Summary: It's depressing, how dedicated you are to a man you believe doesn't love you. But does he believe the same thing?

Warnings: reader insecure about themselves, crying, sex for comfort, mentions of reader having longer hair (apologies), oral (f!receiving), SUGGESTIVE CONTENT, fluffy

A/n: I'm very sorry for this, I really got into my feels for this one.

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You smoothed your black dress over your curves. It was a cold night, and you weren't aiming to look entirely nice in the blaring lights of 79's. You slipped on a maroon turtleneck, avoiding the clean cloth touching your face that was stained with black mascara. Crying had really took it out of you, but what did you find the outcome to be?

You let your hair down, running your hands through the locks. You tapped a tear that ran down your cheek, avoiding smearing any more of your mascara.

Maker, you looked terrible. What would Crosshair say? Well, whatever your guess would be, you would find out soon. He'd never seen you this disheveled, but you weren't gonna waste precious time cleaning up your face when mascara would be running later that night anyways.

You ran back to him everyday, looking for the same exact thing, the only thing that convinced you that you were good enough for somebody. He praised you cause he thought you were into it sexually, and yes you were, but it filled your heart when he made the comments he was convinced were harmless. Those are what kept you coming back to him. He unknowingly kept your person tied to his belt with a leash.

He would never love you, you knew it every time he left you cold in your bed, retreating to meet up with his crew before they started to question his disappearance. Why would someone so skilled, so handsome, so special love someone that was rough, ugly, so useless.

You were his, undeclared, but there was nothing you could do to forget that. To tear yourself away from someone who so absentmindedly kept your head slightly higher than it used to be. You had grown to love him. You couldn't help loving him, as much as he walked away, when he called you pretty, when he called you his in the heat of the moment, you couldn't help but belong to him.

Your apartment wasn't far, maybe 2 blocks from where 79's was as you walked quickly. Combat boots you had slipped on clapped against the concrete of Coruscant's underworld.

Crosshair wouldn't care to see your mascara smeared, would he? If you tried to take him home like you tried every night he was on shore leave, would he push you away? Maybe he'd be too drunk to notice.

Walking through the doors, you spotted him immediately, by his lonesome. And his eyes met your in a hot second, the thought of him waiting for you to walk through the door wrung your heart out like a washcloth. It fed into that hope that maybe he loved you just as much.

You walked toward him, and he just stood there and waited, eyes trained on you with a permanent scowl. His mood seemed to shift as you came into the colored lights that flashed here and there. You face came into clear view and his fingers tightened against the curves of the glass.

"You've been crying," he spoke first, voice silky and spread like butter through the air.

You clenched your jaw and looked away for a moment. You felt embarrassed under his watchful eye, this always made you feel embarrassed, feeling like you needed him to breath was humiliting.

You looked at his neck, half exposed, the lower half covered by his blacks. Eye contact was the last thing you wanted to make right now. He knew you were avoiding it. He always knew.

"Can I- Can I please just take you home?" you asked, voice sharply cracking. You hadn't spoken since you started crying, the only noises were broken sobs. If he didn't have all the clues before, he certainly did now.

Crosshair placed his half-full drink on an empty booth table, taking your face into both of his hands. You were forced to look at him in this position, and you wished he'd just let you keep your head down. He looked disappointed, you knew this was a horrible idea. Coming here and seeing him when you looked a wreck.

"What happened, tell me why you're crying."

"That's not important-"

Crosshair's index and middle fingers pressed down slightly on your jaw involuntarily, expressing his increasingly tense attitude, "It is very important."

Your eyes began to sting with tears, making you bite your lip while he glared down at you with fierce eyes. You could tell him, but what if he thought you were using him? What if he thought that you only came to him because he made you feel good? What if he didn't understand that you were so in love with him it hurt?

"I just.. I wasn't feeling good tonight. I- I missed you Crosshair, can we just go home?" you asked, trying to avoid his pursing lips and the way he looked like he was about to snap at you. Home. Would he respond to that? Would he understand where you wanted to go? Your home was his home, you'd said that one night, drunk off your mind. He never responded, not a word. Maybe in his anger he would understand, maybe he would yell at you and express that he wasn't going home. Maybe he'd call it home then.

But he never did snap, he never yelled, he just slipped his hands down to grab both of yours and pulled you with him. He lead the way to your apartment, pushing through drunken citizens of Coruscant and arguments. He moved to having you caged in his arms, his chest pressed to your back as you walked through the Underworld.

The streets were colder than they had been moments before, but you didn't even care, you and Crosshair walked with long strides as you both made your way to the same place you had every night.

You began unlocking the door, and against what usually happened, his hands stayed to himself. He only hovered behind you, the shadow of his lean figure darkening your sight. Maybe he wanted what you wanted tonight, but he didn't express it. Why did this all feel so different. This wasn't how the night was supposed to go.

The moment your door opened, he neared your back and encouraged you inside. You quickly shuffled, him shutting the door behind you two before snatching at your wrist and pulling your turtleneck over your head. It was thrown to the hardwood floor with a smack before hid hands were on you.

Turning you around, his other hand came to your face in a gesture that melted your heart. It was always clinking teeth together and sloppy kissing in your hallway, never him holding your face like you'd leave. His hands usually gripped and kneaded at your waist, never touched you like you'd break in half.

His lips pressed to yours in a fervent kiss, your blood running cold. This was different, this was so much different. Had you picked up the wrong man at 79's? Nobody else looked like him, but Crosshair didn't touch you like this. He didn't kiss you like this. Crosshair kissed you like he was one push away from eating you alive. The man holding you kissed you like you were a glass statue of his deceased lover.

You pulled away, no saliva covering your lips like it usually did and your stomach boiled for a different reason.

"Crosshair, what's wrong?"

He grunted, hands releasing you as they moved to wrap around your waist and pull you flush to his chest, "Why don't you answer that first, Doll?"

His lips glided against your neck, pressing soft kisses along the hollow of it.

"I.." he stopped when you begun to speak, waiting for the explanation he deserved. Were you really ready to admit it? Yes, you were. Even if it meant losing him forever, you were ready to admit it.

"I want you to want me."

He was silent for a moment before laughing quietly. Laughing was something he didn't do a whole lot with you. But his genuine laugh broke out, and it made you wanna melt into a puddle on the floor.

His right hand rubbed up and down the dip in your back where your spine trailed, "I do want you, Doll. I wouldn't be here if I didn't want you."

"No.. no, I don't mean that, I mean.."

He breathed in the scent of your skin, pressing a fluffy kiss to your shoulder. You reached up to hold his shoulders, grasping at him equally as tight as he was holding you.

"I want you to love me."

It seemed like the hallways had started pushing at you, growing tighter and tighter till it felt like you'd suffocate in the arms of the soldier. He was still, the only thing keeping you from believing he wasn't dead was his breath beating against your bare skin.

Then his chest vibrated, his stomach started twitching and you felt his breath start fanning in patterns. He was laughing. That asshole was laughing at you once again. You felt a tear start to fall down your cheek, leaving a trail of faded gray in it's wake.

You felt humiliated, absolutely stupid. Of course he would laugh, what else did you think he would do? You were stupid for thinking he could ever love you.

The hold you had on his shoulders started loosening as your heart broke more and more. This was stupid.

Crosshair pulled away from you, still holding your waist with a loose grip. He had a light smile on his face, he thought this was genuinely funny.

"Maker above all, you are too cute," he whispered, swiping your tear away, "Let me show you something."

He didn't allow you to grant him permission as he dragged you by your arm, whisking you away towards your bedroom. Your heart still felt swollen and you would've been out of the mood if it was anyone else treating you like he was. But it was Crosshair, and you would've done anything for him.

He laid you down on the bed with a practiced softness to his touch. He was never like this. This wasn't Crosshair. Had you truly messed up who you took home? No, because nobody in the universe sounded like him, nobody would ever.

He rolled up the lower half of your dress, letting it bunch up across your stomach. You never bothered with panties when your knew he was taking you home, so he was met with your wetness immediately, legs opened for him just how he liked. Your hole glistened with slick, encouraging him to eat you up. And he wanted to.

As he sunk down onto his stomach, moving your thighs to rest against his shoulder with ease, he stared up at you.

"My pretty Doll, you don't know a lot, do you?" he asked, nipping at your thighs, licking the spots where his teeth grazed.

You pet your hands through his grey hair, soft under your fingers, so soft. He was so precious today, so sweet and gentle. What happened?

"Other women, they've been trying what you do lately. Coming up to me, making a bold statement," he bragged.

It made you jealous, hurt. Your stomach clenched, a whine escaping you as his tongue flicked at your bud teasingly. You looked down at to see his watchful eyes still on yours. He was pretty between your legs. Other nights, he was handsome or sexy. Tonight he was just so pretty.

"I've never taken any of them home," he added, licking up your wet slit, lips coming to wrap around your clit and a suck a moan out of you. He hummed in happiness to the noise, continuing to lick at you with a skillful tongue.

You tilted your head back, upset you couldn't see him. But how slow your brain processed his works forced you to take a break from looking at him. Crosshair hasn't been with anyone since you..

You whine, rolling your hips against his face, connecting eyes again, his shining with delight, "Wh- What does that mean.. why?"

He drank you like you were his favorite glass of alcohol. Like you were that cup he left behind to be picked up and dumped by a server droid. Like every glass he'd ever left behind to take you home.

"It means that I do love you," he muttered into your folds.

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