Crosshair X Reader - Blog Posts

A peek...

Alright I’m bored, needing depth for my Fanfic, gonna analyze the Bad Batch’s barracks.  

It’s a mess, clear cut right off the start which shows how little Kaminoan  discipline of cleanliness (conditioning) was in affect in these particular clones.  

Echo has the hammock near Tech’s bunk and surrounded by his equipment.  Tech has hacked into the power conduits over his bunk to have all these mechanical arms and tools added so he could probably work on tinkering something by his bunk.- noted by @1fineslytherin​.  The lights here are dim, then after the Batch escapes Kamino and Crosshair moves in with his new squad the lights are restored to the typical Kaminoan illuminating fashion.  This may have been done for Hunter to ease his senses, POSSIBLY.  

As for that smell...

Wrecker has food on his bed, which has been left rotting and festering for about 206 or whatever rotations since the last time they were there.  No wonder it smells.  Along with a clothes line along the back wall which I guess is a step towards some sort of cleaning process?  Boy’s a wreck. - I am not sorry for that pun.  

Crosshair has a perch at the top left hand corner, it is level with Tech’s workstation from across the room.  He has three posters of droids on his back wall, each have distinct holes in the papers resembling the proper kill shots necessary to put down a droid.  Through the holes you can see the wall that they are pinned against, he used these for practice and brought them back to look at / show off / be his intimidating toothpick suckeling self.  As pointed out by @yavielin-feanarien, the center poster spells the letter ‘C’ in Aruebesh.  He also has 2 sets of fresh blacks folded neatly sitting on his sheets.  

I do believe given Wrecker’s messy manner and Tech’s clutter, Crosshair and Hunter decided to take opposite sides to keep the room in some sort of balance.  I say this because honestly I would want a roommate who is clean, not a slob, so in this kind of rooming situation I would want to be on the side with the other clean individual.  But I can see why they would take opposite sides to maintain some sort of “Order” within the room.  

Tech’s perch.  💕

-Tech states that he doesn’t want to sleep next to Wrecker’s junk in their opening episode...bro use those goggles to look at your own room first.  

-Wrecker definitely stole that couch from somewhere.  It’s a BIG couch for a BIG man such as himself.  They have their bunks, benches with no backs to lean into, and crates are all that can be sat on in this room.  Can definitely understand why Wrecker would bring this piece of furniture into their barracks. 

Tech’s bunk is made, and adorns his scribbles of equations.  With all this wall art, makes me wonder who drew that Padme nose art in the deleted reel.  😀  My credits on Tech.  

Hunter’s bunk is made and tidy. he is definitely a boot man, called it!  He has medals pinned to the backboard, no idea what that thing is in the corner, it might be a canteen.  He’s got the iconic Bad Batch 99 skull on his wall, I just dig this man.  

One last thing that I see a problem with as a collective, is that they don’t bring gonky into the room with them.  I like to think that because he is a defective unit that the facility would snatch him up and decommission him, or that he would be bullied by other droids.  So they agree that he’s gotta remain on the ship but still!  

Anyways....I would still like to be their shared barrack hoe.  No lie.  

Star Wars: Revelations: Crosshair x Ottehok

TCW Fanfic: Crosshair x Ottehok

Norsik Language is called Norslyr:

Ottehok- Shade in Russian

Forbandet Afkom- Cursed Offspring in Danish

Alfodr- Meaning All Father/Odin

Pabbi- Daddy in Icelandic

This is the first sexual encounter between these two characters in a series I am writing 

based on the aftermath of TCW.

WARNINGS:  NSFW, explicit 18+, cursing, P in V, protected sex, butt stuff, rough sex, gagging, slapping, pet names, male Dom, female Sub (kinda), allusion to past trauma. (Both individuals are slightly emotionally fractured, also the cleanest characters who have the nastiest sex;).  

4.3K word count.  

Crosshair x Ottehok

The Norse Executioner, Lone Ranger; Ottehok. A rather stunning peach colored Zebrak/Trandoshan female. The oracle of her field.  She must continue to slay Forbandet Afkom believed to be the blooded kin of the Goddess named Hel.  It has been said that Ranger, Ottehok; is the God Heimdall incarnate, the Great Watcher for Bjornheim.  She remains chained to the grounds of the spreading Ragnarok Ranges until the Afkom have been Cleansed from the terra. 

Crosshair demands to taste this caliber of woman.  

The Scourge Sniper, the Overwatch for his Troop, Crosshair.  A recognized Wingman; a Norse position given to the sharpest of Gunsmen.  Ottehok witnessed his capabilities when it came to the Cleanse of Thovid.  How he strangled a Zerbrak Cannibal with just his bare hands, smiling while doing so.  How he takes the rear path to watch over his Troop, hence Overwatch.  Unlike some members of his crew, he participated in the Cleansing of the cannibal younglins.  Did not hesitate, no remorse, delivered a swift and painless death upon them and moved on for that was the task that needed to be done.  

Crosshair’s actions reflect his forging, qualities Ottehok desires in a mate.  

But this encounter is not about love, affection, or breeding; this is about a deserved release.  A needed break from the ten-year expanse of isolation this woman has endured for the sake of her people.  Who either respect or reject her.  Either way she goes about her tasks, her way, the way that things need to be done for her people.  Her resolve is gleaming in her rust-colored eyes as she removes her helmet in front of Crosshair.  

In the hull of the Solar Scourge Ottehok places her helm on a crate alongside her pack.  Crosshair observes her motions as she reaches up and releases her pine green hair from a low bun and shakes her head.  He split tongue tasting the air.  He removes his helmet along with his gloves and meets her level of resolve as their lips collide.  

Crosshair dominates the kiss.  She desires pleasure from him, and he will deliver it to her, his way.  Her arms hook around his neck as they kiss.  She raises her height just an inch on the tips of her toes to reach his lips more comfortably.  Her hands glide through his soft hair while his graze along her sides to pull their midsections closer together.  The sounds of their armors rubbing against each other fills their ears.  Ottehok stands flat on her feet to break the kiss and take a breath.  Her hands sliding down his chest plate as her eyes stare up into his, admiring his stature.  His gaze is soft but not unguarded, attentive to all her movements, keeping wary of this Executioner.  But neutrality floods her gaze, a hand gently cups the right side of his face to feel the shadow of a beard and the bottom portion of his tattoo.  

Ottehok drops her guard entirely in this moment.

Crosshair slightly tilts his head into her touch.  Her fingerless gloves allow him to feel bits of her skin against him.  Ottehok begs for a break from everything for just this moment with her eyes.  But he wants to hear her ask for it.  

“What do you want?”  His voice a low rasp as his hands come around her waist to hold her close to him.  

“Your cock…”, her voice breaks with need as she continues.  “To writhe underneath you…marked by your teeth…to have every hole in me used by you.”  She finishes with her hand moving to cup his jaw with fingers parting his lips to inspect his perfectly aligned pearly whites.  He allows this touch to occur, far to used to being inspected in such a manner on Kamino.  Her hands trail down his chest plate with fingers grazing at his codpiece.  She knows well enough to wait for his permission to begin removing it for him.  

She knows what she wants.

Of all the remaining men on Norsik, this devout Pagan comes to surrender herself to an Off-Worlder.  Crosshair takes great consideration if he should indulge this woman.  This planet has rules that these people must follow or else his crew may be banished from the planet with the Norse participant being written off as a sacrifice to atone for their sins.  He must decipher if this woman is setting him up; thus, banning himself and his crew from this system that they helped liberate or if she really is just in need for a good thrashing.  He confirms that it is the latter as she removes her wrist comm and throwing her harness with holsters containing blasters and knives.  She is completely bare of any sort of possible recorders or weapons.  

Crosshair releases a chuckle as a hand comes up to brush a lock of hair behind her ear and swiftly takes her chin into his hand.  “Want to be used in any particular order?”  He purrs whilst stepping forward to press her back against a storage crate to box her in.  He makes it clear that he wants to absorb all her focus.  A knee rises between her legs to nudge at her core which she instinctively begins to grind upon.  

“I do not like a-t-m…”  She says shyly, batting her eyes up at him.  

“I wouldn’t do that to you…Peaches.”  Crosshair knows full well that Ottehok despises this nickname.  Anyone who mocks her with it ends up shot or wounded in some form or another by her hand.  It is always thrilling to witness her exact justice upon those who slight her or her comrades.  But in this instance, she bites her bottom lip and her fingers curl into the front of his chest plate to signal for undressing as her walls drip hot nectar at his voice using that name.  He drops his knee while their deft hands work away at their armor straps stripping to their under clothes.  “So begulling…”  He admires her body with a step backward to take in her full frame.  Ottehok stands at 6’1, slender build with divine muscle tone true to her Zebrak genetics.  She is quite the attractive creature through and through.  The Trandoshan heritage is identifiable with her eyes, voice, and tattoos which just add to her allure.  

Ottehok is the most unique being Crosshair has ever had the pleasure to work alongside.  

Crosshair aims to make her steady eyes roll into the back of her skull.  Maybe he can make her croak within the hull for all to hear.  Make them all hear how she likes to be used by an Off-Worlder; implying that this fornication is a testament to any men that hear their sex that Norsemen do not suffice to satisfy her.  The filthy things Ottehok craves from a man with the resolve to do it too her…  

Crosshair grabs a few condoms from a pack strapped to his armor and sets them atop a crate.  He leans back against a tall storage box with his arms folded across his chest, eyes fixated on Ottehok.  The lights are dim within the hull, he watches her from the surrounding darkness just outside the rim of light as she remains under a faint glow.  The shadows accentuate her womanly curves and brighten her peach-colored skin.  

“Strip.  Show me that pretty little peach of yours.”  He speaks with a smug smirk.  Ottehok gives him a show with bedroom eyes and a soft pouty look.  All being fueled by the ache between her legs.  She stands before him naked, taking it upon herself to follow his request to show him everything.  She hops onto a crate behind her and opens her legs, licking her fingers with her split tongue to spread her neatly tucked folds.  Crosshair is beyond pleased with the view.  

He inspects Ottehok further, he has been aware of her split tongue the first time she removed her helm to speak the night she had to explain the situation at the Ranges.  But now he can see everything.  Her nipples and navel are pierced, tattoos cover much of her body from her toes to her fingers reaching up to her neck.  Norslyr text etched into left side of her scalp that reads, ‘Take No Prisoners’ when her hair is arranged in fierce battle braids.  Her breasts are void of any ink; her solar plexus has an extremely detailed dagger pointed up towards her neck.  That is a very intense part of any anatomy to receive a blow let alone hours of ink.  His sights fall to the vivid red orange color of her pussy, the delicate skin there matches the color of her nipples and lips.  

Delicious.

Ottehok is built to endure the harshest of elements that Norsik has to offer.  Crosshair wants to see if she can withstand an element from the Void.  

Crosshair licks his lips and steps forward to place his skilled hands on her warm body.  They share a deep kiss before he breaks away and kneels to take in the sight of her peach.  His hands cup her breasts to tease her nipples as he dives in with his tongue to taste her decadent nectar.  She is touch starved, reacting to everything he does wherever his touch wanders.  The shivers he delivers through her body feel much like she was a virgin once more.  His tongue dips inside and then back to her clit spelling his name in Arubesh eliciting the lewdest of noises a woman can make.  Ottehok falls backward while gripping at his hands and hair.  He adds a finger and pumps it a few times before adding a second as her peach floods with juice mixed with his saliva.  

“Pabbi!”  She whines as her back arches off the crate and her legs begin to tense.  He rises to look her over, watching her orgasm erupt through her body as he keeps the pace with his fingers to thoroughly work her through it.  Her feet find purchase on the edge of the crate with her eyes glued shut as the comets stream across her vision.  His pace quickens and he angles his precise fingers to rub that special little spot inside her which forces her peach to overflow with sweet nectar onto the floor.  Crosshair removes his fingers and shoves them in her mouth as she tries to catch her breath.  

“What did you say?”  He asks near her ear then bites her neck.  She winces but gives her response through the action.

“Pabbi…daddy…”  Tears leave the corners of her eyes as he looks down upon her and removes his fingers from her mouth.  He licks away the streaks with a pleasant hum.

“Mm, I like that.  Call me pabbi or sir from now on, understand Peaches?”  Her body tremors at the pet name, from now on Crosshair is the only one allowed to call her that.  She nods and sits up to meet his lips again but he stops her with a hand to her shoulder.  “And… you need to ask for my permission to cum.”  Her lust filled gaze diminishes and she cups his jaw with knit brows.  

“I will play the name game, swallow your fluids, take your punishments.  But I will never ask for permission for my own orgasms.  Sir.”  This is the most she has ever really spoken to Crosshair in Arubesh, she is improving.  

“So, you are not going to comply?”  His eyes narrow with a sharp edge but Ottehok sneers and pushes him back for her own space.  She hops off the crate and nearly topples over as her legs are still shaking from her orgasm.  She bites her cheek to force herself to stand up as to not appear weak in front of him any longer.  Crosshair’s cock is a painful throbbing rod that is clearly visible to both people.  But now she has apparently received enough of a release to tap out, leaving him out to dry.  Crosshair is flooded with dangerous emotions, things he shouldn’t be feeling or thinking of.  

“You have no jurisdiction over me Voider.  This is my terra, my body.  We can continue but as I submit to you, I expect for you to make me cum.  As much as I want, as much as you can make me, and I do the same for you.”  Her trigger finger jabs into his chest with every point she makes, wearing a scowl that equally rivals his own.  “The hunt for orgasm is what keeps me submissive, Wingman.”  She finishes and crosses her arms with a face of determination he recognizes from her 116,400 hours of footage while in the Ranges when fighting Afkom.  Ottehok views Crosshair as a predator invading her hovel; a man pushing a set boundary.  Too not be snuffed he must respect her grounds.  

Crosshair sighs and his lip twitches for a second as if he had a toothpick between his lips.  “Very well.”  He acknowledges her terms and steps forward and places his hands on her shoulders.  He peers down at her with a softened gaze fixated on her stern look.  He wants to melt that look away and replace it with the face she had earlier when she was unraveling on his fingers.  “I will make you erupt with pleasure my sweet peach.  I just like to hear you beg for it…”  He admits lowly and kisses her forehead.  Her arms drop to his waist band pulling him flush against her as they embrace for this moment between them.  

“I can beg, sir.  I promise you; I will beg…”  Her sultry tone is silenced with a deep kiss and his cock is freed against her stomach.  She pulls up the hem of his undershirt and he removes it while her hands run down his body as she drops to her knees to pull his bottoms down to strip him naked with her.  

A hand strokes his shaft while the other cups his balls.  Her mouth laps at the bead of precum at the tip and her split tongue runs over his frenulum in a widely new sensation that forces a shallow groan to leave his chest.  Both hands fist her hair and has her mouth all to himself now.  She can take most of him in her throat, a hand comes to rest on his hip to push against it when he tries to get the last few inches inside her mouth.  Her eyes are wide with tears in the corner which is an erotic sight to Crosshair.  The sloppy gagging noises she makes fill the hull.  He continues to fuck her throat by just having his hands bob her head, if he were to start thrusting his hips, he’d most likely cum too soon.  

“Suck me harder…”  he coos brushing hair from her eyes so she can clearly look at him from below.  Messy noises come from her as she gags, bile comes up to coat his cock and down the front of her body and onto the floor.  He pulls her off with a click of his tongue and she coughs for air.  “You just love making messes, don’t you?”.  He says taking a fistful of hair to pull her up to her feet and guiding her back to the crate she was on earlier.  

“Always…p-pabbi…I’m sorry…”  She wipes her mouth with the back of a hand as he lifts her onto the crate to spread her legs.  She is soaking wet all the way down her legs, just a complete mess that this Clone Commander must clean up after they are done here.  Crosshair grabs a condom and rolls it on, he quickly glazes his cock in her nectar placing the head at her opening.  Before he plunges inside he anchors her down with a firm grip to her neck.  She replies with a devious smile and a pleading glint.  He smiles and gently pushes inside her in a fluid motion that has Ottehok moaning like a whore.  

Her toes curl, her eyes darken and squeeze tight, she nearly screams when he pulls back and thrusts back in a few times to penetrate her more deeply.  She is unbelievably tight, very closely to the feeling when she was a virgin and being…used…by members of Irrek Hall when she was young.  The very blistering pain of those memories that she has buried for so long come welling up and she starts to cry.  It is unnerving to Crosshair; he releases her throat and almost pulls out when she grasps his shoulder to stop him.

“No!  No please!  Please pabbi- Crosshair!  Don’t stop…”  While sobbing.  “I need this…”  

“Gah fine!  Just take it like this then!”  He berates impatiently and flips her onto her stomach to pound her from behind.  “But if it becomes too much you better say something or I will just keep going, understood?”  Ottehok nods her head wiping her nose with her hand as he bares down inside her mercilessly.  His hips snapping into her ass to make up for the loss of her warmth for those few seconds.  He grunts into her ear, her back arching whilst continuing to cry.  This feeling much better than all the past times, his girth stretching her open, length piercing her deeply, slapping her ass with an exciting ferocity that makes her cunt twitch around him.  Crosshair bends forward and hooks an arm around her neck to choke her in a new fashion.  His mouth nips at her ear, his grunts filling her canal as his cock fills her pussy like no Norseman has ever done before.  His hand comes to cover her mouth with his precise fingers covering her nose as he flexes his arm around her neck to near suffocation.  

One of her hands comes to his that is cupped to her face and the other slams the top of the crate to signal for air.  His fingers lift off from her nose and mouth, but his palm still presses to her cheek.  When he feels she’s caught enough air his fingers return to smother her again.  His fingers dive into her mouth to slicken them up for his next approach.  He pulls off her back releasing her from his grip and looks down at her round little ass.  His trigger finger pokes into her anus.  Her head pops up from the crate and she props her upper body up on her forearms and the back of her head is met with his left hand which forces her forehead to the crate.  Then he slides the rest of his long slender finger into her ass.  Her walls clench around his cock, triggering another eruption of nectar to spill from her splitting peach.  

“Such a dirty girl…”  He growls as she comes undone.  Her legs close together and with a disapproving click of his tongue Crosshair forces her legs apart with his feet and quickens his movements in her ass.  He drips a clear strand of saliva from his mouth to coat her anus to keep it lubricated for easier pleasure.  He fucks her again through another orgasm, Ottehok sobs and whines underneath Crosshair.  Her arms reach out to grasp the edge of the crate to anchor herself down as her stomach keeps rubbing against the rough surface of the crate in an uncomfortable manner.  Crosshair adds his middle finger to her ass as she begins to quiver around his cock, he needs to relax her.  He pulls himself out of her entirely, his arms wrap around her hips to lift her off the crate and lay her on the floor.  He rolls her onto her side, he comes to her back to take her from behind.  She purses her lips wanting a kiss which he obliges, then nudges her ass with the head of his cock.  Her hand grips his thigh as she takes him in, he nips at her ear and buries his face in her hair while slowly pushing his way into her tight cavity.  His hands roam her body to grasp her nipples and gently roll the nubs to stimulate her.  Ottehok feels like her body is burning, she is no longer crying now.  Crosshair has fucked the memories out of her mind for good.  Using every part of her like this, it is what she needed to forget the past.  She knows that she has control over her body, her own pleasure, how she needs it to be.  Her skills and what she has done for herself have afforded her the respect necessary to get what she wants, who is going to refuse an Executioner?  

No one.

Crosshair pushes in slowly; he makes it halfway in before she winces, nails dig into his thigh eliciting a slap to her face to ease the digging.  He quickly cups her throat to choke her and pulls back and thrusts back in trying to get deeper before a choked croak ripples through the column of her neck.  Her hips jerk away but he follows her movement to remain inside her and he ends up rolling on top of her to pin her down.  

“Too much!  Ah too much pabbi!”  She gasps out.  

“Then hold still and let me find a balance for us both!”  He shouts over her cries.

Crosshair rolls off her and back on to their sides.  His hands grasp her hips to keep her in place and his tongue trails up her neck.  He lightly bounces his cock inside her ass with half the length in.  It is warm with much more pressure around his cock than her pussy.  It is much easier to slide in and out of her pussy than her ass, but it feels great nonetheless.  “H-how does this feel Peaches?  Is this good?”  He asks trying not to sound like a little boy about to burst for the first time.  He’s never had the opportunity to try anal, he’s played with ass before but never got to penetrate it with his cock.  

Ottehok releases a beautiful sound from her chest as his cock splits her ass in two.  It begins to feel so pleasurable that he can start moving deeper inside as she relaxes with this gentler pace.  Quick and shallow, equivalent to rabbits.  Crosshair sees a smile spread across her face with a pink hue glowing on her cheeks.  She looks delighted.  

“I’m going to cum again, sir…”  She moans as a hand comes down to play with her clit.  He swats her hand away to take over for her, rubbing tight fast circles on her clit as she bucks forward from the quick stimulation.  

“Mm ahhh!  Slowly please pabbi!  Slowly…”  She ends her sentence with a shush while guiding his fingers to the rate of speed that she wants.  Her ass relaxes and she can take his entire cock now with ease.  Her moans grow in volume as she experiences yet another explosive orgasm from her ass this time.  

“Are you cumming?”  

“Ja!”

“From your ass?”  His voice a smooth husky tone.  

“Ja ja!  From your cock sir!  Alfodr!”

“Oh Peaches…”  His final words before she lets out an arousing croak while her ass contracts around his sheathed mass.  Her eyes roll into the back of her cranium as her core gushes with emanation.  He works her through it again followed by pulling out of her as she lays there seeing comets burning through atmospheres.  He rolls the condom off and sticks himself back into her ass with a few more pumps sending devastating aftershocks through her writhing body.  He bites her shoulder with a grip around her throat making her release choked gasps as his cock twitches, spewing hot molten cum inside of her.  

Ottehok reaches back over her shoulder to caress the heaving man behind her.  Arms gripping around her like a vice.  Cock softening inside her ass.  His eyes open to look at her, his arms lessen their grip, and she moves to separate from him.  They pick themselves off the ground to sit on an elongated crate on the floor.  Ottehok feels comfortable enough to lean against Crosshair’s shoulder, to reciprocate the closeness he rests his chin on her head.  Naturally they both scan the area around them to see if anyone had snuck in to watch them.  

Crosshair’s post nut clarity kicks in and he moves to stand first which he does with ease after only cumming once.  Ottehok remains seated, panting by herself as Crosshair begins to redress in his blacks and gathering her under clothes to bring to her on the crate.  

“We should shower.”  He says first to break the silence.  

“You can.  I must start my trek back to the Ranges.”  She says pulling her clothes back on.  

“You can’t be serious.”  He stops all movement to gawk at her ridiculous statement.  

“Ja.”  She nods and moves to pick at pieces of her armor.  

“You are going to start your trek…a fourteen-rotation journey back to the Ranges like this?  A complete filthy wreck.”  He folds his arms looking down at her from above.  

She looks up at him with a cocked brow,

” Ja.  This is my penance for taking an extra day for myself.  I should have left yesterday immediately after Phara was put down.”  She breaks eye contact to strap her plates on with more focus.  Crosshair just stares, baffled by her resolve and the sudden realization that she just used him to punish herself for selfishness, if it can even be called that.  From her decade in the Ranges, to the March to Cleanse Thovid and the March back to Bjornheim, then the Liberation of Bjornheim…just to take twenty-four hours for herself to rest, eat, and be fucked before trekking back to that Helscape.  

Kriffing Norse.

YOU GUYS.

HEAR ME OUT.

WAIT- WAIT-

WAIT-

YOU READY???

Crosshair x Reader x Sev ……….

Guilty Pleasure

Word Count: 2.8k Pairing: post finale Crosshair x fem jedi!reader, past references to techxreader (tech girlies beware this one might hurt) Warnings: well its post finale, so some sad tech talk. angst and a lil fluff and bad proof reading Summary: Even with everything over and everyone back on Pabu, you and Crosshair still hadn't discussed a few things. Him hunting you, his feelings for you, or Tech. It was time. Some literal guilty pleasure.

You’d been separated from Clone Force 99 for months before your paths crossed again and Crosshair was long gone.

Initially, you attributed Crosshair’s continued attempts on your life to the influence of the inhibitor chip. But when Crosshair admitted that his chip was removed, your anger was uncontrollable—echoing the fury you felt on Kaller, the day he turned against you.

Your rage faded when you accidentally stumbled upon an old trunk filled with his gear. Buried under his armor was a small bundle of fabric. His privacy meant little at that point so you plucked it out and undid the bundle.

Inside, you found a tiny tube made from woven straw—a playful gift you had once hidden in his pack as a lighthearted jest about his constant need for toothpicks. The memory of him discovering it on a mission, his irritation palpable as he scolded you for invading his space, flashed through your mind. 

Seeing this keepsake tucked away amongst his most personal items confused you.

Turning the fabric over in your hand you recognized it as material from your old Jedi robe. When you chose armor over cloth you chose to discard the last physical remains of your Jedi life. 

Before you threw the robe away, however, you had playfully snipped off a hand-sized piece and tossed it into Crosshair’s lap, teasing him that it would be the closest he'd ever get to truly 'touching' a Jedi.

The only two things you’d ever given him and he’d kept them even after Kaller. You thought back to Crosshair before Kaller and some things looked different now.

His cutting remarks, always sharp and ready, his teasing, the intense way he often watched you—what you had once perceived as dismissive and aggravating, designed to unsettle you, now seemed to have been his attempt at playful banter. It was his own manner of expressing familiarity, albeit aggressively.

Hidden in the memories of butting heads, you dug up moments of subtle gentleness from the sniper. There were times he offered you a hand while navigating unsteady ground and carrying your pack - albeit biting about slowing the squad down.

There had been a time or two when you caught what could only be described as the ghost of a smile on Crosshair's lips—a hint that perhaps he found you attractive. Yet, his careful distance had always reassured you there was nothing more to it.

Now, looking at the items before you, doubts crept in. He had kept these tokens; he must have felt something for you, however slight. How had you failed to notice any signs?

When you heard footsteps on approach you made quick work of putting the trunk back together and in its place. It wasn’t until you saw Tech, checking your progress locating the tools, that a thought dawned on you.

Tech—the brother to whom Crosshair had been closest, the one he had always been perfectly in sync with. The one who looked at you like you were something to covet.

It all became very obvious. Of course, Crosshair would have been aware of Tech’s affection for you. Not much got past him, not with his sniper’s instinct for reading the subtleties of his surroundings.

To Crosshair, Tech’s natural ease around you would have been painfully clear. His loyalty towards his brother meant he would never do anything to undermine Tech’s happiness.

Yet, through it all he’d kept a piece of you for himself.

It made a funny feeling float through your chest. A mix of regret and gratitude.

Crosshair was an objective and loyal man. He put things above himself. His feelings, his wants, they didn’t  matter to him compared to his duties.

Eventually, you found it impossible to hold any resentment towards him for his actions. It was simply who he was. Even his actions that felt so deeply personal were dictated by his role as a soldier of the Empire. His entire sense of purpose was defined by his commitment to his duties.

Yet he still tucked away, in a corner only he’d see, a part of you to himself.

Looking up at Tech, the man you so thoroughly adored, gratitude swelled in you. The least you could do was forgive and accept Crosshair for who he was. You decided to extend him the patience and love he didn’t allow himself.

In his absence, you’d honor that by keeping his brothers safe for him. As you followed Tech out of the Marauder, you silently vowed to never let anything happen to them again.

A vow you failed to keep.

With each trek across the galaxy in search of Omega, alongside Wrecker and Hunter, the weight of your unkept promise grew heavier. The first sign of relief came unexpectedly—a transmission from Omega, her voice crackling through the Marauder’s comms.

You were only a hair’s breadth behind Wrecker when you ran to Omega. You stood back as Wrecker twirled her around, watched her run to Hunter, and allowed them the space of a family.

A familiar sensation hummed over your shoulder. A feeling you hadn’t felt since…

You swung around and standing in the light of the ship was Crosshair.

Weeks went by and reconnecting with Crosshair was more difficult than you anticipated. You’d both changed and the space left by Tech constantly hung between you.

Crosshair needed the same time and space he’d once afforded you. You wouldn’t push him, but that didn’t stop you from poking him. He was more compliant than when you first met and time on Pabu with Omega only made him more so.

When Omega told you about meditating with Crosshair, you knew you had to make the most of the opportunity.

On the back side of the island, there was a natural pool that became a frequent haunt of yours for meditation.

Floating in the waters, eyes shut and head relaxing on a rock, you’d been waiting and ready with your senses extended. Of all the brothers, Crosshair was the one who kept no pretenses about going unnoticed. He knew well that if he could spot someone watching him from a klick away, a former Jedi like you would easily sense him without even sight.

“Omega said you wanted me.” Crosshair’s voice cut through the quiet.

You twisted in the water, pushing yourself to sit up. “Took you long enough.”

“You’re lucky I came.” He retorted, arms crossed and shifting his weight onto one hip. He surveyed you with a raised eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

As you sat up, the waterline dipped just enough to reveal that the cloth wrapping your chest was now transparent. You noted his sharp intake of breath before he clicked his tongue and looked away, a subtle blush on his cheeks.

You smiled and gestured to the empty pool beside you, “Join me.”

His lip curled into his nose, “Why?” You didn’t deign him with a response, instead remaining with your hand outstretched.

Crosshair sighed and moved to sit on the rocks bordering the water. You splashed a bit of water at him. “Ah-ah! I meant join me in the water, Crosshair.”

His eyes narrowed on you, but after a moment of grumbling, he began to strip off his clothes. The moment the skin of his abdomen came into view, you averted your eyes, suddenly realizing you weren’t as prepared for this you thought.

Crosshair finally stepped into the water, his movements slow. He stood there for a moment, seemingly contemplating his next move, as the water lapped quietly around him.

You reached out and tugged on one of his fingers, coaxing him deeper into the water. “Sit back,” He let you guide, but he was stiff as stone, sitting rigidly against the rocks.

You sat adjacent to him, giving him ample space to relax if he so chose.

Despite the serene environment, Crosshair remained tense, his gaze fixed on the water in front of him, his thoughts miles away. Leaning through the water, you gripped his calf and pulled it over your lap. The sudden motion caused him to slip slightly; his hands scrambled through the water, seeking stability.

Now forcibly reclined, he pursed his lips but withheld whatever comment he had simmering. You met his resistance with a raised eyebrow and a light pinch, “Stay with me. Now, lay back.”

He blinked a few times, but again he complied. His head was resting against a stone behind him, his body from the chest down beneath the water line. You began to massage his calves. As you worked he spoke., “Why did you call me here?” His eyes were on the sky, deliberately avoiding yours.

“They say water’s supposed to be good for healing.” You mused, watching him carefully. For once, your roles were reversed. You took in everything about him while he sat back, trying to shut you out. 

“And who, exactly, is ‘they’?”

“Old, dead Jedi,” you replied with a light scoff, but the humor faded quickly. Your gaze dropped to your hands, momentarily still on Crosshair’s leg. You had referenced the Jedi Purge so casually, yet between you and Crosshair, it was anything but lighthearted.

“Crosshair-”

“I’m sorry.” He interrupted, his eyes finally meeting yours. For hunting you.

Your stomach twisted at the sight of him. His head tilted to the side, eyebrows pulled together, lips pressed tightly. He looked defeated, ashamed, devastated. “I—”

You lurched forward, placing a hand over his mouth. Crosshair’s eyes darted between your touch and your face. You couldn’t think too much about touching because thinking of how close you were was distracting in and of itself.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice wavering. Your hand then slipped to cradle his chin, your head shaking gently. “You don’t need to say that. I know who you are, Crosshair.” His eyes widened in surprise, and when you started to pull your hand away, he quickly grasped your wrist, holding onto the contact.

Despite the emotion swelling in your chest, your voice was steady. “Whatever happened, whatever you’ve done - it’s not changed how much I care about you.” You held his eyes, hoping to reach the dark parts of him he clung to. Leaning closer you swept a thumb over his cheek. “So let me be here for you.”

The next breath he took wasn’t shaky, but smooth and sure. He closed his eyes and, on exhale, opened them looking a little lighter. Crosshair gave a small nod, softer than you ever thought possible.

Giving his face a gentle squeeze, you smiled, removed your hand, and sat back. Sitting back, your chest lifted above the water again. Crosshair’s eyes dipped for a moment before looking skyward again and drifting shut once more.

Your hands drifted back to his calves still laying across your lap. The flutter of his eyes and the little hitch in his breath didn’t escape your attention. It made your fingers dig in harder. 

“Seeing you in your old armor has been nice.” 

He only grunted in response.

You fidgeted for a moment, but casually probed, “Was everything in your trunk the way you’d left it?”

“I’m wearing it all, aren't I?”

You lowered your voice, saying “I wasn’t talking about your armor.” The sniper tensed under your touch. “Cross.” You watched him, eyes averted, swallow. 

A muscle feathered in his jaw, “You looked through my trunk.”

You made no attempt to hide it. “I did. You kept a few things of mine.”

“I did.” He matched your limited honesty.

“Why?”

Crosshair’s lips tightened into a wry smile and his head fell to the side to face you. “Why don’t you take a guess?”

You blinked absently, a thoughtful frown tugging at you. You weren’t sure if this was a line he wanted you to cross. Or if you wanted to for that matter. Leaving it up to him you said, “You tell me.”

Crosshair stared at you for a few beats, looking between your eyes, but pushed up in the water as opposed to divulging anything. Drawing his legs off of yours, he stood in the water and silently climbed his way out of the pool.

He was shutting down and shutting you out.

Panicking, you stood to go after him, pleading. “Crosshair, stop.” Stretching out from the pool you managed to clip a finger. “Please. I’m sorry, I-”

Crosshair yanked his hand from yours, his fingers curling into fists. Keeping his back to you, Crosshair tilted his head like he was considering looking back. He was struggling and the panic of having broached the subject at all sunk into you.

Finally, his feet shifted and turned to face you again. His knuckles went white and he broke the silence, “You were… the first time Tech cared about someone other than our squad. I saw how he looked at you.”

Tech’s name stole the air from you. You’d not said it out loud in so long and this wasn’t the way you wanted to. 

Crosshair didn’t give you a choice, he crouched to your level and continued, “But he wasn’t the only one who saw you.” He let out a low breath, like he was free of a weight he’d held for so long.

An odd flutter rattled through you. Perched there in front of you, Crosshair was every bit the sharpshooter you’d first met. Seeing right through you and something in his eyes. Something you were never able to place before now.

It was want. He wanted you.

The thought stilled you. He still wanted you.

Crosshair dropped his head, whispering in a pained voice, “And I couldn’t - I won’t-”

You couldn’t listen to another word, so you broke your own heart, you said, “Tech wouldn’t want you living like that.” 

Crosshair’s head snapped up and he was just as shocked as you were. Shocked at you admitting a very hard truth. 

You opened your mouth to say something, but couldn’t find a single syllable to say. Didn’t know if you even could if you did. Before you lost your nerve, you pushed yourself from the waters and looped your arms around Crosshair’s neck.

Crosshair remained firm against the weight of you, his arms hesitantly reciprocating your embrace. The two of you sat like that for some time, soaking wet and holding each other with only your breathing to the silence. 

Clearing his throat, Crosshair gently untangled you. He pushed you back just enough to see your face. 

His eyes fell to your lips and when he met your eyes again there was something heavy in him. There had always been something unspoken between you and it now sat like a hot coal between you.

Your lips parted and caught his attention again. He swallowed and slowly brought his lips to yours, pausing one last time before pressing into you. Your response was immediate, deepening the kiss the moment your lips met. His hands were quick to settle on your waist, holding you against him and matching your fervor.

You didn’t want to feel everything at once. You just wanted to be lost in the feel of Crosshair and forget the rest. 

His hunger for you, buried for so long. flared to the surface. You felt and tasted better than he’d imagined. And he had imagined you often.

The burst of repressed fantasies caught Crosshair off guard enough that he broke the kiss. You were left panting and slightly dazed. Crosshair searched your flushed face for any sign of regret, but instead he found you doing the same to him.

This time you were the one to close the gap, gently pressing your lips together again. The kiss was softer and more intimate, allowing you to savor the feel of his lips. It had been a long time since you’d touched someone like this.

He tasted bittersweet.

Eventually you broke apart and both lowered to the ground. Crosshair hung his head back, sighed and a small smile lifted the corner of his lips. Leaning back on his good hand, Crosshair lifted a brow. “Was this your plan all along?”

You watched him for a moment, was he really joking right now?

Scoffing, you ran your fingers through your hair. “No.” Scooting over to Crosshair, you put a hand on his knee. With a genuine tone, you added “But thank you for coming out. And for-.”

Crosshair snorted,  interrupting you. “That’s enough of that for now.” Rolling onto his back and looking to the sky once more. Closing his eyes, he murmured sarcastically, “Healing waters, huh?”

“Something like that.”

taglist: @baddest-batchers @bruh-myguy-what @jetii

I have a request! Works been rough lately, can I get a fem reader/Crosshair with “let me distract you” when he visits her during a tough shift? Love your work, thank you!

-dumfanting

The Perfect Distraction*** 🌊

🫧 Pairings: Crosshair X Female!Reader

word count: 2.6k

Prompts:

• “Let me distract you.”

Plot: When work is non-stop, you feel yourself overwhelmed and in need of a break. Luckily for you, your other half came at the right time.

Authors note: sorry that work has been tough lately @dumfanting 🩵 hopefully things have gotten better. If not, here’s some soft Crosshair to make your day better. (Sorry for the wait)

warnings: NSFW, 18+ only. Explicit Sexual Content and Language. Female Reader, Work Stress, Light Angst, Established Relationship, Massage, Soft Smut, Vaginal Sex, Cunnilingus, Aftercare, Comfort, Kissing, Neck Kissing and Sucking.

A neon sign by the door flickers, glowing with a dim "OPEN" that buzzes faintly in the background. It’s barely holding on, much like you are at this point.

Your shop that you owned for a few years is - to be blunt - a mess. A current maze of half-disassembled speeders and crates of mismatched parts, with wires and hydro spanners scattered across every available surface. The usual hum of machinery sounded through the space, barely masking your own frustrated grunts as you try to wrangle yet another malfunctioning power converter back into shape. But no matter how hard you work, it feels like the pile of jobs only grows larger, while your supply of critical parts dwindles.

Then, you hear the familiar irritating buzz of the door, followed by heavy footsteps. You grit your teeth, already bracing yourself for what’s coming.

A burly customer storms in, his face flushed with anger. “This is ridiculous!” he snaps. “You said my speeder would be ready days ago! What kind of operation are you running here? I’ve been waiting long enough!” He throws his arms up in frustration, knocking over a pile of circuit boards in the process.

You open your mouth to respond, trying to keep your tone steady despite the stress bubbling under the surface. “Look, I’ve got a shortage of parts. I’m doing everything I can—”

He cuts you off, voice rising. “I don’t want excuses! You’re supposed to be a mechanic, not some scrap peddler! If you can’t get it done, I’ll take it somewhere that can.”

Before you can get another word in, a cold, measured voice slices through the tension. “I think you’ve said enough.”

The customer whips around to see Crosshair leaning against the wall, twirling a familiar toothpick between his lips. But there’s nothing casual about the deadly look in his eyes. He straightens up, moving to stand between you and the customer, his hand resting near his blaster as if daring the guy to push his luck. “Back off and leave the lady alone,” he snarls, tone voice dipped with venom as he flicks the pick at the customer's chest.

Their bravado is quick to vanish. He stammers, trying to recover some of his bluster, but it’s clear he’s rattled. “I—I just want my speeder fixed…” He takes a step back, bumping into a tool cart and nearly knocking it over in his haste to retreat.

“Then take it somewhere else,” Crosshair replies coolly, his eyes never leaving the man. The customer mutters something under his breath and stumbles out of the shop.

For a moment, all you can do is exhale, letting the tension drain from your shoulders. You shoot Crosshair a look—half-irritation, half-gratitude. “Well, there goes another job. Not that I’m upset about it,” you mutter, rubbing your temple. “But still, I don’t need to be losing more credits.”

Crosshair simply shrugs, clearly unconcerned. “Credits won’t matter much if you’re burnt out.”

You huff, feeling the exhaustion catch up to you. “Burnt out is putting it lightly. It’s been one thing after another all day. Parts shortages, broken motivators, customers demanding miracles. I’m running myself crazy, and no one seems to care that I can’t fix what I don’t have.” Your voice wavers slightly as the frustration spills over. “I’m one person, Crosshair. I can’t keep this up.”

He listens quietly, his sharp gaze softening as he takes in the stress etched on your face. Without a word, he steps over to the door and flips the neon “OPEN” sign to “CLOSED.”

When he turns back to you, he’s closer now, his tone gentler. “What can I do?”

You look up at him, feeling a lump in your throat at the kindness in his voice. Before you can answer, he pulls you into his arms, wrapping you in a secure embrace. You really needed this.

The warmth of him, combined with the rare tenderness in the way he holds you, makes your chest tighten with relief. You let yourself sink into him, closing your eyes as you take in the steady rhythm of his breathing. For a moment, the clutter of the shop and the never-ending to-do list fades into the background.

“Just this,” you whisper, feeling the weight of the day lift ever so slightly. “This is enough.”

Crosshair’s hand moves in slow circles on your back, offering a silent comfort that says more than words could. His eyes then move toward your cluttered office tucked in the back of the shop. “Why don’t we head to your office? You could use a break.”

You nod, feeling a wave of fatigue wash over you. The office is far from tidy—tools, spare parts, and datapads are scattered all over—but there’s a worn couch in the corner that’s always offered a bit of comfort when you need a breather. Crosshair leads the way, and you follow.

You sigh heavily as you begin pacing in your cluttered office, not being able to help but continue venting your frustrations. “It’s like everything’s falling apart at once. Staff keep canceling their shifts, leaving me to pick up the slack. I’m drowning in work with no one to help, and my orders for parts are delayed again! I can’t catch a break, and I’m starting to think I’ll never dig myself out of this mess.”

Crosshair moves towards the couch, slouching back in his usual relaxed manner and his sharp eyes follow your every move. He doesn’t interrupt, just lets you get it all out. When you finally pause to catch your breath, he speaks, his voice calm and steady. “Come here.”

You look at him, still frazzled, but the calm assurance in his tone pulls you toward him. You sit beside him, and he wastes no time, guiding you against his chest as he wraps his arm around you. You lean your head back against his shoulder, trying to let go of the day’s weight.

Crosshair’s fingers trail lightly along your arm, his presence grounding you. He leans in close, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs, “Let me distract you.”

You hum softly in response, your lips curling into a faint smile at the suggestion. “You think you can really take my mind off all this?” you ask. Oh you definitely know he can.

Instead of answering, he starts massaging your shoulders, his touch firm and soothing. His skilled hands work out the tension, moving slowly, melting away the stress you’ve been carrying. As his fingers glide over your muscles, your body begins to relax, the tension easing with every pass. His thumbs press into the knots with just the right amount of pressure, and you let out a quiet, contented sigh.

“See?” he murmurs against your neck, “You’re already feeling better.”

His hands continue their path down your back, trailing lower before slipping back up along your sides. His touch is tender, coaxing you into a calm state that contrasts with his usual intensity. Crosshair is rarely gentle, but right now, it’s exactly what you need.

The atmosphere shifts, the tension turning into something else entirely. He pauses, and you feel his lips brush the shell of your ear as he whispers, “Is this how you wanted to be distracted?”

The teasing lilt in his voice makes you bite your lip, your pulse quickening. “Maybe… but I think you know what I really need,” you reply, your voice breathy as your desire begins to build.

Crosshair chuckles, clearly pleased with your response. His hands drift lower, sliding over your hips and down your thighs before slipping back up. You feel his fingers hook into the waistband of your pants, tugging them down just enough to grant him access. Your breath hitches as his hand dips beneath the fabric of your dampened panties, his fingers brushing against your already slick folds.

“Is this what you had in mind?” he asks, his voice a low rumble against your ear as he begins to tease you, his touch feather-light and maddeningly slow.

A quiet whimper escapes you as his fingers trace gentle circles over your clit, his touch skilled and precise. “Crosshair…” you breathe, a plea hidden in your tone.

He smirks against your neck, enjoying the way you’re beginning to unravel in his arms. “I thought you needed a distraction,” he murmurs, sliding a finger inside you, teasingly slow. He works you with agonising precision, each movement calculated to draw out your need.

You arch against him, gasping softly as his fingers press deeper, his thumb maintaining a steady rhythm against your clit. “This what you wanted?” he taunts, slowly adding a finger inside you, curling them just right and hitting that perfect spot.

Your body answers for you, a shuddering moan escaping your lips as you grip his arm, your hips moving in time with his touch. The stress, the tension, everything melts away under his skilled hands, leaving only the building pleasure that threatens to tip you over the edge.

Crosshair’s free hand wraps around your waist, holding you steady as he continues to work you with an almost unbearable precision. “Let it go,” he murmurs against your neck, his voice velvet and commanding all at once.

And you do, falling apart in his arms. The pleasure crashes over you in waves as his fingers carry you through your release. He doesn’t stop until you’re trembling, spent and breathless against him.

For a moment, the world narrows down to just the sound of your breathing and the warmth of his arms around you. Eventually, Crosshair withdraws his hand, holding you close as you come down from the high, pressing a tender kiss to your temple.

“Feeling better?” he asks, his voice smug but laced with genuine concern.

You manage a tired, satisfied smile, still basking in the afterglow. “A little, yeah,” you whisper, sinking deeper into his embrace.

“Only a little?” He asks with a raised brow. He shifts positions, taking your waist and gently lifting and then laying you flat across the couch, crawling over the top of you. “That’s not good enough, is it?” His breath is warm against your skin, his eyes darting from your eyes to your lips.

You find yourself grinning, completely obsessed with your boyfriend. “I suppose it isn’t,” you gasp the second the words leave your lips, his mouth on yours with a tender, slow and sensual kiss.

“Let’s fix that,” Crosshair’s lips press a final kiss to your neck before he slides lower, his gaze never leaving yours as he settles between your legs. You’re already breathless, anticipation tingling through your veins. His movements are deliberate but unhurried, as if savoring the effect he has on you.

He hooks a finger around the side of your panties, pulling them aside with a casual ease that sends a shiver up your spine. His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you, his usual sharp demeanor softened by the affection in his gaze.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his voice a low rasp as he leans in closer. The word is both a command and a promise. Then, without breaking eye contact, he dips his head, his lips brushing your inner thigh before his mouth finds exactly where you need him.

His touch is slow, precise, completely different from his usual rough and demanding approach. The contrast sends waves of pleasure through you, and you can’t help but melt into the couch, your body responding eagerly to his attention. He takes his time, his tongue moving in smooth, deliberate strokes that drive you wild while keeping you tethered.

You gasp softly, arching into his touch, your fingers tangling in his hair as he continues to work you with a patience that’s almost agonising. “So, beautiful.” He moans into your clit.

He seems completely focused on drawing out every bit of tension, coaxing your pleasure higher and higher with each careful movement. Every kiss, every flick of his tongue is calculated, designed to make you feel like you’re the center of his world.

Unable to resist the pull, you reach for the hem of your top and tug it off, tossing it aside. Crosshair doesn’t miss a beat—his hands are quick to slide up your torso, fingers grazing your sensitive skin as he cups your breasts. His thumbs brush over your nipples, sending electric sparks of pleasure through you as his mouth continues its unhurried rhythm below.

You moan his name, your voice laced with both need and admiration. He hums against you in response, the vibration adding another layer of sensation that has you clutching the couch cushions, completely lost in the pleasure he’s giving you.

After what feels like an eternity of bliss, he finally shifts, moving back up your body with slow, languid kisses, each one lingering as if he’s savoring your taste. He presses his lips to yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue before he whispers against your mouth, “I told you, I’m not done yet.”

Your breath hitches as he pulls back just enough to reach down and free himself. He takes his time, positioning himself between your legs, his hands sliding up your thighs to hold you steady as he aligns himself with you. But before he moves, he locks eyes with you, his gaze filled with an intensity that makes your heart race.

“I’m going to take all that tension away,” he promises, his voice rough with desire, but there’s a softness there too—a genuine care that makes you feel cherished, not just desired. “Just let me take care of you.”

As he slowly enters you, every inch deliberate and controlled, you feel the world narrow down to just this moment—the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the way he fills you completely. His movements are slow but powerful, every thrust purposeful, designed to make you feel every bit of him. It’s intimate, soothing, and completely overwhelming in the best way.

He keeps whispering soft praises, his voice a rough murmur in your ear. “That’s it… just like that… you’re doing so good for me.” His hands roam your body, caressing your skin as if he’s grounding you in the here and now, making sure you stay connected and completely focused on him.

His pace is steady, as if he has all the time in the galaxy to show you exactly how much he cares. The dirty talk flows naturally, his words laced with affection. “You’re perfect like this… so beautiful when you let go.”

The way he moves, the way he speaks—it’s all meant to draw you further into this shared moment, making you forget about the stress and exhaustion from earlier. The tension in your muscles, the weight on your mind, all dissolve under the weight of his attention.

As the pleasure builds, you can feel yourself falling apart in the best way, and he’s right there with you, guiding you through it with whispered reassurances and gentle touches. When you finally reach your peak, he’s watching you with a look that’s both possessive and full of awe, like he’s proud of how you’ve given yourself over to him completely.

“C—Crosshair…mmm, I’m goin’ to cum.” You rasp, your back arching into him as stars begin to blur your vision.

He doesn’t stop until you do. Letting you ride out your orgasm on his cock until you’re fully sated. He reaches his own high, panting your name softly before he pulls out and spurts his velvet white seed all over your stomach and breasts.

As your body relaxes and becomes loose in his embrace, he leans over you and places a tender kiss to your lips as he holds you close, letting you bask in the aftermath.

When you finally catch your breath, he gives you that familiar smirk, his voice filled with smug satisfaction. “Now… how’s that for taking the tension away?”

You can’t help but laugh softly, feeling lighter than you have in days. “More than enough,” you whisper, still wrapped in his arms, grateful for the way he always knows exactly how to care for you.

That is the distraction you definitely needed today.

Tags: @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @jesseeka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @lamiliani @imalovernotahater @sithstrings @lulalovez

@tentakelspektakel @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder r @mysticalgalaxysalad @yunggoblin @photogirl894

Promises Made (pt. 3/3)

Part One | Part Two

Pairing: Crosshair x fem!Reader / Crosshair x Jedi!Reader

Words: 10,651 / 23,314

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! angst, hurt/comfort, themes of grief/death/mourning, protective!Crosshair, mutual pining, smut, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, overstimulation

Summary: Crosshair is back, and you're the only one who still can't seem to forgive him. When you finally have the lead you've been seeking since the extinction of the Jedi, you seize the opportunity to escape the constant turmoil his presence causes you. Of course, Crosshair has other plans.

A/N: Okay yes so this chapter is almost half the entire word count, and yes it's because of the smut, but it's also because of love. Thank you so much to everyone who commented and shared this fic. I hope this is the satisfying ending you were hoping for. 💙

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

Crosshair stood vigil while you moved dirt and silt, using the Force to finish smoothing over the makeshift grave. He remained quiet as you knelt beside the fresh patch of earth, placing the stone on top. And he watched as you bowed your head, saying a quiet prayer for the Jedi Master. 

You did all you could, burying him deep under a layer of rocks and snow, a final resting place for the man you once thought of as a father. You weren't able to give him the funeral pyre he deserved, not with the storm raging around you, but at least he had a final resting place. And maybe, you could come back when the weather was better, and have a proper ceremony.

Now, you stand, your Master's lightsaber in your hand, the wind whipping at your face. You're chilled to the bone, but the pain is nothing compared to the grief in your chest. You stare at the ground, at the stone that marks his grave, and the tears are a welcome relief.

Crosshair remains a respectful distance away, and you can feel his gaze, his concern. His presence is a comfort, and you take a deep breath, your eyes slipping closed.

"We should head back," he says quietly.

You nod, and the tears sting your cheeks. But your feet remain rooted to the ground, the grief like a physical weight holding you in place.

"Hey."

Crosshair's voice is soft, and you feel his hand on your shoulder. The world comes back into sharp focus under his touch.

You turn to look at him, and the sight of him is almost enough to make you break down. He moves closer, his gaze sweeping slowly over you, and his other hand lifts, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks. You want to say something, but the words die in your throat.

He pulls you to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around you. The sudden movement surprises you, and you gasp, but his grip is strong, and you let yourself melt into his embrace.

"It's okay," he murmurs. "Let it out."

The small hiccups you allow yourself turn into sobs, the sound muffled by his armor as he rubs circles on your back. It's been a long time since anyone's held you like this, and you can't stop the tears.

"I've got you," he says quietly, barely loud enough for you to hear over the wind swirling around you.

You wrap your arms around him, holding onto him like a lifeline. Crosshair is strong and solid and real, and you can feel the weight of his arm around your waist, can hear the beating of his heart through his chest. His fingers brush against the nape of your neck, and you shiver. He doesn't let go, doesn't loosen his grip, and you can feel the warmth of his touch spreading slowly throughout your body.

You're not sure how long he holds you, but you know the two of you can't stay out in the storm forever. You pull away, wiping the tears from your eyes.

You feel the embarrassment creeping in, and you hate the fact that he saw you like this, weak and vulnerable. It's why you wanted to do this on your own, yet you can't help but be grateful for Crosshair's company. You’re not sure if you would have been able to go through with it without him.

He pulls his arm away, his hand lingering on your shoulder. "You ready?"

"Yeah, I..." You look down at the lightsaber in your hands and back to the grave. Your throat feels tight, and your voice is rough.

"You should keep it," Crosshair says.

"I can't. It's his, I—"

"He would've wanted you to have it."

You shake your head, unable to respond. You're not worthy of the weapon, the honor, and you're not sure you'll ever be.

"Take it," he says, his voice soft. "It's the only thing you have left of him."

"But—"

"Take it," he says again. His voice is almost pleading. It makes you hesitate, and your fingers twitch.

He lifts his hand, covering your own. His touch is gentle, and his fingers curl around yours, his gloves pressing against your skin, molding your grip.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"Don't thank me," he says, his tone serious. "You deserve it."

Your heart swells, and your throat tightens.

"Okay," you say at last. You tuck the saber into your bag, the weight heavy against your hip.

"Come on," he says, tilting his head. "Let's get back to the ship."

You follow him, and the two of you trudge through the snow. It's nearly up to your knees now, and the wind is blowing hard, making your teeth chatter. Your wet clothes cling to your skin, your feet are freezing, and the temperature is dropping fast.

By the time the you're nearing the landing zone where you left the Marauder, you're shivering uncontrollably. Your limbs feel stiff and numb, your joints aching. Crosshair keeps pace beside you, and he doesn't say anything, but his hand is on your arm, supporting you.

The Marauder looms ahead, the ship's silhouette stark against the horizon. You can see the outline of the cockpit, and you try to pick up your pace, eager to get inside and away from the snow and wind. You're shivering violently, and you can feel the cold seeping into your bones.

"Are you going to be okay tonight?" Crosshair asks. 

You're not sure if he's referring to the weather, or the loss, or both, but either way, you know the answer. 

It’s not the one you give him, though.

"Yeah," you mutter. "I'll be fine."

He sighs. "Liar."

"I'll manage."

"No, you won't." He shakes his head, and the gesture is almost exasperated. You can't help but huff.

"Why, are you offering to cuddle?" You try to smirk, to deflect with humor, but his grip on your arm tightens.

"If it'll help."

Your heart skips a beat, and you stare at him. The cold is making you delirious, that's the only explanation for the words that leave his mouth.

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah.” Crosshair avoids your gaze. "You can sleep in my bunk."

"Okay," you say after a moment, and his head snaps up, as though he can't believe the word came from your mouth. The grip on your arm tightens.

"Really?"

You shrug, trying to ignore the way your heart races at the thought of sharing a bed with him. You tell yourself that it's the cold, that he's offering comfort, and that the offer has nothing to do with any lingering feelings he may or may not have.

"Yeah," you say, and the word comes out a little too hoarse. "Why not?"

There's about a million reasons why not, but you don't say them. Instead, you wait, watching him carefully. He looks at you, and even though you can't see his expression, you can feel the intensity of his gaze. 

"Alright," he says, his voice gruff, and the hand on your arm moves, sliding up to rest on your shoulder.

The two of you reach the ship, and the ramp opens, a blast of hot air hitting you in the face. Crosshair helps you up, and the warmth feels so good that you want to cry.

You immediately throw off your bag and kneel to brush the snow from your boots, and you're vaguely aware of him moving past you, toward the cockpit. He tugs off his helmet and tosses it aside, and it lands on the floor somewhere with a dull thump. 

By the time you get your legs to cooperate and rise, Crosshair is already settled in the pilot's seat, running through the preflight checks. Despite being the better pilot of the two of you, you let him take control, not trusting yourself to fly right now. You're tired, and you're cold, and the grief is weighing heavy on your heart.

When you slide into the copilot's seat, he glances over at you, his dark eyes meeting yours. You stare at each other, and you have the urge to say something, anything, to break the silence. But he's looking at you with an intensity that makes your stomach flip, and the words die in your throat. He turns away just as quickly, his attention returning to the console, and the moment passes.

You try to help him prep the ship, but the exhaustion is too much, and the adrenaline is wearing off. You can't stop shivering, and your muscles ache, the pain nearly unbearable. Crosshair pushes your hand away when you try to set the coordinates back to Pabu, and you can't find it in you to fight him.

He lifts off, the ship groaning in protest, and the wind howls outside. The Marauder shudders, buffeted by the harsh weather, and the engine whines as he navigates the ship into the atmosphere. He's tense, his fingers curled tightly around the controls.

He engages the hyperdrive once you break through the clouds into the atmosphere, and the ship hums, the stars stretching into hyperspace. You slump in your seat, exhaustion and grief taking their toll. You lean your head back, and your eyelids droop.

You're barely aware of him as he stands, and the next thing you know, you feel his arms scooping you up, lifting you easily. You blink, and his face is inches from yours. Your arms wrap around his neck instinctively, clinging to him as he walks.

"I can walk," you protest weakly.

"Shut up," he says, but you can hear the concern in his voice. "You're freezing."

You try to come up with a witty retort, but the words don't come, and you're too tired to care. Crosshair carries you through the ship, and you close your eyes, resting your head against his shoulder, the heat of his body a welcome relief.

He sets you on the edge of his bunk, and his hands are gentle, careful. You're not sure what to say. The moment is surreal, and the exhaustion is making it difficult to focus. Your eyes blink open, and he's kneeling in front of you, his face just inches away.

"Let's get these off," he says as he starts to pull at your soaked clothing.

"Cross, I can undress myself," you say, the embarrassment making you blush.

"Just let me help," he sighs, his voice oddly quiet.

"But I—"

"I'm not letting you freeze to death. Now shut up and let me take care of you."

"Cross, really—"

"Please," he says, and the word is so foreign to his vocabulary that it gives you pause. "Just...let me do this."

"Okay," you murmur, the sincerity in his tone almost enough to make you cry.

He starts with your socks, trailing puddles of water on the ground, and your jacket goes next. The fabric clings to your skin, and his hands are slow and careful as he pulls the material away.

You shiver, and the chill is still lingering. He reaches for the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing against your lower stomach. The contact sends a jolt of something through you, and you inhale sharply.

"Sorry," Crosshair mumbles, his voice hoarse.

"No, it's...it's fine," you manage.

"I won't look."

"Crosshair, I—"

"I'll just close my eyes, and—"

"No, it's fine," you say. You reach up, your hands grasping the hem of the shirt, and you lift it over your head before he can say another word.

Crosshair doesn't move, doesn't speak. His breath catches, and you're sure he's staring at you, but you're so focused on trying to get your arms untangled from the sleeves that you don't care.

You're in your bindings, and the material is damp, sticking to your skin. You fumble with the fabric, tugging at the straps. It takes a few attempts, but finally, it loosens, and you exhale in relief. It slides down your shoulders, revealing your breasts, and you drop it onto the floor. You shiver, the cold air hitting your skin, and your nipples harden.

You look up at Crosshair, and he's frozen, his gaze glued to your exposed skin. He's staring at the scar above your heart, the one that he gave you, the one that should have killed you. His expression is hard to read, but his hands are trembling, and his breathing is shallow.

The silence is suffocating, and you have the sudden urge to cover yourself. He swallows, his throat bobbing, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. His gaze sweeps over you, and his fingers flex.

"You said you wouldn't look," you remind him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Crosshair blinks, as though coming out of a daze.

"Sorry, I..." he trails off, his voice thick. "You're—" He clears his throat. "Your pants."

"Oh, right." Your hands move to unbuckle your belt, but they're shaking, and your movements are clumsy. You fumble with the clasp, cursing under your breath.

"Here," he murmurs, and his hands move yours aside. His fingers brush against the skin of your stomach, and you suck in a sharp breath.

"Thanks," you manage, and the word comes out as a whisper.

His fingers work quickly despite the tremble of them, undoing the belt and sliding it free. Your pulse is racing, and your mouth is dry, and his touch sends a spark of electricity through you.

He tosses the belt aside, and his fingers find the button of your pants, and he pops it open.

"Up," he orders.

You do as he says, and he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your pants. He drags them down, the fabric clinging to your thighs. His movements are slow and deliberate as he pulls the material free from your legs before they join the pile of clothing on the floor.

You sit before him, wearing nothing but a pair of underwear, and the chill is still clinging to you, your skin pebbled with goosebumps. Crosshair kneels at your feet, his eyes boring into you as they rake over your exposed skin. His gaze lingers on the scar on your chest, his jaw clenching.

"It's not a big deal," you say, trying to reassure him.

"It is."

"What happened wasn't your fault."

He looks up at you, his eyes burning with a strange intensity. "Yes, it was," he says, his voice low and raspy. You reach for him, but he pulls away, your movements too slow and sluggish to catch him.

"I'm going to change," he mutters. "Try not to pass out."

"I'm fine," you protest.

"Your lips are blue," he says. "And your hands are shaking."

He reaches for your wrist, his grip gentle, and he lifts your hand, holding it up for inspection. You glance down, and sure enough, your fingers are trembling.

"F-fine, maybe I'm a little cold," you mumble.

"You're not cold. You're hypothermic." He lets go of your hand and stands, setting his rifle against the wall.

"It's just—"

"Hush."

You huff, rolling your eyes, and you fold your arms over your chest, hugging yourself in an attempt to get warm. You watch quietly as he begins to take off his armor, the motions practiced and methodical, though more rushed than you’ve ever seen it.

The first piece comes off, followed by another, and another. He doesn't stop until he's standing before you in his blacks, and then he lifts his shirt over his head. The sight takes your breath away. He's muscular, lean and strong, and the desire to reach out and touch him is overwhelming. The only thing you can do is stare, and it takes all of your self-control not to gape at him like an idiot.

He slips past you, and the bed shifts beneath his weight. You turn to look at him over your shoulder, and he's lying on his back, one arm tucked behind his head. He's looking up at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling evenly. Crosshair glances over at you, his brow furrowing.

"Lay down," he says, patting the mattress.

You hesitate. "You sure you don't mind?"

"Lay down," he repeats, his tone firm.

You obey, shifting onto the bed, and the mattress is warm, the sensation almost painful against your skin. He grabs a blanket from the end of the bed and wraps it around you, tucking it in. You curl up, the exhaustion is making your eyes heavy. 

The bed is small, and you're close, too close. But it's warm, and he's warm, and it feels so good you want to cry. Still, you can't seem to relax, your limbs stiff. Your skin prickles, and your muscles are tense.

"I can move—"

"Stop talking," he growls. "Go to sleep."

"You're bossy."

"And you're a brat," he grumbles, and his hands slide over your bare skin, tugging the blanket tighter around you.

You smile, the words bringing a strange comfort. He moves closer, his body pressed against yours. You're acutely aware of him, the sound of his breathing, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

You shift so your back is flush with his chest. He hesitates, frozen, and then slowly his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against him. 

You sigh, the warmth from his skin seeping into yours, and you melt into his embrace. His breath fans against the back of your neck, and you can't remember the last time you were held like this. A strange feeling builds in your chest, one you can't name, but it's overwhelming. The pain of losing your Master is still fresh, but the grief is lessened somehow.

"Is this okay?" he murmurs.

"Yes."

Crosshair curls tighter around you, his arms like a vise. You're surrounded by him, the smell of blaster oil, the sound of his breathing, the heat of his skin. The exhaustion is taking its toll, the warmth of his body too soothing to resist. Your eyes flutter closed, and you let the darkness take you, his heartbeat lulling you into a dreamless sleep.

You wake to the feeling of an arm draped over you, and a body pressed against yours. You blink, and the events of the last two days come rushing back. You're practically naked, and Crosshair's body is pressed against yours, nearly every inch of available skin touching. His chest is flush against your back, and his legs are tangled with yours.

His arm is wrapped around your waist, his fingers splayed against the softness of your stomach, and his breath is warm against the back of your neck. Your heart skips a beat as his fingers twitch against your skin. A rush of warmth floods you, and you swallow, your cheeks flushing.

For a moment, you can't remember how you got here, and what led to this. Then, you remember. You remember the way Crosshair helped you, the way he comforted you, the way he took care of you. And now, you're lying in his bed, and he's holding you, and it feels...nice. 

You should get up, and the thought crosses your mind, but it's not the one you focus on. Instead, you find yourself leaning into him, enjoying the warmth of his skin, and the way his body fits against yours.

Crosshair's arm tightens around you, and he lets out a sleepy groan, pulling you closer. He nuzzles your neck, his lips brushing the sensitive skin. Your heart stutters, and you freeze, not daring to move.

"Hey," he rasps, his voice thick with sleep.

"Hey," you whisper back.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better."

And it's the truth. You're still tired, and your muscles are sore, but you feel like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. You're not sure if it's the fact that you were able to finally get the closure you needed or if it's because of the man holding you, but you're grateful for the relief.

You shift, and Crosshair's hand rests on your hip, his fingers digging into your skin. He presses against you, his chest molding against your back.

"Don't," he mumbles.

"Don't what?"

"Don't go," he says, and there's an uncharacteristic note of pleading in his voice.

You roll over to face him, and his eyes are half-lidded, his gaze heavy. He's still wrapped around you, his arm snaked around your waist. His cheeks are flushed, and his jaw is stubbled, and he's even more handsome than you remember. Your stomach flutters, and your pulse quickens.

"I'm not going anywhere," you whisper.

He moves his hand to your face, cupping your cheek, and the gesture is so tender, so unexpected. He runs his thumb over your skin, his eyes locked with yours. You can feel his breath, hot and quick against your lips.

"Good," he breathes.

You're not sure who moves first, but his lips are on yours, his kiss urgent, demanding. Your body responds instinctively, and you melt into him, letting him consume you.

Crosshair's hands roam over your body, exploring every curve and contour. He's rough, and he's hungry, and the way he kisses you makes you weak in the knees. You arch into him, and his kiss grows more heated, more desperate. You part your lips, and he slips his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss.

Your hands hold tight to the back of his head, pulling him closer, and he moans against your lips, his fingers digging into your skin. The sound is needy, and it sends a rush of heat through you, a shiver running down your spine. You break away, panting, and he chases your mouth, his lips ghosting over yours.

"I've wanted to do that for a long time," Crosshair murmurs.

You laugh, the sound breathless, light and airy. "I can tell."

He huffs and rolls his eyes. "Shut up," he mutters, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Make me," you tease.

He's on top of you in a heartbeat, and his body is a delicious weight on top of yours. His hands are on either side of your head, caging you in with a mischievous smirk on his lips. You can't help but smile back.

"You want to be like that, huh?" he says, his voice low and dangerous.

You smile sweetly. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

He nips at your neck, his teeth grazing the skin, and you let out a soft moan.

"What were you saying?" he says, his voice husky.

"Just that—" He bites down on your neck, and you let out a gasp, the sensation sending a shockwave of pleasure through you.

He kisses the spot he bit, his lips soft and tender, and his hands roam over your body. He trails kisses along your jaw, down your neck, and across your collarbone, his touch leaving a burning trail in its wake.

It's overwhelming, his scent, his heat, his presence. Your senses are filled with him, and you close your eyes, losing yourself in the feeling. His lips are on your skin, his teeth scraping gently, and his hands are everywhere, exploring, mapping, memorizing. You don’t want it to stop, but it's starting to feel like too much, too fast.

"Cross," you murmur. He doesn’t respond, his lips dragging across your skin, and you try again, your voice tight. “Crosshair.”

He freezes, and his head snaps up. He looks at you, his dark eyes wide and worried. "What's wrong?"

"What are we doing?" you ask.

He frowns, his eyebrows knitting together. "I thought it was pretty obvious."

"That's not what I mean."

Crosshair pulls away, and you feel a pang in your chest as you see the look on his face, the hurt in his eyes.

"Do you want to stop?" he asks quietly.

"No, I..." Your voice trails off, and the words seem stuck in your throat. "I just... I'm not sure where this is going."

He sighs. "I don't know either."

"It's not that I don't want this," you say quickly. "I just..."

"What?"

You take a deep breath. It's a risk, admitting the feelings you've kept hidden for so long. But the desire is overwhelming, and the fear is stronger.

"Earlier, out there...I said a lot of things, some of them I didn’t mean," you begin. "I don’t want to hate you, and I don’t want you to have to work for my forgiveness. You already have it.” 

You push yourself up so you're sitting, and he does the same. You both sit with your backs against the wall, the blanket pooling at your hips. He's quiet, watching you, his expression unreadable. His silence gives you courage, and you continue.

“What I want is a fresh start. What happened yesterday, it was a turning point. For both of us. I don't want to hold onto the past. I'm sick of all the anger and resentment."

"You deserve to be angry," he says quietly. "After everything I've done, you have every right."

"I am," you admit, and the words come out with a hint of a bitter laugh. “But I’m also so happy to have you back, Crosshair. It doesn’t matter, not anymore. It's not worth it, carrying the anger around. I care about you too much for that.”

He shakes his head, and his gaze drops. "I don't deserve you," he whispers. "I've done terrible things. You know that."

"It's in the past," you say, reaching out to cup his face. His stubble is rough under your fingertips, and his jaw is clenched hard underneath your hand. "You can't change it."

"I know." He sighs. The weight of the galaxy seems to settle on his shoulders, and to see it holding him down makes your chest hurt. 

"I forgive you," you say, and the words are easier than you expected. "We all have. Maybe it’s time you forgive yourself too.”

Crosshair's gaze snaps up, his eyes locking with yours. There's a flash of something, and you see the way his lips tremble. His throat bobs, and he swallows. "You really mean that, don't you?"

You nod. "I do."

"How?" he asks, his voice hoarse.

You shrug. How can you explain it, the way your heart aches when he looks at you, the way his touch sets your skin on fire? How can you explain the way he makes you feel, the way you crave his attention, his approval? How can you explain the way your world feels whole again now that he's by your side?

The words don't come, and instead, you rub your thumb across his cheekbone. His breath catches, and he closes his eyes, leaning into your touch. When he opens his eyes, they're glassy, and there's a sheen of tears. You brush them away, your touch gentle, and he exhales.

You can't help but lean forward and press a kiss to his lips, and he leans into you, his hand finding your waist. The kiss is soft and sweet, the kind that takes your breath away, and when you pull away, you're left wanting more.

“I’m sorry I left you behind," he whispers, his voice breaking. "I should've stayed. I should've protected you."

"Cross, I left you behind. If anyone should be apologizing, it's me." You take a deep breath. "I'm the one who abandoned you."

"I don't blame you for what happened." He shakes his head, and his jaw clenches, the muscle in his cheek twitching. He swallows hard, the sound is audible in your closeness.

You run your thumb over his cheek, and he closes his eyes, his body trembling under your touch. You pull him closer, and his head comes to rest on your shoulder. He's tense, and you can feel the way he's holding back, keeping himself from falling apart.

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks, and the weight of it is suffocating. You've spent so long being angry, blaming him, that you never stopped to think about how he was dealing with his own feelings. How much pain has he carried since that day? How much guilt? You abandoned him, and he was alone, and there's a chance he could've been killed, and...

It's a lot. And the realization of it hits you all at once, your throat tightening, your vision blurring with tears. You've been so caught up in your own pain, in your own grief, that you didn't even stop to consider his. And the thought, the shame of it, is crushing.

Crosshair clings to you, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. You can’t tell if you’re trembling, or if he is, or maybe it's both of you. The emotions are overwhelming, and you don't know what to do, how to comfort him, how to make it right.

All you can do is hold him, so you do. You wrap your arms around him, holding him as close as possible. You rest your head against his, your cheek pressed against his temple as small tremors rack his body.

You don't say anything. You can't find the words, can't bring yourself to speak. So you stay there, holding him, giving him the time he needs.

It feels like hours before he speaks. His voice is quiet, barely a whisper.

"I should have been there," Crosshair says, and his voice cracks.

You swallow past the lump in your throat. "I should have come back for you.”

He pulls away, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy. There's a look on his face, a mixture of guilt and shame and regret. He shakes his head, and his fingers find your jaw, his touch feather-light. His thumb brushes over your cheek, wiping away your tears.

He leans forward and presses his forehead to yours. You close your eyes, and you can feel his breath on your lips, your noses brushing.

You've missed this. The closeness, the intimacy. You've missed him.

Crosshair pulls you closer, and his lips ghost over yours, his movements hesitant, uncertain.

You've spent the last few weeks trying to bury these feelings, trying to pretend like they weren't there, and now, they're bubbling to the surface, and you can't fight them.

You don't want to.

You give in, kissing him, and his body reacts instantly. He's pressing against you, his arms wrapping around your waist, his grip almost bruising.

You let him pull you closer until your bodies are flush together. He's warm and solid, and his mouth is hot and insistent, his tongue teasing yours.

His hands are in your hair, his fingers tangled in the strands, and the kiss grows more heated, more urgent. His teeth graze your bottom lip, and you moan into his mouth. 

As soon as the kiss starts, it stops, and he leaves you breathless as he pulls away, gasping for air. You can't stop staring at him, the way his eyes are dark with desire, the way his pupils are blown wide.

He leans forward, his lips hovering over yours, and his voice is low, barely a whisper. “I don't deserve you."

You huff, barely stopping yourself from rolling your eyes. You're tired of hearing those words come from his mouth, and you can't stop the irritation from rising in you.

Crosshair's grip on you tightens, and his eyes are pleading. He's searching for an answer, for some sort of reassurance, and you realize it's the first time you've seen him like this, so unsure of himself. 

Your irritation fades, and your anger melts away, and all you're left with is a deep ache, a longing for the man who holds your heart.

You reach up, cupping his cheek, and your voice is soft, reassuring. "Yes, you do."

His expression is one of disbelief, as though he can't comprehend the idea that you would forgive him, that you would love him, that you would want him. He's always been the one to push people away, to keep his distance, and the fact that he's letting himself open up to you is a huge step. It's one you're grateful for, and you're determined to not take it for granted.

“You do, Cross," you murmur. "You deserve to be happy."

He closes his eyes, his brow furrowed. You watch him, and you can't help but wonder what's going on in his mind.

His voice is hoarse when he speaks, the words barely audible, “I don't want to hurt you again."

You smile sadly up at him. You understand the sentiment. The last year has been a constant battle, a constant struggle. It's a cycle, a vicious one, and you're tired of fighting.

The two of you have both made mistakes, and you're both haunted by them. You're both guilty, and you're both paying the price. But you're here now, together, and maybe that's all that matters.

You can't help but laugh, and it releases some of the pressure that's been building in your chest. 

Crosshair's eyes snap open, and you shake your head to quell his concern, the laughter dying on your lips.

“We've spent the last year hurting each other, Crosshair. And for what? Why can't we just let go of the past, and move on?"

He hesitates, and you can see the doubt in his eyes, the fear. But you can also see the hope, the desire. He wants to move on, and he wants to be happy, and he wants it with you. The realization is a relief, and the weight on your chest is gone, the tension easing. You grin up at him, and his lips twitch, a small smile tugging at the corners.

“I think we've both suffered enough, don't you?" you murmur.

His lips part, as if he's about to say something, but the words don't come. You wait, watching him, and you can see the thoughts swirling behind his eyes. 

Finally, he speaks, his voice is tentative and low. “Okay.”

"Okay," you say, and you lean forward, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

You pull away, and his gaze meets yours. He's still holding you, his grip tight, as though he's afraid you'll disappear, but the hand on your cheek is gentle.

Crosshair’s fingers run up through your hair, and his thumb brushes against your skin. He lets out a deep breath, his lips inches from yours. He's looking at you like he's seeing you for the first time, his gaze filled with wonder.

"What?" you ask, suddenly self-conscious.

He shakes his head. "I'm just... I don't know how I got so lucky."

Your heart swells as much as it hurts. You’ll help him understand in time, help him see himself the way you do. But for now, you can’t help the teasing grin from forming.

"You're a real sap, you know that?"

He huffs, the sound a mix of a groan and a chuckle. "And you’re a brat.”

"Yeah," you say, a smile tugging at your lips before you press a kiss to his nose. "But you love it."

Crosshair hesitates for a moment, stiffening slightly. He clears his throat, and your heart skips a beat.

You can't tell if you've made a mistake, if you've crossed a line, but the words are out there now, and there's no taking them back. You search his expression, looking for a sign, any hint of what he's thinking.

He swallows hard, and his eyes dart away, his cheeks tinged pink.

"Yeah," he murmurs at last, his voice barely above a whisper. "I do." 

He turns back to look at you and catches sight of the bright grin on your face, and his flush deepens.

“Shut up,” he murmurs, and then he leans in, his lips brushing yours in a tentative kiss. 

You respond eagerly, and his hands slide up your body, caressing your skin. He's gentle, his touch almost reverent, and his movements are slow and deliberate, as if he's trying to commit the feel of your body to memory.

You run your fingers over his head, tugging him closer as you lie back against the pillow, and the action spurs him on. His hands explore every inch of your body, and his touch leaves a burning trail in its wake.

Crosshair breaks the kiss, his lips ghosting over your skin, trailing kisses down your jaw, your neck. His fingers trace the swell of your breasts, his touch light enough to send shivers down your spine. He brushes his thumb over your nipple, and you let out a gasp, your body arching into him.

"Is this okay?" he murmurs against your neck.

"Yes," you breathe, your voice thick with desire.

He takes a nipple in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud, and his teeth graze the skin. The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through you, and you let out a quiet moan. 

His fingers pinch your other nipple, teasing the sensitive flesh. Your hands grasp his shoulders, and his muscles are firm beneath your touch, his body taut with desire. You drag your nails down his back, and he groans, the sound sending a wave of heat straight to your core.

His hand moves lower, his fingers tracing a path down your abdomen, and he cups your mound, his touch gentle. He strokes your folds through the thin fabric of your underwear, his movements slow and deliberate. Your body responds instinctively, your hips bucking into his touch, pressing eagerly into his palm.

"Fuck," he growls as he feels how wet you are through the fabric of your underwear.

"Please," you whimper.

"Patience," he says, his voice thick.

His fingers slip inside underneath the waistband, and he dips a finger between your folds, teasing your entrance. You moan, your hips jerking as he ghosts over your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

"Please," you beg, your voice needy.

"Not yet," he murmurs.

"Why not?"

"Because I want to take my time," he says, a low growl that makes your stomach clench.

He continues his torture, and your breath catches in your throat as his fingers find your wetness, sliding up and down the length of your folds. He gently curls his fingers, watching you closely while rubbing his index pad against your entrance.

You shudder, and he presses his finger inside of you, the digit slick with your arousal. You whimper, and his free hand wraps around your waist, holding you in place.

"I'll give you what you want," he promises, his voice husky, "but first, I want to enjoy this."

"Cross," you whimper, your voice breaking.

He hushes you, and you whine. His movements are unhurried, and his thumb traces lazy circles over your clit, his touch agonizingly slow. Your breathing grows ragged, and your body is coiled tight, and the feeling is both sweet and frustrating.

You squirm, trying to increase the pressure, and he stops his movements, pulling his finger from you.

"Behave," he orders.

"I don't want to," you protest, your tone petulant.

He lets out a growl, and he hooks his thumbs under the waistband of your underwear, dragging them down. You help him remove the garment, and it joins the pile of clothing on the floor before he sits back on his heels, taking in the sight of you.

"Spread your legs," he commands.

You do as he says, and he leans forward, his breath hot against your skin. He dips his head between your thighs, and his tongue flicks out, teasing your folds. You gasp as he licks a stripe up your wetness, his tongue exploring every inch of your sex.

He finds your clit, and his lips close around the sensitive bud, sucking and licking the small bundle of nerves. Your body writhes, and your fingers hold tight to his head, pulling him closer. His finger teases your entrance, and your breath hitches.

"Please," you whimper.

"What do you want?" he says, his voice rough.

"I want you, Cross. Please.”

He groans, and his finger enters you again, his touch firm. He crooks his finger, and he rubs the sensitive spot inside of you, his tongue lapping at your clit. The tension inside of you is building quickly, and you're teetering on the edge, the pleasure almost overwhelming.

"I'm close," you breathe.

He adds a second finger, and you can feel the tremor in his hand, the strain of his muscles. He continues his assault, and your body trembles, your orgasm fast approaching. You grasp the sheets, and your body tenses, your back arching.

"Cross!" you cry out, and you come undone, the pleasure washing over you. Your walls clench around his fingers, and he groans, the sound vibrating against your clit. He continues his ministrations, his tongue and fingers drawing out your release until you're spent, and you collapse on the mattress, breathless.

You both moan as his fingers withdraw, and he sucks them clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

"That was..." you start, but the words die on your lips.

"Yeah," he agrees.

You reach up, cupping his face. He's flushed, his breathing labored, and his pupils are blown wide. The arm he’s using to hold himself up trembles at the effort.

"You're shaking," you say.

He lets out a soft chuckle. "So are you."

Crosshair shifts his weight, resting his elbow on the bed, and the movement brings his body closer. His eyes search yours, and the intensity of his gaze is almost too much.

"What are we doing?" he asks, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"I don't know," you say, your thumb brushing over his skin. "But I don't want it to stop."

"Neither do I."

He leans in, and his lips capture yours, his kiss hungry, desperate. You taste yourself on his tongue, and his hand roams over your body, touching and teasing every inch of your skin. You touch him back, exploring the hard planes of his muscles, and his body shudders beneath your fingertips.

He breaks the kiss, and his forehead rests against yours, his breathing heavy. 

"Fuck," he breathes.

"What is it?"

"I can't—" He takes a deep breath. "I can't stop thinking about all the time we wasted."

You swallow hard, and your chest aches. He's right. The last year has been hell, and the two of you have wasted so much time.

"We'll make up for it," you promise.

"I want to," he murmurs. "I need you."

His words send a thrill through you. He needs you. He wants you. You’ve waited so long to hear him say it.

"I need you too," you admit. You push yourself up and roll over, so you're on top of him, straddling his lap. You rock your hips, grinding against him, and his erection is hard and straining beneath his blacks.

He huffs a laugh as his hands come up to hold your hips. "I've wanted you for so long. I've wanted this."

His words send a shiver down your spine. You've wanted him too. And now that he's here, he's real, and he's in front of you, the feelings are almost too overwhelming.

"You have me," you whisper around the lump in your throat.

He pulls you close, his arms wrapping around your waist. His lips are inches from yours, his eyes locked with yours. "Promise me."

"I promise." Your hand trails down to grab his, locking your little fingers together. You hold your hands up so he can see them, your mouth lifting up into a soft smile. "I pinky promise."

He snorts softly, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "That's a pretty serious promise."

"It's the most serious one I can make," you say solemnly.

He laughs. The sound is warm and genuine, and it lights up his entire face. Your chest aches, and it's almost too much, the way his expression changes, the way his features soften.

You're tired of holding back. Tired of being scared. You've wasted too much time already.

You lean forward, pressing your lips to his. His hands slide up your back, and he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss. You melt into him, letting him consume you.

The kiss is intense and desperate. You pour everything you have into it, everything you've been holding back. Your body responds, and you press against him, your hips grinding against his erection. He groans, his body arching into yours, and the sound sends a jolt of heat straight to your core.

He pulls away, his breathing ragged, and his eyes are dark with desire. His hands grip your hips, and he rolls over, pinning you beneath him. You wrap your legs around his waist, and he grinds against you, his erection straining against the fabric of his blacks.

He reaches between you, his fingers finding your clit. You gasp as he circles the bundle of nerves. He's not gentle. His movements are quick and rough. The pleasure is almost overwhelming, and you buck against his hand, desperate for more.

His other hand grasps your wrist, and he pins it above your head. His grip is bruising. He continues his assault on your clit, his movements relentless.

"Come for me," he growls.

You can't hold back the moan that escapes your lips. Your body is on fire. Every nerve is alight with pleasure. The pressure builds within you, the tension coiling in your stomach. You're on the edge, teetering, and you can feel the release coming.

“Please,” you whimper. “I need you.”

His hand leaves your wrist, and he grabs the waistband of his blacks. He pushes them down, and his erection springs free. You can't help but stare at him, at the way his body moves, the muscles rippling under his skin. His cock is hard and straining, bobbing against his stomach as he turns to kick his blacks away.

Then he’s back on top of you, your skin flush against his. He's hot and heavy against you, his body a welcome weight, and his length presses against your stomach. He grinds his hips against yours, his cock rubbing against your folds.

The sensation is too much. The feeling is too good. You're on the edge again, the pressure building.

His fingers tease your folds, and he finds the wetness pooled at your entrance. He gathers the liquid on his digits, his touch featherlight, and you whimper. He pulls away, and his hand wraps around the base of his cock. He slowly pumps his length a few times, coating it with your wetness. You can’t help but watch, your mouth parting slightly.

"Are you ready?" he asks.

"Yes," you breathe.

He positions the head of his cock at your entrance. He's not gentle, and you don’t want him to be. He thrusts his hips forward, pushing into you. Your walls stretch to accommodate his length, and he groans, his body shuddering.

You cling to him, your nails digging into his back, and when he bottoms out, his pelvis grinding against your clit, you cry out, the sensation sending a shockwave of pleasure through your body.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. His hand comes up to cradle your head.

"I'm going to move," he murmurs.

"Yes," you breathe, unable to hide the relief in your voice.

He pulls out and thrusts back in. The slow drag of his cock is maddening, stoking the fire that he’d ignited. His movements are deliberate and steady, each one calculated and controlled. It’s almost too much. You want him to let go, to lose control, to ravage you.

"Harder," you beg.

"No."

You huff, frustration rising in you.

"Please."

He lifts his head to look at you. His pupils are blown wide, the black nearly eclipsing the honey-brown, and his expression is one of determination, his jaw clenched. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't."

"I don't want to rush this," he murmurs. "I want to enjoy it."

His words are sweet and earnest, but the effect is lost in the desperation, in the need. You can't help but groan in frustration.

"I need you," you plead. "I need all of you."

His lips twitch into a smirk. "Be patient."

"You're such a tease," you complain.

"And you're impatient."

He leans forward and kisses you. His mouth is hot and insistent against yours. His tongue swipes across your lips, seeking entrance, and you grant it, his tongue sweeping into your mouth. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, and your arms wind around his shoulders.

His hand moves down to your clit, his fingers circling the sensitive bundle of nerves. You moan, and the sound is swallowed by his kiss. His movements are slow and deliberate, his touch gentle. He's taking his time, and you're not sure if you love him or hate him for it.

You break the kiss, gasping for air, and his lips move down, trailing kisses across your jaw, your neck. His teeth graze the sensitive skin there, nipping at the flesh, and you cry out, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

His movements speed up, and the fire inside of you burns hotter, the pressure building. His fingers continue their ministrations, his pace unrelenting.

"Cross," you moan. "I'm so close."

He chuckles, the sound low and rough. "I know."

His mouth finds yours again. His tongue teases yours as his fingers continue their assault. Your body tenses, the release almost within reach.

When his fingers pinch your clit, your orgasm rips through you. Your walls clench around his cock, and you cry out as the pleasure floods your veins. Your body shakes with the intensity of the orgasm. It's a wave that washes over you. It's pure ecstasy.

His cock is still buried deep inside you. He’s slowed his thrusts to a gentle rocking motion, the movements soothing, allowing you to ride out your high.

When you come down, the aftershocks still coursing through you, his hips speed up. You’re so sensitive, it’s almost too much, but he feels so good, filling you, stretching you. You can't help but moan.

"Fuck," he groans. “You’re so tight.”

You can tell he's close. His thrusts are faster and deeper. He's chasing his own release. You tighten around him, trying to push him over the edge. His eyes fly open, his gaze meeting yours.

"I want you to come," you whisper.

"Not yet."

"Please."

"I'm not finished with you," he says, his voice rough.

He pulls out, and the sudden emptiness is almost painful. His fingers thrust back into you, and the pleasure is sharp and intense, the pressure building.

He fucks you with his fingers, his movements rough and quick. You moan and writhe beneath him, the sensation almost overwhelming. Your walls are still sensitive from your orgasm, and the feeling is almost too much.

"I can't," you whimper. "I'm so sensitive."

"Shhh," he hushes.

Crosshair curls his fingers, finding that spot that makes you see stars, and you can't stop the scream that escapes your lips. The tension coils in your stomach. You're on the edge again. Your body is shaking.

You nearly scream as his fingers leave you, your walls clenching around nothing. He leans down and captures your mouth with his, muffling your cry. His kiss is bruising, his tongue demanding. His lips trail down your neck, his teeth nipping at the skin, and the sensation is overwhelming, the pain mixing with the pleasure.

His hands are everywhere, touching, caressing, teasing. Your body is on fire, the pleasure almost too much to bear.

His hand slides down to cup your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh. You cry out, and he uses his grip to lift you. Your legs wrap around his waist automatically. His other hand moves to his length, pumping it a few times, coating it with your wetness.

He pulls his lips away, his breathing labored, and he looks at you, his gaze filled with hunger and longing.

"Ready?"

"Yes," you whisper.

His grip on your ass tightens, and he pulls you closer. His cock teases your folds, sliding between them, and the sensation is agonizing. You whimper, the need for him growing, the need for release.

"Please," you beg.

He pushes into you, the head of his cock stretching your entrance. He feels thicker than before, his length harder. Your walls are still sensitive, but the feeling is too good. You want more. You need more.

He groans, and the sound is raw and primal. His hips buck, and his cock fills you completely, his length buried to the hilt. The pace he sets is punishing, the feeling intense.

"Cross," you gasp.

"You're so tight," he groans. "So perfect."

"You feel so good," you moan. "Fuck."

His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass, and his other hand wraps around the back of your neck. His grip is bruising, but you don't care. You like the way his hands feel on your skin.

You lean forward and press your lips to his. The kiss is sloppy and messy. He's lost in his own pleasure, his movements rough and uncoordinated. You can't get enough, and you moan into his mouth as he finds the right spot.

"I'm close," he rasps.

“Me too,” you manage.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, and you cling to him as he brings you both closer and closer to the edge. Your walls flutter around him, the tension in your stomach tightening. His movements become erratic, and his body tenses. You know he's close. You can feel the tremors running through him.

"Fuck," he groans. "I'm—“

“Inside me," you moan. "Please."

The words are barely out of your mouth when he stills, his cock pulsing inside you. You can feel the hot spurts of his release filling you. The sensation is overwhelming, and you scream his name.

Your orgasm hits you hard and fast, and you clench around him, your walls milking him. Your body shakes with the force of the pleasure, and your ears ring.

When the aftershocks finally subside, he collapses on top of you, his breathing ragged. You can feel his heart racing. Your arms wrap around him, holding him close. You never want to let him go.

You're still trying to make sense of what just happened when Crosshair's hand comes to rest on your hip, his fingers tracing slow circles. The sensation brings you back to reality, and you open your eyes to find him staring at you, his expression filled with concern.

"Are you okay?" he murmurs.

"Yeah," you say, your voice hoarse. "That was..."

"Intense," he finishes, and he flashes you a crooked smile.

You laugh softly. "That's one word for it."

His smile fades, and he shifts his weight, pulling away from you. He slips out of you, and you can't help the soft whine that escapes your lips. You can already feel the soreness setting in.

He leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. "I'll be right back."

He slides off the bed and disappears into the fresher. You roll onto your side and press your thighs together, the action doing more to soothe the ache than you'd expected. When Crosshair returns, he has a warm, wet washcloth in hand, and you can't help but smile.

"Thanks," you murmur, reaching out to take the cloth from him. He pulls his hand away.

"Let me," he says softly.

Your breath catches in your throat. He climbs back on the bed and gently pushes your legs apart. His movements are careful as he wipes the cloth over your sex. He's gentle and thorough. You can't help but feel like his touch is more intimate than anything else the two of you have done tonight.

When he's satisfied, he tosses the cloth aside. He lays down next to you, his head propped up on his hand, and his eyes are soft, filled with affection.

"Hi," you say shyly.

"Hey," he murmurs. He leans forward and presses a soft kiss to your lips.

Your heart swells. You can't believe this is happening. It all feels like a dream. You never thought he'd ever be like this with you. You never thought you'd have the chance to be with him again.

You feel tears start to prick the corner of your eyes, but you blink them away, choosing instead to reach out and trace the contours of his face with your fingers. He closes his eyes and lets out a sigh, his expression relaxed.

"What are you doing?" he asks, his voice soft.

"Admiring you," you murmur. You can’t keep the affection out of your tone, and you don’t try.

Crosshair snorts, and if you weren't so close, you wouldn't have noticed the hint of redness that spreads across his cheeks. You shake your head and chuckle at the sight. He's adorable.

"You just fucked me so hard I can’t feel my legs, and now you're embarrassed by a little compliment?" you tease.

His eyes open, and he gives you a look. "I hate you," he grumbles.

You grin. "No, you don't."

"You're right," he says, his voice a low rumble. "I don't."

Crosshair pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you, and you press your body against his, enjoying the closeness. Your hands roam over his skin, your fingers tracing the scars that litter his body. You can't help but wonder how he got each and every one of them.

His hand comes up to hold yours, his thumb brushing against your knuckles.

"Thank you," he murmurs.

"For what?"

"For letting me in. And for forgiving me.”

You swallow hard. His words are so simple, but they mean so much. You know it hasn't been easy for him. You know he's been struggling. You've seen the guilt and the pain. And despite all of that, he's here.

You lean in and press a kiss to his chest. "I'm so proud of you."

"I'm not—"

"I am," you say firmly.

He swallows hard and nods. It’s obvious the words are difficult for him to hear, and you can’t help but wonder the last time someone told him those words. If they ever did.

You reach up and brush your thumb against his cheek. "Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?"

His lips part, and his eyes search yours. He looks overwhelmed, his emotions written plainly on his face.

"I'm starting to," he murmurs. "But I—"

"I love you," you blurt out. "And not just because of this. I've loved you for so long. And I've wanted this for so long."

He blinks at you, his eyes widening slightly. Your heart leaps to your throat.

"Sorry," you apologize sheepishly. "Too much?"

He shakes his head and lets out a shaky breath. "No," he says softly. "It's not."

"Oh," you say.

He leans forward and kisses you, his lips soft and gentle. Your body relaxes, the tension seeping out of you. His hand slides up to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours.

"I love you too," Crosshair whispers.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he murmurs. "So much."

He takes a deep breath and leans back against the pillow, his eyes fixed on the bottom of the bunk above you. "I…had a lot of time to think about things while I was…away. And I realized a lot of things. About myself. About us. I realized that I didn't know what I had until it was gone."

You watch him. His jaw is tense. His brow is furrowed. He's still struggling with his emotions.

"Cross," you murmur.

"I'm not good with words," he admits.

"It's okay," you say.

He takes a deep breath. "I missed you," he says. "I missed everything about you. And I regretted so many things. I thought about what we could have had if I had let myself have it. And I... I don't want to waste any more time."

You can't help the tears that roll down your cheeks. He's so sincere, and his words are so heartfelt. It's overwhelming. You lean in and kiss him, pouring every bit of emotion into the kiss. You want him to know just how much you care. How much he means to you.

"I'm glad we didn't waste any more time," you say.

"Me too.” He clears his throat, his gaze searching yours.  “I wanted to ask you something."

"Okay," you say slowly, hesitantly.

Crosshair shifts underneath you, and you prop yourself up on your elbow, watching him curiously. He sits up, and his hand comes up to cradle your face, his touch gentle. "I'm... not really sure how to do this."

You feel the heat rising in your cheeks, and your heartbeat quickens. "Just ask.”

"I was wondering," he says, his voice soft. "If you wanted to make this, us, official."

He takes a deep breath, and you can feel his nerves, his anxiety. You stare at him, stunned to silence. You're not sure how to respond. You hadn't expected this, not yet at least. Maybe not ever. You never really allowed yourself to hope.

"I know it's complicated, and I know it's going to be hard. But I—"

"Yes," you interrupt, and his eyes snap to yours.

He blinks at you. "What?"

"Yes," you say again. "I would love that."

"Really?"

You laugh softly. "Did you think I'd say no?"

You can't keep the amusement out of your tone. His nervousness is so endearing. You never thought you'd get to see him like this.

"No, I just…huh,” he breathes. His brow furrows, his expression thoughtful.

"What?"

"I wasn't expecting you to agree so quickly.” Crosshair smirks, his gaze meeting yours. "I was ready to make a case. Give you some time to think it over."

His hand moves from your face to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair, and his eyebrows lift. "You must really like me."

“Shut up.” You huff and roll your eyes. "I love you, you asshole.”

"I love you too," he says, his voice is warm, and his words are sincere. You lean in and kiss him, your hands moving to his shoulders, pulling him close. You can't get enough of him. You're not sure if you ever will.

When you finally break apart, he lets out a contented sigh and pulls you back down, his arms wrapping around you, holding you tight. He brushes a few strands of hair away from your face, and his expression softens.

"I can't promise you much, but I can promise you that I'll always be there for you. No matter what happens. Even if things go to shit, even if we get separated. Even if...”

He swallows and looks away, his expression darkening. You know what he's thinking, what he's trying not to say.

"Cross," you murmur. "I'm not going anywhere." You cup his face, your gaze meeting his. "And neither are you."

He nods, and his mouth lifts up into a soft smile. "I'm not letting you go. Ever."

"That's a lot of promises," you tease.

He huffs. "Yeah, well, I'm full of them lately."

You press another kiss to his lips, and the two of you settle into a comfortable silence. He pulls you closer, his grip tightening. His eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a deep, contented sigh. “Now let’s go back to sleep. You wore me out."

You chuckle and close your eyes, nestling your head against Crosshair's chest. The sound of his heartbeat is soothing, and the steady rise and fall of his chest is calming. 

You never imagined this would happen, but here you are, wrapped up in his arms. And for the first time in a long time, everything feels right.

You feel safe, and you feel loved. And as sleep pulls you under, you realize that this is exactly where you belong. You're home.

Taglist: @covert1ntrovert @bruh-myguy-what @baddest-batchers @spicy-clones @qvnthesia

@arctrooper69 @heidnspeak @kindalonleystars @totallyunidentified @cw80831

@lovelytech9902 @etod @lordofthenerds97 @umekohiganbana @chocolatewastelandtriumph

@frozenreptile @somewhere-on-kamino @lightwise @dontyoufeelitangel @hobbititties

@studio--celeste @winchesters-girl @tentakelspektakel @aynavaano @tech-aficionado

@dindjarins1ut @resistantecho

Promises Made (pt. 2/3)

Part One | Part Three

Pairing: Crosshair x fem!Reader / Crosshair x Jedi!Reader

Words: 7,387 / 23,314

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! angst, hurt/comfort, themes of grief/death/mourning, that comes into play a lot in this part, reader is genuinely unfair to Cross here sorry, protective!Crosshair, everyone is bad at feelings, smut in part 3

Summary: Crosshair is back, and you're the only one who still can't seem to forgive him. When you finally have the lead you've been seeking since the extinction of the Jedi, you seize the opportunity to escape the constant turmoil his presence causes you. Of course, Crosshair has other plans.

A/N: Thank you again to everyone for your kind words and support on all my fics, it really means a lot to me! I loved writing the drama in this part, and it was hard to stop, so hopefully it doesn’t drag on too much. Enjoy!

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

The moment you enter the cockpit, Crosshair stiffens, staring out of the viewport with wide eyes. The smoggy grey atmosphere of Bracca, pocked with smears of red rust and the glimmer of steel, stares back.

You can practically feel the tension radiating off of him, and you know he’s remembering what happened the last time the two of you were here.

You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he clenches his jaw and curls his lip. You know he doesn't want to be here, doesn't want to set foot on this planet ever again, and you’re surprised at how guilty you feel. You thought a part of you would relish the pain he was feeling, would be glad to see him squirm.

But you aren’t.

"Are you alright?" you ask. You hadn't meant to, hadn't even realized you were thinking it until the words slip past your lips.

He looks at you, startled, as though he didn't think you'd notice.

"I'm fine," he snarls, and the bite in his words catches you off guard. You recoil, turning back to the control panel.

"We're landing in twenty," you mutter, and that's the end of the conversation.

The rest of the flight is silent, and it's not until the Marauder is descending into the atmosphere that he speaks again.

"What's the plan?" Crosshair asks, standing behind the copilot's chair. You can hear the creak of the leather as he grips the backrest, can feel his eyes on the top of your head.

"There is no plan," you say. You look back up at him, and there's a furrow between his brows. "We're not here for a job."

He blinks, clearly confused. "What?"

"We're landing, and we're meeting my contact." You turn back to the control panel, watching the ship descend through the viewport. “She’ll give us the coordinates, we’ll get what I came for, and then we’ll leave.”

“That easy, huh?” Crosshair scoffs.

“Were you expecting something more thrilling? A daring chase? A firefight?” you tease. He rolls his eyes. “I told you it was just an exchange. There won't be any trouble."

The Marauder touches down, the landing ramp dropping a moment later. You stand, stretching.

"Besides," you say, grabbing your bag, "you've had your fair share of trouble for one lifetime."

He watches you closely as you sling the bag over your shoulder, and when you look up, you catch him staring. You don't understand the intensity in his eyes, or the way his expression seems to shift, the frustration replaced with something softer. He averts his gaze, crossing his arms.

"If you say so," he grumbles, but there's a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

You smirk. "Don't worry, I'll protect you."

"I don't need protecting."

"Of course you don't, dear." You pat his shoulder as you pass, and he scowls.

He's still glaring when you glance over your shoulder, and you have to hold back a laugh. You don't miss the way the corners of his lips twitch upward as he follows behind, and for a moment, the tension lifts.

It's raining when you exit the ship, and the cold droplets soak through your jacket almost immediately. Crosshair tugs on his helmet as you step out of cover, and you ignore your flash of jealousy as you pull your hood up over your head.

You don't waste time, hurrying toward the abandoned building you're meeting your contact in. Puddles splash under your feet, soaking through your boots, and your clothes cling to your skin. Your hood is doing little to protect you, the water dripping from the edges and onto your face, and you try to focus on anything other than the chill that's settling into your bones.

Crosshair stays a few steps behind, keeping pace. He looms behind you like a shadow. His presence is both comforting and unnerving, and you find yourself constantly checking over your shoulder.

"I hate this place," Crosshair grumbles. The modulator on his helmet makes him sound even more irritated. "Stay close to me."

You turn to see his head on a swivel, his posture stiff, and his hand on the blaster at his side. You can’t help but scoff, and his head snaps towards you.

"What?” he growls.

"Nothing,” you mutter back. “Just nice to know some things haven’t changed.”

“Are you going to be like this the entire time?”

You can hear the annoyance in his tone, the barely concealed frustration, and it makes you smile.

"Probably," you reply, turning down a side street.

Crosshair makes an irritated noise. It only encourages you, putting a spring in your step in an otherwise miserable situation. Maybe it's a good thing he came after all. You can practically hear him grinding his teeth, and it's hard to contain your amusement.

"I don't get it," he mutters.

"Get what?"

"This. You." He gestures vaguely, the hand not on his weapon flapping in your direction. "You're being..."

"Nice?" you suggest, glancing over your shoulder.

"Fucking obnoxious."

You laugh, the sound echoing through the empty alley. Crosshair groans, and you can see his shoulders droop in exasperation. "That's my default setting. You should know that."

"Yeah, well," he says, his voice low and rough, "I forgot."

The admission hangs in the air, and you feel a rush of... something. It's not quite guilt, or sadness, but it's not happy, either. It's an uneasy combination, and you shove the feeling down.

"Maybe I've missed this," you tease. You slow your pace, falling into step beside him. "Maybe I've missed the sound of your voice."

"You're a liar," he replies, but you can hear the humor in his tone.

"What are you talking about?" You feign innocence, but there's a playful lilt to your voice that gives you away. "I'm an honest person."

"An honest pain in the ass."

You snicker. "Maybe I've missed having someone to bother."

"You've never had trouble finding a victim," he quips, and you nudge his arm with your elbow. He pushes back, and it's almost a joke, almost a friendly gesture, and for a moment, you forget why you're even here.

"True," you concede. "But nobody else puts up with me like you do."

His helmet tilts down, and you can feel his gaze on you. You look at him, and it's impossible to see his face, but you swear there's a hint of a smile.

"Yeah," he says, and the word is almost fond. "Lucky me."

"Shut up."

You bump his arm again, and he chuckles, the sound barely audible through the filter on his helmet. It's a tender moment, a brief glimpse of the old Crosshair, the one who would banter and bicker with you for hours, and the sound of his voice pulls you back to a different time. You miss it, more than you thought possible.

"We're here," you say, interrupting the moment. You push the door open, and it swings inward, revealing a stairwell. You glance back at him, motioning him forward. He falls into step behind you, all trace of amusement gone.

"Let's get this over with," he says.

You descend into the building, the stairs creaking beneath your feet. You can see feel the tension rolling off Crosshair in waves, and he reaches over his shoulder to draw his rifle.

"Calm down, would you?" you say, and he bristles.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"You said it yourself," he mutters, scanning the shadows. "I've had my fair share of trouble for a lifetime."

"That's not what I—"

You're interrupted when you reach the bottom of the stairs, and a tan Abednedo steps from the shadows, a blaster pointed in your direction. She lowers the weapon when she sees you, and a small smile crosses her lips.

“Master Jedi. Pleasure to see you again," the Abednedo drawls, holstering her blaster.

"Saaba," you nod. You nudge Crosshair hard with your elbow, and he grunts before slowly lowering his rifle. You can see his fingers flex, as if he's not sure he should put it away, and you hope he listens.

Saaba gives him a once over, the tendrils that frame her mouth twitching. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Crosshair. Cross, this is my friend, Saaba," you explain.

"A pleasure," Crosshair says, his tone dry.

"I'll admit, I'm surprised to see you've brought company." She squints, her large goggles emphasizing how she sizes him up. “And a trooper, no less. I thought they were your enemies now."

Crosshair tenses, and you can feel his anger flare. You reach for him, touching his wrist. He looks at you, and even with his helmet on, you can tell he's glaring. You shake your head, and he sighs, relaxing a little under your touch. 

You hadn't told her about Crosshair, or about the rest of the Batch. It hadn't seemed important, and you weren't sure how she'd react to knowing the man standing beside you had more than once tried to kill you.

"Things change," you say, your tone light. "He's one of the good guys now."

"Well," Saaba hums, "that's a relief. I'd hate to have to kill a friend of yours."

Crosshair shifts his weight, and he takes a step closer. "You could try."

"Easy," you say, giving his arm a squeeze before dropping your hand.

Saaba laughs. "Oh, I like this one."

"Me too," you agree, and you can't help but grin. Crosshair's helmet swivels towards you, and you can imagine the bewildered look on his face. You shrug.

"Anyway," you say, ignoring the way he's staring at you. "Let's get down to business."

"Of course." Saaba smiles. She reaches into her bag, pulling out a small data disk. "The coordinates you need. As promised."

"Thank you."

You reach for the data, but she doesn't let go, pulling you closer.

"Don't get caught." Her voice is low, and her expression is serious.

"You know me."

"Which is exactly why I'm telling you not to get caught," she says. “I told the Guild I was stripping the place for copper, and I need to report back soon, or they’ll send their own crew. But I can’t guarantee they won’t go poking around on their own.”

"Understood."

She lets go, and you step back, putting the disk in your bag. You grab a pouch, holding it out to her. "For your trouble."

She shakes her head, pushing the credits away. “I owed you one.”

You blink. “Are you sure?”

"Just don't let me regret it," she warns, but her tone is soft. You always liked Saaba, even if she could be a bit of a handful. But she was reliable, and she didn't ask questions.

"Never."

You turn, heading towards the stairs, and Crosshair follows. You don't look back, and Saaba doesn't stop you. Once you're back outside, the door swinging shut behind you, you let out a sigh.

"Well, that was easy," Crosshair drawls.

"Don't jinx it," you grumble. You shiver, tugging your soaked jacket tighter around yourself. The rain hasn't stopped, and you're beginning to realize you didn't think the weather through.

There's a rumble of thunder, and Crosshair looks up.

Great, you think, just great.

"You should have brought a coat."

"Shut up."

He laughs, a real, genuine laugh, and the sound warms you. You can't remember the last time you'd heard him laugh like that. It makes you smile, even if he is laughing at your expense.

"It's not over yet," you continue, ignoring the way your stomach flutters. "We still have to find what we're looking for, and get off planet."

"I thought you said it was going to be simple," he teases, his tone smug. It's so strange, to hear his voice sound like that again, and it feels... good.

You huff.

"It should be." You glance around the alley, noting how the rain had driven the locals inside. "It's just the retrieval that might be difficult."

He hums, and the two of you walk in silence. The rain hasn't let up, and by the time you reach the Marauder, your hair is plastered to your face. You push it aside, wringing out the water.

"Now, let's see where we're going," you say, climbing the landing ramp.

You settle in the pilot's seat, Crosshair leaning against the doorframe, and you pull the data disk from your bag. You slide the disk into the control panel, waiting as the computer loads the coordinates.

You frown, leaning forward.

“The coordinates are a few clicks south of here," you say, zooming in. “But we can’t take the Marauder there, the terrain is too rough. We'll have to go on foot.”

"On foot?" Crosshair repeats. "Through the scrapyards?"

You nod. He sighs.

"Great."

"You can stay here if you’re scared."

"I'm not scared."

"Well," you say, grabbing your bag and heading towards the exit, "I'm glad to hear it."

Crosshair grumbles, and when he passes you, he knocks his shoulder into yours. You laugh, shoving him back.

"Come on, you big baby. It's not so bad," you tease, closing the ramp behind the two of you.

He scoffs, and the sound is distorted by the rain and his helmet. 

"I've got a bad feeling about this."

As soon as the Marauder disappears from view, the rain goes from bad to worse. The cold droplets sting your face as you trudge through the mud, and the wind whips at your clothing.

The scrapyard is a dangerous place. Thousands of broken starships litter the area, stacked on top of each other in tall piles. Some of them are old, rusted from years of exposure, while others are relatively new, their hulls dented from the harsh winds. Even though you’re cold and miserable, you’re grateful for Saaba's work. If you’d gone searching yourself, it would’ve taken you years to find what you were looking for.

As you climb over a particularly large piece of debris, you glance at Crosshair. The rain is pouring, and it's put both of you in a sour mood, your prior banter forgotten.

You can feel his eyes on you as he walks behind you, and it makes you nervous.

"I'm not gonna fall," you snap, reaching the top.

"Didn't say you were."

"Then stop looking at me like I'm about to."

"What am I supposed to look at?" he asks, his tone sharp.

You glance around. There's nothing but rain and rust, and the looming shadows of the ships stacked around you. It's an eerie sight, the remains of war and violence, and you feel a chill run down your spine.

"Anything else," you grumble. You slide down the other side, and he's quick to follow.

"How much farther is this thing?"

"I don't know. Not far," you say, but the truth is, you have no idea.

"You're a terrible liar."

"Shut up, Cross."

You push your hair from your face for the thousandth time, and you can’t decide if the rain or the wind is the worst. Both make your clothing cling to your skin, and you're pretty sure you're never going to feel warm again.

"Real mature," he mutters, and you can practically feel the eyeroll. “Are you going to tell me what we’re looking for, or am I going to have to guess?”

“Guessing could be fun,” you tease, trying to distract yourself. But his patience is wearing thin, and you know it as well as you know that yours is fraying too.

"I’m not in the mood for games," he growls back. 

The taught threads of your sanity finally snap, and you stop in your tracks, your patience evaporating like the mist. Crosshair slams into you, and you stumble, barely managing to keep your footing.

"Would you watch where you're going?" he hisses, and you whirl around.

“You didn’t have to come, you know.”

The venom in your voice catches you both off guard. He falls onto his back foot, taking a step away from you. You don't let it stop you. Your anger rises, the floodgates open, and your emotions come pouring out.

“Why are you here, Crosshair?”

The question comes out harsher than you intended, and Crosshair recoils, his head jerking backwards. You can't see his face, but the tension in his frame is clear. You're not sure why you're asking, not sure if you even want an answer, but the words spill from your lips regardless.

He doesn't say anything.

You cross your arms, waiting. The wind howls, the rain hammering down around you, and his silence drags on. He stands there, the rain pinging off his armor, his shoulders hunched.

Finally, he speaks, and the words are strained. 

“I told you. It’s my job to keep an eye on you."

You scoff. "Is that really all?"

"Yes," he says, taking a step closer. "Why else would I be here? Do you think I enjoy freezing my ass off, traipsing around in the mud?"

"No," you reply flatly. "But I don't believe you, either."

Crosshair sighs, and his helmet tilts skyward. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Something true, for once," you say, stepping into his space. "Because if protecting me is your job, you're fucking awful at it."

He flinches, and the movement is so slight you almost miss it. You regret the words the moment they leave your mouth, but you can't help but double down. You've been holding it back, all this anger and hurt, and the dam breaks.

“I’ve been hurt dozens of times since you left, at least once by your hand." Your voice rises, and he's motionless, his entire body stiff.

Your hands shake, and you clench them into fists, the ache in your knuckles a welcome distraction. He's still staring at the ground, and your temper flares. Something within you snaps.

"You left, and you didn’t come back. And now, what, you show up here, with some bullshit excuse, and act like nothing ever happened?"

"I can't—"

"I don't care," you cut him off, and your voice is cold. "I don't care what you have to say. You had your chance. You should've stayed away."

Crosshair recoils as though he's been slapped, and for a moment, he doesn't move.

You're frozen, too, the weight of the words hanging in the air. You hadn't meant to say it, hadn't meant to say any of it, but you were tired.

Tired of his excuses, of his lies, and his refusal to acknowledge what had happened.

You were tired of hurting.

And in that moment, you didn't care if he knew it.

You can't see his face, but you don't need to. You can feel the tension rolling off him in waves, can feel his rage, and it mirrors your own.

You stand there, staring at each other, your anger a palpable thing, and a part of you is relieved. It's the first real emotion he's shown, the first real indication he's been anything other than indifferent, and you're glad. You wanted a reaction, and you got one.

The thought is quickly quashed when he speaks.

"Maybe I should've," he growls. The pain in his voice underneath the anger takes you by surprise. "Then I wouldn't have to deal with your fucking mess."

His words sting, more than they should, and you hate yourself for it. He's always been good at that, cutting deep with his words, and it's something you'd hoped would change.

You should've known better.

"Well, then," you begin, and your voice is quiet, a contrast to the anger simmering below the surface. "I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you."

You turn, and he grabs your arm, stopping you.

"Don't—"

"Don't what?" you ask, whirling around. You yank your arm from his grasp, and his hand drops.

He doesn't reply. You don't move, the rain pelting the ground around you, and the wind whipping at your clothing. Crosshair doesn't say anything, doesn't try to explain himself, and you can't stop the anger from boiling over again.

"Don't go? Don't leave? Why shouldn't I? Why do you care? It's not like you cared about me when—"

"You don't know what you're talking about," he interrupts sharply.

"No!" you shout. Lightning cracks in the distance, the flash illuminating the metal around you. "You're the one who doesn't know."

"You think I don't know what happened?" His tone is hard, his words clipped. "You think I haven't had to live with that? With knowing what I did to you?"

"Don't you dare." You jab a finger into his chest, and he takes a step back. His shoulders tense, and you can tell he's furious, but you can't stop.

"You don't get to act like that's some big burden you've been carrying around."

"I have!"

"So have I!"

Crosshair is silent, and you can tell he's taken aback by your admission. He shifts, his weight moving from foot to foot, and his hands clench and unclench at his sides. He doesn't say anything, his attention shifting from the ground, to the sky, and back again.

The wind blows, and you shiver. You tug your jacket tighter around yourself as the adrenaline starts to wear off. You don't speak, waiting for him to respond.

"I'm trying," he says after a beat, his tone sharp. "I'm trying, and I don't know what else you want from me."

"Not hard enough," you spit back.

"How the hell am I supposed to—"

"You're not," you interrupt. "Not anymore."

He goes still, his entire body rigid. For a moment, the rain is the only sound, battering against the scrap metal and his helmet. His fists clench, and he shakes his head. He lets out a long, slow breath, and the mist from his vocoder obscures your vision.

"I never thought you would forgive me." His voice is low, barely audible over the howling wind. "I just hoped you wouldn't hate me forever."

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. There's a lump in your throat, and you can't swallow. Your chest aches, and your fingers tingle, and it takes everything in you to remain upright.

"I don't hate you," you say, and your voice is a whisper. "But I wish I did."

The words are painful to admit, and you're not sure what's worse: saying them out loud, or knowing they're true.

His hand lifts, as though he's going to touch your face, and the movement is so gentle, so careful, that it makes you ache. Then, his hand drops, and his fingers curl into a fist, and he lets out a frustrated huff. 

You can see his hand shake, a reminder that the Empire took something from him, too, and you feel a sudden surge of guilt. But you can’t bring yourself to apologize, can't force the words past your lips, and so you just stand there, watching him. 

The silence stretches on, and you can feel the cold steep into your bones, and you’re tired of waiting for Crosshair, so you turn and start to walk away.

You barely take a step when he speaks, and his voice is pained.

“I’m sorry,” he says, barely audible in the wind.

You stop, your feet sinking into the mud, and your breath catches. The apology is so unexpected, so raw, you feel it in your chest.

You want to look at him, but you can't.

You're afraid that if you do, he'll see right through you, and you'll have to acknowledge that despite your best efforts, your anger has faded, replaced by something else.

So you don't look at him. Instead, you stare at the ground, at the way the mud oozes around your boots.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, and his voice cracks. "I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I wasn't there. I didn't— I don't expect you to forgive me, but I'm sorry."

He takes a deep breath, and you can hear it, the way his lungs stutter. It catches on something inside of you, and your eyes burn.

"I don't want you to hate me," he says. The words are so soft, so quiet, that you almost miss them. "And I know I deserve it. But don't. Please."

"You should've thought about that before you shot me."

He's quiet, the only sound the rain and the wind, and it's obvious the words hit him hard. A part of you regrets it, regrets being so cruel, but another part, a darker part, wants to hurt him. Wants him to feel the pain you've felt since the day he left.

"I know," he says, and there's a note of resignation in his tone. "And I will regret it every day for the rest of my life."

You turn, and his helmet is pointed at the ground.

“I thought I was doing the right thing, that it was the only thing I could do. But I was wrong, and I made a mistake, and I have to live with that." His voice is low, his words heavy, and the sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. "If I could take it back, I would. In a heartbeat."

You blink, the tears burning the back of your eyes, and you fight the urge to turn away. You swallow hard, the pressure behind your eyes so intense that it hurts, before you ask, "Why are you telling me this?"

He lifts his head to meet your gaze. "Because you deserve to know."

"And what do you deserve?"

"Nothing."

It's immediate, so assured and without hesitation that you nearly stumble back.

"I deserve nothing," he continues, and his tone is so self-loathing, so full of hatred, that it makes your chest tighten. 

Your mouth opens, but the words don’t come, and you can't think. You want to scream, want to shout, want to hit him, to comfort him, to apologize, and it's too much, and you don't know what to do.

His words hang between you, the gravity of the situation dawning on you.

He really believes it.

He truly thinks that he deserves nothing.

That he deserves no forgiveness, no mercy, no sympathy, no second chance.

And as much as you want to be angry, as much as you want to hate him, it hurts to see him like this. To see him so resigned, so accepting, that he's willing to take whatever punishment you deem fit.

Your anger fades, and you can feel the fight draining out of you. You let out a long sigh, and the tension in your frame eases. "Cross—"

"Don't." He raises a hand, cutting you off. "Just...don't."

Your mouth closes. The rain batters the metal around you, the wind whips your hair around your face, and it's impossible to keep the tears from spilling over. They mix with the rain, and you wipe them away.

He lowers his hand. "Come on. Let's keep moving."

Crosshair pushes past you, his shoulder bumping yours. He starts to walk, his strides long and purposeful, and the space where his armor touched your arm tingles.

You hesitate before you follow him, and the rest of the walk is spent in silence. Your boots sink into the mud, and the rain beats against your hood. By the time you reach the coordinates, you're shivering, and the rain has started to sleet.

Your feet slip on the icy ground, and you stumble. Crosshair catches your arm, steadying you. You look up, meeting his gaze through the visor of his helmet, and your heart twists in your chest.

"Thanks," you mumble, pulling away.

He says nothing, turning his attention back to the ruins. The star destroyer is huge, the metal hull jutting up from the mud. The bridge has long since broken away, but the main section remains intact. You make your way to the hull, searching for an entrance.

You can feel him watching you, and you wonder if he's thinking about what you said, if he regrets his words, and your stomach twists.

You shouldn't care, not after everything he's done, but the thought of him thinking he deserves nothing, nothing at all, makes you feel sick. You know he does, and it hurts, because there's a part of you that still cares about him.

A part of you that's always cared.

And no matter how many times he's hurt you, that won't change.

You've wanted nothing more than to put the past behind you, to forget the hurt and the pain and the loss. And here is Crosshair, finally willing to talk, to apologize, and all you've done is push him away.

And despite how angry you are, how hurt, you're tired of fighting. You're tired of running from the past, and tired of letting it define who you are.

You take a deep breath, and then another. It's not too late, you tell yourself.

"Here."

You find a service hatch, and you pull it open, slipping inside. The metal groans as your feet hit the ground, and you narrowly avoid a gap in the floor. The interior of the ship is dark, and the only light comes from the holes in the ceiling. Crosshair follows you, and his rifle scans the room.

"It's clear," he says, lowering the weapon.

"Good," you say, wiping the sleet from your jacket.

You start down the hallway, searching the rooms as you go. The ship is in disarray, the furniture overturned and the walls peppered with blaster fire.

There’s a scorched line carved into a wall, and you wince at the sight, your feet slowing to a stop to examine it. You don't have to touch it to know what happened here, and your eyes burn.

You turn, startled to find Crosshair directly behind you. He stares down at you, his posture stiff. "What is it?"

"I..." You're not sure how to respond. He must sense your hesitation, because his head tilts, and you can feel his eyes on you.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice surprisingly soft.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not," he says, and his words take you by surprise.

You cross your arms, looking away. The hallway is dark, and the silence between you stretches on. You're not sure what you expected, but you didn't think he'd call you out. "Cross..."

"No," he repeats, stepping closer. "Don't. Talk to me."

You open your mouth, then close it.

"Talk to me," he says again, more firmly.

Shaking your head, you turn and start walking. He trails behind, the metal creaking beneath his boots, and the sound echoes around the corridor. The hallway splits, and you go right. The lights flicker, the wiring exposed, and the darkness seems to seep in from the edges of your vision.

"It's the burn marks," Crosshair says, after a moment, his voice low.

You stop.

"In the walls," he adds, when you don't respond. "That's why you stopped, isn't it?"

You turn, and he's standing there, his helmet tilted, his posture rigid. He says your name quietly. “What are we really here for?”

You sigh. There isn’t any fight left in you, not now, and you can’t bring yourself to lie. 

“My Master’s body.”

Crosshair inhales sharply, and his shoulders tense. He doesn’t move, and the silence is stifling.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would it have changed anything?"

He pauses, considering. "Maybe," he says, his voice low, "but I still would've helped you."

Your fingers twitch at your side. It's a struggle, but you keep your emotions in check. You're not sure if he's being honest, if he's telling the truth, and the uncertainty makes your stomach twist, tangling with the grief that threatens to swallow you whole.

"I couldn't..." You trail off, your throat tight.

You don't have the energy to lie, and your eyes burn. You want to say it, want to tell him how much it hurts, but the words are lodged in your throat. You're afraid, afraid that once you start, you won't be able to stop, and the fear keeps the truth from spilling out.

The moment stretches on, and his fingers brush your shoulder. It's a simple touch, one that's barely there, and it's so unexpected that it takes you by surprise.

He squeezes gently, and the contact is grounding, comforting, and it feels so good that it makes your chest ache.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice is thick with emotion.

You turn, and his helmet is tilted downwards. You know he's looking at you, his eyes boring into you with a heaviness you can't decipher.

"I need to find him," you whisper. You hate how vulnerable you sound. His hand tightens on your shoulder, and you swallow. "I need to..."

"We'll find him," he says, and his tone leaves no room for argument.

"Thank you," you manage. The words sound strange coming from your mouth.

He nods, releasing your shoulder. You miss his touch, and you have the urge to reach for him, to take his hand, but you push it down.

"We'll find him," he repeats.

You nod, and the two of you continue down the corridor. The hallway opens up into a larger room, and you glance around, looking for a clue, a sign, anything. But the sleet has left the space dark, blocking the light from the windows.

"There's nothing here," you say, defeated.

"There has to be," Crosshair insists.

You turn to look at him, and his helmet is pointed in your direction. He's staring at you, the intensity of his gaze causing your skin to prickle.

"There's nothing," you repeat.

"We'll keep looking."

"There's nothing, Cross."

"We'll keep looking," he repeats, and the steel in his voice is enough to make you waver.

You shake your head, frustrated, but before you can speak, the ground lurches beneath your feet.

"What the—"

Crosshair's arm wraps around your waist, and he yanks you forward, his grip on your jacket so tight you're sure it's going to rip. The ship groans, and the ground lurches again, and this time, you can hear the sound of metal scraping against metal.

"Shit," you mutter, gripping his shoulders. "The ground, it's—"

"I know."

You look down, and the ground beneath you is shifting. You can see the cracks spreading, and the ship starts to tilt, and you realize the ground isn't the only thing that's changing.

"We need to move," you say.

Crosshair doesn't need to be told twice, and the two of you start toward the hallway. You're not fast enough, though, and the ground shifts violently, the force of the impact sending you flying.

You scream, and Crosshair curses. He lunges, wrapping an arm around your waist, and your body slams into his.

The two of you hit the ground hard, and the impact knocks the wind from your lungs. You roll, and your stomach drops as the ground disappears beneath you. Crosshair grunts, and his hand digs into your hip, holding onto you tightly. The ship tips, and you slide down the slick metal floor, heading straight for the gaping chasm.

You let out a panicked cry, and the world goes sideways as Crosshair grabs onto a railing. You can see the bottom of the ship, hundreds of feet below, and you have a fleeting moment of panic.

Your command of the Force is still shaky, and there's a good chance that the two of you will plummet to your deaths if you try to slow your descent. Your heart is in your throat, but then Crosshair pulls, his grip strong, and he hauls you over the edge. 

Your boots scrape against the ground as he pulls you upwards, and you feel your feet catch on the edge. You gasp, relieved, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

He pulls the two of you onto the platform, and his arms wrap around you, crushing you against his chest.

"Are you hurt?" he pants, his chest heaving.

You shake your head, and you can feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You squeeze your eyes shut, clinging to him, and you realize he's trembling.

"I've got you," he says. "It's okay, I've got you."

Crosshair doesn't let go, and his breathing is ragged. Your hands curl around his shoulders, and you lean into him, the contact calming. You can feel his heartbeat, and the rhythm is quick, erratic. You stay like that for a long moment, neither of you moving.

You're not sure who moves first, but his arms relax, and you shift, pulling away. He releases you, his hands sliding to your waist. He's still shaking, and his helmet is tilted downward, his gaze focused on you.

"Are you okay?" you ask, and your voice is a little too high.

He nods. "I'm fine."

Your lips press into a thin line, and he must notice your disbelief, because he lets out a shaky laugh. "I will be," he amends.

You nod, and you can't seem to look away. He's still gripping your waist, and his gloves are slick with rain. You can feel his fingers digging into your skin, and despite the chill, the contact is grounding.

"You saved me," you say, your voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah."

You're not sure what to say. There's a part of you that wants to thank him, a part of you that wants to pull him close and wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his chest. It's a strange feeling, one that you haven't felt in a long time, and you struggle to push it down.

Instead, you say the only thing you can think of. "Thanks."

He shrugs, as though it's no big deal. "It's my job."

"No, it's not."

"Yes," Crosshair starts, his tone firm. You blink, and he's leaning down, his helmet inches from your face. Your heart pounds in your chest, and your fingers curl into his shoulders. His grip tightens on your waist, and you can feel his breath through his vocoder. "It is."

"I—"

"We can argue about this, or we can keep going."

"Right." You nod, pulling away. His grip lingers, and then his hands fall, and you feel cold without them. "I mean, you're right."

You can hear him exhale, and he pushes himself up, holding a hand out to you. 

"I usually am," he says as he hauls you to your feet, and there's a hint of a smile in his voice.

"Asshole," you mutter, pushing past him.

"Brat," he says, following close behind.

You climb through a hole in the floor, and you're surprised to find the hallway intact. You walk cautiously, your senses alert, and your steps are slow. The hallway ends at a door, and the panel is cracked, but the lock still works.

The door slides open, revealing a small, dimly lit room. A window looks out onto the snow, and there's a bed, and a chair, and a desk. You look around, and a lump forms in your throat. The bed is made, the covers neatly tucked. A holoprojector sits on the desk, and a stack of books is piled in the corner.

"This was his quarters," you say.

Crosshair doesn't answer, and the quiet is unnerving. You cross the room, your heart hammering in your chest. You stand beside the bed, and your hands curl into fists. You can feel his presence behind you, but he doesn't speak.

"What do we do now?" you ask, your voice sounding far away to your ears.

"Look for clues," he says. "Anything that could point us to where his body is."

You nod, and the two of you search the room. You're not sure what to expect, and you're not even sure what you're looking for. You pick up a datapad on the bed, but the device is blank.

Crosshair is rummaging through the desk drawers, and you walk over to him. He's looking at an open drawer, head tilted. You peer around him, and your breath catches in your throat.

There's a few pieces of flimsi, and a stylus, and a data card. But what makes your heart skip a beat is the stone. It's small, no bigger than your palm, and the surface is smooth, black with a white streak bisecting it.

"I can't believe he kept it," you say, and your voice cracks.

"Kept what?" Crosshair asks, and you can hear the confusion in his voice.

"The stone. I gave it to him when I was a Padawan."

"Why?"

"I don't know," you admit. "I was always giving him gifts. I used to think they were the only way he'd know I cared about him."

Crosshair looks down at you, and his voice is softer than you've ever heard it. "I'm sure he knew."

"You think so?" you ask, and your eyes burn.

"Yeah."

You nod, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill down your cheeks.

"It's just..." Your voice trails off, and you clear your throat, trying to dislodge the lump that's formed.

"It's okay," he says, his hand resting on your shoulder.

"No, it's not. He's dead, Cross, and I wasn't here. I was supposed to be here, but I wasn't."

"That's not your fault," he says, and his other hand lifts, resting on your opposite shoulder.

"I know, but..."

"You couldn't have done anything."

"But I—"

"Stop." His voice is firm, and his grip on your shoulders tightens.

"Cross..."

"Shut up and listen," he says, and his tone leaves no room for argument. "You did the best you could. You were fighting a war, you were doing what was right."

You nod, but the guilt is overwhelming. You force yourself to look up at him. His hands are still on your shoulders, and his helmet is tilted down, his gaze on you.

"It wasn't your fault," he repeats.

His thumbs press gently against the hollow of your collarbones, and his touch is soothing. You take a shaky breath, and his grip loosens, one hand sliding from your shoulder to your face. His thumb brushes across your cheek, catching a tear. You inhale sharply, and his fingers cup your jaw, and you lean into his touch.

"Thank you," you manage, your voice breaking.

"It's going to be okay," he says. "I promise."

"Cross—"

"I mean it," he says. Crosshair grabs your hand, and you let him manipulate your fingers until only your littlest one remains facing up. He curls his around yours, squeezing gently.

"Promise?"

He nods. "Promise."

Your lips twitch up, and he squeezes your finger again, his grip firm. His other hand cups the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, and he pulls you against his chest, holding you tight. You wrap your arms around his torso, burying your face in his chest plate.

You stay like that for a moment, closing your eyes as his fingers run through your hair. You sigh, leaning into him, and you can hear his breathing through his vocoder. His hands are warm, and he's solid, and he smells like leather, and blaster oil, and rain.

"We should keep looking," you say, but you don't want him to let go.

Crosshair hesitates, then nods, his grip on your hair loosening. His hand slides from the back of your head to your jaw, and he tilts your chin up, staring down at you.

"Okay?"

You nod, and his thumb strokes the apple of your cheek. His touch is so soft, and you can feel his gaze on you. He lingers, and you wonder if he's going to say something, but he doesn't. Instead, his fingers tighten on your face, and he leans down.

His forehead presses against yours, and his hands fall away. He exhales, and his breath fans across your lips before he pulls away.

The absence of his touch leaves you cold, and your chest aches, the space between your ribs feeling too tight. You blink, and Crosshair is gone, already walking across the room.

He starts rummaging through the closet, and you shake yourself, clearing your throat. You turn to the desk, and you pick up the stone. Your thumb runs over the surface, feeling its imperfections. 

Suddenly, you gasp. A memory flashes through your mind, one that doesn't belong to you.

"What is it?" Crosshair asks, instantly alert.

"I know where he is."

Taglist: @covert1ntrovert @bruh-myguy-what @huntersnikeheadband @thebadbatchfan @absolfan @winchesters-girl @sukithebean @spicy-clones @arctrooper69 @qvnthesia

That was beyond perfect! Absolutely loved both the roughness and gentler side of Crosshair in the fic. Smut was 👌 My boy stirggles with emotions but we know he'd be one of the most deep feeling individuals, I just loved it. Xx

I Want More, More

Crosshair x Reader Oneshot

WOW, I broke 20 followers! Thank you, thank you for reading my little fics, it means the world! Have a Crosshair battling with his feelings oneshot!

Word Count: 4605

Summary: Crosshair is made aware that he has not been treating you like he should. He has a crisis about it before talking to you like an adult, kind of.

Warnings: Here there be smut, minors begone, Crosshair struggling with his feelings is its own warning, Crosshair is a dick until he's not, he's a moron your honor, slightly desperate Crosshair, rough sex into talking into gentle sex into rough sex again, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), p in v sex, language, some derogatory pet names, talking during sex, reader is afab, there's porn here I promise, you just have to get through Crosshair's angst

This wasn’t fucking working.

Crosshair was near madness, and he was sure you were reaching a point where you needed a break. You’d never let him fuck your mouth for this long before. But there you were, topless, tears streaming down your face, knees probably scuffed or even bleeding from the durasteel floor, nevermind that you still had your pants on. And yet you pushed through, voicing not a word of complaint as you gagged on his persistent cock.

And he wasn’t anywhere close to finishing.

You should be complaining, he decided. What had it been? Thirty minutes? Fifty? Crosshair couldn’t keep track of anything except his own frustration, and that was making him a terrible lay. And if there’s one thing he would be loath to be terrible at, it was sex.

His cock throbbed, his balls ached, and you kept moaning. He growled.

Sooner or later, you’re going to hurt her. She’s going to get tired of this, and she’s going to leave. Hunter’s words from earlier in the week creeped back into his mind, and any hope of salvaging this situation dissipated into thin air.

Crosshair abruptly pulled you off his length and backed away, tugging his pants up as he went. Still you knelt, breathing heavily, awaiting what he’d do next. It was the arrangement you’d both worked out months ago. You allowed yourself to be used as he saw fit, and he made sure you left satisfied and ready for dreamless sleep. No feelings, no complications. It had worked well for a long time. But he looked at you then, your face a mess, your curled legs trembling, and for the first time, he couldn’t stand the sight.

She deserves someone who cares deeply about her, Echo’s voice, well, echoed in his head, as unbidden as Hunter’s had been. His nosy brothers had held an intervention of sorts a few days ago while you were out getting supplies. It had started with Tech’s “We want to know what you are doing with our medic,” gone through Wrecker’s “You know she likes you, right? Like, a lot,” and ended with a long speech from Hunter about how “One day Crosshair, you’re going to wake up and realize that she’s moved on. For some reason, she really cares for you. And you’re treating her like a meaningless one night stand, except you keep doing it over, and over and-”

It was stupid. You both liked what you were doing. You were both consenting adults with the power to walk away at any time. You were both happy and fulfilled with that. It was enough.

Except for the past few days, it hadn’t been.

Crosshair began to really notice certain things since the talk with his brothers. Like how you always met him with a cheery good morning, and how you didn’t expect an answer in return. How you’d sit next to him while he cleaned his rifle, content to do all the talking if he just listened. How you always ran over after a close call on missions, frantic about his safety and never expecting him to inquire about your wellbeing, even if you were covered in soot and limping away from an explosion. 

He realized you were giving more, much more to your…friendship, than he was. And that didn’t sit well with him. Your relationship was supposed to be transactional, and here you were, giving him attention and assistance and contact without expecting one damn solitary thing in return. Always giving, never receiving, and he…

He was a fucking prick. 

Horrible, awful scenarios started coming to mind after that. For two days, he thought about what would happen if you got transferred, or completed your service and left, or, stars-forbid, got shot. A concept he’d never considered before. You were always there, always constant as Tech’s pointing finger and Echo’s whirring attachments.

The idea of you leaving him - and he was completely arrogant for never seriously entertaining the thought - was frightening. And Crosshair didn’t do frightened.

The worst part? While he was drowning in inner turmoil due to his asshole brothers and your own damn sweetness, you were waltzing around, perfectly fine. You had never given any outward indication that you wanted something real from him, something more than a smokescreen of orgasms and sharp banter. Now that he knew how much you cared, now that he’d heard that you liked him no matter how hard you tried to hide it, he couldn’t let it go.

You’d been contenting yourself with his hands on your body and his lackluster personality for months, when, according to his brothers, you’d really wanted something deeper. Did you think he would reject you, or that he wasn’t capable of anything more to begin with? Both possibilities stung, a lot deeper than he’d ever supposed they would. Especially as he realized that neither of them were unreasonable of you to assume. Suddenly, he was furious.

That’s how he ended up with his cock down your throat in the back of the Marauder, while everyone else was out on the town. Not in his bed, never in his bed. That was one of the rules he’d made, to stop things from getting too intimate. Instead he’d had you kneel, and you’d done it with a wry smile and no questions. He’d planned to fuck these thoughts out of his head, but as it turns out, his brain was thinking the fuck out of his dick, so to speak. 

So instead, he leaned against the wall, gazing at you. You still kneeled, still waited patiently while he’d stared for who knows how long. 

You deserved better. 

The thought was pounding against his skull, incessant and refusing to leave. And Crosshair knew there were only two ways to resolve it. He could walk away, wish you well, and hope that you found someone who could give you a true relationship, no matter what it might cost him.

Or…he could try to be worthy of you.

The first option entailed less risk, and was definitely more his style. He couldn’t be bad at a relationship if he never tried to give you one. But the thought of someone else seeing you like this, or worse, someone else seeing you in ways he hadn’t yet…on a beach, walking down a colorful city street, riding a speeder bike, in the snow…

He stood abruptly and crossed over to your languishing form. He had you in his arms in less than a second, and had you laying on his bunk in less than five more. 

“Cross, wha-?” you protested. You knew the rules, knew his boundaries, and tried to sit up and leave. 

He grasped your shoulders and gently pushed you back, “Please.” Was all he said, whispered and hoarse. He worried at his lip without realizing it. Your eyes widened, and you let him lean you back on his pillows. He fidgeted with them, trying to make them fluffier than the GAR issued sacks of foam they really were, and you quirked a brow.

“You fucking with me, Cross?” you asked, and he could tell you were putting real effort into keeping the trepidation out of your voice. “Because this is a real weird joke.”

Okay, he deserved that one. But his words were stuck somewhere between his brain and his mouth. How was he supposed to know how to tell a woman he liked her anyway? If the Kaminoans included a class on charm somewhere in their training programs, he definitely didn’t get an invite.

Maybe you would be better off with someone who didn’t spend their days getting up close and personal with other people through a fucking scope. 

But all this staring was starting to freak you out. You were sitting awkwardly, legs open, tits out, under his genetically superior gaze. Crosshair didn’t know what kind of face he’d been making, but it clearly wasn’t one you were used to. You crossed your arms over your chest and turned your head to the side, away from him.

“Are we done?” You ground out through a set jaw, a slightly trembling lip. “Is this…ahem…is this over? Because you could just tell me, you don’t have to try and make it easier. I can just go back to my bunk and…and…”

He caught the sheen in your eyes, the catch in your throat. Fuck. Fuck.

“I-I want you…” stars, he can’t even talk. Damn you. Damn him. He cleared his throat. “I. want. you. to stay… there.”

Well, it sounded like it was being tortured out of him, but at least it got your attention. You turned back to look at his face, “You want me to stay here.” You said evenly, jerking your head towards his shabby pillows. “In your bed. Where I’m never, ever supposed to be.”

He swallowed, mouth dry as hell, and nodded. You were so much better at this, so much stronger than he was. He couldn’t do anything but spill his guts in what was probably the least romantic way possible. 

So he did, “I want to try…something else.”

Your lips parted just a fraction, and something seemed to click behind your eyes. But you were tough, tougher than he ever gave you credit for, and you never gave him any ground. Oh you were gentle about it, cool satin to his rough burlap. He suspected it was the healer in you. But you always demanded communication from him, demanded that he explain his behavior, even if it took him a while.

“Something else,” the hitch in your voice had disappeared. “You’re going to have to explain that one to me, babe. You know I’ll try something new, and we have a safe word, but this violates your rules, and I don’t know how to act now. I don’t know what’s okay.”

Babe. It slipped out of your mouth every so often, usually in a teasing lilt over comms during a battle. He didn’t know if he loved it or hated it, but it always brought a sudden heat to his face. He felt the tips of his ears burning.

“I…” c’mon, bastard. You can get this out, you have to get this out. She’s waiting. “I want… toforgettherules.”

“I’m sorry? One more time?”

Brat. In any other circumstance, he’d have you over his knee for something like that. But he took a deep breath, like the ones he’d take before making an impossible shot. And maybe that’s what this was, “I want to forget the rules.”

Your eyes alighted with something like hope, “Why?”

Yes Crosshair, you stupid prick, tell the lady why. He needed to get his head examined. He was talking to himself more than usual. And now he’d started to sound like Hunter.

“Because,” he ground out, teeth clenched. “You deserve…better…than what I’ve been giving you. But I…I don’t want anyone else to deserve you.”

You sat with that for just a moment. And then you brought a hand up to your mouth and giggled. It was such a happy sound, he was almost completely unoffended. 

“You like me,” you murmured, eyes full of mirth and pure, honest delight.

He let out a shaky breath. It was almost a chuckle, “I like you. You’re a little shit, and you give me a heart attack half the time. But I like you.”

“And… I’m allowed to like you back?” This question was tentative, small. Not how he wanted to see you. You should be bright, confident, unafraid to show your brilliance. A fierceness crept into his heart.

“You get to like whatever you damn well please,” he growled, then softened slightly. “But…it would be nice if you liked me.”

You hummed, and dropped the arms covering your gorgeous breasts to cup his face in both hands. Your fingers moved in his cropped strands of hair, but he resisted the urge to close his eyes at the peace it brought him. 

“I like you, more than I ever thought you’d want me to,” you almost-whispered. Then you grinned that same grin you got when Wrecker offered to let you press a detonator. “But if you want in on this, babe, if you want some kind of commitment, I’ve got some rules of my own.”

Strangely, the thought didn’t concern him nearly as badly as it had a day ago. He didn’t know shit about real relationships. He wanted you, and if you gave him some kind of guide to go off of, well, at least there was less of a chance of him fucking it up. 

Crosshair nodded, and your smile grew wider, joy sparkling in your eyes.

“First of all,” you began. “You have to say good morning and good night to me. You also have to hold my hand every so often, and let me kiss your cheek. I promise not to embarrass you…too much.”

He huffed a little, but conceded, “Agreed. Anything else?”

“Oh this is an ongoing list. There will be amendments,” you chirped happily. “I require actual conversation daily, and I get to sleep next to you after we fuck.”

“What do you take me for? Of course you get to-”

“No getting jealous of my guy friends, including your brothers. Like when I give them hugs or candies or-.”

“The regs absolutely cannot be trusted-”

“Ha! I knew you’d be a jealous boyfriend. Oh yeah! And I get to introduce you as my boyfriend from now on.”

Crosshair’s mild disgust must have shown on his face, because you laughed outright, “What about partner? Lover? Fuckbuddy?”

He rolled his eyes, “I’ll make ‘boyfriend’ work. Can I kiss you now or does the princess have more proclamations?”

That shut you up. Despite all the other parts of him you’d had in your mouth, one of his rules had been no kissing on the lips. Your eyes glazed over, and he smirked and leaned forward.

Your lips were so soft, plush and sorely neglected. A vague sense of regret and longing overtook him. How the hell had he managed to avoid kissing you until now? It didn’t really matter. He decided, as you let out a little hum of surprise, that it was about to become his new ritual. Every morning, every night, every time he could drag you into a private little alcove, he’d do it, just to get a chance to press his lips to yours.

He pushed forward, his tongue licking at the line of your lips, and you whined. His cock pulsed, and he began steadily rocking it against your clothed thigh. You opened your mouth eagerly and he dove in. Oh this was divine.

“Never thought,” he mumbled into your mouth. “Never thought it’d be like this.”

“Like…what?” you gasped.

“This…this fucking… brilliant. Stars, your mouth…”

You groaned, and he moved to sweep his deft tongue along your jaw, up to your ear. He bit at your earlobe, and your hips began doing some involuntary rocking of their own. Crosshair growled in your ear, satisfied when you shivered.

He stopped though, when he felt your stealthy hand cup his balls through his pants, “No,” he rasped, taking your wrist in hand and bringing the misbehaving appendage up to nip at your squirming fingers. “I told you, doll. I want… to try… something else.”

“Letting me call the shots would be something else,” you whined, still wiggling in his grasp.

He shook his head, “Not tonight,” he said, sounding out of breath. “Tonight, you just lay there. Look pretty. Look fucking gorgeous because that’s what you are, and keep making little noises for me.”

You whimpered at that, and he smirked. But it wasn’t his usual cocky, infuriating twist of the lips. This was an adorable half smile, part disbelieving, part alive with anticipation. 

Your pants were hastily removed, and while your shoes caused a bit of an obstacle, Crosshair simply wrenched them off and tossed them over his shoulder. One landed with a thump on the durasteel floor - a place he swore you would never be kneeling unprotected again. He was pretty sure the other ended up in Tech’s bunk. 

Crosshair traced his hands down your legs and slowly, ever so slowly pulled your knees further apart. You were pressed back against the pillows, open and waiting for him, and his heart rose to a furious din in his ears. He was almost positive you could hear it. 

He was seized with another fit of insecurity. How was he supposed to know how to cater to you like this? He knew how to grasp your throat just hard enough that your eyes would roll back into your head. He knew how you liked to be tied down and spanked. This wasn’t even the first time he had held your legs apart and let you squirm under his attention. But tenderness… communicating one’s feelings with one’s body… he didn’t even know how to begin. 

His eyes flicked to your face, flushed with shyness and lust. Your kind, welcoming eyes, more open in every breath than he was in his entire lifetime. You bit your lip.

You have to try to be worthy of her, he thought to himself. And he turned his attention to your pussy.

Still clothed in your thin, basic panties, the solid color was stained dark with your wetness. Crosshair cursed, and slowly descended between your legs.

First, he kissed your knees, not bleeding but definitely scraped, and the gentle touch of his lips had you sighing. You’d never made that sound before, that exhale of pure contentment. He wanted more of it. 

You flinched and squirmed as he ran his tongue down your inner thigh, but he held you fast. You weren’t getting away from him. Not now, not when he was finally ready to really try. 

Crosshair knew where you wanted him. You weren’t exactly subtle with the canting of your hips and the nervous fluttering of your fingers over the sheets. Your breaths were coming in short bursts of want. Stars, how were you this sensitive already? He’d seen you in a state of pre-orgasmic distress plenty of times, had made you beg for him past the point where you could speak in coherent sentences, but never had he seen such simple, sweet touches electrify you in this way.

Instead of lowering his mouth to your pussy, though, Crosshair moved to lick and nip at your hip bone. You squealed and moaned, and he decided he’d never heard such an addicting sound.

He brought his tongue across your belly, snapping the waistband of your panties with his teeth before teasing your other hip. Your whimpering was a constant symphony in his dark bunk. He pulled back and chanced a peek at your face. Your eyes were shining with yearning. You had one hand in your hair. He reached up, tugged your abused lip from between your teeth, worried that you’d draw blood, and glanced back down.

The wet spot on your panties had grown, and finally, with a lighter touch than he’d ever directed towards you, Crosshair ran a knuckle up and down your clothed center. You keened, and threw your head back on his feeble pillows, which had flattened almost completely under you. 

I need to get new ones, he thought absently as he tugged your panties to the side, exposing your dripping core. She deserves to be fucked on real pillows. 

He lowered his head, and you were both gone. 

Crosshair had tasted you before, often as a tease while you were tied up and helpless. But not often, and not thoroughly. He usually enjoyed watching your face while taking you apart with his fingers, snarling demeaning pet names into your ear. But this…this was transcendent. You tasted like home, like he could live his entire life and die between your legs. He drank from you slowly, meticulously, lapping at your entrance and circling your clit before closing his lips around it and lightly sucking. Your legs were trembling within minutes. Every few seconds, garbled, meaningless sounds escaped from your throat and spurred him on. He gently, reverently pushed a finger into your hot center, caressing the spot you both loved. You seized up…, and let go.

He rocked you lovingly through your orgasm, fingering you slightly and keeping his mouth clamped around your clit. Your pussy spasmed, your hips jerked, and your mouth opened in a silent scream. 

But he didn’t stop. 

Crosshair began again, stroking your throbbing clit with his tongue, refusing to allow the fire in your abdomen to subside. Now that he’d really tasted you, now that he’d felt you fall apart on his lips, his only goal was to make it happen again.

“C-cross!” you yelled, hand flying down to his hair. You tugged hard, and he groaned.

“More,” he mumbled into your cunt. His fingers pressed at that tender spot inside you, and your head flew back. You shrieked and writhed on his bed, dripping onto the sheets. 

You were moaning with every breath, tensing your legs and frantically thrusting your hips towards his waiting mouth. Your toes curled repeatedly in the corners of his vision. Your pussy was red and swollen, your slick arousal running down his hand and wrist. 

Crosshair curled his fingers inside of you and allowed his teeth to gently catch against your begging clit, and your second orgasm hit like a lightning strike. You seized up, screaming your release to the ceiling of his bunk. He gently lapped at your clit as you came down, your yells turning to sobs. Tears spilled down your face and onto your chest. You reached for him, and he encircled your shaking body with his arms.

“Shhhhh,” he hushed into your hair. “You’re alright…you’re alright…I…I’ve got you, mesh’la.”

You pulled back, tears tracking your cheeks as you stared into his eyes, “Y-you’ve never called me that before.”

Crosshair knew you understood the word. Echo called you mesh’la on occasion, Wrecker too. “I felt left out,” he said. “I should get to remind you of how beautiful you are more than anyone else.”

You sniffed, and threw your arms around him, “You’re beautiful too,” he heard you mumble, and his heart swelled. “But…”

“But what, doll?”

Your voice took on a fierce, desperate tone, “If you don’t get inside me right now, we’re going to have our first fight.” 

Crosshair was stunned, but only for a moment. This was why he lo…liked you in the first place. 

He took on the domineering tone he usually had with you in these situations, “Demanding girls don’t get what they want.”

But you just grinned, and lifted your chin, “Girlfriend privilege.”

He threw his head back and laughed. What had he gotten himself into? 

He couldn’t wait to find out.

“Just this once, mesh’la.”

You practically went limp in his arms as his straining, red cock breached your entrance. He stilled for just a moment, relishing in the feeling of being inside you. When you looked up at him, eyes shining with something he dare not name, not yet, he felt complete.

Crosshair grabbed hold of your hair and yanked, and you squealed from the pull of his hand and the push of his cock. This much he was sure of: he knew how you liked to be fucked, and he didn’t have it in him to be gentle any longer. And though he wouldn’t last as long as he’d like, no one could accuse him of not being a giving lover.

“Just like that, good girl,” he growled. You whined and writhed, impaled on his cock and unable to even think. “You just lay back, and come for me one more time.”

“Cross…I-I can’t.”

“You can,” he assured you, and his thumb went down to ever so gently move on your clit. “You’ve done it for me before, and you’re going to do it for me again. Scream, bite me if you have to, but you are going to give me one more.”

You wailed, hips thrusting up, frantically trying to match his rhythm. Crosshair released your hair to grab your throat. He leaned in, a hair's breadth away from your ear, and whispered, “That’s it, that’s my good girl.”

You tensed, and he grinned, “You like that? You like knowing you’re mine? That this mouth, these tits, this pussy all belong to me?” He started moving faster, keeping that pressure on your throbbing clit. He bit at your ear, “But remember, mesh’la, just because you’re my girl doesn’t mean I won’t fuck you like the slut we both know you are.”

That did it. Your cunt clenched around him, and you let out an ear-piercing scream. Your release came in strong, crashing waves, wiping your mind of anything else and soaking both of you. Crosshair couldn’t hold out any longer. He buried himself to the hilt and came deep inside you, and you shuddered with the aftershocks, so full and sated Crosshair swore you’d fallen asleep.

He was wrong. You lifted a trembling hand to his face and smiled gently at him, “Thank you, Cross.”

He scoffed, “Nothing to be thankful for. Not like we haven’t done this a hundred times.”

But you shook your head, “We’ve never done this before.” You gestured at the mess you’d made in his bed, at your tangled limbs and the invisible closeness that still existed between you, even after the amazing sex. “Thank you for trying.”

Crosshair felt his strength leave him. He gathered you up, and buried his face in your chest, taking deep, calming breaths, “Don’t let me coast on it.” He murmured. “Don’t cut me any slack. I’m bad at this.”

He heard your giggle from above, “A little unpolished, maybe, but I’ve never seen you fail to excel at something you were determined to accomplish.” You stroked his hair. “We’ll be fine, babe.”

“We need to talk about that nickname.”

“I can think of others,” you teased. “Honey, sweetie, my little tooka-”

He made a gagging noise against your breasts, and you were outright laughing, “Babycakes, darling, love-”

Crosshair knew he’d tensed up at that last one, had let a little gasp escape in his contentment. He blamed the recent orgasm. But you’d heard it, and you stopped laughing.

“Oh…” he heard your voice take on a strange tone, and finally looked up at your face. You looked…shy. Shy and happy. You nodded, “Love, then. I can make that work.”

He felt his ears burning, and he turned his face back into your chest. A sudden possessiveness overtook him, and he gathered you closer, “You can’t…” he mumbled. “You can’t call anyone else that.”

You were quiet for a moment, probably remembering all of the interchangeable nicknames you liked to use with his brothers. Then he felt your hands grab his face - still hiding in your breasts like a coward - and turn it toward your own. You smiled down at him. 

“And that, love, is what we call boyfriend privilege.”

Crosshair gazed at you in amazement, then felt a rare smile break out over his face. He hugged you close, took his time kissing your lips again. He knew, in a moment, he would tell you to stay where you are as he got up and did something he’d never done for you before - clean you up himself. It’s something he would insist on doing from here on out.

Because, he decided, that’s what your boyfriend would do. And, as he was realizing rather quickly, he did not want anyone else to earn that title. 

It was his. And he was yours. 

Promises Made (pt. 1/3)

Pairing: Crosshair x fem!Reader / Crosshair x Jedi!Reader

Words: 5,234 / 20,200

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! angst, hurt/comfort, themes of grief/death/mourning, protective!Crosshair, everyone is bad at feelings, this part is at least 50% bickering, smut in part 3

Summary: Crosshair is back, and you're the only one who still can't seem to forgive him. When you finally have the lead you've been seeking since the extinction of the Jedi, you seize the opportunity to escape the constant turmoil his presence causes you. Of course, Crosshair has other plans.

A/N: This is my longest work yet, so I decided to split it up into parts. But if you’re just here for the smut, don’t worry, the emotional edging is worth it! It’s my first time writing Crosshair so please let me know how I’m doing.🤞 Part two will be posted same time next week.

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“I’ll be back before you know it.” You pat Omega’s head, smiling warmly down at the young girl as she clings to you. It hurt to leave her again, but you were going to be gone for a few days at most, not weeks.

Still, her grip doesn’t let up, and her gaze is turned downwards. Things had slowly gone back to normal since you all returned to Pabu from Barton IV, with the exception of Omega’s reluctance to let any of you out of her sight. 

That, and how Crosshair had been acting, which was to say he was avoiding you at all costs.

That was fine with you. The others may have forgiven him, but you weren't so ready to let bygones be bygones. You could tolerate being in the same room as him, but that was as far as you were willing to go. At least until you could figure out why you were still so upset.

And it was frustrating, not being able to put your finger on the cause of your irritation. Crosshair hadn't apologized, but you expected as much. He wasn't the type. You had already forgiven him for betraying the team and refusing to come back, but something was still keeping you from completely letting go.

It was unbecoming of a Jedi, you knew that, but you couldn't shake off your resentment.

It didn't help that his behavior was confusing. The day you got back, the others had gone about their usual routine. But not Crosshair. He was more quiet and standoffish than ever, but it didn't seem directed at anyone. It was almost like he was uncomfortable, and not just in general, but with being around you.

You knew he was spending most of his time by the water, though you never saw him when you went out there yourself. Just his rifle, sitting on the rocks.

The others insisted it was a good sign that he was taking the time to process everything. You didn't have the heart to tell them that you could still sense him through the Force whenever you went out, and his unrest was clear. The tremble of his hand, his uneven breaths, his mind racing, all of it.

The only other time you felt him was when you were alone in your room. You were trying to meditate when he walked past. You could feel his eyes on you, could feel him hesitating at the door, before he ultimately chose to move on.

The thought of confronting him made you anxious. You didn't know what would happen, and you didn't know if you wanted to find out. 

For now, you just wanted to keep your distance and get your anger under control. Leaving for a few days to take care of your own problems will give you the space you need, and hopefully, things will go back to normal once you get back.

"Omega?" you ask, trying to get her attention. She finally looks up at you, and you see the concern in her eyes. Your heart aches, and you kneel down, pulling her into a tight hug.

“I know,” she finally whispers.

She doesn't want you to leave. But you were.

The mission would only take a day or two, and then you'd be back. One of your old contacts had called in, saying that she had some intel you needed. You didn't have the full story, but that wasn't going to stop you from dropping everything to answer. You'd been waiting over a year for a call like this, and you needed to see it through on your own.

So you kneel, meeting Omega eye to eye. You hold out your little finger, and she sighs, unmoving. You wiggle it, drawing a soft laugh from the girl.

You’d taught her how to pinky swear not long after you rejoined the Batch. It was a sort of tradition between you and your Master, and him and his, and so on. 

The promise was more sacred than a verbal one to you, even if it was more juvenile than others. It meant that the person who sealed the deal was obligated to fulfill their promise, or face a lifetime of bad luck. 

Of course, you never believed that part, but you liked the sentiment behind the gesture.

"I promise I'll be back," you whisper, "don't finish Spaceworld without me, okay?"

"Okay," Omega mumbles, a weak smile on her lips. She takes your pinky with hers, and the two of you shake. "You promise you'll be safe?"

"Always," you tell her, low and serious.

Hunter watches the exchange, nodding his approval. He doesn't understand the point of the ritual, but he knows enough to know that Omega feels better. And that you'd keep your word.

Your eyes meet his and he nods, silently telling you to hurry and get going. You straighten and turn toward the Marauder, your bag slung over your shoulder, and start off.

Before you can step foot on the ramp, a voice stops you in your tracks, and your blood runs cold.

“You’re leaving?”

Crosshair steps out from under the shadow of the archway behind you, and you spin around. His eyes narrow when you face him, his hands clenched tightly around his rifle. He stands stiff, as though waiting for a fight.

You're surprised by his presence, surprised he's even talking to you, but your expression doesn't betray the shock. Your brow furrows as you regard him, trying to figure out his angle.

“I’m meeting up with a contact for a mission. I won't be gone long. Two days, maybe less, if everything goes according to plan." 

You don't want to explain further, and your tone leaves no room for argument. But Crosshair has never been one to listen to what you want.

He takes a step forward, his eyes flitting over to Hunter for a brief moment, before looking at you again.

"Who's going with you?"

You frown. "What does it matter?"

"Who's going with you?" he repeats the question, slower, a hint of anger lacing his words.

You're silent for a moment, trying to figure out his ulterior motive. You didn't want to tell him, but if he wasn't going to give up, it might just be easier.

"No one," you answer, the words spilling out. "Just me."

The second the words leave your lips, you know you've said the wrong thing. Crosshair's expression morphs into one of fury, his jaw clenched, his brow furrowed.

"You’re letting her go alone?” he asks, turning toward Hunter with an accusatory look. You bristle at the remark, the need to defend yourself growing stronger.

Hunter sighs, running a hand through his hair. He glances at you, and you stare back. You were determined to handle this alone, and while Hunter didn't like it, he understood. So you'd made a deal, the same one you made with Omega, that you'd return quickly and come back alive.

He gives a subtle nod, and you return it.

“I’m not ‘letting her’ do anything. She's an adult, she can do whatever she wants," he answers, crossing his arms. Crosshair's head snaps toward him, his mouth open, but Hunter cuts him off, "Besides, she said she could handle it, and I believe her."

Hunter's words should have made you happy, should have filled you with a sense of pride, but instead all you feel is dread.

If Crosshair had looked angry before, he was downright furious now. His expression morphs from shock to frustration, and his glare shifts from Hunter to you.

You're taken aback by the change. Crosshair had never looked at you like that, not even when he left the squad and you behind.

The look is gone before you can question it, replaced by a steely resolve. He stalks past you, his shoulder brushing yours as he climbs the ramp of the ship.

He doesn't say anything else, doesn't even spare a glance in your direction, and you stare after him, mouth agape, until you realize what he's doing.

"Absolutely not," you snarl, stomping up the ramp behind him. You move to grab his shoulder, but he shrugs you off. "You are not coming with me. I don't want or need your help."

Crosshair ignores your protests, dropping into the copilot's seat. He begins going over the controls, his brow furrowed.

"I don't remember inviting you," you snap. "Get out."

"Don't you mean thank you?" He doesn't turn to look at you, doesn't even spare a glance, as he answers.

"I will thank you when you leave," you seethe. You take a step forward, reaching for his shoulder again. You want him out, and if you have to drag him off the ship, you will.

But he's quicker than you, spinning around to catch your wrist. His hand trembles slightly as he holds it, his grip tightening for a fraction of a second before he releases you.

"You're welcome."

He turns away again, focusing on the control panel, and you growl, frustrated. You can feel your anger bubbling beneath the surface, and you know if you don't calm down, it'll spill over.

"Cross," you start, slowly, trying to keep the venom from your voice, "I don't want you to come with me."

"And I don't want you to leave, but here we are."

He doesn't sound angry anymore, doesn't sound anything, really, but his tone still sets you on edge.

"Look, I know you don't like it, but--"

"Then don't go," he interrupts, his fingers gripping the armrests.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. This was pointless. He isn’t listening to a word you’re saying, and the longer you argue, the longer it will take for you to get off world. If you don’t get going soon, you’ll be late.

"Fine," you hiss, moving to the pilot's seat. "Do whatever you want."

"Good," he replies, his tone sharp. He leans back in the chair, his arms crossed. 

You buckle in and begin the startup sequence, ignoring him. You try to focus on the task at hand, but his presence is distracting, and it takes you a minute longer than usual to finish prepping the ship.

He's still tense, and so are you, but the tension is different. It's uncomfortable, the atmosphere too quiet and too loud all at once. Neither of you speak, and the only sounds are those of the Marauder starting up and the distant chatter of the others outside.

You focus on getting the ship into the air, and Crosshair stares at the ceiling. When you've cleared the planet, you set the coordinates and the ship jumps into hyperspace.

The silence continues. You hate it. You hate how tense things have been, how awkward, how strained.

You don't like him, not anymore, and he's made it clear he doesn't like you, but you were stuck with each other now. You were on a mission, and you didn't have time to sit and stew in your emotions.

"I have a job to do," you say, finally breaking the silence. "It's nothing major, just an exchange. Intel for credits. If you're going to come, then don't get in my way."

Crosshair says nothing, and you don't turn to look at him, but you hear him shift in his seat, the fabric rustling.

"Fine," he responds after some time, his voice quiet. "So what are they giving you?"

You glance over at him, startled by his sudden interest, and you're not sure how to respond. He stares back, his face blank, his expression carefully neutral. It's hard to read him, and while you can't sense any negative emotion from him, you don't trust it.

You fidget, wringing your hands in your lap. This was a bad idea. You shouldn't have told him. He was going to judge you for it, or worse, mock you.

You open your mouth to reply, but the words don't come out. What were you supposed to tell him? The truth?

No.

"Doesn't matter," you murmur, turning away from him.

You wish he'd let the conversation drop. You weren't ready for him to know. You weren't even sure if he'd understand.

"It obviously does, or you wouldn't be this worked up about it," he counters. His voice is quiet, but his tone is firm.

"I'm not worked up." You cross your arms, staring out the viewport.

"Sure you're not." 

You can practically hear him roll his eyes, and it makes you angrier.

"I'm not!"

"Okay, okay. Just calm down."

"Stop telling me what to do," you growl, shooting a glare in his direction.

"Stop being so stubborn, and I will."

"Why do you even care, anyway?”

He flinches slightly, and you can see his expression soften as you hold his gaze, watching as he searches for a response. It takes him a second, and you observe in real time as the walls go back up, his face morphing into a neutral mask.

"I don't."

"Then stop acting like it," you say, rolling your eyes.

He tenses at your words, and he doesn't respond right away. You think he's finally dropped the subject, but he pushes further, his tone cold. "Why do you need it?"

"It's none of your business."

"You're my business,” he says, quick and sharp.

Then, his eyes widen, and his mouth snaps closed. He's clearly as surprised by his response as you are, and the two of you stare at each other in silence, your heart pounding.

"Oh." 

You're not sure what else to say. The two of you aren't friends, aren't anything, but the weight of his statement doesn't go unnoticed.

You can't figure out if he means it.

You're not sure what to think.

"I mean..." he starts, but doesn't finish. He looks away, clearing his throat. 

"It's fine," you interrupt, not wanting to make things more awkward. The tension is back, and you hate it, but at least you've reached an understanding.

There's nothing between you, not anymore.

Crosshair's quiet, and you're grateful for the silence. You take a deep breath, letting the air out slowly. You'd have time to unpack that later, but right now you had to focus on the mission. You could worry about him when this was over.

After a moment, he turns toward you, his gaze flitting over your face. He doesn't look mad, and his expression is almost pensive.

Finally, he sighs.

"You're not going to tell me what it is, are you?" he asks, watching you carefully.

You shake your head. "You’ll find out when I get it."

He stares at you for a long time, his eyes narrowed. Finally, he huffs, slumping back in his seat. His resignation is a relief, and you breathe a small sigh.

"I have to ask," you begin, eager to change the subject, "what was the point of that little display?"

He raises a brow, glancing over at you. "Display?"

"With Hunter," you elaborate, "back there. I assume it wasn't just to annoy me."

He smirks, the corner of his lips curling upward. He tilts his head, and you try not to think about how it's the first time he's looked at you that way since everything happened.

"I was mostly doing it to annoy you."

"Of course you were." You roll your eyes. You don't believe him, not entirely, but you didn't doubt that he wanted to get under your skin. It felt like that was all he'd done since the beginning, and it was getting tiresome.

"But," he begins, leaning back, "if I can't talk you out of doing this, the least I can do is make sure you have backup."

You stare at him, unsure of how to respond. Your mouth opens, then closes, and you blink several times. What were you supposed to say to that?

"That's... sweet, I guess?" You don't mean for it to come out as a question, but the surprise gets the best of you.

He rolls his eyes and shrugs, and you're reminded of the old Crosshair.

The Crosshair who used to tease you, to rile you up, just because he knew it would make you laugh. The Crosshair who would sit with you while you studied, who would make you food when you were too tired to do it yourself. The one who loved his brothers fiercely, even if he was a pain in the ass. The one that you, despite everything, missed.

You didn't think he was capable of being like that anymore, but here he was, proving you wrong.

"Well," he says, shifting uncomfortably, "It’s my job to keep an eye on you."

You can't help but chuckle at his reasoning, though there's a hint of bitterness to the sound, and his scowl returns.

"It's not funny."

"Oh, come on," you reply, crossing your arms, still laughing. "It's a little funny."

"Is not," he argues, but there's no heat to it.

You snicker, shaking your head. It's not funny, but it's nice. Normal, even. It's the most normal conversation you've had in a long time, and the most normal Crosshair has acted, and it's almost like things are the way they were before.

"Whatever you say, dear." 

The pet name slips out without a thought, and you regret it the second it does. You wince, looking over at him. You hope he doesn't take it the wrong way, but he doesn't seem to notice. He just scoffs, a small smile playing on his lips.

You relax in your chair, letting the tension slip from your body. You'd almost forgotten what it was like, how easy things used to be. It felt good, and you wished you could keep that feeling.

"So," you begin, "are you going to be a good boy while we're there, or am I going to have to watch my back?"

"I'm always a good boy," he replies, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You can't help but laugh, and his lips twitch upward, a hint of smugness coloring his features. It's an old joke, and it's ridiculous, but it feels good. You didn't think he had it in him, and hearing his sarcasm again was a welcome surprise.

"We both know that's not true."

"You'd be surprised." He stands, stretching his arms over his head. When he lowers them, he looks at you again, a faint smirk on his lips. "I can be very good, when I want to be.”

He brushes his fingers across your shoulder as he walks past, and the simple touch sends a shiver down your spine. You can't help the heat that rises to your face, and you're thankful that he's turned away from you.

You're left in a daze, your mind racing. You didn't think he was capable of having a civil conversation with you, let alone flirting. And yet here you were, trying desperately not to think about the implications behind his words.

It reminded you of before, before everything had gone to shit. Back when he could make you laugh in just a few words and make you blush with even less. He’d tease and flirt and push all your buttons, and it drove you crazy.

And you loved it.

You thought maybe you loved him too, at some point.

But he had thrown all that away when he abandoned the team. He had tossed aside every moment of laughter and affection and friendship, and he'd never seemed to care. And maybe that's what hurt the most, knowing he'd so easily let go of whatever it was between the two of you.

You'd tried not to think about him, after he left. You'd thrown yourself into the missions, and you'd tried not to look back. The others had done the same, you thought, but when Crosshair came back into your lives, they had forgiven him.

So why was it so hard for you?

The answer was supposed to be easy. You’d been the one he’d tried to kill, after all. But you knew it wasn’t his fault, knew it was the chip. You wanted to forgive him, and in a way, you had, but it still hurt.

Maybe it was because he had hurt you, not physically, but in another way. A deeper way. He had left you. He had abandoned the team, and he had left you behind, and despite ample opportunities, he'd refused to come back.

Or maybe it was because, after all that, after he'd hurt you and the people you cared about, you still couldn't bring yourself to hate him.

Maybe, deep down, you were worried that part of you still loved him.

Your head was spinning. You needed a drink, or a nap, or a distraction.

"Where are you going?" you call after him.

"To make sure Omega didn't sneak aboard," he calls back.

You can’t help but smile, shaking your head. He'd never admit it, but he cared about her. He'd probably deny it to his dying breath, if asked, but you knew better. And as you watch him disappear down the hall, a strange feeling blooms in your chest.

It's warm, and light, and familiar.

And for a brief moment, things almost feel right again.

Crosshair is, for lack of a better word, insufferable. He doesn't listen to a word you say, doesn't follow your directions, and has a bad habit of doing the opposite of what you tell him to do.

He also has a knack for making you feel like an idiot. It was something you conveniently forgotten about during your time apart, and now, you were beginning to remember why you'd fought so much in the past.

And the worst part was, he wasn't even trying to piss you off.

He was just...himself.

"That's not how it's done," he sneers, leaning against the wall. His eyes are on your hands, watching you clean your blaster. You know this game, and you don't want to play. So you do the one thing that always seems to get under his skin.

You ignore him.

You pretend like you haven't heard him, and you continue with your task. You can feel his eyes on you, but you don't look up. He sighs and huffs as you wipe around the trigger mechanism, he crosses his arms as you check the power cell, and you know he's getting antsy.

It isn't until you wet a swatch with solvent and push it through the barrel from front to back, and Crosshair makes a noise of disgust, that you snap.

"What?" you bark, your grip on the weapon tightening. You're not angry, not yet, but you can feel it creeping up on you.

“You’re going to damage the rifling,” he says, pushing off the wall. He reaches for the weapon, but you pull it out of his reach.

"I know what I'm doing."

"Clearly." He rolls his eyes. “If you keep doing that, you’re going to to end up with a misfire or a malfunction, and I don’t think either of us want that. Do you?"

You know he's right, but you don't want to admit it. "No, but—"

"Then give me the damn blaster," he says, reaching out again.

You consider refusing, just to prove a point, but his tone has caught you off guard. He doesn't sound condescending, or mocking, or even annoyed.

He sounds worried.

So you hand it over, and he takes it, his fingers brushing against yours.

"Just let me do it, alright?" he asks, and the frustration in his voice is gone, replaced by something softer.

You nod, watching as he sits next to you, his attention on the weapon. His movements are confident, practiced, and you can't help but notice the way his fingers move as he cleans.

You watch as he sets the blaster aside, grabbing the canister of solvent and a rag. Crosshair's movements are quick and meticulous, and he doesn't miss a spot. What took you nearly twenty minutes to accomplish, he completes in five, and his technique is far more thorough than yours.

“It’s a miracle you haven’t blown your hand off yet," he says, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “If this is what the Jedi were teaching you, no wonder the Empire wiped them out."

Any good will you were feeling toward him disappears in an instant. You bristle, your anger returning, and you glare at him.

"Fuck you."

"Maybe later," he teases, his lips twitching upwards.

You can't decide if his comment was meant to piss you off or annoy you, and you settle for a combination of the two. You're not sure why you expected anything else from him, but the joke hits a sore spot. The fact that he doesn't realize what he's said, that he doesn't understand what he's done, only makes it worse.

Crosshair's smile falls when you continue glaring despite the flush in your cheeks, and you can sense his frustration. He huffs, looking back down at the weapon in his hands.

He's quiet for a long time, his brow furrowed. Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice soft.

"Here," he says, holding the reassembled blaster out, its barrel glistening. It’s the cleanest it's been in months, though you won’t admit it out loud.

Crosshair had always taken great pride in the cleanliness and efficiency of his weapons, and seeing his handiwork in front of you reminds you of simpler times. You’d lost count of the amount of times you’d passed out from exhaustion after a mission or gotten too distracted, only to find your weapons cleaned and ready to go the next morning.

It had irritated you, at first. You hated having your things touched without permission, but eventually, you got used to it. It was nice, knowing he cared enough about you to do such a thing. Though Crosshair always denied it when you tried to thank him. As if it would be anyone other than him.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, and it’s genuine.

He looks at you, and there's a flash of something in his eyes, something softer than the usual indifference. But it's gone before you can decipher its meaning.

“Why do you still use that thing, anyway?" he asks. “It's a piece of junk. Don’t you have a lightsaber?”

You suck in a breath, his words cutting deep. Of course he would bring up the one thing you didn't want to talk about. You should have expected it. You weren't sure why it had never come up, but you should have known it would happen eventually.

He's staring at the blaster, and you know he didn't mean to hurt you, not this time, but the ache is there, nonetheless. The grief sinks in your stomach like a stone, heavy and cold, and your hands shake. You clench them into fists, hoping to hide the movement.

You've gone quiet for too long, and Crosshair knows he's hit a nerve. He turns his attention to you, and his eyes widen when he sees the look on your face.

You're pale, your expression pained. Your mouth is a thin line, your jaw set, and your shoulders are stiff. “No,” you say, your voice quiet. “Not anymore.”

He frowns. He looks confused, and for a second, he almost looks worried. "What happened?"

“I lost it.”

“What?" His voice sounds incredulous, as if the concept is inconceivable. "When?”

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the tears. You'd promised yourself you'd never cry over this again, but it was proving to be more difficult than you'd thought. It hurts, talking about it, and a part of you wants to shut him out. 

But another, bigger, part of you wants him to know. Maybe it's a test, of sorts. If he can't handle this, if he doesn't want to hear the truth, then there's no way he'd be able to handle the rest.

“On Kamino," you say, and your voice shakes, despite your best efforts. You pause, taking a deep breath. You close your eyes, and the memories come back, clear as day. "Around the same time I…” 

You can’t continue, but the words are there, lingering in the air. The same time I lost you.

His mouth forms a silent 'oh', and the room falls silent. You look at the floor, avoiding his eyes, and he does the same. You're not sure how much time passes, but it feels like hours.

He clears his throat, and the sound breaks the spell. You look up, and his eyes are on you, intense and dark. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, and the apology surprises you.

"Don't be." You shrug, but you can't shake the melancholy that's settled over the room.

"You should get a new one," he suggests.

You shake your head. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

Crosshair hums, and he turns away from you. He picks up the cleaning kit and places it back on the shelf. You watch him, wondering if that's the end of the conversation, and a part of you hopes it is.

But when he turns to face you again, his expression is pensive, and his tone is somber.

He sighs, and the weight of his words hit you, his voice quiet.

“You’re not the same, either."

You swallow thickly, unsure how to respond. You’ve had the same thought rolling around in your head for months, but to hear it spoken out loud, to hear it from him, suddenly makes it seem real.

Because he's right.

You aren't the same, not anymore. You hadn't been since the fall of the Order, since Crosshair left, since you'd lost everything. And you couldn't deny the changes that had been wrought within you, no matter how hard you tried.

"Yeah," you say, and the word is heavy on your tongue. “I guess not.”

You stare at each other, and a moment passes. It's an unspoken understanding, an admission, and neither of you can find the right words.

It's then that you realize that maybe he's changed, too.

And that, for whatever reason, makes you sad.

The silence drags on, and you're not sure if he's waiting for you to speak, or if he's waiting for something else. His eyes are searching, his mouth slightly parted, and he looks almost nervous.

Your heart pounds in your chest, and there's a pressure behind your eyes. You want to say something, but you can't think of anything. You're not sure if the urge is to comfort him, or comfort yourself.

You're grateful when you can feel the the hair on the back of your next prickle, a sign of something shifting in the Force. It's a distraction, a welcome one, and you take the opportunity to break eye contact. You stand to make your way to the cockpit, holstering your blaster as you go.

When you reach the door, you pause, glancing back. Crosshair is still standing in the middle of the room, his head tilted in your direction. His eyes are fixed on you, and he looks almost sad.

You swallow thickly and force yourself to speak. “We should be there in a second."

“How do you—“ 

He’s interrupted by the subtle lurch of the ship dropping out of hyperspace, and his confused expression turns to one of exasperation.

You smile, just a little, and Crosshair scoffs.

"Show off," he mutters, following behind you.

I just love anything tension filled when it comes to Crosshair... then it ends with the admission of feelings. The same formula and I will consume 1000 times

Hi there, I've never done a request before, so fun! 🤗 Could you do angst/fluff (enemies to lovers) with fem reader and Crosshair? "What are you staring at?" / "You, is that a problem?" I'd love for the fem reader to give Cross a dose of his snark, so maybe she's the one saying "You, is that a problem?" Some snark to fluff would be wonderful. Thank you for all you do! ❤️

Under the Moon 🌊

🫧 pairings: Crosshair x Female!Reader

word count: 2k

prompts:

• “What are you staring at?” / “You, is that a problem?”

Crosshair didn’t like new people so naturally, he didn’t like you. Or did he? He can bark but you show him that you can certainly bite back.

warnings: Safe for Work, Enemies to Lovers, Kissing, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Bickering, Sassy Moments, Light Angst, Scar/Burn Insecurities, Female Reader.

authors note: sorry for the wait, hope this is okay @megmegalodondon 🫧

The Marauder buzzed with activity, each member of the squad engrossed in their routines. The hum of machinery and quiet murmur of voices filled the air. You were content assisting Tech when a burning sensation prickled on the side of your face, like the intensity of a laser sight. You didn’t need to turn to know who was staring.

Since joining the team, Crosshair’s disdain had been clear. From the moment of his return, he made it obvious he didn’t like you. The others mentioned he wasn’t fond of people in general, and new members who acted like they knew everything were especially irritating to him. Unfortunately, that was you to a tee. Your confidence and cleverness only seemed to amplify his irritation.

As you worked at the main console running diagnostics, you felt Crosshair’s gaze drilling into you. Stealing a glance, you shot him a look of annoyance, but his face remained an impassive mask, eyes like cold steel.

You muttered under your breath, turning back to your task, but his presence was an undeniable distraction. Despite his abrasive attitude, you couldn't ignore his striking looks—though you'd never admit it aloud. His chiseled jaw, the intensity in his eyes, the way his hands worked methodically over his rifle — it was all infuriatingly attractive. Sadly his snarky attitude was less than desirable.

“Can you keep the static to a minimum?” Crosshair’s sharp voice cut through the silence, jolting you from your thoughts. His brows were furrowed in irritation, lips a thin line.

You rolled your eyes, fingers pausing on the controls. “It’s called doing my job, Crosshair. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

He set his rifle down with a clatter and stood, his tall frame casting a long shadow over you and his eyes bore into you. “My job is to keep us safe, and I can’t do that if I can’t concentrate.”

“Oh, please. Like your concentration is ever that perfect,” you retorted, standing to meet his gaze. “Or maybe you’re just looking for an excuse to complain.”

His brown eyes darkened, a dangerous glint in them. “I don’t need excuses to point out incompetence.” He stepped closer, the tension between you thick.

“Incompetence? You—” Your retort was cut short by Omega’s innocent voice from her corner, breaking the charged atmosphere.

“Why do you two always fight? It’s like you actually like each other or something.”

Wrecker, lounging on a crate nearby, let out a booming laugh. “Yeah, it’s like a schoolyard crush! You both just need to admit it!”

Your face flushed with embarrassment, heat rising to your cheeks. “What? No! That’s ridiculous,” you spluttered, glaring at the two of them. “Crosshair would be the last guy in all the galaxy I’d ever get with.”

Crosshair crossed his arms, a smug smirk playing on his lips. “Feeling’s mutual.”

Tech glanced up from his datapad, adding his two credits. “Statistically, opposites do attract. It’s not entirely out of the question.”

You and Crosshair turned on him in unison. “Shut up, Tech!”

He raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Charming. But that just proves my point.”

Your embarrassment deepened as the rest of the squad chuckled. “I’m done with this,” you muttered, turning on your heel and storming away from the others.

Omega’s voice trailed after you, “We were just teasing!”

The next day, you were tasked with scouting a base for Rex, determining the best points for a future infiltration. The dense jungle surrounded you, the air thick with humidity, leaves glistening with moisture and you’re still in a sour mood from yesterday which is only to worsen. As you navigated through the underbrush, Hunter’s voice cut through your thoughts.

“You and Crosshair will go ahead together. Maybe sort out your differences while you’re at it.” Clearly, yesterday’s bickering had reached his ears, and this was your punishment. Crosshair merely grunted, a typical response, and began moving ahead without waiting for you. Reluctantly, you followed.

The jungle was alive with the chirps and calls of unseen creatures, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and foliage. At the coordinates, Crosshair suggested a lookout point, but you were less than convinced. “You’re out of your mind if you think that’s a good vantage point,” you stated, shooting him a stern look.

He raised an eyebrow, his face a mask of annoyance. “And where would you suggest, General?” he drawled, sarcasm dripping from every word.

You pointed to a higher spot, frustration evident in your voice. “There, we’ll have a better view of the perimeter.”

Crosshair crossed his arms, a mocking smile on his face. “That’s weak. We’ll be seen.”

Your face flushed with annoyance because this wasn’t the first time he disagreed with you, it was almost every single time.

“Or maybe you can’t handle the climb and that’s why you’re opting for the lower point?” You challenge.

His smirk faded slightly, and he took a deliberate step closer, invading your space. With a fluid motion, he removed his helmet, locking his intense eyes on you. “You’re new here, Kitten. Maybe you should learn to trust my judgment.” His voice low and testing.

Your heart pounded, and you could feel the heat radiating from him. “Trust your judgment?” You scoff, doing your best to ignore the petname he just gave you. “You’re so arrogant!” you retorted whilst also trying to ignore how his proximity affected you.

Crosshair leaned in even closer, his breath brushing against your face. “Arrogant? Or just right?” His gaze flicked down to your lips, lingering. “You should watch that pretty mouth of yours.” The air between you crackled with tension, and for a brief, electrifying moment, it seemed like he wanted to kiss you. Or maybe you wanted to kiss him.

But did he just call you pretty? Was he mocking you? Either way, you find yourself in a sudden daze as you’re hypnotised by his eyes. The realisation hits you hard, leaving you momentarily speechless and strangely drawn to him despite your better judgment.

His breath is warm, scented but breathing deadly silent. If you closed your eyes, you probably wouldn’t even assume he was mere inches from you but he was and it was consuming.

Before either of you could react, a blaster shot rang out, shattering the moment. “Cover’s blown,” Crosshair snapped, his voice yanking you both back to reality. He sprang into action, and you followed, the adrenaline overtaking your argument.

Maybe, it was best to leave the arguing for after the mission.

Later that night, the squad had returned to Pabu, the mission a success despite the rocky start you and Crosshair had caused by not paying attention.

The others were inside the Marauder, their laughter and chatter a comforting presence. The warm, humid air wrapped around you as you stepped outside, needing space to clear your head, especially to think about what had happened earlier with a certain Sniper.

The tropical night was alive with sounds—creatures chirping, leaves rustling in the gentle breeze, and the distant call of birds. You wandered down to the beach, the soft, damp sand cool beneath your bare feet. The waves lapped rhythmically at the shore, and the moon hung low in the sky, casting a silver path over the water.

As you walked along the shore, you noticed a lone figure lying on the beach. At first you panicked thinking someone was injured but upon closer inspection, silhouetted against the moonlit horizon, it was Crosshair.

He lay on his back, arms folded behind his head, staring up at the vast expanse of the night sky. His usually stern features seemed softer in the moonlight, lost in thought.

For a moment, you considered turning back, but something compelled you to approach him. The sand crunched softly beneath you feet you drew closer, stopping a few feet away. You don’t say anything at first and then end up doing something unexpected—you lay down beside him, your eyes tracing the same stars he was watching. Did he do this often?

Supposedly all the time he spent in a cell made stargazing a rare luxury.

The usual tension between you seemed to vanish in the night air. Crosshair remained silent, his face expressionless as you both lay there, the silence stretching out, surprisingly comfortable.

After a few minutes, you turned your head slightly, your hair brushing against the sand as you watched him. His profile was illuminated by the moonlight dancing; casting sharp shadows and highlighting the lines of his face.

Just like you had noticed him staring at you the day before, he sighed. “What are you staring at?” he asked, his voice low and rough, like gravel.

“You. Is that a problem?” you replied, tone challenging.

He shifted slightly, his eyes flicking towards you before returning to the sky. “Are you looking at my scar?”

“No,” you replied with a small frown, not realising that might be a sensitive topic for him. You had heard about how he got it, but it wasn't something you consciously noticed.

“Good. Look away,” he grumbled, but there was no real anger in his voice. Instead of arguing, you did as he asked, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

After a few minutes, Crosshair sighed once more. “Tech was right.”

You turned your head, confusion knitting your brows together. “About what?”

His gaze remained fixed on the moon, his profile bathed in its soft light. “Sometimes, opposites do attract.”

You were taken aback, eyes widening and quite unsure of how to respond. “Really?”

He nodded slowly, the movement almost missable. “I secretly admire how you take my comments on the chin and aren’t afraid to speak your mind. It’s... admirable.” His voice was awkward, as if admitting his feelings was a foreign concept. His usual mask of indifference slipped slightly, revealing a hint of vulnerability.

Surprise washed over you. All this time, you had thought Crosshair hated you. His constant criticism, the way he always seemed to challenge you—it had all felt like disdain. But now, you realized it was his strange way of showing respect, of acknowledging your strength.

“You could’ve gone about it a different way, y’know?”

“I know.” He responds stiffly.

You smile softly. “That’s a strange way to apologise to me as well.” You jest.

There’s a very faint chuckle that parts his lips as he says, “don’t push it.”

A heartfelt silence settled between you, the sound of the waves the only interruption. But, you still had one thing on your mind.

Breaking the silence, you asked, “Earlier, during the mission... what do you think went wrong?”

Crosshair's expression hardened slightly, his eyes narrowing. “We were distracted. We weren’t focused.”

You bit your lip, gathering your courage. “I thought... for a moment, I thought you were going to kiss me. Would you have?”

Crosshair fell silent, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

Oh no. Why did you have to open your mouth?

Embarrassment flushed through you, and you began to sit up, ready to leave. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

Before you could finish, his hand reached out, gently stopping you. He said nothing, his gaze intense and unreadable as he held onto your arm.

Slowly, he sat forward and tilted your face towards his, his touch surprisingly gentle. Without a word, he leaned in and kissed you, a brief but electrifying connection that left you breathless, your heart trying to leap out of your chest.

The kiss was soft, tentative, as if he was testing the waters. He pulled back before you could even comprehend what was happening, his eyes searching yours, and for once, there was no hostility, only a vulnerable sincerity.

“How’s that for an apology?” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, his breath warm against your lips.

You lick your lower lip, having to suppress a dreamy sigh as you could taste him on your tongue. “Surprising.” You say softly, completely smitten all of a sudden.

He smirks, eyes scanning your face. “I’ve never seen you so bashful,”

“Yes, well, kissing someone who you thought was your enemy tends to have that effect.”

He chuckles, lifting his hand and tucking some hair that was dancing in the soft breeze behind your ear. “How about another one?”

You grin, leaning in close. “I won’t say no to that.”

Masterlist is pinned ♥️

Tags: @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @the-bad-batch-baroness

@greaser-wolf @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @lulalovez @green-alm0nd

@ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @jesseeka

@theroguesully @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone

@ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog

@pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87

@ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @lamiliani @imalovernotahater @sithstrings @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad @yunggoblin @photogirl894

👩‍🎤 I'd love to be added- I absolutely love star wars.

Fandom Friday, 08/09: Fanfiction

Hello again, everyone...and welcome to another installment of Fandom Friday, the two-post series where I go off to find new and interesting fanworks that might need a bit more visibility.

Before we go into the list...I just want to repeat that I'm updating my tag list, so that I can continue to reach those who are interested and possibly strike everyone who isn't from the roster. So, if this still describes you, just drop a rockstar emoji (👩‍🎤) into the comments or reblogs, and I'll keep on tagging you. If not...just don't like, reblog, or respond to anything, and I'll be sure to scratch you off.

And so, without further delay, here are my fanfiction picks of the week.

THE CLONE WARS

The Clone Wars Fanfiction--By @st4rsnf1cs:

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My Family is Elsewhere

Pairings: Rex x Mando fem! Reader Summary: you had saved Rex from a crashed republic ship and got him help. After that you couldn't stay aw

THE BAD BATCH

The Bad Batch Fanfiction--By @vodika-vibes:

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That's What Family Does

Okay, silly ask and you can decline if you don’t do the pregnancy stuff! But I was thinking a Crosshair x reader where they were an item pre

The Bad Batch Fanfiction--By @green-alm0nd:

green-alm0nd.tumblr.com

[Crosshair X gn!reader]: Bigger picture

---- ---- Summary: After Crosshair joined the Empire, your relationship has been complicated, especially since there was palpable and unreso

THE ORIGINAL TRILOGY

The Original Trilogy Fanfiction--By @tsotf-fic:

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♚ chapter 1 - when stars collide ♛

i. sisters "Are you sure the feathers are necessary?" Leia asked as her attendant droid, WA-2V, laced up the back of her bodice. A cloud o

THE MANDALORIAN

The Mandalorian Fanfiction--By @stardust-and-snickerdoodles:

stardust-and-snickerdoodles.tumblr.com

you're not in the dark; but far from the light pt. 1

fandom: The Mandalorian pairing: Din Djarin x Reader summary: After a bounty hunt gone wrong, Din must take care of your wounds and watch ov

The Mandalorian Fanfiction--By @whxtedreams:

whxtedreams.tumblr.com

The Hunter and His Witch

A Witch Hunter!Din Djarin x witch!reader oneshot Summary: The task assigned to him by the lords was a simple one, whether her body was brou

AHSOKA

Ahsoka Fanfiction--By @illuminatedquill:

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Random Musings

Short Story Summary: Hera Syndulla arrives at Sabine and Ezra's comm tower to drop off the first print editions of their personal trading

In conclusion, as part of my mission to poke around the Star Wars fandom and, on Friday every week, highlight those writers who might otherwise go unnoticed…I hope you will check out the links I have included for yourselves and like, comment on, and reblog them, as well as also giving the writers a few more followers to their Tumblr pages.

Please also like and reblog this latest installment so that these links can be spread around to as many other fans as possible, just in case not all of them can tune in at the same time.

An additional thank you goes to @djarrex for making the divider I used earlier in this post, but still want to give credit for.

And finally, so that I do not forget…thank you to my friends, thank you to this fandom, good morning, and good luck.

No Pressure Tags: @melymigo @algo-o-nada @theosb0rnway @everybirdfellsilent @skellymom

@leos-multifandom-corner @maggie-dylan @leenabb104104 @gun-roswell @tazmbc1

@bluedeedeedoop @its-time-to-rise-above @tlmtwelve and anybody else who might be on the lookout for new SW fanfiction.