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kaminokatie · 4 months ago

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Omega Calls You Mum || The Bad Batch

Synopsis - The Batch react to Omega calling you mum.

Warnings - NSFW.

Notes - Season 3 spoilers, kinda, for Crosshair's part.

Word Count - 8.1k.

{Caffeinate Me}

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Hunter:

“Mum, can Wrecker and I go for some mantel mix?” Omega asked you. Your eyes widened at her question and your mouth opened immediately to answer, but Hunter was quick to answer for you.

“Just don’t leave Wrecker’s sight.” Omega hadn’t even thought twice about her slip-up and instead, turned on her heels to go and tell Wrecker that they had been given permission to head out. Once she had left the room Hunter looked at you with dark eyes, wild with desire. When he spoke, his voice was a low growl. “Did you tell her to call you that?”

“What? Mum?” You asked, furrowing your eyebrows while shaking your head rapidly.

“Are you sure?” Hunter asked, his voice dangerously low as he moved closer to you.

Your eyes were wide, your head still shaking rapidly. You thought that Hunter was mad, but he was far from it. “I’m positive,” you tried to defend yourself. Hunter stood up, his fingers flexing as he grabbed your arm and tugged you out of the cockpit. “Hunter!”

“Get in there,” he growled, pushing you into the small, cramped room filled with bunks. Hunter didn’t even give you a second to ask what he was doing before he locked the door behind him and shrugged off his armour, letting it hit the floor with a clank until he was dressed just in his blacks. Your eyes widened as you saw his erect cock straining against the black material of his undersuit, your mouth drooling at the pre-cum stain that had leaked through his boxers. “Is this what you wanted?” Hunter hummed.

“I didn’t mean for her to call me mum, I swear!” You exclaimed. And yet despite the fear of the unknown, of what Hunter was going to do to you, you couldn’t help but feel extremely aroused. The heat pooling between your legs was enough to make you feel dizzy, and you staggered towards Hunter. Throwing your arms around his neck, you kissed him fiercely as your right hand moved down his body to rest on the front of his throbbing cock. You could feel it, warm and twitching through his undersuit.

“Get these kriffing blacks off of me,” Hunter cursed under his breath as his hands desperately undid the undersuit, ripping it off his toned body and leaving him completely bare to you. Hunter pumped his cock a few times as he stared at you, his eyes saying everything he was thinking. You let out a whimper of desire as you began to undress quickly, letting Hunter’s eyes scan every inch of your body as you exposed yourself. “So perfect,” he whispered breathlessly. You shook your head at him, but Hunter was quick to grasp your hips and pull you into a bruising kiss. His hands roamed over your body, groping at your breasts greedily as his tongue slipped into your mouth. “You want me to make you a real mummy so badly, huh?” Hunter growled out against your lips.

“Kriff yes,” you whimpered softly, nodding your head.

Hunter turned you around so you were facing the wall, his hands falling down to your hips. “Hands on the wall beautiful,” he whispered in your ear, his voice sending shivers down your spine. You did as Hunter commanded, putting the palms of your hands onto the wall in front of you. “Good girl.” His praises sent another shiver down your spine and just as you were about to speak up, to voice your embarrassment, Hunter slammed his cock into your tight hole. A wanton moan left your lips at the sensation, no matter how many times you and Hunter had sex, the initial stretch never got easier for you to take.

“Hunter!” You squealed out. “I need a minute,” you begged.

“No,” he snapped as his hips thrashed against yours. You were already a whimpering mess underneath him and he had barely even touched you, his cock had barely even impaled you. Hunter didn’t give you any time to adjust, instead he continued to fuck into you mercilessly, his mind filled with thoughts of you being a mother to his child. The thought alone almost made him cum immediately, but he slowed his hips down momentarily to give him time to think. “Cyar’ika you’re so warm and tight around me,” Hunter groaned as he sped up his pace once again.

You let out a choked cry as the palms of your hand slipped down the wall slightly, your back bending over. Hunter revelled in this new position, his cock hitting deeper inside of your cunt with each and every thrust. He couldn’t get enough of you, of feeling you like this. It drove him mad with desire. You couldn’t stop the moans that were threatening to fall from your lips, and you didn’t seem to care that Echo, Tech and Crosshair were still on the Marauder. Hunter's hands gripped your waist tightly, so hard that his touch was almost bruising on the tender flesh of your hips. Sounds of skin-slapping-skin filled the cramped room and you were certain the noise would be heard from the cockpit. “Hunter I’m going to cum!” You cried out softly, your head spinning from the intense pleasure that was welling in your gut.

“Cum for me cyar’ika,” he whispered, the pet name falling from his lips effortlessly. It didn’t take much convincing for the coil in your stomach to snap. At Hunter’s words, your entire being crumbled, the coil in your stomach finally snapping until all you saw was searing hot, white pleasure behind your eyes. Your legs shook violently and Hunter had to move a hand from your hip to wrap around your waist to keep you upright. “I’m going to cum now, so kriffing much. It’ll be leaking out of you for days.” You couldn’t comprehend what Hunter was babbling about, you were too cockdrunk to fully think. You were a whining mess as Hunter held you upright, pounding into you effortlessly with as much force as he could muster. His cock twitched inside of you as he came, rope after rope of hot sperm pouring into your abused cunt until you physically couldn’t take anymore. “You’re so beautiful,” Hunter mumbled into your ear. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too Hunter,” you whispered back as he pulled out of you, a soft noise leaving your lips at the loss of fullness in your pussy. You let yourself come down from your high before you clothed yourself once again.

After a few moments of silence, Hunter spoke up from his position on his bunk: now laying down with one hand behind his head. “If you’re Omega’s mum, does that make me her dad?” He asked teasingly.

“You’re her brother Hunter,” you chuckled as you lay down next to him.

“Well, hopefully I’ll be a dad soon,” he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead and placing a hand on your stomach lovingly. Something inside of him had awoken at Omega calling you ‘mum’ and he had no idea what it was, but he never wanted it to go away.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Crosshair:

Life on Pabu was different from anything Crosshair could have ever imagined. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he would be living on an island, leaving the life of a soldier behind him and settling down. It had been a year since Crosshair had shot Hemlock on Tantiss, a year since Omega was saved from that hellhole and a whole year since you and Crosshair had fallen into each other's arms. Now, you shared a quaint little house with Crosshair on the shores of Pabu, a place where the two of you could relax and just be together in your early retirement.

The morning sunlight broke through the curtains stirring both you and Crosshair awake. The birds chirping outside the open window made the gruff sniper groan quietly as you sat up, stretching. Omega had stayed at your home overnight and would probably be awake any minute now, if she wasn’t already. You had to prepare breakfast. You pulled on your nightdress and opened the bedroom door. “Where are you going?” Crosshair grumbled, his eyes still closed.

“To make breakfast. Do you want any?” You asked quietly.

“Mmm,” Crosshair mumbled as he thought. “Just some caf, I’ll be down in a minute.”

You nodded your head silently and turned to leave. You crept your way down the hallway and down the stairs to the kitchen, in an attempt not to wake up Omega. You immediately opened the cupboards to see what you could make for breakfast. As your eyes scanned the ingredients and food tins you decided to make one thing that Omega loved: pancakes. You grabbed the needed ingredients out of the cupboard and began making them. Just as you were about to start making breakfast you heard Crosshair stumbling around in your shared bedroom and you let out an exasperated sigh. There was no doubt in your mind that with all his faffing, he would have woken Omega. You had half expected her to run down the stairs immediately after waking up, but much to your surprise she didn’t. Instead, she came plodding down with Crosshair, the two of them rubbing sleep from their eyes and yawning in sync. “Pancakes for breakfast!” You chimed as you finished plating up Omega’s pancakes.

“Thanks mum,” she mumbled, licking her lips as you set the plate down in front of her at the dining room table. Due to her exhaustion, she hadn’t even noticed her mistake of calling you ‘mum’ – however, it didn’t go unnoticed by Crosshair or yourself. You decided not to say anything, knowing it was just a simple mistake or slip of the tongue, but Crosshair glanced at you as he sat down next to her. His heart fluttered at the domestics of it all.

When Omega was finished eating her pancakes and Crosshair was finished drinking his caf, the two of them went off to do some meditating on the beach, leaving you to do general maintenance around the house. After roughly two hours, Crosshair came striding into the house and when you noticed Omega wasn’t with him you frowned. “Don’t tell me you were playing hide and seek and lost her again?”

Crosshair snorted and shook his head. “Hunter came to collect her from the beach.”

“How is he doing?” You asked as you finished placing the last pile of dirty laundry into the washing machine.

“Good,” Crosshair said, sitting down at the dining room table. He was quiet for a few minutes, simply watching you doing the most mundane tasks while looking so effortless when he finally spoke up. “This morning when Omega called you mum… How did that make you feel?”

You stopped in your tracks, thinking to yourself. How did it make you feel? You paused for a moment before speaking again, “it made me feel… warm and tingly inside.”

“Warm and tingly, huh?” Crosshair asked, a sly smirk on his face. He wasted no time in wrapping his arm around you and resting his prosthetic hand on your hip before planting wet kisses on your neck.

You let out a soft moan and nodded your head before tilting it to the side, giving Crosshair better access to the skin on your neck. “Yeah. Warm and tingly,” you repeated softly. “I never knew she thought of me as a mother-figure.”

“Well the kid can be surprising,” Crosshair mumbled against your neck before biting down softly on the flesh and sucking softly enough to leave a red mark.

“Has she ever said anything to you?” You ask, biting down on your bottom lip to suppress the moans threatening to spill. Crosshair shook his head in response, sucking on your neck again. Both his hand and his prosthetic flew under your shirt and to your chest, squeezing your breasts roughly. He didn’t know why, but the thought of Omega calling you her mum flipped a switch in him, releasing something primal inside that he never realised was there until the word left the little clone's mouth that morning. A soft gasp left your lips as Crosshair began to play with your puckering nipples, tugging at them earnestly. “Cross,” you mumbled softly under your breath.

“Yes mesh’la?” Crosshair asked, pulling away from his assault on your neck to look at you properly.

“Don’t tease me,” you begged silently.

Crosshair smirked at your words and slipped his hands from under your shirt, grabbing at your hand and leading you up the narrow staircase to your shared bedroom. You had already made-up the bed with a fresh set of linen after stripping it to put your other sheets in the washing machine and set up your aroma diffuser on your bedside table to freshen up the place. It’s a shame the sheets were about to become dirty again and for the room to smell like sex – but you didn’t care. Instead you giddily followed Crosshair into your bedroom and closed the door behind you with your foot. Reading your lover's mind, you both began to strip off within record time and soon you were wrapped in each other's embrace on the fresh bed sheets. Crosshair was behind you, spooning you as he spat on his hand and pumped himself, lubing up his cock before he positioned himself against your tight cunt. “Mesh’la, please–”

“Don’t ask, Crosshair,” you whimpered softly. A loud moan left your lips as he slowly pushed into you inch by inch, a moan of his own escaping his lips.

“Cyar’ika, you feel so good,” Crosshair huffs out, his hips slowly moving against yours. You loved it when he called you petname’s in Mando’a, it always set your heart ablaze. You let out a strangled moan at his words and moved your hips against his in the same rhythm, desperate to feel more of him. “Cyare,” he gasped out as your hips bucked against his own.

“Gods, Crosshair!” You exclaimed, already feeling your orgasm fast approaching. It was shameful, really, just how quickly Crosshair could make you come undone. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling your body even closer to his as his movements sped up. Crosshair couldn’t help but pound into you at a rougher pace, his cock twitching inside of you,

“Not going to last,” Crosshair grumbled against your throat, pressing soft kisses on your skin. “Cum for me baby, please.”

“Crosshair I’m cumming!” You call out, your body shaking with anticipation as your orgasm washed over you.

“Good,” Crosshair purred as his hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing delicately. Your airways were cut off slightly, and a gasp left your throat. Your pussy tightened around Crosshair’s cock, milking him dry. With a few more stutters of his hips, Crosshair was cuming shamelessly inside of you, a loud moan of your name leaving his lips. “Kriff, kandosiil’a.”

“Huh?” You asked, tilting your head at the unknown word.

“Amazing,” Crosshair explained.

“It was,” you chuckled softly.

Crosshair remained inside of you, his cock softening by the second. “Do you feel warm and tingly inside now?” He asked, chuckling softly.

“You could say that,” you replied with a smirk. “I certainly feel full.”

Crosshair chuckled again at your statement, a sense of pride filling every fibre of his being. “I would certainly hope so.”

“What got you so worked up anyway?” You asked Crosshair.

Sheepishly, he responded. “Omega, calling you mum this morning.” Your eyes widened at Crosshair's response and you felt that warm, tingly sensation return in the pit of your stomach.

“Really?”

Crosshair just nodded, his cock still sheathed inside of you. “Really.”

“If you’re going to fuck me like that every time Omega accidentally calls me mum, I might just get her to do it on purpose from now on,” you grinned cheekily, raising your eyebrow at him. Crosshair just scoffed and shook his head in faux disbelief.

“Be my riduur,” Crosshair whispered after a few minutes of silence. You looked at him over your shoulder, his arms still wrapped around your waist. When you didn’t respond, Crosshair spoke again. “Be my wife… Please.”

You quickly turned over, his cock slipping out from between your tight heat as you moved. “Do you mean that, Cross?”

“More than I’ve meant anything.”

“Then yes, I’ll be your riduur.”

You had no idea that Omega calling you mum would lead to a proposal, and when Crosshair was able to go out and buy you a ring to symbolise his love for you, he would – but for now, he just had to believe you when you said yes.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Wrecker:

Wrecker watched from close by as you and Omega played ‘Dekarik’ on the holotable located in Cid’s parlour. He drank the ale from his cup, smiling to himself as you sighed frustratedly and furrowed your eyebrows at the holotable in front of you. In a few moves, Omega had once again won leaving you feeling jokingly bitter. “How do you do it?” You groaned, rubbing your forehead.

“It’s a strategy game!” Omega replied. “I’m good at strategy. Besides, it’s easy when you put your mind to it.” Wrecker felt his heart swell at the interaction. He loved how close you had become with Omega since she had joined the squad a few months back. It was almost as if you had taken her under your wing, being the mother she so desperately needed. Wrecker felt his heart stop at the thought of you being her mother, the idea never crossed his mind before but now he couldn’t seem to get it out of his head. Apparently, Omega was thinking the same thing as she blurted out, “I can teach you how to play properly, mum.”

You froze in your seat the second the word ‘mum’ left Omega’s lips, and so did she. She was about to apologise when you put a hand up to silence her, a small smile on your mouth. “Don’t worry. Slip of the tongue.” Omega looked sheepishly at you before slinking off her seat and making her way over to Hunter on the opposite side of the parlour, no doubt to talk about her embarrassment. Wrecker hung back for a few minutes, studying your reaction as you watched the young clone walk away to her brother. He took a few deep breaths before walking over to you, sitting opposite from you on the holotable. “Hey,” you mumbled to Wrecker, avoiding his eye contact.

“Hey,” he replied, a smile on his face. “You okay?”

You nodded your head and bit your bottom lip. “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?”

“I’m good,” Wrecker bites the inside of his cheek as he stares at you.

“What’re you looking at?” You mumble softly, finally meeting his gaze.

“Omega called you mum,” Wrecker smirked.

“She did,” you nod your head. “But she didn’t mean it.”

“But what if she did?” Wrecker asks you, his eyebrow raising. “What if she sees you as a mum?”

“So what if she does?” You asked. You didn’t mind if Omega saw you as her mother, if anything you found it to be quite endearing. “It wouldn’t matter. I’m not her mother anyway.”

“I know that,” Wrecker exclaimed, rolling his eyes with a goofy grin on his face. “I’m just saying, it’d be quite cute. Don’t you think so?” Wrecker was seemingly in thought after he spoke, gazing off into the distance as he watched Omega and Hunter talk. Suddenly, he stood up and held his hand out for you to take.

“Where are we going?” You took his hand willingly, cocking an eyebrow as he led you past his brothers and into the back room. Wrecker didn’t answer you, just pulled you into the room and closed the door behind you before turning back to you. “What is it?” You trailed your eyes down Wrecker’s large form until they stopped on his crotch – painfully hard and throbbing. Your eyes widened and your lips parted, clearly confused.

“The thought of the kid calling you mum,” Wrecker mumbled as he took a step towards you. His hands trembled as they reached out to cradle your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. “Did something to me.”

You bit your bottom lip as Wrecker pressed himself against you, a soft sigh leaving his lips. “What do you need, Wrecker?” You asked softly.

“You know what I need mesh’la.” A strangled sound leaves Wrecker’s lips as you slowly sink onto your knees before him. Immediately Wrecker began to remove his armour until he was just in his blacks, whimpering before you had even touched him at the way you were kneeling and looking up at him with wide doe eyes. As soon as his armour hit the floor you were pawing at his blacks, desperate to free his cock and feel it on your tongue. “Mesh’la,” Wrecker groaned the second his cock sprang free, bouncing up and down in front of your face. You were practically salivating at the sight. Without a second thought about who could walk in at any minute, you wrapped your lips around his cock earning a hiss from the clone towering above you. His hands instinctively made their way to your hair, gripping desperately as he pushed your face further into his crotch, forcing his cock further down your throat. You tried not to gag, you really did, but he was so large you couldn’t help it. Tears welled in your eyes as you tried to pull away for air, however Wrecker kept your mouth seated firmly around his throbbing cock. You whined quietly around him, sending vibrations up Wrecker’s body and a moan to fall from his lips. With a slack jaw, Wrecker finally released your hair and you were able to pull away for air, gasping softly. “Sorry,” he said, a faint blush on his cheeks.

“It’s okay,” you smiled sweetly, standing up and ridding yourself of your trousers. Wrecker’s eyes widened at the sight, his heart beating frantically in his chest. You bent over Cid’s makeshift bed, spreading your legs enough for Wrecker to see your tight cunt quivering around nothing. You were so desperate for him. “Wreck, please.”

“I’m coming,” he groaned, positioning himself between your legs. In one thrust, he fully sheathed himself into you, a growl bubbling up in his throat. He immediately began moving, his hips snapping against yours with ease. Your wet cunt easily gripped his cock like a vice as he moved. “Oh Gods,” he whimpered pathetically, his hands moving to your hips to bounce you on his cock as he moved. “You’re so tight.”

“Wrecker!” You gasped quietly, your eyes widening as Wrecker continued to move.

“What is it mesh’la?” Wrecker asked, biting his bottom.

“Gonna cum–”

“Cum for me sweet girl,” he whispered, the grip on your hips almost bruising. At his words you felt your orgasm wash over you and if it wasn’t for Wrecker wrapping an arm around your front, you would have toppled over at the sheer force. You squirted onto the floor, burying your face in Cid’s covers in an attempt to hide your shameless moans. At the feeling of your pussy clenching around him, Wrecker let out a loud moan of your name, his hips slamming into you ruthlessly.

“Kriff – I’m cumming,” he growled animalistically, it almost scared you. With one final, hard thrust into your sopping cunt Wrecker spilled himself deep into you.

Wrecker collapsed on top of you panting heavily, squashing your body uncomfortably between him and the edge of Cid’s bed. “Wrecker,” you squeaked out, catching the large clones’ attention.

“Sorry,” he gasped, clearly out of breath. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good,” you chuckled finally as Wrecker rolled off of you and fell onto the floor. “That really got to you, hm?” You asked after a few seconds, watching as Wrecker caught his breath and began to dress himself.

“I suppose it did,” he said sheepishly.

You shook your head and laughed. “Don’t worry big guy. There’s plenty more where that came from,” you winked his way and pulled up your trousers before walking out of the room and back into the parlour. The only person there was Cid, who was eyeing you cautiously.

“The other’s didn’t want tiny to hear your escapade so they took her out,” Cid said, rolling her eyes. “In my bed, really?” She hissed after a few moments, disbelief and disgust laced her voice.

“It was over your bed, not in your bed,” you corrected.

“That makes it much better,” Cid said sarcastically.

Just as you were about to open your mouth and say something else, Wrecker walked out, eyeing the parlour. “Where is everyone?”

“Out,” Cid snapped.

“They didn’t want Omega to hear us having sex so they took her out somewhere,” you explained to Wrecker before turning to Cid. “Any idea when they’ll be back?”

“Nope.”

Wrecker piped up with a cheeky grin, “round two?” which only caused you to roll your eyes and shake your head playfully.

“You’ll be the death of me, Wrecker.”

“At least you’ll die satisfied,” he replied enthusiastically, grabbing your arm and pulling you back into Cid’s back room. Hopefully by the time you were finished with the second round the others would be back and you could hop on a mission, but until then, you were going to enjoy every time that you had alone with Wrecker.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Echo:

“Omega, Y/N, Echo,” Hunter spoke softly, turning to the three of you. “You stay with the ship. We won’t be long.” You nodded your head in acknowledgement and sat in the pilot's chair, patiently waiting for the others to leave for their scouting mission.

After roughly an hour of no communication with the others, Omega began to worry. She was pacing up and down the cockpit desperately, fiddling with her fingers. “What if they don’t come back?” She asked, her eyes wide.

“They will come back, Omega,” Echo sighed, running his hand down the side of his face. He understood her concern, but wished she didn’t worry as much as she did.

“Mum, what if they don’t come back?” Omega asked, turning to you. Her eyes were wide with tears and she was obviously too caught up in her own worry to even think about the fact that she had called you mum.

You blinked at her repeatedly, not sure whether to mention it. Eventually you decided not to, and instead just humour her. “They will come back, Omega, just like Echo said,” you smiled at her softly.

Low and behold, they did come back, eventually anyway and with extra supplies too. “I thought this was supposed to be a scouting mission?” Echo asked, tilting his head to the side as Wrecker brought the supplies on board the ship.

“It was until Wrecker got hungry,” Hunter scoffed. “Then it turned into a supply run.”

“Tch, typical,” Echo sighed, shaking his head. Although, he couldn’t say he wasn’t pleased about the extra rations. Tech set off the ship, setting a course back for Ord Mantell while the rest settled into some of the new rations. Echo was staring at you from across the room, his astute ears having heard the way Omega had accidentally called you ‘mum’ earlier on. He couldn’t deny that the words had sent his mind reeling. He had bitten his tongue from mentioning anything but now the two of you were alone, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “So… Mum, eh?”

“Huh?” You asked, looking up at Echo. He was already walking slowly across to your position, his arm and scomp wrapped around his chest.

“Omega… Calling you mum,” He said softly, sitting down opposite you. You and Echo had been dancing around your feelings for one another for the longest time, but the fact Omega had called you her mum had stirred something up inside of Echo. “It was sweet.”

“It was, wasn’t it,” you smile up at Echo as he stands in front of you.

“It was,” he mumbles, looking off to the side. “Look, Y/N…”

Echo trails off and this confused you. “What is it?” You ask tilting your head to the side.

“I can’t deny it anymore. I–I’m in love with you. Irrevocably, completely in love with you.”

Your eyes widened at his admission of love for you, completely taken back. “What?” You asked, your eyebrows raised.

“You heard me Y/N. I’m in love with you. And I can’t hold it back anymore.” He held his hand out for you to take. You didn’t even hesitate to take it before wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I never thought I’d hear you say those words to me,” you mumbled against his chest. “Never in a million years did I think you would love me.”

Echo pulled back from you just enough to look down on you. “What do you mean?” He asked, his voice low.

“I just meant – like, look at me,” you pull away and motion down to your body. “I’m nothing special.”

“You are very special, Y/N, especially to me,” he cupped your face in his hands and smiled at you gently. “And you’re beautiful. Never let anybody or anything tell you otherwise.” You smiled at Echo softly, your eyes welling up with tears as he plucked a stray piece of hair behind your ears. Echo had always looked at you as if you had hung the stars from the sky yourself with your bare hands. “May I kiss you?” He asked, leaning in closer to your face. Your throat was so dry, you couldn’t respond with words, so instead you just nodded your head desperately. Before you could even comprehend what in the kriff was going on, Echo had his lips against yours softly and tenderly. It was strangely intimate. Echo’s hands slip down to your waist, gripping ever-so-slightly at the fabric around your hips. He deepened the kiss by slipping his tongue against your lips, desperate to taste the inside of your mouth. With a soft moan, you let him enter, opening your mouth to the force of him greedily pushing his tongue inside. You stifled another moan, your eyes fluttering closed as you wrapped your arms tighter around his waist. “Oh Gods, Y/N,” Echo grumbled against your lips. His nails dug further into the fabric around your hips, pulling you flush against his body. “I–I need you. Now.”

“What do you mean?” You asked, but Echo didn’t answer with words. Instead he picked you up bridal style and carried you to his bunk a few feet away. You let out a slight squeak in protest as he picked you up, but the second you were laid down on his bunk, you wished to be back in his embrace. The clone climbed on top of you, his hands greedily roaming around your body, almost as if he was trying to map out the entire layout of your body underneath him. His hands pulled your shirt up to your chest, exposing your breasts. Shakily, Echo brought his lips up to your nipple, flicking his tongue against the sensitive bud to test the waters. When another soft moan left your lips, Echo’s confidence grew and he found himself mouthing both of your breasts. When he wasn’t sucking one, he was fondling it with his free hand as his scomp desperately tried to pull your trousers down. He was failing miserably, however. “Need some help?” You asked, a cheeky grin on your face. Echo pulled away from your breast and looked up at you, nodding his head before turning back to sucking and biting gently at your nipple. You pushed Echo off to the side, although his mouth was still attached to you, and pulled down your trousers and underwear until you were completely bare to him.

“Cyar’ika,” Echo whispered softly as he pulled away to look at you. He sounded almost breathless as he stared down at you. “You are so… Mesh’la.” He was too stunned for words. His hands trailed down your body, stopping between your legs and slipping a finger up your slick folds. The clone next to you let out a shaky breath as he dipped a finger inside your tight heat, your cunt sucking his finger in almost greedily. “Kriff.”

“Please Echo,” you begged softly. “Please, I want you so badly.”

“You’ll have me cyar’ika. Just let me…” He trailed off his voice, his finger pumping in and out of you at a languid pace. Soft moans left your lips as you spread your legs wider, giving Echo better access to that sweet spot inside of you. Echo groaned as he felt your walls tighten around him and without any warning, pulled out of you completely. You whimpered at the loss of contact, but quickly gasped when he began to remove his armour and blacks. This was really happening.

“Echo I’m begging you don’t tease me,” came your whimpering voice, so needy and desperate. Echo nodded his head and settled himself between your wide-spread legs, gawking at the wetness that coated your folds. He grasped the base of his cock as he slowly pushed himself inside of you, his eyes widening and head thrown back as he sheathed himself into you inch by inch.

“Oh mesh’la, you feel so kriffing good I can’t–” he stopped as he began to move his hips slowly, relishing in the feeling of your tightness wrapped around him. After a few seconds, Echo picked up memento, slamming into you at a slightly faster pace. “You’re – ah – clenching me so tightly.”

“S-Sorry,” came your voice, low and sheepish.

Echo shook his head in response, his lips attaching to your neck as he kissed down to your collarbone. “Don’t be sorry mesh’la, it feels so damn good.”

“Echo I’m going to cum,” you whimper out softly.

“Cum for me baby, cum for me and I’ll fill you up,” Echo growled softly. His voice was demanding and primal, and the coil in your stomach snapped at his words. Blinding white light filled your vision as you came, legs trembling around Echo’s waist. “Good girl,” he practically purred.

“Cum for Echo, please cum for me,” you begged.

Echo nodded his head, his movements speeding up in the process. He was so close, so unbelievably close he just needed something that would tip him over the edge and the second you wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, that did it. Echo was able to reach a new spot inside of you and it felt too good. The next thing you felt was Echo pumping deep inside of you, his cum spurting out of the tip. “Kriff, Y/N!” Echo called out, his body trembling from the intensity of his orgasm. His movements slowed down until he was at a complete stop, laying on top of you while panting heavily to catch his breath. “That was unbelievable,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head lovingly.

You nodded your head, smiling up at him with complete adoration in your eyes. “Did you mean it?” You asked, gazing at him.

Echo raised an eyebrow and looked at you. “Did I mean what?”

“That you love me? Do you love me, Echo?”

“More than anything,” came his reply. He bent down to press a soft kiss to your lips, a slow but passionate kiss. Different to any other you had experienced before. You felt your knees go weak from a mixture of your orgasm and the kiss, and kissed him back. “I love you, Y/N. From the moment I set eyes on you.”

“I love you too Echo,” you whisper softly, echoing the words back to him. The two of you lay there in silence for a while as Echo stroked your hair lovingly. Eventually, Echo let out a hearty laugh, looking down at you. “What?” You asked him, tilting your head.

“To think all of this happened because Omega called you mum.”

“I’m glad she did then,” you smirked at Echo, not even trying to hide your smugness at the current situation.

Echo wrapped his arm and scomp around you while nodding. “I’m glad she did too.”

“Hey, are you two finished there? Cid’s sending us on a new mission and we could really use your help!” Wrecker’s loud voice came from behind the door.

“We’re not finished yet!” Echo called back, rolling his eyes. You looked up at Echo with a raised eyebrow and he just shrugged before whispering to you, “just a few more minutes. I just want to hold you a little longer.” You couldn’t help the wide smile that span across your lips at his words.

“Well don’t be too long! I’m missing Y/N’s company,” Wrecker said through the door, clearly pouting. Then, you heard his footsteps fade away into the distance and you were finally alone with Echo once more.

“Sleep, mesh’la. I’ll wake you up when we get to the mission location,” he whispered, running his hand through your hair. You nodded your head and closed your eyes, and it wasn’t long before you were drifting off into the deep abyss of sleep, peacefully dreaming of all of the things to come.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Tech:

“Are you memorising the ship's manifest, Omega?” Tech asked, looking over his shoulder at the young clone besides him.

Omega nodded proudly to Tech, her eyes gleaming with hope. “Yeah, mum’s been helping me!”

“Mum?” Tech questioned, raising an eyebrow at her.

“I mean Y/N,” Omega said quickly, her cheeks turning a deep shade of red at her misslip. It was clear she was embarrassed, but rather than keeping his mouth shut Tech decided to make it so much worse.

“She is not your mother, Omega. She is more like a sister to you than a mother,” he explained, adjusting his orange goggles that were resting over his eyes.

“I know that, I’m not sure why I called her mum,” Omega mumbled softly, looking away from Tech’s scrutinising gaze.

“It would simply be a slip of the tongue,” it was Tech’s way of trying to make Omega feel better, but it wasn’t working.

Omega was about to speak when you stepped in. “Hey you two, been looking all over for you!” You exclaimed as you stepped into the cockpit.

“Well where else would we be other than the cockpit?” Tech asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

You rolled your eyes and huffed. “You could have been anywhere.” Omega continued to read the ship's manifest, trying her hardest to memorise everything, despite the overwhelming sense of dread and embarrassment that lingered in her gut. Her red face worried you and occasionally you glanced over at her to make sure that she was okay.

“I’m going to see Hunter,” Omega grumbled, standing up out of her chair without saying another word and leaving the cockpit.

“Where is Hunter?” Tech asked.

“He’s just outside.”

Tech simply nodded at your explanation and watched as you tinkered around. After a few moments of watching you, he finally asked. “What is it you are doing?”

“Just cleaning,” you reply, dusting off Tech’s workspace. He seemed confused, you had just cleaned the space the previous day, it didn’t need dusting again for at least another day or two. Tech continued watching you with a quirked eyebrow, watching intently as you reached high places to dust and picked up various knick knacks to dust too. He felt something well deep inside of him as Omega’s words echoed back in his mind, of her calling you mum.

Tech cleared his throat and sighed, adjusting his goggles once again. “You know, I often clean this place when I work on my projects. It does not need you to attend to it.”

You placed down your duster and looked towards Tech, a visible frown on your face. “It just… Makes me feel better knowing it’s been done properly.”

“You doubt my ability to clean?” Tech asked.

Your eyes widen and you shake your head. “No. Not like that! I just meant that, well I’m not sure what I meant actually.”

Tech couldn’t help but let out a small huff of a chuckle. He knew that you meant no offence, but still couldn’t help but feel as though you doubted his ability to clean. “Nevermind.” You looked somewhat embarrassed but quickly began your cleaning again before you had the chance to say something else to further your embarrassment. Tech continued to watch you and couldn’t help but admire the way your body moved and stretched when you tried to reach high places.

“What were you and Omega talking about before I came in?” You asked.

Tech adjusted his goggles once again before muttering, “nothing much. But, something peculiar did happen.”

“Oh yeah? What was that?” You asked.

“Omega called you mum,” Tech explained.

Your eyes widened and your lips parted. “She did what?”

“She called you mum,” Tech repeated, thinking you genuinely hadn’t heard him the first time. “I thought it rather funny, if I am being honest.”

“Why did she call me mum?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Tech tried to push the feelings down that were welling deep inside of him. Whatever they were, he couldn’t explain them. Once again, readjusting his goggles, Tech began to talk. “Well, we were talking about whether or not she had been memorising the manifest. She had explained to me that she had and she said, and I quote, ‘mum’s been helping me’ referring to you.”

“Oh,” you whisper, feeling quite overwhelmed. You felt your heart flutter at the comment, and couldn’t help but smile.

“I found it rather odd, but at the same I can understand why.” Tech offered you a small smile. “I feel as if Omega has become really attached to you.”

You nodded your head. “I think so too.”

“It is not a bad thing, if that is what you are thinking,” Tech said, but you quickly shook your head in disagreement. “I must admit, it gave me a peculiar feeling myself.”

“In what way?” You asked, tilting your head.

“It…” Tech took a deep breath and sighed. “It made my stomach flutter, amongst other things.”

“Other things?” You prodded.

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

“It does not matter,” he grumbled, feeling his cock twitch against his armour. Thoughts of you beneath him suddenly filled his mind and Tech’s eyes visibly widened in horror. He had never had an impure thought in his life, and suddenly at the thought of his sister calling you mum, he was struggling to compose himself and right in front of you too. Tech couldn’t help but suddenly notice how beautiful you were, his eyes roaming over your figure as you looked at him.

“Tech… Is everything okay?” You enquired.

Clearing his throat, Tech nodded. “Yes. Everything is just fine I…” He trailed off once more, feeling his cock twitch against his armour yet again.

“You?”

“I am just feeling a bit strange,” he tried to explain without giving away too much but you saw straight through him. Your eyes flickered down to his crotch, now exposed from his manspread position in the pilot's seat, his erection obvious against his now bulging armour.

A grin appeared on your face. “Really Tech? That does it for you?”

Tech looked down between his legs, his face heated up almost immediately. “I do not know what you are talking about.”

“Oh yeah? You have no idea?” You asked teasingly, your voice holding a rather smug tone. “Do you need some help, pretty boy?”

“W–What?” He managed to stammer out, choking on a bit of his spit.

“Do you want some help with that?” You repeated, motioning down to his erection. Tech fumbled over his words as you walked over to him and knelt down between his legs. With you looking up at him, his breath caught in his throat and his cock twitched yet again. When he didn’t protest, you began to remove his codpiece, allowing his cock to breathe slightly now that the plastoid was no longer pressing against him. “Tell me if you want me to stop.” He didn’t want you to stop, not at all but his words weren’t working so he simply shook his head. You grabbed the knife from his pocket and carefully slit his blacks around the hip before you ripped them open.

“My blacks!” He exclaimed, but you simply shushed him.

“You have more, Tech. Besides, if we’re going to do this you need to be quiet.” Your voice was like a command and it sent a jolt straight to Tech’s cock. He nodded his head again, a slight whimper left his lips as he watched you pull down your own trousers. You unhooked one leg from them, giving yourself easier access to move before spreading your legs. With wide eyes, Tech watched as you spat on your hand and rubbed it against the lips of your cunt, lubing yourself up.

“Oh Gods,” he moaned under his breath as you straddled him, the heat of your pussy rubbing up against the red head of his cock. Tech’s breath was shaky as you lowered yourself down onto him, adjusting to the new sensation of him seated inside of you. You began to move after a few seconds, bouncing slowly on Tech’s cock. Your cunt gripped him tightly, earning groans and moans from the smart clone below you. This just made you move faster, slamming down on him repeatedly forcing him to moan out your name. “Kriff, Y/N.”

“Mhm?” You asked softly, wiggling your hips from side-to-side.

“Feels so good,” came a strangled moan from his lips. Spurring you on even more, you let out a soft moan of your own as your hand made its way between your legs, rubbing at the sensitive bundle of nerves. You felt your orgasm approaching quickly, the thickness of Tech’s cock mixed with the sensations on your clit was pushing you to the edge.

“C–Can I cum?” You asked Tech, slightly breathless.

“Please,” he practically growled. You nodded your head erratically and rubbed your clit faster, pushing yourself to the brink of collapse. Tech’s hands fell to your hips, gripping them tightly as his own hips moved to meet your harsh movements. With a final bounce, you felt your walls contract around Tech’s cock, quivering above him. Your head rested on his left shoulder as you continued the same movements, but now languidly and Tech knew it was his turn to take over. His hand on your hips tightened as he pushed up against you, hitting that sensitive spot inside of you that had you seeing stars.

“Gods Tech, don’t stop!” You cried out.

“I do not plan on it, mesh’la,” he whispered as his hips smashed against yours desperately. He was so big, you felt as if he was going to split you open and your cunt was beginning to become sensitive with each harsh thrust Tech made. “I’m going to cum cyar’ika. Where do you want me?”

“Inside, please!” You begged. Tech’s eyes widened at your words, not expecting you to ask him to cum inside of you, but he couldn’t deny you. Not when you felt so good wrapped around him. He nodded and began to thrust up against you rapidly until he met his orgasm full force. Tech spilled his cum deep inside of you without a care in the world, his body shivering violently as you milked him dry.

“Kriff–” he groaned, rolling his eyes into the back of his head. “You’re so beautiful.”

You pulled away from Tech’s shoulder and smiled softly at him. “So are you.”

He let out a soft smile your way as he slipped his cock out of you. “Would you mind getting me a spare pair of blacks? Considering you ruined these ones.”

“Oops,” you replied cheekily, shrugging, but nodding your head. You put your leg back into your trouser hole and pulled them up your legs before leaving the cockpit to get Tech a spare pair of blacks. When you appeared again, Tech was looking slightly more presentable than he did when you left, albeit his softening cock was still on display. He took the blacks from your hand and nodded his head.

“Thank you.”

“Do you feel better?” You asked, watching closely as Tech dressed himself again and put his codpiece back into place. Tech nodded at you and sighed. He couldn’t help but feel slightly embarrassed that Omega calling you ‘mum’ had aroused him, but it had and there was no going back now. “Now if you don’t mind, I have to get back to cleaning the ship.”

“Understood,” Tech replied, watching as you continued your original position cleaning the cockpit. He smirked to himself before shaking his head. He had no idea what the future held for you, but he was excited to see where things went.

405 notes · View notes

redfoxwritesstuff · 2 months ago

Text

Hate Mail (Human!Alastor x Reader)

CW: Rough oral, Dub con Rated: Adult Part 1 of 2 (Part 2 here) Summary: Alastor has been on the receiving end of some nasty letters at the station. With the help of some rather unique penmanship and a stroke of luck, the culprit finds herself in his crosshairs. What sort of lesson will Alastor teach his little hate fan and how will that change when he uncovers the reason why she is sending him the letters? Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers!

Alastor leaned back in his chair, old springs creaking under his weight, letting the dim light filtering in from the closed blinds illuminate the envelope in his hand. He could get a new chair. It wasn’t out of his or the station’s budget, but he liked this one. The way it creaked reminded him of all that he had gone through, sitting in that chair as he worked his way to where he was now, hosting his own evening show. He had taken it from office to office, as he had moved around the station, working his way up.

The chair creaked its protest and requests for retirement as he shifted again, running the blade of the letter opener under the fold of the envelope. The sound of ripping paper joined the soft noises that filled the small office, along with the ticking of the clock.

The sender had written the station address on the front of the envelope, above his name. Inside he would find a folded piece of stationary, thin but covered in a distinctive penmanship, just he had found in the last near dozen envelopes just like it. Did you know how uniquely you wrote your As?

It was only a matter of time before Alastor found the source of this disrespectful dribble and made the sender pay for it. He was determined, and there was one thing that was always true about him; he always accomplished what he set his mind to.

Inside, Alastor found the same filth he had grown to expect. He didn’t bother doing anything more than glancing over the words. It was the same message he got every week, just worded differently.

Whoever you were, you lacked creativity. Alastor sighed as he pulled open his desk drawer, tossing the paper onto the stack of similar notes. This had been allowed to go on for long enough.

For each one he received, Alastor was determined to make the sender pay. First, he needed to find you. It was quickly becoming a habit to watch people as they wrote, but he had yet to find that little letter that would give you away. That’s alright. He knew it was just a matter of time. You couldn’t hide from him forever.

Alastor closed the drawer, chair creaking as he stood. He had a few hours until showtime, but he had time to kill. It hadn’t taken him nearly as long as he had expected to finish the scripts for the week. Glancing at the clock, he elected to take an early dinner break. There was a deli not too far from the station that served delicious sandwiches, and he was hungry.

He shut the office door behind him as he stepped out into the hall. Much to his dismay, he found himself instantly faced with the company of Scotty, the sportscaster who cared more about baseball than anything else. Alastor was fairly certain the man hadn’t picked up a book in a distressingly long time.

“Al, old pal!” Scotty clapped Alastor on the back in greeting. Alastor smiled wider, thinking about how good it would feel to clap Scotty across the jaw with his fist.

“You going out?” The man spoke plainly, not bothering with the transatlantic accent when off the air.

“I am,” Alastor’s voice came clearly, clipped and proper. He spoke the same on and off the air, unless in the private of his own home and even then, it wasn’t unheard of for the accent to be more of a habit than a show.

“The currier is here, a total doll too.” Scotty gushed, “You should go downstairs and see her.”

“I’m not interested,” Alastor waved the smaller man off. “Thank you for looking out for me, however.”

“At least stop by, say hello. I bet she’s a fan of our quickly rising star!” Scotty laughed as he walked down the hallway, letting Alastor free of the conversation.

With a shake of his head, Alastor started down the stairs. Today he had lucked out, Scotty hadn’t wanted to linger and chat. Any evening where he didn’t have to pretend to care about the rehashing of the last ballgame as a good way to start the evening.

“Oh, Mr. Moreau!” The woman who manned the information desk called. She was an eager blonde, curls bouncing as she waved him over. “Come meet my old school friend!”

~~~~~<3

“Sarah, no.” You hissed, looking between the man walking over from the staircase and your friend. “I need to get back to work.”

“It’ll be fine,” Sarah assured you, snagging your clipboard from your hands. “I still need to sign this, anyway.”

“Hello, Ladies.” Alastor greeted as he strode up, soft smile reaching his warm brown eyes.

You did everything you could to avoid looking at the tall man. He was handsome, fluffy brown hair bouncing with each step he had taken. His skin was just a touch too tan for what you had expected, but it was his eyes that threatened to capture your attention. They were the color of coffee, just splashed with the slightest hint of cream.

“Hello,” you squeaked out, trying to not look at him.

“Was there something you needed?” Alastor asked, looking between Sarah and you as you avoided his eyes.

“No,” you said quickly, only to have Sarah talk over you.

“This is my good friend,” she said, introducing you to the last man you ever wanted to meet face to face.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Alastor said, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles as he purred your name, “quite a pleasure.”

“Likewise,” you mumbled, reaching for your clipboard, only to knock it from the high countertop around the information desk. It clattered to the ground at Alastor’s feet.

“Oh, dear!” Alastor’s voice was far too cheery as he reached down, picking up your clipboard. He slowed for a moment, eyes scanning the page before he handed it to you. “I believe this belongs to you.”

“Yes,” You snatched it from his hands, “thank you.”

“You have lovely handwriting, my dear.” Alastor leaned into your space, just enough to make you aware he was doing it, but not so much to be improper.

“Thank you,” you stuttered out, clutching the clipboard to your chest. “I should get back to the office. I’m sure there’s… there’s something for me to deliver.”

“Oh!” Alastor snapped his fingers, smile spreading wider. “I forgot. I have a package I need to send off.”

“I can wait-” Alastor cut you off before you finished the sentence, forcing you into silence.

“Nonsense,” Alastor’s hand came to rest on the small of your back, pushing you ever so slightly to walk along with him, “walk with me. I’ll show you around.”

“Oh, okay.” You struggled to find a polite way to talk your way out of the situation you found yourself in. Dread balled in the pit of your stomach, not budging as you tried to tell yourself that it was nonsense.

The pressure of his hand on the small of your back was all you could think about. You tried again and again to remind yourself how much you hated him. Keeping that thought in the front of your mind was a struggle. It was easier to hate him when you didn’t know that he had such a handsome face to go with his smoothe voice.

You hated him because he was popular. You hated him because he was successful. You hated him because women fell at his feet and he couldn’t bother to even court a woman most of the time. Most of all, you hated him because he had the life you wished you had.

“Just step inside my office,” Alastor urged you forward with the hand that never left the small of your back, from the moment you left the information desk and the safety of your friend. “It’s just at my desk.”

“Oh no,” you looked at him, shaking your head. “I couldn’t-”

“Please,” the pressure on your back grew firmer, leaving you little choice but to step forward. “I insist. It’ll be far easier for you to pick up the delivery if you do.”

You didn’t understand what he was saying, but you had little chance of resisting. The pressure on the small of your back was firm and unyielding, reminding you of who was in control every step you had taken together. It was hard not to stumble slightly as he all but pushed you inside his office, the door clicking shut behind him.

“Mr. Moreau?”

“Alastor, please.” He held his arm out toward his desk. “Now be a good girl and go over to the desk. I have some letters I need delivered rather urgently.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, sending blood roaring through your ears as you took timid steps toward his imposing wooden desk . The surface was littered with papers, some having doodles with circled words of commentary.

Behind you, there was a click that sounded disturbingly like that of a lock turning. Looking over your shoulder, you watched as Alastor took a few steps into the room. His smile spread wickedly wide across his face, a cartoonish grin of mock reassurance.

He didn’t know. You told yourself that again and again. There was no way he could know. You had been careful. You sent every letter anonymously.

There were no packages on his desk, you realized as your eyes scanned the surface. Nothing hid behind stacks of papers or file holders.

“In the drawer,” Alastor’s voice came from over your shoulder, nearly spoken directly into your ear. A squeak escaped your lips as you jumped, startled nearly out of your skin. He had crossed the room both quickly and near silently. “It’s unlocked.”

“Okay,” you whispered, stepping around to the other side of his desk, grateful for the chance to put some distance between you and him.

Alastor followed you, an ever present shadow looming behind you, standing too close as you stopped again. His breath ghosted over your shoulder as you tried to do your best to ignore it.

Bending slightly, you pulled the drawer open. It rattled as you opened it, not sliding smoothly along the tracks. It wasn’t a terribly deep drawer, but inside you found a stack of folded papers and ripped envelopes.

“Take it out.” Alastor spoke softly behind you. He was always behind you, a shadow you could not shake.

Your fingers trembled as you reached out. “Which ones?”

“Whichever ones you want,” Alastor said, shrugging, though you could not see it.

You swallowed as you picked up a few folded papers. They felt the same as the stationery you had back in your house. It felt the same as the paper you had used to- no.

It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. No.

“Read it.” Alastor’s tone was firm, but his voice was as warm as it had been. You clung to that warmth.

Your fingers trembled as you unfolded the first paper. It shook, making it hard to read the words carefully printed. It didn’t matter; you didn’t need to see the words to know what they said. You had penned the words yourself just a few weeks prior.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “I don’t understand.”

“Well,” Alastor chuckled darkly, “I have to say you did a very good job!”

“I don’t-?” You turned to find Alastor standing directly behind you once again, far too close for comfort, let alone propriety.

“You delivered the package for me, ever so swiftly!” Alastor laughed at his joke. “Did you know you’ve got a very distinctive way to write your letter A?”

“I beg your pardon?” You stepped away, only gaining yourself a few inches of space as your hip hit his desk.

“Is there something wrong?” Alastor asked, stepping closer, stealing back what little space you had claimed. “Is there something you’d like to tell me to my face?”

“N-no?” You looked everywhere but at Alastor and to him, that simply would not do. Slender fingers reached out, taking hold of your chin. His grip was far stronger than you had expected from such thin fingers as he forced your eyes to meet his.

“Well?” Alastor asked, hand hitting the desk, trapping you between him and his office chair. His other hand quickly followed, properly caging you in. You knew he was close but as you turned to face him, you found yourself nearly chest to chest with him.

“I don’t-”

“You don’t understand,” Alastor mocked, smile holding a dangerous glint. “You seem to not understand a lot of things.”

“Sir, I- I should go.” You stammered out, clinging hope. Sarah knew where you were. She would surely question if you did not come down the stairs soon.

“It would be rude to leave in the middle of a conversation,” Alastor whispered into your ear, “and we’re not done talking.”

“We have nothing to talk about.” You tried to duck under his arm, only to have his elbow fold, pushing him further into your space.

“Ha! We do though!” Alastor’s chuckle was rich, warmer than it sounded on the radio, and yet it sent a shiver running down your spine. “We should talk about how you have a very distinctive way of writing your letter A, for one. Ignoring it will not make me forget.”

Alastor plucked the clipboard from your hands, flipping it so he could look at your writing. You watched as his eyes scanned over the page. It took longer than it should have for you to realize he had left an opening, though slight, that you could use to escape.

You took a deep breath and darted out from between Alastor and his desk. Pain jumped through you as your hip smashed into the corner of the desk. It sent tingles down your leg, but you refused to let that stop you.

Oh fuck, he knew.

You knew he knew.

It was such a terrible decision. You’d had too much to drink at a speakeasy, dragged yourself home and found the sound of his voice worked you up. Being a good girl, you couldn’t do anything about it. It made you angry, knowing that other women were having what they desired that night and you were alone, wanting.

So instead of pursuing someone to court you, you wrote letters to the host with the velvet voice. Once you posted the first letter, it was like you had uncorked a bottle inside you that you hadn’t been aware of. You kept having these feelings for the man with the voice.

A man you had never met occupied your mind during much of your waking moments. The sound of his voice haunted your dreams. A man you had never even seen became your personal ghost. There was nothing you could do to exercise it but keep letting those feeling out in aggressive, angry letters. You spewed vile things at a man that sparked things you didn’t want to face in yourself, not expecting the man himself to actually read them.

But he did. You had accounted for everything, changed how you wrote even, but you didn’t account for one thing. You wrote the fucking letter A weird, even after carefully shaping every letter you penned.

You didn’t make it far at all. As you rounded the desk, his strong hand wrapped around your wrist. Pain flared in your arm as it pulled back behind you, forcing you to turn toward him.

Alastor yanked on your arm, harshly, upsetting your balance and sending you to the ground at his feet.

“Please, don’t hurt me.” You begged. “I’m so sorry. I- I didn’t think they’d make it to you, that you’d read them.”

“Your mouth is so good at talking the good talk. Yapping. But how are you going to make this up to me?” Alastor leaned down, cupping your jaw and forcing you to look up at him. “Words have power, my dear. Did you know that? That is why I’m so good at what I do. Your words hurt me.” Alastor was lying. He found your letters to be little more than a disrespectful annoyance, but oh, you needed to be taught a lesson.

You rubbed your thighs together, not even aware of the movement as you did it. Fear was the only thing you were aware of feeling, but there was an undercurrent of something else that you refused to look at. It was that same evil feeling that the sound of his voice coming through your radio speakers in the evenings sparked inside you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, meaning it more than you had ever meant it in your life.

“Part of being sorry is making recompense, didn’t your mother teach you that?” Alastor was lecturing, keeping your eyes on him as he spoke each word, squeezing your jaw any time your eyes darted away. You feared there would be bruises come morning.

“Yes, sir.” It was hard to speak with his grip on your jaw. He had your head pulled up so much that your neck ached and yet, you couldn’t help rubbing your thighs together.

Alastor watched you, eyes darting over your face and down your torso to where your knees were planted on the hard ground of his office. Oh, he realized as he watched your thighs brush against eachother; you liked this.

“Tell me, my dear,” Alastor’s grin spread wider. “Why did you write me those letters? Be truthful now. I’ll know if you’re lying.”

“I-” Alastor squeezed your jaw when you hesitated. “Your voice, it made me… me feel things, and I took it out on you. It was wrong, I’m sorry.”

Alastor hummed, eyes watching your thighs as they rubbed together. Did you notice, or was your body betraying you? He was fairly certain it was the latter, and that you thought you were just shuffling to keep your balance as he pulled your spine tighter.

“What sort of things did my voice make you feel?” He leaned forward, elbow bending to ensure you continued be stretched by his grip.

Heat ran up your chest, racing up your neck and bloomed on your face. It felt like your ears were burning. You wanted to lie. You wanted to tell him anything but the truth. The look in his eyes told you that even trying to pass a lie off would be dangerous.

“Sinful things,” you said, his grip tightening urged you to be more specific. “Lustful thoughts.”

“From my voice?” Alastor chuckled as shame burned through you. “And you decided the best thing to do with your words was to say anything but that? Spew vile words of hate?”

“I couldn’t-”

“You couldn’t write me and say ‘Alastor, your voice makes my thighs rub together.’? or perhaps ‘Alastor, I touch myself to the sound of your voice.’?” As he spoke, Alastor hooked his thumb into his pocket, hip cocking as he rested his weight on one leg. “You wouldn’t be the first to send such letters.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Please, I’m sorry.”

“Did you think you could say those things to me and I wouldn’t find out who you were? Did you think you would escape punishment?”

“No, sir- I-”

“But perhaps,” Alastor hooked his fingers through where his belt fed through the buckle, pulling it free from where it was secured, “that’s what you wanted.” He finished, letting his statement be punctuated by the clacking of his belt buckle as he finished unbuckling the belt.

“No, I-”

“Oh, but you do.” Bending at the waist, he brought his face so close to yours you could feel his breath wash over your face. “You’re just too timid to say it.”

The buckle of his belt clinked in the otherwise near silent room as he moved, unbuttoning his trousers and working the fly open. You looked up at him, shocked at the brazen behavior. You were not a blushing virgin, but you were also not well experienced in the ways of men. Never had you faced a situation where a man had been so forward with you.

“Please, I-”

“Yes, do keep begging.” Alastor mused, letting his fly fall open, pants now only being held up by his suspenders.

You opened your mouth to say something, to express your outrage somehow, but Alastor shoved his fingers inside your mouth instead. When you tried to recoil back in shock, he hooked his fingers into the soft underside of your mouth and pulled you forward.

“You’re going to put that lovely little mouth of yours to good use.” Alastor said menacing as he pulled his face closer again. “You’re going to make it up to me, every little lie you’ve written, every terrible thing you’ve sent me. It’s time that you pay for them. And you will pay for them, I assure you of that.”

“Yes, sir,” you struggled to say around his fingers. There wasn’t anything you could say to get you out of this. He was right, you would have to pay for what you had done. His forward actions, his anger excited part of you, that sinful part of you.

“Good,” Alastor said as he pulled his cock from his pants. He wasn’t as hard as you had expected, considering how forward he had been behaving. “Now put your mouth to good use, open wide.”

Putting pressure down on your jaw, he didn’t give you much choice but to follow his order or collapse to the ground. With his other hand, he guided his half-mast cock to rest on your lower lip.

“If you bite me, I assure you, it will be the last thing you do. Am I clear?”

“Yes,” you struggled to say.

Once satisfied, Alastor removed his fingers from your mouth and pushed his hips forward.

Never had you done something so lewd as what Alastor was clearly demanding from you. That didn’t stop you from wrapping your lips around his member and sucking. The suction pulled him slightly deeper into your mouth, but with no lubrication, that was as good as it was going to get.

You stuck your tongue out, running it around his shaft just past where your lips reached before trying again with slightly better results.

“You can touch me.” Alastor said snidely from above you. “Or are you too dumb to use your hands?”

Your reply was little more than a muffled sound as you reached up for him. Trembling fingers wrapped around his shaft, holding him steady as you pulled off of his cock, letting it fall from your lips with a pop. He twitched in front of your face, stiffer now than he had been before, but far from what you expected he could become.

You swallowed thickly, coming to terms with the fact that the price you would pay for your terrible decision was to pleasure the man. You could do this. Eyes flicked up to Alastor, reminding yourself that he was an attractive man. There were worse men in the world to pleasure, even if you were having to do so with your mouth.

One more deep breath and you leaned forward, sticking your tongue out and running your tongue over the underside of his cock. The skin was salty and velvety smooth under your tongue’s caress. He twitches against your lips, growing harder as you placed soft kisses and kitten licks along the slit in his head.

Once he was harder and covered with trails of your saliva along his length, you wrapped your lips around his cock again, pulling him deeper into your mouth as you sucked at him.

Bracing yourself against his thighs, you pushed your head forward, taking in as much of him as you could. When your lips caught on dry shaft, you pulled back, leaving a trail of saliva coating him. When the head of his cock was just kissing your lips, you sank down again. Your lips gathered the saliva that had been cooling on his skin, smearing it lower as you took him as deep as you could.

You repeated the process again and again, running your tongue around him. This wasn’t something you had ever done before. You were disgusted with yourself when you realized you were enjoying the feeling of running his cock in and out of your mouth. The feeling of his hips flexing, fighting back the urge to thrust, was as intoxicating as the musky smell of him, pure clean man.

The feeling of Alastor’s hand on the back of your head startled you out of the trance you had fallen into. Your eyes, having fallen to little more than slits, fluttered open to look up at him.

“Good girl, but you can do better, can’t you?” Alastor laughed as you blinked up at him.

He didn’t give you a chance to offer any sort of agreement. Hips bucked forward as his hand pushed your head forward. The soft head of his cock slammed into the back of your throat, causing you to cough. A rich moan fell from Alastor’s lips as your throat spasmed around him.

You gasped for breath as he pulled back, only to have your airway choked off as he thrust into your mouth again and again. Fingers bunched into the fabric of his pants as you looked up at him with wild, tearful eyes. His brown eyes, once seeming so warm, looked into yours with cold desire as tears ran down your cheeks.

“Swallow,” He said as he pressed the head of his cock into the back of your throat harder.

You did, though you hadn’t intended to. It was a reflex as you tried not to gag on him. The head of his cock pressed onward, cutting off what little ability you had to breathe.

“Relax,” he soothed, thumb caressing your head before he pulled you back off him. “Breathe, now.” He ordered as if you needed the encouragement.

After gasping two panicked breaths in through your nose and around his cock, he shoved you forward again, hips flexing. Again, he pressed against your throat and you knew what he wanted. Battling every instinct in your body, you tried to relax and swallow, allowing him to cut off your airway.

“Good girl,” you hated how your thighs twitched at the praise.

Alastor thrust into your throat again and again, each time taking his cock deeper was easier. That did nothing to calm the panic in your eyes, slow the tears running down your face, or relax your grip on his thighs.

“You’re taking me in your throat so good,” Alastor praised, working his cock past the back of your throat again and again, chasing his release now as he looked down at you.

Spit gathered, bubbles forming from your gasped attempts at breathing in a ring around the base of his cock. He could feel it dripping down his balls, soaking into his pants. It ran down your chin as well, dripping off in long strings as it soaked into your blouse.

“You look so pretty like this,” Alastor cooed as he lost his rhythm, release drawing near. “Taking your punishment so well. Won’t do that again, will you?”

Your throat vibrated around him as you tried to answer, unable to form anything more than a sound smothered by his cock. That was all it took for him to reach his peak, balls tightening as he shoved your head forward.

He twitched in your mouth, seed spilling down your throat in hot ropes. The curls at the base of his cock tickled your nose as he thrust deeper and deeper, not allowing you a moment to breathe. Seed poured into your throat, coating the back of your tongue when he would pull back, hardly giving you a chance for air before shoving forward again.

Black swam in front of your eyes as you pushed weakly against his thighs. Only when he no longer twitched did he pull you back from him enough for you to pull a proper breath into your burning lungs. When his hand left the back of your head, you fell to the ground in a heap.

Alastor stood over you, cock softening considerably and yet still standing on display. After a few moments, he knelt down next to you, fingers caressing down your arm. Your body shuddered as you gasped for air, throat raw from the abuse.

“You did very good for me,” Alastor spoke softly, “Very good indeed. I’m afraid I got a little carried away with you, didn’t I?”

“Please,” you whispered, looking up at Alastor with red-rimmed eyes, cheeks flushed.

“I know,” Alastor chuckled darkly, taking in how pretty you looked with your lips red and swollen. His cock, still hanging from the front of his trousers, twitched as he stiffened again. “I’ll take care of you, don’t you worry.”

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awkward-tension-art · 2 months ago

Text

Order 66 (tbb x Jedi!reader)

Ok, so i’ve had this idea in my head of the clones with a Jedi S/O during Order 66. I don’t mean they act on Order 66, I mean if everything sorta played out similar in canon (Chip doesn’t work)

Idk, I like me some protective boys.

CW: minimally proofread, jedi!S/O, Reader, Gender neutral pronouns, Order 66, violence, death, swearing, Hunter trying his best, Wrecker being a sweetie, Echo is ready to fight, Tech is the only one who is level headed, and Crosshair being somewhat emotional

You were following Caleb when the order came through. Your steps stumbled and your knees hit the cold ground. All around you, the Force was being ripped apart. Hands were on your shoulders.

your lover. You barely realized through the haze.

With absolute horror, you watched helplessly as clones gunned down Depa Billaba. “Run Caleb!” You heard her scream through the overwhelming grief and death you felt. The padawan turned, lightsaber ready.

“Get away from us!” he barked, calling your name, “Get up! Please!”

He was panicked, confused. So were you.

You managed to look up, seeing the clone troopers across the field standing over Master Billaba’s smoking corpse. They were prepping to kill you and the padawan next.

Without another word you bolted, grabbing Caleb’s hand and sprinting to the trees. You didn’t look back. You had to make sure the kid was safe.

Hunter

“Wait!” He’ll give chase before stopping at the tree line. He had never seen you look so devastated and afraid.

He’s going to follow you. Of course he is. He’s just as confused as everyone else.

Until Tech finally finds out what's going on

“The Jedi have been ordered to be executed.” “Which one?” “All of them.”

“What!? Why!?” Hunter is panicked at this point. The troopers behind him have orders to kill. They won’t show you mercy.

“Apparently they’ve committed treason.”

By the time he finds you, Caleb had already jumped across the ravine and was waiting for you. You turned, tears in your eyes.

“I can feel it…everyone is being killed.”

“We’re going to figure this out,” He’s going to try and calm you down, “I promise, we’re going to figure this out.” His arms are around you.

It wasn’t safe for you. Not anywhere near him and the others. He knows this. You know this.

The two of you come up with a hurried plan.

“Go to these coordinates. Once we know what's going on, I’ll come find you.” He’ll kiss you passionately, “Get the kid and hide.”

Hunter won’t go with you. He’s the squad leader. He can’t just go missing.

Despite the fear that you’ll be found out, he trusts you and your skills to stay alive.

Once you jump across, he’ll watch, make sure no one follows or tries to shoot at you.

Once he’s questioned on your whereabouts, he’s going to lie, “I managed to stab the kid and shoot the Jedi. both of them fell into the water.”

I will say, his nerves are shot until he gets to you again.

But in the meanwhile? He’s antsy. Anxious and a tad distracted.

Also a hairs trigger from snapping.

Crosshair badgers him at Kamino and Hunter barely holds back a punch.

Hunter loves you, so damn dearly. And right now he can’t protect you because he needs to figure out what the fuck is going on.

But, after finding the truth and getting Omega, he makes a damn beeline for the coordinates he gave you.

Plus side? Caleb and Omega become friends.

Echo

What the FUCK just happend!?

He sprints into the trees to keep up, ignoring how Hunter is calling his name.

“Echo, get back here!”

“No.” He will cut off his comms.

He’s an ARC trooper, he can track you to a degree. He’s not like Hunter, but he gets to the general area where you are.

He manages to get to a clearing where you and Caleb are hiding in the trees.

“Cyare!” Echo is clearly confused, worried and he swears he feels the same amount of death that’s overwhelmed you.

Once you reveal yourself, his helmet is off and his arms are around you so tightly.

“I don’t know what's going on, but I’ll keep you and Commander Dume safe.”

Hunter and Crosshair catch up to you, and once Crosshair aims his blaster at you and Caleb, Echo is ready to brawl.

He stands protectively in front of you, gun aimed at the sniper, “If your skinny ass doesn’t put the fucking gun away I swear to-!”

“Both of you stand down!” Hunter will have to get between them, because Echo is 100% willing to shoot Crosshair if it means you stay safe.

He’s not aware Crosshair doesn't exactly have a choice at the moment.

Really no one is aware.

But he’s lost domino squad, he’s lost Fives, he's lost legion, right now his former general is probably being killed…He’s lost so much already.

He refuses to lose you too.

So Echo pulls the trigger first, settling on stunning him and making a dash towards the ravine. Hunter has to keep up.

Once Caleb is across, he’ll get meetup coordinates from Hunter.

Echo goes with you. He doesn’t return to Kamino. The moment he's across the ravine with you and Caleb he’s a deserter.

He doesn’t care. He just doesn’t want to lose you.

He’s a strong, determined guard, and one who didn’t let you or Caleb get hurt.

Wrecker

He casts a glance at Hunter before running off after you.

He has no idea what Order 66 is. Nor does he care.

The guy saw you so…out of it. So scared and confused.

His protective instincts have geared up to 11.

Hunter goes with him, while Crosshair is the one who remains behind to stall.

Once Tech informs everyone that the Jedi have been named traitors and should be executed on sight, Wrecker gets serious. Very serious.

He becomes so unlike himself, even Crosshair is surprised.

Honestly? I see Wrecker as someone willing to gun down any ‘reg’ if they’re threatening his squad or s/o.

Even this early into the Empire.

When he sees you, he’s immediately grabbing you into his arms which causes Caleb to attack.

Admittedly he’s gonna tackle Caleb, only adding to the poor kids terror.

“Wrecker, you're scaring him!”

But after a strong bear hug and an “Easy kid! I’m tryna help you!” The padawan calms down enough to listen.

He puts Caleb down, rips off his helmet and gives you one hell of a kiss.

He’s worried. He’s scared. And he wants to protect you.

Hunter will have to talk him down from running off with you.

The sergeant has to keep his squad together. It sucks but they need to figure out what the heck is happening at the moment.

Wrecker desperately wants to go with you but he can’t abandon his squad.

However, he feels much better once Hunter gives some safe coordinates to lay low and hide.

He’ll get you to the ravine and stand guard until you and Caleb are across and out of sight.

You bet your ass when he meets up with you again he’s not letting you go.

Tech

He isn’t as emotional as the others at the moment. He’s actually focused on gathering as much information in the least amount of time.

He waits, listening to the comm chatter. What is going on? why?

“Execute Order 66.”

After a second, he shares a look with Hunter.

“Tech, go after-”

No more words need to be said. Tech is gone and going after you.

He’s smart. He knows your patterns. He knows where you’d most likely hide. So he focuses on that.

Once he’s confident he’s in a broad area where you and Caleb are, he’s going to call out to you, “Cyare? There’s something called Order 66 on the comms.”

Tech gives you information first. He won’t make you reveal yourself if you don’t feel safe enough.

When Echo announces that the Jedi have been charged with treason, he’ll relay that to you.

“The comms say the Jedi committed treason against the Republic,” He’s going to keep looking around for you, “I know you. You’d never do such a thing. I’m here, Cyare. I can help you.”

Once you reveal yourself, Caleb behind you, he feels the biggest amount of relief.

He pulls off his helmet, giving you a small smile.

“Tech…The Jedi…” your voice cracks, “They’re being killed…I can feel it.”

“I know, Cyare…I’m sorry.” He tries his best to comfort you, but he knows he can never understand.

The amount of Jedi he’s worked with can be counted on one hand.

But he knows this is your family. Your friends. Your very life.

Once Hunter meets up with you guys, a plan can be put in place.

He gives you coordinates for a location to meet-up and hide. You’ll lay low with Caleb.

In the meantime, Tech will return to Kamino, figure out what's happening, and from there a better, more long term plan can be made.

Before you leave though, he’s going to give you the longest, most passionate kiss he's ever given you.

He’s well aware that there's a chance you can be found and killed.

Tech is the only one who has accepted that you may not make it out of this.

But he’s going to keep his mind occupied, distract himself until he’s by your side again.

Crosshair

As soon as the order goes out, Crosshair is under the influence of the inhibitor chip.

He just doesn’t know. No one does at this point.

He watches you run away with Caleb and the drive to hunt you down is hard to ignore.

He needs to find you to kill you, to protect you.

But, the sudden headache he has is damn near blinding.

Crosshair follows Hunter, keeping his comms on.

He freezes when Tech finds out the Jedi have been marked for execution.

The Inhibitor Chip in his skull is contending with his feelings for you.

He needs to execute save you.

When he spots you he pulls his rifle and aims but barely manages to stop himself.

He can’t hurt you. He needs to kill loves you.

Crosshair draws some sort of conclusion that Kaminoans had conditioned all clones to follow specific orders.

He doesn’t know of the chip. He just assumes it comes from the troopers' conditioning.

When his arms are around your body, for a brief moment he thinks of snapping your neck.

Good soldiers follow orders.

He hates orders.

This is the point where Crosshair knows something is seriously wrong with him.

But he’s not going to say anything yet. He can still fight if need be.

“You need to run…hide…get away from here.” it's a rare moment that he’s scared.

The sniper is desperate to shoot protect you.

The headache is persistent, and it’s somewhat distracting.

But he’ll power through.

Crosshair will wait for Hunter to come up with…something.

His eyes are on the area around you, gun set to kill in case any reg tries anything.

The plan? Clone Force 99 returns to Kamino while you and Caleb go into hiding.

You have coordinates. He can find you later.

But…well Crosshair doesn’t like that. At all.

Hear me out. Like Echo, Crosshair goes with you. He knows somethings up with him, but he trusts himself more than he trusts anyone else.

“Tell Kamino they killed me.” He instructs Hunter, “That I died trying to stop the Jedi and you managed to get justice.”

He crosses the ravine with you, only looking back to nod back to Hunter.

By the time Crosshair, you and Caleb safely get off the planet, his headache is a small annoyance that goes away with time.

Crosshair sticks with you until he reunites with his squad and notices Omega

Welp, you got Caleb, what's one more kid?

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 6 months ago

Text

1968 [Chapter 11: Hephaestus, God Of Fire]

A/N: Only 1 chapter left!!! 🥰💜

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.4k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Here is our final interlude. Do you have the patience?

President Lyndon Baines Johnson has halted all U.S. attacks on North Vietnam: no bombs from the air, no infantry on the ground, no artillery shells launched by destroyers cruising in the South China Sea. The election will determine what happens next. If Nixon wins, military operations will resume until the South Vietnamese are in a sufficiently advantageous position to defend themselves from the communists. If Aemond is the victor, troop withdrawals will begin shortly after he is inaugurated on January 20th.

Regardless, it will not be until almost a full year from now, in October of 1969, that it becomes illegal for employers to reserve positions for men; the common practice of refusing to hire women with preschool-aged children will not be outlawed until 1971. Unmarried people will not be guaranteed access to contraception until 1972. Abortion will not be legalized across all fifty states until 1973. Women will not have a right to their own bank accounts or credit cards until 1974. It will not be illegal to exclude women from juries until 1975. The first female Supreme Court justice, Sandra Day O’Connor, will be appointed in 1981. There will be no female president of the United States, not for at least half a century after our story ends.

Each night on CBS Evening News, Walter Cronkite recaps the latest poll numbers. Nixon appears to have a slight advantage, due in large part to pulling ahead in Florida, Illinois, Ohio, and his home state of California. Aemond has comfortable leads in Texas, Pennsylvania, New York, and New Jersey. George Wallace will likely sweep the Deep South: Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Arkansas. From their hovels, the racists rejoice. From her grave, Lurleen Wallace rests uneasily, scratching at the lid of her coffin with the bones of her fingers, entombed in dark oblivion like all the rest of the world’s discarded wives.

~~~~~~~~~~

You go for the door, but Aemond is faster; he catches you just as your hand is twisting the handle and the hinges creak. He throws you against the wall so hard the paintings rattle: replicas of Monets and Warhols, Almond Blossoms, The Birth of Venus. You fight, clawing at him, ripping off the eyepatch that Alys must have at last convinced him was no defeat to wear. The hollow, gore-colored abyss of his left eye socket beckons you to fall in and be burned: Hestia’s eternal hearth, the volcanic forge of Hephaestus. He’s fire all the way down, hunger and fury, bones charred black and brittle. You think of the uninhabitable furnace of Jupiter’s moon Io, lethal radiation, poisoned air, lava bubbling up like blood through a bullet wound.

“You can’t hit me,” you gasp. “You need me for photos—”

His knuckles are in your belly, crosshairs made of scar tissue. The air collapses out of your lungs; your vision dims like twilight, like an eclipse. You’re on the floor and trying to crawl away from him. Aemond’s fingers hook into the fabric of your robe; it matches the silk nightgown you wear beneath, a pale anemic pink, something soft and young and desireless, something eternally at others’ mercy, something to be guarded or gutted. He’s dragging you towards him.

He’s going to hit me again, he might even kill me.

“Stop, stop,” you plead, still struggling to breathe. “What if I’m pregnant?!”

You almost certainly can’t be, but Aemond doesn’t know that. Yet his lone eye glints like metal, like coins, no weak mortal compassion. “I would have no way of being sure it was mine.” And then he tries to cover your mouth as you scream for help. You bite at his fingers; your bare feet kick the wall. Your hair, long and loose and wild, flows around you like a bride’s veil.

Too late, Aemond realizes that the door is still open a crack from when you grabbed the handle. There are footsteps and a voice that crescendos as it approaches: “What on earth is going on in here…?” Fosco appears in the threshold, yellow tweed jacket, tight olive green trousers. He stares thunderstruck down at where you and Aemond are entangled on the floor.

You beg: “Fosco, help me.”

“No, no, no,” Fosco says, jolting from his paralysis and holding a hand out towards Aemond. “No, you cannot do this, whatever has happened, you cannot touch her like—”

“She’s not your wife,” Aemond says. She’s not your property. Fosco hesitates; his large dark eyes shifting between the two of you from behind his glasses.

“Aemond, brother, listen to—”

“Get out.” Aemond’s voice is low, searing, malignant.

“Fosco, please don’t leave me,” you whimper. You try to pry Aemond’s fingers off your robe; they dig in deeper, bruising the flesh underneath. “Don’t leave me, don’t let him hurt me.”

Abruptly, Fosco turns and sprints out of the room.

“No!” you shout after him before Aemond grabs your face, his hand like a claw, fingernails leaving half-moon indents in your cheeks, crushing pressure on your jaw.

“You’re trying to sabotage this campaign.”

“I didn’t see the reporters, I swear to God.”

He knocks the back of your skull against the wall so hard that you see momentary flashes like stars, that all the words vanish from your throat, that words cease to exist at all. “You’re a traitor. Do you know the penalty for treason? The U.S. Army would have you executed by firing squad. Zeus would chain you to a rock so your liver could be carved out.”

“You betrayed me first,” you hiss through clenched teeth, your head pounding hot and maroon.

“I have been working for this since before you were born. You can’t take it away from me. I won’t let you.”

“I did everything right and you still couldn’t love me.” You swing at Aemond and he catches your wounded hand, squeezes it, digs his thumb into the spot where the doctors stitched you closed. The pain is excruciating, incapacitating. You wail as scarlet flowers bloom through the white of your bandaged palm.

Now the door flies open again and Aegon collides with Aemond, sends him sprawling, crouches over you. He’s screaming something at Aemond, gripping your shoulder to keep you under him, his too-long hair hanging in his face, black turtleneck sweater, one of Daeron’s frayed army jackets thrown over it, ripped jeans, bare feet. Aemond grabs his brother by the lapel of his army jacket and draws back his fist. His golden wedding ring flashes in the grey November sunlight that streams in through the windows. Aegon doesn’t flinch. He’s taken knuckles to the face before; you remember cleaning blood off his skin under a streetlight in Biloxi, you remember not wanting to wash him away.

“Don’t you see what it will look like?!” Fosco is saying, trying to coax Aemond to relent. “If he is photographed with a busted face after that story comes out? If she has bruises or a black eye? By harming them you are confirming what your enemies have printed, and the voters will believe it is the truth.”

“They already know it’s true!” Aemond snatches the Wall Street Journal off the table and hurls it at Fosco. Then he paces back and forth through the room, glaring at where you are still crumpled on the floor, sobbing, cradling your bleeding hand to your chest. “It’s right there, three goddamn photographs, and that’s all it will take to bring down a lifetime of work!”

Fosco studies the pictures again, shaking his head, one hand covering his mouth. At last he offers weakly: “It could be worse, Aemond.”

“How could it be worse?!”

Aegon scrambles to Fosco to rip the newspaper out of his hands, then returns to you. He hasn’t seen the front-page story yet. He skims it frantically. “This? This is what you’re losing your mind over? It’s dark, it’s blurry, they can’t even see what’s going on!”

“I have one fucking eye and I can see it!”

“So come up with another explanation, this doesn’t prove anything.”

“If she costs me the election—”

“If you lose, it won’t be because of her!” Aegon roars back. “It will be because the Democrats have held the White House for eight years and the world has gone to hell on our watch, it will be because of Kennedy, and Johnson, and Vietnam and the riots and the hippies and the drugs and the assassinations, it will be because Nixon is promising law and order in a time when nobody is safe, it will be because you just weren’t good enough. But she has given more to your cause than anyone. You hit her and you’ll lose your other eye.”

“They were in conversation,” Fosco says, meaning the photos. The four of you know that’s not true; it is a lie for the rest of the world, it is hope for Aemond’s campaign. “On the beach. They were whispering, comforting each other. Because of Mimi. That is all.”

Aemond scoffs, his remaining eye fierce and wrathful as it lands on you again. Aegon grips your shoulder, still crouching over you, still shielding you. “You bitch. I should have left you at that party in Manhattan to be the dope-smoking whore you were when I found you.”

“I shouldn’t have helped save your life in Palm Beach.”

And Aemond blinks at you, not hurt but bewildered, like he doesn’t understand your words, like what you said is impossible. He doesn’t believe you saved him. He believes it was God’s will.

Otto storms into the hotel room and takes in the scene: you and Aegon on the floor, Aemond pacing furiously, Fosco attempting to mediate. “Nobody says anything,” Otto commands, deep booming voice, black suit like he’s going to a funeral. “The Wall Street Journal hates Aemond. Everyone knows that, they’re probably the only national publication that would run the story. Our newspapers are already pushing the counternarrative, that this was a shameful, deceitful, desperate attempt to discredit Aemond right before the election. Our supporters will insist upon an innocent explanation. Nixon’s will use the photos as evidence of our degeneracy, our amorality, us immigrants with our strange faith and our progressive politics. Everyone else in the country will be warring over this headline. We will say nothing. We will conduct business as usual. The best thing we can do now is go out there and keep our schedule as planned.” He looks meaningfully at Aemond. “And your wife must be at your side. Smiling, unscathed, devoted.”

“I lost my composure,” Aemond says to you, more collected now, businesslike. He is smoothing any wrinkles out of his suit jacket. “I was wrong to put my hands on you. I apologize for that. It was beneath me.”

You reply: “Very little is beneath you, I’ve learned.”

“You have been.” A trace of a grin, crooked and cruel. “Plenty of times. And you will be again.”

Aegon is watching is brother, seething but terrified, sheltering you with power that is only illusory, never real. It is a mirage that Aemond or Otto could punch through at any moment. It is glass that would shatter into crystalline dust.

“If I win, you will beg on your knees for forgiveness,” Aemond tells you. “You will beg in private, you will be perfection in public, and I will magnanimously overlook this indiscretion in which you were taken advantage of by my notoriously dissolute brother. There was no affair. There was a fleeting moment of weakness on your part and depravity on Aegon’s. We will put it in the past. I will be the president of the United States and you will be my first lady. You will spend every second of your existence in service of my career, my country, and my legacy. You will give me children. You will obey me entirely. And you and Aegon will never be in a room alone together for the rest of your lives.”

“You can’t keep me away from her,” Aegon says.

“I just did. I make the rules here, I am the heir to this empire. If you wanted that responsibility, you should have seized it. You squandered it, you cursed it. It’s mine now.”

A whisper: “Aemond, it’ll kill me.”

“Then have the dignity to die quietly. It will be the most useful thing you’ve ever done.”

“Aegon must be seen in public too,” Fosco says, trying to sound like he isn’t defending him. “If you appear to be punishing or excluding him, it will be used as evidence of his guilt.”

Aemond nods, then turns to his brother. “As soon as the election is called, whichever way it goes, I want you gone. I don’t care where you go. I don’t care what happens to you once you’re there. You will disappear. We will say it was your choice, and if you comply you can keep your children and receive a modest amount of severance pay to get you started. And as long as you abide by my terms, my wife will not be harmed.”

Aegon doesn’t reply. His large Atlantic-blue eyes glisten, his lips tremble, his hand is still on your shoulder. You think through the throbbing pain of your bleeding palm: Is this the last time he’ll ever touch me?

Otto grabs Aegon, wrenches him away from you, drags him yowling and clawing at the carpet through the doorway.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your hand is freshly bandaged, pristine white gauze that people in the crowd jostle to touch like the relic of a saint, to pray over, to kiss. Men tell you how brave you are to bear the pain without weeping. Women give you komboskini, stained not with their husband’s blood but with only the clean, colorless ether of hope, faith, reverence, love.

Fosco and Helaena have been dispatched to accompany the children on a tour of the Franklin Institute, one of the oldest centers of science education in the nation. Aemond is giving a speech in front of the Liberty Bell at Independence Hall. You and the others are arranged around him like a starving crescent moon. You are standing immediately on Aemond’s left side, Aegon placed at his right. He looks drunk, he looks drugged; you aren’t sure if anyone else can tell, but you can. His cheeks are flushed. His eyes are pools of murky, desolate indigo like the night sky between stars. A few attendees give the two of you curious glances, but no mention is made of the accusations in the Wall Street Journal. You get the sense that if someone took it upon themselves to ask a question on the subject, they would be jeered, reviled, banished like President Johnson, who is currently besieged in the White House by the ghosts of Vietnam.

When you look to Aemond, you see his scar, his prosthetic eye, fierce and stoic determination in the lines of his face. He is quoting the inscription on the bell: “Proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof…” The bronze metal has a crack in it like one of Zeus’s lightning bolts. The smile on your face is frozen, demure, humble. Aegon’s eyes accidentally catch on yours—a childlike vulnerability, a deep raw woundedness—and then swiftly dart away.

“America is the Land of Opportunity, but some have forgotten that,” Aemond says into the microphone, and vengeance creeps into his voice like a spider up a wall. “Unfortunately, for as long as new communities have arrived at our shores, vile and prejudiced lies have been used to demonize them. Greek immigrants have been crossing the Atlantic for over a century. In 1909, rioters violently expelled them from Omaha, Nebraska. In 1922, an anti-Greek initiative was launched by the Ku Klux Klan. In 1924, Congress drastically restricted my people’s entry in favor of migrants from Northwestern European nations like Britain and Germany. Greeks have been condemned as unintelligent, immoral, and unworthy of the glorious opportunities of this country. We have been barred from jobs and universities, we have been used as cannon fodder in the World Wars. Discrimination against any group is antithetical to the American Dream. I have given an eye for this nation, my wife has bled for it, my brother has—even in the midst of personal tragedy—uprooted his life and the lives of his children to fight alongside me for a better America, and I will not stand by silently as the Targaryen name is tarnished by bigoted falsehoods…”

Now you can no longer hear him over the thunder of the applause, and you remember all the other faces in all those other cities, their eyes illuminated as if by fire, as if by the sun. You imagine devotees of the Greek gods bowing low in temples of white marble and flickering torches, bringing offerings of gold and livestock, grain and blood, murmuring prayers, bargaining for miracles. Did the gods hear them? Do the gods love anyone but themselves?

Alicent and Criston are watching you and Aegon with the same eyes: large, dark, shimmering, a curious combination of horror and profound sympathy. You can feel yourself becoming a ghost, a legend, a myth. One day people will read about you in textbooks and academic journals, in plaques erected at Aemond’s alma mater, Columbia University, and your own, Manhattanville College; and they will know only the fabled version of you. Who you really were will fade into nothingness like Echo, like Icarus into the waves, like Eurydice when her lover Orpheus dared to glimpse back at her.

That night in your penthouse suite at the Ritz-Carlton, you get out of the bathtub—dewy with steam, donning your pink robe—and then go to your side of the king-sized bed and slide open the top drawer of the nightstand. The card Aegon gave you at Mount Sinai isn’t there. Your heartbeat quickens; your stomach lurches.

“What…?”

You get down on your knees to reach into the back of the drawer, to see if the card has snagged somewhere. You hear footsteps and whirl to see Aemond standing in the doorway between the bedroom and the living room. He is holding the card. The cartoon cow beams jubilantly at you. You recall what Aegon wrote inside after crossing out the manufacturer’s message: I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf! As your eyes widen, Aemond rips the card down the middle.

“Don’t!” you scream, rushing for him. “Please don’t, it’s all I have from—!”

Aemond shoves you back and then, with a grin more like a wolf baring its teeth, tears through the remnants again and again until the card is nothing but shreds. He opens the sliding glass door that leads out onto the balcony and throws them into the cold night wind, where they scatter in a flurry like snowflakes, like bones turned to splinters by cluster bombs in the swamps of Vietnam.

The paper fragments spiral down thirty stories towards the zooming headlights on South Broad Street, and you think about following them. Then Aemond pulls you into his arms as frigid air blows through you and whispers: “You don’t need Aegon anymore. You just need me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Monday, November 4th, and you are walking alongside Ludwika on Broadway in Astoria, Queens, the part of New York City known as Greektown. She chats about the modelling jobs she did here before meeting Otto, her Louis Vuitton stilettos clicking on the sidewalk, her Camel cigarettes smudged with red Yardley lipstick. It is an act of kindness; she is trying to distract you. A few yards away, Fosco is telling Aegon about how he just won $500 by betting on the NASCAR Peach State 200, held at Jefco Speedway in Georgia. Aegon nods along, preoccupied, miserable. He has dark shadows around his eyes and is smoking one of his Lucky Strikes. He is wearing a green knit cap, windblown curls of his blonde hair escaping from underneath. You’re not supposed to stare at Aegon, but sometimes you can’t help it. You miss him. You’re worried about him.

The Targaryens have suites reserved at the Plaza Hotel in Manhattan, where the family will stay through Election Day to witness the results as they are tallied on the evening news. The children are there now, enjoying pizza from Little Italy with Helaena and the nannies. But you and the other adults are being photographed by flocks of journalists as you head for lunch at one of the oldest Greek diners in the United States, paying homage to Aemond’s ancestry. The candidate himself is locked in a fraught conversation with Otto and Criston: polls gaining here, polls slipping there, Nixon inching further ahead in Florida, the state you were supposed to help Aemond win.

“What should I order?” Ludwika asks you. “Not spinach pie, oh, horrible, worse than Hitler. Something else. Why can’t we go to a Polish restaurant for once? I will take you sometime. You will see. You will try a pierogi and never look back. We invented bagels, you know.”

“Beagles?” Fosco says. “What an accomplishment! They are so cute!”

“Bagels, stupido.”

“Do not bully me. I am suffering too. I should be back at the hotel eating a prosciutto pizza.”

As you pass an electronics shop with stacks of televisions in the windows, all turned to NBC news, the journalists begin to gasp and chatter excitedly amongst themselves. The flashbulbs strobe madly, shutters clicking and reporters shouting for Aemond to give them a comment. The youngest Targaryen brother has appeared on the screens, bruised and gaunt and missing teeth. He looks twenty years older than he is. His once-golden hair is turning white.

Otto sputters: “What…what the hell is that?!”

“Oh my God, Daeron!” Alicent howls, and then bursts into the shop so she can hear what her lost son is saying. The rest of you hurry after her, locking the front door behind you so the journalists can’t follow. Through the windows, they take photographs until Fosco and Ludwika lower the blinds.

Inside the maze of electronics, three adolescent employees gawk at the presidential candidate and his retinue. “Out,” Otto instructs them, and then, when they are too stunned to immediately vacate the premises: “I said, get out!” The teenagers scurry into the backroom and slam the door.

“Daeron,” Alicent moans in front of a Zenith color television. Tears flow torrentially from her huge, horrified eyes. Criston holds her, arms circling, his cheek pressed to hers, and you are reminded of how Aegon touched you in your hotel room in Houston, in his basement at Asteria, on the shores of the Atlantic Ocean.

Daeron is saying: “The United States has committed war crimes in Vietnam. I am ashamed of the actions my country has taken here. We have burned children with napalm, executed innocent civilians, and interfered in matters that we have no legitimate jurisdiction over…”

“He is reading from a script,” Fosco says. “You can see his eyes following the words.”

“Shh,” Otto snaps.

Daeron continues: “The only honorable course of action now is to immediately withdrawal all American soldiers from Vietnam…”

“I think this will help us, actually,” Otto says. “People will know he’s being forced to make propaganda for the communists, and they will have sympathy for him and the family. They’ll want to rescue him and all the other servicemen too. He’s obviously…under duress.”

Aegon drops to his knees and puts his palm against the screen over Daeron’s face, just like the shadows of your fingers once fell over Ari as he fought for his life in an incubator in Mount Sinai Hospital. “Do you see what they’re doing to him?” He turns to Aemond with tears in his eyes. “What you did to him? You left him there, you abandoned him, and now he’s being tortured.”

Alicent looks to Aemond, puzzled, petrified. “You tried to get him out, didn’t you?” Aemond doesn’t answer. Otto averts his gaze, counting the tiles on the floor.

“Dear lord,” Ludwika mutters, lighting a fresh Camel cigarette and puffing on it anxiously.

“Was it worth it?” Aegon demands. “Selling your soul?”

Aemond is steely, resolved. “It’s almost over.”

“You were all right.” Aegon stands, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his green-striped sweater. “I don’t have what it takes to win the presidency. I couldn’t do something like this. Me, the perennial fuckup. Me, the godless degenerate.”

“Aegon,” Alicent whispers. “Please…please don’t…”

He turns to his mother, insurmountably sad. “Mom, I tried to stop him.” Alicent sobs and covers her face with both hands as Criston embraces her. She can’t even look at Aemond. She can’t believe what he’s become. Her long coppery hair flows like blood.

You reach for Aegon, your fingertips brushing his ruddy cheek, and immediately he folds into you, burying his face in the curve of your neck, breathing in your warmth as you inhale his smoke and rum and pain and terror. “Daeron will be home soon,” you say, not knowing if it’s true. Your bandaged hand aches; your throat burns.

“I should have gone instead. It should have been me.”

“No, Aegon. Your children need you, I need you. I wouldn’t have made it without you.”

Then Aemond yanks you away, his grip on your wrist like an anchor, like chains.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Dad, play us something,” Orion says; and it is the first time you can remember him calling Aegon that. Aegon smiles. He’s sitting on one of the couches in the penthouse suite you share with Aemond, the Gibson guitar he bought back in July lying across his lap as he strums it absentmindedly. The television is on and turned to CBS News. It’s just before midnight on Tuesday, November 5th, Election Day. The children are thrilled. It’s the one night they’re allowed to stay up as late as they’re physically able to. This allowance is not purely altruistic; Aemond wants them awake and ready for photographs as soon as the winner is announced.

“What should I play?”

“Frank Sinatra,” Fosco says. He is beside Aegon on the couch, smoking a cigar and flipping through the Sports section of the New York Times, which he’s not really reading.

“Marvin Gaye,” Ludwika suggests. They are both on your side of the room. Aemond, Otto, Sargent Shriver, and a number of campaign staffers are huddled around the television, transfixed by the ever-updating vote totals. Alicent and Criston are between your factions, murmuring back and forth to each other, flutes of golden champagne in their hands. Helaena is on the floor entertaining Violeta, Daphne, and Neaera with Crayolas and coloring books full of scenes from gardens. You recall how eerily calm Helaena had been the night Aemond was shot in Palm Beach, like she somehow already knew he’d survive. Now she is nervous, looking fretfully around the room, wringing her hands, filling outlines of butterflies with ten different shades of blue.

“The Beatles,” Orion tells Aegon, casting Fosco and Ludwika a judgmental teenage glance.

“Any particular song?”

“You can pick.”

Aegon sips at his rum, ice cubes clinking in the glass. He looks over to the coffee table, where you are embroiled in a game of Battleship with Cosmo. He’s getting better; he’s genuinely sunk your destroyer and submarine so far. Then Aegon’s eyes drop to his guitar strings and he plucks the opening notes of In My Life. His voice is soft and low, almost secretive.

“There are places I’ll remember

All my life, though some have changed

Some forever, not for better

Some have gone and some remain…”

Cosmo turns to watch his father. Orion, Spiro, Thaddeus, and Evangelos are gathered around Aegon’s feet, gazing up at him with admiration, with love.

“All these places had their moments

With lovers and friends, I still can recall

Some are dead and some are living

In my life, I’ve loved them all...”

Cheers erupt over by the television; Aemond has just won Michigan. But then tense, indistinct deliberations follow. Florida is still too close to call, a bad omen. You wonder where Alys is as she watches the results come in. There must be some part of her—however small, however smothered—that fears Aemond will win. If he captures the presidency, she could be separated from the man she loves for the better part of a decade. You drink your Pink Squirrel, wishing it was stronger. You think of sea sponge divers down in the depths and imagine what that first gulp of air tastes like when they resurface, when they shed their rubber suits and brass helmets and step back into sunlight, warmth, freedom like Persephone returning from the Underworld each spring.

“But of all these friends and lovers

There is no one compares with you

And these memories lose their meaning

When I think of love as something new…”

You wear a sapphire-colored gown that Aemond chose for you, strings of silver around your wrist and throat, diamond teardrops hanging from your ears. Your hair is up, your fingernails painted a tasteful opalescent shade, the aching of your bandaged hand dulled by booze and Vicodin.

“Though I know I’ll never lose affection

For people and things that went before

I know I’ll often stop and think about them

In my life, I love you more.”

More triumphant shouts and applause across the room by the television: Aemond has won Washington state. From his own suite at the St. Regis Hotel a few blocks south on 5th Avenue, Nixon’s people must be celebrating that he just secured Ohio’s 26 electoral votes. He needs 270 to be the next president of the United States.

Florida, you think. If Nixon can take Florida, I think he’ll win the whole thing.

As Aemond and Otto are distracted, as Fosco and Ludwika watch with pitying, knowing eyes, Aegon sets his guitar aside and walks by you with his rum in hand, taps your shoulder, disappears onto the balcony. You wait a few minutes—Cosmo wins Battleship and goes to color on the floor with Helaena—and then follow Aegon.

Outside the night sky is moonless, starless, thick with clouds. Rain is beginning to fall, soft hushed pattering. Far below taxis and limousines are still rushing and blowing their horns on West 59th Street. You can see the vast forested shadow of Central Park and streetlights like constellations. In apartments and office buildings, windows are illuminated as Americans sit numbing their fears with beer, wine, shots of liquor, smoldering hand-rolled joints.

Aegon is cross-legged at the ledge, one hand on the iron bars of the railing, staring out at the nightscape of Manhattan. His hair lashes in the cold November wind. His nose is pink, his eyes wet and faraway. He passes his Lucky Strike cigarette to you as you join him and says: “I don’t think Aemond can win without Florida.”

“No,” you agree, taking a drag.

Aegon snatches a rattling orange bottle from the pocket of his olive green army jacket, pops it open, and swallows three pills with a swig of straight rum, dark amber poison.

“Don’t do that,” you say, you plead.

“I need it, babe.”

“I want you to still be alive in ten years.”

Aegon smiles and reaches over to pat your cheek twice. “I think that ship might have sailed, little Io.” Can decades of self-destruction be undone, uninflicted, nullified like Heracles becoming immortal? Can the Underworld be escaped? “Come with me. No matter what happens tonight.”

“Aegon, I can’t.”

“I’m in love with you.”

“If I leave, he’ll hurt you. He’ll hurt me worse.”

“It’s not fair,” Aegon says, his voice breaking.

“Nothing is.”

There is an uproar inside the hotel room, screams that could be horror or triumph, realized dreams, breaking bones, bullets through flesh. You and Aegon are on your feet, hauling the balcony door open, stepping through the threshold into the rest of your lives.

Glasses are being toasted until champagne rains down onto the carpet. The telephone is ringing so Nixon can concede. On CBS News, Walter Cronkite is reporting that Aemond has won Florida and thereby accumulated 270 electoral votes. The blue text on the screen reads: Senator Targaryen will be the 37th president of the United States.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii fic

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stellarbit · 8 months ago

Text

Sniper's Revelation

1k words. Warning: We've all wanted to slap him, admit it.

Crosshair pushes you to the edge and it earns him a slap.

Had to get it out of my head. Enjoyyy

You didn’t know Crosshair could laugh like that. Eyes closed, bent over, and gripping his stomach. It might’ve been beautiful if he wasn’t laughing at you.

While finishing a rendezvous, the Batch offered you the time to use the refresher with privacy. That is, they told you to stay at the ship as backup and you took some liberties. It didn’t take you long. The longest part was waiting for the water to heat and after that you were in and out in a few minutes.

An arm’s reach away, your clothes were slung over a nearby gun rack. The fabric caught for a moment but luckily came free with a good tug. The last thing you wanted was to be caught naked in the breezeway untangling some clothes.

Still dancing into your clothes, you stopped halfway to the cockpit and doubled back to a sliver of mirror. Twisting around you angled each leg side to side until you spotted what you thought you saw. Just as you feared, when you snagged your clothes free you tore some of them too.

You were barely inspecting the damage to your pants when something else caught your attention. Across the room, there sat Crosshair, arms crossed and feet propped up, his gaze fixed somewhere in the mirror. Following his line of sight, you noticed it landed on the rip in the fabric across the backside of your pants. The fabric snagged near the hip and tore across, exposing plenty of skin.

Crosshair's eyes remained fixed on the mirror with a smarmy as he chewed on a toothpick. You suppressed a snarl, waiting until he finally dragged his gaze up your body to lock eyes with you. His arrogant demeanor, knowing that you caught him staring and reveling in it, made your lip curl.

"Looks like you're a little out of uniform," he remarked, nodding towards the mirror.

"Looks like you're slacking," you retorted, biting back.

With a swift motion, Crosshair uncrossed his legs and sat up. He shrugged his shoulders dismissively. "Had enough of the regs," he replied, cocking his head to one side. "Looks like you were the slacker."

Crosshair’s jabs only made you bristle more. You cut right to the chase. “I catch you every time you’re staring.” You ground out. He uncrossed his arms and leaned forward.

“No, you don’t.” And there it was, that shit eating, ‘do it�� look that scrambles your composure.

You stomped your way over to him, his indifference infuriating you. As he flicked his toothpick away, you stood over him, unimpressed by his attempt to meet your challenge with half-hearted defiance.

"One more word, toothpick," you warned. His cocky expression set your resolve in stone. "And I'll knock your eyes into the next galaxy."

Something flickered in his eyes before his mouth twisted into a half-formed retort. Before he could finish, your hand lashed out, striking him across the face and snapping his head to the side. The room fell into an uneasy silence as Crosshair brought his hand to his face, rubbing his jaw. Surprising even yourself, you had finally done it.

Crosshair slowly looked back at you, his breath shallow, controlled and a look on him you’d not seen yet.

Your hand was still in position when he jumped to his feet and grabbed it before you could step back.

“Cross?” You asked hesitantly, using his short name in hopes to soothe his anger. His stare made you feel like prey.

Crosshair’s feet shifted, catching your eye for an instant. With a half step he brought his body within a hands distance of you. His usual steeley tone had remnants of surprise and a muscle in his jaw feathered.

Your eyes were searching his face for any hint of what was going on when, in a low voice, he said, “Do it again.”

Instinctively you tried pull back but Crosshair’s grip on your hand anchored you in place. His grip loosened as he pulled your hand between you to the other side of your body, his knuckles grazing your chest along the way.

He swallowed and repeated, “ I said. Do that again.” Slowly it dawn on you what he was implying. He’d never been slapped before and, judging by his reaction, he very much liked it.

In disbelief, you looked between your hand hanging in his and his face. There’s no way. Sliding your hand out of his grasp, you pulled it back coyly. “Crosshair you can’t be -”

"Hit me," he growled, his tone leaving no room for argument. That was an order.

When his expression didn't change, you nodded, firmed up your grip, and slapped him again. This time with far less force, testing the waters, but still managing to push his head to the side.

Crosshair took a long, shaky breath, and you could've sworn a shudder ran through him. Those intense sniper eyes locked with yours, holding you in place. He angled his head back and loosed his breath.

He snickered, looking almost impressed, “And here I thought Jedi were opposed to violence.”

“And I never realized you get hurt so much on missions because you like it.”

He almost got something snarky in when the Marauder’s door released and the landing steps began to extend.

You stepped back to take in the full view: his annoyed and incredulous expression, the red mark appearing on the side of his face, his body still a little stiff. You were almost proud. As a gaggle of voices and footsteps came up the steps, you brushed him off and turned around.

Until you heard a rip and felt more cool air hitting your ass. Your hands shot to the tear in your pants and whipped your head around. Crosshair suddenly coughed, which evolved into a chuckle. He folded into his stomach, bent over and holding his waist, clearly trying to contain himself. He was still snickering when he straightened up and shifted his weight onto one foot.

With one hand holding the opposite elbow, he held up the missing piece of fabric between two fingers and then placed a new toothpick in his mouth. Passing you, he shoved the fabric into your hand. “Your move.” He mumbled as he walked by.

“Arrogant bastard,” You snapped under his breath.

Continuing to guard the hole in your pants you turned with him.

Echo’s eyebrows shot up upon seeing the red mark on Crosshair’s cheek. “What happened to you?”

“I got bit by a bug.” He hissed in his brother’s face.

Tech shot you an exhausted look, “I said do not rise to his every remark.”

Teeth clenched, you were seething. You were going to kill that sniper one day.

#star wars #tech #the bad batch #bad batch #tbb #the bad batch tech #crosshair #tbb crosshair #the bad batch x reader #crosshair x reader #the bad batch cross hair #the bad batch crosshair x reader #bad batch crosshair

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queenariesofnarnia · 7 months ago

Text

peace

gif not mine!

an: physical touch pt 2 is coming this weekend. i want it to be perfect!

the bad batch x reader

no warnings, just fluff

wc: 436

The sounds of the night fill the room through the open window. The faint sound of waves crashing along the shore that would lure anyone to sleep. Their soft snores filled the room as they cuddled on the giant bed. A soft smile painted your face as you admired your family. You slip out the room quietly. Going into the kitchen to grab a sweet wine you bought on an adventure with Phee and a glass. Heading out to the balcony to look at the view. Your nightgown flows in the breeze around your ankles as you sip your wine.

You thought about everything it took to get to this peaceful moment. The moments that could’ve ripped the small family you have apart. A smile stayed on your face as you continued to think about the happy memories. Soft footsteps approached you, a small hand encasing yours.

You let her hand go pulling her in for a side hug instead holding her close.

“Why are you up Meg?” you ask your voice above a whisper.

“You weren’t in the cuddle pile” she responds pouting.

“I’m not tired just yet. I was going to turn in soon hon” you inform her playing with her blonde curls. She squeezes you tight before rubbing her eyes. “Go back to bed. I’ll be in soon” you guide her inside.

“Goodnight mom” she mumbles heading back to bed.

Once you finished the glass setting it aside you looked at the view thanking the maker for it again. Quietly going back inside your domicile before anyone else wakes up. You clean the glass out, setting it on the counter before storing the bottle away. Upon entering the room again you quietly walk around the bed so you can squeeze into your spot between Crosshair and Tech. Once situated Crosshair’s chest is against your back with his arm thrown around you.

“Where were you?” he groggily whispered in your ear.

“I was outside. Couldn’t sleep yet” you softly reply nuzzling back into him. He lets out a soft hum in reply before kissing your shoulder. Soon after he starts softly snoring again. Tech starts to stir a little in his sleep until you gently place a hand on his chest to calm him. You lean up to place a kiss on his jawline, which had him relax back into the pillow.

Wrecker’s snores filled the room, and the occasional grunts from Hunter in his sleep. Omega was tucked snuggly between them. Batcher slept on the floor at the end of the bed her snores almost combating Wrecker’s. You drift to sleep with a smile still on your face. Your final thoughts of the day being on the love you had for this bunch

#the bad batch #tech x reader #the bad batch x reader #wrecker x reader #tbb tech #tbb crosshair x reader #tbb hunter x reader #crosshair x reader #tbb omega #tbb batcher #star wars the bad batch #sergeant hunter #tbb hunter #crosshair bad batch #crosshair x you #tech x you

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miss-musings · 5 months ago

Text

"Omega Needs You Both": A Deeper Look at Crosshair's Plan 99 Monologue

So, I had an interesting exchange with someone on Twitter about the 3.15 "change of plans" scene and what exactly Crosshair meant -- specifically by the line "Omega needs you both."

I figured I'd share my thoughts here, and do a breakdown of the dialogue in this scene.

We start with Crosshair seeing Tantiss' defenses and his hand starts shaking uncontrollably. But, he clenches his fist and gives his brothers an update:

Crosshair: They've got heavy patrols guarding the perimeter, with lurca hounds. Wrecker: Told you we should've brought Batcher.

Wrecker, who was mauled by a jungle creature in the previous episode, has basically been running on a combination of adrenaline, determination and med patches for at least an hour. As Wrecker says this line, he chuckles and then groans with pain from his wounds.

Crosshair notices and gives him a look that Wrecker can intuit even under his helmet.

Wrecker: Stop looking at me like that. I'm fine. Crosshair: No, you're not.

Crosshair sees the situation they're in: Their five-man squad is down two people already.

Tech is dead. (RIP, bestest boy! 😭)

Echo is inside the base, but they can't coordinate with him. For all they know, he might've been captured or killed after deactivating the science vessel's sensors at the end of 3.13.

And now, on top of Crosshair's own hand tremors, Wrecker is severely injured.

Clone Force 99 is down two people already, two of the remaining three aren't at full strength, AND they’re going into Tantiss without any (known) back-up. 😬

Even if they manage to get past the patrolling stormtroopers and lurca hounds, they still don't have an easy way in. (Of course, the Zillo beast solves both of these problems about two minutes later.)

So, knowing full well what they're going up against and seeing the bad shape his squad is in, Crosshair offers a solution:

Crosshair: Change of plans. You two head to the communications array and try to contact Rex. I'll infiltrate the base myself. Hunter: Not happening. Wrecker: Yeah, we've handled worse situations than this countless--

Wrecker of all people knows that their squad isn't invincible. But, I think he's trying to infuse some optimism into the conversation and convince Crosshair not to do something rash.

Meanwhile, Crosshair basically tries to do the exact same thing to Wrecker, but in a much harsher way:

Crosshair: Wake up, Wrecker! Clone Force 99 died with Tech. We're not that squad anymore.

Crosshair says what they're all probably thinking:

Clone Force 99 charged into every battle in the Clone Wars with full confidence and zero hesitation. Maybe they weren't exactly stupid about it, but they were definitely reckless.

Crosshair is trying to tell Wrecker that they're not that invincible squad anymore. They lost their MVP in Tech. They cannot afford to go recklessly charging into battle like they used to, which he believes Wrecker is suggesting.

Crosshair: I've been inside that mountain. I know what we're up against. If we all go in, we're not all making it out.

Again, even if they manage to get inside, Crosshair knows exactly how well-defended Tantiss is. He's trying to convince his brothers to get to safety, because he knows the odds are stacked against them and he doesn't want to lose them.

He wants to keep them safe. He wants to protect them. So, he uses the best logic he has to try to convince them: 🥺

Crosshair: Omega needs you both.

I know a lot of people look at this line and interpret it as: "Crosshair thinks Omega doesn't need him (like she needs Hunter and Wrecker)."

There's definitely an argument to be made for that.

Crosshair has major self-esteem issues throughout Season 3, and he definitely feels like he failed Omega after missing the shot to track her ship in 3.11.

I do think he believes that Hunter and Wrecker matter to her more.

I also think he doesn't know or fully accept exactly how much he means to her.

But, he must have some sense that his well-being is important to her — that she cares about him.

She refused point-blank to leave Tantiss without him. She spent five months telling him, convincing him, that they were going to escape together. For all his efforts to push her away, she never gave up on him. And when the opportunity finally came, she kept her word and freed him.

Between 3.05-3.11, Omega spends a lot of time with Crosshair.

She helps him reintegrate back into their family and reconcile with Hunter. She doesn't like when he suggests taking on CX-2 by himself. She tries to help him heal his hand and his mind. When she tries to convince them people can change, she reminds Crosshair that she never gave up on him.

She also told him multiple times in Seasons 1 and 3 that he was her brother. Omega always saw him as part of her family, and she wanted him in her life.

(EDIT: It’s also totally possible that Crosshair realizes Omega cares about him while ALSO believing she doesn’t need him. “She cares about me” =\= “she needs me,” especially compared to how much she needs Hunter and Wrecker. He is still weighed down by guilt and insecurity, after all, and feels like he failed her in 3.11.)

Again, I do think Crosshair underestimates and/or doesn't fully accept how much he means to her (or how much she needs him).

But, I think he’s ultimately trying to tell his brothers: "You two can't die, because Omega needs you."

Crosshair knows how much they care about her. He probably thinks they'll agree to anything -- no matter how stupid -- if helps guarantee her safety.

Omega is the best reason he has to convince them they need to live.

In general, Tech went through a similar process in 2.16.

He first told his family to "sever the connection hinge now," and Wrecker refused. He called for Plan 99 and Wrecker still tried to talk him out of it. So, he shot the connection hinge himself, because he knew they'd never let him go even if it meant they’d all die too.

(RIP. He really was the bestest boy and the squad's MVP.)

Crosshair is doing the same thing: he's trying to convince his brothers to let him sacrifice himself to ensure their safety. 😭

Now, Tech's situation was different. It really was "either he dies or they all die." There was no way around it.

But that's not a guarantee here in 3.15, although Crosshair thinks it is. (And as we see later, he's basically right. The CX operatives could've and would've killed them, but Hemlock apparently wanted them alive.)

Anyway, let's close out Crosshair's monologue:

Crosshair: So, I'm doing this alone. It's-- It's what I deserve.

Pairing this with his previous statement that Omega needs Hunter and Wrecker, it can definitely sound like "I don't matter to Omega (like you do), so I need to sacrifice myself." Again, there's an argument to be made for that.

(EDIT: I really think DBB’s delivery of “Omega needs you both. So, I’m doing this alone. It’s what I deserve” is a BIG part of why people interpret it the way they do. And they’re arguably not wrong to do so. It does feel in-character for Crosshair.)

But, I'm guessing he means that sacrificing himself will finally atone for everything he's done -- hunting down and nearly killing his family, killing all sorts of people for the Empire, failing his loved ones, etc.

He's telling them: "I've made so many mistakes. Let me make up for it now by keeping you safe."

Thankfully, Hunter and Wrecker talk him out of it.

Hunter: Don't even think about Plan 99, Crosshair. Omega needs all of us, and so do those clones. Wrecker: We've always known the risks, and so did Tech. We do this together.

Hunter affirms that Omega needs all three of them. He's using the same logic that Crosshair tried: "Don't throw your life away, because Omega needs you too."

And Wrecker tells Crosshair more clearly that he knows their squad isn't invincible anymore. But, if they're going to do anything, they're going to do it together.

I honestly wouldn't be surprised if Crosshair planned to keep arguing with them, but then they got distracted by the Zillo beast. 😅

In summary

If I had to rewrite Crosshair's monologue so it would more clearly convey what I think he's trying to say, it would go something like this:

Crosshair: Wrecker, we're not wild Clone Wars frat boys anymore. If we go rushing into Tantiss like we used to, we're all gonna die. You two need to live for Omega's sake. So, stay here and stay safe, and let me sacrifice myself. I nearly killed you all, and did a whole bunch of other bullshit, so I need to make up it.

As I said, I think a lot of these points are open to debate and discussion. But, I wanted to offer alternative interpretations for some of these iconic lines, because I feel like everyone keeps landing on the same (wrong) ones.

Feel free to comment/reblog with your thoughts!

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skellymom · 9 months ago

Text

"I'M YOUR MAN"

Hunter x Jedi Fem Reader Supporting Character. SMUTTY++

Background: This one shot starts out very similar to my "Hunt and Peck" one shot. However, it's not just a Force Sensitive, but an actual Jedi. And, his Batchmates aren't in on the shenanigans. This is the VERY dirty version of "Hunt and Peck" but Hunter goes "solo".

I wanted to write a smutty fic from INSIDE Hunter's head space. We hardly ever really know what's going on in there. Well, now you do!

Word Count: 2.1K

WARNING: Male masturbation, oral sex, genital sex, spit kink, swearing kink, dirty word kink, praise kink, names of various sexual positions, bodily fluids, lots of dirty nasty sexy stuff. Lots of it. Very LEMONY content!

The Batch finished up their latest mission, picking up a new passenger along the way. Y/N was a Jedi hitching a ride to a planet they would be passing on the way to Kamino. She would only be staying a few standard days on the Marauder, and the crew made sure she had a comfortable stay.

Within two days Hunter was smitten. He usually kept his infatuations to himself as best he could...ESPECIALLY with female Jedi. But...well, this one was different...and difficult to ignore. Of course, he still engaged with her politely and respectfully. Being a Sergeant and host on this transport, he kept some distance.

Y/N was attractive. Not conventionally, as he wouldn’t consider himself attracted to just ANY pretty face. But she had that...thing. An essence? Something that just took him out at the knees. It was elusive...

...and she smelled SO GOOD. Hell, even when she was sweaty, dirty, just got woke up in the morning...heady scent of her body odor with the slightest tang of her sex...

Hunter shifted in the pilot’s seat. His armor codpiece felt tight. Dammit, he NEEDED to stop getting distracted. He was supposed to be sitting watch on the ship.

Technically Echo was to stand this shift. However, he was under the weather and now lying down like the rest of his brothers.

Hunter could hear Crosshair breathing, Echo’s ticking mechanical heart, and smell Tech’s drool...as he slept face down with mouth open. Wreckers' snores were like a power tool, until his sleep apnea kicked in. Hunter would count the seconds unconsciously holding his own breath too...until Wrecker finally inhaled.

Hunter inhaled deeply just thinking about it...

...until Y/N sighed in her sleep. The sound brought his attention back to the heat and tightness in his groin. Hunter’s cock was now becoming painful with an intense pressure against his codpiece.

Oh STARS! How did the other Clones deal with this??? Commander Bly following Aayla Secura around while she exposed all that beautiful blue skin. Or Deepa Billoba with her pretty braids and deep scarlet lips...

...then there was his first crush: Shaak Ti. A tall stunning Togruta with her long montrals and head tails.

DANK FERRICK! Y/N did look at him a lot and smiled. He could sense her body reacting to him MUCH differently than his brothers. The thrumming of her presence on his senses. Something he guessed was her Force sensitivity. It would tickle his nerve endings and make him shiver...in a VERY good way. Was Y/N flirting with the Force? Hunter wasn’t exactly sure. Was that even ALLOWED?

Hunter ripped the codpiece off and tossed it onto the Marauder’s dash. His girthy engorged cock staining through his blacks...and leaving a wet spot.

These Jedi women are going to be the death of me!

Who was he kidding...WOMEN drove him crazy!!!

The last thing Hunter wanted was to cause any trouble...especially with a Jedi.

He had to take care of this situation...and put IT to “rest” ...NOW.

Walking back to the refresher wasn’t an option. He didn’t want to wake anyone, and he was supposed to be on watch.

Listening again, Hunter could perceive everyone was asleep and accounted for. He slid down comfortably in the pilot’s chair. Noting that Tech left one of his hand rags for mechanical maintenance hanging up in the cockpit, Hunter grabbed it for clean up later.

Looking around and listening one last time, Hunter gently rolled down his blacks and released his cock. Its meaty girthiness sprung up at attention. Uncut and big enough to satisfy, but not so large as to be painful. Poor Wrecker...Hunter thought fleetingly. So big he must hold back constantly to not injure. Gotta be stressful. People would give Hunter shit for being the smallest of the group. Heh, average ain’t bad. Especially since he exceeded at technique.

What was the saying on Kamino? Yeah...It’s not the size of the ship, but the motion of the ocean.

The head of his penis peeked out from the uncut foreskin. Hunter smoothed his thumb through the large drop of precum and rubbed gentle circles on the top of his cock. He shivered from the sensation but held back a gentle moan. He needed to be extra quiet. Keeping his mouth shut, Hunter also regulated his breathing.

Next, he cupped his cock in hand and gently but firmly pulled back his foreskin. Then he gave his shaft a few good pumps.

... A very feminine scent wafted from the pallet Y/N was sleeping on the bunk room floor. She must have been having a hell of a dream...as Hunter could smell her wet arousal. To her credit, she was extremely quiet.

The smell drove him crazy. More precum leaked from his cock.

Hunter closed his eyes and imagined what it would be like to bury his face in Y/N’s pussy. He inhaled her scent and pictured himself licking and sucking her clit. How she would look from that point of view. Staring up over her mons pubis to see her writhe and sweat. Hair messed, face and chest flushed as he teased her to orgasm over and over again. Screaming his name, asking for more.

FUCK, he LOVED EATING PUSSY! LOVED watching his lovers lose themselves in ecstasy. Loved when they praised his talent for the job.

And, if they wanted to be fingered while he dined, he happily obliged. Gently of course...unless she insisted on it being rough. He followed directions very well and kept the channels of communication open. How many fingers? How’s that feel? You like how I’m fingering you? Tell me. I wanna hear you tell me. Yeah...whatever you want. I’m your man. Mmmm...You’re so FUCKING beautiful!

Pumping his cock, occasionally coming up to rub the leaking precum across his head and frenulum with his thumb. The mental image fueling his desire and the tingling of his penis.

Hunter also LOVED breasts. Big, small, he serviced them all. Lick them, kiss, twist, cup. But, he wasn’t in a hurry. No, Hunter wanted to appreciate the other parts of his lover's body and work his way there.

Nibbling Y/N’s thighs, tender kisses on her stomach. Women worry too much about their bellies. Who the fuck made them feel so insecure? Hunter wasn’t gonna get mad. He didn’t have time for that. Bring that belly here and let me worship it. The asshole that made you feel bad about that part of your body isn’t here...I AM. Look me right in the eyes. Yeah, hold that eye contact. Listen to me. I’m gonna make your body SING tonight. I wanna make you feel desirable...’cause you are. Now, grab my hair if you feel ya gotta hold on tight!

Pumped his wet cock a bit more...

AND ASSES! All sizes. Firm and jiggly...flat and flabby...

Fuck the guy who told you your ass wasn’t pretty. Probably the same dipshit who razzed you about your other body parts.

I’m here to tell ya: Your body parts make my cock wanna give you a standing ovation. I’ll happily kiss ANYTHING on your body, if it’ll get you off. Even the stuff you might be worried is too nasty and dirty. I’ll be as clean as you request or dirty as ya care to ask for.

Hunter needed to stay on track. All the blood was rushing to his lower extremities, making him a bit punch drunk. His eyes were half closed with horniness.

And he needed a bit more lubrication. Hunter leaned over his swollen member and spit on it delicately. The extra slide felt amazing.

Oh yeah...Hunter was getting ahead of himself. In his mind Y/N requested he kiss and suckle her breasts. In his mind, she moaned and raked at his back. Mmmmhmm...I wanna hear you. Tell me how much you like this. He moved up to lavish her neck with kisses, grinding his slippery member through her sex. The sound was loud and wet. Smells sooo good. Whispering in her ear, pressing his nose against her cheek You feel so good! FUCK...Hunter shivered, his cock twitching with anticipation.

Are you ready for me? Yeah? Gonna take my time, okay? I’m in no hurry...unless you WANT me to fuck you hard and put you away wet? I aim to please. So swollen and hard right now...could grab you around the legs, hoist ya up, and nail ya silly. Missionary? Doggie style? Cowgirl? Reverse Cowgirl? Vertical or Horizonal, I’m strong enough to get ya there.

No? Ok. Just give me the word. And I’ll take it nice...and easy.

Hunter slowed down the momentum on his cock. Stroking gently to prolong his arousal and not cum too soon.

What about me, you say? Heh...REALLY enjoying my time with you. I’m a man of variety. Whatever you want, I’m along for...ahem...the ride. However long it takes.

You wanna suck my cock? Well...chuckles...I won’t say NO to a good blow. Just ask you tease me a bit. He imagined the wet softness of Y/N’s mouth on his member. Swirling her tongue over his head, shaft...

...her hand firmly gripping his balls and he gripped them now...

...pumping his cock...gathering momentum.

Wanna blow my seed in your cunt, while I’m holding you. Full body skin on skin contact while I’m inside you. My uncut foreskin rubbing your pink jellybean clit while my cock caresses your G-spot. Bonus if I get to taste your mouth while you moan into mine.

Hunter lifted his pelvis off the seat, bracing his legs and abdomen...adding pressure to his core and the root of his sex. He slid his cock back and forth through his wet hand, gritting his teeth, and sweating.

I’ll do EVERYTHING in my power to take you over the edge ONE more time before I do. I got the stamina to fuck, suck, and caress you all night if it’s what you request of me. Over and over again.

I’m YOUR MAN.

As Hunter came, a very sudden and explosive scream erupted from the bunk room!

Hunter let go of his scrotum and slapped a hand over his mouth to hold back his violent moans. An intense, warm orgasm shot through his body. Hunter came SO HARD it hit the ceiling of the Marauder’s cockpit with an audible THUMP! A climax so sudden and strong, he shook and was unable to stand.

The bunk room erupted in chaos. Wrecker had fallen off the top bunk from sheer terror. Tech started awake and flung his datapad across the room...hitting Crosshair in the head. Only Echo remained unscathed as he slipped unaided by his prosthetics from the bottom bunk to the Jedi’s pallet on the floor.

He put his one intact arm around the Jedi. “Ma’am, are you ok?”

She, sweating, flushed, and breathing heavily, “Oh...” stammered, “A dream.”

“Sounded like a NIGHTMARE!” Wrecker recovered from his fall.

The Jedi laughed nervously.

Tech finally found his goggles amongst the bedcovers, slapped them on, and ran to the refresher. “I’ll retrieve a glass of water for our guest.”

Crosshair rubbed the goose egg developing on his forehead. “Bring a bacta patch while you’re in there too!”

“Where the HELL is HUNTER???” Echo thundered.

On command Hunter slid into the bunk room. “What happened? Must have fallen asleep on watch!”

Echo turned to Hunter “Our Guest gave us quite a scare.” He looked puzzled as Hunter NEVER fell asleep on watch. “Due to a dream.”

Tech ran in and handed the Jedi a full canteen of water and a small towelette for her sweaty brow.

“Thank you, Tech.” She dabbed herself and sipped from the canteen...purposely keeping her eyes averted from the Sergeant.

“Bacta patch?” Crosshair growled at Tech.

“I ONLY have two hands, Crosshair!” Tech sassed his way back to the refresher.

“Looking a little FLUSHED too, Hunter. Sure you’re FEELING well? Crosshair sneered.

Hunter was just about to tell Crosshair to shut his pie hole when the Jedi interrupted. “I... think I’m ready to go back to sleep.”

“Alright.” Echo got back into his bunk. “You need ANYTHING, we’re right here.”

“I’m feeling better now.” She sighed. "Thank you Echo."

Wrecker leaned down and handed Lula to Y/N. “Lula will help you sleep the rest of the night.”

“Thank you, Wrecker.”

Crosshair sneered at Hunter who turned to go back to his watch station.

Tech unpeeled the bacta patch and slapped it over Crosshair’s pie hole, then turned out the lights.

Next morning the Marauder landed at the Jedi’s destination. She thanked The Batch and descended the gangplank. Sergeant Hunter was the last to say goodbye and salute her.

“I must thank you, btw.” She blushed demurely and smiled.

Hunter looked confused and glanced to see where his Batchmates were at. They had already retreated into the ship, preparing to leave the planet.

“Uh...for what?”

“For being...MY MAN... last night.”

Hunter blushed crimson red... speechless but had SO MANY questions.

“I know what you’re thinking Sergeant. Jedi CAN have...relations. They just can’t be possessive attachments. And... technically we never physically touched...”

She winked and walked away towards her destination.

And that was how Hunter was literally mind-fucked by a Jedi.

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