#candy masterlist

“Almost got it!” Wrecker exclaims from a few meters in the air. Thick cords of vine coil around his waist as he uses his vibroblade to slice at the brush threatening to close him in. Despite his claim of ‘almost’ conquering this brainless beast, he’s nowhere closer to becoming free from this botanical prison. Stun charges are no use and regular blaster fire only singes the surface of vegetation. 

Tech astutely realizes the only way to stop it is to inhibit its motor functions. “Crosshair, use your net launcher to bring him down!”

Reaching into the utility cache secured on his back, Crosshair pulls out the attachment, locking it into place and taking aim. With an accurate squeeze of his trigger, the trap deploys to collect Wrecker in its tight bindings and he plummets to the dampened soil. He grimaces, antsy and suffering an abrupt assault to his pride but he is otherwise perfectly fine. “Hey! I said I almost got it.”

“I heard you. I just don’t want to waste anymore time in this Maker-forsaken swamp.” Crosshair bitterly responds with squinted eyes and a drop of venom in his speech.

Hunter helps Wrecker to his feet when a small holo-frame lying face down at his feet catches Echo’s eye. He plucks it from the ground and turns it over, cheeks immediately flushing when he sees the raunchy image. He clears his throat nervously and attempts to discreetly pass it to Tech, thinking it’s his. “Ahem. I uh- think you dropped this.” 

Tech does a visual once over and sees all his gadgets are present and accounted for and waves at the contraption in dismissal without proper inspection. “I assure you I didn’t. All of my necessities are secure.”

“Then who’s is it?” Echo asks.

“That’s mine!” Wrecker growls in suppressed discomposure, snatching the photo from Echo’s grasp. “Sorry... It uhm, must have fallen in the struggle.”

“Why are you carrying that around?” Echo questions.

“I just like to look at it, is all...” Wrecker sheepishly tries to hide this prize away but it has piqued the restless interest of his brothers.

“What is it? Let me see.” Tech inquires with an outstretched hand, beckoning Wrecker to give him the photo so he can have a proper look this time, regretting his passive glance before.

“But she gave it to me!” He denies, selfishly.

“Wrecker, just give us a peek then you can have it all to yourself.” Hunter adds calmly, trying to simmer his brethren down.

“Alright. You only get one look.” Wrecker acquiesces, setting firm ground rules for his treasure as he pulls it away from his chest plate. The photo is you, clad in your birthday suit with creamy dollops on your nipples while sinking your teeth into a ripe and juicy berry, its nectar dripping down your chin and casting a luminously tinted sheen over your lips. Their collective expressions are startled by the lewd properties of the pin-up grade picture and Wrecker hastily puts it away while their wanton gazes hunger for more.

“You’ve had that on you the whole time?” Crosshair inquires, slightly envious that you had given such a token to Wrecker instead of himself.

“She said to take it with me as a reminder.” He shrugs, eyeing your deviously captured likeness in his hands.

“What sort of reminder?” Tech chimes in with an idea of his own in the back of his mind.

“A token to hold us over until we got back...”

“So was that meant for the whole squad and you kept it to yourself?” Echo is baffled by his stinginess, thinking of all the moments he could have benefited from seeing you while on this meandering mission. “What I would’ve done to get a glimpse of her the nights we were wading through boglands...”

“Okay, don’t be mad-”

“Wrecker!” They shout in distasteful unison.

“I’m sorry!” He apologizes meekly. “She’s just so pretty and I- I didn’t want to share...”

“She’s not going to appreciate this move of yours, you know.” Tech scolds him, tsking between his firm statements. “I always distribute my reels amongst you.”

“You’re not really going to tell her right?” Wrecker pleads for their mercy but Hunter shrugs, sealing his fate.

“Gotta own up to your mistakes, Wrecker. Now let’s get home. We’ve been out here long enough, I just might forget what she smells like...” Crosshair snickers at Hunter’s satirical delivery of orders, following behind him while shooting a wicked grin in Wrecker’s direction. He glumly trails along behind the group the remainder of the way back to the Marauder, contrite for allowing the devil of recklessness to seize him.

~~~

They safely touch down on your private landing bay at the top of your towering apartment block. The comm device resting on your window sill chirps with an incoming ETA from Tech to announce their imminent arrival and your heart pounds with a frantic rhythm. You’ve not heard from them for nearly a month, deprived and yearning for their return as each day of painful solitude passes. 

You’re insufferably too eager to see your favorite boys again. A handful of rooms away from where they’re standing, you’re sprinting down the dimly lit and industrial halls, casting an allure of excitement over your otherwise prosaic daily routine. The astonishing reality of this attachment still bewilders you; the fact that out of all the people they have the fortune of crossing paths with, out of the millions in passing they meet across the Galaxy, their five collective hearts have set their sights on you. Your own flames of passion are being aggressively fanned, filing the once vacant cage in your chest with a beast of desire that proves to be increasingly difficult to tame. 

The hangar’s entrance is blaring and bustling as you weed through the sea of people in search of rather recognizable clones. You spot Wrecker’s broad shoulders towering above the crowd, his face wreathed in a series of appealing smiles as he hastily creates a way for the others to traverse the flock. “You’re back!” You exclaim when his eyes meet yours. It’s a heartfelt reunion, picking up speed in your gait to jump into Wrecker’s welcoming arms. Even with the ambient clamor of the environment, his laugh rings loud in your ears as he lifts you up and gives you a good squeeze before setting you down. However, there seems to be a qualm of objection amongst his brothers for getting the chance to embrace you first. 

“Ah ah ah. Not so fast.” Hunter interrupts to gently pull Wrecker away and you topple on your feet slightly at the sudden absence but Tech steps forward to embrace you in the nick of time. 

“Don’t worry. This’ll be rewarding.” He whispers suggestively in your ear.

You’re scanning their expressions, confused by this exclusion when Echo says two words that points all fingers at Wrecker. “Tell her.”

“Urgh! You’re really gonna make me?” He groans in agonizing protest.

“Tell me what?” You ask.

Wrecker sighs penitently while rubbing the back of his neck, avoidant of your judgement. “Remember that holo-photo you gave me before we left?”

“Yes?” You say, brow raised and inquisitive. 

“I didn’t show it to them until yesterday when we were on our way back...” He confesses, shrinking into himself as he braces for your reaction.

“Wrecker! How could you! I told you that was a parting gift for everyone!” Tech is still holding you, his grip tightening slightly when an assertive tone bleeds into your voice. Crosshair folds his arms while chewing his toothpick, shaking his head with a cunning grin painted on his lips as you scold his brother. “That makes you a naughty boy, you know? And naughty boys need discipline.”

“I’ll be good! I promise!” He begs you, practically cowering on his knees. Everyone knows it’s all in good fun, but you’re deviously thinking up an infinite manner of ways to translate this transgression into the ritualistic sessions shared at home. 

“You should have thought of that before depriving your brothers for weeks on end.” Shifting your feet, you turn your back on him with your nose in the air to declare a compelling aura of influence as Hunter and Crosshair line up on your left with Tech and Echo taking their places on your right. They already can’t help themselves, hands drawn to you like magnets as you let out soft ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ at every little touch no matter how chaste. They embrace you with a glow of excitement while initiating the jaunt up to your apartment where the fun really begins, Wrecker grumbling to himself the whole way.

Upon entry, you take advantage of the private quarters to lock lips with the closest person in proximity to your mouth and it happens to be Echo. He jolts at the sudden contact, melting his tongue into your mouth as you zealously receive him. Hunter and Crosshair start tugging at your clothes, popping buttons, unlatching buckles and slipping off every piece of textile to reveal your skin for their viewing pleasure. They plant kisses along your shoulders and down your back, inciting a swell of chills to possess you with lively tremors when either of them sink their teeth into your flesh like a fruit off the vine. 

After a few moments of being plunged into this whirlwind of a waltz, one by one they break away to look at you, drinking you in. You stand amidst empty space as if put on a pedestal before a gawking audience. Wrecker and Tech close in and you’re completely encircled, but you’ve not forgotten about Wrecker’s trivial incident. “You. There. Now.” The staccato pauses in your commands stops Wrecker in his tracks and you send him away to sit on his hands at the opposite side of the room until he’s called upon, reluctantly obeying. 

“Spoken like a true captain, herself.” Crosshair says and Wrecker sticks his tongue out at him, a powerless spectator. “Oh, don’t look so displeased. Seems your wish is granted after all, Wrecker. You get to look as much as you want.” Crosshair commences things by slipping a hand between your thighs. He massages your favorite spot, finding it easily and applying such delicious pressure it forces you to cling to his arm for support. It’s astonishing how efficiently he can make you flutter just with a steady wiggle of his fingertips, while occasionally probing them inside. In no time at all, Crosshair feels your gushing slicken his digits while you bury your muffled moans into his chest plate, unrelenting and continuous waves of pleasure throttling you from your core. Wrecker is rocking in his seat, agitated and trying to settle into the reality of his predicament, wishing it were his arms you were clasping to.

“I would venture to say this is superior to a photo, wouldn’t you?” Tech adds while circling your form, adjusting his goggles to gain a proper look as he captures the moment to be added to the candid reels. Crosshair retracts his hand from your clenching thighs to have an impatient taste of you, maintaining intimidating eye contact though every maneuver until a wink flashes in his reticle markings. He exhales gruffly as he samples the flavor, recounting in his mind exactly how long it’s been since he last encountered it; far too long in his opinion. 

“I’m gonna need all angles of this, Tech.” Hunter instructs as he reaches out to you, resting a gloved palm against your chest. The thin barrier of material isn’t enough to mute the torrid heat radiating from his touch, running a hotter than usual. He snakes up your neck before coiling his grip around your throat, walking in a semicircle to perch about you from behind with his angular nose threading into your hair to enable him to nibble on your earlobe. Echo throws himself into the mix and plants his mouth around one of your breasts while plunging his own appendage betwixt your legs. 

“Way ahead of you, Sarge.” Tech responds as you attempt to train a half-lidded glance on his eyewear. The tiny red bulb fixed to his right ocular lens is blinking and he freezes when you flash your tongue at him, breaking his makeshift fourth wall of obscurity; his safe haven to buffer your erotic hypnosis. He startles, tipping his head downward to dodge your attention only to find you haven’t stopped peering in his direction.

“All angles, huh?” You beckon rhetorically, letting Hunter coax you into laying on your back atop the mountain of pillows on your living room floor. Plush, knitted silks yield to your flesh as Echo cordially moves your hair out of the way to be sure it doesn’t get painfully yanked on with Crosshair at your opposite end, lying in wait to begin devouring you. “How about this one?”

Tech gulps so loudly, there’s no doubt it was picked up on the recording’s audio. The image of your spread legs in the air is a sight to behold and he’s itching to involve himself in these enticing activities. “That is more than sufficient, darling.”

With each hand, you’re straining to strip Hunter and Echo of their codpieces but they take it upon themselves to discard them for you, pulling the waistband of their undersuits down to reveal themselves completely. Hunter’s girth occupies one hand while Echo’s is in the other, leaving your mouth lustfully available for Tech. He takes his place in the middle with his knees on either side of your head, hunching over to press his own lips to yours. This point of view is tastefully intimate, getting to see things through his eyes. You’ve a cock in each hand with a third is about to descend your throat as Crosshair eats you alive, periodically chomping down on the plumpness of your thighs to mark you with love bites. Wrecker slumps in his chair, feeling like the odd man out in this instance but still fortunate in having the best seat in the house to view this display.

Tech eases himself into your mouth and he groans when he sees the distension rising in your neck, cradling your head to help you take him. He smiles at you in pride as Echo and Hunter succumb to your vigorous stroking. Crosshair is quite skilled in the oral department, titillating his tongue as he suckles your clit while pinning your hips down, driving you absolutely mad. You don't know whether to laugh maniacally or scream in delight. He rises from his deep dive to catch his breath, studiously freeing himself of the confines of his own restrictive clothing to grind himself against you. Crosshair coats himself in your slick, grazing the ridges of his tip against you and you’re unsure of who to focus on. Tech makes that decision for you, pulling out of your mouth so you can see what Crosshair is up to.

“Eyes. Give me those eyes.” Crosshair requests while upturning your chin to watch you unravel. At the same time he breaches your entrance, he offers your mouth up to Hunter to signify his turn with it when your jaw drops, spilling moans like honey in their ears. “Now be a good girl and give them what they want.”

You look between the trio of troopers and begin ravenously sucking them off, alternating with no true order to your methods. Each one has their own uniqueness to them, be it scent or size, and you can’t possibly get enough variety. Not to mention the flowing reactions to your swirling spittle around their throbbing heads, each one operating with a tender attentiveness while pumping into your mouth or hands. Crosshair feels your discernable clenching around his shaft and knows you’re tipping that edge yet again, captivating wails being smothered by your own incessant gargling. Oh, what an invigorating experience this is, to indulge and be indulged. The nuanced praise and palpable diligence makes you feel so safe in literally letting them do whatever they want.

Just when you’re getting used to this cadence, Crosshair draws himself away and you cry out in bratty despair, already missing the presence of someone inside but find that they’re trading places. Echo appears between your legs to fill the space Crosshair left empty, parting your ankles to stretch you even wider. As he lines himself up, you take Crosshair and Tech in each hand to give Hunter full reign over your mouth as they play this salacious game with you yet again. “She really is a good girl, isn’t she?” Hunter says subjectively but it’s clear he’s only speaking to you. His long hair sweeps across your face in a ticklish manner when he dips his head for a kiss like Tech had done previously. Rearing back, he presents himself to you and you open your mouth wide to earn a few tasteful slaps of his tip to your tongue, a frisky formality of his. 

More dizzying moments in this billowing vortex pass and you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve climaxed, believing them all to roll into an amassing bundle of perpetual gratification. You’re growing fatigued, rivers of spittle dripping from your wearied mandibles unable to maintain their embouchure around such long stiffness, but it only adds to the drunken arcadia you never want to end. Your lips are still wrapped around Hunter’s cock when you feel the crossing of hot streams being squirted all over the hills and valleys of your torso. Tech and Crosshair have emptied themselves onto the canvas of your stomach and you wear the pooling come like a trophy. Their staggered breath and flexing bodies is a testament to their covetous admiration of you and one of your favorite parts of this exchange. “Kriff... I’ve been waiting weeks to do that.” Crosshair murmurs under his breath before slipping out of your hand to respectfully sop up his spend with a clean rag, Tech doing the same.

“In record time, no less.” Tech remarks as he clemently pets your skin until his own mess is cleared away. “I don’t believe I could have lasted another second.”

Hunter retracts himself from your mouth to establish a change of pace, speaking to you sweetly again. “You see what you’re doing to us, mesh’la? How are you ever going to get rid of us now?”

“Like that’ll ever happen. She’s stuck with us.” Echo adds with a haughty pump, sharply piercing you deeper to gain another one of your signature high-pitched whimpers. “Why don’t we switch things up?”

“Uh-huh...” You beg, debilitated and swamped by the submissive mindset as they all coo at you. With Tech and Crosshair making Wrecker jealous by watching a playback of the most recent content, that leaves Echo and Hunter to flip you on your stomach with your arms outstretched and bracing between them. Each movement draws a yelp from you but it’s stifled due to the cock in your mouth being driven deeper and deeper with every snap of Echo’s hips. Hunter unties his bandana from his fringe and fashions it as a ribbon to hold your hair out of your face after noticing strands sticking to your cheeks in the course of this carnal workout. He fiercely bites his tattooed lip when you look up at him, beads of moisture forming at your waterlines when you overestimate his anatomy and choke on it. He loves your fearlessness in pushing your limits and rejoices at how well you take him. 

Echo is toying with the jiggling crowns of your ass as it rattles back and forth, pushing into you with more force until your face is pressed against the chiseled structure of Hunter’s abdomen, his fingers weaving into your ponytail. The arch of your spine magnifies the fulfilling properties of this position for all parties involved as their gasping breaths waft over your dewy, hot-blooded skin. Suddenly, Echo exasperatedly grunts while digging his hand into the crest of your hip as his thrusting has nearly ceased, laxing in speed but still strikingly emphatic. Meanwhile, Hunter has become more languid so you prepare for his inevitable finish.

“Show me how much you like it, cyar’ika. Gonna take it all?” Hunter implores and you nod as best as you can while in this restraining pose. Sharply inhaling, the warmth of his release coats the back of your throat, and you swallow with ease, sucking on his pulsating thickness until nothing else is left. Echo and Hunter struggle to regain their composure, panting like they’ve just run a marathon. You limply lie there for a bit, used up and slightly sore when Wrecker finds your stare yet again. He’s foaming at the mouth, drooling and starved to participate after an unfathomable amount of time having not moved a muscle, still treating your demands as law.

“Very well behaved, Wrecker.” You applaud him while pressing your knees together to feel Echo’s come soaking you entirely. “Is it time for you to have a turn?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” He responds while vivaciously stripping his lower plates of armor. You perk up on your hands and knees and crawl your way to your feet. The couple strides it took to land in Wrecker’s trunk-like arms felt like an eternity with every tottering step but the colossally erect prize at his waist is an indisputable incentive to keep going. You climb atop his legs, guiding him in until that first inch dilates you further than Crosshair or Echo did. Wrecker analyzes your features closely to gauge when you’re comfortable enough to really receive him.

You bring his thumb to your mouth and bite down on it, nonverbally giving him the signal. He hisses at the pinch but it fades into a crooked laugh before thrusting upward, spearing you roughly. The wide net of his hand wraps around your face as he does this, thinking he’s in control but he’s pleased to feel a prancing gyration of your hips to gain more drag and pull from within. You release his thumb with an audible and sassy pop when he hugs you to his chest, kissing to tether yourselves together. He engages in this power play so well, trying to fuck you so hard your organs will be thoroughly rearranged when he’s through.

Despite all his talk, he doesn’t last long and that’s to be expected. The amount of torture this had to have been for him is definitely a lesson that won’t go unlearned. Wrecker yields to the weight of your ass slamming down on him as a dagger of tautness emerges in your abs. You slow down, cautious not to pull any muscles due to the long stretch of time since you were last tossed around like a ragdoll and Wrecker takes advantage of your deceleration, bucking up until you’re bouncing aimlessly in his lap. Elevating things by a notch or two, you gnaw on his lip to elicit a hoarse groan and that does the trick. Ample blooming heat is deposited for a second time, spilling its viscous surges all over you, him and the chair. 

“What can I say, boys. She saved the best for last.” Wrecker boasts with your lethargic form still draped across his limbs like a championship wrestling belt.

“Not to be mistaken, but this is to be perceived as a punishment.” Tech dryly corrects him while glancing up from stabilizing the composition of the recently recorded material.

“Hmph. Doesn’t feel like one.” Wrecker’s humorous outlook on the transpired events manifests a chuckle to erupt from your gut and he grins at your high spirits.

“Debt’s been paid.” You tell Wrecker with peppering smooches to the network of scars across his face. “Now, how about we make up for lost time and watch that reel?” 

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With Echo and Hunter in the cafeteria while Crosshair and Wrecker restock their munitions at the armory, it leaves you some free time to pamper yourself in the privacy of the ship instead of resorting to the invasive wrath of public showers. Tech lingered behind when his brothers departed, appreciative of the peace that the quietness of the hull offers when you stroll out of the shower.

“Whew! I thought I was going to suffocate in there!” A cloud of steam plumes into the confined space of the ship, abruptly startling Tech who is absorbed by routine diagnostics. He glances up at you from his datapad, staggering through a double-take when he notices your hair blanketed like a waterfall across your shoulders. He’s never once seen it in it’s natural entirety before, seized by the way the light catches the dampened and glossy waves. “Do you think we could figure out a way to have better ventilation in there?”

“I’m afraid not without compromising the integrity of central pressurization whilst flying through unstable atmospheres.” Tech shakes off the initial stun to focus on answering your question with his usual informative inflection.

“Oh well. I can put up with a little humidity in order to get clean.” You state while gently blotting and squeezing sections of your hair with the towel. The drenched weight drags your head down, craning your neck to reach all portions. 

“My apologies. We would have to keep the panel sealed even in hyperspace. It would render the lavatory inoperable.” He follows you attentively to explain himself further, feeling culpable for this minor inconvenience of yours.

“It’s fine Tech. Really. I was just thinking out loud.” You insist, searching for your brush to begin tackling the disorderly nest atop your head.

“Ah. Very well then.” He pivots on his heels to start back to his post but he stops short of his jaunt when he studies the tedious methods of detangling your hair. Your clean, natural essence closely resembles one of his most favorite fragrances he’s ever come across in his entire span of life, imploring him to have a passionate inclination towards you before he even knew it. Tech watches you gather the bottom few inches that sway about your hips in your hand, vigorously running the bristles through the segment. With how extensive your hair is, you have to repeat this procedure until you can run your fingers through with ease. Tech peers in and you spot his intrigued gaze appear at the bottom corner of the smudged mirror secured to the wall. “Might you require assistance?”

“I’m fine. I do this all the time.” Tech watches you wince as you finish your passive declaration, making note of the needless pain you’re unintentionally inflicting upon yourself.

“Being used to something doesn’t make it any less difficult.” Tech advances towards you, his steady footfalls tapping against the echoing metal floor and you’re crippled by his alluring yet thoughtful approach. “Allow me.” He muses, holding his hand out for your brush. You shrug, filled with gratitude that your already sore arms won’t have to become even more strained.

Tech takes it from your grasp to try his hand at tending to your tresses, operating with a timid clemency as he traverses through the presumed motions, accidentally snagging a few tangles at first. “Ouch!” You involuntarily wail, hunching yourself forward to dodge another one of his strokes.

“Forgive me! That was not my intention!” He jumps at your exclamation and tries to surrender the brush, reluctant of causing you further suffering. “I suppose I must have yanked on a knot...” 

“No, I’m just tender-headed is all. It happens! Here, let me show you.” Twisting your torso, you take the handle of the brush and press the frayed side to your locks, demonstrating the technique you want Tech to emulate. He watches assiduously in comprehension before duplicating the dynamics himself. 

The tickles of Tech’s grasp starts from the bottom just as yours did, not moving up until the portion he’s focused on can yield to his lean fingers effortlessly. He continues doing this, gradually dragging from your crown to the tips of your fringe in one fell swoop. “Don’t hesitate to alert me if I happen to maim you again.” 

“Nonsense, you’re doing great! It feels good actually. Relaxing...” Your eyes drift down to slits as you immerse yourself into the serenity of his touch, extensive sighs to advertise the luxury of this exchange while you lean back into Tech.

“It certainly is striking.” He acknowledges, petting your head to capture the newly softened texture your hair has evolved to. With every pass, he enhances it with a courteous massage of your scalp, privy to your prior sensitivity.

“Uhm, pardon?” You confide in him coyly.

“Your hair. Why don’t you let it down more often?” Tech elaborates while using both hands to genially push your dampened tufts behind your ears to shape your cherub face, beaming at your reflection.

“Oh!”  Well, it suppose that’s because it’s always in the way...” Your voice dwindles, humbly admitting to the age-old excuse you tell yourself when concealing your indomitable mop.

“It’s up to you, of course, but I wouldn’t mind doing this for you in our down time between missions.” Tech decrees.

“You would honestly take the time out of your busy schedule to brush my hair?” You attempt to respond, fighting against a cracked whimper that threatens to broadcast the heartfelt affect this proposition has on you.

“If that is what you wish.” He devoutly pledges without a second thought.

“Could I maybe... teach you how to braid?” You optimistically recommend.

“You know I’m a fast learner.” 

“Thank you, Tech. I would appreciate that.”

“Why don’t we start now?” He eagerly suggests and you smile broadly, walking him through the elaborate steps to gracefully weave your hair.

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“How much longer are you going to be in there? Everyone else has already left.” Crosshair’s voice gruffly bleeds through the sliding door to the refresher with a spry tone of impatience. Tech heard you talking about the autumnal practices of your home world and researched areas in the Galaxy that participate in the comparable customs, finding a precious little settlement on the forest moon of Endor where they partake in a month-long festival known as Hallowe’en. Hunter has taken Omega, Echo and Wrecker to get a head start while you finish putting together your costume.

“You can’t rush excellence!” Calling out from the other side of the door, you adjust your outfit and touch up your makeup in the mirror to ensure your picture-perfect appearance. The dress you bedight is hand sewn from various scraps of fabric you treated with natural dyes foraged on your visits from planet to planet. It is now a uniform shade of black with acid bleached markings along the front and back that make up a skeletal form. Your face is similarly painted, resembling a skull with brightly bejeweled borders about your occipitals obscured by a loosely draped hood to add an allure of mystery. Before you exit, you dab a homemade scent oil on your wrists and the back of your ears to create an aura of aroma that resembles bright fruits and night-blooming flora, perfect for the occasion. Overhearing Tech say something about these events lasting for weeks so being late for the first one is no true crime, you walk out into the open space of the Marauder to present your handiwork. His voice falls flat and even stalls in his throat when Tech sets his eyes on your angelic form. The gown hugs you in all the right places and marvelously accentuates your skin tone. Your natural contours bring life to the contrasting faux ivory patterns that shape your physique, further solidifying the illusion you’re trying to portray. “Well, what do you think?”

If this were a more comical setting, you would think you heard their collective jaws make a loud thud as they drop to the floor. Tech catches himself staring and clears his throat, effectively snapping Crosshair out of the hypnotic trance you hold him in. “Awe-inspiring is a... paramount understatement.” Tech mutters through his breath, sauntering closer to examine your craftsmanship. Crosshair hasn’t moved nor said anything and you feel a blooming heat emerge on your cheeks, turning them a few shades darker beneath the ghostly makeup. As Tech’s significant other, words such as this come easily to him in regards to you. However, it’s still taken Crosshair a long while to find his voice in fear of yet another power play from Tech. But after all the other experimental affairs leading up to this point, he’s slowly getting there. “Let me guess. The classic Lady Calavera?” Tech inquires with astute knowledge of your culture while holding his hand out to you, beckoning a twirl so he can assess your costume in its graceful entirety.

“Close! I was going for Santa Muerte, but I didn’t exactly have enough time to craft a paper mache scythe to tie this all together.” You shrug, limply plopping your arms at your sides while playing with the swishing hem of your skirt.

“You should have told me you needed a special weapon. We know a guy.” Crosshair chimes in with a smug brow raised, still resisting the urge to comment on your apparel just yet but you can tell he’s holding his tongue with slack authority. Tech is likewise admiring you from head to toe while you carry on with Crosshair.

“Are you crazy? I’m not going to bring a towering melee weapon to a setting with children and small animals, Crosshair. That’s dangerous.” You jest, slightly distracted by the way Tech’s hands caress the back of your neck, long fingers threading into your nape. It would appear your pheromones have been boosted by your scent oil, rendering Tech intoxicated.

“What’s dangerous is you looking like that around us.” Crosshair purrs at you, low and seductive with a glimmering pulse of passion in his eye. You gasp softly, looking to Tech for answers but he’s already pressing his lips in that sweet spot below your ear, possessing you with rippling chills when his hot breath sweeps over your skin.

“Wait-” You attempt to push Tech away but he is far stronger than anticipated, resisting your wishes as Crosshair stalks closer. “I thought you were rushing me because everyone is out there waiting.”

“Like Tech said.” Crosshair remarks coyly, contemplating with silent messages exchanged with Tech of what they want to do to you. “There will be more sunsets.” Before you know it, Crosshair stands, his poised hands behind his back with tame restraint directly in front of you, inches from your face. The way his deep irises zip back and forth is dizzying, but the motion is halted when his lips can be felt tasting yours with eyes fluttering closed. 

“What the-” Crosshair breaks the kiss and turns around to find his wrists confined in stun cuffs with Tech smirking off to the side. “Ha ha. Very funny, Tech. You can unlock them. Now.”

“Did you think that there would only be treats here?” He chuckles, winking at you when he sees how much pleasurable fun this is going to bring. “As per the holiday, there must be some tricks involved.” Tech believes this to be a worthy punishment for stealing a kiss from his beloved without asking permission.

“Clever! You’ve brought the festival to us, more or less.” Your ebullient laughter fills the area and Crosshair grumbles in defeat after tiring himself out from wrangling with the bindings at his joints. He stands angrily defensive like a wild animal but proves he is more bark than bite as soon as you make your way over. He surrenders to your touch, letting you push him into one of the four reclining chairs on the flight deck. Crosshair’s chest rattles when your hands slip under his shirt to run your fingers along the sculpted lines hidden by textile. You settle in his lap, grinding yourself against the stiff seams in his pants until you feel a probing hardness materialize, applying even more pressure to that mound in particular.

Crosshair strains to keep his light lips sealed, pleasantly losing the battle when a sullen groan comes flying out of his throat. But just when he thinks he can gain some form of gratifying release to all this pent up tension, you depart, walking into Tech’s wantonly proud arms to leave Crosshair thrusting into thin air with eager ferocity. The grimace on his face is more than enough repayment for missing out on the first night of celebration, savoring the fiery resentment in his wrinkled nose.

He can do nothing but watch as you and Tech conduct yourselves as if he isn’t there. Crosshair’s defenseless frustration fuels the flame of indulgence as he shamelessly foresees himself in his brother’s shoes; subconsciously moving his jaw to where he would long to have your tongue dance behind his teeth, helpless and haunted by the vacancy around him.

Crosshair shakes his head with an exasperated sigh, the unforgiving tautness of the handcuffs creak at the clenching of his fists when you drop to your knees. Through every agonizing second that you hold his stare, Crosshair shifts that envious gaze with erratic disorder. The makeup around your mouth is smeared the more you ingratiate yourself with Tech, blending into an opaque gray as you continue bobbing up and down. Tech smells clean and tastes even better, taking him with ease to feel his ridges press against your sinuses. Subtle saltiness coats your tongue and you sample its zest as Tech showers you with cooing reverence, petting you sweetly.

Tech pulls you off his length and lifts you up. He sets you down in the chair adjacent to Crosshair’s to pull the tinted fabric aside, exposing your bare legs. While too caught up with pleasing you, Tech does the brusque motion of bypassing your undergarments without removing them. He breaches your opening, slick and wet with your arousal meeting saliva. The angle of Tech’s hips allow him to pierce you exquisitely as the lustful melodies spilling from you drive Crosshair up his mental walls, unable to estimate how much more of this agony he can withstand. 

“You have two legs that aren’t broken, right Mr. Sniper?” Crosshair bitterly sneers at your pretentious ridicule, the audacity of addressing him in your profanely occupied state, but nods in confirmation all the same. “Then get over here, soldier.” He practically leaps to his feet in pursuit of you with a fickle instability, wondering just what’s in store for him next. Be it tormenting or blissful, he craves it all.

Tech never ceases his pumping, holding your legs up at their knees and lost in his own world while you make quick work of Crosshair’s buckles at his waist. His throbbing bulge tells you he’s remained painfully erect this entire time, adorably soaking the inner lining with excessive pre and you can’t wait to satisfy your appetite.

Crosshair lunges for you but it is fruitless, denied the fortune of feeling your skin with his own palms due to the cuffs growing ever tighter with his resistance. You giggle at his attempt and prolong the ritual of sucking him off with conscious allure, contorting your face via Tech’s manipulations to challenge him to maintain an even keel. One of Tech’s hands have moved from your knee to apply delectable pressure to the exterior bud, maddening you with jolts of electrifying ecstasy. Yelping out of surprise, you’ve also sprung Crosshair free of his britches, eyeing the way it renders your hands so small. 

A couple licks in and you can tell that Crosshair is itching to be liberated of these shackles, squirming and restless as you treat him with hardly a fraction of the attention you were showing Tech, unapologetically taking your time with tantalizingly sparse contact. Tech has free reign over your body, taking intermittent bows to pull out of you so that he can slip his tongue betwixt your folds, keeping them saturated and luscious. The reverberation of your moans is muffled by Crosshair’s engagement with your mouth and he falter’s backward, touch-starved and humbled by how close you were able to bring him just then with only the softness of your hands and lenient tongue. You almost lost your balance if not for Tech’s support, what with how hastily Crosshair snatched himself away from your clutches. 

Wiping the glistening wetness from your chin, you hold your other hand out to Tech to request the remote to the electronic release mechanism. “I think he’s had enough. Don’t you?” You say with resolve and a press of the button. Tech gives you a nod while still plunged deep inside as a mechanical beep resounds in the distance. The cuffs hit the deck with a loud, metallic thud and Tech gawks at you, proud of your knack to tame his beast of a brother.

“And who’s distasteful idea was that?” Crosshair asks while soothing the soreness in his flesh, annoyed by the embarrassment testing his ego. He then shuffles to conceal himself to no avail, unable to disguise his very apparent enjoyment of what just took place. 

“Mine.” You bite your lip mewling as Tech slumps over you, nibbling your breasts and marking you as his. “Are you going to keep complaining about it or do you want to finish what we started?” Tech looks between you and Crosshair, taken aback by the unabashed attitude you’re currently dishing out. He gives you an expression that reads ‘that’s my cyare’ just as he suckles on one of your tits, pinching the other. The pendulous exhibition of influence you have over this pair is beyond invigorating as you see just how far your reigns reach.

“I wasn’t... complaining.” Crosshair explains in in few returning strides. Tech exits your walls to let your gown fall around your feet in it’s natural splendor, coaxing you to shadow him to your shared cot while Crosshair is still standing there, unbeknownst of what to do with himself.

“Don’t you know the drill by now? I shouldn’t have to spell it out for you.” You flirtatiously insinuate to Crosshair while gathering your dress in your hands to unveil yourself to him, casting away your undergarments in the process. Crosshair follows, collecting the small token on his way.

You are perched in the middle of them, hands and lips grazing every visible surface along your body; landing between your thighs, across your chest and everywhere in between. The unbridled intensity to Crosshair’s touch as he dips his slender fingers into you is a thrilling change of pace from Tech’s devoting stratagem. Your head gyrates from side to side, hungrily sampling their kisses until you feel yourself being urged to lay flat on your back with virile nudges to your torso.

Everyone unclothed at last, they’re looking down at you. Two pairs of eyes burning with lascivious concentration. The ensemble you donned for the night in the Village has been safely folded into its nook to be preserved from stains. Tech is holding your head up to help you watch Crosshair disappear into you. Your pleasure is his pleasure as he sharply gasps, mirroring your astonishment when you receive this secondary member. “That looks like it feels good, my dear.”

You coil your hand around his dampened cock next to you, stroking it generously while circling your tongue around the tip. “You would know, wouldn’t you?” Tech is amused by your diligence in making sure he is continuously stimulated as Crosshair is perpetually lost in this sway of involvement. Instead of chewing on a toothpick, Crosshair practically bites his index finger raw when Tech drives himself down your throat, suspending his hips above you as he distends the pillar of your neck. Tech drags his fingers along the protruding muscles and seamlessly transitions to lovingly caressing your jaw, easing up to listen to you gulp for breaths. In the same instance that Tech slips out, Crosshair does the same and they almost telepathically indulge in tasting every bit of skin they can access; the most intimate parts of you worshipped with your enjoyment at the forefront of their mind.

At an abrupt variation of routine, Tech leaves the bunk to pull your favorite toy from a nearby drawer as Crosshair circles back around to fill the space where Tech once was. He passes the wand in your direction with a startling activation buzz, jostling the toy in your hands. “Now...” His lilt takes a turn and you’re confused on what’s to come. “Show Crosshair how you like to use it.”

Sultry jitters emerge from their emphasis of observation to witness you unravel. Tech encourages you with a delicate press of his lips to your knee, letting you have all the time needed to prepare. You find your preferred setting and give it a few tests to the voltage as Tech takes his place between your legs once again. Crosshair is ogling at the way you multitask. It’s a challenge but you’re determined to make a spectacle. 

Tech is enthralled by the enhancement properties of the toy and how invitingly you flail when it makes contact. You sloppily anchor yourself to Crosshair’s shaft with your jaw going numb while letting the wand work its magic, wringing you of climax after continuous climax. As each muscle group locks up in fortified rigidness, you cry out in waves of quivering elation. Tech sees how spent you’ve become and decides to initiate a cooldown, allowing you to relax while still being able to finish them off.

“A very good girl indeed.” He praises. The toy is set down and you’re flipped onto your belly. Dignified gropes of your backside and hips send your face into the sheets to try and stow yourself away but Tech interrupts your modesty to sit on the cot with his back against the wall, imploring you proceed with your talented oral tactics in his lap. When you take him in your mouth yet again, the familiar sensation of your ass being spread has you craning your head back to watch Crosshair do it. Tech rejects this action this time, knowing how much you starve for it. He holds you steady to keep you facing forward, embracing your precious head in his hands. “Eyes on me, cyar’ika.” He commands and you obey without question, oodles of makeup running down your disheveled features and he still finds you insanely attractive.

Doing what he says, Crosshair fucks you hard and fast as you ardently choke on Tech’s girth. Using both hands, you massage him at a similar speed that permits you to use it as leverage to push into Crosshair, pleasuring both he and Tech in unison. Virtually on cue, Tech’s tell-tale signs of completion ring loud and clear as he plants warm smooches in your hair, groaning harshly into each one as he pumps your mouth full of febrile come. It oozes down his shaft and pools on his abdomen. You swallow quickly, slurping what little vestiges that remain and Tech stares at you with boastful eyes, basking in your triumph as he wipes the messy streams from your lips.

Through every step of that sensual showcase, Crosshair held on tight for its endgame while failing to keep his zealous exclamations under wraps. You feel him shudder behind you as he collapses atop your back, lightly kissing your spine. The trickling on your thighs tickles you all the way down to where your knees meet the sheets, rocking your hips against Crosshair to really drag this on. His last kiss turns into a bite on your shoulder and you exclaim at a pitch only tookas could hear. “Now tell me,” He coarsely whispers into your ear. “Would you still take street food and fireworks over this?”

“Hmm...” You ponder, holding them in suspense. “Depends on the street food.”

Tech laughs at your witty quip as Crosshair lets out a defiant scoff, planting a crisp smack to your ebbing backside before sliding out. “And here I thought you were behaving so well for us.” He teases.

“More than well enough. No need to be so callous.” Tech says in your defense, seeing you do no wrong from his perspective as he gently lets you rest your weary bones for a while, deeming this time of connection rather vital prior to cleanup.

Crosshair lays opposite to you and you’re wrapped in a cocoon of their love and affection, breathing each other’s aromatic breath as they play with your hair and trace your limbs.

“What are we going to tell the others when they return?” You ask as Tech starts to clear the daubed markings around your eyes with a towelette he retrieved amongst the shelves of linen overhead.

“Wardrobe malfunction.” Crosshair says with smug finality.

“We stayed behind to help you so we don’t miss out on tomorrow.” Tech casually remarks. They must have thought this through with careful premeditation. It would explain their initial exuberance when they saw you all gussied up. 

“What a sneaky master plan...” You tsk with a shrewd grin. Growing weary of Tech’s constant scrubbing and resorting to take things back to the refresher where things get really steamy.

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Thank you to everyone who asked to be tagged for the upcoming pieces of this series or straight up encouraged me to add more parts! You really helped make this happen! 🫂✨🥹🙌🫶🫰🙏🤝👏

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“This parenting thing-” Crosshair fidgets in his seat while wringing his wrists, still reticent and wrought with tension upon his impromptu homecoming. “I know I’m not going to be very good at it.” They’ve narrowly escaped this retrieval operation by the skin of their teeth, finally able to catch their breath in the relaxing plane of hyperspace. With enough time already spent on their own apologies, the last and most important subject on the itinerary is Omega. She has no idea what their excursion consisted of, let alone that they would be bringing along a treasured gift.

“It’s who we are to her now. On account of your return, that does not exempt you from these obligations.” Tech’s bedside manner could use some work, but he still does an efficient job in informing Crosshair of his new, albeit unexpected objective.

“Look, if it makes you feel better, none of us have any idea of what we’re doing. All we really know is that we care about her and she’s our responsibility.” Echo adds, trying to soothe Crosshair’s apprehension.

“She looks to us for everything. The weight of making the decisions that would be all the difference rests on us. Your opinion matters here.” Hunter steps forward, resting a palm on Crosshair’s shoulder to let him know that he isn’t going to have to do any of this by himself. They share a glance and Crosshair nods, moving his right arm over his chest to pat Hunter’s hand in understanding. Their tender moment is humorously interrupted by a swift punch to his opposite shoulder.

“Ah, you’ll get the hang of it in no time. I think it’s pretty fun!” Wrecker chimes in, confident that they will be more than enough to handle a single child.

“We are coming up on Ord Mantell. Are the quarters prepared for her?” Tech asks from the flight deck.

“Just about! I gotta add the finishing touches.” Wrecker announces, taking playfully predatorial strides in Crosshair’s direction. He slips his hands under Crosshair’s arms to pluck him from his chair with ease. 

“What are you-? Put me down, Wrecker!” Crosshair’s fists swing in tandem with his twig-like legs, but it doesn’t effect him at all. Wrecker pulls back the burlap curtain closing off the gunner’s mount and sets Crosshair on the platform. Crosshair looks around at the decorations and shining lights hung from the ceiling. It doesn’t even look like an artillery bay anymore as he does a double take between the new room and Wrecker.

“Can’t do that. You’re part of the finishing touches.” Wrecker smiles with a shrug, taking Lula from the shelf beside him to set in Crosshair’s lap in an attempt to gain one more rise out of Crosshair.

Echo and Hunter move in, pleased with this offering to their little sibling. “You’re part of the family, right? This is your first order of business.” Echo tells Crosshair with a tried and true salute with his scomp.

“Keep quiet until we give you the signal.” Hunter orders, pushing Crosshair Further into the enclosure to hide him more completely.

“What’s the signal?” Crosshair requests for his own clarification as the hull rumbles and groans upon landing at Cid’s port.

“You’ll know it when you see it.” Echo responds coyly before closing the curtain behind them. 

Crosshair is concealed in the shrouded stern of the Marauder. The floor length windows let in scarce light from outside that is otherwise refracted from the landing bay, but the main source of this golden glow comes from the string of bulbs overhead. His breath rattles in his chest, subconsciously clutching Lula even tighter than before due to the thundering pulse of his nerves. 

The pitter patter of Omega’s footsteps embark on the ship and Crosshair feels a cold sweat plague the back of his neck. She is already asking questions about their secrecy and why she couldn’t tag along for this mission in particular, wondering what sets this instance apart from others, but Wrecker puts her straight.

“Hey, kid. Come with me. Cover your eyes.” Crosshair can hear the giddy chuckle Wrecker lets out, his large silhouette walking beside a much smaller one. “Okay. Open ‘em! Ha ha! Check it out!”

Omega pauses, studying the space she’s already so familiar with on the ship. Crosshair swivels the chair to turn his back on the opening, prolonging his reveal for a more dramatic entrance, also desperately needing time to compose himself before seeing Omega again. The metal rings crape against the curtain rod and she is speechless. He can see her gleaming reflection in the transparisteel panel in front of him, watching her wide eyes take in the splendor of her surroundings. 

After what feels like an eternity, Crosshair spins himself around with Lula in his outstretched arms, welcoming Omega. “You’ve gotten taller, haven’t you.” 

“CROSSHAIR!” She beams, throwing herself into his arms. The others all walk into the aureate glow of the twinkly lights to revel in this compassionate reunion. Omega holds him closely while Crosshair does the same, letting each other break down all the mighty walls they’ve been forced to build since their untimely separation. She sniffles and cries, soaking his shirt with her tears as Crosshair pets her fluffy hair. Awkwardly at first, but then he falls into a tranquil rhythm until their distraught emotions subside. “I knew you’d come back...” She utters with a tremble in her voice.

“Well, I did have some help.” Crosshair adds, looking to their brothers collected in the doorway.

“You all did this... for me?” She sniffles once more, taking in every aspect of this extravagant moment to commit it to her memory.

“They actually did it for me. Have you seen the food in their mess halls? Imperial rations are far worse than Republic ones by a long shot.” Crosshair jests sarcastically and Omega almost believes him for a second.

“Oh, shut up!” She says, throwing a closed fist at his stomach. 

“Oof!” Crosshair coughs, underestimating her strength when the wind is slightly knocked out of him. She’s been learning a thing or two from Wrecker apparently. “Stronger too.”

“Alright. What do you say we get some grub and let Crosshair settle in?” Hunter suggests. They cheerfully fall in to make way for Cid’s Parlor where they will spend the rest of the evening eating street concessions and sharing their take on the countless experiences they’ve had after such a long while apart over bubbling spirits.

~~~

It’s the middle of the night and Crosshair thrashes in his cot. A violent trance has him in a vice and it feels as though he cannot escape. His eyes fling open at last and he wakes to finding his clothing as well as his sheets drenched in sweat, practically having run a marathon in his dreams. His eyes fail to adjust to the pitch dark for a few seconds, earning a rough gulp from Crosshair as he tries to make out the eerily haunting silhouettes in the distance. Troopers? Rebels? Bodies? He couldn’t tell but they might as well be all three. Even with this change of scenery, he cannot evade the souls he’s forsaken. They follow him wherever he goes but become more visible with the lack of light. It swallows him whole, devoured by his guilt.

Crosshair tosses his blanket aside, sitting on the edge of his rack with his face buried in his hands, massaging the warped portion of his shaved head. He is frustrated that he took to the Empire’s conditioning and manipulation far better than he does with its painful deprogramming. Who knew such a covert operation would cast as long a shadow as it did, shameful for thinking he would be anything but a number in that corrupt system’s eyes.

He stands abruptly, feeling claustrophobic and in dire need of fresh air. Crosshair listens for the unmistakable sounds of snoring coming from Tech in his tinkering nook before he activates the boarding steps. The first jaunt outside sends a shiver down his spine as the wind chill cools the dampness in his clothes. He breathes the muggy, borderline toxic air and he actually starts feeling better. A few more minutes in this grounding isolation and he finds himself relaxing again, at ease with the industrial luminance of nearby buildings. However, just as he’s about to turn in, he notices the ever recognizable strut of Omega’s feet over steel. “Bad dream?” She asks with a yawn, adorably rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with her hair in a frayed mess. She passed out shortly after all the excitement died down, spent from prior festivities.

“Yeah. Something like that.” Crosshair tries to evade speaking about what is really bothering him, assuming Omega would be too young to understand. Instead, his eyes remain locked on the stars above, vibrant and innocent to the horrors he’s witnessed.

“I heard you talking in your sleep.” Omega walks down the steps to join Crosshair in the courtyard. He rips his stare away from the cosmos, looking at her with sheer panic but she doesn’t demonstrate any alarm. “It’s okay. Echo does it too.”

“I’m not like Echo.” Crosshair snaps at her, defiantly.

“I know.” Omega smiles. The warmth of her presence and understanding is refreshing to him. He lets his guard down a little more, giving this ‘parenting’ thing another shot. 

“It’s getting cold out here. Let’s talk inside.” Crosshair guides Omega back into the Marauder while closing the hatch behind him. With a wave of his hand, she instinctively reaches for it, holding it all the way to her room.

Hunter is dozed off, reclined in the pilot’s chair as they maneuver past Echo and the others deep in slumber to go up the gunner’s mount. The curtain buffers the  light emitting from Omega’s room enough to be sure they don’t disturb anyone, leaving their bold contours to paint the canopy with their emotive physiques. Omega sit’s on the floor opposite Crosshair with his appendages leisurely hanging over the perch. Scanning the area better, he sees that the boys have really outdone themselves with providing for her and ponders what he can do to return the favor.

“By the way,” Omega whispers, quiet but sincere. “I never thanked you, for saving me when you rescued AZI.”

“And I never thanked you for not giving up on me.” Crosshair replies with an equally hushed tone.

“So we’re officially even now, right?” Omega beckons with a shrug.

“If you say so.” Crosshair never meant for them to be out of sorts in the first place.

“What’s wrong? You’re here! Everything’s okay now!” Omega is conscious of her volume but can’t help the driving exacerbation growing in her voice, unable to contain her glee.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here. Perhaps this was a mistake.” Crosshair’s feet turn cold, second thoughts planting seeds of self doubt but Omega opposes that thinking, already so wise beyond his belief.

“Coming back to where you belong isn’t a mistake. All you’ve ever known is the fight, Crosshair. You’ll see. With enough time away from The Empire, you’ll see soon enough just how different things can be; how different we can make them if we only try.” 

“I wish things were how you want them to be, but I don’t think I can ever make up for what I did to you and the others...” Crosshair hangs his head lowly, resisting eye contact for as long as possible.

“But that was then, Crosshair. Who we are now, the choices we make now, that’s all that counts. You can’t keep pushing back like this.” Omega’s brain sparks a clever idea as she climbs into his lap with Lula in her arms. The closeness takes Crosshair by surprise, yet he decompresses with Omega’s comfort. She continues, aimlessly fiddling with his sleeve to distract from his turbulent thoughts. “We’ve all done things to still be here. Things we’d rather forget, right? I used to think you guys were born brave; watching you come back to Kamino without a scratch or bruise in sight after every mission. I see now that bravery is something you become.”

Crosshair heaves an excessive sigh, feeling at home when he’s around her, regardless of the inherent unworthiness of breathing the same air. “When I see my reflection... I see a monster. I don’t deserve a second chance. My being here could put you all in danger.”

“Crosshair, us being alive puts us in danger as it is and I would still take that over never seeing any of my big brothers again.” Her tiny hands squeeze Crosshair’s arm with the severity of her sentiment. “This is not on you. You are only one person.”

“What makes you so sure?” Crosshair speculates.

“Because I know you. We’ve come so far and lost so much. It’s hard to trust when anyone can go at anytime, but people aren’t gone forever. You came back. That definitely means something.” He doesn’t know what to say. The truth in her statements have Crosshair wondering where all this intelligence has come from. She is pure, sympathetic of his and anyone’s struggles and Crosshair makes an inner pact to protect Omega with his life.

After a while of pacifying silence, Omega gets restless. She moves about in Crosshair’s grasp and finally speaks up. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.” Crosshair says, his cheek resting on her head.

“Do you think... there will be a time where you hang up your Firepuncher for good? Not that we’re completely safe or anything! But, to the point where you don’t need that to prove who you are anymore?” Omega lets the words fall with caution, almost fearful of them sounding like an insult.

“What do you mean?” Crosshair asks, glancing through an opening in the curtain where he sees his weapons kit containing said rifle.

“I mean...” Omega starts, deciphering where to lead her claim next. “You’re still Crosshair without it, you know.”

“Omega, I don’t think there will ever be a time where I don’t have this weapon at my disposal, but I promise you, I’ve adjusted my reticles since the last time we were together. I know who my real enemies are and I’ll not make that mistake again.” Crosshair holds eye contact with Omega for the longest time since his return, finally initiating true connection with his little sibling.

“We have to take happiness wherever we can get it. Don’t waste your time thinking it could be worse when it could just as easily be better too. We’ve made it so. Just look at all this!” Omega exclaims, releasing the filter on her volume while motioning to the lights and decorations set for her. 

Crosshair subtly laughs, shushing Omega so that she doesn’t accidentally wake anyone. “You certainly are quite easily entertained if a few twinkly lights is enough to distract you from the atrocities of the Galaxy.”

“Don’t you know?” She replies with a chuckle after her outburst “It’s not about distracting. It’s about finding joy in perspective. Finding peace where you least expect it.” 

Crosshair bites his inner cheek, lost in thought and poring over his own predicament that creates a prison in his mind. “Do you think I can achieve that? Peace?”

“I know you can.” Omega says with assurance. She trails off in thought of how things were during the reign of the Republic. “I was thinking, back then, we probably would have never spoken to each other if I hadn’t crashed your lunch hour at the commissary. But after the fall, we were forced to become family. You’re part of that family, Crosshair.” She tells him with a stern jab to his collar. “Tarkin had to come at us when we were at odds. What does that say to you?”

“I don’t know...” Crosshair responds, helplessly shaking his head.

“We are more of a threat when united and that’s why he tore us apart. We scare him. You scare him.” Omega notices that Crosshair winced when she said that and she is almost certain she insulted him now.

“Do I scare you?” He inquires with meek remorse and a sunken droop in his posture.

“Not in the slightest.” Omega declares, throwing her arms around his neck to take him in a better hug.

Just as briskly as she had hopped in his lap, Omega dismounted with a muffled thud on the floor. “Where are you going?” Crosshair wasn’t ready for the emptiness of his vacant grasp, reaching for Omega who is already halfway down the ladder.

“I want a midnight snack. Do you need anything?” The way she looks at him reminds Crosshair what it means to belong. In all his time away, not once has someone taken the time to ask something menial like if he wanted a midnight snack. Despite the things he’s done, under the influence or not, Omega will always see him for who he truly is.

“N-no. I just wanted to know.” He remains trained on her form as she walks a few steps to sneak some Mantell Mix out of the carton by Wrecker’s bunk, moving the thin sheet aside so that Omega is never out of his sight.

Omega looks at him, concerned with the way he watches her so closely, fearful that she might disappear into the blackened hull. “I’m right here, Crosshair. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re the one who’s stuck with me.” He mockingly jests while helping Omega back up, taking the treat from her hands to set it down so it doesn’t spill.

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Omega rolls her eyes while munching away on the mix, offering some to Crosshair. To his delight, he develops a penchant for this savory snack, pleasantly finishing off Wrecker’s carton while continuing to chat with Omega until the Bright Jewel is seen climbing the smoggy Ord Mantell horizon.

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First Tech Painting I ever did on Canvas

It's Not Affecting Life Support, We're Fine

I Do Have A Brilliant Idea

Tired Tech Needs A Nap

Tech Actually Napping For Once

Tech Longo Dancing

First Tech Digital Art

I Am Seldom Wrong

I Will Be The Racer

I Need More Speed

When Have We Ever Followed Orders?

(Tem)Tech Tuesday

Tech Shadow Work

CF99 Tech Tuesday

Gift Art: CF99 Tech I

Gift Art: CF99 Tech II

Mad Scientist Tech - Inktober

CF 99 Tech Tuesday III

Tech Tuesday: Valentine Edition

Tech Tuesday GIF

Modern AU Tech - Shadow Study

Modern AU Tech - Shadow Study in Color

Modern AU Tech - Full

Monochrome Tech

Tech with a Kitty

Sweater Tech

Tech-O-Lantern

Techtober × Half-Life

Secret Santa: OC Sjael x Tech

Tech x Emalia - Mistletoe

~~~

Happy New Year(with Cross and Em)

Tech × Emalia: TT😏

Tech

My First Tech Piece

I Am Seldom Wrong

I Will Be The Racer

I Need More Speed

Tem Tech Tuesday

Gift Art: CF99 Tech I/ Inktober

Gift Art: CF99 Tech II

Gift Art: CF99 Tech II

Tech × Emalia I

Tech × Emalia II

CF 99 Tech Tuesday

CF99 Tech Tuesday

Tech Tuesday: Valentine's Edition

Crosshair

Punkifies Your Tech

Tech Tuesday GIF

Just Try And Keep Up

At Least I Didn't Kill Him

The Only Way Out Is To Find Something You Care About

We Were Good Soldiers. We Followed Orders.

Gift Art: CF99 Crosshair

Crosshair × Emalia

Cf 99 Crosshair

Sniper Saturday

Sniper Saturday 2

Sniper Sunday

CF99 Crosshair: Valentine Edition

OC Commission: Meeri Su

Crosshair and Tech (TBB Eve S3)

Hunter

I Guess We're In

We Were Brothers Once

Gift Art: CF99 Hunter

CF99 Hunter: Valentine Edition

Echo

We Should Be Doing More

Gift Art: CF99 Echo

CF99 Echo: Valentine Edition

Wrecker

I Make A Pretty Good Tank

Gift Art: CF99 Wrecker

Wrecker Wednesday: Valentine Edition

All of them

Happy New Year

CF99: Shirtless Series

TBB Valentines

“Is the big guy still out there?” The more irritating member of your crewmates calls from down the corridor followed by the familiar clicking of his mag boots, obnoxiously getting closer to the flight deck. You try to ignore it, casually observing Amos’ suited-up silhouette on the large monitor screen at the helm, floating and attached by a tether on the portside. After your last firefight with some pesky pirates trying to help themselves to your cargo hold, it left more than sixty percent of the exterior hull in shambles. As the sole proprietor of this vessel, you authorized a drive shut down to preserve power and to ensure the functioning components remain at optimal levels. 

“Yeah, so far so good. He’s repaired most of the damage already. Just surprised he’s not finished yet.” 

“You’re joking, right?” Shayn asks with a scoff. 

“No? For a man of his station, he should have been done with these adjustments in about a week’s time. It’s been nearly two.”

“Captain, for the smartest person on the ship, you really are denser than a black hole.” You can’t help but dryly laugh at his analogy, but the thought of Amos’ wanton advances having slipped right over your head leaves you miserably baffled.

“You’re seeing things.” Rolling your eyes at Shayn, you’re not inclined to believe his statements since he’s always trotting in here to get a rise out of you. It would be just like him to get your hopes up only to watch them shatter.

“Oh come ON! I see the way he looks at you! Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.” Shayn’s either trying to set you up to fail or he’s the shittiest wingman ever.

“Don’t fuck with me. I’m not in the mood.” Annoyingly, his insubordination throws you off even on your good days. Your eyes stay fixed watching Amos outside, trying to ignore Shayn as best you can.

“It’s true! Here, get everyone else on comms and see what they say. They’re in the armory.” Grumbling under your breath, you shake your head at his prying before minimizing the outdoor cam feed to pull up a larger window that shows security footage where, sure enough, everyone else is congregated. “Say guys, Cap here doesn’t think our esteemed guest has googoo eyes for her every time he does a job for us. What do you think?”

[Is she blind or something? - This is the best thing I’ve heard all day. How did she not notice? - Saw that one coming from a mile away.] Overlapping voices and laughter erupt in unison and you can hardly understand a word they’re saying. Three other people have confirmed what you’ve been so oblivious to notice. Scorching embarrassment floods your face and you try to hide it by raising your shoulders but it further induces your modest appearance. Shayn, as well as the remaining party, humiliatingly laugh at your expense but their incessant guffaws are interrupted by a pop-up alert on your terminal.

“Oh shit! Everybody be quiet!” You exclaim while quickly navigating back to Amos after letting Shayn get you sidetracked. Again. A rogue debris field has leaked into the ship’s course and with the drive shut down, it’s useless to evade. The best possible scenario is to hunker down and brace for impact, an impossible feat for someone outside the protection of the hull. “Amos! Come in! Can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, boss. Hit me.” His modulated response comes through, calm and collected of course with his back currently turned on the threat.

“There’s a debris field incoming. You need to get inside now!” Practically shrieking the command at him, you watch on the terminal as he spins himself around to measure up the field with his own eyes.

He pauses in shock for a second when he sees it; a collection of metallic fragments, rocks and other masses hurling through the dark, abysmal nothing at light speed. “...Good call. On my way.” He drifts at an excruciatingly slow pace towards a pair of blast doors that lead into the airlock all the way at the bow. He’s going as fast as he can but judging by the acceleration of the debris, he isn’t going to have enough time to get to the hatch, open it, seal it, and allow for depressurization..

“You won’t make it! Find a nook- a cranny- something and squeeze yourself into it. On the starboard if you can. At this trajectory, it should only hit the side of the ship you were working on and you’ll be shielded by the frame.”

“It ‘should’? Sweetheart, have you seen how big I am?” He jokingly quips with a hint of skepticism before scaling the ship, using the mag controls built into the palms of his suit.

“Just do it!” The panic is setting in and you’re helplessly spectating as the only thing standing between Amos and certain death is a fine sliver of hope. The radar beeps frantically, estimating the field to be directly upon them in less than a second. The outdoor cam feed gets knocked out by a projectile, in pursuit of Amos next.

“What’s it look like I’m doing, boss? -AH!” Amos’ signal suddenly fries and goes faulty, cutting off his mouthy commentary as he shouts. All you can see now is the default scanning system display readings from the impact zone getting ferociously battered by the foreign objects, effectively decimating all the repairs Amos had just completed. You don’t know if his tether was damaged and he’s suffocating, if he was impaled by debris, or if he was knocked clean off the ship and is now getting lost in the cosmos.

“Amos? Amos! Please, come in!” The other line is all static and Shayn actually makes himself useful by urgently gathering the others to extract him when the storm settles. From this moment on, things are concurrently freezing in time and getting too fast to follow. It’s an uphill battle, trying to stifle your frenzied hyperventilation when his vital signs take a plunge. He’s still alive, but his suit has suffered a breach at his left hip and corresponding shoulder, rapidly losing air and stabilization.

Your psyche is a blur from trying to give orders and secure the safety of all persons under your purview while gambling with the fate of someone you only wished you had the courage to get to know better. The worst of it has passed and you give the go ahead for Shayn and his close companion, Xavis, to move in and extract Amos to get him into the medbay. “What’s his status, guys? Is he still out there?” You ask, anxiously awaiting feedback.

“He’s still conscious! Resilient son of a gun. Hurt pretty bad but the hypoxia’s got him distracted. That bump of his noggin against the inside of his suit isn’t doing him any favors either. We’re bringing him in.” You’re able to breathe again upon hearing this enthusiastic news, sitting back in your chair to relax the tension in your shoulders from such a close call. Nerves from the conversation prior to these dicey events still have you all aflutter, even long after your crew has efficiently brought Amos inside. It triggers a stir from the pit of your stomach that moves you without thinking, heading straight for the medbay.

To your surprise, Amos looks just fine. Perhaps what we constitute as being hurt ‘pretty bad’ doesn’t align with him. He’s sitting on the AutoDoc with his right arm through the ring to calculate his internal readings. Save for his blood oxygen ratio needing some work as well as some extensive abrasions, he’s otherwise perfectly fine. Nothing is broken and he isn’t bleeding; a difficult endeavor to be encumbered with while in zero gravity. You, and everyone else, had virtually nothing to worry about. Although, the sight of his coveralls being unzipped from his collar to his waist leaves a plethora of alluring surface area that stops you dead in your tracks when the sliding doors woosh open.

“Don’t worry, Cap. He’s all good. Looks like he will be staying with us for an even longer turn though, huh?” Keeli says, trying to lighten the mood with an apologetic glance. “By the way... sorry about earlier. That was out of line.” She whispers in reference to the troublesome boys on your roster. They’re currently chatting with Amos, sharing ‘war stories’ as they like to call them, laughing amongst themselves but completely forgetting that the man still has a few injuries to be taken care of. “Come on guys. Let’s leave them alone for once.” Keeli grasps their attention and chorales them out of the medbay, all three members giving you a presumptuous wink as they depart.

“Is that normal behavior for them?” Amos chuckles, thinking how he would be driven insane if those two earwigs were constantly chattering at him.

“Only always.” You jest, mirroring his humor. Stepping closer, you hesitantly search for a sterilizing cleanser to disinfect his wounds. Trying to look professional, you quickly grab an aerosol can that’s closest to you and begin spraying his shoulder. His muscles protrude from his body, swollen and hard as a rock as you lightly caress his skin with your free hand but his playful lilt disrupts your concentration.

 “That doesn’t sting at all. Are you sure that’s the antiseptic?” Amos’ question restarts the trepidation from before that hasn’t had a chance to fully die down and you immediately stop administering whatever this is to him.

“Uhm, no... My degree is in astrophysics.” Pulling the can away, it reads topical antihistamine and you facepalm. “I-I’m sorry.” You stutter, dabbing his abrasions to collect the skin-soothing treatment then stepping away to comb the room. “This is for allergic rashes. Heh, at least you won't be itchy.”

“You’re still a doctor, right.” Curiously, he doesn’t chastise you to the mistake you made. Frivolous things like that matter not to him. If anything, he’s only ever tried to make you laugh.

“Technically, yes, but not that kind. I hardly know enough to qualify as a nurse.” Having found it, you return to his side, spraying the correct solution this time. His muscles clench under your hands when administering treatment, thick veins pumping his life force just under the surface. Your stare is locked on his flexing torso, controlling the minute and albeit uncomfortable burn of the healing solution. 

“A nurse huh?” He smirks, crystal blue eyes so close to yours. The dimples hidden in his scruffy stubble accentuate when he smiles, complete with a set of pearly whites. One of his eyes squint in an attempt to wink but it’s interrupted when you push him against the chair, leaning back so you can hit his hip with the same antiseptic spray and seal both wounds with a medicinal patch. “So does that mean I missed a chance of seeing you in one of those sexy outfits?”

“And by that do you mean scrubs?” You reply, forcing a little more pressure than necessary to his hip when you secure the patch. Amos jolts, fiercely gripping the arm of the seat as he lets a strident hiss slip out that he so charmingly disguises with billowing laughter. 

“Alright, you got me.” Clutching his tender side, he looks down and away from you, carefully debating what to say next. “If I’m being honest, what you’re wearing works wonders as it is.”

You’re dressed in a musty jumpsuit covered in four different types of grease with your hair pulled into a disheveled bun. Makeup is an unheard of commodity in these sectors of space and the time you would spend on managing your appearance is occupied by operating a ship full of adult-sized toddlers. Expecting to get your heart broken, you attempt to shut things down before they begin. “Don’t start. I could report you for harassment.”

“You can if you want. Doesn’t change the fact that I think you’re drop-dead gorgeous.” Amos couldn’t be clearer in his advances at this moment and your mental quarreling with yourself holds no grounds for any more deception.

“Stop... saying that.” You fight like hell to deny yourself the fortune of this truth; his truth, and one you’ve not known for as long as you’ve lived. One you are perpetually chasing when, time after time, it slips from your reach.

“Don’t like it? Shut me up, boss.” Even when he’s sitting down, you’re still rendered petite in comparison to Amos’ durable stature. Just when you think you can control the inner turmoil, he stands, towering over you to inflict an intoxicating delirium that becomes increasingly more difficult to appease. His jumpsuit is barely hanging onto his waist. If it weren’t for the lack of g-force, he would be completely bare right now. “I dare you.”

Breathing shakily, you turn on your heels and make a beeline for the exit door. Amos silently watches as you take each step then abruptly stop at the access terminal. His brow furrows with regret, assuming you’re going to walk out that door and never speak to him again, only to spontaneously do the opposite. Tapping in a code the captain exclusively knows, you cut off all access to this chamber. No one can go in or out without the proper authorization. With a chirp and a beep, the electro-magnetic locks have been engaged, sealing you both in this room. As an added bonus, Amos has been quite thoroughly shut-up without you having to utter another word.

Closing the distance on this half-naked mechanic, you slip out of your mag boots while they’re still secured to the floor in front of him. Using the weightless drift, you nudge off the ground and float a few inches upwards towards Amos’ face, making him appear to be the small one now. His perfect smile widens with glee when you take on this angelic flair. For safety protocol, it’s not recommended to go anywhere in the ship without grounding footwear, but at this second you couldn’t resist indulging in something you’ve always wanted to try but have been too strict with yourself to entertain. It feels like swimming but without the heavy, physical resistance of being submerged in water. It’s enjoyable, the ability to show yourself off for Amos this way. His eyes follow the supple curves that fill out your clothing, appearing plush and soft on the surface with a solid build hidden beneath. He grips the fabric of his suit even tighter to prevent outright grabbing you here and now, clutching it with such force it just might rip apart.

With your admission, he coils his thick arms around you to ensure you don’t hover away, squeezing tightly so you feel every chiseled inch of his chest. How thoughtful that his first instinct is to embrace rather than to kiss. He presses his face to yours, stubble poking you initially but you quickly fall in love with the sting, wanting to feel its prickles skating across the most intimate parts of your body. Tilting his head, he touches his bottom lip to yours, not quite completing the action just yet. A deep, hefty breath is released from him and you breathe it in. He smells real, for lack of a better word. The thin sheen of sweat on his skin after a hard day’s work blends aromatically with his masculine deodorant while the antiseptic sends prickles through your nostrils. Most would implore him to take a shower before coming within arm’s reach of him, but luckily for you, he can’t get those bandages wet and the smell is more of a turn on. After a moment’s hesitation, he anchors you to his mouth, unrelenting and fearless.

 Amos lets his arms down, still kissing you as he tries to find the jumpsuit zipper fastened at your collar with sealed eyes. Your hands struggle with his to undo it, finally pulling down and opening you up to the artificial breeze blowing from the ceiling vents. His rough hands caress your shoulders, moving to strip you down to nothing but underclothes. The aerial suspension gives you butterflies, but the feeling is intensified tenfold by his presence. Amos lets your uniform slip away from you, discarding the garment to let it glide aimlessly about the floor. His smooth, full lips break contact with yours, taking in the magnificence of your natural form. “Well that’s one way to shut me up. You’re more beautiful than I could’ve imagined.”

“I bet you say that to all the pilots you meet.” It’s become a bad habit now, denying any of his compliments. 

“Just the pretty ones. Regardless, that’s only been you for as long as I’ve had this job.” Amos’ rugged palms stroke the parts of you not veiled in a tank top and thin briefs, silently pleading with your eyes longingly fixed on his to go further. A finger is slid abruptly into your waistband, then another to properly give you what you’ve asked for. Soon, his entire hand has slithered between your legs and you shove your face against his uninjured shoulder to muzzle yourself, choking back excited yelps.

Amos lifts your head up by the chin to see the bashful bliss in your expressions, holding you there to ensure you don’t tuck away again. “Hey, I don’t see anyone else here. Do you?” How dare he ask you a question when you’re blindsided by his fondling between your thighs. You shake your head, unable to articulate a verbal answer when he’s currently circling your clit. “Then what are you hiding from, boss?”

Still gripping your jaw, he holds it steady, bringing you to his lips so that you can unleash your moans directly into his mouth then increase the volume in tandem with your confidence. He isn’t shy in expressing just how delicious you are, groaning back at you when you hit a sharper, higher pitch as he inserts a single digit. He cups your entire sex in his mitt as you throw your head back, letting him please you. This allows for the opportunity for him to graze your neck with his teeth, earning even more shrill cries and shivers down your spine. Just as you’re getting overwhelmed with his handling, he ceases his biting to pull himself out, bringing his moistened digits to his tongue for a taste of you. It awakens a beastlike fervor to take hold, now on a mission to devour you himself.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” Amos advises as he lifts your suspended form higher and higher until you’re crowded by the ceiling. On the way up, he undresses your lower half while you remove your shirt. Despite Amos’ achy and bruised disposition, your legs are thrown over his shoulders to gracefully entrap himself betwixt your flesh. The fortune of the featherweight circumstances permits Amos to operate with ease, grinning ear to ear with his radiant recognition of your worth. Moving from supporting your back to shamelessly gripping the crown of your cheeks, Amos boldly buries his face into your center. His tongue soaks your folds, seamlessly transitioning between sucking the bud and and probing your slit. You brace yourself against the panels above you, toes curling as your whines advertise the waves of euphoria that Amos conducts through you with such professional simplicity. He doesn’t stop until the titillation of his stubble underscores each orgasm that he drinks from the source, swallowing your nectar at an unquenchable rate.

Amos shuffles beneath you, trying to shimmy out of his suit and boots to join you in the air. He successfully frees one foot, looking up at you to give a saucy wink amidst freeing the other. Amos pries your knees open and gasps for breath. He wears a naughty mask that clearly says ‘you’re in for a treat’ as he helps you decline his capacious tallness. Your own hands begin searching for his length, just begging to be liberated from his uniform. Locating it with prideful ease, Amos immediately melts at your touch. His tip knocks against the slickness he had a hand in creating and he impulsively lurches forward, slathering himself in his own glistening saliva. Absolutely no resistance is met with his throbbing magnitude as he breaches your entrance with a zealous grit of his teeth. His substantial girth stretches you with every gradual gesture and you’re no longer quelling your moans, letting Amos feed off the push and pull of archaic vocalizations that tell a tale of passion since the genesis of humankind. 

It takes you a moment or two to notice that Amos is hovering a good few inches above the strewn about clothes, more power gaining in his thrusts with the added benefit of using your own body as leverage to rhythmically slam your ass against his hips. The both of you are supported by nothing, floating on thin air and taking full advantage of delightful physics at work. His head lowers to kiss from your neck to your chest, lastly suckling on your nipples. Amos playfully bites one at the same time he pushes himself as deep as he can into you. The pleasantly piercing sensation knocks the air out of you, clutching his head and soothing yourself by rubbing your hands against his fuzzy, buzzed scalp with a roll of your hips.

Amos’ lips rise to meet yours when you rock back and forth, taking the reigns. He loses himself, unable to decide what to do with you. He bites sections of your lips and neck, threads his athletic hands into your hair and invades your mouth with his hot tongue. “Whatever you’re doing, boss- don’t stop.” He murmurs to you in a half-lidded and drunken haze. 

Those words alone are enough to push you over the edge, riding him until his face contorts with pleasure at the depth he’s reached. Amos holds on, periodically kissing you and keeping his eyes trained at your splendid gyrations. At this off-kilter angle, you’re hitting your clit against his toned abdomen with every grinding motion you make. Another debilitating climax sneaks up on you and Amos doesn’t let the momentum falter. He picks up precisely where you left off, slamming himself into you again and it effectively drives you to finish with him not far behind. You take in harsh breaths to alleviate the clenching of your whole body but the rigidness expedites the process for Amos. He vacillates in his thrusts, pumping hard and slow while kissing you with even more passion. The swelling hotness of his release filling you up is sinful as he uses it to make sliding in and out that much more scandalous. 

“Fuck... I don’t even want to end this. You feel so good. Look even better.” The emphasis in his voice is so assuring and you crumble at his flattery, planting a sweet kiss on his bruised forehead.

“Then don’t.” You willingly agree. Amos adorably lights up when granted the chance for a second round. “I don’t have anywhere I’m supposed to be other than right here with you.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” He concludes, hungrily attacking your face and spinning you both on your axis until you’re beneath him this time, ready to start everything all over again.

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