20 y/o Genderfluid I post art of Oc’s, DnD,DC/Batman, Our Life N&F and B&A, DELTARUNE, The Pitt, etc!! sometimes nsfw reposts!! DNI BATCEST shippers, and the usual DNI’s!!!
A/N: If your name starts with K or J and you know me irl DO NOT READ THIS I WILL DIE. I decided that I haven’t written anything new in a long time so I decided to release this.
Art by: @techsdatapadd
Tahlia walks through the halls of Tipoca City. She makes her way to the training room that Hunter had requested the squad to meet up at on their day off. The batch very seldom uses their days off to relax, as the squad is often very antsy whenever they have downtime.
Crosshair had left Tahlia’s personal quarters— which the Republic generously offered her so that she wouldn’t have to share quarters with the rest of the bad batch— early that morning, departing before she woke up.
She arrives at the designated training room. The blast doors whoosh open. She finds the squad already doing some exercises. Wrecker’s attention shifts to her, and he laughs. His laugh signals the others to look in her direction as well. Echo and Tech pause their sparring in order to exchange amused glances with each other. Hunter’s eyes shift to her. He nods, expectingly. They walk towards each other.
“I wasn’t expecting you or Crosshair to show up this early,” Hunter crosses his arms.
“What? Why? We don’t disobey you that much,” Tahlia questions.
“It just look like you two had a busy night, that’s all,” he explains.
“I’m sorry? I don’t understand,” Tahlia’s face contorts with confusion.
As if an answer in itself, Hunter points behind him at Crosshair. Tahlia follows Hunter’s gesture. Her eyes land on Crosshair who is currently prepping his rifle for use, but what really draws her attention is that he stands shirtless. His back— which is facing towards the sergeant and the mechanic— is marked with angry red scratches in numerous locations.
Tahlia feels her face begin to heat up. A slight purple hue dusts her cheeks and the tip of her nose. “Excuse me, sergeant. I have to.. uh…,” the pantoran struggles to choose her words, “deal with something,” she continues, before quickly walking away from Hunter— who is now dressed in an amused smirk, knowing that the marksman is going to have some stern words thrown at him. She beelines towards Crosshair.
Crosshair’s attention turns from his firepuncher as the sound of rushed footsteps echo behind him.
Tahlia stands behind him. Her foot taps on the ground, and her arms cross. “Put a shirt on,” she quickly mutters, avoiding looking directly at him.
“Good morning to you too, darling,” Crosshair sarcastically greets.
“Crosshair, put a shirt on,” she repeats in a rushed manner, still not looking in his direction. Her eyes trained to the ground, the wall, anywhere but at him. More specifically, at his back.
“Why?” He questions, and the corner of his lips turn upward in a sly smirk.
“You’re not funny,” she snarls.
“You’re going to have to be more clear, cyar’ika,” his body now fully turns towards her, as he gives her his full, undivided attention. The feeling of his eyes on her causes her face to heat up more. Her eyes lock onto a specific scrape on the wall behind him.
“I swear to the maker. I will actually karking kill you,” Tahlia threatens. “There are cameras here. If you get decommissioned, I will feel no remorse.”
Crosshair crosses his arms in response, squaring her up. A smirk still remains prominent on his face, almost mocking the pantoran.
Tahlia lets her gaze finally meet him. She grabs his arm and tugs him down, so that his ear is at level with her mouth. “What happened last night will never happen again if you don’t put on a shirt right now,” she whispers— in a firm, unwavering tone— in order to keep her words a hidden secret from any curious ears.
Crosshair’s smirk immediately falters, and it is replaced with a frown. He takes a step back. The marksman holds her gaze in a sharp glare. He knows she has won. Tahlia’s stern expression shifts into one of pure unyielding victory. The disappearance of Crosshair’s smug expression making her fueled with satisfaction.
Crosshair reluctantly holds out his sniper for her to grab. Her fingers wrap around the metal with care. He saunters over to where his shirt lays discarded, and he picks it up and holds it up over his head before, dramatically, pulling it down to conceal his torso.
A small motion, out of the corner of her eye, tears Tahlia’s attention away from her boyfriend. Her eyes shift to see Hunter giving her a small thumbs up with an amused smile. Curse his enhanced senses.
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