Shot Through The Heart (Crosshair x Reader)
A/N: Good soldiers follow orders. I hope this is to your liking, friend. Love me some Imperial Cross. 🖤 Not gonna lie, I thought of a few ideas for a Part 2 while I was writing this one, if that’s something y’all would be interested in for the future. ;)
Also: Y/F/N = Your First Name, Y/L/N = Your Last Name
Description: Crosshair x Fem!Reader, flirty fluff | Warnings: a single Star Wars swear, as a treat | Setting: post-season 1 (between seasons) | Word count: 1,527 | Gif credit: user kybacrystal
Comment/DM to be added to my new Bad Batch Tag List!
Imagine being an Imperial Cadet in weapons training, and catching the eye of your instructor
After watching the galaxy be torn apart by war for years, all you wanted was to keep the peace. Joining the Imperial Army seemed to be the best way to do that. There weren’t many ways for a woman to help the cause under the Grand Army of the Republic and their seemingly endless supply of clones, but the newly formed Empire was more than happy to receive recruits of all types.
Training with The Empire wasn’t as hard as you thought it’d be. Deciding to join the academy had been harder. For the most part, your instructors were stern and fair, but you weren’t sure how much of their propaganda you bought into. For the most part, you just kept your head down and did as your were told. You’d passed most of your training courses with flying colors, impressing several of your superiors. The routine and discipline required of the Imperial ranks suited you. The war brought chaos and pain on your home world; you craved stability and structure. Nothing settled your spirit quite like making a perfect shot on a practice target.
Today you would advance to the next level in your weapons training. You take a deep breath as you approach the range, trying to clear your mind.
“I heard we’re going to be under observation today. They’re bringing in a specialist to supervise us,” the cadet walking ahead of you says to his companion beside him.
“A specialist? Who do you think it is?” the other replies.
“I don’t know. As long as it’s not Tarkin, I don’t care who watches us,” he answers, lowering his voice, “He intimidates me.”
A specialist, you thought. It was only your third day on the range. They certainly didn’t believe in half-measures here. You follow the others into the room and fall into formation, steeling yourself for whoever would walk through the door.
Your instructor from the previous days appears a moment later, his head held high and chest puffed out as usual.
You stand at attention, saluting in-sync with your squad.
“Cadets,” he greets coolly, “Today your training will intensify.”
You keep your gaze straight ahead as he walks up the line of troops and continues his spiel.
“You will practice long-range combat, and you will be supervised by a professional,” he announced.
As if on cue, the trooper in question walks through the door. He was unlike the other stormtroopers you’d seen around the compound. Replacing the standard white plates was dark gray armor, several shades darker than your cadet fatigues. He carried a sniper rile over his shoulder, and a DC-17 pistol was holstered at his side. He remained silent as he walked slowly past you and your comrades, turning to stand just behind your instructor.
“Your skills will be tested, and Clone Commander Crosshair with judge you accordingly,” the lieutenant resumed, “If any among you displays accurate and efficient marksmanship during this challenge, they will be considered for advanced instruction.”
“A clone?” you think, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, “He must be something really special for the Empire to keep him around.”
“Retrieve your weapons and assume your positions.” the lieutenant ordered, motioning to the open weapons crate against the wall.
One by one you each grab your blaster rifles, and line up side by side in front of the range. You steady your rifle on the ledge in front of you, checking the scope and suring-up your footing while you waited for the simulation to begin. The extensive range had four levels, each one taller and further than the one before, the highest point being a tower at the very end of the arena. The training from the days prior had never spawned a target that far, but you assume today’s training is about to change that. As you peer through the sight and start to slow your breathing, the countdown chime begins.
Training droids shoot up from platforms in the floor, appearing at increasing distances down the long corridor.
You take aim at the red target on the chest of a droid the second level and pull the trigger. It falls to the ground, the bolt paralyzing its system. Blaster fire fills the room, but you try to drown out the sound, picking another droid on the third level and downing it just as quick. You aim at the one beside it, dropping it before the cadet beside you could. You move your sights up to the tower, but nothing has spawned.
“Come on,” you think, taking out two more droids on the first level, barely taking your focus off your desired prize.
You claim another two victims when you hear the cadet to your right exclaim, “Up there!”
His mistake. You direct your scope to the citadel once more and size up the lone droid. You breathe deep again, exhaling as the ‘x’ of your sight floats ever-so-slightly toward droid’s head, lining up for the shot.
“Kriff. Just...a little... more...” You hold the breath.
The bolt flies over the mechanical carnage, directly into the droid’s left eye. It falls from the tower and hits the floor below with a sharp crack the pierces through the surrounding blaster fire and echoes off the metallic walls.
Before you can even process your success, the few remaining droids begin powering down and the exercise ends. The sudden stillness makes the pounding of your heartbeat deafening. You stand upright and turn to face your superiors once more, and the expression on the lieutenant’s face indicates his satisfaction.
“Well Commander, I believe some of these cadets display potential. What say you?” he grins, turning to the trooper who was leaning against the wall.
“Perhaps,” he finally spoke, his voice lower than you expected it to be.
His face was still veiled by his helmet, but he seemed to be looking your direction.
The lieutenant nodded, “Indeed, some of you exhibited skill beyond the average. Skill that will serve The Empire well. We will continue with an advanced exercise after the Commander had reported his initial evaluation. Return your weapons and report back here in ten.”
You step forward with the others to comply, but you’re stopped by that very same commander.
“You," he calls out, pointing directly at you, “Stay.”
“Yes, sir," you reply, returning to your previous position, rifle still in your hand.
A wave of anticipation and anxiety grips you as you watch the rest of your squad pour out of the room, leaving you alone with the darkly-clad clone. Before you can look back, he’s already approaching, having left his rifle propped up on the wall.
You stand at attention as he slowly circles around you.
“You hit all of your targets,” he says, appraising your work, "And took out more droids than any of your fellow troopers.”
You keep your eyes fixed forward, trying not to feel cornered by his examination.
“Including the droid on the tower,” he added, sounding intrigued, “That’s quite a shot.”
You resist the urge to smile at your success. “Yes, sir.”
“Impressive,” he states, coming to a stop right in front of you. He removes his helmet, and your eyes dart up quickly to see him staring down on you, “At ease, cadet.”
You hear the order, but you can hardly relax with him standing so close.
“Glad you’re impressed, Commander,” you reply, remembering your pride and reclaiming some confidence.
He was still staring, and you could swear you saw him smirk.
“What’s your name, cadet?”
“Cadet Y/F/N Y/L/N.” You finally look up to meet his gaze. The tattoo around his eye immediately catches your attention.
“Where are you from, Y/F/N?”
He blinks in response, still analyzing your every move. “And why did you decide to fight for The Empire?”
You pause to consider the rather personal question, but you already know the answer.
“I want to be able to protect the people I care about. The Empire has finally given me the chance to do that,” you say, convicted of every word, “That’s why I want to fight, sir.”
He weighs your answer. Something shifted in his dark, calculating eyes, and disappeared in a flash.
“So formal,” he scoffed, his sudden amusement catching you off guard once again, “If you’re going to train with me, you’re going to have to stop calling me that.”
The blaster fire still had your ears ringing; surely you didn’t hear him right. “Sir?”
He raises an eyebrow in scrutiny.
“Sorry,” you say, “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Someone with your skill shouldn’t be wasted in the talentless ranks,” he says, taking another step closer, “I want you for my squad.”
“I...don’t know what to say. I’m honored,” you hesitate, unsure how to address him.
“Crosshair,” he puts the name in your mouth, clearly sensing your unease.
“Crosshair,” you repeat, bearing a smile.
He produces a toothpick from his belt and places it between his teeth.
“That’s better,” he smirks, lifting up the rifle in your grip, “Now, let’s see just how good you are.”
