I Named My Cat After You Because She Pulls Your Facial Expressions Sometimes

no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while I gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling, teeth jitterbug, mind blogging, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy,moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious,gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, can't walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell desolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, slendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tango ever bro could cause a nuclear bomb inside me and I'd still ride.

773 Firepuncher Rifle

Summary: Crosshair has given you a simple and specific order: get yourself off on his rifle, and make it messy. Pairing: Crosshair x Reader

Reader Description: Reader is female, and uses she/her pronouns. This fic does not include any descriptions of her appearance. Word count: 2.1k Tags: Gun kink, Friends with benefits, Smut, Grinding, Teasing, Mutual masturbation.

(gif credit: @kybacrystal​ from this post)

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my take on young Silco… he’s just… a guy.. a really REALLY weird guy

Swear this was anonymous but thank you ❤️

Hello! I know you're with Tech and all which is why I can't stress enough about asking you on a platonic date to watch pirates of the caribbean

- Anon

You're on. I'll bring my copy of the "Buccaneers of the Akkadese Maelstrom" trilogy and some fruit sushi and we'll make a night of it.

Cyare: Ah yes, the five love languages…

Cyare: *points at Crosshair* “Touch starved.”

Cyare: *points at Wrecker* “I love Stuff.”

Cyare: *points at Hunter* “I’m so fucking tired, please god let me rest for five minutes.”

Cyare: *points at Tech* “Hey pay attention to me.”

Cyare: *points at Crosshair* “My family never told me they loved me.”

Hunter:

Wrecker:

Tech:

Crosshair:

Crosshair: Wait why did I get two.

Something possessed me to make this

i drew this while reading the first book and was already loving it <3333

fallin' for ya

Crosshair x GN!reader

pre TBB, pre Echo :(

sum: you aren't watching where you're going and crash into a very handsome clone

wc: 1k

-✰-✰-✰-

You were rushing down the hall, quickly unclipping your datapad from your belt and checking the chrono on your vambrace. Three minutes. Three minutes to make it halfway across Tipoca city to the debrief room for some last minute meeting that you really shouldn't have to attend. After all, they were only armory stats, which you could send over in 2 seconds flat, but no. The commander insisted you be there. Just in case. 

You were so focused on checking the files you had just uploaded for the meeting that you failed to look up when rounding the corner past the hangar bay, leading you to slam hard into the side of a passerby. The victim of your distraction must have caught their leg on yours, because their weight quickly shifted forward. In a moment of uncharacteristic grace, you managed to swing your arms around to catch their weight, leaning heavily on your left leg, your datapad clattering to the floor.

And then you saw him. He seemed to be a clone, but not like any clone you’d seen before. His hair was a sleek silver, closely cropped, and his gaunt face was marked with a tattoo over his right eye. Your hands wrapped around a rather slender waist as the gravity of your positioning settled in. Whoever this unfortunate clone is, you just dipped him in the middle of the hall; your cheeks started to heat up. At least, you noticed, he had grappled onto you also. One hand gripped at your shoulder, right at the junction of your neck, his thumb grazing your collarbone over your GAR issued uniform, while the other dangled a large rifle just brushing your calf.

But what you really noticed was his eyes. Their chestnut color shone with surprise at the vulnerable tilt he had just been swung into. You vaguely registered his squad standing in your periphery, and, after what felt like minutes but couldn't have been more than a few seconds, pulled him back into an upright position.

Gazing up at him, you also clocked that he was taller than the average clone. He was certainly taller than you, and standing rather close since your hands had yet to leave his waist. Your uniform felt quite tight on your skin. 

“You okay?” you questioned, trying to make some sort of recovery from that embarrassing display, while slowly drawing back your arms from around him. Hopefully he didn't catch the breathless tone of your voice. His shock seemed to have subsided some, and the previous gaping look he held morphed into something closer to a sneer. He opened his mouth to respond, when suddenly your vambrace crackled to life.

“Y/L/N!” You cringe at the tone. The commander was not happy.

“On my way, Sir,” You spare a final glance to the man before scooping up your datapad and skirting around him and the rest of his black and red-clad squad, retreating from the scene you no doubt created, not daring to look back. 

You made it to the durasteel doors without any more incidents, your eyes staying straight ahead to avoid any further collisions. Scanning your badge, you attempted to sneak into the meeting without much fuss. The commander’s bucket snapped to meet you from across the room, and you could feel his glower through the expressionless helm. Quietly sliding to the back of the room, you tried to keep your focus, but your mind kept slipping back to your altercation, the feeling of your hands circling his waist and the grip of his hand on your shoulder. Through the long meeting, your cheeks never quite lost their warmth.

xxx

Crosshair watched their hastily retreating form until they were out of sight before donning his best grimace and shifting to look at his brothers. All of them had barely contained glee at his misfortune. Hunter was obviously biting his cheek to hold in a laugh and maintain some decorum, but his eyes were gleaming with laughter. Tech had a small smirk, sparking a slight twist of fear in his stomach that that whole ordeal may have been recorded. Who was he kidding, Tech was always recording. He was ruined. 

Wrecker, however, did not show restraint, letting out a hearty laugh and clapping Crosshair on the back with a heavy hand. His scowl intensified as he shoved Wrecker’s arm from where it rested and began to stalk back to the barracks. He vaguely registered Hunter, hopefully asking Tech if he was recording, Tech’s short “obviously” sparking further laughter from the bunch he was leaving behind him.

After settling on his buck to begin the process of cleaning his rifle, his mind flickered back to you. The shock on your face, seemingly surprised that you caught him, the way your eyes raked appreciatively across his face, the way your arms settled snugly around him. He adjusted himself on the bunk, unsettled by how quickly you had invaded his thoughts. He added more grease to the rag as your features flashed through his mind. You had looked so pretty above him. That thought had him stopping in his tracks. A light blush settled across his cheekbones and he decided to tuck that mental image away for later, before returning to his work with a new sense of vigor.

After what must have been only a quarter hour, Crosshair heard the swishing sound of the door opening. He had since finished with the barrel and had moved on to inspect his scope when a name flew through the air. He turned his head slightly to see Tech leaning against the doorframe. Tech repeated the name when Cross didn’t respond, elaborating:

“Your hero,” snark dripping from his voice, “A Weapon Systems Repair Officer in the level 3 armory. In case you were wondering.”

“I wasn't,” he hissed, his mind turning the new knowledge over in his head.

“Checks have been completed and Hunter and Wrecker have left for the Mess.”

And then he was gone, leaving Cross alone with his rifle and his thoughts. Very softly, he tested your name out on his tongue. Maker, he was going to regret this.

Though, now that he was really looking at it, his scope did seem a bit off. Perhaps he needed to get it adjusted. Perhaps he knew a very pretty officer who could help him out.

The Bad Autistic Batch

I've had this in the back of my head for a while and finaly took the time to write it down. It's a mix of observtions and headcanons I guess? On how I feel like the 4 original members of the Bad Batch are all autistic af!

Tech

The obvious one. He said it himself, his brain doesn’t process thoughts and moments the way most people do.

He has a hard time identifying his feelings and therefore tends to push them away and rely on logic and rational thoughts, which always come easy and loud in his mind.

Very gifted, he’s too smart to care about social rules and never bothered to learn cues and small talk. He was created to solve problems, people shouldn’t expect anything else from him. He comes off as cold and obnoxious to most people, always speaks bluntly without thinking of the effect of his words on the person opposite him. Simply because it doesn’t occur naturally to him that some truth might need sugarcoating.

He’s a self-taught everything, with infinite curiosity and thirst for knowledge. He gets bored fast though and will skip from one subject to another as soon as he feels like he’s mastered it. He’ll get REALLY excited if you ask him questions about anything.

He doesn’t care about his looks, as long as it’s practical, he’s good with any outfits. Although, he’ll wear comfy clothes whenever he can. His hair is kept just long enough so that he can slick them back with gel and get them stuck with his goggles’ headband.

To self-sooth, he relies on his sound databank—he can listen to a record on a loop for hours—and mental games such as counting backward from 1 million with only prime numbers. Tapping on his datapad is probably also a sort of stimming.

Outside of his brothers, he has a hard time maintaining a relationship, may they be platonic or not. To start, he doesn’t really understand the concept of different types of relationships. He’s oblivious to most hints of interest and needs someone—Wrecker—to point it out. He’ll panic, be really awkward about it, overshare to hide his fluster…until he figures out what makes you tick and weaponizes it!

Crosshair

In case there were any doubt, he’s a neat freak. He NEEDS his stuff to be in the right place, as much as he needs routine and discipline to control his stress level. Even though his military training has taught him how to deal with the unexpected, he has a hard time dealing with change.

If given the choice, he’d only wear his blacks. The tightness of the fabric is comforting and he doesn’t have to think about assembling an outfit or whatever. He cuts his hair every week, the same exact way, from left to right, then the backside of his head.

He won’t eat new food unless his hunger is life threatening, not because of sensory issues but because his transit is a bigger drama queen than he is!

He’s the most emotionally immature of the squad and used to have the wildest mood swings. He became good at keeping a stern straight face once he realized people would use it as a way to arm him. He’s also the most stubborn: good luck trying to change his mind on anything.

On a general basis, he hates people. Especially the one that wants to touch him! The only person allowed to hug him is Wrecker, because there’s no stopping him anyway. He may go mute when overwhelmed, hence the number of fights he got himself into rather than have a talk. With time and around the right people, he might get better at dealing with his feelings, but for now it’s easier to just avoid people, since they’re the one causing said feelings.

Maintaining any sort of relationship is close to impossible outside of his brothers. It takes a very special person—like Echo—to get his affection and respect. Romantic feeling are out of his bucket list, he finds the concept of flirting ridiculous anyway. If you want to be with him, just say it! He’ll probably reject you, the man has some heavy attachment/abandonment issues to sort out first. Trust Omega to help with that, so maybe one day…

Wrecker

THE emotionally mature one of the squad! Feelings are always intense for him and he wears them on his face. He’ll cry for anything, but since he can break your spine with his bare hands, people usually don’t make fun of him out loud.

He has huge difficulties in learning practical stuff—he was the last to speak clearly and read—and won’t do anything good with verbal instructions if they go longer than 5 to 10 words. He’s good with his hands, though, and once Tech got him into the marvelous world of explosives, he became unstoppable. Even Tech will admit Wrecker is the expert in the matter.

Another thing he was quick to learn, thanks to his emotional awareness and Hunter’s help, was how to read people. If only to stop being played! It might also be the secret to their squad sticking together despite their differences and hot temper.

He’s very open about needing "autistic joy", such as eating his favorite snack, listening to a song on a loop and watching things blow up. It tends to make him look childish. His brothers are very protective over this and make sure nothing prevents Wrecker to enjoying his sweet nothings.

He loves to isolates for an hour or two, to watch his favorite holovids, but is otherwise very touchy feely. Hugs sooth him a lot when he’s stressed out. If he can’t get one, he’ll rely on singing his favorite tune or repeating a word in his head. He used to do it out loud when he was a kid but it drove his brothers mad so he internalized it.

He can handle a flirt, although he has a hard time catching a hint. It’s easier to notice someone’s interest on others than himself, probably because of his lack of self-esteem. He’d most likely be a very clingy partner.

Hunter

AKA the king of masking. He may look as close to normal as a defective clone can be, in control of himself, but take a step into his mind and you’ll be surprised.

First of all, he has HUGE sensory issues, no doubt worsened by his genetic enhancement. He has learned to tough it out and ignore the strong reaction some textures or smell or sounds causes him to experience. But they tend to turn into stress. He’s constantly devoured by anxiety and fear—of anything from touching that one thing that will overstimulate him so much he won’t be able to function, to making a bad call that cause one of his brother’s death—and there’s no amount of spinning his knife that can sooth it.

He relies on rules and discipline to get a sense of control, even though one might argue his sense of both those concepts is not exactly by the book. It tends to help with tuning down his emotions as well. Just like every sensory input is loud to him, his feeling can be deafening and mastering them was mandatory to become the squad leader.

It was with that in mind that he became an expert in social behaviors. Mostly unconsciously, he studied everyone around him to learn how to hold himself and how to read the room. Despite him being naturally introverted, you’ll often find him chatting with the various captains his squad was assigned to work with. Told you, he’s a king of masking.

On the rare occasions he failed to contain his emotions—bursts of anger on the battlefield aside—it came out loud and violent. Took Wrecker to squeeze him in his arms for Hunter to calm down.

One thing he couldn’t learn this way is flirting. He can’t do it for his life, despite being the receiver of numerous attempts from various species. Maybe it’s because of his sensory issues, but the idea of sex is of no appeal to him and he has never felt something strong enough to be called romantic love. That stuff is just not for him, he feels contempt with his brothers and Omega.

Oh, and the bandana is just an excuse for no easy hair routine. Give him one reason to get out of his armor and blacks, and he’ll slip into floppy clothes in a heartbeat.

Last but not least, all four of them have a STRONG sens of justice—although sometime missplaced—and prefers staying home rather than being anywhere else, wherever home may be.

Crosshair totally puts a toothpick in his mouth after he's done pounding his girl

I've spoken about this before, but please consider this: Crosshair never took it out to begin with, until...

He's pinned you down to his bunk, furiously pounding into you without a care in the world. Are both of you being too loud? Yes. Could anybody be overhearing you right now? Probably. Does Crosshair care? Of course not.

He lets out a grunt, breathing heavily through his nose, his teeth clenched together, threatening to snap the toothpick that's been in his mouth since before you two began. The only time he took it out was to kiss you, needy and hungrily, as always, before popping it back in as he told you, "I need you right now."

Crosshair tightening his grip on your hips, smirking when you cross your ankles over behind his back, pulling him close. "Loud and desperate, huh?" he smugly comments, his eyes squinting happily when you pout in response. "Let's tone it down a bit. Those sounds are for me, and me alone," Crosshair states, and with a heavy thrust, he slams his cock deep into you and holds it there.

One hand is placed beside your head, holding his weight as he bends forward, his face approaching yours. He only gives you a one worded order, his eyes flicking down to gesture exactly what he's on about. "Hold," Crosshair orders.

Lifting your head up slightly, you pick the toothpick from his lips, pressing it between your teeth, holding it just like he does. He grins at the sight whilst commenting, "it suits you," and before you can reply, he's began pounding into you again.

A firm hand wraps around your throat, leaving more than enough space for Crosshair to begin leaving his marks along your throat. Others still may be able to overhear you, but the hickeys covering your neck are a reminder to everybody that you're already taken for, and there are two things that Crosshair isn't usually one for sharing: his girl, and his toothpicks.