chicknstripz - Tumblr blog

chicknstripz · 10 months

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Fireworks

Pairings: Sergeant Hound x f!Reader

Warnings: none! just 4.9k words of tension & cuteness

Notes: Hound's appearance was inspired by some very cool art by heidiss on twitter. I also dropped a quick reference to @samspenandsword Fox series, The Coffee House, which truly sold me on being a Fox girlie.

You feel borderline sick. Thirty solid minutes of chasing down your sweet, stupid, panicked massiff from the local park to, well, wherever in the Sith hells you are now and not only do you feel close to collapsing, but your chest is tight and aching from adrenaline and anxiety. He’s a good boy, really, he’s such a sweetheart and he can be so fun and friendly once he gets to know someone, but Jaxjo’s also easily startled. The two of you have been working long and hard on soothing strategies for when he’s overwhelmed, for warming up to and trusting well-meaning strangers, but this day has gone from bad to worse in a matter of hours.

Some blocks down the (mercifully) mostly deserted walkway, you can see Jaxjo’s rump as he darts under a bench after a speeder zooms too close for his comfort. It hurts your heart to see him so worked up, but it’s also sending you into a spiral. What if he gets really scared and gets lost? What if he lashes out at someone and you have to put him down? What if another speeder comes by and he jumps out and everything goes horribly wrong and he gets hit? What if what if what if what if? Maker, you don’t want to lose your little boy. He makes your life so much brighter and happier. What if-

Another firework goes off, another problem to add to the already substantial list, and you feel your eyes start to pinprick along the waterline. Why not add a grounded explosion? A Separatist attack, maybe? A mugging? Just make a night of it! And then, as if you weren’t already at your wit’s end, you catch a flash of plastoid armor, white and red and gray, and your stomach plummets to your feet.

Jaxjo doesn’t see the Corrie at first, he’s too distracted by the remnants of fireworks sparking out overhead, but the Corrie sees you. Of course he does. Him and the other trooper doing rounds with him. You notice their helmets tilt and twist a bit, probably to allow for a conversation as they consider why you’re out in a back alley all by yourself at dusk.

You ignore the troopers. You whistle as loud as you can in that specific way that only Jax could recognize and start jingling his leash, and thank the Maker, it works! His head jerks to the side, tongue lolling out, and his body language softens for a moment. Sweet boy, he’s still so scared, but he knows his mom, he knows you mean safety.

“C’mere, boy!” you call as encouragingly as you can despite your throat threatening to close up on you. “Jax, c’mere!”

The Corries have stopped their patrolling and are now fully watching you. One of them, the one on the right with the strange looking helmet, has his arms crossed over his chest. This probably means they’ve decided you’re their evening entertainment or they’re lingering to see if you need help. Maybe? You haven’t interacted with enough troopers to accurately gauge what’s going on under those helmets.

“Sorry!” you shout across the street, a hand pointed in his direction. “He’s just scared of the fireworks!”

As if on cue, another one lights up the steadily darkening sky and the resulting boom is loud enough to rattle you down to your bones. Jaxjo whines loud and low. Then another firework goes off and your massiff goes bolting out from under the bench. He scrambles into the middle of the street, throws his head back and forth with the whites of his eyes on full display, and for a moment you think that he’ll come running right to you and you can finally take your boy home, but he barks, shivers like a leaf in a storm, and takes off at full speed, fangs bared. He’s zeroed in on the Corries. Oh Maker, no.

“Jaxjo! Jaxjo, no!” All logic goes flying out the window. Every special cue and direction you’ve learned to keep both him and yourself calm, it’s gone in an instant because it’s like your worst nightmare come to life. He’s going to attack one of the troopers and then you’ll have to put him down, probably even get fined on top of it and put on some ‘incompetent massiff owner’ list that’ll ban you for life, and and-

The trooper in the strange helmet steps forward. He’s not afraid of Jax’s growling, even though he really should be. You’re sprinting forward as fast you can, heart in your throat, whistling and shouting, and the trooper just holds out his hand and speaks. You don’t know what he says, but it’s like a switch flips in Jax’s brain. He stops mid-stride and just stares. Another firework goes off and Jax starts rather violently, but he doesn’t run.

It’s like you’re watching some kind of nature holo and this Corrie trooper is the reincarnation of Stirwin Eve. Within a matter of minutes, Jaxjo has crawled his way to the trooper’s feet and is cowering into his shin guards while the trooper gently pats his back. It’s magic, plain and simple.

You’re so stunned that you don’t even know what to say. You know something comes out of your mouth, some vague approximation of awestruck thanks, but you’re hardly aware of it. All you can think about is the fact that your boy didn’t go wild and bite a member of the Coruscant Guard and that he’s not going to get transported to the pound and put down because of your own stupidity.

The other trooper, the one whose armor looks more like what you’d expect, clears his throat. “You really should keep him on a leash, ma’am, especially during a fireworks display. It’s not safe to have massiffs off-leash in the city.”

A streak of irritation flares up behind your eyes, but you manage to swallow it with a smile, albeit a forced one. “Unfortunately, he broke out of the park earlier and I’ve been trying to catch him for the last half hour.” I’m not usually inclined to letting my anxious wreck of a massiff free when the mood strikes, is what you want to say. You opt for biting your tongue instead. “It won’t happen again, sir.”

The first trooper finally looks up at you. It’s quite the sight – a big anxious massiff, a Corrie squatting down next to him and offering treats and pets, and that strange helmet that keeps throwing you for a loop. He doesn’t say anything. He’s definitely looking at you; you can feel the weight of his gaze even through the visor. It’s compelling enough that when he extends his hand and wordlessly asks for your leash, you hand it over without a fight.

Jaxjo is quickly clipped on by his harness and the leash is returned to you loop first. The trooper pats him once more, then stands, and it hits you then just how intimidating a figure he cuts in the lowlight. The kama, the broad shoulders that bear his dark gray armor, the blaster rifle hanging from his free hand, the jagged triangles carved into his helmet flaps that look oddly reminiscent of massiff fangs, and the streaks of red over the crown of his head, it’s all a reminder that before you stands a soldier and officer of the Chancellor’s forces.

For kriff’s sake, he answers to the fucking Chancellor. You’re so damn lucky right now, you ought to get down on your hands and knees and thank every star in the sky that Jax didn’t completely lose his mind!

“Thank you.” The words sound strangled and foreign. “Sir. Uh, s-sorry, sir. It was an accident, it won’t happen again.” You vaguely recall already saying this, but it doesn’t hurt to reiterate. “Thank you.”

Five minutes later, you’re left standing under a streetlamp with a citation and leash in one hand and a serving of treats in the other. Jaxjo tilts his head back to look at you properly and whines.

“I know, buddy, I know.” Your head is starting to spin and the fireworks are only going to get worse. “Let’s go home.”

The knock that shatters the comfortable silence of your mid-levels apartment the next day sends Jaxjo into a barking frenzy. “Just a second!” you shout, although if you’re even audible is doubtful. You manage to get him into your bedroom after a bit of finagling and the barking only continues, but this way it’s at least manageable.

“Maker, I’m sorry,” you start as you press the door controls by the entry, “he gets all worked up with strangers and-”

You’re met with an eyeful of gray chest armor and massiff fangs painted on to a helmet, a hint of a vision screen under the red and white visor. Oh.

The two of you size each other up for a long moment until the trooper finally speaks and you feel some kind of dread curl up in the pit of your stomach. “I’m here for a follow up on your citation last night, ma’am.”

“I... wasn’t aware I needed one.”

The helmet tilts ever so slightly to one side. “It’s standard procedure for massiff incidents.”

At the risk of sounding repetitive - “I wasn’t aware there was an incident, sir.”

It’s one thing to be given a citation for having a massiff off-leash. You can understand that, even if it sucks. But to basically be insulted in your own home? That’s an entirely different story.

There’s a huff in between Jaxjo’s barking that accompanies the Corrie’s shifting body language. One of his hands settles on his right hip and he dips his chin a bit, perhaps to look at you more directly? “If I could come inside, ma’am, I’d be able to explain better.”

“I’m not under arrest or something, am I?”

And you could almost swear you hear him laugh, but that would be ridiculous. And rude. Impertinent, even. “No, ma’am. Now may I come inside?”

He’s tall. You noticed it last night, but you notice it again when he’s able to stand in comparison to your furniture and appliances. And he’s fucking built, too. I mean, it’s ridiculous. His thighs alone are enough to make you do a double take. Not that you’re intentionally looking, of course, but you do have eyes. They almost bug out of your head when the helmet comes off.

It strikes you then that you’ve never seen a clone without their helmet on, not up close. You’ve always been aware of a flash of brown skin and usually dark hair from what you’ve caught on the news or when you happen to pass by the barracks, but Maker, you never thought they looked this good. Angular brows above kaf-colored eyes, a long, broad nose, pursed lips, and a beautifully rounded jaw and chin decorated with greyish black tattoos that echo the massiff design on his helmet. Between that, his dark hair that’s grown just long enough along the top to start coiling, and the thick trunk of his neck, and it’s a wonder you’re still standing. He’s gorgeous.

You’re spared the embarrassment of getting caught oggling him, though (for which you send a prayer of thanks to anyone listening), because he’s busy studying your front room. “Where’s Jaxjo?” he asks. Right. Back to business.

Your head turns in the direction of the alarmed barking that’s slowly morphing into a restless whine. “Uh, he’s in my room. I didn’t want him getting too riled up and slipping out. Why-”

“I’m a specially trained massiff handler. I run the CG’s K-9 unit.” He pauses for a moment to peel off his gloves and toss them onto the back of your sofa where he’s balanced his helmet. You make an effort not to look. “Which means I’m also in charge of handling massiff incidents with the public.”

“But there wasn’t an incident,” you sigh. “He didn’t bite anyone, or hurt anyone, he was just scared. You even managed to calm him down.”

The trooper raises an eyebrow. “As his handler, you should be able to control him yourself.”

And there’s that spark of irritation again, quickly blossoming into a full flame as heat spreads across your face and chest. “I can. I didn’t realize there was going to be an unplanned fireworks display or I would’ve kept him home yesterday. But there was. He got out, I chased him down, and I would’ve been able to calm him down eventually, but you just happened to beat me to it.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the entire truth either. You’d been worried sick last night about Jax’s behavior. You just don’t want this guy to know that and it’s making you angry.

The trooper’s hands move to settle on his hips as his ribcage steadily expands and deflates. His head is tilted toward the floor as he listens to Jaxjo whine. He thinks for a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek before finally glancing in your direction once more.

“I’m sure your boy's a good one, ma’am, and I can tell he means something t’ you. But you’re also concerned about his behavior and that means I’m concerned, too.” Can he see right through you? Surely you’re not that transparent. “Why don’t you let him out and I’ll see what we’re working with?”

Woah. There’s no we. There’s you and Jaxjo, and that’s it! However this man is able to see through your frustration and pinpoint exactly what’s bothering you, you’ll probably never know, but just because he’s wearing Corrie red doesn’t mean that he can just waltz in here and claim concern over your massiff’s behavior! You have half a mind to give this trooper a piece of it when his hand reaches into your line of vision and settles on the back of the sofa, just inches away from where your elbow brushes the fabric, and you still. You swallow. You look up.

His voice is gentle when he speaks, thoughtful. “I’ve been working with K-9s for years now. I can tell when something’s off and respectfully, ma’am, I picked up on it from you.”

It’s like the entire planet comes to a screeching halt. You almost can’t find it in you to be mad when he’s speaking so softly. Instead, you feel dazed and more than a little helpless.

“He’s a shelter rescue, isn’t he?”

Kriff, is this guy psychic or something? Maybe he has Jedi mind powers.

“Yeah, uh, I got him from the shelter about a year ago.” Your voice is all congested from the effort of holding back your tears, but the Corrie is polite enough not to mention it. “He’s just scared, that’s all. He was a stray before I got him.”

He smiles a bit, it’s little more than a quirk in the corners of his mouth, but the way his cheeks dimple causes the light to catch on a scar you hadn’t noticed at first. It’s a grouping of three faint, jagged lines that run from just below his eye to his jaw. Massiff claws.

“I’ve worked with ones like him before and they’re not lost causes. I might be able to help,” he prompts. His brows have angled upward and it gives his entire face a softer look. “May I?”

Jaxjo whines again and starts scratching at the door. He’s a good boy, really. He tries his best. He just has some issues you haven’t been able to figure out yet. It hurts that all the work you’ve put in over the past year hasn’t fixed it all like you thought it would, but now there’s an opportunity to make things better. Someone who knows more about massiffs than you do and is willing to help.

In the end, though, is there really any question? You’d do anything for your little guy.

You nod and offer the trooper a half-hearted smile. “Sure. Thank you.”

He’s amazing. They’re both amazing. Hound works hard and Jaxjo works even harder, and you’re truly proud of them both. It’s been nearly three weeks now of retraining and reinforcement. Jax has learned that some people are safe, people like Hound and his fellow troopers in the Guard, he’s remembered that even when he’s afraid, you’re there to protect him, and most important of all, you’ve learned that the Coruscant Guard isn’t as bad as you always thought it was. Even if they technically work for the Chancellor.

It’s also been three weeks of seeing Hound in a new light. He charmed the pants off Jaxjo and without even meaning to, he’s nearly charmed yours off into another dimension. Maker, he’s funny and smart and incredibly patient. He has this specific way of smiling that’s reserved and comforting, and it never fails to make your heart race, even if he’s just smiling at another massiff. And despite all his strength and the intimidating aura his armor, tattoos, and scars give off, he’s really one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met.

So of course, you had to go and fall for him. Of all the inconvenient, idiotic, irritating things you could’ve done, you just had to catch a glimpse of the man beneath the persona and decide that he was the one you wanted. Stupid. In what world would he ever fall for you, the woman who was a nervous wreck upon your first meeting, the woman who couldn’t properly train her own massiff, the woman that he only met because his buddy had to give you a citation? Not to mention, the man is so handsome that he’s painfully out of your league. He ought to be arm candy for some rich holo star or a beautiful senator, not, well, you. It’s a lost cause. Totally doomed.

You want to ask him out for kaf. There’s a place about five minutes from your apartment that makes the best kaf on the planet and the owner’s known for being friendly with the clones. (You’re pretty sure her name is Beanie, but that could be just a rumor.) Hound’s bound to be the most comfortable there, it’s in a public area so he doesn’t feel trapped in your place and you don’t have to track him down by the senate or the barracks. It’s a great idea and you know if he says yes that it’ll be a nice time. You hope, at least. You really, truly hope it will be. You’re just not sure that he’ll say yes.

It takes the entire training session for you to work up the courage to ask, which only serves to distract you when you should be paying attention. Your mind keeps wandering to every possible ‘what-if’. What if he says no? It’ll be embarrassing and he might not help with Jax’s training for much longer, but you’d be okay in the end. It wouldn’t kill you. What if he says yes? Well, you’ll probably forget how to speak and make a fool out of yourself, but it’s nothing he hasn’t seen already. What if he ditches you at the café? What if he shows up? What if he enjoys himself? What if you enjoy yourself? What if your hands touch when you reach for the napkins and he looks into your eyes and then he leans in and-

“...ink your buir’s stopped paying attention, eh boy?”

Jaxjo wiggles his rump and snuffs in Hound’s direction, which is enough to properly pull you back to the present. You blink the romantic haze from your eyes and give your best apologetic smile; Hound simply laughs.

“Sorry, just thinking. I’m paying attention, I promise.”

You receive a disbelieving eyebrow arch in response. “Must be serious. You’re not usually this distracted.”

You take a moment to compose yourself before you blurt out a goofy response. The last thing you need is to spill the beans before you’re even sure if he notices you’re a woman. So you watch the way Jaxjo forces his snout under Hound’s palm, how his tongue lolls out over his fangs and his eyes perk up when Hound gives him a good scratch by his ear hole. He’s so good with him. You’d even go so far as to say -

“You’re good for each other.”

That sends both of his eyebrows rocketing up. “Yeah?”

Your heart goes all warm and fuzzy. Dumb. Stupid. Embarrassing. Crush. Dammit. “Yeah. He responds really well to you and I can tell you’re really good with him. He trusts you.” I trust you, is what you leave unspoken.

“Well, he’s got a good role model,” he says after a moment. “I hope you’re not trying t’ give him to me because-”

“No! Kriff, no, of course not. I just... I dunno, I noticed.”

Hound smiles and his dimples go straight to your heart. “He’s a good boy.”

“He is.”

The room goes quiet apart from Jaxjo’s panting and the wild thumping of your heartbeat. He probably can’t hear it. Probably. Sure would be embarrassing if he could. Or if he could see it jumping out at your throat. You lay your palm flat against it just in case.

“Is that what you were thinking so hard about?”

“Yes” is what you mean to say. “No” is what comes out.

“Then what?”

You gesture vaguely. “Oh, just...” Anything, literally pick anything! The flexing of the muscles in the back of his hand catches your eye. For kriff’s sake, anything but that! “You’re probably gonna be leaving soon, once he’s properly trained.” Okay, okay, that’s good. Viable excuse. Good job. And then your mouth runs away with you again. “And I’ll miss having you around.”

Death would be a less painful option than whatever fresh hell your current reality is. You make a frantic attempt at backpedaling by clarifying that you and Jax would both miss him and all the very professional advice and help he’s given you, but the more you speak the more your ears start to burn and you start to fold in on yourself. This is quickly turning into a transport wreck and there’s seemingly nothing you can do to stop it.

Normally Hound’s laugh would be enough to make your cheeks burn and your stomach go all fluttery, but right now it only makes you feel like an idiot. You squeeze your eyes shut, focus on being a totally normal person who knows how to have a totally normal conversation.

“Heh. Sorry about that.” Like you just bumped into him in the lift or you accidentally cut him in line. You can’t look him in the eyes. Totally normal. “My tongue got all twisted up. That was silly.”

Jaxjo whines when Hound steps around him. You’re close to whining yourself, you’re so embarrassed. You want to go hide in the bathroom for ten minutes and simply never speak to another soul ever again. Surely that will solve everything.

“What d’you think, Jax? D’you think your buir’s being silly?”

Hound’s smiling that terribly fond smile of his and you know he’s looking at you, trying to catch your eye, but you refuse to glance any higher than his nose. That beautiful nose. You’re not sure why it does something for you, but it certainly does. You can’t help wondering what it would feel like pressed into your cheek if he kissed you.

He takes another step and now he’s standing right in front of you, towering over you, the breadth of his shoulders taking up your entire field of vision. He’s so close that you have to tilt your head back to look at him. Except you’re not looking at him. There’s a spot on his cheek where one of his scars meets his tattoo that has your attention.

“What does that mean?” you ask. “Buir?” It’s a poor replication of the way he says it.

“Parent. Mom for you, cyar’ika.”

Maker, why is his voice so soft all of a sudden? And he’s so close! You can smell his cologne, musky and masculine, and it’s so intoxicating that you have to fight to keep your eyes from rolling back. What is this man doing to you?

“Do you think about that often?”

When did your throat get so dry? “About what?”

The lump in his throat bobs when he swallows. “Me leaving.”

Danger! Danger! There’s a siren going off in the back of your head. All that bravado you’d been saving up since the start of the session is oozing out of your ears. He’s getting way too close to the truth of the matter and now that he’s there, you’re not sure you want him to know. You’re sure he’s just playing with you now and it should make you mad, it does, but then... he smells so good and his skin looks so soft and you really, really like him, and won’t he just give you a chance? Would that be so bad?

“No.”

“Are you sure?” Hound’s exhale hits your cheeks. “Because I’ve thought about it.”

He doesn’t mean it the way you do. He can’t. You want him to. Does he?

A surge of adrenaline gives you enough courage to look up through your lashes and properly gauge his expression, and you swear your knees go weak at the sight of his pupils blown out and his brows knit together in the softest expression he’s ever made. You might even venture out to say he looks nervous.

“I’ve been dreading the day he doesn’t need me anymore.” His voice is trembling a bit, but its timbre is low and rough and that stunning accent of his seems thicker now. “Then I won’t have an excuse t’ come see you anymore.”

Oh. The realization hits you so hard that you have to take a step back, lean into your sofa to keep from toppling over. He wants to be here, he comes to see you on purpose. He... likes you? The way you like him?

Your hand settles at the hollow of your throat as you attempt to find the words to express yourself. “Hound, I... I hope I’m reading you correctly. I mean, I hope-”

“Do you need me t' spell it out for you?” he breathes.

Fuck, maybe you do. You nod. “Maybe?”

He smiles, his cheeks dimple, your stomach devolves into flutter-bys as he rests a hand on the sofa backing right by your waist. He’s caging you in, slowly but surely. You’ll let him. His scent and his chest fill your senses as he crowds around you until you’re completely pinned to the furniture and the only other place to go is into him. Your mind starts racing because he’s so impossibly close and he’s even more beautiful, and what if he can feel your stomach against his, what if he can see your every pore and stray hair, and what if he likes you and what if he doesn’t?

“I’d like t' kiss you.”

Finally, blessedly, you smile. “I’d like that, too.”

His touch is feather-light on your cheek, but you can still make out the callouses lining the palm of his hand, the scent of leather and sweat and blaster residue. Jaxjo huffs. And then Hound kisses you. He’s warm and soft, just like you imagined he would be, and the taste of him is pleasant. There’s a hint of kaf lingering on his lips that you absently chase after with your tongue, but he takes it as a cue to open up for you. Your tongue stutters for a moment and he starts to pull back once he senses it, but you can’t let him pull away, not when this is everything you want, when he’s here and willing and so, so sweet.

Your hand cups the back of his neck as you surge forward and sweep your tongue into his mouth, up and over his teeth until it rubs against his and he sighs against you. It’s all a blur after that. His fingers wind up fisted in your clothes and your hands are pressing into his chest, smoothing over his shoulders, rubbing over the shaved section of his hair, and you can’t stop a single one of the happy, contented little sounds that he manages to pull from you.

Until Hound suddenly lurches into you and you both go toppling over the back of the sofa. Hound winds up going literal head over heels and lands in a very undignified pile at the base of the sofa while you end up half on, half off the cushions with your feet dangling over the top. Jaxjo’s happy little face pops up between your ankles. He’s all eyes and tongue and drool, and the very picture of feigned innocence.

You finally find your courage between bouts of laughter when you tilt your head so it’s hanging off the sofa and dare to nuzzle Hound’s shoulder with your nose. His eyes are twinkling when he looks at you.

“Hey,” you chuckle.

“Hey.”

“You wanna know what I was really thinking about?” He nods and you think you feel one of those fireworks go off in your chest. “I was thinking maybe we could go get kaf sometime, just the two of us.”

There’s a spark of mischief in the look he gives you. “What, no Jaxjo?”

You roll your eyes. “Jaxjo, Shmaxjo. I’m not interested in him.”

His hand settles along your jawline, gentle and sensual and blush inducing. “But you’re interested in me, huh?”

“Shut up, maybe I am.”

Hound smirks, probably the first true smirk you’ve ever seen on him. “Good,” he says before granting you another kiss. “I’m interested in you too, cyar’ika.”

“And what does that mean?”

He noses at your forehead and huffs a laugh just substantial enough to stir your eyelashes. “I’ll tell you over kaf sometime.”

prompt: fireworks 🎆✔️

@clonexreaderbingo

taglist: @dystopicjumpsuit

#AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #I'm a hound girlie now #SO FREAKING SOFT #My heart can't take it.#This man!#This kriffing man #I'm DECEASED #<3

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chicknstripz · 10 months

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quick redraw of not very old art with Omega and Crosshair

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chicknstripz · 10 months

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the scariest part about being a writer? pouring your heart and soul into this one fic that has taken literal months to piece together only to have this sick feeling in your stomach like it isn’t going to be a hit. not because it isn’t good, no, it’s worthy of a pulitzer, but just because readers won’t interact.

this is my message to my readers and all the readers out there: interact with your writer’s fics. someone can leave a seven word compliment along with a reblog on one of my stories and i’ll think about it for days. writers, good writers, have stopped writing because of the lack of feedback they get. nobody should get the amount of support to the point where they feel it’s worthless to do the thing they’re doing.

readers. like. reblog. leave a comment.

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chicknstripz · 10 months

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So... if anyone was in doubt if I have an armor kink - let me disabuse you:

And you shamelessly do the same in return. You admire the broad, firm chest plates and the narrow, pliable plackarts. The somehow so expressive helmets and the artistic blue and orange markings on white plastoid, with all their scratches and damages. You eye the sturdy cuisses and… and the strong, powerful looking bodies beneath it, wrapped up in black bodysuits and tempting you with the promisingly soft gaps in otherwise unyielding armor.

Uhm... yes.

Excuse me... what? I've been distracted.

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chicknstripz · 10 months

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#thats hot

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chicknstripz · 10 months

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“NSFW below the cut”

me:

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chicknstripz · 10 months

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Quiet Love

Crosshair x Gender Neutral!Reader One-Shot

Summary: Crosshair pops the question 💍

Warnings: None? Feelings, some angst, sappiness. Softy soft Crosshair. Some kissy. Reader not described. AU Crosshair is on Pabu and wants to marry you. He deserves it. In the context of my fic a cycle = a year. 1200 words

Author’s Note: Idk I just have Crosshair feels. Song inspo when I was writing this: Eric’s Song by Vienna Teng 🫶

Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! Also we need happier Crosshair gifs 😭😂

Strange how I fit into you // There's a distance erased with the greatest of ease // Strange how you fit into me // A gentle warmth filling the deepest of needs

The sun was sinking below the horizon, scattering magnificent hues of purples, pinks, and reds over the ocean. A slight breeze carried the smell of salty air and distant rain. Puffy thunderheads were forming high in the atmosphere, promising tropical showers.

You and Crosshair were sitting quietly, watching the sun disappear as stars blinked into existence above.

You were good at this, embracing stillness, savoring one another’s quiet presence.

After so long being at war, living in a Galaxy that was torn apart and was still being pieced back together, quiet is now calm.

Quiet is peace.

Quiet is love.

Four cycles have passed since you first saw Crosshair on the island.

Four cycles of being drawn to one another by an invisible force, filling the holes in your hearts that you never thought would close. Finding solace in one another’s company, finding forgiveness where you thought there was none.

He was afraid at first, when he realized his feelings for you. Frightened if he let you get close, his darkness and fears would spread like a disease and corrupt you. He was a broken man, his past still weighing heavy on his soul, even after the forgiveness of his family.

Slowly, the gracious and patient light that radiated from you burned through his shadows and he let you in. You both tread carefully at first, but as time went on, and more of his walls came down, the more he let himself fall for you.

Your love was a quiet one, but it was strong. It didn’t need to be loud.

Whether it was his hand on the small of your back when you were in public, or having a cup of caf ready for you in the morning exactly how you liked. How he’d worship your body behind closed doors, confessing his desires and need for you, quiet admissions from his heart, trusting you with his most vulnerable self.

Crosshair felt at his pocket as you sat, you not noticing as you watched the sunset. A ring was hidden in his pocket, something that he’s had for some time.

You held his heart and entire being in your hands. He knew you didn’t need a ring from him to realize his devotion to you. He didn’t either.

But you were willing to accept and help heal the heavy burden that was his heart and his love.

It was all he could do to let you know that you were his forever.

If you said yes.

A dark part of him wondered if this was all a dream, too good to be true. How could someone want to be with him, after all that he’s done? He wasn’t the best with words, but he was trying. He hoped it was enough.

You felt Crosshair’s arm snake around your shoulder, pulling you closer into him. He usually saved acts of affection like this when you were truly alone, but the veranda you had found was tucked away. You wouldn’t be bothered any time soon.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, your shoulders pressed together, the sun slowly fading in the distance. You looked at him, giving him a soft smile.

“It’s beautiful.” You uttered, bringing your hand over his that was draped over your shoulder.

“Hm.” Crosshair grunted in agreement, glancing down at you, the dimming sunlight casting a warm glow over your skin. You brushed your lips against his, content in this moment. Crosshair accepted your kiss, deepening it by leaning more toward you.

His hand that was free secretly slipped down to his side to his pocket. You didn’t notice what he was doing, too lost in his kiss. Crosshair pulled away from you, knowing it was now or never. His arm left your shoulder, leaning away from you slightly. That’s when you noticed he was holding something out to you in his hand.

You stared, taking a moment to realize what he was holding. It was small and shiny. You focused your eyes and realized it was a ring.

You gawked, trying to process what he was offering to you, and why.

The gears turned in your head, your mouth opening and closing, at a loss for words.

Was he…was this?

“C-Crosshair?” You whispered, your voice shaking, looking between him and the ring. “What…what is this?”

He didn’t say anything as you continued to gaze at the ring, not wanting to misinterpret the gesture.

“I’m not getting down on one knee if that’s what you’re expecting.” He grumbled, shifting in his seated position, waiting for your answer.

Tears filled the sides of your eyes, his words solidifying exactly what he was asking you.

And he was doing it in the most Crosshair way possible.

“Crosshair, are you asking me to marry you?” Your voice was hoarse, your heart pounding in your chest.

Crosshair rolled his eyes, yet his expression was soft.

“Yes, why else would I be giving this to you?”

He held the ring out further, gesturing for you to take it.

You gently took the ring from his hands, turning it in your fingers.

Embedded in the band was a jewel in your favorite color, catching the light of the setting sun.

“How long have you…?”

“Are you saying yes or not?”

You looked at him, seeing him intensely waiting, his eyes locked on yours. Was there a hint of nervousness deep in his eyes?

You gripped the ring in your hand, knowing your answer without a second thought. You slung your arms around his neck, pulling him into a flaming kiss.

“Yes! Crosshair, yes!” You gasped against his lips as his moved just as passionately against yours. You could swear you felt a weight lift off his shoulders, his body relaxing.

Tears were streaming down your cheeks as you kissed, his arms wrapping around you. Begrudgingly, you pulled away after what seemed like hours, realizing you were still grasping the ring in your hand.

“I love you.” You whispered as your lips left his. He squeezed you tighter. “I know.” You released him from your embrace, looking at the ring again in your hand, and looking back at him. You couldn’t help the wide smile on your face, though tears were still wetting your cheeks.

“Don’t get sappy on me.” He whispered, bringing a hand to wipe the tears from your face.

You huffed, grinning. “You’re calling me sappy?”

Crosshair chuckled, a rare small smile gracing his face, his sharp features softening momentarily.

“Well, are you going to put it on me properly?” You asked. Crosshair’s smile turned signature sly smirk as he took the ring from you.

With a gentleness only he could show you, Crosshair took your hand, sliding the ring on your finger.

It fit perfectly.

“Does anyone know?” You wondered, admiring how it looked, happiness flooding your entire being.

“Wrecker knows. Which means everyone does since he can’t keep a secret.”

You laughed as you leaned against him, both of you looking back at the sky, the sun now almost completely set. You placed your newly ringed hand on his thigh, his own hand covering yours.

You continued to sit silently, the last rays of light fading beyond the horizon. Nothing more needed to be said.

Quiet is peace.

Quiet is love.

@wanderer-six @pb-jellybeans

#crosshair tbb #crosshair x reader #soft crosshair #he deserves love and happiness #soft grumps ftw

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chicknstripz · 10 months

Text

Excuse me but AN OFFICIAL TEMUERA RENDERING OF REBELS REX?? I’LL DIE. I’M DEAD.

#ESCUSE?#I'm not a rex girlie #but daaammmnnn #he fine AF #I'd calibrate his blaster #if you know what I mean ;)

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chicknstripz · 10 months

Text

The Promise in Your Eyes

Pairing: Echo X Reader, @clonexreaderbingo Square: Echo

w/c: 1,444

Warnings: So much sexual tension but no sex. A shit ton of teasing. Is Reader being a brat, or is she just living the dream? You decide. SFW

A/N: This was a request from this prompt list and it solved my writer's block for my Echo square ^_^ I listed to Paralyzer by Finger Eleven when writing and I have to say it fits really well.

You would have felt a little guilty if the weight of his stare didn’t sit so delightfully on your skin.

It had settled on you the moment you strode into the room and made your way behind the bar at Cid’s. Usually, you hated that you had to moonlight when the guys got to relax after each mission. But tonight, it gave you the perfect opportunity to continue your slightly mean little game.

It wasn’t like you started it intentionally. Sure, you had been intentional in your efforts to grow closer to Echo. But riling him up on the latest mission hadn’t been the plan at first.

Proximity led to a few naturally awkward moments — a jerk of the ship sending you into his side, an injury needing attention in just this side of an appropriate location, seeing one another exiting the small fresher. They were small incidents, barely worth mentioning if not for your crush on the clone. And the way his gaze would always linger on you after, when he thought you weren’t looking.

It gave you a sliver of hope that maybe the infatuation was mutual.

Those moments would make your heart race, but what you loved the most was how flustered the usually so composed trooper would get.

But nothing had prepared you for last night. Echo had been in the pilot’s seat as Tech rested en route to your latest job. You claimed the co-pilot’s seat, keeping him company until the hour grew late enough that he insisted you go to sleep.

You rose to comply as the ship was rocked by a solar flare, sending you crashing into his lap.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You didn’t want to be the one to break the silence, sure he was unaware of how his arms cradled you to him out of instinct and unwilling to bring his attention to it lest he move them away.

Echo, on the other hand, looked paralyzed. His eyes were impossibly wide as they looked everywhere but your own. His hand and scomp both hovered above your arm and back, almost not daring to touch you but moving constantly, as if he wanted nothing else than to really feel you.

You never saw anything more beautiful in your life.

You took pity on him, though, and got up soon after, your apology soft and insincere. And as you lay down in the vacant bunk, your mind began thinking about how you could get him to look at you like that again. About how you can make him come undone.

But you hadn’t actually planned on doing it. It was a twist of fate, brought on by the twist of your ankle as you ran to the rendezvous point after finishing your part of the job. Echo was with you, catching you as you fell sideways. It took everything in you not to smile silly at the slight dusting at the tops of his cheeks and the way he cleared his throat to regain his voice, asking if you were OK.

A comm from Hunter meant you had needed to move quickly, and before you could say anything Echo’s demeanor changed. The mask of the soldier slipped back into place as he bent to sweep your knees and cradle you to his chest. Heat surged into your face and neck as your arms instinctively circled his shoulders, using him to hold yourself in place as he began running.

Shortly after — too short if you were honest — you crossed into the Marauder. You could feel Echo move to put you down and before you could stop yourself, you pulled closer, holding him tight as you whispered your gratitude into his neck. And who could say whether your lips brushed his delicate skin more than necessary.

You let yourself slide down only then, when you knew you’d get to see his owlish blinking.

It was after, once you had wrapped your ankle and iced it that you chose to take any chance to fluster Echo on the way back to Ord Mental — pressing against his back to reach around him to the control panel, very aware of his lack of armor and your lack of breastband under your shirt; letting your hand drag along his waist as you moved past him in the narrow hull; swaying your hips when you knew he was looking at you walk away.

With each tease, Echo would always stiffen and look away, almost always grabbing something to keep his hands busy. But as the trip home progressed, something changed. He stopped looking away. Instead, you rarely felt his eyes leave your form and as you drew closer to Ord Mantel, the weight of his stare intensified.

Your only reprieve had been when you went to change out of your armor to mind the bar. Cid didn’t really have a dress code, so you had free reign to pick. Not wanting something too obvious but not wanting the game to end just yet — even if only you knew you were playing — you had selected an outfit that was just on the acceptable side of immodest.

So when you served the first customer his drink, you made sure to lean over the bar just a bit more than necessary. Nothing was visible directly, but the way your breasts rested against the bar pushed your cleavage up and right into Echo’s line of sight.

With a bold confidence you couldn’t account for, you glanced up to catch his eyes directly for the first time since leaving the ship. Satisfaction thrummed through you at the sight of him stiffening at being caught. It was a miracle his grip didn’t shatter his glass, and you wonder how that grip would feel on you.

You held his gaze for far longer than either of you could write off, reveling in the tension sizzling between you. It was a live thing, sparking so wildly you were sure to catch fire.

Feeling a satisfied smirk sliding into place on your lips, you slid back into the bar and turned to clean your station.

For the rest of the night, you avoided meeting Echo’s eyes, teasing him with the possibility of another heated look … and never delivering. But as fewer and fewer patrons filled the bar, you were running out of distractions. Eventually, it was just the two of you. He had kept his seat at the bar and was tracking every move as you flitted back and forth closing shop.

“Well, I guess that’s it for tonight,” you said loudly, finally turning to look at him.

Your core clenched at the sight waiting for you. Echo’s usually warm eyes were molten as they held yours, the intensity of his gaze melting your stomach to match. Your breath quickened as you could feel the heat encapsulate you.

“Not quite.” Echo’s voice was quiet, no louder than usual. But it was firm in a way that allowed no argument.

Slowly, he stood and made his way around the bar. Where his eyes refused to remain still, taking in every inch of you before him, yours were locked on his face. Gone was any trace of his flustered self from earlier. But it wasn’t the soldier’s mask that replaced it this time. Instead was a new look, one that inspired a delicious jolt of your heart.

“Oh? Did you need something else?” You delighted in how quickly his eyes snapped back to yours at the teasing lilt of your voice. You needed him to know without a doubt you were aware of what you were doing.

“Yeah,” he rasped as he invaded your personal space, leaning in until both arms rested against the bar on either side of you. “Those pretty eyes of yours have been making promises to me all day. I need to know if you’re planning on fulfilling them.”

Oh, you were done for. Everything about Echo in this moment demanded an answer from you, and you were more than happy to give it to him. If you had only known this was hidden under those flustered responses, you would have started this game a long time ago.

Ready to seal your fate, you rest your hands on Echo’s hips, digging in a little to soothe the sensitive muscles above his prosthetics. You lean forward, pressing your chest against his, indulging in the heat you were both giving off as you hold your lips just out of reach of his.

“Why don’t you find out?”

The last thing you saw was the flash of unadulterated desire flood Echo’s eyes before you were consumed by his kiss.

Taglist: @burningfieldof-clover, @blueink-bluesoul

Previous Clone X Reader Bingo Squares:

Don't Forget That, Okay? (Cross x Reader)

Rex (Technically Pt 2 can be read as a standalone, but Pt 1 is here.)

Mechanic (Tech x Reader)

Tatooine (Boba x Reader)

#No words #just thots #echo x reader #tbb echo x reader #THE TENSION IS DELISH!#HOT AF!#WE GONNA GET IT!#HOT DAMN

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chicknstripz · 10 months

Text

I'm invested! Can I get tagged for future chapters please?

Walk By Faith (2)

[TW: Medical Checks, Seizures.]

He woke up to light.

Crosshair blinked his eyes open to a blurry mess of light and shadows, all the shapes indistinguishable from each other.

Sight was both a huge relief and a curse, a headache instantly building as he squinted and batted at the desk lamp until it turns off.

It wasn’t just his head. His whole body ached with a low thrum of pain. He stumbled out of his room, looking for the water that he had left out and downing it greedily.

“Morning sleepyhead. Or, Afternoon.” You said, glancing up from the kitchenette where you had a stool pulled up to the counter, he squinted in your direction in hopes to see better what you were doing. You sounded exhausted. Crosshair gave a grunt and placed a toothpick between his teeth.

“I have some commcalls to make. There’s a painstim on the counter if you need it. "

He huffed, chewing on the toothpick as you ducked into your room and shut the door behind you. The painstim sounded tempting, but if it was gonna knock him out again...

Bah, he wasn't allowed to do anything else as is, may as well.

Ignoring the slight dizziness that passed over him as he stood up, Crosshair stumbled to the counter and found the capped stim. Pulling the needle cover off, he gritted his teeth and jabbed himself, hitting the plunger. He swabbed the pinprick when he was done, rolling his neck against the stiffness that too many stims in the muscle tended to bring. Stalking back to the sofa, he flopped down. Failing to get comfortable, he slid down the seat to sit on the ground, leaning back.

His legs complained at the new position, his entire body stiff from laying down for so long. Slowly, Crosshair unfolded his legs and leaned into the stretch, hissing slightly. The physical strain, while not as good as a proper workout, felt nice after days of immobility. He breathed into the pull and sank until his nose was brushing his knee before switching sides.

The pain was nice as he tuned out your muffled voice through the flimsi-thin walls. It gave him a clarity and focus he often felt deprived of in the last few weeks. Once his legs had loosened, he swung his feet behind himself and planted his hands firmly on the rug, pushing back until his chest was parallel with the ceiling and his back clicked several times, making him huff in satisfaction. Sitting up properly, he went through his joints from his knuckles clear up to his shoulders and neck.

Finished with that, he tucked his feet under his hips and lay back down, sighing at the pull in his hamstrings. When that wasn't enough, he pushed his feet forward up past his hips. Tech always got on him for this, saying it was bad for his knees, but it was an effective stretch. Just as he relaxes into it, your conversation catches his attention.

"-would disobey direct orders?" A familiar voice came from the closed door of your room.

Rampart.

Crosshair moved closer to listen, cursing his unfocused vision as his foot caught on the edge of the carpet. He sighed and sat down just outside the door, on the ground.

"You are not at liberty to give me orders, Admiral." Your voice floated back, slightly muffled.

"I'm not? You are in possession of something of mine for the time being. Take much longer and I will begin to get impatient." Rampart's voice was as impassive as ever, but Crosshair knew better. He was pissed.

"Possession? No. I am in the service of the Kaminoans as a contract Optician. Crosshair is my patient. You are not at liberty to order me around, unless you've suddenly been granted a Kaminoan science degree while the Empire wasn't looking. And until I choose to release Crosshair, which will not happen until he has a clean bill of health, you may not issue orders to him either." Your voice is flat, the usual cheeriness or at least calm reassurance gone.

"Watch your tone, Doctor. Some might think you're threatening to withhold Empirical property." Rampart commented offhandedly. "I'd hate for your career to come to an untimely end, especially with your newest research grant in lens replacement, especially with how well your test run is working."

"Commander Crosshair is more than an experiment. If this is my 'test run' then it's a piss poor one. He already had near inhuman vision, this might slightly improve his sight, but this would be far better spent on people who actually need it?" You hiss slightly on the words, then take a deep breath to calm yourself.

Crosshair could almost imagine the muscle in your cheek twitching as you fought from ripping into the admiral. He had to shut that train of thought down before he chuckled and gave away his eavesdropping.

"You dare insult the Empire's generosity?" Rampart asked, a shade of amusement coloring his tone.

"Generosity is not the word I'd use for it. But because Mama raised me right, I know when to shut up and take what I'm given. And I will take. You've just admitted Crosshair is my trial run on my research. Empirical law on medical research, in Article 257, Paragraph 12, says that I am entitled to use my trial for the entirety of my experiment, if need be. Now, because I am generous, I'll give you back your Commander, once he has a clean bill of health and I am satisfied that I have gotten all the results I need."

A pang of betrayal tore through Crosshair. He really was just another experiment to you, wasn't he. That's all he ever was.

"Doctor-"

"If you'll excuse me, Admiral, my Test Run is waiting. Good day."

"... Good day, Doctor."

There was a sound of the holoprojector powering down, and Crosshair scrambled back to the couch, leaning back and throwing an ankle over his knee.

You sighed, scrubbing at your face tiredly as you stepped out of your room. You paused in the doorway, glancing at something on the floor he couldn't make out.

"You left the corner of the carpet flipped up." You grunted, kicking it flat as you exited your room. "That... went better than I was hoping."

Crosshair grunted in response, chewing on his toothpick as the headache slowly started to fade as the stim kicked in.

"Only because Rampart screwed up though. I guess taking medilaw was a useful elective. You took a painkiller?"

Another grunt. You sighed, throwing the used stim in the trash. "I'd hoped for better... How are your eyes?"

“Kriff off.” He ground out. “Unless you’re gonna force some eyedrops or something into them.” You sighed and glanced at your mess of paperwork.

“No. I’m trying to get the proper permissions so we can take a look at your head. That episode last night was terrifying.”

Crosshair glared. “I’m not letting the long necks poke around my head. They screw with my eyes enough. You screwed with my eyes enough.”

“Crosshair, if these keep getting worse then you pose a danger to yourself and others.” You chastise. “Hungry?”

“No.” He bit out, closing his eyes and snarling slightly. “Where’s the eyedrops?”

“On the table in front of you. You need a hand or-“

“I’ve got it.” He snarled, grabbing the small white bottle and fumbling with the cap, then putting two drops in his eyes and hissing in irritation at the itch.

"Grab another glass of water once those have settled. You're dehydrated." You call over your shoulder. Crosshair just flips you a rude gesture.

He did, to his credit, refill the glass at the sink and go back to sulking on the sofa, sipping it slowly. He stuck a fresh toothpick in his mouth to gnaw at as the headache slowly faded into a dull buzz in his skull, spitting out the old one chewed to woody fibers.

"I'm taking you down to do a level five scan of your head, no Kaminoans present. Then hopefully we can get some answers."

"I don't care who is poking around my head, I'm not kriffing going." Cross sets the glass down harsher than he means, knocking it over and sending it spilling to the carpet below. "Kriffing-"

"Leave it, commander." Your voice is tired, even if he can't quite make out your face. "It's a non-invasive procedure. Just a scan. You don't even have to be asleep for it."

"I'm done with the kriffing tests! You and the rest of the doctors can go kiss a hutt for all I care, but I'm not going back in that lab. Ever."

"Unfortunately, Crosshair, you're not the one who gets to make that decision, as long as you're under my care." He watches your blurry form approach with a glare. "I am not your enemy here. You're in pain. Something is karked up enough in that head of yours that you are receiving enough of a constant low level exposure to electricity the very atoms in your bloodstream are falling apart."

"You're just another doctor. You're the reason they changed the lenses in my eyes. You're the reason right now that I can't kriffing see." He spits right back. "You will never know how terrifying it is, to be told that the only reason your creators bother keeping you alive is because of your eyes, because you can see everything, only for them to turn around and decide they're not good enough? That I have to stay blind and in pain for weeks and should be thankful that they're fixing the issue instead of outright decomming me? And then you more or less tell Rampart to shove it for what? So you can poke at me some more?"

A heavy silence follows his words, him glaring at you for all he's worth and you just watching him silently.

"You're right." Your words are soft, half a whisper. "I never will know. Right now, I'm doing my best to keep you out of Kaminoan... and Empirical, hands. You are my patient, my responsibility. I will stop at nothing to get you healthy and happy." You crouched and picked up the glass, handing it to him. "If it means this much to you, then I'll hold of on the scan for now. But if these episodes continue or get worse, I'm taking you down there and we're getting to the bottom of this."

Crosshair hugged, taking a step back. His knees hit the sofa and he sat down, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Whatever. I couldn't care less right now."

“Crosshair…” You trail off with a sigh, considering how to approach this. "You're not just an experiment to me, Crosshair." Your voice was softer now. "I hope you know that."

"That was some nasty piece of politicking." He eventually says, in lieu of an answer. "Last person to try and talk circles around Rampart got shot."

You snort. "Glad it was a holocall then." You pick up your bag and Crosshair stiffened, his posture going from carefully neutral to coiled tight to forcibly relaxed in the span of a second. "I know, I know. I really need to do this, though, and make sure nothing's wrong. You have some vision back, so I have to do this now that your eyes will react to light."

"Who's it going to?" His voice grated slightly.

"Pardon?"

"You're going to write everything down, who's it going to?" He folded his hands behind his head, normally a gesture to show surrender, but for him it hid the sudden tremors in his fingertips.

You gave Crosshair a small smile, coming into a better range of focus with a bag of instruments at your side.

"Usually, it goes to the head researcher. So, me. The empire will have no access to it, if that's what you're worried about. Neither will the Kaminoans, unless they go through a painfully long legal process and get your written consent." You sat across from him, spraying sterilizing mist on your hands.

"I'm a product. They can do what they want with me." His bitterness hit close to home. You managed a small smile.

"Not for this. Not when you're under me. You're listed as a patient, not a piece of equipment." You sprayed the sterile spray into a rag you just broke the seal on and sat closer to Crosshair, knees almost touching.

"... Alright." The word was softer than you expected.

"Ok, this should go pretty quick, ok? But if you need a break, tell me." You carefully began to brush the antibacterial spray across his face. Crosshair goes stone-still, chomping down on his toothpick so hard he was surprised it didn't snap as his mind dissolved into static, a mess of everything too much and memories of being tied down, too bright lights, the maker-awful pressure wash on his eyes as they-

"Crosshair. Breath." Your firm voice came as a jolt. "You know how I'm gonna do this, why don't you walk me through it. What comes after sterilization of the surrounding area?"

"Uh." He mumbled intelligently, focusing on the procedure. "The light."

"Good." You pulled the flashlight out of your bag, gently pinning his eyelid open on the left side and letting the sensor lock onto his pupil, flashing the tiny screen green when it was good to go. "Ok, flash in 1... 2... 3-" The flashlight went off, measuring how fast his pupil reacted to the light before returning to normal. You let out a low whistle as the numbers flashed, jotting them down on a scrap of flimsi. "You really are incredible. Even just out of surgery, you beat out most human reaction speeds."

Crosshair let out a long breath he hadn't known he'd been holding as you moved to the other eye. He didn't flinch, he wouldn't flinch. The flash went off again and he sucked in a breath.

"Ok, ok. That part's done. What comes next?" Your voice was placating, gentle.

"The air." He managed, his voice strained as his heart rate ticked up another notch.

"Excellent." You murmured, switching instruments and pretending not to notice the hitch in Crosshair's breathing or the thick swallow. This was a bad one, then. "Can you tell me what it measures?" You set it right against the bottom part of his eye, against his cheekbone.

"How fast I can blink." Crosshair switched to counting out his breathing, following the same pattern as the one you had used the night before.

"Do you want a countdown?"

"No." He rasped. "Just... Just get this over with." The puff of air hit his eye just as he finished his sentence and he flinched violently, snapping his head to the side. Thankfully, you still got the reading.

"One more. Gotta get the other one now." You set the instrument against his cheek at he went completely taunt, every muscle ready to flee. The flinch came again with the puff of air, along with a strangled gasp. Once the reading flashed, it was quickly pulled away from his face.

"There you go, it's done." You sat back, giving him a break. Crosshair closed his eyes and leaned back, swallowing around the ball in his throat that he wasn't totally sure wasn't his heart as it showed no signs of slowing down, hammering against his chest. The sofa shifted as you stood, grabbing his forgotten glass and refilling it, along with retrieving something from a cabinet.

"Here." You murmured, pressing the water into a lightly trembling hand. "Let's take a small break. We still got the worst part to tackle. Then it's just the stupid easy stuff. I'll be done messing with your eyes."

Crosshair sipped at the water as you set the second object, a ration bar, in his lap.

Yellow, Hunter's favorite.

He nibbled at it as you dug through your bag. He froze at what you pulled out.

"No." He ground out. "Not that."

You paused, setting the instrument next to you as you checked the battery on it. "It's alright, Commander. I know you hate this part, it's not pleasant. Tell you what, I'll let you make the choice. Now, and get it over with, or we can do the more non-invasive tests before we take a look at the surgery flap and test eye pressure."

Crosshair knew he should get it over with, but he could hardly catch his breath as it was. "Anything else first." He spat. You nodded, as if he had said the most obvious thing in the world.

"Ok then." You moved to sit in front of him, holding up a finger. "Without turning your head, I want you to follow my finger." Crosshair tracked your finger as you swept it across his vision, clear out past his periphery. "Good. Other side?" You repeated the motion across the other side of his head.

"Any discomfort?" You ask, jotting something down on that blasted flimsi scrap. Crosshair shook his head. "Good. I'm going to move a bit farther out now. Keep your eyes facing ahead and tell me when you can no longer see my finger." You swept your finger out to the left until he stopped you, then the right, then up, then down.

"Excellent. Ok, let's cover one eye?" You left the sofa and grabbed your holoprojector, setting it on the counter and pulling up an image of an aurabesh letter chart. "What's the lowest line you can read clearly from there?" Even at a mere ten paces away, he could only get to the third line.

"Auruk, Peth, Forn, ..." He squinted. "Orenth, Trill,"

"Very good. Other eye?" The image changed to a different set of letters. He tried the third, but it was a mess of lines and blur. Second it was, then. "Besh, Herf, Krill, Enth."

“Got it. Ok.” You powered down the hologram and stepped forward again, holding up your thumbs about two feet apart in front of you. “You can see my hands?”

“Not really.” He mumbled, and you stepped a little closer.

“It’s alright. Now?” You waited for his faint nod. “Got it. I want you to look back and forth between my hands as fast as you can while I count to ten.” As you counted off, you kept track of how fast Crosshair could move his eyes.

“Good. Any discomfort?”

“…” He pressed his lips together. “A little.” He admitted at last. “When I look up.”

“Sharp pain or just pressure?” You sat back down next to him. Crosshair pursed his lips, a mix between a frown and a grimace.

“Pressure.”

You nodded. “That’s normal. Ok, you ready for the hard bit? I’m going to do both eyes at once, ok?”

Crosshair goes deathly pale. "Get it over with."

The instrument was simple, meant to measure the pressure of the eye. The problem was, it had to touch the surface of the eye. You went fast, barely waiting to get a reading before moving the instrument away from his eyes. As soon as you were done he ripped himself away and shut his eyes tight, unshed tears being squeezed out and tracking down his cheeks as he fought to get his breathing under control.

"Crosshair." You keep your voice low and soft, gently nudging his hands down before he can rub at his eyes. He snarls slightly.

"Didn't you learn last time not to kriffing touch me?" He glares at your bandaged hand for emphasis.

"I'm not afraid of you." You reply.

"You should be. I am not a good person." The distraction is working, slowly. Crosshair's form was still tense, angry lines and hard angles.

"I've faced worse." Came your stout reply as he squinted in your direction in an attempt to get his blurry sight into focus. "You weren't scary last night."

Last night he had been... vulnerable. Too many emotions, too many memories that came from his sightlessness. He was stronger, he was a clone. "Last night was different. I didn't have a choice to trust you."

"I'm sorry." You sit next to hin, pulling your knees to your chest. "For what I said earlier. About your voice not mattering. I lost my temper."

Crosshair snorted derisively. "That was losing your temper? You need to get out more." his tone is tired, but it's lost some of the heaviness.

"What, you planning to take me?" It comes out more bitter than joking. "I have work. I always do. Right now, it's keeping you out of empire hands until you've healed." Crosshair crunches down on the toothpick in his mouth, making a face as it splits down the middle. He takes it out and flicks it off to the side.

"The Empire isn't some monster you need to save me from. I made my choice." There's a steel note in his voice and you back off a bit.

"The Empire treats you like property. They want you fixed up and ready to go back on the frontlines with hardly enough time to heal. And since it rose, you've lost weight. You've developed a slight anemia. You look like you hardly sleep. That... it isn't healthy." You don't look at him, unfolding your legs to sit crosslegged and staring straight ahead.

"I am property." He grunts, nibbling at his ration bar.

"......." You don't say anything for a long moment. "Droids are property. Animals, are property. You are not. None of your brothers are either."

If Crosshair was caught off guard by your sentiments, he didn't let it show on his face. He studied your side profile with a slight squint, as if trying to see inside your head and unspool your thoughts out for him to read.

“Why are you kind to me?” He asked after a long pause. “I’m not made for gentle things.”

You hesitated, then shifted closer so that your knees touched his. He stiffened but held his position in the end, accepting your silent olive branch “You’re my patient, Cross. It's my job to care for you.” He stiffened slightly. “A job I enjoy. You’re grumpy, yes, but you are much more than your armor. So much more than a pair of eyes.”

“Cross?” His voice is tired. So tired.

“Is that alright? To shorten your name?” You asked. Crosshair was silent for a long moment.

“It’s what my vod-… my squad, before they went AWOL. They called me that. I haven’t heard it in a long time.” He winced and put a hand to the side of his head, blinking a few times to try and get his fuzzy vision into focus.

“Is it alright to call you that?” You asked again. After a long moment, Crosshair nodded. He shut his eyes tight against the growing migraine as static began to crackle in his ears.

“Cross?”

“How long has it been since your commcall?” He grunted.

“Almost two hours. Are you alright?”

“Headache.” He grunted. “Already took a stim.”

“Water? And you still need to finish your ration.” You went to refill his half empty cup. You only look back when a loud thump of something hitting the ground caught your attention.

Crosshair was sprawled on the floor by the couch. You set the glass down sharply and slid on your knees the last foot or so as you turned him on his side. His breathing was shallow and fast, eyelids fluttering to reveal only the whites.

“Hey, Commander!” You patted his cheek in what felt like a pathetic attempt to rouse him. Nothing.

Then the silence snapped into motion as Crosshair’s spine arched and his limbs went rigid, full body spasms shaking his thin frame. Cursing, you slid under his head and held his head and shoulders steady with an arm across his chest as you yank your commlink off your belt and punch in the frequency of the infirmary with hands only steady after years of training.

“Hey! This is the optician assigned to the long term care of CC 9904. I need a gurney down here stat and an emergency exam room prepped,” You hoped the authoritative anger hid the fear in your voice. “Now.”

[A/N: Wow. I was genuinely not expecting this to completely blow up like it did. Holy Smokestacks. Uh... I guess updated taglist:

@the-hexfiles @moon-wrecked @stunkbiggu @urfriendlyneighbornightfury @anotherschuylersister @endo-bunny @renon4224 @tecker @rinwritesfics ]

#crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair #tbb crosshair x reader #crosshair #Walk By Faith

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