I Thought Good Soldiers Follow Orders

I'd also like to add that he's also a sexy skeleton man.

skulduggery pleasant really is the character of all time. he's a sentient skeleton. he based his entire aesthetic off of a noir detective. he's magic. he's an insane little freak. he's sarcastic. he wears a hat and a trench coat wherever he goes. he's violent and unhinged at all times but in the very same breath he treats his enemies with honor and respect. I want to study him like a bug

Hunter's 5'11", Crosshair and Tech are 6'4", Echo is 6'1" and Wrecker is 6'6"

Hunter: I hate you with every inch of my body

Crosshair: …not many inches…

Despite everything.

Hunter: Well, how was that??

Crosshair: How was what?

Hunter: I did the eye contact thing so he knew I was listening to him

Tech: Oh, that’s-

Echo: Did you actually hear anything he said?

Hunter: …

Hunter: I did not.

Everyone: …

Hunter: But I now know how uncomfortable his eyes feel on my eyes!

Wrecker: *patting him on the back* Nice job, Sarge!

Echo: No…

Crosshair: No.

I Want More, More

Crosshair x Reader Oneshot

WOW, I broke 20 followers! Thank you, thank you for reading my little fics, it means the world! Have a Crosshair battling with his feelings oneshot!

Word Count: 4605

Summary: Crosshair is made aware that he has not been treating you like he should. He has a crisis about it before talking to you like an adult, kind of.

Warnings: Here there be smut, minors begone, Crosshair struggling with his feelings is its own warning, Crosshair is a dick until he's not, he's a moron your honor, slightly desperate Crosshair, rough sex into talking into gentle sex into rough sex again, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), p in v sex, language, some derogatory pet names, talking during sex, reader is afab, there's porn here I promise, you just have to get through Crosshair's angst

This wasn’t fucking working.

Crosshair was near madness, and he was sure you were reaching a point where you needed a break. You’d never let him fuck your mouth for this long before. But there you were, topless, tears streaming down your face, knees probably scuffed or even bleeding from the durasteel floor, nevermind that you still had your pants on. And yet you pushed through, voicing not a word of complaint as you gagged on his persistent cock.

And he wasn’t anywhere close to finishing.

You should be complaining, he decided. What had it been? Thirty minutes? Fifty? Crosshair couldn’t keep track of anything except his own frustration, and that was making him a terrible lay. And if there’s one thing he would be loath to be terrible at, it was sex.

His cock throbbed, his balls ached, and you kept moaning. He growled.

Sooner or later, you’re going to hurt her. She’s going to get tired of this, and she’s going to leave. Hunter’s words from earlier in the week creeped back into his mind, and any hope of salvaging this situation dissipated into thin air.

Crosshair abruptly pulled you off his length and backed away, tugging his pants up as he went. Still you knelt, breathing heavily, awaiting what he’d do next. It was the arrangement you’d both worked out months ago. You allowed yourself to be used as he saw fit, and he made sure you left satisfied and ready for dreamless sleep. No feelings, no complications. It had worked well for a long time. But he looked at you then, your face a mess, your curled legs trembling, and for the first time, he couldn’t stand the sight.

She deserves someone who cares deeply about her, Echo’s voice, well, echoed in his head, as unbidden as Hunter’s had been. His nosy brothers had held an intervention of sorts a few days ago while you were out getting supplies. It had started with Tech’s “We want to know what you are doing with our medic,” gone through Wrecker’s “You know she likes you, right? Like, a lot,” and ended with a long speech from Hunter about how “One day Crosshair, you’re going to wake up and realize that she’s moved on. For some reason, she really cares for you. And you’re treating her like a meaningless one night stand, except you keep doing it over, and over and-”

It was stupid. You both liked what you were doing. You were both consenting adults with the power to walk away at any time. You were both happy and fulfilled with that. It was enough.

Except for the past few days, it hadn’t been.

Crosshair began to really notice certain things since the talk with his brothers. Like how you always met him with a cheery good morning, and how you didn’t expect an answer in return. How you’d sit next to him while he cleaned his rifle, content to do all the talking if he just listened. How you always ran over after a close call on missions, frantic about his safety and never expecting him to inquire about your wellbeing, even if you were covered in soot and limping away from an explosion. 

He realized you were giving more, much more to your…friendship, than he was. And that didn’t sit well with him. Your relationship was supposed to be transactional, and here you were, giving him attention and assistance and contact without expecting one damn solitary thing in return. Always giving, never receiving, and he…

He was a fucking prick. 

Horrible, awful scenarios started coming to mind after that. For two days, he thought about what would happen if you got transferred, or completed your service and left, or, stars-forbid, got shot. A concept he’d never considered before. You were always there, always constant as Tech’s pointing finger and Echo’s whirring attachments.

The idea of you leaving him - and he was completely arrogant for never seriously entertaining the thought - was frightening. And Crosshair didn’t do frightened.

The worst part? While he was drowning in inner turmoil due to his asshole brothers and your own damn sweetness, you were waltzing around, perfectly fine. You had never given any outward indication that you wanted something real from him, something more than a smokescreen of orgasms and sharp banter. Now that he knew how much you cared, now that he’d heard that you liked him no matter how hard you tried to hide it, he couldn’t let it go.

You’d been contenting yourself with his hands on your body and his lackluster personality for months, when, according to his brothers, you’d really wanted something deeper. Did you think he would reject you, or that he wasn’t capable of anything more to begin with? Both possibilities stung, a lot deeper than he’d ever supposed they would. Especially as he realized that neither of them were unreasonable of you to assume. Suddenly, he was furious.

That’s how he ended up with his cock down your throat in the back of the Marauder, while everyone else was out on the town. Not in his bed, never in his bed. That was one of the rules he’d made, to stop things from getting too intimate. Instead he’d had you kneel, and you’d done it with a wry smile and no questions. He’d planned to fuck these thoughts out of his head, but as it turns out, his brain was thinking the fuck out of his dick, so to speak. 

So instead, he leaned against the wall, gazing at you. You still kneeled, still waited patiently while he’d stared for who knows how long. 

You deserved better. 

The thought was pounding against his skull, incessant and refusing to leave. And Crosshair knew there were only two ways to resolve it. He could walk away, wish you well, and hope that you found someone who could give you a true relationship, no matter what it might cost him.

Or…he could try to be worthy of you.

The first option entailed less risk, and was definitely more his style. He couldn’t be bad at a relationship if he never tried to give you one. But the thought of someone else seeing you like this, or worse, someone else seeing you in ways he hadn’t yet…on a beach, walking down a colorful city street, riding a speeder bike, in the snow…

He stood abruptly and crossed over to your languishing form. He had you in his arms in less than a second, and had you laying on his bunk in less than five more. 

“Cross, wha-?” you protested. You knew the rules, knew his boundaries, and tried to sit up and leave. 

He grasped your shoulders and gently pushed you back, “Please.” Was all he said, whispered and hoarse. He worried at his lip without realizing it. Your eyes widened, and you let him lean you back on his pillows. He fidgeted with them, trying to make them fluffier than the GAR issued sacks of foam they really were, and you quirked a brow.

“You fucking with me, Cross?” you asked, and he could tell you were putting real effort into keeping the trepidation out of your voice. “Because this is a real weird joke.”

Okay, he deserved that one. But his words were stuck somewhere between his brain and his mouth. How was he supposed to know how to tell a woman he liked her anyway? If the Kaminoans included a class on charm somewhere in their training programs, he definitely didn’t get an invite.

Maybe you would be better off with someone who didn’t spend their days getting up close and personal with other people through a fucking scope. 

But all this staring was starting to freak you out. You were sitting awkwardly, legs open, tits out, under his genetically superior gaze. Crosshair didn’t know what kind of face he’d been making, but it clearly wasn’t one you were used to. You crossed your arms over your chest and turned your head to the side, away from him.

“Are we done?” You ground out through a set jaw, a slightly trembling lip. “Is this…ahem…is this over? Because you could just tell me, you don’t have to try and make it easier. I can just go back to my bunk and…and…”

He caught the sheen in your eyes, the catch in your throat. Fuck. Fuck.

“I-I want you…” stars, he can’t even talk. Damn you. Damn him. He cleared his throat. “I. want. you. to stay… there.”

Well, it sounded like it was being tortured out of him, but at least it got your attention. You turned back to look at his face, “You want me to stay here.” You said evenly, jerking your head towards his shabby pillows. “In your bed. Where I’m never, ever supposed to be.”

He swallowed, mouth dry as hell, and nodded. You were so much better at this, so much stronger than he was. He couldn’t do anything but spill his guts in what was probably the least romantic way possible. 

So he did, “I want to try…something else.”

Your lips parted just a fraction, and something seemed to click behind your eyes. But you were tough, tougher than he ever gave you credit for, and you never gave him any ground. Oh you were gentle about it, cool satin to his rough burlap. He suspected it was the healer in you. But you always demanded communication from him, demanded that he explain his behavior, even if it took him a while.

“Something else,” the hitch in your voice had disappeared. “You’re going to have to explain that one to me, babe. You know I’ll try something new, and we have a safe word, but this violates your rules, and I don’t know how to act now. I don’t know what’s okay.”

Babe. It slipped out of your mouth every so often, usually in a teasing lilt over comms during a battle. He didn’t know if he loved it or hated it, but it always brought a sudden heat to his face. He felt the tips of his ears burning.

“I…” c’mon, bastard. You can get this out, you have to get this out. She’s waiting. “I want… toforgettherules.”

“I’m sorry? One more time?”

Brat. In any other circumstance, he’d have you over his knee for something like that. But he took a deep breath, like the ones he’d take before making an impossible shot. And maybe that’s what this was, “I want to forget the rules.”

Your eyes alighted with something like hope, “Why?”

Yes Crosshair, you stupid prick, tell the lady why. He needed to get his head examined. He was talking to himself more than usual. And now he’d started to sound like Hunter.

“Because,” he ground out, teeth clenched. “You deserve…better…than what I’ve been giving you. But I…I don’t want anyone else to deserve you.”

You sat with that for just a moment. And then you brought a hand up to your mouth and giggled. It was such a happy sound, he was almost completely unoffended. 

“You like me,” you murmured, eyes full of mirth and pure, honest delight.

He let out a shaky breath. It was almost a chuckle, “I like you. You’re a little shit, and you give me a heart attack half the time. But I like you.”

“And… I’m allowed to like you back?” This question was tentative, small. Not how he wanted to see you. You should be bright, confident, unafraid to show your brilliance. A fierceness crept into his heart.

“You get to like whatever you damn well please,” he growled, then softened slightly. “But…it would be nice if you liked me.”

You hummed, and dropped the arms covering your gorgeous breasts to cup his face in both hands. Your fingers moved in his cropped strands of hair, but he resisted the urge to close his eyes at the peace it brought him. 

“I like you, more than I ever thought you’d want me to,” you almost-whispered. Then you grinned that same grin you got when Wrecker offered to let you press a detonator. “But if you want in on this, babe, if you want some kind of commitment, I’ve got some rules of my own.”

Strangely, the thought didn’t concern him nearly as badly as it had a day ago. He didn’t know shit about real relationships. He wanted you, and if you gave him some kind of guide to go off of, well, at least there was less of a chance of him fucking it up. 

Crosshair nodded, and your smile grew wider, joy sparkling in your eyes.

“First of all,” you began. “You have to say good morning and good night to me. You also have to hold my hand every so often, and let me kiss your cheek. I promise not to embarrass you…too much.”

He huffed a little, but conceded, “Agreed. Anything else?”

“Oh this is an ongoing list. There will be amendments,” you chirped happily. “I require actual conversation daily, and I get to sleep next to you after we fuck.”

“What do you take me for? Of course you get to-”

“No getting jealous of my guy friends, including your brothers. Like when I give them hugs or candies or-.”

“The regs absolutely cannot be trusted-”

“Ha! I knew you’d be a jealous boyfriend. Oh yeah! And I get to introduce you as my boyfriend from now on.”

Crosshair’s mild disgust must have shown on his face, because you laughed outright, “What about partner? Lover? Fuckbuddy?”

He rolled his eyes, “I’ll make ‘boyfriend’ work. Can I kiss you now or does the princess have more proclamations?”

That shut you up. Despite all the other parts of him you’d had in your mouth, one of his rules had been no kissing on the lips. Your eyes glazed over, and he smirked and leaned forward.

Your lips were so soft, plush and sorely neglected. A vague sense of regret and longing overtook him. How the hell had he managed to avoid kissing you until now? It didn’t really matter. He decided, as you let out a little hum of surprise, that it was about to become his new ritual. Every morning, every night, every time he could drag you into a private little alcove, he’d do it, just to get a chance to press his lips to yours.

He pushed forward, his tongue licking at the line of your lips, and you whined. His cock pulsed, and he began steadily rocking it against your clothed thigh. You opened your mouth eagerly and he dove in. Oh this was divine.

“Never thought,” he mumbled into your mouth. “Never thought it’d be like this.”

“Like…what?” you gasped.

“This…this fucking… brilliant. Stars, your mouth…”

You groaned, and he moved to sweep his deft tongue along your jaw, up to your ear. He bit at your earlobe, and your hips began doing some involuntary rocking of their own. Crosshair growled in your ear, satisfied when you shivered.

He stopped though, when he felt your stealthy hand cup his balls through his pants, “No,” he rasped, taking your wrist in hand and bringing the misbehaving appendage up to nip at your squirming fingers. “I told you, doll. I want… to try… something else.”

“Letting me call the shots would be something else,” you whined, still wiggling in his grasp.

He shook his head, “Not tonight,” he said, sounding out of breath. “Tonight, you just lay there. Look pretty. Look fucking gorgeous because that’s what you are, and keep making little noises for me.”

You whimpered at that, and he smirked. But it wasn’t his usual cocky, infuriating twist of the lips. This was an adorable half smile, part disbelieving, part alive with anticipation. 

Your pants were hastily removed, and while your shoes caused a bit of an obstacle, Crosshair simply wrenched them off and tossed them over his shoulder. One landed with a thump on the durasteel floor - a place he swore you would never be kneeling unprotected again. He was pretty sure the other ended up in Tech’s bunk. 

Crosshair traced his hands down your legs and slowly, ever so slowly pulled your knees further apart. You were pressed back against the pillows, open and waiting for him, and his heart rose to a furious din in his ears. He was almost positive you could hear it. 

He was seized with another fit of insecurity. How was he supposed to know how to cater to you like this? He knew how to grasp your throat just hard enough that your eyes would roll back into your head. He knew how you liked to be tied down and spanked. This wasn’t even the first time he had held your legs apart and let you squirm under his attention. But tenderness… communicating one’s feelings with one’s body… he didn’t even know how to begin. 

His eyes flicked to your face, flushed with shyness and lust. Your kind, welcoming eyes, more open in every breath than he was in his entire lifetime. You bit your lip.

You have to try to be worthy of her, he thought to himself. And he turned his attention to your pussy.

Still clothed in your thin, basic panties, the solid color was stained dark with your wetness. Crosshair cursed, and slowly descended between your legs.

First, he kissed your knees, not bleeding but definitely scraped, and the gentle touch of his lips had you sighing. You’d never made that sound before, that exhale of pure contentment. He wanted more of it. 

You flinched and squirmed as he ran his tongue down your inner thigh, but he held you fast. You weren’t getting away from him. Not now, not when he was finally ready to really try. 

Crosshair knew where you wanted him. You weren’t exactly subtle with the canting of your hips and the nervous fluttering of your fingers over the sheets. Your breaths were coming in short bursts of want. Stars, how were you this sensitive already? He’d seen you in a state of pre-orgasmic distress plenty of times, had made you beg for him past the point where you could speak in coherent sentences, but never had he seen such simple, sweet touches electrify you in this way.

Instead of lowering his mouth to your pussy, though, Crosshair moved to lick and nip at your hip bone. You squealed and moaned, and he decided he’d never heard such an addicting sound.

He brought his tongue across your belly, snapping the waistband of your panties with his teeth before teasing your other hip. Your whimpering was a constant symphony in his dark bunk. He pulled back and chanced a peek at your face. Your eyes were shining with yearning. You had one hand in your hair. He reached up, tugged your abused lip from between your teeth, worried that you’d draw blood, and glanced back down.

The wet spot on your panties had grown, and finally, with a lighter touch than he’d ever directed towards you, Crosshair ran a knuckle up and down your clothed center. You keened, and threw your head back on his feeble pillows, which had flattened almost completely under you. 

I need to get new ones, he thought absently as he tugged your panties to the side, exposing your dripping core. She deserves to be fucked on real pillows. 

He lowered his head, and you were both gone. 

Crosshair had tasted you before, often as a tease while you were tied up and helpless. But not often, and not thoroughly. He usually enjoyed watching your face while taking you apart with his fingers, snarling demeaning pet names into your ear. But this…this was transcendent. You tasted like home, like he could live his entire life and die between your legs. He drank from you slowly, meticulously, lapping at your entrance and circling your clit before closing his lips around it and lightly sucking. Your legs were trembling within minutes. Every few seconds, garbled, meaningless sounds escaped from your throat and spurred him on. He gently, reverently pushed a finger into your hot center, caressing the spot you both loved. You seized up…, and let go.

He rocked you lovingly through your orgasm, fingering you slightly and keeping his mouth clamped around your clit. Your pussy spasmed, your hips jerked, and your mouth opened in a silent scream. 

But he didn’t stop. 

Crosshair began again, stroking your throbbing clit with his tongue, refusing to allow the fire in your abdomen to subside. Now that he’d really tasted you, now that he’d felt you fall apart on his lips, his only goal was to make it happen again.

“C-cross!” you yelled, hand flying down to his hair. You tugged hard, and he groaned.

“More,” he mumbled into your cunt. His fingers pressed at that tender spot inside you, and your head flew back. You shrieked and writhed on his bed, dripping onto the sheets. 

You were moaning with every breath, tensing your legs and frantically thrusting your hips towards his waiting mouth. Your toes curled repeatedly in the corners of his vision. Your pussy was red and swollen, your slick arousal running down his hand and wrist. 

Crosshair curled his fingers inside of you and allowed his teeth to gently catch against your begging clit, and your second orgasm hit like a lightning strike. You seized up, screaming your release to the ceiling of his bunk. He gently lapped at your clit as you came down, your yells turning to sobs. Tears spilled down your face and onto your chest. You reached for him, and he encircled your shaking body with his arms.

“Shhhhh,” he hushed into your hair. “You’re alright…you’re alright…I…I’ve got you, mesh’la.”

You pulled back, tears tracking your cheeks as you stared into his eyes, “Y-you’ve never called me that before.”

Crosshair knew you understood the word. Echo called you mesh’la on occasion, Wrecker too. “I felt left out,” he said. “I should get to remind you of how beautiful you are more than anyone else.”

You sniffed, and threw your arms around him, “You’re beautiful too,” he heard you mumble, and his heart swelled. “But…”

“But what, doll?”

Your voice took on a fierce, desperate tone, “If you don’t get inside me right now, we’re going to have our first fight.” 

Crosshair was stunned, but only for a moment. This was why he lo…liked you in the first place. 

He took on the domineering tone he usually had with you in these situations, “Demanding girls don’t get what they want.”

But you just grinned, and lifted your chin, “Girlfriend privilege.”

He threw his head back and laughed. What had he gotten himself into? 

He couldn’t wait to find out.

“Just this once, mesh’la.”

You practically went limp in his arms as his straining, red cock breached your entrance. He stilled for just a moment, relishing in the feeling of being inside you. When you looked up at him, eyes shining with something he dare not name, not yet, he felt complete.

Crosshair grabbed hold of your hair and yanked, and you squealed from the pull of his hand and the push of his cock. This much he was sure of: he knew how you liked to be fucked, and he didn’t have it in him to be gentle any longer. And though he wouldn’t last as long as he’d like, no one could accuse him of not being a giving lover.

“Just like that, good girl,” he growled. You whined and writhed, impaled on his cock and unable to even think. “You just lay back, and come for me one more time.”

“Cross…I-I can’t.”

“You can,” he assured you, and his thumb went down to ever so gently move on your clit. “You’ve done it for me before, and you’re going to do it for me again. Scream, bite me if you have to, but you are going to give me one more.”

You wailed, hips thrusting up, frantically trying to match his rhythm. Crosshair released your hair to grab your throat. He leaned in, a hair's breadth away from your ear, and whispered, “That’s it, that’s my good girl.”

You tensed, and he grinned, “You like that? You like knowing you’re mine? That this mouth, these tits, this pussy all belong to me?” He started moving faster, keeping that pressure on your throbbing clit. He bit at your ear, “But remember, mesh’la, just because you’re my girl doesn’t mean I won’t fuck you like the slut we both know you are.”

That did it. Your cunt clenched around him, and you let out an ear-piercing scream. Your release came in strong, crashing waves, wiping your mind of anything else and soaking both of you. Crosshair couldn’t hold out any longer. He buried himself to the hilt and came deep inside you, and you shuddered with the aftershocks, so full and sated Crosshair swore you’d fallen asleep.

He was wrong. You lifted a trembling hand to his face and smiled gently at him, “Thank you, Cross.”

He scoffed, “Nothing to be thankful for. Not like we haven’t done this a hundred times.”

But you shook your head, “We’ve never done this before.” You gestured at the mess you’d made in his bed, at your tangled limbs and the invisible closeness that still existed between you, even after the amazing sex. “Thank you for trying.”

Crosshair felt his strength leave him. He gathered you up, and buried his face in your chest, taking deep, calming breaths, “Don’t let me coast on it.” He murmured. “Don’t cut me any slack. I’m bad at this.”

He heard your giggle from above, “A little unpolished, maybe, but I’ve never seen you fail to excel at something you were determined to accomplish.” You stroked his hair. “We’ll be fine, babe.”

“We need to talk about that nickname.”

“I can think of others,” you teased. “Honey, sweetie, my little tooka-”

He made a gagging noise against your breasts, and you were outright laughing, “Babycakes, darling, love-”

Crosshair knew he’d tensed up at that last one, had let a little gasp escape in his contentment. He blamed the recent orgasm. But you’d heard it, and you stopped laughing.

“Oh…” he heard your voice take on a strange tone, and finally looked up at your face. You looked…shy. Shy and happy. You nodded, “Love, then. I can make that work.”

He felt his ears burning, and he turned his face back into your chest. A sudden possessiveness overtook him, and he gathered you closer, “You can’t…” he mumbled. “You can’t call anyone else that.”

You were quiet for a moment, probably remembering all of the interchangeable nicknames you liked to use with his brothers. Then he felt your hands grab his face - still hiding in your breasts like a coward - and turn it toward your own. You smiled down at him. 

“And that, love, is what we call boyfriend privilege.”

Crosshair gazed at you in amazement, then felt a rare smile break out over his face. He hugged you close, took his time kissing your lips again. He knew, in a moment, he would tell you to stay where you are as he got up and did something he’d never done for you before - clean you up himself. It’s something he would insist on doing from here on out.

Because, he decided, that’s what your boyfriend would do. And, as he was realizing rather quickly, he did not want anyone else to earn that title. 

It was his. And he was yours. 

Crosshair when Y/N isnt giving him attention

Peekaboo!

Reblog to put a smile on someone’s face ♥️

Taglist: @padawancat97 @pb-jellybeans @littlefeatherr @the-bad-batch-baroness @antoinettesb @neyswxrld @elephantwoman4 @goblininawig @sevdidntdie @proteatook

You (And I):

Silco x f!reader - 2.6k words - SFW

cw: best friend!silco, fluff, banter, mutual pining, idiots in love, mentions of cat-calling and harassment (not silco), mentions of poverty, soft silco my beloved, a little bit of angst in the form of reader being anxious about not knowing who is climbing through the window, but it's just the boy

summary: Your best friend misses you, so the only logical solution is for him to climb through your bedroom window at three in the morning, without telling you beforehand… It’s a good thing that you love him (and it’s an even better thing that he loves you too).

It’s taking you a little bit longer than usual to drop off to sleep as you lie in bed, curled up under the covers, trying to keep as much warmth in as possible. Your room is right at the very top of your parents’ bar, The Last Drop, which is also where you’ve just started to work full-time instead of just the odd job you’d helped out with growing up.

But now, with money for food tight and the threat of closure even tighter, you’ve found yourself doing pretty much anything to help keep the bar afloat, from running errands and setting up during the day to serving customers all evening and cleaning up after a long night. 

Your first proper job; you’d think with how exhausted you were you’d drop to sleep the very second your head hit the pillow. 

Not tonight, it would seem. Tonight your mind appears to be far too preoccupied to let your body relax. 

Your train of thought easily wanders to what you’d usually be doing on a Friday evening. More often than not you’d be holed up in the corner of a tiny café, trying to read your book while Silco asked your opinion on every little detail of whatever scheme he was working on at the time. 

Or you’d be forcing Silco to give you a piggyback through the streets after raiding the market for the cheapest items you can find, Vander in tow carrying all the loot. 

You can’t help but smile at the memories, a fuzzy, warm feeling spreading through you at the recollection of your best friend. Just the thought of him calms you; your lighthouse even in absentia. 

And it seems to do the trick, eyelids just starting to feel too heavy to keep open, a sure indicator of incoming sleep, when a scrabbling noise outside your window causes you to frown.

…you really hope you don’t have rats again.

Of course, the sensible thing to do would be to get up and investigate. But you’ve only just gotten warm and sleepy, and not only is the window on the other side of the room, but you’re laying on your side with your back to the glass, and honestly who in their right mind would want to get up in the freezing cold just to have a staring contest with some rats?

Scrunching your eyelids even tighter closed, as if it would block out the sound, you attempt to lull yourself back into that bliss you were so close to achieving, vowing to deal with the little rodents in the morning.

Almost like magic, the scrabbling stops and you sigh in relief.

Until you hear the unmistakable sound of the window creaking open.

Your eyes shoot open and your blood begins to pump urgently around your body. 

Fuck, why didn’t you lock the window before getting into bed? You must’ve forgotten in your sleep deprived state. 

One hand slowly inches towards the knife you keep under your pillow as two, almost-silent thuds resonate across the floorboards. 

Your heart practically leaps in your chest when you hear a series of soft footsteps approaching your bed, but you manage to keep yourself as still as possible, your only movement hidden beneath your pillow as you grip the knife handle tight.

A beat. Then another, as you wait for the exact right moment with bated breath. 

The intruder pauses by your bed and you inhale sharply, preparing yourself to strike.

Without warning, you abruptly swing your body around, throwing off the covers as you blindly leap towards them.

But they’re faster, shoving you back down against the bed with their lithe body and clapping a hand over your mouth before you can even think to scream out.

The knife slips from your hand, leaving it to clatter to the floor while you thrash about in your assailant’s grasp. 

“Stop it, it’s just me!” a familiar voice hisses down at you, halting your movements instantly.

You gaze up at the figure in bewilderment, slowly but surely recognising those jet black waves and hooked nose with every rapid heartbeat. 

It’s just Silco. 

He must spot the very moment that recognition sparks in your eyes because he’s soon grinning down at you, boyish, slightly crooked, and entirely too cheeky for his own good.

“Hey,” he says smoothly.

You push him off you with an unamused scoff, aiming to send him tumbling off the bed as you sit up and try to calm your erratic breathing. 

No such luck though, he just stumbles to his feet and quickly drops down next to you on the bed while you plant your feet on the cold wooden boards, running your hands through your bedraggled hair. 

Silco’s hand rests gently against your lower back and you glance up at him from your hunched up position of elbows on knees, palms against your forehead. 

You’re filled with the sudden urge to yell at him. Loudly. 

But your parents are asleep and they’ll be positively furious if they discover Silco in your bedroom in the middle of the night, so you settle for hissing at the ridiculous boy like an angry cat. 

“What the fuck are you doing climbing through my bedroom window at half three in the morning?”

Silco appears completely unfazed. 

“I left my lockpick at home, so I couldn't get in through the front door,” he replies, swiftly dodging the smack you try to deliver to his arm and instead catching your hand to press a chaste kiss to your knuckles. “And I missed you.”

You roll your eyes and snatch your hand back, but you’re unable to prevent your heart from swelling in your chest at his sweet words. Damn that natural charm of his. 

Luckily, a glance down at the knife by your feet distracts your wandering heart. 

“Why didn’t you say anything? I could’ve stabbed you.”

“Nah, you couldn’t,” he says dismissively until you shoot him a murderous glare. He returns it with a nonchalant shrug. “Thought you were asleep.”

“So why even bother climbing in?” you ask with a frown. 

And then, from the corner of your eye, he begins to look the tiniest bit bashful, gaze dropping to the floor as he starts to draw random shapes on the material of his trousers with his nails. 

“I, uh… I was gonna wake you up and ask if you wanted to go skip stones in the river.”

Your expression drops as you slowly turn to stare at him, which he meets with a dorky little grin. You groan and flop back down onto your bed, swinging your feet up so you can lay your head against the pillow, completely and utterly exasperated. 

Your best friend has been possessed by a five-year-old boy, you’re sure of it. 

Silco watches your dramatic display with clear amusement. 

“I’m gonna take that as a no, then?” he asks. 

“How do you have so much energy?” you whine, throwing your arm up to hide your face in the crook of your elbow. “Didn’t you have work today?”

“I had some work today,” he says, eyes quickly darting away from you. “Just not at the mines.”

Now this causes you to frown, peering over your arm at his trying-too-hard-to-look-relaxed body language. 

“What kind of work?” you question, which he promptly ignores, so nudge him with your foot, concern growing by the second. “Sil… what kind of work?”

He lays down next to you, propped up on his side with one elbow, and starts absentmindedly playing with your hair. 

“So, how was your day? You didn’t get any creeps trying to feel you up again, did you?”

You sigh heavily, knowing you’re not going to get an answer to your question. To be honest, you wish you didn’t have to give one to his. 

It had only happened once or twice since you’d started working late shifts in the bar, and it hadn’t been as bad since your parents had begun to shut it down everytime a patron got a bit too touchy. 

But it still didn’t make it right. 

“No, just the odd comment,” you reply, suddenly overly-interested in your nails. 

Silco wraps his arm around you and pulls you onto your side so he can hold you against his chest, chin resting on the crown of your head. 

“I’ll hang around during your next shift and kill anyone who even looks your way,” he declares, with a ridiculous amount of conviction. 

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see. Dramatic boy. 

“Don’t be stupid,” you say, lightly tapping your palm once against his back as a half-hearted scold. 

“You’re right,” he agrees with a resolute nod. “I’ll let you kill them yourself, you deserve it.”

Your sigh is laced with exasperation but you still shift to cuddle him properly, arms wrapped around his midsection. You just want to enjoy his presence while you have it, even if he is a pain in your ass. 

“I missed you too,” you say quietly after a peaceful silence, recalling his words from earlier. “It sucks working so much, I feel like I never see you anymore.”

“I know,” he hums soothingly, hand now rubbing tiny circles into the small of your back. “Just means we gotta make the most of the times we do.”

Snuggling him even tighter feels like the only appropriate response, so that’s what you do. 

You could honestly stay here forever. No responsibilities, no stress, just Silco. 

“You free tomorrow lunch? We could grab something to eat and then climb up to the roof of that factory by the river, if you want?” Silco asks. 

A warm smile tugs at your lips.

“Yeah, I’m free.” 

Your parents had been kind enough to give you the afternoon off tomorrow, but you were still expected to help out in the morning and evening as usual.

“Is Vander coming too?” you ask.

Silco shakes his head above you. 

“Nah.”

“Oh,” you respond, surprised the third member of your ragtag trio won’t be joining you. “Why not?”

“I thought it could just be a you and me thing, you know?” Silco reasons confidently, although you do spot just a hint of insecurity in his voice, like he’s nervous you’ll interrogate him further. 

Butterflies twirl through your stomach at the phrasing. You and him. You and Silco. A duet in this city of lonely hearts. 

“Okay. That sounds nice,” you say, trying to keep the smile out of your voice. 

He squeezes you once before he sits up a little, twisting around to pick the duvet up from off the floor. The covers are soon pulled over you both, where he tries to wrap his arms around you once more only to be met with you aiming little kicks at his legs. 

“Oi, shoes off, you heathen,” you demand, ripping the duvet away from him. “I just washed these.”

Seriously, you didn’t spend all morning washing, drying, and ironing all your clothes and bedding just for him to muddy them with his filthy shoes. Janna knows where he’s been in them or what he might’ve stepped in (especially considering you’ve never seen him clean them in all the years you’ve known him).

“Alright, alright,” he grumbles, muttering a sardonic little,“Bossy boots,” under his breath. 

Surprisingly, he does actually take the time to unlace them and even places them carefully under the bed, instead of just lobbing them across the room like you expect him to. 

Only then do you allow him back under the covers, shifting about until you’re both comfortable in each other’s arms, legs tangled together to ensure you’re as close as possible. 

“You know, you should really lock your bedroom window,” Silco comments after a few moments. “You never know who could be lurking about this time of night.”

You huff an amused breath through your nose.

“What, like you?”

“No, like some weirdo with nefarious ideas,” he insists, annoyed that you’re not taking him seriously.

You pull back in his arms to look him square in the face.

“...so, you?”

Silco pouts so adorably, you have to hold yourself back from just kissing him right there and then. 

“You’re mean,” he says, looking like a little boy who has just had one of his toys stolen in the playground.

In lieu of kissing him, you boop him on the nose with your finger and give him a cheeky, affectionate grin.

“You love it.”

But your heart sinks in your chest when Silco’s face drops, gazing at you intently as if he’s searching for something. Then his gaze darts away, the tips of his ears turning red, and you start to panic that you’ve said or done the wrong thing.

Instinctively, your hands hold him a little bit tighter, scared that he’ll just get up and go. 

“You know, my parents are going to kill me if they see us in bed like this,” you whisper over his shoulder, desperately trying to lighten the mood before he scarpers. 

“Well, as long as they don’t kill me, then that’s fine,” he whispers back, and you can tell by his timbre that he’s smiling through the words. 

You smack his shoulder, relief flooding through you in abundance. 

“Idiot.”

There’s a pause. 

Then, he says tenderly, (almost too tenderly for your poor heart).

“...Yes, but I’m your idiot.”

Patterns are happily traced against his back until you finally notice just how tired you are, leaning back to twist your head away from him so you can yawn into your hand. 

Silco watches you quietly, stroking your cheek with his thumb like a slow, soothing metronome. 

“You should get some sleep,” he says softly, his expression etched in quiet adoration. 

Your eyebrows lift at the sheer audacity. 

“Bitch, you’re the one who woke me up,” you protest sleepily.

He makes a show of turning to look over his shoulder and then back at you, pointing at his sternum with a quizzical frown. 

“Who? Me?”

So, you sneak your cold hands up against the back of his warm neck until he yelps. Silco wrestles your hands off his neck, clasping them in between his palms until he lets you tiredly wrestle them back and smoosh your face into his chest, giggling into the front of his shirt. 

He gently runs his hands through your hair as you both settle down once more, his own quiet laughter feeling like a blessing.

You almost don’t want to sleep now. You don’t want to miss any more time with him. 

“Sil?” you murmur. 

“Yeah, Squidge?” he replies.

Your nickname, from the time he threw a leftover tentacle at you from Jericho’s, named after the absolutely ridiculous noise it made when it slapped against your face. You love to hate it, which of course only makes Silco love it more. 

“We’re always gonna be best friends, right? No matter what?” you say, deep down hoping you don’t sound too clingy. 

You just can’t bear the thought of drifting apart from him. You honestly don’t know what you’d do without him. 

Luckily, he soothes your worries without even a hint of the usual teasing.

“Absolutely,” he affirms, carefully running his nails along your scalp in a calming, repetitive motion. “You’re stuck with me now, come rain or smog.”

“Good,” you nod happily. “Just checking.”

Basked in Silco’s warmth, you’re far too exhausted and cosy to fight against closing your eyes, drifting off to sleep while the boy presses a delicate kiss to your head. 

And right before you fall, he mumbles, oh so gently, into your hair.

“As if I’d want to be anywhere in this world except right here next to you, my perfect girl.” What a coincidence. There’s nowhere you’d rather be than right here, next to him.

How I think that top-secret time on Kashyyyk would have gone. Yoda would probably like the other three but Crosshair would be more likely to drive him to insanity.

Prank

So this is a Crosshair one shot I made on my way home from work. So not as much formated as when on my laptop. A TikTok gave me the idea. As seen with the story below the cut. And I just felt like it had to be Crosshair being a bit mushy. Hope you all enjoy it! Tried to keep it genderless.

Rating: Fluffy, lovey dovey fighting

Masterlist

Crosshair prided himself on precision.

Everything he did, his aim, his movements, his calculations for the always perfect shots, was exact, measured, deliberate. He didn’t make mistakes. He didn’t stumble, didn’t fumble, didn’t miscalculate.

So when he grabbed the crates, expecting them to be full and heavy, only for them to collapse in on themselves like a flimsy crate, he immediately knew something was wrong.

He had checked them yesterday. They had been full, fixed in place, solid.

Yet the moment he lifted them, he used too much force, expecting weight that wasn’t there. The momentum sent him stumbling backward, his grip loosening, the crate folding in on itself as it hit the floor.

For a second, there was silence.

Then—

Laughter. Bright, bubbling laughter filled the cargo hold, and Crosshair’s head snapped toward the source of the sound.

Y/N.

You stood a few feet away, hand covering mouth, shoulders shaking, eyes gleaming with pure amusement. "You—" Crosshair started, but you just grinned, barely containing yourself. "I took the screws out."

His eye twitched.

You tilted your head, smirking as you rocked on your heels. "And emptied them."

"Of course you did."

You knew. You had planned this. You had seen him checking them yesterday.

Crosshair’s annoyance flared, not real anger, but that familiar, sharp-edged frustration that only you could pull from him. He took one step toward you.

Your eyes widened. Immediately, you turned to run. But Crosshair was faster. Of curse he is. The master of the agility of a loth cat.

Before you could get even two steps away, he surged forward, catching you with ease. And instead of simply grabbing you...

He tackled you.

But gently. Because even in moments like this, even when he was messing with you, his instincts never let him forget to be careful with you. The one person he cares more for than anyone.

So instead of slamming you into the durasteel floor, he twisted mid-fall, taking the impact himself, making sure you landed safely on top of him. Batley grunting.

You yelped, laughing uncontrollably as you squirmed, trying to free herself from his grip. "Cross, no—!"

"Cross, yes."

You two rolled, you trying to push him off, him keeping you locked in place, shifting so you couldn't slip away. Your laugh filled his ears, bright and warm, fingers digging into his shoulders as you fought half-heartedly. Because the laughing clearly didn't help in your favour.

Crosshair grinned, pressing his forehead against your just enough to make you giggle even more. Making sure he gets as much of tvat sweet melody he can. "You think you’re funny, don’t you?"

You grinned up at him, eyes dancing with mischief. "Of course, I know I am."

He huffed, rolling again so that you are pinned under him this time completly, his arms bracketing you in. Your breath hitched, laughter slowing just slightly, replaced by something softer, something warmer.

Crosshair smirked, leaning down, voice low. "You do realize this means payback, right?"

Your eyes widened slightly, a nervous giggle escaping her. "Wait, Cross, let’s be reasonable-"

"No."

And just like that, his fingers found your sides, pressing just enough to make your shriek. You screamed through your laughter and wheezes, trying to wiggle away, but he didn’t let up, grinning as he mercilessly tickled you, enjoying every second of your desperate attempts to escape.

You had started this. And now, you are going to pay for it.

Reblogs are very welcome and I am open for feedback, as english is not my first language, so maybe my sentences may be weird sometimes, or I write a word wrong even with google, or I use a wrong word for an item.

Tag: @spectacular-skywalker @clonethirstingisreal @sleepycreativewriter @moonwreckd @sskim-milkk @heidnspeak