Fair Recompense
Tech x Gen! Reader
Warnings: None. Small bit of fluff and a kiss.
Word count: 1.3k
Notes: I decided to write a series of "goodbye" ficlets where the reader takes / removes something from each of CF99 as they part ways, however this one, along with Wrecker, deviated a little bit from that path. In this case, the story is left open-ended.
Crosshair || Echo || Hunter || Wrecker
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Luck was your business, born into a family who owned a bit of property on Ord Mantell. While most had to search out creative ways to eke a living, you had it made.
As the proud owner of a spacious hangar, it meant you did not have to want for much. Credits were earned not by hard work, but by allowing patrons to dock their starships; there were never enough empty bays to go around.
Still, you were fair; you did not make it a habit to overcharge. Not only that, but you offered droids, specialized equipment, and your mechanical expertise when needed to those who could use a helping hand to make repairs.
It was here that one particular man caught your eye. While his companions found better things to do, this clone remained. Besides being one of several million replicas of a long-dead bounty hunter, he looked familiar to you. You vaguely recalled witnessing his chiseled mug somewhere on the HoloNet; he was plagued by notoriety for a Riot Race he had won back on Serolonis, yet you failed to mention it.
Tech was his name; he did not pay you any mind as you watched him work from day-to-day. You were careful not to get too close, hoping that he would not take notice of your studious appraisal – at least at first.
Then, you found it was hard to capture his attention, even if you desired to strike up a conversation. So caught up in his own affairs, he barely seemed to register your presence except when rent was coming due.
You asked about his travels, and what he liked to do for fun. You offered him fresh Jawa Juice, and even tried to inquire about his ship.
Answers were scant, his patience sparse when it came to what he perhaps thought was frivolous small talk that served no purpose, or so it seemed. You had become so enthralled with him that your heart felt heavy in your chest with each rejection, even if it was only something you yourself perceived.
Determination took hold as you decided to attempt a different tactic, hearing that he would soon take off on another mission for Ciddarin Scaleback. Word traveled fast in these parts, and rumors had begun to circulate; Tech was wanted by the Empire, but as far as you were concerned, his secret was safe with you.
“Tech?” you asked, more so to alert him to your approach. He turned; he was undeniably handsome, no matter that his gorgeous brown eyes rarely lifted from off his datapad.
“Yes, what is it?” he questioned offhand, fiddling with some unknown sequence of code that was reflected within the transparisteel lenses of his round goggles.
“I hear you are heading out tomorrow,” you remarked, twisting your foot against the flattop of your hangar; you kept your hands behind your back on purpose.
“Do not worry, I shall settle our bill before we vacate the premises,” he reassured you dryly. He did not give you a second thought, or even a second glance.
“I’m not worried,” you shyly stated, admiring the distinctive features of his face. “I want to give you something,” you timidly informed him.
Tech’s forefinger pressed against the bridge of his eyewear, pushing it snug against his nose. Finally, he looked at you, amber-colored eyes even more beautiful up close, or as close as you dared.
“I do not understand,” he replied, his tone neither harsh nor excited. It was an honest declaration on his end; suddenly your palms were sweating, your hold loosening on the item stowed away just out of sight.
Tech arched a brow, taking note of the minor change in your appearance with muted curiosity, yet he could not keep from adding his two credits. “You appear to be ‘under the weather,’” he said laconically, Tech’s tone changing to emphasize the usage of this specific idiom. “Perhaps you could do with some rest.”
“I’m— I’m fine, really, I—” You bit your lip, gazing at him as if there was a gulf the size of Yavin Prime between you; you felt like you might cry, however asinine the notion. “I brought you a laser-caliper, since you keep having to borrow mine,” you whispered.
“Why?” he asked; it was a sincere question, Tech unsure how he had earned such a gift when he had done nothing to warrant this show of kindness.
You brought the small tool out from behind your back, fiddling with it in your hands. You hoped your answer would be good enough to satisfy him. “Because— because you need one of your own,” you humbly offered.
“And what do you want in exchange?” The query baffled you; you had not thought that far ahead. Should you want something? All you had wished to do was make his life a little easier.
You glanced about, anxious, and suddenly unsure. Was this somehow too forward? Was it obvious you had grown to enjoy his company, however short he was with you? Were you making a fool out of yourself?
“To see your eyes,” you blurted out. The man paused any movement, his attractive countenance, as always, an unreadable mask of what you assumed to be near-cold indifference.
“I beg your-?”
“-Please,” you interrupted, your voice laced with desperation. The word had exited too quickly from your lips; you felt ashamed.
“I’m sorry—” you corrected, not knowing which way to turn, which way to walk in order to rid yourself of this overtly embarrassing predicament.
“The recompense you have requested seems fair,” Tech asserted plainly.
You mildly gasped, a small intake of breath that caught in your throat. The tall, handsome clone strode forward, holding out his hand to take the laser-caliper.
“And a kiss,” you added, too brazen for your own good; you presumed you had pushed your luck too far. Still, you waited, your wincing becoming more defined the longer his silence stretched between you both.
“Fine,” he answered tersely, causing your eyes to widen and expand. He stood before you, inactive, delaying his departure back to where the Marauder camped, eager for his tending.
Slowly, thoughtfully, you extended your arm, gifting to him the laser-caliper you had promised. He took it from you, taking the time to inspect it before squarely staring through to your soul.
“Well?” he asked, both hands full up with his datapad and the tool now in his possession. Nervously, you searched his face, then you sought to do what had previously been thought unthinkable.
Meticulously, and with the utmost care, you lifted and removed Tech’s goggles from off his nose. Once loosed from his ears, you were deliberate with your intentions; you made sure not to pull a single strand of his curly hair.
Though you now appeared mostly as a blur, Tech could still make out your expression. He noted you looked pleased, and in turn he felt slightly amused, his feelings marked by the smallest upturn of his shapely lips.
“Now?” you asked, afraid he might change his mind at any moment.
“Now is as good a time as any,” he responded, Tech going so far as to tilt his body forward, his mouth mere centimeters from your own.
You craned your neck, taking a new liberty, your free hand meeting the turn of his cheek. You cradled his firm jaw in the crook of your palm as you unabashedly lingered, pressing into the soft flesh of his downy lips.
Then, he surprised you; he had clipped his datapad to his belt in one fluid motion, the backs of his gloved fingers tracing the curved line of your jaw. His caress extended from the base of your ear to the start of your soft neck; you could not help but to relax at his welcomed touch.
Your eyes closed as he attempted to deepen your kiss, the sound of your heartbeat drumming in your ears as you allowed Tech to take the lead.
It would last longer than you had ever hoped for, stealing your breath away. Once you found the wherewithal to break free of your shared embrace, Tech gave you the equivalent of a knowing smirk.
“Truth be told, I thought you would never ask.”
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Don't make such a fuss.
Crosshair x Fem! Reader
Warnings: None. A kiss and a little sass. Theft of a toothpick. Fluff I guess.
Word count: 615
Notes: I normally write very graphic smut for Cad Bane. This is my first time writing anything for Crosshair, and I may never do so again, idk. Thinking this is CW era. Maybe Crosshair fancies a girl on Coruscant and visits when he can. Wanted to recreate the "reader steals Bane's toothpick" ask.
You were anxious though you did not speak. The man beside you remained stoic, silent, and unreadable as you walked together through the Gardens of Equality. It was situated within the senatorial plaza, your home away from home. You paused in a quiet spot then turned to face him.
“Do you really have to go again so soon?” you asked, your mood perhaps conveyed unwittingly by the prosody of your voice. Crosshair had just returned from his last mission and already he was being recalled to the field alongside his squad.
His footfalls ceased. You pivoted to see him a pace behind, bucket stowed loosely beneath his arm as he shifted his weight to one thin leg, an eyebrow having arched as he looked at you with incredulous curiosity.
“Orders are orders,” he said laconically, though the expression that overtook you made the corner of his mouth twitch, indiscernible to anyone not trained in the fine art of subtle human gestures.
“I know. I just wish we had more time together,” you admitted, your heartbeat decidedly louder now as it echoed in your ears. You felt your cheeks flush, the sniper studying you as you stared purposefully at his boots.
Those boots came closer. You sucked in a tiny inhalation much too quickly, a breath that you held onto as Crosshair enveloped the point of your chin in his wiry grasp.
“Patience,” he instructed you in a soothing tone, the vertex of his thumb grazing your jawline until it traveled in a downward slope, brushing across your bottom lip. Dark eyes regarded yours as he lifted your head, the clone somehow reassuring you with his gaze alone. You exhaled slowly, nodding lightly in understanding, though deep inside every atom in your being screamed at you not to let him leave.
He knew something was still not quite right.
“Come now, kitten,” he teased, his tone taking on a gentle lilt as he aligned his undoubtedly taller frame against your body, “don’t make such a fuss.” The man towered, dipping low to skim the surface of your lips before he softly applied pressure, your mouth parting to allow his warm tongue to skirt past your teeth and swirl and dance alongside yours.
It was short and sweet, the scruff of his five’o’clock shadow like sandpaper against your skin though you would not complain. Crosshair pulled away, withdrawing a toothpick from out of the confines of his armor as he finally released your chin, his other arm still wholly occupied by his helmet.
“Keep an eye out,” he quipped smugly, placing said toothpick between his pearly premolars, that silver tongue he had used to kiss you rolling it to one side as he shoved it to the corner of his cheek.
You cracked a smile, eyes glistening with tears that threatened to fall but that you somehow managed to maintain. You made to card your fingers through his hair and he allowed it, though he intensely held your gaze. Your palm slipped lower as you desired to cup his well-honed mandible in the crook of your hand. Then, you had the abrupt urge to be mischievous.
You did not think twice as you swiped his toothpick.
“I’ll keep this, too,” you remarked, your smile growing wider as you playfully positioned it to mirror his stance.
He was quick to snatch it back, but only so he could reintroduce his mouth to yours. You exuded a hushed whimper as you melted against his forceful show, Crosshair leaving you a disheveled mess so that he might replace his implement where it rightfully belonged.
“Stay out of trouble,” he directed in reference to your impromptu theft, your mercurial paramour sauntering off deliberately with the knowledge you would be pining for his quick return.
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