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setsugekka · 1 year

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❥business attire (m)

↳ You have no qualms with doing what it takes to get ahead professionally: a white lie here, a bit of cheating there—sleeping with your boss? Simple.

Until a business trip with a rival colleague puts quite a wrench into all of that.

bang chan x fem!reader — colleagues/rivals to lovers, romcom, porn with plot, explicit sexual content. [12k wc] cws: alcohol drinking, themes of sexism in the work place!!, penetrative sex, body cum shot, oral sex (m+f), dirty talking (very mild condescension/humiliation), teasing, chan has a big dick of course because i wrote this.

Everything has led up to this moment.

Years of studying, internships, exams; grueling schedules and lost hours of sleep, not even accounting for the people stepped over and lost along the way. You had made the decision long ago that you were willing to do whatever it would take to make it to the top, to achieve the kind of success that you knew was waiting for you somewhere out and into the future.

You're no stranger to the CEO's office, all shining and glittering gold with accents and glossed, white marble, though you do have to admit, you're not used to being here with a third, as far as company is concerned.

No, typically you find yourself here in the later hours of the evening, partaking in a particular set of extra curricular activities that you know will bargain your way up the professional ladder. Ethical? Questionable. Do you care? Not even a little bit.

Granted, you can't imagine the other guy—Chris—to feel similarly about your leg-up on him, as it were.

Your colleague in question stands beside you with hands behind his back like he's a child waiting to hear his grades called out by the teacher. It's a little charming, you've got to admit, though nothing if not sad given the fact that he's awaiting something that was never really going to be offered to him to begin with.

And you don't know anything about this guy because you don't tend to bother learning much of anything about the people surrounding you in your workplace, outside of the smallest inkling of weaknesses that can be used to your advantage. Susan in accounting, for example, one to have something of an issue with getting to work on time in the mornings; no problem, the time clocks can be easily forged to make up for the discrepancy.

Except, of course, for the fact that it's against company policy to do so, and an offense that can find one terminated in an instant—it certainly was a shame the evening that the CEO had come to find out about that, after a bottle of wine and a particularly enthusiastic blowjob from you.

But Chris keeps to himself, and if not for this meeting here, you'd not even know his name. He works on business contact profiles not unlike yourself, which makes him someone that sits directly in your crosshair. You glance over his features for a brief second—his high nose bridge and his full lips, and acknowledge that he's sort of handsome for someone that you have to destroy the will of today. Well, it's not you destroying it, though you've more than put in the work to ensure it to happen.

The CEO of the company brings his attention up from the paper work laid out in front of him and finally grants it to the both of you. Your eyes meet with his in an instant and you try to bite back the knowing grin of victory that threatens to pull at the corners of your lips. Be mature about this, you think to yourself. Humility not a strong suit of yours, sure, but no need to rub it all into the wound.

"There's a massive account that needs an exquisite set of eyes and ears on it this coming weekend, this kind of business trip is the type that makes or breaks a company, a supervisor of the company." The man pauses, eyes falling back down to the papers as he shuffles them about lightly across the desk. "So, you understand that the utmost sensitivity and attention to detail is necessary when deciding who it is to send out on these sorts of things, but in the event of a net gain, then it's easy to understand that the trickle down effect is one that can be felt by everyone involved."

You smile, this time unable to hold it back.

He continues. "The success of this means the immediate success of the supervisor involved."

Then, he looks up to the both of you.

"Which is why I have decided to send the both of you out, and based on the return, I will make a decision in relation to who will be the benefactor."

Your eyes widen, smile falling, and in the moment you find yourself incapable of holding your feelings of unjust back.

"What? What do you mean you're sending both of us? What benefit could me or the company see in having this guy tag along?"

"Hey?" Chris cuts in, a little wounded. You ignore him for the most part.

"Chris does good work, has proven himself on numerous occasions. I think the two of you will work just fine together, and if that's not the case, then consider it a friendly workplace competition to get the fires really burning for results."

Jaw clenched and teeth gritted tightly, you take a step towards the man happily seated in his position of taking, and dare to point a finger out towards him.

"I've earned this."

But to that, a knowing, shit-eating grin pulls at a single corner of his mouth. An understanding of this, of the anger you're feeling and where it's coming from and how absolutely fruitless it will be.

"Have you?" he questions lightly, a disgusting chime in his tone that makes your stomach turn. His eyes drop back down to the desk, not bothering to even look at you for the following question. "And how is it that you've done that, exactly?"

Freezing in place, even just the question mortifies you. Chris' being there feels far too illuminating now in comparison to the emptiness that he carried before, and you know that this man knows that you are incapable of answering that as diligently as you may like to.

But still, the both of you know.

You close your eyes slowly, exhale steadily and try to center yourself into something more professional once more. "I've worked incredibly hard for this kind of opportunity, sir."

"And so has Chan! Sorry, I mean Chris. I'm afraid we spend so much time together leisurely that I often forget to address you properly in a professional setting nowadays!"

What's worse than the initial blow of this knowledge dawning upon you is the way that the man beside you laughs, like it's the funniest thing in the world that you're being made a fool of in front of these men. Granted, he doesn't know—does he know?—regardless, the humiliation toiling in your gut twists unrelentingly whether your colleague is privy or not.

You don't get a chance to respond before the man who has wronged you continues on with the thought, however.

"You are still getting the opportunity, it's just that you're sharing it with someone else. If your work continues to shine above and beyond your peers, then you have nothing to worry about, now do you?"

It takes everything you have inside of you not to snarl out a reply. "Yes, sir. I'll see to it getting done."

"Excellent news! You and Chan are set to leave tomorrow, a red-eye to Los Angeles for three days. I trust that the two of you can have it settled in that time?"

"Yes, sir," the both of you reply in unison, and even just that twists like a dagger in your back.

The airport terminal is busy, too much, for your liking.

There are perks to being in such places, though, and you choose to revel in those small things. No one is interested in you or what you're doing. No one around you cares about your immaculately pressed garment or the fact that your luggage is slightly scuffed. They pay you no mind as you look up from your phone and towards the screen sitting atop the gate entrance as you await your boarding signal.

"Hey."

You sigh aloud at the simple word, easily recognizing the voice that carries it through the crowds. Glancing to your other side, your colleague stands with phone and luggage in hand; a suit jacket just ill-fitting enough that it perturbs you that much more.

So, you don't reply. Chris sits next to you and settles his belongings in such a haphazard way that it grates on your nerves—much like everything that he seems to do, does—and you silently await for him to make his presence unknown to you for what you hope to be the rest of the near week that the two of you are forced to spend together.

Not so lucky, however.

"I think it's going to be good that we're working on this together," he says cheerfully. Annoyingly. "By the way, you can call me Chan. Chris is so formal and professional."

"Well, Chris, we are workplace colleagues, so it only makes sense that we remain professional," you respond.

He leans in towards you, "Our work place isn't that professional, I'm sure you've noticed."

You don't like the sound of that, though it could very well be more of your hurt feelings and humiliation taking the driver's seat. Thus, you temper the anger that threatens to burst out at what you think could be certain implications and simply meet his eyes with a glare.

"So I have."

Chris, Chan, whatever—leans back in his seat, crosses his arms over his chest before continuing on with the thought that you don't care to hear more of but know you're going to be prisoned with, regardless.

"I think we can learn a lot from one another during this."

"And what is it that I can learn from you that I've not yet gathered from years of study, internships, and work in the field? Do you think it's an accident that I've landed myself so far up the corporate ladder?"

His head cocks to the side, and for a moment, you think it to be daringly condescending.

"No, but it's no accident that I've landed myself here, either."

You roll your eyes and focus down on the phone in hand.

"The truth of the matter is that in a lot of cases, the best way to get ahead is to take everyone else down around you," he carries on, voice dropping down to something more akin to a whisper. "Playing nice only gets you so far."

The snort of a laugh that escapes you is so quick you don't have a chance in fighting it back.

"If you think you're going to be conniving enough to wrestle this out of my hands, then I'm afraid you've been paired up against the wrong adversary," you reply. "Better, stronger, smarter men than you have tried, and failed."

Chan's eyebrows perk at that, like he's amused by the comeback. There's a part of you that appreciates the fact that he doesn't immediately wither in the shadow of your toughness, though you're far from desiring a fight for this trip as it carries on, either. Withering, in some cases, might be best.

"You don't know anything about me, yet you're so willing to assume I'm unworthy of the challenge of taking you on. Unfortunately for you, I love a good, friendly competition."

To that, you huff out yet another mildly amused laugh.

"It will be anything but friendly."

The flight to Los Angeles gives you plenty of time to conjure up a game plan, not that you think you're going to need anything all that involved to conquer your adversary.

Chan enjoys the in-flight entertainment alongside of you as you do—laughs along to the film that he's watching and orders himself a drink to truly settle in. You do neither. Instead, you crack open your laptop and mull over the numerous documents and spreadsheets of information that you'll want to know like the back of your hand by the time that you land.

As well as how best to handle him.

Thankfully, your colleague seems whimsically dim despite your earlier conversation in the airport. He talks a big game as far as a competition and winning is to be concerned, but you rack your brain trying to recall a time in which his name has ever come up at work previously; no accolades, no parties thrown, no cheers for a job well done. In fact, the majority of those moments have been granted to you, and incredibly hard-earned, at that.

But, you have to give it to him: he doesn't appear frightened by you. Chalk that up to naivete, sexism, or stupidity—you couldn't care less which pin it is that he lands on, because either way, the outcome will be the same.

So sure of himself, and yet nothing to show for it besides a bizarrely personal relationship with the CEO. Well, you have that, too.

With the way that things have played out, you want to call things off, however. This man back at the office has humiliated you and taken from you but not held up his end of the bargain. Is it worth it to continue carrying on? Will it harm your career if you don't? Probably best to maintain the status quo as far as sexual endeavors go. Besides, the sex isn't half bad, either.

When you and Chan land in Los Angeles it's far too early for your liking and with how little sleep you are now on, but the thrum of the bustling, awaiting city excites you. This opportunity is going to be everything—is going to grant you everything—and in all likelihood, you wouldn't be able to sleep if you were to try.

Chan attempts to take your bags from you once you're both walking the busy halls of LAX and you fight him off with every try. He smiles and laughs and rolls his eyes at your unwillingness to cooperate, but this is no comical matter to you. Little does he know how close to danger he sits at every passing moment.

One taxi down and making your way to the hotel, Chan rushes his way out of the car and around to the back so that you have no hope in fighting him this time. He is so insufferable, you think to yourself, though you can't deny yourself the joy of having him hauling your luggage about. Good, perhaps you will be useful to me, after all.

The hotel is a lavish one; all white marble, silver accenting and lush green foliage at every turn. You're thankful for that much, because in so many ways there is nowhere else that you wish to be less than here.

You spot a bar down the corridor just a bit and make a mental note of it, as you may be spending ample time there when not constructing the professional downfall of your idiot colleague. In that moment, Chan forces himself into your line of vision with a wide grin and nods his head over towards the elevator.

"Floor seven," he says, handing you one of the room keys.

You look at it, sitting thoughtfully placed inside of its red paper envelope with a number written on in gold ink. Then, you glance at his, still remaining in his hand.

The same number.

"We don't have separate rooms?" you question, though you're capable enough to already know the answer to such an asinine question. Thus, you move onto the next most obvious one. "Why don't we have separate rooms?"

"There's two beds, it's not a big deal."

"It is a big deal," you all but shout, forcing the tail end of your anger back as to maintain a semblance of professionality. "We need to go back down and get this sorted out. I'll handle it."

Chan laughs under his breath, watching the number on the LED change as the elevator rises.

"You won't be sorting anything out. There's about five major conferences in the area this weekend and this place is heavily booked, as is everywhere else decent in the region. You're just going to have to put your big girl pants on and deal with it."

You don't know Los Angeles well enough to hide a body. Unfortunate.

Though your fingers tingle and your head throbs, you don't bother fighting the fact any further. You are a logical woman, and you're perfectly capable of understanding the concept of there being no further vacancy in a hotel. Thus, you sigh, clench your jaw, and drop it altogether.

When the elevator stops with a ding, you couldn't feel more relieved. You rush out from between the metal doors so quickly that you nearly shoulder it as it continues its momentum. Down the hall and pausing in front of your shared, temporary residence, you press the key to the reader and push inside without even so much as a thought about where Chan is or how he is fairing with the baggage load that he has taken upon himself to deal with.

The door nearly shuts him out, a leg craned in through the crack as he fights it without a word to you for help.

It is spacious. Bright and clean and smells of new linens like no one prior to the two of you has ever actually stayed in here before. The bathroom is large and pristine in the way that it glitters. A wide enough working space with two chairs and not nearly enough coffee offered straight away—though that's a simple enough fix as far as you are concerned.

"Pretty nice!"

Ah. You had nearly forgotten about him, but Chan always has a way of making his presence known. He hands you your bag and you pull it over towards the side of the bed that faces the large window, blinds drawn. Reaching towards them, Chan offers up his expertise once again.

"They said there's a balcony."

"Surely I could have gathered as much for myself."

He rolls his eyes and sits on the edge of his bed, intent on unpacking. You continue on towards the balcony, pulling the fabric away and gazing out through the massive, glass panes.

It's Los Angeles. Not a whole lot to offer as far as views go in the major city areas, but suppose it will have to do.

"We should get dinner tonight. Look over our plan of action for the next couple of days with these clients and get to know one another a little bit better." Chan isn't looking at you while he says it, but you can hear the hopefulness in the sound of his voice without necessarily seeing it on his face. "Besides, it's on company dime, might as well go all-out!"

While the idea of spending somewhat intimate, one-on-one time with this man is not something that excites you, suppose what does excite you is the possibility of putting your devilish little plan of hostile take-over into action. Unfortunately, what this also means for your future, is something that will be much, much more difficult than simply defeating him.

Being nice.

"Yeah, that sounds good, actually." You hope the sudden change in your demeanor doesn't raise any red flags in his mind, but you don't think him to be smart enough to consider the fact. "There was a nice looking place downstairs in the lobby, maybe we should go there."

"Perfect!"

He's so happy that it almost makes you feel guilty about the whole thing.

Chan continues on. "It's early and I've got a few things I want to get ahead on. I'll get out of here so that you can sleep, just in case that's what you'd like to do, but feel free to send me a message if you need me for anything. I'll just be downstairs."

He's so kind. How unfortunate.

"I will, thank you."

Chan grabs his work bag and scurries out of the shared room. How disastrous this whole thing is for him, a monumental case of wrong place, wrong time.

Dinner is good, but your trickery is far more delicious.

There's a stack of envelopes with paperwork inside of them sitting on the edge of the relatively small table, barely enough room for it now that entrees and glasses of wine have been poured, but now that the business portion of the evening has come to a close, the two of you are able to enjoy the perks that going on these sorts of trips often has to offer.

Chan sits ahead of you with a glass full of white wine and a nicer tie than the one he arrived with. He looks handsome–that, you can't deny—though it's something that will have to sit ignored in the back of your mind with far more important matters to consider.

"Are you seeing anyone?"

You're lost in your thoughts when he asks the question suddenly, and it jars you back into the present moment with what you imagine to be an incredibly evident startle.

"I'm not sure that's any of your business," you reply quickly, but on second thought, you remember that your plan is to reel him in. Thus, you amend the response. "No, I'm not. I'm much too wrapped up with my career for that."

Chan pouts, like he's sad about it for you. "Still, it gets lonely, yeah?"

He looks and sounds sincere in a way that you're not expecting, and suppose a little honesty won't completely hinder your end goal.

"It does, sometimes, but that's what I've chosen. Once I'm comfortable with where I am professionally, then I'll carve out time for dating." You look up at him, pointing your fork straight at him, "this isn't some thinly veiled commentary about how I'm getting too old to find someone, is it?"

And though you're somewhat joking in saying it, horror strikes through each and every one of Chan's facial features upon hearing the words.

"What? Oh, no! God, no! I was just thinking that working long hours like we do can be isolating, so it might be nice to have someone to go home to at the end of it all, you know?"

You do know.

"It's not that I don't get out and meet people, do things," you say, taking a sip from your glass to wash away the humiliation of honesty that lingers in your throat. "They're just not…long term acquaintances, if you will."

Chan grins knowingly, and you don't particularly like that look on him. As if you've not been the one giving up the information freely to get him to this point.

"Ah, I see," he says in an exhale and an accompanying nod, "just enough to keep the bed warm next to you sometimes, huh? I'm no stranger to that arrangement, myself."

This is far more information than you find you ever need to know about any of your colleagues, though the same could be said about anything at all regarding their personal lives. Spouses, kids, pets, what kind of car they drive; it's all more information than you care to know about any of them, though you can't help but feel the sizzle of intrigue inside of your chest at his willingness to offer up such particularly intimate knowledge in regards to his late night activities.

Perhaps playing with this guy will be more fun than originally considered.

And thus, you take something of a gamble in relation.

"To be honest with you, I've been seeing someone casually for a while, though I'm not sure if that arrangement is working out for me any longer."

Both of you take another sip from your glasses, but Chan's gaze lingers on you for an especially lengthy amount of time. He sets his glass down calmly on the table, sighs aloud, and then settles himself casually against the back of the chair.

"I know you've been sleeping with the CEO."

You are thankful to no longer be in the middle of your drink, because you'd certainly be choking on the swallow right about now.

There's an attempt to maintain your composure—something that you're quite adept at—though in situations like this you have far less experience in doing so. You're not quite sure whether or not the shock is obvious across your face, but it certainly feels like it is.

No point in lying, the both of you are already here, after all.

"Is that so." Not a question, a statement.

Chan shrugs, all nonchalant in a way that you don't really appreciate, either.

"Yeah, he let it slip one of the nights we were out late playing darts with the guys from the office. Sounded a bit like he was boasting, like I was supposed to be impressed with him for it, or something."

"I take it you're not the only one who knows then?"

"Nah, I don't think he told everyone. It was a moment where we were alone, I don't really know why he told me. I was just like, that's great, man, and then we started talking about the game."

Slumping into your chair, it's the first time you've felt well and truly defeated, and especially when it comes to any and all matters such as these. While you're not ashamed of the lengths gone through in order to attain what it is that you intend to attain, it is far from ideal for the entire office to be aware of it.

"Amazing, you didn't even have to sleep with him to get put on this assignment," you sigh, arms crossing over your chest. "Suppose I look foolish now."

"I don't really care about that, about you doing whatever you think you need to do to get ahead in life. If you want to sleep with our boss to do that then that's your prerogative," Chan says, tone simplistic and plain. "Where I do care is that you seem to be under the impression that you're the only person in the office who is worthy of anything, and that no one else is working hard in order to achieve anything. I am, we are, just most of us aren't going to the same lengths that you are."

A beat of silence passes between you, and in perfect timing, the waiter comes with the check and disappears just as swiftly. Once he disappears from the table side, Chan leans forward, dropping his volume even more in a way that expresses so wholly that the next words spoken are truly only meant for you.

"I've seen your work, I know you have what it takes to be a top executive in this company, and that's without all of the extra shit like fucking some rich scumbag who's just going to turn around and throw the fact back in your face." He leans back again, signs the receipt, and then begins reaching for the stack of papers. "But you're not the only one who works hard and puts in crazy hours to earn a place here. Let's work this case like the team we're meant to be, get it done like I know that we can, and shove it in that asshole's face once we get back."

It's a plan that seems so pleasant on the surface: working together with a colleague who you now have nothing to hide from, who knows all of your dirty little professional secrets and still appears to respect you in spite of it.

You watch Chan pack all of the belongings into a briefcase and can't help but wonder, why don't you care? Why would someone in direct competition with you not seem to be bothered by the fact that you're extending yourself well beyond a professional setting in order to no longer have to compete with him on equal footing?

Rather, you can't help but feel as though the tone of the conversation has taken a turn, almost as though Chan respects you and your work ethic more after the discussion of it all. With everything laid out onto the table, this man knows and understands you in a way that no one else really does, and beyond all of it—he still sees you. He sees how important all of this is, how you're capable of doing just about anything to achieve your purpose no matter how looked down upon it often is, and no matter how humiliating it has thus turned out to be.

Chan just sees you.

"We have an early morning tomorrow, I know these guys are going to want us there at least twenty minutes before the time, so we should plan to have our coffee and look over the documents well before we're meant to arrive."

You glance up at him as he stands, baggage in hand and a smile that says all of the very same things you've just come to realize about him. It's back to normal, like nothing has happened, no conversation about any ethically questionable goings on has even taken place.

Back to regularly scheduled programming.

And you kind of like that.

Twenty minutes early becomes thirty minutes, due to your insistence. With a coffee in hand and perfectly manicured nails, you step out from one of the back doors of the taxi and leave the dealing with briefcases and paperwork to the guy who insists on going above and beyond to make himself useful to you. Good.

It's an early morning, but you find some comfort in that. Los Angeles never really turns off, but at least for now the sidewalks and streets are just a bit quieter than they will be at any other hour of the day. The weather is beautiful—perfectly breezy in just the right amount, with the sun coyly peeking through the clouds edges up above—and you can't help but think to yourself, no way that this day could possibly go wrong for me.

The office building that the two of you stand in front of is nothing special, as far as appearances go. Most in the surrounding area look much the same; worn down from the elements and barely seeing any architectural upkeep, but the spinning, glass front doors standing just a few paces ahead tell a different story of the interior. In ways, it brings a sort of feeling of the illuminated beauty of your professional future, standing between you, and there.

You're in your best set of dress. Black and white with a long skirt fitted just right. Chan is much of the same beside you in his immaculately tailored jacket, accentuating the wide slope of his shoulders and sleeves cutting off perfectly at his wrists.

He turns to look at you, and then smiles with a cute cock of his head.

"Ready to smash it?"

And not that you needed the added boost, but hearing the words vocalized from him adds just that much more fuel to your fire.

You nod. "Absolutely."

Hands are shaken and pleasantries exchanged once you and Chan are invited upstairs and into a large, white conference room that feels far too sterline and uninhabited for your liking. The place feels open, yet uninviting in a way that grates on your nerves and incites the kind of anxiety that you've not felt in these situations for many, many years.

One positive, is that the three men that you're meant to be working with today seem relatively uninterested in you, particularly. From one head of the table, you set your coffee down and begin unpacking a briefcase full of paperwork, envelopes, and a laptop crammed full of numbers and offerings and statistics meant to make this a home run. You know that it will be, you believe wholly that it will, but as you glance up and across what feels to be an impossibly long table towards the grouping of men chuckling and laughing amongst themselves, you can't help but feel something else that you've not felt in such a long time.

The all-encompassing suffocation of male cliquiness.

The Boys Club. They exist in so many spaces, and far from unheard of in your particular line of work. You watch on—particularly at Chan—as he smiles and laughs along with men that take absolutely no interest in you, your work, or what you bring to the table. They all playfully slap each other's arms and nod along to their stupid jokes like they've been best friends since the playground, and you are left out of it entirely.

Once you're settled, you stare at them and their childishness for what feels like an eternity, until finally you decide upon being the bad guy and taking matters into your own hands.

You clear your throat, "mind if we get started?"

The laughter stops dead in its tracks, all joy seemingly sucked out of the room at a lightning quick pace, and the men slowly turn to grant you their obvious looks of abject disapproval.

Though, you can't help but wonder which part they are disapproving of, exactly; be it the fact that it is time to begin the meeting, or the fact that a woman has the audacity to tell them as much.

Still, they follow suit without a disgruntled word. Chan makes his way around the table to meet you where you stand, but as the two of you meet eyes, he nods at you. The quiet insistence for you to take the lead. Not that you had any plans otherwise.

So, you do. With the laptop hooked up and the projection upon the wall, you begin going over statistics for the men to look over, take in, eventually discuss amongst themselves. It's easy work for you, knowing all of this information and all of the inner workings of your profession like the back of your hand.

One man raises a hand slightly into the air, a pen perched between his fingers as he nods towards the projector.

"What was the annual turnover for 2019 and how did that impact the immediate years going forward?"

He is looking at Chan when he asks the question, though your colleague has not said a word the entire time. You want to be better than the urge to present yourself in a way unbecoming of women in your position, because you know that anything you do can be interpreted as such, but the anger and desire for hostility gets the better of you when you reply back to him.

"2.3%, and the impact was minimal, easily dealt with internally with very little felt as a result of it throughout other sectors of the company."

The man asking raises his eyebrows, as if surprised by the fact that you have spoken. You've swallowed down your pride that would come out as far more aggressive than simply answering the question, so if he has an issue with you doing so now, you know precisely what to chalk it up as.

He turns to look at his colleagues first, then his attention falls back to you with a foul curl to the corner of his lips.

"I asked him," he says, pointing his pen at Chan. "Not you."

To this, Chan reels physically. You're not looking at him, not paying him any mind in particular, but you can see as much out of the corner of your eye from where he stands beside you. Now, your eyebrows perk up at the insidiousness of what's so outwardly and openly taking place here, but not so willing to take it on as a defeat just yet.

"With all due respect," you reply, calm and unshaken as you can be. Practiced, throughout the years. "I've been working at this company for six years, been through the lowest of the lows and had a personal hand in ensuring that it reached its highest of highs. While my colleague is knowledgeable and well-respected, this meeting is being led by me, so I would appreciate it if any questions be directed as such."

This feels good. Far from the first time you've had to stick up for yourself in such a way, you exhale the nerves through a semi-shaken breath and settle yourself where you stand. You're still not looking at him, but you do notice the fought back creeping of a smile across his lips.

The joys of victory end quickly, however.

Another man speaks up, this one seated across the way from the first indignant fellow.

"With all due respect," he begins, mocking you. "I believe I speak for all of the men in the room when I say that the only questions we're particularly interested in asking you relate to the snugness of your skirt around your hips and ass, and if there are ever questions relating back to the professional aspect of this engagement, we will be addressing your colleague."

The mixture of emotions that course through you is electric, impossible to parse through and pick just one out to focus on. Anxiety, anger, humiliation, regret, terror, sadness; they all rage through your nerves. Your skin feels hot, a sort of dizziness coming in on you quickly that you don't appreciate, because now is not the time to be experiencing weakness. Your lips part to speak, still unsure of what to even say. Flabbergasted, you attempt to find the words—some words—to fire back at these horrible men, but your mind feels simultaneously full and empty. How can that be.

A woman who prides herself on being the best and brightest in the room, dwindled down to nothing at the hands of useless, pathetic men who bring nothing to the table besides those already aforementioned.

"Alright, let's not get out of hand," Chan says, cutting in through the awkward silence. This appears to appease the men, which you dislike even more though you understand his reasoning for doing it. "My colleague is very well-respected in her profession and incredibly knowledgeable. Perhaps it would be best if we make quick work of wrapping this up and heading off on our separate ways."

For the rest of the meeting, Chan takes the lead. The men down the way open up splendidly, laugh and have a wonderful time with another man in charge, saying all of the same things you had said, reading off of all of the sheets of information that you compiled, that you slaved away at for weeks, for months at a time. Countless late nights with nothing more than the television for company in the background and a frozen pizza in the oven in order to make sure that you will never, ever be the recipient of the kinds of unreasonable lashings that you have taken on today.

All for nothing.

You don't dare speak another word, and sit in the shadow cast by your colleague. When the meeting concludes, the business men are happy; smiling and laughing along with any and everything Chan says. They love him. They love him not because he is knowledgeable, or good at his job in a way that is particularly extraordinary, but simply because he is not a woman. Simply because he is not you.

This sort of dichotomy has always existed, and in every facet of life, too. When buried into your work and the insular walls of your typical professional environment, suppose that it's easy to forget what it's like out here, in the real world. Where men do not respect you whether you're better than them or not, all in all, the result is the same, anyway.

Suppose the CEO has prepared you for this moment, a smaller humiliation only to set you up for one much larger and harder to swallow down the pain of.

Chan handles these men—the situation as a whole—as well as he can, you suppose. There is a kind of pain that settles in your chest at his unwillingness to turn it into a fight, though logically, you understand how pointless this might be for everyone involved. How short-lived the joy of bombing this meeting might be, only so that the suffering of your ego-death be even shorter-lived.

Just get in, and then get out, as relatively unscathed as you can manage. Chan has picked up the pieces left scattered around to the best of his ability and really, with flying colors.

It does not change, however, the deeply nestled pain of being on the receiving end of such corrupt wrongdoings.

The taxi ride back to the hotel is silent, and you're thankful for the fact that Chan does not make so much as an attempt to say a word.

On the small table just beside you, there sits a tall, green bottle of wine with no glass to accompany it. You've decided against it, and that drinking straight from the source will suit you just fine as a consolation prize on the balcony tonight.

One of the charms of Los Angeles, you find, is the weather in the evenings. A cool breeze that gently carries over your features and through your hair as you stand against the railing and gaze out at the still-busy streets down below. There's a part of you that wishes to have the will to go out and enjoy the city on the last night here, and with your work responsibilities settled, but the mood of previous encounters still sits heavy on your chest, dampening any hope of enjoying yourself before your flight tomorrow morning.

Though many, long hours have passed since the morning, conversation between you and Chan have been few and far between. You understand it well enough as him, knowing the time and place to engage with a person after being so horrifically wronged, so when the glass door slowly slides open and he brings himself outside to join you, your heavy heart welcomes the intrusion, rather than resents it.

"Hey," he says, barely above a whisper. "Mind if I come out?"

Your smile is thin and straight, hardly able to be called such. "Sure, take a seat."

There's only one wobbly wooden chair next to the table. A ridiculous design from all angles of consideration, but Chan doesn't bother arguing with you and slowly slinks himself down into what it has to offer him.

His hair is damp and freshly toweled off after a shower—loose curls sticking up every which way as if looking for a means to escape from his head. You smile at the sight, appreciate how approachable and kind he appears when he isn't done up in a professional setting like you're used to seeing. There's a realization that has dawned on you at some point during the day, though you have difficulty in pinpointing the precise time, where you come to accept your softening heart towards your colleague.

Perhaps on account of your forced togetherness, perhaps aided by his willingness to diffuse a situation in what might have been the best way that he knew how in the moment. No, he didn't enact violence upon those men in that office space, and yes, it would have been nice to see, but solve something, it wouldn't have, and suppose all you had really hoped to do was escape further escalation as quietly as the situation would allow for, anyway.

"I'm sorry about what happened earlier." Chan is the first to speak up since seated, the first to bring up the whole thing since its having taken place. "It's so fucked. Simple, pathetic men with a chip on their shoulder who can't handle acknowledging that a woman is capable of doing their job, and more."

"Yeah," you sigh, turning towards him in an effort to grab the wine bottle once more. "Guess it's not anything I'm not used to, though it's been a long time since it's so blatantly been shoved in front of my face."

You take a large sip, and then laugh to yourself before continuing on with a similar thought.

"Actually, I guess that's not true, considering our boss pretty much did the same thing right before sending us out on this mission."

Turned to face him now, you watch Chan's features scrunch like he's fighting back the urge to speak his mind plainly, though evidently, it is a fight meant to be lost.

"Look, it's really none of my business what you do," he says, a seemingly rattled hand rushing to run fingers through his hair, "but do you really think it serves you to keep seeing that guy? God, he's such a fucking asshole, airing out your personal business to other colleagues and then waving it around in the office right before sending us on this trip—I wouldn't be surprised if those guys were friends of his, too. Birds of a feather, and all that, you know?"

Another sip, though now you're looking down at Chan with a kind of surprised gratitude.

"No, I don't think it does, though it'll be mighty interesting finding out how navigating those professional waters will work out for me. Suppose that's the position I've put myself in, though."

It's then that Chan stands, all white bathrobe and silly hair that warms your heart as he closes much of the small amount of distance that previously would sit before the two of you. With this new, closer proximity, it's easier to take in the charming slope of his nose and the plump, pretty fullness of his lips.

"The only people in this equation who are wrong for what they've done is him, and those pieces of shit from this morning." He pauses—the both of you do—and for a moment you think each of your breaths to be held in suspension as to what it is that's going to happen next. Chan's eyes remain fixed on yours for so long, and as you feel your temperature rise across your skin and the beat of your heart pick up in some unfamiliar sort of anticipation, you're able to see his gaze flicker down to your lips for just a second before once again settling on maintaining eye contact. "Yeah, you've been kind of an asshole to me, to other people in the office, but that doesn't mean you're deserving of this. No woman is deserving of being subjected to this, regardless of who it is that you decide to sleep with, and for what reason."

If not for his soft demeanor standing right before you, you might believe him to be angry with how he sounds. He must be, though he carries himself well enough as to not let it come out in ugly and unpleasant ways; and as a result, the quick and hard beating of your heart within your chest only picks up that much more. Since when does this guy have such an absurd effect on you?

"I've seen the work you put in, so I'm in a pretty good position to make the call," Chan says, inching himself just ever so slightly closer to you. His voice drops lower now, and accompanying it, the less subtle eyeing of your mouth in relation to his. "You're better than this, you're better than probably all of these blokes here."

"Is that so?" you whisper in response, and though the sentiment is appreciated, you must acknowledge within yourself that the topic of conversation has fallen quite a bit to the wayside in favor of something far more intriguing, something far newer, and more enticing.

"It is." He inches closer yet, only suspected millimeters of distance still held between your mouths. "I'm a pretty good judge of character, you know."

"Says the guy who used to hang out with our boss to get ahead."

Chan grins at your playful combativeness before replying, "Just doing what it takes, I'd have slept with him too if the opportunity were to arise."

Free hand coming up to feather over the softness of his robe, your palm smoothes across his chest and the definition that lies beneath before speaking.

"You know, I'm technically your superior, too."

"Oh?" he chimes, eyebrows perked. "Is that so?"

"Technically," you answer with a small shrug. "I've got you on length of employment, by a couple of years."

Caged in against the railing of the balcony, Chan's lips reside so close to your own that they nearly ghost over the flesh. He smells of mint and rosemary from having been freshly washed—all the more damning for you and your budding curiosity about him.

"Should I give up on trying to sleep with him, then?" Chan asks, a seductive playfulness laced throughout each and every word. "Move on to different, more promising prospects?"

"Only one way to find out."

When Chan finally closes the distance fully and kisses you, it's not as hard, not as rushed as you previously had anticipated it to be. The kiss is careful, a want that resides deeply nestled beneath it but far from the thing that grants unbridled haste and need. His lips are soft, the tug of his teeth at your bottom lip experimental as he tests the waters in regard to what he should or should not be doing, but it's a kind of trepidation that only has you eager for more from him. Your fingers grip tightly into the robe, a light pull in order to have his body more firmly and intentionally against your own, and it must be precisely the sort of green light he had been looking for, because the delicate slide of his tongue to find yours enters into the mix, and now you have no other choice but to accept that your original plan in hostile takeover has ultimately ended up in yet another failure.

Though this one is far more appreciated, and you've got to admit, you're happy to go home tomorrow with this sort of loss sitting on your scorecard.

The day of your return home is long and full of travel, though this does little to stave off all of the thoughts of what could, and might be.

Falling hard and fast has never been you. Through the years you've dedicated to your professional development, you've met people, shared bed and intimacies with people that never were to develop beyond the simple gratification that the two of you granted each other in those moments. You try to think back to the last time you really wanted someone; not physically, not sexually, but as a larger and more intrinsic part of your life.

But you can't, not until now.

Chan offers you a ride back to your home from the airport once the both of you land. The taxi is long and expensive, and while money is of no consequence to you, there is a much firmer inkling within that wishes to have just a little bit more time together that isn't set between the walls of a stuffy office that you now have come to have great disdain for.

Driving on the highway, you roll your window down slightly and enjoy the breeze as it's offered to you. The horizon paints itself with colors of pink, purple, and orange as the sun begins to set; normally something of no interest to you, but now? Now, a newfound beauty in all of it.

You barely know Chan, but what you've learned in a short amount of time has you eager to find out more. You can't help but wonder if he feels the same.

"Hey, uh."

As if reading your mind, Chan pipes up from the driver's side, a nervousness in his voice that you aren't quite familiar with but has you eager to hear more.

"Look, no pressure, yeah? But…think you might be interested in coming back to mine and having a drink, or just to talk?"

Thank all of the powers that be, you think to yourself.

"Yeah, that'd be nice," you say, trying to temper your interest. "Let's do that."

Chan's place is nice. Comfortable, cared for, but cozy.

As you step inside and remove your shoes, you look around to take in your surroundings. The furniture is nice, but not lavishly so. Pretty vases with flowers and hanging picture frames showing memories of friends and family adorning his walls that come off as inviting, and not showy. In juxtaposition, you find yourself thinking back to so many other places that you've visited in the past—homes that feel far less like them, and more like museums. Do not touch. The empty atmosphere of being unlived in.

A cork pops off from a bottle just a bit inside and around a corner, thus, you follow the invitation of it. Chan stands in his kitchen pouring two glasses of wine, and you take a seat at the small, glass, dining room table in wait.

"Workplace romances are forbidden, you know."

Well, that is certainly one way for you to broach the topic.

And while you've been mulling it over the whole day, you had decided upon this as the best route. It's simplistic enough to get the point across, but also light-hearted in a way that it doesn't need to be taken too seriously in consideration by Chan. The concept of an office romance being so broad that there is difficulty in necessarily pinpointing what does, or does not, fit within the definition.

But the two of you have kissed, and there is clearly some degree of interest. So, it applies well enough to be used as the shoe horn.

However, Chan only smiles as he finishes up the task of pouring the drinks. He glances up at you briefly, then carries on with what it is that he is doing before replying.

"Okay," he says. Not giving you much to work with until he comes around the table and sits beside you, wine glasses set onto the tabletop. "Then I'll quit."

"Wait, what?"

You don't expect this answer, and it certainly doesn't make any sense to you, either. Yes, things have been moving relatively quickly in your own mind, and as far as your own feelings are concerned, but has the same been true for him? To this degree, at that?

He shrugs. "I'll quit. It's not a big deal, I don't even like that place, and I sure as hell don't like our boss, so I'll just find another job if it means we can keep doing this comfortably."

Chan punctuates the thought with a sip of his drink, so nonchalant. Like the most absurd thing hasn't just come out of his mouth with incredible conviction.

"I…but…" you stutter out, trying to gather your thoughts. "You barely even know me, and if I'm being honest, it sounds a little crazy to be willing to give up such a huge position at a company just to date a colleague that wasn't even that nice to you only a couple of days ago."

"Yeah, I suppose when you put it like that, it does sound a little crazy." Chan takes another bored sip of wine. "I did tell you I'm a pretty good judge of character, though."

A beat of silence passes between the two of you, and you take it as an opportunity to bring your own glass up and to your lips before speaking into the rim. "Going to give up your job so you can sleep with me."

"Well, not just sleep with you, though I guess that depends on how good it is."

You choke on the sip.

"I'm a big boy, I can make career decisions for myself, even if that decision is to effectively and temporarily blow mine up." Chan's hand finds your thigh beneath the table then, fingertips gently digging into the flesh of the inside. "The rest is up to you, though. We can call all of this off right here, right now, and go to work tomorrow like nothing ever happened."

With the back of your neck heating up and the light prickling of goosebumps across your skin, you set your glass down, inhale deeply, and then look Chan square in the eyes.

"Maybe it's about time you earn that next promotion."

"You know—"

Chan whispers the words out and against your lips, through fervent kisses so quick and needy that he's barely able to say anything, at all. Hands are busy at work to slip the both of you out of your business attire from the day; button down shirts, belts, slacks, and skirts strewn hastily about the hardwood flooring of his bedroom while stumbling desperately towards the bed.

"I never thought my next promotion would be getting myself fired."

"Life is just full of surprises," you say, pushing him to the edge of the bed and gently down on top of it. "Isn't it?"

He doesn't bother responding, however, instead fixated on the way you drop to your knees between his legs and lightly graze a palm over the tenting at the front of his undergarments.

Fingers hooking into the elastic sides, you drop them down his thighs, freeing what it is that you really wish to see of him. You wrap a hand around the thick base of his length, gently stroking him to a fullness that was already so close to being reached. Chan sighs into the touch first, then a light groan that catches in his throat at the feeling of your tongue traversing up the underside of him, only to curve around the tip and then sink down whole to take him in.

One hand comes up to find the back of your head, though there's no force behind the gesture as you work him with your mouth. The wide stretch is enough to already have you feeling the fatigue of such an offering, but the heavenly sound of Chan quickly unraveling beneath you is enough to have you ignoring the ache that comes along with the wonder of such a large cock.

"Fuck, you feel good," he exhales, hips ever so slightly canting up to meet your mouth as you take him deeper in.

You pull off slowly, looking up the length of his perfect, toned body to meet his heavily lidded eyes. Hand still stroking him as you do. "You know what feels better?"

"I can guess."

With that, Chan leans forward and grasps you by the wrist—pulls you up and onto the bed with the kind of strength you couldn't dare fight against if you wanted to. Swapping your positions, you find yourself splayed out against the mattress and with hands already busy prying your thighs apart to accommodate him before you're even able to gather your senses.

A lone finger slides up your wet crease, stilling at the most sensitive part of you. Your body jolts at the feeling, looking down as Chan grins only inches away from the place where you want him the most.

"Would you hold it against me if I told you I wanted to fuck you the moment we landed in LA?" he admits, and punctuates the thought with a languid stroke of his tongue following where his finger has just traveled. "Never would have said anything in a million years but—God, the way you look dressed for work like that? So professional and serious, couldn't stop thinking about what you'd sound like if I just—"

Chan pauses the thought, digs his tongue and the plush of his lips more firmly against your clit and gently offers the sensation of being filled by two fingers simultaneously. You can't help the whine that falls from your mouth, though you make a half-hearted attempt to catch it before it does. One hand of fingers curling into the bedding below, the other finding Chan's hair to wrap the curls up and between; he wastes no further time showing precisely the kind of want that he has quietly carried for you. Dizzying and electric beneath your skin, hips bucking up ever so slightly and without conscious thought to find more of him as he grants it to you.

"I was so mean to you, though," you manage to say through heavy breaths and moans, "would you hold it against me if I told you I considered fucking you to try to ruin you? Professionally, of course."

The sounds that this information musters up and out of Chan can only be described as the most animalistic, primal groan of hedonistic want that you've ever heard.

"Yeah? You're going to ruin me?" he replies, fingers still pressed inside of you and a thumb firmly sitting at your clit. "Might have to revisit who's going to be ruining who."

Disappearing off and to the side, Chan makes such quick work of dealing with the necessities that you almost don't even notice his having done so. He stands afterwards—all but hauls you further up the length of the bed to accommodate his being there as well, and then positions himself between your legs once more as he drags the thickness of his cock through the wetness that awaits him.

"Maybe I sort of like it when you're mean to me, ever consider that?" Chan asks, coy in tone. One hand gripping into the soft flesh of your thigh as to hold you open for him while the other sits firm at the base of his cock, blunt head only slightly pressing at your opening. "Maybe it was all just a plot by me to get you to talk to me like a piece of shit so that I could then, in turn, fuck you stupid like we both want."

And while you would love to fight the point, the steady drive of Chan's hips forward makes for that to be an impossibility. The stretch of him carving out space inside of you for his cock is dizzying, slow and careful as he does so. You whine and sigh out as he pulls your body onto him until he rests fully inside.

"You talk a big game," Chan says then, gently fucking into you as his hands slide down and settle around your hips for leverage. "But at least you can take a big dick too, can't you?"

It's so much happening all at once, your senses in overdrive at the way that he's speaking to you almost condescendingly, paired with how pulled apart from the seams your body feels in order to accommodate his thickness. Once settled into more of a steady, offering drive into you, the friction is mind-numbing—feeling so full that not one single nerve ending finding reprieve from the hug of your body around his cock.

You reach forward with one hand, grasping at a strong, tensed arm that shows beneath the flesh each and every muscle he has worked so hard for. Your nails dig in, and as a result, he fucks you harder, faster; hips snapping roughly against the undersides of your thighs.

"Fuck, Chan, don't—don't stop."

"Yeah? Like it that much, huh?" His grip on your hips gets harder, and the strength in his upper body now fully used to pull your body down and against his cock with every drive. "You're taking it so good, maybe one of these days we'll see how good your pretty body can take it when I fill you up with my cum, yeah?"

And you want to be better than this, stronger than this. Stronger than the way that the words go straight into your already pained and needing arousal—tightening around him, an orgasm now threatening on the horizon much faster than originally anticipated.

You gasp out his name, repeating expletives in droves like a hopeless chant that you have no control of as a knowing smirk paints across his lips and he continues on with the work he is putting into your body.

"Want that," he says, breath shaky. "Want me to come in you. Now who's the one of us earning something?"

Grip into his skin tightening just that much more, your back arches up and off of the bed; thighs shaking and muscles tightening as you grit your teeth through the way that your orgasm shakes you. Chan never stops, the glide of his cock so smooth and easy between your walls that even through the stiffness of your body as you come, the strength that he holds makes it easy to use your form to fuck himself with as he watches you release around him with enamored appreciation.

It doesn't take much more from him, and you feel the way he fucks into you becoming more erratic, more needy and without plan as he aims to find his release. Though you've just finished, and need and want for him still courses through your veins at a lightning quick pace, and thus, when you beg for him in a whine to come on your body, it's a kind of humiliation that you'll have to deal with only after the fact.

But not now.

Chan groans, deep and nestled into his chest as he pulls himself from the warmth of you and pulls the condom off—you watch him stroke over his wet, thick cock by hand quickly—taking in the sight of how the definition of his abdomen and chest flex as he reaches closer and closer to his end.

"Anything for you," he says, though the words are barely audible and totally destroyed in the dryness of his throat. "Little cock-drunk, are you? Don't worry baby, I'll give you what you want."

While his tone is just ever so slightly condescending, there's a sort of sexiness in the confidence of it that does, indeed, drive you even crazier with each and every utterance of it. Chan strokes himself to completion shortly after; free hand coming up to find your clit and carefully rubbing you along with him as he comes. The both of you moan in unison, watching the way his cum paints your chest and stomach in such a lewd fashion before the momentum naturally slows, as does his hand.

Chests heaving, Chan is the first to cough out a laugh in the aftermath of it all.

"Did I get carried away?"

"No," you say through a heavy, exhausted exhale. "No, not at all. Fuck."

"Good?"

You give him a tired look in response, not wanting to give him the pleasure of acknowledging it with words.

Chan appears to accept this with a smile, leaning down and capturing your lips with his own. It's not needy, not full of lust as before. Now, laced within it is something completely different, and not unlike the first time that the two of you shared a kiss together.

You opt out of spending the night together, on account of having work early in the morning and wanting to be proper fresh for the occasion. None of your belongings are here, none of your work clothes—only items hours traveled in and then lightly carrying the musk of two people far too hasty in going at one another.

Still, you can't help but consider what the aftermath of this truly looks like for the both of you in the workplace. Of course, Chan admits a willingness in the moment to quit his job for the opportunity of the two of you exploring this—but how much truth could really be lying within those words?

A man who barely knows you, who has no real reason to be willing to do such a thing for you. What makes you so special, anyway?

Suppose the next morning in the office will tell.

Stepping into the office, you aren't so sure what you expect to find, only that what you have found is most definitely not it.

People are running all about, through the corridors, in and out of cubicle spaces, phones ringing and ringing for what sounds like forever with the sound of shouting into receivers coming from every single direction.

You walk in further, down the hallway towards your own personal office—but just before you make it there, your boss cranes his head out from his own just a bit further down the way and shouts at you for the world to hear.

"You! Get in here, now! What have you done?"

Eyes wide and eyebrows pressed up towards the ceiling, you can't help but wonder to yourself; what have I done?

Once you make it inside, you don't even bother closing the door behind you. Privacy isn't needed now, in part because a new side of you has been unlocked since this trip—a part of you that doesn't care. A part of you that has long since resigned yourself to simply not giving a shit about any of this. Not like you used to, not in the same way that once allowed for it to take, and take, and take from you without ever truly giving back.

You're free now.

"Did you know that Chris quit?" the man shouts, hair tousled and random papers lying thoughtlessly around his desk. "What did you do on that trip? What did you do to him you little—you little…bitch."

These words, once upon a time that is not even all that long ago, might have hurt you in such an inexplicable way, but now, the concept of such a thing seems so unfathomable, so far away from you. The cutting edge of a knife meant to maim, only now it slides off of you effortlessly—this man can no longer hurt you, and soon, you have decided, he can no longer take from you, either.

"I didn't do anything to him, sir." You smile, accompanying the words. "Though I don't think the same can be said for me. I think he's done a lot to me in a very short time, and for that, I am incredibly thankful."

The man pauses, looks at you with an empty stare before his eyebrows firmly knit together in a grimace. He intends to speak, but you are no longer interested in hearing anything from him.

"I quit, too."

Turning back towards the door, you hear the man stumbling over his words in an attempt to get something of use out. For once, it would seem, he is left speechless. The ideal version of him, you can't help but think.

"You can pay out my severance as intended under typical circumstances, and if you don't, I'll send everything to HR and contact a lawyer to take you for everything that you're worth," you add in, glancing back over your shoulder. "And I will win."

"Oh, and thanks for fucking me over so exquisitely on this work trip, I actually think it worked out in everyone's best interest."

Halfway out of the door, you hum, then turn back towards him for the last time with a smug, gratified smirk.

"Well, except maybe for you."

Your hectic surroundings as you leave the office for the very last time feel like nothing but static noise. Inconsequential and unimportant in the grand scheme of things. You don't know what the future holds for you, or for Chan, or for whatever it is that the two of you might have budding and blossoming together. It sort of doesn't matter, which you find to be the beauty of a new beginning.

When the elevator sounds off upon reaching the bottom floor, the metal doors part, and standing in the marble lobby is a familiar face that you're certainly not expecting to see.

Chan stands there before you; all fitted jeans and comfortable black hoodie. A casual side of him that you've not seen before, but are so delighted to be able to that it ignites a fluttering in your chest that perhaps you've not felt since grade school.

"What are you doing here?" you ask.

He tries to fight back the smile, but to no avail. "I knew you were going to quit, so I figured I'd be here to get you when you did."

"I didn't come here this morning with the intention of doing that."

"I'm sure you didn't." Chan swings the loop of his keys around on a finger nonchalantly. "But I still knew you would. Breakfast?"

Three days isn't long enough to say I love you, but there's a previously locked away, fairytale side of you that's certainly thinking it right about now.

"We're both unemployed, should we be going out and getting breakfast?"

Chan tsks at that, "we're top executives in our field, we'll both be head-hunted before we even start looking. Besides—"

Reaching down, Chan takes the hand not holding a briefcase into his own, pointedly fitting fingers in between your own and looking straight into your eyes.

"Can't a guy take his girlfriend out for a waffle?"

Yes, yes he most certainly can.

♡ hope you enjoyed.

—this is a oneshot, there will be no part 2.

#bang chan smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan x y/n #bang chan x you #bang chan scenarios #bang chan imagines #stray kids smut #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #skz smut #skz x reader #skz x you #skz x y/n #skz imagines #skz scenarios

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the-bi-space-ace · 3 months

Text

I’m in a Mood™️ so here’s what our favorite clones are like when they want attention:

Echo:

It depends on who he wants attention from tbh. With Fives, Tech, or Crosshair? He’s such a little shit. Has the patience of a tooka that’s grumpy he’s not getting enough pets. Is rather forward about wanting attention, though, which is shocking for him considering he’d rather bleed out than ask for help. Attention is different though. With everyone else he can play up his charms. He’s persuasive and will use his powers of “sweetness” to get what he wants.

Crosshair:

Did I hear someone say cause problems? Yeah. He’s gonna cause problems. He’ll be super grumpy but never say a damn word about what he wants. Best believe he’ll be a little shit on purpose in order to get attention: positive or negative. Any attention is good attention. Also acts like an impatient pets-starved tooka but he’ll bite to get his way instead of head butting. He teases, pokes or prods, makes a fuss out of embarrassing things his squad has done. All to get them to retaliate so he gets what he wants. Little shit.

Tech:

Straight forward man. He’s not shy about asking for attention and he will be honest about it. No grumping although sometimes he’ll get tetchy before he recognizes what it is he wants. He simply interrupts when he wants something. Echo is on his comm and Tech comes up to him, says nothing, takes the comm, turns it off, then starts rambling.

Wrecker:

He’s gonna play. I’m talking roughhousing, pillow fights, tickling, anything for some physical affection. When he’s gone a real long time without any attention he gets sad. Maybe even pouts. Not as sulky as Crosshair can get but he sure does play the kicked mastiff well with those big eyes of his.

Hunter:

Man can’t even ask for a cup of caf let alone affection. Gets cranky and ends up taking a nap instead of just, idk, asking for a damn hug. Has to be bullied into accepting it like it’s the worst thing ever. Dramatic behavior. Almost as bad as Crosshair for fucks sake. Echo nearly tackled him one day bc he kept moping and it was driving Echo up a wall. When the two of them both want attention at the same time just let Echo at him. He’ll wear him down, he’s good at that. No one can resist tooka eyes from Echo.

Rex:

Rex will always suggest an activity he knows the other person likes. It’s his sneaky way to ask to spend time together because he’s sure they won’t say no. He doesn’t like that cafe but Fives does so he’ll suggest it for lunch for some one on one time.

Cody:

Refuses to admit to needing anything he’s big and tough no need to give him anything. He will start to isolate if he’s feeling too itchy for attention. It makes him feel weird that he needs Something. Ridiculous man. Pulls away when he wants to be closer. It’s easier for him with Rex, Echo, or Fives because he’ll just show up and tell them they’re doing something with him and they follow. Anyone else? Can’t do it. Won’t do it. Will show off sometimes to impress his general for some positive feedback.

Fives:

He’s up front about it! But he’s gonna use pestering to get his way! Echo won’t even get a day without Fives trying to bother him for some attention. He gets under Rex or Cody’s skin to get a reaction. They know he’s doing it on purpose and they humor him anyway.

#space chatter #I could keep going but this is long enough already #the bad batch #tbb echo #tbb crosshair #tbb tech #captain rex #tbb wrecker #commander cody #tbb hunter #the clone wars #arc trooper echo #arc trooper fives

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echo-lover · 7 months

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Why are you watching this, it's for kids. Focus on life, find yourself a partner, have your own family. You are an adult. Grow up.

You don't understand it. This is not just a series...

This series gives me a chance to feel like a kid again. I find comfort, safety and care in the arms of characters who mean the world to me. I experience each of their moments of sadness, each of their smallest joys, as if they were my own. This is my home, my safe space. I love them with all my heart. Thank you Star-Wars for my beautiful family.

I love Wrecker because he always managed to put a smile back on my face, even when I was having the worst day ever. His cheerful personality makes it impossible not to like him. Sometimes he is just a child, trapped in a large man's body. Behind all this muscles and enormous strength that can easily hurt you, there is a soft heart made of gold. He can be gentle, soft, even quiet if he has to. He would do absolutely everything for his family. He is also way more intelligent than he might think. The way he takes care of Omega melts my heart every time. Kids love him and he loves kids.

I love Tech because he can quickly adapt to situations. His voice is so special... I could listen to him for hours and never get tired of his facts about everything he saw and heard on his missions. He showed me that being smart is not something I should be ashamed of. His voice is calming, gives me comfort... I love his little jokes and moments where he was just a little savage in conversations. Even though he processes moments and thoughts differently, he is still able to share his own feelings with Omega. She helped him open up and show the part of himself that he kept closed from the world, even from himself. He loved his family so much that he sacrificed himself for their safety, paying the biggest price. He is worth every tear I shed for him (and there were so many).

I love Echo because I see a part of myself in him. He has been with me from the very beginning of my journey with Clones, and is one of the most important characters for me. I relate to him for many personal reasons. Even though he has experienced so much evil in his life, he is still able to be gentle, caring and show love to those who were closest to him. I especially love his bond with Omega, they both understand each other through their traumas, and way more. Omega quickly became the most important to Echo, but he couldn't give up on fighting, even for her. He felt that he has to somehow compensate for all the lost years when he was a prisoner on SkakoMinor. His honor, loyalty and courage inspire me every day. And his tenderness and softness touch my soul deeply. I could talk about him for hours and never get bored. I wish I'd be able to give him the biggest and warmest hug, and tell him how important he is to me.

I love Crosshair because he's the type of character I could easily hate, but I don't. In fact Cross is very close to my heart, I feel sorry for him and I want to help him get back to his old self. He is so much more than what the Empire has done to him. This sniper who never misses, who doesn't have to use his muscles to hurt - words are enough for him - silent, yet sharp. Precise, accurate, always on point. Confident, knowing his skills. Painfully honest, but needing to prove his worth to others at the same time. I know there is this soft side of him, hidden, but it is there for sure. The side that loves his brothers and little sister more than his own life. He need some time to understand that he is worth all the love in the Galaxy and I hope that Omega will help him to realize, that his brothers never really left him. They would take him back, if he just wanted...

I love Hunter because he makes me feel safe. I can't put it into words, but he's a character that reminds me of home... a loved one that I lost some time ago. He is so much like my dad at some point and his bond with Omega is so special for me. I know he's not perfect, he makes mistakes just like everyone else, but he always wants to do the right thing. He is a leader, not the one that only gives orders, but he is more like the head of the family who protect them - a father. He always puts his family first and is willing to do anything for them. For any of them, including Crosshair. He often doesn't give direct orders, just suggestions. His squad is not just soldiers, but they are his brothers, his closest family. His priorities changed when Omega appeared in his life - a child in need of a family, who trusted him and gave him love that he had never received before. From a soldier, he became a father, who would give everything for his daughter's safety and joy. His relationship with Omega is the most important to me. I loved him from the first moment and I could talk about him for hours, just like about Echo. I will always defend him. No matter what.

I love Omega because she took the best parts of each of her brothers. She is fearless, brave, strong and ready to defend her family until the very end. She's just a sweet little girl who can't have a normal childhood. She's different, just like her brothers, and she's so proud of it. She is not afraid to show her individuality. But even though she is strong and brave, she is still just a child. She needs love, protection... family... and Bad Batch gave it to her... a home, a safe place, loving brothers... Words cannot describe how important she is to me. Now she has changed so much, she is no longer this little Omega from first season... I think she becomes so much like Hunter.

#the bad batch #star wars #clone wars #clones #never stop loving clones #tbb echo #tbb wrecker #tbb crosshair #tbb hunter #tbb tech #tbb omega #tbb #personal thoughts #i love bad batch

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stars-n-spice · 2 months

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Recently had a LOTR/The Hobbit marathon with the siblings so have TBB watching LOTR/The Hobbit headcanons:

Once or twice a year they'll sit down and have these marathons - usually while also eating a big Hobbit-styled meal

First started with Echo wanting to show Omega the movies and while they were watching them together, the rest of the Batch came to sit and watch too

Crosshair at first was like "Tch. Nerds, you like this shit?" and then Aragorn popped onto the screen and suddenly Crosshair was very invested (in the plot, of course)

Wrecker enjoys it for the action and thinks the Elves are cool while Hunter watches it because they all watch it and he doesn't want to be left out (he has no idea what's going on but Tech keeps him informed and updated)

Crosshair has a crush on Aragorn while Wrecker has a crush on Lady Arwen

Hunter attempted to bleach his hair ONCE because Legolas inspired him (it did not go well)

Crosshair took up archery because of Legolas and is very good at it

Tech: "Did you know in this scene, Viggo-"

Omega always quotes the "I am no man" scene before immediately attacking the nearest brother to her with a pillow

Hunter will also quote the war speeches Theoden and Aragorn give before riding out into battle and only Omega and Wrecker find it entertaining (they'll scream "DEAAATHH!!" after him)

Echo and Tech are the only ones who've read the books (Omega is in the process but it's a struggle)

Crosshair totally does not get emotional over Faramir and Boromir - oh no definitely no he doesn't cry when Faramir asks his dad if he'd rather he died over Boromir

Actually they are all emotional over Boromir's death

Also for that matter, Crosshair totally does not get super emotional over Samwise and how utterly loyal he is to Frodo - nope definitely not!

They play "take a shot every time Pippin fucks up something" while watching

Every time there's an Orc on the screen they'll point at each other and go "That's you." or "Wow, I can't believe you're in this movie too."

Y'know that scene in Helm's Deep when Aragorn comes through the door?? Yeah. Crosshair nearly fainted.

Gollum freaks Wrecker the fuck out and Crosshair revels in this fact because he can do the voice

When Omega saw the Hobbit for the first time she was so upset about Killi dying that she didn't talk to Tech and Echo for a few days because she was like, "Why would you make me watch this?? >:'( That was so sad!!"

for that matter Wrecker was also crying when Killi died and then Bilbo's reaction to Thorin's death had all of them crying/tearing up

Crosshair hates watching the Hobbit because everyone always brings up how much him and Bilbo are alike (in terms of sass)

Though that one scene in BotFA where Bilbo is showing Thorin the acorn and talking about planting it, the first time Crosshair saw that and saw how Thorin was looking at Bilbo the man fucking melted and now holds all potential partners to that standard (and to Aragorn)

Tech: "Well, now that we've finished watching the entire series, who wants to watch the extended cut?" - "THERE'S MORE!?!"

Feel free to add on!

#love these movies #can only watch them like twice a year though #because once i watch one i have to watch the rest of them #and they're so fucking long #but i love them #more specifically i love aragorn #i'm going to fight crosshair for him #tbb #the bad batch #tbb headcanons #clone force 99 #tbb hunter #tbb echo #tbb wrecker #tbb tech #tbb crosshair #tbb omega #lotr #the hobbit

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charlieisannoying · 4 months

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A perfect case for my certain skillset

Part 1 | Next Chapter >

Platonic CF 99 X Jedi!GNReader Summary: Clone Force 99 is getting a Jedi, as if that could ever work out for the band of misfits. The worst thing? They're not even getting a General. First meetings will always go a little sideways, but the Force will right things in the end (Or so Hunter is told.) Word Count: 2,215

Hunter was tired.

He could feel a headache slowly blossoming under his skull, burrowing itself deeper and deeper, setting alight every nerve–

This was not the right moment for this. He had a mission to do.

It was simple, really.

They haven't been on the field that long anyways and they were a special case anyways. Their assignments, although they wrecked absolute havoc on the world around them were successes. They were still tasting the small bits of freedom between each missions, still overwhelmed with the fact that this was their life – the four of them against the world. While their... fondness over the regs was tested each and every time they came in contact with them, Commander Cody was a special case.

Even Crosshair was silent around that man, his snark nowhere to be found.

So when Commander Cody had commed him, letting him know that his pack, his own Clone Force 99, was supposed to get a handler... Well, Hunter was glad he wasn't alone when he received the news. He did not want to be the one to break the news to his brothers.

Still.

Getting a Jedi General was something even he was supposed to get used to.

It's not that he didn't want a superior officer or that he didn't like Jedi (although, truth to be told his experiences with other Jedi that Master Ti were rather... closer to 0 than any other number), but...

... he wanted to keep his brothers safe, close to himself and only himself. He heard through the ever evolving vod grape-vine that the Jedi were kind and understanding and they were all normal beings, not gods. His mind told him he was exaggerating, that it was in his very nature to protect his brothers...

But would his Jedi not only understand, but also listen to Tech's need to always fix something and explain and research? Will they leave Crosshair be and just exist in the presence of his brothers after a particular rough mission? Will they see how smart Wrecker is or will they just see his bulk and write him off.

Well. Clones were nothing if not adaptable.

'You don't have to be nervous about it.'

Cody's eyes were kind when he said it. They also seemed sad, but that couldn't possibly be true. Commanders knew how and when to say things. Commanders gave orders that no other clone could. Commanders swallowed their grief.

'I am not in the position to reveal anything but...' the Commander's nose flared and he bit on the inside of his cheek, as if searching for the right words. '...this assignment of the Jedi to your batch is more for the well being of themselves than a punishment to you boys.'

As if.

Look, Hunter could agree that their plans were wild, reckless and often enough sputtered into nothingness as soon as a mission started. But they accomplished their missions. They always were successful.

But siccing a Jedi on them?

This would never solve their... creative solutions for their already dangerous missions.

'When should we expect to report under our Jedi then, sir?' Tech's voice was crisp and perfectly measured, skilfully hiding how he felt in that moment from everybody. Well, everybody except Hunter. He could hear Tech's heartbeat skip in a pretty concerning way every so often and could start smelling his anxieties over the matter.

At that question, Cody allowed himself once grimace.

'That's your first job. Your Jedi Commander has... left our ship without telling us where they were going and we were called to aid the 501st.' What? Hunter's impending headache must have messed up his hearing, because why would a Jedi just... leave? Cody continued on, bringing Hunter back to the briefing. 'Their comm was last online in one of the lower levels of the city. It would be wise to check first some of the bars without attracting any unwanted attention.'

Lower levels? Bars? It seemed that all of his brothers were having the same reaction because they all had the what in Prime's tits is doing their Jedi in a bar face.

Something must have taken the Commanders attention away from them and their bewildered faces, because he didn't comment on their lack of response. Before he closed, he did wish them good luck, and that must have meant something, right?

By the sound of Tech's tapping on his data pad, Hunter was sure that every tidbit of information over their Jedi would be soon in their hands. He could always count on his brother's

'Wait, what did he mean by Jedi Commander?'

—

His headache was definetly getting worse.

This was the fifth? Or was it the sixth bar they searched? The vibrations of the bass and drums sent painful spikes from his skull down to his finger tips. This was promising some very painful next few days. And if they wouldn't find thei Jedi, his headache will become even worse and then Crosshair will see it, because of course the little shit was just as observant as his eyesight was perfect and–

'I just say we leave this damn Jedi find us instead. We're soldiers, not babysitters.'

Ah, kark it.

This was absolutely perfect. Now he also got Crosshairs snark to add of the things that were annoying him in that moment.

The lights were blinding him.

The music was getting louder and louder and he couldn't think, his brother's arm on his shoulder was like sand paper on his skin, although he had both his blacks and his armour on and why was the music so karking loud–

'You okay there buddy?'

If Hunter was at his peak he would notice that you were holding a fuzzy, colorful drink in your hands, the type that would come with small umbrellas and would wreck anyone in two gulps. Except he couldn't smell the alcohol. At all.

Your clothes seemingly resembled Jedi robes, the teal outer robes mixing with a tan tunic and brown pants. Small dots littered your sleeves, as if they were painstakingly embroidered, slowly combating the simpleness of normal Jedi apparel. Your hair was stuck to your forehead as if you'd been jumping the whole night and your eyes–

Maker, your eyes.

He could say that they were pretty because they were surrounded by blue glitter, and lined with black as if you were trying to capture everyone around you. You didn't break contact with him, as if trying to scan and read and see right through him, a small glint in your eyes indicating nothing but trouble.

But no.

Your eyes were sad. As if you knew something he didn't, as if you've lost and lost and lost, and you couldn't quite believe that you won't lose again. Hunter just wanted to bundle you up and take you far away from the war that just takes from beings.

Where were these thoughts coming from?

There was something else.

All he could focus was that the sounds were...gone. All those terrible sounds that were scratching the inside of his brain did not make him want to keel over and cover his ears.

He could still hear his brother's heartbeats, Tech's tapping, Crosshair grinding his teeth over another toothpick (where was he getting them??) and Wreckers fiddling with bits of an explosive.

Even those accursed lights seemed dimmed.

'You with me, Sarge?' Your brows were furrowed, as if you were trying to read him. And in the end, who even were you, why would you care–

Oh.

You were his Jedi. Were you the reason this place was more bearable now? Could the force even do that?

Wrecker snorted. Wait, why was Wrecker laughing?

That weird glint returned to your face, a small smile pulling over your lips. 'It's a Force Bubble. Helps me with my own migraines, and I though it would help you too.' You continued, the frown making an appearance once again. 'You were projecting your pain quite...hm...strongly across the lower levels. And anyways, what is Clone Force 99 doing here? We were supposed to meet tomorrow.'

Did he say that out loud?

That admittedly subdued headache was going to be the end of him.

'Technically, it is tomorrow.' Tech's voice was a bit harsh, not like his usual calm and calculated cadence. Were his brothers also starting to feel the simmering anger rising? They were out there, trying to find them, and... what? Their Jedi thought that giving Hunter a small respite would fix everything?

Before his thoughts could spiral even further, you had the decency to look... not ashamed, but guilty.

'Ah, my apologies then. I just wanted to...' You mulled over your words, trying to find the perfect one. You seemed to do that a lot, as if being able to choose your own words was something new, something not yet experienced. '...well, just be a Jedi for one more night and not a Commander.' You're eyes crinkled slightly as you smiled, as if laughing at a joke.

Hunter wasn't aware Jedi's sense of humour was so subtle. In fact, he heard quite the opposite from various other Commanders. Returning his attention back to you, you seemed to be already thinking about something else. Your face was already angled towards the back of the bar, where a small raised platform was created. A guitar was nestled against a box pretending to be a stool. A microphone completed the set, as if beaconing courageous drunks to sing something.

It seemed not only Hunter noticed your divided attention.

'Something else you've got to do, Jedi?' Kark Crosshair and his big mouth. Hunter was not in the mood to fight a decommission report to save his dear, dear brother. His headache was threatening to become a migraine once again.

This seemed to catch your attention once again. Shoulders pulled back, the blue robes did not seem to swallow you anymore. A small quirk of your eyebrow betrayed your amusement.

'You've crashed my set, actually. You guys are not exactly low profile.' Set? Did you sing? Is that your drink was all for show? All sadness was gone for a moment from your eyes, a fierce glint taking its place. 'I'm sorry you're tired and cranky... Crosshair, is it? So why don't you get a nice little drink from the bar and enjoy the show, yes?' Paired with a sweet little smile, you took your leave towards the makeshift stage, blue robes trailing like a blaze behind you.

This did not feel like getting a handler anymore.

This was going to get much, much worse.

—

Despite his worse fears, no decommission request landed in Hunter's pile of folders or in his inbox. After the incident at the bar, Crosshair finally fell silent, which meant that Hunter was free to fall into blissful sleep in their barracks. They did not stay to see you perform, much to Wrecker's dismay, but he was sure Tech already sliced through the bars shoddy footage, only to satisfy his curiosity, if nothing else.

You took the closed quarters of the Marauder in stride, your face betraying nothing. Your heartbeat though...? Well, that told Hunter everything he needed.

It seemed that not only Clone Force 99 was anxious about this change.

'Anything I should steer clear off?' You're eyes were still darting around, as if you were taking it all in. Your question though, it warmed Hunter somehow. He knew viewed clones as people, but other nat-borns had other ideas, that were not nicely viewed in the GAR.

'Our lives?'

Even with his back turned around the momentarily least favourite brother, he could feel Crosshairs sneer.

Before even taking a breath to reprimand Crosshair again in less that 24 hours, Wreckers boisterous voice bounced against the ship's walls.

'HA, as if you could beat a Jedi, Cross.' Wrecker's huge form seemed to eclipse you for just a moment, before draping an arm around your shoulders. You seemed to dip a bit, before finding your footing and righting yourself again, without shrugging Wrecker off. This seemed to encourage Wrecker, as he quickly continued, a sharp grin forming on his face.

'Technically, don't touch anything of Crosshair's. Don't mess up my workspace.' Tech's eyes were glued to his data pad, but his finger was pointing to various parts of the ship.

Thank you, Tech and your perfect interruptions.

You're impassive face was slowly breaking apart, your cheeks twitching slightly. Even your heartbeat seemed to slow down, and you even seemed to lean more and more into Wrecker, as if you were leeching his body heat. You risked a glance towards Hunter, but quickly looked away when you noticed him analysing you.

He wondered if you were going to burst from trying to keep in your laugh.

'You can always take Lula!' Reaching towards his bunk, Wrecker dragged you along a bit, without realising that you were still somewhat trapped underneath his arm. He offered you the tooka doll, and Hunter really hoped this was not the moment Wrecker will get heartbroken from your response.

A genuine smile lighted up your face instead.

'Thank you.'

If it weren't for the proximity alarm going off in the cockpit, Hunter was sure of there was more to be said.

For now, they all had one job.

Complete the mission.

Next Chapter >

#star wars #tbb #tbb x reader #charlie writes #tbb x you #jedi reader #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch #tbb fic

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soaringthroughthegalaxy · 6 months

Note

Hello!! Congrats on your 350 followers! I'm sure that number will just keep growing the more people read your fics! I'm so excited about your event.

You've written some of my favorite Hunter fics, so I'm going to stick with him.

Companion: Hunter

Luggage: Fluff and maybe Family? I wasn't really sure what the family would entail, but with Hunter maybe it could be something with Omega?

Destination: Hoth (I like the idea of the freedom and new beginnings, like maybe after everything is over and everyone is happy he can start fresh being a dad, not a soldier) and/or Pabu (relaxation and peace.)

Extra: If a female character could be included, that would be awesome also...maybe the fluff part...someone he could end up with that would be a great mom for Omega.

I'm not sure if that's possible, so take what you can use out of that and add in anything you need (just so it's Hunter and is a happy ending I will be excited!)

Thanks!

Carol (@clonethirstingisreal)

Thank you for booking with Soaring's Tours. We're now ready to board your flight. Please mind the gap between the transport and the platform. We wish you a pleasant journey!

A Place Called Home

Determined to leave the fighting and running behind now that your little family are all together again, you settle into your new home in Upper Pabu.

Pairing: Hunter x f!reader

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: spoilers for S3, clowning that CX-2 is Tech, fluff, sweetness, domestic goodness, happy family times, all the kisses, reader treats Omega like a daughter, flirting, quirofilia (a thing for hands), very small reference to knife play, sprinkle of innuendos, implied night together.

“I’m thinking forest green on this wall and leaving the other three as they are.” You muse, glancing around the room at the four white walls.

Between the credits Omega and Crosshair acquired during their escape from Tantiss and the credits you procured after tying up some loose ends on Ord Mantell, you all could afford a beautiful home in Upper Pabu.

The boys and Omega had been excited to finally have a house – to have their own rooms. With your little family reunited and Tech’s memories starting to return, you’d put your foot down. There would be no more fighting, no more running. Echo had opted to stay with Rex and take care of Tantiss, and you’d received news last night that they’d successfully freed all of the clones being held captive and razed the place to the ground.

Wrecker was sad to miss the explosions. Echo sent him a holovid of them as an apology.

“Whatever you’d like, cyar’ika,” Hunter answers, setting down the last box of furniture in the centre of the room. It had taken a few trips to bring all the newly purchased items back to Pabu, every bit of space in the Marauder utilised, and you couldn’t wait to set everything up.

Turning, you offer Hunter a soft smile as he approaches. A light breeze wisps through the room, the doors to the balcony overlooking the ocean thrown open. The early morning sun was already warming everything up and casting a golden glow across the tranquil island.

“You get a say too, my heart.” You remind him.

Hunter draws you closer, wrapping his arms around you as you lean against his chest. Without his armour, he can feel the warmth of your body against his own through the thin layers of civilian clothing you’ve picked out for him - a new wardrobe for a new chapter of life. “I’m not bothered what colour you paint the walls, just so long as you’re happy.”

Pulling back from the embrace, you look up at the man you adore and reach for the small comms unit in your pocket. “Cross…” You speak as you flick it on.

The line crackles to life a moment later. “Yes?” The familiar drawl comes through.

“Can you please pick up some forest green paint, too?” You ask sweetly, and you can almost picture the sniper’s eye roll in the following silence. He’d headed out a short while ago with a list of items to buy from the island’s stores, Omega and Batcher in tow. The lurca hound’s strength was being used, pulling a small cart for purchases.

“Anything else?” Crosshair questions.

Thinking for a moment, there was nothing else you wanted to add to the shopping list. But you did have a little surprise for them. “I slid some extra credits into the pouch. Make sure the three of you stop off somewhere nice and get some breakfast. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

“Goody.” Crosshair deadpans.

Chuckling softly, you shake your head. “I mean it, Cross. No skipping meals.” You’d been trying your hardest to help him regain some of the weight he’d lost on Tantiss.

“Understood.” He replies, his tone more serious now. “We’ll grab something decent.”

“Great. We’ll see you soon.” You end the call and slip the comms unit back into your pocket.

“Spoiling them again, are we?” Hunter teases, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

Playfully swatting at his arm, you offer him a grin. “Hey, they’ve been through a lot. They deserve nice things. You all do.”

“Fair point,” Hunter concedes, knowing that everything you do for him and his siblings is out of love and care. It was ingrained in your nature, and it’s part of why he’s been so drawn to you since you first met.

You smile up at him, feeling a rush of happiness and contentment wash over you. It still amazes you how far you’ve all come since the early days of the war. Back then, you never would have imagined ending up in this peaceful little corner of the galaxy, surrounded by people who care about you. “Come on, this furniture isn’t going to build itself.” You hate to break the moment, but you hadn’t been lying – it would be a long day to get the house ready to live in.

As you and Hunter assemble the furniture, the playful banter continues. Tools clink softly as you work, and occasionally, one of you laughs over a particularly amusing remark.

“You know, for a tough, stoic soldier, you’re surprisingly good at putting together furniture.” You tease, watching as Hunter carefully screws in a bolt.

He smirks, glancing at you. “I think you’ll find I’m a man of many talents.”

“And don’t I know it.” You murmur, handing him another piece of the dresser he’s assembling as your eyes rake over the length of his body before settling back on his deft hands.

Hunter can feel the weight of your gaze on him, smirk still firmly in place as he basks in your admiration. “Cyar’ika, you’re getting distracted.” He points out, voice low as his gaze flits across to you, nostrils flaring as he breathes in your scent.

“Can you blame me?” You ask, reaching out to slowly drag your fingers down his forearm towards his strong hands, enjoying the unrestricted access now he’s packed away his armour.

Hunter watches as you touch him, enjoying the warmth of the action. You’ve always been more physically affectionate - lingering hands and gentle caresses. It had taken some getting used to for his senses not to freak out at the contact. “I’m not even holding my vibroknife.” He teases.

“And now I’m thinking about that. Thanks.” You sigh, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips as your hand curls around his wrist.

Your joint laughter echoes around the room, and Hunter can’t help but lean towards you, stealing another kiss. Everything with you had felt so easy since the very first day. “Later. At least let me build the bed first.” He chides playfully, but a glint of desire shines in his eyes.

You concede with a nod, earning a smile from him before you let go of his wrist. You focus on building the furniture, even though desire still pools in your belly. Each completed piece is placed in the middle of the room, and old tarps from the Marauder are thrown over it to protect it from potential paint splatters.

As you work, footsteps climbing the stairs interrupt your progress. Glancing towards the door, you see Crosshair and Omega with paint cans, while Batcher has a bag hanging from her mouth full of brushes and rollers.

“We’re back!” Omega announces cheerfully, setting down the paint cans she’d been carrying.

Crosshair follows behind her with a hint of amusement as he observes Omega’s exuberance. “Got everything on the list,” he states, holding several other cans.

You smile warmly at them both, grateful for their efforts. “Thank you, both of you,” you say sincerely, moving to inspect the cans of paint - the perfect amount for the room. Reaching for Batcher, you pry a few brushes and rollers from the bag in her mouth, giving her a gentle pet of thanks afterwards.

“What colours did you pick?” You ask, handing one of the cans to Hunter as he finishes laying down some tarps to protect the floor.

“Purple.” Omega answers, pointing to one of the cans Crosshair was holding.

“Grey.” Crosshair chips in. “Yellow for Wrecker. Orange for Tech.” He adds, lifting some of the other cans.

Omega grins, patting her thigh, which prompts Batcher to return to her side, the hound sitting next to her. “We’re all doing feature walls,” she explains happily.

“Trendsetter.” Hunter nudges you, grinning.

You chuckle, enjoying Omega’s lightness and enthusiasm - after everything that had happened to her, she deserved to be a kid and enjoy the innocence that came with it. “Alright, the sooner we start, the sooner we can get the furniture in place and spend the night here.”

With that, the room fills with activity. Crosshair excuses himself to deliver the other paint cans and start making progress in his own room, whistling for Batcher to follow. The lurca hound is more than happy to trail after her favourite human.

As the door swings shut behind the sniper, Hunter pries open a can of green paint, pouring some into three trays and placing a brush with each. He hands one to Omega, the other to you, and he keeps the third one.

As you all begin to paint, Omega takes the lead, happily painting broad strokes of green onto the wall, only able to reach halfway up it. You focus on the edges, painting neat lines, while Hunter fills in the top section that Omega can’t reach.

Continuing to work, it isn’t long until you and Omega are side by side. Feeling cheeky, you swipe a finger through the paint on the end of your brush, calling the young girl’s name to catch her attention. As she turns to look at you, you strike, smearing a streak of green across her cheek.

Omega gasps in surprise, her eyes wide as she stares at you in disbelief. Then, a mischievous grin spreads across her face. “Oh, it’s on now!” She declares, dipping her finger into the paint and flicking it at you with a giggle.

Your laughter melds with hers as the paint splatters your bare arm, and Hunter watches the exchange with amusement, shaking his head fondly at the playfulness between the two of you. He appreciates how you always try to give Omega a childhood, even when you all fled the Empire and worked jobs for Cid. The way you doted on her warmed his heart. “Alright, let’s keep it civil, you two.” He interjects, holding up a hand in a gesture of peace, as if this were a serious fight, though the smile on his lips gives the game away.

You and Omega exchange grins, and before Hunter has time to stop it, you both smear green paint across his face, covering the bridge of his nose and his tattooed cheek.

“Oops.” You mutter in faux innocence, batting your eyelashes.

Hunter blinks, looking momentarily stunned before a slow grin spreads across his face. “Oh, it’s like that, is it?” He says, his tone teasing. Without missing a beat, he dips his finger into the paint tray and swipes it across your forehead, leaving a streak of green.

You gasp, feigning shock, before pouting. “Hey, no fair!” You protest, trying your hardest not to chuckle as Omega’s laughter fills the room.

Hunter steps forward, balancing the paint tray in one hand as he slides an arm around your waist, hauling you in. You’re radiant in the midday sunshine, eyes sparkling with mischief, the smear of paint across your forehead incredibly endearing. Dipping his head down, his lips meet yours in a tender kiss, tongue sliding against your lips teasingly before he breaks the connection, aware that you have an audience. Mouth ghosting across your cheek, he pauses as he reaches your ear. “I’ll paint you with something else later.” He rasps quietly, teasingly squeezing your side before he pulls away, heat burning in his gaze.

Stunned into silence, warmth flushes through you. You watch, mouth agape, as Hunter returns to painting, completely unruffled.

Omega calls your name, snapping you out of your. “Are you okay?” She asks, unsure what Hunter said to you, though she’s pretty sure she doesn’t want to know whatever it was.

You blink, shaking your head slightly to clear your thoughts. “Yeah, I’m fine.” You assure her with a smile. “Just got lost in thought for a moment.”

“Mhm.” Omega hums. She loves seeing you and Hunter openly affectionate and is still proud of the little stunt she pulled shortly after you all fled Kamino, which led to the two of you getting together. She’d always been intuitive and knew from the get-go that there was something between you. “Good, then stop slacking,” she teases, turning back to continue painting.

You rejoin her, and the playful banter and occasional laughter continue as you work together to finish painting the wall. The forest green paint covers the surface quickly, leaving behind a fresh, vibrant hue that transforms the room.

A sense of satisfaction washes over you as you step back to admire your handiwork. The colour stands out against the remaining white walls, adding a pop and some character. “It looks wonderful.” You remark, smiling at Omega and Hunter. “Great job, team.”

Omega beams with pride, placing her paintbrush back onto the tray.

“How about we take a break and grab an early dinner?” Hunter glances towards the windows, making a rough guess at the time.

The idea of a break sounds appealing, and you nod in agreement. “Sounds like a plan. I’m starving.”

“How about a barbecue?” Hunter suggests, figuring it was worth the little extra time it would take compared to rustling something up in the kitchen. “We can grill some food outside and enjoy the nice weather.”

“Sounds perfect.” You agree. “Go fire up the grill. Omega and I will tidy up in here.”

Giving you a small kiss, Hunter heads out to the backyard to start the grill, leaving you and Omega to clean up the painting supplies and put away the tarps. It doesn’t take long, and once the room is tidied up, you and Omega make your way outside to join Hunter. The smell of cooking food fills the air, making your stomach grumble, and there’s already a small spread of food on the table.

“Looks like you’ve got everything under control,” you remark, stepping behind Hunter to wrap your arms around his waist as he mans the grill.

A huff of laughter leaves Hunter. “When have I not had things under control?”

“You do not want her to answer that.” Tech’s voice cuts through the moment as he steps out into the yard to join you all, along with Wrecker and Crosshair. Although Hemlock’s reconditioning had stolen most of his memories, he’d spent his life recording everything and was working through clips to see if they jogged anything in his mind. Between that and all the stories you all shared, snippets were starting to come back to him.

The boys and Omega slide into chairs around the table. You chuckle at the remark and the thin press of Hunter’s lips, knowing full well that there have been plenty of times when his plans haven’t gone smoothly. “Alright, everyone grab a plate,” you call out, gesturing to the spread of food laid out on the table as you place down another one.

“I’m starvin’,” Wrecker exclaims, reaching for a few Nuna drumsticks. The rest of the group follows suit, filling their plates with delicious food and settling around the table. The atmosphere is relaxed and cheerful, and laughter and conversation fill the air as you enjoy the meal together.

As you eat, contentment washes over you. You’d fought so hard for this - moments where you could enjoy each other’s company and revel in life’s simple pleasures. Your little family deserves it after everything that’s happened, and you soak it in, feeling grateful that the Kaminoans assigned you as a liaison to the boys all those years ago.

Once everyone has eaten, Crosshair cleans up the grill while the rest of you remain around the table, enjoying the warm afternoon sun, and eventually, the conversation turns to plans for the rest of the day. “We should start putting the furniture where we want it in our room.” You suggest, glancing at Hunter.

“I’ll help with the heavy lifting!” Wrecker volunteers, already pushing back his chair and getting to his feet. The rest of you smile at his enthusiasm.

As a unit, you clear the table, gathering up the remaining dishes before heading back inside. With everyone pitching in, the process goes quickly. It also takes little time for Wrecker and Hunter to put the bedroom furniture where it belongs. The newly painted wall is mercifully already dry, thanks to Pabu’s heat.

With a shout of thanks to Wrecker as the big man leaves your room, you let out a deep exhale. This is home now. And you can’t quite believe how lucky you are.

Crossing the room, you step onto the small balcony overlooking the ocean. Your hands wrap around the warm metal railing, and you take a moment to close your eyes and let it sink in. As you stand there, basking in the warmth of the sun and the gentle breeze, you hear the soft sound of footsteps approaching from behind. Opening your eyes, you turn to see Hunter stepping out onto the balcony, a small smile playing on his lips as he joins you.

“Enjoying the view?” He asks, his voice quiet and gentle.

You nod, turning back to face the water, leaning against the railing as you see the endless ocean stretching out before you. “It’s gorgeous,” you reply, glancing over your shoulder at him. “Almost as gorgeous as you.”

Hunter shakes his head, flattered by the compliment but mad at himself for not seeing that you’d snatch the low-hanging fruit. He steps closer, pressing up against your back as he wraps his arms around you. You lean into his embrace, relishing the warmth and strength surrounding you.

“I’m glad we’re here.” He murmurs, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Me too.” You whisper, letting go of the railing with one hand to intertwine your fingers with his. “I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.”

For a moment, you simply stand there together, enjoying each other’s company and the moment’s tranquillity. The world fades away, leaving only the two of you and the gentle sound of the waves below. Even the boys’ noise around the table in the yard, teaching Omega how to play Sabacc, fades into the background.

Eventually, Hunter breaks the silence, his voice soft and affectionate. “I love you.” He says, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you too.” You reply. “More than anything.”

Happy, Hunter dips his head down, his nose finding the crook of your neck. In slow motion, he drags it up the length of your throat towards the back of your ear, breathing in your scent.

The sensation sends shivers down your spine, and you tilt your head slightly to give him better access, relishing in the moment’s intimacy. His lips brush against your skin, feather-light and achingly tender, sending a rush of warmth through your veins. You close your eyes, losing yourself in the sensation of his touch, his breath hot against your ear.

“Think it might be time to paint my favourite masterpiece…” He murmurs, his voice heavy with desire.

You inhale sharply at his words, hand tightening around his own as desire curls through you. Turning in his arms, you press your lips to his in a passionate kiss, hands reaching up to hold his handsome face.

Heat courses through Hunter as he grasps your rear, taking control of the kiss as he steps backwards into the room, drawing you along with him.

There was a new bed to break in.

Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal @starrylothcat @cw80831 @issa-me-bry-blog @leftealeaf @isaidonyourknees @padawancat97 @dangraccoon @jedi-hawkins @dreamie411 @sverdgeir

#Soaring's Tours Follower Celebration #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch x you #tbb hunter x reader #tbb hunter x you #tbb hunter #sergeant hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x you #hunter x reader #hunter x you #sergeant hunter #the bad batch hunter x you #the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #tbb x reader #bad batch x reader #tbb x you #bad batch x you

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phantom-of-the-501st · 5 months

Text

Thoughts on TBB 3x13: Into the Breach

SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT

Oh you know how excited I got during this one

Tantiss in the sun??? That's unusual

MOUSE DROID!

The kids are all so sad. This is heartbreaking 😭

This moment seems like a prime time to contact Echo just saying

*gasp* SHIP! PLEASE TELL ME THAT'S WHO I THINK IT IS

AAAAAAAAAHHHHH HE'S BACK!!!

Hunter and Echo's little handshake always makes me soft 🥰

"That hydro snake" glad to have you and your snark back, Echo

THE QUIRKED EYEBROW 😭 I missed him so much 🫶

Hahahahahaha Wrecker and Crosshair's joint "YES"

"Well you've been demoted" Echo is not putting up with Rampart's bs and I love him for that

I really miss Hunter's scarf this season. I wish he kept it 🥲

Also petition for Echo to get a Kama again!

Oooooh she sneaky

Not sure what she's going to do with one small stick but I trust her

THEY STRIPPED THE ARMOUR WTF

I mean it kinda looks like how it used to tbf but I got used to the paint 🥺

Hahahahaha I love that they didn't change the clothing underneath. They stripped the colour off their armour to be stealthy and yet are still walking around with brightly-coloured underclothing

Ugh the fact that Crosshair looks the closest to an Imperial like this makes me upset 😭

"I've missed this" Of course you have you smug bastard

"I don't think so" Echo really does not give a shit about Rampart and I don't blame him

Real subtle Hunter

"Err Captaining" WRECKER I FUCKING LOVE YOU

Thinking back to how Echo used to be the rule follower and would try and stop his batchmates from stepping out of line and now he's pushing around an ex-Vice Admiral while breaking into an imperial base to go and break Omega out of a highly-secure imperial lab. He's grown so much 🥺🫶

Noooooo I don't like that. Echo having to sneak onto a heavily guarded ship by himself stresses me out

"Wonderful. We're all going to die" Look, I may hate this man, but some of his line deliveries crack me up

You'd think the wall tiles in a top secret imperial lab would be more secure than that but okay

I'm not sure how Echo managed that slide roll thing off the top of the container but damn it was smooth af 🤩

HE WENT UP THE FUCKING DROID CHUTE 😭 THIS MAN I SWEAR TO GOD

Like that would be such a Fives plan and Echo has just embraced that chaos

Wrecker casually strolling off the ship with an imperial slung over his shoulder (while wearing his hat) 🤣

THIS EPISODE IS NOT GOOD FOR MY HEART RATE

THAT LANDING WAS TOO CLOSE FOR MY LIKING

New episode and I fucking loved this one! Still feel like we have a lot to wrap up in the last two episodes but there was a good balance of humour, action and tension

ALSO ECHO FINALLY CAME BACK!!! I missed him so much 🥺

#little bit of a late post #slept later than I thought I was going to #AND OF COURSE THE ONE I WAS LATE TO WAS THE RETURN OF ECHO #this episode was great #and I was very happy to see our boy back #curious to see how the last two episodes go #the bad batch #star wars #the bad batch spoilers #tbb spoilers #tbb echo #tbb wrecker #tbb hunter #tbb crosshair #tbb omega

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ledbytheunknown · 1 month

Text

Pro Memoria

Summary: Crosshair alone in his cell on Mount Tantiss reflects on his life, his choices and all that brought him to that point.

Word count: 1590

Warnings: There is talk of pain, angst, medical issues and contemplation of death. Thoughts or regret and sadness

A/N: Written for @swprequels-big-bang The art is amazing and I just know you will al love it as much as I do when you see it.

it can be found here

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

" Don't you forget about dying

Don't you forget about your friend death

Don't you forget that you will die "

Crosshair sat alone in the cell on Mount Tantiss, no natural light reached this far in. The garish industrial lights often hurt his eyes, making his head fill with the pain of a migraine. He’d lost count of the days, everyone being the same monotonous routine. Wake a morning serving of sustenance that made the old republic rations look like a gourmet meal on Canto Bight. Guards moving him to a lab samples taken from his right hand, the repeated jabs left his hand feeling weak and at times it had a tremor.

In the beginning he would be taken to a chamber much like the one Rampart and Tarkin used on him back on Kamino and his mind was probed and shocked as Hemlock tried to twist him and it to make him a perfect super soldier.

The gas Hemlock had used on him when he had tried to get a message to his brothers to protect Omega left his throat damaged and his voice even more gravely than before. It had all been for nothing. Omega was still found and brought here.

She visited almost everyday. Talked about planning and getting out. Crosshair fully believed that she should try, but that she should go alone. Leave him to his karma, his punishment, his prison.

He was not innocent. He blindly followed all the orders he was given by the empire for a long time. There were times when he closed his eyes he could see the faces of every single person he killed for the empire. He could also see the faces of those he knew die around him.

The rebels on Onderon, they honestly did not know where Saw Gerrera was, majority on that transport were civilians and Crosshair had led his squad in opening fire on them and cut them all down. Man woman and child.

Tightness grew in his chest as the many memories flooded in. Shortly after Onderon there was a mission to Naboo to bring in again so-called insurgents who were not separatists but members of the galactic republic who were resisting the Empire's new rule. The whole settlement was wiped out again man woman or child it didn’t matter they were gone in under a half hour and their bodies disintegrated leaving no trace. It was like that for a long time and Crosshair could always shut out what he did. Block his mind from remembering. But now their faces were all he could see. Hundreds and hundreds of people who he was directly responsible for their deaths. Either by giving orders to the troops or by his own hand.

His hand, the right one, had started to tremble shortly after his attempt at contacting his brothers to tell them to keep Omega safe. The tremors now were more frequent. Any time he thought about what he had done it started to shake. He reached across and held it steady with his left hand taking a deep breath and it started to settle.

Crosshair looked through the bars of his cell down into the stark utilitarian prison corridors that went in every direction. Almost every stall was occupied by former clone troopers, all ones who refused to serve the empire, all were tested and some experimented on but for what purpose He did not know. He often saw Nala Se in the halls and lab. She was his creator, not just in that he was a clone but it was her project that gave him and his brothers of Clone Force 99 their desired mutations. He saw sadness in her eyes when she looked at him and disappointment. It hurt him as he didn’t know if that was disappointment in his situation or in him and his actions.

He put his head back against the wall on his cell and closed his eyes again, this time his mind took him to Bracca, the place he almost burned to death in the fire of an ion engine. That was the start of his downfall, where his troops in the elite squad questioned his actions. It got worse on Ryloth.

Ryloth, it was all a flawed plan by Rampart to fully take over. To frame the hero of Ryloth Cham Syndulla of the murder of Twi'lek senator Orn Free Taa, but it didn’t go as planned and Cross hair was forced to arrest many clone troopers. Some fought back and for that they were killed.

But he survived. He survived the fall of Kamino and spent thirty-two rotations stranded there alone. He chose to stay, he could have left with the others on the Marauder but he chose to stay. But he questioned himself if he did it because he believed the Empire would find him or if he did it to die, to atone for all he did. The Empire did find him and after making a full recovery it was back to fighting back to killing, though he didn’t do much of the latter on the first mission with Cody. Commander Cody, where was he now? Was he safe? They said he left, that he defected, but in the Empire that could mean anything, that he went to the budding rebellion or that he disappeared to live in peace or that he had been killed. Maybe he was here in the halls in one of the many cells.

He sighed thinking of how badly he hurt his brothers, not just his batch mates but the clone troopers as a whole. Those who had stood against the empire how he treated them. Capturing them like he had Howzer and his troops or killing some of the 981st that had defected in the time between Ryloth and Daro.

How he had hunted Tech, Wrecker, Echo, and Hunter. He had been so close to them and now they only seemed like distant memories.

One of the times Hemlock and Nala Se worked on their experiments Hemlock informed him of Tech’s fall and subsequent death. It made Crosshair’s stomach and chest ache. They had been trying to find him, they had been trying to rescue him and now Tech was dead, and it was all Crosshair's fault. Just as Mayday’s death was on him as well.

He should have been able to save Mayday. He should have been able to get him back to base sooner so that there would be a chance of survival instead of dying in agony on the ground just beyond the walls of the base. He should have taken out more than just the lieutenant; he should have gunned down that whole base. But he was too weak.

Always now too weak to be of use, with a trembling shooting hand and headaches that would come and go but when they came they would stay, it would linger and pulse and beat away at his head, his brain throbbing as if trying to escape his skull.

He grabbed his head in his hands as he felt another of the headaches coming on he could feel the tremor of his hand against his head. This would be a fitting way to go, he had survived practically being incinerated, and being left to fend for himself on a dead planet but to have that pain in his head kill him make him atone for all he had done that would be perfect.

He tried to pry his eyes open to survey his surroundings one last time. In the hall beyond the ray shielded door of his cell he could see them. It was scary, bittersweet and calming all in one as his brothers lined the halls, Tech closest then MAyday and so many others, there were non-clone faces there as well, faces he recognized all too clearly as his victims. But they did not look mad, they looked sad or was that more looks of empathy, of pity? They were waiting for him. To escort him to hell no doubt it is what he deserved.

" We focus on your death,

We focus on your death.

You share not the blood of ours,

thus we focus on your death "

The words echoed through his head so many voices in unison. Calling him to his end. So he had taken their lives or failed to prevent their deaths, it was only fitting they beckoned him to his own.

The intensity of the pain grew, his eyes squeezing shut as if to try and stop the growing throb and the searing burning pain that filled his skull. He felt his breath catch in his lungs. Then calm, darkness and silence.

Beep……..Beep………Beep

Crosshair felt his consciousness leaving the void. The soft sounds around him, this was not hell, it was too calm, and smelled too clean. Way to clean.

“Ah I see you are finally waking up” a familiar voice said from a distance away.

Footsteps came closer

“We almost lost you there CT-9904, that would be unfortunate as you still have so much to give in our experiments”

Crosshair opened his eyes. He was alive but he had been wrong; he was in hell. The living hell of Mount Tantiss, and staring down at him as he was strapped to the medical table, the devil incarnate. Dr. Royce Hemlock. Crosshair looked around the room, the voices were gone as were the apparitions. So once again he would be left alone with his thoughts and his guilt.

#star wars prequels big bang #star wars the bad batch #the bad batch #crosshair

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nahoney22 · 1 year

Note

Congrats on 3k followers! Can I pls request the bad batch reacting to reader telling them they love them for the first time? Can be angsty or fluffy whatever you’d like! Female or GN reader preferred. Thanks! Love your stuff 💜

I Love You

All Bad Batch Boys X GN!Reader

warnings/spoilers: first ‘I love yous’ fluff and some parts (echos and crosshairs) angsty. Some kisses and flirting, brief mentions of the empire. Heartache. Cussing.

authors note: thanks for the kind words. Hope this is okay. Naturally, I wrote the most for Tech 🤍

Echo

Echo stood across from you, his expression heavy with the weight of his decision. He had just revealed his plan to join Rex in assisting the other clones, and though you understood and supported his noble intentions, a pang of selfishness gripped your heart. You couldn't bear the thought of him leaving.

"How long do you think you'll be gone?" you asked, your voice trembling as you struggled to maintain composure. The mere sight of him stirred a storm of emotions within you. How could one man have such an effect on you?

"However long it takes," he replied, his voice filled with a mixture of determination and concern, as he noticed the sadness in your eyes.

You let out a sigh, acknowledging the gravity of the situation. Gathering your courage, you finally raised your gaze to meet his, allowing the floodgates of your emotions to open. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you managed a bittersweet smile, fidgeting with your fingers, the urge to reach out and touch him almost unbearable. Yet, you remained rooted in place.

"Please don't be upset," he whispered, taking a tentative step closer. But you found yourself instinctively stepping back, the fear of vulnerability creeping in.

"I'm not... I'm proud of you, Echo," you sniffed, your voice quivering. "And I love you. I love you so, so much. So, don't you dare... don't you dare die out there." The confession slipped from your lips before you could fully comprehend the magnitude of your words. The intensity of your emotions clearly have overwhelmed you.

As you turn around and start to walk back to the Marauder, refusing to let Echo see you cry over him or even give him enough time to reject you, you hear the sound of running steps. With a grip on your arm and a firm spin, your lips are met with his. Desperate. Loving.

“I love you too. I’ll come back for you, I promise.”

Hunter

The storm raged on, its relentless fury battering your weary bodies as you find refuge in a desolate cave. The bone-chilling cold seeped through every layer of clothing, but you found solace in the fact that Hunter was by your side.

"We're stuck here until the storm subsides, I can’t make contact with the others." Hunter's voice cut through the howling wind, his breath visible in the frigid air. He sat down beside you as you sheltered yourself from the wind behind a large boulder. He rubbed his gloved hands together for warmth.

“Fantastic.” You can’t help but shiver but the sarcasm pierces through. You sigh, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself to seek any source of heat. Sensing your discomfort, Hunter pulled you closer, his strong arm enveloping you in a protective embrace. His touch brought a momentary respite from the biting cold and you couldn’t help but start to think about your feelings.

These feelings? They’ve been steadily growing, and the scary situation intensified the urgency within you. With the freezing temperatures numbing your senses, the words slipped out before you could fully comprehend their weight.

"Hunter, if we don't make it out of this... just know that I love you," you confessed, your voice barely audible over the storm.

He stills and this time not because of the cold. In fact, a great heat washes over him as his heart warms at your words. He looks down at you, smiling softly and chuckling. “We’re going to be okay, sweet. But, I… I love you too.”

If it weren’t for the storm you would have happily turned around and kissed him but there’s a time and a place and sadly, now is not the time. Sometimes, words are better than actions in times like this.

Wrecker

As you found yourself in the company of Wrecker, the time to relax was always a treat. Despite his loud and boisterous demeanor, there was a calmer side to him that revealed itself when you were alone together. It was a side that made you appreciate him even more although you adored how he was usually.

Just the two of you, both of you were enjoying a peaceful picnic, indulging in good food and engaging in good conversation. With missions piling up and a reasonable paycheck, you both decided to savor a meal that was actually edible for a change.

“This is nice,” Taking a moment to appreciate the serene atmosphere, you smiled as the sun began its descent, casting a warm glow upon the surroundings. The truth was, you had strong feelings for Wrecker. While playful flirting was a regular occurrence between you two, there was a part of you that yearned for something more, and you couldn't help but sense that he felt the same way.

"Yeah, it is," Wrecker responded, his warm smile directed not at the setting sun but at you. His gaze bore into your soul, causing a blush to bloom on your cheeks. Unable to contain your amusement, you laughed softly and turned your attention towards him.

"You're not too bad yourself, Wreck'," you playfully smirked, earning a hearty chuckle in response.

“I love it when ya flirt with me," he admitted, his eyes sparkling with both amusement and adoration.

His admission sent delightful shivers down your spine, emboldening you to share your own feelings. "Yeah? You know what I love?"

He raised an eyebrow, his curiosity evident. "Go on."

You moistened your lips, preparing to bare your heart and locking your gaze with his. "You."

For a brief moment, his smile faltered, his ears flushing with heat, and his eyes widened in surprise. "You love me?"

"Of course. I love you, Wrecker," you confessed with absolute certainty.

He scooted closer, his large hand cupping your cheek making you sigh happily as you knew what was to come. He brought your lips to his in a tender and passionate kiss, tender lips melting and dancing together perfectly. "I love ya too," he chuckled, his happiness radiating through his words. It was the perfect ending to a lovely day.

Tech

"I have found a way to help you release endorphins," Tech's words caught you off guard, causing you to halt and spin around in your seat to face him as he approached.

Confusion etched across your face as you awaited an explanation. "What are you on about?"

"I have noticed a significant shift in your demeanor lately. Even though I've made adjustments to the ship to make it more comfortable for you, it doesn't seem to improve your mood," Tech explained in his usual matter-of-fact tone. Your puzzled expression shifted to a mix of surprise and realisation. You had noticed subtle changes in the Marauder, such as the temperature, cleanliness, and even lighting, but you hadn't realised Tech was doing it all for you.

Speechless for a moment, you were compelled to ask for more details. "What exactly do you have in mind?"

"Dancing," Tech replied, his words punctuated with a touch of earnestness.

You couldn't help but burst into laughter at the unexpected suggestion. "Please don't tell me you've booked dance lessons for me somewhere. I really don't want to go through that," you joked, but there was a hint of seriousness in your tone, hoping it wasn't the case.

A small smile curved on Tech's lips as he reassured you, "You'll be pleased to know that is not what I had in mind. I was actually hoping you would allow me to dance with you. Slow dancing, to be precise."

The laughter subsided, replaced by a mixture of surprise and warmth. Your eyes met Tech's, and a rush of emotions flooded your heart. Slow dancing with him sounded incredibly intimate and personal—a gesture that spoke about the feelings you had for him. Perhaps he felt something too?

A smile played at the corners of your lips as you nodded, accepting his offer. "I'd love to dance with you, Tech."

“Follow me.” Tech's abrupt instruction to follow him caught you off guard, but you complied without hesitation. The two of you stepped outside the ship, finding a more spacious area where you could move freely. Fortunately, the rest of the team was occupied elsewhere, giving you privacy.

Coming to a stop, Tech turned towards you, closing the distance between you. Your heart raced as he took your hand in his, his other hand gently resting on your waist. Together, you began to sway, finding a rhythm that was uniquely your own. There was no music playing, but your heartbeat would drown out all sounds anyway.

After a few minutes, Tech's voice, laced with timidity, broke the silence. "Is this making you happy?"

You couldn't help but hum in adoration, nodding in response. "It's nice, yeah. But you don't have to go to such lengths for me. I'll be fine. I'm just missing Echo... and Crosshair."

Tech nodded, understanding the complexities of your emotions. "I understand. I miss them too, but it was their decision to leave, and we have to respect that. As for making you happier, it's something I genuinely want to do. It benefits both of us, and... it's an intimacy I feel comfortable sharing only with you."

His words melted your heart, intensifying the feelings you held for him. Unable to hold back any longer, you paused your movement, causing Tech to look at you with slight alarm. But he hadn't said anything wrong. Not at all.

Slowly, you leaned in, placing a tender kiss on his lips. He froze, his eyes widening behind his goggles. "I love you, Tech," you whispered against his lips, pulling back slightly to gauge his reaction. The vulnerability in your words hung in the air, awaiting his response.

A smile, soft and beautiful, spread across Tech's face in response to your heartfelt confession. His eyes sparkled with a mix of joy and vulnerability. "I harbor the same feelings for you too," he admitted, his voice filled with sincerity. "It's a new sensation for me, but one that I wholeheartedly want to explore and share with you."

Crosshair

Seeing Crosshair standing before you felt like encountering a ghost from the past. He had been gone for so long, and now he stood on your doorstep, his presence both bewildering and overwhelming. Your voice was hoarse as you struggled to grasp the reality of the situation. "Crosshair... what are you...? Why are you here?"

He remained silent, his eyes reflecting a mix of sorrow and anger, but not directed at you. It seemed he carried a weight of emotions towards everything else, a burden he bore heavily. His head bowed, almost as if he were ashamed, realising the audacity of just showing up after months, almost a year, of absence without a word.

His silence only fueled your anger and bitterness. "Answer me," you insisted, your voice tinged with frustration.

"I didn’t know where else to go," Crosshair finally replied, his voice filled with a sense of resignation. It was a simple admission, revealing a vulnerability that you hadn't seen in him before. It struck a chord within you, evoking a mix of compassion and concern.

As you step aside, allowing Crosshair to enter your home, a heavy silence fills the air, adding to the already palpable tension. He remains quiet, a familiar trait that isn't entirely surprising, but this time, it carries a weight of its own.

The tension becomes suffocating, and you can feel your stomach churn with unease. Crosshair stands still, his gaze fixed on the window, his back turned to you. The tears sting your eyes, and a lump forms in your throat. The frustration and hurt bubble up within you, demanding to be released.

"Do you have any idea what I've been through?" you ask, your voice quivering with emotion. "Do you know how long I've been waiting for even a single word from you?" Your temper rises, fueled by the so long of uncertainty and longing. You knew where he had gone, whom he had chosen to serve.

Once again, Crosshair's head dips, his shoulders tense, but this time, he turns to look at you fully. His gaze meets yours, and you can sense a glimmer of remorse and understanding. "I can imagine what you feel," he responds quietly.

"No," you shake your head dismissively, your voice thick with emotion, "no, you can't. Not for a second."

He would typically retort with a sharp remark, but this time, he remains silent, allowing you to unload the weight of your emotions.

"Do you know what it's like?" you continue, your voice trembling. "To love someone only to have them do the most awful, horrible thing you could imagine?" He freezes at your words, his eyes locked with yours, his breath caught in his throat. Your admission of love burns within his chest, searing with a mix of pain and longing.

"Yeah, that's right," you laugh almost bitterly, a tinge of sadness lacing your voice. "I loved you. I loved you! How dare you, Crosshair!”

“Even after Hunter told me they tried to bring you back, you left them again! You left me again! I loved you, and I still do. Damn you!" Your anger turns inward, and you abruptly turn away from him, clutching your chest as if trying to contain the ache that feels like your heartstrings are snapping, determined to rip your heart out and throw it at him, only for him to trample on it once more.

You hear him approach and very gently, he places a hand to your shoulder. “I’m not going to ask you for your forgiveness, I don’t deserve it.” He whispers, voice low and dark. “But just know I have loved you every minute. Of every day.”

You don’t know where this was going to lead but for now, you found some kind of twisted solace in his words. It was going to take a long time to rebuild something that had broken.

Masterlist

Tags: @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka a @oohyesplease @theroguesully @mustluvecho @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @kixs-husband @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari i @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @raevulsix @imalovernotahater @crystal076 @blustalker @by-the-primes @the-bad-batch-baroness

#nahoney22 writes #the bad batch headcanons #the bad batch one shots #the bad batch x reader #tbb x reader #bad batch x reader #tech bad batch #wrecker bad batch #echo bad batch #crosshair bad batch #Hunter bad batch

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