#Cad Bane fanfiction

[kylorengarbagedump]

Better Than Credits (NSFW)

Read on AO3.

Summary: You're not a hustler - you're an artist. And the upper levels of Coruscant have become your favorite playground of late. Your patron tonight is on a Sabacc hot-streak - you plan to reap the rewards, too, until his ego has him placing you in the winnings pot.

Normally, it wouldn't be an issue. Your tactics always earn him a win. But this time, he's challenged by the most dangerous man in the galaxy - a man whose stare sends a thrill up your spine.

And now, you kind of hope you lose.

Words: 10.2k

Warnings: Cad Bane is Not Nice, Canon-typical violence

Characters: Cad Bane x Reader

A/N: THIS IS CO-WRITTEN WITH MY GORGEOUS LOVE @bastillia.

Hope y'all enjoyed! We had a blast writing it. It's a bit more niche, sure, but look. We want to fuck Cad Bane, and that's the way it is.

This literally took us an entire year because I decided to change careers and then move across the country and then go to a bootcamp and then get a job and then we moved into a new apartment. BUT NOW IT'S DONE.

Thank you to Faestae for your sprint tips. Thank you to all of my friends for encouraging me.

Love y'all so much! Talk to you soon. <3

“Raise.”

Trek pushes forth another stack of credits to the center of the table, gilded edges gleaming across the polished wood. Across from him, a Weequay folds, groaning as his cards collapse.

“This is bantha shit,” he says.

Trek snorts, crimson lip curling to expose his razor yellow teeth. “Give it up, Oros,” he replies, examining his hand. “If you weren’t ready to lose, you shouldn’t have played.”

“You’re pulling something, Varcast.”

A Trandoshan adds to the mound of credits, leveling Trek with his gaze. “Call.”

Oros rolls his eyes. “Are you not seeing this, Ussik?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Trek turns, glimpses you, his coal stone stare dipping to your cleavage. “You got any idea, baby?”

It happens in a single bat of your lashes. Giggling, you toss a coquettish look across the table, tits jiggling underneath the thin swatches of black silk meant to conceal them. It’s enough to break the focus of every single cardholder still at the table—and in that moment, Trek swaps his Commander card for the Balance card you’d had tucked at your hip.

“No,” you say, lip plumping in mock-despair. The Commander card slips into the open slot. “I don’t.”

Trek clucks his tongue, like he’s disappointed. “That’s too bad,” he says. “Oh well.” Shrugging, he chuckles to himself and spreads his cards to the sky before pushing them forward and leaning into his seat.

A perfect 23.

“Sabacc.”

The rest of the table curses, tossing their hands across the table in disgust. A wide grin slithers over Trek’s face and he bends to gather his spoils in his arms, dragging all of it—credits, jewelry, precious gems—into his growing pile.

“Kriffing bantha shit,” Oros grumbles, and shoves from the table to wander back to the casino.

Laughter quakes through the gathered crowd as he disappears. Trek leans toward you, cutting a smile, his fingers snaking behind your shoulders and tugging you close.

“Typical Weequays.” Trek loops a new necklace chain around one of his big, red fingers and dangles it in front of you. “Sore losers, the lot of them. Ain’t that right?”

You giggle and offer a shy smile to the table, pushing the necklace away as if he’s embarrassed you by being so bold.

“Another round?” the dealer asks, gathering the cards.

Trek slicks a hand along one of his horns, the other gripping your shoulder and gently jostling you. “You kidding?” he says. “While I got my lucky charm here?” His black-knife nails prick your skin. “Deal me in.”

“I need to get me one of those,” a Nikto says, his attention zipping over your stringy dress. “She for hire?”

Ussik hisses in agreement, fork tongue flicking through his teeth. “Don’t be greedy. Pass the luck around.”

A ripple of hungry snickering passes through the men. You want to groan in disgust—but you defer to Trek instead, peeking at him like you’re worried he’ll agree. He laughs, picks up his cards and appraises them before lowering his hand and shifting to meet your stare. Two heavy fingers pinch your chin, his claws catching your lower lip, and he shakes you.

“I think she likes where she’s at.” His hot breath brushes your face, and he releases you with a pat of your cheek. “Go get me a drink, baby.”

You glide up from your seat, curving your spine only a little more than necessary with the motion. Heat presses your ears as you turn away and promptly feel every set of eyes at the table adhere to your silk-framed ass.

“Alright, alright, get your tongues off the floor, boys. We playing, or what?”

Trek’s admonishment makes you giggle, and you toss one last faux-coy smile over your shoulder before setting off.

There’s no need to hurry while you meander towards the bar on the opposite side of the casino. Trek’s winning streak has him in good spirits, and you can already taste your cut at the end of the night. Plus, this is the first opportunity you’ve had to properly analyze your surroundings. You’d be remiss not to take advantage.

It’s busy tonight, packed with well-dressed socialites, business folk, even a few politicians from what you can glimpse. The air is thick and sweet, scattered with prismatic chandelier light that softens through wisps of expensive spice smoke.

The upper levels of Coruscant have become your favorite playground of late. Each of your senses is alight with luxury, the weight of the pockets passing you by almost tangible. It puts a glint to your eye and a sway to your hips. You know you look like temptation incarnate–so what’s wrong with attracting a little attention from prospective clients?

Some may look down on it, but you feel no shame in letting men pay for your company. With Trek, it’s as lucrative as it is simple—he wins, you win.

It’s the more lascivious caveats to your arrangement with him that, if you’re honest, you could do without. But for the money, it’s easy enough to endure. For now, Trek pays you well to keep things exclusive… and intimate.

At least he never lasts long.

Your heels tap the carpet with your stride, a metronome to the pleasant dance of silk around your thighs. Just a few more steps, and the bar is finally within your sights. But just as soon as it appears, it’s cut from view.

You slam to a halt, nearly falling over a couple who cut off your path, as if neither of them even saw you there. They stammer an apology while you recover your balance, though they both seem much more occupied with putting as much distance between themselves and the table behind them as possible.

Brow knitting, you turn in the direction they came from. Others move with similar haste, like clouds parting, all from a centerpoint on one tall figure walking leisurely towards a dice table.

He certainly stands out against this ostentatious crowd. You’re not typically one to stare, but he draws you like a seeker drone to a heat signature.

Long and lithe, his shape is an uncanny shadow over the scintillating room. He comes to a stop at the table, all fine leather and savoir-faire as he leans up against the edge. One long blue hand disappears into his jacket, then starts stacking credits on the betting line. He seals the wager with a tip of a wide-brimmed hat.

A sudden wetness gathers in your mouth, and the force that pulls you towards him is almost gravitational. The same burning curiosity which must tempt a Tooka-cat to jeopardize one of its nine lives for a particularly challenging prey. As you draw closer, the sheen of a blaster hilt flashes beneath his long jacket tail.

Yes, there is certainly something dangerous about this stranger. And certainly something enticing. And it’s not just the tower of golden credits now stacked on the velvet.

You sidle up to the space beside the tall Duros—the other players have left him a wide berth. Your thighs tingle.

“You look familiar.”

He doesn’t look up when you speak, just studies the table while he rocks a pair of dice between long, cerulean fingers.

“Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”

It’s a hackneyed line, sure, but it usually does the job of starting a conversation. You shift your weight through your hips. He still doesn’t look up.

“You should hope not.” His voice sits deep in his chest, underlaid with a mechanical rumble that lights a tingle up your spine. “Unless you got a keen taste for trouble.”

The croupier calls for his throw. A devious urge flutters in your ribs.

“Breath of luck?”

A smirk touches his lips at that, toothpick shifting between them.

“Luck’s an avaricious whore.” His eyes finally spear you, twin red plasma beams that burn the breath from your chest. “Prefer to take my chances without her blessin’.”

At that, his arm winds back, and he launches the dice in a perfect arc across the table. They clatter and settle, revealing a Pilot’s Seven. You let out an airy laugh.

“Looks like she fancies you anyways.”

He peers down at you, toothpick bobbing between his teeth. If he’s at all affected by the subtle shift of your shoulders, or the way your lashes flutter when you meet his eyes, it doesn't show. His gaze never falls any lower than your own—somehow that warms your cheeks even more.

A voice on your other side makes you turn.

“I’d take some of that luck there, gorgeous.”

The speaker, an Abednedo, grins and offers his dice palm-up. You glance once more at the Duros, flash him a silken smile before redirecting it to his opponent.

“My pleasure.”

You bend slightly at the waist, letting your dress ride just a little higher up your thighs. By your measure, your stranger should have a perfect view. Your lips wrap into a soft o and you blow a puff of air over the Abednedo’s palm. He hefts the dice appreciatively, and throws.

An arc, a clatter.

Harch Eyes.

“Winner!” the croupier declares.

The Abednedo cheers, wrapping his arm around you and wobbling you in joy. You giggle, plant a chaste kiss on the wrinkles of his hairy cheek before politely peeling him from your frame. He’s too elated to notice, already occupying himself with counting his spoils like an eager child. The Duros is silent, stare finding you again.

It’s icier, harsher than the dead air of space. Its severity clips your bones.

But you don’t let that scare you. Instead, you smirk and turn away, tossing a vulpine look over your shoulder.

“That’s too bad,” you say. “You’ll get ‘em next time.”

With that, you depart the table, a flutter in your belly and a swing in your stride. You stop by the bar to grab Trek’s requested drink: always something sour poured over stones. His taste gives a new meaning to on the rocks.

You return to a few new and predictably demoralized faces, shoulders sunk in a circle, another heap of gold and silver credits glimmering in the center. It’s moved fast—this game is already in its last round, and Trek has anted up without your assistance. Batches of discarded hands are strewn over the tabletop, leaving Trek and Ussik as the final two players, again.

From yards away, you can spy a flash of Trek’s cards and frown. He’s being reckless. You shouldn’t have left him.

Sparing a sweet smile to the crowd, you saunter up to the table and sink into your seat, pushing the glass toward Trek and swallowing the urge to cough as a whiff of acid shoots up your nose and behind your eyes.

“There she is,” he says, and quaffs the whole glass, stones and all in a single gulp. “What do you think, sweetheart?” He flashes you his hand, a triumphant sneer on his face. “Should I swap or stand?”

You hum, pursing your lips. There isn’t a card in the deck that will save his current hand. You almost want to get up and leave, just to punish him for being an idiot.

“Well,” you say, breathy and brainless, “I think you should...” You shrug your shoulders for emphasis, your arms pushing your tits together again. “Stand.”

Trek grins and angles his cards face-down. “You heard the lady. Your move.”

Ussik’s lizard leer switches between you and Trek, then to the horde of credits in the center of the table. It’s like you can hear him running the possibilities through his head—he wants to keep going. Thinks there’s no way he can lose this one. But Trek’s hot streak has him too nervous.

He folds.

“Ha!” Trek guffaws, and tosses his cards on the table. He sweeps an arm around his newest winnings. “You always were a coward.”

Ussik emits a rattling hiss, and sweeps back from the table. “Don’t call me when your luck runs out, Varcast.”

A chorus of jeers follows him away. The dealer begins organizing the table for a new round, and you draw a long breath through your teeth.

That was too close. It’s a miracle the bluff even worked, and now Trek’s high on winning, letting his better judgment fail. There’s a deep, glittering hunger to his stare when he turns to you, taking advantage of the shuffling of players to pull you close and press his lips to your ear.

“You’re gonna get fucked senseless tonight.” His breath is hot and rancid down your neck. “Covered in pretty jewels.”

“Trek!” You force a giggle, not letting your guise slip even as bile rises in your throat. You push at him playfully, but keep close enough to whisper. “Why don’t you take a break? We’re ahead, let’s not push this too far.”

No sooner can you manage the suggestion than the dealer is signaling last call, and a hush alights over the table. You straighten.

Directly across from you, the crowd has parted slightly. A tall shape now settles into the vacant seat there, hat brim concealing half of his face. Below its edge, there’s an ivory flash of fang, the shift of a toothpick.

The dealer cuts the silence. “Will you be joining us this round, mister Bane?”

A cold vise wraps your chest. The hat brim lifts, and red eyes pierce you.

“Deal me in.”

Your mouth parts, a thick web of realization congealing in your throat. It all makes sense, now—the hat, the leather, the blaster, the deferent jittery crowd.

His face hadn’t been familiar. But his name is.

Trek shoulders you aside, obsidian twinkling in his gaze. “If it ain’t Cad Bane!” he says, slamming his fist on the table. Audacity swarms him like a second skin, and he beckons for cards. “I’ll almost feel bad taking your money.”

Bane’s name is, in fact, synonymous with terror on every planet you’ve visited. And you’d just taunted him like a slut.

You swallow the realization. His attention is still trained on you.

“I never feel bad about takin’ anything,” Bane replies.

Your thighs press together. The round starts. Everyone’s focus snaps to the cards.

Beside you, Trek vibrates with glee. He reminds you of a kid waiting to prank his sibling, his victory already decided. When his turn arrives, he draws a card and nudges a few tall columns of credits to the center of the table, chuckling to himself.

“We’ll start with that, then.” His chest is puffed like a shaak’s ass.”Should be chump change for a guy like you.”

Every player peeks at Bane from behind the safety of their cards, nervous whispers creeping through the crowd. If there’s any true danger, Trek is more oblivious to it than a corpse. The toothpick twirls between Bane’s incisors. He draws a card.

“Call.”

He doesn’t even stack a credit before two players fold, distancing themselves from the table as if it’s made of flames. You glimpse Trek’s hand—with two people already out, his odds of winning with what he’s got could still improve. Pinching your lip between your teeth, you examine the abandoned cards, counting those left upturned before your eyes catch Bane’s again.

His scrutiny siphons the air from your lungs, shoots an electric thrill through your spine. Gooseflesh tickles your shoulders, and you massage it away, like the chill is from the air and not the primal flutter in the back of your brain.

“Just calling?” Trek says, swapping a card out from the pile. “You don’t wanna raise the stakes?”

Bane is nonplussed. “I got nothing to prove to a hustler.”

Trek shrugs. “Suit yourself, merc.” He collects more than half of his night’s earnings and guides them to the center. “Raise.”

Fuck, he’s going to blow every last credit on sheer pride at this rate. Idiot. Not that you care if he makes a fool of himself. It’s not your problem. But it is your money.

Two more players fold, crumpling under the high stakes and stalking away from the table to a ripple of murmurs from the crowd. That leaves only Trek and Bane remaining.

Your pulse picks up speed. From the corner of your eye, you again seek out a few abandoned cards left face up, and file the suits away in your brain.

“Call.” Bane’s voice is black ice. Your focus shifts to him, and you’re scorched again by his level stare.

To conceal a rush of nerves, you shift to peer at Trek’s cards. His hand is decent, but not worth the wager he’s set. At least, until you see his thumb shift, a signal that only you can see. His obsidian nail taps one card, and then another.

“I’d have thought a man of your caliber would bring a harder wager.” Trek taunts, a distraction from the silent communication he’s sending you. He swaps one of his other cards, and then pushes the rest of his horde to the center of the table. “Raise.”

Your pulse climbs. Of course, he wants to seal his victory with something unbeatable–an Idiot’s Array. And he can do it with what he’s got. All he needs is one little face card that now burns like a brand against your flesh, resting concealed under your dress.

“Man of my caliber don’t need two sets of eyes.”

Bane’s stare is burning you again, unbreaking when he calls the raise with another stack of credits. Your breath shortens.

“Who, this little minx?” Trek turns and brings a rough hand down on the inside of your thigh, eyes glinting. “Her skills are best employed at the end of the night, if you catch my meaning.”

His grip slides up your leg, pushing your dress up with the movement. You squeal at his boldness and swat him away, batting your lashes to the table in mock embarrassment when a few whistles rise from the crowd. As you pretend to yank your dress back down, two of your fingers slip under the hem and free the card from the band of your underwear. You tuck it under your palm.

The theatrics are typically enough to throw almost anyone off your scent. After all, Trek is naturally obnoxious, and you’re naturally gifted at playing dumb. With the final adjustment in your seat, you survey the table. And your stomach twists.

Bane isn’t just watching you. He’s inspecting you. Under the rim of his hat, his eyes narrow, a hunter’s confirmation that you’re his game. He’s tracked your every move. Probably registered the card pull, too. A soft breath hitches in your throat, and your belly tightens. Somewhere below your waist, something stirs with agitated heat. Your gaze drifts over his long, nimble fingers—you wonder what they’d feel like on your skin.

Clearing your throat with a demure giggle, you break away, ignoring the warmth flooding your cheeks, the back of your neck. You need to focus.

“Taking a while to take your turn.” Trek leans back. “You afraid of losing?” His voice rises in mockery. “Is that not something that happens to you often?”

Bane couldn’t look more unamused if someone had just told him everyone he’d ever loved was dead. But that might’ve already been true, anyway.

“Interesting game you’re runnin’,” he says. “You could walk away now with all those credits.”

“Walk away?” Trek replies. “When I have you on the ropes?” He nudges you, knocks you a bit off balance in his excitement. “How many people get to say they bested Cad Bane? Huh, baby?”

Finally, Bane swaps a card. Pauses. Then pushes forth another big stack of gold. “Raise.”

Trek frowns. “Call.”

“You ain’t got any credits left.”

“Oh, now you’re desperate. Trying to get me to bow out.” Trek laughs, invites the crowd forward. He’s getting louder. “Who wants to see Cad Bane lose a game of Sabacc?”

You swallow, try to busy yourself with the hem of your dress. Normally, you’d feel confident with The Idiot card in your hand. But Bane’s unshakable coolness makes you believe that Trek doesn’t pose a threat. Given the cards you’ve spotted, you think you know—Bane’s capable of an Idiot’s Array, too. And since he’s caught you counting, he knows that you know, too.

Trek’s about to blow your entire payment. Asshole.

Plastering your face with a saccharine innocence, you tug Trek’s arm like a sleepy ingenue.

“Trek,” you murmur, “I’m tired. Maybe we should take him up on his offer.” You trail a nail down his bicep. “Head back to the room with all those jewels?”

Snorting, Trek eases you free. “You can’t tell me you want to get out right when we’re at our big break?”

“Listen to your little assistant,” Bane says. “Unless you’re gonna call.”

“You keep saying that,” Trek says. “I don’t have an assistant. I have company.” He pauses, then offers a patronizing smile. “If you’re so jealous, I’ll toss her into the pot. One night with her.”

You balk, jaw dropped. “Are you—”

The words that want to come out aren’t polite. So you bite your tongue, and look from Trek to Bane.

He is silent for a moment, seeming to turn something over in his mind. Then he sits back, perches an elbow on his armrest, and drums his fingers once on the table’s edge.

“Dunno ‘bout that.” He passes his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other, the hint of a smirk beginning to twist at the corner. “How do I know she’s worth my wager?”

Trek chuckles, then gestures to the crowd. “I think any man here would pay the same, if he could.”

A ripple of agreement goes through them, and the hairs on your neck raise. Normally, you’d revel in the attention. But you can’t assess Bane’s angle, and that unsettles you. Compounded with feeling like a fathier at auction, you almost prickle. And then Trek turns to you again, eyes glazed with greed.

“Get up and give us a twirl, baby, show the man what he’s betting on.”

Your blood sizzles the underside of your skin, and you try not to gawk at him. There aren’t enough curses in enough languages to span where you want to tell Trek to go fuck himself to right now, but there also isn’t enough time. You glance to Bane. His smirk has only grown, now stretching into a cruel, expectant half-smile as his full attention blazes you.

The realization snaps like a wire in your belly. He’s getting off on this. Punishing you for your earlier behavior, reveling in your humiliation. A sudden wave of arousal slams you, setting every inch of your skin ablaze while you move with leaden limbs to stand.

Until your last shred of wit finally reminds you of the hidden card still tucked under your palm.

Using your movement and the table as cover, you cross your legs and slot the card between your foot and the sole of your strappy shoe. Without breaking fluidity, you push your chair back, and rise.

Another round of whistles resounds as you step into full view and turn in a circle, managing just enough theatrics to throw in a giggle despite your insides performing a tumbling act. Trek has leaned back, the picture of a proud auctioneer, one arm raised to gesture up and down your body.

“I think she speaks for herself, wouldn’t you say?”

Oh, you could kill him.

But then your attention darts across the table. Bane’s posture is still relaxed, his long frame tipped back into his chair—but for the first time, his gaze dips below your chin.

His eyes trail over your bare, pretty neck and shoulders, linger along your clavicle, and appraise your tits, barely concealed, the shadow of your nipples poking through. Inches lower, and you know he’s imagining your belly, your hips, everything you’d flaunted before he’d sat down. This stare is no longer hunting.

It’s devouring.

A predator with prey in grasp, reveling in its last shallow breaths.

The toothpick rolls, Bane’s lip curling to reveal ivory fangs. “You got a deal.”

Murmurs ripple, punctuated by a few elbow jabs and the underhanded passing of bets. Trek’s grin stretches wider, greedier. You slip back into your chair, stomach twisting into knots.

He has no idea what he’s just done.

“That’s what I like to hear!” Trek opens his arm in a grand gesture, earning cheers of agreement. “Now let’s play.”

The ghost of a smirk still plays over Bane’s face as his attention lingers on you for a moment, then flicks to his cards. Every inch of your skin burns, and in the bottom of your brain, a terrible idea rises like a curl of steam. Your toes twitch against the hidden card.

“Shall we move to the showdown, then?” The dealer’s diplomatic tone feels lost within the cloud of static charging the air.

Your pulse drums your ribs when you watch Bane’s mouth beneath the brim of his hat, the way his lips massage the toothpick in thought. Your pulse rolls lower, that idea simmering and taking shape.

“What d’you say, merc?” Trek’s sneer saturates his voice. “Or is the wager not appealing enough for your tastes?”

Your foot slides beneath the table, drawing an unseen path to the killer across from you. Bane evaluates his hand as if Trek is a toddler throwing a tantrum.

“Your wager seemed more interested in blowin’ on my dice than helpin’ you out before I sat down.”

You cross your arms on the table, avoiding the laser of Trek’s glare at your temple. He nudges you, a signal to act, but you pretend he’s accidentally bumped you and shoot him a quick leer.

He snorts. “Doesn’t matter anyway. She can do whatever she wants.” His jaw tight, he adds, “You just can’t admit you’re about to lose.”

Bane hasn’t glanced from his cards, and your foot extends further. With one final stretch, you find the inside of his leg. He flinches a millimeter, his eyes lock to yours—and he’s still, allowing you to slide upwards until you meet the bend of his knee. His attention returns to his cards.

“Maybe you can’t admit you ain’t her only option.”

“Option?” Trek throws up his hands. “I think she has all that she needs right here!” The crowd urges him on, and Trek jabs you again, harder this time under the noise. When you don’t respond, he does it again. “Right, baby?”

The edge in his voice scrapes your ears, and you frown, turning your shoulder to him. You rest the ball of your foot on the edge of Bane’s seat, nuzzle your toes just a bit between his thighs. Pulse in your throat, you wait.

“Ha! I think, I think he’s scared! Cad Bane is scared, boys!” Trek demands participation, shaking you to remind you of the play you’ve rehearsed for months. His palm is sweating. “He’s trying to play some mind game or something!”

Bane’s gaze slips down between his legs for just the shadow of a second, then returns to his opponent while he waits for the ruckus to fade.

“Let’s finish this dance, hustler.” A pointed smile unfurls under the hat brim. “Seein’ as you’re all out of moves.”

Beneath the table, cool fingers wrap over the arch of your foot. Bane’s hand slides down along the delicate skin, his touch slow and indulgent in a way that makes shivers erupt up your spine. He lingers over your perfectly manicured toes, then slides the hidden card out from beneath them.

Trek forces a smile, his laughter like shattered glass. “Out of moves?” He looks to you, eyes wide.

You respond with equal confusion, as if you either don’t know what he’s talking about or can’t find where the card went. Saturation drains from his face, and he blows a long, frustrated huff through his nose.

“Gentlemen.” The dealer interjects, tone unwavering. “Showdown, please.”

“Fine.” With a suck of his corn cob teeth, Trek throws his hand on the table. “Twenty in Flasks.”

He settles back, hands coming up to rest behind his head. The crowd swells—cheers, mutters, and whistles surrounding the table. And then all eyes shift to Cad Bane.

The hat brim cocks, and then lifts. Plasma-red certainty sucks every breath from the room, and a cruel smile curves his lips. He spreads his hand to view. Your heart thumps—you didn’t even spot the exchange. But there in the center, like a crowning jewel, sits your clandestine gift. That tiny face card.

“Idiot’s Array.”

An explosive cheer erupts around you, and Trek juts forward in disbelief, his eyes darting over the table—the cards, the credits, the jewels—like he’s watching a mirage shimmer into dust. You swallow, inching away in your seat. He’s never lost this big. Not with you.

“Bantha shit!” he roars, shooting from his seat. “Cheat! You cheated me, merc!”

Bane is cooler than a neutron star. “I gave you a chance to back out.”

The dealer moves to exchange Trek’s winnings to Bane, but Trek slams his big fist on the table, sending credits flying. You flinch, sweat creeping up your spine. You knew he’d get angry. You didn’t think he’d get violent.

“No!” He scratches at the moving pile, snatching a handful. “This is mine! These are mine—you’re not taking shit, Bane—”

“Mister Varcast,” the dealer says, “I’m sorry, but—”

Trek snarls. “No! He didn’t win! He—he must have—”

As proof, he gestures to the Idiot’s Array. His gaze hovers there. He pauses. Silent, his ears draw back, his muscles lock and his shoulders bunch. Your stomach collapses, you stumble out of your seat—he’s a storm, whirling on you with demonic fury.

“You!” Trek reaches for you and you shove him away, staggering backward. “You little—”

He tries to grapple you again, but chairs are between the two of you, Cad Bane in your periphery. Howling in rage, Trek sweeps half the table clean in one swing, credits and cards and gemstones crashing to the floor. He’s heaving, eyes wild as he prepares to clear the other side, and stalls when he spots the empty drink you’d grabbed for him.

Lip furling, he seizes the tumbler, reels back and hurls it straight at you.

Before you can scream, a red beam shatters the glass. Another slams Trek in the chest and eats a hole to his heart. He chokes, stutters, stealing a final horrified glance at you. Then his black pebble pupils roll into his skull and he topples to the table in a heavy thunk.

You exhale your relief, your throat thick with dissipating fear. Beside you, Cad Bane spins his blaster on his finger and stuffs it back in its holster.

With a sniff, he flicks his toothpick onto the body. “That’s no way to treat a lady.”

The room is silent, every onlooker paralyzed and slack-jawed. You tremble, still clutching the edge of the table, its solidity helping to calm the ringing in your ears. It’s not like you’ll miss Trek. You’re just happy to be in one piece. And for the past thirty seconds, your heartbeat may as well have stopped entirely. It awakens now in your cunt, every fiber of your body blazing to life and aching for the man rising slowly beside you.

Not one person dares to move, and that only makes your thighs clench harder as Bane moves around behind you and lays a hand on the small of your back. He reaches into his coat, then tosses a compact bundle of credits to the dealer—the only person in the room who appears unfazed.

“For the mess.” He gestures to the scattered riches. “Y’know where to send this.”

“Indeed, mister Bane.”

Bane nods once, touching a thumb and forefinger to the brim of his hat. His hand presses your back. Mind numb, you allow him to lead you, past Trek’s slumped, smoking corpse, through the stunned crowd. All the way through the doors of the grand turbolift, situated between vaulting glass panes that frame the neon cityscape outside. It’s only once the doors glide shut, seal you in a crystalline box with a killer, that your brain produces a single coherent thought.

You’re going to fuck Cad Bane.

Instead of choosing a floor, Bane scans his gauntlet against the lift panel. It chirps in recognition and you’re moving, flying high into the sky.

Even cast in the spell of night, Coruscant thrums with sleepless life, a thrumming that resonates where Bane’s hand still rests—inches above the swell of your ass. Your tongue traces the seam of your lips and your focus drifts from the horizon, to his reflection, to him.

Bane is a walking weapon, optimized for tactical violence from the rockets strapped to his boots to the apparatus plugged under his cheeks. There is no softness, no tender curve to any part of him; even his face is sharp bones and fangs. You wonder how his mouth will feel on your throat, how his body will press into yours in his bed. A thrill squeezes your chest, and you draw in a breath. He smells like petrichor and dying plasma.

From the corner of his sight, he catches you staring. His lip curls in disgust, he drops his hand from your back.

“Don’t bother performin’. I ain’t payin’.”

You blink, tilt your head. Before you can reply, the lift doors open, and your mind blanks.

Mouth parted, you enter the penthouse suite, heels clicking obsidian tile. Jet panels embedded with glowing veins jut from the walls, soaring to claim the ceiling. Doors branch off the perimeter, but before you, the room stretches out to a stone dais decorated with lavish furniture. Floor-to-ceiling panes of glass encircle it, revealing the still-thrumming city miles below.

The thrumming feels urgent, now. Throbbing.

Your eyes devour the fine decor, every glint of light refracted in crystal detailing. Even the floor feels expensive under your feet, sending a tingle from your toes all the way up your neck with each step. You come to a stop just before the shallow stairs that lead up the dais, hand stretching out to appreciate a piece of furniture.

“Touch anything, and you’re dead.”

You pause, biting your lip against the smile that tries to spread. “I don’t know what kind of company you typically keep, mister Bane. But I’m an artist, not a thief.”

“An artist.” The word withers on his tongue.

“Yes.“ Your smile wins out. “There’s an art to good strategy, wouldn’t you say?” You resume your course, finger trailing along the back of the couch, savoring the ridges in its expensive upholstery. You cast a glance back over your shoulder.

Bane is following you at a distance, tracking your pace across the room. A shiver drags up your spine.

“Remind me never to take strategic advice from you.”

That makes you scoff.

“Oh please, like you’ve never had a job go sideways.” You turn to face him with a shrug. “That moron had it coming. Everything that happened tonight went exactly by my design.” His eyes narrow almost imperceptibly at that. Almost. “Believe it or not, I keep tricks up my sleeve even you’ve never heard of.”

“That so?” He continues to stalk towards you, his path now more direct. “Well, ain’t you clever?”

You back coyly up the steps, into the wash of neon-kissed light spilling through the enormous circle of windows. After a few strides, your back presses cold glass. Bane doesn’t stop. He prowls up the stairs and into your space, only stopping once he’s close enough that your tits brush his torso with your shallow breaths. His head cocks.

“But I’m pretty sure you keep ‘em somewhere else.”

With that, he wrenches one side of your dress all the way up your thigh and over your hip, revealing at least four cards tucked into the band of your underwear.

You gasp up at him, your face plastered in theatrical shock. A giggle bubbles from your chest. “How did those get there?”

He gives a low snarl and wrenches you around, shoves you tits-first against the window and lifts the other side of your dress, baring your ass and the rest of your cache on the other hip. His fingers hook under your thong, and with a quick yank, he rips the scrap of fabric from your body. Cards flutter to the floor at your feet.

“You’re quick, I’ll give y’that.” He smooths down the curve of your ass, drawing a hiss of pleasure from you. “But only quick enough to fool those cock-brained idiots down there.”

“Teacher, teacher!” You laugh, the sound airy and provocative in your throat, and then put on an exaggerated pout. “Such criticism. Forgive me, I didn’t realize you were qualified to evaluate my tactics.”

The roll of his eyes is almost palpable.

“I ain’t got your assets—“ he gives your ass a lazy swat “—but I am faster than you.”

You can’t stop the grin that spreads. “Then maybe I can learn a few lessons from those expert hands of yours.”

In emphasis, you arch your back and wiggle your hips. Bane’s palm cracks you this time, square on one asscheek, earning a tiny squeal.

“I’ll make sure of that.”

Excited air escapes you. “Fuck…”

“Just one thing I can’t figure.” The rumble of his voice against your spine makes you shudder. “What d’you get out of throwin’ the game?”

“Well, if I played my cards right…” You hum, trying to lean into his touch. “I’ll be reaping my reward very soon.”

Bane snorts, his breath washes your neck with gooseflesh. “Hope it’s better’n credits, ‘cause I already told you I ain’t paying.”

You bite your lip and reach backwards, trying to sense the lines of his body in order to reach your target. It doesn’t take long—you find the edge of his jacket, then the firm leather of his belt. You lay your palm flat over the buckle, slide blindly down the seam of his trousers until… yes.

His cock is straining already, hard and eager against his thigh.

“Oh, it will be.” You hum, and slide your palm down its length, over the coarse fabric entrapping him. The feeling makes your mouth water. Jaw slackening, you lick your lips. “Consider me willing to wager on it.”

A quiet, hungry sound vibrates at your back, and Bane’s grip digs you like a shock. He cups and kneads your ass, his long fingers dipping close to the pulsing heat between your legs—you fight the urge to buck into them. His other hand, cool and firm, clasps the back of your neck and flattens your face along the transparisteel. You gasp in delight, planting your palms to steady you while he tests your body’s response.

“You coulda played that Idiot’s Array,” he mutters. The hand between your legs loops around to the front of your thigh. “Walked out of here rich.”

“Yes,” you manage to reply. He’s close, so close to where you want him, need him to touch you. Your clit pulses for attention. “And you could have played that Twenty-Two you had. Ace high, Stave Flush, was it? You would have won.” He twitches against your skin—you clocked him with that. You smile. “But you took my card anyway.”

Bane’s hand slides down your thigh, groping the flesh there, stroking shivers alive through your nerves. He glides up, over your hip, and when you whine, he jerks his hips into you.

“What’s your point?” Desire is a microscopic tear in his tone. He eases back, squeezes your ass again, hard enough to spread your lips just slightly. “You offered it, didn’t you?”

You try to crane your head toward him to catch his gaze, but it’s hidden by his hat. He’s too busy studying what’s in front of him. Your cunt is swollen, tingling for anything more than what he’s offering you.

“I did.” You’re breathless now, and there’s no use in hiding it. Fire licks your cheeks, desperation growing in your center and throbbing there. “I wanted you to touch me.” Your voice is air and desire. “Did you want to touch me, Bane?”

You feel him growl out the beginning of a response, but then his finger just barely brushes the seam of your pussy. In one simultaneous moment, Bane curses, and you gasp. You’re fucking drenched, slick and hot for him already. It takes no pressure–he gives a testing advance, and dips between your folds with vulgar ease.

“Fuck,” you whine, locking your muscles down against the overpowering urge to throw yourself into him.

For once, Cad Bane is completely silent. Slowly, devastatingly slowly, his finger begins to trail up and down. It teases close to your clit, then glides back towards your entrance, repeating in a cruel game of keep-away that has you panting within seconds. Your breath fogs the window, creating little patches of frosted city light with every huff of your chest.

His movements become experimental, lingering close to your clit when your whines grow louder, circling your entrance when it makes your spine arch. Finally, one finger settles and presses there, breaches you with a delicious little stretch and sinks to its root.

You moan, and your body clenches, trying to suck him in. A low sound catches in Bane’s throat behind you. His skin is smooth and cool, gradually absorbing your heat. He draws halfway out and sinks in again, pulling a gasp and another whine from your chest.

His grip on your neck tightens and he steps closer, wedges his boot between your feet to spread them, nearly edging you off-balance. Satisfied, he drags along your walls and pushes in again, exploring the ridges of your cunt with lewd, wet sounds. Something about the shape of his finger—bulbous at the tip, the slope of his knuckles—has your cunt aching, and you tighten around him, wanting every possible millimeter inside you.

Behind you, Bane inhales sharp air between his pointed teeth and drops your neck, knocks your feet wider, pressing into you. Harsh, cold metal prods you at your shoulders, hips, ribs, his now-free hand slipping into your dress and finding your breast with a gentle squeeze. You squirm in his hold with an elated squeal, and he grumbles, flicks over your nipple, his other hand still relishing the grip of your cunt.

You reach back, grapple his hips and pin his erection against your ass. Breath escapes him in a gravelly pant, and he grinds into you, seeking friction. Dizzy, you moan, melting in his arms. Lust has flooded your brain, numbed your mouth—you can think of nothing else you want than more, more of Cad Bane filling you, stretching you, fucking you dumb.

Like he senses it, Bane slows, adjusts, teasing your entrance with two fingers. A pathetic mewl echoes in the air, and he sinks into you.

On any other occasion, you would have been irritated that you'd been so easy to read. But on this one, you’re far too desperate for the cock of a killer to care.

Bane’s rhythm starts rough, driving and curling into your pussy like a greedy beast, forcing a sob from your chest. His other hand kneads and rolls your tit, tweaks your nipple with tiny shocks of pleasure, and his cock is gouging your flesh. Pure need thickens the air, and your eyes roll, warmth glowing in your belly, rushing your thighs, your clit throbbing, pleading for release.

The last thread of your sanity strings your hand between your legs, and the moment you graze the bundle of nerves, you collapse with bliss, crying out. Bane stiffens, keeping you on your feet while he stretches against the delighted flutter of your walls, his breath deep and heavy. You manage to stand, but the rest of you is lost—lost to anything but the swirl of your swollen clit, the thrust of his fingers inside your cunt.

“Yes,” you whisper, more praise than prayer. Pleasure builds fast, your fingers circling, your desperate, soaking cunt pulsing as you rise toward your peak. “Fuck, yes…”

Bane folds over you, his breath—dry and smoky, like burnt wood—in your ear. He growls, mumbles something under his breath, too garbled in his throat for you to understand. And then he abandons your breast, slaps away your busy fingers, his own replacing them with stone silk smoothness. He ghosts your clit once, twice, feels you milk his hand—then circles it with exquisite, liquid bliss.

Cold glass against your cheek is the only sensation still tethering you to reality. You begin to unfurl, the tight coil in your belly starting to pulse and spark. Your skin feels furnace-hot, trembling as Bane’s steady rhythm hurtles you towards a peak. If there was any hesitation to his movements before, it has disappeared entirely. He’s learning your body now, making millimeter adjustments–and then a wicked curve of his fingers hits a spot inside you that makes your vision go white.

“Oh, fuck!” Each of your breaths carries a musical little moan through the top octaves of your voice. “Don’t stop…”

A mechanical growl vibrates at your neck, and his mouth drops to your shoulder, fangs brushing the skin there. The sensation crackles through your nerves, a fracture thin enough to shatter you like a plasma bolt to glass. In that moment, you fall—your knees wobble, you clutch his arms, and you explode into red-foiled fragments.

Ecstasy ruptures through your veins, an overload that shorts every muscle but the ones wrapped around Bane’s fingers, constricting and trapping him inside while he massages your clit through another wave, and another. His teeth scrape over your skin with dull, distant pain—he curses into your neck until you wilt, spent, in his hold. The remnants of your orgasm peel to the ether, leaving you a throbbing, dripping, panting husk.

City lights swim slowly back into focus, edges softened through the smudged window. Bane’s chest swells against your back. He’s still rooted inside you, unmoving, and he lingers there for several long moments before finally beginning to draw out. You gasp at the drag along your sensitive walls, bracing your palms on the glass. When he emerges, he straightens, the arm bracing you upright sliding away and letting your weight settle on the balls of your feet again. But he doesn’t step away. You can still feel his erection like wrought steel against your ass.

Cheeks awash with the heat of climax, you study his faint reflection in the window. The hat brim is a gentle curve bisecting the city’s harsh lines, his gaze downcast—his fingers are still brushing your swollen cunt, coated in your cum. You can’t help but let out a tiny giggle. A laser-bolt stare pins your reflection.

“Tastes even better than it looks.” Tattered air drags through your voice, and you feel Bane’s hips twitch against you. His eyes narrow. When he speaks, it’s through locked teeth.

“Then who’m I to deny you?”

His hand snakes forward, and before you can blink, his fingers are pushing past your lips, hooking onto the flat of your tongue and spreading the sweet, sharp taste of your juices across your palate. You moan, louder than you intend, as you instinctively wrap around his knuckles and draw him further into your hot, soft mouth, massage your tongue along the unique curve of his digits.

Bane stuffs them deeper, tickles the back of your throat, and you fight the urge to gag. Eyes rolling, you grind against the hard desire digging into your flesh, hoping to infect Bane with the same passion that grips you now like a contagion. Drool sneaks from the side of your lips, and you whimper, tasting yourself between his fingers. You hum in satisfaction, meet his gaze in the window, sealing around him with a single firm suck.

His hips jerk. Grunting, he rips himself free of your mouth and grips your hips, spins you around to face the couch only to push you over one of the arms. You fold like a bad hand, ass pointed at the ceiling and face smashed against the plush cushion.

“Y’re a demon, girlie.”

Bane’s voice is shredded with lust, now. Behind you, his belt buckle releases with a soft metallic clink.

Blood floods your face and cunt with heat. You aren’t going to be the first or last woman fucked on this penthouse couch—but with any luck, you’ll be staining the fabric for months to come. You turn your face to the side and grin.

“What a fitting pair that makes us.”

He grunts, and you feel a firm head prod at your slit before slicking itself in your wetness. You hold your breath, bracing for his cock. When he pushes in, he forces it all from your chest. The stretch is an entirely new landscape—slippery ridges roll into you, stroke your walls in delicious interval—and on top of it, he’s big, thicker than a man of his frame has any business being. You whine, dig your nails into the couch, and Bane’s pelvis hits your ass.

The shape and sensation of his cock has you halfway wound, and you want him to spin you up and unspool you, want to be fucked oblivious. You tighten around his cock, feel it throb in kind. Drool fills your mouth. Anxious, you rock your hips back, goading him deeper. His eyes flash with a hesitant excitement and the corner of his lip curls, revealing a fang.

“Shoulda known you really wanted this,” growls Cad Bane. “You got a terrible Sabacc face.”

Stars, why can’t he just shut up and fuck you? It’s like there’s some tiny, invisible tether sustaining his resolve. Something ready to fracture under a pinpoint of perfectly-aimed pressure.

Fishing remnants of your intellect from the haze flooding your brain, you smile over your shoulder, gaze half-lidded. To anyone else, Bane might appear unreadable. But to you, an expert in catching millimeters of movement, in spying tells from species across the galaxy, his own has become clear.

“Mm, pardon my curiosity, mister Bane.” You rock forward and press back again, letting him feel your pussy split open again on his cock. “I’d always heard that bounty hunters were a terrible fuck.”

He snarls. Two strong hands encircle your thighs and jerk you back. He snaps into you. Your eyes find your brain, your body finds purgatory.

Bane exhales the fragments of his restraint, slides out, the ribbed surface of his cock earning little gasps from you with each dip before he pushes in again. Another groan, another thrust, and another, and another, and Bane is driving into you, shackling you in place with his fingers, your stattacoed pleasure blending into a long, laboring moan.

At this point, you’ve had a fair share of nun-human cocks inside of you. But there’s something about Bane’s—the shape, the girth, the slick, almost wet slip of his skin—that ignites a warm, addictive shiver through your thighs, makes your cunt spasm with every thrust. Behind you, he grunts, shifting over you to pump deeper, his breath rattled by that mechanical purr.

You scratch the couch, arching your back, rolling your hips to meet him in tandem. Under the broken melody of your pleasure, he fucks you with shameless, quickening percussion. Your clit tingles to life, saliva pooling in your cheeks and leaking to the couch. Bliss is sweeping you into a storm, unmooring you from reality, and you can do nothing more but plead to drown. Gasping, you bounce your ass against him, wanting, needing, begging for more.

And then his pace slows again, evading your desperate thrusts and drawing an utterly pathetic sound of protest from you.

“Oh, everything not going by your design, little lady?” Bane coos above you, before his hand bunches around the back of your dress, voice turning hard and cruel. “You ain’t had enough?”

He slams into you, forcing a scream, cut short as he yanks you toward him. The force rips the delicate fabric, pops the straps at your shoulders, and you collapse forward, smacking the cushions. Before you have a chance to mourn your dress, he pulls out, flipping you with surprising strength, and shoves you forward on the couch.

Mind in a spiral, you only have a split second to process the sight—Bane crosses and looms over you, his cock now swinging into full view. Each ridge is swollen and flushed green, lined at the base with nubs that leak a pearlescent substance. That same substance still coats your pussy, and when you swirl your clit with it, a strangely potent pulse of pleasure zips straight up your spine, making your head go fuzzy.

Bane grips his cock, slicks that substance from base to swollen tip with a hiss and lines it up with your entrance. Bracing himself, he pushes in, piercing you with a sharp thrust.

You cry out, suck in a shuddering moan while your core clenches in delight, all too happy to be fucked numb. Above you, Bane traps a groan in his throat, and you bite your lip. At some point, his hat fluttered to the floor.

Like this, you can hear every trip of his breath, watch his jaw lock with pleasure, smell the spice of danger laid into his skin. His hips piston, cock driving in again and again, stretching you deeper with each plunge. The storm has captured you, eradicated rationality. In its onslaught, you throw your arms around him. All you can do is want.

Bane snarls and pins your throat, forcing distance between you again. The pressure blurs your sight, thumps in your temple and mingles with the electric fuzz in your brain while he fucks into your cunt—a throttled gurgle escapes, the sensation of his cock, his pace, his presence more inebriating than any drink you’d been served. Your thighs tremble, your fingers curl, the heat in your belly blazes, tightens.

“Fuck yes,” you manage to sputter. “Bane—”

He squeezes your throat. “Quiet.”

Your jaw slackens, and you swallow your words, drool and primal noise filling the void. Under it, you can hear Bane’s voice crumbling into ragged, soft panting—he pounds you, his fangs bared, your bodies rocking the couch across the tile. Your clit is sensitive, aching, every smack of his hips coating your folds in his fluid and somehow driving you closer, closer to orgasm.

Stars, you want to cum on him, you want to grip and pulse around his length and milk him until he’s spent, you want him to ruin your pussy. There is no reality that exists to you without him, without his cock.

The hand at your throat squeezes again, shooting stars into your sight. You nod with a whine. He drives deep, his cock so swollen you feel the urgent throb of its ridges as they breach your cunt, the grating desperation leaving his chest—as if to urge you before him, he crushes your breath, hammering deep, hitting parts of you that explode behind your eyes.

A whine becomes a groan becomes a scream, pulsing heat subsumes you, and erupts in blinding white light. It pours out in strangled sobs from your chest, overflows your skin in currents of electric gooseflesh. All of you constricts, pulsing in powerful waves that can’t find a way to break. Bane is silent as you cum, his pace remarkably steady through the longest orgasm of your life—until you’re halfway cognizant, quaking in aftershocks and gaze fluttering open.

The pressure leaves your throat. You gulp in oxygen, vision still grey around the edges and skin still vibrating in time with your abused cunt. Your walls seize as Bane’s cock pulls out, leaving you vacant.

He is a cerulean shape in your periphery, moving—without a chance to recover, you find yourself yanked off of the couch by the back of your neck and shoved onto your knees.

Eyes hazy, you look up at Cad Bane standing above you. One hand grips his cock, pumping it millimeters from your face, the other still hooked around the back of your neck. Dazed and compliant, you default on instinct. Your mouth falls open, tongue laid over your bottom teeth and brows pinching together in a final, silent plea.

Red burns down on you, curses flying from between his locked teeth. Bane fucks his fist, his hips jerk forward, and with a mechanical roar, he cums.

It hits you across your nose, forehead and tongue. It’s not only the taste of it, it’s the texture—it’s slick, warm. That same static tingles your tastebuds. Groaning, your sight goes white, and you swirl it in your mouth, let it slither down your throat. Bane is motionless, panting, a study of a man gilded in satisfaction.

There’s a mirrored bliss roiling inside of you, too, fat with glee that you can say you’ve fucked one of the most dangerous men in the galaxy, that he split you open on his cock, that he smothered your face with cum.

Bane squeezes the last few beads from the tip, twitching in sensitivity, and smears them across your lips. His slit gaze maintains a shackle hold on yours, and you grin, slipping your sticky tongue out to gather every single drop. You swallow it and gasp, opening your mouth to show its cleanliness like it’s the climax of your performance.

But really, despite Bane’s suspicions, it’s entirely sincere. Unlike most of your encounters, you haven’t performed since he guided you to the lift.

Easing back onto your heels, Bane is silent, tucking himself away before grabbing his hat from the floor and dusting it clean. The casual whisk of his hand—the knowledge that it was just inside of you—is almost enough to make you see if you can convince him into another round. Catching a glimpse of yourself, you notice your tits hanging free, the sheen of sweat in the dim light, the errant remnants of cum adorning your skin.

Getting clean is your first priority.

“Mind if I use the refresher?” The answer doesn’t matter to you—you’re already slinking to your feet and letting the tatters of your dress fall like ribbons around your hips. Better to start early.

His laser stare pierces your back while you find the master suite, hesitating before you dip beyond the door. Maybe you’re toying with him, but you’re almost surprised when he doesn’t fight your violation of his privacy. Until you glance around the room and notice how large, how pristine, and how utterly empty it is of life.

No luggage, no belongings. The bed isn’t even touched.

Humming to yourself, you head to the refresher, skating your fingers along the cool chrome-lined counters. Grabbing one of the folded towels, you carefully dab it along the last bits of Bane’s cum, wiping the smudges of makeup that have pooled at the corners of your eyes. After all, if you’re going to try for round two…

The state of affairs: your hair is chaos, pressed to your skull in wild ways, your lips plump, face shimmering with a mixture of semen and perspiration. The evidence of Bane’s teeth throb at your shoulder, the evidence of his cock pulses between your legs. Your thighs still tremble, the flesh there buzzing from whatever magic his species deals in.

Spotting a cleanly folded robe, you grab it, tucking yourself into it and leaving it open at the chest. With each step, your tits jiggle and sway, enough exposed to entice the imagination. You’re not exactly sure what he finds most exciting about you, but you figure that betting on all of it won’t hurt.

After messing with your hair until it decides to cooperate, you glide back to the main room, still floating on the cloud of being fucked to an inch of your life by a killer.

Across the room, Bane is tapping his commlink, ending a call he’d apparently just been on. Without acknowledging you, or saying a word at all, he inventories his weapons and taps buttons on his bracer before heading toward the docked ship outside of the penthouse balcony. You frown.

All of that, and he won’t even notice how great your tits look in this robe?

You clear your throat. “Tapping out so soon, cowboy?”

Bane sniffs. “Got a job.”

You fight the urge to droop. You feel like a plucked porg.

“A job?” You gesture at the robe. “What am I supposed to do, then? I don’t exactly have any credits right now. Or clothes.”

That red laser gaze nails you a final time. The corner of his mouth is curled, you swear, in the smallest smirk.

“Ain’t you an artist?”

Two fingers brush the tip of his hat, the only farewell you receive before Bane heads toward the dock, hopping into the ship. A second passes before the engines whirr alive and the craft speeds off into the dark, busy night of Coruscant. You hold your breath until its lights melt into the city’s own starscape.

Lip twisting, you stare at your very still tits, surveying the empty penthouse suite. With an exhale, you sink into the couch, spying the puddle of drool you’d left on the other cushion. Your fingers drift absently between your legs, finding the remains of Bane’s secretions there. You drag a bit of the syrupy material over your abused clit, feeling the nerves inexplicably surge to life once again in pleasant tingles.

Whatever the fuck you’re supposed to do now, at least you have until the morning to figure it out. In the meantime, you’ll enjoy your accommodations.

And your own company.

[techmiranda]

Writer's block. The thing that you have ideas, know how the story will go, get even more ideas, and want to write, but the right way to out it Just. Doesn't. Come. Out.

But, finally got the next chapter out in my Star Wars Cad Bane x OC fanfic, and the next chapter already on its way. Yay for that!

These are bounty hunter stories with action, smut, gritty details and adventure, and the storyline once 10 chapters long has become adventure-filled fic now passing 50 chapters...

The Concept of Trust in AO3

And in Wattpad.

[deepbluespace4]

AAIEEAIIAEEEEE it's amazingg! The back and forth between Bane and Todo, I missed it so much after "The Holocron Heist". I love his brutality too...don' go easy on those fuckers, mister. Hella sexy, sorrynotsorry... He's PURRING, someone kill me! There was not one chapter so far that did not have me laughing out loud. Thank you, hope you'll keep it coming!

Beauty and the Bounty Hunter

Chapter 4: The Hunt

(Cad Bane x Fem! Reader/OC)

Fic summary: You are Aurora Ordel: the pinnacle of femininity gone wrong. Smart, sexy, but with a sassy mouth. Hailing from Corellia, you live on Coruscant at your career’s behest. You are a “Chief Design Engineer” for The Galactic Empire; inventor of the Onager-Class Star Destroyer - this super weapon is your pride and joy.

Your employer is Palpatine; you answer to Darth Vader; and Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin is always barking up your skirt.

You are also beauty who has met with beast – a surly, ill-tempered bounty hunter who you like to swap spit with. Your problem? - Everyone’s out to kill you for being such a kriffing witch, and on top of that, you’re addicted to that Duros dick. Your solution? – Make Cad Bane your ( on call ) bitch.

*This is a second person POV (reader) fic / OC fic. It's both. I forgo physical descriptions at much as possible, though yes, you/she has a name, and a personality. If that is not your cup of tea, that is fine, but as the story stands it will remain this way. I still have fun writing it. If it pisses you off, oh well I guess. DN read.

This chapter: Our dear reader has found herself in trouble. Cad Bane is quite fed-up with her! Will he bother to come to her assistance, and if so, under what pretense?

Warnings: 18+ for dirty humor, death, murder, reference to fertile cycles and alien biology aka horny old man Bane headcanon, exploding heads, allusions to physical abuse, mention of sexual assault (no penetration), misogynistic/gross men, emotional trauma / other heavy shit, but don't worry. Cad Bane saves you.

Word count: 6.5k

Notes: No smut this time. Sorry / not sorry about that, but the story is definitely progressing in that direction for chapter 5! I apologize for the long delay. Hopefully this chapter will still be entertaining!

BATBH: Masterpost

You are Aurora Ordel and you have found yourself in trouble. Your hired gun had been callous towards you and for good reason. You had annoyed him to the point money did not matter. He was through with you, and you were being held for ransom.

You had lost track of time though hours felt like days. Your kidnappers hadn’t fed you though they were kind enough to let you drink for without water you would die. It wouldn’t do them any good if you were dead – not yet.

Little did they know the Empire did not take kindly to this sort of thing. Perhaps your life was not worth the credits that they required for your release. You had your doubts having heard their plans, even if you were an infamous, “evil” scientist.

This gang of thugs - of miscreants - had seen you on the HoloNews. They assumed you were someone of esteem and influence, and perhaps you were. Just days ago you had the Emperor himself eating from your palm, but only because of your invention. You were unsure that he would bother to send anyone to gain your freedom.

After two days your assailants were growing bored. You wore a blindfold. You had no idea what they looked like or their species, though some of them had claws as they had fondled and caressed your body.

You had choked back tears against your gag. They claimed to love the soft flesh of a human. Their words came out as a hiss. You thought maybe they were Trandoshan or perhaps more Duros.

That thought led you to more unsavory ones - the very thing you did to displease the hunter – that kriffing bet. Your desire for him had overpowered your sense of reason. You were normally so smart yet this blue man caused you to act stupid.

It’s like your brain turned off around him. No man, no alien had ever had that effect on you before. It was unnerving, yet your libido grew and grew to the point you could lose all control. It was no doubt curious though you chose to act instead of question it.

Just thinking about Cad Bane had you sopping wet even as you were bound in binders and blind to your surroundings. You cursed yourself behind your gag though the scent of your arousal had alerted your greedy captors. Whatever was their ilk, they could tell.

“Sssssshe likesssss it. What a ssssssslut,” one of the Trandoshans said. You nearly screamed as his forked tongue flitted against your ear. You kicked your legs though your ankles were bound. One of his large hands easily held them down.

“We got ourssssselvvvvesssss a braaaaaat,” the reptilian creature hissed. There was raucous laughter followed by the overwhelming feeling of being helpless.

You held back tears for they wouldn’t do you any good. Your mind drifted to that damn Duros. He wished you had never slighted him. The only thing that made you finally cry was that he had never fucked you proper.

---

Cad Bane was on the hunt. Your scent had been overpowered, outnumbered by the odors of your adversaries. They had purposely split up, going two separate ways. Perhaps they knew who they were dealing with when they saw the company you kept.

Bane was aware it was in his best interest to leave it be, yet you had paid him quite a hefty sum. Maybe he felt a sense of duty though he had convinced himself to swear you off. It still felt … wrong, seeing as how you couldn’t even see, and that part had been his fault, no matter that you quite deserved what you had got.

Ultimately, if he hadn’t ejaculated on your glasses you wouldn’t be in this mess.

The hunter sighed, running a hand over his long face as he shook his head. He shouldn’t have let your attitude get the best of him. To lose his cool was unprofessional, no matter if he had been balls deep in your pretty cunt, as that was less than professional as well, but he would have to admit he had enjoyed it when in fact his testes resided inside himself.

He hadn’t… finished; he hadn’t let you finish. To die without the satisfaction of an orgasm was a cruel and unjust punishment, especially as your desire for him was downright palpable.

His ego was somewhat elevated despite the events that had transpired. If he played his cards right you might still be alive. If not, well, he at least could say he tried.

Cad Bane stalked the lower levels, having asked anyone in the nearby vicinity about what it was they’d seen. For the perpetrators to have moved so fast dictated they were not human beings. He had smelled a mix of things. Gotals, which was worrisome, Trandoshan, and a subspecies of their ilk. They were just as ugly, going by the name of Saurin’s who hailed from the planet Durkteel.

They all had claws, sharp teeth, or horns: things that you might be afraid of. Yet, as a scientist, Bane wondered if you were perhaps enjoying it.

Oh, but his thoughts wandered to things that were unpleasant. That prompted him to traverse through the Underworld portal in his ship, deeper down than where the Red Rancor sat.

Level 1313 was so aptly named as it was one-thousand-three-hundred and thirteen levels from the core of Coruscant. This place was vile, often forgotten by those above and disregarded, though Cad Bane had visited this undercity numerous times before.

Information was what he was after on your whereabouts. Tidbits, morsels, or even scraps often proved useful when you followed the right tracks. He left the Justifier in the safekeeping of his droid, then slinked through the crowds as he kept an eye out and one ear open.  

Bane canvassed the filthy streets, using the fear of God he put into people. No one dared to turn him down from the moment he’d made eye contact.

His reputation was a boon though he could not prevent denizens from lying to him. He had learned to gauge a person’s body language, their nuanced movements, and the tone of voice they used to tell if they were playing stupid. Most were too afraid to fib though Bane uncovered nothing of grave importance.

A few individuals in particular he thought suspicious; he collected their names and any identifying features. He used his thorough research skills to rummage down back avenues on the HoloNet, picking and choosing where he was led to next on instinct.

After many dead end leads and unsuccessful stealth laden ventures, Bane decided on a place to rest and kick his feet up but also one full of chumps and gangsters, two-bit crooks, and even bounty hunters. He’d fit right in, to most people’s chagrin - Cad Bane’s presence was at the very least intimidating.

Finally, some punk, some wet nosed kid who knew little-to-nothing about subtlety or keeping secrets just couldn’t stop himself from bragging. A heavy flow of ale meant a heavy flow of intel from his end. Bane would often buy drinks for blatherers; the payout was worth the credits, especially if he was not in the mood to cause a scene.

“They caught themselves an Imp with a real nice rack. Wonder how many war crimes she’s committed.”

“Bitch probably deserves what’s coming to her,” some rando commented.

“Wouldn’t mind being the one to give it,” the stoolie laughed. "Then I'd leave her a present to remember me by - all over those perky tits."

The unwitting snitch had just joined ranks with a no-good band of hoodlums, rivals to the ones called Raptors, and they had the inclination to snatch their current captive to take the reward all for themselves.

Some woman - a smart one, from what he had gathered – she held secrets belonging to the Empire. This kid had seen her dragged inside a warehouse; he had overheard a man with green hair explain the details to someone else - the plans they had for you should no one bother to collect.

Cad Bane thought there was more to it than that. He ground his teeth into his toothpick. Upon threat of death should he waste his time, the squealer shed light on this gang’s hiding spot, advising the bounty hunter on where to start his search afresh.

Then, he broke his neck.

“Dat’s fer bein’ a disgustin’ bastard,” Bane sneered, though he had mostly committed murder so he did not follow in his footsteps; it would have been a bother should he gain advantage, or get word back to his gang.

However, he could not deny the imbecile was accurate: your rack was nice. He found himself annoyed that he was worried about your safety, red eyes squinting as he glared at nothing in particular until he moved ahead, hoping you weren’t dead yet.

The Duros was forced to enter the Crimson Corridor, the even seedier high-crime district that was positioned some ten kilometers from the former Jedi Temple. It was in the Third Quadrant of the Zi-Kree Sector, and not a place for a lady such as yourself no matter your lack of proper manners.

This region was far from your original location; he wondered if this whole charade was planned ahead or just an opportune arrangement. Considering the many talents you seemed to have he wouldn’t put it past this motley crew to know what you were truly on about.

Cad Bane shook his head again; he could hardly believe a gal like you created superweapons. With such a shapely ass, wide hips, and perfect breasts, it was a wonder you had also been blessed with such a brain to boot, one that housed monolithic blueprints for some of the most dangerous playthings in the galaxy, yet you were worse than all those children he had been paid to wrangle; they knew how to listen. You were a walking contradiction!

You talked back, talked smack, running your mouth from here to the Mid Rim with the obscenest things, and you had the nerve to make that bet!

Oh, you had begged forgiveness. But even if he was irritated with you and had admittedly planned to leave, he could not vindicate forfeiting you to the grimy hands of other men.

This time he had brought Todo with him, the droid trying to point out something Bane would not accept; there had been a rise in his reproductive hormone levels and your presence was simply not helping matters though the droid was positive it could.

Maybe it was a mistake to link his little confidant to his life support; he knew the ins and outs of every facet of Bane’s many somatic systems. Todo was aware If Bane were sick or injured before even he did on occasion, but the price to pay was he had become a hassle. He was always badgering and nagging, telling him when to eat, or sleep, or when to brush his teeth so as to practice good oral hygiene.

He was tempted to end the program but he also loved having the upper hand. Should he need him one day, Todo would be a comm away.

Still, at this very moment, the service droid would not stop talking, elaborating on the intricacies of Durosian biology and fertile cycles, reproductive windows, and the horrors and atrocities of aging. If he did not need him to distract that damn Gotal he had smelled, Todo would have still been sitting pretty in the Justifier and Bane could bask in silence.

“It will only get worse, you know,” the little droid stated matter-of-factly as his master listened, a broad sneer plastered on his blue face from crease-to-crease.

“De only thing gettin’ worse a’round here’s yer jabberin’,” the Duros seethed.

“That is not true. Perhaps you have not noticed as you are not the one experiencing it from an outside perspective, but every three months your mood swings are absolutely terrible,” Todo disagreed.

“Maaybe ye’ jus’ piss me off like clockwork,” Bane retorted.

“I highly doubt that.”

“Ah don’ doubt it aht all,” the Duros snickered.

“Think of all the laundry I have to do!”

“Perfect task fer’a butler droid.”

“I am not a butler droid! How many times have we been over this? And it’s not just laundry. It’s worse than that, it’s-

“Ferghet dat,” Bane cut in. He did not want to talk about the aftermath of his lengthy masturbation sessions. “Focus. Keep yer optics open, or dis is liable t’be a ‘sskank in a sscud pie’ sit’uation.

“What is it that you think we are doing?” Todo asked deliberately.

“Rescue op,” Bane drawled from around his toothpick.

“Since when do you ever do those?” he asked quite flagrantly.

Bane rumbled a warning at him. “Since when d’ya tolk so dang-blamed much?” He thought it over. “Eval! Got him outta prison. Tch.” He failed to mention Obi-Wan or his hand in the whole affair.

“Did ye’ ferghet Zziro?” he asked after the fact. “Rescued ‘im durin’ dat whole ssenate thing. You weren’t d’ere fer dat part, but as ye’ very well know, it haappened!” he snapped, exasperated.

“I thought those were more like recovery missions,” the techno-service droid argued back with a tad of sass. “Besides, you said you would never take one of those jobs again! And this one you’re doing for free?”

“Ain’ free! S’paid in ad’vhance, an’ Ah meant wurkin’ fer de Hutts!” Cad spat, flicking his chewed up toothpick straight into Todo’s shoulder; it bounced off and landed in a puddle, Todo glancing up at Bane as he hovered above the water on his rocket boosters, shaking his large head with an iota of disapproval.

“In advance of being kidnapped? Why, I’ve never heard of anything like that.”

Cad Bane paused, dredging two fingers against his chin. He rubbed softly as he had a thought: was it possible this had been your plan as well? His brow ridge furrowed. He snorted out a scoff; that would have been ridiculous. Not even you would go that far to get attention.

“Why d’ya think d’ere’s bodyguards, laa’serbrain? Ye’ hire ssomebody ‘cause yer either a’fraaid of bein’ kidnapped, or a’fraaid of ssomeone killin’ ya,’” he quipped in agitation.

“So, then you mean to tell me you have failed at your job?” Todo asked with honest curiosity. “Your task was to guard Ms. Ordel, yet she has been kidnapped?” Todo’s body language made him appear aghast. “Oh, this is worse than I thought! Your judgement has been clouded to the point it is affecting-”

Cahn’nit! No more playin’ know-it-all! God only knows how’a know-it-all knows ever’ythin’ exscept how annoyin’ dey are. Gotta too big mouth fer ya’ too big head. We’re here!” he added. “Now, shut up.”

“If that isn’t the Quacta calling the Stifling slimy,” Todo whispered to himself in reference to the size of his large head. Duros were no better off in that department.

Bane ignited the thrusters on his boots without another word, launching himself heavenward. He bounded from roof to roof until he landed atop a structure in much need of repair, Todo not far behind. There was a viewport that acted as a skylight, Bane peering into the dimly lit storehouse that the boy had pointed out; this place was to be his target, and those who tread within.

For now, the hideout was sparsely populated though there was that infernal Gotal and a rather beefy human male, but what was worse was the Gotal already seemed to be aware of Cad Bane’s proximity; it was time for Todo to perform his single task.

Gotals, as a species, could sense their quarry from up to ten kilometers away; they could track a herd for weeks, determining the amount, game type, and fitness level by relying on their cones alone. When close to targets, they could easily absorb information on its mood and state of mind. As such, they numbered among the most sought-after hunters in the galaxy, which in this instance was not to Cad Bane’s benefit – far from it.

Those… things that Gotal’s had - cranial horns were good receptors -  they could sense electromagnetism and varied energy emissions, including auras from other lifeforms and things as tiny as neutrinos. They were the exact opposite of Duros. Their eyesight and hearing was quite weak and their sense of smell almost completely absent, but that did not reduce their other talents.

Droids, as it were, gave off enough emissions to at least annoy one, but Cad Bane had a sabacc card up his long sleeves: electro-magnets strapped to the inside of Todo’s chassis. They emitted emanations ten times that; it should be more than enough to disorient the sentient.

The Gotal had begun to move around the room as if he were looking for something or someone, the human male keeping close watch even as the horned being warned him that something was off. He used his wrist comm to call for back-up; he wandered toward the locked tight doors. This was Cad Bane’s chance. Perhaps he could avoid a firefight if he could rescue you before any new arrivals.

He took a moment to study your appearance. He could see you clearly from this vantage. You were tied up by the hands around a post, your legs stretched out before you. 

“Bet she’s sittin’ d’ere wishin’ she ain’ ghet under m’scales,” Bane mumbled.

Oh, how right he was.

It had been nearly three whole days. You were wearing the same outfit. Your shoes were gone, and your glasses, too. He cursed himself, noticing you looked like you might have been abused.

There were marks and bruises on your arms; your hair was in a disarray. He was sure you had spent more time crying as there were mascara stains, old ones, running down your face.

Cad Bane gnashed his fangs.

“Todo… cut’a hole in dis trans’paristeel, den ghet down d’ere an’ disstract dat Gotal once he exitss de building,” Bane ordered coldly.

“Right away, Bane!” Todo activated a hidden laser, focusing its beam on the glass before him. He cut a large circular shaped hole before Bane rummaged in his tote, withdrawing two suction cups. He implanted them against the plate; he removed the excess then set it off to the side. It was big enough for the hunter to squeeze through, the little droid giving a salute before he zipped down off the roof.

Cad Bane watched, leery, as his little partner flew off to do his job. He reset his intentions, gazing down into the warehouse.

To his annoyance three more beings had joined the man. Two Trandoshan, and one Bith. He snickered, preparing to make his entrance.

He paused. You had made a noise. Your pathetic whimpering had enticed one of the large reptiles.

“Aww, poor thing. What’ssss the matter?” the largest Trandoshan taunted, “Did you missss me?” he asked nastily.

Cad Bane watched as you kicked your feet and twisted against your bindings. He noted there was a gag inside your mouth to silence your response. He supposed you talked too much, and in that moment he could not blame your captors, even though he was now on edge as the scaled being bent down to caress your inner thigh; his claws teased and tormented you as they disappeared beneath your skirt.

You whined against the cloth stuffed in your mouth. Cad Bane’s green blood set to boiling.

“Todo, where’sss de ugly goat man aht?” he hissed into the comm upon his wrist gauntlet. He was trying hard to keep his cool.

Todo 360 returned the comm, floating with his tiny hands upon his hips. He was quite satisfied with himself, the Gotal on his knees before him. The ache in his head was quite apparent; his actions were ones of pain and anguish as he rolled around upon the ground. He was flustered, flummoxed, and all together worthless, having been thoroughly incapacitated beyond his usefulness.

The service droid’s proud voice rang out, “Currently, he is indisposed. Would you like to leave a message?”

“Keep him pinned, got quesstions. Dis ain’ all o’dem.” he said, referring to the Raptor gang.

“Yes, sir!” Todo accepted his orders without question.

You screamed though it was muffled. Cad Bane withdrew one LL-30 BlasTech pistol. He took his time, aimed, and fired. He shot the human dead, then the Trandoshan next. The lizard’s body fell across your lap right before Bane dropped down to the warehouse floor like a graceful Loth-cat.

His duster settled; he rose from bended knee. The other lizard creature lifted his weaponry. Cad revoked it and shot him between the eyes; it had all been simultaneous.

His lanyard had extended. It had wrapped around the blaster’s grip. He jerked it from the Trandoshan before he even knew what happened. At the same time that this occurred, Bane lifted his own pistol. It was a fluid movement, the heavy carcass falling upon the floor right by your feet.

That left the Bith; Cad Bane cornered him. He tossed the blaster rifle to violently discard it.

As for you, you had no idea what the hells was happening. You jiggled at your cuffs, chest heaving as you breathed in deeply. You were frantic, wondering if you would be the next one to meet your Maker, or if perhaps your comrades had come for you, but that might not necessarily be good.

For one, you could be branded as a failure. You had not avoided capture. Granted, this had been your employer’s greatest fear, though now your project was in its final stages. Surely you were still of utility, why else had they deigned to hire you?

Your thoughts raced; you suddenly wondered if they would believe anything you had to say. Would Tarkin assume you spilled secrets while in captivity?

Surely he would not! But you could hardly put it past the Moff. You felt if you ever made it out alive Wilhuff might decide to ride you raw.

Thankfully, that was not to be taken literal. For Tarkin to get anywhere near your naughty bits nearly triggered your gag reflex. Besides, you had heard that he was gay. The idea suited you – the mighty Moff with a cock shoved up his ass. You would love to tell him to “sit on it and spin.” Maybe if he got his rocks off he’d lighten up a bit.

Though not to diminish your current state, which was one of fear and panic; you started crying at the awful sounds the Bith was making as Cad bane had withdrawn something from his coat’s deep pockets.

Bane held the Bith around the neck; he dipped down low to sniff him with his olfactory organs. This one smelled like you, too. No one would be getting off the hook.

He felt unusually cruel though you were still blind to the goings on. Cad Bane whispered a few simple words, the other struggling to free himself as you strained to hear what was being said.

“When ye’ ghet ta hell, tell ‘em Cad Bane ssent ya’,” The Duros sizzed.

The voice had not been comprehensible; there was a new sound to distract you. You heard the ticking of a timer, one that was high in pitch. It was meant for the tiny Bith who squirmed and squawked in Cad Bane’s grip, the hunter doing the unthinkable when he shoved it between his odd shaped lips.

Bane ignited his boot’s thrusters. He propelled himself and dove into a darkened corner. Within seconds you heard something terrible and shrill, then felt something warm and wet; for a moment you thought that you’d gone deaf.

Whatever had splashed you was thick and sticky, and on top of everything you still could not see or even speak. You thrashed against your stun-cuffs, not realizing the Bith’s head had just exploded, and now the remnants were all over you.

Their senses were highly acute; Bith could perceive tonal qualities of sound unknowable to others. An interesting side effect was in the use of screamers.

Bane only came out when the coast was clear, but you were livid, kicking and jerking as if he were out to kill you and for all you knew it was the truth.

Cad Bane approached you though you still had no idea he was the culprit. You were sobbing, trying to remove the Trandoshan that had fallen across your legs.

The weight was lifted; someone had dislodged the dead guy, finally. This person lowered and touched your knee as they tried to calm you down, not thinking you might take this as a threat though in hindsight it made sense.

Your leg rose; you would have socked Bane right in the family jewels if he were human. It was a good thing his reproductive organs were internal, or he might have killed you on accident.

He halted any further actions, holding both your legs down with one large hand as he contained a growl, the Duros meaning to comfort you but instead yelling, “Ssimmer down!”

It was fruitless; you couldn’t even hear him. The ringing was still present in your ears though you felt you could register things at a distance. It felt like being in a tunnel while at the same time underwater. Your heartrate increased as the being shifted his position.

You screamed again when he leaned in, right as he removed your gag.

Bane fell backward, nearly losing the hat atop his head. He grimaced, barking out more orders once he had recovered from you yelling in his face. “Calm yer tits, wo’man! Yer safe!”

You seemed inconsolable; all you did was weep. Cad Bane crawled forward on his hands and knees; he reached out timidly to remove your blindfold. He acted like one who might be wary of a hound, not sure if they might bite or attack on sight.

You stifled a gasp though your lips trembled. Your eyes were having a hard time readjusting. The luminescence of the room was dim at best, but you had been in the dark for nearly three whole days. Then, everything was blurry. Your spectacles were missing. You did not expect to get them back, you were well past that.

“Wh-who’s there?” you fearfully called out, your words a broken whisper as you waited for the worst.

A face appeared within your vision; it was much too close to recognize. Your shivering got worse though you managed to screech loudly, “Get the hells away from me!”

Cad Bane complained verbally. “Ye’ wanna know who’s d’ere, den ya’ want me ta let ye’ a’lone. Make up yer mind, brainiac!” he scolded you, half-assed.

All you heard was something about ass though your hearing was finally coming back. That did not stop you from throwing a full on fit. You railed against your bonds, not caring that it hurt you in the process.

“L-let me go!” you beseeched, your voice cracking pathetically. You were ashamed you had broken rank only in that you expected more out of yourself.

Four broad fingers and one thumb nestled in against your cheek. It was cool to the touch but the nerve this person had made you even madder.

“Don’t touch me!” you belted out the moment you perceived a movement of his hand. That had not stopped him so you stated your true feelings. “I’m too young, beautiful, smart, and funny to die,” you claimed brazenly.

A thumb brushed against your lips as the Duros shushed you; you inhaled sharply before you sank your teeth in. You recognized the taste, the smell, then you heard his raspy voice. “Says you. Don’ have’a conniption, it’s just me, girl- Ahh!! Karkin’ harpy!!” he hissed, giving your nose a forceful flick.

Somehow knowing it was Bane only made it worse. You cried full-fledged, feeling so terrible about yourself. To top it off, now you had gone and bit him! You should have kept your mouth shut. You should never have made that bet. Your speech was garbled as you petitioned for forgiveness.

“Inevermeantto-” you expelled in a rush, salty tears streaming down your face. You cried so hard you were beginning to hyperventilate, remembering what Cad Bane had relayed. “Your-your services are no longer required!” you stammered hurriedly.

You continued to pull against the cuffs; you were sure to have bruises on your wrists. Bane cinched his fingers around your forearms; they   were small compared to his wide reach.

“Wait’a tick,” he advised you, having recovered from your nip. “Whaddaya yappin’ a’bout- sstop squirmin’ sso damn much,’ yer gonna hurt yerself!” he berated, flustered.

Your breathing was erratic. You felt like you were dying! You could only reiterate what you had said in so many words, “I am no longer your client! I don’t need you! You, you left me- and, I-” you stumbled over your confession. “I deserve it looking the way that I do! It was bound to happen, re-remember?!” you asked as more tears crept down your cheeks.

The hunter felt a pang of guilt. “Hush now, m’lil’ hellcat,” he coaxed you gently, though you were mildly traumatized. The gangsters had not had their total way with you, but they had felt you up and fondled all your attributes.

“What the hell’s all over me?! Please, don’t say cum,” you screeched.

“Brains,” Bane answered casually.

“Brains!?”  It was worse than you imagined.

He did not respond this time. His fingers worked their magic on the cuffs. He quickly set you loose. You took to rocking back and forth, drawing your knees up to your chin. “You-you’ve already been paid!” you shrieked as your voice fractured. “G-go away!” you commanded him.

He called you by your name. “Need’ta ghet ye’ outta dis snake pit, no reason ta make it hard. No lady deserves dis, naht even you.”

“Yes, I do! I’m terrible, I’m the worst. You said so yourself!” you shot back as he moved to wind his arms around you. You bucked and wriggled, borderline ready to throw a tantrum. You were tired and hungry, cold, wet, and somehow slimy. You felt you must smell awful, but worst of all you were full of pity for yourself and covered in some guy’s grey matter.

For once Bane was being sympathetic, yet you were full of trepidation. You threshed against his hold so much he withdrew a tool he had stashed away inside his lengthy coat: his hypnosis orb.

It mimicked a Jedi mind trick. Bane could calibrate it to be stronger and for the effects to last a little longer. He had the thought to knock you out for a length of time, just until he could get you someplace else. You were partially delirious from lack of food and rest.

He could not blame you for behaving crazy, at least not right this second. He assumed he’d just have to wait a smidge for you to return to normal, whatever normal was. It was all the more reason to lull you into a brief sleep; you would be less annoying.

The hypnogazer actuated. He brought it up to eye-level with you. You blinked at first, confused, until he found your sweet spot; the correct distance from your face that allowed you to make it out.

“Sssshhhh…” Bane shushed you softly. “Jus’ relaaaaxxx, lil’ lady…” he whispered in your ear as your eyes partook of the shiny object that held one hundred percent of your attention. You were enthralled and occupied like an intrigued feline until your mind went numb. It was as if all thought had left you. You were a blank slate to be manipulated. There was nothing you could do.

Cad Bane made a suggestion to you. “Close yer eyesss…” he coerced. You complied, no questions asked.

“Drift off’ta sssleeeep. No worriesss…” he crooned as if you were a child who needed soothing. But it worked for you did that, too. You were dead to the whole of Coruscant as the bounty hunter carried you.

He made his way across the warehouse, a mite surprised there was no one left to stage an ambush, assuming now might be the time he least expected it. Any possible assailants would have predicted false, though he was happy to avoid the whole damn mess; he comm called Todo, signaling him to open the blast resistant doors.

“Got’m haands full o’dis tart, ghet us out,” he dryly directed his blundering droid.

Cad Bane was lashed in the face by the stench of a rat-infested alley. It smelled putrid, like trash and sewage, the Gotal writhing on the ground before him as he held you firmly in his arms. Todo had obeyed his orders. The horned beast of a man was still duly incapacitated. Bane gingerly maneuvered you so he could turn a dial on his wrist gauntlet. It freed the Gotal from his invisible imprisonment.

“Where’s yer boss?” Cad Bane demanded, brandishing his authority by the positioning of a single finger, threatening to increase the power of the electro-magnets at his disposal at a moment’s notice.

“I don’t know!” the sentient replied, knowing Green Hair would have his hide, but he couldn’t decide what’s worse: that, or the effects of the disabling emissions.

“Wrong an’swer,” the Duros spat, making good on his nonverbal threat. He released a wave of pain, the Gotal twitching at his mercy. His kind was not made for this; he cursed the day he joined this gang. He pleaded with the hunter, not knowing what else to do.

“He’ll kill me!” he whined out.

“An’ ye’ think we’re gonna dance?” Cad Bane inquired of him, “looks like it’s gonna be pickin’ between one an’ fourteen, fer you,” he finished flatly. Todo watched from the periphery, his head roving to and fro between who spoke.

“Can’t be sure,” the Gotal panted, still trying to catch his breath. “He doesn’t tell me anyth-!!” He was interrupted by another rousing dose of horrid broadcasts, Todo just happy to be of use as he stood watch.

“Tusken Oasis!! He – arghhh!! He hangs out there-!!” the being howled.

Cad Bane sneered as he gently set you down. He freed the Gotal once again as he stayed put, gasping on the ground. The Duros bared his teeth as he scooped the Gotal up, having dragged him to his feet by the edges of his shirt’s collar.

He took a whiff; the scent of your natural fragrance lingered on the gangster’s clothing. Bane pretended not to notice, forcing the fur covered man to stand up on his own. Cad tipped his hat; bade him goodbye. The Gotal ran, thinking now would be his only chance.

“Hey, fuzzball, “ Cad Bane called out. The Gotal whisked around. He was met with the barrel end of a blaster pistol pointed directly at him. “Enjoy yer last trip home,” he offered, a single particle beam being ejected from its pack. The Gotal dropped like a ton of duracrete flat upon his back.

Bane glanced to you; thankfully you had not stirred. He bent down, then resituated you within his arms. He addressed his droid, firing up his Mitrinomon thrusters. The Duros took to the air, aiming for his hovercar some few blocks off. “We ghet ‘er back t’de sship, den I take care o’dis Green Hair,” he crisply hissed.

“Shouldn’t we take her to her penthouse first, Mister Bane?” Todo asked presumptuously, thinking that his master was not considering all aspects.

“Naht leavin’ ‘er a’lone dis way, yer gonna keep ‘er company an’ yer gonna like it,” the Duros stated, sailing through the gaps and spaces between buildings and other forms of real estate. “’Sides, her fancy-pants castle is on de o’der side’a dis icky menopausilis. Hate baacktrackin.’ Al’ready berthed too far as is.”

“Did you mean ecumenopolis? I am afraid I do not understand,” Todo complained. “What am I to do with her?” he asked, nonplussed.

“It ain’ karkin’ rocket science, an’ if it were, ye’ gotta rocket scientist right here,” Bane claimed dismissively.

“With the way she acts I would have assumed she is a xenobiologist on the verge of discovering a new species!” the techno-service droid boldly shot right back. Cad Bane amassed a growl deep within his chest.

“Use yer blaassted logic pro’cessor! Green hair don’ know anythin.’ Wait too long, de traail goes cold, plus’e finds out ‘is pads been compromiised,” the Duros rationalized.

“Yes, that does make sense,” Todo easily gave in.

“’Course it does! S’also why Ah’m de one in charge. Now, ghet in de pilot’s seat,” Cad Bane demanded tersely.

Bane’s source of transport was an airspeeder. It was a vehicle that could fit right in the Justifier’s cargo bay. His ship was docked in the Coruscant Spaceport some thousand sectors over. Zi-Kree was immense. Foremost, he had to get you out of here. He settled you in first, then hopped in afterward. “Fly,” he instructed brusquely.

Todo grumbled to himself and anyone who’d listen. “I am a techno-service droid, not a chauffeur droid! Why is it you never want to drive yourself?”

Cad Bane crossed his scrawny legs, placing one hand daintily atop his knee. He looked squarely at the back of Todo’s head, glaring before his eyes widened like a giddy child as they began to move. Cad Bane loved sight-seeing, and he also loved majestic sunsets. On top of that, he was feeling quite pleased with himself and felt he had earned his God damn credits.

He could have argued, or made up some excuse. Instead he lied, though giving the little droid an ego boost to boot. “Yer betta’ aht dis part,” he curtly clarified, although it could be said Bane appreciated taking in the scenery when he had the time.

“Oh, well you could have said so… a long time ago,” Todo commented. Bane had never bothered to compliment his flying skills before.

The conversation paused. Cad Bane found himself staring down at your sleeping form as he rumbled a soft sound.

“Sir, are you - are you purring?” Todo asked as he glanced backwards.

Cad Bane coughed, hacked, and otherwise choked on his own spit. “Ain doin’ no such thing!” he angrily declared, “An’ watch where yer goin’!” he crossly shouted.

“I just wonder what it is that made you do so,” Todo mulled aloud.

“God ferbid Ah take’a moment ta m’self,” Bane griped in indignation.

Todo kept quiet after that though his droid brain had a few independent thought processes; they were things best kept to himself.

His master was not one to like unsolicited advice, though Todo’s programming would not allow him to give up on what was in Bane’s best interest. It was somewhat a blessing and a curse for this poor Duros; Todo could be a nuisance.

Bane only wanted to be left alone, but Todo knew better – he had a power conduit to couple – it would only make things easier for them, as a team, should his best organic friend sate his innate needs and he knew just the thing…

[darth-kote]

SFW Tropes Masterlist

For writers - or for those who'd like to request a fic from me and need help generating ideas. Click here for the NSFW masterlist. Guidelines for requests can be found here.

Angst and Hurt/Comfort

Post-Battle Care: Tending to wounds (physical or emotional) after a fight.

Nightmares and Consolation: A character seeks solace after a distressing dream.

Bottled-Up Emotions: A character finally breaks down after holding everything in.

Survivor’s Guilt: Reflecting on losses and grappling with responsibility.

Grief and Healing: Finding a path forward after devastating loss.

Action and Adventure

Escape Mission: Characters must break out of an enemy stronghold or evade capture.

Treasure Hunt: Seeking an ancient artifact or holocron with unexpected challenges.

Undercover Operation: Posing as someone else in a high-stakes situation.

Hostage Negotiation: Characters navigating delicate situations to avoid disaster.

Defusing the Bomb: A tense countdown to prevent disaster.

AU (Alternative Universe)

Role Reversal: Characters swap roles (e.g., Jedi becomes a bounty hunter).

What If: Explore pivotal moments with a different outcome (e.g., “What if Order 66 failed?”).

Canon Divergence: A single decision alters the course of the story (e.g., “What if Qui-Gon survived?”).

Time Travel: A character is sent back (or forward) in time to change events or gain new perspective.

Relationships and Dynamics

Found Family: A group of unlikely individuals grows into a close-knit family.

Enemies to Allies (or Lovers): Tension and grudging respect turn into trust or affection.

Mentor and Protégé: A seasoned character trains or guides a younger one.

Unspoken Feelings: Moments of lingering glances and unsaid words.

Sibling-Like Dynamic: Bickering like siblings but with deep care.

Adoptive Parent: An older character becomes a mentor or caretaker.

Healing Together: A group works through shared trauma as a unit.

Mystery and Intrigue

Murder Investigation: Characters work to uncover the truth behind a crime.

Hidden Identity: A character conceals their true role or past.

Lost History: Unearthing forgotten lore or secrets tied to the Force.

Double Agent: Navigating the tension of working both sides.

Emotional Exploration

Forgiveness Arc: Characters work toward forgiving themselves or others.

Past Lives: Exploring flashbacks or reincarnation themes.

Letters and Holorecordings: Communicating through written or recorded messages.

Lighthearted and Whimsical

Mundane Adventures: Characters tackle everyday challenges (e.g., cooking, fixing a droid).

Unexpected Babysitting: Caring for a child or youngling in humorous or heartwarming ways.

Festival or Celebration: Participating in a holiday or local tradition.

Animal Companion: Bonding with a creature, whether friendly or ferocious.

Whump, Survival, and Isolation

Crash Landing: Stranded on a remote planet and working together to survive.

Quarantine: Stuck in close quarters due to illness or contamination.

Lost and Found: A character presumed dead is discovered alive.

Weather Woes: Trapped in extreme conditions like sandstorms or blizzards.

Injured and Alone: A character survives despite grave injuries.

Captured by the Enemy: Psychological and physical struggles in captivity.

Lost in the Void: Stranded in space with dwindling supplies.

Dark Themes and Morality

Fall from Grace: A character descends into darkness or betrayal.

Redemption Arc: A path to atonement after a character’s mistakes.

Doppelgängers: Facing a duplicate or altered version of oneself.

Mind Games: Dealing with manipulation, brainwashing, or visions.

Rivalry to Respect: Enemies slowly come to admire each other, even if it is never made obvious.

Hidden Humanity: An evil character reveals an unexpected vulnerable side.

Villain Wins: A world where the antagonist succeeds

Jedi and Force Mysticism

Force Visions: Cryptic glimpses of the past, future, or alternate timelines.

Lost Holocrons: Discovering ancient Force teachings with unexpected consequences.

Gray Jedi Exploration: Balancing Light and Dark sides of the Force.

Force-Bonded Pairs: Two characters linked by an unexplainable Force connection.

Romantic Tropes

Fake Relationship: Pretending to be together for a mission or disguise.

Forbidden Love: Romance defying rules (e.g., Jedi Code).

Slow Burn: Long build-up to a romantic confession.

Accidental Confession: A slip of the tongue reveals feelings.

Mutual Pining: Both characters believe their feelings aren’t reciprocated.

Culture and Worldbuilding

Exploring Traditions: Delving into unique customs of a planet or species.

Language Barriers: Characters navigate miscommunication.

Rebuilding After Tragedy: A community recovers from devastation.

Artifact of Power: A relic tied to ancient Force-users that affects the story.

Undercover or Espionage

Royal Disguise: Pretending to be someone of lower rank.

Spy Among Us: A mole within a group creates tension.

Assassin’s Target: The assassin and their target form an uneasy alliance. Or things don't go as smoothly as planned.

Deep Cover: A character fully immerses themselves in enemy territory.

Legacy and Destiny

Reluctant Heir: Inheriting an unwanted responsibility.

Prophecy Fulfillment: Fulfilling a foretold destiny with unexpected twists.

Living in the Shadow: Struggling with the expectations tied to being a legendary figure.

Defying Fate: Challenging a preordained path.

Time and Memory

Amnesia: A character forgets their identity and rediscovers themselves.

Alternate Timelines: Characters glimpse or visit different timelines.

Time Loop: Reliving the same moment until a lesson is learned.

Memory Sharing: Using the Force or technology to experience someone else’s past.

Humor and Lighthearted Tropes

Miscommunication Comedy: A small misunderstanding snowballs into chaos.

Droid Antics: A droid takes center stage with humorous behavior.

Overwhelmed Jedi: A Jedi struggles with mundane tasks.

Space Road Trip: A long journey full of banter and mishaps.

Crossover or Genre Mashups

Horror Elements: Haunted ships, Sith ghosts, or terrifying creatures.

Political Thriller: Intrigue within the Senate or Rebellion leadership.

Western Style: Lone bounty hunters and shootouts.

Heist Story: A team plans and executes a complex theft.

Personal Journeys

Identity Crisis: A clone, droid, or Force-sensitive questions their place.

Self-Exile: A character retreats from society and finds company.

Reunion Story: A long-lost character is reunited with friends or family.

Breaking the Code: A Jedi defies their teachings.

Battle and Combat

Last Stand: Characters make a desperate final stand.

Truce on the Battlefield: Enemies must work together.

Training Montage: A character hones their skills under a mentor.

Reluctant Fighter: A pacifist is forced into action.

Miscellaneous

Holovid Star: A character accidentally becomes famous.

Unlikely Hero: An everyday character rises to the occasion.

Force Ghost Encounters: Guidance or conflict from beyond the grave.

Lost Artifact: Recovering an item of immense value.

Clone Troopers

Identity and Brotherhood

Individuality vs. Unity: A clone struggles with being one among many.

Nicknames and Call Signs: The personal stories behind a clone's name.

Brother’s Keeper: A clone sacrifices everything to protect their brothers.

Clone-Centric POV: The galaxy through the eyes of a clone.

Post-Order 66

After the Fall: A clone wrestles with guilt over Order 66.

Defying the Programming: A clone resists the inhibitor chip’s control.

Living on the Run: A clone deserter avoids detection.

Reunion with the Jedi: An unexpected meeting with a Jedi they thought dead.

Training and Battle Bonds

Rookie Struggles: A young clone's first mission.

Veteran’s Wisdom: An experienced clone mentors a new recruit.

Unlikely Alliance: A clone teams up with an enemy.

One Last Mission: A retired clone is called back for a critical task.

Clone-Specific Dynamics

Armor Customization: The personal meaning behind a clone’s armor.

Dealing with Loss: Coping with the death of a brother.

Echoes of Kamino: Reflecting on their training and origins.

Enhanced Abilities: A clone with unique genetic traits.

AU and Alternate Scenarios

Rebel Clones: Exploring a timeline where clones joined the Rebellion.

Post-War Integration: How clones navigate a galaxy that no longer needs them.

Clone Defector: A clone switches sides to fight for the Separatists.

Found Family: A lone clone builds a new "family."

Sith and Dark-Siders

Rise to Power

Apprentice’s Betrayal: A Sith apprentice rises against their master.

Seduction to the Dark Side: A Jedi succumbs to the Dark Side’s temptations.

Master Manipulator: A Sith orchestrates events from the shadows.

Artifact of Power: A dark relic amplifies a Sith’s abilities.

Conflict with the Light

Pull to the Light: A Sith struggles with feelings of compassion or guilt.

Jedi-Sith Bond: A Force bond forces uneasy cooperation.

Redeeming the Sith: Can a Sith truly abandon their path?

Forbidden Alliance: A Sith and Jedi work together despite their differences.

Dark-Side Mysticism

Sith Spirits: Encountering the ghost of an ancient Sith Lord.

Dark-Side Nexus: Exploring places saturated with the Dark Side.

Bloodlines of Power: A Sith discovers their lineage ties to a legendary figure.

The Holocron’s Secrets: A Sith Holocron offers knowledge at a cost.

Sith Philosophy

Rule of Two: A Sith duo’s balance of power and betrayal.

Power at a Price: A Sith sacrifices something personal for ultimate power.

Survival of the Fittest: Infighting among Sith apprentices.

Eternal Struggle: A Sith sees their existence as a battle for dominance.

Redemption or Corruption

A Sith’s Redemption: A Sith struggles to redeem themselves.

Corruption of the Pure: A Sith manipulates someone to embrace the Dark Side.

Turncoat Apprentice: A Sith apprentice secretly undermines their master.

Moral Ambiguity: A Sith challenges the notions of good and evil.

Unique Sith Abilities

Force Alchemy: Experiments to create monstrous creatures.

Illusions of Terror: Using the Force to project terrifying visions.

Lightning’s Wrath: Devastating Force lightning.

Blood Rituals: Ancient Sith rites to enhance power.

AU and Alternate Scenarios

Sith as Heroes: A Sith defends their people or fights a greater evil.

Jedi-Sith Swap: A Sith raised as a Jedi or vice versa.

Light-Side Sith: A Sith rejects the darkness but embraces the teachings.

What If: A timeline where the Sith rule the galaxy.

The Force

The Force Playing Matchmaker: Despite all reason and seeming logic, the Force wants two people together. It won't stop meddling until Its vision becomes a reality.

Spiritual Connection

Force Bond: Two characters share an unexplainable, deep connection that allows them to sense each other’s emotions, thoughts, or presence across great distances.

Shared Visions: Characters experience a Force vision together, revealing shared destinies or hidden truths.

Guided by the Force: A Jedi or Force-sensitive character interprets the Force as encouraging their relationship.

Opposites Drawn Together: The light and dark sides of the Force pull two characters toward each other, creating tension and mutual growth.

Meditation Partners: Two characters bond over meditative practices, learning to sync their energies and emotions.

Conflict and Struggles

The Burden of Knowledge: One character hides a devastating vision or premonition involving the other, creating tension in their bond.

Teaching the Force: A Force-sensitive character mentors someone who is new to their powers, deepening their connection through shared learning.

Moral Differences: Clashing interpretations of the Force (e.g., strict adherence to the Jedi Code versus emotional connection) challenge their relationship.

Force-Driven Jealousy: A character senses their partner’s lingering emotions toward someone else, creating conflict.

Healing and Support

Force Healing: A character saves their partner by channeling the Force to heal their injuries, creating an emotional and physical bond.

Force Meditation Therapy: Helping a partner process grief, guilt, or trauma through shared meditation and emotional support.

Force Awareness: A Jedi or Force-sensitive partner instinctively knows when their loved one is in distress, no matter the distance.

Strength in the Force: Two Force-users amplify each other’s abilities when they are together, creating a sense of unity and trust.

*verging nsfw Force Tropes

Intense Focus: The Force allows one character to focus solely on their partner’s well-being, whether during battle or in intimate encounters.

Dangerous Proximity: When trapped together or forced to rely on the Force for survival, their bond deepens emotionally and physically.

The Will of the Force: A relationship forms or is tested because they feel their union is destined—or forbidden—by the Force.

The Dark Side's Pull: One character’s struggle with the Dark Side adds tension, as the other seeks to save them from being consumed.

Shared Visions of the Future: Intimacy is driven by a mutual vision of a life together—one they believe the Force has promised them.

Apologies for any similarities – I tried to keep it nuanced.

[tarrensbookmarks]

Star Wars

➼ Kino Loy ‣I Want You to Show Me Weak by tarabyte3 Kino Loy x F!Reader

➼ Din Djarin/The Mandalorian ‣Still of Your Hand by moonlight-prose Din Djarin x F!Reader ‣Sleepy Sex by saradika Din Djarin x F!Reader ‣Home Is Wherever I'm With You by saradika Din Djarin x F!Reader

➼ Boba Fett ‣Dance of the Desert Snake by seriowan Boba Fett x F!Reader ‣Maybe I Just Wanna Be Yours by saradika Boba Fett x F!Reader ‣Ex Libris by daimyosprincess Professor!Boba Fett x F!Librarian!Reader

➼ Paz Vizla ‣Bold by flightlessangelwings Paz Vizsla x F!Reader

➼ Cad Bane ‣Expensive Tastes by eloquentmoon Cad Bane x Rich!F!Reader

➼ Crosshair ‣Insufferable by thrawns-babygirl Crosshair x F!Reader [Part One] [Part Two] ‣Show Me by thrawns-babygirl Crosshair x F!Reader ‣Keeping it Casual by clonecyare Crosshair x F!Reader

dividers by saradika-graphics

[snapmite1998]

The Crimson Reaper Mandalorians are an elite sect within the ranks of the Crimson Commandos, known for their ruthless efficiency and unwavering loyalty to their dark master. Clad in sleek, ebony armor that absorbs light, the Crimson Reapers resemble specters of death more than mere warriors. Their armor is finely crafted, a testament to Mandalorian engineering, designed for both protection and intimidation.

The crimson patterns etched into their armor serve as a chilling homage to Darth Maul, evoking the haunting tattoos that mark the Sith Lord. These designs flow across their armor in intricate, almost serpentine shapes, adding an air of artistry to their fearsome appearance. Each Reaper wears a long, flowing cape that billows behind them like the shadow of death itself, further enhancing their ghostly presence.

Their helmets are particularly striking, each adorned with metallic horns that jut out menacingly, glinting ominously in any light. These horns serve not only as a symbol of their allegiance to the dark side but also enhance their intimidating profile, making them appear even more fearsome on the battlefield.

However, it is the crimson visors of their helmets that truly unsettle those who lay eyes upon them. These visors glow with a malevolent hunger, casting an eerie light that seems to pulse with anticipation. The glow is reminiscent of a predator’s gaze, promising violence and bloodshed to anyone unfortunate enough to cross their path. The visors enable the Reapers to see in the darkest of conditions, allowing them to stalk their prey with chilling precision.

In combat, the Crimson Reapers are a force to be reckoned with. They wield an array of advanced weaponry, including blasters and vibroblades, crafted to maximize lethality. Their training is brutal and relentless, honing them into masters of stealth, ambush, and direct assault. Each member of the sect is as skilled in hand-to-hand combat as they are in marksmanship, embodying the deadly efficiency that has become their hallmark.

The whispers of their name send chills through even the bravest of hearts, for to encounter the Crimson Reapers is to flirt with death itself. They move like shadows, striking swiftly and disappearing without a trace, leaving only the echoes of their violence in their wake. Whether operating in small, covert teams or as a formidable battalion, the Crimson Reapers exemplify the dark legacy of their master, and their presence on the battlefield is a harbinger of doom for those who stand against them.

[miss-musings]

"Crosshair vs. Cad Bane: Sharpshooter Showdown" (Extended Edition) - COMPLETE FIC

ALL FIVE CHAPTERS OF "Crosshair vs. Cad Bane: Sharpshooter Showdown" (Extended Edition) are now available:

SUMMARY:

About five months after escaping Tantiss in "The Bad Batch" series finale, Phee takes Omega and Crosshair to a sketchy saloon in the Outer Rim. Omega plans to hustle people and earn enough credits to buy her family a new ship. However, the three run into all sorts of dangerous characters, including a familiar face who holds a grudge against Omega.

Will Omega be able to win enough credits? Will the three of them be able to escape safely? Will a post-Tantiss Crosshair be able to take on one of the best sharpshooters in the galaxy? It's time to find out...

Each chapter is a 20-30 min read

[ashcroft-writes]

Summer's End: A Gunslinger's Paean Short Story Collection

A new Cad Bane fic collection. It's a bridge to my next big novel-length installment, and I hope you like it!

New stories will be added on Fridays.

Our first story is A Dance for Duro. On a hot summer day decades gone, a Duros orphan attends a town festival, dreaming of a future. Kid Bane and a summer back on the homeworld, a bit bittersweet, laying some groundwork for who he would become. Genfic, and reading the rest of my series isn’t necessary for it!

[deepbluespace4]

Yass it's up! Probably my favorite dream-session. Also I love the motel scene's tension and conclusion! I can never get enough of this fanfic. Authentic Cad Bane moments.

Let me enthuse one more time about that artwork too, look at him leaning on that rail! It all feels so serene. The effect of atmospheric pressure on the belly of the clouds! I loved the conversation between them. <3

"Figment" Ch9: Unfinished Business

A new year, a new chapter! I decided to post with the single illustration this time. My readers have waited long enough, and quite frankly, I want to move forward with the story. Chapter Synopsis: Weogar City is finally free of the Brass Killer thanks to Cad Bane, but an Officer of the Law still has questions about the case. ... In dreams, Bane has his own problems to solve and he takes responsibility for his droid's misbehavior. Big thanks to my Beta, who pointed out several things.

[fandom-friday]

Hello! I just discovered your acc, love the idea and thought maybe I could drop some of my fav Star Wars fics!

These are just a few recs that I like (I hope sending multiple in at once is ok, if not, I may have overlooked that in the rules and I apologize!) :)

1.: "Even though you're gone, you're still all around" by super_heroine_addict on AO3 (1.5k), (https://archiveofourown.org/works/23242651) - Post-Order 66 Blyla oneshot where Bly tries to navigate through his grief and guilt. But sometimes he feels Aayla's presence? What's that about? How is he supposed to keep living now that she's gone? Is super angsty but what I love about it is how the author managed to make it hopeful towards the end!

2.: "Let me do it right" by TrickyTricky on AO3 (8.1k), (https://archiveofourown.org/works/16349063) - Just discovered this fic this week! A fix-it (kinda) of the (in-)famous Umbara arc in which Cody decides to go check out what the 501st under Krell is up to. His gut feeling turns out to be right and seeing our beloved Marshall Commander handle Krell like an absolute badass is fantastic!

3.: "Like Real People Do" by Witless_Clown on AO3 (1.8k), (https://archiveofourown.org/works/39326130) - Deals with the constant fear and abuse the clones have to suffer under the Kaminoans and the threat of decomissioning looming over their heads at all times. [CW! for Ableism (tagged) and I would also say that the Kaminoans' views def go into eugenics (For OP: idk if you allow stuff like this or if it's too triggering, if you don't want to post/share, I 100% understand!)] It does have a happy ending though!

4.: "A Way Out for Two" by kj_feybarn on AO3 (3k), (https://archiveofourown.org/works/46805752) - A Cad Bane/Obi-Wan fanfic [I hope that pairing is ok, I didn't see anything against it directly in the rules but I understand that it's a rarepair and might not be for everyone - again, OP, do what makes you comfortable! :) ] that deals with their allyship during the Hardeen/deception arc (and the romantic/sexual tension between them lmao) before going into Obi-Wan's life post-Order 66 where Cad Bane finds him on Tatooine with a strange offer (No smut, only a few ~implied~ things while flirting!)

Man, this is an ANGSTY list with a little bit of everything on it, and I love it! Blyla, Cody being a badass and then breaking my heart, and then a rare pair that I'd never considered but am also moderately onboard with. These are all gut punches in their own way, but you know, sometimes that's what we all crave. Thanks so much for sending them in!

(Also, if you ever are unsure about a submission, you can always DM me to ask questions!)

Participate in Fandom Friday to show your favorite creators from this week some love! :)

[sinisterexaggerator]

Dead or Alive

Cad Bane x Fem! Reader

NSFW / 18 + for Blowjobs, titty fucking, ejaculation, public sex acts (semi), and a bit of demeaning behavior / slight humor on Bane's part. Yes, he has two dicks.

Summary: Cad Bane is the most handsome man you have seen in your whole life. He knows that look, and decides to have some fun with you. For you, it's love at first sight. You would let him take you in any way that he saw fit; lucky for you, he's into that (you give Bane sloppy head in an alley behind a bar).

Word count: 3.1k. Short and sweet.

Notes: Haven't written for Bane for a minute. Just wanted to gush over him for a bit. He was so hot in TBB season 2 that I was inspired. This fic takes place from many points of view, but halfway through it settles into the reader's perspective. I may write a part 2 when she/you bump into him again. ;D

A raucous discordance of voices quieted to a dull roar, and then nothing – a nervous cough, the scrape of a chair – so many languages hailing from different star systems pinched off like oxygen from the lungs. Those sentient beings who absorbed the stuff found they held it inside like a scream; they harbored this bated breath, as if releasing it might bring certain doom in the guise of a figure.

A figure who wore a hat, canted downward, its wide brim shielding them from judgement, from the burn of this creature’s gaze, this otherworldly being who was half myth, half legend, half flesh and green blood, bound together by a kind of apathy that bordered cruel.

But the stories were true— time stood still once he walked into the room.

One might swear they could hear the drop of that toothpick, discarded with both absence of mind and disrespect. It bounced once across greel-wood floors strewn with sand, in need of a sweep.

All eyes, including ones that were bulbous and backlit, remained on the blue Duros, a person of sound intelligence left to ponder the notion—the implications—as to the appearance of a diminutive droid from behind his legs, only knee-high. For a hunter of such notoriety to keep a companion that for all intents and purposes seemed harmless was a mystery, almost as big a mystery as the man himself.

“Geric Zodri,” its haughty, high-nosed voice called out, little hands akimbo on his hips, both the new arrivals unaware of the woman who sat at a table just diagonal the door. Her caf cup was held stationary in a position that mimicked art, as if sculpted from marble; she dare not move, wanting nothing more than to observe the sight before her, to commit it to memory, for such a beautiful thing it was.

Skin the color of cerulean seas; eyes as red as human blood that shone like fire; fingers as long and delicate as the legs of spiders. His teeth were as sharp and deadly as his stare, two the length of dagger points, the Duros’ body as thin and gangly as the stem of a candlewick flower sold on market days. 

He was covered from head to foot in leather, tubes jutting from his cheeks like extra limbs, his pants so tight it appeared he had been poured into them. The girl imagined his wide-brimmed hat to be a crown, fixated atop his head and steeping him in shadow, its artificial shade casting its dark pall across honed planes and angles, only making those stark, elliptic eyes more prominent.

Love at first sight—she might believe it, now that she had come face to face with hell incarnate, a fallen angel, a man so handsome tears threatened to fall from her eyes, her previous occupation all but forgotten.

What had she been doing? Datapad sitting idle, screen blackening to the color of pitch.  She hadn’t a clue, forgetting to breathe, forgetting to blink, forgetting her own name as the soft jingle of some unidentified bits of metal clinked against one another with every graceful, slow, deliberate step of this man advancing, strolling beyond her, just to the left.

She felt she might faint; simply pass from this world into the next, to die on the spot as she caught the scent of the gunslinger who smelled like something smokey, something sweet, something not quite like anything else on this stinking planet; it was a wonder she did not spill her beverage straight onto her lap, finally having the sense to place it down upon the table.

Then, another man stood, a human, though nothing about his appearance suggested he was from any place in particular, his eyes wide like an animal ensnared, caught in the path of a hungry predator, though the droid approached him first, his gold-colored photoreceptors angling upward as he tilted his large head.

How did it even stay upright? How did this little bot balance when it was so top heavy, defying the laws of physics? Questions she asked herself as she watched the scene unfold; they were all members of a theatrical audience, her and the other patrons, seated on the edges of seats, cramped in corners to make themselves small, heads bent low with hoods drawn, others smiling wicked smiles of twisted delight.

“Ah, there you are! There is no escape, I am afraid,” the droid said with certainty, joined by an air of pretention that was almost comical. Maybe this woman would have laughed had not all the other people surrounding her been so adamant to keep their silence, a few others daring to inch toward the door in hopes of a subtle escape.

The Duros paused as his target’s eyes shifted, mapping out possible exits, his heartbeat so loud he was positive it could be heard over the eerie quiet that had descended upon this little cantina like an ominous cloud. The gears of his mind were practically visible, turning in the direction of the blaster on his hip, the perp’s arm lifting incrementally in such a fashion as to make everyone aware he planned to draw.

“Naht smart, what yer thinkin’,” the creature’s voice announced, low and husky, words drawled in absolute indifference. So calm and cool, like a tall drink of water served ice cold; he rushed for naught, the girl thinking she would pay all the credits in the galaxy just for him to read aloud to her.

“Whaddeye say ye come quietly, save me a heap a trouble.”

Something akin to fear bristled down her spine, though the threat had not been directed toward her. Worse yet, it wasn’t as simple as that, the tingling of her loins accompanying a heat that spread like wildfire from her groin up to her cheeks.

God, he was perfect in every sense of the word. The tilt of his hip, the drumming of his fingers against his gun belt, the scars that not marred, but complimented his rugged visage. She realized she wanted to kiss him, touch him, worship the very ground he walked on, and she did not even know his name.

“Cad Bane.”

His quarry had spoken, eyes narrowing to match the width of the Duros’, constricted into tapered slits at either end. The girl had only spared him a glance, returning her attention to the rough and tumble nerfpoke whose hand idled over blasters of a kind she had never seen before.

“Supposin’ ye know why Ah’m here, dhen,” the hired gun offered, though his droid perked up, easing himself back into the conversation as if he enjoyed the act of provocation, no better than a sentient who fed on drama.

“For the sizable bounty on your head, of course!”

Cad Bane, the bounty hunter, the girl recited soundlessly. Only known by name, she had never once laid her eyes on him—not that she had desired or ever expected to.

The hunter’s upper lip lifted in a partial sneer, revealing the point of one elongated tooth more clearly. How might it feel for it to press against her flesh? How might it feel to be bitten?

“Dhat’ll do.” The droid needed no other encouragement, backing up to a safer distance as its master stayed put, seeming to know better than to interfere with what was about to occur. The one called Bane never once looked away from his mark, and the girl never once looked away from him, the way in which the Duros carried himself exuding a reptilian-like patience that preceded his species, yet this was something else entirely.

It was a standoff, like those kinds she witnessed in holofilms, but she found herself rooting for the villain—was he the villain? What had this man done to warrant being hunted down like vermin? She would not contemplate the possibilities, too engrossed in the here and now, eyes trailing from boot to brim; she thought she caught a sideways glance in her direction, causing her to dip back in her seat—had he looked at her?

That was the moment a shot rang out, followed by the smell of Tibanna gas and gasps from all around. Another followed suit, within milliseconds, echoing the first. Bane had sidestepped, his reflexes like that of an agile nexu—the human male had tried to take him out and failed.

“Ah’d say better luck next time,” the hunter quipped. The butt of his joke need not be stated, the point of it obvious—he was deader than a starship rivet, hitting the floor like a sack of Corellian potatoes, no one seeming to want to acknowledge this fact as they returned to card games, to gambling, to drinking caf.

But the girl—she would continue to stare, lip nearly chewed to shreds as she bit her tongue to keep from spurting off nonsensical things such as “I love you,” or “please fuck me within an inch of my life.” It was as if he could read her mind, another glance cast with the accompaniment of a smirk.

“Todo.”

The droid was alert and ready to serve, somehow wishing she was he, or it, at his beck and call and then some, never once assuming she could be jealous of a thing that had no soul, made of ones and zeros.

“Get de repulsor,” he commanded. “And ye,” he faced the girl, “come with me.”

---

The coiling of a single digit easily persuaded you, your heartbeat a separate entity set out to betray you; it was felt as a persistent throb below the belt, your cunt clenching as you stood. You were unsure of what the hunter wanted from you, but it did not matter, all thoughts fleeing to be replaced by unconditional obedience.

It would have been unwise to turn him down regardless, apparent from all eyes now set upon you, none wishing to be caught in your shoes. Had he felt disrespected by your ogling? Had he set out to punish you? Would you wind up like the man inside the bar?

You would not see his face again in the span of time it took for him to travel the path laid out before him, unconcerned by your lagging behind, finding you to be no threat. Despite your predicament, you were eager to discover what he had in store, pausing when Cad Bane vanished beyond the mouth of a narrow alley.

Now would be the time to run, to flee for your life, but instead you were stupid, enamored by the way he walked, the way he talked, the clothes upon his back, the color of his pretty scales.

You took a breath, turning the corner. He was waiting for you, thumbs hooked along the waistband of his trousers. Once he was sure you had not abandoned him—and he did allow you your own freewill—he advanced, arriving at a more secluded portion to which he pointed with a downward turn of his index finger.

You bravely stepped forward, aligning yourself with the wall. Bane positioned himself in front of you with a curious tilt of his head, towering above. And while you felt intimidated, you did not outwardly express it, keeping a straight face notwithstanding the trepidation you harbored, meeting that piercing gaze head-on.

Then, he angled his hand, pointing again, this time toward the ground with that same finger, a smug look of callous amusement registered by only a small quirk of his thin lips.

Slowly, thoughtfully, you lowered, drifting to your knees before him as your gaze stayed trained on his gaunt face. He wanted you humbled in supplication; you held no qualms, holding his red eyes with an expectant look for as long as he allowed.

You could get drunk off them, like sanguine-colored wine, your own reflection mirrored back to you; your own desperation; your own indecency, assuming what might come next, yet your expression could only be observed as eager. The Duros’ lithe fingers branched out like twigs as they curled beneath your chin, a hint of a thing most heavenly stretching languidly in an upward curve.

It was a smile, or the beginnings of one, dastardly in effect, Bane all too entertained by your lack of self-respect, perhaps. Yet you obeyed when he pried your lips apart with the pad of a cool thumb, exposing your teeth—nothing like his and dull in comparison—your instinct to wet his scales as your tongue gave a tentative lick, mouth closing around its blue tip.

You sucked, not once breaking eye contact, drowsy with desire as you mimed fellatio, moaning sweet sounds that caused the man to hiss, as if somehow unprepared.

You watched as his free hand unzipped his fly below where his belt fastened, leaving his holsters intact about his tiny waist. It took more than that to partly undress himself, realizing there was a hidden panel made of some extruded, matte material that sealed him off from the outside world; it was like a second skin, only black.

Bane’s bulge pushed against it, as if the thing behind it demanded to be released. Like a snake, it—they—slithered out to your surprise, his thumb abstracted to be replaced by not one, but both his cocks.

Awestruck, your eyes widened; you never would have imagined that what his species packed would be anything quite like this. Coated in a sheer slime that tasted divine, these flexible appendages glided down your throat as if a liquid, bypassing your uvula to delve toward the deepest part of your oropharynx, barely giving you space to breathe.

But you found you could, inhaling through your nostrils as you sat up on your knees, finding his flavor to be enticing, lulling you into a more relaxed state of mind. You were receptive, more than perhaps you ought to be, puckering your lips for better suction, the Duros’ gloved hand finding the back of your head.

He pushed you forward; you did not resist, his slender hips thrusting into you as his reedy fingers coiled into your hair. You aided him, seesawing your neck back and forth, adopting a frictionless speed that caused his grip to tighten, the Duros shamelessly fucking your face like you were a common whore, yet he was not paying you.

His genitalia seemed to be hardening, which was unexpected, making it difficult for you to obtain the oxygen you sorely needed, yet you found to be starved of air was worth it, instead your nostrils filling with a most addicting aroma, none like you had ever smelled before.

Today seemed to be a day full of firsts; your hands found the hunter’s small, yet muscular ass. He did not stop you, though he could if he had the mind, your tongue roiling across and between his members as if imparting a passionate kiss.

What was that? you wondered, your human brain only comprehending it as pheromones, you heart beating faster as you drooled on yourself, spittle leaking down your chin to fall against your breasts. The hunter yanked you backward by your locks, stealing his cocks from you; you panted, gasping, yet you were indignant, tongue searching them out in a pathetic display worthy of embarrassment as you whined in dismay.

“Human girls would choke dhemelves te death,” he commented, tone mocking, allowing the reinsertion of one, while the other slid down the front of your top to fondle a pebbled nipple, slipping beneath the fabric of your brassiere.

He was right; you had not wished to stop, only now noticing how dire the situation had been. As if hypnotized, or seduced by his scent, in that moment you would not have cared if you asphyxiated, so avid was your zeal.

You moaned in earnest, enlivened further by his attention to your tits, however unconventional, moving your hand to grip his interred cock’s sleek base. You gorged on it, one of the Duros hands finding purchase against the wall behind you, propping himself up as you deigned to never be forgotten, feeling privileged to have even gotten this far.

You changed your mind; you went hands free, smashing your breasts together, creating a snug crevice between your cleavage for him to fuck. You continued to slather his first cock in your saliva, deepthroating him to the root of his tentacular shaft, putting your whole body into motion, your tongue ebbing and flowing, cheeks hollowing, coaxing him to bust.

He produced a gruff, throaty sound that nearly caused you to cum untouched. You would have played with yourself right then and there, but his pleasure was the thing you sought, keeping your tits level as he drove his secondary cock between them, droplets having formed at its head; the sticky beads of precum leaked out onto your chest.

“Give a Rodian a run fer dheir creditsss…” he praised, your underwear thoroughly soaked; you relaxed your throat as he face-fucked you harder, though his movements slowed, his strokes deeper, longer, more succinct.

“Get ready,” Bane warned; you felt born ready, squeezing your tits around him at the same time your mouth hugged his every inch. He came, a torrent of ejaculate pumping itself down your gullet and into your belly, the other spreading its seed all across your breasts and neck, spurting as high as your chin.

You were covered, inside and out, verbalizing your ecstasy by way of a happy purr, though you were quickly disappointed when his snake-like dick wriggled right out of you to join its twin, both dripping with remnants of his sperm.

You licked them clean, begging for more, a plaintive whine escaping you as you gazed up with sorrowful, pleading eyes, so sad that it was over.

Bane stuffed himself back inside his suit, his trousers, and awkwardly adjusted, waiting for the moment his dual dicks would retract inside himself, making his pants all the more comfortable to wear.

He pat your cheek; it was a demeaning gesture, yet you ate it up, nuzzling your face into the bowl of his palm for those few seconds, like an eager kitten who craved attention, finding yourself to be devastated when he broke physical contact, your mind swirling with thoughts of him and only him, Bane knowing that look all too well.

“Thanks fer de head.”

The hunter tipped his hat, turned, and moseyed back the way he came, the way from which he had ushered you minutes prior, his droid drifting by with the body of the man Bane had shot laid out on a hover-stretcher, leaving you to pine away for him as he knew you would, walking out of your life just as quickly as he had arrived— oh to be his bounty, dead or alive.

—-

Cad Bane masterlist

[webtrinsic1122]

@chaoticdumbassrogue @ladywren7 and I are having too much fun discussing Western AU’s cause now I’m out here doing this.

[thebluevipersden]

Thank you so, so much, Ami!! 💙 I'm glad you liked it! The end is still very malleable, I have several directions in my head, but I haven't managed to connect the dots yet. I'm aiming for something where Bane, through Yrsa, learns that not everyone is his enemy, there can be people who are gentle with him without asking anything in return. Bane hasn't experienced much of the same before, or he's been betrayed often, so he's extra distrustful. In addition, he has found himself in a situation where he feels weak and this frustrates him a lot. I would try to show the process by which this feeling transforms into something that can almost be called reliance. :) I want to capture that moment. Oh, Yrsa is very inquisitive about any creature she doesn't know! What a surprise it was when this incredibly decorative blue bastard crossed her path... ;D Ahem.

Of course, I planned that Todo would also appear!! :) (Spoiler alert: He was just taking care of Bane's ship during this time. :) But after a while it will dawn on him that the master didn't get back in time and he starts to worry. I already had an idea about how and why he should appear later in the story. Since Yrsa is a youngling engineer, she will like ToDo very much. She having known a techno-service droid of the same type as Todo in her past. :)) That was just an older model. )

Tales of the Flame and the Rain

Star Wars fanfiction / PART 02 / Words: 5123 // AO3 Pairing: Cad Bane X female OC Tags: Slow Burn, Creatures, Tension, Angst, Thriller(ish), Hurt/Comfort, Blood & Injury, Roughness, Action, Age Difference Summary: Yrsa and her dangerous acklay, Cog live peacefully in their shipwreck home, until a mysterious man in a hat suddenly bursts into their lives. In this episode, the bounty hunter begins to hunt down his prey.

Warning: This part contains some slightly nsfw drawings! Thanks to @deepbluespace4 for the beta reading! 🎵 Music for the vibe (an eclectic journey of melody) 🌧️ Storm ambience for the second half of the story ← Previous episode Next episode →

CHAPTER TWO Deadlock

Yrsa was very tired. It’s been the second day when she could barely get any sleep. This time, because of the proximity of Cog, she managed to fall into a sleeplike state, but that wasn’t relaxing at all. At least her evening was a tiny bit calmer. She wanted a little refreshment at last. Yrsa and Cog headed towards the lake. Cog was an excellent swimmer, because he was partially an amphibian and loved to stay in the water that was his strongest element. The animal gladly lingered underwater even for up to half a day. Yrsa checked the reactions of Cog. The girl trusted the instincts of her beast and he seemed relatively calm, so she thought she could afford a quick bath for herself without worry. With him by her side in the water, she was as safe as possible. Yrsa undressed and walked into the lake.

Yeeesh… Cold, cold, cold, cooold… - She shivered then subdued the feeling. The cool water somewhat enlivened her. Cog enthusiastically rushed forward into the lake. He liked it very much. Then he swam next to Yrsa and watched his master. She looked back to him and swam to his side. The girl gently touched the huge head of the creature and softly leaned her forehead to his. Cog growled slowly.

- Thank you, my friend... What would I do without you?- Said Yrsa to him.

They lingered in the water for a while, then Yrsa swam a little further. She heard Cog splashing then saw him going ashore and lying down there. The animal looked back to Yrsa. The girl continued to swim, then lay on the surface of the water and began to float. It was a nice, comforting feeling. Finally, a little peace. But this calmness lasted no longer than a split second.

She shot a glance at the landscape and suddenly noticed the familiar figure with the cowboy hat on a cliff in front of her. He stood in the backlight of the Sun. The stalker didn't even try to hide, just loitered there and looked down at her. The girl’s feelings were overflowing. She quickly jumped up and shouted to the vexing man:

- Enough of this! If you want something from me, come and tell me right to my face!! - Yrsa was so upset and annoyed. She panted and looked in the direction of the cliff. The mysterious man with the hat tilted his head, stayed there a bit, then disappeared from her sight. Again.

- Hh... Um… - She sighed deeply. Yrsa regretted her former outburst a little bit. The girl submerged into the lake. Only half of her head was visible in the water as she slowly peeked around. At this point, she really didn't know what to expect from this stalker. She didn't understand why he fooled around with her, and... Wait a minute… Where is Cog? He was there by the lake shore. Yrsa lost sight of him. She decided to swim ashore and wrapped the towel that she left there earlier around her naked body. She wanted to find Cog immediately. Then something happened that she didn't expect

She heard footsteps from afar and the rattle of nearby bushes. Someone lurked behind, then sneaked closer to her. She spun around her axis and found herself face to face with her voyeur.

- Well, as ya' requested, youn' lady… - The stranger tipped his hat with delicate movements. 

Actually Yrsa was now seeing his shady figure clearly for the first time. But the feeling of the dark shadow around him was still there. The strange man was tall and cobalt blue skinned. She had never seen an individual of a similar race of his. He was almost like a reptile, walking on two legs and had minacious deep red eyes. He wore a long brown leather coat, a conspicuous wide flanged hat and some kind of breathing device around his neck.

Bane walked with heavy footsteps towards Yrsa. She couldn't observe him better, because he acted faster than light. The hunter jumped in front of the girl and pinned her to a nearby cliff in a split second. Yrsa tried to escape and shout for Cog, but Bane wouldn’t let her scream. For now… He plastered her mouth with his boney fingers. The girl looked at him in surprise mixed with fear. But she didn’t want to give up so easily. She wanted to fight back. Yrsa fiercely bit into the stranger’s hand.

- Ouch! - hissed Bane and narrowed his crimson eyes. - Sssavage lil’ wildlin'… - His lips curled in a chilling sneer.

Then squeezed her to the cliff even harder. Yrsa could barely breathe or move in the grip of this demonic blue man. He leaned closer to her, all the way to her ears and slowly swept the girl's hair away from there with a surprisingly gentle movement. Bane just breathed there for a few moments and remained motionless. Then he started to speak. He had the most grim and deeply vibrating rusty voice she had ever heard. The hunter almost whispered and was so close to her that she felt his cold breath all over her ear. Yrsa closed her eyes. She began to tremble.

- Heeey… Don' play with fire, because one day it’ll burn ya' so badly, lil’ misss…- then he smirked at her. Yrsa couldn’t speak a word. She didn't dare to look at him at all.

- Ooh… What’s it? Did the loth-cat take yer lil’ tongue? - said Bane really cynically and he smirked even wider than before. He flashed his sharp teeth threateningly.

- Hmmrh... If you apologize to me nicely, maybe I'll consider lettin' ya' go …- He said with a grin. The bounty hunter relaxed his grip on her mouth just a tiny bit. 

- Wh... What? - Asked Yrsa. Her startled eyes met his. She didn't believe what he said even for a minute. 

- Come oon... Sssing to me, birdie… - hissed Bane and measured her like a piece of raw meat. 

Yrsa tried to avoid his soul-penetrating gaze and couldn’t say a word. The darkness emanating from him completely settled on her with its whole weight.

- Nh... No… - Said the girl in the quietest possible way.

- Tsk. Say... It.... NOW!! - He thundered.

Yrsa was so confused. A lot of weird feelings stirred in her at once. She felt herself weak and immensely vulnerable. But as soon as her thoughts cleared, she acted quickly. The girl began to say a sentence softly. During this time, Bane scanned her face with his cold gaze. He waited for some kind of reaction.

- ...No ...I ...I …Ngh. CoooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOGGG!! - She screamed her beast’s name as loud as she could.

- HEY!! You... - Bane covered her mouth with his hand as rough as he was capable.

- Sssssh… Sh-sh-ss-ssh… - He silenced her. - This was a rrreally bad idea, lil' lady... 

- Mfh… - Yrsa frowned her eyebrows and looked at him intensely. But this time, she glanced right into his blood red glowing eyes and didn't look away.

Cog wandered around the forest. He felt a burning need to follow the sense of his prey. It was huge. It was enticing. Something lured him into this very area of the forest. Cog curiously stared at a buzzing electrical box and sniffed it. He didn’t recognize what kind of animal it was, but knew there was something important in that thing and he wanted to open it immediately.

- Must... Observe... It... - Thought the creature.

- Where... Is... My prey? Where... Is... It’s meat? - Cog scratched the buzzing box with his claws. He felt the body electricity given off by this strange entity.

- It... Is... An iron animal...? - He lurked around it and poked it a few more times.

- I… Must… Eat it. - He bit into the box. It tasted weird.

- Where… Is… The meat? I... Must... Kill it... - Cog continued to chew on the iron animal.

Suddenly a desperate scream of a girl broke the tranquility of the forest. It was Yrsa and she shouted Cog’s name from somewhere nearby. Cog awoke from his trance-like state. The voice pulled him back into reality.

- The... Girl... The... GIRL... 

- Something... Wrong! 

- Must...

- Protect...

- Her...

Cog screeched into the air and threw away the chewed box. The furious creature started to run fast towards the origin of the girl’s voice.

The bounty hunter was still pinning Yrsa tightly to the cliff. 

- Well, let’s go then, lil' wildlin'… Time to go! - Said Bane.

He grabbed the girl and started to drag her with him. Yrsa gasped and tried her best to resist. No matter how she squirmed, she couldn’t get rid of the bounty hunter’s grip. In that very moment Cog jumped out of the bushes, infuriated. The beast stopped when noticed Yrsa and Bane and shot his raging gaze at them. So, that blue shadow  was his enemy…. He fixed all three of his eyes on Bane and screeched loudly towards the duo. Cog wanted to destroy him.

- Oh, is another one joinin' the party? How amusin'… - Said Bane and smirked towards the enraged creature. Then with a firm and harsh motion he yanked Yrsa in front of him as a shield. Bane pulled the girl close to him and clasped her neck from behind with his arms. He fixed his gaze on the furious animal in front of them. Yrsa  tried to move towards her beast and started to call him:

- Coghh… Ngggh… 

Bane squeezed her body hard and the girl’s voice trailed off.

- No sudden move… - He hissed to her, meanwhile still watched the angry creature and began to back away slowly with the girl. Cog didn’t wait any longer. The animal just wanted to tear his master out of the intruder's arms and began to run towards them with a loud and sharp shriek. Bane was fast too, he picked up Yrsa on his shoulder and they took to the air with Bane’s jetpack on his legs.

- Hah!  So long, creep! - He shouted malevolently and continued to fly in the direction of the steep cliff next to the lake, from where he had previously observed Yrsa and Cog. Yrsa reached her arms towards Cog and watched his receding shape. 

- No... Coog! Cog! 

- You’ll never see him again, lil’ one…- Said the bounty hunter. Meanwhile they reached the cliff and landed on it. Yrsa became angry and worrying at the thought that Bane wants to separate her from Cog. From her only friend. From her only family…. That thought drove her crazy and she tried to break free even harder.  She fidgeted, squirmed, and tried to scratch and bite stubbornly. 

- Sigh… Eaasy nooow... - Said the hunter.

Yrsa tried to bite him again, but Bane was much faster. He catched her chin with the reflexes of a rattlesnake and held her tightly. The bounty hunter looked deep and cold into her eyes. From that the girl froze for a moment.

- Wanna’ get a muzzle, darlin’? - He still held her face.

Yrsa didn't say anything, just growled at him and flashed her teeth. Her eyes were on fire. 

- I won't leave my friend behind... - She said with a slightly weak but angry voice.

- Ha-hahh! I’ll be curious ‘bout that... - Bane wanted to continue what he was about to say, but he couldn’t.

From the edge of the cliff, out of the coverage of the trees, Cog suddenly appeared and rammed swiftly into them with his huge forehead. The creature swept them both. It happened so quickly they didn’t even have time to grab onto something, so Bane and Yrsa fell into the lake from the edge of the cliff. Cog didn’t wait a minute, immediately jumped after them. 

Yrsa was underwater and sinking. She lost her sense of direction. Suddenly she didn't know where was up and down and descended  deeper and deeper towards the bottom of the lake. When she suddenly regained her clarity she saw the two crazy opponents fighting in the water. They spun around each other like the alligators executing their prey. In this case, it wasn't sure at all who was whose prey.  

Yrsa needed air so badly. She floated to the surface of the water and went ashore. She was shocked by the events and anxiously watched the surface of the lake. It had been a while, but none of them came out of the water. Then bubbles gathered on the surface of the lake and Bane burst out of the waves with his half-working foot jetpack and landed on the waterfront. He suffered some injuries, but stood proud and looked at the water in front of him, pointing his weapon in that direction. 

- Come!! Catch me!! Frrreak!! - He breathed quickly. Bane noticed the girl not far from him on the shore.

- Oh, hello there… - He winked at her. Even in this chaotic situation there was some cheeky playfulness in him. Yrsa just watched what was happening with widened eyes. Cog came out of the water right away and ran at a crazy pace towards the hunter. 

- Now you are at my playgroun' !! -  Bane hissed at Cog and shot him continuously with his two blasters, but the creature had a hard shell on its back and the bullets bounced off it. Cog on the other hand tried to catch him, but the hunter was always faster, even with his injuries. It was a tough fight, like an endless dance between two brutally fast and skillful opponents. The rumbling water finally met with the burning fire. Yrsa couldn’t even intervene. It was pure madness. 

- How disappointin', I thought an acklay is faster than this... - Bane constantly taunted his opponent. In response the teeth of the creature snapped at him repeatedly, but they never hit him. - Hold on, Cog! Hold on buddy! - Shouted Yrsa exalted to Cog. Bane shot a quick look at her and grunted bitterly.

- Rrgh… Playtime is over.… - Grumbled the hunter. He knew the animal’s belly was more vulnerable than the other parts of its body, as the flesh covering it wasn’t as tough as it was elsewhere. Bane knew he could shoot there and finally kill the beast.

He quickly slipped under the animal and pointed his weapons at the belly of the creature. He fired a few times, but then he suddenly got unpleasantly surprised. Barely visible, it looked exactly like the animal's own skin - A thin plate of armor protected Cog’s vulnerable parts. It was made by Yrsa. 

- What the hell... - Said Bane in surprise. He didn’t expect that at all. The shield seemed as if it was an integral part of the creature. Cog didn't hesitate, taking advantage of his momentary dominance, struck down ruthlessly to the bounty hunter. He started to maul him.

Yrsa shuddered in horror. She was glad the beast was protecting her, but she didn't want to kill his opponent. 

- Cog!!! STOP IT!! 

Cog continued to chew on him, but for a fragment of a moment stopped and looked at Yrsa. The badly wounded Bane, in that stolen split second, lifted his arms and fired from his flame thrower attached to his arms. Cog backed away and screeched. 

Bane quickly looked around and assessed his situation. Due to his injuries and damaged equipment he couldn’t get too far and he was out in the clearing by the lake. There were no tall trees within a close distance. Then the bounty hunter catched sight of something nearby and didn't hesitate any longer.  

- The… Shipwreck… - Thought Bane. - The only logical step left was to hide there.

Gathering all his strength, he began to rush towards the Shiphome. He was almost there when he heard  the clacks of Cog's claws behind him. The animal almost breathed into the nape of his neck. Bane turned back quickly and shot the creature in the eye with a well-aimed shot. 

- Eat THIS!! 

Cog recoiled and screamed in pain, followed by the cries of Yrsa. Meanwhile, the hunter quickly kicked in the spaceship door and slammed it behind him tightly. Well, this was a complete disaster for all of them. 

The blue fire tornado struck again and left destruction after him.

Cog was insanely angry. He screamed in fury and flashed his sharp teeth. It was awful to watch as the animal raged. Yrsa rushed to him without a question and with fast movements jumped on Cog’s giant head and clung to it. The girl hugged his head as tightly and steady as she could.

- Sssh… My dear... - Cog was still terribly angry. Suddenly he jumped in the direction of their home with Yrsa on his head. He knew his enemy was there. He smelled that. Yrsa nearly fell off by the animal’s sudden movement. She quickly covered his two intact eyes with her arms. 

- Easy, eeeasy, easy now boy... - Cog growled wrathfully but he started to slow down a bit. The creature tossed the girl on his head up and down with his nervous movements. Yrsa held on and continued to reassure him. She caressed the animal with definite tenderness. After a while Cog moved more and more slowly but he was still very upset. Yrsa smoothed her forehead to the animal's and still kept his two eyes closed with her arms. 

- It’ll be alright… - She said quietly. Her soothing voice had a good effect on the creature. He got gradually calmer by the touch of the girl. Cog stepped forward a few more times without seeing anything and stopped but he was still loudly growling.

- Poor thing, your eye….- Yrsa looked sadly at the gaping hole in place of the animal's third, middle eye and kissed his head softly. The bounty hunter shot out one of Cog’s eyes. He was able to deliver such an accurate shot even in the heat of the fight. 

- Hold on, buddy, I’ll get help! - She carefully climbed off the head of the somewhat calmed but still very upset animal. She wanted to bring bandages and some herbal medicine for Cog but knew that the bounty hunter was inside her home. Yrsa really needed that medicine so she gathered all of her courage and approached her occupied home. 

- Come on, come oooon, comeoncomeon, do it…. For Cog. - Thought the girl. She slowly opened the door and entered it. Darkness hung around the small room.

- Please, don’t shoot! I just want to bring some medicine to my friend!

She received no reply and felt unusually cold air on her skin.

- I’ll come in… - Her words got cut off - Huh? - Yrsa gasped at what she saw.

Bane lay unconscious on the floor in the middle of a large pool of green blood. He was in a very bad shape. Cog almost tore off his left arm and also heavily wounded other parts of his body. Yrsa ran for the medicines, during this time she watched the figure lying on the ground constantly. 

- Oh my… Is… Is he moving at all? - He seemed unnaturally still. Especially after the speed with which he had moved before. The girl didn't see if the wounded bounty hunter was breathing at all. She didn't know what to do, since Cog also needed her help. Yrsa headed to the door to go out to her injured animal but after a few steps she stopped. 

- I can’t… I just can’t… - She sighed and looked back worried to her disarmed stalker.

She ran back to Bane and knelt beside him. Cog wasn't injured fatally after all and by all means, he was though as hell. But if she leaves this man here now, he'll surely bleed to death. Is he still alive at all? Yrsa didn't want anyone to die if she could help them. She couldn’t remain idle. 

- Hold on, Cog! I’ll be there soon! I promise! - Yrsa looked at the injured bounty hunter...

- Please don't make me regret this... - She whispered, then she began to take care of the wounds of Bane. He was barely alive. Yrsa didn't understand why, but deep inside, somehow hoped that he would survive this.

🌧️🌩️🌧️ Storm clouds formed from the gray of the sky. It was beginning to rain. The droplets pattered rhythmically on the firm metallic surface of the shipwreck home. It's been a while since Yrsa helped the bounty hunter. She had a hard time laying him on the bed by the window. He was heavy but with the help of her lifting gadgets she could manage at last. The man was so tall that his lower legs were hanging from her bed. He was still alive, but badly injured. Especially his left arm. Yrsa had only a few herbal medicines at home and the bandages made from the fibers of leaves and other plants found in the forest. She hoped that this  would be enough for saving his life. 

Yrsa had already taken care of Cog, luckily he was only easily injured despite losing one of his eyes. The beast physically seemed to be fine, but he had a newly conceived hate against the intruder. He couldn't forget what Bane did. Cog wanted to tear him apart. The feeling spreaded in him like a deadly virus. He lay outside in the rain in front of their home. He was annoyed but motionless and had been watching the door from outside ever since the incident happened. 

Yrsa was inside, next to the unconscious Bane. She sat pondering with her knees in front of her chest and observed the hunter. She gingerly pulled herself a little bit closer to him and measured Bane with the curiosity of a naturalist.  

- Who are you? - Thought the girl. - What kind of species could he be? Some kind of reptile?

She leaned a little bit closer to his head and touched it very softly. It radiated  cold. 

- Hmh… What an interesting livid blue tone… His skin is at least as cool as Cog's. 

The coldness… Yrsa suddenly remembered what had happened at the lake. She could almost feel the chill of his breath in her ear and started to shiver. To be honest, no one has ever been so close to her before. Yrsa suddenly didn't know how to feel and was embarrassed by it but somewhat she liked this new feeling. Actually she hadn’t met and talked to anyone but Cog since she crashlanded in this very place as a small child. She was completely cut off from everyone. Then he suddenly showed up and burst into their lives, out of the blue. 

- What should I think about him? He hurt Cog and I really hate that fact, but…. 

At that very moment the hunter started to speak on his gravelly voice:

- Are ya' entertained, missy? - Bane didn't even open his eyes.

Yrsa nearly had a heart attack, then skittered back all the way to the wall of the shipwreck behind her. The girl’s back slammed against the metal wall.

- Heh… - he laughed at her with a slight mock in his voice.

Bane sat up a bit on the bed with slow and careful movements. He could barely move from his injuries. They silently stared at each other for a while.

- That little troublemaker… She treated me? Just why? - Thought the hunter and continued to look at her suspiciously. When he collapsed on the floor he thought he would never get up. He wanted to know why she hadn't let him die, but he didn’t ask anything. Bane was just waiting to see what would happen next. But Yrsa didn't move either, just sat there speechlessly and observed him.

The angry growling of Cog broke the silence from outside. The creature felt the presence of his nemesis. Bane grunted and looked sullenly at the direction of the rain soaked creature. Yrsa began to worry so she started to speak:

- He... He is just upset about what happened.

- Upset? Hah! That frantic meatbug of yours almost ripped off my arm…- Grumbled Bane.

- He just tried to defend us and… He is annoyed about his missing eye...

- Oh no! It has two more perfectly good eyes left.  For now... - Bane's sneer gave way to a grin.

Yrsa shot him a savage glance. She started to say something but he interrupted her.

- I would be careful of what I'm goin' to say if I were ya'...

Yrsa took a deep breath and calmed down.

- He is just an animal driven by his instincts. Please, don’t hurt him... 

- Usually I don' bargain with my prey, ya’ know, lil’ miss… -  Bane locked his gaze on the embarrassed Yrsa. - Anyway, without my blasters, I would have a hard time with that kill, rrright? Can I have 'em back? - He asked, but it sounded like a threat.

So he noticed it. Of course he did. The girl hid them well while Bane was unconscious.

- Umm… Over time, maybe… - She replied slightly unsure but perkily.

- Ain’t ya' mischievous? - Bane tried to get up fast to threaten the girl, but his attempt failed. There was a sudden pain in his body and he slumped back on the bed, exhausted.

- Aaarh… - He grunted in pain. The girl was frightened to see this and started towards him.

- Don' move! - He growled at her.

- I… Your wound. - She pointed to Bane’s belly.

He looked down at it. The wound was ruptured and started to bleed. Green spots appeared on the bed. Bane felt very dizzy. The world began to revolve around him but he tried to pretend there was no problem at all. He didn't want to show any sign of weakness. That would be pathetic, he thought.

Despite the threat, the girl moved towards him. Bane didn't take his red eyes off her. 

She warily sat down next to him and tried to touch the belly of the hunter. Bane caught her wrist with an indefinite but quick motion.

- Don’ try… Anythin' silly… Birdie… Ugh…  - He said in a voice struggling with malaise. 

Yrsa didn’t hesitate. She reached for his wound and started to re-bandaging it. The girl didn’t even look up at Bane’s face. She was somewhat embarrassed. Embarrassed? That term wasn't expressive enough. At that moment her face technically radiated more heat than the Sun itself. But she tried to focus on the healing process. 

Bane, on the other hand, was suspicious. Very suspicious. He watched every movement of the girl. But in the end, he let her help him. Actually, the gentle touch of hers wasn’t so bad at all… It wasn't exactly the thing Bane was used to in his dangerously cruel life. He just growled and observed the process  speechlessly. 

Silence settled into the room again. Only the sounds of the strengthening rainfall could be heard. The healing process took a while, then the blue stalker fell asleep from the significant blood loss and exhaustment. Yrsa ruminated about him and the still growling Cog.

I think I’m stuck between two reckless, wild animals…

Bane had a terrible nightmare. 

The whole world was falling apart. Everything blazed around him and was engulfed in devastating fire. The bounty hunter strode on glowing embers and ashes, his feet stirred them. The cinder crackled under his footsteps. 

And he loved it.

- That's it, nnngh... - He closed his eyes and hissed, satisfied - ...More ...Moooore! - He shouted, electrified.

- You're DONE! You'll not run away from me!- He shouted. The flames flared even higher around him,  answering his voice. Bane's blue face was painted slightly purple by the color of the blood-red fire. He grinned and walked out of the billowing black smoke and went after his prey.

- Heeere, kitty, kitty... Where are yaaaa'? - He said  in his raspy, humming voice.

The dark outline of a gigantic creature slowly emerged from the smoke in front of him. Its night black shape was formed by the ashes and was so huge like a leviathan. It glowed subtly from the lava flowing in its body.

- Leave my prey alone! - Bane shouted, then shot at the lava beast with his two blasters. The creature immediately threw itself at him, its shape elongated like a shadow or a long dark wave. It wanted to eat him. Bane easily dodged its jaw a few times.

- Hah! Is dat all ya' know? AMATEUR! - He said smugly.

Then the ground beneath him turned into a huge mouth of the creature and it swallowed him.

Bane was angry. Really angry. And just fell and fell ahead. Suddenly he hit the ground and jumped up. 

- Where are ya'? Coward!! SHOW YOURSELF!! 

Countless arms grabbed him from below. He groaned in surprise. 

- Geeet off! - hissed Bane

- Cooome... Join uuus.... Joiiiin uuuus.... Jooooin… - The owners of the many hands whispered and laughed. They formed a huge mass of various faces and arms and other bodyparts.They roared beneath him like an ocean of blood and pain. Bane tried to get out of their grip, but the more he struggled the deeper he sank. He recognized in them the faces of his former bounties. He tried to shake them off his body and kicked and bit relentlessly wherever he could reach them. He sank further into this abomination, it was like a swamp of horror.

- Cooome, cooooome! Heeeeehhehehe. Joooin us! Jooooin! - They whispered and laughed at him continuously.

- RRrggh… SHUT UP!! -  He shouted, full-throated. Bane felt powerless and that was worse than anything. 

Within a short time, only his left hand remained visible from the mass then it swallowed him completely. He appeared on the other side of the fleshy ocean. There was nothing else than blackness. Full, lightless pitch black. He heard growls and laughter echoing around, but saw nothing of them. He tried to get his gun. But… His left arm was nowhere to be found. He looked at the empty space instead of the limb. 

-....What? - Said Bane quietly, surprised. Then he felt mind shattering pain in the place of the missing body part. 

-Aaaaargg!!

Bane woke up immediately. 

The bounty hunter was slightly shocked and panted heavily. He quickly raised his left hand to see it. It was still there...  

- Huh…  Bane was relieved and sighed really deeply. He buried his forehead into his right hand and slowly calmed himself down with some deep breaths. He was getting used to these dreams. It was a part of his everyday life after all and he learned to repress them within himself. Bane looked at his injured hand:

- I still need ya, ol' frien', heh... - He smiled slightly then hissed in pain. The limb hurt a lot. 

He leaned back on the bed and glanced out the window of the shipwreck. Outside he saw Yrsa with Cog. The girl gently smeared some kind of medicine on the animal's forehead, then stroked it. With those soft and smooth lil’ hands of hers…. Hmmmh… Bane brooded over it a little bit.

Meanwhile, Cog stared at the direction of the window where the hunter lay. Bane flashed his eyes. Their cold gazes locked on each other.

- Yooou… Let’s call it a draw… But ya' better be afraid of the rematch... - Hissed Bane with confidence in his voice. 

There is the water. It can crash you at ease with its harsh weight but  it can also gently caress you with its silky waves.

To be continued... Next episode ➔ ← Previous episode

Footnotes: -Thank you so much for the reading! ♥ - My drawing of the hands was originally made for this story. :) - You can find some awesome divider for your writings here. - Here are some extra pictures, early concept drawings and sketches for this tale:

[xinambercladx]

Todo did an oopsie. The droid equivalent of being a bad dog.

An illustration for my next chapter of Figment, <- my fanfic on AO3. It will release soon. There are 10 chapters up now, so enjoy! ** Read Ch10: Reclamation **

Below is the WIP version where I did only the flats. I try to add color splotches and texture like the Clone Wars always had. It makes it feel a bit more like that good ol' cartoon.

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xInAmberCladx's Fanart Archive <- click

[kimageddon]

This is an archive of my one shots, prompt challenges and requests. If you are looking for my two main series, A Prince of Dathomir or Sins of the Father, please check out my pinned post or my AO3 account.

Fanfiction for characters in the Star Wars Universe

Tech

Reader Edition - The Wedding | The Reception | The Honeymoon

OC edition - The Wedding | The Reception | The Honeymoon

Crosshair

Shoot Me Down

Couldn't Resist (NSFW)

Boba Fett

Impatient (NSFW)

The Witch's Familiar (possible series, Fantasy AU)

Masterlist - Coming Soon

Introductory Blurb

Comedic Series for the Star Wars characters and Universe - a cantina where all characters coalesce OOC, no timeline specifics

The Pants Challenge

Drinks

Prompt List - | - NSFW Prompt List - | - Who I write for

Ideas sent in via asks from the prompt list (CLOSED)

Clone Trooper Jesse

29: "I'm going to give you five seconds to take that back"

Cad Bane

34. “That’s it! I’m killing them all.” / “Wait, but what about the plan?” / “Forget the plan! These idiots keep getting on my nerves. They have no one to blame but themselves.”

31. "Good, I meant it to hurt."

ARC Trooper Fives

8. “I think I have found the cure for happiness.” / “What’s that?” / “Falling in love.”

Commander Wolffe

4. “But you…. You went drink for drink with Wolffe. How are you not hungover?” & 20. “You're so tiny compared to me.”

9. "“Have you lost your damn mind?!” / “Yes, but in all fairness, I was left alone.”

Clone Medic Kix

16. “You can’t die. Please don’t die.”

Clone Trooper Hardcase

1. "That was my favourite blaster.”

Commando Captain Gregor

23. “Don’t cry. We’ll find each other again.”

Sergeant Hunter

46. "Kiss me like you mean it."

Coruscant Guard Commander Fox

12. “Aaand just like that I have lost all the fucks I had to give.”

Lord Savage Opress

7. “I love you! No time to explain – gotta go.” / “Wait… WHAT?!” & 40. “I want to take you to all the beautiful places, sunsets over oceans and listen to the rain. I want to dance with you, make you smile and laugh… but– I also want to kiss you so hard it leaves marks on your body, I want to watch you writhe beneath me and scream my name until you can’t say anything else.”

Requests from DMs of Ko-Fi

Maul and Savage - They discuss the dichotomy of siblings

Comfort with Darth Maul - Maul x Reader

Captain Rex - On shoreleave he decides to visit the barbers

If you wish to be tagged in my fic posts or my art posts, join my tag list here.

[techmiranda]

OC Sketches

Did some anatomy/dynamic/muscle training sketches of my SW fanfic OC known as "Lady", "She", or mostly "Stubborn Eopie".

OC from my SW fanfic "The Concept of Trust"

AO3 / Wattpad