/ heterochromia #but then you see her as a little kid and that's not the case - she had two yellow eyes #no one else's embleos causes changes to their bodies besides performing mystic artes #and someone like michelle was already doing that before she got her embleo #so what turned celia's eye blue? #you mean to tell me leo & hugo didn't notice the difference & go 'hey celia check it out your eyes are different colors now'? #no one started asking any questions? b/c i don't see anybody else w/ complete heterochromia #i'm just going to see the 'despite not having any powers' comment is code for 'this girl's not showing any signs of being an aberration' #b/c the observer clearly has an embleo - the game's just being discreet about it #otherwise why else would he show such clinical interest in celia that they were inevitably going to meet up? #also this was supposed to be a gen post on embleos but my celia favoritism shoved its way through & i ain't hiding it lol

[523rdrebel]

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Chapter Summary: Omega and Wrecker's plan unfolds. The family wanders the Life Day Festival and feelings are brought to a head.

This chapter is mostly from Crosshair's POV. His internal thoughts will be identified by Italics without quotation marks.

Rating: T, SFW

Warnings: None

Crosshair divider by Snotbuggle, Star and Moon Dividers by Saradika

Desi and Isabella had intended to have a leisurely morning with brunch and preparations for the upcoming Life Day Festival. But things rarely go to plan.

They instead got caught up in the frustrating intricacies that came with romantic relationships, and had yet to leave Desi and Taayo’s sitting room. Desi was thoroughly enjoying Isabella’s recounting of her encounter with Wrecker and Omega, “Clever girl!” She laughed boisterously, clapping her hands together in delight, “I’ve had half a mind myself to lock the two of you in a room until this little issue is solved!”

“These things aren’t that simple and you know it, Desi.”

“I wouldn’t mind a chance to clock him one in that smug face of his, though…For hurting you.”

“Desi, he didn’t… It wasn’t his fault.”

“I’m not talking about the chip.”

Isabella sighed, running a hand over her face, “I don’t blame him for wanting space. I just– I wish he would talk to me.”

“I’m still not convinced he can talk…”

“Desi!” She let out a startled laugh but recovered quickly, “I just think, maybe I shouldn’t go at all. I’m not convinced Omega and Wrecker haven’t devised some scheme to force Crosshair and I to be alone…”

“You’re blushing.” Desi waggled her eyebrows, then wrapped her arm around Isabella’s shoulders, giving a soft, reassuring squeeze, “Look, Izzy– I don’t see the problem here. Just wear the dress and go to the Festival! If the man can’t handle you being at an event that will span a majority of the bottom two levels of the city…”

Isabella rolled her eyes, “I don’t want to push him further away, Desi. Besides– maybe he’s right. Maybe I did treat him like a project– What if I was wrong?”

“Stars and Skies, Izzy! You are going to the Festival and if that man doesn’t kiss you like some holo-period-drama protagonist I will wring his neck myself!” Her tone left no room for protest and she stood, grabbing Isabella’s hand and dragging her towards the door. “Come on! We’ve got preparations to make and then I’ll help you get ready!” Desi paused, shouting across the house, “Taayo! We’re leaving!”

“See you later, darling! Don’t get Izzy into too much trouble…again!” He had a gentle voice that always sounded like he was on the verge of laughing.

“Spoil sport!”

They spent most of the day running around frantically to and fro with Desi barking orders like a military sergeant, and Isabella happily assisting. It was a wonderful distraction, she had no time to worry about the coming evening or what to do about a certain grumpy someone, instead her thoughts involved how best to place decorations for maximum festivity and keeping Desi from injuring herself in her dramatic rushing.

Now that Desi and Isabella were in her home, they’d taken turns in the ‘fresher, washing off the sweat, dust and dirt from their day. The quiet calm of a full day was hanging over them with an undercurrent of nervous excitement.

“Alright Izzy, which dress did you say was his favorite?”

“Wrecker said the blue–”

“Well? Put it on!”

“Desi–”

“Nope! No second guessing! Go–”

She loosed a fond, if exasperated sigh, Desi hadn’t steered her wrong yet so she put on the dress. It was a lovely cornflower blue embroidered with stylized golden stars that sparkled when she moved. It had long flowing sleeves and a rather daring neckline, a sharp v that ended just below the bust. She twirled in front of the mirror and couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. The last time she’d worn it, she’d been wandering the market with Desi and Taayo and had run into Omega and her brothers. She tried to recall if Crosshair had shown any sort of outward reaction to signal that he’d liked the dress, but failed. He was too good at hiding and she was too afraid she’d been wrong.

“Oh! At least he’s got taste… Brings out your eyes.” Desi hugged her shoulders from behind, “If this doesn’t knock that scowl off his face– then he doesn’t deserve you.”

Isabella reached up and squeezed her friend’s hand gently, “Thank you.”

She returned the soft smile, winked, and whispered, “Now, lets go catch you a stubborn-ass sniper!”

Wrecker didn’t bother knocking, Tech had already deactivated the lock so he burst into Crosshair’s home with a wall-shaking bellow, “CROSSHAIR!”

He groaned in response. He stood uselessly before his meager clothing options, still in just his comfortable lounge pants, his recently grown out white curls mussed from running his hands nervously over his head. A toothpick sat securely in the corner of his mouth, which he chewed absentmindedly.

Wrecker continued to bellow as he entered, followed quickly after by Tech, “Happy Life Day!” They were both dressed in the nicest clothes they owned, comfortable and light, but certainly better than what Crosshair felt he had to offer. Why does it matter what I wear? I’ll just sneak away at the first opportunity…

“You are not dressed.” Tech remarked flatly.

“Figured that out by yourself, did you?” Crosshair snarked, rolling his eyes.

“It was a simple observation.”

“Come on Cross! Omega and Hunter are waiting for us!” Wrecker looked quickly over Crosshair’s clothing options, humming loudly to himself and wiggling his fingers as he made his selections. “AHA!” He tossed the items at his brother, who caught them mid-air with a scowl, “Put those on and let’s go!”

It was a simple outfit, a loose black shirt of comfortable, breathable cloth, and a pair of dark patterned pants. Crosshair shrugged and began to dress. At least it’ll be comfortable. He added on his simple boots and grabbed his gundark leather jacket he’d filched on a supply run– nights got cool on Pabu. He sighed, schooled his face into an unaffected mask, and followed his excitable siblings out the door.

“Izzy! Izzy! Izzy! Are you ready?” Omega was bouncing up and down, blond curls bouncing wildly. Hunter leaned against the wall outside, amused smile and soft gaze trained on the energetic little girl.

“I’m coming, ‘Mega!” Isabella called, voice bright with laughter. She took a moment at the door, taking a few steadying breaths and steeled herself for what was sure to be an interesting night. Omega’s eyes sparkled and she gasped, “You wore the dress!!” She clapped her hands excitedly and Hunter chuckled, a deep amused rumble. Isabella could’ve sworn she heard him mumble, “Cross is a goner…” But she chose to ignore it.

“Of course I did! You asked me to.”

“Come on! I told Wrecker to meet us here–” Omega beamed at her then grabbed her hand and started pulling her toward the street. Hunter followed quietly after.

Only moments later they heard the bellowing, joyful laughter of Wrecker, then saw the trio rounding the corner towards them. Wrecker had one arm around Crosshair’s hunched shoulders, practically dragging him along as they walked. Crosshair’s scowl was deep but there was the tiniest hint of humor in his eyes. He stopped short, eyes locking onto Isabella like a target. His scowl deepened and the whites of his eyes flashed with something, but it passed too quickly to identify.

He looked good. Really good. Isabella couldn’t deny that fact anymore than she could deny the warm blush growing on her face nor the painful clenching in her chest. She sighed, took a deep breath, and plastered a smile on her face, for Omega, she reasoned.

“Crosshair!” Omega exclaimed, full of mirth, then grabbed his hand and pulled him along towards the lower levels of Pabu. Crosshair grumbled, “What’s the rush, shortstack?” Hunter tried and failed to hide his chuckle at the sight.

It was a long and awkward walk, at least where two of the group were concerned, Isabella kept trying to sneak looks at Crosshair, attempting to gauge if she’d made things worse by agreeing to come with them.

Crosshair scrunched his face, trying to hide away from everyone but being in too public of a place to hide. He couldn’t keep the tiniest curve of his lips from showing at Omega’s bright enthusiasm, though he rolled his eyes and made snide remarks.

Omega led the charge into the festival running towards the bright lights and festively decorated tables, then raced back towards the group to chatter in wonder and excitement. There were colored lights everywhere, booths were filled to the brim with handmade goods and decorated with a festive, Life Day flare. It hurt Crosshair’s eyes, all the gaudy, colorful items, the whimsical recreations of historical figures in fanciful Life Day garb, the happy, wide toothed grins of the towns-people. Ugh… 

Omega grabbed Crosshair’s hand and pulled him towards a table, “Look Crosshair!” She pointed at a wooden carving of a Tooka wearing a red festive hat. He rolled his eyes, but she had already run off to the next booth, excitedly exclaiming about a holopicture projector of a snowy planet. He sighed, picking up the Tooka figurine and placing credits on the table with a scowl. The merchant raised an eyebrow but, wisely, kept silent. After nearly an hour of this, Crosshair’s hands were full of items Omega had pointed out before running off to the next shiny thing that caught her eye.

“Those will look great in your home, Cross. Goes great with the decor.” Hunter elbowed his side, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

“Keep it up, Hunter. All these are going to your place. And at least half of them are noise-makers.”

Hunter’s smile faltered every so slightly, then walked quickly off after Omega, “No more gifts!”

Echo joined the group for a while, wandering the festival with them and chatting with Hunter while the others browsed the tables. There were game booths set up periodically, which Echo and Wrecker took turns doing with Omega. They had some sort of competition going, but Crosshair didn't pay enough attention to know what it was.

Crosshair tried not to stare as Isabella wandered the stalls, making small talk and surveying the items.

“You look stunning this evening, Izzy!”

“Thank you! Omega picked it out for me.”

“Oh! Smart girl!”

Hunter chuckled, “You could just talk to her, you know…”

“Stay out of it, Hunter.”

“Maybe if you weren’t staring at her like a love-sick Akk-pup, I would.”

Crosshair made a disgusted noise, pushing past Hunter with a forceful push with his shoulder, and stalked away. He pointedly ignored Hunter’s laughter.

Eventually, Wrecker stopped at Daisy’s stall, full of all manner of baked goods and scenting the area with the comforting aroma of fresh bread. He stayed there, grinning happily, as Daisy regaled him with a story and he listened with rapt attention. Echo had wandered off at some point, speaking animatedly with someone about his work with Rex. Next was Tech, getting into a rousing debate with Phee and a few other history and culture enthusiasts at a stand promoting different cultural holidays similar to Life Day. He’d be busy for the reminder of the evening. And finally, Omega dragged Hunter away, his arms now laden with the gifts Crosshair had acquired, to play with Lyana and Shep, leaving Isabella and Crosshair alone.

Crosshair scowled, he knew that Wrecker and Omega had set this up, knew that they expected there to be some sort of resolution, but he felt too lost. Adrift in the swirling emotions he’d been trying to force into containment under the shell of anger and fear. He had tried to keep his distance, tried to ignore that she’d chosen to wear the dress he felt most closely fit her. She was beautiful, he wouldn’t deny that. He groaned inwardly, This shouldn’t be this hard! Just stay away. She’s just a person.You’ve never liked people anyway.

They walk slowly and in silence, observing everything, neither willing to break the ice quite yet. Crosshair’s eyes land on the constructed bar area, where they were serving festive spiced drinks. To him, that looked like an escape. He wasn’t prepared to face Bells yet, wasn’t ready to see the hurt in her eyes again, wasn’t ready to remember the guilt and the anger. He was quite content to wallow, thank you.

The bar had been prepared with four specialty Life Day drinks: the Fuzzy Tauntaun, Jedi Mind Trick, Outer Rim, and Yub Nub. He scoffed at the silly names, but grabbed one that looked the least festive and most appealing and found a silent spot in the corner against the bar.

Isabella followed him, but kept her distance, she was at a loss at what to do. It seemed obvious that Crosshair didn’t want her here and she didn’t think that a productive conversation would be had in such a public setting. She couldn’t hide her disappointment, she had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that Desi would be right– "Ugh, it’s not a holo-film Izzy! Don’t be so stupid!" She whispered under her breath. She grabbed a drink as well and took a healthy swallow, taking comfort in the burn. She was too antsy to sit still so she ambled around the area, sipping her drink and ignoring the swirling emotions and the intense presence at the corner of the bar. She walked, she mingled, doing little more than greetings and small talk, some small part of her wishing she’d just stayed home, despite the eager insistence of her friends.

Crosshair watched as Isabella wandered the area, talking and drinking, she was a natural in a social setting but he couldn’t shake the feeling that her smiles were dimmer and her eyes did not carry that familiar warmth. What would you know about it anyway? He chided himself internally, You didn’t want her around, you don’t actually think she misses you? The alcohol did little to improve his mood, but he sipped at it anyway.

Now Isabella was chatting with some tall man with a sickly sweet smile, Crosshair tried not to listen.

“Izzy! Or is it Bells now? I’ve heard someone calling you that now, I think.”

“Oh, that’s Crosshair’s nickname for me actually.” Was that regret he was hearing?

“What, he too good to call you Izzy?” Try me, Di’kut…

“Uh- He’s a little stubborn. But I don’t mind, actually, I like it.” 

“Should I start calling you Bells too, then?” I shouldn’t be jealous. You aren’t even mine.

“That’s alright. Izzy will do.” Kriff… I need to leave.

“He gets a special nickname? What if I called you…Bella?”

“Absolutely not.” That’s interesting. Is she mad? “You can call me Isabella or Izzy–”

“What’s wrong with Bella?”

“Call me Bella one more time, Mr. Keis.” Damn, Bells…

He found himself standing and crossing the distance between himself and the pair, standing behind her glaring menacingly before he’d really registered he’s moved.

“Uh–Maybe I should go…” Mr. Keis cleared his throat, gave a half hearted smile, and practically ran away, “Later, Be–Izzy!”

Crosshair’s heart was racing, the pounding loud in his ears when Bells turned around, her face flashing with shock and relief?

“Crosshair–” The way she breathed his name broke something in him and he panicked, turned on his heels and walked away, seeking shadows, desperately searching for a place to be alone. The eyes of everyone he passed burned against his back, ears ringing and pounding, drowning out any other sounds. He was oblivious to the figure that followed him.

He finally stopped in a small decorative garden area, it was shadowed and quiet, without a soul in sight. He stood rigid, breathing heavily, with his head leaned back facing the starry night sky.

A soft voice tentatively called his name and he squeezed his eyes shut, he wasn’t ready to face her. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be.

“Cross– You don’t have to say anything, but I just, I need you to listen.” He stays silent and doesn’t move. “I don’t blame you for what happened.”

He turned to face her, face stuck in a pained expression. She reached out a hand, but stopped short of touching him, “Wait– Just listen. Please.” Isabella took a deep breath, then words started spilling out, “You didn’t hurt me. It was the inhibitor chip. I watched you fight it, and I was terrified– not of you but for you. And then when you woke up, you shut me out and I was hurt and confused and angry. I thought…” She stops, voice shaking and eyes full of emotion.

Crosshair couldn’t look away. He wanted to run, wanted to shut the world out again, like he always did, push the feelings down where no one can touch them. I thought if I’d pretended not to care, then I wouldn’t.

Isabella shivered, the night had taken on a sharp chill, and she crossed her arms over her chest for warmth. She continued, speaking softly, “My brother joined the Empire, you know…They bombed our city, our parents died, and he joined them.” She laughed, an empty humorless sound, it was not a sound he associated with Bells. “I was…away when it happened. I didn’t even know about it until nearly four cycles after the funeral. He was changed. He tried to get me to join them too, but I refused. He got angry and…we both said things we shouldn’t have and I ran. What I wouldn’t give for a chance to talk to him again.” Tears flowed freely down her face and Crosshair ached to wipe them away. Her eyes pleaded at him and she whispered, “What I wouldn’t give to talk to you again.”

He sighed, his fists clenching and unclenching, and he started to pace, “You don’t understand. You don’t know what it’s like to lose control of your body–your mind– Two voices and both of them feel right and both of them are me. One says Follow orders! Eliminate the threat the other says, This is wrong.” He stopped pacing, shook his head, then pointed one finger painfully against his chest, “My brothers left me behind because I chose it. But I hated them for it. The choice… it was right. I knew it was. The Empire was going to fix things, to fix me.” He ignored the tears streaming down his face, grimacing against the emotions that were finally being released, “But it was a lie. Everything I thought, everything I believed was a lie.” He faced Bells straight on, meeting her eyes finally, “Now you look at me and tell me how I’m supposed to know what part was the chip and what part was me? How am I supposed to trust myself? How am I supposed to–”

She took a chance, closing the distance between them and taking his hands in hers, he did not pull away, “Crosshair– You are not to blame for the actions of the people who made you.” The silence spurred her onward, “Here’s how I see you: strong and capable, and a bit of an ass.” He chuckled despite himself, and she continued, “You care deeply, even if you hide it behind harsh words and sarcasm, and you’re incredibly smart. You are more than what they made you.”

The earnest feeling behind her words slammed against his heart painfully, “Don’t you ever get tired of being so fucking nice?”

She shook her head, “You want me to be mean? To yell at you? To hate you?”

He growled, all his frustration bubbling to the surface, “Why? Why can’t you just give up on me?”

“Believe it or not, Crosshair– and brace yourself, this may come as a shock– I actually like you. Specifically you.”

“You like everybody…”

“Not everybody, but most people, yes.” She places one gentle hand on the side of his face, “Is it so hard to believe that I care about you?”

He leans into her hand, eyes falling shut, but the silence stretches, so she speaks again, desperation clear in her words, “I will respect your wishes if you don’t want to see me again after this, but I–I miss you. Maybe I’m naive. Maybe I’m soft. And maybe I shouldn’t, but I did think that kiss meant something…”

“I…don’t know how to be what you want, Bells.”

“And if I said you already are?”

Silence. Hesitance. A knowing sense that this will change everything.

"What do you want from me? I wasn’t made for this…" Crosshair was confused, uncertain, never before had he been faced with such a strange and intimate challenge.

"Because it's not what you want or because you're a clone?"

He sighed, groaning inwardly, Leave it to Bells to read between the lines so clearly.

She placed her other hand on his face, pulling him down to look at her directly, "I don't give a damn what your makers claimed your purpose was. They made you, but they're gone now. You're here. You're alive. You can choose!"

"And how the kriff am I supposed to know how to do that!?" He pulled away, the feeling of her hands on his face burning the shape of her fingers into his memory. He turned his back to her, breathing heavily, "My whole damn life has been orders and structure, fighting and surviving!" He turned back towards her sharply, "And what about you, huh? You talk about freedom and choice–" His tone was sharp, accusatory, "What do you want?"

This shocked her, her eyes darting around in confusion, "Me? It-It doesn't matter what I want, Crosshair!"

"Wrong answer, BELLS."

"Cross–"

"No! Stop trying to be nice. I want you to be selfish!" His long strides brought him back to her space, leaning over her, begging her, daring her to answer, "What about you? What do you want?"

She let out a string of curses, of which Crosshair would later be impressed, anxiously shaking her hands at her sides, "I–" she started pacing back and forth, then comes to an abrupt stop once again in front of Crosshair, "I want you." It was a simple admission. No frills, no questions.  Crosshair was silent, unsure what to say, frozen in place. Bells started speaking again, a rush of words spilling out, "I’m drawn to you, Crosshair. In a way that I’ve never been drawn to anyone before. I want to spend all of my time with you.  I want to make you smile, or better yet, make you laugh. I want to paint and hear you snark that I've gotten more paint on myself than on the actual canvas. I want to kiss you– Damn, I want to have you kiss me senseless and to quiet your past when I can… hold you when I can't. I want you safe," She closes her eyes briefly, "even if it isn't with me." 

He slowly gets closer then gently reaches his hand up to cradle the side of her face. He laughs, deep and rough, "Kriff, woman! Even when you're being selfish you can't help but worry over someone else." He paused, feeling her lean into the palm of his hand and in that moment he decided to try to stop running, if this was where he got to stay. "Kiss you senseless, huh?" His mouth curled upward in a challenging smirk.

"Please…" He needed no further encouragement and his mouth crashed into hers, finding it blessedly soft and eager. His tongue runs over her lips and she whines, opening her lips to allow entrance. He grabbed her firmly around her waist, pulling her close and running his fingernails across her back. He pulled away from the kiss, smirking down at Bells, taking in her hooded eyes and kiss-swollen lips, "Begging already?"

"I could always yell at you instead," she smiled then leaned up on her toes to catch his bottom lip between her teeth. 

"Maybe later." He leaned back in, capturing her lips once more, taking his time with slow, languid kisses.

Bells responded eagerly, hungrily, kissing him back with a fervor he never would have expected. Her hands explored his back with soft, gentle touches, caressing his form with reverence. It mesmerized him and he nearly lost himself in the moment. He pressed kisses along her jaw, eliciting bubbling, joyous laughter.

“I KNEW IT!” Wrecker’s voice boomed from behind them and Crosshair’s head shot up, fixing his boisterous brother with a withering glare. Wrecker laughed loudly, and started typing on his wrist com unit. The pair separated reluctantly, standing side by side, with Bells leaning into his side. Crosshair wordlessly removed his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

Moments later, all three of their com units began dinging with notifications.

GETWRECKERED: <3 Found Crosshair! Aaaand Izzy! <3

BanDADna: Ugh Finally!

Echoohc3: You all owe me 50 credits!

TECH-nically: I will mark this day on the calendar.

CrissCross: I will kill you all.

DrSunshine: No he wont. <3

Ye Olde taglist:

@anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @starrylothcat @secondaryrealm @arctrooper69 @sev-on-kamino @littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @dystopicjumpsuit @idontgetanysleep @clonemedickix @sunshinesdaydream @followthepurrgil @yubnubhub @jediknightjana @dangraccoon @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @echoxbuggs @trixie2023 @ezras-left-thumb

#rebelwrites #Suflowers & Blasters #Crosshair x OC #OC - Dr. Isabella Ramót #Grumpy & Sunshine #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #Rebel Writes #Sunflowers & Blasters #Sunflowers and Blasters #crosshair x oc #Crosshair x “Bells” #Crosshair x Dr. Isabella Ramot #Star War AU #star wars #the bad batch #tbb #tbb crosshair #tbb Omega #Slow Burn #Sibling Meddling #tbb wrecker #chapter 9

[zoeykallus]

Hunter – Dirty Little Thief - Don't You Dare

Hunter x female reader She/Her (Enemies To Lovers)

------

...and back to enemies. Joking. More or less.

-------

Warning: Hurt/Angst/ Tension/ Strong Language/ Argument

What Happened Before:

Dirty Little Thief Part 2 -Fairplay

Part 3- What We Do Not Admit

Part 4 - Provocative

Part 5 - Fighting And Loving

Part 6 - Scorching Hot

Part 7 - Keep It Together

Part 8 - Give Me More

Part 9 - Don't You Dare

A few days passed and Hunter and you, as well as everyone else, tried to get used to the fact that you were a couple now. It wasn't really something you officially announced, it was just that, after that one day and that special night.

But of course, work interfered again, so you could not really develop as a couple yet. When the next order came in, Cid said it was important, but quite simple. You should protect some kind of artifact. "Something like art" were her words.

But when you arrived at your destination and spoke with the Chiss whose collection in particular you were to protect a special piece of, you felt it even before you saw it. A holocron. But it was very different from the last one. This time, too, it seemed to want to lure you with whispering voices, but this one was different, ominous. You didn't like it.

Hunter looked at you.

"Are you okay?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay?"

You nodded a little absently.

"Yeah, sure," you finally said.

Hunter continued to look at you piercingly and asked, "You feel it, don't you? The holocron."

You sighed and shook your head.

"No," you lied.

"Why are you lying to me?"

The question was calm, gentle, not reproachful.

"It doesn't matter okay, let's just get this job over with," you said annoyed and took a deep breath, trying to ignore the somber whisper of the holocron on its pedestal under the glass hood.

Hunter licked his lips, it was burning under his nails to talk to you about the subject, but he held back, you already didn't want to talk about the other holocron. He let it rest for the time being.

It worried you that you could feel and even hear these objects. You were not at all comfortable with this assignment, but basically you would just sit in front of the artifact and make sure that no one stole it. It had been threatened anonymously that someone was going to steal it, so the owner, an arrogant chiss you didn't like from the first moment, was nervous and had hired you.

Hunter and you took the second shift, Echo and Tech had the first, after you, Crosshair and Wrecker would take over.

You sat next to each other, relatively close yet not quite close. There was a slightly awkward silence. Hunter thought about how you were probably Force sensitive and you just wanted to block out the whispers of the holocron. It was dark and promising at the same time, but you sensed even if it wanted to seduce you that there was a darkness in it that you didn't want to get too close to.

Hunter looked at his watch.

He sighed and said, "Our shift is almost over, I'm going to step out for a minute before Crosshair and Wrecker come in to take over. Will you wait here for a minute?"

You nodded, "Sure."

Before leaving the well lit room, he turned back and asked, "Hey, if we're about to finish our shift, maybe you'd like to join me in my bunk?"

You laughed softly and looked at him from below, sitting in your position in front of the artifact.

"I'd love to"

Hunter was gone with a smirk on his lips and the moment you looked back at the artifact, it was gone too. Your heart leapt unpleasantly.

"What the hell?!"

Hastily you stood up and looked around. There was no one but you in the room, there were no windows, and at first glance you saw no other access points than the door Hunter had gone through earlier. This could not be! In a panic, you circled the podium several times. The glass bell under which the holocron had lain was intact, only the holocron had disappeared.

"This can't be," you whispered, stunned.

Your pulse raced and then you heard Hunter behind you and your heart threatened to stop.

"What... Where's the holocron?"

You shrugged helplessly and turned to him, behind him Crosshaier and Wrecker just came into the room.

"What's going on?" asked Wrecker.

"The artifact is gone?"

Crosshair rolled his eyes, "Great, you guys already fucked that up".

"We didn't, I wasn't in the... room"

Hunter looked at you and your eyes met. You felt hot and cold.

"Don't you dare" you said quietly.

"I'm sorry" Hunter said quietly, spreading his hands "But you were alone in this room, you used to be a thief and you have a strange connection to these holocrons"

Anger and disappointment shot up inside you like a storm surge, but you kept silent. You knew that if you opened your mouth now you would say something very angry.

You couldn't believe what he was saying, what he was insinuating.

The moment he felt what was going on inside you and realized what he had triggered. The damage was already done.

"I just thought-"

"Don't care," you said calmly but firmly.

Hunter swallowed, knowing he had messed up.

Your client walked in, the holocron in his hands.

"How to-" Hunter said but again didn't get to finish the sentence.

The Chiss said with a smile, "A security system I had installed, but it doesn't quite work yet, I tried it out, there's a flap and a shaft in the pedestal. Once the glass hood is touched the flap opens and the artifact falls in and comes out in another room. I can activate the flap from a distance even without triggering it."

The Chiss laughed, "I'm sorry if I caused any confusion."

Hunter's gaze met yours. You met him with angry coldness.

When the Chiss had put the artifact back in its place and left the room, Crosshair and Wrecker silently sat down in their seats where you and Hunter had been sitting before. You were still standing in the middle of the room, looking at each other. The silence was loud.

Finally, Hunter said: "I don't know what to say."

You snorted softly then said, "I already know what to say."

Crosshair in the background raised his eyebrows as if he already smelled trouble.

"Oh yeah?" asked Hunter tentatively.

"Yes. Fuck you, Hunter, fuck you very much."

He blinked, swallowed, his heart beating up to his throat.

Crosshair muttered in the background, "Can't blame her, even I know that was a dick move."

Hunter looked at you pleadingly.

"I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel bad I just thought that.... I don't know I thought maybe the artifact's influence is stronger than-"

You waved off interrupting him "I'm out of here for the night" you said growling "Don't even think of following me, find someone else to bunk with."

@thebahdbitch

@chxpsi

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@pink-peachie-pie

@queenofthehellfireclub

@thebahdbitch

#hunter fanfic #star wars #the bad batch #clonelove #clone force 99 #tbb #sw tbb #bad batch hunter #clone trooper hunter #hunter #hunter bad batch #hunter tbb #hunter the bad batch #hunter x reader #hunter x you #sergeant hunter #sergeant hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x you #tbb hunter #tbb hunter x reader #the bad batch hunter #hunter angst #hunter hurt #hunter tension #angst #hurt #hunter x female reader #tbb hunter fanfic #hunter fanfiction #bad batch

[c-ones-adults-only-club]

The Wager- chapter 2

Chapter summary: Tech tells you about his darkest desire.

Rating: M. Contains kink/fantasy discussion. Mentioned sex. Mentioned poly with The Batch.

Tech x f!reader Minors DNI

Chapter 1: link

Reblog to support creators

You shifted in the booth, casting a glance at the back of Tech's head, where he was seemingly focused on something at the bar.

It had been a couple of days since he'd won your little wager, and he'd yet to cash in on it.

He actually seemed to have forgotten about it, even though you knew otherwise. This was Tech, after all. The guy had a perfect memory.

Granted, you'd all been kept busy with missions and favours for Cid, as well as assisting here and there with the fledgling Rebellion, so neither of you had really had time to think about it.

You couldn't help but wonder if he was perhaps avoiding the subject. But why? Surely it wasn't that bad?

But now, it was quiet. You'd all managed to gain some downtime, and were making the most of it.

Even if there was still a lack of... action. Because, well, Omega.

It was late. Omega was back on the Marauder with Hunter and Echo, leaving the four of you to relax in the bar. Wrecker and Crosshair were currently making up for lost time in one of their many competitions. You smiled fondly. It was good to see the two bonding again

Drink in hand, you slipped onto the barstool next to Tech, biting down on the chuckle at Wrecker’s loud protest and Crosshair’s snickering.

Of course, Tech was relaxing the only other way he knew how, besides drinking and sex with you. He was tinkering.

"So? What is it?"

"An advanced perimeter sensor, for the tunnel network underneath Cid's office. It will alert us should anyone attempt the same thing we did when Durand took over The Parlor." You rolled your eyes, huffing a laugh.

"Not this." You tapped a finger against his hand, drawing his attention. "Your fantasy."

Tech seemed to become bashful all of a sudden, not at all like his usual confident self.

"O-oh, that. Well, I…" he hesitated, which set off alarm bells in your mind. Tech never hesitates to impart information, so for him to do so now meant it was something he was extremely uncomfortable with.

"It's ok, Tech. We don't have to do anything you don't want to. We can do something else you like instead." He shook his head, putting down his tools and leaning forwards, elbows resting on the bar. His leg started bouncing, jiggling the stool he was sitting on, the way it did when he was in deep concentration or when he was nervous.

"It's alright, cyar'ika. It's just… it might be a little…" he huffed, running a hand through his hair, curls catching his fingers. He swallowed, breathing deeply to try and calm what you could only imagine was a racing heart. He looked around, almost nervously.

"Perhaps we can take this somewhere more private?" You asked. He nodded, carefully picking up his tools and the sensor he'd been working on, depositing them in his various pouches and pockets. He took your hand and led you through to a private guest area, which used to be used for… entertaining, but was seldom used now.

You heard Wrecker catcalling and looked over your shoulder, flashing both him and Crosshair a wink.

Once inside, Tech perched on the edge of the sofa, tension radiating off him. You sat next to him, taking his hand and tracing circles into it. He smiled appreciatively at your comforting gesture, relaxing slightly. He took a deep breath, calming his nerves.

"In order to tell you about my… umm…" he stumbled a little over the phrasing.

"Kink? Fantasy? Desire? Fetish?" You said, helpfully. He flushed at the words.

"Y-yes, that. I have a… certain fantasy I suppose. In order to tell you about it, I must first explain how I discovered it. It is a rather… recent discovery." You nodded, squeezing his hand in silent support. He cleared his throat and continued.

"I-it was after the, um, Chip Debacle. After we got Crosshair back. I… I found myself wondering what sort of a man I would have been had it been my chip that activated and not Crosshair's, or Wrecker's." He took a steadying breath before continuing.

"We already know how much it enhanced certain aspects of Crosshair's personality, specifically his severity, and his already brilliant tactical ability. And we know that it heightened Wrecker's aggression and made him into, well, more of a force to be reckoned with," he breathed deeply again. You remembered being terrified of Wrecker for the first time in your life. You shook the thought away, just as Tech cleared his throat to continue.

"I find myself wondering what would have become of me." You turned towards him, placing your free hand on his shoulder.

"Tech, you don't need to worry about that. It was removed, so you'll never have to find out." He huffed a little chuckle, squeezing your hand in return.

"Yes, I am aware. But, you see, it was exactly that pondering that brought me to a certain… realisation, I suppose. An enlightenment, one could say." He drew a breath through his nose, pushing his goggles up with a finger of his free hand. "Crosshair has always had an innate aptitude for leadership, and for accurately plotting where an enemy will go next. It was why he and I shared the role of Hunter's unofficial Second in Command. My strength, however, lies in data analysis and information gathering." He paused for a moment, gathering himself. You watched him curiously.

"I believe that," he continued, "had my chip activated, and I had been claimed by the Empire as Crosshair had been, I would have found data collection and Intelligence to be my niche. But then, I began to consider what else I would have been used for."

"Tech…" you frowned in concern. Why was he thinking like this?

"No, no, let me finish." He seemed to bolster himself up. "I have a rather vast knowledge on the anatomy, as well you know." Your cheeks heated at the memory of his prowess.

"Yes, I know." He smiled, rubbing a thumb over the back of your hand, turning his eyes down towards your joined hands, absently playing with your fingers. Your hand on his shoulder crept up to play with the short curls at the nape of his neck, causing a little shiver to course through him.

"It isn't too far a leap to assume that I could easily identify weak spots in a stranger." He looked directly into your eyes, perhaps to see if you had caught on. Your confusion must have been obvious, because he continued. "What I mean is, I… it is a reasonable assumption that I would have been a rather adept, um… interrogation officer." He paused, watching you closely, as if to gauge your reaction.

"You… you think you would have been an… interrogator? For the Empire?" He nodded. You drew a shaking breath, still feeling confused. "What does this have to do with… Oh…" He looked away, a hint of shame colouring his cheeks.

"I… when I thought about it, I felt… sickened by my own body. How could I have that sort of reaction to being the cause of someone's suffering?" He turned back to you.

"But then I analysed it further, began imagining other scenarios, other people," he gave you a pointed look, "and found that it was not the act of causing pain that had brought about that reaction. It was something else. It… it was the control. The power over a helpless victim, who was unable to escape me and what I did to them. Of making them scream, not in pain, but in undeniable pleasure. Of taking them apart, layer by layer, piece by writhing piece, until I broke them. Until they were mine." You gasped as images flashed through your brain, terrifying, exciting images. Each one sent a shockwave of electric heat through you, melting your core and pooling between your thighs. Your heart hammered, beating against your ribs.

You already knew he had a thing for dominance. But to imagine himself in that kind of scenario… with you…

"Oh….Gods… " He looked cautiously at your face, expecting to see revulsion and disgust, but all he saw was heat, lust and want. "Tech…"

"I understand if that makes you uncomfortable, cyar'ika. There are plenty of other ...mmmph!" You pounced on him, straddling his legs and shoving him against the backrest of the sofa, smashing your lips against his in a heated, messy tryst. You pulled away, panting for breath, looking down at the rather dazed and rumpled Tech. His goggles had been knocked askew by your sudden passion, his lips still parted by your assault.

"That… that is the single most hottest thing I've ever heard you say," you said with a little growl. You bent to capture his lips in another kiss, feeling his hands glide over your thighs. You tilted your head to purr in his ear.

"You want to interrogate me Tech? You want to strap me down and torture me?" Why was that hotter than it should be?

However, he blanched at your wording. He looked up at you, his face stricken.

"No, not… not torture, my love. I would never harm you." You smiled a warm, comforting, heartfelt smile.

"I know you wouldn't, Tech. I trust you." He blushed a little, a gentle smile and loving twinkle in his eyes, reaching a hand up to stroke your cheek. He brought you down for a less-fierce kiss. You pondered, while kissing him, how it would feel. To be pinned down and immobilised, completely and utterly at his mercy. Unable to escape him as he took you apart, until you gave up everything.

It was a terrifying concept, in a very exciting and exhilaratingly electrifying kind of way.

It was your turn to blush, swallowing down your lust and overwhelming need for the man underneath you.

"I… I want you to, Tech. Everything. All of it." You swallowed, looking into his eyes with all the earnest truth and honesty and longing you could manage. "I want you to take me apart. To… to interrogate me. To do whatever you want to me." He gasped underneath you, eyes wide and dark with lust. His grip had tightened on you, threatening to leave bruises on your thighs. Your next words came out weak and breathy, shaking with barely restrained emotion, but no less truthful and wanting.

"I want you to make me scream." You squeaked as he suddenly wrapped his arms around you and twisted, pinning you underneath him, pressing a starving kiss to your lips. He grabbed your wrists as you reached for him, pushing them into the sofa cushion either side of your head. You gasped and groaned as a sharp heat flashed from your wrists to your groin.

"I will, my sweet. Oh, I will." He became serious, casting you a look that you knew brooked no argument.

"But first, we will have to discuss terms, safety, hard-nos, safewords, and everything in between. I will not go into this lightly. Your pleasure, safety and comfort must always be my main priority. Understood?" You gulped, gathering your scattered thoughts back together.

"Yeah, yes. Understood." He nodded once, leaning down to kiss you again. You groaned into his mouth, deepening the kiss and scrabbling at his armour. He absently rocked against you while hurriedly unfastening your trousers and peeling them and your underwear down your legs, making you gasp and whine. You muttered his name against his lips as he scrambled to remove his codpiece and break the seal of his body glove, shoving the bottom half down past his hips.

You both made frantic, passionate love on the sofa, relieving the tension that had built between you since you’d made that wager, until you were both a sweaty, panting mess.

And if Wrecker and Crosshair decided to come in and join you afterwards? More fool Hunter and Echo for missing out.

Chapter 3 link

Please reblog if you like this story.

#tech x reader #tech x f!reader #implied/ mentioned CF99 x f!reader #fantasy discussion #kink discussion

[freesia-writes]

Hey there,

congrats on your 500 milestone. If I may put in a request, could you perhaps do: "Don't ever do that again! You have no idea what it does to me…" with Wrecker. Love seeing how writers tackle the big guy's main weakness.

Cheers,

Hi! Hello! Hey! Remember this request from like six frickin weeks ago?! ;) I got wildly derailed by Sharp Edges blossoming off of Lightwise's Crosshair request, but bada bing bada boom... I'm BACK baby! So thank you so much for your patience, and I hope this is everything you ever wanted it to be. It really made my heart swell while writing it. All the puppy dog eyes for our sweet big boy!

Wrecker x Reader Word Count: 3.1k

You’d been serving at the cafe for years, having perfected your duties down to mindlessly rote repetition. The customers and cooks loved you equally, with your sugary-sweet disposition and affinity for lavishing anyone and everyone with affection that left them feeling as though they were floating on the clouds. You’d long since abandoned your hopes at romance, after a trail of failed relationships left you jaded and insecure, and had instead resorted to content yourself with a quiet life of work, reading, and occasional travel. The cafe was centrally located on a variety of trade routes that kept it bustling with interesting characters, bringing news and stories, often quite embellished, of the galaxy beyond the diner’s crumbling brick walls.

The bell on the door chimed cheerfully one morning, and as you looked up with a bright smile to greet the arrivals as usual, your eyes widened as you took in the hulking mass of a man that squeezed inside. You’d seen almost every shape and size of creature over the years, but his apparently human appearance was a stark contrast to his sheer brawn, made even more unique by his seeming lack of an eye and the spidery scar tissue that branched out from his ear across his face. 

“Well hello, sugar,” you purred out of habit, sidling up to him with a coffee pot in your hand, “Haven’t seen you in here before.”

“Uh, yeah,” he said slowly, seeming to still be groggy from sleep as he ran a large hand over his bald head, “Just had a minute to grab something to eat…” His eyes roved across the setting before him: two long rows of cushy booths, ragged from the endless cycle of hungry patrons sliding in and out of them, and an endless supply of decor and memorabilia scattered across the walls and shelves -- photos, trinkets, signs, plants… He snapped out of his distracted gazing when you laid a gentle hand on his forearm, gesturing toward the counter. 

“Why don’t you grab a seat up there and I’ll be right over?”

He grunted his thanks in a deep, throaty voice, shuffling to his assigned seat and completely dwarfing the stool as he settled down upon it. The menu looked like a business card in his hands as he perused it, and when you finished making the rounds of refilling thick ceramic coffee mugs, you slid the carafe back under the warmer and turned to face him. 

“Anything strike your fancy, big boy?” you asked, pet names falling from your lips as naturally as breathing. He seemed surprised by it though, and looked up at you with a slightly baffled expression. His lifted eyebrows widened his eyes, shifting a battle-hardened stare into a disarmingly innocent curiosity, and you were shocked to feel a little flip in your chest. 

“I… ah… I think I’d like this…” he said slowly, pointing to precisely what you would have chosen for him. You nodded, jotting it down in slight relief at the return to normal interaction, “And… could I add this too, please?” You followed his finger and raised your eyes to his, smiling warmly, and you could swear you saw the tiniest hint of red creep across his scar-speckled cheeks.

“Of course,” you answered, giving his hand a pat. “Might take a few extra minutes because Mo is a little swamped back there, but you just sit tight and that will be right out. Can I get you some caf in the meantime?” 

He glanced down at the mug on the counter, untouched beside the silverware and napkin, and raised his eyes back to yours with an almost childish sheepishness, “Actually, do you have a fizz?” 

Your grin broke your lips apart into genuine delight, and you chuckled fondly as you turned toward the refrigerator behind. “I do indeed,” you affirmed, popping the cap off and sliding the curved bottle across the counter to him. “Be back soon, honey.”

You’d grown busy quickly after that, with a rush of patrons that all seemed to have decided to arrive at the same time, and as you bustled about the diner, gliding effortlessly between tables and your coworkers, you were unaware of the stolen glances that were sent your way from the counter. When his plates finally appeared with a ding on the warming shelf, you ran them over with an apologetic tilt of the head. He was nothing but grace and patience, however, again giving you pause at the kind energy he exuded. You were curious to learn more about this new visitor, but there wasn’t a minute to spare, and after a flurry of orders taken, guests seated, and tables cleaned, you looked back to discover the stool was empty. Next to the immaculately-cleaned plates sat his bill, along with a handful of credits on it to cover the total as well as a tip. You were surprised to note the sinking feeling of disappointment, but had no time to dwell on it as the breakfast rush was still in full swing. 

It was nearly a month later when he appeared again, and you had almost forgotten about his initial visit, writing it off as one of the many single customers that would drop in and never be seen again. But as the perky ding announced his arrival, you watched him amble to the same seat at the counter, catching your eye with a grin and a wave. It was later this time -- the quiet lull between morning and afternoon -- and a disproportionate eagerness bubbled up within as you trotted over to greet him. 

“Hi handsome!” you said brightly, again feeling light-headed at the puppy-dog eyes and bashful crooked grin that painted his face in response, “You’re back!”

“Yeah, we pass through here every so often…” he answered, fiddling with the corner of the menu underneath his fingernail. You had some time to spare, and leaned on your elbows, falling into easy conversation about the menu, the diner, and his travels. 

“I never caught your name, sweetheart,” you said suddenly, tilting your head as you studied his features.

“Wrecker,” he said, in a mixture of pride and bemusement. You laughed, all joy and no mockery, clapping your hand over his own as it sat in a fist on the counter.

“Of course,” you exclaimed, reveling in the perfectly-fitting name for such a hulking beast of a man. “I imagine you’re quite the formidable force, aren’t you?” Your tone was light and playful, and he was taken aback for a mere second before he lowered his chin and gave you a more determined look. 

“You could say that,” he said in a low voice, and you felt your stomach twist in a quick clench that made you inhale sharply. 

He began to make a regular appearance at your counter, never in any regular rhythm but sporadic visits peppered throughout the weeks. You found yourself making excuses to touch him more, leaning against him when you took his order from his side, brushing your fingers across his shoulders as you passed by to ask if he wanted a refill, and resting your arm on the counter right next to his when you both bent over the menu in a silly excuse to be close -- he ordered the same thing every time. He watched you, too, when you weren’t looking, taking in the way you coddled each customer, laughing at their jokes and patting them on the back, bestowing nicknames and meaningless affections indiscriminately. 

You began to give him little extras as well -- kitchen mistakes or “accidental” slips of your own hand that would result in a plate of fresh fruit or an extra bottle of fizz that had been mistakenly opened and was unable to be put back -- and wiped the tables as quickly as you could to glean every spare minute to listen to his stories. When he showed up one day with an entire arm bandaged to his side, as well as a scattering of small patches covering parts of his face, you felt a disproportionate surge of fear and protectiveness. 

“What happened?” you gasped, reaching for his cheek without thinking. He shrugged dismissively, casting a glance to the ground as though he were getting in trouble.

“It’s nothing,” he said, “Workplace hazard, you know…” 

“You’ve got to be careful, sweet boy,” you murmured, stroking the side of his face before dropping your hand, not missing the heat that radiated off of him. “Can’t have you blowing yourself up out there.” 

“You can’t do that…” Wrecker began, but his words were lost as you were whisked away. You’d turned to answer a call from the back, and he had shuffled to his counter seat, touching the spot on his cheek with his own hand and a soft expression.

A few more visits came and went, punctuated with jokes and stories, playful banter and comfortable chatter. The morning rush had died down, with a handful of tables remaining hunched over their plates. A sharp voice broke through the hubbub, catching your attention. 

“Oy! Get over here!” A hand waved from the corner booth, where a motley crew of Weequay pirates and humans sat with one of the most lumpy-headed Twi’leks you’d ever seen. You lowered your brows, approaching the table warily with a steaming carafe of caff in your hand. You weren’t one to take any ill treatment, and were just as happy throwing someone out on their ass as you were making them blush with your saccharine praises. 

“Problem, fellas?” you crooned, pursing your lips as your eyes roved from one to the next. 

“Yeah, you’re takin’ way too long!” said one of the pirates, baubles tinkling on his head and chest. “Our food’s getting cold while you’re drooling over the counter at that big lump!” He jerked his head toward Wrecker, who was still and unmoving, eyes fixed on the situation. 

“Your food isn’t ready yet, honey” you returned evenly, pulling some cream cups and sugar packets from your apron pocket and scattering them across the table before topping off their mugs. “Why don’t you enjoy a few more sips of caf, and it’ll be out before you know it.”

The Twi’lek picked up one of the creamer pods, inspecting it for a moment with a malicious glint in his eye, then turned and flung it right at your face, where it bounced off your forehead and fell on the ground. Your gasp of surprise sent him into peals of laughter, and the others joined in. 

“Why don’t you go get our food before we make you regret coming to work today?” one of the humans jabbed, and the next thing you knew, you were being shoved aside by one strong arm. Wrecker had appeared behind you, jostling forward to place himself between you and the table at the last vitriolic utterance, and he rose to his full height, cracking his knuckles as he looked at each of them in turn. 

“Oh look, big old loverboy is here to--” the Weequay never finished his nasally taunt, instead finding himself lifted by the scruff of the neck and tossed straight behind the counter, where he crashed into a trash can and a pile of empty bottles that clattered around his crumpled form. His cronies flew to their feet immediately, with as much intimidation as they could muster in the awkward movements of getting out of a booth, and banded together to face Wrecker with faces set in grim resolution. The diner grew quiet, a thick tension settling into the air, as the other customers watched with apprehension.

“Anyone else?” he invited, eyebrows set low in a menacing stare. 

“Wrecker,” you whispered, pulling on his arm from behind, “You’re going to destroy the entire restaurant.” He hesitated, tilting his head to indicate he’d heard you, then looked back to the snarling band of insulted hotheads before him. 

“Yeahhhhh, don’t mess up her pretty little restaurant!” the Twi’lek mocked, making Wrecker’s decision for him. He moved like a flash, swiping his arms out to the sides and taking advantage of their neatly-lined up stance to smack all their heads together in one sickening, echoed thud that dropped all four to the ground immediately, passed out cold. You gasped, taking a step back at the unexpected movement, mouth open in shock and awe. A few patrons burst into laughter and applause, cheering from their booths, and the cooks yelled a chorus of approval from behind the thin window that opened to the kitchen. Wrecker slowly turned to face you, eyebrows that had been razor-sharp a moment ago curving up to regard you with earnest curiosity. 

“Sorry…” he began, but you flung yourself against him, stretching to get your arms around him as much as you could to pull him into a tight, appreciative hug. He paused for a moment, then slowly enveloped you in his embrace, mind buzzing as the rest of the cafe returned to their conversations and meals. You pulled back, looking up at him with admiration and cupping his face in one hand, caressing his cheekbone with your thumb.

“Don’t be sorry! You’re my hero, sweetheart. My beautiful big--” 

You didn’t get to finish what you were saying, as he bit his lip, brows furrowing suddenly, and tore himself from your grasp, disappearing out the back door. Frozen for a second in a dumbfounded stupor, you grabbed a coworker’s elbow as she passed by, “Can you cover my tables real quick?” She nodded, giving you a knowing wink, and you turned to follow Wrecker into the alley behind the diner. He was pacing restlessly, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand and muttering at the ground. When he heard the door close behind you, he glanced at you with those puppy dog eyes again, then bit his lip and continued his movements. 

“Hey baby…” you crooned, not seeing him wince slightly at your voice, “What’s the matter?” 

He slowed, dropping his hand from his neck and pausing to regard you evenly. His face was a kaleidoscope of expressions, impossible to read, and you were clueless to the turmoil within. You didn’t know how much you’d grown on him over the last number of months, how frequently his thoughts turned to you, how your gentle touches made his heart swell in his chest. But he’d also seen how you lavished such affection on everyone, and he felt an increasing sense of internal conflict that was driving him crazy, trying to discern if he were just another customer or… more than that. 

"Don't ever do that again! You have no idea what it does to me…" he said suddenly, the vehemence in his gravelly voice stunning you a few steps back as he stared at you. Your mind was racing, trying to catch up, and his body was still coursing from the adrenaline of the last few minutes.

“...do what?” you asked, holding your hands up in helpless surrender. Your large eyes met his, round and unguarded, brimming with emotion. He melted inside at your genuine confusion, and he dropped his chin toward the ground, rubbing his forehead in consternation. “Wrecker, I’m sorry,” you began, still unsure of what you were apologizing for, but you ached to see him this way. You drew nearer, tentatively, and laid a hand on his forearm. He dropped his arms to his sides, taking a deep breath and raising his gaze to your face. 

“It’s okay,” he said, quietly now, with a crack in his voice that tugged at your heart. “I just…” he fumbled, casting his eyes about as if the words would appear to him somewhere in the alleyway, and settled for a disappointed grunt. A realization hit you, a possibility, a chance… it blossomed warm throughout your limbs. You were wildly unsure, but propelled onward by an unseen force as you slowly stepped closer, bringing yourself within inches of his hulking form, which was uncharacteristically deflated. 

“Hey,” you said, soft as velvet, coaxing him to look at you. His mouth twisted, eyes reluctantly lifting to yours. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable…” you ventured, reaching up to ghost your fingers across his cheek precariously, heart thrilling when he closed his eyes and leaned into your palm ever so slightly. “Oh…” you breathed, feeling one of his strong arms slip around your waist, pulling you flush against his broad chest. His eyes opened, rendering you frozen to the spot, and his face curved into a blissful grin. 

“I was afraid I liked it too much,” he murmured, capturing you with his gaze, unfathomably soft and yet enticingly intense. “I mean, you’re so sweet to everyone…” You beamed at him, looping your other arm around his neck, positively vibrating with the tingles that resulted from your body being pressed against his. 

“It’s my job,” you conceded, “But… I’ve got a particular sweet spot for you, Wrecker.” His tiny gasp was overwhelmingly endearing, and a giggle slipped past your lips, drawing his eyes down to them. He bit his lip, eyebrows drawing together as he darted his gaze back to yours for a moment, then swallowed hard. The slow lean that brought his face to yours seemed to take an eternity, and you relaxed your eyes closed, feeling his arms draw you in more tightly, still holding you as gently as a fragile treasure. When he pressed his mouth against yours, sweet and salty and so soft, you sighed in utter bliss, tilting your head to nuzzle more closely against him. He lingered for a moment, then pulled away with a quiet smack and a sharp inhale, looking down at you in adorable surprise. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but finding no words whatsoever, slowly closed it. You slid your hands down his chest, wrapping him in a hug and turning your head sideways to lean against him. His heartbeat pounded against your ear, charming you again with the disproportionate tenderness that resided beneath his intimidating brawn, and one of his hands roved soothingly up and down your back. He sent another burst of tingles through you when he pressed another kiss to the top of your head, causing you to pull away to look up at his affectionate face once again. 

“I have to get back to work,” you admitted, hating every word. He let out a breath, nodding slowly, then pinched your chin with gentle fingers, white and brown eyes soaking up your presence as though it were life itself.

“Maybe I can come by when you get off.”

“I’d love that.”

#the bad batch #tbb #bad batch #star wars the bad batch #tbb wrecker #the bad batch wrecker #wrecker x reader #bad batch wrecker #wrecker #wrecker fluff #wrecker fanfic #wrecker one shot #tbb one shots

[kaminocasey]

Soft Spot

Summary: Shop keeper reader befriends the Bad Batch on Ord Mantell. She definitely has a soft soft for a certain goggled genius. She also has a sketchy past.

Pairing: Tech X f!reader (Eventually)

Rating: 18+ (Eventually)

Word Count: 900

Warnings: None for this first part but Eventual Smut

A/N: This is going to be a multi chapter fic! There will be eventual smut so if you're under 18, please leave!

You can find it on AO3 Here

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Your little general shop on Ord Mantell hadn’t been open long today. You opened around noon and have only had a few customers. Which was fine, since it gave you time to reorganize shelves. You always tried to stay as busy as possible even on slow days like today.

You hear the bells jingle above the doorway, indicating a customer has come in.

“Do you have toys for kids?” You hear a polite yet booming voice come in.

You look up and see a large man with scars running down the left side of his face, carrying a small blonde girl on his shoulders. They’re both grinning wildly like they’re having the time of their lives. The man looks familiar.

“I do, actually.” You point over to the back corner of your shop, smiling politely.

“Thank you!” The girl grins.

“You’re welcome!” You reply, starting to go back to organizing.

The bells above the door jingle again and you look up and see four more men in armor resembling the other guy’s, come in and look around. You can see why the first man looked familiar. They’re all clones, but they don’t look like the regular clones you’re used to. These guys were all different looking.

“Is there anything I can help you gentlemen find?” You ask them, fixing one of the shelves.

The one with a red bandana walks up to you. “We’re looking for rations, a few toys for our sister, and a new com device.”

Sister? You had never heard of a clone having a sister? Was she also a clone? Surely that couldn’t be possible, right?

“I have all of those things, except the com device. You can find that across the street at Jerlos’, though.” You point him where each of the things are. “It looks like the girl is way ahead of you with the toys, though.”

“Oh yeah, she’s good at that. Honestly, quicker than all of us combined.” He laughs. “I’m Hunter.” You shake his hand. “Y/n.”

“That’s Omega.” He points to the girl. “And that’s Wrecker. Echo. Tech. And Crosshair.”

“It’s a pleasure.” You smile at all of them. “So what brings you to Ord Mantell?”

“We do work for Cid.” Wrecker grins.

“Wrecker.” Crosshair shoots him a look.

“Oh, so you guys are with the Republic?” You ask them.

“We used to be. Things are a little complicated now.” Echo shrugs. “Do you… know Cid?”

“You could say that. I assume you guys aren’t a part of the extermination of the Jedi then?” You ask.

“Definitely not.” Tech answers you.

You look over at Tech who hasn’t looked up from his holopad once. “Your holopad is a little outdated there, Tech.”

“Ah, yes.” He nods. “Unfortunately the newest versions are a little outside of our price range seeing as how our… profession doesn’t allow for such… luxuries, unfortunately.”

He genuinely looks sad and you can’t help but feel for the clones. You could tell they were a few of the good ones.

“I’ll tell you what, you go over across the street to Jerlos’ and tell him to set you up with that new com device and a new holopad. Tell him that I sent you. He owes me a really big favor. And I’ll cut the price on your rations. Omega, you can take whatever three toys you want.” You tell them, pointing at Jerlos’ shop directly across the street from yours.

Hunter looks like he wants to hug you and you smile warmly at him. You always were soft on clones. They were at the mercy of the Republic, treated unfairly by the people they were sworn to protect.

“That’s very kind of you, thank you.” Tech smiles, finally looking up at you, pushing his goggles back up on his face.

You can’t help but smile back at the incredibly adorable man.

“Why would you help us?” Crosshair asks, suspiciously.

“I believed in the republic. I was a supporter of the clones.” You tell him.

“Was?” Hunter asks.

“Well, they did wipe out the Jedi…” You sigh.

“It wasn’t their choice.” Omega explains, passionately. “They had an inhibitor chip and were instructed to do it.”

You could tell Omega deeply cared for her brothers. You were incredibly curious about her, but you didn’t want to come off as nosy, so you don’t ask.

“Ah. That makes sense.” You reply, not quite understanding what an inhibitor chip was. “That’s incredibly sad and unfair.”

A young twi’lek comes in, takes a look at the clones and then leaves. You roll your eyes.

“We must be bad for business.” Tech apologizes.

“Don’t worry about it.” You shrug, still smiling at them.

The twi’lek probably thought they were either among the clones who wiped out the Jedi or they just had a distaste for clones. Either way, you weren’t worried about it. If they didn’t want to do business with you, you didn’t want to do business with them. People needed to learn how to ask questions before jumping to conclusions.

“You’ll have to let us repay you somehow for helping us.” Echo insists.

“Well, I get off at eight.” You tell them.

“Sounds like a plan.” Hunter nods. “We’ll come back for you.”

You ring them up and watch them head across to Jerlos’. Omega is waving at you from the street, grinning. You see Tech also hasn’t stopped looking back at you, so you wave to him and he falls slightly into Wrecker. You were looking forward to seeing them again. Especially Tech.

#tech x you #tech x reader #The Bad Batch #Star Wars #SW #tbb #tbb tech #I promise I will write other fics about other characters soon #Tech is my comfort character and I love him so much #Im sorry #I DO have an idea for a rex fic soon! #kaminocaseyfics

[rainydaydream-gal18]

(The Bad Batch)  Crosshair x Reader: Absence-Part 2

(Author’s Note:  Just a little something I had originally intended to post for Bad Batch eve.

It is a glimpse into Crosshair’s perspective- basically, Crosshair’s version of The fanfiction titled “Absence.”

Warnings: Angst, though with a dash of hope.

Word Count: 1,066)

Link to Part 1

   Crosshair felt his chest tighten as one of the Regs hit Hunter with the butt of his blaster, causing the sergeant to fall to his knees with a pained grunt.  

   Serves him right for not following orders, a smug thought popped into his head.

   No, that’s not right.  Hunter is only trying to protect us.  I should...help him.  But he couldn’t.  No matter how much Crosshair wanted to, his expression remained stoic as the scene unfolded before him.

   “Hey!” Your voice rang out like a bell.  He watched you hurry forward to intervene, and the urgency to do something grew.  He couldn’t just sit and see you throw yourself into danger.  The Regs had already shown that they meant business.   “Cut it out!  No one is leaving this cell alone.  If he goes,” you gestured in his direction.  “I go.”

   No, _________, he mentally sighed, though he couldn’t help the pride and attraction he felt at your defiance.  His chest ached with love that his body wouldn’t let him express.  There were some things he had control over, but it was such a battle.  And in the heat of the moment, all Crosshair wanted was for you to stay out of danger.

   “CT-9904 was summoned, not you,” the Reg replied.  “Now stand down!”  The trooper raised his blaster to strike you this time, and Crosshair felt his hands fidget on his lap.

   She’s not following orders, the voice in his head insisted.  It’s her own fault.

    Doesn’t matter, he shot back at the voice.  I’m not going to sit here and watch a Reg lay a finger on her.

   Fortunately, Hunter had taken hold of your wrist, shooting you a warning look.  Crosshair saw your shoulders visibly relax, and a sort of relief washed over him.  He still wasn’t sure what he was being summoned for.  From what he’d seen so far of this new Empire, it might not turn out very well.  Yet, he was glad to see the situation at hand de-escalate.  You wouldn’t be hurt after all.

   Crosshair rose from the bench.  He couldn’t bear to look at his squad.  This thing...whatever it was in his head, had caused him to say and do some awful things in so short a time.  He didn’t want another glimpse of the judgment or disbelief on their faces, the sympathy, and he certainly couldn’t meet your confused and worried eyes. 

   “Wait!  No, I can’t just stand here and-”  you ripped your hand from Hunter’s grasp and caught up to Crosshair, placing yourself in his path, forcing him to look at you.  He drank it in.  You were so beautiful- gorgeous- even as you stood in front of him with face scrunched up with emotion.   “What are you doing?”

   “I’ve been summoned, _________.  Good soldiers follow orders.” 

   “But Cross,” you murmured, hot tears spilling down your cheeks as you reached for his gloved hand.  “I’m scared.  Don’t leave.”

   Your words cut through his warring mind.  The hissing voice in his head was silenced, and with great effort, he was able to take control of his actions again.  He wanted to reassure you.  Had to.  He had to let you know how that somewhere inside it really was him.

   “I don’t have much of a choice,” he told you, forcing his tone to be quieter, less harsh, as his eyes darted at the Regs warily.  He was surprised that they hadn’t made a move to separate the two of you already.  He wanted to let you know that everything would be alright, but suddenly, that voice spoke up again.

   CT-9904, you’ve been given orders.  Go now.

   Crosshair stepped to the side to move past you.  “No!  Crosshair, wait!  You lunged forward, but a large hand grabbed your shoulder.  “Wrecker, let me go!”

   Good.  They’ll take care of her.  They’ll watch out for her.

   If there was anyone in the galaxy he trusted, it was his squad.  He knew you’d all look after each other.  As Crosshair was escorted from the prison cells, he tried to block out your shouts echoing from behind him.

- - - - 

   Crosshair exhaled slowly through his nose, the sound filling the silence that had stretched on from the moment his squad escaped aboard the Marauder.  There was no Wrecker to talk, laugh, or slug him in the shoulder playfully.  There was no Hunter to lead the way.  There was so grumbling from Echo.  No chatter from Tech.  And no you.

   There was only the voice- except it had grown beyond a mere echo in his head.  He had become the voice on the inside instead, his attempts to fight the program going in vain.

   The last place Crosshair wanted to be was the Bad Batch’s quarters, but that’s where he was ordered to retire until the Empire had further use for him.

   He removed his armor, seeking some sort of comfort, even if it was minimal.  He laid back in his bunk, hands resting on his chest as he stared at the ceiling of his bunk.  Crosshair hated following the orders to try and keep his squad from escaping Kamino, but he almost hated the quiet just as much.  That’s when he could dwell on what he’d done.  Even if he couldn’t help it, as Omega had warned him before the chip enhancement procedure, he carried the weight of these horrible acts being done by his own two hands.

   He missed you.  Missed the sound of your voice.  Missed your eyes.  Your hand in his.  He missed it all terribly.

   He missed the squad.

   But there was nothing he could do.

   Is there anyone out there?  Anyone who can help me?  He called into his own mind.  No one answered.  Crosshair sighed.  At least his programming allowed him that.

   Crosshair shut his eyes, picturing your face.  He remembered the trip to the market with you, holding you in his arms, and he remembered, clear as day, the first time he kissed you.

   Each attempt to fight the chip was absolutely exhausting.  It left him drained after, yet sleepless.  It increased his hunger, but he had a hard time sitting at the Batch’s old table at the Mess alone.

   Still, he would keep fighting.  He wouldn’t stop resisting.  He wouldn’t for a second let go of the hope that somehow he’d find a way to stop and make his way back to you.

#the bad batch #bad batch crosshair x reader #crosshair x reader #crosshair reader insert #crosshair imagine #bad batch crosshair imagine #the bad batch fanfiction #bad batch reader insert #star wars the bad batch x reader #bad batch #the bad batch x reader #bad batch x you #bad batch x y/n #crosshair x y/n #crosshair x you #bad batch crosshair x you