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sinfulsalutations · 1 year

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𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕚𝕣𝕖𝕤 𝕡𝕥.𝕚𝕚𝕚 ⋆*･ﾟ𝕔𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕣 𝕔𝕣𝕠𝕤𝕤𝕙𝕒𝕚𝕣

ᴘᴛ.ɪ + ᴘᴛ.ɪɪ

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ʟᴏᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴍɪꜱᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴀ ꜱᴏʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏɴꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢꜱ, ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɢᴇᴛꜱ ᴘᴀʏʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ɪꜱ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ɢɪʀʟʙᴏꜱꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɴɢʟ ɪᴛꜱ ꜱᴇxʏ, ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱʜᴀɪʀ ɪꜱ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ʙᴀᴅ ᴀᴛ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢꜱ (ʙᴜᴛ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴡᴏʀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ɪᴛ), ᴋɪɴᴅᴀ ᴀɴɢꜱᴛʏ?, ᴘ ɪɴ ᴠ ꜱᴇx, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴠᴀɢɪɴᴀʟ ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ

⋆ ★ ᴀᴀᴀᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴍᴀʀᴋꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪɴᴀʟ ɪɴꜱᴛᴀʟʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛʀᴜɴɢ ᴡɪʀᴇꜱ ᴍɪɴɪꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ ꜰᴏʀ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪɴɢ, ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢɢɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ, ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ɪᴛ. ɪ ᴛʀɪᴇᴅ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ɴᴇᴡ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ, ᴅᴜɴɴᴏ ɪꜰ ɪᴛꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇᴀʙʟᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ᴀɴʏ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴛʀᴜᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴄʀɪᴛɪᴄɪꜱᴍ ᴏʀ ꜰᴇᴇᴅʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪᴛ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛʟʏ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ! ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟɪᴇꜱ

➼ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ 18+ ᴅɴɪ

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

Two days later, still barely able to process the events of your last encounter, you corner Crosshair instead of the other way around. You've decided, rather promptly, that you won't take his bullshit. His inconsistency makes you want to rip your skull apart and dig your nails into your skin.

He's just as infuriating, just as frustrating, just as attractive as he was before this whole cascade of events.

And you plan to put him in his place for once.

Wrecker's stentorian laugh is almost as loud as the music playing over the music at 79's, each arm wrapped around Tech and Hunter's necks as he recounts their last hilarious mission on a Mid Rim planet. You can't focus, however, when Crosshair's minatory eyes are trained on you a few stools away. Even from afar, you can feel his hands on you; something about the way he touches your body like something rare yet invaluable is unforgettable.

You want to feel it again today. Just a little differently.

Crosshair's yelp is quickly silenced when you shove him onto the wall of the upstairs hallway, a storage closet you had made sure was empty beforehand nearby. Even with his surprise, he still manages to be cunningly adaptable; his hands hold your waist hard as you grip him by the collar of his blacks that meet his neck, pulling him in for a harsh kiss; it's all teeth and tongue, nothing nice or deceptively sentimental about it at all.

If he wants to play this game with you, you'll play it right back.

His hands continue to rub up and down your waist, slowly reaching underneath the hem of your pants to hold your bare hips. He gives a testing squeeze, the first time he's ever done such a thing, and you laugh, fucking laugh, against his mouth.

He pulls away, and before he can leave your grasp completely you press your hand to his chest, pushing him against the wall again. His eyebrows raise. You don't even realize this is the first time you've seen him off guard.

"What..." He begins aimlessly, still trying to find his words. Maker, it makes you so smug to see such a usually composed man struggling to find a mere sentence. "What-what are you doing?"

Without giving him the grace of a response, you wordlessly look beside you to the closet you had checked before, gripping his wrists between your fingers and tugging him in, quickly flicking on the lights and slamming the door behind him. Despite his confusion, he doesn't protest. You smirk, and tell him you both damn well know,

"We're going to fuck."

The look on his face is almost worth all the headaches he's induced. Leaning back to slowly close the door behind you, you get comfortable against it and raise a beckoning finger, just hauntingly urging him to come forward and take what you've bestowed upon him.

He does so wordlessly, hands all over you immediately; even though he's much taller than you, and can dwarf you like a tree in a thick forest, you still feel so powerful. Every action, every movement you make he is at your feet. It's intoxicatingly maniacal of you.

"And when we're done..." You continue, hands toying with his codpiece. He hisses viciously through gritted teeth, and you tut, raising your eyebrows at the sudden desperation.

"...You're going to tell me what I make you feel."

***

It's brutal.

Crosshair's entire body is pressed to you like a hot iron, not one part left to yourself anymore. He's lasciviously laying claim on your skin and limbs, over you, on top of you like the sky is the earth, like it's exactly where he's meant to be.

He rocks his cock into you once, twice with a dark sigh, something that sounds more like profound disappointment. Your hands, still holding onto the back of his head as an anchor, tug on large strands of his hair, craning his head from where he hides in the crook of your neck, yanking it again so his eyes open. Pupils blown wide, stare dark and desperate, he pulls back for a moment before he thrusts his hips again, rough.

You cry out, head falling back and in the moment you lose your sense of control his head falls to your neck again, peppering kisses over it like he was someone that loves you; it's the most intimate act the whole night.

But he doesn't stop the harsh fucking he inflicts on you. His hands grip your waist like a lifeboat, no doubt leaving purple and gray bruises for you to trail your hands over in the coming nights. All he's doing, it's to make him unforgettable; the quiet groans in your ear, the hickeys on your collarbone, how neither of you bothered to put on a rubber before he pushed himself into you.

It's just as impersonal as it is filled to the brim with each of your festering emotions.

It's exactly how you want it to be.

You can feel yourself nearing the end, the coil in your stomach tight and ready to snap at any moment, and you're ready to fall apart at any moment as well, when suddenly, Crosshair talks into your ear. He hasn't talked once yet; only the filthiest groans deep into your ear. You expect dirty talk, something that can get your rocks off to full completion.

But what you get is something else entirely.

"You're... infuriating," he grits out. You look at him with pensive eyes, eyebrows scrunched together, but he has his eyes shut tight, a look of anguish over his face. He continues before you can respond.

"You get under my skin like nothing else can."

His head falls and he groans roughly when he finishes the sentence, thrusting into you harder. He found your G-spot long ago but decided not to trail over it. Until now, at least. Now, he hits it over and over again you have to put in an extra amount of effort to listen to what he's saying.

"Make me roll my eyes and want to tear your clothes off at the same time."

There's so much honesty in his voice, a new tone of rawness and vulnerability you haven't heard before. More devastating than the strokes he inflicts, the bruises and hickeys he leaves. The candor of his words tugs at your emotions far more.

"I hate that karkin' voice of yours, the stupid words that come out of your mouth. Only ever want to hear you moan and scream my name. Nothing else ever sounds good."

When you involuntarily clench around him while nearing your realize, he chokes on his next words, digging himself into your body deeper. His thrusts weaken but don't stop as he continues to take both of you to your releases.

"Maker you get on my nerves," he eventually hisses out, so close to your ear it sends waves upon waves of sinful shivers down your back. "So bratty and entitled."

Suddenly, his hand slithers down your stomach, thoughtfully and carefully before arriving at your clit. He rubs circles into it and you gasp softly, but he pays no attention. He keeps talking.

"An annoying, charming, stunning little princess..."

He thrusts and strokes your clit.

Then again.

And again.

"That's mine."

With that, you fall over the edge; you don't realize until then tears have been welling up in your eyes, and they finally fall down the side as you clench tightly around him, bucking into his heat over and over again. He rides through it, trying to keep up with your thrusts even as he nears his end. And with a guttural groan, he comes inside of you; the spill of his cum is hot and strong inside of you, it's hard not to feel it.

He sighs darkly, the side of his head beside you as he comes down. You turn your eyes to him; he's stroking your hair as his erratic breathing settles into something oddly domestic, something that you could maybe get used to.

Crosshair didn't wait until after you fucked to tell you how he feels.

The realization hits you like a truck, and with wide eyes you bring your hands up to move his face to yours, pressing your foreheads together.

"Crosshair," You whisper to him. His eyes open, slowly and gingerly, catching onto yours like fish to bait. Droplets of water linger over the corner of his eyes. Tears have welled up in his eyes as well. Knowing that makes you feel less foolishly open.

Without another word, you pull him down for a kiss; his hands find their grip on you again, holding you differently, kissing you differently than before. It's still not as intimate, as romantic as a couple should be, but it's far closer to affection than he's ever been. His lips trail softly against yours, molding and adjusting to fit yours perfectly, capturing you like a perfect holoimage on his mouth to remember when he's away from you.

He feels something.

And you understand.

Not everything is perfect yet, but this is a step that you'll happily revel in.

tags: @pb-jellybeans @corrieguards @badbatchbabe @ladytano420 @jediknightjana @literallydontlook @lightwise @neon-junkie @bucketbunny99 @crosshairs-wife @temple-elder @starrylothcat @hounds-tooth-icto @stardust9905 @nahoney22 @saraoke @coraex p.s. i know some of u arent on the taglist, just wanted to tag you because you had shown interest in more parts/just thought you'd like this! hope you don't mind >.<

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tup-ika-5385 · 10 months

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Fic Complete!

Chapter 3 Summary:

A rescue attempt for Hunter occurs, Wrecker provides some tlc, and Tup has a heart-to-heart with a couple members of the Bad Batch.

Chapter 3: Petals and Rube-Goldberg Machines

“Crosshair reporting in. Two internal cameras inside. They look like they’re activated.” From his perch on a nearby building, Crosshair’s enhanced vision let him see through the tinted windows into an empty storage facility. Like Tech had said earlier, the walls were heavily fortified, with very few visible entry-points.

Tech gave an affirmative hum, parked in a nearby alley with his datapad and a “borrowed” speeder. “Copy that. They must have their system hardwired into the building. I’ll try to intercept the feed from here. Wrecker, what’s your status?”

Comm crackling, Wrecker responded. “All good here! Your transceiver doo-dad is plugged in, and the light’s blinking green! Hah! And they thought a few layers of duracrete could stop me!”

“Yes, it is quite fortunate that the building’s internal systems shared a common wall with the alley. Regroup with Tup until we have more intel.”

“Gotcha! Be there soon!”

A few moments passed with Tech tapping away at his datapad before he made a noise of success. “I’ve managed to connect to their security feed, but it doesn’t appear that they have audio capabilities.”

“Hey Crosshair, just how good is your aim?” Tup asked, keeping a lookout near Tech’s location.

“What’s it to you?”

“Well, if you have any more of those surveillance rounds, I see some vents up in the roof. They’re not big enough for us, or any detonators, but we could probably slip a mic through one if you can get the angle right.” He suggested, looking through his scopes.

Crosshair smirked, proceeding to do just that. “Next time, give me a real challenge, reg.”

Tup grinned as he saw the tiny surveillance mic careening through the air and right into the pipe he’d been talking about. On comms, he asked, “Tech, are you getting anything?”

“Affirmative. We now have eyes and ears in the building.”

“Do ya see Hunter?” Wrecker asked, just now arriving back with Tup.

“Possibly. One moment while I look for a better angle.” Tech said, scrolling through the different views on his datapad. “It looks like he’s being held in the back, in some kind of enclosure. Upon further analysis of his holding area, it is unlikely that he is their first captive... I’ll try and contact him through the mic.” He grimaced; interactions with slavers and mercernaries were never his favorite.

“Won’t his captors hear that?” Tup asked, concerned.

Tech shook his head, making his way back towards the rest of the group. “Unlikely. Given Hunter’s advanced hearing, we are able to utilize soundwaves that are entirely inaudible to most known species. Hunter, do you copy?” He spoke into his comm, now connected with the mic Crosshair had shot into the vents. On Tech’s datapad, they could see Hunter give a small affirmative nod, followed by a few odd taps and coughs.

Tup grinned, recognizing the signal for what it was. “Is that dadita? I’ve seen some of the ARCs use it as some kind of code. It’s originally Mandalorian, right?”

Tech nodded, easily translating Hunter’s message. “Indeed, although we have modified it slightly for our own purposes. Hunter is saying that there are five assailants inside, and a number of battle droids. Thankfully, it sounds like he managed to disable their stealth tech when he was taken, otherwise our incursion would be decidedly more challenging.”

Comms chirping again as Crosshair spoke, his voice betrayed his earlier impatience. “Alright, you’ve got your intel. Let’s go save Hunter so we can hold it over his shebs for the next tenday.”

Wrecker grinned, a vicious glint in his eyes as he pounded his fists together. “Let’s do this! Any ideas, Tup?” He asked, turning to their honorary member.

“How about Plan 56?” Tup responded, adjusting the sheath of his vibroknife. Wrecker and Tech nodded in agreement, and even Crosshair had a sense of smug satisfaction as he voiced his agreement.

_______________________

The incursion went about as smoothly as they could've hoped for, with Wrecker blasting through the front door and Crosshair behind him, just far enough from the entrance that he didn’t become a target while he took out the three forward assailants. Meanwhile, Tech and Tup went in through the back, with Tup taking Hunter’s usual slot in the formation and slicing through Hunter’s cuffs with his own vibroknife (a gift from Fives), covering him until the last of the droids was taken down.

The two remaining assailants were competent fighters, with one managing to slash Tup’s arm with their knife, but they couldn’t match Tech’s brutal efficiency or Hunter’s close-quarters-combat training, even while he was sporting a head injury. It had taken Tech less than five minutes to get the proof they needed to confirm that these were the supply thieves, and another two to contact the Republic and tell them where to find the rest of the stolen goods. It wasn’t long before the facility was quiet and the mission objective was complete.

____________________________

“No offense, but I didn’t really take you to be the medic of the group.” Tup commented, wincing as Wrecker carefully applied an antiseptic spray to the cut on Tup’s arm. He’d already checked Hunter’s head injury, giving him a bacta patch and a surprisingly gentle hug before herding him towards his bunk, now safely back on the Marauder.

“Oh yeah?” Wrecker asked, curious.

Tup grinned sheepishly. “Heh, yeah. I originally thought Tech, or maybe Hunter, but you’re pretty good at this stuff.”

Wrecker laughed, “Hah! The Kaminoans thought the same at first, but Tech’s a little… uh, squeamish. Doesn’t like looking at blood and stuff. ‘Course, if I ever got hurt bad enough, he has the training to figure it out, but I don’t mind takin’ the rest of it.”

He got out a smaller bacta patch, continuing. “Took a couple tries to pass the certification tests, but it’s more hands-on than book stuff, so I did alright. Plus, I injured myself often enough during training that it just made sense to learn how to patch myself up, ya know?”

“Hmm, makes sense.” Tup nodded, giving Wrecker a grateful look as he finished wrapping his arm.

“Thanks, vod. Looks great!” He stood up, patting Wrecker on the arm, now knowing to brace himself for the returning slap on the back before going to look for Tech.

“Hey Tech, how’s the ship?” Tup asked, stepping into the cockpit. “Not that I don’t love spending time with you all, but I was wondering what the plan was for meeting back up with the 501st.” He grinned sheepishly.

“The ship is functioning optimally. We will be rendezvousing with the 501st at a base near Sullust, although we should arrive a few days before them.” Tech nodded in greeting, keeping a cautionary eye on the controls.

“That’s good. Hopefully Hunter should be feeling better by then.” Tup said, sitting in the copilot’s chair. An awkward silence followed for a moment before he spoke up again.

“I, uh, couldn’t help but notice that our takeoff from Lothal was a lot… smoother than our first one. Was that for Hunter’s benefit, or…?” Tup hedged, asking but not quite asking the question.

Tech’s gaze met his, searching for a moment before coming to some sort of decision. Tone hesitant, he responded carefully. “When Clone Force 99 first started getting sent out on missions, we experienced a number of… miscommunications between ourselves and ground crews. Landing strip designations would be changed, supplies would be mislabeled. One time, Crosshair had a rather troublesome injury, but we were prevented from landing for nearly two hours due to a… clerical issue.” His tone suggested that these occurrences were more than just simple accidents, and Tup grimaced.

“However, I found that these difficulties were easily rectified by landing before our identities were confirmed, as long as we were not mistaken for enemy forces. Thus, our penchant for… flashy entrances.” He flashed Tup a self-satisfied look. “I am unsure if this strategy is still necessary, given our growing reputation for battlefield efficiency, but it makes for efficient supply pickups, and the repercussions have been relatively minor.”

“Ask for forgiveness, not permission. Right? I get it. Pretty smart.” Tup nodded, appreciating the strategy for what it was.

Tech didn’t reply, but his shoulders loosened slightly at the approval, lips quirking into a small smile. Another few moments passed before Tech spoke again. “May I ask a personal question?”

“Shoot.” Tup nodded, giving permission.

“What is the meaning behind your tattoo, if it’s not rude to ask? I admit, common knowledge of that particular tattoo seems contrary to your constituent personality traits.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I don’t mind sharing.” Tup grinned sheepishly before explaining. “I got it after my first mission with the 501st, for a couple of reasons. I’ve always been a little more… emotional than most troopers; it used to get me in trouble with the trainers, but the one time I really met General Ti, she told me not to be ashamed of my tears– that they… made me human, you know?”

He gave a self-deprecating smile before continuing. “Then on my first campaign, all but one of my batchmates got killed. On that planet, I can’t remember the name, they had these flowering trees that would bloom for about a month each year, filling the streets with these little blue petals, shaped kinda like the mark on my armor… but the people there would take a day or two to remember their loved ones, those who had marched away…”

Shaking his head, his voice took on a bit of an edge. “... Lucky us, that the Separatists invaded at just the right time that we got to see it… but I always liked that idea, keeping them in mind so they’re not forgotten…” He clutched his helmet in his hands, giving Tech a bittersweet smile.

“The more I thought about it, I realized how fitting it was. The tears for me, and the flowers for my batchmates. It’s hard to tell, but the shape’s a little different between my tattoo and my armor... It wasn’t until later that I learned this symbol is used by civvies to signify that a death has been avenged… but that fits too, I guess.” He took a slow, shaking inhale, clenching his hands into fists.

“When I fight, I’m not out there for the Republic. Sure, I care about keeping civvies safe, but they have choices my brothers never got, and it makes me so… angry, if I stop and think about it for too long. So whether it’s blasting droids or Separatists, I’m fighting for them, even now that they’ve marched on.”

Tech was quiet for a long moment, contemplating Tup’s words, more than a little surprised by his openness. “I must express… I do not know what I would do if one of my brothers was… t-taken from me… you have my greatest sympathies.”

Tup rubbed at his face, warding away any forming tears. Only the roughness in his voice betrayed his thoughts.“...Thanks…”

“Your remaining brother, what is his name?”

The reflective look on Tup’s face morphed into a small smile. “Dogma. If you guys stick around long enough, maybe you could meet him.”

“I would be honored to make his acquaintance, Tup.”

______________________________

Once they’d arrived back on base, the group had quickly settled into their temporary barracks and slept for the next twelve hours. Even if it was mostly a stakeout mission, the stress of having one of their members taken had left them pretty exhausted. Even Tup had buried himself in his blankets and slept for a good long while. After waking up and joining the others for first-meal, which had gotten him a few weird looks at first but he ignored them, he found himself sitting in the barracks, checking his comms more out of boredom than necessity.

He didn’t notice that anyone else had stepped into the room until Crosshair was standing right in front of him, knocking on the bed frame to get his attention.

“Hey, Reg,” he called out. “I’m headed to do some target practice. You can come if you’re not too annoying.”

Tup’s eyes widened and he gave the sniper a surprised grin. “Really? Thanks!” He hurriedly grabbed his blaster, along with a hair-tie to fix his hair, and followed after Crosshair, trying not to look too excited.

Crosshair huffed, shaking his head at Tup’s enthusiasm. There was… a much needed apology he was very actively avoiding. He slid a toothpick in his mouth and led the way to the base’s meager shooting range.

“How’s your arm treating you?” He asked noncommittally, watching Tup take aim, wanting to see what the kid– the trooper could do.

“It’s alright, more of a surface wound than anything. Wrecker helped me clean it up.” Aiming for the targets, he tried not to feel self-conscious about the sniper’s attention.

All things considered, he was a pretty good shot, and he managed to hit most of them pretty close to center, except for the last one, which he hit in the second ring. He’s nowhere near Crosshair’s level of accuracy, but not half-bad.

“Your aim isn’t precise enough. Widen your stance and square your shoulders. Imagine like you’re tucking them into your back pockets—It’ll help with your aim.” Crosshair said gruffly as he watched Tup shoot, eyes narrowed.

Tup huffed slightly but adjusted his stance. From what little he’d seen of Crosshair’s sniping skills, it was obvious that he knew what he was doing. “Uh, okay. I’ll do that next time, thanks.”

He tried again, more mindful this time, and took aim. This time each one of his shots was a kill shot, if the targets had been made of more than flimsi.

The ghost of a smile slipped across his face and he tipped his chin up, putting a hand on Tup’s shoulder. “Not bad,” he said. “Could be better, but not bad at all. Try it again, but relax. You look like you’re sitting on a live-wire. You’re holding too much tension and it’s making you shake, just slightly. Loosen up, kid.”

He gave Crosshair a small smile at the compliment, the tension in his shoulders relaxing automatically at Crosshair’s touch. “Thanks, I’ll try that…”

Aiming once again, he managed to hit all the targets, but he couldn’t feel much difference between this and the way he usually did it. “Looks about the same as last time, but if you say it helps, I believe you.” He grinned sheepishly, gesturing for Crosshair to take a few tries.

Crosshair huffed, but raised his own rifle, coolly taking aim. “You can’t see it, but I can. You’re more precise this way. Your accuracy isn’t terrible, but your precision could use work. It’ll help to relax.” This firing range looked almost too easy for him, as he not only hit center every time, but fired a couple more shots that lined up perfectly with Tup’s slightly-off center marks.

“Nice.” Tup admired, impressed.

Crosshair smirked, chin tilting upward in pride. “This is nothing. You should see the tricks Wrecker and I get up to when we’re ship-side for too long.”

“Oh?”

“Have you ever heard of a Rube-Goldberg Machine? It’s a civvie thing where a lot of precise actions wreak havoc, causing different chain reactions; think dominoes, but with more… flair. Anyways, Tech’s always got a million gadgets hanging around his bunk, and if you aim a credit just right, his whole bunk turns into one of those.” His self-satisfied smirk widened, prompting a grin from Tup.

“Sounds like you four have a lot of fun. I’ve been wondering, what’s the age-order for your squad? I’d assume that Hunter’s the oldest, but…”

“Yeah, Hunter’s the oldest; only brings it up to boss us around, but he’s not a bad Sergeant. Then there’s Wrecker, Tech, then me.”

“You’re the youngest?” Tup blinked in surprise.

A faint smile quirked at the sniper’s lips. “I am, and I made sure everybody knew it, back when we were cadets. I was always getting my batchmates into trouble— it used to drive Tech crazy. He nagged and nitpicked at me at every turn. Utterly obnoxious.” He said, without bite.

Tup rolled his eyes, starting to get used to Crosshair’s prickly attitude. “Sounds about right. I was the oldest in our batch, but for some reason I’d usually end up being treated like the baby of the group… “ He looked mildly grumpy at the memory, but mostly nostalgic. “… and Dogma was number three, right in the middle.”

He grinned at Crosshair’s description of Tech. “Heh, sounds a little like Dogma. He’s always been a stickler for the rules, especially since we were around six, I think... We had a rough time with one of the trainers at that age... It felt like he was just waiting for us to make a mistake so he could get us in trouble, so Dogma would bug us a lot if we didn’t do things right, because then someone could get in trouble... o-or maybe taken... but he did it because he cared, even if he expressed it differently... sounds like your batchmate might’ve been similar in that way…” He offered Crosshair a small smile.

“Hm, maybe.” Crosshair hummed before changing the subject. “If you’re done takin’ a nostalgia trip, square up. We need to work on that shab’la aim of yours.” He grumbled, but Tup could spot a hint of a smile in his eyes.

____________________________

Eventually, the 501st arrived and Tup returned to his squad, getting an enthusiastic hug from Hardcase and a scolding from Dogma for injuring his arm. As the Bad Batch took off, as chaotic as always, he gave them a wave goodbye. He wouldn’t mind seeing those brothers again someday.

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