Star Wars Imagines

Just Love Me - Crosshair (Smut)

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.

•–•

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.