The Bad Batch X (reader) - Blog Posts

Too Sweet for a Sarge

Part 1(?)

(Hunter X F!reader)

My first!!

Might be a part 2 (?)

I have been working hard on this one shot or smt and hope you all like it❤️

Heads-up: Fluff, kissing, Hunter is such a dad, matchmaker Omega, helpless Hunter, thinking of you too much 😳, cringe(?), omega being more of an older sister she is to Hunter, might go into she or you, Sorry it’s my first! 😂

Summary:

Omega always noticed how Hunter looks at you, the way his lips would turn up and eyes twinkle a bit whenever you laugh or enter the room. So she decides to take matters into her own hands. 😈

———————

Song reference: Love me by Fia

It’s always brand new to me

See, the butterflies, my palms get sweaty

My thoughts and my heart stay heavy

You got this Kinda affect on me…

——————

——————

“Huntah?”

Hunters ears picks up as the little blonde girl Omega comes into the marauder after a visit with you, Omega would always be with you whenever he or the guys were too busy to watch omega as they help around the village of Pabu.

Ever since they came to visit Pabu months ago and during the Tsunami and rebuilding on Pabu Island they had met you.

You had given them a thank you gift of baked goods from your family’s bakery on upper Pabu which was greatly and safely unharmed from the Tsunami disaster, Hunter never thought you would come into his life, or even knew about it, there was something of you that made him think of you more often than a friendly relationship you both had grown. But he didn’t really overthink it that much

Omega would always go to your family’s bakery to make sweets and such, you always welcome her in as you both make a mess in the kitchen or either make a delicious treat to share with others. He once tried a treat yourself and Omega had created when he went to visit.

But whenever you would go visit them and hand him a treat, he would feel his knees numb up when his eyes would trace the outlines and contour of your face… the way the sun hits your eyes and skin making a soft glow over them… your smile… the light tint on your face when he compliments you… you…

You. You. You. You. You. You—

“Hunter?”

He immediately snapped out of his thoughts of you and felt his face flush red as he looked at Omega, he hoped omega won’t question.

“Yeah, kid?”

He asked the small clone girl as he runs his trembling hand over his flustered face, the face of a man being caught in his thoughts.

Omega raised a brow and step fully into the marauder, reading his face and seeing her brother in his state of embarrassment.

“I just came back from hanging around with (Y/n), are you okay? You look red…”

Kriff.

He rubs his face again and sighed before looking at Omega, he knew he was caught and regrets it.

“Nothing to worry about kid, you go wash up for bed, it’s already late don’t you think?”

“But it’s the afternoon—“

“You heard me.”

Omega groans and walks to the small room in the haul of the marauder to pick her clothes up and head up to the small refresher of the ship, making a sarcastic salute before saying.

“Sir yes sir…”

Hunter huffs a soft chuckle though his nose, he couldn’t believe of how long it’s been… Omega had changed and he wished nothing will ever change that.

———

“Come on Hunter!”

He looks around the area, a breeze of wind in his way as he watched Omega run with Wrecker through the beach, Tech and Echo talking about whatever they had in mind, the scent of the ocean filled his senses in is nose…

And a soft hand, smaller compared to his large and rough calloused hand brushing his.

He looked down to see you in a white dress, shoulders bare and feet against the sand, your sandals in your occupied hand as you weaved your hand in his, he squeezed your hand softly and smile down at you.

“Hunter…?”

“Yeah…?”

You look up at him and smile, your mouth opens to say something until he felt a jab on his side.

——

“HUNTER!”

He jolted up and saw that Omega was waking him up, he groaned and rubbed his face with his hand and look at Omega with a moody look.

“What kid…?”

Omega smiles and points at the small plate of treats on one of the built in tables of the marauder.

“She brought us food this morning, you should’ve seen her! She was wearing a pretty floral dress and she had a hibiscus in her hair! She was so pretty!”

His eyes went wide as she said of your visit, he missed a precious moment and you had already gone.

“Why didn’t you wake me? I could’ve said hi or something”

Omega shook her head and picked up a cupcake from the plate with a white and blue frosting covering the vanilla cake under, with a small coat of pearl candies on it.

“I was about to when she came over, she said it was okay and she didn’t want to disturb your sleep.”

Hunter felt his face grow a light shade a pink.

You’re too sweet for me…

As Hunter thought Omega started to notice signs…

Her brother was in love with you.

She smirked after she finished her cupcake before throwing it in the trash, she began to head to the ramp of the marauder but Hunter spoke up.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Omega shrugged her head and adjusted her blue jacket and took a step out before running out. Hunter sighed and shook his head before standing to stretch.

As he stretched his back he spoke.

“What is she up to…”

——————

Order 66 ended Squad 99...

After counting the board there are 55 tally marks:successful missions.  Add 11 more and that is a total of 66 tallies... 

When the Batch return to their sunken barracks on Kamino for whatever reason there are still only 55 tallies.  We clearly witnessed Wrecker marking the last 11 in the first episode BUT WHATEVER.  

That last mission together is where everything fell apart.  The Jedi Order, the GAR, and The Bad Batch.  Order 66 ended the Jedi Order, as it ended Clone Force 99.  

Get wrecked Echo

❤️💕😂

Kriff Wrecker leave the man be!

So excited to read these!

The Brothers - Royal Bad Batch x Maid FEM!Reader || Fluff, spicy

Synopsis: You're a maid recently hired by a group of brothers who are decorated military men. Their little sister has taken a liking to you.

No. 0 : The Teaser - No specific pairings, fluff, flirting

No. 0.5 : The Rolling of the Ball - No specific pairings, fluff, flirting, suggestive

Absence//Fonder Pt. 2

Summary: The boys surprise you with a trip to your home world and a vocabulary lesson.

Pairing: The Bad Batch x medic fem!reader (pronouns she/her, no physical descriptions, no y/n, pet names)

Warnings: Crosshair, angst (not much I swear!), fluff so sweet you’ll need your dentist, sweet kisses ( the smut happens in chapter 3 😏) but MINORS DNI

Written while listening to “Tell Her You Love Her” by Echosmith

Series playlist can be found here!

Part 1 Part 3

Word count: 3132

Crosshair had been called many things in his life. Talented, cocky, aloof to name a few. No one had ever called him a coward though. It was in his very nature to look at the impossible and find a way.

The odds didn’t matter.

He and his brothers had faced forces that would have given much larger squads pause, and they’d never hesitated. Never felt like they couldn’t get the job done.

Yet there he was, stomach twisted into knots, muscles in his legs twitching with the desire to bolt, afraid. Not afraid of a battalion of clankers, rollies, and spiders.

No. He was afraid of a nat born medic, who clutched Wrecker’s arm like a lifeline during turbulence. A medic who could sew up her own wounded leg without batting an eye, but would discharge her blaster at the sight of an insect. A medic who was the epitome of soft, yet had the power to crush him in the palm of her hand.

He’d never told anyone he cared for them, nor had he asked anyone what they felt for him. Quite frankly he didn’t give a fuck. The fleeting attentions of strangers, whose names he would forget immediately, had been more than enough to scratch the well-concealed itch for a semblance of connection.

Now, you were ruining him without even trying. Punching a hole straight through his carefully crafted armor. Making him weak.

And in a few moments, depending on your reaction, you could break all five of them. Clone Force 99 could be brought to its knees by you in a single instant.

He watched his brothers as they led you towards the location Tech had chosen. Excitement radiated off of you like a sun’s rays. He would never admit it, but he was dying to be wrong this time. He wanted to believe that you could love them. That you could love him.

Blindfolded, you were unable to see the looks of hope and affection etched onto their shared features. You were simply excited for another adventure with them. Hunter’s hands rested securely on your shoulders with your hands over them.

The sergeant had woken you up upon landing with a bandana in hand.

“We’ve got a surprise for you,” he said, as you got dressed.

“Really?” you asked, mind racing as you tried to imagine what it was. It wasn’t your birthday, their decant day, or any other holiday. Not that it mattered. The fact that the five of them had formed a plan to surprise you damn near made your brain short circuit. That showed a level of care and consideration you had rarely even received from people you were seriously dating.

“Yep, gotta make sure you don’t peek though,” he said waving the bandana.

You resisted the urge to make a filthy joke about being tied up for them and instead turned so Hunter could tie the bandana on. The world went dark, and you took a nervous breath until you felt Hunter’s hands on your shoulders, and you relaxed. He would never let anything happen to you.

“Where’s my bucket?” You asked, suddenly feeling naked without it.

“You won’t need it here,” Hunter said, steering you towards the door.

“Is this some kind of initiation thing?” you asked, breaking the silence. “Testing my bravery to prove I’m one of you?”

Wrecker snorted, “That’s a pretty good idea! We could dangle you over a cliff by your ankle?”

“If I don’t scream, I’m in?” You asked with a giggle.

“Grow up, you two,” Crosshair said, and you swore you could hear him rolling his eyes.

“…yes.” Wrecker whispered in answer to your question, setting off more giggles.

“We’ve got a little hike coming up, so one of us will carry you,” Hunter said, as you all came to a stop.

Even blindfolded you knew where all of them were by their steps. You reached for Wrecker, but Hunter caught your hand.

“Wrecker’s got his hands full,” Hunter said, and you could hear a smile in his voice. It made your stomach flip with excitement.

“Ooooh, the plot thickens.” You stepped forward and instead found Tech’s shoulders, wrapping your arms around him. You made a soft noise of surprise, as he grabbed your thighs, and hoisted you off the ground easily.

“Are you comfortable?” Tech asked.

“Yes, sir,” you reply, face pressed against the side of Tech’s helmet.

You hum softly, listening to the sound of your squads’ steps, mind conjuring all sorts of fantastic scenarios for what they could have planned.

It was quiet and warm, and you could hear their boots crunching over dry ground, so you knew you weren’t on Kamino. You had been sleeping for the majority of the trip, and blindfolded before stepping off of the ship, so you couldn’t use the stars for clues.

You hummed softly as the trek continued, occasionally grinning when Wrecker would chuckle at some joke from Echo you couldn’t quite make out. You were close to beginning a round of “Are we there yet?” when Tech stopped, and slowly released his grip on your thighs.

“We have arrived at our intended destination,” he said, as you got your feet under yourself after several minutes of being carried.

Hunter removed the bandana, and you looked around. A small city twinkled in the valley below your position atop a massive hill. You looked to the rich blue night sky above, and connected the stars. Your brow furrowed a moment before the realization hit you. You were home…well, your home world. Home was the Marauder now. A lump formed in your throat, and tears pooled in your eyes.

“You brought me home?” You asked, turning to face them, smiling even as the tears poured down your face.

“We missed you, and we thought this would be a good welcome home surprise,” Echo said.

“It was Hunter’s idea,” Tech supplied.

“Oh, Hunter, this is perfect!” You wrapped your arms around his waist and rested your head against his chest. “Thank you.”

Hunter held you close a moment, before releasing you slowly to smile down at you.

“This is a pretty special spot, you know?” You asked tucking your arms behind your back and rising up on the balls of your feet.

“Yes, I selected it for that very reason. The local population has designated this as a place to share important news with loved ones,” Tech said, clearly proud of himself.

“Right as always, Tech,” you beamed at him. “Planning to share some news?”

“Actually we thought today might be a nice day to teach you some Mando’a, so you know what we’re saying to you,” Hunter said nodding towards Wrecker, who took a deep breath and stepped up to take your hands.

“Finally!” You cheered, buzzing with excitement.

A bright smile lit up your features as you looked up at him. He smiled warmly, eyes roaming your face. You’d only been gone a couple of weeks, but Wrecker had missed you fiercely every moment.

“Well, we call you ‘mesh’la’ cause it means beautiful. Easy to see why. You are beautiful inside and out,” Wrecker said before taking you gently by your arms and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

Your heart jumped and your breath hitched. You cleared your throat and said, “I knew I liked that one.”

He smiled warmly, and stepped to the side, gently guiding you to Echo, who took one of your hands next. He rested his scomplink against your waist, and you held his bicep, as you beamed expectantly at him.

“We call you ‘saraad’ because it means flower. You make every place you’re in brighter, more alive.” Echo kissed your forehead, and you felt anticipation buzzing in your chest. Your heart beat faster than before, as Tech took his place before you could even react.

“Senaar’ika means little bird. You are always eager to take flight whether you are ready or not. Brave, reckless to be certain, but brave nonetheless,” straight to the point as ever, Tech pressed a kiss to your cheek.

You released a shuddering breath, your face warming up under their gentle affections. Am I dreaming? You thought, now scared to move or speak for fear of breaking the spell they were weaving around you.

Hunter hesitated only a moment before resting a hand on your waist, as the other cupped your cheek, his thumb rubbing soothingly over your cheekbone. Your eyes met his, as you placed your hands on his chest and held your breath.

“‘Cyare’ is one you’ve heard more and more lately. The closest word in basic is beloved,” Hunter said, and you knew he’d heard your heart skip a beat before racing away.

“You’re special to us, and we want to keep you close…closer,” Hunter took a deep breath, his warm brown eyes held yours. “We’ve fallen for you, and we hope that’s ok. Nothing has to change if you don’t want it to.”

“You’ve fallen for me? I-, I…I can’t even…” you stammered, simultaneously thrilled and confused. You took a deep breath, lifting one hand to rest over his against your face, the other sliding up to caress his face.

“Is it ok, if I kiss you now?” He asked. You nodded immediately.

He smiled and leaned down to press his lips to yours. You didn’t wake up. His arm wrapped around your waist, and you knew it was real. He pulled back and pressed his forehead to yours.

“Been wanting to do that for awhile now,” he confessed.

“That makes two of us…or maybe 6 of us,” you said with a nervous laugh.

You’d thought of no less than a dozen different scenarios when Hunter had blindfolded you, but you never imagined this could be a possibility. Not even in your wildest dreams did you allow yourself to believe that the 5 amazing men standing before you could care for you the way you cared for them.

There’s a relieved sigh from behind Hunter, and you leaned around him to see Crosshair properly. His eyes were taking you in much like he had upon your return. Drinking you in while he figured out what to say. You looked up at Hunter, and he nodded, stepping back to give you a path to Crosshair. Taking a deep breath, you make your way towards the sniper.

For the first time since you met him, you reached for Crosshair, taking hold of him with confidence. Your eyes met his, a light smile playing on your lips.

“Any special words you wanna teach me, Crosshair?” You asked, hoping your voice was steady.

“You already know my favorite word for you. The one that’s been going through my mind since you left,” Crosshair said quietly, bringing his lips within an inch of yours.

“And what word would that be?” you asked, moving closer to let your lips brush his.

“Mine,” he said before closing the distance between you, kissing you with relief. The first kiss had been almost hesistant, as a part of him was sure he was stealing affection that wasn’t meant for him. But it was meant for him. You wanted him…all of them. You weren’t running away or pulling back. You were in his arms, holding him close like he belonged to you.

Wrecker cleared his throat noisily, and Crosshair broke the kiss to give him a look.

“Just for that, you can go last,” Crosshair sneered, guiding you towards Tech, who pulled you close and let his arms settle comfortably around your waist. Just like before your arms rested over his shoulders, this time your fingers carded gently through his hair.

“I hope that you will be willing to answer a few questions for me, senaar’ika. I have been compiling data for quite some time, and despite today’s success, I still have some theories to test in order to draw definitive conclusions.”

“I’ll indulge your experiments, if you’ll indulge mine,” you said with a mysterious little smile.

“Well, of course, I am more than happy to assist in the pursuit of knowledge,” Tech replied. Happy with your response he leaned in to brush his lips softly over yours. You whined, wanting more, and he pressed closer, letting you feel his need for you. Tech’s kiss was just like him, a curious exploration that left you giddy.

He pulled back, and opened his mouth to say more, but Wrecker cut him off, “Maker, Tech, you can talk her ear off later. We’ve still got another thing to give her!”

“Despite the rudeness of his delivery, Wrecker is correct. We do have another surprise for you,” Tech said, releasing you slowly, as Echo moved close to pull you into his arms.

“I almost slipped up and kissed you last night, so I may need to make up for that,” Echo said, before kissing you slow and deep. You were so sure your heart was actually going to break its way out of your ribcage if they kept going at this rate.

“Stars, Echo, I can think of a few more things for you to make up,” you said breathlessly, as he pulled back with a grin.

“Finally!” Wrecker said, spinning you around and scooping you up into his arms to press the softest kiss of all to your lips. He handled you with such care and affection, you couldn’t help but sigh happily against his lips.

“Kriff me, if I’d known this would happen, I’d have left sooner,” you said with a laugh, as Wrecker set you back down on your feet.

“Well, no more running off to help Cody because we missed you too much,” Wrecker said, caressing your face gently.

“I promise I won’t be doing that again for quite some time,” you confessed.

“Good, because Cross here, was worse than usual,” Hunter teased.

Crosshair scowled and folded his arms. “Just tell her the next surprise.”

“You belong with us no matter what, so Crosshair gave your helmet a little update,” Echo said from just beyond Wrecker, where Hunter and Tech had set up a fire, and a tent. You suspected that’s what had kept Wrecker’s hands full.

Echo straightened up and passed you your bucket. You looked down at it, and a smile slowly spread across your face. A tiny skull and a 99 now adorned your helmet like a kiss on the cheek.

“Cross, you did this for me?” You asked, turning to the sniper. It was difficult to tell in the low light, you could have sworn he was blushing.

“We thought you might like it,” Hunter said.

“I love it.”

***

The six of you gathered around a happily crackling fire, as you finally answered all of their questions about your time away. Crosshair watched you with rapt attention, appreciating all of your little quirks, as you discussed the missions you’d participated in, including the one that had resulted in your injury.

“Still pissed you got shot. Not surprised though. That always happens with regs,” Wrecker said, tightening his hold on your waist, as he held you to his side.

“Hey!” Echo said, leaning around you and gesturing to himself. “I’d never let her get shot.”

“You know I don’t mean you, Echo,” Wrecker said dismissively.

“It’s just a scratch, boys,” you laughed. “There’s barely even a scar.”

“We sent you to Commander Cody with no scratches, and we expected you to come back in the same condition,” Crosshair said gesturing at you with a toothpick.

“Though I would have chosen a less objectifying way to phrase it, I agree with Crosshair,” Tech said, looking up from his datapad. “I would have thought you would be in excellent hands with our Marshal Commander, and not in a position to take damage from a sniper.”

“Awwww, did Cody let your favorite toy get all scuffed? You want a new one?” You asked with a teasing lilt to your voice.

Crosshair shook his head slowly. Tech looked offended at the suggestion.

“And have to break in another one?” Hunter interjected. “No way. You’re stuck with us now.”

“Oh no,” you gasped in mock anguish. “Whatever shall I do? Stuck with my favorite people in the galaxy. Torture.”

You draped yourself dramatically over Wrecker’s legs, much to his amusement. His hearty laughter rumbled out of his chest, as he pulled you close to his chest, so you were sitting in his lap.

“Your favorite people? In the whole galaxy?” He asked, his mismatched eyes full of hope as they focused on yours.

“Absolutely. You have been for awhile,” you confessed. “I hated being away from all of you.” You looked around the fire at each of them before bringing your focus back to Wrecker. “I mean it. I don’t wanna do that again for a good long while.”

Satisfied, Wrecker cupped your face and brought his lips to yours again. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you felt yourself relax against him. His lips moved over yours with a gentle confidence that made you hum low in your throat, and press closer to him.

You broke the kiss, as a yawn forced its way out of you. You were still absolutely exhausted. The thrill of their confession had given you the sweetest sugar high, and you were crashing.

“You require rest,” Tech said, “I will take first watch.”

“I’ll take it,” Crosshair said, shooting a glance at Hunter, who had covered him the night before. He’d gotten you all to himself for several hours, and he knew the others were itching to snuggle with you. He was too relieved to be selfish. For now.

You stood up and stretched, reaching for the sky you’d grown up under before wandering over to Crosshair and kneeling down to press a soft kiss to his lips.

“Come snuggle with me soon,” you whispered.

He nodded, as he watched you rise and make your way into the tent.

“We’ll keep you company, Cross,” Wrecker said with a grin, as Tech and Echo followed you into the tent, and Hunter relaxed on his back to look up at the stars.

“Oh goody,” the sniper replied with a halfhearted roll of his eyes.

***

You’d worried it would be awkward, but going to sleep between Tech and Echo felt as natural as breathing. Echo spooned up behind you, your face against Tech’s chest. The three of you chatted quietly for a little while, while their hands moved over your body absently.

You began to drift in and out of consciousness, despite your desire to stay awake and enjoy their presence.

“Sleep, saraad,” Echo commanded gently. “We’ll all be here in the morning.”

“Promise?” You asked sleepily, as you nuzzled against Tech.

“Promise,” He said, wrapping his arm around your waist.

Warm and safe, you left yourself drift away.

tagging: @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @iamburdened @sunshinesdaydream @mythical-illustrator @the1sunshine1girl @stardusthuntress @thebahdbitch @wings-and-beskar @arctrooper69 @golden-nyx-ghost @iloveallmenandwomen @rexxdjarin @sleepingsun501 @starrylothcat @ladyzirkonia @pb-jellybeans @clio3kantarella @staycalmandhugaclone @ceraryn09 @skellymom @808tsuika

the cross fic made me realize there's not enough tech angsty fanfics

how about a groveling tech trying to get femreader back like they were an item before order 66 tech broke things off, they reunite with the batch later but reader became a very sad person after all that time

an i lied because i thought you deserved better so i pushed you away situation ?

sorry if it's a long ask 😅 first timer here

I like your writing 💕

No worries! I love a detailed prompt.

Writing angst for Tech was harder than I thought it would be tbh. I think his direct communication style and self confidence make it especially difficult, so I took a slight detour here that I feel is more true to his character.

Piece by Piece

Pairing: Tech x fem!Reader

Words: 5,630

Tags/Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, allusions to torture, PTSD

Summary: Pushing you away was the logical decision. It was the right choice. But Tech never expected it to hurt so much, nor did he expect to reunite with you months after the rise of the Empire, broken and haunted by your time spent in Imperial custody. Now, he's determined to make things right.

Being in the same room as you is exceedingly difficult in a way Tech didn’t expect.

It’s been weeks since you returned, appearing like a vision from the Force to them, alive, and he still can’t quite believe it. His hands shake slightly when you look at him, his mouth goes dry. He still wants to reach out to you, hold you tight and never let you go, and it is agony to resist, to stand by your side and not be able to touch you.

You were the one who asked for space, time to readjust to being around them again. And he has respected that, despite the desperate, possessive urge to pull you back, to keep you close so you never leave his side again.

It makes it hard to concentrate. Hard to be of any use at all, really.

Tech knows this isn't healthy, the way his mind and body and emotions are behaving, but he is finding it difficult to control. He has a lot of feelings that he isn’t sure what to do with, a lot of emotions that he doesn't understand. Tech isn't one for emotional outbursts, for being ruled by his heart and not his mind. He is rational, logical, always thinking of the most efficient solution to a problem, the most practical way of doing things.

It’s what lead him to break it off with you, after all. He couldn’t afford to have his head in the clouds when so much is on the line, couldn't afford to be distracted by thoughts of you when they could be used against him.

But then you were gone, and Tech was left alone with only the cold reality of his own decisions.

He thought he had made the right choice. Thought he had been logical and sensible, thought it would hurt you less in the long run, if he pulled away. But Tech doesn't feel very sensible now, and it doesn't seem very logical that the best way to protect you would be to push you away.

You have been hurt more than enough. And even if you don't want him in your life anymore, even if you want nothing to do with him, he will never forgive himself for not trying to help.

The fact is, Tech isn’t sure what you want, but he is determined to make amends, to help in any way that he can. It might hurt, might cause him to feel pain at the distance between you, but he is willing to accept that, to live with it if that is what you need.

What he isn’t willing to live with is seeing you unhappy. And you are unhappy.

Your eyes are dark, hollow. Your face is drawn and gaunt, cheeks too thin, and when he sees you, your shoulders are slumped as though under an impossible weight. You barely eat, you barely sleep. Tech watches as you push food around your plate and drink only water. He notices how you keep to yourself, avoid talking and laughing and joking like you used to, and he hates that you have changed so much, that the Empire has taken that joy from you.

And that, more than anything, is what hurts him the most. The Empire took your light, the thing that makes you, you. They ripped your spark away and left a shell behind, and he is struggling to reconcile that with the bright and lively woman he knew, the woman who had such a profound effect on him.

"On all of us," Echo points out one night, as the rest of them watch you sitting alone.

Echo has become increasingly vocal about his feelings, something Tech is glad for. It gives him a chance to understand better, to gain perspective, and Echo has been the one to notice what Tech can't admit, the thing he isn't willing to think about, the thing that hurts the most.

You're suffering, and you're pushing them away.

At first, it seemed reasonable. You were gone a long time, and they hadn’t seen you. It made sense that you needed space.

But time has passed, and you're still not yourself.

Tech thinks back to your first night, how you flinched away from his touch, and realises how foolish he has been. He sees now how much he was hurting you, how much damage his words and actions were causing, and his heart breaks a little more.

It was never about protecting you. Not really.

Tech wanted you. He wanted you for so long, and when he finally had you, he was terrified of losing you. So, he pulled away. He cut ties, and told himself it was for the best.

Except now he has no ties to cut, no bonds left to sever. You're here, but not, and his chest aches as he watches you.

This isn't the way it should be.

Tech should be holding you, and you should be smiling. He should be telling you how much he loves you, how happy he is to have you back. He should be making sure you're comfortable and safe, ensuring that you have everything you need, everything you deserve.

Instead, he stands in the corner of the room, watching silently as his brothers try to coax you into eating, or drinking, or just saying something. Omega is the only one who is successful, who manages to make you smile.

Tech can't understand it. He tries his hardest, he does his best, and you always turn away.

And the more he tries, the more he feels the ache inside him grow, the more his feelings change, twisting and turning and growing, and he can't keep track of what's happening to him. All he knows is that the idea of losing you is the worst thing he can imagine, and the idea of being without you is becoming unbearable.

He doesn't know how much more he can take.

You've been avoiding him.

No, not avoiding. You've been staying away.

Or maybe, you've been ignoring him.

“She's not talking to me,” Tech admits one evening.

He's curled up in the corner of the cockpit, legs pulled up, head buried in his arms. The rest of the Batch have dispersed, going off to their own bunks to rest or to tinker or to read. Tech is usually the last to retire, but not tonight.

Tonight, his shoulders are slumped and his goggles are pushed up onto his head. He's been scrubbing at his face with the heels of his palms for the past few minutes, trying to work through the thoughts and emotions swirling in his mind.

You're not talking to him.

And yes, maybe it's because you're not talking to any of them, but it still feels personal.

You're not talking, not laughing, not doing anything, really. You’re just there, a shadow of your former self, a ghost.

Tech misses the woman who used to laugh and tease him, the one who could always bring a smile to his face and a blush to his cheeks. The woman who was a whirlwind of color and life, the one who lit up his world and made him see things differently. Who kissed him so deeply and passionately that it felt like his entire world was reduced down to the feel of her lips. He misses her warmth, her kindness, the way she touched him, looked at him.

He misses the way he felt around her.

He misses you.

Tech doesn't know what to do. He can't stop thinking about you, can't stop thinking about what he's done, what he could have done.

What he should have done.

Maybe if he'd tried harder. Maybe if he hadn't given up, hadn't let go. Maybe if he had listened to Hunter, had heard Echo. Maybe if he'd told you the truth, he could have stopped this.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

He sighs, rubbing at his face. He feels miserable, and it's his own damn fault. He's the one who ended things, who pushed you away. And he can't blame you for that, not when it was him who decided that you weren't worth it.

That isn't to say that he didn't care. Of course, he cared. He cares now. So much it hurts.

You are the person he was in love with, the only one. But it didn't seem fair to ask you to share his life, his world, when he couldn't promise that it would always be safe, that it would always be stable. He couldn't give you a future, couldn't provide for you the way a proper partner should, the way you deserve.

He could give you the present, but he couldn't offer you anything else.

And yet, as Tech sits here, head in his hands, he can't help but think that he should have at least tried. If he'd told you how he felt, maybe things would have turned out differently.

“I only ever wanted you,” you had told him once, and Tech can't believe how stupid he was to let you slip through his fingers.

Tech isn't used to feeling helpless. He's used to knowing exactly what he's doing, to being in control. But when it comes to you, it's as if he's floundering. He doesn't know what to do, doesn't know how to act, doesn't know what you want.

He’s tried everything, he's done everything he can, and still, you push him away.

You don't want his comfort. You don't want his love.

He doesn't understand it. You've always seemed happy around him, like his presence brings you some peace. But now, whenever he gets close, you move away. When he tries to talk, you turn your back. When he offers help, you shut him down.

Tech isn't sure why you won't accept his assistance, or why you won't talk to him. It doesn't make sense.

He can't understand, can't rationalize. And he's never felt so lost.

Tech groans, burying his face in his arms. He's being ridiculous, he knows, but he can't help the way he feels.

He misses you.

Tech misses the way your hand fits perfectly in his. He misses the smell of your hair, the softness of your skin, the sweetness of your lips. He misses the way your smile makes him feel like his heart is full, like he can take on the world, like he can conquer anything.

Tech misses the way your body feels against his. The way your fingers feel on his skin. The way your breath catches when he touches you, the way your heartbeat picks up, the way your pupils dilate.

Tech misses the way you made him feel alive.

Tech knows that he isn't worthy of your affection. He knows that he doesn't deserve your love. He's not a good man, not a good partner, not a good friend. He's not the kind of person who should have someone like you, and yet, somehow, you chose him.

But not anymore.

“I only ever wanted you.”

You said those words to him before, and they haunt him. You told him you didn't care about the risks, the dangers, the fact that he couldn't give you the future you deserve. All you cared about was him.

And he threw it away.

Tech isn't sure how long he sits there, wallowing in his misery. He doesn't move, doesn't speak. He just sits, and broods.

“Maybe she just needs time,” Echo says, though his voice sounds doubtful.

Tech shakes his head before pressing the heel of his palm into his forehead.

“She has made it clear that she doesn't wish to speak to me, or see me, or have anything to do with me."

The words sting as he speaks them. His throat is tight, and he swallows hard, trying to hold back the emotion.

"I doubt a little more time will change her mind."

There's a long silence.

Echo leans against the wall beside Tech, his arms folded. He's watching Tech carefully, his gaze piercing. Tech feels uncomfortable, and shifts, ducking his head. He doesn't like being scrutinized, doesn't like being vulnerable. He prefers to keep his emotions in check, his feelings close to his chest.

But he's finding it hard to hide them now, and his pain is obvious, even to himself.

“But she does,” Echo says finally.

Tech glances up, frowning. "Elaborate."

"She does want you," Echo clarifies, his voice gentle. "She loves you. She wouldn't have come back if she didn't.”

Tech doesn't want to admit it, but Echo has a point. If you didn't want anything to do with him, then you wouldn't have bothered to find him. You would have left, disappeared again, and never come back.

You wouldn't have risked your life for him.

Tech isn't sure if that makes him feel better, or worse.

Because it means that you do care, but it also means that you might be willing to sacrifice yourself, and Tech can't have that. He can't let you throw away your life, not for him.

Tech groans, burying his face in his hands. He's being selfish, and he knows it. You're the one who was captured, the one who suffered, the one who nearly died. And yet, all he can think about is how much it hurts.

He's been thinking about how much it hurts him. He hasn't been thinking about what you need.

"What should I do?" Tech asks, his voice small and defeated.

"Apologize," Echo replies simply.

"I have tried," Tech protests, lifting his head. "I have apologized countless times, and she does not want to listen. She doesn't want to speak to me."

"No," Echo corrects. "You've apologized for the wrong things."

"Wrong things?" Tech echoes, frowning.

"Yes, the wrong things," Echo repeats.

Tech isn't sure what Echo means by that, but his brother looks confident, sure of himself. Tech wants to believe him, but he doesn't know how. He's spent so long trying to convince himself that he did the right thing, that he did the only thing, that he can't help but doubt.

"How do I fix it?" he asks, voice quiet.

"That, I can't tell you," Echo replies. "But Tech, the first step is admitting that you were wrong."

Tech nods, letting his shoulders sag. He doesn't feel particularly good about the situation, but he's willing to try. It's not easy, admitting he was wrong. He's so used to being right, to having the answer, to knowing what's best. But when it comes to you, he has never felt so lost.

Tech thinks of the pain in your eyes, the way you flinched from him, the way you turned away.

He has to do better. He has to be better.

He has to earn your forgiveness.

"I was wrong," Tech says, his voice steady and sure. "And I'm going to make it right."

You're standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by medical supplies and overturned cots. Your face is pale, eyes wide and fearful, and Tech isn't sure what to do.

The voice of his brothers and Omega inside his head tell him you need space, but they also remind him that you need someone to look after you. That you need help. That you can't be alone.

Tech hesitates. He isn't used to this, the uncertainty, the not knowing what's best. He's never been particularly good at reading people, and even worse at knowing what they need.

He has never been more unsure than he is now.

He wants to help. He wants to take care of you, to make you feel safe, to give you what you need. But he's terrified of getting it wrong. Especially when you're standing in front of him looking like a startled animal.

You're shaking, and your breathing is fast and shallow. Your eyes are darting around the room, as if searching for something. Tech isn't sure what it is, or if it even exists. You look terrified, and Tech knows you have reason to be. The last time you were in a place like this, the Empire was holding you captive, and he can't blame you for feeling uncomfortable.

Tech has to suppress a shudder as he remembers the footage, the recordings they managed to get from the base. The screams, the cries. They haunted his dreams, and Tech can't even imagine what they did to you.

Tech wants nothing more than to run to you, to take you in his arms and promise that he will protect you. But he can't, not without permission.

Not when he isn't sure you'd even want him to.

So, instead, he stands there, watching. He keeps his distance, gives you the space you need. He's trying his best, but it isn't easy.

She just needs time, he tries to remind himself, but Tech isn't so sure.

He isn't sure if time is enough. He isn't sure if anything will ever be enough.

He watches as you stand there, your hands clenched into fists, your eyes still scanning the room. He watches as your breathing speeds up, your chest rising and falling rapidly. He watches as the panic spreads over your face, your lips pressed together, jaw tight.

You look scared, vulnerable, and Tech's heart breaks a little more.

“Cyare,” he calls out, as quiet and soothing as he can manage. You stiffen, and Tech curses himself for causing you discomfort.

He should have stayed quiet.

But then you turn, and your eyes meet his, and something inside him seems to settle.

You look so sad, so lost, and he can't help it. He walks over to you, careful and slow, making sure not to startle you. When he reaches you, he holds out his hand, palm up. He wants you to know that he is there for you, that he will not hurt you.

He will never hurt you again.

He waits, holding his breath. He's afraid that if he moves, if he speaks, you will run. So, he stands, motionless, watching as you stare at his hand.

Slowly, slowly, you reach out, your fingertips brushing his. The touch is gentle, tentative, and Tech is afraid to breathe.

Then, your hand closes around his, and he exhales.

Tech knows he's taking a risk, touching you, but he can't resist. He can't stand the thought of leaving you alone, the thought of not being able to help. He pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you. He doesn't know what else to do. He wants to hold you, to keep you safe.

He never wants to let you go.

You're shaking, your breath coming in shallow gasps. You're trembling, and Tech knows that this is a big step, that you're taking a chance. So, he holds you, and he waits.

Your body is tense, and Tech is worried that he's overstepped, that he's pushed you too far. But then, slowly, you relax. Your arms wrap around him, your head resting on his shoulder, and he can't help but sigh in relief.

The others are nearby, finishing a sweep of the facility. He should be helping, but he doesn't want to leave your side. Not when you're finally letting him be close to you.

So, he holds you, and he strokes your hair. He whispers quiet reassurances in your ear, tells you that everything will be alright, that he's got you, that you're safe.

He's not sure if you believe him, but he has to try.

He can't lose you again.

Tech is trying.

He's trying his best, but he feels like he's failing.

Every day, every hour, every minute, his mind is filled with thoughts of you.

He thinks about how you're doing, whether or not you're eating, sleeping. He thinks about the nightmares you have, the way your body shakes as you wake, pale and trembling, gasping for air.

He thinks about how his brothers can't seem to calm you, how only Omega is successful, her soft voice and gentle touch somehow bringing you some measure of peace.

Tech can't help but feel that it should be him. It should be him comforting you, not Omega. It should be him easing your pain, not his little sister.

It should be him.

He isn't sure why he can't seem to do anything right. After they left the facility, after you finally started letting him hold you, Tech thought things would get easier.

But they haven't.

You still seem so distant, so far away. You still refuse to eat, to sleep, to talk. And Tech isn't sure how much longer he can handle this.

He's frustrated. Frustrated at himself, at the Empire, at the galaxy. Most of all, he's frustrated at you. Not that he would ever admit it aloud.

You've been through a lot. More than anyone should have to go through. Tech understands that. But he can't help but feel that maybe, just maybe, if you'd been willing to accept his help earlier, things would have been different.

Tech doesn't mean it, not really. He doesn't think that it's your fault. He's just tired, and angry, and frustrated. 

And, if he's being honest, he's a little jealous.

You trust Omega. You open up to her. But you won't even talk to him.

It hurts.

Tech has spent the past few weeks trying to make things right, to show you that he’s changed. But you seem unwilling to let him in, to let him help.

It's infuriating.

Tech knows he shouldn't feel this way, but he can't help it. You were his girlfriend, his partner, his lover. And now, you won't even look at him.

He's trying, but he feels like he's getting nowhere. He wants to help, wants to be there for you. But he can't do anything if you won't let him.

“I’m not sure if this is a good idea,” Omega says, her voice uncertain. Her feet swing over the edge of the bunk across from him, and her brow furrows. “Won’t she be mad?”

Tech sighs, running a hand over his face. He knows that Omega is worried, but he can't sit around any longer. He has to do something.

"She is already upset. I'm not sure anything else could make things worse."

Tech tries to sound convincing, but the truth is, he isn't sure what the consequences will be. He isn't sure what will happen, isn't sure if this is a good idea. But he has to try.

“If you’re sure,” Omega replies slowly.

Tech nods, trying his best to look confident.

"I'm sure."

He isn't.

"Okay."

Omega pulls out her datapad and types the message. Tech watches as she hits send, then lets out a shaky breath. She slides off the edge of the bunk and hurries down the ramp, leaving him alone.

Tech waits, his nerves growing with each passing second.

You are going to hate him for this, he's sure.

But he has to do it. He has to try.

"Tech?"

Your voice is quiet, uncertain. You're standing in the doorway, arms wrapped around yourself, and Tech feels his chest ache at the sight.

You're here.

You're actually here.

"Hello," he says quietly.

“Where’s Omega?” you ask, your voice sharp. You step forward, and the light catches your face. Tech can see the bags under your eyes, the paleness of your skin. You look tired, worn down, and he hates it.

Tech winces. "She's not here."

"Where is she?"

You sound panicked, and Tech doesn't blame you. The last thing he wants is to make you more stressed. But he needs to talk to you, and this is the only way.

"She is fine," Tech says, trying to sound reassuring. "I asked her to leave."

You narrow your eyes, taking another step toward him. You're still clutching your arms, as if you're trying to hold yourself together. Tech wants to reach out, to take your hands, but he knows you'll pull away.

“What do you want, Tech?” Your voice is harsh, but Tech doesn't mind. You're speaking to him, which is more than he's gotten out of you in days.

"I, ah, I wanted to talk," Tech replies, his tone hesitant.

"About what?"

Tech swallows, his throat suddenly dry. "About us."

You frown, folding your arms across your chest. "There is no 'us', Tech. There hasn't been for a long time. You made sure of that."

Your words are sharp, cutting, and Tech can't help but flinch. He deserves them, he knows. But it doesn't make the sting any less. He takes a deep breath, trying to find the words.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was wrong. I shouldn't have ended things."

You stare at him, eyes wide. Tech isn't sure if you're surprised, or just angry. He can't read you, not anymore. He isn't sure if he ever could. He's always felt a little bit of awe, a little bit of fear when it came to you. And now, more than ever, he feels completely lost.

"So why did you?" you ask, your voice tight.

Tech sighs, adjusting his goggles nervously. He's not sure how to answer that. He isn't sure if he even has an answer.

"I was... afraid," he admits, his voice low.

"Afraid of what?"

Tech shrugs, looking away. "Everything. The future, the war, losing you."

You don’t say anything, and Tech takes a deep breath, forcing himself to continue.

“I ran an exhaustive cost benefit analysis, and I had determined that the risks far outweighed the benefits. I could not continue our relationship knowing that I would most likely hurt you. In my mind, I needed to end things before they went any further. Before you were able to become attached.”

"I was already attached," you whisper, your voice cracking. "I was already in love with you."

Tech's heart stutters.

"You were?" he asks, his voice quiet.

You nod, biting your lip. Tech feels his stomach twist, a mixture of guilt and hope rising in him. You were in love with him. You are in love with him. And he has hurt you more than he ever thought possible.

"I was a coward," Tech says quietly. "I knew if we had gone any further, and I were to hurt you, it would have caused me immense emotional pain. And, in the process, I would have risked my ability to perform at optimal efficiency, and that would have resulted in harm to the rest of the squad."

Tech looks up, meeting your gaze. "I didn't want to hurt you, and I didn't want to put the squad at risk. But in the end, I failed at both."

You frown, and Tech can tell that you're trying to understand.

"So, let me get this straight," you begin, your voice strained. "You broke up with me, because you thought it was the best option for everyone involved."

Tech nods, his expression pained.

“That’s not for you to decide, Tech. I can make my own decisions. And, I decided to be with you. But instead, you made the decision for both of us, and you didn't even bother to ask my opinion."

“I knew that if I had discussed it with you, you would have tried to convince me otherwise,” Tech explains, his voice soft. “And I wasn't certain I would be able to resist your arguments."

You shake your head, an incredulous look on your face. "So, basically, you dumped me because you couldn't trust yourself to make a logical decision?"

Tech's shoulders slump, and he nods, his head bowed.

"That is correct. It is also…” He looks at his hands, his expression pained. “For all of my unique modifications, I am still a clone. I am still expendable. But you, you are not. You are more important. You are special." He hesitates, swallowing hard. "You are irreplaceable."

Tech can see tears gathering in your eyes, and he feels a fresh wave of guilt wash over him. He never meant to hurt you, but it seems he has managed to do just that. And now, he doesn't know how to fix it.

"Tech, no." You shake your head. "You're not expendable. None of you are."

"That may be the case," Tech concedes. “But at the time I could not see a future in which the two of us could have a happy life together. Not with the way things were, not with the risk we faced. So, I chose the safest option."

"But we could have figured it out, Tech. We could have found a way."

Tech shakes his head, his expression weary.

"I was not willing to take the risk. I was not willing to gamble with your safety, with your happiness. It was a decision I had to make. For all of our sakes."

You are quiet for a moment, your expression thoughtful. Tech can see the pain in your eyes, the hurt and betrayal, and he wishes he could take it all away. He wishes he could erase his mistakes, undo his actions.

"You made the wrong choice," you say at last, your voice low.

"Yes, I did," Tech admits, his voice quiet. "I was wrong. About a great many things."

He looks up, his gaze meeting yours.

"But I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make things right. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to prove to you that I'm serious, that I want to fix things."

"Why?"

"Because I love you," Tech says, his voice breaking.

Your eyes widen, and you suck in a breath. Tech can see the surprise in your expression, the shock. He knows you didn't expect him to say it, to admit it. But it's the truth. And Tech can't hide it any longer. He can't pretend.

He has to be honest. Even if it means losing you.

"I love you," he repeats, his voice stronger this time. "I always have. I've never stopped. I didn't think I was capable of loving anyone, not like this. But, you changed that." He pauses, swallowing hard. "I don't want to lose you, cyare. Not again. Not ever."

"Tech."

You say his name softly, your voice cracking. Tech can see the tears welling in your eyes, and his chest aches. He wants to take you in his arms, wants to kiss away the pain, but he knows he can't. He knows he has to let you decide. He has to let you choose.

You step forward, and his breath hitches in his chest. You're so close, so near, and Tech wants nothing more than to hold you. But he doesn't. He stays where he is, waiting.

You reach out, your hand cupping his cheek, and Tech leans into the touch, savoring the warmth of your skin. You're looking at him, your eyes searching his, and Tech hopes that you can see the truth in them, the sincerity. He hopes that you can feel how much he loves you, how much he needs you.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice breaking.

You nod, and he can see the tears streaming down your cheeks. Tech wants to wipe them away, but he doesn't move. He stays where he is, watching you, waiting. You're still staring at him, and Tech feels a flicker of hope bloom in his chest.

"I'm sorry, too," you whisper, your voice raw. "I'm sorry I shut you out. I'm sorry I pushed you away. I'm sorry for everything."

You pause, biting your lip. "I love you, Tech. I never stopped. And, I don't want to lose you, either."

Tech's heart swells, and he can't stop the tears that come, or the smile that spreads across his face. You're looking at him with such tenderness, with such love, that he can't help but reach for you, pulling you close, wrapping his arms around you, holding you tight. You melt into his embrace, your arms winding around his waist, your face buried in his chest. 

Tech can feel your tears, wet against his skin, and he runs a hand through your hair, trying to soothe you. You cling to him, your grip almost desperate, and Tech feels his heart break a little more.

You've been through so much, endured so much pain, and he was part of it. He was responsible for it. And he doesn't know how to make it better. He doesn't know how to take away the hurt, the betrayal, the fear. All he can do is hold you, and promise to never let you go.

"Cyare," he breathes, his voice choked with emotion. "You will never lose me. I am yours. Always."

And then, you lift your head, and his eyes meet yours, and Tech can't stop the surge of emotion that rushes through him. You're so beautiful, so perfect, and he can't believe how lucky he is. 

You're the best thing that has ever happened to him, the only thing that has ever made him feel alive. And now, here you are, in his arms, telling him you love him. It's everything he's ever wanted, everything he's dreamed of. And it's real. You're real. You're here. And you're his.

"I love you," Tech whispers, and then he leans in, capturing your lips with his.

The kiss is soft, gentle, filled with everything he's feeling, everything he can't say. And when you pull away, Tech's heart skips a beat, and he wonders how he ever thought he could live without you.

"I love you," you whisper back, and Tech can't stop the smile that spreads across his face, the tears that sting his eyes. He holds you tight, and the world seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you.

He's never letting you go again.

Promises Made (pt. 3/3)

Part One | Part Two

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

Words: 10,651 / 23,314

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

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

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

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

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

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

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

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

"We should head back," he says quietly.

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

"Hey."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You should keep it," Crosshair says.

"I can't. It's his, I—"

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

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

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

"But—"

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

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

"Thank you," you whisper.

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

Your heart swells, and your throat tightens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sighs. "Liar."

"I'll manage."

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

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

"If it'll help."

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

"Are you serious?"

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

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

"Really?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I can walk," you protest weakly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But I—"

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

"Cross, really—"

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

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

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

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

"Sorry," Crosshair mumbles, his voice hoarse.

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

"I won't look."

"Crosshair, I—"

"I'll just close my eyes, and—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crosshair blinks, as though coming out of a daze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Up," he orders.

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

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

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

"It is."

"What happened wasn't your fault."

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

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

"I'm fine," you protest.

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

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

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

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

"It's just—"

"Hush."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I can move—"

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

"You're bossy."

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

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

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

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

"Is this okay?" he murmurs.

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey," you whisper back.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better."

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

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

"Don't," he mumbles.

"Don't what?"

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

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

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

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

"Good," he breathes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Make me," you tease.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are we doing?" you ask.

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

"That's not what I mean."

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. "I do."

"How?" he asks, his voice hoarse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don't want to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please," you whimper.

"Patience," he says, his voice thick.

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

"Please," you beg, your voice needy.

"Not yet," he murmurs.

"Why not?"

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

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

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

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

"Cross," you whimper, your voice breaking.

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

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

"Behave," he orders.

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

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

"Spread your legs," he commands.

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

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

"Please," you whimper.

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

"I want you, Cross. Please.”

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

"I'm close," you breathe.

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

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

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

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

"Yeah," he agrees.

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

"You're shaking," you say.

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

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

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

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

"Neither do I."

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

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

"Fuck," he breathes.

"What is it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Come for me," he growls.

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

“Please,” you whimper. “I need you.”

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

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

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

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

"Are you ready?" he asks.

"Yes," you breathe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Harder," you beg.

"No."

You huff, frustration rising in you.

"Please."

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

"You won't."

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

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

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

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

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

"And you're impatient."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fuck," he groans. “You’re so tight.”

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

"I want you to come," you whisper.

"Not yet."

"Please."

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

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

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

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

"Shhh," he hushes.

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

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

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

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

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

"Ready?"

"Yes," you whisper.

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

"Please," you beg.

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

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

"Cross," you gasp.

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

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

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

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

"I'm close," he rasps.

“Me too,” you manage.

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

"Fuck," he groans. "I'm—“

“Inside me," you moan. "Please."

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

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

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

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

"Are you okay?" he murmurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Let me," he says softly.

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

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

"Hi," you say shyly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you," he murmurs.

"For what?"

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

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

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

"I'm not—"

"I am," you say firmly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh," you say.

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

"I love you too," Crosshair whispers.

"Yeah?"

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

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

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

"Cross," you murmur.

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

"It's okay," you say.

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

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

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

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

"Okay," you say slowly, hesitantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He blinks at you. "What?"

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

"Really?"

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@arctrooper69 @heidnspeak @kindalonleystars @totallyunidentified @cw80831

@lovelytech9902 @etod @lordofthenerds97 @umekohiganbana @chocolatewastelandtriumph

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

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

@dindjarins1ut @resistantecho

Promises Made (pt. 2/3)

Part One | Part Three

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

Words: 7,387 / 23,314

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

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

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

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

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

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

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

But you aren’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He blinks, clearly confused. "What?"

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

“That easy, huh?” Crosshair scoffs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don't need protecting."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?” he growls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Get what?"

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

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

"Fucking obnoxious."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"An honest pain in the ass."

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

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

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

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

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

"Shut up."

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

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

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

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

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

"I can't."

"Why not?"

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

"That's not what I—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you."

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

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

"You know me."

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

"Understood."

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

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

You blink. “Are you sure?”

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

"Never."

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

"Well, that was easy," Crosshair drawls.

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

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

Great, you think, just great.

"You should have brought a coat."

"Shut up."

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

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

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

You huff.

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

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

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

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

You frown, leaning forward.

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

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

You nod. He sighs.

"Great."

"You can stay here if you’re scared."

"I'm not scared."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Didn't say you were."

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

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

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

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

"How much farther is this thing?"

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

"You're a terrible liar."

"Shut up, Cross."

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t have to come, you know.”

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

“Why are you here, Crosshair?”

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

He doesn't say anything.

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

Finally, he speaks, and the words are strained. 

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

You scoff. "Is that really all?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I can't—"

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

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

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

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

You were tired of hurting.

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

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

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

The thought is quickly quashed when he speaks.

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

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

You should've known better.

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

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

"Don't—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I have!"

"So have I!"

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

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

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

"Not hard enough," you spit back.

"How the hell am I supposed to—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And what do you deserve?"

"Nothing."

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

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

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

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

He really believes it.

He truly thinks that he deserves nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thanks," you mumble, pulling away.

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

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

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

A part of you that's always cared.

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

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

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

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

"Here."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm fine."

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

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

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

You open your mouth, then close it.

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

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

"It's the burn marks," Crosshair says, after a moment, his voice low.

You stop.

"In the walls," he adds, when you don't respond. "That's why you stopped, isn't it?"

You turn, and he's standing there, his helmet tilted, his posture rigid. He says your name quietly. “What are we really here for?”

You sigh. There isn’t any fight left in you, not now, and you can’t bring yourself to lie. 

“My Master’s body.”

Crosshair inhales sharply, and his shoulders tense. He doesn’t move, and the silence is stifling.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would it have changed anything?"

He pauses, considering. "Maybe," he says, his voice low, "but I still would've helped you."

Your fingers twitch at your side. It's a struggle, but you keep your emotions in check. You're not sure if he's being honest, if he's telling the truth, and the uncertainty makes your stomach twist, tangling with the grief that threatens to swallow you whole.

"I couldn't..." You trail off, your throat tight.

You don't have the energy to lie, and your eyes burn. You want to say it, want to tell him how much it hurts, but the words are lodged in your throat. You're afraid, afraid that once you start, you won't be able to stop, and the fear keeps the truth from spilling out.

The moment stretches on, and his fingers brush your shoulder. It's a simple touch, one that's barely there, and it's so unexpected that it takes you by surprise.

He squeezes gently, and the contact is grounding, comforting, and it feels so good that it makes your chest ache.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice is thick with emotion.

You turn, and his helmet is tilted downwards. You know he's looking at you, his eyes boring into you with a heaviness you can't decipher.

"I need to find him," you whisper. You hate how vulnerable you sound. His hand tightens on your shoulder, and you swallow. "I need to..."

"We'll find him," he says, and his tone leaves no room for argument.

"Thank you," you manage. The words sound strange coming from your mouth.

He nods, releasing your shoulder. You miss his touch, and you have the urge to reach for him, to take his hand, but you push it down.

"We'll find him," he repeats.

You nod, and the two of you continue down the corridor. The hallway opens up into a larger room, and you glance around, looking for a clue, a sign, anything. But the sleet has left the space dark, blocking the light from the windows.

"There's nothing here," you say, defeated.

"There has to be," Crosshair insists.

You turn to look at him, and his helmet is pointed in your direction. He's staring at you, the intensity of his gaze causing your skin to prickle.

"There's nothing," you repeat.

"We'll keep looking."

"There's nothing, Cross."

"We'll keep looking," he repeats, and the steel in his voice is enough to make you waver.

You shake your head, frustrated, but before you can speak, the ground lurches beneath your feet.

"What the—"

Crosshair's arm wraps around your waist, and he yanks you forward, his grip on your jacket so tight you're sure it's going to rip. The ship groans, and the ground lurches again, and this time, you can hear the sound of metal scraping against metal.

"Shit," you mutter, gripping his shoulders. "The ground, it's—"

"I know."

You look down, and the ground beneath you is shifting. You can see the cracks spreading, and the ship starts to tilt, and you realize the ground isn't the only thing that's changing.

"We need to move," you say.

Crosshair doesn't need to be told twice, and the two of you start toward the hallway. You're not fast enough, though, and the ground shifts violently, the force of the impact sending you flying.

You scream, and Crosshair curses. He lunges, wrapping an arm around your waist, and your body slams into his.

The two of you hit the ground hard, and the impact knocks the wind from your lungs. You roll, and your stomach drops as the ground disappears beneath you. Crosshair grunts, and his hand digs into your hip, holding onto you tightly. The ship tips, and you slide down the slick metal floor, heading straight for the gaping chasm.

You let out a panicked cry, and the world goes sideways as Crosshair grabs onto a railing. You can see the bottom of the ship, hundreds of feet below, and you have a fleeting moment of panic.

Your command of the Force is still shaky, and there's a good chance that the two of you will plummet to your deaths if you try to slow your descent. Your heart is in your throat, but then Crosshair pulls, his grip strong, and he hauls you over the edge. 

Your boots scrape against the ground as he pulls you upwards, and you feel your feet catch on the edge. You gasp, relieved, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

He pulls the two of you onto the platform, and his arms wrap around you, crushing you against his chest.

"Are you hurt?" he pants, his chest heaving.

You shake your head, and you can feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You squeeze your eyes shut, clinging to him, and you realize he's trembling.

"I've got you," he says. "It's okay, I've got you."

Crosshair doesn't let go, and his breathing is ragged. Your hands curl around his shoulders, and you lean into him, the contact calming. You can feel his heartbeat, and the rhythm is quick, erratic. You stay like that for a long moment, neither of you moving.

You're not sure who moves first, but his arms relax, and you shift, pulling away. He releases you, his hands sliding to your waist. He's still shaking, and his helmet is tilted downward, his gaze focused on you.

"Are you okay?" you ask, and your voice is a little too high.

He nods. "I'm fine."

Your lips press into a thin line, and he must notice your disbelief, because he lets out a shaky laugh. "I will be," he amends.

You nod, and you can't seem to look away. He's still gripping your waist, and his gloves are slick with rain. You can feel his fingers digging into your skin, and despite the chill, the contact is grounding.

"You saved me," you say, your voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah."

You're not sure what to say. There's a part of you that wants to thank him, a part of you that wants to pull him close and wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his chest. It's a strange feeling, one that you haven't felt in a long time, and you struggle to push it down.

Instead, you say the only thing you can think of. "Thanks."

He shrugs, as though it's no big deal. "It's my job."

"No, it's not."

"Yes," Crosshair starts, his tone firm. You blink, and he's leaning down, his helmet inches from your face. Your heart pounds in your chest, and your fingers curl into his shoulders. His grip tightens on your waist, and you can feel his breath through his vocoder. "It is."

"I—"

"We can argue about this, or we can keep going."

"Right." You nod, pulling away. His grip lingers, and then his hands fall, and you feel cold without them. "I mean, you're right."

You can hear him exhale, and he pushes himself up, holding a hand out to you. 

"I usually am," he says as he hauls you to your feet, and there's a hint of a smile in his voice.

"Asshole," you mutter, pushing past him.

"Brat," he says, following close behind.

You climb through a hole in the floor, and you're surprised to find the hallway intact. You walk cautiously, your senses alert, and your steps are slow. The hallway ends at a door, and the panel is cracked, but the lock still works.

The door slides open, revealing a small, dimly lit room. A window looks out onto the snow, and there's a bed, and a chair, and a desk. You look around, and a lump forms in your throat. The bed is made, the covers neatly tucked. A holoprojector sits on the desk, and a stack of books is piled in the corner.

"This was his quarters," you say.

Crosshair doesn't answer, and the quiet is unnerving. You cross the room, your heart hammering in your chest. You stand beside the bed, and your hands curl into fists. You can feel his presence behind you, but he doesn't speak.

"What do we do now?" you ask, your voice sounding far away to your ears.

"Look for clues," he says. "Anything that could point us to where his body is."

You nod, and the two of you search the room. You're not sure what to expect, and you're not even sure what you're looking for. You pick up a datapad on the bed, but the device is blank.

Crosshair is rummaging through the desk drawers, and you walk over to him. He's looking at an open drawer, head tilted. You peer around him, and your breath catches in your throat.

There's a few pieces of flimsi, and a stylus, and a data card. But what makes your heart skip a beat is the stone. It's small, no bigger than your palm, and the surface is smooth, black with a white streak bisecting it.

"I can't believe he kept it," you say, and your voice cracks.

"Kept what?" Crosshair asks, and you can hear the confusion in his voice.

"The stone. I gave it to him when I was a Padawan."

"Why?"

"I don't know," you admit. "I was always giving him gifts. I used to think they were the only way he'd know I cared about him."

Crosshair looks down at you, and his voice is softer than you've ever heard it. "I'm sure he knew."

"You think so?" you ask, and your eyes burn.

"Yeah."

You nod, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill down your cheeks.

"It's just..." Your voice trails off, and you clear your throat, trying to dislodge the lump that's formed.

"It's okay," he says, his hand resting on your shoulder.

"No, it's not. He's dead, Cross, and I wasn't here. I was supposed to be here, but I wasn't."

"That's not your fault," he says, and his other hand lifts, resting on your opposite shoulder.

"I know, but..."

"You couldn't have done anything."

"But I—"

"Stop." His voice is firm, and his grip on your shoulders tightens.

"Cross..."

"Shut up and listen," he says, and his tone leaves no room for argument. "You did the best you could. You were fighting a war, you were doing what was right."

You nod, but the guilt is overwhelming. You force yourself to look up at him. His hands are still on your shoulders, and his helmet is tilted down, his gaze on you.

"It wasn't your fault," he repeats.

His thumbs press gently against the hollow of your collarbones, and his touch is soothing. You take a shaky breath, and his grip loosens, one hand sliding from your shoulder to your face. His thumb brushes across your cheek, catching a tear. You inhale sharply, and his fingers cup your jaw, and you lean into his touch.

"Thank you," you manage, your voice breaking.

"It's going to be okay," he says. "I promise."

"Cross—"

"I mean it," he says. Crosshair grabs your hand, and you let him manipulate your fingers until only your littlest one remains facing up. He curls his around yours, squeezing gently.

"Promise?"

He nods. "Promise."

Your lips twitch up, and he squeezes your finger again, his grip firm. His other hand cups the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, and he pulls you against his chest, holding you tight. You wrap your arms around his torso, burying your face in his chest plate.

You stay like that for a moment, closing your eyes as his fingers run through your hair. You sigh, leaning into him, and you can hear his breathing through his vocoder. His hands are warm, and he's solid, and he smells like leather, and blaster oil, and rain.

"We should keep looking," you say, but you don't want him to let go.

Crosshair hesitates, then nods, his grip on your hair loosening. His hand slides from the back of your head to your jaw, and he tilts your chin up, staring down at you.

"Okay?"

You nod, and his thumb strokes the apple of your cheek. His touch is so soft, and you can feel his gaze on you. He lingers, and you wonder if he's going to say something, but he doesn't. Instead, his fingers tighten on your face, and he leans down.

His forehead presses against yours, and his hands fall away. He exhales, and his breath fans across your lips before he pulls away.

The absence of his touch leaves you cold, and your chest aches, the space between your ribs feeling too tight. You blink, and Crosshair is gone, already walking across the room.

He starts rummaging through the closet, and you shake yourself, clearing your throat. You turn to the desk, and you pick up the stone. Your thumb runs over the surface, feeling its imperfections. 

Suddenly, you gasp. A memory flashes through your mind, one that doesn't belong to you.

"What is it?" Crosshair asks, instantly alert.

"I know where he is."

Taglist: @covert1ntrovert @bruh-myguy-what @huntersnikeheadband @thebadbatchfan @absolfan @winchesters-girl @sukithebean @spicy-clones @arctrooper69 @qvnthesia

Promises Made (pt. 1/3)

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

Words: 5,234 / 20,200

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! angst, hurt/comfort, themes of grief/death/mourning, protective!Crosshair, everyone is bad at feelings, this part is at least 50% bickering, smut in part 3

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

A/N: This is my longest work yet, so I decided to split it up into parts. But if you’re just here for the smut, don’t worry, the emotional edging is worth it! It’s my first time writing Crosshair so please let me know how I’m doing.🤞 Part two will be posted same time next week.

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“I’ll be back before you know it.” You pat Omega’s head, smiling warmly down at the young girl as she clings to you. It hurt to leave her again, but you were going to be gone for a few days at most, not weeks.

Still, her grip doesn’t let up, and her gaze is turned downwards. Things had slowly gone back to normal since you all returned to Pabu from Barton IV, with the exception of Omega’s reluctance to let any of you out of her sight. 

That, and how Crosshair had been acting, which was to say he was avoiding you at all costs.

That was fine with you. The others may have forgiven him, but you weren't so ready to let bygones be bygones. You could tolerate being in the same room as him, but that was as far as you were willing to go. At least until you could figure out why you were still so upset.

And it was frustrating, not being able to put your finger on the cause of your irritation. Crosshair hadn't apologized, but you expected as much. He wasn't the type. You had already forgiven him for betraying the team and refusing to come back, but something was still keeping you from completely letting go.

It was unbecoming of a Jedi, you knew that, but you couldn't shake off your resentment.

It didn't help that his behavior was confusing. The day you got back, the others had gone about their usual routine. But not Crosshair. He was more quiet and standoffish than ever, but it didn't seem directed at anyone. It was almost like he was uncomfortable, and not just in general, but with being around you.

You knew he was spending most of his time by the water, though you never saw him when you went out there yourself. Just his rifle, sitting on the rocks.

The others insisted it was a good sign that he was taking the time to process everything. You didn't have the heart to tell them that you could still sense him through the Force whenever you went out, and his unrest was clear. The tremble of his hand, his uneven breaths, his mind racing, all of it.

The only other time you felt him was when you were alone in your room. You were trying to meditate when he walked past. You could feel his eyes on you, could feel him hesitating at the door, before he ultimately chose to move on.

The thought of confronting him made you anxious. You didn't know what would happen, and you didn't know if you wanted to find out. 

For now, you just wanted to keep your distance and get your anger under control. Leaving for a few days to take care of your own problems will give you the space you need, and hopefully, things will go back to normal once you get back.

"Omega?" you ask, trying to get her attention. She finally looks up at you, and you see the concern in her eyes. Your heart aches, and you kneel down, pulling her into a tight hug.

“I know,” she finally whispers.

She doesn't want you to leave. But you were.

The mission would only take a day or two, and then you'd be back. One of your old contacts had called in, saying that she had some intel you needed. You didn't have the full story, but that wasn't going to stop you from dropping everything to answer. You'd been waiting over a year for a call like this, and you needed to see it through on your own.

So you kneel, meeting Omega eye to eye. You hold out your little finger, and she sighs, unmoving. You wiggle it, drawing a soft laugh from the girl.

You’d taught her how to pinky swear not long after you rejoined the Batch. It was a sort of tradition between you and your Master, and him and his, and so on. 

The promise was more sacred than a verbal one to you, even if it was more juvenile than others. It meant that the person who sealed the deal was obligated to fulfill their promise, or face a lifetime of bad luck. 

Of course, you never believed that part, but you liked the sentiment behind the gesture.

"I promise I'll be back," you whisper, "don't finish Spaceworld without me, okay?"

"Okay," Omega mumbles, a weak smile on her lips. She takes your pinky with hers, and the two of you shake. "You promise you'll be safe?"

"Always," you tell her, low and serious.

Hunter watches the exchange, nodding his approval. He doesn't understand the point of the ritual, but he knows enough to know that Omega feels better. And that you'd keep your word.

Your eyes meet his and he nods, silently telling you to hurry and get going. You straighten and turn toward the Marauder, your bag slung over your shoulder, and start off.

Before you can step foot on the ramp, a voice stops you in your tracks, and your blood runs cold.

“You’re leaving?”

Crosshair steps out from under the shadow of the archway behind you, and you spin around. His eyes narrow when you face him, his hands clenched tightly around his rifle. He stands stiff, as though waiting for a fight.

You're surprised by his presence, surprised he's even talking to you, but your expression doesn't betray the shock. Your brow furrows as you regard him, trying to figure out his angle.

“I’m meeting up with a contact for a mission. I won't be gone long. Two days, maybe less, if everything goes according to plan." 

You don't want to explain further, and your tone leaves no room for argument. But Crosshair has never been one to listen to what you want.

He takes a step forward, his eyes flitting over to Hunter for a brief moment, before looking at you again.

"Who's going with you?"

You frown. "What does it matter?"

"Who's going with you?" he repeats the question, slower, a hint of anger lacing his words.

You're silent for a moment, trying to figure out his ulterior motive. You didn't want to tell him, but if he wasn't going to give up, it might just be easier.

"No one," you answer, the words spilling out. "Just me."

The second the words leave your lips, you know you've said the wrong thing. Crosshair's expression morphs into one of fury, his jaw clenched, his brow furrowed.

"You’re letting her go alone?” he asks, turning toward Hunter with an accusatory look. You bristle at the remark, the need to defend yourself growing stronger.

Hunter sighs, running a hand through his hair. He glances at you, and you stare back. You were determined to handle this alone, and while Hunter didn't like it, he understood. So you'd made a deal, the same one you made with Omega, that you'd return quickly and come back alive.

He gives a subtle nod, and you return it.

“I’m not ‘letting her’ do anything. She's an adult, she can do whatever she wants," he answers, crossing his arms. Crosshair's head snaps toward him, his mouth open, but Hunter cuts him off, "Besides, she said she could handle it, and I believe her."

Hunter's words should have made you happy, should have filled you with a sense of pride, but instead all you feel is dread.

If Crosshair had looked angry before, he was downright furious now. His expression morphs from shock to frustration, and his glare shifts from Hunter to you.

You're taken aback by the change. Crosshair had never looked at you like that, not even when he left the squad and you behind.

The look is gone before you can question it, replaced by a steely resolve. He stalks past you, his shoulder brushing yours as he climbs the ramp of the ship.

He doesn't say anything else, doesn't even spare a glance in your direction, and you stare after him, mouth agape, until you realize what he's doing.

"Absolutely not," you snarl, stomping up the ramp behind him. You move to grab his shoulder, but he shrugs you off. "You are not coming with me. I don't want or need your help."

Crosshair ignores your protests, dropping into the copilot's seat. He begins going over the controls, his brow furrowed.

"I don't remember inviting you," you snap. "Get out."

"Don't you mean thank you?" He doesn't turn to look at you, doesn't even spare a glance, as he answers.

"I will thank you when you leave," you seethe. You take a step forward, reaching for his shoulder again. You want him out, and if you have to drag him off the ship, you will.

But he's quicker than you, spinning around to catch your wrist. His hand trembles slightly as he holds it, his grip tightening for a fraction of a second before he releases you.

"You're welcome."

He turns away again, focusing on the control panel, and you growl, frustrated. You can feel your anger bubbling beneath the surface, and you know if you don't calm down, it'll spill over.

"Cross," you start, slowly, trying to keep the venom from your voice, "I don't want you to come with me."

"And I don't want you to leave, but here we are."

He doesn't sound angry anymore, doesn't sound anything, really, but his tone still sets you on edge.

"Look, I know you don't like it, but--"

"Then don't go," he interrupts, his fingers gripping the armrests.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. This was pointless. He isn’t listening to a word you’re saying, and the longer you argue, the longer it will take for you to get off world. If you don’t get going soon, you’ll be late.

"Fine," you hiss, moving to the pilot's seat. "Do whatever you want."

"Good," he replies, his tone sharp. He leans back in the chair, his arms crossed. 

You buckle in and begin the startup sequence, ignoring him. You try to focus on the task at hand, but his presence is distracting, and it takes you a minute longer than usual to finish prepping the ship.

He's still tense, and so are you, but the tension is different. It's uncomfortable, the atmosphere too quiet and too loud all at once. Neither of you speak, and the only sounds are those of the Marauder starting up and the distant chatter of the others outside.

You focus on getting the ship into the air, and Crosshair stares at the ceiling. When you've cleared the planet, you set the coordinates and the ship jumps into hyperspace.

The silence continues. You hate it. You hate how tense things have been, how awkward, how strained.

You don't like him, not anymore, and he's made it clear he doesn't like you, but you were stuck with each other now. You were on a mission, and you didn't have time to sit and stew in your emotions.

"I have a job to do," you say, finally breaking the silence. "It's nothing major, just an exchange. Intel for credits. If you're going to come, then don't get in my way."

Crosshair says nothing, and you don't turn to look at him, but you hear him shift in his seat, the fabric rustling.

"Fine," he responds after some time, his voice quiet. "So what are they giving you?"

You glance over at him, startled by his sudden interest, and you're not sure how to respond. He stares back, his face blank, his expression carefully neutral. It's hard to read him, and while you can't sense any negative emotion from him, you don't trust it.

You fidget, wringing your hands in your lap. This was a bad idea. You shouldn't have told him. He was going to judge you for it, or worse, mock you.

You open your mouth to reply, but the words don't come out. What were you supposed to tell him? The truth?

No.

"Doesn't matter," you murmur, turning away from him.

You wish he'd let the conversation drop. You weren't ready for him to know. You weren't even sure if he'd understand.

"It obviously does, or you wouldn't be this worked up about it," he counters. His voice is quiet, but his tone is firm.

"I'm not worked up." You cross your arms, staring out the viewport.

"Sure you're not." 

You can practically hear him roll his eyes, and it makes you angrier.

"I'm not!"

"Okay, okay. Just calm down."

"Stop telling me what to do," you growl, shooting a glare in his direction.

"Stop being so stubborn, and I will."

"Why do you even care, anyway?”

He flinches slightly, and you can see his expression soften as you hold his gaze, watching as he searches for a response. It takes him a second, and you observe in real time as the walls go back up, his face morphing into a neutral mask.

"I don't."

"Then stop acting like it," you say, rolling your eyes.

He tenses at your words, and he doesn't respond right away. You think he's finally dropped the subject, but he pushes further, his tone cold. "Why do you need it?"

"It's none of your business."

"You're my business,” he says, quick and sharp.

Then, his eyes widen, and his mouth snaps closed. He's clearly as surprised by his response as you are, and the two of you stare at each other in silence, your heart pounding.

"Oh." 

You're not sure what else to say. The two of you aren't friends, aren't anything, but the weight of his statement doesn't go unnoticed.

You can't figure out if he means it.

You're not sure what to think.

"I mean..." he starts, but doesn't finish. He looks away, clearing his throat. 

"It's fine," you interrupt, not wanting to make things more awkward. The tension is back, and you hate it, but at least you've reached an understanding.

There's nothing between you, not anymore.

Crosshair's quiet, and you're grateful for the silence. You take a deep breath, letting the air out slowly. You'd have time to unpack that later, but right now you had to focus on the mission. You could worry about him when this was over.

After a moment, he turns toward you, his gaze flitting over your face. He doesn't look mad, and his expression is almost pensive.

Finally, he sighs.

"You're not going to tell me what it is, are you?" he asks, watching you carefully.

You shake your head. "You’ll find out when I get it."

He stares at you for a long time, his eyes narrowed. Finally, he huffs, slumping back in his seat. His resignation is a relief, and you breathe a small sigh.

"I have to ask," you begin, eager to change the subject, "what was the point of that little display?"

He raises a brow, glancing over at you. "Display?"

"With Hunter," you elaborate, "back there. I assume it wasn't just to annoy me."

He smirks, the corner of his lips curling upward. He tilts his head, and you try not to think about how it's the first time he's looked at you that way since everything happened.

"I was mostly doing it to annoy you."

"Of course you were." You roll your eyes. You don't believe him, not entirely, but you didn't doubt that he wanted to get under your skin. It felt like that was all he'd done since the beginning, and it was getting tiresome.

"But," he begins, leaning back, "if I can't talk you out of doing this, the least I can do is make sure you have backup."

You stare at him, unsure of how to respond. Your mouth opens, then closes, and you blink several times. What were you supposed to say to that?

"That's... sweet, I guess?" You don't mean for it to come out as a question, but the surprise gets the best of you.

He rolls his eyes and shrugs, and you're reminded of the old Crosshair.

The Crosshair who used to tease you, to rile you up, just because he knew it would make you laugh. The Crosshair who would sit with you while you studied, who would make you food when you were too tired to do it yourself. The one who loved his brothers fiercely, even if he was a pain in the ass. The one that you, despite everything, missed.

You didn't think he was capable of being like that anymore, but here he was, proving you wrong.

"Well," he says, shifting uncomfortably, "It’s my job to keep an eye on you."

You can't help but chuckle at his reasoning, though there's a hint of bitterness to the sound, and his scowl returns.

"It's not funny."

"Oh, come on," you reply, crossing your arms, still laughing. "It's a little funny."

"Is not," he argues, but there's no heat to it.

You snicker, shaking your head. It's not funny, but it's nice. Normal, even. It's the most normal conversation you've had in a long time, and the most normal Crosshair has acted, and it's almost like things are the way they were before.

"Whatever you say, dear." 

The pet name slips out without a thought, and you regret it the second it does. You wince, looking over at him. You hope he doesn't take it the wrong way, but he doesn't seem to notice. He just scoffs, a small smile playing on his lips.

You relax in your chair, letting the tension slip from your body. You'd almost forgotten what it was like, how easy things used to be. It felt good, and you wished you could keep that feeling.

"So," you begin, "are you going to be a good boy while we're there, or am I going to have to watch my back?"

"I'm always a good boy," he replies, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You can't help but laugh, and his lips twitch upward, a hint of smugness coloring his features. It's an old joke, and it's ridiculous, but it feels good. You didn't think he had it in him, and hearing his sarcasm again was a welcome surprise.

"We both know that's not true."

"You'd be surprised." He stands, stretching his arms over his head. When he lowers them, he looks at you again, a faint smirk on his lips. "I can be very good, when I want to be.”

He brushes his fingers across your shoulder as he walks past, and the simple touch sends a shiver down your spine. You can't help the heat that rises to your face, and you're thankful that he's turned away from you.

You're left in a daze, your mind racing. You didn't think he was capable of having a civil conversation with you, let alone flirting. And yet here you were, trying desperately not to think about the implications behind his words.

It reminded you of before, before everything had gone to shit. Back when he could make you laugh in just a few words and make you blush with even less. He’d tease and flirt and push all your buttons, and it drove you crazy.

And you loved it.

You thought maybe you loved him too, at some point.

But he had thrown all that away when he abandoned the team. He had tossed aside every moment of laughter and affection and friendship, and he'd never seemed to care. And maybe that's what hurt the most, knowing he'd so easily let go of whatever it was between the two of you.

You'd tried not to think about him, after he left. You'd thrown yourself into the missions, and you'd tried not to look back. The others had done the same, you thought, but when Crosshair came back into your lives, they had forgiven him.

So why was it so hard for you?

The answer was supposed to be easy. You’d been the one he’d tried to kill, after all. But you knew it wasn’t his fault, knew it was the chip. You wanted to forgive him, and in a way, you had, but it still hurt.

Maybe it was because he had hurt you, not physically, but in another way. A deeper way. He had left you. He had abandoned the team, and he had left you behind, and despite ample opportunities, he'd refused to come back.

Or maybe it was because, after all that, after he'd hurt you and the people you cared about, you still couldn't bring yourself to hate him.

Maybe, deep down, you were worried that part of you still loved him.

Your head was spinning. You needed a drink, or a nap, or a distraction.

"Where are you going?" you call after him.

"To make sure Omega didn't sneak aboard," he calls back.

You can’t help but smile, shaking your head. He'd never admit it, but he cared about her. He'd probably deny it to his dying breath, if asked, but you knew better. And as you watch him disappear down the hall, a strange feeling blooms in your chest.

It's warm, and light, and familiar.

And for a brief moment, things almost feel right again.

Crosshair is, for lack of a better word, insufferable. He doesn't listen to a word you say, doesn't follow your directions, and has a bad habit of doing the opposite of what you tell him to do.

He also has a knack for making you feel like an idiot. It was something you conveniently forgotten about during your time apart, and now, you were beginning to remember why you'd fought so much in the past.

And the worst part was, he wasn't even trying to piss you off.

He was just...himself.

"That's not how it's done," he sneers, leaning against the wall. His eyes are on your hands, watching you clean your blaster. You know this game, and you don't want to play. So you do the one thing that always seems to get under his skin.

You ignore him.

You pretend like you haven't heard him, and you continue with your task. You can feel his eyes on you, but you don't look up. He sighs and huffs as you wipe around the trigger mechanism, he crosses his arms as you check the power cell, and you know he's getting antsy.

It isn't until you wet a swatch with solvent and push it through the barrel from front to back, and Crosshair makes a noise of disgust, that you snap.

"What?" you bark, your grip on the weapon tightening. You're not angry, not yet, but you can feel it creeping up on you.

“You’re going to damage the rifling,” he says, pushing off the wall. He reaches for the weapon, but you pull it out of his reach.

"I know what I'm doing."

"Clearly." He rolls his eyes. “If you keep doing that, you’re going to to end up with a misfire or a malfunction, and I don’t think either of us want that. Do you?"

You know he's right, but you don't want to admit it. "No, but—"

"Then give me the damn blaster," he says, reaching out again.

You consider refusing, just to prove a point, but his tone has caught you off guard. He doesn't sound condescending, or mocking, or even annoyed.

He sounds worried.

So you hand it over, and he takes it, his fingers brushing against yours.

"Just let me do it, alright?" he asks, and the frustration in his voice is gone, replaced by something softer.

You nod, watching as he sits next to you, his attention on the weapon. His movements are confident, practiced, and you can't help but notice the way his fingers move as he cleans.

You watch as he sets the blaster aside, grabbing the canister of solvent and a rag. Crosshair's movements are quick and meticulous, and he doesn't miss a spot. What took you nearly twenty minutes to accomplish, he completes in five, and his technique is far more thorough than yours.

“It’s a miracle you haven’t blown your hand off yet," he says, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “If this is what the Jedi were teaching you, no wonder the Empire wiped them out."

Any good will you were feeling toward him disappears in an instant. You bristle, your anger returning, and you glare at him.

"Fuck you."

"Maybe later," he teases, his lips twitching upwards.

You can't decide if his comment was meant to piss you off or annoy you, and you settle for a combination of the two. You're not sure why you expected anything else from him, but the joke hits a sore spot. The fact that he doesn't realize what he's said, that he doesn't understand what he's done, only makes it worse.

Crosshair's smile falls when you continue glaring despite the flush in your cheeks, and you can sense his frustration. He huffs, looking back down at the weapon in his hands.

He's quiet for a long time, his brow furrowed. Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice soft.

"Here," he says, holding the reassembled blaster out, its barrel glistening. It’s the cleanest it's been in months, though you won’t admit it out loud.

Crosshair had always taken great pride in the cleanliness and efficiency of his weapons, and seeing his handiwork in front of you reminds you of simpler times. You’d lost count of the amount of times you’d passed out from exhaustion after a mission or gotten too distracted, only to find your weapons cleaned and ready to go the next morning.

It had irritated you, at first. You hated having your things touched without permission, but eventually, you got used to it. It was nice, knowing he cared enough about you to do such a thing. Though Crosshair always denied it when you tried to thank him. As if it would be anyone other than him.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, and it’s genuine.

He looks at you, and there's a flash of something in his eyes, something softer than the usual indifference. But it's gone before you can decipher its meaning.

“Why do you still use that thing, anyway?" he asks. “It's a piece of junk. Don’t you have a lightsaber?”

You suck in a breath, his words cutting deep. Of course he would bring up the one thing you didn't want to talk about. You should have expected it. You weren't sure why it had never come up, but you should have known it would happen eventually.

He's staring at the blaster, and you know he didn't mean to hurt you, not this time, but the ache is there, nonetheless. The grief sinks in your stomach like a stone, heavy and cold, and your hands shake. You clench them into fists, hoping to hide the movement.

You've gone quiet for too long, and Crosshair knows he's hit a nerve. He turns his attention to you, and his eyes widen when he sees the look on your face.

You're pale, your expression pained. Your mouth is a thin line, your jaw set, and your shoulders are stiff. “No,” you say, your voice quiet. “Not anymore.”

He frowns. He looks confused, and for a second, he almost looks worried. "What happened?"

“I lost it.”

“What?" His voice sounds incredulous, as if the concept is inconceivable. "When?”

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the tears. You'd promised yourself you'd never cry over this again, but it was proving to be more difficult than you'd thought. It hurts, talking about it, and a part of you wants to shut him out. 

But another, bigger, part of you wants him to know. Maybe it's a test, of sorts. If he can't handle this, if he doesn't want to hear the truth, then there's no way he'd be able to handle the rest.

“On Kamino," you say, and your voice shakes, despite your best efforts. You pause, taking a deep breath. You close your eyes, and the memories come back, clear as day. "Around the same time I…” 

You can’t continue, but the words are there, lingering in the air. The same time I lost you.

His mouth forms a silent 'oh', and the room falls silent. You look at the floor, avoiding his eyes, and he does the same. You're not sure how much time passes, but it feels like hours.

He clears his throat, and the sound breaks the spell. You look up, and his eyes are on you, intense and dark. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, and the apology surprises you.

"Don't be." You shrug, but you can't shake the melancholy that's settled over the room.

"You should get a new one," he suggests.

You shake your head. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

Crosshair hums, and he turns away from you. He picks up the cleaning kit and places it back on the shelf. You watch him, wondering if that's the end of the conversation, and a part of you hopes it is.

But when he turns to face you again, his expression is pensive, and his tone is somber.

He sighs, and the weight of his words hit you, his voice quiet.

“You’re not the same, either."

You swallow thickly, unsure how to respond. You’ve had the same thought rolling around in your head for months, but to hear it spoken out loud, to hear it from him, suddenly makes it seem real.

Because he's right.

You aren't the same, not anymore. You hadn't been since the fall of the Order, since Crosshair left, since you'd lost everything. And you couldn't deny the changes that had been wrought within you, no matter how hard you tried.

"Yeah," you say, and the word is heavy on your tongue. “I guess not.”

You stare at each other, and a moment passes. It's an unspoken understanding, an admission, and neither of you can find the right words.

It's then that you realize that maybe he's changed, too.

And that, for whatever reason, makes you sad.

The silence drags on, and you're not sure if he's waiting for you to speak, or if he's waiting for something else. His eyes are searching, his mouth slightly parted, and he looks almost nervous.

Your heart pounds in your chest, and there's a pressure behind your eyes. You want to say something, but you can't think of anything. You're not sure if the urge is to comfort him, or comfort yourself.

You're grateful when you can feel the the hair on the back of your next prickle, a sign of something shifting in the Force. It's a distraction, a welcome one, and you take the opportunity to break eye contact. You stand to make your way to the cockpit, holstering your blaster as you go.

When you reach the door, you pause, glancing back. Crosshair is still standing in the middle of the room, his head tilted in your direction. His eyes are fixed on you, and he looks almost sad.

You swallow thickly and force yourself to speak. “We should be there in a second."

“How do you—“ 

He’s interrupted by the subtle lurch of the ship dropping out of hyperspace, and his confused expression turns to one of exasperation.

You smile, just a little, and Crosshair scoffs.

"Show off," he mutters, following behind you.

Feeling

Summary: When you and Hunter are left alone on The Havoc Marauder the feelings the two of you have kept well hidden finally come to light...

Pairing: Hunter x Jedi!Reader

Word Count: 5,271

Author's Note: I really don’t know how Hunter’s senses work, especially since they seemed to forget about them as the seasons went on. I like the idea most of fandom subscribes to that all of his senses are heightened but I saw a post once comparing his electroreception to that of a platypus which absolutely kills me. I guess we’ll never know for sure but no matter what I love our dear platypus man LOL

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The Havoc Marauder was uncharacteristically silent as you sat in the cockpit. Most of The Bad Batch, minus Hunter who had stayed behind claiming headache, had left for a supply run earlier and likely wouldn’t be back for a few standard hours. Hunter had retreated to his bunk to sleep moments after the others had left, effectively leaving you alone.

Normally, the chance to explore a new place on a new planet would have thrilled you but like so many other things that had changed recently too. What had once brought excitement now brought fear. You had volunteered to stay with the ship as you didn’t want to risk being seen in a busy spaceport. Not that there were many left in the galaxy that would recognize you, but you just didn’t want to take any chances that might further endanger the squad. Having a former Jedi amongst your ranks was essentially a death sentence these days, and The Bad Batch already had enough heat on them as renegade clones. 

With a sigh, you sunk further into the copilot seat as you stared out the viewport. As much as you appreciated some peace and quiet, which admittedly was hard to come by with the squad, the silence left you with too much time to think. Somedays it was hard to wrap your head around all that had happened. The weight of the grief you felt threatened to drown you when you took a moment to stop and acknowledge it. Everything you had once known, had once believed in had been completely turned upside down. Your friends, your former master, all gone in a moment. 

As far as you knew you had gone from being one of thousands to one of only a few that remained and even then you had only just barely survived. You weren’t sure if your survival was the will of the force or simply just the result of being in the right place at the right time. In your more cynical moments, you believed it really had only been luck. If Jedi masters with far greater power than your own hadn’t survived you felt you really had no right still being alive. It was a thought that kept you up most nights, survivor's guilt. 

Having only been nighted a few rotations before the Clone Wars had started you had never been assigned your own battalion. Instead, throughout the war you had often completed recon and special ops missions that had the GAR assigning small squads of clones to you as needed, mostly commandos. It had been how you had met The Bad Batch in the first place. You’d been paired with the squad on several missions towards the end of the war. In the end, this use of your skills as a Jedi had likely been what had saved you. You hadn’t been near any clones when the order had come through, instead you had been klicks away from the nearest squad scouting. The clones had known you were on the planet though and the manhunt that had happened in the days that had followed Order-66 had nearly claimed your life multiple times. But despite everything that had been thrown your way you had still managed to escape off-world with a blaster wound burning in your side and a broken arm. 

Your first thought had been to simply disappear in the galaxy, to find some small backwater planet to live out the rest of your days but without enough fuel or credits to get you anywhere far, desperation had driven you to seek out Cid. You had used the Trandoshan as an informant many times throughout the war and while you still didn’t trust her it had turned out to be a good idea after all as it had led you directly back to The Batch. 

You’d been terrified at first, drawing your lightsaber on them the minute they had entered the bar, but it had become clear rather quickly that they were not following orders like the other clones had been. They’d explained everything, Order-66, Palpatine, the inhibitor chips, everything that had happened in the days following the end of the war. To hear the truth, that the men you had fought alongside for so many years, your friends, had been used like pawns in a game, treated in such a horrendous way by both The Republic and the new Empire had broken you more than anything else. It had been in that moment as you stared at the squad in front of you in Cid’s dingy bar that you had come to the realization that everything you had once believed in, everything you had fought for had amounted to nothing at all. All it had done was bring about the demise of nearly everyone you had cared for. You hadn’t been protecting the galaxy, you’d just been one part in bringing it to ruin. 

The thought continued to haunt you, even now, months after the end of the war. It had been hard to keep going afterward but being with the Batch and Omega had helped. You had always gotten along well with the squad during the war, in fact, they had become your favourite team to work with and despite not often working with Jedi they had seemed to accept and respect you. You’d always felt welcome amongst them. When they had suggested you stay on with them as they worked with Cid you had initially refused, not wanting to put them in any more danger than they were already in. Even if you had mostly shut yourself off from the force to better hide yourself you still didn’t want to take the chance of being detected. But Cid being Cid hadn’t really given you the option, if you wanted to get the credits you needed to disappear into the galaxy you were going to owe her, and running jobs with the Batch became the only way to do so. 

You sighed as you slid further down in the seat if only your master could see you now. Jedi Knight turned mercenary. Your eyes began to sting as you thought of your lost master. Master Antar Wei had been so very kind, wise, and caring. He’d been a true keeper of the peace, a gentle soul with the strength of a warrior. He had taught you so very much, without his teachings you would not have been the person you are today. He had been as close to a father as you had ever had and his loss was nearly unbearable. Tech had been able to get access to some of the Empire’s files and when Master Wei’s name hadn’t appeared on any of the wanted lists you knew he had likely succumbed to the same fate that nearly all of the Jedi had. 

You startled slightly as the door to the cockpit opened, so lost in your own thoughts you hadn’t heard the approaching footsteps. You swivelled the chair around to turn and look at Hunter as he entered, trying your best to school your features into an expression that would best hide your inner turmoil.

From the look on Hunter’s face, you hadn’t done the best job. His warm brown eyes were filled with concern, the lines of his face taught as he hovered hesitantly just inside the doorway. He shifted from one foot to the other as his eyes briefly swept the cockpit, as though searching for signs of danger, before they settled back on you.  

“Are you… alright?” He asked stiffly, as though he found it uncomfortable to ask you such a thing. His long hair was ruffled, likely from his sleep, making him even more ruggedly handsome than usual. You felt momentarily guilty for disturbing him before you noticed the air of tension that usually surrounded him when he had one of his migraines was no longer present. Only the same unease that had been clinging to him for the past few weeks was there.

Of all the members of The Batch, you had always gotten along best with the Sergeant. You admired his intelligence, his straightforward manner, the sly sense of humour that he let escape every once and a while, and the way he was fully devoted to his brothers. He was one of the most honourable men you had ever met and watching him go from stoic soldier to caring older brother to Omega had been a joy to witness. 

Truthfully you had been wrestling with feelings for the gruff clone that were decidedly not Jedi-like since the very first mission you had been on together. There had always just been something about him that had drawn you to him. His signature always seemed brighter to you in the force, and like a moth to a flame, you had struggled to maintain your professionalism around him. Attachment was forbidden after all and some days when you looked at the ridiculously handsome man you knew your feelings were treading into dangerous territory. That had been before though, you reminded yourself, the Jedi were gone and with it, you supposed the rules you had once lived by were as well. 

At one point you had been certain that your feelings were not just one-sided, Hunter kept his emotions very closely in check, but there had been looks, touches, conversations, and jokes just between the two of you that had set your heart pounding. But that also had been before. It seemed that whatever had been there was now long gone. In the last few weeks, all you had been able to sense from him was tension. He had done almost a complete 180. He no longer talked to you directly unless absolutely necessary, whenever you entered a room he left as soon as he was able to, even on The Marauder he always retreated to the space furthest away from you. A part of you wondered if you were just overreacting but the other knew that you weren’t, something had changed in him and you had no idea what had caused it. Hunter’s cooling towards you had just been another knife in your already fragile heart. You had lost so much and watching him slip away too, even though he’d never been yours in the first place, had only added to your pain. 

You realized suddenly that you had been quiet for longer than what was considered polite you finally spoke, shaking yourself fully from your melancholy thoughts, “I'm fine,” Your voice was soft as you nodded at him. You did your best to plaster a gentle smile on your face in an effort to ease his obvious discomfort.

“Your heart rate was elevated,” Hunter said, answering the question that had been at the forefront of your mind. Though you thought with amusement that you should have known, Hunter’s heightened senses meant there was very little on The Marauder that could be kept secret, “I thought something had happened…” 

“No,” You replied with a soft sigh, shaking your head sadly as you continued, “I just got a bit lost in my thoughts. I'm ok.”  

His warm brown eyes were still intense but some of the worry had drained out of them as he looked at you for another long moment, “Are you…sure?” He asked hesitantly, looking somewhat like he’d rather be anywhere else. 

“I’m sure, thank you, Hunter,” You replied with another nod, hoping to reassure him even though internally your heart was aching at the distance between the two of you. 

“Ok, I’ll uh - leave you to it then…” While Omega’s presence had forced him to get better at dealing with emotions he still had the tendency to avoid emotional confrontations like a plague. But this complete avoidance was new, in the past you might not have talked about it but he had still always seemed to know when you were feeling down or conflicted. You’d spent many hours and missions together sitting side by side, usually, no words were needed as you had always just found comfort in his solid and warm presence, sometimes he would distract you with stories about missions the squad had been on, but often it was just his silent company that he offered. Those moments together had always been your favourite. You still didn’t know where things between the two of you had gone so wrong. 

You watched as he went to turn around and suddenly you found yourself moving from your seat.  Silently and quickly you closed the gap between the two of you, your hand reaching out to grasp his wrist, pulling him to a stop before you could really even consider what you were doing. You were so tired of everything but especially this unspoken conflict the two of you seemed to be in, “Hunter, wait…” 

He turned to look at you with wide eyes before his gaze darted between your face and where your hand was on his wrist. You let go of him, trying your best to ignore the way your palm was tingling from touching him. He’d always had that effect on you but whereas it had been comforting before it now only brought a sense of sadness, a sense of loss.  

“I’m sorry if I’ve done something wrong, or something to upset you in any way…” You said softly, the words suddenly flowing out of you without really thinking. Your heart was beating painfully in your chest and your stomach rolled with anxiety. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze as you continued to speak, too afraid of what you might find in the depths of his eyes if you did, “It was not my intention and if there is anything I can do to fix it I will. Or if my presence isn’t wanted here I understand. I know I’m putting you all in danger by simply existing.”

Finally, you looked back up at him just in time to see Hunter’s expression morph into one of confusion and shock, “What? What do you mean? You haven’t done anything wrong. Why would you think that?” He shook his head, “And no, that’s not - you’re part of this squad and we don’t abandon our own.”

“Then what is it?” You asked, suddenly nervous about confronting him. You’d faced down thousands of droids, beasts, criminals, and other adversaries in your life but staring in the face of your friend as you prepared yourself for rejection was almost more terrifying than going into battle, “You can’t seem to stand being in the same room as me. You always seem to leave as quickly as you can, you only talk to me when absolutely necessary, and even then it’s usually through someone else rather than directly. So, I felt the only reasonable conclusion was that I’ve done something wrong, that I’ve upset you in some way. But I can’t change if you don’t talk to me about it.”

Hunter seemed shell-shocked as he stood in front of you, his mouth opened and closed a few times. You could feel the rush of emotions from him without even really trying, but it was so jumbled you couldn’t make sense of any of them. Even in the dim light of the cockpit, you could see his face flushing, which was something entirely new. You had never seen Hunter this nervous before. He was quiet for so long that you were beginning to think he wasn’t going to answer. 

“I don’t - I’m not angry at you. I’ve never been more relieved than that day you showed up at Cid’s. I - I thought you had died but then you came back to us, to m-, and you’re a part of this squad. You haven’t done anything wrong…” Hunter finally spoke, his voice deep and rumbling in his chest, “I’m not upset…” 

The way he trailed off left you with more questions than answers, so you simply stayed quiet, hoping he would continue. 

He took a breath, as though he was steadying himself prior to battle, “You’re…You’re not the problem,” he said finally, “I am.”

You waited another long moment for him to elaborate, but when it seemed like that was all the explanation he was going to give you took a few steps towards him, closing the gap between you.

“What do you mean?” You asked. He seemed to tense at your proximity and at this distance, you could see the way his pupils dilated, the way his nostrils flared momentarily, the slightest flush of red on his cheeks. Your own heart was suddenly pounding in your chest at the intensity of his gaze.  

“I just…I…” He started then stopped, redness was beginning to creep its way up his neck and you were surprised to hear he sounded… embarrassed.

“I can…” He tried again, his voice suddenly lower and rougher than you had ever heard it before, “I just feel you more than anyone else. I always have.” 

Suddenly everything seemed to click into place, the feeling that had always been there between the two of you, the looks, the touches, the soft way he had always spoken to you, his sudden running away, the emotions he tried so hard to dampen around you. You couldn’t believe you hadn’t figured it out before, that his sudden avoidance was not a rejection of you. It was fear.   

You took another step closer, watching his face closely as you grasped his wrist gently once more. His eyes widened at your touch and his entire body seemed to stiffen but he didn’t pull away from you. 

“What do you feel Hunter?” You asked softly, your voice steady despite the fact that you were thrumming with nervous energy. You couldn’t stop the question from flowing out of you. Maybe it was wrong to ask, maybe it went against everything you had been taught, but you found that in that moment, as you stared up at him you didn’t care anymore. 

He let out a shuttering sigh before his head dipped just slightly to meet your gaze. His eyes were molten and so intense that you felt as if suddenly every nerve ending in your body were alight. You had kept your connection to the force limited in the past few months but you let your hold on it loosen in that moment, letting it surround the two of you. You listened to it sing, just as it had done every time the two of you had been together in the past. 

“Everything. I can hear your voice in a crowd of a hundred, I can smell you even when you’re not around, and I can feel your heartbeat in a different room. When you’re near me I can’t take my eyes off of you and even when you’re gone I can’t stop thinking about you,” Hunter’s voice was a husky whisper, “It-it’s not appropriate but I can’t seem to control myself. So it’s just better if I leave you alone.” 

You were quiet for a long moment, considering before you spoke softly again, “Better for who?” 

His eyes widened, as though he couldn’t quite believe what you had just asked. Before you could have enough time to second guess yourself you reached out gently to place your hand over his heart. Even without your own heightened senses, you would have been able to feel the way it was pounding in his chest. You had never been so close to him before in such a way and the sensation was thrilling. It was as if the air itself between the two of you was humming with energy. 

The brown of his irises had been almost completely engulfed by the black of his pupils as you looked back up at him, “I feel you too Hunter. I have from the moment we first met. The force feels different around you too, like you’re calling to me.” 

You closed your eyes as his hand reached up to cup your jaw ever so tentatively as if he were afraid that his touch would shatter you. Your skin thrummed under his touch and you pressed further into his hand, revelling in the sensation of finally being so close to him. For so long you had been so worried that his feelings for you had shifted. To have the truth finally out in the open felt as though the weight of the galaxy had suddenly lifted off of your shoulders. 

“But you’re a Jedi,” Hunter said softly, hesitantly, causing your eyes to pop open once more, “It’s not allowed.” 

“Attachment,” You replied as a wave of sadness washed through you. The words the Masters had once preached echoed through your head, “You’re right, it is forbidden. Or it was. I’ve spent so many days and nights thinking about the Jedi Order, about all that has been lost. And I still don’t know the answers to the questions I have, I don’t know that I ever will. But I can’t help but think that our ways only led to our downfall. Perhaps if we had done things differently if we hadn’t been so blinded by our own morality…” 

“I suppose we’ll never know. But the one thing I do know is that I want whatever this is between us. I’m not sure how something that feels so right, something that seems to be part of the force itself, can be considered wrong. I don’t know how many days are left to me, I am no longer a Jedi but I will live the rest of my life in danger. I do not wish to live the way I was before. I want you Hunter, I have since the moment I met you.” 

As you had spoken Hunter’s head had slowly lowered down towards yours until you were nearly touching. At your final words, his forehead had pressed against your own. His gaze was still intense as ever so slowly the hand on your jaw tipped your face up towards his own. His voice was so low when he spoke again that you felt it more than heard it, “I’m yours.” 

His words were all the encouragement you needed to close the final gap between the two of you, capturing his lips with your own in a desperate kiss. He was warm and wonderful and everything you had ever dreamed of. The hand you still had resting over his heart curled in the fabric of his blacks, pulling yourself closer to him as he deepened the kiss. His free hand came up to press against the small of your back, the heat of it searing into your skin as you gently nipped at his lower lip. You’d had dalliances with others before, that hadn’t been forbidden , but you had never experienced anything quite like this. The force seemed to come alive as the two of you melted into one another, thrumming in the air around you. Everything else seemed to fade away into nothing , there was only Hunter. 

A soft moan escaped him as you pressed further up into him, the sound rumbling in his chest and sending a shiver down your spine. You lifted your free hand to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his surprisingly soft hair. You’d always wondered what it would have been like to run your fingers through it and reality was proving to be better than expectation. He seemed to shiver at your touch, the hand at the small of your back flexing just slightly as he pulled your hips flush against his own. You could still feel his heart racing beneath where your other hand was still fisted in his shirt as his tongue pressed against your lower lip. You parted your lips, giving him access and gasping at the new sensation as his tongue explored your mouth. It was dizzying finally being so close to him, to be this connected. 

After what could have been simply minutes or hours Hunter pulled away from you, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. Your own pulse was still racing as he tipped his forehead back down to rest against your own. His eyes were closed as he pressed further into you, nose just brushing against your own as he held you close. 

You were both silent for a long time, simply basking in the warmth and feeling of being in each other's arms. But finally, Hunter spoke, his voice low and rough, “I’m sorry that I’ve been avoiding you, that I made you feel as though you’d done something wrong,” 

Your eyes opened, gazing up into his face that was suddenly filled with sorrow. You let the hand at the back of his neck slowly move until it cupped his jaw, mimicking his own hold on you, “It’s ok Hunter, everything has been so complicated lately. And I understand how conflicted you must have felt, I’ve felt that way too.” 

Hunter let out a soft sigh and with it you felt all of the tension he had been holding dissipate, his muscles relaxing beneath your hand as he seemed to melt further into you. He closed his eyes as his thumb gently stroked along your jawline, the sensation of it was electric and you wanted nothing more than just stay there and bask in his presence forever. 

His breath was warm against your face as each inhale brought you closer together. He tipped his head just slightly, his lips gently brushing against your own in the barest hint of a kiss, once, twice, before you pressed deeper into him. You shivered as your lips melted into his, tongue sliding over his full bottom lip before giving it the gentlest nip that made his chest rumble with another groan. 

The two of you came slowly together and apart, gasps and gentle moans escaping you both and you discovered this new part of one another. Your heart was racing in your chest, your skin tingling with each soft touch of his lips to your own, your skin flaming beneath his hands. The feeling is intoxicating and you have just enough wherewithal to briefly wonder if this is exactly why attachment was forbidden, because truthfully now that you have him you never wish to let him go. 

Eventually, you do pull away, instantly missing the contact but forcing yourself to look up at him as he moves both arms to wrap around your waist. You take a moment to simply look at him as your breath begins to even out once more, eyes tracing the lines of his face, the dark shadow of his tattoo. You’ve always appreciated how handsome he was but being so close is something special. You get lost in him for a moment as you notice the flecks of green in his warm brown eyes, the freckles across the bridge of his nose that are so faint they barely stand out against his deeply tanned skin, the dimple that appears only on the left side of his face as his mouth lifts into a soft smile as he gazes right back at you. 

You blink once, twice, trying to clear your mind of the distraction that he is and focus on the thought that had originally pulled you away from him. 

“How is your headache?” You asked gently, a small wave of guilt for having woken him in the first place rushing through you. It had been the reason he had stayed behind after all, and it wasn’t very often he had the chance to get any extra rest with the lifestyle you all led. 

His mouth curled into a smile and he let out a small huff of laughter, his hair flopping over the top of his bandana as he shook his head, “It’s fine. Forgotten actually,” He replied as he moved his hand to cradle your face once more, his touch feather-light. 

“Good,” You answered before you turned your head just slightly to press a soft kiss to the palm of his hand, “But you should still get some rest. It’s not easy to come by these days.” 

He hummed thoughtfully, his gaze still intense as he moved his hand away from your face, both trailing down slowly until he had your hands grasped in his own, “Only if you join me though.”

You felt your face flush at his suggestion, you wanted to, desperately, but another worry suddenly entered your head at the idea, “The others might be back soon, though…” This was still new and while part of you didn’t care if his brothers and sister saw the two of you together the other part wanted to keep this budding thing between you secret for just a little bit longer, if only for his sake as you knew how intensely private Hunter was. 

Hunter’s mouth ticked up into a smirk again, his brown eyes dancing with amusement as he answered, “Tech has been calculating the odds of us getting together since our very first mission and Omega has some Mantell mix riding on it.” 

You couldn’t stop the soft laugh that burst out of you at that, a bright smile overtaking your face, “Well, we wouldn’t want to let them down, now would we?” 

His eyes were warm and there was the barest hint of a smile on his face before he lifted your hand closer to his mouth, pressing a soft and quick kiss to your palm. Your smile brightened at his replication of your earlier gesture, the skin beneath his lips tingling from the contact. 

You let him lead you back towards the bunks, your pulse racing beneath your skin as he climbed up into the middle first before holding a hand back out to you to steady you as you found your own footing. It was a tight squeeze, but after some mild shifting you finally settled, your head resting against his chest as he laid on his back, his arms coming up to wrap around you and hold you closer to him as you let your leg rest over top of his own. Being so close to him every feeling you had ever sensed from him was amplified and it was easy to just get lost in the sensation of him as you listened to the steady sound of his heartbeat. Neither of you said a word, for there really weren’t any words to be said. Nothing had ever felt so right before and there was no way you were ever going to let that go, ever let him go again. 

It didn’t take long for your eyes to slip shut or for his own breathing to even out, his grip on you never lessening though even as he slept. The trauma of the past few years still haunted you as you lay with him but the thoughts were easier to push away as you focused on the force and the way it moved around the two of you, calming, gentle, right. You knew that nothing could ever truly repair the damage left by your losses but for the first time in a very long time, there was a glimmer of hope brewing in your chest. With Hunter, there was a chance at a future, something you hadn’t been able to even consider since Order-66 had been issued. 

You weren’t sure what that future would hold, for any of you, but right now, wrapped up gently in Hunter’s arms you felt safer than you ever had and there was nowhere else in the galaxy you would rather be.