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literallydontlook · 5 months ago

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SKDBDNMDND

This is probably waaay too soon but wow-y that crosshair fic was incredible, any chance there be a semi sequel, maybe where crosshair does end up getting more of that sun 😎 and ofc time with the reader too. Would they try to hide what they have together now? Tho I’m sure phee and the batch would pick up on the higher frequency that crosshair and the reader talk at now 🤭

I can’t just leave it at this tho cause wow… you wrote the characters so well, I’m not kidding. Phee and omega (and the boys too) were so in character I loved the little story time at the beginning. And then theres the reader! They had some spunk it’s been a long time since I’ve seen an x reader written like this. I really do think if crosshair had found someone they’d be like this.

And then the whole bedroom scene 🫣 wow. The interruptions and laughing felt so wholesome and natural 🥹 very funny. Very glad crosshair found some time to … relax 💀 and that reader was able to help. I’m sure he’ll help them out too 😂

omg thank you so much! i'm so glad you enjoyed hehe i had fun writing it <3 i'm happy to hear that you appreciated the reader pov, i personally love bringing the reader pov to life a bit with more confidence and such. and yes he helped them out for sure 😏 here's the part two with the sunlight crosshair def needs ;)

fireworks: part ii

part i is linked here!

crosshair x gender-neutral jedi reader (fem anatomy)

summary: after hooking up on the night of lyana's birthday celebration, you and crosshair are now navigating the early stages of a relationship you didn't expect to experience this quickly into your retirement.

warnings: a little suggestive but nothing explicit

a/n: we have crosshair collecting the huzz and touching grass now lfg

₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎

Sleeping in Crosshair's room is a bit different from what you're used to in your own home. Hardly any sunlight peaks through his tightly drawn curtains, which means you wake up to noise rather than the early afternoon glow that usually warms your skin as your alarm to start the day. It's safe to say that Clone Force 99's household never rests, even after leaving behind a life of fighting and surviving. You hear a muffled squabble in the kitchen as your eyes flutter open and slowly register the dimly lit space, nearly laughing at the sound of Omega's exasperated tone over everyone else's.

The large, nimble hand palmed across your waist shifts absentmindedly when you try to sit up. Before you can react, you're suddenly pulled toward a hard surface that you quickly register as Crosshair's chest. It's rising and falling steadily, calm like the slumber you know he hasn't risen from yet. You turn on your side to face him, reaching forward with a careful finger that runs along his face in slow lines. His skin is impressively smooth and well taken care of. You're not aware of the smile curving your lips until you catch your heart beating a little faster all of a sudden, betraying your peace with emotions that leave your judgment clouded.

So, as much as you'd like to stay in his arms for as long as he'd allow you, your memories from last night begin to catch up in questions. Was it just a hookup? A one-time thing? And how would it look if someone caught you leaving his room—like this? You think about Omega, whose maturity doesn't change the fact that she's still young. Your life as a Jedi taught you the importance of setting an example, which isn't exactly easy in this current situation. But it's not that you're ashamed of what you and Crosshair did last night—what you did together. You won't regret coming here, and you'd even enjoy more of his company going forward.

But maybe that's just something you'll have to tell him when he's awake. Your eyes flick toward the door upon hearing some footsteps closing in before turning back to him. His lips are pressed in a soft line that you can't help but kiss just once, quickly and quietly as if it never happened at all. Untangling yourself from him, you hardly make a sound while climbing out of bed and heading toward his window which luckily opens enough for you to slip away into the street. This great escape appears dramatic when your feet hit the ground and your body instinctively crouches in response, but your house is close enough for the moment to feel short-lived.

A few hours later, you find yourself sitting at the docks while listening to the morning rush of the fishing crews settling their sails for the day. Some greet you when they recognize you, while others notice your state of tranquility and simply leave you to it. Your legs are hanging off the edge with your shoes kicked off somewhere you don’t exactly remember, allowing your feet to skim through the waves splashing low and gentle. The skies are clear, empty of any anomalies other than the occasional flock of birds singing overhead. But your mind is occupied—filled with a certain someone you can’t stop thinking about.

"Hey, stranger," a familiar voice says from behind you.

You turn your head and follow your friend’s figure as she sits down beside you with her contagious smile. "Good morning, Phee."

She looks at you a little warily, but you don’t miss the amusement in her eyes. A knowing question seems to be bubbling—you can feel it—but she hasn’t said anything yet. So, you raise your eyebrows at her while also maintaining the silence.

"I didn’t see you last night. At the celebration," she brings up casually, stretching her arms over her head before leaning back on them.

Your cheeks tinge with warmth at this, but your expression remains cool. "I stopped by. Gave Lyana her gift."

"Did you, now?"

"Uh-huh. You can ask her yourself."

Phee chuckles and shakes her head, nudging you a bit with her shoulder. "Yeah, I believe you."

Unconvinced, you ask, "Is there something you’d like to know?"

"Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"I can’t seem to think of anything, no…"

You look at each other again before laughing, no doubt earning curious glances from the people around the docks. Casting a watchful stare across your surroundings, you lean in a little closer and lower your voice. She copies your movements, but you can tell she already has an idea of what you’re about to reveal.

"I might’ve..." you say, "...spent the night with Crosshair."

She pulls back, no doubt triumphant. "As in…?"

Feeling what she’s insinuating, you shake your head. "We didn’t sleep together, but…"

"But you had your fun," she finishes for you.

The warm blush on your cheeks intensifies as you focus your gaze on the horizon. "Yeah. It was fun."

"So, where is he?"

An odd pang of guilt sparks your heartbeat as the question of whether or not you should’ve left without saying anything this morning re-emerges. But you merely shrug and answer, "I’m not sure. He was still sleeping when I headed out."

"You haven't talked to him today?"

"No...not yet, at least."

"That’s a little cold," Phee reacts, doubling back when she sees your eyebrows draw together in concern, “I’m sure he didn’t take it personally, though."

"Do you think it came across as personal?"

"No, but…I guess it was just a hookup. People do that all the time—you get what you came for, and then you leave. It’s not serious if you don’t want it to be."

You consider her words, realizing that wasn’t how you wanted to treat this encounter at all. But you’ve also never been in a real relationship before, given your commitment to the Order. But now, there’s a vacancy you can fill with what you’re interested in. Who.

"I like him," you admit, "I’ve always found him interesting, to say the least. I just don't know how I feel about being someone's partner right now. And I don't know if this even meant anything to him."

Phee opens her mouth to reply, but you suddenly cringe at yourself and shake your head. "It's okay. I'd rather not overthink this right now. I'll talk to him eventually."

The pirate studies you carefully before nodding in understanding, which you're grateful for. Even in the short time you've enjoyed her friendship, you can always rely on her unwavering support in any shape or form. She squeezes your shoulder reassuringly and then stands, leaving you to your thoughts as she joins a group just about to push off into the wide expanse surrounding this island. They wave at you from their boat, and you wave back until they're nothing but a small dot along the brightening horizon.

Your skin suddenly begins to tingle for a reason you're unsure of until the sensation reaches the top of your scalp. Instinct tells you to look over your shoulder, so you do, unsurprised when your gaze immediately finds Crosshair in the distance. He's standing alone on an upper level, obviously watching you with his arms folded over his chest and a thin toothpick between his teeth. You wonder if you've lost your touch over the past few months as you realize he's probably been there this entire time, given the way his eyebrows lift at your unwavering stare. It's brief and subtle, like most of his expressions, but you see the slight irritation. The questioning silence. You feel it, too. You feel him.

You nod your head to the side a bit, telling him to join you down here. It doesn't disappoint you when he disappears from sight, for he quickly emerges from the crowds once again and walks across the harbor toward you. His strides are careful—a little bored. But they're also long and confident, which is why he's standing over you before you can even blink.

"Trying to meet your daily quota?" You ask as you look up at him, maintaining a level tone and expression despite the flashbacks from last night circulating through your mind. It feels strange to be initiating small talk after his face was between your legs, but you can't think of anything else to say at the moment.

"Of what?" His voice is equally calm as yours, also hardly revealing anything that might indicate his perspective on last night.

You smile and squint a bit. "The sunshine."

He rolls his eyes and turns his head to the side before staring down at you again. "I thought you'd be here. Guess I was right."

"You were looking for me?"

"Mhm."

"I'm flattered," you face forward and lean back on your palms, "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, then?"

You hear him exhale softly, but it isn't until he's seated beside you that you realize he was laughing just now. While your legs are extended toward the ocean, his are still drawn inward and resting lazily along the dock. Neither of you moves when his knee meets your hip, except for the glance you steal at him. This turns into a shared gaze when he meets your eyes, and you're unable to look away. Or, you just don't want to.

"At least close the window on your way out," he drawls, "It's common courtesy."

This startles you as the warm, embarrassed rush from your earlier conversation with Phee returns to your cheeks. But you don't feel or hear any malice in his tone, which is why you chuckle in response. His lips curve into a slight smile upon hearing the sound.

"Sorry," you apologize, "My goal was to not disrupt your beauty sleep. I'm a bit of an amateur at these kinds of things."

"Hm. Didn't seem like it last night."

The heat in your body coalesces stronger and lower at this remark. Or...is it a compliment? You hum low under your breath to yourself before replying, "Is that what you're here to talk about? Last night?"

He holds your gaze as he takes his toothpick between his fingers and tosses it away, letting it land somewhere across the dock. "No, actually."

You lean closer to him a little, sliding your palm toward him for better proximity. It's hard to miss the way his throat bobs in exchange for his silence.

"What is it, then?" You ask softly.

"Nothing," he shrugs, "That's all I wanted to tell you. For next time."

A smile twinkles in your eyes at this. "Next time, huh? I wouldn't mind a next time."

"I wouldn't either."

Maybe that's all he planned to talk about, but you find yourself continuing the conversation without thinking it through. The truth just slips out naturally—comfortably, even. And you know he's listening with how intently he watches you. This would have made you nervous if not for your own desire to be at the center of his attention at the moment—the receiver of his understanding. So, you're unapologetic when you tell him, "I also wouldn't mind going on a date with you...sometime."

His lips part in surprise, but he easily replies, "I'm free tonight."

"You're free all the time."

"Do you want me to change my mind?"

You laugh and run your hand upward, gripping his shirt gently while pulling him closer. He seems to know what's about to play out, and he doesn't complain or protest. He kisses you back, or you kiss him, but it's a collective effort either way. Pausing to take a breath, your noses touch as you answer, "No. I don't want you to change your mind."

Crosshair's smirk is arrogantly smug, but his gaze is soft as he kisses you again. This time, it's deeper and a little more shameless. It earns some suspiciously loud whistles in the background—the source of which you can identify before even turning around. You do anyway, feeling Crosshair's eyes fixated on you. Along the upper levels, you see Wrecker cupping his hands around his mouth as a string of teasing triumph sounds from his thunderous voice. At his side is his other brother, Hunter, who sports a curious but also slightly disapproving frown. He's covering Omega's eyes, but she doesn't seem to appreciate this gesture. So much for privacy.

A gentle finger against your jaw turns your face back to Crosshair, who slides the rest of his hand across your cheek when you're looking at him again. His expression appears unfazed, but this doesn't come as a surprise to you. Pressing another kiss to his mouth, you take his hand away from your face to hold it in your lap and turn it over a few times. This is his prosthetic—the hand he lost from a fight you haven't heard the full story of. He lets you touch him, secretly wondering what's so intriguing. When you ask, "What happened?" he says, "It's a long story."

This, you believe. But no matter how long this story is or how long ago it occurred, you'd like to know. You smile at him before lacing your fingers together and leaning your head against his shoulder, just looking out into the horizon together. The ocean beats against your feet every now and then to remind you that it's still there, but you can't ever forget. Pabu is infinitely woven into your soul, including its memories that now belong to you as well. And the people. The person.

"I have time," you tell him. All the time in the world.

#crosshair x reader

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literallydontlook · 5 months ago

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THE WAY I CRUSHED MY PHONE IN MY HANDS READING THIS 🥵

I almost completely forgot about the banter that had me laughing out loud. Like

Bad Batch Prompt Event #1

or, The One Where Freesia Doesn't Actually Write the Prompt

SO LISTEN. I loved writing the SFW Part One where I actually did use the prompt, but I got so lost in writing this smutty Part Two that I completely forgot the NSFW prompt lines. However, I hope that the melty sweet/sexy passion with Hunter will make up for it. ;) If not, you can kick me out of the event. ;) DIVIDER by @snotbuggle!!

NSFW - MINORS DNI - Content below the cut... haha, get it... CUT?

Hunter x F!Reader Word Count: 3k Content: groping, kissing, titty suckin, fingering, being politely bent over the knee, bangin in a few positions, and a few bad words.

READ PART ONE HERE

Months passed, and you couldn’t believe your luck, that the quick-witted, clever, insightful, and damn sexy Sergeant of Clone Force 99 seemed to feel the same way about you as you did about him. You’d exchanged information, messaging as much as possible when he wasn’t putting his life on the line in death-defying shenanigans, and you’d see each other whenever he was on world. You’d surreptitiously worked out your own work schedule to be able to split your time between Kamino and Coruscant, allowing you to see him more often, and you felt giddy as you thought of all the deep kisses and passionate groping that you’d enjoyed in a variety of closets, storage crates, empty barracks, and dark alleyways.

Things had progressed deliciously, the two of you exploring one another’s bodies in an increasingly wide variety of ways. You’d always been self-conscious, but the way he could wrap himself around you and drown you in raw passion was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. It was intoxicating, the increasing vulnerability and authenticity in all areas, as you grew to know one another through and through. The trust, connection, and comfort was incredibly special to you, and you were excited to see where it would lead. It had been ages since he’d been to Coruscant, and far too long since you’d seen each other, so when you received his message to let you know he had an entire night to spend however he liked, you were beyond excited.

You cleaned your apartment like mad, working yourself nearly into exhaustion, then took the most thorough shower of your life. Shaving, exfoliating, and scrubbing was followed by moisturizing and fretting over what to wear. The tone of your messages of late had been decidedly hungrier, and unless you were wildly off base, you had a feeling there would be a new level of desire this evening. He’d given little hints of “the things he wanted to do to you”, and just the thought of all that might await made you ache between the legs. You dried your hair, brushing it until it was soft as silk as you sipped a glass of sparkling wine, then stood in front of your closet, trying to gauge what the perfect vibe would be.

Pleasantly buzzed from the wine and absolutely drunk with excitement, you dug out a wrinkled paper bag from the back of a shelf, dumping its contents on the bed. A messy pile of lingerie sat before you – stuff you’d bought in your younger days when you were more ambitious and less realistic – and you picked up thing after thing, squinting in estimation of how it might look. Finally, you saw the perfect set and pulled it on, examining yourself in the mirror with a giddy, carefree attitude. You pulled a long, satin robe over the whole thing, then wondered if that was too presumptuous… which made you laugh out loud. He was coming in late, past dinnertime for you at least, but you had a little something ready just in case, and you busied yourself with final touches to your face, hair, and apartment as you waited.

Ding dong.

Your heart leapt in your chest as you flung the door open, so happy to see him after so long. You had to do a double-take, jaw dropping a bit as you took in the whole sight of him. He had ditched the armor, the only thing you’d ever seen him in, and instead was sporting civilian clothing that was positively drool-worthy: perfectly-fitted jeans and a dark green henley sat beneath a rugged jacket that hung from his broad shoulders.

“Holy kriff,” you gawked, backing up to invite him in but unable to take your eyes off of him. “What’s all this?”

“A snaaaaack,” he said in a voice that made you both burst into laughter.

“Okay, never say that again,” you declared once you’d regained your breath. “I have so many questions.”

“I lost a bet to Echo, so I had to say that,” Hunter explained, grinning as he drew close to you again. “As for the outfit, Tech offered it as ‘a calculated presentation not dissimilar to the breeding displays of animals’, so I couldn’t pass up on that.”

“Oh my gosh.” You were speechless, momentarily forgetting all that you were wearing and had been dreaming of for this evening. But Hunter hadn’t forgotten. He stepped closer, toying with your waist as he gazed at you fondly.

“So… you like… breeding displays… I can’t do this, I’m sorry,” he laughed, shaking his head and returning to his usual stoicism a bit. “I’m just happy to see you.”

“You too,” you said, more softly now, as your mind wandered back to everything before you. You ran your hands up his arms and across his chest, reveling in the little tease of the unbuttoned neckline of his henley shirt, and pulled his jacket from his shoulders to toss onto the table nearby. He pulled you in, cupping your face and brushing a thumb along your cheek, and you relaxed into his embrace, falling silent for a while and just basking in the happiness of his presence. You closed your eyes, tilting your head into his hand, and let out a little sigh.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered huskily, and you opened your eyes with a giggle.

“How many times do I have to tell you that you don’t have to ask anymore?”

“Oh, right. Must have forgotten.”

Then his mouth was on yours, tender and sweet at first, lips sliding along your own with delicate precision. They were so soft, pressing and pulling, again and again as the intensity grew and his head tilted to kiss you more deeply. His hand remained on your jaw, fingers splayed along your neck, and the other flattened across the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. You savored every part of him that you could feel, from his muscular thigh to his broad chest, and you gasped quietly when his lips blazed a train to your neck. He carefully slid the silky fabric of your robe off your shoulder, pressing a few lingering kisses along your collarbone before lifting his face to yours again.

He studied you with a mix of affection and desire, gently running his fingers through your hair before gripping a fistful and kissing you again, harder this time. You lost yourself in it, dizzy from the way his chest rose and fell against you, his hands heavier as they roamed your hips… Your own fingers explored his stomach and caressed his arms as you writhed against him, feeling your entire body coming alive more and more with all the pent-up yearning and hunger.

“Bedroom?” you gasped, pulling back for a breath of air after a particularly intense bout of kisses.

“Eventually,” he said, eyes dark with desire now as he toyed with the hem of your robe. A jolt of electricity ran through you, and you slid your hands beneath his shirt, pulling it up over his head before returning your palms to his front. He slipped his own fingers past your satin robe, which was starting to messily hang open now, and you arched your back with a sharp inhale as he traced his fingers along the curve of your side, up toward the cream-colored bra you’d chosen. It was nothing flashy, unlike the strappy, lacy numbers you’d considered, but was made of the most irresistibly soft silk you’d ever felt, and you smiled against his mouth as he stiffened the slightest bit when his hands reached it. You knew how to intoxicate his senses.

His fingers grazed your breast, the thin fabric doing nothing to conceal the pebbling of your nipple in response. Kissing you again, he brought his other hand up, grasping both sides with a gentle firmness that got another breathy inhale out of you. He nestled his nose against the side of your face, staggering his legs between your own and whispering against your ear.

“The things I want to do to you…” he purred, and you swallowed hard, tilting your face into his as his touch on your chest grew heavier, cupping and fondling, teasing and stroking. You were aching for him so badly, slick between your legs, and when he gently squeezed both nipples at once, you couldn’t hold back a quiet moan. There was a feral edge to his voice, a restraint to his touch, and you were wildly aroused at the thought of what his unrestrained passion would look like.

“Fuck me,” you whispered, placing a firm hand over the bulge in his pants and smiling faintly at his hiss in response. “I mean it,” you continued, and that alone seemed to send him over the edge. He turned you around in a flash, pulling you back against him as his hands roamed freely across your front, scooping up a breast as he raked his teeth along your neck. He kissed and suckled, rolling a nipple between his fingers as the other hand ventured down, across your stomach, and over your thinly-clothed mound. Stepping away for a split second, he tugged your robe off, tossing it aside and returning to his ravaging position, radiating heat against your back as he teased along your panty line.

“I think I’ll make you wait, just a little…” he murmured against your shoulder, dipping his fingers beneath the silk underwear to tease along the edges of your folds. You stepped your legs a little further apart, his other arm bracing across the front of your shoulders as he kissed your neck again.

“Let’s see how long you can,” you challenged, feeling him stiffen against you with his own yearning. You lifted an arm behind your head, burying your fingers in his hair and leaning your head to the side, tilting your hips toward his hand as it stroked feather-light against your clit. Biting back the curses, you shifted back a little, grinding against his hard length and reveling in his low groan in response.

“Playing games, are we?” He pressed his fingers a little harder, teasing you with a few circles that sent tingles radiating throughout your entire body before pulling away and moving toward the couch, quickly shedding all remaining clothing as he went. You felt positively feral at the sight of him, messy and carnal, and dropped your robe as you followed. He sat down, spreading his legs, and you were ready to drop to your knees, but he reached for you gently, stopping you with your hips in front of his face, where he kissed and bit your side as he slowly slid your panties down your legs. You were a mess already, not wanting to wait another second to ride him into the sunset, but he had you absolutely enraptured, and the dominant energy radiating off of him was intoxicating.

He kissed your stomach, gazing up at you with unbridled lust, and the sight alone nearly sent you into orbit. He was so incredibly hot, so free in his passion… When he carefully guided you to lay across his thighs, face down, you gasped as the cool air hit your pussy, slightly spread as your knees rested off to the sides. He caressed your face again, holding it up so it wasn’t dangling uncomfortably, then raked his fingernails up the inside of a thigh. You writhed beneath his touch, one hand wrapping around his ankle in an attempt to ground yourself from the heady pleasure washing over you from head to toe. He traced his fingers across your folds, up and down, then teased the inside of the other thigh. You whined. You couldn’t help it. You’d been waiting long enough. A smile touched his lips, and he moved his hand back up, stroking firm fingers across you again, from your clit to your opening, then back again. He slowly circled your clit again, then nudged his fingers against your opening, sinking in just a bit before returning to the up and down slide that was threatening to make you come from that alone.

“Hunter,” you breathed against his thigh, holding onto him for dear life as your legs twitched behind you. He pressed in again, deeper this time, then stroked you again and again. The rhythm was euphoric, and his cock was hard against your side as he slid his fingers back and forth, dipping in and out. When he turned his hand slightly to reach that sensitive spot inside, you were seeing stars, panting against his hand as he pressed inside of you, one finger still dragging along your clit. “Please,” you begged, truly unable to take any more. He picked up on your tone and slowly released you, carefully helping you to your feet, where you immediately straddled him, sinking onto his lap. He pulled the silky bra off, inhaling sharply as your breasts spilled into his hands, and he brought his mouth to them immediately, swirling his tongue amid kisses and suckles.

You arched into his ravaging, his hands roving up and down your back as you rocked against his cock, hard between the two of you. You wanted to take him right there, and buried your hands in his hair, angling yourself to guide him in. He paused for a moment as though thinking, and then his eyes clenched shut in absolute bliss as you sank down on him, slowly. He grunted an expletive, tipping his chin toward his chest and gripping your waist with desperate concentration. You began to move, savoring every second as he slid along your walls, teasing your entrance with his tip and then taking him back in. When he bottomed out, the friction was incredible, and you tilted your hips to enjoy it more. His hands grasped your ass, lifting you slightly to allow him to press into you, slowly at first, then a bit harder as you moaned your ecstasy against his hair.

“So perfect,” he gasped, the sound of his thighs slapping against you nearly drowning out his worshipful words. He thrust again and again, hitting that spot deep inside and grinding on your clit at the same time. You grabbed the back of the couch, breasts bouncing in his face, and he took one in his mouth again, toying with it with his tongue. The tension was building, and you were sure you were about to go over the edge, but he slowed, causing you to gasp in indignation.

“How dare–”

In one ridiculously smooth motion, because this is fantasy after all, he rose to his feet, scooping you in his arms on the way. Next thing you knew, you were laid flat on your bed, spread out before him on your back as he stood beside the edge, stroking himself as he looked at you with feral hunger.

“I’ll make up for it,” he smirked, sliding his length along your slick folds, the bottom of his cock teasing your clit. He held your legs at his sides, slowly gliding back and forth against you as your pussy clenched around nothing, yearning for him to fill you up again. When he finally did, you reached your arms above your head, grasping the sheets in pure bliss as he sank in, bottoming out with an intoxicating press of the hips against you. It was the most mind-blowing angle, and he began to thrust again, releasing your legs to bend over you, pressing his hand into the bed beside your head. You turned into his wrist, burying your face in his forearm and panting against his skin as he lowered his head, heavy kisses peppered across your collarbone before he drew a flat tongue over a nipple again.

He was the best you’d ever had. You were on another plane of existence, lost in his musky scent, the raw sounds coming from him, the careful strength and consuming passion… He looped an arm beneath your shoulders, cupping the back of your head as you curled your chin to your chest, picking your legs up higher to take him deeper. He groaned his restraint, holding your head close against his neck as he snapped his hips against you again and again. It was so intimate and feral all at once, his body sliding against yours as he fucked you senseless. You could tell he was getting close, and he released you to stand back upright, caressing a bouncing breast with one hand while the other moved between your legs. When he touched your clit, still thrusting the perfect rhythm at an angle that was sending deep waves of pleasure throughout your core, you felt your own climax building at breakneck speed. Your breaths grew faster, whimpers and moans louder, and he didn’t change a thing, circling your clit with the pads of his fingers as he drove his cock into you again and again.

White-hot fireworks exploded across your consciousness, wracking your body with sparkling euphoria as your pussy clenched around him. You couldn’t hold back, mewling encouragement as he continued, chasing his own release as you rode the high. He came with a growl, panting words that you couldn’t make out through his heavy breaths, and his throbbing cock and hot release sent you right back up, drawing out your orgasm even longer as every nerve in your body fired with delight. As his pumping slowed, hot and messy, you remembered to breathe again, shuddering involuntarily as he eventually stilled, holding himself inside of you as he gently bent over you, brushing the hair back from your face and kissing you with unfathomable gentleness and reverence. You couldn’t move, instead remained lying there motionless, grinning like an idiot in the dim light.

“Let’s do that again,” you murmured, ecstatic and the small snort from him as he nuzzled against your cheek.

“I’m gonna need about twenty minutes.”

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#clone smut #hunter x reader

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literallydontlook · 5 months ago

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Oooooooh the yearning is so good!!! And the banter!!!!

Bad Batch Prompt Event #1

Much love to @arctrooper69 for making this official, and I can't wait to see what anyone else has written for these prompts! I'm gonna post the SFW part one here and NSFW part two over on @spicy-clones.

Hunter x F!Reader WORD COUNT 3000 my bad! Content: some basic medical descriptions, reader gets her butt smacked at 79s, and a wee bit o kissin. GONNA USE MY SEXY DIVIDERS WITH @pinkiemme's art since it's HUNTER! :D

“Seriously?” you sighed. “This again?”

“This is completely different than last time,” came the smooth reply, earning both a snort and an eyeroll from you.

“It’s almost exactly the same.”

“Different arm.”

“Oh my gosh.” Your almost-laugh was overshadowed by concern and frustration as you made quick work of the injury and carefully wrapped the gauze around his bicep, trying not to pay too close attention to the gentle curves of the muscles and tendons, the light dusting of hair, the scars and bruises… You cleared your throat, shaking your head minutely and looking back up to his face. That wasn’t any better. His sharp eyes gazed steadily at you, framed by his distinctive nose and the strands of hair that brushed the sides of his face.

“Well thanks as always,” he said quietly, the hint of a rare smile touching the corner of his lips, which were almost always curved in the ghost of a frown from the burdens he carried. You tried to ignore the flutter in your chest, instead nodding and picking up your datapad abruptly to see what else was on the agenda for the Kamino medical bay that day. You looked back to him, offering a small smile and an honest exhortation.

“Take care of yourself, Hunter.”

* * *

You were surprised to see him only a week later, stepping into line behind you in the mess hall with the rest of his squad. They were normally a boisterous bunch, but there seemed to be a heaviness upon them as they moved rather listlessly. Perhaps a mission gone awry, perhaps the regular wear and tear of being mere property in a seemingly endless war. You caught Hunter’s eye as he moved to the front of his group, setting his tray on the shelf beside yours as you slid down the food line.

“You alright?” you asked softly, startling yourself with the gentleness and vulnerability in your own voice and cringing at the fact that you didn’t even lead with a “hello”.

“Yeah,” he said automatically, his flat affect provoking more anxiety than you’d like. You left it at that, unable to stifle the simultaneous warmth and concern emanating from you. You didn’t know what it was about his mere presence, but he exuded both competence and compassion, intelligence and wit, and you perceived the weight of responsibility that hung over his head, both a gift and a curse of his engineered fate.

You’d come to enjoy his med bay visits more and more, although it was never the ideal circumstances to meet. The elaborate fantasies you concocted as you drifted off to sleep were far more appealing, consisting of stargazing cuddles, fancy galas, coffee shop chats, and many other situations you’d want to share with him. As corny as it seemed, more than all of it, you simply wanted to know him, to know the inner workings of his mind, his joys and worries, the things that made him laugh, the way he liked his caf… It wasn’t the first time in your life that you’d harbored a crush for someone who was as unattainable as they were oblivious of your affections, so you settled to daydream and enjoy the times you did get to share.

It helped that your occupation allowed you some quiet moments and gentle touches here and there. Although, perhaps “helped” was the wrong word.

* * *

“We need you in room 6 immediately,” crackled the voice on your commlink, and you set aside the instruments you’d been cleaning and adjusting, heading that way with urgency. When the door slid open, you felt a jolt of electricity run through your body at the sight of a hulking clone on the exam table, covered in dried blood and haphazardly-wrapped bandages. You knew who it was without seeing his face, which was almost entirely obscured, and before your emotions could catch up, you snapped into work mode.

“What are we dealing with?” you asked the others, who were moving in smooth synchronization to free his head and scan him head to toe.

“CT-9903. Explosion and shrapnel, blunt force trauma, multiple lacerations…” your assistant reported, eyes flitting across the scanner screen.

“That’s gonna leave a mark,” your other colleague said, stuffing the wads of bandages into the garbage and pulling on a fresh set of gloves.

“Let’s get to work,” you muttered.

A few hours later, he was cleaned up and sleeping comfortably, one eye closed serenely beneath a spiral of neatly-wrapped gauze that covered the rest of his head. You slipped into the room and tapped the screens, confirming the notes your assistant had entered, then rested a hand on his broad forearm, watching his chest rise and fall and sending out all the comforting and healing vibes you could muster.

“He seems alright,” came a smooth, low voice from behind you, making you jump and emit the tiniest squawk. You whirled around to see Hunter in a chair in the corner, reclining with his legs crossed out in front of him. He’d phrased it as a statement but the inflection of his voice indicated a question, and you exhaled in an attempt to regain your composure.

“First of all, hi. Next time, can you greet me when I come into the room instead of scaring the crap out of me?” you said, accompanied with a little laugh that sounded forced.

“We’ll see,” he returned evenly, keeping his face straight despite your smirk.

“That’s an order, Sergeant,” you attempted, delighting in the slight spark in his eyes as he raised his eyebrows.

“Oh really,” he said, lowering his chin just enough to bring some hair across his forehead as he regarded you with a stare that you could have sworn held a hint of smolder. But perhaps you were seeing what you wanted to see. Your fingers twitched at your sides, yearning to stroke the tufts back from his face… and other stuff…

“Yeah, anyway…” you said suddenly, clearing your throat and turning businesslike all of a sudden. “He should be fine. We’ll run some more tests when he wakes up to check on his hearing. The lacerations should heal easily, and he was lucky enough to avoid any serious contusions, somehow. I don’t know what you all were doing out there but this guy needs a thicker helmet.”

“I’ll make sure to request that from the armory.”

“I’m sure they’ll be wildly helpful and accommodating.”

“Always.”

A silence fell for a moment, then he rose to his feet, stretching to his full height and picking up his backpack. He slung it across his shoulders, along with the concerns and duties that awaited him, and gave you a cordial nod.

“Thanks for taking care of him,” he said with genuine sincerity, regarding you with fondness as he stepped closer. Your heart skipped a beat and you felt frozen to the spot, mind racing with a million scenarios you’d envisioned that started out just like this.

“Just doing my job… sir,” you said feebly, swallowing hard as he moved the tiniest bit nearer. You gazed at his eyes, brown at first glance but peppered with pale green and gray upon closer inspection. You could swear you felt the sparks flying between the two of you… until he spoke, shifting slightly to your side.

“Gotta… head out…” he muttered, and you suddenly realized he had actually been trying to get past you. Flushed with hot embarrassment, you moved aside in a flash, turning away to hide your reddening cheeks.

“Sorry, I didn’t sleep too much last night,” you explained quickly, trying not to stutter. “The old brain isn’t working quite so well today.”

“I’m glad you performed cranial surgery on Wrecker, then,” Hunter observed, and you buried your face in a hand.

“I mean, it wasn’t really surgery, but good point,” you laughed, thoroughly mortified now.

You didn’t see the pursed lips hiding his smile as he turned and disappeared out the door.

* * *

You were deeply saddened at first when you were transferred from the Kamino medical bay to the general medical center on Coruscant. But, as your fellow clone-obsessed friend reminded you, you would be able to go with her to 79s on your nights off, where you could enjoy the company of the types of men you’d come to prefer. It had been a hellish week, with too many patients and too few staff members, and you had worked yourself to the bone. It was as good a time as any to blow off some steam, so it took only a little urging from your friend for you to change into some going out clothes, fix up your hair a bit, and hit the town with her.

Typically one for softness and gentleness, you felt an edge to yourself that night. Perhaps it was the build up of all of the frustrating situations at work, but whatever the cause, you didn’t feel like putting up with any kind of BS. So when the first trooper you walked past tried to smack your butt, you turned on him with the raging fury of a thousand suns and gave him a piece of your mind. Your friend stared at you, dumbfounded, and you heard some chuckles and comments from the crowd. Turning away before you melted into an apology, you stalked off to the corner booth you had left your stuff in.

“That was brutal,” a smoky voice said, and you were floored at the sight of Hunter sliding into the booth next to you. Your friend winked at you from where she stood at the bar, still flirting with a couple of troopers. You stared at him, speechless, and he held his hands up in surrender. “I’ll clear out if you’re going to chew me out like that guy. Just wanted to say hi. Haven’t seen you in the med bay in a while.“

“No, stay!“ You said, more eagerness in your voice than you would like to admit. “They transferred me here…”

“And you just had to get your clone fix?”

You blushed, palming your face before taking a long swig of your drink. It was a stiff one, and a fitting way to end your week.

“Just kidding,” he continued, “We both know you just miss yelling at people.”

“Oh, I’m such a yeller,” you rolled your eyes. You had never been anything but gentle and kind with him and the other patients. And he knew it.

Before long, you both found yourselves lost in conversation, and it felt as though your dreams were coming true. Details of his life and thoughts were flowing freely, well, as freely as possible considering the covert nature of most of his experiences, and the two of you settled into a comfortable rhythm as you nursed your drinks and regarded one another. You shared about your training days, mishaps and mayhem, and your goals for the future. He was happy to listen, answering questions but also content to simply sit. You didn’t want to admit just how much you were thrilled by the entire situation.

“Refills?” You asked, gesturing to the empty glasses on the table. He nodded, but then followed you out of the booth. As the two of you leaned against the bar, waiting to be acknowledged, you tilted your head at him, feeling slightly emboldened for a moment, but it quickly melted when his eyes met yours.

“Yes?” He asked, a smirk on his own face.

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he teased. “Looks like you’ve got something you want to say.”

“Maybe there’s lots I want to say,” you clapped back, putting your hand on your hip. “But I don’t think I’m going to.” You gave him a sassy smile in an attempt to hide the complete and total whirlwind of thoughts raging for consideration within you.

He took a step closer, coming into your personal space, and his hand that rested on the bar counter was dangerously close to your waist. You could almost feel his touch, without any contact being made at all. His eyes were dark beneath his brows, his sharp profile illuminated by the colorful lights all around, and your heart skipped a beat.

“You sure?” he purred, a smug look on his face as though he knew the effect he had on you. “Nothing at all?”

“You’re the worst,” you stammered, dropping your chin and fixing your stair on the ground beside you.

“Yeah,” he conceded with a snort. “Well, you still like me.”

Your head flew up faster than a ship jumping into hyperspace, and you stared at him in utter shock as your stomach plunged. Your mouth fell open a little bit as you frantically searched for words, coming up with none and snapping it shut again. He shifted the tiniest fraction closer, looming over you now in a way that would be intimidating if your veins weren’t coursing with adrenaline and the sheer desire to grab his shirt and show him all that you couldn’t say.

“Thought so,” he said with a satisfied rumble of laughter that made your knees weak.

“I don’t… I mean, I couldn’t…” You fumbled hopelessly, turning away a tiny bit as you grappled for any kind of response.

“Hey lady,” a clone voice said from behind you. “ This guy bothering you?” You turned around to see a trooper with his head closely shaved except for some intricate designs along the sides. He was standing tall, an inch or two over Hunter, and had a warm intensity to his gaze that showed genuine concern more than creepiness or bravado.

You looked back to Hunter, who was still leaning on the bar, relaxed and unbothered. He lifted his eyebrows at you, uncharacteristically playful, and said, “Well?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” you said to the blue-armored clone, who gave you a polite nod before leaving with one last suspicious glare at Hunter.

“So… you were saying?” Hunter poked, tilting his head at you and fanning the flame. Was he flirting? For real? Or just trying to make you flustered, for his own fun and entertainment?

“Now you’re just being cruel,” you whined, and he laughed, an authentic, deep sound that made you swoon.

“I would never.”

“Hunter, we’ve got to go,” a pert voice broke through your fantasy, and you turned to see a bespectacled man with a serious face standing beside Hunter, who looked at you with an unreadable expression as your heart sank and disappointment lay heavy over the two of you.

“Well. Hope I see you again,” he admitted, a wistful tone to his voice as he brushed his fingers across the back of your hand, sending a jolt of electricity through you, and dipped his head in goodbye before disappearing out the front door.

You went home to your “personal massager” that night.

* * *

You were finishing the patient notes for the day as you bent over your screen at work, tapping away with diligence as you looked forward to freedom for the evening. It had been nearly a week since you’d seen Hunter at 79s, and you’d been kicking yourself for not speaking up more, or flirting more, or making a move, or something. You doubted your paths would cross again, as your friend shared that she’d only seen Clone Force 99 at the bar once before, and she was quite the regular. Bringing your thoughts back to the present, you groaned inwardly as your comm pinged with an incoming message, and you considered not looking at it to avoid any calls to stay late. But curiosity got the better of you, and you took a look at the screen.

//18:42//-ENCRYPTED- {Chewed out any regs lately?}

Your mouth fell open, brow furrowed, as you studied the message. It wasn’t an internal memo, nor was it from any sort of source you’d seen before. It couldn't be… Could it? You smirked, curious to try something that might seem inconspicuous if it were, in fact, an error, but might be playful if it were him.

//18:43// - {Unfamiliar source number, identification needed.}

The response seemed to take ages.

//18:47//-ENCRYPTED- {Identification can be provided in the maintenance alleyway of the med center.}

You were embarrassed how quickly you got there.

The door swung open into a long, narrow gap between the large hospital buildings, filled with random parts and trash chutes, and your heart leapt in your chest when you saw his gray and red armor.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, positively thrilled and unable to hide it.

“I… Well… I don’t know,” Hunter admitted with a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I haven’t been able to get you off my mind since we had to leave… So I thought it might need some medical attention.”

Now it was your turn to laugh, the sheer delight of it all cascading over you. “Oh, and a crusty alleyway seems like a very sterile environment.” He grinned, shaking his head, and you caught a glimpse of his own vulnerability, realizing that he, too, was fairly out of sorts when it came to smooth talk and flirtation. Somehow, that made you feel better, and all the regrets and “what ifs” of the last number of days began a relentless protest in your mind. “Well, let’s see what I can do,” you murmured, stepping closer to where he leaned against the wall. His eyebrows climbed up his head, giving away his utter surprise, and the sight gave you tingles.

“I… ah…” he began, but you leaned into him a little, fueled by months of daydreams and a lifetime of self-loathing for all the opportunities you were too cowardly to take hold of. Plus, his sheepishness and his admission were all you’d needed to hear, and there was an undeniable affection in his eyes that melted you to the core.

“Let’s see if we can help you out a bit?” you offered, simultaneously cringing and delighting at the complete and total ridiculousness of it all. But then he tilted his head and lifted a single, curled finger to your chin, tipping it up toward his face and sealing your fate as hopelessly enthralled. His dark eyes glittered with warmth and trepidation, and the next thing you knew, your lips were pressed against his, eyes closed, arms around his neck.

It was so soft, so absolutely mind-blowingly perfect; your entire body was electrified as his own arms wrapped around you. You felt him exhale, his nose against your cheek, and you were overwhelmed with joy at his closeness, his vulnerability, his all-consuming presence that filled your senses. His body formed around yours, his mouth still gently nestled against your own, and you melted a little further into him, wishing that it would never end.

When you finally did separate with a soft smack of the lips, you left your faces close, your eyes darting to his, which remained closed for an extra second before slowly opening with a relaxed warmth that had you feeling weak all over again. You couldn’t resist leaning your forehead against his own, reaching a hand up to caress his cheek for a moment before begrudgingly pulling back a bit.

“Thank you,” you whispered lamely, and he exhaled through his nose.

“Thank you,” he echoed, sheepish and disarmed.

“Please contact me anytime you need any sort of medical attention,” you continued, wrinkling your nose at just how terrible it all sounded, but he snickered, slowly releasing you with a nod.

“My job is quite harmful.”

Are you 18+? Interested in a smutty part two? Click here. ;)

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#hunter x reader #the bad batch #tbb

219 notes · View notes

literallydontlook · 5 months ago

Note

Djdbdbmsjd THE HOLOVID I freaking love how that scene played out. It was so cute and embarrassing and sexy and just fun???

mmmaybe loser Crosshair / jedi reader ...

like they're cool and are seen as like 'Phee's friend that hauled ass that one time"

and Crosshair like ... has waifus and is a retired sniper LMAO

omg hi six ily mootie <33 thank you for this fic swap >_< this is my gift to you and i hope you enjoy! mwah kisses

fireworks

crosshair x gender-neutral jedi reader (fem anatomy)

summary: you've retired on pabu after befriending phee, who introduced you to this place once she realized you were in need of a safe place away from the empire. eventually, you also met clone force 99 after they settled into retirement as well (post s3 events). catching the attention of the particularly standoffish sniper wasn't on your list of expectations for your island life experience, especially because of his preference to avoid you and remain holed up in his room. it isn't until you accidentally intrude upon a private moment that you learn what he actually prefers underneath his frigid demeanor.

warnings: explicit content (oral sex)

a/n: i make ONE ick-themed hc post on tiktok saying crosshair would have waifus irl and this is what happens...dw guys it's not actually serious but apparently the holonet is a dark place in the sw universe. had to do some research...

₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎

“Listen. I really thought I was done for, and I’ve handled a lot worse than some ratty smugglers trying to take something that’s not theirs. But you’ll never guess who appeared…”

“Who?” A collective gasp sounds in unison.

Phee raises her fingers to her lips and leans over her audience. She’s about to reveal the big name when she sees you approaching in the near distance that’s close enough for you to hear her theatrics. While the children crowded around her are sitting wide-eyed and cross-legged on the wooden dock, she’s standing tall at the very end where the waves occasionally splash up toward her boots. You’re not surprised she’s bringing up how you two first met again, but you also know that her constant mention of you saving her life that day comes from a place of gratitude above anything else.

You pause once you’re behind the children and cross your arms over your chest, smiling with amusement. “Gossiping, are we, Phee?”

“Look who it is,” the pirate replies, chuckling when her audience whips around to look at you in awe, “My hero.”

Rolling your eyes, you wave a dismissive hand before resting it against your forearm again. “I wonder which variation of the story you’re planning on telling today.”

“The correct one, of course,” she winks before looking down at the children and continuing her recount of how you swooped into her rescue.

Your eyebrows slightly raise at some exaggerated inaccuracies here and there, which is to be expected. However, the overall picture remains aligned with your memory of fighting off those money-grubbing smugglers to help a stranger who is now your friend—and the reason you’ve been able to make peace with your life after the Empire took everything from you. Pabu is a much better place to be than any street that could turn you in for being a Jedi. And yet, this part of your identity is never truly forgotten. It’s the reason you interfered with Phee’s conflict in the first place, for you’ve always been taught to help those in need and fight for those who can’t fight for themselves.

But retirement is nice when you wake up to sunny mornings and an oceanfront view that almost feels like a figment of your imagination. There’s no fighting here. No struggle. It’s truly the paradise you weren’t even looking for but stumbled upon anyway. From one good deed to the next, you always feel lucky that Phee brought you here. You’re not the only one she introduced to this place, though.

“I’ve heard at least three different versions of this story so far,” Omega says to you as she tugs on your hand from the ground, “And that’s excluding what you told me.”

You look down at the young clone and laugh softly, shaking your head. “Which one was the coolest, do you think?”

“Hmmm,” she pauses to think about it, “I like the one where you took out your lightsaber. That was pretty cool.”

“My lightsaber was long gone at that point,” you clarify, “But I can see why that version is your favorite.”

Some of the surrounding chatter rises and captures Omega’s attention again, allowing you to ruminate within your own thoughts. Even though your past experiences linger in your mind and speak from your lips from time to time, Pabu is a clean slate. The person you are here has wildly more opportunities for life’s different paths than the person you thought you would grow up to become. It’s not anything like what you once knew from the Temple. This freedom is both a breath of fresh air and a terrifying truth that hangs your decisions in a balance between what is right and what is wanted. You don’t have to look over your shoulder anymore, though. You don’t have to restrict yourself from your happiness. You can simply let yourself go.

“How’s that for a story?” Phee asks as she approaches your side with a hand on her hip.

“I think they liked it,” you reply, nodding your chin at the children as both of you watch their lively conversation through a softening gaze. The calm horizon and the colorful beaches weren’t the only sources of life around this island. Above anything, it was the youth who gave this place its strength. They had also escaped from Imperial nightmares, but there are only dreams in this corner of the galaxy. You feel them every day, just like you feel a warm breeze suddenly tickle your skin. Closing your eyes, you inhale once and smell salt while all the background noises blur together.

“Not sure if I ever asked,” Phee suddenly brings up, “But…do you like it here so far?”

“Yeah,” you look at her before glancing around at the neighboring docks where the merchants and fishers can be seen hard at work, “It’s lovely here. I should thank you for even bringing me.”

“It’s no worries—I’m glad you’ve adjusted. Looks like they have, too.”

You follow the direction of her eyes as she gestures toward two of the soldiers who have also made this place their permanent home rather than just a temporary refuge. They’re clones from the war in which you also fought. The taller, bigger one catches your gaze first and cracks a big grin that you’ve come to recognize pretty quickly with how easily it appears. Wrecker, they call him. You smile back, not as wide, and lift your hand in a friendly wave that he returns before nudging his brother beside him. This one, you’ve come to realize, is a bit tougher to crack. His expression always maintains a stone-cold scowl while his eyes graze lower angles. He only looks up when others aren’t watching—or, at least, when he thinks others aren’t watching. He's always visible to you, though.

“What’s Crosshair doing out and about?” You ask casually, folding your arms over your chest again as you stare straight at him.

Just like you expect, he doesn’t meet your eyes, but you know he’s aware of your attention. His left hand comes up, not to wave, but to stick a toothpick between his lips before he shoves at Wrecker’s intrusion toward his personal space. Your gaze momentarily flicks toward his right hand, which is a new prosthetic after an incident you still haven’t asked about even though you’ve made a substantial amount of small talk with his entire squad. Out of everyone, you know him the least. All you know is that he likes staying inside, which is why his presence out in the docks tonight surprises you.

“So, the homebody rumors are true,” Phee replies.

“I hardly see him around,” you shrug, “But he seems like a bit of a loner, anyway.”

“Aw, he’s not so bad. Not the nicest, I’d say, but he’s fine.”

You snicker under your breath and peel your eyes away from him to give him some space despite the distance between your bodies. He doesn’t have to be close for you to sense the uncomfortable nerves boiling in his stomach. Tension wracks his entire spirit—you feel it deep inside your own. And you suspect that he’s now looking at you, which you confirm when you briefly turn your head in his direction. His body instinctively shifts away, causing you to laugh again. You shouldn’t be playing with him like this, but it’s too much fun. It’s also too easy.

“I wouldn’t know,” you tell Phee, “He’s never spoken to me before.”

“Really? Not once? Thought I introduced you all…”

“Yeah, you did. It’s fine—I don’t take it personally. Everyone has their reasons.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you just went up and talked to him,” Phee thinks aloud, “He might act like he does, but he’s harmless.”

You smile and shrug. “He doesn’t look harmless.”

The pirate raises her eyebrows at this comment, and you anticipate that she’s about to ask for further elaboration before another voice enters the mix. It’s Omega, who asks, “Are you talking about Crosshair?”

You nod, so she continues, “He asks about you sometimes.”

This surprises you as you look across the docks at him again. He’s now sitting on some crates, right in the middle of a conversation occurring right above his head between Wrecker and one of the fisherwomen they were helping just before. She’s laughing at something he’s saying, while Crosshair appears as if he might die of boredom right then and there.

“Interesting,” you say.

“Mhm. Wrecker and I think he likes you.”

Laughing, you shake your head. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

Your attention toward Omega and Phee trails off as they begin talking about something else while Wrecker concludes his conversation with the woman at the dock. Your posture straightens a bit when he grabs Crosshair by the shoulder and hauls him up before they begin making their way over to…you. At first, you think they’re here for Omega, but they’re still standing in front of you even after greeting their little sister. Phee, too. You glance between them, still not completely used to how different they look, before deciding to take a stab at Crosshair’s silence.

“Good catches today, Crosshair?”

His eyes meet yours for just a second before he looks away and flicks his toothpick toward the ground. “Not any worse than yesterday.”

“You were out here yesterday? Funny…I don’t think I saw you.”

He draws his eyebrows together in annoyance, but he only shrugs. Wrecker pauses his conversation with Omega to interject, “Yeah, Crosshair’s been helping me out a little. I keep telling him not to stay inside all the time—he’s getting pale again.”

The former sniper rolls his eyes, pointing his body slightly away from this conversation. It’s clear that he doesn’t want to be here, but you’re curious to see just how far you can push him around. Your head cocks to the side as you smile and lean toward him a bit, catching his gaze without his permission. His eyes are heavy-lidded, almost snakelike with how they look back at you. Maybe he’d seem scarier if he wasn’t so damn nervous.

“I see some tan coming through,” you observe, “But you’re right, Wrecker. It’s better to spend time outside with the weather we get here.”

“You’ll stay for the fireworks tonight, right?” Omega asks her brothers hopefully.

“Fireworks?” Crosshair replies disdainfully.

The young girl gives him a pointed look. “For Lyana’s birthday.”

“I don’t even know who that is.”

“Crosshair, Lyana is the mayor’s daughter,” Omega groans, “Shep? Lyana?”

“Oh,” he drawls, but he’s already pulling away from the conversation as he heads back up the docks.

You watch him leave before deciding to follow him, lingering close behind his quiet footsteps all the way up the winding staircases to where you assume he’s headed: his house. It isn’t until he pauses and asks, “Are you following me?” that you stop in your tracks.

“Actually, I was just headed in the same direction,” you reply, now shoulder to shoulder with him, “We’re neighbors, you know.”

“I know.”

“Just checking.”

He side-eyes you, which you catch when you return his stare. Expecting him to say something, you’re surprised when all he does is scoff under his breath before continuing forward again. Rude. You scoff as well, looking straight at his backside as his figure grows smaller from the distance. Eventually, he reaches his house, and he’s gone again. Slipping into disappearance is easy for someone as nimble as him. He was once a sniper, so he’s used to hiding in the shadows. He doesn’t seem to know that there’s a lot of sunlight waiting for him on this island now. At the moment, though, the horizon is getting dimmer in preparation for Lyana’s birthday celebration. You’ve definitely agreed to attend, but it would be nice if this particular homebody did as well. Maybe then you can score a real conversation with him.

The decision on whether or not you should try to convince him is something you linger upon while getting ready for the night. In your own home, you’ve stripped out of your clothes that are worn out from the day and changed into something a little more fun. By the time you’ve finished your makeup, you’ve come to the conclusion that you feel more like a normal person than a former Jedi tonight. So, it’s only fair that you engage in “normal people” activities like socializing and forgetting about watching life go by on the sidelines. Everything about this island is so safe—it makes you want to take risks. That’s why you find yourself at Crosshair’s front door soon after making your final decision.

“Crosshair?” You knock softly, just twice, “You in there?”

No answer. Pursing your lips, your hand comes around the doorknob. Nobody bothers to lock anything around here, which remains true with this household. You enter the cottage quietly, stepping across the floorboards as if you’re on a stealth mission from the war. The circumstances are hardly that dire, but your heart is a bit excited nonetheless. It’s beating with energy and life, the same type you’re looking for tonight. A thrill. A rush.

Some noise sounds from a room across the hallway, so you follow it. It’s not alarming at first, but the closer you draw, the louder it becomes. Warmth suddenly floods your chest and neck, pooling lower into your stomach while heating up your face. Because all of a sudden, you hear moaning. It’s feminine and desperate—a little exaggerated, too. Your first instinct leads you to believe that this is a real encounter happening in the room right in front of your raised fingertips, but the male voice that makes an appearance proves you otherwise. The cinematic exchange of degrading vocabulary adds an ache to the warmth coursing through your body, making you forget that you’ve frozen in place.

You can’t even see what’s going on in the room—what Crosshair’s even watching—but you feel all that he is at the moment. His presence is so near, and it’s hot like yours. Bothered. There’s a tight frustration in the air, slowly loosening with the passing time. Everything is so slow. It’s excruciatingly slow. Suddenly, you hear someone suck his teeth, and you’re now able to differentiate the film from real life. The background noises sound grainy and holographic, especially compared to this authentic sound in your ears. There’s no doubt that was Crosshair just now. Something about his familiar tone traces this momentary expression of his desire.

You hear it again, this time louder, and you know he’s close. He has to be close. This startles you, so you accidentally step back and regret it as soon as the floorboards creak ever so slightly. Maybe he didn’t hear it. Maybe he’s too busy—no. A panic seizes your chest when the hologram abruptly shuts off, leaving the room to silence other than some shuffling around. Move, you tell yourself. You’re about to be caught, but you’re still standing in front of his room like an idiot. But maybe, deep down, you don’t want to leave. Maybe this is the fun you were looking for tonight. And maybe, you’re meant to show him what that is. And he can show you.

The door opens just a crack before swinging wider in clear surprise. Crosshair looks bewildered on the other side of the entrance, breathing hard and heavy with a pink flush against his cheeks. His skin is probably just as feverish as yours if not more so, but you haven’t reached forward to confirm that yet. Straightening your posture, you fold your arms over your chest and try to appear casual while running your gaze up and down his figure. He’s still hard. His pants do little to conceal the shape and size of his length, which seems to match his overall physique—tall and lean. An absentminded smile curves your lips before you quickly meet his widened eyes again.

“I totally get it,” you tease while walking past him into his room uninvited, “I’d rather watch porn than some fireworks, too. Birthdays aren’t really my thing.”

“I wasn’t watching porn,” you hear him say behind you as you sweep your eyes around the space.

His tone sounds terse and impatient, laced with a frustration he hasn’t yet released. Your finger finds the button of his holopad that you click to see what the noise is all about. When the video continues playing, illuminating this dark room in blue lighting, your smile widens and you say, “Sure.”

He sighs and runs a hand over his face. “What are you doing here?”

You take a few steps toward him until you’re standing face to face. Any closer, and his hard-on will be right up against where you’ve begun to feel a pulse beating softly but surely. He doesn’t look at you as you study him closely, but the labored breathing from his lips is enough to tell you how he’s still feeling. Both of you can hear the holovid playing in the background, escalating into a louder scene that occasionally makes his breath hitch. For someone so unflinching on the outside, he’s surprisingly riled up right now.

“I was gonna ask if you cared to join us for the celebration,” you tell him honestly, “But now…I’m thinking it won’t be so bad if we’re a little late.”

“We?” He mutters.

You slip your hands under his shirt, so fast and unpredictable that he can’t stop you. “Yeah. We.”

His throat bobs as your hands slowly run across his stomach. He’s definitely not as muscular and large as someone like Wrecker, but you’ve never been all that impressed by the burly ones. Crosshair might appear skinny in his clothes, but that’s just a curious invitation to get to know what’s underneath. And what you feel right now is exactly what you imagined—in a good way.

“I feel bad for the interruption,” you whisper, “So, I should probably make it up to you. If you’d like that.”

He stares at you in disbelief. “Is this some kind of joke?”

Your hands move lower, just about to break through his waistband. “Does it feel like it is?”

Swallowing, a scowl forms on his face. “No.”

“Good,” you tell him, dragging his pants down just an inch, “Because it’s not.”

He takes you by the wrist, stopping you for a moment. When you look at him in question, tilting your head to the side a little, you see how much pain he’s currently in. His eyebrows are drawn together and his jaw is clenched, but his hold on you is so tight that you have no choice but to respect this moment of pause.

“You’re not drunk or anything,” he asks, “Are you?”

This question takes you by surprise as you lean back a little. “No. What makes you think I’m drunk?”

His expression shifts from pathetic desperation to wariness, but he doesn’t respond. You laugh quietly, but it sounds more like an exhale as his hesitation becomes more clear to you. It’s confusion you sense from his demeanor—confusion as to why you’re offering this moment in the first place. Confusion as to why you’re looking at him the way you are now. Confusion as to why you’re still here. But to you, there’s nothing more certain than your interest in him despite all the times he’s avoided your presence and dodged your conversations. You remember the first words you said to him when you were first introduced—words that you didn’t care he ignored. Not much of a talker, huh? The answer was already obvious at the time. It still is, just like it still doesn’t bother you.

“I’m sober,” you clarify when he remains silent, “And I want you.”

“Unless…” you glance over your shoulder to snicker at the holovid that’s still playing in the background, “Someone like that is more your type.”

He follows your eyes to the curvy Twi’lek woman arched over on all fours before cringing slightly, perhaps out of his own embarrassment. It isn’t every day that someone catches him in a situation like this. You smile when he meets your gaze again, leaning closer in expectance of an answer. Instead of saying anything, he lets go of your wrist and tugs you forward by your belt loops. Your breath hitches in surprise as you meet him halfway and brace your hands on his chest before dropping a kiss to his jawline. Maybe he thinks you’ll kiss him again, this time on the mouth, but you’ve already begun sinking to your knees and dragging his pants down with you. This time, he doesn’t intervene. Once you reach the floor, staring up at him while trying to ignore the real situation that’s occupying most of your peripheral, you notice that he looks a bit smug under the frustration in his eyes. Of course, he likes seeing you on your knees. For him.

“What do you like?” You ask him, “You can tell me how you like it.”

His fingers find your hair, knotting tightly as he releases a ragged breath and tips his head back a little. “I like you. Do whatever you want.”

The confession stirs something warm inside of you, coloring your cheeks hotter. But you only raise your eyebrows and smile casually in response, not wanting to disrupt any relaxation with nerves. If anything, his words give you confidence that you haven’t completely made a fool out of yourself before anything’s even happened. Fixating your gaze on his throat, you watch it swallow hard when your lips find his tip before wrapping around him completely. You’re not sure if you can take all of him into your mouth until you confirm for certain that you definitely can’t when your eyes begin welling up in tears from the thick pressure of his length. So, you pull back completely and spread his pre cum with your saliva across his pulsing flesh. Once he’s inside of your mouth again with your hand making up for the rest of his length that didn’t quite fit the way you wanted, you start sucking. He groans as your tongue teases his tip, and you think all is going well until the woman in the holovid makes an abrupt sound that causes both of you to pause and look at each other.

It’s so loud and intrusive that you’re reminded the hologram is still running in the background, which only makes you laugh. This is hardly any circumstance to find amusing, but you can’t help it. Covering your giggles with the back of your hand, you mumble an apology and inhale a deep breath. About to pick up where you left off, you’re surprised when he chuckles as well before leaning over you and powering down his holopad. Even though the sound is brief like it just barely escaped his lips, you see some relaxed humor softening his eyes as they look down at you. He’s smiling a little, too. It’s subtle but there, and you see it for the first time since you’ve met him. You return the expression before taking him in your mouth again, sucking slowly while pumping the rest of him with your hand. His face shifts as he closes his eyes and tips his head back again, fisting your hair tighter but not pushing you further.

Instead, his hips lightly thrust into your movements as an indication to keep going. You moan softly at this, overwhelmed by all that’s happening both inside and around you. But this doesn’t scare you away, especially not when you hear him getting closer—maybe back to where he was before you so rudely interrupted his alone time. He sucks his teeth a few times, and the sound is just like what you heard from the other side of the door. It shoots straight through your body, from the top of your head to the center of your desires where an erratic pulse is beating between your legs. You suddenly know so much about him, especially the way he tastes and feels on your tongue when he abruptly finishes before either of you can heed a warning.

His eyes widen as he stares down at you and watches you swallow even though he was just about to offer for you to spit it out. You wipe a finger across your bottom lip, satisfied that he was able to finish despite your momentary intrusion. As you stand you make sure to pull his clothes back up with your body, fixing his state of decency, you’re startled when he grabs your chin and kisses you. It’s a little strange to you at first, given where your mouth has just been, but neither of you pulls away first. Not until he says, “You’re not leaving already, are you?”

“I can’t forget about my invitation,” You whisper back, circling your arms around his neck for something to hold onto.

“But this is the fun part for me.”

Your lips part in surprise just before he kisses you again, slowly backing you into his bed with the intention of returning your favor. A rush of excitement floods your senses as you brace one hand back to cushion your fall, but the feeling is not just your own. It’s also his. Because to him, the only thing more entertaining than his own pleasure would be yours. You lean back against both hands when he kneels in front of you, smiling at this sudden change in balance.

“You look handsome from up here,” you tell him, “On your knees…”

He rolls his eyes, and his expression might’ve felt more intimidating if not for his hand absentmindedly caressing your ankle. “Don’t get used to it.”

You laugh and help him undress your lower half, feeling the rough and cool pads of his fingertips against your skin. He then pauses for a moment, seemingly looking at you through an uncertain stare that compels you to reach forward and cup the side of his face. Your touch is reassuring, tugging at the confidence he doesn't lack. It's just that he's a little stunned, for it's you who occupies his thoughts and lives in his dreams day after day. And here you are, in his bed, with your legs carefully moved over his shoulders so he can kiss the inside of your thighs before moving higher. And higher until your breath hitches and you feel his lips just ghost over where you crave him.

Suddenly, the first firework booms in the distance overhead. You open your eyes and glance outside the window, where the sky begins to color with these harmless explosions. Your gaze shifts back down to Crosshair, whose slightly irritated frown makes you smile. And when he smiles back, you know this is hardly an interruption. It's not a push to hurry, either. You can take your time with him tonight because Pabu will always be outside and waiting for your arrival. No matter how late.

#crosshair x reader

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literallydontlook · 6 months ago

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Wow I really love how this is written. Hunter’s devastation is so delicious. You really nailed everyone’s voices. Gaaah I need to know what happens next!!! Is there a part 2 planned?

Love Finds a Way - Hunter

Summary: Hunter thought that he lost you in the Jedi Purge. But then he sees a familiar face. Length: 2.6k Warnings: Mentions of Jedi Purge; Mentions of Death; Amnesia; Scars; Hunter's Undefined Heightened Senses; Hunter is Bad with Emotion; Angst; Female Jedi Reader

“Don’t tell me you spared the padawan because of her,” Crosshair rasped.

The temperature in the Batch Batch’s barracks instantly dropped several degrees. Hunter continued to stand by the window, not dignifying him with a response. But the sharpshooter wasn’t going to just drop it. Crosshair walked forward, not unlike a predator about to leap on its prey.

“She’s a part of it, isn’t she?”

“Crosshair, stop it,” Echo warned him, but Crosshair was not deterred.

“Are you willing to throw everything away for her? Turn your back on the Empire, on your brothers, on your purpose for her? A traitor?”

“She’s not a traitor,” Hunter interjected, finally turning around. “She fought for the Republic, just as we did. Side by side with us, with other clones, and there was never a word against her.”

“But you were always her favorite pet, weren’t you, Hunter?”

Crosshair squared up against his older brother, relishing in the hidden rage that he could see boiling beneath Hunter’s surface. The button was right there and Crosshair was going to press it over and over again. Until Hunter finally snapped.

“If she was so popular, maybe the clones were kind enough to aim for her head.”

Hunter’s fist swung around and slammed into Crosshair’s gut, causing the sniper to fold over, clutching his stomach. But when Wrecker moved forward to break them up, Crosshair dared to grin at Hunter. Ready to deliver a second blow, Hunter silently glared at Crosshair. But then Wrecker grabbed and set Crosshair on his bed like a petulant child.

“Take it back, Crosshair,” Wrecker warned, pointing a finger at him. “She was your friend too.”

Crosshair glared up at Wrecker before turning to look over at Hunter. But Hunter was too busy staring forlornly out the window at the Kaminoan storm. Probably wallowing in thoughts of her.

“Pathetic,” Crosshair muttered under his breath, knowing that Hunter could hear him.

*~*~*~*

It was late, at least on a standard rotation cycle, and it was Hunter’s turn to be on watch. Sitting in front of the computer, he started to slowly type. Tech had hacked into the Imperial system earlier and gave Hunter instructions on how to navigate through the database. And now that Hunter was alone, he needed to do some investigating on his own.

Finding the list of Jedi, Hunter scrolled down it with a heavy heart, wincing when he saw familiar names. Continuing on, he paused when he found the name that he was looking for. Your name. And then his eyes landed on the big, bold, red word beside it.

TERMINATED

Hunter closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, the fight leaving his body. He sat there, wallowing in pain, before sitting up again. And even though he knew that it wasn’t healthy, he clicked on the report.

The clones under your command had attacked you while you were pursuing Separatist stragglers who crash landed on an Outer Rim planet. You managed to get away from them and stole a speeder, which they then shot down. You crashed into a lake and your body was never recovered.

Hunter stared at the hologram image of you that accompanied the report. You looked stoic, cold, and calculating. Completely unlike the woman that Hunter knew. But he supposed that erasing the Jedi’s compassion and humanity was just another part of the Empire’s propaganda.

“Who’s that?” Omega called from her perch, causing Hunter to look up at her.

“Just a Jedi that we used to serve under,” Hunter explained softly, looking back at the hologram. “I thought that there was a chance that she was still out there.” Hunter powered off the computer and turned back to Omega. “What are you doing up? Did you have a nightmare?”

“Not really,” Omega stated with a shrug of her shoulders. “Is your friend still out there?”

“No, it doesn’t look like it,” Hunter replied quietly.

“I’m sorry, Hunter.”

He nodded curtly, forcing a smile to urge Omega back to sleep. But when Tech awoke to take over watch, he found his brother staring at your hologram again.

*~*~*~*

“It is unlikely that we would run into any Imperial entanglements out here,” Tech stated, leading the way down the stairs of the Marauder. “This planet is mostly farmers and not ones that provide any product of high value. Mostly standard grains.”

“Does that mean that they have food?” Wrecker sighed, rubbing his stomach.

“I would assume so, yes,” Tech replied, typing away at his datapad.

“Let’s go explore then!” Omega exclaimed, running down the gangplank. “You said that the largest city is right there, Tech?”

“The term ‘city’ might be inaccurate given the low population density, number of buildings, and other indicators of a traditional urban center,” Tech stated, not looking up from his typing. “But, yes, the closest organization to a city is in that standard direction.”

Echo and Hunter pulled up the rear of the group as they headed into town. Echo glanced worriedly at Hunter. He had been quiet ever since Tech mentioned this planet and even Omega hadn’t been able to pull him out of his brooding. And a quick check of the Imperial database clarified why. At least, if one knew where to look.

“Are you alright?” Echo asked Hunter as they walked towards the city.

“I’ll be fine.”

“You should try to learn to be convincing before Omega asks you that,” Echo replied quietly.

Hunter sighed and looked down at the dirt path. They walked in silence for a few more moments, both keeping a close eye on Omega, before Hunter finally let some of the load off of his shoulders.

“I have the coordinates. For where it happened.”

“How far is it from here?”

“Two hours by speeder.”

“Whenever you feel that you’re ready to go,” Echo stated gently, keeping his voice low, “just give me a signal. I’ll distract the others.”

“Thank you, Echo.”

They reached town and looked around at the various stalls and short buildings scattered around. There were a few supplies that they needed and so the Bad Batch split up. Hunter walked off on his own, searching for some part that Tech knew that this small planet would not have. But it allowed him some time to think, or brood, so he didn’t mind.

Hunter walked around the small mechanic market in the village, at least trying to look like he was putting in effort to find the part. He was in the middle of inspecting a part for sale, which wasn’t the one that he had been sent for, when a voice broke through the mist and clutched his heart.

“Can I get you anything?”

With his advanced hearing, Hunter was accustomed to tuning out the useless background noise and focusing on only what he needed or wanted to hear. And normally, he tried to block out the useless background conversations.

But yet that voice stuck out. Its familiarity haunted him and Hunter found his legs moving on their own, following that voice like it was a siren song.

“Byn, Table 3 is asking for more of the soup.”

“Did you want another napkin?”

“Can I get you a refill?”

“Thanks for coming!”

Following the voice, Hunter paused when he turned the corner and found an open-aired restaurant. There were a cluster of tables spread out in front of a white tent. There were some customers milling around, but it was mostly quiet.

And then there you were, appearing with the sun glowing behind you. It was you. He knew it was you. It had to be you.

Even though you wore civilian clothes now, he knew that it was you. Even though your hair was shorter now, he knew that it was you. Even though there was now a jagged scar across your cheek, he knew that it was you. And when you turned your head and he finally caught a glimpse of your eyes, his knees nearly buckled under him.

It was you. You were here. You were alive.

“Hunter?” Tech’s voice cut in, jolting Hunter out of his thoughts. “Hunter, do you copy?”

“I can hear you,” Hunter finally responded, pressing the button on his commlink.

“Are you alright? It took three tries for you to respond,” Echo pointed out, causing Hunter to look over at you again.

“Meet me at my coordinates. I’ll explain when you get here.”

Soon the Bad Batch took their seats at a table in the open-aired restaurant. Hunter’s legs bounced nervously as he waited for you to walk over, earning worried looks from Echo and Omega at his unusually anxious fiddling. Omega had only been given a brief overview of your history with the Bad Batch, as she was never there to witness it in person, but it was easy to see how important you were from Hunter’s reaction. She had never seen him like this before.

You walked over to their table with a polite customer service smile. Hunter held his breath, waiting for you to recognize him—how many men had half of a skull tattooed on their face? Or of Wrecker’s size? But as you passed out menus and treated them like any other patrons, Hunter felt his hope quickly dash.

“Welcome. I’ll be your waitress. Here are some menus. If you have any questions, I’ll be happy to answer them for you. Otherwise, I’ll give you a minute to look it over.”

You gave them another kind smile before walking off without even a small trace of recognition for any of them. Hunter stared after you with a broken expression.

“She didn’t recognize us?” Wrecker asked softly.

“There is still a statistical possibility that our waitress is not her,” Tech pointed out calmly.

“It’s her. She smells just like her. I know it. I know that’s her,” Hunter insisted, causing Tech and Echo to share a concerned look.

“Then why didn’t she recognize you?” Omega asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know.”

*~*~*~*

“You ever seen those patrons before?” Byn, the head chef of the restaurant, asked you as you loaded up another order onto your serving tray.

“No, why?”

“They seem to have a staring problem. Especially dark and broody.”

You glanced back at the table in question. The Bad Batch, once they realized that you were staring at them, quickly turned back to their meals, trying to appear normal. Save for Hunter, that is, whose gaze lingered, until Echo elbowed him stiffly in the side. Turning back to Byn, the man who had taken you in after your accident, you shrugged your shoulders.

“They’re probably just staring at my scar,” you mumbled, adjusting the plates on your tray.

“You let me know if they say anything to you.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m a big girl. I can handle them.”

Walking over to their table again, you placed down some of their plates, before turning around to grab the rest. But feeling Hunter’s gaze on you again, you turned around briefly, holding your serving tray to your chest. Echo once again elbowed Hunter in the side, causing the sergeant to turn to him with a sour expression.

“You’re going to scare her away if you keep staring at her like that,” Echo reminded Hunter quietly.

“I can’t help it.”

“Well, try to, before she calls the authorities on a man who looks like he wants to eat her.”

When you returned a second time, you placed a plate down in front of Tech and then Hunter. He thanked you quietly, causing you to nod and smile. Placing Omega’s plate down last, you turned to conduct your rounds of the tables.

“What do we do?” Omega asked Hunter, who was still staring after you. “She doesn’t recognize you. How do we get her to do that?”

“Based on the report of her supposed demise, it would not be out of the question that she likely suffered severe injuries as a result of the crash,” Tech began to infodump. “If that woman actually is her, then she clearly sustained trauma to her face, as demonstrated by the large scar on her cheek. It would therefore follow logically that she may have sustained head trauma in the crash as well, which would explain why she does not appear to recognize us.”

“So, there’s still a chance that she could get her memories back,” Omega suggested, but Tech did not look convinced.

“I am not certain. Head injuries are not simple to treat. And if that woman is in fact her, she would have been without her memories for several months now. And I would assume that given the simplistic nature of life on this planet that she was never properly treated at a professional medical facility for her injuries, which would likely exacerbate her memory loss and other symptoms.”

“Get to the point, Tech,” Wrecker grunted out.

“It is a possibility, perhaps even a high one, that she might never recover her memories. In part or in full.”

“But we have to try,” Omega insisted, slowly turning back to Hunter. “Don’t we?”

“I would raise an ethical concern about doing so,” Tech stated, adjusting his goggles.

“And what would that be?” Echo asked gruffly.

“If we are able to restore her memories, that will include the ones where clone troopers attacked and nearly killed her. And we will also have to inform her that her entire culture and civilization were destroyed along with most of the people she considered her family and that she will never again be safe in the galaxy as a Force wielder.”

Hunter stared down at his plate as Tech continued on with his explanation.

“While restoring her memories may provide us with a satisfactory outcome, she does not appear to be in distress here. As far as we can see, her other symptoms are not affecting her quality of life. And as the Empire has her listed as deceased in their database and she is seemingly unaware of her abilities, she is safe here. On the other hand, if she comes with us, there is a very high statistical probability that she will not be.”

“Maybe so, but is that our decision to make?” Echo pointed out, causing everyone to turn to him. “Because speaking as the only person here who’s actually forgotten who they were, and not by choice, I wouldn’t choose peaceful ignorance over the truth.”

“Well, what would she want?” Omega inquired, looking up at Hunter. He turned his head to meet her gaze, but couldn’t find the words.

“How is everything over here?” you asked kindly, walking over to the table.

“Can I ask you something?” Omega questioned suddenly, causing you to turn to her.

“Sure.”

“If you have the choice between remembering everything from your life—even all of the bad stuff—or not remembering anything but being happy, which would you pick?”

You froze at her question, tensing up as the scar on your face burned. Sensing your unease, and after working through his own shock at her question, Hunter scolded Omega.

“She didn’t mean any harm by it,” Hunter tried to assure you.

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” you laughed off, waving your hand. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

You walked away and carried on with your work. But you couldn’t help but raise your hand to your scar as it continued to pulsate and burn after Omega’s question. Glancing over your shoulder at the Bad Batch, you found your eyes landing on the dark and brooding figure who looked exhausted and dejected. You looked down at the dirt, feeling responsible somehow. But then Byn called your name and you had to go back to work.

*~*~*~*

Night had fallen on the quaint planet and Hunter sat outside of the Marauder, mindlessly whittling at a piece of wood with his vibro knife to pass the time. He tried sleeping, but after tossing and turning a thousand times, he decided for a change of scene. Hunter studied the design that he carved when he heard a speeder in the distance. Standing up from his seat, Hunter stared out at the night landscape with narrowed eyes.

A speeder came to a stop a few meters from the Marauder and Hunter crept forward, moving to intercept the figure. But when he smelled your familiar scent, he paused. Stowing his vibro knife away, Hunter stepped into the light emitted from your speeder. You set your helmet and goggles on the seat of the speeder bike before turning to meet his gaze.

“Can I help you with something?” he asked quietly.

“You tell me.” You stared at him with a familiar fire in your eyes. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he confirmed softly after a moment.

“Good,” you stated, resting your hands on your lap. “Because I don’t.”

#bad batch #sergeant hunter #tbb hunter x reader

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literallydontlook · 6 months ago

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yes yes please hold it steady

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literallydontlook · 6 months ago

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I nearly SCREAMED when I saw the update. I checked a few times this month hoping for the next part.

He was writing POETRY HSHDMS DXMDM

bewitching mr. batchbury (part two) / crosshair x f!reader

pairing: crosshair x f!reader

description: after your encounter in the greenhouse, the distance between you and mr. batchbury remains...until a little bravery finally reveals everything - and i mean everything.

REGENCY AU

word count: 10,887 (pHEW!)

warnings: NSFW 18+ explicit sexual content. loss of vriginity (f). p in v s*x. oral s*x (f receiving). lots of kissing everywhere. handj*bs. f*ngering. gr*nding. unprotected s*x.

the long awaited part two of regency crosshair is here! thank you so much for your support on part one!! i got v carried away but i enjoyed writing this sm, so i hope you enjoy reading it <3

also posted on ao3. feedback is welcomed, reblogs are appreciated. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

PART TWO

Since the night of the Across the Stars ball; the night where Cross—Mr. Carlisle Batchbury had seared his lips into your skin and irrevocably changed everything between you, you had not known a single moment of peace. You had returned home early that night, giving your apologies to the other Batchbury’s as you feigned a headache, and confined yourself to your room for the remainder of the night and the entirety of the next day.

You couldn’t face him again.

You’d heard the Batchbury’s return home from the ball, the noise of the carriage and their chatter travel up to your open window as they alighted. You strained to hear Mr. Batchbury’s voice but were not surprised he remained silent. You tossed and turned all night, the feel of his lips still ghosting over your skin, the way he held you against the hard panes of his torso still heavy on your body.

You had pulled the blanket up under your chin and squeezed your eyes shut, tears pricking them, mourning the fact that your guard had lowered so spectacularly that you had taken liberties where you shouldn’t of – given into the fantasy of being desired by Mr. Batchbury and being held gently after enduring his scathing words.

How could you go on? Knowing your feelings were known by him, and he could throw them back at your face without warning?

But you’d worried unnecessarily. You’d eventually come down from your hiding, entering the drawing room to see the entire Batchbury clan present, including Mr. Batchbury, who sat at the writing table as he always did, his back to you. The sight of his grey hair making your heart leap. Meg exclaimed your name and ran over to you, embracing you warmly.

“I’m so happy you’re feeling better,” she’d said into your shoulder, squeezing you. You saw Mr. Batchbury shoulders stiffen upon hearing your name.

You watched as he slammed his notebook closed, standing up. You took in his tall stature and fire eyes encased in a scowl – somehow looking handsomer since your last encounter in his casual attire of breeches and boots, white shirt and waistcoat.

Life truly was never fair.

You swallowed as his long strides crossed the room towards you. You thought he was going to stop, maybe say something to you. But he didn’t. He only brushed your shoulder and swiftly exited the room without so much as a word or glance your way.

You pressed your lips together as you blinked the prickle of tears away. The hurt form his retreat only confirmed that your decision to pull away had been the right one. That kiss really had never been more than a cruel joke for him.

Ignoring the pang in your chest, you pulled your focus to Meg, asking her if she enjoyed her first ball. She furrowed her brow, eyes flicking between you and her departing brother with concern before she launched into her retelling.

From that moment on, Mr. Batchbury’s fiery hostility had become iced avoidance, immediately vacating rooms when you entered them, the glare creased between his brows evermore present, if not deepened. You wondered why he was acting like that, when you were the one who had been hurt by his actions. He was the one who flipped between the acidic tongue and the one that caressed your collarbones, only to return to treating you with contempt, not you.

It angered you.

He’d held you so gently, words spoken so softly, and kissed you with such passion…you couldn’t stop thinking about it no matter how hard you tried. You dreamed about it, his hands moving all over you as they followed his lips, the contrast between his wooden one and the smooth skin of his palm alighting your insides. You’d wake up flustered and embarrassed, angry as wet pooled between your legs.

But you expected this behaviour from him – you always knew after he kissed you, he would return to his caustic demeanour, the gentleness he had exhibited only a brief game of pretend.

But it didn’t mean it hurt any less.

His family seemed to notice something had shifted between you, but did not pry. Meg would look between you both with a frown, trying to decipher it all, but you always redirected any of her curious glances into her studies. She would huff and let you, but you could tell not asking you about it was making her all fidgety as the need to know only grew as the weeks went on.

Hunter watched you with a working gaze, seeming to read your feelings of angst as plainly as words in a book, but he never mentioned anything to you directly. Wrecker paid no mind to any tension and if he did, always tried to dissipate it with a joke or diverting tale. And Tech was far too caught up in his encyclopedias to even consider questioning you, on the verge of a breakthrough in his research paper.

You were grateful for their silence.

But you could not escape Mr. Batchbury no matter how hard to tried to avoid him, and he, you.

You entered the library one afternoon, and upon finding it empty, breathed a sigh of relief. Mr. Batchbury perpetually hid in here, away from everyone. But you’d wanted to swap out your book for another for days. You made your way over to the shelves on the far side of the oak-panelled room to return your book when you passed the writing desk. You paused beside it when you saw the pages of a notebook splayed open, ink drying.

You lifted the side gently to see the familiar red bound leather.

Mr. Batchbury’s notebook.

You peered over the pages, and felt your lips itch to smile at his neat, practised script, knowing he’d taught himself to write with his non-dominant hand. You let your smile drop, not allowing yourself to be caught up in him again as you read the first line.

With cheeks flushed in anger, I only grew fonder.

“What are you doing?”

The voice was all too familiar, hissed with such venom you startled and turned towards the door of the library. You watched as Mr. Batchbury stalked towards you, eyes ablaze with a fury you’d never seen him behold.

“Nothing,” you supplied, though it was obvious you had been reading his writing.

He slammed a hand over the pages and roughly closed his book. “That is private.”

“I’m sorry,” you said with sincerity, though his prose echoed in your brain. With cheeks flushed in anger, I only grew fonder. What was he…?

“Are you?” Mr. Batchbury spat at you, and you immediately stood taller, the beginning of repartee between you easily recognisable.

It was almost a relief, to have the familiar rhythm and emotion of conversation directed towards you instead of the cold glowering and hiding away from each other. A welcome reprieve from the frosty front he’d been presenting you since the greenhouse. His eyes bored into yours and his tall frame towered over you. To have him look directly at you with his coffee-coloured eyes, instead of not meeting your gaze, made your heart race and your stomach swoop with butterflies.

You stepped towards him, eyes narrowed as the words hardened your jaw. “Am I what?”

“Sorry,” he gritted out through his teeth and your breath hitched.

Silence befell you both and the unspoken hung between you heavily. Anger flared through you. What were you supposed to be sorry for? What did he want you to be sorry for? He was the one who should apologise for how he treated you and continued to. For how he let you believe for a moment he didn’t hate you.

I never once hated you, he had said between kisses, the words a caress on your hot skin as you lost yourself in his touch, in his tenderness.

And yet here he was, berating you for daring to look over his notebook.

You narrowed your eyes and took a step back. “I told you I was done playing this game.”

“Then answer the question.”

You scoffed. “Like you answer all of mine.”

He continued to look at you, port wine-stained eyes searching your face silently. Your own eyes travelled over his face and landed on lips you knew were soft and coaxing and heavenly. You shook your head. Your feelings for him were still so strong, and despite everything, you longed to be kissed by him again; to be held; to receive his gentle words.

Why was he like this? Why was he like this when he knew how you thought of him?

Why was he like this when he didn’t have to be? When he’d showed you otherwise?

“What do you want from me?” you whispered, and Mr. Batchbury’s eyes widened at your words.

His lips pressed together and you watched his usual stoic face cycle through several emotions you could not place, minuscule changes in the lines around his eyes and mouth the only clue of it happening.

“Crosshair, have you seen—oh. My apologies”

Both of you looked to the door of the library to see Tech standing there with a large stack of encyclopedias in his arms. Mr. Batchbury immediately left your side and went over to his brother, taking the books from him carefully and holding onto them.

“You shouldn’t be carrying these by yourself. Where’s your cane?” His voice was the most normal you’d heard in weeks, with a gentle kind of reprimand that made you flinch in surprise at how quickly his tone changed.

“I can manage,” Tech said, walking with a pronounced limp, but it did not seem to hinder him. “Have you seen the book on Entomology in the Outer Rim Territories? I require it for a reference in my Oxford submission.”

“I believe Wrecker is currently using it as a doorstop,” you supplied, watching as both pairs of eyes moved towards you. Tech nodded happily as Mr. Batchbury flicked his gaze away from you.

“Thank you, I’ll head to his chambers once I return these to their shelves,” Tech tried to grab them from his brother, who only angled them away from him.

“I’ll take care of that. Go and find your cane before you hurt yourself,” Mr. Batchbury ordered gently, and you felt your entire chest simultaneously expand and crumble.

“Very well. Thank you, Crosshair,” Tech smiled at his brother, pushing his wired glasses up his nose before bidding you farewell and exiting the room.

You heard Tech’s uneven footsteps grow quieter as he continued down the hall, leaving both of you alone again. You took in the sight of Mr. Batchbury with the encyclopedias in his arms. He cared so much, loved so much – this was the Mr. Batchbury you had fallen for, the one you continued to yearn for. The one who was attentive to those he loved, who was gentle and shouldered burdens. He was still there.

Just not for you.

You suddenly felt overcome with the urge to cry and you knew you had to get out of the library as soon as possible. You didn’t want to cry in front of him.

“I’ll just, uh—” you stumbled over your words, throat thick with emotion as you felt yourself begin to flush, eyes filling with tears. You ducked your head and quickly walked in the direction of the door. You heard Mr. Batchbury say your name as you passed his shoulder, and you turned hastily.

“I’m sorry, sir. But for what it’s worth, your writing is beautiful,” you told him, a stray tear falling which you hurriedly wiped away as you resumed your path out of the room. You heard you name once more but you dared not turn around again as you left the library, your book still in your hand.

Later that week, you sat at your dressing table readying yourself for bed when you heard a rustle, and something slide on the wooden floor. You turned around and frowned at a folded piece of parchment on the floor near your door. You pushed your chair back and walked carefully over to the paper. You toed it with your slipper before crouching to pick it up. The red wax seal was imprinted with the Batchbury crest and your frown deepened. What could it be?

You flipped it over, seeing your name in neat, practiced cursive on the front. Your eyes widened. Was that…?

You hastily unstuck the seal as carefully as you could, unfolding the page and turning it right side up, your chest heaving and heart pounding as you read the words.

With cheeks flushed in anger, I only grew fonder

Of the way she tarried with me

For she was the only one who dared say

The truth of her heart

And yet the pain of knowing

Of how she despised me was

A truth I could not change

No matter of the truth

Of my own

You read the words over and over again. Eyes tracing every curve of the letters, every indentation of the quill; of where it’s scratched against the grain of the paper. You felt your heartbeat increase, heat flooding your body as Mr. Batchbury’s prose settled in your mind. You ran a finger up the left side of the paper, which showed that he’d carefully torn the page from his notebook – torn straight from his notebook and given to you.

No matter the truth of my own.

You felt like you were going to collapse so you moved to the bed and sat down.

You smoothed the paper over your knees. You didn’t know what to make of it. All you knew was that Mr. Batchbury had given you a piece of his precious notebook, a piece of the inner workings of his mind. He wrote poetry – poetry that was about you. You thought back to all the times you’d tried to read over his shoulder, and how secretive and defensive he’d gotten about it. You thought back to the time when you found him in the windowsill, all those weeks ago, how even then he’d scurried away when questioned about it.

You felt your chest tighten.

I have never once hated you.

You covered your mouth with your hand and clutched the poem to your chest.

Now, in the Kenobi’s ballroom, a week since the poem had slid under your door, and several since the greenhouse, you watched Mr. Batchbury. His coffee eyes met yours and stayed there, unmoving. You took another sip of your champagne, your nerves rising and he mirrored your movements with his glass of brandy. You watched his lips on the glass, the way the corners carefully inched upwards as he looked at you. You quickly looked away and felt your entire body flush.

Something had indeed shifted since the poem have been delivered to your room. Mr. Batchbury no longer avoided you; vacating rooms upon your entrance ceased, and instead he seemed to gravitate closer to you, gaze locking on your every movement. You would catch his eye and watch the way they seemed to gleam with something. Anticipation, perhaps? Knowing? There was an air in his gaze you hadn’t seen before. It only made him look more handsome – devilishly so.

A cotillion filled the ballroom, and you tore your gaze away from Mr. Batchbury to watch Meg dance with Hunter. Hunter looked at his sister with so much love and pride, you couldn’t help but smile at them.

It was the final ball of the season, and all the Batchbury’s were in attendance tonight. Wrecker had somehow managed to worm his way into a conversation with Prince Skywalker and Queen Amidala, much to the chagrin of the snobbier members of the ton, but the Prince and Queen were in rapture. Wrecker’s charm was infectious, and they were not immune. Tech had wandered off to the Kenobi’s library, escorted by a Viscount by the name of Codius, or Cody, who will be one of his peers at Oxford next semester.

That left you alone in the ballroom, making eyes with Mr. Batchbury.

You smiled into your glass. There were certainly worse ways to spend an evening.

You had not yet had the courage to approach him about the poem, all your nerve flying out the window and joining the birds migrating south for the winter whenever you even as much as thought about it.

His poem had been so…honest. And you could not imagine how much courage it would’ve taken for him to slide it under the crack in your door.

So why could you not find your own?

The dance came to an end, and you clapped lightly as best you could with one occupied hand. You watched Meg and Hunter embrace and smiled again. You didn’t know what would happen when the season ended; whether you would return to your parents in the country or remain with the Batchburys as Meg’s companion. You hoped it was the latter, for reasons not only pertaining to your fondness of the young blonde woman who’d you’ve come to think of as a little sister; even if you trembled when you so much as felt her grey-haired brother’s eyes on you.

In the corner of your eye, you saw a familiar frame glide next to you and your entire body went on high alert, nerves preening and chest tightening. You slid a glance to your right as Mr. Batchbury had yet to announce himself. He looked handsome tonight, as he always did, in black trousers, boots and tailcoat with a deep red patterned satin waistcoat. With his white shirt, he wore a cravat similarly coloured to his waistcoat, but a little darker, closer to that of his port wine stain.

You were blameless in the failed quest to find the courage to speak to him when he stood looking like that.

It was then he cleared his throat. “Would you care to dance?”

You snapped your head towards him, meeting his gaze with a shocked blink. “Dance?”

The corner of Mr. Batchbury’s mouth lifted slightly. “Yes. A dance.”

Was he really asking you? After last time? After all that’s passed between you? “With me?”

Mr. Batchbury averted his gaze, and you felt him begin to retreat. “Unless you do not want to.”

“No!” you said a little too quickly and a little too loudly. You closed your eyes and let out a breath in embarrassment, cheeks heating. You opened them again to see a lightness in Mr. Batchbury’s eyes. “I-I mean, I do want to.”

Mr. Batchbury gently took the glass from your hand and placed it on the tray of a server nearby before taking your hand. Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest as you flexed your gloved fingers in his warm hand as he led you out onto the floor. His thumb ran across your knuckles gently before he let go, finding a place for you both and positioning yourselves opposite each other.

You studied his face. The furrow in his brow was there, but not nearly as strong as it had been these past few weeks. The lines of his angled face seemed…softer too, eyes not so hard and discerning.

You willed yourself to say something, and you took in a breath just as the music swelled. Both of you bowed and curtseyed before joining hands and turning once, switching sides. You held hands again and skipped one way, turning once more before skipping back. Mr. Batchbury was as fine a dancer as he was that very first time. And every time he held your hand, flesh or otherwise, you felt your whole body ignite with his touch. He was so tender in the way he held it, and you could not stop yourself from meeting his eyes. His discerning eyes stayed on yours and yours on his. You nearly missed the next step in the dance because you were too caught up in his gaze.

When you returned to the partnered portion of the dance, you knew this was your chance to say something; to bring up the poem. If you did it while you were dancing, there was less of a chance you’d lose your nerve. There was something else to occupy you, not just the mention of his gesture that still made your stomach somersault.

“Thank you,” you rushed out as you joined hands again, chests moving towards each other. You had to look up at him, heart pounding. “For the poem.”

Mr. Batchbury’s eyes widened a little, but he said nothing. You continued. “It was beautiful.”

Your bodies turned and you joined hands with the others, galloping in a circle once more. Mr. Batchbury’s hand was firm on yours and after a turn, you faced each other again.

“You’re welcome,” he said, his voice a little hoarse.

When you stepped together and then turned to switch sides, your foot got caught on the hem of your gown and you stumbled, gasping as you fell forward, gasping. Mr. Batchbury caught you before you went down, arms encircling your waist and pulling you towards him. You grabbed the sleeve of his coat and you both stood there for a moment, holding each other. Your faces were so close, noses almost touching. You could see the rough texture of his stubble and felt his hard torso press into yours, his body strong and solid against yours. You looked into his eyes, seeing every fiber of his irises and the dark lashes that eclipsed them when he blinked. His breath fanned your skin and if you leaned up just a little, your lips would touch. You longed to feel his lips on yours again, their soft caresses as they coaxed you closer to him. His words repeated in your mind.

No matter the truth of my own.

I have never once hated you.

The music came to a close and there was a smattering of applause, the sound bringing you back to the room and out from Mr. Batchbury’s captivating eyes. You found your footing, standing up properly and yet, neither of you let go of each other. You looked at your gloved hands on the sleeves of his coat and absently moved your thumbs against his upper arms. Mr. Batchbury’s hands on your waist remained there, never mind how improper it was. You didn’t care. You hoped they stayed there. To be this close to him again…well, it was wonderful.

“You…good?” Mr. Batchbury murmured lowly, his flesh hand flexing against the taffeta of your gown. Everyone had begun to move off the floor, but both of you did not move. You could only nod, your entire being completely encompassed with the feeling of being so close to Mr. Batchbury. You met his eyes and saw the way the crease in brow showed concern for you, not anger or contempt. You felt your chest expand and bloom with warmth for what you suspected, hoped, was the truth of his heart.

“Was your poem true?” The words tumbled out of you before you could stop them.

Mr. Batchbury’s eyes searched yours. “Which part?”

“No matter the truth of my own,” you recited back to him in a breath. You watched his expression soften, the lines around and between his eyes uncreased as his mouth slackened. You blinked up at him as he pressed his lips together.

“You memorised it?” you heard him murmur, like any more volume in your voices would shatter the bubble you’d both created. You nodded again. Mr. Batchbury’s breath hitched as his hold on you tightened. You watched his throat work as he swallowed before returning your gaze to his face. Did he just grow more beautiful?

As Mr. Batchbury nodded in response to your question, you felt your heart swell.

You had hoped and hoped, never did you truly believe.

“Mr. Batchbury…” you breathed, your eyes softening as you looked up at his stupidly handsome face. “You must know, I do not despise you and I never have.”

Mr. Batchbury’s eyes widened when you heard the clinking of a glass echo in the ballroom. Both you and Mr. Batchbury startled, turning towards the sound to see Duke Kenobi at the helm of the crowd, his glass in the air. You let each other go, suddenly remembering where you were and the amount of people watching on with interest. Your face flamed as you clasped your hands together. Mr. Batchbury sighed next to you, seemingly exasperated at the interruption.

“Dearest guests,” Duke Kenobi’s voice boomed through the room. “As we close another wonderful social season, I want to extend my deepest gratitude to you all for attending tonight…”

He continued on, but all you could focus on was Mr. Batchbury next to you and his response. His poem had been true; he had indeed grown fond of you, evident through not only his words, but his kisses and murmurings in the greenhouse all those weeks ago. But then why did he choose act so beastly towards you in those other moments?

Applause rippled through the ballroom, and you shook yourself out of the reverie and joined in. You looked up at Mr. Batchbury, whose pensive expression drew your breath in. What was he thinking about?

“Mr. Batchbury—” you began.

“Hey! Crosshair! Did you know Prince Skywalker’s friend, Prince Rex, is from our county?” Wrecker came bounding over, a sparkle of wonder in his eye. “He was adopted out from there and taken to the Kingdom of Kamino when he was a boy,” he continued.

“Fascinating,” Mr. Batchbury drawled dryly. You stifled a laugh. You couldn’t be mad at Wrecker, even if he had caused a second interruption to your much needed conversation.

“I know,” Wrecker bumped his shoulder against his brothers. Mr. Batchbury sneered at him, though Wrecker was unperturbed. “Anyway,” Wrecker said addressing both of you. “Hunter said it’s time to go. Meg’s getting tired.”

“Are you sure Hunter’s not saying that as an excuse to leave?” Mr. Batchbury snided.

Wrecker laughed. “Maybe. But I think we’ve all had enough of the season for this year, even Meg.”

You smiled. “Then let’s not keep them waiting.”

Wrecker nodded and continued to recount his conversation with Prince Skywalker as he led you and Mr. Batchbury out of the ballroom to meet with the rest of the family in the foyer.

Once you’d all bundled into the carriage, you were nestled between Tech and Crosshair, with Wrecker, Omega and Hunter on the seat opposite. Tech rambled on about the books he had discussed with Viscount Cody, while Wrecker argued his conversation with Princes Skywalker and Rex was far more interesting than some heavy book. Meg was dozing on Hunter’s shoulder, who kissed the top of her head, telling his brothers to lower their voices.

As the brothers chattered on, you stayed quiet, wringing your hands in your lap. Mr. Batchbury’s left thigh was pressed against yours, and all you could think about was the warm leanness of his trousered leg, and of his closed fist that sat atop his thigh. You eyed where the taffeta of your gown brushed the cotton of his trousers. You trailed your gaze upon that seam before landing on his hand. That hand had sat comfortably in the curve of your waist, fingers splayed and palm flat. It would be so easy to reach out to him now, curl his fingers around yours. You’d been brave tonight, but you could never be that brave, especially with his family so close. You were tracing his knuckles with your eyes when you felt Mr. Batchbury press his thigh firmer against yours, sending heat and goosebumps flooding your body. Your eyes snapped to him and saw him looking out the window, the ghost of a smile tracing the edges of his lips.

He'd done it intentionally. Butterflies erupted.

You smiled to yourself.

Meg’s dozing resulted in her completely falling asleep as the carriage rocked gently against the cobbled streets, so Hunter carried her up to her chambers like he would’ve done when she was a little girl, making you smile. You bid him and his brothers goodnight before retreating to your chamber, face heating and smile fighting against your mouth.

You climbed the stairs and travelled to the very end of the corridor. Yours was the only bedroom on this floor, which had been a little isolating at first, but had proved to be a good thing when you were told Wrecker’s snores could be heard from inside all of the Batchbury’s bed chambers. You closed the door behind you, smiling as you removed your gloves, pulling them down your forearms and placing them over the back of the dressing table’s chair. Glad you’d asked your lady’s maid not to wait up for you, you sat down and spied your reflection in the looking glass. You pressed your fingers to your hot cheeks and laughed to yourself.

Something had definitely altered between you and Mr. Batchbury. His poem wasn’t just empty words but portrayed his thoughts and feelings towards you. But you needed to talk more. He may have some kind of feelings towards you, if his poem and moments in the greenhouse was anything to go by, but you needed answers on why he acted one way and then switched his countenance. There had to be a reason. Because Mr. Batchbury wasn’t a bad person; he was filled with so much good and never did something without cause.

You had pulled the last pin from your hair when you heard a soft knock on your door. You frowned before standing up and crossing the room to open it. You gasped upon the reveal of who was behind the heavy oak.

“Mr. Batchbury,” you breathed. He stood tall, and he had removed his tailcoat and cravat but was still adorned in everything else. His white shirt sleeves a stark but beautiful juxtaposition against the red of his waistcoat and the lack of cravat opened the collar of his shirt, so the neckline gave a scandalous peak into the solid of his chest. He was breathtaking.

He said your name before asking, “May I come in?”

It was improper for an unattached man to be in the bedchambers of an unattached woman. But at this moment, looking at him in all his glorious handsomeness, knowing that you’ve tasted his lips, you couldn’t seem to care.

You stepped aside so Mr. Batchbury could enter, and you softly closed the door behind him. He looked around your bedchambers and you watched his face soften as he saw the parchment with his poem splayed open on the end table by your bed.

“We need to talk,” Mr. Batchbury said, his voice quiet and calm.

“Yes,” you agreed. “We do.”

There was a silence as he looked at you, his port wine eyes searching your face before he took in a deep breath.

“I…have never been good at…this,” Mr. Batchbury spoke, his voice thick like he was nervous.

“I learnt from a young age that being vulnerable got you hurt,” he continued, and your face softened.

You did not know much about the life of the Batchbury’s before they came into their wealth, but you knew it was filled with hardship, destitution and ridicule. Meg had given you a few anecdotes from their previous situation, of one good meal a day shared between five hungry mouths, of hard work as farm hands for a wealthy family who weren’t the nicest of people, of isolation from the townspeople due to their birthmarks. You couldn’t imagine a life like that, of the sadness he has known, and how it must’ve beaten him down so much that he believed being vulnerable was a bad thing.

“Though it is no excuse for how I have treated you, it is perhaps…an explanation. It has been a mistake, and it was unfair of me,” he told you. He fiddled with his wooden hand, anxiousness clear as he avoided your gaze.

“Mr. Batchbury…” you began but he interrupted you.

“In truth, you scare me,” he admitted, and you were taken aback.

“Scare you?” you echoed, and he nodded.

He swallowed before speaking. “From our first encounter…you stir something in me I didn’t know I could ever feel, and that terrifies me.”

You blinked at him before taking a tentative step in his direction. “Why? Why does that frighten you? You’ve faced death, been on a frigate during war…I am merely a woman.”

Mr. Batchbury let you come closer until you were standing toe to toe with him, craning your neck to look up at his anguished face. You wanted to cradle it in your hands and kiss his forehead. His throat worked like he was trying to find the right words, but he didn’t say anything. You reached out for his flesh hand, squeezing it in yours.

“It’s okay. You can tell me,” you assured him softly. Mr. Batchbury sighed.

“How can I find the words?”

“You could in your poems.”

“It’s different writing about you, from a distance, compared to standing before you while you hold my remaining hand.”

You smiled at him, body flushing with heat as your stomach flipped over. “Just try.”

Mr. Batchbury’s gaze never strayed from your face, he was silent for a while, his eyes moving over your features as his hand stayed firmly in yours. It was minutes later when he finally spoke words in a strained voice that took your breath away.

“I am unable to make declarations the way another man could, and perhaps you deserve another man, one who is kinder and more whole. But I fear whatever heart I do have is taken up by my love for you. And should you decide you do not want me; I don’t know if I’d survive it.”

You felt your chest expand as you stared at him, mouth agape.

Mr. Batchbury loved you.

His words sunk in, and it all came together.

Mr. Batchbury did not want to be hurt by you, so he continuously pushed you away with barbed words, thinking it would be easier if you hated him. You wanted to laugh but it was so incredibly heartbreaking you had no idea how to cope. The stupid man thought if you hated him, it would make his loving of you easier to bear. And that night in the greenhouse, you’d all but told him of your feelings, kiss him and let him love you without fear for a moment, only to reject him and run away, hurting him so much more than you ever realised.

It all made sense now.

“Mr. Batchbury,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion that pierced your throat and pricked at your eyes. When he didn’t look at you, you placed a hand on his right cheek, thumb grazing the bottom of his port wine stain, and said, “Crosshair.”

His eyes flicked to you, and when he saw your expression, he leaned into your touch. The gesture so intimate and loving you nearly sobbed on the spot. You tried again, your voice a little shaky but clear.

“Crosshair, I should never have left you in that greenhouse feeling like I did not care for you. The truth is my heart has always been yours. The game that we played, the one you thought would make your love for me easier, it was the only way I could have your eyes meet mine. I understand now why you did it, but to see the person I love look at me with such disdain…I couldn’t bear it any longer. Then you were so gentle, and you were finally looking at me with something other than hate and I got scared; scared you were doing it to tease me.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, screwing his eyes shut and holding your wrist in his hand, kissing your palm. “So sorry.”

You shook your head. “I forgive you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Well, I do.” you argued back. “You say I deserve someone kinder and more whole? I say I deserve you. You are kinder than you believe. I see it every day in the love you show your family. I have told you this. You may have been unfair with me, but I could not love someone truly unkind, and you are the furthest thing from it. And whole? You are a whole, Crosshair. Why ever would you believe you are not?”

Crosshair held up his wooden hand with a sad look on his face. You only grasped it and kissed the wooden knuckles. You saw the way his eyes filled with tears, and so did yours.

“I don’t deserve you,” he shook his head.

“Yes, you do, Crosshair,” you smiled, eyes teary. “You deserve someone who loves you. And I do. And I will never not want your love.”

Crosshair shook his head and dipped his chin, so his lips found yours. You melted into him, and his arms came around you, pulling you closer until you were flush against his chest. Your arms draped over his neck as you kissed him like there was nothing else in the world you would rather do – and that was the truth. He pulled back and rest his forehead on yours.

“Why do you not think badly of me?” he asked. “I’ve made so many mistakes with you. I’ve made you cry. In the greenhouse…That day in the library…I have never hated myself more than I did when I saw that tear roll down your cheek. How can I make amends for such things?”

You let out a breath. “You have upset me, that much is true. But to make mistakes is to be human, Crosshair. How could I punish you for that?”

Crosshair’s hands held your cheeks, and he pulled back to look at you. You blinked up at him, and watched emotion flood his eyes.

“Tell me again,” you heard him mumble, his left thumb caressing your cheek.

“I love you,” you whispered back before he whimpered and kissed you once more.

How had you gone weeks without this? You lifted yourself up on the tips of your toes and pressed into him. You made a soft noise as his arms tightened around you and you felt his mouth slowly guide yours open, and gasped when you felt his tongue moved against yours.

You’d never known kissing could be like this. His mouth was hot and wet, and you felt him moan as you attempted to caress his tongue with yours. It sent heat running through you and you scarcely wondered how it would look if someone were to come into your room now. You couldn’t deign yourself to care.

You loved Mr. Batchbury. And he loved you. Nothing else truly mattered.

Both of you now unencumbered with the fear of rejection, and consumed with the knowledge that your hearts were intertwined, neither of you held back. You felt his hands move up and down your hips before landing on your behind, squeezing you there and making you gasp.

“Crosshair,” you panted.

“For so long…” he whispered before his mouth travelled down your jawline, down your neck and towards the neckline of your bodice. You cradled his head, fingers gripping the short strands of his hair as his lips left a pathway of soft wet kisses across your décolletage. Heat ignited through you, your whole body encompassed with want and need. You felt between your legs begin to pool as his mouth found the swell of your breast as it pressed against your corset, and he nipped at the skin with his teeth, making you gasp sharply. You moaned before Crosshair dragged his lips back to yours, whispering your name like it was a spell. You kissed him harder before pulling back, hands holding his jaw. He looked magnificent like this, lips all swollen and eyes blown, hair mussed. You nearly moaned again as you brought your lips together.

“I need you closer,” you breathed against his lips.

Crosshair pulled back this time, smoothing your hair gently as he caught his breath. “Are…are you sure?”

“Yes. Please.”

Crosshair groaned before kissing you again, his hands moving to between your shoulder blades, where the laces for your dress were. You gasped into his mouth as he tugged a little.

“May I?”

“Yes,” you answered him, all breath.

Crosshair pulled a little harder at your laces, but your maid had done them up tight and they weren’t budging at all. Crosshair drew away from your lips and tugged again, your shoulders jostling with the movement. You laughed as he muttered some choice expletives, before he met your eyes with an amused glint.

“You think this is funny?” he smirked. “I have one hand, I want my mouth on every part of you, and you’re laughing.”

Your smile only grew, knowing he was only teasing. You squealed when he turned you around, pulling your back flush against his front. You gasped and then whimpered as his lips found the curved of where your shoulder met your neck and he kissed there, sucking the skin softly before he drew back and worked at the laces again. You tried to reach over your shoulder to help him, but he swatted your hand away, determined to do it himself.

With one hand, he managed to pull at the ties of your gown until they were loose enough for him to undo the rest of them.

“Finally,” he drawled before he began pushing the gown off your shoulders. You helped him pull it off your arms and down your body, stepping out of it. You heard Crosshair groan as he realised he’d have to unlace your corset too.

“Christ, how can there be more?” he grumbled, pulling at the laces, making you laugh.

“I’m sorry, my love,” you reached up behind you with a hand and tried to help him. This time he let you, too eager to undress you to worry about his pride, your hands grazing over each other until it was loose enough for Crosshair to pull off completely.

You let the corset drop to the floor before turning to face him in just your chemise and stockings. Crosshair looked at you for a moment, eyes dancing with awe before pulling you closer and kissing you deeply again. You smiled into his kiss as your fingers moved to the buttons of his waistcoat, and you heard a chuckle rumble through his chest and lips.

“What is it?”

He just shook his head and shrugged off the garment, letting it drop into the pile with your gown. He then grabbed you, a mischievous smile on his face. You laughed as he guided you to the bed. You loved seeing him like this, so smiley and open. Never in your wildest dreams did you believe you’d ever witness a Crosshair so soft. When the back of your knees hit the mattress, you climbed on it and slid back, leaning back on your elbows and bending your stockinged legs slightly so you could see him, your chemise riding up your thighs.

Crosshair watched you with an unwavering gaze as he unbuttoned his shirt with the long deft fingers of his left hand. Your eyes widened when he revealed his bare chest, shirt falling off his shoulders.

He was…very well formed. In the candlelight of your room, his brown skin was illuminated in the most beautiful way, accentuating the sculpted muscles of his lean chest and flat stomach. You saw the way his wooden hand was mounted on the end of his wrist, a small leather belted strap securing it in place. The dip in his chest had a small smattering of hair there, matching the grey on his head. You trailed your eyes down to the stripe of hair that went below the waistband of his trousers and pressed the backs of your fingers against your mouth, in fear of moaning far too loud at the sight.

He was breathtaking.

You watched him as he pulled off his boots and unclasped his trousers revealing a mound of grey hair, feeling every nerve in your body tingling as the anticipation for what’s to come only grew. You’d read books, of course, heard chatter from maids and overheard conversations between men at inns, but now being on the precipice of it with someone you truly loved…your heartbeat raced in nerves and excitement. You sucked in a breath, growing wetter between your legs as he placed both hands on the mattress and leaned towards you. You felt him pause for a moment, slanting over you as his breath fanned your lips before he kissed you again, a little sweeter this time.

Your lips stayed locked as you reclined back on the sheets, wrapping your arms around his neck as he climbed onto the bed and over you, one of his legs slotting between yours. You gasped as his lips moved down your neck once more and towards your breasts. You mewled as Crosshair nudged the neckline of your chemise with his chin, his stubble rough against your smooth skin. He looked up at you, searching for approval which you gave with a quick nod before he dipped his lips lower, kissing the soft flesh of your breast, tongue lulling out and licking the skin before he sucked gently.

“Crosshair,” you said breathlessly, and he nudged the fabric down with his nose, revealing your nipple to the air before closing his mouth over it and sucking. You arched off the bed, angling into his mouth and his right arm slid under your back, cradling him to you. It was so obscene, and yet it felt so incredible you never wanted him to stop. You felt him move across to the other one, doing the same. Your leg went around his thigh, the cotton of your socking sliding against his leg, soft moans sounding as he continued to move his tongue around the hard nub.

You whined when he pulled away, kissing you again. You were quickly becoming obsessed with how he kissed you, and how he never seemed to want to stop.

He said you name against your lips. “May I—”

“Yes,” you interrupted him. You felt him grin against your lips.

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

“I don’t care. I know I want you to do it,” you told him honestly. He could do whatever he wished.

A low chuckle rumbled through his chest, vibrating against yours before he kissed you again. He moved off you, leaning on his right elbow, unable to hold himself up anymore on just one arm, as he shuffled down the bed alongside you, then moved down your body. You propped yourself up on your elbows again and watched as he descended, eyes locking with yours. Your breath hitched when pushed your knees apart, then guided the hem of your chemise up slightly with his fingers, the soft cotton travelling up your thighs until it was bunched around your hips, exposing the most intimate part of you. You watched Crosshair’s eyes darken and his mouth slacken after he swallowed at the sight.

At his inscrutable lingering gaze, you flushed and squirmed a little, embarrassment and self-consciousness rising in you. You’d never been so exposed to someone before, and it was unnerving. What if he saw something he didn’t like? You had no frame of reference for what was desirable or considered attractive by a man; what if you didn’t measure up?

You started to close your legs when Crosshair put a hand on your knee, stopping you. You met his gaze with hot cheeks, and watched the way his face softened when he realised you were discomfitured.

“Darling,” he whispered before pressing a lingering kiss to your knee. “You are breathtaking.”

You flushed again, heart squeezing at the endearment. “Really?”

“Really.” Crosshair confirmed and hooked one of your knees over his shoulders as he rolled onto his stomach and positioned himself between your legs. Your heartbeat increased as he drew closer to your centre.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“Tasting you,” he raised an eyebrow before softly asking, “Is that okay?”

You shifted your shoulders awkwardly. You had heard of such acts, but it was regarded as quite…scandalous. “Is it not improper?”

Crosshair only tipped the corner of his mouth up in amusement, arms encircling your thighs from underneath. “Darling, I think impropriety went out the window when we kissed in the greenhouse. And again, when my mouth was on your breasts.”

You let out a loud laugh before you clapped a hand over your mouth, scared the noise might attract a stray servant. You smiled behind your hand, and Crosshair grinned at you. You still marvelled at how his whole face changed and lit up when he smiled. His port-wine stain stretching and the lines on his face creasing around his mouth and eyes in a way that made you want to kiss every single one of them.

“May I?” Crosshair dipped his chin down, eyes on you. When you nodded, excitement tingling in your veins, he descended down onto your folds, his hot mouth embracing you. You gasped, mewled, your hands found his hair as he artfully moved his tongue through the wet seams. Anybody who said this was improper truly did not know how wonderful it felt.

As he continued his ministrations, Crosshair’s nose bumped against the sensitive nub that shot pleasure down to your toes. You arched, fingers gripping his short hair as you began to squirm and wriggle against his mouth. You panted, whimpering as he sucked and licked you, pulling all kinds of obscene noises from you as he brought you such pleasure.

“Cross…” you could barely string a single word together.

You felt him hum against you and you shuddered, heat beginning to coil inside you. You closed your thighs around his head, grinding against his mouth and you felt his grip on you tighten, flesh fingers digging into the soft of your thighs as he ate at your harder. It was incredible, the feeling of pleasure he was giving you, and you wondered how he was so good at it.

You felt him suck at the nub and you jerked, yelping loudly before you clamped your one of your hands over your mouth. It was too much, the pleasure building, you arched and squirmed and you tightened your hold on his hair with your other hand. You panted, looking down at him. He seemed to sense you watching him, and flicked his gaze up to you, and you felt him smirk against your folds, sucking harder.

You moaned loudly, the heat inside you rising. “Cross, I’m—”

He hummed lowly again and that’s when he added one single long slender finger, slipping easily inside you to the knuckle, as he sucked on your nub.

You were done for.

The hot pleasure that had been coiling in your stomach erupted, and your hips rose off the bed as you moaned loudly into your hand, head thrown back. You felt Crosshair’s hand press into your stomach to hold you to the mattress, and you clamped your thighs around his head as he continued to draw your peak from you. You squeezed tight around his finger, and his mouth was hot and wet against you. You had never felt anything like this before. You’d experimented, of course, too curious about what you’d heard and read as you grew past your marriageable age. But the work of your own fingers was incomparable to that of Crosshair’s mouth and what he’d managed to draw out of you.

As your pleasure waned, your moans becoming soft whimpers, Crosshair’s work against you slowed until your shudders relaxed. You gasped as you felt him remove his finger, the loss of him a hollow feeling. You looked up at the ceiling and let your hand drop from your mouth, flinging your arm across the mattress as you caught your breath. The fabric of the canopy of your bed were nothing to the stars you’d just seen.

“You good?” you heard Crosshair ask, and you looked to see him to come up from your sex, mouth glistening with your spend. You flushed as you lifted one of your legs and he shuffled up the bed, leaning on his elbow next to you. His eyes all bright and port wine stain a deep red with the exertion of pleasuring you.

“Wonderful.” Your voice was hoarse, and you cleared your throat, making both of you smile. Crosshair lifted his flesh hand, and brushed your hair back from your forehead, avoiding using the finger that had been inside you. You then watched as he placed that finger inside his mouth, licking it clean as his eyes screwed shut. Your eyes widened at the obscenity of it. It was filthy, but mesmerising. You swallowed thickly.

When Crosshair opened his eyes, he smiled lovingly at you. “You taste incredible.”

You flushed and put your head in your hands to hide it. Crosshair laughed and gently pried your hands away, kissing the tips of your fingers. You leaned up to kiss him, capturing his lips with yours. You could taste yourself on him and you moaned, twisting and hooking a leg over his hips before flipping him, climbing over him. You sat back, straddling his hips, and you felt the hard length of him against your still pulsing centre. You shifted your hips a little, feeling it rub against you. You let out a strangled breath at the feel of his bulge hitting you right there, and with the look on Crosshair’s face, you guessed he almost did to.

His hands dropped to the crease in your hips as he looked up at you like you weren’t real.

“Darling,” he whispered, making you flush. Emboldened by the way he stared at you with such awe, you lifted the edge of your chemise over your head and discarded it. You watched Crosshair’s eyes widen as you revealed your naked torso, and his flesh hand ran up your stomach and around to your waist, squeezing there.

“I never thought I would ever have you,” he murmured.

You smiled and massaged your hands across his stomach and up his pectorals, you ran a finger down the dip in his chest, through his chest hair. “Me neither.”

When your hands came back down to his trousers, they travelled below the hem and when your fingers brushed against the hair there before they grazed the hilt of his cock, he jerked, sitting up, your name falling from your lips. You gazed at him and watched his mouth drop open as you moved your hand lower, and with your heart racing, you wrapped your hand around the hot hard length of his cock.

Crosshair hissed and tightened his hold on your hips. “Fuck,” he groaned out, eyes squeezing shut.

Your folds flooded again at the sound, of the uncommon expletive, heat swirling through you. He was so hard, you’d never felt anything like it. You’d thought about it, of course, but his cock was velvety and hot. You liked it. What would it feel like inside you? You squeezed a little and Crosshair made a choking sound, grabbing onto your hand.

“Don’t, or I’ll come in my trousers,” Crosshair hissed out. He looked like he was about to pass out, all flushed, hair sticking up everywhere from you grabbing it, his eyes half closed as he looked at you, panting. You loved it.

“Really?” you said innocently. “So, I shouldn’t do this?”

You thumbed the slit at the top of his cock, which was slick with a bead of wetness. Crosshair jerked and swore again.

“You’re torturing me,” Crosshair breathed out before looking at you with a devilish glint in his eyes. “What a witch you are.”

You smiled and leaned to kiss the hinge of his jaw. “Got you under my spell,” you whispered against his hot clammy skin and Crosshair moaned so loudly against your neck you felt it ripple through you.

“Lift up, darling,” he said, and you kneeled over him as he unlaced his trousers fully and pushed them down his legs, kicking them off so he was bare, his cock springing free underneath you. You barely had time to register it as he flipped you both over again, slotting between your legs, his hot length pressed against your centre. You both moaned at the contact, your hot wetness coating the underside of his cock and you ground against him.

“Need you inside me,” you told him, and it was the single most filthy thing you’d ever uttered.

“Believe me,” Crosshair said as he kissed you again. “I need that too.” His voice turned soft. “But, darling, I have…I have to be gentle.”

You blinked up at him, understanding what he meant. You nodded. “I know.”

“Just tell me, and I’ll stop. I mean that,” Crosshair urged, smoothing your hair.

You nodded again, your heart swelling with so much love for this man, you had no idea how you had gone through life without him, how you’d endured that distance even whilst under the same roof. You never wanted to be without him again.

You cupped his cheek. “I trust you.”

You watched Crosshair’s face completely melt at your words before he gave you a lingering kiss. “I love you,” he whispered against you before positioning himself and slowly sliding into your slick folds.

You hissed, eyes shut as he stretched you open, Crosshair’s hushed voice uttering apologies and guiding you to relax. Your hands went to his arms, and you held on tight as he seated himself fully inside you. He groaned as you squeezed him and when you opened your eyes to look at him, and he was gazing at you with those watchful eyes, seeing your comfort in your expression. The feeling of him was foreign, and you felt so full, feeling every hard inch of him inside you. But after a few moments, you gave him a nod and he slowly began to move his hips.

Crosshair was as gentle as he promised, you both moaned at the sensation as he slowly moved out of you, then back in. He kissed you again as his hips undulated with care. As he moved, the uncomfortable feeling eased, and his thrusts became more fluid. The hilt of cock bumped your nub, and you moaned at the continuous stimulation.

The feeling was euphoric, and all that tenderness you craved was there as Crosshair rolled his hips into yours. It was so easy. You thought sex would be scary, uncomfortable, painful, but it wasn’t. Not with Crosshair. He was passionate, and confident and yet loving. His hands were firm but never hurt, his movements intentional with the way he rolled his hips. How lucky you were to have him in this way, after everything, after all the confusion and feelings of uncertainty and barbed words. He thought you had bewitched him, but it was he that was the creature of myth. No one in the whole entire world was like him.

You covered your mouth as you were unable to hold back a loud moan, and you met his thrusts, wanting to feel all of him. His ragged breaths fanned your face as he looked down on you. You could see his arms wobble, the wooden hand not fit for holding him up like this, so you wrapped your stockinged legs around his waist, snaking against his hot smooth skin, and flipped him so you were on top. He looked up at you in surprise as you placed your hands on his chest and rolled your hips into him. Crosshair groaned loudly.

“Christ, you’re perfect,” he panted, hands guiding your movements as you moved faster. “Made for me,” he moaned.

You smiled, and you could feel that familiar heat building inside you. Your entire body was flushed, shiny with sweat and the sound of your bodies filled the room. Your breaths were loud, mewling and moaning together with Crosshair. You thanked the stars again for being in a bedroom an entire floor away from his family. You could not imagine facing them in the morning knowing they could hear you both.

Your thighs burned, but your pleasure was building as you, the wetness of your centre sliding against him. You wanted to keep going but you fell forward, sweaty body hitting his.

“Cross, I can’t,” you panted. But his arms wrapped around you and rolled so he was on top once more. You felt him slide out of you and whined at the loss of him.

“On your knees, darling,” he breathed, and you followed his instructions before you felt him push in again, his hands holding your hips. You cried out and then covered your mouth.

“Let the servants hear you,” Crosshair said, all raspy. “Let them know I’m the one making you feel like this.”

You moaned again as you felt him thrust at this new angle, and he hit places in you, you had no idea even existed. Crosshair’s moans and husky breaths filled the room as his hips slapped into your arse again and again you felt like you were going to split open in the best way. The bed shook, hair fell over your face, your arms trembled, your thighs quivering, the sounds you were making completely out of your control as they filled every corner of the room. It was ecstasy. The coils in you were wound so tight you were on the edge of falling again.

“Cross, I’m so—” you breathed out, moaning again.

“Go on,” Crosshair said huskily. “Let go, darling.”

With another rock of his hips you felt your pleasure unleash, your cry loud as your whole body shook with your release. You couldn’t keep your arms up, elbows buckling as you fell into the sheets. Your face in the silk and your arse up, you groaned, calling out Crosshair’s name, the muffled sound filling your ears as you gripped the bedding. How was this one stronger than the first?

You shuddered, your cries softening as Crosshair’s thrusts begun to slow. And when you peaked your head out from the sheets to look behind you, you watched him falter before swiftly pulling out of you and spilling on your lower back with a ragged cry.

You were mesmerised as you watched him stroke his cock until he was spent, pulling every last drop, breathless. After a moment, his eyes opened and met yours. You both gazed at each other, smiles creeping up on your faces as you gave breathless laughs.

“Sorry,” he rasped as his spend dripped down the arch of your back. “I made a mess of you.”

You shook your head, face flushed. “I liked it.”

Crosshair groaned, squeezing your hips. “Don’t say that. I’m not ready to go again.”

You laughed and watched him move off the bed on unstable legs. “Wash basin?”

“On the dresser,” you told him, and you heard him pad barefoot to the ceramic bowl and pour water from the jug. He wet the towel and walked back over to you. The cold water made your skin prickle as he wiped away the mess he made on your skin before he cleaned between your legs and his softening cock. You sat up, stretching your legs out as he walked through your bed chamber naked, returning the cloth.

When he faced you, he looked at you skeptically. “What is it?”

“Can I read more of your poetry?” you asked, almost shyly.

Crosshair blushing was not something you imagined he’d do after such a vigorously passionate intercourse with you, but watching his cheeks and the tips of his ears flush made your heart ache with love for him. “If you wish.”

“I promise I won’t laugh.”

“I believe you,” he smiled and after another moment of you unabashedly admiring his naked form in the candlelight, he looked at you with narrowed eyes and a teasing smile. “Was there something else?”

“You really are incredibly handsome.”

Crosshair barked out a laugh before crawling back onto the bed with you. You both pushed the decorative pillows off the bed before moving under the covers, your naked bodies finding each other and pulling each other closer. You tangled your legs together and wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your head on his chest. Crosshair pressed a kiss to your forehead. In the silence that found you, you listened to his steady heartbeat, feeling it thump against your cheek. You sighed with content. How was this real?

“Darling?” you heard him say softly.

You kissed his chest. “What is it?”

He paused before quietly saying, “Marry me?”

Your heart picked up and your eyes widened. You sat up to face him. “Pardon?”

“Marry me?” He repeated, his hand caressing your cheek as he looked at you so softly. “Please.”

You felt tears sting in your eyes and your mouth break into a smile. You leaned in and kissed him sweetly, his soft lips gentle.

“Okay,” you answered against his lips before kissing him once more.

i hope you enjoyed!

this is the last part of bewitching mr. batchbury. i would love to write regency tech and wrecker, but my schedule next year will be limited as i begin working full time. fics will still be posted! just not as often.

thank you so much for reading and for supporting my work <3

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#crosshair x reader #crosshair x reader smut

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literallydontlook · 6 months ago

Text

UGGGGHGHGHGH TECH YOU COCK BLOCK

Damn Good Drinks

summary: An unfortunate mistake rewards you with a fortunate encounter, and this undercover soldier is nothing like you could have expected.

pairing: hunter (the bad batch) x reader

tags: meet-cute, alcohol mentions/consumption, mentions of harassment, flirting, suggestiveness, protective hunter, one (1) gratuitous steamy kiss, tech is always at the scene of the crime, pre-tcw s7

rating: T

word count: 3.556k

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

It was another rowdy crowd tonight. You really should’ve known, considering the fact that the tourist season was nearly upon your town already. With the war still raging on in the galaxy, people were flocking here by the hundreds, eager to get away from the conflict on their own homeworlds.

You heaved a sigh as you carefully balanced the tray of drinks you’d just collected from the bar. Wrestling your way through these crowds was far from your favorite thing to do, but it was better than being stuck behind the bar itself for countless hours. It was, ironically, safer this way, too. Not that you could ever fully escape the wandering eyes, comments, and even the touches, but the freedom to run or fight if necessary was a comfort nonetheless.

Pitiful little excuse mes wouldn’t do you any good out here, so you simply announced your presence by jutting your elbows and shoulders into the people you were trying to pass. You could at least finally see the table you were heading for, which was a gift in a crowd this thick, especially at such a late hour.

You were just thinking about how excited you were to finally go home for the night when you suddenly heard a commotion beside you.

“Hey, watch where’ur goin’!”

“No, you watch it!”

You rolled your eyes. There was nothing quite like a classic ego-off. Hopefully, they both lost—and hopefully, they kept you out of it.

But you should’ve known better than to think you’d actually have good luck with that.

The guy closest to you got shoved by the other, and the timing couldn’t have been worse. Caught in the crossfire, you were also shoved right into something solid, hard enough to make every drink on your tray splatter on you and whatever, or whoever, you’d run into.

Unfortunately, you were in the center of the cantina, so it couldn’t have been a wall. It had to have been a person, a patron who was most likely going to want to fight you, now.

You were about to curse the pair of egotistical maniacs out when you suddenly realized the person you’d run into was steadying you with a hand on your elbow and another on your opposite arm.

“You alright?”

You spun around to face them, but you were too distracted by the fact that nearly the entire front of their white shirt was now stained in the purple hue of one of the drinks you’d been carrying.

You let out a worried gasp and reached from the rag you kept tucked into your pocket. “I’m so sorry, sir! Let me get that for you.” As you tried your best to dry and blot out the stain in the patron’s shirt, you couldn’t help muttering in contempt. “Kriffing boys spilling some damn good drinks over a pointless ego battle…”

You only stopped when you realized that your efforts were to no avail; this poor person’s shirt was stained for good. You let out a sigh, but the breath got caught in your throat when you blinked a few times and realized exactly what, or who, you were looking at.

You weren’t trying to ogle this man, you really weren’t, but it was hard when the first thing your eyes were stuck to was the sight of the now-transparent fabric of his sleeveless tunic clinging to perhaps the most toned set of muscles you had ever seen before in your life.

Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but the more you observed, the more you were convinced that you weren’t actually being hyperbolic.

The man’s face was just as sculpted as the rest of him, though half his face was cast in the dark shadow of what looked like a giant skull tattoo, matching the one that was printed on his red bandana. That matched the scarf hung around his neck, fabric that his dark, shoulder-length hair was brushing against. He still had his hands on you, which were wrapped up to his elbows in a light-colored fabric, but the touch was soft enough to indicate that he meant no harm.

Thank the Force that the last thing you caught were his eyes, because you wouldn’t have been able to look away if you’d done that first.

“‘Damn good drinks,’ huh?” The corners of the man’s mouth started to rise as his brown gaze flickered over you. “Do they taste as good as they look on you?”

Your brow shot up at that. Maybe it was the mere fact you were attracted to him, or that you couldn’t sense any ill intent like you could with the others, but you weren’t disgusted by his advances.

No, they made the temperature in the room rise to a really dangerous height.

You returned the once-over and offered a thoughtful hum. “Maybe, but they definitely don’t taste as good as they look on you, so don’t be too disappointed.” You huffed and focused on righting the capsized cups on your tray. “Can I get you one as a token of apology?”

The man shifted slightly in front of you, and with a quick glance, you realized he was blocking you from getting hit by another shove that came from a new direction. He absorbed the movement as if it were nothing. You furrowed your brow, watching as his arms and shoulders barely flexed at the motion.

Suddenly, you were realizing that this had to be the body of a soldier. But he obviously wasn’t a droid, and he certainly didn’t look like a clone…

“You don’t owe me an apology.” He nodded, making the stray hairs that stuck out of his bandana bounce against his forehead. “Wasn’t really my brightest idea to wear a white shirt to a place like this, anyway.”

You chuckled and shrugged. “Well, thank the Force you did.” You winked and gestured with your head towards the bar. “Can I still get you that drink, anyway?”

He smiled. “Sure. I’ve got some time to kill.”

You looked down when warmth started to rush into the tips of your ears. That downward glance could only last a moment, because soon, you had to shove your way through the rowdy crowd. Amazingly, though, they started to part much more easily for you, and it only took a quick look behind you to realize why.

This man was just about shoving everyone aside and casting warning glances to anyone who dared to react to it. Even just the way he was walking screamed danger to a potential opponent.

He was definitely a soldier, but for who or what, you weren’t sure. At this point, you really didn’t care, because your heart was speaking a lot louder than your brain when it came to him.

You brought him to the furthest edge of the bar, a private enough corner where you could get behind it and make him a drink yourself. You’d still have to remake the ones you spilled, but if you were being honest, that wasn’t really your biggest priority right now. They could wait a few extra minutes.

“So…” you stole a glance up at him, “you got a name?”

He huffed and rested his wrapped forearms upon the bartop, leaning forward enough for you to hear him over the din of the rowdy patrons. “You can just call me Hunter.”

You hummed and stared more than you really had to at the cups you tossed between your hands. “Is that what you are?”

“A bounty hunter?” He scoffed. “Have I made that bad of an impression on you already?”

You laughed at that. Only someone operating under some kind of honor code would have such a strong distaste for bounty hunters. You had no doubt now that you knew what he was.

“Then what’s a soldier like you doing out here, so far away from the front lines?”

“Who says I’m a soldier?”

You stopped what you were doing and looked at him with an eyebrow raised. “I don’t know, Hunter. Maybe it’s the giant tactical pack you’ve got slung on your back, or those heavily-trained arms you’ve clearly put on display.”

A light sparkled in Hunter’s eyes as the corners of his lips rose in a subtle smirk. “You seem to know a lot about arms.”

You returned his mischievous smile. “Only because I like staring at yours.” You nodded towards his stained shirt. “You want the drink that was spilled on you, or the one that got on me?”

Hunter looked down at himself and circled his jaw. He shrugged before he lifted his head and met your gaze again. “You choose.”

You considered his words for a moment as you searched his eyes. In the lighting of the bar, they glowed more amber, which only made them even more captivating. You fought not to lose yourself within them as you ultimately nodded. “Alright.”

You focused on getting all the right ingredients together, all the while sensing the heat of his gaze on you. Fighting back another smile, you decided to question him further.

“Care to explain why you don’t look like a clone when you clearly are one?”

“So long as you tell me why your heart’s beating so fast.”

That gave you pause. He was right—your heart hadn’t stopped hammering against your chest ever since you got your first good look at him—but there was no way he would know that without feeling your pulse himself, or at least taking a strangely accurate guess.

You narrowed your eyes at him as you gripped the glass and shaker tighter in your hands. “How would you even know that?”

Hunter’s brow lifted. “Would you call me crazy if I told you that it actually answers your first question?”

You relaxed again and gave him a nod. “Fine, you’ve got my interest.” You tried to calm your racing heart, if only out of spite.

“I’m an enhanced clone. My squad and I were each given different traits that are ‘desirable’ in soldiers.”

You spared him a single glance. Thankfully, he didn’t look uncomfortable discussing this. That wasn’t your end goal, even if you did at least want to know what you were getting yourself into. “And what does that have to do with my heartbeat?”

Hunter chuckled. “Well, I’m named after my enhancement.”

As you shook the concoction inside the mixer, you pondered his words. A hunter, and a heartbeat… and shoving people aside before they’d even come close to you…

“You’re telling me you can… hear my heartbeat?”

Hunter’s head bobbed. “In a way.” He tapped his fingers along the bartop. “Enhanced senses. My strong suit is electromagnetic frequencies, but I can pick up on some organic things, too.” He nodded at you. “The louder a heartbeat, the easier it is for me to hear it.”

You pretended to scowl for the sake of your dignity as you strained the drink into his glass. “Yeah, well, it’s hard not to have a racing heart in a place like this.”

Hunter hummed. “That’s fair.” He gestured with a thumb to the crowds behind him. “Is it always like this?”

You exhaled heavily and shook your head. “It wasn’t before, but the longer the war goes on, the worse it gets. We’re an escape for a lot of people, it seems.”

You picked up the glass and slid it over to him.

“Here. Let me know what you think.”

Before you could pull your hand off the glass, Hunter placed his there, his fingers brushing yours as they drifted by one another. You caught his stare, and you could’ve sworn he sent you the quickest wink you’d ever seen before he drew his first sip.

And there went all chances of slowing down your racing heart. He was certainly gonna notice that with his apparent enhanced senses. Damn it.

You tasked yourself with remaking the other patrons’ drinks while Hunter offered his review. “It is damn good.” He shrugged in your periphery. “But still not as good as it looks on you.”

You laughed. “Well, that’s because it’s the one I spilled on you.” You spared him a quick glance of approval. “So something must be wrong with your ‘enhanced’ taste buds.”

You enjoyed watching him hide his new flush by taking another sip of the drink, but the weight of his identity was beginning to settle in. A clone soldier, an enhanced one, was here. That had to mean the war wouldn’t be far behind.

“Since you’re here,” you paused for a second as you shook another drink, “does that mean I should be getting ready for the war to come to my doorstep?”

Hunter grew more serious as he shook his head. “No. You’re safe here.” He gestured towards the cantina’s only entrance. “We’re just gathering some intel.”

“‘We’?” You smiled down at the drinks. “So, that squad of yours is around here, too?”

“Not here, but yeah, they’re on-world.”

With the drinks now finished, you set them on the tray and took a second to look Hunter in the eye. There was something here, and there was a lot he was giving you—and you needed to know what the real reasoning was behind it.

“Why are you telling me all this, Hunter?” You tilted your head at him. “Seems like pretty confidential information for a random civilian like me to know.”

Hunter held your stare even as he tipped his head back to empty out the rest of his glass. Once he was done, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m a good judge of character.”

You blinked at him a few times before smiling. What a simple yet profound way of establishing trust.

Thankfully for him, he was right, and any of his secrets would die with you.

“Well, I’ve got to get these back over there, so…” You lifted the tray and glanced at the table at the far end of the cantina.

Hunter nodded and pushed himself off the bartop. You prepared to bid him farewell, but instead, he lingered. “I’ll clear a path for you this time.”

All you could muster was an appreciative glance before Hunter stepped forward and essentially pushed your way through the crowd. No one even got near you this time, certainly not close enough to make the drinks topple over. Hunter hung back once you eventually reached the table, and you quietly thanked him as you passed him.

“Here you are.” You kept your customer service voice engaged as you dealt out the drinks and smiled. “Sorry about the wait. It’s a bit crazy here tonight.”

The patrons just shrugged, clearly unaware of the extra few minutes you spent flirting with the enhanced clone trooper rather than making their drinks. You tucked the tray under your arm and turned around, surprised to see that Hunter was still there waiting for you.

You gave him another once-over. That drink stain on his shirt really stuck out like a bantha in a porg nest, if it was even possible for anyone’s eyes to get past his eyes, face, and arms.

The look he was giving you in return was either saying the same thing about your clothes or something very different, a little more similar to what you wanted him to be thinking.

“You know,” you took a step closer to him, “we should have some extra tunics from our uniforms in the back if you want one to cover…” you gazed down at his stain, “that.”

Hunter’s gaze glowed dangerously. “Oh, yeah?”

You nodded slowly. “I mean, we could at least check.”

Hunter smirked as he echoed your question from earlier. “We’?”

You waved him off. “It’s too crazy here tonight for anyone to care that you’re back there.”

Hunter shrugged. Apparently, he was easily convinced. “Alright. Where’re we headed?”

You pointed at a door on the back wall, and Hunter nodded before he pushed through the crowd once again. At this point, it was hard to imagine that he wasn’t listening to your heart practically flying through your chest. You didn’t even know why this was happening, especially so fast, but you had to echo Hunter’s earlier sentiment: you were a good judge of character.

What was one stolen moment with an enhanced clone trooper?

Hunter stepped aside to let you key in the passcode on the doorway of the storage room, and once it slid open, you led the way inside. After verifying that you were alone, you waved Hunter in. The door closed behind him, and after securing it, you turned to him.

It would’ve been impossible to get a good look at him in the dimness of the space, anyway, but you were both gravitating to each other before any looks could be given. You cupped his chiseled jaw at the exact moment he held your waist, closing the gap between the two of you and giving into the magnetic pull that had first forced you two together in the night’s rowdy crowds.

And you had never been more grateful for two egotistical maniacs’ stupid quarrel before.

Hunter kissed you like he’d known you for ages, exuding a breathless amount of passion that should’ve been impossible for a soldier as seasoned as himself. All you could do was try to match that energy, parting your lips and surely making a mess of the hair he clearly wanted to grow beyond what you assumed was regulation. You let one hand stay there, but the other was too curious, tracing the same lines of muscle your eyes had been beholden to ever since you first saw him.

During a quick break for air, you pulled back until you hit the wall behind you, this time urging him even closer than before. The second his mouth was on yours, you lost all sense of anything else, only able to think about the warmth you found there—and the feeling of his hips caressing yours in the very same rhythm.

You weren’t sure exactly how those senses of his worked, but somehow, he was igniting every single one of yours in a way you’d never experienced before.

You were in the middle of lowering your hands from his neck to seek a more fervent exploration when he caught both your wrists, holding them in an achingly gentle yet firm grasp as he lifted them over your own head. When he pushed himself into you even more intensely, his tongue in your mouth and his hips on yours, you could feel it so much more without being distracted by touching the rest of him.

Yeah, this was definitely a man who understood senses.

You were stuck between proposing and offering him all your possessions when the sudden chiming of a comlink sounded from Hunter’s belt. The two of you broke apart with heavy breaths, his forehead still close enough to yours for you to feel the wisps of his hair brushing against your skin as he clearly fought the urge to sigh.

“Sorry. Give me just a second.”

Hunter’s voice, which was already fairly rough as it was, was even rougher from your passionate moment as he released your wrists and stepped away. You couldn’t have stopped watching him even if you wanted to as he unclipped the comlink and activated it.

“Tech, report.”

“I have acquired the necessary data.” You raised your brow at the voice that spoke on the other end of Hunter’s comm. They sounded even less like a clone than Hunter himself did. “We may make our egress, unless there is any additional research you wish to pursue.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a loose end I want to tie up.” You scoffed at that. Loose end? “We'll meet back at the Marauder.”

“Affirmative.”

Hunter sighed as he set the comlink back on his belt. “Sorry about that.” He ran a hand over his head. “Duty calls.”

“Yeah.” You shrugged. “Gotta’ tie up your loose end, now.”

Hunter froze before he let out a heavy exhale. “Kriff, that sounded bad, didn’t it?”

You couldn’t help laughing. “Hey, you’ve done better than most by catching it so fast.”

Hunter chuckled and stepped back over to you. “Here.”

He took something from his belt and reached for your hand, setting it inside your palm and closing your fist around it. It was something circular and metallic, judging by how cool it was against your skin.

“To keep in touch.” Hunter nodded at you. “Next time, the drink’s on me.”

“It was technically already on you this time.” You gestured with your eyes to his stained shirt.

Hunter huffed with amusement. “You know what I mean.”

You smiled at him. “Sure.”

You opened the door for him, and he stopped to give you a wink you wouldn’t miss this time before he disappeared into the thick of the crowd. You leaned your shoulder against the threshold, staring down at the communicator in your grasp. Biting back a smile, you slipped it inside your pocket.

Maybe there was an advantage to the war getting a little closer, after all.

hunter tag list: @zenrobbins0021 @cw80831 @yunggoblin @maddiedrmr @Molmcb @jellybeanstacey0519 @violetlilly2020 @singularattitudeofasafetypin

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literallydontlook · 7 months ago

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THIS WAS SO STINKING CUTE I LOVED IT

Risk & Reward

character: Hunter (The Bad Batch)

prompts: "Are you asking me out on a date?" / "I'm not drunk enough for this." / "I think you should kiss me."

warnings: alcohol/drunkenness

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

You couldn't understand why you had ever resisted coming here. For once, the boys had actually been right; 79's was the place to be between missions. And no, it definitely wasn't the alcohol talking.

How much had you had, anyway? Most of your glasses had already been taken away, and those that hadn't were starting to blur together...

You were mindlessly giggling at Wrecker jostling a disgruntled Crosshair around when a familiar, low voice cut through the noise in your isolated corner. "Alright, we've had our fun. Time to go."

You let out a long gasp and turned towards Hunter. His brow wrinkled with concern as his stare met yours, and your foggy brain could still process him checking you for signs of distress before you stumbled off your stool to approach him.

"Hunter!" You laughed and threw your arms around his neck, pulling him in for an embrace that, in this state, felt totally natural, despite the fact you had never, ever greeted him like this before. "Hi!"

"Uh..." Hunter politely tapped your back with both his hands, "hey."

"We missed you." You stepped back and patted his tattooed cheek twice. Hunter's brow shot up in response to the gesture. "Where've ya' been?"

Hunter's gaze flickered between you and the rest of the squad who stood behind you. "I've just been doing the rounds, keeping our relationship with some of the regs... amicable enough."

Doing sergeant duties on a night off? Yeah, that was classic Hunter behavior.

"Of course." You huffed and gave his shoulder a playful punch, but it barely made contact with your current lack of depth perception. "Do you ever just relax, Sarge?"

"That's a good point," Wrecker chimed in from behind you.

You whipped your head around to nod and point at him. "Exactly, Wreck, thank you!"

Hunter let out a heavy sigh, drawing your attention back to him—though his stare was on another one of his brothers. "Tech?"

All Hunter had to do was hold out his hand, and his brother provided him with his datapad. Tech pushed his goggles up his nose to hide his smile as Hunter read whatever was written on the vidscreen. He closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. His free hand pinched the bridge of his nose as he handed the datapad back to Tech.

"And all of you let this happen?" Hunter reopened his eyes to stare vibroblades at his brothers.

"Who am I to set someone else's limit?" Crosshair sounded completely unaffected by his alcohol intake, even if the sly smile he wore was evident in his tone.

"That's another good point!" Wrecker added.

"I was too preoccupied with making note of everyone's intake," Tech responded. "It's fascinating, isn't it?"

A muscle in Hunter's jaw flexed. "Yeah, that's one word for it." He glanced at you and nodded. "We're gonna head back to the ship."

Hunter reached inside a pocket on his belt and set a hearty amount of credits inside Tech's outstretched palm.

"Pay the tab and meet us there when you're done." His brow furrowed at the three of them. "For your sake, make sure I don't have to come drag the rest of you outta' here."

Wrecker saluted. "You got it, boss!"

Hunter let his glare linger on them even as he set a hand on your back to guide you to his side. He then eased you forward, keeping his hand where it was until you were steady enough.

That moment never came.

Hunter's sigh was quieter than before as he slung one of your arms over his shoulders and wrapped the arm he had closest to you around your waist.

"I knew this was a bad idea," he muttered.

"Yeah, well, I used to say that too." You nudged him the best you could in your current position, which saw you practically resting all your bodyweight upon him. "But I'm glad I let 'em finally convince me, because I had fun! Do you know what that is, Hunt? Fun?"

Hunter huffed. "You're asking me that question?"

You shrugged. "I just really wish you'd been with us tonight." Your voice was low in your sudden embarrassment, which was dulled more than it should have been thanks to the haze that clung at the edges of your senses.

Hunter looked over at you before he let out a softer breath. "I'm sorry." His voice also lowered as he went on. "That's not the reason why you had so much, is it?"

You didn't say anything. Hunter took your silence as your answer, judging by the way he tightened his grasp on your waist.

After a few heartbeats, you spoke up again. "It's okay. You can make it up to me later by letting me take you back here. Just us."

Hunter's steps slowed beside you, but you didn't take much notice in your drunkenness. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

You bobbed your head. "Semantics." You spared a glance over at him and smiled. "Unless you have no problem with it, in which case, yes. Yes I am."

Hunter's gaze glittered with amusement and something else you couldn't catch in your haze, but his tone was dry. "I'm not drunk enough for this."

"Hmm. Shame." You giggled and swayed into him. "Could've fixed that if you actually stuck with us tonight."

Hunter at least chuckled at that. His hand on your waist gave it a pat as he nodded. "Next time."

You looked at him with wide, excited eyes. "So there will be a next time?"

Hunter raised an eyebrow at you. "Don't push it."

It wasn't much longer until Hunter was easing you up the steps of the Marauder. The drunken haze was beginning to morph into one of slumber, making your eyelids flutter as you leaned more and more into Hunter. He, of course, was unaffected by the additional weight.

But that didn't mean he wasn't going to comment on it. "Hey, you can't go to sleep yet."

You groaned dramatically and pressed your face against his armored shoulder. "Why?"

Hunter set you down in one of the chairs and headed towards the supplies. "Because." He reached into one of the crates and grabbed a canteen. "You need to drink a whole one of these first."

You wrinkled your brow as you took it from him. "Or else what?"

Hunter crossed his arms and stayed where he was, unshaken. "There isn't another option." He nodded at the canteen. "Drink it."

You narrowed your eyes even as you took your first big swig from the canteen. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and leaned back in the chair. "Can I at least get a reward for it?"

Hunter's brow rose. "For keeping yourself healthy?"

You rolled your eyes. "Whatever you wanna call this."

The corners of Hunter's lips started to rise as he humored you. "What did you have in mind?"

You stared at him, racking your mind for something as you drew another long sip from the canteen. But staring wasn't giving you an idea—at least, not an idea other than the deepest, darkest secret you weren't sure you wanted to confess right now. That was the thing about letting yourself loose, though. Those secrets were also going loose, too.

So, as you stared up at Hunter and studied the parts of him that had taken up permanent residence in your mind, you let that secret slip as if it was nothing more than an innocent suggestion.

"I think you should kiss me."

Hunter looked as if he was experiencing every single stage of shock all at once. His head whipped over his shoulder towards the open hatch of the Marauder, his senses no doubt reaching out to make sure you were still alone for the time being.

All the while, you continued drinking the water nonchalantly. He hadn't said no to your suggestion yet, so... if you kept drinking it...

"That's not a good idea."

You frowned as you returned Hunter's gaze. He was harder to read, now, his expression steeled the same way it was whenever he was trying to make a hard decision on or about a mission. It meant he was purposefully cloaking something from you, and seriously contemplating something.

But that didn't make the sting of his words any easier to take.

You deflated, and because everything was still running loose, you knew Hunter could tell. The canteen lowered in your grasp as your arm fell towards the floor.

Hunter knelt in front of you. "Not right now."

He was gentle as he took the canteen from you and brought it back to your lips himself. You followed his direction without much effort, tilting your head back to let him provide you with more hydration. Hunter continued his thought as he did so.

"Not like this."

You blinked innocently at him after you swallowed. "Like what?"

Hunter gave you a pitiful once-over. You winced in embarrassment.

His hand rose to your shoulder. "How about this. When you can actually walk on your own again, you can have the reward that you want." He mumbled the next part under his breath. "If you still want it then."

You perked up at that. "Really?"

Hunter nodded. "Really." He held up the canteen between the two of you. "But you have to finish this."

You snatched the canteen from him and chugged the rest of its contents. When you finished, Hunter's eyes were widened, and he released an impressed chuckle. You held out your arms to him.

"Help me walk to my bunk?"

Hunter huffed and nodded. The rest was a blur after that, but the memories of it all danced across your mind through the night until you woke again with your usual clarity—and a surprising lack of a hangover, thanks to the sergeant's insistence.

You swung your legs out of the bunk and stood. Only one other bunk was empty, making you smile as you easily walked your own way towards the cockpit.

Hunter swiveled in the pilot's chair to face you, hardly concealing a smile as he watched you close the distance over to him. You stood over his chair, crossing your arms as you gestured back towards the bunks.

"I walked here on my own."

Hunter rose an eyebrow. "You did." He sheathed the knife he'd been playing with before you walked in.

Your gaze flickered to his lips. "Can I have my reward?"

Hunter hummed thoughtfully and turned back to the controls. He lowered his hand over a button that caused the cockpit's door to close behind you, making you smile even before he stood to meet you where you were.

"It was well-earned."

And then his hands were on your face, his lips were on yours, and you were experiencing a whole different kind of drunkenness—one that was a million times better than any other.

#tbb hunter x reader

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literallydontlook · 8 months ago

Photo

#reminder

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literallydontlook · 8 months ago

Text

Enjoy! Nearly fell out of my chair!

#oh my god???

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literallydontlook · 8 months ago

Text

AHHHHHHHHH

I was going to go back to work but then I saw this update and I thought “hm I can just read this real fast” hehe

You’re so good at writing heartache 😭 that beginning half was torturous

But I love a sassy roommate who’s got your back. AND HE BROUGHT THR FLOWERS IM JUST FKFNFLFNDNFKDNDHF

This was so beautiful 😭

(wildflowers part iii)

pairing: fratboy!Hunter x reader

rating: 17+

chapter warnings: starwars university!au, use of she/her pronouns, strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, misunderstanding (again??), hurt/hurt with comfort, angst, kissing, swearing, mentions of vomiting, mentions of sexual intimacy

word count: 4.5k

notes: i apologize for making ya'll wait so long, life just likes to get in the way yk hahahahahahahahahaha

chapters: i ii iii

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You don’t show up to class.

It has Hunter throwing placidity to the wind–it just isn't logical. You weren’t the type to skip a class because you were pissed at someone; you weren’t that type of petty. You were good at it, keeping your emotions in check–or maybe you just hid them really well, sweeping shards of glass under the rug and dealing with your bloody foot later. Something wasn’t right. It's eating at him, chewing through that little sensible part in his brain that’s been screaming at him not to tap into your holofrequency. He’s checking the door every few seconds, hoping to catch you nursing a drink in one hand and a late breakfast in the other. He’s even memorized your order: two creams, two sugars, and a warm treat etched in his skull. It’s stupid, he thinks–this is stupid. He didn’t have to duck and weave hoping you wouldn’t beat him to the punch, it didn’t matter how upset you were at him, he’d check in on you regardless, broken jaw and all.

He’s about to input your frequency when a dainty figure slots themselves next to him, flowery perfume invading his senses in a way that’s all too familiar.

“Hi again.” And it’s that same saccharine-sweet voice from the party, flowing through his ears like warm summer rain. It’s like a speeder whizzing by as soon as he steps off the sidewalk; it catches him off-guard.

“Hey,” he replies, and it’s friendly enough that she decides to spread out, placing her tablet on the little fold-out desk. She beams at him, a gorgeous thing that has him returning one of his own, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It feels odd, he thinks, like an ill-fitting jacket, it’s stiff and hugging his shoulders a bit too tight. He’d rather that seat remain empty than be occupied by someone who wasn’t you. It's not the nicest thought, but someone taking up the space where you'd always been settles in his stomach like a bad meal. She’s staring, sparkly brown eyes just as enchanting as they were on the dancefloor, illuminated by flashing strobe lights.

“Didn’t know you were in this class,” she says, and he knows it’s a bold-faced lie. There’s a false innocence in her tone, but it’s nothing deceitful, so he gives her the benefit of the doubt, playing along for now.

“Yeah, I was just waiting for my…friend.” Friend. It doesn’t fit right either, that jacket constricting at his chest. He didn’t want to assume anything on your behalf, but he knew you both had a good friendship at the very least. He watches the gears turn in her head, glossy lips twitching upwards. A pretty smile tries to mask the nervousness in her eyes, but Hunter doesn’t miss how it oozes from the gaps. It puts him on edge, rummaging through the clutter in his head trying to find out what he’d done wrong. “Are you-?”

“I really like you.”

He pauses. It shouldn’t be coming as a surprise; this wasn’t the first confession he’d received, and it likely wasn’t the last. He wasn’t that dense, head full of air and lead; he knew her tipsy advances at the party weren’t all liquor. A pin in his heart, his chest deflates, words he’d been hoping to hear coming from lips that weren’t yours. He still feels like shit though, never getting used to the salty feeling of having to reject someone. He knows she’s nice enough, he’d seen her around before, and he quietly hoped she’d find someone who’d look at her like he looked at you. He’s about to swing his axe, cutting into that thicket of hope rooted behind her eyes, but she stops him short.

“I’m also stupidly sorry about how I came onto you at the party! I thought maybe downing a few would’ve given me the confidence to confess, but uh-” She takes a breath, a nervous chuckle bubbling up her throat. “It was a lot more than I bargained for.”

He laughs at that, heavy and genuine, and it gives her the confidence her drink couldn’t.

“You’re just really cool, you know? And…I see how you are with your brothers and little sister, and I just…I’d really like to get to know you better.” She visibly relaxes, the weight of unconfessed feelings rolling off her shoulders like clouds of steam. That bubble of anxiety in her gut grows, however, anticipating axes or flowers. He gives her a gentle smile, but his hands remain steady on the handle ready to swing.

“Thank you for telling me this, really, but-”

The door slides open with a hiss and you trudge through, a cup of caf in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. You look and feel like shit, feet made of durasteel as you try and rub the sleep from your eyes. You melt into your hoodie, trying to avoid the awkward stares being tossed your way. You might as well have stuck a sign to your forehead screaming ”Fuck me!” in bold red ink. It's like you’re made of glass the way they stare; did they know something you didn't? Were they seeing through you? Cutting you open like your roommate did last night? It’s automatic–you quietly beeline toward your seat, but what you're greeted with in your little corner of the room has you sick.

Sick, sick, sick

You jolt, your caf nearly slipping out of your palm and slamming onto grey carpet. Those chilly winds that nearly blew you away that night in the parking lot return in full force, turning bone marrow to ice. You think you can feel your heart cracking, the little pieces carving up your ribs as they fall. You chose to face the sun that night, towards warmth and honey and good things, but instead, it left you scorched, searching for water where there was none. Twice now it's happened.

You understood Hunter, eventually. When your feelings settled in the dust, you were able to clearly make out what had been buried under your feet: It was a misunderstanding, you came to realize; the timing was all wrong. He wouldn't lie to you. He'd never given you a real reason to feel the way that you did, despite the string of admirers he'd unknowingly woven. He never truly entertained it; he was just being friendly–cordial, even. He was just being Hunter.

You thank your roommate for helping you sift through that sand, but…

…why the fuck was she right here?

~ ☆ ~

You stare at your soupy reflection in the bowl, all warped and hazy like your head right now. You don't think you can even wrap your mind around yesterday; the wires in your brain are already stretched too thin. You're in a daze, your spoon tapping against the edge of the bowl with a steady clink clink clink that has your roommate slinging a pillow across the room.

“What the fuck-!?”

“Maker, will you stop that?”

“Stop what!?”

She springs up from the couch, green lekku bouncing in frustration as she pads over to you. Despite the annoyed grimace twisting her face, her hands are gentle as she pries your iron-grip from the spoon. You hadn't even registered you'd been doing it: maybe it was keeping you sane, the only semblance of steadiness and rhythm in your life right now. You can't even face her, head heavy with betrayal.

That's how you felt, at least.

But what did you expect? Messing around with one of the hottest guys on campus, a frat guy no less, came with…consequences.

Consequences be damned, you'd thought. How could you care when he'd looked at you like you hung the stars yourself?

You want to kick yourself, but you're already bloodied and bruised. That palace you'd built for him in your heart was crumbling, and all you could do was watch.

But you let this happen.

Why build something that'll inevitably be destroyed?

A part of you knew what you were getting into, throwing your feelings into that crumbling heap, and now you had to watch them die. And it hurts. Hurts because it felt so real, those walls pristine and glistening. It's a vibroknife in your chest, prying you open and draining the life out of you. Why didn't you run? You were so sure that he liked you, maybe that he even lov-

“Earth to bantha brains!”

You bristle, too tangled up in the weeds of your emotions to focus on anything else.

“Elara…” you groan, “Not now…please?”

She ignores your moping, plopping herself down on the stool next to you and slotting your chin in between green fingers. Her heart jumps as she takes in your state, your eyes red-rimmed and watery. She feels bad for you. Almost.

“You've gotta get it together,” she's telling you, and you pull away from her.

“Thanks.” It's acidic coming through your lips, and you don't care whether it burns or not. You get up from the table and make for your bedroom, but her grip on your arm pulls you back into reality.

“So you saw him talking to another girl, what does it matter?” It's like it's obvious the way she says it, and it ignites that fire in your gut. You hold your tongue, not wanting the embers of your silent rage to scorch her. It matters to you.

“Let go,” you warn.

“I mean it's not like you like him or anything-”

”I said let go!” You snatch your arm away, heart pounding and legs feeling like jelly. You told her bits and pieces of your relationship with Hunter, but you didn't want her putting any of them together. You never admitted anything, though, despite the knowing looks and sly comments she threw your way. You kept it tucked close to your heart, a lock and key only you held access to.

You're almost there, those four walls you'd been hiding under these past few days just a few steps away. You don't make it in time, though, Elara brushing past you, holding a blade to the beeline you were making. She slots herself between you and your bedroom door as if to add to madness, that stupid grin smudged across her face. You've seen it too many times to stay sane, like when she'd stick her tongue out at you after beating you to the fresher, or when she'd play that holomovie she knew you hated when it was her turn on the projector. But this one was different–knowing.

“You're so obvious,” she laughs, and it's ringing in your ears like a poisonous symphony, and you wish all the strings would snap.

“Elara-!”

“Do you know what your problem is?”

You still, her words like a string to your spine, and they're pulling you in ten different directions. It leaves you spluttering, words crashing into each other like rogue speeders–your problem?

Could she see through you this entire time?

In your fog, she takes the opportunity to

strike.

“You're letting your insecurities ruin a good thing! I don't know the guy personally, but from what I've been hearing, he's one of the good ones. I don't know a single sleemo who'd do half the things you've told me he does for you. I get it girly, you've been hurt before, but fuck, we all have! I'd give a piece of myself for a fraction of the love he shows you.”

Her steps are careful as she approaches you like a wounded animal, holding your head in between her hands with a gentleness that has you reeling; the only warmth you've felt in days. Your tears dampen her fingers, and she thumbs one across your cheek.

“I know shit seems dark sometimes, but maybe you should keep looking for the light, y'know?”

Then she pads away, flicking on that dumb holomovie as if she didn't just pry you open by the doorway.

And you can only stand there in that all-consuming grief: gutted and slack-jawed.

~ ☆ ~

Hunter knows how this looks. He curses under his breath and swiftly rounds the desk as he makes his way over to you, but you don't even meet his eyes, brushing past him like he's nothing. He is nothing. He's just another player, another liar.

And you're just another fool.

You tuck yourself in the farthest seat from him on the other side of the lecture hall; you can't see him and he can't see you. Your appetite is gone, the overpriced little pastry you'd bought going cold, much like your demeanor.

He doesn't follow you. You didn't want to be, and this isn't the place or time to explain anything. His head starts to ache, that familiar panging sending little shockwaves across his skull. He fights the urge to run after you, to cull those thorns of deceit uprooting the flowers in your head, but his wheels are spinning in the mud, unable to move. He wants to say fuck it, placing his hand on the gears and shifting into overdrive, but the pretty little thing in your seat has him putting things in park. He runs his fingers over his temples, that creaking in his head growing. He sinks into his seat and it's heavy, the weight of broken hearts and misunderstandings pulling him under somewhere deep and dark and lifeless.

“Are you okay?” she's asking him, and it earns her a kind nod and a ”yeah”, though she can see the anguish creasing his stoicism. He doesn't know how to explain to her that she'd unknowingly tangled herself up in the web between you and him: a bystander in the crossfire, but you were the one with a bullet in your chest.

She chats him up for the rest of class, and you bleed out on the sidewalk; cold, lifeless, and alone.

~ ☆ ~

He misses you after class.

You must've left as soon as the chrono hit twelve-thirty.

He rejected her, naturally, and the watery smile she gave him tugged at his heart a bit. He told her he was interested in someone else, and she told him she understood, leaving it at that. They made pleasant conversation, though, but he couldn't keep his eyes from flitting over to where you were sitting; the creaking and groaning of yearning behind his eyes.

He packs up the rest of his things, considering stuffing his feelings in his bag too.

~ ☆ ~

“How'd it go?” Echo asks, holding a sandwich up to his nose before taking a tentative bite.

Hunter gives him a wry smile, and it's dry and defeated.

“Uh-oh,” Crosshair sings cooly as he sips on a latte.

“Given Hunter's silence, it would be safe to assume it did not go very well,” Tech adds.

“Well, yeah, obviously!” Wrecker's shouting, mouth full of hoagie.

Hunter rolls his shoulders, but he can still feel that weight on them. Your weight.

He sighs, “M'fine boys,” and he doesn’t even believe it. His nerves are shot, plucked through his skin one by one, he's got nothing left. It doesn't feel right, like a scratchy sweater or sandpaper on the tongue; he shouldn't be the one making his brothers worry, it was his job to keep them in line. It settles like liquor on an empty stomach; vile and treacherous.

Crosshair's peering over at Echo, who in turn shares a look with Wrecker and Tech. It's another quiet affair, nothing more needing to breach the air. Three of them leave the table, leaving Hunter and Echo alone.

“Boys-” Hunter starts, but they've already scattered.

“What happened this time?” Echo cuts straight into the bullshit, leaving no weeds to hide under. It's like a hammer to the head the way he says it; blunt and decisive. Hunter thumbs his temples, the nauseating blend of chatter bouncing off the food court walls starting to rattle around his skull. Maybe it's a good thing, he thinks, like the screeching of an alarm at the crack of dawn, it reminds him that he's still alive–that he can still feel. Echo picks up on it with that freaky sixth sense of his, and leads his brother towards the courtyard.

The evening is warm, a funny contrast to the cold pit swallowing Hunter whole. Echo bumps his shoulder, keeping him from slipping off of that edge. “So?”

“You know the girl from the party? The one she saw me with?”

“Yeah?” Echo knows where this is going, doing little to mask the grimace mixing in with his typical frown.

“She sat next to me in calc, I…I didn’t want to be rude-”

“Where’d she sit?”

“...in her seat.”

It’s like two speeders slamming into each other head-on, glass and hot metal blowing up like shrapnel to the face. Echo sets a hand on his brow, shaking his head like a disappointed mother. Hunter’s quiet–he knows he fucked up, shards of glass still buried in his skin. He’s ruminating, moving the boxes around in his head trying to find the one labeled what he should’ve done. He should’ve told her she was sitting in your seat–but she knew that. Maybe he could’ve just asked her to step outside for a second–but surely you’d see them in the corridor? In his frantic search, he finds something else: maybe he didn’t advocate for you hard enough. He was trying to be polite, not wanting to be the one to crush the weeds under his boot, but they ended up choking your flowers instead.

Echo claps a hand on his back, trying to keep him steady on turbulent waters. “I’m guessing she confessed and you rejected her…right?” Hunter nods, all bleary-eyed and solemn.

“Then you need to explain yourself. Today.”

~ ☆ ~

“And then I fucking see her sitting next to him! Like–what am I supposed to think?”

“Have you considered murder?”

“Elara, I’m being serious!” You throw your hands up and deflate, slumping into the couch cushions like some lazy teen. You don’t know whether to scream or cry, caught in some weird emotional limbo you can’t pry your way out of. You’re about to go off on another tangent, but the tinny trilling of your comm pulls you out of the muck. Stupidly stupefied, you stare into the tiny little screen: Hunter’s holofrequency. Suddenly your cheap little comm is scorching hot, burning your palms to a crisp and you drop it onto the floor with a thud. You feel like Tatooine sand, all dried up and gritty.

“Don’t answer that!” Elara swings a curvy leg over the sofa, clambering over to your watery form.

Your stomach lurches and you think you can feel the cheap noodles you stuffed down earlier edging up your throat. Despite this, you abandon all logic, chucking it away like throwing credits on a sabacc table, except this is one gamble you might lose.

“M-maybe-”

“Nuh-uh!” She scoops up your comm and tries tucking it into her short pocket, but you swipe it from her fingers just as fast.

“I wanna hear him out-!” You’ve already rationalized it in your mind; you don’t like him, you just want to hear him out, give him a chance to mop up the feelings you spilled. It’s not like you’re waiting for an apology–an in back into that crumbling palace of hope.

That would be insane.

So naturally, you accept the call.

Your roommate’s shouting something, but you ignore her as you glue the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” It’s shakier than intended, but you’ve been unsteady for about three days now.

“Hey, I just wanted to say that I-”

And the signal cuts out.

“Damn!” you fumble around with the comm, giving it the good ol’ shake and smack. You hold in ten different directions trying to find the one that’ll bring you back to him.

“Are-are-are you-y-y-you the-there?”

Then the signal cuts out entirely.

Elara’s staring at your back, face all puckered like she’s tasted something sour. Your arm goes limp, the comm clattering to the floor and you slowly turn to face her.

“I blame you for this.”

And she shrugs, padding back over to the sofa and flicking on that stupid holomovie.

~ ☆ ~

An hour later, there’s a knock at the door.

You don’t get knocks at your door.

Okay, maybe that was a lie; a series of food deliveries and Elara forgetting her keycard more than once bites at your memory, but she’s curled up on the sofa, wrapped in that tattered blanket she’s so attached to. Maybe she ordered something and forgot? You blow, trudging over to the console, and the door slides open with that creaky whirring sound you always have to apologize for.

“Sorry about the-”

And your stomach sinks into your feet, replaced by something cold and vile and traitorous. Brown and grey hues bore into yours: a pleading warmth and familiarity that has your knees knocking together. A part of you wants to close the door, to sever that last thread tethering you both, but you flick that little voice off your shoulder and try to find your own, but he beats you to it.

“I-,” Hunter starts, and you try to ignore how his sleepy timbre settles all hot in your stomach. Then he stops, mouth hanging open like a suffocating fish. Whatever strings of apologies and explanations he’d woven on his way here were now all tangled up in his mouth, and he couldn’t quite get the knots out. He knows if he doesn’t say anything in the next ten seconds, he might as well trace whatever was left of you two in white chalk.

You search his eyes for colors of deceit, something sinister wrapped in white wool–but you can’t find anything.

Now you’re collapsing inside of yourself, hiding away in that little cavity in your chest. Your eyes fall to the floor as you’re dissolved by the acidity of your guilt. It was a misunderstanding. It always was. You judged him too harshly, you think, slapping a label on him and shipping him off to your dark thoughts. But what were you supposed to think? You went off of what you saw: what information was available at the time, but you should’ve talked to him, sorting through the soil to find his flowers.

Flowers? Is he holding-?

You didn’t even notice them, all swaddled up in colorful crepe paper.

Felucian wildflowers. The same bouquet you were fawning over in the flower shop.

How didn’t you notice?

He swallows thickly as he finds his nerve. “I know that I attract a lot of…attention, but I promise, the only person I’m looking at is you. It was always you.”

And that has you spilling over in the doorway, flooding his shoulder with your tears–and he lets you. He welcomes it, even, wrapping a strong arm around your frame, holding you like he’s been wanting to for weeks. It’s almost religious how he tucks his chin in your hair and lets his eyes slip closed–something like a prayer, and he’d remain in the pews on his knees singing home to you.

He pulls back and slips his hand into yours, all warm and calloused and comforting, and then he’s staring into you, eyes blooming like flowers.

“Let me show you something.”

~ ☆ ~

“Why didn’t you tell me this was here!?”

He’s taken you somewhere off-world, a starry field on some distant planet speckled with wildflowers in a myriad of hues. The moon hangs high, bathing you both in blues and blacks, and you think it’s something out of a painting.

“I was planning to surprise you, until…”

And your eyes meet his, full of unexpressed apologies and oozing with guilt. You know he understands, he’s always tried his best to understand you, but you want to roll that weight off his shoulders: the one he’d never stop carrying for you.

“I should’ve talked to you,” you say, and it’s odd: odd being able to be so honest with someone, so vulnerable, and you know that you can trust him–you know that.

Maybe you just couldn’t trust yourself.

“I…” your words catch on your lip, and they might end up dragging you under; hook, line, and sinker.

And you’re willing to let them.

“...I think I’m in love with you.”

His eyes snap to yours, and you realize he’s looking at you like he’s always looked at you. There’s no widening of the eyes, no reddening on the cheekbone, and the realization makes you want to sink into the blanket.

He’s always loved you.

His hand inches towards your leg as you stare into each other, and before you can breathe, his lips are on yours, giving life to you in a way you’ve never felt before. It’s like he’s stealing your breath away and giving you air at the same time; hot and heady, you don’t even notice the warmth trailing up your thigh tugging at the hem of your pants. He’s passionate, your colors swirling together creating the ultimate image of you.

It’s sweet like nectar, blossoming like the petals of a young flower, and you want to keep picking until you’ve uprooted the garden. Your hands settle against the planes of his face, and you pull him down on top of you, earning a laugh. He pulls back, staring into your eyes until he’s lost. Lost in every color, every breath, every feeling.

Then he finds himself, and says what’s been laying heavy on his heart these past few weeks.

“I love you, too.”

And he showed you in every way that he could.

~ ☆ ~

You’re yawning, arms outstretched and legs all achey, you spread out in the expanse of your little bed and hit something hard and unmoving.

“Huh-?”

And he rolls over, all grey and hazy with sleep. You don’t quite have the details of last night, but you can piece them together well enough: love confessions, love demonstrations, a 4am run for blue-milk pancakes, and something about staying over.

Then he slings a lazy arm over your middle, caging you into his warmth before you can let your mind tangle in the weeds.

“So,” he rasps into your hair. “Are we…official?”

You both know the answer, and you can even picture the little smile he’s hiding away in your locks. Maybe it was selfish, but you’d do anything to lock it away someplace only you could get to.

“Nope.”

“Pfft-” He pinches your waist, and you yelp, slapping a pillow into his head.

“I take this as a yes,” He says, all muffled from the pillow sitting on his face.

And you both lie there, limbs heavy and hearts heavier. You both hold each other in a way you’ve wanted to for an eternity, like two stars merging together so brightly no amount of doubt can dim its light. Maybe it was fate, a contract written into the cosmos, and you’d sign your name in a heartbeat knowing he’d do the same.

Neither of you go to that calc lecture.

#tbb hunter x reader

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