friday night fire fight - oneshots

crosshair (nsfw)

happenings at the tipsy tooka
crosshair x f!reader
6.3k

summary : as a singer at an underground cantina in the lower levels of coruscant, you see sketchy figures come and go. however, it seems that one has been sticking around longer than the others.

warnings : drinking, unwanted male advances, attempted assault, gun violence, smut, oral (f receiving), exhibitionism, semi-public sex, cum play, running away together, strangers to lovers

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You saw them all.

You saw the good guys, the ones that subtly slipped you charming smirks across the room and only followed your sways and movements with their dagger-like eyes when they believed you were no longer looking. They were the ones that stayed after hours and politely asked you for your holocode so that they may take you out sometime; each time that you declined, they said that was fine, to have a good night. But they always came back, they always pushed again and again, and the golden facade they had once wore in the beginning ground away into something you no longer were able to tolerate.

You saw the rougher guys, the fellows that whistled when you turned or batted your eyes against the blinding lights bathing you in fluorescent beams. Those were the ones that did not push, rather than shove, in the way that they bought you drinks and asked the bartender when you got off and attempted to charm you into some half-filthy set of sheets that you would most likely be booted from come the next morning.

And, of course, you saw the worse men. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, given your sketchy and disreputable surroundings, they were the ones that had been convinced somewhere in their lives you were only there to serve and fulfill their drunken desires. They dared to push the limits and tried to touch you on and off of your stage, pour dissolving agents in your drinks suspecting the waitresses and tenders would be on their side, even went as far as to try to follow you out and tail you back to your apartment in Happyland just past the cantina's territory in Slum District G17.

You had seen them all, and yet there was something about the man sitting in the far corner that failed to fit into any of the pre-assigned categories of your regulars - and not-so-regulars.

It was a usually packed night when you first saw him, sitting by his lonesome in the backmost booth secluded in the darkest nook of the cantina. From your spot on the stage, swarmed by men of all races and species that practically drooled over your shimmersilk dress and plush lips as they rode out the lyrics of your song, you were able to see every face that stared back at you. There were the single males, of course, cruising girls at the bar or watching your every movement; then there were the gaggles of women, a few of which also cast you longing glances; the couples, the drug dealers, the souls who simply came to have a drink and listen to the tunes... they all slipped under your radar, invisible to your trained eye that skillfully swept across the bar.

But he did not. You had never seen him before, never even once around in the back alleys or on your days off when you came for the free drinks and chats with your favorite bartenders. You were unable to make out too many distinguishable features from your spot on the stage, the glitter stuck in the corners of your eyes shining like the stars far above your head, but you could see the most defining aspects of the stranger. He was thin and wiry, a short bristle of stark white hair atop his head. At his feet beneath the table, he shielded a long, dark case with his ankles, nudging it further beneath the booth when he seemed to think anyone traveled too close to his little alcove. He held a round glass of amber liquid between his fingers on the table like it would escape should he let it go for even a moment.