AC:
Some playful banter ending in a heated moment.
Chapter 8. Close Enough To Burn
You needed to move.
After too many hours in your own head, you slipped out into the open air of the camp, leaving Crosshair’s silence behind.
Tech was crouched near a comm array, tools splayed in precise lines, goggles down, brow furrowed in surgical focus. The man with the ever working mind.
He didn’t look up when you approached.
“You calibrating that thing or dismantling it atom by atom?” you asked.
“I’m improving it,” he said, matter-of-fact. “It was inefficient.”
You smirked, knowingly. “What isn’t, by your standards?”
“Most things,” he replied dryly, and handed you a coil of wiring without breaking stride. “You have steady hands. Hold that.”
You did.
Without fuss. Without small talk. It's simple, uncomplicated, easing your mind for a moment.
He gave you clear instructions, crisp and quick, and you followed them. It was easy. Not emotionally loaded. Not fragile.
Just clean cooperation.
And strangely? That helped.
You liked Tech. He had a habit of calling things what they were, always, even when people didn't want to hear them. But that made him refreshingly uncomplicated.
His logic kept him distant, but there was something behind it, a quiet attentiveness most missed. But not you.
You saw the way he glanced at you, just briefly, when your fingers brushed.
You saw the faintest twitch of a smile when you quipped back at his instructions.
And you saw how he didn’t push. He knew you needed quiet for a moment.
Didn’t prod.
He just let you be, right here, right now, in the middle of wires and wind and half-broken circuits.
And for the first time in days,
you felt like yourself again.
But then, there was something in the back of your head, a feeling, a weight.
You noticed the look.
Just a flicker in Crosshair’s eyes as he passed by and saw you with Tech, sleeves rolled, wires tangled, both of you focused on the comm relay. You weren’t doing anything inappropriate, nothing flirtatious.
But it was easy.
And Crosshair noticed.
Later, as you passed him near the hold, he muttered under his breath, low, like a sniper calling wind speed:
“So now you're Tech’s apprentice?”
It was almost nothing. Almost.
You didn’t even stop walking. Just threw a glance over your shoulder.
“That sounds a little like jealousy.”
He scoffed, cold and sharp.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Then he disappeared into the darker part of the corridor, like smoke pulled into shadow.
You watched him go. And smiled.
Sometimes it was easy to read him... sometimes.
You found him later, in a quiet corner of the camp, sitting on a crate, long legs folded, cleaning his rifle with slow, methodical precision. His expression unreadable. His focus absolute.
You sat down across from him.
He didn’t even look up.
You tilted your head. Waited.
Still nothing.
So you did the only logical thing:
you threw something soft at him.
A rolled-up blanket, not heavy, just enough to knock gently against his temple.
He froze.
His eyes lifted. Slowly. Deliberately.
One brow arched with the weight of the galaxy behind it.
You smiled sweetly. “Hi.”
He turned back to his rifle.
So you threw another one, this time a bundled jacket from a supply crate nearby.
He caught it. Mid-air. One hand. Effortless.
“Stop being silly.”
You leaned back, playful. “I’m feeling silly.”
He tossed it back at you, a sharp, clean throw.
You ducked, narrowly dodging it, and rolled off the bench onto your feet with a surprised laugh.
His eyes narrowed.
You grinned. “They gave you the wrong name, you know. Should’ve called you Crosseye, you didn’t even come close.”
That did it. He put down the gear in his hand, with vigor.
He stood, smooth and silent, but there was a glint in his eyes now. One that didn’t match the rest of his face.
You bolted.
He followed.
Across the camp, past empty crates and low lamps, through tents and over power cables.
You zigzagged like a shadow. He stalked you like a ghost.
His face remained focused. Intense. But he wasn’t aiming to hurt.
He was aiming to catch.
You laughed, light and fast, breathless with adrenaline and something that buzzed under your skin. This time, being hunted by him, felt very different
And Crosshair?
He didn’t say a word.
But he didn’t stop.
A few heads turned.
Echo raised a brow.
Wrecker paused mid-snack.
But neither of you cared.
Eventually, he cornered you, between two storage crates near the far edge of the base.
You spun, chest heaving, grinning like a kid caught sneaking sweets.
And there he was.
Right in front of you.
No exit.
His steps slowed, deliberate now. Calculated.
You backed up against the wall, palms behind you, eyes locked on his.
He said nothing.
Just watched you.
His breath even.
Yours not.
And when his hand lifted, not fast, not aggressive, just decisive,
you didn't flinch.
You smiled.
And waited.
He had you cornered.
Body still, breath calm, at least on the outside. You were pinned between crates, grinning like a devil with a secret. And he hated, hated, how much he wanted to see what you'd do next.
He should have said something. Should have ended this.
But he didn’t.
Because you weren’t laughing like it was a joke.
You were glowing with it. Like there was something tickling you beneath your skin.
And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like a weapon. He's not threat.
He felt like a man. On the edge of something he couldn't name.
His hand lifted slightly, not to grab you.
Not to hurt.
Just… a motion. A pull. You were like gravity.
But he hesitated.
He'd had flings. Enough of them.
Bodies. Heat. Discharge.
Quick, quiet, forgettable.
That's what was expected. That’s what he’d learned. Clones weren’t made to connect.
They were made to perform. Obey. Leave no ties.
And you?
You were different.
You weren’t just adrenaline.
You weren’t something to release.
You were invading.
His chest was too tight. His jaw clenched.
His eyes dropped, just for a breath, to your mouth.
And in that moment, you moved.
Quick and clever, just like always.
You ducked under his arm, boots scuffing against dirt, one hand catching a nearby crate to swing yourself higher.
He turned fast, a reflex. But not fast enough.
You kissed him.
A press of lips to his cheek.
Warm. Real.
Personal.
He froze.
Everything stopped, sound, breath, thought, maybe even time.
His body didn’t know what to do with the softness of it. The choice in it. Your choice to get this close and personal.
Not instinct. Not obligation.
You chose to kiss him.
And the worst part?
He liked it.
A lot.
It hit him like a short burst of blaster heat against bare skin, fast, disorienting, intimate. Something curled tight beneath his ribs and refused to let go.
By the time he blinked, you were already sprinting across the camp.
He stared after you, unmoving.
Then his pulse finally caught up.
His fingers twitched.
His jaw flexed.
And his ears burned.
The chase wasn’t over.
This time, he ran.
And this time,
he wasn’t holding back.
You were laughing again.
Half breath, half heartbeat, weaving through the supply crates behind the east barracks, the night air cool against your skin. Crosshair was right behind you, silent as ever, but you could feel the heat of his pursuit in every fiber of your body.
His steps were heavier now. More focused.
There was no smirk on his face.
No casual distance.
He wanted to catch you.
And he meant it this time.
You ducked left, spun behind a support column, heart pounding with adrenaline and something warmer, deeper, clawing under your ribs.
Then, you felt it before you saw it, a shift in air.
He was right there.
You turned to bolt again, too late.
His body met yours.
Not hard. Not painful.
Just solid.
His hand braced behind you against the wall, the other landing against the crate behind your hip, caging you in. You weren’t struggling. Not now.
You looked up.
He looked down.
Too close.
Your chest rose sharply with your breath. His eyes flicked to your mouth, again, then to your throat, your eyes.
He didn’t touch you.
But he didn’t move away either.
And it hit you both at once, that invisible gravity pulling tight between you. Closing the gap.
Too long. Too close.
Too much.
You barely saw who moved first.
Your mouths met like a fault line giving way, sudden, sharp, hot.
It wasn’t practiced.
It wasn’t gentle.
It was instinct.
Your hands fisted in the collar of his blacks, peaking out of his armor, without thinking.
His mouth was desperate, almost punishing, like he was angry at himself for needing this so badly.
He pressed you back against the crate with nothing but his body, braced on either side of you, his breath ragged against your cheek between kisses.
His lips left yours for a heartbeat, only to return harder. Deeper.
And then...
“Hey, you guys seen my...”
Wrecker.
Crosshair froze.
You both did.
You pulled back, breath gone, head light.
Crosshair took a full step back like he’d been hit by a grenade, expression unreadable, but eyes wide.
Wrecker blinked.
Paused.
And held up a ration bar awkwardly.
“…nevermind.”
He backed out fast.
Crosshair didn’t speak.
He stared at you, jaw clenched, hands curled at his sides like they didn’t know what to do without touching you.
And then he turned.
Fast.
Gone around the corner before you could say a word.
But you heard it in your chest:
Not fear.
Need.
He wanted you, with a hunger so sudden and sharp it scared him.
Because it wasn’t just your body.
It was your presence.
Your closeness.
Your attention.
And the terrifying pull to know everything about you, mind, will, soul.
And for a man who’d been taught never to want…
that was the most dangerous temptation of all.
AC:
It's getting a bit funny, cheeky and flirty.
________
Chapter 7. Splinters and Snorts
The Marauder had settled into orbit for refueling, and most of the squad had drifted into their own patterns. You’d found a quiet corner in the hold, not hiding, just… not ready to be seen.
That’s when the voices started.
“Wrecker,” Crosshair’s tone was already warning, flat as ever.
You leaned slightly to peek around the bulkhead, unnoticed.
Wrecker was crouched near the galley table, proudly displaying what could only be described as a miniature speeder bike, held together with ration wrappers, tape, and about ten of Crosshair’s toothpicks.
Wrecker grinned. “Look at it! Used the right angles and everything, it’s aerodynamic!”
Wrecker shrugged, not even a little sorry. “Didn’t see your name on ’em.”
“They were in my locker.”
“You leave ’em everywhere.”
Crosshair stepped forward, not threatening, just... radiating irritation like a silent thermal detonator. “Those were military-issue.”
“They’re toothpicks, Crosshair.”
“Custom-grade.”
Wrecker blinked. “You mean… flavored?”
You saw it then, a twitch in Crosshair’s eye. The kind that said he was one second from snapping. Or combusting.
Wrecker bit back a grin. “Wait, wait, you’ve been hoarding fancy toothpicks? Like some secret snack stash?”
“They’re not...” Crosshair cut himself off, hissing through his teeth.
“Cherry? Mint? Ooh, is that why you’re always chewing on them, huh? Stress relief and good breath?”
You bit your lip. Hard.
But it escaped anyway.
A noise. Half-snort, half-laugh, completely involuntary.
Both men froze.
Crosshair’s head turned slowly, eyes narrowing, expression sharp, but his gaze met yours for just a split second.
And for that fraction of a moment, you saw it.
His eyes widened slightly.
Not anger.
Not embarrassment.
Just… surprise.
Then his mask slammed back into place like a blast door. Cold. Neutral. Unreadable.
Wrecker turned too, grinning like a thief.
“Well, look who’s laughing,” he said, pointing at you. “Guess someone’s feeling better.”
You shook your head, still smiling, one hand over your mouth. “I wasn’t laughing.”
Wrecker nudged Crosshair with an elbow. “She snorted.”
Crosshair muttered, turning away, voice low and grumbly.
“Cute.”
You didn’t miss the way his fingers twitched toward his belt pouch, pulling out a single toothpick and tucking it between his teeth like a ritual.
Steadying. Familiar. His again.
And for just a second longer, the hold felt… lighter.
Not fixed.
But better.
The Marauder was in hyperspace, its hum steady and low. The crew had settled into their routines, quiet, efficient, used to motion.
You weren’t in the mood for routine.
So you stretched out across one of the sealed cargo crates in the hold, legs dangling off the side, hands folded over your stomach as you stared at the ceiling.
The air smelled faintly of metal, old leather, caf grounds, and something sharp you couldn't quite name, like blaster oil and dried herbs.
Rough, strange, and somehow exactly right. Like the crew that lived in it.
You hummed quietly to yourself, a tune without words. Half-memory, half invention. The kind of sound that filled spaces too big to be left quiet.
You didn’t hear him approach.
But you felt him.
Then suddenly, his face appeared upside down above yours, that unmistakable scowl, golden eyes narrowing slightly.
You blinked, smiled lazily.
“Hi, handsome.”
There was the smallest flicker. A pause.
He blinked, just once. Barely.
Then reset.
“You want to stay in here forever?” he asked, dry as dust. “Should I build you a little bed out of crates?”
You didn’t flinch.
Didn’t miss a beat.
With syrup-sweet sarcasm, you grinned.
“Yes please.”
He rolled his eyes, full-body and theatrical, then disappeared from view with a muttered sound that was half grunt, half defeated huff.
You sat up slowly, watching him go, tall, controlled, precise in every step, posture tight like someone who’d forgotten how to fully relax.
And stars, he was…
Something.
That height. That sharp presence. The precision in his movements, even when he was irritated.
The golden eyes, always calculating. The gray of his hair didn’t age him, it sharpened him.
Made him look carved from something cold, but clean.
Like discipline with a soul buried deep inside.
And there was something intensely clever about him too, not just tactical.
Perceptive. Ruthless, sometimes, yes. But aware.
You felt heat at the back of your neck.
Realized you’d been staring.
And as if the universe noticed, he did, too.
Crosshair glanced over his shoulder.
You froze. Looked down fast.
Your fingers suddenly very interesting. Nails fascinating. Urgently in need of inspection.
Behind you: silence.
Heavy, but not unfriendly.
And when he walked away, you swore, just for a second,
there was a curve at the corner of his mouth.
Almost like a smile.
Barton IV was quiet.
Too quiet.
But not in a threatening way, more like a space that had seen too much, and was now holding its breath.
As the Marauder touched down and the ramp lowered, you were the last to step out. The earth beneath your boots was firm, the air thick with moisture and old machinery.
Clones waited nearby, not in formation, not armed. Relaxed, watchful, human. Some talking. Some pausing.
You scanned the group with open curiosity.
You already knew Rex, of course. Familiar face. A rare anchor.
But before he reached you, your eyes slid over to another.
Howzer.
Posture straight, arms folded, that steady warmth in his gaze like a soldier who hadn't forgotten how to feel. There was something about him, kind, composed, just earnest enough to make you grin.
“So many pretty boys around here,” you said under your breath, just loud enough to be heard.
Howzer blinked, visibly caught off guard. His shoulders tightened slightly, then dropped in something like bashful confusion. A flicker of a smile tugged at the edge of his mouth as he looked away, mildly flustered.
And then...
Gregor.
He appeared at your side like a ghost with no regard for personal space, or timing.
His signature short, strange laugh came first, followed by:
“Well, some of us try to keep things interesting.”
It was light. Harmless. Respectful in distance, but unmistakably flirtatious in tone.
And that’s when you felt it.
Crosshair.
Just behind you. Off to the right.
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
But for two seconds, just two, his posture shifted.
Tension.
Barely a breath.
Just enough for someone like Hunter to catch it, and he did. His eyes flicked over to Crosshair with quiet calculation.
He said nothing.
Neither did Crosshair.
But you felt that weight settle behind you like a shadow made of iron.
Then Rex stepped forward, arms crossed, expression neutral but eyes warmer than you remembered.
“Didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” he said.
You smiled, this time, honestly. “Didn’t expect to be here.”
You shook his hand, grateful for the steadiness.
And behind you?
Crosshair stayed silent.
But his presence pressed against your skin like the memory of heat,
something you hadn’t realized you missed
until it was right there again.
Warnings: None, yet. I think.
_____
AC
I think this chapter is pretty long. Next ones will be a good bit shorter.
_____
Chapter 6. Brothers And Burning Homes
The meeting point was as neutral as it could be, a high desert plateau beneath a slowly turning sky, no settlements in range, no cover to hide behind. No tricks.
The Marauder arrived just before sundown.
You stood near the edge of the landing zone, arms crossed, letting the dry wind tug at your jacket. Crosshair stood beside you, silent, sharp, still as stone. But you noticed it: his hand twitched once, barely, like some part of him was trying to steady itself.
The ship’s ramp lowered with a hiss. Familiar silhouettes emerged.
Hunter.
Tech.
Wrecker.
Echo.
They moved slowly. Cautiously.
Crosshair didn’t move.
Then Wrecker saw him, and his whole face broke into a grin that could have cracked open the ground beneath you.
“Crosshair!”
He came forward in a rush, all strength and heart, like the time and silence between them didn’t exist. He stopped just short of grabbing him, arms half-raised like he didn’t know whether to hug or punch him.
Crosshair stiffened, then exhaled through his nose. “You’re still loud.”
Wrecker let out a laugh, loud, genuine. “Yeah. And you’re still a damn stick.”
Behind him, Hunter came to a stop, watching quietly. His stance was calm but guarded.
“You came,” he said.
Crosshair’s reply was measured. “She asked.”
Hunter nodded once. “That’s more than I expected.”
Tech was already scanning the area, datapad in hand, his voice as even as ever. “You appear to be in stable condition. Mostly. I’d recommend addressing that untreated leg injury before it worsens.”
Crosshair didn’t even blink. “Still a genius, I see.”
“Correct,” Tech said.
You stepped back then, just enough to let them have their space. You wandered a few paces back to your ship, folding your arms, watching quietly as the Bad Batch gathered around the brother who once walked away. Their formation was loose, unsure, but it was forming again.
Crosshair stood at the center, tense but not hostile. His eyes moved across each of them, not looking for threats, not this time. Just… remembering.
You saw it in his posture, the faintest shift. Like something long-frozen had started to thaw.
Like a sense of familiarity he didn’t want to need… but did.
Later, he found you near the Marauder’s ramp, just as the light dipped low over the horizon.
You saw him coming, steady steps, shoulders squared.
“So,” you said.
“I’m going with them,” he said, voice level.
You nodded. “Figured.”
He glanced back toward the others, then returned his gaze to you.
“It’s not permanent.”
You smirked, dry and quiet. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“I know.”
The silence between you hovered, not cold, not final. Just cautious.
You shrugged. “They’re your brothers.”
He looked at you for a long moment, unreadable.
Then, low and simple:
“Wasn’t just a job, flying with you.”
That was it.
No smile. No elaboration. Just those words.
You didn’t know what to say to that. Not right away.
Before you could try, he turned and walked toward the Marauder, boots steady on the rock and dust.
You didn’t follow.
You just watched, until he disappeared into the ship.
And you stayed behind, in the quiet.
Alone again.
But not untouched.
The Marauder had long since disappeared, its engines leaving only silence in its wake.
You stood at the edge of your own ship’s ramp, arms crossed, watching the dust settle.
Crosshair was gone.
You told yourself it didn’t matter.
He was a soldier.
You were a pilot.
He went back to what he knew.
And you kept flying.
But the quiet he left behind didn’t feel like peace.
It felt like something unsaid still echoing through the halls of your ship.
The way he stood before he left.
The way he said that one thing, “Wasn’t just a job, flying with you.”
It shouldn’t have meant anything.
But it did.
Days passed.
You stayed in motion, short jobs, minor runs, keeping below radar. Nothing risky. Nothing that required you to think too hard or feel too much.
And yet, in every quiet moment, when the engines idled, when the nav systems recalibrated, when the lights flickered in the dark, your thoughts slipped back to him.
His silence.
His steadiness.
His presence, so sharp it had carved itself into your ship even after he was gone.
And the question you couldn’t shake:
Will I ever see him again?
__________
One week later.
The stars stretched endlessly in every direction, and you were drifting somewhere between nowhere and not yet known destination, hands resting on the controls but not really flying.
Your eyes were open, but your mind was far away, chasing thoughts you couldn’t pin down.
Crosshair.
Your path.
Whether you were actually going anywhere anymore, or just floating.
Then the console lit up.
Incoming message – encrypted.
You leaned forward.
The signature pinged a second later: Rex.
You exhaled slowly, thumb hovering over the key before accepting.
His voice came through low and clipped. No greeting. Straight to business.
“Got another shipment. Time-sensitive. No eyes on it but ours.”
You blinked the fog from your thoughts. “Smuggling?”
“Not officially.”
You gave a faint smile. “So yes.”
“Coordinates are in the packet. You’ll be moving through an active Imperial sector, but we’ve got you a clear corridor, should be quiet.”
You hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll take it.”
“Appreciated. This one matters. More than usual.”
And with that, the transmission ended.
You stared at the nav screen as the data uploaded, still half-lost in thought.
You didn’t know what this shipment was.
Didn’t know who else was involved.
Didn’t know the name that would show up in your life again when you least expected it.
But fate, or war, or something in between
was already moving the pieces into place.
Days Later....
The docking bay on Ikaris-7 was half-buried in rust and shadow, its walls humming with power surges and old secrets. You didn’t ask too many questions. Not here.
The manifest was thin, the crate sealed tight. No markings. No scan signature. Just a weight in the air that made your gut tense before you even powered up the lift.
You’d done this before. Pick up, drop off, fly fast and don’t look back.
But something about this job made your fingers linger a little longer on the control panel.
Like your ship knew before you did: this wasn't going to be simple.
The contact who handed you the crate didn’t even make eye contact. Just signed the transfer and walked away without a word.
Typical.
You loaded it into your hold yourself, letting the silence of the cargo bay wrap around you. The moment the hatch closed behind it, the ship suddenly felt... heavier.
You shook it off, headed for the cockpit, and plotted your exit route.
Mid-hyperspace jump, somewhere between drift and distance, your thoughts started to drift again, like they always did now.
You didn’t look for Crosshair in every silence.
But you felt the space where he used to be.
Sometimes, you even caught yourself setting out two ration bars instead of one.
Old habits. That was all.
You’d convinced yourself of that a dozen times already.
A few hours out from the rendezvous point, your comm pinged again, encoded, anonymous. You hesitated before opening it.
The voice that answered made you freeze.
Hunter.
“Change of plan. One of ours will meet you at the drop instead of the usual contact. Watch for the beacon.”
You didn’t ask who.
You didn’t need to.
You just stared at the nav screen as the coordinates loaded. A new sector.
A new signal.
And an old weight in your chest you hadn’t carried in days.
You leaned back slowly in your seat.
Of all the people Rex could’ve sent…
Of all the stars in the galaxy…
You closed your eyes.
“Of course.”
The sky over the drop site was too quiet.
You brought the ship in slow, landing on a scorched metal platform perched over a ravine. The cliffs around it offered cover and threat. A perfect place for an ambush.
But the beacon blinked just as Hunter said it would. You approached carefully. Hand on your blaster. Eyes scanning.
And then, there he was.
Crosshair stepped out from the shadows of the rocks, rifle slung across his back, expression unreadable as ever. Tall, serious and intense as you remembered.
Your feet stopped moving.
He didn’t say anything.
Neither did you.
Not at first.
Then: “You’re the pick-up?”
He nodded once. “You’re late.”
You almost smiled. “Some things never change.”
He stepped closer, gaze scanning behind you, not just checking for danger. Checking for you.
"You flew solo again?"
You shrugged. “Didn’t think I'd need backup for one crate.”
“Apparently,” he said, dry, “you thought wrong.”
Suddenly, everything went white.
The explosion tore through the air before you even heard the sound. Heat. Shock. Light.
Then impact.
You hit the ground hard, ears ringing, vision half-blind.
Somewhere behind you, fire.
Smoke. Black, blinding and suffocating.
And the sound of metal screaming as your ship collapsed in on itself.
Crosshair’s voice snapped through the chaos, sharp, direct:
“Move!”
You staggered up, limbs shaking. His hand grabbed your arm, strong, unyielding, pulling you into cover as the platform cracked and groaned behind you.
Your ship was gone.
Gone.
He pulled you into the shadow of a rock outcrop, one arm coming around to shield you as more debris fell. His voice was in your ear now, low and steady.
“You’re not hit.”
You shook your head. “No. I... no.”
The air was thick with smoke and static. The wreckage glowed in the distance, burning, warping, folding inward.
You stared at it. Silent.
Crosshair was already scanning the ridge, comm device in hand.
“Sabotage,” he muttered. “Someone wanted that crate gone.”
You didn’t answer.
Your eyes were still locked on the ruins of your ship, of your home. Something uncomfortable settled down in your chest. It wasn't loud, not yet. It was quiet, getting heavier by the minute.
__________
An hour later, the Marauder dropped in fast and low, cutting through the ash.
Crosshair didn’t ask.
He just led you up the ramp, hand on your back, firm but not pushing.
You didn’t look at him as you entered.
Didn’t look at the others either.
You just walked to the far end of the hold and sat on a supply crate, hands in your lap.
Silent.
Crosshair stood nearby, speaking to Hunter in low tones you didn’t bother to catch.
No one pressed you for answers.
And that, somehow, made it worse.
It wasn’t until Tech offered you water and Wrecker gave you a blanket you didn’t ask for, that the ache finally cracked something inside.
You kept your voice even.
“I’ll be out of your way soon. Just... need a plan.”
Hunter gave a nod. “One step at a time.”
Crosshair said nothing.
But he stayed closer than he needed to.
__________________
You hadn’t spoken in hours.
No one asked you to.
The Marauder cut through the upper atmosphere with quiet purpose, but inside, everything was strangely still.
As if they all knew: this wasn’t a mission.
This was something else.
Something you hadn’t had the words for since the fire.
You sat in the back of the hold, shoulders hunched, hands wrapped around a cup of water you hadn’t touched.
Your ship was gone.
Your name, your independence, your life as it was, had gone up in smoke.
And the ache hadn’t landed all at once.
It came in waves.
Like someone peeling off a layer of you with each breath.
Across from you, Wrecker sat quietly, fiddling with a datapad. You’d never seen him so still for so long. Every few minutes, his eyes flicked toward you, concerned, but never pushing.
Echo was leaning near the doorframe, arms crossed, gaze thoughtful. You didn’t know him well, but there was something calm in him. Like he’d sat with this kind of grief before.
Maybe he had.
Tech was at the console, muttering softly to himself, working through what little intel he’d pulled from the ruined platform. But even he kept glancing your way when he thought you weren’t looking.
And Crosshair?
He stood. Always.
Near the wall.
Unmoving.
He hadn’t spoken since the pickup.
But you could feel him.
Like a fixed point in the room.
His eyes never lingered too long, but they always came back.
Measuring. Watching.
Not just your surroundings. You.
You didn’t know what it meant.
Didn’t need to know.
His silence was louder than anyone else's voice could’ve been.
At some point, Echo stepped closer.
He crouched near where you sat and offered a quiet, grounded voice.
“If you need to sit in it a while, that’s okay.”
You looked at him.
He didn’t flinch from your gaze.
Didn’t pity you either.
That helped more than you expected.
You nodded once.
“Thanks.”
Then he left you to it, no questions, no lectures.
You exhaled slowly. The kind of breath that shakes on the way out.
And you felt Crosshair still standing there, still not speaking.
But not leaving.
And somehow, that meant more than anything he could have said.
He was sitting on one of the landing struts, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed somewhere far beyond the dust and clouds.
He didn’t look up when you approached.
Didn’t acknowledge you.
But you knew he heard you.
He always did.
You kept your voice steady. “You don’t have to be angry.”
He didn’t answer.
You stopped a few meters away. Not too close
You sighed. “So what does it matter if I met them once? We’re not… this thing between us isn’t...”
He stood abruptly, sharp and fluid. His eyes locked on yours, hard, unreadable.
You faltered.
“You and I,” you said more softly, “we’re not close. You’ve made that clear. So why would it matter who I’ve met, or what I didn’t say?”
His jaw shifted, but no words came.
You took a breath. “You think I betrayed you? We barely trust each other. You sleep with a blaster under your hand. I triple-lock the pilot controls when I leave the cockpit.”
Still silence.
Then, finally, flat, distant:
“I’m not angry.”
You blinked. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“I’m just not surprised.”
That hit deeper than you expected.
You crossed your arms, trying to hold something together inside yourself. “This isn’t about them, is it?”
He said nothing.
But you saw the flicker in his eyes. Something pulled tight. Something frustrated. Not at you, not really. More like at the space between you both.
He turned away again, facing the wind.
You didn’t push further.
“Take your time,” you said, backing off. “I’ll be in the cockpit.”
And you left him there, with his silence, and that tension in his shoulders that never really eased.
The Cockpit – Later
The signal code was still in your comm log: JUNO: secure ping only.
You stared at it for a long time.
Then, without overthinking it, you keyed it in.
Static.
A pause.
Then a familiar voice.
Hunter.
“You’re a hard one to track. Where are you?”
You hesitated. Your fingers hovered over the comm.
Crosshair’s shadow hadn’t moved in the corridor. You were sure he hadn’t heard.
You kept your voice low. “Don’t know if that matters. Are you looking for me or someone else?”
“We’re looking for him.”
You said nothing.
Hunter’s voice softened, just a little. “We just want to know if he’s alive.”
You leaned back in the seat, eyes on the stars slipping by.
“I don’t know where he’s going,” you said quietly. “But he’s not running from you.”
A pause.
“Then who is he running from?”
You didn’t answer.
Because suddenly,
you weren’t sure either.
You kept your eyes on the console as Hunter’s voice filtered through.
“If he’s alive... if he’s with you... we need to talk to him.”
You hesitated.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
Hunter didn’t push. Not right away.
“He left us, yeah. But we never stopped looking.”
You leaned forward, elbow on your knee, jaw tight.
The words weighed more than they should have.
“I think he’s trying to be something else now. He just doesn’t know what.”
“Then maybe it’s time he stopped running.”
You didn’t respond.
Because that sentence didn’t feel like it was for you.
It felt like it was meant for....
“Funny,” came a voice from the doorway, low and cutting.
“You talk like I ever had a choice.”
Your stomach dropped.
You turned fast.
Crosshair stood just inside the cockpit, arms crossed, face unreadable, his entire body coiled like a wire strung too tight.
But his voice? Calm. Dry. Razor-sharp.
The comm unit crackled.
Hunter spoke again, quieter now:
“Crosshair.”
It wasn’t a question.
Just a name.
One packed with too many years, too many memories.
Crosshair didn’t move.
Didn’t flinch.
He just stared at the open line like it was a minefield.
Finally, he said, flat as stone:
“This was a mistake.”
He turned, already halfway down the corridor before you could speak.
“Crosshair...”
But he didn’t stop.
Didn’t shout.
Didn’t slam anything.
He just walked away.
The comm was still open.
You stared at it a moment longer, your pulse loud in your ears.
Hunter’s voice came softly.
“He’s still with you?”
Your throat was dry. “Not for long, if I don’t do this right.”
Silence.
Then:
“I don’t know what you are to him. But if he listens to anyone… maybe it’s you.”
You let that sit in the air for a second.
“I’ll talk to him,” you said. “But no promises. If he walks, I’m not stopping him.”
“Understood.”
You cut the connection.
The room felt emptier without the signal’s soft hum.
And colder.
You found Crosshair not far from the hold, standing in the dark, one hand resting on a support beam like it was the only thing keeping him from pacing. He didn’t turn when you entered.
“I shut the comm off,” you said quietly.
No response.
“You heard everything.”
He gave a slow nod, still facing the wall.
You crossed your arms. “I told them I’d talk to you.”
Finally, he spoke.
Cool. Controlled. Detached.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
That stung more than it should’ve.
You exhaled. “You didn’t have to.”
He turned then. Slowly.
His expression was flat. His voice, colder than before.
“You think one conversation fixes this?”
“No,” you said, steady. “But maybe it’s not about fixing anything. Maybe it’s about ending a war that never got to finish.”
His jaw twitched. Just once.
You stepped a little closer. “I’m not doing this for them. I’m doing this because I think you need to stop looking over your shoulder for people who might still want you back.”
He studied you for a long second. The stillness between you was suffocating.
Then finally, he spoke.
Quiet. Even. But not empty.
“One meeting. No promises.”
Relief spread through your chest like breath returning to lungs that had been held too long.
AC:
Things are getting a little more complicated.
__________________
Chapter 4. Crossroads
The planet was rough around the edges, same as most neutral outposts this far from the Core. Dusty streets, stacked prefabs, and too many shadows for the number of lights. Perfect for disappearing. Or for meeting someone who didn’t want to be seen.
You touched down just after nightfall. The port was still busy, traders, information brokers. The kind of place where names weren’t exchanged, but credits were.
Crosshair said nothing during the landing. He just sat in the co-pilot seat, staring out like he was mapping every line of fire from memory.
You grabbed your jacket, checked your blaster, and made for the ramp.
“Stay with the ship if you want,” you said.
“I won’t.”
Of course not.
You felt him at your back as you stepped into the market. He didn’t hover, didn’t crowd, but his presence was constant. Subtle, but undeniable. You had the distinct feeling that if anyone so much as bumped into you wrong, he’d know how many meters away their heart was before they hit the ground.
And then you saw Rex.
He was leaning casually against a support beam near a vendor stall, cloak worn, hood back, and a scarred face still too sharp to blend in. His eyes found you fast.
But when they flicked over your shoulder, and settled on the figure trailing behind you, his entire stance shifted.
Subtly.
But unmistakably.
He straightened. His jaw tensed.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said.
You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Still flying.”
His gaze didn’t shift. “Didn’t think you were flying with… him.”
Crosshair stopped beside you. Silent. Tense.
“I can explain...” you began.
“I don’t need an explanation,” Rex said. “I know exactly who he is.”
Crosshair said nothing. But you felt the heat rise behind you, not from temper, but tension. That unbearable kind that coils just under the surface.
Rex’s tone dropped, low and quiet. “I watched him turn his back on every brother who ever trusted him.”
You stepped forward, between them. Not aggressive. But in the way.
“He saved my life,” you said. It came out too fast.
Rex didn’t blink. “Did he?”
You hesitated.
Behind you, Crosshair shifted. Barely.
Rex looked only at you now. Like Crosshair wasn’t worth the breath.
“I came to offer you a job,” he said. “Something quiet. Eyes on a shipment, rebel tech. We need someone who can blend in and fly fast.”
“I can fly,” you said. “Always could.”
He nodded slowly. “But now I have to wonder who you’re flying for.”
That one landed harder than you liked.
“I don’t take sides,” you said, quieter now.
“Not yet.”
He glanced at Crosshair again. His jaw was a line of iron. “But you’re standing next to someone who already did.”
A long silence.
Then: “If you change your mind, contact’s in your comm archive under Juno. Coordinates included.”
He turned, cloak brushing the ground, and disappeared into the crowd.
The walk back to the ship felt longer than before. The air hung thick between you and Crosshair, full of words neither of you wanted to be the first to say.
At the top of the ramp, you stopped.
“You gonna say something?” you asked, not quite turning.
He looked at you evenly. “No.”
You laughed once. Cold.
“Rex hates you.”
“He should.”
You paused.
That… you hadn’t expected.
You turned toward him then, fully. Met his eyes.
“You don’t defend yourself?”
“There’s no point,” he said simply. “They already made up their minds.”
“And what about me?”
His answer was soft. Almost too soft to hear.
“I haven’t figured that out yet.”
You were halfway through your second system check when the silence started clawing under your skin.
Crosshair hadn’t said a word since takeoff.
Not about Rex. Not about the look in Rex’s eyes. Not about you.
He just sat. Quiet. Coiled. Distant.
“Say something,” you muttered, not looking up.
Nothing.
You spun in your seat, stared across the small compartment toward him.
“I’m not asking for your life story. I just want to know who the hell’s sharing this ship with me.”
His gaze rose slowly to meet yours. Flat. Impenetrable.
“I’m no threat to you.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He stood, slow and deliberate. “You want answers?”
“I want honesty.”
The tension was rising now, like the space between you couldn’t hold both of you at the same time.
You threw your hands up. “You don’t want to be here? Fine. I can drop you off. Somewhere neutral. You can contact your… people.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
You watched his jaw tense before he spoke, voice clipped.
“They’re not my people. I won't go back”
That stopped you. He was talking about the Empire.
Something in your chest shifted, not relief, not fear. Just something real.
You stepped forward. “Then who are you, Crosshair?”
He stared at the floor for a long second. Then at you.
And when he answered, it wasn’t soft.
It wasn’t confessional.
It was flat. Resigned.
“I was made to follow orders. Made to fight. That’s what I am.”
You said nothing.
He shrugged once, sharp, bitter. “And no one ever asked what I’d be if I wasn’t that.”
The silence between you pulsed with something unspoken.
And for the first time, you saw it:
Not weakness.
Not regret.
But uncertainty.
You softened your voice. “I’m asking now.”
He didn’t answer.
But he didn’t walk away either.
And for Crosshair, that said everything.
You didn’t mean to keep it from him.
Not at first.
It wasn’t like you and the Bad Batch were close, not really. But years ago, you'd crossed paths during a supply job gone sideways. Hunter had vouched for you. Tech had fixed your nav relay. Wrecker had tried to trade you for food rations as a joke.
It was brief. A few days, a few laughs, a scar on your shoulder that still ached when it rained.
But now…
Now he was on your ship.
And you’d told yourself it didn’t matter.
Different time. Different war. Different version of Crosshair.
You were halfway through a maintenance check in the cockpit when the long-range comm crackled to life.
The signal was faint, buried in old encryption, but the signature caught your eye instantly.
Hunter.
You froze.
It had to be a mistake.
But then the voice came through, low, steady, cautious:
“...If you’re still alive out there, we’ve got eyes on your last ping. Contact us. If you’re not alone... don’t answer.”
You just stared.
The words hung in the air.
And then, behind you:
A shift.
Barely a sound.
But you knew instantly he was there.
Crosshair stepped into the doorway like a shadow.
The signal faded.
You turned slowly, but his expression was already carved in stone.
“Hunter,” he said. Flat. Dead quiet. “You know them.”
You didn’t speak right away.
Didn’t need to.
The silence said enough.
“How long?” he asked.
His voice wasn’t loud.
But you flinched anyway.
“A few years back. One job. Nothing big.”
“But enough to recognize the voice.”
You swallowed. “Yes.”
He stared at you. Not with anger, not yet. But with something colder.
Disbelief. Disappointment.
“You didn’t think that was important?”
“I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“You didn’t even try.”
That stung worse.
“I didn’t think it mattered,” you said, and even you knew it sounded weak.
His mouth pulled tight. “Of course it mattered.”
He stepped closer, not aggressive, but charged. Like a wire pulled too tight.
“You think I wouldn’t notice if they came looking? You think I’d just sit in your ship while they tracked you and never ask why their signal was on your deck?”
You tried to steady your breath. “They don’t know you’re here. They’re looking for me.”
“Doesn’t change a thing.”
There it was. The edge in his voice. Not raised. Not shouted. Just... cutting.
You lowered your eyes. “I didn’t lie to you.”
“No,” he said. “You just didn’t say the one thing that mattered most.”
You didn’t stop him when he walked out of the cockpit.
Didn’t follow him down the corridor.
And for the first time since this whole mess began,
you weren’t sure he’d come back.
Masterlist
Warnings: "Minor" Violence and injury
_______________
AC:
In Case anybody is wondering about the song beeing sung in this chapter, it's this one: Good Things Go
________________
Chapter 3. No Second Shot
The comm tower was quiet now.
The bodies had been dealt with. Your arm was bandaged, stinging under fresh synth-skin, and your blaster sat in your lap like a weight you weren’t sure you could carry again.
Crosshair stood by the door, gear packed, rifle slung across his back. He hadn’t spoken since the last bounty hunter dropped. But you could feel something heavy in the air between you. Not quite anger. Not quite closure.
Just unfinished business.
You broke the silence first. “So what now?”
His back remained to you for a long second. Then he turned, slow, deliberate, and walked over, stopping just a few feet away.
“You’re lucky I'm not a good soldier,” he said. His voice was calm. Too calm.
You looked up at him. "What's that supposed to mean?”
He mutters, "Good soldiers follow orders"
You blink, not sure what he was on about, “Was that supposed to be comforting?
“No.” A pause. “It’s supposed to make you think.”
You rose to your feet, wincing slightly. “I told you. I didn’t know what I was carrying.”
“And now you do.”
He was close enough that you could see every line in his face. The set of his jaw. The way his eyes pinned you down, same as they had when he was aiming down a scope.
“You’re not turning me in,” you said quietly. It wasn’t a question.
“No.”
“Why?”
He hesitated. Just a flicker. But it was there.
Then, his gaze sharpened.
“Because I think you’re smart enough not to be this stupid again.”
You almost laughed. “And if I’m not?”
He stepped forward. Just enough to make your breath catch.
“Then next time,” he said, voice like steel, “I won’t miss.”
The crosshair tattoo over his eye pulsed with that quiet threat. You didn’t doubt him.
Not for a second.
“You’re letting me go,” you said. “But this isn’t over.”
His mouth twitched. “Not even close.”
You nodded slowly. “Fine.”
He stared at you a moment longer. Then turned.
Walked to the door.
Paused.
“One warning shot,” he said without looking back. “That’s all you get.”
And then he was gone.
You stood alone in the silence of the tower, the cold wind seeping in through the cracks in the walls.
You should have felt relieved. Safe.
Instead, your heart was racing.
Weeks later:
You didn’t recognize the distress signal when it first lit up on your console. Just another encrypted ping bouncing off an abandoned relay station.
But the coordinates? They weren’t far.
Too close to ignore.
You debated it for a solid minute, hands hovering over the controls, foot tapping against the floor of your mostly functional ship. Then, with a muttered curse and a shove of the throttle, you changed course.
You told yourself it was just curiosity.
You were lying.
The canyon was steep, narrow, and littered with smoke. You kept the ship low and quiet, sensors pinging every few seconds as you zeroed in on the signal. It took a second to see him, black armor half-covered in dust, rifle beside him, his leg pinned under a collapsed outcropping of rock.
And worse: three hostiles circling above. Blasters out. Not bounty hunter, mercs, maybe. Trained, armed, and absolutely out for blood.
You landed hard enough to rattle the panels.
Doors opened before the landing ramp touched ground.
“Hey,” you shouted as you stepped out, weapon raised, voice smug and far louder than necessary. “Funny seeing you in the dirt.”
Three heads turned. Too late.
You fired twice. Clean hits.
The third one ducked, fast, but not fast enough. You didn’t get him, but your shot knocked him off balance long enough for Crosshair to recover his rifle.
One shot.
One breath.
Gone.
Silence returned.
The wind kicked up dust, blood and tension.
You lowered your blaster and strolled forward, chin tilted up just enough to make your grin feel like a weapon.
“Look how the tables have turned.”
Crosshair didn’t respond right away. He was breathing hard, propped against a boulder, his armor scraped and blood streaking down one thigh.
“I’m fine,” he muttered, because of course he did.
You crouched next to him anyway.
“Sure,” you said. “You look great. Real intimidating... if I squint.”
He gave you a look that could have frozen fire. “Are you here to mock me or get me out?”
You made a show of thinking. “I mean… I could leave you. Wait around for the next group to finish the job.”
He didn’t flinch. “You won’t.”
You clicked your tongue. “Why not?”
He looked at you. Really looked. That tattoo drawing your eye like a magnet. His voice dropped just enough to hit somewhere deep in your chest.
“Because I let you walk away.”
That shouldn’t have made your heart do what it did. You stood abruptly. “Yeah, well. Call it even.”
You helped him up, awkward, heavy, but steady. He hissed once when the weight hit his leg, and you caught his arm before he stumbled.
The contact was too warm.
Too familiar.
You guided him toward your ship, trying to ignore the way his fingers tightened around yours, just for a moment, before he let go.
“You’re limping,” you said, a little too smug again.
He shot you a sideways glance. “You talk too much.”
“Must be the concussion from watching me save your ass.”
He didn’t respond. But you saw it, the twitch at the edge of his mouth.
Almost a smile.
Almost.
The hum of the ship's engine thrummed low beneath your feet as the planet shrank behind you. In the cockpit, the nav was locked in. Smooth jump to hyperspace in less than a minute.
In the back?
Crosshair sat on the edge of the bench in your medbay alcove, one leg stretched out, jaw tight, eyes sharper than ever, even while bleeding.
You crouched in front of him with a med kit and a scowl.
“Stop glaring at me,” you muttered.
He didn’t respond. His gaze was somewhere else, not on your hands, but over your shoulder. Scanning.
You knew the look. He was cataloguing everything.
And there was a lot to catalog.
Your ship wasn’t standard. No cold chrome. No Imperial precision. Instead:
Music playing low over the comm system, a rough, steady rhythm.
A dog-eared book, half-opened, wedged into a compartment above the seat.
Trinkets on the shelf. Old flight pins. A dented flask. A ragged scarf tied around a pipe that served no function.
A painted panel on one wall — something someone once called art.
He didn’t ask about any of it. He just saw it.
But you could feel the shift. Like he was starting to understand something about you he couldn’t quite articulate yet. Something that unsettled him more than a firefight.
You finished cleaning the wound. “You’ll live,” you said, gently pressing a bandage over the gash.
“Obviously.”
You rolled your eyes. “You know, for someone who almost died today, you’re in a remarkably shitty mood.”
“I don’t like being shot.”
“I don’t like being hunted,” you shot back, voice quiet now. “Yet here we are.”
That made him pause.
The music shifted. Something angrier. You weren’t sure which track. It had bled into the playlist naturally, but now the lyrics felt too raw.
I tried so hard and got so far...
He looked at the speaker. Just for a second.
“You listen to this on purpose?”
You gave a half-smirk. “It helps drown out too loud thoughts.”
He looked at you again, longer this time. Like he didn’t expect the honesty. Like it did something to him he didn’t want you to see.
Then his gaze dropped to your hands, still stained from the fight, still shaking a little.
“I flinched.”
“But you didn’t run.”
You shrugged. “You were bleeding. I didn’t have time to run.”
Another pause. Then, so soft you almost missed it:
“You could’ve let me die.”
You looked up. Met his eyes. That damn tattoo again. Always watching. Always targeting.
“I could’ve,” you said. “But I didn’t.”
The silence stretched again, broken only by the music.
Then:
“You should change your codes.”
You blinked. “What?”
He nodded toward the panel. “Your ID tag. Your registration’s still flagged from the last planet. If you’re going to keep flying with that name, someone’s going to find you.”
You stared. “You… checked my tags?”
“I had time.”
You didn’t know what to say to that. Not really. So you leaned back, set the med kit aside, and looked at him.
“You still gonna turn me in?”
“No.”
“But you said...”
“I said no second chances,” he said. Then added, almost like it hurt, “This wasn’t a chance. This was a… complication.”
You raised an eyebrow. “I’m a complication now?”
He looked at you like you’d said something obvious. “You always were.”
You stood before he could say anything else, moving toward the cockpit.
Behind you, the music changed again. Low and intense.
And as you slid into the pilot seat, you realized something:
For the first time since he walked into your life, Crosshair wasn’t just watching you like a target.
He was watching you like a person.
And that scared you more than the bounty hunters ever did.
The hum of the ship had faded into the background hours ago. Now it was just you, the faint ache in your shoulder, and the quiet pull of the engine coils that needed organizing, or maybe just touching, just something to keep your hands moving.
The playlist kept running. A track drifted in, one you usually skipped when someone else was around.
You didn’t skip it this time.
“Good Things Go.”
You weren’t really thinking.
You were somewhere else.
Half-remembered regrets, sharp edges dulled by fatigue.
And your voice, soft, low, almost a hum, joined the melody.
Say I hate you when I don't...
Push you when you get too close...
It's hard to laugh when I'm the joke...
But I can't do this on my own...
You didn’t notice him shift in the cot.
Only you can save me from my lack of self-control...
And I won't make excuses for the pain I caused us both...
So thank you for always standing by me even though...
Sometimes bad things take the place where good things go...
The last note faded.
You blinked, suddenly aware of the room again. Of him still behind you. You turned your head halfway, not meeting his gaze, not needing to.
He hadn’t moved.
Not much.
But you knew he’d been listening.
Maybe not to the words. Maybe just to the sound of you. The way your voice had softened. The way your guard had slipped.
He didn’t say anything.
Didn’t react.
Didn’t ask.
Just kept his gaze steady, unreadable, cool, but not unkind. And maybe a little longer than necessary, he didn’t look away.
You cleared your throat, turned back to the compartment. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
He didn’t respond.
But his voice came a few moments later, low and distant:
“…Didn’t sleep.”
That was all.
But somehow, it was enough. Maybe it was somehting in his voice, in that moment, that told you, he wasn't as cold as he was acting.
Warnings: None, Yet. Still burning slow. (Maybe Minor Injuries)
Chapter 2. A Signal In Silence
You told yourself you were only following him because the temperature had dropped below freezing. That the ship's systems were shot and you didn't want to lose fingers to frostbite. That it wasn’t the way his voice had dropped when he said “still deciding.”
The wind howled as you made your way through the snow-coated ruins, your boots crunching across stone and ash. The old comm tower stood like a broken tooth in the landscape, jagged and half-collapsed, metal twisted from some long-forgotten explosion.
Inside, it was marginally warmer. Dust, rust, and the scent of old wiring. Crosshair had already started a small power unit, barely enough to run a heater and lights. His rifle was propped against the wall within reach. He sat in the corner on a crate, one leg stretched out, cleaning a part of his weapon with practiced ease.
He didn’t look up when you entered.
“I didn’t bring you here,” he said flatly.
“I know.” You dropped your bag, almost angrily. Angry with yourself, because you had followed him up here like a damn puppy, “I brought myself.”
For a while, there was only the sound of wind scraping metal and the faint click-snap-click of him reassembling something.
Then you saw it.
The cot.
A single, narrow field bed. Foldable. Standard-issue. Blankets, barely. Pillows, none. You turned toward the far corner, no couch, no bench, not even a supply box big enough to stretch out on.
You let out a soft laugh. “Of course.”
That finally got his attention.
He looked up, eyes narrowing slightly. “Problem?”
You gestured toward the cot. “There’s only one bed.”
He didn’t blink. “I noticed.”
“Right. Because of course the war-torn frozen tower has five-star accommodations.”
He said nothing. Just leaned back against the wall, arms crossing over his chest. His long frame looked almost too big for the cramped space. The crosshair tattoo caught the light, faint and dark, like it was watching you independently of him.
You rubbed the back of your neck. “Look… I’m not gonna sleep on the damn floor.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to.”
You squinted. “What, we’re sharing?”
Another beat of silence.
“You stay on your side,” he said simply. “Don’t snore. Don’t touch me.”
You raised an eyebrow. “That’s assuming you’re not the one who snores.”
His lips twitched. Barely. But you saw it.
“Just lie down,” he muttered, standing and moving to a corner to dim the lights.
You slid onto the cot with minimal ceremony, turning your back to him, but acutely aware of every inch of space between your bodies. Which wasn’t much. The cot was too narrow. Your shoulders grazed. His breath warmed the side of your neck for a second before he angled away.
The silence stretched.
Your thoughts raced. What were you doing here? Why hadn’t you run the second he left the hangar?
Why did it bother you more that he hadn’t stopped you… than the fact that he might still hand you over?
___________________
Minutes passed. Maybe an hour.
You were just starting to drift off when you heard it: a soft, quiet exhale. Not quite a sigh. More like… something slipping.
You turned slightly, slowly. Just enough to look.
He was facing the ceiling, eyes half-lidded but not quite closed. The tension in his jaw still visible. As if even asleep, he was ready to react.
Then… his gaze flicked to you.
Neither of you said anything.
But you saw it, just for a second, maybe a fracture of it. A softness around the edge of that sharp stare. Not weakness. Not kindness.
Just… the faintest shadow of recognition.
You looked away first.
But his voice followed you into the dark.
“You shouldn’t trust me.”
“I don’t,” you whispered.
But the heat radiating between you?
The silence that spoke louder than anything he’d said?
You weren’t sure who you were lying to anymore.
You woke to warmth.
Not comfort, nothing in that cot was soft enough for that, but warmth. A solid line of it along your back, steady and slow-breathing. You didn’t need to look to know who it was. A little shiver down your spine.
Crosshair hadn’t moved much in the night. But at some point, you’d shifted. Or he had. Either way, your shoulders were touching. Your thigh was against his. And his arm, long, lean, heavy, rested just close enough for you to sense its presence.
For a moment, you didn’t move. Just listened.
He was awake.
You could tell by his breathing. Controlled, deliberate. He knew exactly where you were. And he was letting it happen.
You turned your head slightly. “Is this the part where I start trusting you?”
A beat of silence.
Then, low: “No.”
You huffed, sitting up. The cot creaked. The chill rushed back in to remind you where you were. The tower walls hadn’t gotten any thicker overnight.
He sat up too, slower, expression unreadable.
But you didn’t miss the flicker of something in his gaze as you moved past him. Something sharp. Quick. Almost possessive.
You were halfway through biting into a ration bar when the sensors on his wristband chirped.
He stood instantly, all calm gone.
“What is it?” you asked, already on your feet.
“Movement,” he muttered, eyes narrowing at the readout. “Outside. Three signatures. Too coordinated for scavengers.”
Your stomach twisted. “Bounty hunters?”
“Could be.” His voice dropped into that cold, professional rhythm. “Could be worse.”
And then the lights cut.
The tower went dark.
A split second later: the first blast hit the wall.
You hit the floor by instinct. The door blew inward, scattering dust and debris. A shadow stepped through, tall, armored, with a weapon you didn’t recognize but immediately didn’t like.
“Stay down,” Crosshair snapped, already moving.
He was fast. Unfairly fast. The rifle was in his hands before you even realized he’d grabbed it. He fired once, clean, sharp, and precise. One of the intruders dropped with a scream. Everything was happening way too fast around you.
Another charged in. You raised your blaster, fired blindly, and missed. They didn’t. A bolt skimmed your arm and sent you spinning back into a crate.
Pain bloomed hot and sudden.
You bit down hard and tried to get up. Failed.
A heavy hand yanked you behind cover, not careful, but with vigor “You’re bleeding.”
“No shit,” you hissed.
He didn’t even flinch. “Keep pressure on it.”
“I was, until I got shot.”
Another shot rang out, his. Another scream. Two down. One left.
“You armed?” he asked.
You held up your Blaster, your hand a little shaky. “Barely.”
He looked at you, then took a knee in front of you, calm under fire.
“Look. You don’t shoot unless I say. You breathe when I breathe. You move when I move.”
You blinked. “That’s comforting.”
His hand closed around yours, steadying your grip on the blaster. His fingers were cold but strong, guiding yours into place.
“Point. Don’t hesitate.”
You nodded, heart hammering.
He peeked around the corner, then moved.
You followed, too fast, too clumsy. But adrenaline carried you. The last hunter was trying to circle, but Crosshair was already on him. A brutal move, shoulder to the gut, elbow to the throat. The fight ended with the bounty hunter twitching on the floor.
You stood frozen, arm still bleeding, blaster limp in your grip.
Crosshair turned to you, breathing hard, expression unreadable.
“You’re lucky they were amateurs,” he said, voice low.
You glared. “Thanks for the confidence boost.”
But you were shaking, and he saw it.
He stepped forward. Not close. But closer. And for the first time, something in his face shifted, less like a soldier, more like someone who saw you bleeding and didn’t like it.
“Sit down,” he ordered, softer than before. “Let me look.”
You sat, muttering under your breath. “This trip’s really going great.”
He crouched beside you, unwrapping a field kit. Not reacting to your sarcasm. He worked silently, cleaning the wound. The graze was ugly but shallow.
Then his hand brushed your skin, light, deliberate.
Your breath hitched.
You didn’t mean to look up. But you did. And his face was right there, eyes fixed on your arm, jaw tight. That tattoo caught the light again, his target, his warning.
But he wasn’t looking at you like a target.
He was looking at you like a question he hadn’t figured out how to answer.
This is a Crosshair x Female Reader story, slow burn, sharp edges, and a storm of tension that doesn't let go.
Enemies to lovers? Eventually. But not before distrust, fire, and silence have carved their place.
You’re a pilot, independent, stubborn, always walking the line between law and survival. You don’t pick sides.
Not until the Empire’s deadliest marksmen sets his sights on you.
It starts with a warning shot.
And it doesn’t stop there.
______________________________________________________________
AC:
Been gone for a long time, but I'm back for now. With a lot of help from my friend Lena, I started to write again.
She's not on tumblr, but I still want to mention her here, because she did translate my stuff into English, plus a few inspirations and some dialogue parts came from her.
So she had/ and probably will have, quite some influence on this project and future projects. She also wrote the Prologue, because I suck at Prologues 🙂
BY THE WAY I LOST MY TAG-LISTS! So if you want to get tagged here or on any other projects, let me know in the comments or asks!
The cold bit through your jacket like teeth, relentless and sharp, even inside the rusted-out cockpit. One of those damn planets where it either rained or snowed, and of course, you’d landed on a day when it did both. You cursed under your breath while slapping the console, trying to coax power back into the battered system.
Something felt off. The job had been too vague, the contact too late. Cargo was supposed to be waiting, “harmless replacement parts,” they’d said. You didn’t care what was in the crates. You just needed credits. But now the signal had gone dead, the drop site was empty, and your gut was twisting in that way it did right before everything went to hell. And your gut was right, 99% of times.
Suddenly, you felt it.
Not heard.
Not seen.
Just felt... a shift in the air, a weight on your spine. Something was off.
The first shot hit half a meter from your head.
Not a miss. Rather a warning.
You’d run. Blaster in hand, boots slipping over wet metal and cracked stone, breathing hard as you bolted through ruined buildings and abandoned outposts. But he, whoever he was, was always behind you. Not close. Just there. Like a ghost made of precision and patience. His shots almost forcing you into a dance.
And now, you’re tucked between two rusted-out cargo containers, breath fogging in the cold, fingers wrapped too tightly around a blaster you barely know how to use. You've never been much of a combat girl. You don't know if you’re sweating or freezing. Maybe both.
“You’re holding the trigger too tight.”
The voice comes from behind you. Smooth. Controlled. Deliberate.
You spin, heart leaping, gun raised.
And there he is.
Shadowed, quiet. The long sniper rifle in one hand. Helmet under the other arm. Dark armor, almost lost in the dim light of the ruined compound. But his eyes are something else.
Gold. Sharp. Measuring. He looks at you, and it feels like he's looking right through you. That tattoo around his right eye.
Crosshair.
You’ve heard his name. Whispered. Warned.
The sniper who doesn’t miss. That imperial sharpshooter.
“You…” Your voice cracks before you can stop it, but you bite down, force your chin up. “You’re not a very good shot, missed me a couple of times"
There’s a flicker in his eyes. Barely. The edge of a smirk that doesn’t quite make it to his mouth. He steps forward, deliberate and quiet.
“I don’t miss,” he says. “I just wanted to see how fast you run.”
Dryly and bolder than you feel, you say, "Well, fuck you, Sir"
You don’t know whether to laugh or scream. Maybe both. Your fingers ache around your blaster grip.
“What do you want? I’m not worth anything. I’ve got no intel, no connections. I'm nobody.”
He watches you. For too long. Like he's reading something behind your eyes.
“Not entirely true. Someone wants you. And I was sent to collect.”
“Are you going to?” you ask, sharper than you intend. Fear always comes out as sarcasm when you’re tired.
Another pause.
Finally, he lowers the rifle, slow, deliberate. He wants you to see how he does it.
Not a gesture of safety, not a real compromise.
A message: You’re still not safe.
“Not yet.”
He turns. Walks away. No rush. No explanation. Just the heavy weight of his presence fading from your line of sight, leaving you alone, your heart hammering, your lungs burning.
"What the fuck...", you whisper to yourself.
And for the first time, you realize: You're being hunted.
You made it back to your ship by sheer luck and bruised knees. The hangar was quiet, far too quiet for a place that used to hum with generators and merchant shouts. Now, only the dull sound of your own heartbeat echoed between steel walls.
You'd thrown yourself into the pilot seat, hands flying over switches and controls. No power.
Of course not.
You muttered a curse under your breath. “Come on, you stubborn piece of sh... ”
A warning chirp lit up the console. Motion sensor: external perimeter breached.
You froze.
"Give me a break!"
Your breath hitched.
Then, instinct took over. You dropped from the seat, grabbed your blaster, and pressed yourself against the side panel near the entry ramp.
Silence.
You heard something, footsteps. Slow. Measured. Unhurried. Like someone entering a party, making a dramatic entrance, by being casual.
The ramp hissed open. Fog rolled in around tall black boots. Armor, scuffed but maintained. A long-barreled rifle, cradled loosely like an extension of his body. And that face, sharp lines, distant, unreadable.
Your gaze caught on it again, the tattoo. A black crosshair, inked clean over his right eye, the center aligning exactly with his iris. It didn’t feel like body art, it felt more like a threat. A mark of identity and purpose.
That eye found you instantly.
“You're not good at hiding.”
You forced your voice to hold. “Kiss my ass. You’re not good at knocking.”
He stepped inside slowly, gaze never leaving yours. “Didn’t think you'd answer.”
You leveled your blaster at him. He didn’t even blink, nothing.
“Go ahead,” he said, voice low. “Shoot. See how far you get.”
You didn’t. Of course you didn’t. Because you could see it in his stance, the way how still he stood, how his hand rested casually near the rifle, but not on it. He didn’t need it. He could take you down without blinking.
“What do you want?” you snapped. “I told you, I don’t have anything worth your time.”
Crosshair’s gaze flicked toward your cargo hold. Something about his gaze told you, he knew something you didn't.
“You’re transporting unauthorized supplies. Sealed crates with no tags, no serials. You know what that means.”
“Well... actually I don't” You faltered. Because you didn’t know.
You hadn’t asked.
And now that he’d said it, you realized… you hadn’t seen the usual logs. No standard freight clearances. No pickup codes.
“What did I bring?” you asked quietly.
He tilted his head, just slightly. “Explosives. Medical stims. Weapons. Rebel caches.”
Your stomach dropped. You felt it, not guilt, not really. Just dread. That creeping, cold sensation that everything you’d touched had just gone radioactive from one moment to the other.
“I'm just the pilot,” you said nervous, “I... didn’t know.”
His expression didn’t change. But something in his voice tightened.
“That's what they all say.”
You bristled. “I don’t work for them, or the others... or whoever. I didn’t sign up for anyone’s war.”
“No.” He took a step closer. “You just flew straight into it.”
You backed up instinctively until your spine hit the edge of the console. He was close now. Too close. You could see the wear on his armor, the faint scar just beneath the tattoo. The way his mouth stayed a hard, straight line.
“You gonna turn me in?” you asked, voice low.
He looked at you for a long moment. That gaze, sharp, cutting, intense, felt like it went straight through you once more.
Then, finally: “Not yet.”
You paused, a little confused. What was going on?
You swallowed. “Still not? Why?”
He leaned in just enough for you to hear his words like a whisper.
“Still deciding.”
A shiver running down your spine, almost making you shudder. Your body was making many weird things right now under its surface. Things you didn't really understand right now.
And with that, he turned again. Like he hadn’t just peeled you open with a glance. Like he hadn’t just cracked something in your chest you didn’t even know was there.
He walked toward the exit, paused, and spoke over his shoulder.
“Ship’s grounded. Power’s dead. You’re not going anywhere tonight.”
You blinked. “Hey, wait a minute...”
“There’s a shelter in the old comm tower nearby.” A pause. His gaze holding you in place for one more second, “I’m staying there. You can freeze out here. Or not."
"Um... did you just invite me to your place or something like that?"
He didn’t wait and didn't answer. He was already gone. Leaving you behind again.
A soft, resigned sigh out of your lungs.
You hesitated, just a second.
"Damn it!"
Finally, you followed him. Because the hangar suddenly felt a hell of a lot colder.
Back In Black... (Or orange, my Shirt is orange... I actually hate orange)
Anyway, I'm writing again, found myself out of a burnout, watched Clone Wars as well as Bad Batch and felt the need to write again. Now this time I have a helping hand, a huge help. A friend who's English level is like 9000 levels above mine (It's still not my native language). I write my stuff in German, my native language, she translates it into English, and guys it makes so much more sense now. It finally feels like I'm actually saying what I want to say in the story.
My friend is not on tumblr, but I still mention her here, Lena thank you so much, for your help! I owe you BIG TIME! Love ya! 💗
Don't know yet when we are done, with all of it, but it should be within this week.
It'll be about the Bad Batch, Crosshair and Hunter in the main focus, it'll be an X FemReader and as always there will be tension and drama and romance and tragedy and.... I think this'll be a tense slow burn... we'll see XD
Hope you didn't miss me!
Love
Zoey
its always INSANE to me when i read fics on tumblr and the authors are like “sorry this is shit english isnt my native language.” like. really??? where??? bc this is grammatically and thematically than anything i see high schoolers putting out.
major props to you @zoeykallus and all the other fan fic writers and posters not only putting out their work for the world to see, but doing it in an unfamiliar language!!
Back In Black... (Or orange, my Shirt is orange... I actually hate orange)
Anyway, I'm writing again, found myself out of a burnout, watched Clone Wars as well as Bad Batch and felt the need to write again. Now this time I have a helping hand, a huge help. A friend who's English level is like 9000 levels above mine (It's still not my native language). I write my stuff in German, my native language, she translates it into English, and guys it makes so much more sense now. It finally feels like I'm actually saying what I want to say in the story.
My friend is not on tumblr, but I still mention her here, Lena thank you so much, for your help! I owe you BIG TIME! Love ya! 💗
Don't know yet when we are done, with all of it, but it should be within this week.
It'll be about the Bad Batch, Crosshair and Hunter in the main focus, it'll be an X FemReader and as always there will be tension and drama and romance and tragedy and.... I think this'll be a tense slow burn... we'll see XD
Hope you didn't miss me!
Love
Zoey
its always INSANE to me when i read fics on tumblr and the authors are like “sorry this is shit english isnt my native language.” like. really??? where??? bc this is grammatically and thematically than anything i see high schoolers putting out.
major props to you @zoeykallus and all the other fan fic writers and posters not only putting out their work for the world to see, but doing it in an unfamiliar language!!
Back In Black... (Or orange, my Shirt is orange... I actually hate orange)
Anyway, I'm writing again, found myself out of a burnout, watched Clone Wars as well as Bad Batch and felt the need to write again. Now this time I have a helping hand, a huge help. A friend who's English level is like 9000 levels above mine (It's still not my native language). I write my stuff in German, my native language, she translates it into English, and guys it makes so much more sense now. It finally feels like I'm actually saying what I want to say in the story.
My friend is not on tumblr, but I still mention her here, Lena thank you so much, for your help! I owe you BIG TIME! Love ya! 💗
Don't know yet when we are done, with all of it, but it should be within this week.
It'll be about the Bad Batch, Crosshair and Hunter in the main focus, it'll be an X FemReader and as always there will be tension and drama and romance and tragedy and.... I think this'll be a tense slow burn... we'll see XD
Hope you didn't miss me!
Love
Zoey
Happy one year anniversary to the ending of my absolute fav Star Wars show. I can not believe the Bad Batch ended a year ago. Like how?
This show means so much to me and I will forever be grateful that it exists. Cause I’m so happy that it does. From the amazing compelling characters to the addictive stories, the bad batch is in my opinion, one of the best Star Wars shows. Thank you for giving us clone force 99.
Hunter, Tech, Crosshair, Wrecker, Echo and Omega will always have a special place in my heart. And I hope this show wasn’t the last we see of them.
Pairing: Wrecker x F!Medic Reader
Summary: Wrecker loves it when you read to him. This time, he asks you to read something spicier.
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI; Super light angst, Smut, uprotected p in v (wrap it up friends), oral (f receiving), fluff
WC: 4k
A/N: It's been a minute since I've written a SW fic and I started this literally a year ago but I woke up missing this gentle giant so I felt inspired to finish it. Listened to this song while finishing it.
Taglist Form | TBB Masterlist
“That doesn’t seem like a normal data report.” Crosshair’s smoky voice is behind you as you sit on the hatch of the Marauder.
You turn and see that he’s looking over your shoulder, staring directly down at your datapad that currently has a smutty scene in the book you’re reading.
“It’s a book.” Your cheeks immediately burn with embarrassment. “Mind your own business.”
Wrecker’s ears perk up. “What kind of book?”
Your entire body goes warm at the thought of Wrecker knowing what kind of books you read when you’re not reading to him at night. It’s a nighttime tradition. You lay in your bunk directly across from Wrecker’s and you read him to sleep. He says he loves the sound of your voice and that it helps calm him down at night. You love reading to him as much as he does. Which is why this is incredibly embarrassing.
You shoot daggers at Crosshair and he reaches one of his incredibly long arms around you, plucking your datapad right out of your hands and starts to step away.
“Crosshair! Give it back!” You shout.
And then Crosshair does something even more mortifying. He starts reading it out loud.
“Jahret takes Leema in his arms and pushes her up against the wall, forcing her legs to separate with his knee between them. As a result, she grinds her already wet warmth-”
You tackle Crosshair to the durasteel floor of the Marauder and he smirks when you land on top of him with an “oof.”
“You’re such a karking asshole.” You snatch the datapad away and start to get up, Wrecker lending out a hand in the process.
You take his hand and give him an appreciative smile, still embarrassed as you walk away to the fresher to hide for a bit. He follows you with concerned eyes.
“Why’d ya do that?” Wrecker lightly shoves Crosshair when you disappear.
Crosshair smirks. “You ought to have her read that book to you. I think you’ll like it better than the other stuff she reads to you.”
Wrecker furrows his brows at his brother, confused. When he heard Crosshair reading out loud what you’d been reading made him go warm in the face, though, that much he did know. He didn’t think it was embarrassing, though. He wants to ask you, though, he isn’t sure how, without embarrassing you further.
Would you ever read that out loud if he asked? Would that be pushing it too far? It really has to do more with how you read. He really loves going to sleep to the sound of your voice.
There’s a knock on the fresher door and you get up off the floor and open it, thinking that one of the guys needs to use the fresher. Instead, and thankfully, you’re met with your favorite pair of warm brown eyes and a kind smile.
“Oh, Wrecker.” You feel yourself flush and divert your eyes to the fresher sink. “Sorry, do you need the fresher?”
“No, I was just…” He rubs the back of his head, as if he isn’t sure how to say what’s on his mind.
You’ve never seen the larger man so timid.
“Just…?” You look back up at him.
He can’t stop looking at your lips, wondering what it would be like to kiss them. He always does, though. He always wants to kiss you. Always.
“Just wonderin’ how come you don’t read that kinda book to me?” He smiles.
You go hot in the face at the thought of reading that kind of book to Wrecker. “Oh… I mean… it’s just… Kark. I don’t know.” You cross your arms, leaning against the wall.
“Would you… ever…?” He tries to ask you, tilting his head, smiling that incredibly heartwarming smile that you could never ever say no to.
“You really want me to?” You raise your eyebrows up in surprise.
He shrugs. “I like when you read all sorts of books to me.”
You smile up at him. “Alright… But… we should probably set some ground rules… shouldn’t we?”
He guides you out to your bunk and climbs in with you, pulling the curtain closed. It’s a little cramped with him so close in such a small space, but you don’t mind. You cross your legs, sitting against the wall and Wrecker lays his head in your lap.
“What kind of rules, mesh’la?” Wrecker smiles up at you.
“Well… I mean… I don’t want you to feel like I’m taking advantage of you in any way. So maybe we shouldn’t… you know, act on any feelings this kind of book stirs inside of us.” You go absolutely hot in the face at the thought of recreating any of these scenes with him. Does he know you feel the way you do about him? Would he ever reciprocate these feelings one day? Probably not.
“Mesh’la, you could never take advantage of me.” He reaches around and pats your knee and you smile down at him. “Trust me.”
You nod. “Alright then.”
Pulling your datapad back up, you push one of the books that you’d not read yet that you’d been saving for a while. It’s a forbidden romance between a princess and a Jedi knight.
At one point, Wrecker starts to close his eyes and you think he’s going to fall asleep, his breathing becoming deep and even. You didn’t get to any spicy scenes yet, so those will probably be for tomorrow’s reading. Tonight, you just enjoy the feel of the large man in your lap, smiling down at him as you trace lines over his face. When you trail your fingers over his lips, he presses a soft kiss to them and you go fuzzy all over, your chest tightening.
You’re so gone for this man, it’s not even funny. Maybe to Crosshair, because that kriffing asshole absolutely knew what he was doing when he pulled that little stunt earlier.
“Come here.” Wrecker’s gruff, yet soft voice tells you, his eyes still closed.
“Hm?” You look down at him, sleepily.
“Will you cuddle with me?” He asks.
How could you say no?
He lifts up his head slightly for you to maneuver between him and the wall. He rests his arm so that you can rest your head against it. You expected it to be hard and uncomfortable because of all of his muscles, but it’s not. He’s not. It’s the comfiest you’ve felt since joining up in the GAR.
Wrecker reaches down and pulls your leg over his and it becomes even more comfortable. His arm that you’re laying on wraps around you and you move your head to his chest, which is somehow just as comfortable. It occurs to you that you probably won’t ever get to sleep this comfortably again, so you may as well enjoy it. And like he said… you aren’t taking advantage of this. Right?
The hyperspace and ship sounds lull you to sleep almost right away, and as sleep starts to take you, you think you feel Wrecker pull you even closer.
When you wake up, you find yourself still wrapped in Wrecker’s arms, practically on top of him. You realize that and then sit up.
“Morning.” You hear Wrecker’s sweet voice and you rub your eyes, looking down at him.
“Good morning.” You smile.
“Come back here.” He opens his arm again.
You peek around the curtain and see that no one’s here, which means you’ve made it back to Kamino for your supply run. You lay back down in the crook of Wrecker’s arm, resting your hand on his warm chest and throwing your leg back over his own.
You’re glad that Hunter’s not here so he can’t hear your heart absolutely racing against your chest. Can Wrecker feel it?
Does he know how your heart beats only for him?
“Slept so good last night. Oughta sleep in your bunk like this more.” He tells you.
You nod in agreement. “I agree. Anytime you want.”
He smiles down at you and then looks at your hand on his chest.
“D’you think maybe we could read more of that book. It was a really good story.” Wrecker requests.
You swallow and it sounds loud to your own ears. A spicier scene is about to come up, you know it. The princess and Jedi had gotten themselves into a tough situation where she was almost taken and now they’re hiding out and there’s a ton of sexual tension.
“Unless ya don’t want to, then we can get up and go meet the guys.” Wrecker offers, noticing you thinking.
You smile up at him. “Yeah, big guy. We can read more.”
He reaches up behind the pillow and grabs your datapad, handing it to you. You cuddle in close, getting comfortable again. His fingers trail down your arm, over your hand, until they settle on your hip. Heat courses through your veins and you try your best to keep a content sigh from escaping your lips.
“A-alright.” You start reading again with a slightly shaky breath.
When you get to the spicy scene, you pause for a moment and Wrecker looks down at you.
“Y-you’re sure?” You murmur.
“Go on.” He squeezes your hip, sending electricity through your body.
You nod. “Right. Okay.”
So you continue reading, reading about how the princess gets down on her knees for Jedi . He tries to ask her if they should really be doing this but she tells him how badly she wants him. She needs him. He tells her the same. The Jedi doesn’t stop her as she releases his length from his pants and starts to lick long stripes up it until she takes him in her mouth-
Your entire body is hot as you read and just when you think you’ve gotten used to the scene, you feel a twitch in Wrecker’s pants. It’s a normal reaction, of course. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t feeling a certain way about it as well. But still… It's hard to ignore.
As you continue to read about the princess and Jedi knight starting to make love, it’s impossible to miss the tent in Wrecker’s pants becoming more evident. His grip on your hip tightens and you nearly combust right then. This was a monumentally horrible idea.
When the chapter ends, you put your data pad down and lay there with him. Both of your chests are rising a little more rapidly.
“That was uh…” Wrecker rubs a hand down his face and then clenches his hand, sitting it to his side.
His grip on your hip never lessens, though.
“We better go find the guys.” You whisper.
“Right, right. Yeah.” Wrecker nods.
You start to get up to carefully climb over him, but he moves at the same time that you start to stretch a leg over the side and it causes you to fall on top of him. Your warmth lands roughly against his hardened length and you both groan loudly.
His hands find both of your hips this time and he grips tightly. You stare at each other, both afraid to move.
“W-we shouldn’t…” You whisper, really wanting to give in, your hands on his firm chest, gripping the fabric of his bodysuit.
He’s only begging like this because of his sexual frustration because of the book. It has nothing to do with you. But still… with the way he’s looking up at you…
He tests the waters by guiding you over his length. You let out a needy whimper as your underwear rubs against your clit just right.
“Do… do ya… want it?” His deep voice goes straight to your warmth and you can only let out a nod.
He nods back up at you and starts to guide you slowly, painfully slow, over his length, the friction building up the most agonizing, yet delicious feeling against your clothed pussy.
He lets out a strained groan. “Please, mesh’la… I’ll treat ya so good.”
You believe him. Fuck… you really believe him.
Wrecker watches as you lick your lips, completely hypnotized, needing to taste you. All of you. He doesn’t think he’s ever wanted something or someone so badly.
As if the Force itself is dragging him upright, he pulls you against himself and kisses you with more passion than he’s ever felt toward any explosive ever. Which is a lot. But kissing you is like his very own firework. It’s explosive and beautiful and makes his heart hammer in his chest.
When you and Wrecker pull apart, neither of you can stop smiling at the other. His smile makes you feel whole, like all of the parts that have ever been taken from you are put back together, by him.
Both yours and Wrecker’s pupils are completely blown with lust… and something else. At least, for you it’s something else. Could he possibly feel the same way you do?
“Will you let me, pretty girl?” He murmurs, starting to grind you back and forth over his now painfully hard length again. “Will you let me make you cum? Please… I’ll- I’ll make ya cum so good…”
You’d let him do whatever he wanted to you at this point because Maker, he’s huge… and the sound of his voice is doing something to you.
His cock is throbbing against your clothed core and you know that the only answer could be yes at this point, your silly rule be damned.
With an eager nod, you can’t help but practically beg. “Fuck… Wreck… Please.”
You could definitely come like this for him. But before you get the chance to find out, he carefully guides you over onto your back, opens the curtain and gets down onto the durasteel floors of the Marauder, falling to his knees.
You watch with parted lips as he smirks up at you. He guides your pants and underwear down your legs, letting them fall to the floor.
The others could walk in at any moment, you realize. But somehow… you just don’t think you care. Let them watch if they want. You need Wrecker. Now.
He slides his hands up your bare legs, settling on your thighs and you take note of how huge they look against your own skin.
“So kriffing pretty.” He grins before lifting your legs and guiding them over his shoulders, his large hands gripping your thighs, holding you in place.
“You’re pretty.” You stroke his hand, looking down at him.
He gives a flustered look and kisses your inner thigh, making you squirm a little bit. The way he looks up at you makes your insides flutter and you can’t help but guide his face toward your warmth. He gives you a satisfied smirk that says that he knows what you want… what you need.
He does exactly what you need. He dives his tongue deep into your pussy, making you gasp loudly. Your hand flies to his head, holding him there. He lets out a deep chuckle against your warmth, vibrating against you.
“Fuck cyar’ika… Knew you’d taste so good.” He murmurs before his lips latch onto your clit.
Wet sounds below you lead you to realize you’ve never been this wet before. Not even when pleasuring yourself.
“You- you knew? You think about it?” You whimper.
“Ev’ry night.” He grunts as he continues to taste and tease you until you’re a shaking mess.
He pushes your knees back to your chest, spreading your pussy with his fingers as he continues to eat you like a man starved.
The way his lips latch onto your clit has your back arching up off the bed and when he starts to hum, you’re immediately thrown over the edge with virtually no warning, gasping loud enough that it trails into a moan, echoing throughout the ship.
“Maker… Knew you’d cum so pretty too…” He groans, kissing your cunt like a man in love, causing you to tremble. “Like an angel…”
“Yeah?” You go warm all over.
He nods, trailing his hands up and down your bare thighs.
“Come here.” You murmur, guiding him back into the bunk with you.
He gets back up into the bunk, hovering over you as he leans down and kisses you, causing you to taste your eagerness on his lips and tongue. You moan softly against his lips and he smirks into the kiss.
“You like the way you taste?” He whispers, roughly.
You let out a needy whine, nodding.
“Pretty girl…” He hums softly as he trails his lips down your jaw and neck, to your collarbone, making you grip his shoulders.
“Too clothed.” You complain, softly.
He chuckles softly and leans back on his knees to pull his shirt off, dropping it to the durasteel floor. You sit up slightly to pull your own shirt off. His eyes go wide momentarily at the sight of you and he comes back down to crush his lips to yours.
“You’re perfect…” He whispers when he pulls away to sit back up to kick off his pants.
The moment that you see his length, your jaw drops and you start to wonder if he’s going to fit.
“I’ll go slow.” He promises you as he comes back to you, clearly reading your facial expressions as he hovers over you again.
You nod, trusting him. You always have, and always will. Whether it’s out in the field or here in bed…
“You still want it?” He asks, looking between the two of you.
“Yes.” You murmur, reassuring him. “Stars, yes.”
He chuckles and kisses you again.
“Never gonna get tired of kissin’ ya.” He promises you, lifting a leg so he can get a better angle.
“Makes two of us.” You grin up at him.
He starts to line his tip up with your entrance and the stretch around his tip alone makes you gasp.
“Ready?” He looks down at you.
“Please…” You look back up at him and he gives you his grin that makes you feel whole.
Wrecker’s eyes glance back down at the way your pussy starts to take his tip easily and he can’t help the rough groan that escapes his lips. His grip on your thigh tightens as he starts to push into you a bit more.
He looks to you for permission to slide in fully and you nod.
“Please…” You whisper, clenching around him already.
He lets out a soft growl and pushes into you the rest of the way, making both of you let out a breathless moan. He grips your other thigh as he bottoms out.
“Feels better than I coulda imagined…” He groans. “So good…”
You nod in agreement, rather speechless. You’ve never felt so full just from a partner before so it almost feels like the first time all over again.
“You okay?” He murmurs, looking down at you with a confident and knowing smile.
You nod again. “Perfect… Keep going, Wreck…”
Wrecker pulls out just to push back in and you let out a needy gasp. He groans loudly and repeats the motion, clearly loving the reaction he can get out of you.
One of his hands travels up to your breast to grope you tightly making you clench around him. He lets out a low growl and starts to speed up his thrusts.
“Feels so good…” He grits between his teeth.
All you can manage is an agreed whimper, which makes him smirk.
“Shoulda had you read more books like that before…” He groans as his head falls back, his hands roaming to your hips to grip you tightly, basically using you to get himself off.
It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. And heard. The wet sounds between the two of you is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before.
“Wrecker…” You beg softly.
“What is it, pretty girl?” He lets go of your hips and falls forward over you, burying his face in your neck, kissing and licking in a way that’s going to make you fall apart.
“Let me ride you…” You murmur, almost shyly.
Wrecker pulls away from your neck to look at you and you can see his eyes darken. Wordlessly, he pulls out of you and rolls over onto his back so that you can climb on top of him. You waste no time sinking down onto his cock which makes the two of you groan loudly against each other.
You grip his firm chest, steadying yourself so that you can grind against his hips, the new angle stretching you in a way that you’ve never had before.
“So… big…” You gasp as you clench around him again.
He smirks up at you, clearly pleased with himself as his hands find your waist, guiding you back and forth.
“Wanna see you cum again… touch yourself…” He murmurs.
You go hot all over at his command and immediately do what you’re told. Your fingers fall down to your clit and you instantly clench around him.
“Atta girl.” He praises you, his voice low with need.
You let out soft whimpers and moans as you get closer and closer to finishing again.
“Kriff… Look so pretty on top of me like that…” His hands grip your waist in a bruising manner, like he’s trying to hold back.
You believe him when he says it. No man has ever looked at you the way that Wrecker looks at you. Like he… loves you…
“Maker, Wreck… I’m gonna…” You gasp.
“Yeah you are… Go on mesh’la… cum for me again… Wanna feel it around my cock this time.” He practically begs.
Your fingers speed up on your clit, applying a little more pressure as you chase your orgasm that you desperately want to give Wrecker.
“W-with me?” You ask, hoping he knows what you mean.
He nods. “Yes, ma’am.”
You groan softly as you grip his firm broad chest with your free hand and end up moaning when he starts bouncing you up and down on his cock. Your head falls back as your moans get louder, more pleading.
“That’s it, cyare… that’s it.” He groans as your orgasm is practically ripped from your body, causing your fingers to fall away from your clit so you can cup your hand over your mouth to keep from screaming. “Where-”
“In me…”
“Kriff…” He groans as his hips still and he fills you with himself, causing you to fall forward against his chest.
You bury your face into his warm neck as you both pant against each other, trying to return your breathing to normal. He always smells like a warm sunny beach day and it’s intoxicating… comforting…
You're both quiet for a while, his fingers trailing up and down your back. It’s the most calm you’ve felt in so long that you’re not ready to get up anytime soon. You just hope Wrecker’s brothers are willingly giving you privacy.
“How are you feeling?” He asks you, softly.
You rest your chin on the back of your hand, which is settled against his chest, and look up at him. “Perfect.”
“Good. You are, ya know… perfect…” He murmurs, reaching and brushing his lips against your forehead.
You go warm again and reach up to brush your lips against his. His hand falls to your lower back, keeping you in place.
“I’ve been waiting so long to do that…” He tells you.
“How long?” You smile sweetly at him as you brush your lips against his chest.
“Since the day you joined the squad…” He tells you, sheepishly.
“Me too.” You tell him, honestly.
“You have?” His eyebrows raise in surprise.
You nod, grinning widely at him. “Of course I have.”
He crushes his lips to yours again and pushes you over onto your back, getting carried away, which you wouldn’t have a problem with except you hear footsteps coming up the hatch of the Marauder.
“Kriff…” He groans, pulling the blanket up over the two of you so no one sees anything, not having time to pull the curtain closed.
You hear Hunter and Echo’s chuckle but they don’t have anything to say… yet. Crosshair, however…
“Looks like that reading really paid off for you, Wrecker.” Crosshair smirks as he walks by, taking note of the clothes discarded on the floor.
You and Wrecker both roll your eyes and cuddle closer. For now, you won’t let anything ruin this moment between the two of you.
