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fanfoolishness · 4 months ago

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Stargazing

Crosshair and his brothers sneak out to stargaze. For @summer-of-bad-batch prompts "stargazing" and "You really think you're going without me? Not going to happen." 2500 words with closer detail on the art at the end <3

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Crosshair slipped his boots on silently, taking care to avoid making even the slightest noise. Here in the near-total darkness of lights out, he should be safe from his brothers’ prying eyes. While he didn’t have the flawless night vision of some species, the Kaminoans had assured him his vision was far superior to any human’s -- including his fellow defective clones.

He kept a close watch on his brothers’ sleeping forms as he slowly got to his feet. Hunter was the most likely to realize what he was up to, but he seemed fast asleep, lying perfectly still with his face turned to the wall. Crosshair turned around to hide his pillow under his blanket as a decoy, but he hadn’t kept his eyes off the others for more than ten seconds before there was a soft, slightly annoyed voice in his ear.

“You really think you’re going without me?” Hunter whispered. “Not going to happen.”

Crosshair’s hand closed into a fist at his side. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hissed. “I’m just going to the refresher.” He pointed to the small, closet-sized refresher in their barracks.

Hunter clicked on his glowrod, illuminating Crosshair and his bunk. “With your boots on?” Hunter leaned around him, poking the pillow under the covers. “And a decoy? Come on.”

Crosshair sighed, rubbing his face with his hand. He glared at his brother, lowering his gaze slightly. They were all still far shorter than the adult regs, even Wrecker, who was clearly going to be enormous, but Crosshair had recently pulled a few centimeters ahead of Hunter. He used it to his advantage, narrowing his eyes and drawing himself up to his full height. “Fine. I’m going out.”

“You’ll get caught,” said Hunter. “You’re not stealthy enough. Obviously.” He gave Crosshair a gloating grin. “You’ll need me.”

“Oh really,” said Crosshair. “If I’ll get caught on my own, how are the two of us supposed to help that?”

“Because I can tell you when the patrols are coming,” said Hunter smugly. “I’ll sense them long before you can see them. C’mon.”

“You don’t even know where we’re going,” Crosshair said, though he had to admit Hunter had a point. He’d gotten the jump on him just now, and he did always seem to know when someone was just around the corner. Tech would say it was something to do with vibrations and electromagnetism, but Hunter would just shrug and say it was his gut.

“Yes we do,” said Tech from across the room, and Crosshair groaned.

“We do?” Hunter asked.

“You’re up, too?” Crosshair sighed.

“Well, the glowrod and your voices were getting hard to ignore,” Tech said, sitting up in his bunk and leaning down to reach for his boots. “The weather forecast was for a clear night tonight, the first one in months. You’re going stargazing.”

Crosshair chewed at his fingernail, embarrassed. “How’d you know?”

“I remembered how your curiosity was piqued during one of our astronomy lessons,” Tech said, pulling his boots on and adjusting his goggles. The little red recording light at the edge of his goggles clicked on. “You asked how much you would be able to see compared to a reg, and our instructor didn’t know how to account for your enhanced vision. You wanted to look for yourself, but with Kamino’s typical cloud cover, you’ve never had an opportunity until now.”

Crosshair had been curious. He’d tried peering out the hall windows several times during regular training hours, but the fluorescent lights of the hallways drowned out much of the night skies, which were always cloudy. He’d long decided he would have to sneak out to a platform on a clear night if he ever wanted to know.

Leave it to Tech to have him figured out, as usual.

“We’re goin’ stargazing?” Wrecker asked with a yawn. “Let’s do it! Sneaking out’ll be fun!” He held up Lula. “As long as Lula can come with.”

Crosshair pulled at his fingernail so hard he tasted blood. He held his finger in his mouth for a moment before he buried his face in his hands. “It’s stupid. We should just stay here. It’s not worth the extra cleaning duty.”

“There won’t be extra cleaning duty if we don’t get caught,” Hunter said patiently. “I know a way to the accessory landing pad. Come on, lads. Move out.” He turned off his glowrod and pocketed it.

Wrecker finished getting his boots on and leapt to his feet, Lula in his arms. “Yes sir!” he laughed.

“Keep it down, Wrecker!” Tech said. They fell in line behind Hunter, who paused for a moment at the door, listening hard with his hand on the wall.

“All right, move out,” he whispered. “Hand signals from here on in.”

Crosshair and the others nodded. Wrecker muttered something under his breath. He hated hand signals.

The door slid open and they slipped out into the hall, dimly lit with running lights along the floor and ceiling for nighttime. All was strange and silent, a far cry from the normal hubbub during the day. There were no lanky, wispy Kaminoans ambling through the halls, no older cadets marching in line and coldly ignoring them, no younger cadets making faces at them when their handlers weren’t looking. It was a different world, still and empty, and Crosshair shivered. He didn’t like it.

They followed Hunter carefully. At one point he gestured to hold back as a night patrol made their rounds; they pressed themselves against an alcove opening into a medical ward, holding their breath until the patrol passed. Hunter gestured again with the all-clear after a moment, and they slipped back into the hallway single file, their footsteps as soft as they could make them.

Crosshair was surprised when Hunter led them down a different path than he had anticipated. He had been thinking of going out through one of the main hangars, suspecting no one would notice a single cadet the size of a natborn ten-year-old among all the ships and cargo. But Hunter had a different idea. His hand signals flashed, explaining the hangar was too conspicuous. He led them down a maintenance hall instead, then gestured for Wrecker to join him at the front of the line while Tech and Crosshair kept watch.

Hunter had them stop in front of a barred vent, and Crosshair understood. Wrecker grinned, shoved Lula into Crosshair’s arms, and then shook out his hands.

Wrecker crouched down in front of the vent cover, prised his fingers into its edges, and pulled. For a moment his brow furrowed with concentration and effort, but the cover squeaked, bent, and then lifted up. Wrecker gave one more wrenching pull and nearly lost his balance, but Hunter caught him before he hit the ground.

Crosshair allowed himself a surprised smile. This just might work. He gave Lula a squeeze absently, watching Hunter and Wrecker. Wrecker leaned the vent cover against the wall, then frowned at Hunter as if to say, You want me to fit in there?

Hunter nodded, his hands flashing. You can do it.

Wrecker hung his head, then reached out and took Lula back from Crosshair. Hunter crept into the vent first, easily fitting as the smallest. For Wrecker, it was a tight squeeze, but not impossible. Tech followed next, and Crosshair brought up the rear, pulling the vent cover back into place behind him. It was cramped, but it was workable.

They crawled through the vent for what seemed like ages until they reached another cover. This one was easy for Hunter to kick out on his own, and he led them through the opening one by one until they stood up in a small dim hall ending in a single closed door.

Crosshair pulled at his tunic, which had gotten all dusty and bunched up. He had to wear a tunic far wider than he needed to account for his recent vertical growth spurt, and it hung awkwardly on his thin frame. He stretched it back across his shoulders. There. Better.

This was the farthest away they’d ever been from the main halls and training areas. Crosshair had a funny feeling, like they were doing something much more transgressive than just sneaking out for a few hours. It made the back of his neck prickle. He turned around, looking cautiously, but there was nobody there except his brothers.

Hunter peered at the door, which didn’t seem to want to open. Tech stepped forward and nudged him out of the way, pulling up his datapad. He hunched over it for a few minutes, then inputted a code into the door, which slid open. A breath of cool air and the sound of waves greeted them. “Here we are,” Tech said softly. With the waves splashing beyond them and the evening wind to mask their sounds, Crosshair realized they could speak again.

He and the others followed Tech out onto the platform, and he shivered, realizing it was their first step into a wider world.

For a moment they walked in silence, beneath the lights of the domed cities rising up behind them, above the waves rising and breaking beneath them. They trotted out along the platform to the point where it narrowed to a bridge that could be easily defended in the event of an attack, and they kept going until they reached the point where the bridge opened up again into a very small platform, sized for a single fighter.

Out here the breeze buffeted them, though it was Kamino’s summer and the air was cool instead of cold. Crosshair licked his lips and tasted salt spray. He sank down to a sitting position and leaned forward, blinking rapidly, trying to let his eyes adjust from the indoor lighting of the hall to the darkness of open space.

The others sat down beside him. Tech sat cross-legged, with his datapad in his lap, reviewing Kaminoan constellations with his datapad set on the lowest brightness. Hunter lay down and crossed his arms beneath his head, while Wrecker flopped onto his back beside him with Lula resting on his chest.

Wrecker whistled. Tech let out a curious little hmmmm. Hunter was quiet, deep in thought.

Crosshair hadn’t looked at the sky yet. He stared into the water, waiting for his eyes to fully adjust, knowing there was more that he could see. He waited until he could start to see the patterns of the waves crossing each other in ephemeral diamonds of water, until he could see fish swimming five, ten, twenty meters down, until he could see the vast deep shadows of the platform above curving over the bulk of creatures far, far below. Then he took a deep breath, leaning back, and gazed up at the stars.

He saw everything.

The stars themselves were stunning. White glittery pinpoints twinkled far above them, mixed with golden stellate shimmers, tiny sparks of reddish or bluish lights from far distant worlds. But the stars weren’t the only thing to see, to his surprise. Clouds of rich blue-purple violets, shimmering at the edges with a faint color that forced him to squint and made his head hurt slightly, roiled and flowed in the skies behind the bright points of the stars. Delicate filaments of hazy bluish fog swirled and spiraled amid the deepest black. His mouth fell open.

“Well, Cross?” Wrecker asked.

“What do you think?” said Hunter.

“Is it what you anticipated?”

Crosshair shook his head. “It’s… it’s… wizard.”

Wrecker laughed. “Never heard you say that before! What all do you see?” he asked curiously.

Crosshair glanced back at his brother, confused for a moment. “You see the nebula up there, right? And all the… twirly parts? It’s… fascinating.”

Wrecker shrugged. “It’s nice -- there sure are a lot of stars, way more than I thought! But I dunno about any nebula. What’s it look like?”

Crosshair frowned. He knew he’d see more than they would, but this much more? He nibbled at his thumbnail, tearing one edge into little shreds. “I don’t know, it’s -- like smoke, but in the stars?”

“Tech?” said Hunter.

“A nebula is a giant cloud of dust and gas in space, and it may comprise many colors. There is a large nebula adjacent to the Rishi Maze galaxy that abuts Kamino, but it is not usually detectable to the naked eye,” Tech said, checking his datapad. “I believe only you can see it, Crosshair.”

“Oh,” he said, trying to hide his disappointment. He’d let them all come out here for nothing? He stared up at the sky, the brilliant stars blurring as he blinked back sudden tears. “Sorry,” he said haltingly. “It’s… it’s special.”

“We believe you. It is still a beautiful night, even if we cannot see all of it ourselves,” said Tech. “I for one have enjoyed exploring new parts of the city with you. It’s useful to know there’s an escape route here.”

“Yeah, sneakin’ out’s always fun. And the fresh air’s way better than that smell in the barracks.”

“Just because we can’t see exactly what you see doesn’t mean we didn’t want to come,” Hunter said. “I like this a lot more than just staying in our bunks all night. Besides -- what’s that?”

A blazing blue-white star streaked across the sky, weaving a long tail of light across the starry landscape. It danced along at incredible speed, growing brighter and brighter.

“Look at it go!” whooped Wrecker.

“It’s a shooting star,” said Tech. “A small meteor falling into Kamino’s atmosphere and burning up. Some sentients believe they are lucky, and wish upon them. I don’t really understand why.”

“Make a wish, Cross!”

Crosshair stared up as the shooting star began to fade, its streaking path glimmering in and out of the dark. He swallowed. A wish?

A dozen wishes flashed through his mind. To be the best soldier in the Grand Army of the Republic. To be the commander of his own squad someday. To win the war, and protect the galaxy. For none of his brothers to ever get hurt.

He closed his eyes.

I wish they could see what I see.

He opened his eyes, and the shooting star was gone. He let out a sigh.

“What’d you wish?”

“He is not supposed to tell, according to the lore,” said Tech. “Otherwise that invalidates the wish.”

“That’s a silly rule.”

“I didn’t make it.”

“But that shouldn’t matter!”

”Again, I did not write the lore —”

“Oh quit arguing, you two,” said Hunter. “Let’s just enjoy it. It’s a nice night out here. Right, Crosshair?”

Crosshair gazed up at the wheeling stars, slowly exhaling as the night sky glittered and shone and radiated far above him. His brothers looked up at the stars with him, and even if they didn’t see things exactly the same… they were here, and he wouldn’t have made it through the halls without them.

Crosshair smiled. His wish probably wasn’t going to come true, but somehow, he didn’t mind.

“Yeah, it’s all right.”

#the bad batch #my batcher fic #summerofbadbatch2024 #summer of bad batch #crosshair bad batch #wrecker bad batch #hunter bad batch #tech bad batch #kamino #cadet batch

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stellanslashgeode · 2 months ago

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WiP Wednesday on a Friday

Here's a sneak peek at the start of the Vampire Hunter AU. I'm inspired by @charmwasjess and their own WiP to get this underway.

Autumn leaves crunched under her feet as Ahsoka reentered the long-abandoned power plant. The sky was turning vivid orange and purple behind her; but the rising sun did little to subvert the gloom of the building interior. The leaves were the only sound, and the dawn’s light and whatever anemic light penetrating the dust and cobweb patina on windows to the exterior provided the only light.

Ahsoka sought to swallow the knot of nervous energy in her throat and reached for the glowrod attached to her belt. She shined a vivid bright white LED beam cutting a blade through the gloom, light bouncing off every dust mote.

She could have called out to her partner, but the plaintive exclamation died in her windpipe, blocked by that knot of grief at her trachea.

“Go on in, Ahsoka. That fiend must be asleep by now.”

She was retracing steps she had taken with Barriss a week previously. Ahsoka looked over her shoulder as if she could see her companion, her fellow Jedi vampire slayer at her side.

She looked up from her trusty datapad and smiled brightly. Her adorable Cupid’s-bow lips gently curled into a sly smile just for her. Just for her. Like lucious ribbons securing a present for her to unwrap. The screen left dual rectangles of reflected blue light on her glasses. Her stupid sexy glasses. She had her hair tied back in a bun and covered with a kerchief.

Otherwise she was dressed like an office secretary. Ahsoka never could grasp how she refused to alter her costume for missions. Ahsoka had her combat gear on, her plate-reinforced vest with the stiff metal collar over her throat. A garlic garland strung across her shoulders like a feather boa. She was holding her stake already, even here at the door in morning sunlight.

And Barriss in a blouse, pencil skirt, kitten heels, and hose like it was a Tuesday at the office.

“You’re sure she’s in here.” Ahsoka sought to intone it as a statement rather than a question.

“According to my data this is the central point where the attacks originate. We are doomed to chase down its victims in villages all over the province unless we slay the monster inhabiting this old plant. Exterminate the queen, and the nest withers and dies.”

She pushed up the tortoiseshell frame of her glasses casually with a pinkie finger. Ahsoka was suddenly struck by the urge to grab her wrist and take that delicate digit into her mouth and surround it with her warm wet tongue. But she banished that urge lest her fellow Jedi hunter read her thoughts or emotions.

She nodded and gave her a half-smile. “Okay.”

Ahsoka was scared, but having Barriss here both as support and as a loved one to protect bolstered her. This wasn’t their first rodeo. As Jedi Knights they had joined a holy army of the light in opposition to these Sith bloodsucking freaks. Their masters had paired the two together after they showed how effective they were as a team. Perhaps they had also noted the attraction that grew by the day when they were together? Perhaps. Perhaps they sought the knights to overcome the temptations of the emotions and the flesh by serving the light together as a dyad.

But damn, she wanted to kiss her right now. In this lull before confronting a great evil. Just to reassure each other and to get Ahsoka’s blood pumping rearing for the fight.

“Let’s go, then. For light and life.”

She tilted her head and her smile grew. Ahsoka’s heart leapt into her throat.

Ahsoka sighed. She was returning here a failure and alone now. Barriss was either dead or a creature subverted by evil. And the best option was death. It would be a blessing to find her corpse inside.

She spent a few days and dreamless nights at the tavern, in the room they rented together, in the one bed they had vacant, drinking herself into a stupor each night and secretly wishing to be awakened by Barriss’s fingernails tapping on the exterior of the third-floor window. Asking to be invited in.

#barriss offee #ahsoka tano #star wars #star wars fanfiction #barrissoka #the clone wars #vampire hunter au #they're still clueless space lesbians in aus #just kiss her you fool #before it's too late

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halfagonyandhope · 5 days ago

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when the skies catch fire │ch. 38

first chapter (x); previous chapter (x)

They spend many more happy moments rediscovering each other, basking in afterglow even as the dark descends upon them. Obi-Wan can barely see Satine, so soft is the light at dusk, but he knows she is smiling.

Eventually, she pulls back slightly. “Each day you return to me, little by little,” she whispers. “And every day I think I couldn’t be more grateful than the day before, but I’m proven wrong again and again.”

Obi-Wan grins. “I do like proving you wrong.”

She lightly bites his lip in response and then shifts to begin packing up their picnic. Obi-Wan assists her, and then she helps him to his feet, slinging the pack over one of her shoulders. She offers him her arm again, and Obi-Wan reaches for his belt to grab a glowrod, activating it so that they can navigate back to the entrance of the Temple.

Their first stop is to pick up Léa from Ahsoka, who’d been watching her in their stead.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan tells her, leaning against his cane, tired from the walk back from the fields, as Ahsoka hands Léa to Satine.

Ahsoka tickles Léa and grins. “Think nothing of it, Obi-Wan,” she says in response. “Whenever you need me, I’ll be there.”

Obi-Wan nods, his throat tight, and Ahsoka excuses herself. Satine nudges his shoulder. “What do you say about going back to the Archives?” she says. “Not to work,” she explains when he gives her a look. “It’s warmer than anywhere else in the Temple, and sometimes I tire of our small quarters.”

So he allows her to lead them there, knowing full well he’d follow her anywhere - to the end of the galaxy, if she ventures that far.

Satine guides them to an old couch, and Obi-Wan sits first, Satine settling in beside him. “Tell us a story,” she murmurs. “You said you were missing Qui-Gon. Tell Léa about him.”

Obi-Wan has to laugh at this. “Where to possibly begin?” He reaches over to brush a finger against Léa’s small hands, and Léa reaches out instinctively to wrap her fingers around his own. “You, my darling girl, are very fortunate to have both my parents and my master, Qui-Gon, as your grandparents. Everything I learned from Qui-Gon, even the lessons I’m sure he didn’t want me to learn, I will teach you.”

Léa suddenly looks away from Obi-Wan, her gaze focused elsewhere.

Obi-Wan glances at Satine. “Isn’t she a bit young to be working on depth perception?”

Satine arches a brow at him. “I see you’ve been spending time of your own in the Archives,” she says with a laugh. Then she shrugs. “Léa is not a normal child,” she admits. “I wouldn’t expect - ”

Then she cuts herself off, staring at the same spot that Léa is watching.

“Satine?” asks Obi-Wan, now concerned. He looks over his shoulder but sees nothing, so he turns his attention back to his wife. He watches as she seems to track the movement of something, and, astonished, he looks down to find Léa doing the same.

Satine swallows. “It’s okay, Obi-Wan,” she says, but she’s still looking off into space, seemingly transfixed.

Now thoroughly worried, Obi-Wan reaches for her, but she rests a hand on his thigh.

“This is going to sound strange,” Satine says, “but can you take my necklace off?”

Obi-Wan dutifully reaches for the leather cord that holds the kyber crystal against her heart. After he unties it, Satine presses the kyber crystal - the crystal formerly of the Darksaber - into his hand.

The room brightens, and Obi-Wan nearly faints.

Before him is an image of Qui-Gon Jinn.

Qui-Gon is translucent and glowing slightly, but beyond that, he appears as he had the day he’d died: tall, with graying hair, wrinkles on his face that suggest he’d lived long but not long enough.

Obi-Wan swallows, looking from Qui-Gon to Satine and then to Léa.

“What lessons, exactly, Obi-Wan, did I not want you to learn?”

Obi-Wan, still holding the kyber crystal tightly, glances back at Qui-Gon. It takes a few tries before he's able to get words out. Finally, though, he manages to say, “How is this possible?”

Qui-Gon chuckles. “You still have much to learn, my young padawan. In a sense, we are all padawans forever.” He moves to sit on the nearest armchair and looks at Léa. “Well,” he says pointedly at Obi-Wan. “Are you going to introduce me?”

Obi-Wan clears his throat. “I imagine you know precisely who this is,” he says. “But, Master, this is my daughter, Soléa Kryze Kenobi. Léa.”

“She will be forthright and formidable,” says Qui-Gon, smiling broadly and glancing between Obi-Wan and Satine. “Congratulations. She's not it all what I expected given the way you two quarreled when you first met, but the Force works in mysterious ways.”

“Speaking of,” says Obi-Wan, and he rests his hand on the couch so that he can hide the way it shakes. “I haven’t been able to use the Force in months,” he admits. “So why can I see you now?”

Satine leans into him. “The crystal,” she whispers. “When Qui-Gon appeared, he told me to tell you to touch it. It’s somehow facilitating the connection you can’t make.”

Qui-Gon nods.

Obi-Wan shifts, leaning forward. “And why can’t I connect with the Force?” he asks. He’s expecting the way his voice will break as he asks, but that doesn’t make it less painful.

“I’m not entirely sure,” admits Qui-Gon. “There are limits to what I know, even as part of the cosmic Force. But I know this: You severed your connection to the Force to prevent yourself from turning to the Dark Side. It saved your life, Obi-Wan. Do not regret that choice.”

Obi-Wan nods. “I don’t,” he says. “At one point, I think I did. But no longer. I know it was the only option.” He breathes in. “But will I be separate from the Force forever? From this point forward?”

Qui-Gon shakes his head. “I don’t believe so,” he says. “My feelings tell me that you’ll connect to it again.”

“I don’t suppose you can provide any tips?”

Qui-Gon laughs. “I wish I could,” he says. “But the Force feels different for everyone. For you, it once felt like turning on a light. For me, it is like the ocean’s waves and depths. For Satine, it’s different still. However you eventually forge that connection, it won’t likely be anything you’ve encountered before.”

Satine speaks up at this. “We spent a year together and neither of you ever had any inclination that I was capable of connecting to the Force?”

“As I said, there are limits to what I know - clearly,” says Qui-Gon, and he appears amused. “But it’s much as your friend Neha has told you: Obi-Wan and I were looking for Jedi traits. We didn’t know the power of Mandalorian Force-users; we didn’t know it was possible to make one’s mind impenetrable.” He shrugs. “Maybe we should have expected to be uninformed, given how little our lineages interacted and how fiercely we each guarded our own secrets.”

There's a heavy silence between them then, but it's not uncomfortable. Obi-Wan weighs Qui-Gon's words, all of them, and then finds words of his own.

“Can that be taught?” asks Obi-Wan. “Can we teach Léa, for example, to hide her thoughts? To hide her Force signature?”

Qui-Gon smiles. “Now, that I can help you with,” he says. “I’ve spent the better part of a standard decade studying the Force beyond how the Jedi could use it. I will teach you what I know.”

Obi-Wan glances down at Léa, and then back at Qui-Gon. “Why now?” he asks. “Were you here all along? All those years?”

Qui-Gon stands and moves to kneel in front of Obi-Wan. “I presented myself to you as soon as I mastered how to do so,” he says. “I wouldn’t have kept you waiting, Obi-Wan. I saw you struggle. I would not have let you do so alone if I could have helped.”

Satine reaches out with her hand to rest her fingers over Obi-Wan's, and he's glad for the warmth.

He holds Qui-Gon’s gaze. “I tried to train the boy, Master,” he whispers, needing Qui-Gon to understand, needing him to know.

Qui-Gon gives him a sad smile. “You did train him, Obi-Wan,” he corrects softly. “And you did better than I could have. You did better than any other Jedi could have.” He pauses. “His failure is not yours, Obi-Wan. It is his own, and no one else’s. I know Satine has told you this, and I know you understand it on some level, but you must believe it.”

Satine’s thumb brushes over the back of Obi-Wan’s hand.

Obi-Wan glances back at her, and he finally nods.

#obi-wan kenobi #satine kryze #obitine #star wars fanfic #the clone wars #the lawless au #ptsd

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pagsys-writings · 10 months ago

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do you believe in ghost stories?

thranto | 1901 words | rated T

horror; but like not bad - like I'm in a secluded hallway in the dark spooky vibes; or as I like to call it "Spooky Lite"; Comfort; literally wrote this last night at midnight but it's not bad

Based on this prompt

Summary:

“Hello! Anybody here?” Eli called out, partially out of boredom, even though he knew it was an absolutely ridiculous and terrible idea to call attention to himself right now. His voice echoed along the hallway and the eerie silence that followed sent a chill down his back. “Actually… I don’t want an answer to that,” he mumbled under his breath.

In which Eli and Thrawn investigate a deserted ship.

"Hello! Anybody here?” Eli called out, partially out of boredom, even though he knew it was an absolutely ridiculous and terrible idea to call attention to himself right now. His voice echoed along the hallway and the eerie silence that followed sent a chill down his back. “Actually… I don’t want an answer to that,” he mumbled under his breath.

He was being absurd. The Chimaera hadn’t registered any life forms present and chances were that they wouldn’t find anything interesting. Eli didn’t really understand why Thrawn wanted to check out this decrepit “ghost” ship in the first place. Maybe he thought they’d find something related to Nightswan. They had run into a few pirates in the area, but that didn’t mean this was related to that man.

Rubbing his hands along his arms, Eli tried to ward off the chill that seemed to have crept into his bones. “Kriff, it’s cold,” he grumbled.

His heels scuffing against the floor was the only sound besides the buzzing lights powered by the backup generator that they’d managed to get going. Except the emergency lights didn’t offer much and they kept flickering like they were seconds from going out. Eli readjusted his grip on the glowrod, holding it a little tighter than before. He wanted nothing more than to leave this place.

He passed doorway after doorway. He noted nothing of interest or importance. For the disarray the outer portion of the ship was in, Eli had expected to find the inside to be much of the same. But, it wasn’t. Besides the dirt and grime on the floor from disuse, there was no evidence of anyone ever being present. Either the people of this ship had plenty of time to evacuate, or it had already been looted by pirates or whoever came across the empty vessel.

What Eli also noted was the absence of any evidence indicating a fight. No scorch marks from blasters and no bodies. It really was like a ghost ship — something like the stories he and his cousins would tell around the campfire when they were younger. He did not appreciate the thoughts that that connection brought up.

I should check in, he reminded himself. Only to realize that he hadn’t heard anyone checking in, and that was always Thrawn’s requirement when they split up the group. He was adamant about a strict schedule of who should check in and when. There should have been three others by now, but his comm was silent.

He lifted the device, speaking his name and a brief overview of what he’d found, which was basically nothing. The response he received was static. He tried again, but nothing changed.

Looking up and down the hallway, Eli felt utterly alone. His teeth clattered as the chill seemed to get worse. Should probably head back… He stepped in the direction he’d come from when the emergency lights flickered — buzzing brighter for a moment — before going dark. The absence of their buzzing made the silence and dark feel alive.

“Son of a…” Eli froze as he blinked his eyes. He still had his glowrod light but his eyes were struggling to adjust and his mind was whirling as fear threatened to grip him. He tried the comm again and swallowed down his panic when he got no response. “It’s alright,” he told himself as he forced his feet to move.

All he had to do was keep going in the direction where they’d docked the shuttle and he’d find the others. Then he could get off this ship and to the safety of the Chimaera.

With the new darkness, Eli’s senses seemed dialed up to 11. His breathing sounded extremely loud, as did his feet against the floor. He kept the light in front of him, lazily sweeping it from side to side to make sure he headed in the right direction. He was pretty sure he was doing a decent job — he’d carefully memorized the turns and counted the doorways as he went.

He made a left and stopped short. He could have sworn he heard something bouncing and rolling along the floor — something metal. The hallway in front of him was empty, but his skin started to crawl with unease.

Stepping back, Eli waved his light across the hallway he’d just come from. Nothing. It was empty and nothing appeared out of place. Not like there was anything there to begin with to be bumped into or moved.

Turning back toward the direction of their shuttle, Eli took a hesitant step forward and shivered as something frigid seemed to pass through him. He really wanted to burn this place to the ground just so it would stop tormenting him. Another step and his glowrod blinked. Eli sucked in a breath just as it flickered again and went out. He let out a torrent of curses as he banged the light against his palm, praying for it to be just a bad connection that he could smack back into place. Nothing happened.

Another curse escaped him as he blindly searched for the wall. Without his sight, Eli felt himself get turned around as he reached out. Once his hands were pressed against the cool metal, he took a breath. However, it did nothing to calm the racing thoughts in his head — the ones that said he was going to die here. He decided he was gonna haunt Thrawn’s ass if he did just for getting him into this mess in the first place.

A puff of air touched the back of his neck and Eli felt his hair stand on end. A hand brushed against his elbow and instinct kicked in. Eli whirled around, breaking the person’s hold while bringing his other hand up to punch or at least attempt to fend off his attacker, but the person was faster. Fingers wrapped around his wrist, halting his movements before Eli could do any damage.

“Easy, Commander Vanto.” Eli looked up and blinked. His eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness yet, but he didn’t need them to find Thrawn’s soft glowing red eyes in the darkness. Why hadn’t he noticed their glow before?

“Sir?” Eli asked dumbly. Thrawn’s grip on his wrist relaxed and he lowered Eli’s arm. He didn’t let go, though. “Why didn’t you say something?” he hissed in frustration. His heart pounded from the sudden rush of adrenaline.

“I did.” Eli blinked. Had he been that lost in his thoughts? “You hadn’t checked in and weren’t responding,” Thrawn continued, “so I came to find you.”

“My comm isn’t working,” Eli said with a frown. “Yours are?” He noticed Thrawn’s eyes drop lower and back up, as if nodding. “Why don’t you have a glowrod?”

“The lights were still on and I knew you had yours.” Thrawn paused. Eli nodded to himself, reminding himself that the Chiss had better vision than humans. He probably didn’t mind the dark as much. “Though it appears you are having difficulties.”

With a sigh, Eli nodded. “Yeah, the darn thing just… fizzled out…”

There was another pause. Thrawn adjusted his hold on Eli so that they were holding hands. “Very well. I will guide you back to the shuttle then.”

“That’s not necessary, sir,” Eli said. His wild space twang thickened with his embarrassment as Thrawn gently tugged him forward. Eli dutifully followed him. Even though Thrawn said it in such a matter-of-fact way, it didn’t help that this felt too intimate for Eli’s liking. He was definitely blaming the darkness for it. His other senses felt like they were in overdrive without being able to see, and he was very aware of the feeling of Thrawn’s touch. He tried to tell himself that Thrawn would have done this for anyone, but it didn’t prevent his heart from skipping a beat. “I can just follow you,” he said, briefly squeezing Thrawn’s hand and relishing in its warmth. Weird, he thought. Usually, Eli was the one who ran warmer.

“That would be unwise,” Thrawn replied. They made another left. If Eli remembered correctly, they had to make two more rights, pass seven doors, make a left, pass three doors, and then make another left followed by an immediate right. “I’m sure you remember the exact turns to reach the shuttle but it will take much too long when this is simply the most logical and efficient way.”

Efficiency. Eli pouted even as he flushed at Thrawn’s compliment. His hold on Thrawn’s hand tightened slightly. It made sense, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of disappointment in his chest. Something clanged behind them. Eli’s back stiffened while Thrawn paused, listening intently. Then they continued walking, but Eli noticed the tighter hold Thrawn had on his hand and the way they walked slightly faster.

“Do you believe in ghost stories, sir?” Eli whispered if only to distract himself.

Thrawn didn’t respond. He made a few more turns and Eli knew they were close to the shuttle. He could hear the voices from the others in their party echoing along the empty hallways.

Finally, they made their last turn and Eli breathed a sigh of relief as they stepped into the well-lit area. Thrawn immediately ordered the group to prepare to leave. As everyone hurried to move — apparently as eager to leave as Eli — Thrawn turned to look down the hallway they’d come from.

“Check your comm, Commander.”

With a frown, Eli did so and was surprised to find it worked. Out of curiosity, he lifted his glowrod. “What the—'' Its light clicked on without any problem. “But it was…”

Thrawn’s hand still held his own, but Eli’s hand ached with how strong Thrawn’s grip was. It was the only indication that something was amiss. His eyes didn’t leave the hallway as he said, “There is usually some truth to ghost stories,” answering Eli’s earlier question. A chill ran down Eli’s spine and maybe he leaned closer to Thrawn. “Though usually, the details are highly exaggerated.”

Eli knew that. He remembered saying as much to some of the other officers back when they were on the Blood Crow, but hearing it from Thrawn somehow didn’t feel all that comforting. He glanced back at the hallway and thought the shadows appeared unnaturally black. “I’m ready to leave this place and never come back,” Eli whispered — his voice thick with worry.

“Indeed,” Thrawn said. He finally turned away and guided them to their waiting shuttle. Eli wondered what sort of stories Thrawn had heard growing up. He also wondered if he’d faced things that perhaps made him believe or at least wonder if something here was… off. If it was enough to unnerve his commanding officer, Eli wasn’t sure he wanted to know the stories of his youth.

As they boarded the shuttle, Eli couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. He kept his eyes forward — too afraid to glance back and risk seeing something he shouldn’t. Once the doors closed, he let out a breath of relief. He didn’t comment on the fact that Thrawn’s hand remained wrapped around his for the duration of the flight back to the Chimaera. Neither of them commented on the unease they’d felt on the deserted ship while their crew chatted around them. And it wasn’t until the shuttle docked and everyone began to disperse did Thrawn and Eli mutually released their hold on each other.

#thranto #eli vanto #mitth'raw'nuruodo #star wars fanfiction #I'm hoping writing this will let me focus on my other wips ;-;

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virtie333 · 1 year ago

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Day 19 - Life Day Damerey Celebration

Prompt: Fire

Summary: Can we say enemies to friends to potential lovers?

Notes: Okay, this one did not turn out how I originally planned. With the prompt 'fire,' I automatically think 'smut.' And that's how it was going to go. But, alas, they took over, and a whole lot of surprising dialog happened instead!

AO3

“This was the stupidest idea you’ve ever had in a long list of stupid ideas.”

Poe turned and glared at the woman behind him, but it wasn’t like he could really see her face, and she most likely couldn’t see his glare. They were both swaddled up from head to toe to protect themselves from the wicked 80 KPH wind that was swirling around them. As if the wind wasn’t bad enough, it was also snowing, so visibility was nil. Luckily, Rey was staying close to him; it wouldn’t do to lose each other in this mess.

Poe turned forward again and looked down at the sensor in his hands. They were almost to the outcropping of rocks that had stood mid-way between where they had landed the little cruiser and the settlement they had come to visit. It had been Poe’s idea to land the ship a couple of kilometers away from the settlement so as to not startle the villagers, who were simple, planet-bound people. They knew about space travel, but had no interest in leaving their safe little communities.

Because of this, the First Order had no interest in them, and the Resistance had been using this community to acquire rations for the last few months. Poe had volunteered to go this time, and he had been planning on bringing Finn with him, but Leia had asked Finn to help her with a specific project at the last minute. “Take Rey,” had been her directive.

The weather when they arrived had been fair, sunny and mild, and they had already brought the foodstuffs back to the ship early in the afternoon, borrowing a cart the was pulled by an equine-looking animal with four horns called a Polinn. They returned the cart and animal, said their thank-yous and goodbyes, and headed back to the ship on foot. The wind had become stronger and cold during their journey back to the village, but the snow didn’t start until they had left. They talked briefly about turning back, but Poe decided it wasn’t too far a walk and that they should continue on. He was regretting that decision.

A dark shape appeared in front of Poe and he stopped. Rey crashed softly into his back, indicating that she had been focused on the ground in front of her. “These are the rocks we saw on the way,” he told her, shouting to be heard above the wind. “There was a recess that looked like a cave on the south side.”

He saw Rey nod. Poe turned to the right and followed the base of the rocky outcropping. The wind began to ease as the rocks protected them from it, but the snow still swirled around them madly. Finally, Poe saw the opening he had noted during their previous journeys by the outcropping. He ducked in, pleased to find it was indeed a cave, and a deep one. He pulled out his glowrod and lit it up.

Rey was already removing the scarf from her face and letting the hood of her coat down. The air temperature wasn’t too excessively cold, only a few degrees below freezing, so once out of the wind it wasn’t unpleasant. But it was still going to be too cold to be comfortable if they stayed the night here.

“Look!” Rey said, nodding toward the center of the large cavern. A fire pit lay in the sand, and along the wall not to far from it sat a stack of wood. “Someone’s used this for shelter before.”

“Often, from the looks of it,” Poe agreed. “You want to keep going and try and find the ship or do you want to hunker here until this storm passes?” While he could read the direction they were going on his sensor, they could still miss the ship and walk right on by it in the snow.

“You mean I get a choice?” she asked. She had griped more than once that Poe was being overbearing. Yes, he was in charge during this mission, but did he have to be so bossy?

Poe took a deep breath. “Yes, in this case, you get a choice.”

Rey looked back at the entrance to the cave. They could just barely see the swirling snow trying to get in, and they could still hear the wind howling. “It’ll be dark soon,” she said softly. “This isn’t much different than a sandstorm,” she continued. “You should always find shelter and wait out a sandstorm. As cold as it is, I’d think it’s even more important to do that now.” She looked back at him, her eyes wide. There was no fear in them; Poe didn’t think he’d ever seen Rey afraid. But there was worry.

Poe nodded. “Let’s make a fire, then,” he said. “And get comfortable. Hopefully this thing is done by morning.”

They worked together to gather wood, and Poe used his multitool to light one of the smaller pieces on fire, centering it among the rest of the fuel. Soon, a comfortable fire was crackling away. He pulled the strap of his pack over his shoulder and opened it, finding the ration bars he had stuffed inside before leaving base. He pulled them out.

Rey gave him a surprised look.

“Always be prepared,” Poe grinned. He offered one to Rey.

Smiling slightly, she took it, then pulled out her canteen. She shook it. “Not frozen, yet,” she said, then she sat it down near the fire so it would stay thawed. Poe did the same.

Quietly, they ate, occasionally looking outside. The wind sounded like it was getting even worse, and they could feel the temperature drop as the sun began to set. Eventually, it was dark enough they couldn’t see out the entrance, but they could still hear the wind.

“We should sleep,” Poe said. “We’d stay a lot warmer if we… huddled, together.”

Rey gave him an odd look. Or maybe it was just the way the shadows from the firelight played with her face. “You want us to cuddle?” she asked.

He shrugged. “It’ll be a lot more comfortable.”

“Is that an order, Commander?”

Poe groaned. “No, of course it’s not an order,” he said, frustrated. “Kriff, Rey, if you don’t want to you don’t have to. I just know how cold you get.” He pulled out the emergency blanket out of his pack and moved to lay down. "I don't know why you have to be so contrary all the time. I know you don’t like following orders from me, but Kriff, Rey, what’d I ever do to you to make you so… hateful?”

“I’m not hateful!” Rey argued. “I just…”

“You don’t trust me,” Poe finished for her. He settled in, head on his pack, staring at the fire. It shouldn’t hurt this much, he thought. Not being liked by Rey. While he tended to get along with everybody, he’d had his fair share of people he didn’t get along with. They’d never bothered him like Rey did. Maybe it was because BB8 and Finn and even Leia all loved her and she loved and respected them. He really, really liked Rey… when she wasn’t talking back or arguing with him. He’d wracked his brain trying to understand why she didn’t like him.

“I trust you, Poe,” she said softly. He looked over at her. She was still sitting, her knees up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. “I just… you make me feel so… I don’t know. Inferior?”

Poe sat up sharply. “What?!”

Rey glanced at him, but looked away quickly. “You’re so perfect,” she continued. “Everyone loves you. BB8 couldn’t stop telling me how amazing you were long before I ever met you. I felt like I knew you, and then when we met…”

“When we met what?” he pushed. He thought their first real meeting had been amazing. He still dreamed of the smile she gave him that day. She hadn’t smiled at him like that since.

She shrugged. “You looked at me as if I was special. And not because of what I had done, not because of what I was.” Her cheeks seemed to be darker, Poe thought. Maybe it was just because of the heat from the fire. “Then when things settled, I realized you looked at everyone that way. And that’s just who you are,” she emphasized, looking at him briefly. “You make everyone around you feel special and capable and important. That’s why you’re such a great leader.”

Poe felt himself becoming embarrassed by her words. “I hear a ‘but’ in there,” he said softly.

"But you started treating me different,” she continued. “Like I was… different.”

“You are different,” Poe agreed. “You’re a Jedi.” He could see her face scrunch up at his words, and he began talking again before she could argue. “You’re also stubborn and headstrong and independent,” he paused as she looked up at him. “And smart and confusing and beautiful and…”

Her mouth was open in shock as she looked at him.

He licked his lips. “The fact is, Rey, I’m not sure how to act around you. Do I treat you with reverence like a Jedi? Do I treat you like a green soldier under my command? Do I treat you like a friend, only to find out you don’t want that kind of intimacy with me?” He took a deep breath. “I like you Rey, and I respect you, and I want to be your friend, but I always feel that I’m so far out of your orbit that you don’t even see me as a colleague much less a confidant. I say things to you to make you mad because sometimes that’s the only emotion you show me.” He ended his statement quietly, looking down at the fire in front of him. Embarrassed for opening himself up so much.

They were silent for a long while, but then Rey spoke up. “You want to know something?” She waited for Poe to look at her. “You make me feel every emotion I’ve ever known. More than any other person I’ve ever known. It scares me.” She looked away, whispering, “That’s why I hide it.”

“It seems we’ve been misreading each other for a while now,” Poe replied, his voice hushed. “Projecting emotions onto each other that aren’t there.”

“How do we fix it?” Rey asked, her eyes huge and soft, glowing gently in the firelight.

“Let’s start over.” Poe held his hand out toward her. “I’m Poe.”

With a smile teasing the corner of her mouth, Rey reached back and took his hand. “Rey.”

“I know,” Poe responded.

Rey smiled. The same beautiful smile she had given him on the Falcon after leaving Crait. Only bigger. Warmer. Happier.

Instead of letting go of her hand, he tugged on it gently. “Now get over here and cuddle with me so we can stay warm while we sleep.” He let go of her hand as she sighed heavily and grabbed up her pack, pulling out the blanket and moving over closer to him.

“You are so bossy,” she grumbled, but there was no anger in her voice.

“See, now that you had right about me,” he told her with a grin.

She shook her head and smiled back, then sat down in front of him. She spread out her blanket and they both lay down, her back to his front, facing the fire. Slowly, Poe brought his arm around her. “Is this okay?” he asked. If she didn’t want him touching her, he wouldn’t.

“It’s fine,” she said softly.

He settled with his arm loosely around her waist. He could feel her relax in front of him, and his own body eased in response. “Goodnight, Rey.”

“Goodnight, Poe.”

#fanfiction #damerey #jedipilot #poe x rey #enemies to friends to lovers #maybe?

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mariahjade2 · 10 months ago

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The flash of Mara’s holo-cam lit up spectral ghosts in the abandoned merchant shopping complex as she took her last shot. The light caught a dusty mannequin leaning awkwardly against the corner window of a deserted store front like a trapped spirit. This was the scene of her last assignment, one last judgment, now the photo would be the the last record of a way of life rejected in Coruscant's rush to the future. Soon it would be gone, torn and ripped apart, a fitting metaphor for her own situation. Were her emergency credits and false ID’s still where she’d stashed them? She had to hurry before Isard’s goons caught up to her. The shop was dark and her glowrod’s light did little to push back the murky shadows in the decayed musty room.

A paragraph I might use somewhere at some point.

#star wars #mara jade #fanfic #luke skywalker #six sentence sunday

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scrumpledorph-writes · 1 year ago

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Koben's First Date (She's 35)

Arrived at the agreed upon meeting point at 18:55 hours: five minutes to perform a reconnaissance before the date begins. Three suns casting a long set of shadows and a dangerous ambient temperature for anything not covered by them. Single story bar, wrought out of sun baked clay, outer walls a solid imperial meter thick. Would diffuse a whole platoon of blaster rifle fire.

Still a dingy rathole at the edge of town, but it’s what my date picked out. I’ve only been staying here two weeks so it’s not like I know anywhere nicer. I’ve done breach and clears on scummier places, so just coming here to relax should be easy!

Wearing my best suit of armor, picked out my most flattering helmet, and polished the outfit well enough to blind anyone who points a glowrod at me. I look good, I feel good: I can do this. Just walk through that front door and-

There’s half a dozen blaster pistols pointed at me. ‘What the hell’s a trooper doing here?!’ one of them’s asking. I figured the purple stripes and the mismatched helmet would be a flagrant enough violation of Imperial Dress Armor Maintenance Protocol to get the point across that I’m no longer officially Empire affiliated, but some people just don’t read their manuals I suppose.

My hands are by my side, I’m playing it cool. Don’t kill six people before sitting down, that’s coming on too strong.

‘Oh, uhh, don’t mind me! Just here on a date, was gonna sit down in that empty booth and-’

A blaster pistol pokes me in the side as I walk by. Killing one or two of these guys will probably get the point across, that’s a justifiable use of force in a naval court. I take a survey of the room: angles, positions, battery grades. Their guns are barely stronger than stunners, I could take at least three solid hits before the heat sinks start to fail – it’d ruin the polish though.

Okay just break this guy’s arm and use him as a shield to get the point across. Here. We.

‘Hey Buckethead, you got credits?’ The bartender! He seems amenable; this place is a hole in the wall so losing these scumbags would probably put him out of business. Turn to look at him, nod slowly, reach for my credit pouch even more so.

‘Good. You thirsty?’ Nod again. I scheduled this date to align precisely with my dietary schedule, so I plan to have one and a half glasses of water and a nutritionally complete meal. Ample spending for a single patron.

‘Then whoever shoots you pays your tab.’ The blasters recede back into cloaks and shoddy holsters. Sit down at the booth without further incident, good progress so far. Don’t remember any of my old squad-mates mentioning shootouts in their date stories. Face the door so I can keep an eye out for her.

She’s a few minutes late. Within acceptable standard deviation, not worth a reprimand. Even if it was I’d let it slide, because standing in the front doorway she’s just about the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

Coral pink skin draped over legs built like tree trunks – waging a war of attrition against a pair of work pants eligible for veteran’s benefits, and winning it by the look of the tears. Cushion around the midsection: serving double duty as protection and a calorie reserve for long bouts of physical labour. Arms poking out of a sleeveless, tastefully sun bleached off white work shirt that look like they could heft up a laser cannon. Years of desert dust had taken up the venerable work of sculpting her a strong, hardy jawline that could come out the other end of a brawl with no more than a bruise. All this topped off with a half dozen shoulder length Nautolan head tentacles.

I didn’t even know women could look like that – they definitely can’t while adhering to Imperial Diet and Dress Guidelines – but I’m glad she does. Her deep black eyes are on me. I’m glad to be wearing a helmet, just now noticing my jaw dropped while I was looking her up and down.

They’re off me again. She’s looking around the bar. Oh shit, right, I’m in full armor. Wave her down. She’s pointing at herself incredulously. Nod, but don’t nod so hard I look desperate. Alright that worked. I never got sent on information gathering missions, so I don’t have any training for how to seduce a woman, but all the guys used to say just be yourself and act natural.

‘H-hi’ Terrible. Cracked, warbling voice, trembling like a schoolchild. Clear your throat, pretend this is a debrief with a particularly informal officer, and try again.

‘Hey! Brayli, right?’ ‘Yeah, you’re Koben?’ That husky drawl is just about making my knees buckle, really glad I decided to meet her sitting down. Her voice is bouncing around in my helmet like a concussion grenade bounces shockwaves around a cockpit.

‘Do you mind if I take this thing off?’ Point at the helmet to make sure she doesn’t think you’re some kind of exhibitionist freak. She’s nodding, good. Don’t put it on the table that’s weird and intimidating. The seat next to you is good, that’s normal, put it there.

She’s smirking now, oh no why’s she doing that, she’s making fun of me, now that there’s nothing keeping her from reading my face it’s written on me like a bounty poster how nervous I am.

‘Not sure why you bother wearing that, cute thing like you.’ Oh, I understand now, she’s forward. Really forward. Can’t keep the nervous laughter inside, but she seems to be liking it. Adrenal responses involve an up front surge and level off with time, take the conversation somewhere less stimulating and circle back around for another pass later.

‘I kept it this way by wearing the thing – an old squad-mate of mine took his off and took a blaster shot, looked like someone had smashed a tomato with a hammer.’ Why. Why did you say that. That’s weird, nobody knows what a smashed tomato looks like and nobody wants to know that it looks a lot like a blown open face.

Wait no never mind she’s laughing I’m doing great – mental note maybe this woman is dangerous – laugh too so you don’t look like a commando droid with synthskin draped over it. We’re having idle conversation, it’s progressing naturally. Keep talking.

‘That outfit looks practical, what do you need it for?’ She’s looking down at it, now back to me. ‘Speeder mechanic. I would’ve wore some nicer clothes, but I don’t own any.’ Another little laugh. She laughs a lot, it’s really pretty. I’d ask her to spend the rest of the night just laughing at nothing but that’s weird so I won’t. I’m already laughing too, I didn’t even need to remember.

‘Yeah I know what you mean. My closet’s this and a subcycle’s worth of identical underarmor.’ Too far, you were doing great but you were riding a thin line and now she knows you live like a soldier who has nothing else to offer – no wait another laugh she’s fine you’re fine it’s fine everything’s fine.

‘Well, it’s a very nice suit of armor. Maybe you can let me take a closer look some time.’ I’m pretty sure that was flirty, don’t be standoffish and professional about this. ‘You can take a look now!’ I’ll show her my gauntlet: it’s the smallest piece which makes people think it’s the least important but actually an incredible degree of engineering goes into all the microservos: nobody ever thinks unpowered armor needs microservos because you can move it just with your hands, but actually they’re there to subtly compensate for recoil. Normal Stormtrooper armor doesn’t have it, and in test environments where Purge and Storm troopers swapped armor it was found to reduce deviation by up to five degrees and increase hit probability by as much as fifteen percent. Why am I bothering to remember this; she’s a civilian speeder mechanic she doesn’t care about any of this.

She’s running her fingers along my hand. I know I’m not feeling her body heat because the suit is weather proofed, but it feels like she’s leaving lingering embers trailing along my skin. But not searing it like how the inquisition sears flesh with their lightsabers to torture dissidents, it’s more like the gentle warmth of a blaster barrel after a just slightly too long burst. It’s nice.

Her mouth furrows into a frown for the first time of the night. Why, what’s wrong, what’d I do, can she tell everything that these gauntlets have ever done? Is she a secret jedi? Does she feel them around her windpipe crushing the life out of her and her son is beating on the leg of my armor for me to stop but he’s so weak and I’m so much stronger and then there’s a crack and she falls limp and I walk away, leaving a scar that won’t ever heal in her son’s heart until he joins a resistance cell and I end up shooting him stone dead in the street?

‘It looks like this microservo’s a little out of tune.’

Oh. Well that’s fine. ‘Maybe you could tune it up for me some time?’ I didn’t even think that one through, but she’s smiling about it, so I guess we have something in common. She’s letting my hand rest on top of hers after giving it a complete once over. I know I should probably pull it back, but this is nice. Just a few more seconds. One. Two. Three. No more, it’s time to move on to something else.

‘So, what’re you doing for work now that the Empire finally let you go?’ Don’t correct her by saying I deserted. There’s a lot of things not to have said tonight, and I’m already safely past most of them, but don’t say that one specifically the most. Followup thing not to say: don’t tell her I’m a bounty killer. Definitely don’t mention that I’m specifically a bounty killer and not a bounty hunter because there’s an active bounty out on me and the only work I could get was the illegal version. Don’t lie to her, because that’s almost as bad as all those other things, but stretch the truth until it ends up somewhere respectable.

‘Freelance security work. Protecting transports and merchant caravans.’ Not a lie! Sometimes I end up guarding a dummy caravan as bait until the target shows up. She looks impressed. I’m out of things I can reasonably say, how do I follow this up. Drinks!

Yeah, get drinks, showcase my poison honed constitution, that’ll be really impressive! My inquisitor used to microdose me on common toxins to build up a resistance to ambushes and subterfuge. Whatever watered down swill a place like this can offer will be easy!

Speaking of, it’s been a long day. This place serve anything strong?’ Another little chuckle. I’m starting to savor every one of them. ‘Hey Glixnee, get us a couple snakebites.’ Oh, the mess hall used to serve those. Not really what I’d call strong, but out here I guess something recognizable is as good as I can hope for. The bartender is making the drinks and he’s bringing us the drinks and the drinks are here and this is the single most revolting substance that has ever entered my digestive system.

Poisons are usually engineered to be subtle, but this is just making no secret of how awful it is. She’s sipping at it with no trouble like it’s a glass of water. I think if I try that I’ll throw up. All of it, right now. It feels like molten slag going down, but it’s gone. Now I can dilute it over the night. She’s laughing again.

‘Wow, hope you’ve got a synth liver.’ My body feels like it’s unspooling, but my limbs still move so I guess I’m fine. ‘Whaddyu meen?’ That didn’t come out right. Try again, still wrong. She’s laughing the hardest she has all night. I’d chug a gallon of this expired swill if it kept making her laugh harder.

‘You know you just downed a glass of snake venom, right? You’re supposed to sip on it over the night, let it attack you in small waves and fight it off for a light buzz. It takes three hours to drink one dose safely without an enhanced toxin filter.’ I’m sliding down the bench. The lights just got a lot brighter and her voice is so loud now, she’s talking so slowly too. My mouth tastes like I licked the ashes out of the barrel of my blaster rifle, but other than that I feel gooooood. ‘Ooooh. Yaaaay.’

I’m having a great time halfway to the floor, giggling and drooling and now I can’t move my face any more so I guess I’m gonna rest in a pool of it for a little bit. She’s saying something to the bartender but my ears are ringing like one of the guys pranked me with a flashbang so I don’t really know what it is they’re saying. Oh now she’s picking me up, she’s giving me a hug, hooray! Oh she’s holding my mouth open, are we having a kiss now?

The bartender’s coming over, when’d he join our date? Get him out of here, I wanna flail my arms at him to get him out of here but they don’t wanna move for me, little treacherous bastards. He’s pouring something down my throat and it tastes even worse than the venom somehow and he’s carrying me away. Goodbye everybody at the bar! I want to wave but my arms are still mutinying so a little happy wheeze will do.

I’m kicking my legs and having fun with the ride and now I’m in a bathroom stall. I don’t really need to use the bathroom and now my tummy’s turning itself inside out and I’m purging the toxins from my system, coughing and retching as it burns even worse on the way up than it did on the way down.

The world’s coming back into focus and I’m mostly over whatever the hell that was but still reeling from the exertion, only dimly aware he’s talking to me. I’m looking up at him, and he’s laughing, but obviously at me and not with me like Brayli does. ‘Gotta admit I don’t see folks try that one too often. Wanted to look tough for your date?’

I’m being reprimanded, a role I’m a lot more familiar with. He’s talking again now that I’ve managed an embarrassed nod. ‘Well you put on a great show. I’ll go tell ‘em to settle down before you come back out, but hell: I’m not even gonna charge you for this.’ His apron has a lot more pockets than I expected, and that ever so slightly glowing blue vial is singing a siren’s song of relief to me right now.

‘I got most of it out, but not enough for it not to kill me, and this is the antidote?’ ‘Good guess. This a hobby of yours or something?’ It’s the least objectionable thing I’ve had to drink tonight, even factoring in the lumps. Splash some cold water on my face, swish my mouth out from the tap, and I’m feeling close enough to fine to go back out. I shouldn’t keep her waiting.

There’s a couple sets of eyes on me right now, but the only ones I care about are hers. They’re locked onto me and I’m not even forcing the little smile I can feel forming. ‘Hey. Guess a snakebite’s a little different around here than an Imperial canteen.’ We’re laughing it off together. It’s been a very nice change of pace to be laughed with instead of at.

‘Holy shit she’s got flesh and blood after all! Here I was thinking you’d found the last commando droid abandoned on the assembly line and dressed it up in a layer of synthskin so you could pretend anyone liked you!’

I could kill him, easily. He’s obviously drunk, so his reflexes are shot, and he’s a gangly little son of a bitch anyway. One of those chitinous species’ that don’t give in gradually to force, I’d get a nice satisfying crunch all at once. Put the helmet on so he can’t even hope for a glass to the face to save him, snuff the life out of his stupid compound eyes, reveal that I’m nothing more than a cold blooded killer, scar her for life. Forget it.

She’s giving me another smile, but this one’s forced. I had to study the way faces contort once during counterspy training and this one’s fake. Without another word she’s up, and then he’s down. One good right hook to the side of the head and – holy hell it bounced off the counter! Normally when you knock someone out cold they just slump over like a sack of meat and go through oxygen deprivation and die, but he might not even get the chance. By the Emperor I think I just swallowed my tongue. No, still feel it. Definitely made me jump in my seat a little, which even a proton torpedo across the view screen doesn’t make me do any more. I was infatuated before, but now I’m in love.

I’m still staring as she sits down, but now I’m worried that she’s mistaking how attracted I am for concern, or worse: judgment. Clear my throat, blink, put my face back on right. ‘Relax, his bug juice coagulates quickly. He’ll be fine.’ I’ll take her word for it. Not quite sure if I’m disappointed, but the swirling torrent of toxin hangover and flustered lust are definitely calling for some fresh air.

‘Hey, if it’s alright, do you maybe want to get out of here?’ ‘Please.’ We’re up, the helmet’s back on, my credit purse is a little heavier – my last job could only pay me in thousands so the barkeep had to break change – and we’re outside. I never thought I’d want to fill my lungs with this dry, dusty air but my head’s already starting to empty out.

‘Well, I should call a speeder. I had a great time though, if you wanted to swap comm frequencies I’d love to keep in touch.’ Unreserved, unabashed, not desperate, not apologetic, no promises to do better. I didn’t even know talking to someone could be like this. She’s giggling. It’s fine, she giggles a lot. I’m not in trouble.

‘I can give you a lift.’ She’s pointing at a land speeder. At least, the rough silhouette of a land speeder. More like a cobbled together pile of parts that failed routine inspection. Any requisition officer would scrap it, maybe even have it melted down and recast to be on the safe side, but if she’s a mechanic then I’m sure it runs. Can’t exactly say it looks out of place around here.

We’re in the speeder together. It’s cramped. Her thighs are laying siege to the unyielding plate of my suit. There’s no room for me to put it if I were to take it off. This suit’s the one thing that’s never failed or betrayed me over the years, but I’m half tempted to dump it out the side just so it could be my skin she’s pressed up against. I’ll settle for putting my helmet on the floor.

My place is a long way out of town. Little whitewashed clay hut in the middle of nowhere, an inconspicuous blip not worth paying any attention to. Suits my needs perfectly, but it’s a long trip. I always take a speeder halfway then march for half an hour just so there’s nobody who could trace my location.

We’re stopped. ‘Engine trouble?’ She’s shaking her head and pointing over my shoulder. ‘Just wanted to take in the sunset for a few minutes.’ Oh wow, that’s worth stopping for. The three suns look beautiful over the dunes; their usual oppressive hues are fading into a cool pink. Glittering and sparkling and reflected a million million fold over the sand. I’ve never seen anything like it.

Her weight just shifted onto me. The speeder is on the ground, so no danger of capsizing. I’ve seen other troopers use this maneuver before: put my arm around her shoulder. We’re sitting silently, just watching the suns disappear over the horizon. It’s nice.

The minutes pass, and the suns retreat with them. I’m looking into those fathomless black eyes of hers, completely devoid of texture and depth. I’d love to be lost in them forever. The speeder starts up more easily than the first time, and we’re off across the dunes again.

I can’t invite her in, she can’t even get line of sight to my place. Damn it! I clear my throat at the crest of a dune. Good enough visibility, I can find my way back home. ‘You can let me out here. I like the exercise.’ Not the whole truth, but not a stretch either: I always appreciated long marches.

Getting out is a modest challenge with the speeder still running, but I can manage. She’s waving me off, I’m returning the gesture. ‘Not quite the night I was expecting, but one I wouldn’t mind following up on. Call me tomorrow?’ I’m nodding, we’re both waving, she’s driving off, I’m walking alone with my helmet under my shoulder and a chill creeping across my face. Those last two solve each other.

Lots of time to think on the march. Think about what I am, think about what I used to be. Child slave, orphan, Naval Academy star pupil. Storm trooper, Purge trooper, assassin. Deserter, bounty killer. Happy. I was happy tonight. Maybe a little of those other things, but mostly that. I hope I can be happy again soon.

#star wars #sapphic #transgender #oc #my oc #writing #Koben Tarani

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foiblepnoteworthy · 1 year ago

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Tiny Vader

Posted this on ao3 yesterday but uhhh... yeah.

No warnings apply, Vader and Piett, around 600 words.

This hadn’t, Piett suspected, gone according to Lord Vader’s plan.

He could be mistaken, of course, considering he had never seen Lord Vader fail in anything, discounting Skywalker’s repeated escapes.

Still… he highly doubted Lord Vader had intended for the big magic Force Temple to turn him into a child. Assuming the child was himself and not a random one. Assuming they could even tell, considering he might not remember his adult self; considering that no mother would name their child ‘Darth Vader’.

The child was small. Which made sense, he was a child. Perhaps six years old - Piett didn’t know much about kids, but he was definitely past toddlerhood but not yet approaching puberty.

(Piett immediately wiped the thought of Vader in puberty from his mind.)

Either way, he was somewhere between five and eleven years old. On the younger side, he thought, considering he barely met Piett’s hip, and Piett was hardly tall. Lord Vader must have been tall for his age, considering how tall he became.

He was blond. That was the biggest indicator that he was not Lord Vader at all. There was no way Lord Vader had ever been blond.

There were also the white robes, ragged and dirty - though the fact they were dirty with oil was a point in Lord Vader’s favour. Still, Lord Vader had never worn rags and never worn white, just as much as he had never been blond.

Before anyone could do more than blink in surprise, the boy proved that he was, in fact, Lord Vader, by summoning something to his hand from one of the troopers’ belts. It was only when he heard the tell-tale crackle that Piett recognised the EMP, and had just enough time to brace himself before all the lights went out.

There was a beat of dark and silence, then a child’s sigh, then the snap as the men’s glowrods all activated themselves simultaneously.

Lit in red and blue, surrounded by darkness, wielding terrifying power, Lord Vader was starting to look like himself again.

Piett blinked. No, he still didn’t. He should, now that it was obvious it was him, but he was still five.

Piett couldn’t bring himself to ask for orders.

“Medic Kickss,” said the tiny Lord, slurring every so slightly. “I requi-yuh youw assistance.”

Piett was not fond of children and this was his boss, a giant magic cyborg who could murder everyone in the room without the slightest effort, but Piett was not without a heart. He was objectively cute.

Medic Kix approached as ordered, scanner in hand reflexively, despite it being broken by the EMP.

“The west of you may weave and guawd the entwance,” Lord Vader continued, with a rather vicious little glare.

His eyes were a vivid yellow. It was reassuring somehow.

The entrance to the room in the middle of the temple was hardly far from where the two of them stood. Even though Piett kept his back turned, it was not difficult to figure out what was happening. He had spent nearly two decades of his life hunting pirates; he recognised the procedure for removing slave chips.

No wonder Lord Vader had set off an EMP. Not only would it block communications and stop the vidcorders in the men’s helmets, protecting Lord Vader and his dignity, it would stop the chip from automatically exploding, as it was surely outside the detonator’s field.

Piett did not flinch when the chip exploded, thrown past the men to the main hallway in the Temple.

He very definitely did not flinch when he heard a small child whoop at the explosion.

#star wars #my writing #darth vader #pls share like comment etc im not getting ao3 attention for this :(#bc... yeah

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murielles-crowsnest · 2 years ago

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Tell us about the Haunting a Ghost WIP?

This one focuses on Kallus and Rex on their return to Yavin IV and some things they get up to while the Spectres are off saving Lothal. Because I really wish we had gotten a Yavin episode at that point. Show us what Kallus and Rex and AP-5 and the others were up to. I also really feel like after the initial mildly stand-offish phase that Kallus and the Clone Bros could have made good friends but we don't get a chance to see any of that in the show.

Rex swiftly slammed his hand on the panel, shutting the door between them.

He had only caught a glimpse of Kallus in the beam of his glowrod, but it was more than enough to realise he had likely gotten this all wrong.

"...kark." Rex put his hands on his hips, slumping out of combat readiness.

The man had been curled up in front of Zeb's bunk, but spun frantically to face the door as it opened. His eyes were wide with panic, but still obviously red from the tears streaming down his cheeks. Rex holstered his gun and rubbed absently at the back of his neck. Yup. Gotten it very wrong.

#kalluzeb #fanfic wip

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revenge-of-the-shit · 2 years ago

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Part 4

INVENTORY: Blaster (no magazines), Ration bars, Glowrod, A Note

You run up and slap the controls of the door. Thankfully, it works - the door hisses shut, and for good measure, you slam your palm on the locking mechanism. There's also a manual lock on the door, thank Force - you engage that too.

There's another clatter behind that door. Something thumps against it. You feel cold. It might just be scraps falling apart, you tell yourself. You're not sure that you're convincing yourself.

Behind you, the looming blackness of space stares at you through the transparisteel. There's nothing but emptiness and the distant pinpricks of light of the faraway stars. You realize you have absolutely no idea where you are. You look at the note, the letters of

U P

taunting you in their simplicity, and you look up and see nothing but ceiling.

There's another thump on the door. A shriek of metal - or something else? It doesn't seem to be able to get through that door, though, whatever it is.

#sw scenario game #sw poll game #star wars #sw

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kylo-wrecked · 1 year ago

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@mayxthexforce sent:// ❝ the world is so big. why do i never feel like i fit into it? ❞ ( Voe for Soft!Ren, for something happening later in our current threads? 👀)

{ from this meme }

— ☾ —

"Because you're so bigheaded," he replies instantly.

He wipes a bead of sweat from under his eye and looks into the fuchsia cerulean and ever-present piss-yellow lights swirling in the cesspool of jostling, sweating bodies below, bodies that pass through twelve-foot-tall holograms of whores and gambling holes seeming more like ghosts than the holos themselves. It's the smell and the bedlam that reminds one they're on Nal Hutta's glowrod moon and not suffering the hallucinogenic consequences of a neural lapse.

Their passing glances catch in the neon's bloom. Voe turns to glare at him, and Ren freezes, gripped utterly by the hurt on her face.

"Err—" he doesn't look away, though he blinks so many times maybe he should have. One day, he'll learn to make a mask of his face. Ren avows to himself that in the course of time and through vigorous discipline, his face would never reveal fear, regret, shame, or anger. Not any of the things it now puts on display. Not even when he wore the helm.

Ren joins Voe on the rafters, lowering beside her in a feral half-crouch, his hand gripping the iron ledges of a bygone city level that's become a barrier between the newfangled. In the event that Voe chooses this particular moment to yield to the siren's call of her rage and push him off. It's a testament to his sturdiness of form that he doesn't waver.

"I'll presume the question rhetorical," he says.

He hasn't touched Voe's thought shield since tracking her down. She hasn't even attempted a mind probe on Ren, perhaps because she's the better person, because she has less and more of a heart than he.

Since they won't communicate with each other through the Force, since they've cast all feeling aside, they rely on crude speech.

"If you'll grant me the privilege of answering, I would say you're caught between. You're living a half-life. Joining the Resistance may be the closest you'll ever get to living by the code, but it isn't the same. Is it?"

At first glance, it seems unfair. Unfair that Voe levels such a question at him. Unfair that he should respond as such. But then,

"I did kriff up your trials," he admits. "I took a lot from you."

Ren looks at Voe in no particular manner. He looks to see.

#mayxthexforce #sw au | soft!ren: master of the knights #mini thread

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thatsastepladder · 9 months ago

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More!

Coffee is caf. Hot chocolate is still hot chocolate.

A wrench is a hydrospanner.

Dice are chance cubes.

Instead of flashlights, they use glowrods.

There are two varieties of binoculars - macrobinoculars and electrobinoculars. Both are similar, but electrobinoculars have added technology to zoom + enhance images in poor light conditions.

star wars is so fucking stupid, I love it

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b3n2ts · 5 years ago

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"There are two kinds of light -- the glow that illumines, and the glare that obscures."⁠⠀ ⁠⠀ -- James Thurber⁠⠀ ⁠⠀ TFTI Live Arts, studio shoot. ⁣⠀⁣⠀⁣⁠⠀ hosted by @tfti_la⁣⠀⁣⠀⁣⁠⠀ Model: @oprrator⁣⁠⠀ ⁣⠀⁣⠀⁣⁠⠀ ⁣⠀⁣⠀⁣⁠⠀ ⁣⠀⁣⠀⁣⁠⠀ ⁣⠀⁣⠀⁣⁠⠀ ⁣⠀⁣⠀⁣⁠⠀ ⁣⠀⁣⠀⁣⁠⠀ #tftila #tfti_la #photography #studiophotography #photoshoot #sonya7 #sonyimages #strobist #lightchasers #onelightsetup #b3ngoco #sonyartisan #sonyalpha #godox #godoxphoto #glowrods #lightspinning (at Downtown Los Angeles) https://www.instagram.com/p/B0aQiAhnfgr/?igshid=1fiaaffr18obj

#tftila #tfti_la #photography #studiophotography #photoshoot #sonya7 #sonyimages #strobist #lightchasers #onelightsetup #b3ngoco #sonyartisan #sonyalpha #godox #godoxphoto #glowrods #lightspinning

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zeenmrala · 3 years ago

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THE SHADOW BENEATH a darth maul x f/afab!reader fanfiction

Summary: You work as a technician on the lower levels of Coruscant. In the middle of the night, an angry Zabrak crime lord arrives, in need of transport parts and repairs. You both find a little bit more than you bargained for. Pairing: Female/AFAB!Reader x Darth Maul Rating: 18+, explicit. Pure smut ahead! Minors do not interact! Word Count: 12.4k (a big one) Warnings/Kinks/Tags: There are a lot of these. Female/AFAB!Reader with she/her pronouns, references to canon-typical poverty and violence, threat, force choking. Smut: thigh riding, inappropriate use of the force, inappropriate use of a lightsaber (Maker forgive me), cybernetic lower half!Maul, dominant!Maul, BDSM, vaginal fingering, controlled/delayed orgasm, female!receiving oral sex, male!recieving oral sex, PiV sex, rough sex, spitting, smacking, biting, praise kink. i am so sorry and also you’re welcome A/N: This is a bit different to my usual style - but I really had fun with this! Inspired by a few of these smut prompts sent in by anons. ♡ do you think this is a joke? / good girl / I’ve been holding back the things I wanna do to you right now / use your words ♡

The Shadow Beneath [Read on AO3]

Hooking up with one of those fancy Force lords from the surface was not how you expected to begin your week. Yet here you are, in the very early hours of Primeday morning, kissing on and feeling up the weirdest, meanest (and only) wizard you have ever come across.

Tonight was nothing out of the ordinary – well, it was pretty normal before he showed up. In the early evening you took a walk to collect a few old bits of junk that you thought you had swindled from a Rodian thief. You made friends with her at BG-RT’s cantina the other night, and after a couple of drinks you agreed to buy the crate of parts from her (though ‘friends’ now may be too strong a word – as it seems that you may have been the one that was duped). You negotiated what you believed at the time to be a steal of a price for the parts that she was offering – they were highly discounted of course, due to how they were illegally obtained. Though looking down into the crate of stolen goods once you had collected them, you thought that maybe you had been a bit too optimistic about it. Though it wasn’t a loss yet, you just had to work your mechanical magic and make your credits back. With this bunch of rubbish. Somehow.

So you started sifting through it. It was a total mish-mash of stuff, parts from old droids, engines, speeders – a bunch of junk that’s been borrowed (stolen) from a couple hundred levels up, much nicer stuff than what you can usually get down here anyway. Could have been worse. With your glowrod in hand and your eyes sharp, you began the search for any working (or working looking) parts you could shiny up, use or sell on. You were able to salvage a small repulsor-lift engine, fully functional and sorta new. Though probably not worth much to the big wigs up on the surface, it was something you could peddle down here if you put on a pretty smile and tried. Folks were always breaking their antigrav tech – what with the shoot outs and such – or at least, their tech was always getting caught in the crossfire of said shoot outs. Everyone always had something needing fixing down here. And that’s where you would come in. It’s not much, but you get by – and it’s kind of an honest living (which is actually pretty impressive, considering the level you live on).

Your eyes started to hurt after hours spent squinting inside a protocol droid torso, so you eventually threw down your tools. After a depressing dinner of a stale Maize roll with an hour of Holotelevision, you decided to call it a night. But you just could not seem to doze off, no matter how much you tossed and turned on your sleep mat. There seemed to be no reason in particular for your insomnia, it was just one those nights where the unrelenting, blaring noises of Level 1313 alongside a strange feeling in your gut kept you from drifting off. It is not unusual around these parts to be a bit anxious, or to be kept awake by some trigger-happy chap or a hollering idiot. There was always some kind of shooting or foolery going on down here, the crime-ridden underbelly of your home-world.

You soon grew fed up of wasting your time, just staring at the ceiling of your home/bedroom/workshop, listening to the screeching shouts of drunks and thugs. So you thought kriff it and forced yourself up from your sleeping mat. There was no point in just lying there when you could make the most of a couple extra hours to clean up some scrap. You thought about maybe picking through a few wires from that protocol droid – though he was an ancient model, you could probably scrub up some of his veins, make them look nice. With a bit of sweet talk you were sure you could move them.

So you punched the top of your karkin’ useless caf machine to get it going. As a technician you could likely fix it up nice and easy, make it so it works without you needing to give it a solid thump – but your time was precious. An hour spent fiddling in the back of your caf machine wouldn’t make you any extra credits now would it? But shining up an old catalytic processor from one of them funny decon droids? Well, you could squeeze a couple meals out of that if you could flog it to the right sucker. Once you got the caf brewing, you threw on your coveralls and looked around with itching fingers, grabbing at bits and pieces of scrap from around the room. You then studied them under the warm light of your central lamp to see what you could best shiny up.

So there you were, singing to yourself between sips of caf, stripping the wires from the old proto-droid when everything went awry.

Because that was when a looming figure emerged from the darkness, and you did a startled double-take, in utter disbelief at first – then you jumped out of your skin when you realised it was a person and not a shadow, and that this mystery figure had somehow broken in to your home without you knowing. You reached for the blaster pistol you kept beneath your worktable for moments exactly like this. Though no one had broken in for a long while, your reflexes were and always will be as sharp as the claws of a tooka. They’ve got to be, living in these parts.

When the figure stepped properly into the light, you tried to see if it was someone you recognised. It wasn’t, which made it all the more confounding. It was a stranger, and a real scary looking one at that. A Zabrak man cloaked in all black, with striking black-on-crimson skin and glowing yellow eyes. His entire being oozed darkness, and as unnerving as this situation was, you couldn’t help the intense level of intrigue that mingled with your fear. He was…Maker, he was kind of fine. There was something about those intense eyes, the shrouding black of his tattoos, something about how that low cut tunic suited his hard body so kriffin’ elegantly. You suppressed a snicker, cursing yourself for finding your own home-invader attractive – what a damned fool you were acting. Yes, he may have been good looking, some may even say hot, but he also looked right scary and had broken in.

…But then again you are used to intimidating looking persons making their way through the underworld of your home. And you know that far-away folk can sometimes have different customs to you, maybe customs like silently encroaching on a technician’s business in the middle of the night? Who were you to judge? So what with his good looks and all, this stranger didn’t strike too much fear into your heart.

At least not at first.

You sat on your worktable with your legs crossed, your blaster in hand and pointed at his horned head. “Hey Mister, it’s mighty rude to sneak up on a girl in her own home,” you said, “especially when she’s all by her lonesome in the middle of the night.”

Your eyes ran over his strange markings, and after wracking your memory of all the faces you’ve seen in your time, you realised that you hadn’t ever seen someone who looked quite like him before. When he said nothing, you kept talking.

“What skughole did you crawl out of anyway? I ain’t never seen you round here.”

He still didn’t say anything in reply, and his lack of conversing was starting to feel more threatening than not. You both just stared at each other in silence for a moment, and then you demanded what you should probably have lead with.

“And what the kriff do you want?”

“My transport needs repairs,” he said quietly. He seemed annoyed. At you, specifically, for existing in your own home. Even though he was the one that had disturbed you at a stupid hour, even though he had snuck up on you alone in the middle of the night, he was the one that was cross. There was a passive violence to each word he spoke, as though his patience was already running thin.

“There is a part that I need. I was told here,” he flickers his eyes around your tiny workshop, thoroughly unimpressed, “was where I should go.”

“Grife,” you groaned, relieved.

He was just a customer. Albeit a grumpy one who had broken in way past closing time, but a customer nonetheless.

“Why didn’t you start with that? What’s with all the staring? Here’s me thinking you were some crinkin’ psycho-murderer, or some sleemo that was gonna rob me.”

You froze at your own words, then back-peddled with an awkward smile, “Not that I’ve got nothing worth robbing.” Your arm with the blaster had slightly relaxed, so you straightened it again, putting on your best I-don’t-take-no-kark face. “So don’t get cute with me.”

He just glared at you, and made no movement or sound. He had absolutely no reaction to having a blaster pointed at that handsome, tattooed face of his. This fellow was definitely one to keep an eye on.

“Okay,” you said, slowly lowering your hand. This guy hadn’t made any stupid moves yet, but you could already tell that he was at least a little bit barvy, so though you did lower it, you kept your blaster in hand as you jumped off of the worktable. You rested your free hand on your hip.

“You were told right. I may be able to help.”

He just kept silently glowering. So you carried on.

“It depends on what kinda transport you got. I don’t really do starships, though considering how deep down the levels you are, I don’t think that’s what you’ll be needing.”

You moved over to the corner of the workshop and pointed towards a pile of crates with your blaster. It’s where you keep the most commonly needed vehicle parts, on hand and ready to sell for the passer-by’s just like him. “I’m more of a droids gal. But I got a bunch of speeder parts and I am a great technician so I can give it a go. Whattaya need?”

You had swiftly switched into customer-service mode. You straightened your back and flashed a sweet grin, trying to get a read on how rich this good-looking goon was, how many credits you may be able to squeeze out of him.

But he just huffed and barged straight past you, and began to quickly search through all of the boxes of parts on his own. You stuttered on your next words, a bit miffed at his abrupt rudeness. You were used to sleemos of all breeds, but at least the other ones you had done business with spoke more than a couple of words to you. Not even the pirates acted like this. This horned chap was not only scary-yet-sexy and strange, but also terribly impolite.

It didn’t take long before he was mumbling to himself in annoyance, rifling through all of your crates chaotically, no real sense to what he was doing. He clearly needed your guidance but you supposed he should probably figure that out for himself, so you chuckled in disbelief and leaned back on your worktable, watching the stranger willingly waste his own time. You took the opportunity to admire how he looked from the back, and to be a little bit brazen and maybe sneak a quick peak of his rear...

Wait, were those – were those cybernetic legs? They were, impressive ones at that, and your jaw dropped slightly.

“Well I’ll be Kesseled…” you whispered.

Where the kark did he get those kind of synthetics from? No-where around here you were sure. He was definitely not from these parts. Not at all. But either way, he looked good. You were smiling, enjoying the view of this attractive, angry man - that was until he started chucking your vehicle parts on the floor, and you stood up with a frown to scold him.

“Hey, don’t be so rough with those!”

He only grunted in response. “I told you, I can help!” You reminded him. You rolled your eyes as he ignored you again. You picked up your caf, taking a sip, continuing to watch him suffer in his own stubbornness.

But then…then he started throwing things around without touching them.

And that was just too damn much.

The first time he did it you thought it was a trick of the light. But then he did it again, and again, lifting parts out of the crates with a flick of his hand, then sending them flying across the room.

You gasped and your stomach dropped as you realised that he must be one of those wizard folk you hear so much about. Kriff! What’s one of them doing down here at this time of night? What’s one of them doing in your little workshop? And…Oh kark! All of those parts he’s rifling through…they’re stolen!

Is he here to arrest you? Is he looking for some specific part that was thieved from a rich old scummer up top? You knew that you needed to get him to stop rooting around in those crates, hell, you really needed to get him out of here. And more than that, he was throwing all of your belongings around the workshop hard, breaking them, making a ruckus and a mess, ruining your livelihood!

You snapped yourself out of your shock and said, “Excuse me!” to try and get his attention. He ignored you and continued using his odd magic to throw around the contents of the crates.

“Hey!” You objected louder, “What’s your problem? There is an order to this stuff, just tell me what you want and I can see if I got it!”

He ignored you, continuing his hunt for whatever it was he was looking for.

“Look mister, I don’t want no trouble…” you groaned desperately, “And if I ain’t got what it is that you are looking for – there is another repair shop I can point you to that -”

He interrupted you by pushing over one of your boxes, and it collapsed to the ground with a loud crash as engine and motor parts spilled across the floor. By this point, you had had quite enough of this strange man’s antics. You really had reached the end of your blasted tether with him. So you did what any sensible person would have done in this situation.

You shot a warning blast from your pistol.

However – it came real close to hitting him, and looked more like an attempt on his life than a warning blast. It was a total accident, you had never been a good shot. But of course, he didn’t know that, and so responded accordingly to your threat.

He immediately whirled around, fury and disbelief in his eyes as he brought his hand forward and clenched it into a fist. You felt your throat constrict as you were lifted into the air. You dropped the blaster and reached for your neck, gasping frantically as he choked you without touching you.

What the kriff? He’s not just a little bit barvy, he’s entirely barvy!

Confused, scared and completely overwhelmed, you forced yourself to try and say something, anything to get him to stop. “It…was…just…on…stun,” was all you could croak, trying your best to deescalate this situation.

He growled. “I don’t have time for this!” he shouted. He then dropped you to the ground.

You collapsed into the floor, and gasped in air desperately. “Oh,” you said once you got your breath back, “sir, you’re mighty scary.”

He paused and cocked his head, looking down on you curiously – and it was as if he was seeing you for the first time. The anger abated from his features for a moment, replaced with a puzzled look.

“What is wrong with you?”

“Me?!” you squeaked, “What’s wrong with me? Mister, with all due respect to someone of your…um…,” you stuttered, not knowing how to phrase it. He certainly didn’t seem like one of those Jedi wizards. So what was he? “Ugh, you broke into my place in the middle of the night and then started destroying my things without even touching them!”

“So you shot at me?”

“Yes! What else is a girl meant to do in such a situation?” You pulled yourself to your feet, running your hand over your throat. “What the kriff was that all about? What did you go and do that for?”

Karkin’ wizard. That really, really sucked.

“Don’t do that again,” you said. He blinked slowly, as if simultaneously amused and confused by your saying such a thing. He then smirked when he saw your hand caressing the skin of your own throat.

“Why not?” He asked.

You stuttered again. “W-Why not? Why not!?” You raised your voice in frustration. “You bastard, because I’ll shoot you for real next time!” You bent down to pick your blaster back up. But before you could grab it, he sent it to the other side of the room with the flick of a finger.

You scowled at him, and he smirked back at you. A bit better than glaring, you supposed – but then oh no, that didn’t last for long. Because he was soon glaring again. But not in the scary way he did before the wizard-choking.

He started checking you out.

With no shame and no subtlety. He just took the time to properly look you over. He ran his eyes over your body ever so slowly – his line of sight dipped beneath your face, down over your breasts, your stomach, hips and waist, down your legs. And then back up again. He used a languid yet purposeful gaze as he looked over you, assessing and admiring you – thoroughly drinking in the shape of your body. Yes, you thought, he had definitely only just really seen you. His rampage for the transport parts clearly clouded his vision because – well, it was as if he could not get enough of the sight of you now that he was looking.

And it was making you feel…hot.

Maker, yes, he was definitely checking you out. Which was a bit weird considering what had just happened. But what was weirder, was that even after his breaking in, his rudeness, his destruction of your property and his almost choking you to damn death – you liked that he was looking at you in this way. The way his eyes lingered a little too long on your curves caused heat to prick at your cheeks and to pool beneath your belly button. That was when something shifted, and the tension between the two of you morphed into a kind that you were not expecting – but you couldn’t deny that you weren’t mad about where this was heading.

Get it together, you thought to yourself. He may be a looker but he’s also kind of a nutjob. A dangerous one. You can’t go being seduced by someone like him…can you?

“Ain’t never seen a girl in coveralls before?” you asked, as indifferent as you could manage.

He brought his eyes back up to yours. You took a moment to take him in too, his facial tattoos, his glowing eyes, his crown of horns – and oh Maker, those little diamond shaped markings on his nose? How did you not notice them before? Those are truly adorable. Kriff, you wanted to kiss them, you wanted to run your lips over all of his tattoos – to taste his bold, two-toned skin.

When your line of sight dipped down to his lips, and traced over those sharp patterns of black markings just above them, you had to bite your own bottom lip. Because you thought that despite how striking and somewhat frightening he appeared, his lips looked really soft.

And oh by the Galaxy, did you want to kiss him. You wanted to kiss him all over.

Your breath hitched when you pulled up your eyes to meet his again. You tried your best not to smile or smirk. You did not want him to know that he was having this effect on you – a man busts in to a girl’s home, destroys her wares and then uses sorcery to choke her, then she gets all hot and heavy with him? No way, that wouldn’t be a good precedent to set. Not at all. Even so…you did feel a sweet warmth begin to flutter between your thighs, and even though you did want him to sweep you into his weird, wizard arms – you were also still pissed off at him. And you tried to hold on to that. You didn’t really want him knowing the true extent of how badly you wanted him to bend you over your worktable and have his way with you.

Not yet, at least.

You crossed your arms against your chest and sighed, abruptly ending the odd sexually charged moment between the two of you.

He straightened, standing slightly taller. “Help me find this part,” he demanded.

“Pffft, no chance,” you scoffed. “After that little display? Absolutely not.”

He frowned. Then he sighed, and glared (in the scary way) again. “What?” You chuckled, “hasn’t anyone ever told you no before, stranger?”

You held his gaze and refused to budge. Staring him down as if you weren’t frightened and weirdly turned on by his threatening expression.

“I’m not helping you with a crinkin’ thing after that!” you touched your throat again.

“You are being dramatic,” he scoffed, “you shot me!”

He can’t be serious.

“I did not shoot you!” You huffed, in slight disbelief at the audacity of this crook. “I shot at you. And dramatic? Me? I’m not the one who literally emerges from the shadows and throws things around with invisible magic!”

He smirked, and appeared much less menacing with such a smile on his lips. He seemed amused by your reaction. By the Maker, was he teasing you?

“If you do not do what I say,” he shrugged, “then I will take my business elsewhere.”

Oh that karkin’ bastard. He said it as if that would be the most terrible thing in the galaxy for you. You ain’t that desperate! Credits ain’t everything! What, just because you’re poor means you have to put up with laser-brains like him? Absolutely not.

So you smiled as wide as you could. “Oh good! Finally,” you replied, “please leave.”

He didn’t move. He lingered, staring at you, wearing that slightly perplexed expression again.

“Go on then,” you shooed him with your hands. “Run along now, mister.”

Much less amused, he groans. “I don’t have time –”

“For this, yeah, you kriffing said that already.” You rolled your eyes and couldn’t help the smirk that painted your lips as you interrupted him. He flashed a brief smile then, clearly entertained. The sight was so sweet, yet also implied such depravity that it shot a searing flare of heat to your sex.

He stepped forward, bringing his face closer to yours. Oh kark, he really is so handsome. Dangerously so. And Maker, he smelled good. A woody, deeply masculine scent that made your heart and mind race.

“For such a pretty little thing,” he said, “you have a filthy mouth.”

A shock of white-hot desire drenched you between your legs. Oh. Now that is just damn unfair. His voice was rich, and it cut straight through to your loins. How could it not? The way he spoke was absolutely loaded with nefarious intentions. It was so bad, but it felt so good, and you grinned. You couldn’t help it. It’s been a while since someone ruffled your feathers like this.

“Honey,” you whispered, “you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

He released an approving sigh, the corner of his lips tugging into a hesitant smile.

“Yet?” He crooned, “are you promising something?”

You suddenly felt terribly brave. Kriff it, so what if you want to have your way with this deliciously dark stranger? He may be a no good criminal sorcerer who is particularly rude, but how can you expect any better of someone who has business so deep in the levels down here? And a girl wants what she wants. No helping that.

So you leaned into him, looking into his eyes as you softly spoke.

“Hmmm,” you hummed nonchalantly. “You choke every pretty thing you meet?”

“Just the ones I need to tame,” he replied huskily.

You laughed playfully. “Oh Mister, good luck with that,” and you stepped back, then turned around and away from him. You heard him utter one word, deep and explicit.

“Enough.”

That was when he reached forward with a gloved hand and grabbed the back of your neck harshly. You gasped as he pulled you back around in one swift and quick movement, returning you close to him. He positioned you so that his lips were mere centimetres from your own. You could feel the warmth of his breath of your face, and combined with the robust hold on the back of your neck and his rich, commanding voice – Maker, it made your cunt ache with desire, and you wanted to beg him for his touch there and then.

This was happening.

“My name is Maul,” he stated clearly. “Lord Maul. That is how you will address me.”

He was gorgeously domineering. So much so that you immediately wanted to please him, you already craved his praise more than your own climax. But you weren’t just going to grovel, not yet. This was much too fun.

“Is that so,” you snickered back, looking into his eyes. “What’s a fancy Lord like you, doing in parts like these, hm?” As you asked, your gaze flickered down, so mesmerised by those lips of his.

He didn’t answer your question. He was clearly as magnetised to your lips as you were to his, because he just kissed you instead. A hard and wet kiss, his tongue snaking into your mouth as soon as you pushed up into him and kissed him back. He groaned, one of his hands on your waist, another in your hair.

And so here you are now – kissing him, his hands pulling at your hair and your coveralls. Your own fingers having already thrown his robe to floor, and now tugging at the neckline of his tunic, your palms running over the hot red-black of his chest. Kriff. This feels both crazy and irresponsible, but also entirely perfect and necessary. You twirl the both of you around and push him back onto your worktable so that can straddle one of his legs. You are suddenly desperate for friction, the wild, yearnful ache between your thighs utterly unbearable – and so you grind down onto the hardness of his metal synthetic limb. He groans his approval into your mouth, and his touch becomes harder, his grasp tighter.

“I thought you didn’t have time for this my Lord,” you whisper into the kiss. He bites your lip in response, and you snicker a soft tut.

“Mmm,” he hums, his hands running down your shoulders, around to your back and then he reaches down and squeezes hard at your ass. You hiss and arch into the touch, and he raises his leg, rubbing the firmness of it into the growing wetness of your sex. “You really are a wicked little thing.”

You purr at his observation, deepening your kiss and sucking on his tongue. You pull his tunic off and claw at the newly revealed flesh. His skin is so hot, and all you can think about is licking him, biting him, grinding your slickness all over him. You pull your lips from his to trail them across his jaw and up to his ear.

“Yes,” you agree with him, “Though I’m not usually like this – I swear.” He groans, one of his hands now grasping tightly on your hip, pulling your body down roughly onto his leg. You rub into him automatically, frantic for his touch. “You put a spell on me or something?” you whisper.

He moves your face to bring your lips back to his, and his kiss becomes lethargic and gentle, as if you are suddenly the most breakable little lady in the galaxy. “What should I call you?” he asks.

“Oh cut the kark,” you chide him harshly. “I know you’re from one of those no good crime gangs. Don’t act like you’re some kind of gentleman kissing me all soft like that, asking for my name like you care who I am.”

He grunts, and grasps your face, and then brings his lips to your ear. “So you like gangsters, is that it? You like criminals? Bad men?”

Oh Maker. Now this feels a bit dangerous. But it also feels so good. Your core is burning up real nice now, and you think that you might not be able to hang on much too longer before you really do melt into a puddle at his feet.

“Depends,” you reply in a hoarse voice. “Are you a gangster? A criminal?”

He bucks his leg up into you then, and a sharp moan falls from your lips as he rubs against that sweet bundle of nerves through the material of your coveralls.

“Are you a bad man, Lord Maul?” you coo as you grind down on to him.

He groans, kissing at your throat, running his teeth over the sensitive skin. You gasp at the sharp scraping pain it causes, but lean into it, allowing him to mark you.

Your hands explore his body and roam lower, down his torso and to his hips. Then your fingers graze over something cold, a long cylinder of metal. A weapon? Two of them. You find on the opposing side of him that there is another, a shorter one, and less smooth, more –

He snatches your wrist at once, and pulls on your arm hard. “Do not even think about it,” he commands.

You tut and giggle at his seriousness. “Whatever.”

He whirls on you then, switching your positions so that you are now against the worktable, pulling back from you yet holding tightly on to your wrist with a strong hand.

“What’s so funny, girl?” he questions you.

And then there is suddenly a cold pressure beneath your face. Your eyes meet his, and a shock of numbness washes over you as you understand the threat of what he is doing. He is using the hilt of the weapon you just touched to tilt your head up, to make you look at him. The weapon, that you now understand, is a lightsaber. Of course. The chosen weapon of sorcerers everywhere. You haven’t ever seen one this close up before, you haven’t had the misfortune of crossing the kind that uses them. But of course, you have caught a glimpse of the glowing blades in your lifetime, as they never fail to cause a scene. They always make quite the ruckus – especially when wielded by the types of people down here, thugs who end up with them from the black market...or more rarely, from slaying a wizard themselves.

“Do you think this is a joke?”

“N-not anymore, I suppose…” you squeak in reply, your voice wobbling at having such a weapon against your skin.

He slowly drags the hilt of his blade down your throat, a cruel ghost of a smile on his lips. He is clearly enjoying rattling you in this way. He is gentle though, the touch has basically no pressure now. It is a delicate caress of cold danger as it grazes your flushed, kiss bruised skin. His eyes dip and follow the hilt as it trails lower, down to the collar of your coveralls.

“You like what you see?” You whimper, any bite that you intended with the comment does not translate. Surprisingly, you are far too turned on at this point for any of your sass to cut through.

He nods apathetically, as if he does not really care one way or another. Karkin’ bastard, you think. His eyes have now dipped beneath your clothing, pulling your neckline down with his saber hilt to admire your breasts. What a day to not wear your chest wrap.

“Hmm,” he groans, pulling the hilt away from you, releasing your wrist from his grasp. You whimper at the loss, and he looks at you in surprise.

“Why…” you start, “why’d you stop?”

“You want me to carry on?”

You nod.

“Tell me,” he says.

You bring your hands to your neckline, then swiftly undo the front of your coveralls, pulling the upper half free from your shoulders so that your naked chest is now exposed to him. Then you push the garment lower, exposing your stomach. You push it down until it hangs off of your hips, not yet revealing anything below your lower abdomen.

“Keep going,” you say softly. You lean back on the worktop on your hands, shaking your hair out of your face and behind yourself, then arch your back so you push your chest forward for him.

“Please,” you add, for good measure.

He sucks in a sharp breath, his yellow eyes hungrily taking in the sight of your newly exposed skin, glazing greedily across your breasts and nipples. And then he moves, he moves so fast, returning the hilt of his blade to your throat.

And then – then he also has the hilt of his second blade in his hand, the longer one. He rests it gently against your sternum, just under and between your breasts. You release a sharp hiss, the threat of two of these weapons on your body now almost too much for you. Almost.

He keeps the first hilt hard at your throat, keeping your head up and your eyes on his. The touch of the other is much lighter. The metal of the long, cylindrical hilt is cold, and he drags it down, ever so slowly. Until it meets and passes your belly button. Then lower and lower, until it hitches on your clothing. He tuts, dragging the hilt down harder, pulling it over the material and continuing the leisurely journey down your body.

Then he slides it between your legs.

You gasp gently as you feel the cold metal press against the blazing heat of your sex through the material that separates it from you. The hardness of it feels good but - dare you grind down on to it? You do not know how these things work, how they are powered.

He smirks, as if he can sense what you want, and your hesitation in doing so. “How badly do you need my touch?” He asks. “And be honest with me,” he insists.

You take a long, deep breath. You do not dare lie to him.

“Mister, I’ve wanted you to bend me over this here table since I first saw that handsome face of yours.”

He pushes the hilt up into your cunt hard – both your fear and desire surge, and a flustered moan is torn from your throat. He warns you, “I told you how to address me.”

“Y-Yes,” you stutter, “Yes, Lord Maul.”

“Good girl,” he praises you quietly, leaning forward and planting a peck on your lips.

Then he pulls his weapons away from your body, and returns them to their place on his hips. You release a tortured breath, whining pathetically at the loss. Then you reach forward, wanting to touch him, wanting him to touch you. You run your fingers down his arms, and then you take one of his hands in your own. You peel his glove off and throw it to the ground. You do the same to his other hand, then you bring them both to your lips to kiss them. His hands are rough and marked by those black tattoos – they extend up his fingers, bleeding into his long black nails. The markings are not as bold on his hands and fingers as the rest of his body, his palms especially, faded from years of friction with his choice of weapon, you assume. You squeeze at his wrists, and then bring his hands to your chest, encouraging him to feel you.

“Please,” you say, “please touch me.”

You close your eyes and throw your head back as a clawed finger scratches down your left breast, then he takes the bud of your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You shudder, and your breath hitches as his touch sends shivers of hot desire through your core.

He cups your right breast in his other hand. “I have been holding back…” he whispers, and then squeezes you, hard. “Holding back, all of the things that I want to do to you...”

“Why?” you ask, slightly surprised. You open your eyes, keeping them trained on his face. He is looking down at the bare skin of your breasts, watching his own long nails scratch and pinch the soft flesh of them.

“I did not know if you were truly willing,” he says.

You noted his use of the past tense. “Did not? Do you know now?”

His eyes dance across your erect nipples, how you are keening into his fingers. Then they flicker down to witness the way that you wantonly try to grind your clothed sex into his cybernetic leg.

“Hmm. I have an idea,” he replies. “Though I would prefer you to use your words.”

“Yes,” you say, “Yes, I am willing.”

He tilts his head very gently.

“I want you, Lord Maul,” you whine, and addressing him in this way causes a sly smile to tug at his lips. One of his hands is suddenly around your throat, and your face is intimately close to his again.

“If you change your mind, you will tell me immediately,” he insists.

“Yes,” you whimper, “of course.”

“Good,” he says. Then, much huskier in tone, “you will do as I say?”

“Yes,” you confirm, that carnal ache between your thighs becoming almost too much to bear. “Yes, anything.”

“Then strip naked,” he demands, pulling you off of the table and stepping back.

You obey him without hesitation, hooking your fingers into the material at your hips and pulling the remainder of your clothing down. You then step out of the coveralls, now wearing only your panties.

You simper at him, leaning back against the table.

“I said naked,” he reaffirms, scowling at your accidental insolence.

Before you get the opportunity to fix your mistake, he is on you. He picks you up easily, and effortlessly places you on to the workstation. He then throws everything that is on the table to the ground with an indifferent wave of his hand. The loud clatter of metal smashing on the floor makes you groan in annoyance – but you do not feel anything more than mild irritation at his apathy towards your work and your tools, towards your personal belongings. It should probably make you much more furious. It should probably make you want to slap the bastard to the other side of the galaxy. You should care, you should be mad, you should tell him to kriff himself and to get the kark out of here – but you can’t.

Because you don’t want to. You are now consumed only by lust. In fact – Maker, you want the table cleared and ready for you, you want him to disregard absolutely everything that isn’t your body. And by the Planets – there is something about his destructive nature that is utterly bewitching. How his touch, no matter how violent, makes your body only yearn more for him. How his words, no matter how threatening, makes you want to naturally submit to whatever he says. How you crave only to obey him as if it is what you were created to do.

He throws you down on to your back and pulls your legs apart, then positions himself between them. He is now standing up straight, each of your legs on either of his shoulders. He runs his hard, callused hands down them, feeling the softness of your bare skin. He starts at your ankles, and moves insufferably slow down the length of them towards your cunt. When he reaches your lower thighs, he dips his hands inwards and spreads his fingers, squeezing at the flesh of the inside of them before roughly spreading you open. You let out a loud, shocked moan, but then it bleeds into a needy whimper as he begins to lightly touch the edge of your panties. You start to needily arch your back, impatiently trying to push your cunt forward into his touch. Before you are able to fully do so, a hand pushes down on your lower torso, returning you flat against the surface of the table.

“Stay still,” he demands.

You whimper into submission, your fists clenched in anticipation as he ever so slowly runs his fingers across the thin material above your sex, teasing you with his featherlight touch. You are lust-stricken as you look up at him looming above you. His toned chest moves calmly with steady breaths, the shadow of his crown of horns appears so regal in the low-light, and his glowing eyes are fixated solely on how his tattooed fingers taunt your dripping cunt. He hums a moan as he reaches your entrance, lingering on the damp material of your underwear. “So wet already,” he says with a tut. “And I haven’t even begun.”

And then he is cupping your cunt with his palm, and the heat of his hand feels so good that it is too much to bear, so you go to sit up, to shove yourself forward and rub into him – but you are swiftly thrown back by an unseeable Force, struck down into the hard metal of your worktable, as if he had heaved a great weight on top of you. But there is nothing there; one of his hands squeezes your inner thigh, the fingers of the other making light circles over your underwear. But you now lie there unmoving, as if strapped to the table with invisible bindings, and no matter how hard you try to thrash around, you cannot budge an inch.

“I am in control,” he says. “If you will not stay down, then I will make you stay down.”

You can only groan in retaliation, a mix of frustration and pure heat coursing through your veins. “Do you understand?” he asks. You feel a slight slackening on your ghostly chains, just enough for you to nod at him. “Good. Now tell me, you filthy, wicked little whore,” he smirks, “do you enjoy being subjected to my power in this way?”

“Yes,” you reply instantly, “yes.” He must also enjoy holding you down like this, because you immediately return to being unable to move at all. You cry out a broken “please,” practically begging him to strip you down, to please keep going – and he hums a cruel chuckle as you continue to whine for his touch.

He must take pity on you then, because he permits you the small mercy of finally being bare for him. The fingers of both of his hands skirt up to the top of your underwear, his nails slip beneath them and he pulls them down. He tugs them past your rear, then uses one of his hands to raise up your legs, the other he uses to pull your panties off of you. He throws them aside, then ever so slowly, painfully slowly, spreads your thighs again.

He sharply inhales as he finally takes pleasure in the sight of your soaked cunt. “Oh,” he groans huskily, “you are simply desperate for this, are you not?” He brings his eyes back to yours, and you groan in agreement. Yes, yes, Maker damn him, you are entirely in despair, so utterly teeming with desire that you cannot think. When you see his fingers dip out of view between your legs, you flutter your eyes shut and take a deep breath, preparing yourself for the sweet relief of his touch, for a reprieve from his torment.

As his fingers circle your clitoris and he finally exerts some pressure onto you, you cry out in relief. Now that he is finally touching you, the noises he coaxes from you cannot be silenced. They never could be, even if he gagged you or forced your mouth shut with his wizardry, you would find a way to moan his name, to purr your high-pitched, gratified whines. It feels much too good. His fingers glide down the slickness of your slit, and you want nothing more than to move closer to him, for him to rub into you harder – but you are still held down to the table with his power. It is an addictive, dizzying frustration, being authorised only micro-doses of his touch. Not yet satisfied, so desperate for more – yet overwhelmingly grateful for more when it inevitably arrives.

“Good,” he praises you, “let me hear you.” You do not need to be told twice. Unable to physically react or squirm beneath him, all you are able to do is sob your approval in hearty, raw moans as he begins to work your aching cunt with his hands. He moves harder, then faster, listening to your whimpers to determine the specific spots that will most exploit your pleasure. Then he teases at your entrance, and pushes into you slowly. Kriff. His fingers dance the sweetest rhythm between your thighs, and the welcome intrusion is dazzling. He slips in a second finger, crooning them both deep inside of you – and then Maker, a third. As he stretches you out, you already feel the hot coil of climax stir in your lower abdomen. It will not be long now – but you wish you could move, that you could sit up and watch him plunge his fingers in and out of you as you come all over them.

At that exact moment, you are released from your invisible bondage, movement returned to your body. “Writhe for me, pretty girl,” he commands. And you do, as he works his fingers in and out of you with one hand, the fingers of his other dancing circles on your clit – you contort in pleasure beneath his touch, your back arching, your hands gripping the sides of the table with tense knuckles. This stranger, this terrifying and intoxicating man – kark, with such simple movements he is making you feel a way that no one else has ever been able to before. You rock down into his hands, and he groans at your shamelessness, at your unabashed desperation. “Please,” you whine, “please, I’m going to – ”

“No,” he says sternly. “Not yet.”

His commanding voice does not help his cause, as it cuts deep into your blossoming orgasm, flaming it further onwards. You ignore his instruction and groan as you begin to clamp down on to his fingers, throwing your head back and awaiting that glorious tide of satisfaction to wash over you. But it never comes, you never come. Because he growls and pulls himself out of you. Depriving you of your climax, leaving you empty and whimpering pathetically beneath him.

“I said not yet,” he reiterates harshly. Then you sit up and raise your eyes to his face. He releases an irritated tsk, then says, “such insolence will not go unpunished.”

You are sitting up now, looking at him with bewilderment and disbelief painted across your features. You watch as the bastard spits at your cunt, which sends a surprising hot jolt of pleasure up your body. What the Galaxy? Why was that so kriffing hot? You find yourself wanting him to do it again. He then gives your sex a sharp smack, and you cry out a startled whine. He grins, pulling your legs forward so you are now perching at the end of the table, so very close to him again.

Then he is taking the hilt of the longer lightsaber from his hip and bringing it to your face.

You curse under your breath as he places the tip of it against your cheek. The thrill of having such a dangerous weapon on your body again surges through you, and you go to grind on to him, his leg, his fingers, anything – you just want to rub down onto something. He smirks callously, his eye line flickering down as you clench on nothing, empty and destitute of satisfaction.

“Patience,” he says, pushing the saber hilt against your lips, his eyes darken as he senses both the lust and fear it stirs inside of you. You take a deep breath through your nose, and then boldly, you look into his eyes and purse your lips, kissing the hilt of his weapon.

“Brave girl,” he observes, then catches your chin in his free hand. He pulls down on your lower jaw, and you let him open your mouth. He glares at you, and you know what he wants. So you push out your tongue and he places the hilt on to it, holding your face still as he pushes it deeper into your mouth.

You have a sharp, jarring moment of fear-based clarity – where you think, what the kriff are you doing? This is a lightsaber. Not any old metal blade or a karking blaster with the safety on, a saber, which could ignite at any moment and tear your face in half. Again, you consider – that logically, you should be terrified, if you were sensible you would be pulling away and telling this man where he can shove his blasted laser sword. But you don’t. Because in this moment, you aren’t logical or sensible. You don’t want to be. You want to take his weapon in your mouth, you want to let him discipline you for you indiscretions, to spit and smack and hurt you. Maker, why does this feel so good? It does not seem to make any sense, how absolutely depraved you are feeling, how much you yearn for his dominance. But it doesn’t have to make sense. Because the newness of such a craving is exciting, this brazen dalliance is so dreamlike. You know more than anything that you want this, that you want it to be this way. And you know that you will do anything for him, to please and pleasure him, to gain his permission for your orgasm.

“There she is,” he purrs, watching your face relax around the blade’s hilt as you fully give in to his control, submitting fully to his will. “There’s my obedient little slut.” He chuckles, a powerful and cold sound – “Oh, I knew you had it in you.”

He pulls the saber out of your mouth quickly, and it makes you jump. He hushes you and cups your cheek in his palm, then plants a gentle kiss on your lips. “Good girl,” he praises you. You whimper into his mouth, your cunt now blazing for the return of his touch, of any touch – and so you automatically go to move your hands so that you can play with yourself. He catches your wrist with a tut. “Oh, I am not done yet,” he warns.

He steps back and places the both of his weapons to the side. Then he pulls away the material that covers his upper legs. You blink rapidly as you take in the sight of his cybernetics, not only at how impressive they are – but in awe at the fact that he has a cybernetic cock. Your mouth waters in pleasant surprise. You did not expect this, you did not know such a thing existed. “Kriff,” you mutter, running your eyes over the hard length of him – solid and thick, the colour as dark as the black ink of his tattoos, and though you recognise that it is synth-skin that coats the outer layer of it, you do not know synthetics of this kind well enough to say with certainty how he will feel inside of you.

Making you all the more exhilarated to find out.

“So vulgar,” he scolds you, and swiftly his hands are on you, pulling you down to the ground by the back of your neck, and pushing you on to your knees before him. “Now,” he says, grabbing the back of your hair with a strong fist, “shall we put that filthy mouth of yours to good use?” You are already salivating, so ready to take him in your mouth, to taste him. He tugs on your hair to make your eyes meet his, and his expression is expectant.

“When I ask you a question,” he growls, “you answer me.”

“Yes,” you reply. “Yes, Lord Maul.”

“Better,” he says. “So?”

You nod, “yes, please, let me – ”

He cuts you off. “Open.”

You obey him. Then he slides his pointer and middle finger into your mouth, still so slick with your own wetness. You suck him in further, and with a groan he pushes deeper, teasing your throat, your tongue brazenly lapping at the taste of yourself on his fingers. You close your eyes and moan as he reaches further in, and his knuckles knock into your teeth. He hums a moan, then he is pulling out quickly with a wet popping noise. He curses in language you cannot quite place, but the sound is rich and laced with a sensual hunger.

“I cannot resist you anymore,” he confesses. You suck in a greedy breath, your eyes fluttering open, looking forward to the length of his cock. “Look up, look at me,” he commands, “let me see those eyes.”

You do as he says, and though you cannot see him do it, you know that he takes his cock in his hand. “Put your hands on my legs,” he says. You rest them just above his metal knees, on the synth-skin of his thighs. “They stay there,” he says. “If you want me to stop, you tap me. Twice. Do it now.” You do. “I can feel that. If you do that I will stop. Do you understand?”

You nod, and a moaning hum slips from your lips in anticipation of what is to come.

“Good girl. Now open your mouth for me.”

You obey. “Do not dare be careless,” he warns, “I can feel everything.” Then he brings the tip of his cock to your lips, and pushes inside. You lick at his shaft, working on getting him wet, tasting the hardness of him. He tastes and feels like real skin, though his cock is really firm, harder than an organic one – but he is not as tough as durasteel or metal. As you work on taking him further into your mouth, you moan around his cock, imagining the feel of him deep inside of your cunt, dreaming about how hot and full you would feel. Will feel – with any luck, soon. Both of his hands are in your hair now, and he tugs you forward, encouraging himself deeper.

“That’s it,” he purrs, “you are already doing so well.”

Your nipples keen into hard buds at his praise, your aching cunt clenching on to nothing. You want to touch yourself – you even think about it. But you do not dare move your hands, you no longer want to disobey him. You want to please him, this cold, dangerous stranger, you want to prove yourself to him. And more selfishly, you cannot possibly risk depriving yourself of the bliss that you will earn once you have followed his instructions. You focus on breathing through your nose, and you squeeze on his legs as he begins a steady thrust in and out of your mouth. He moves faster, and you begin to choke, making raspy, wet and ragged noises. He pulls out with a loud groan, and you gasp, a thread of spittle still connecting you to his shaft.

“Good,” he groans, letting you get your breath back. “Now deeper.”

And then he shoves himself back inside. You work on swallowing him down, switching between holding your breath and breathing through your nose, trying to determine what works best. Once you get the hang of it, he holds on to your head tightly, then buries his cock deep in your throat. Then he pulls back, and you gasp, steadying your breathing. He does this several times, a chaotic, hard set of thrusts – then holds himself in as deep as you can take him, then he releases you, and you gasp for air, your eyes streaming and lips dribbling with your own spit.

“You messy little whore,” he mutters, running a finger down your cheek, now stained with tears. You heave in deep breaths, looking up at him. You feel a deep resentment for him, still holding a grudge for his rudeness and his entitlement – but at the same time, those same qualities make you feel so hot, so attracted to him. They make you want to please him, and as you look up at him with wide, wet eyes, you are find you are hoping for some kind of praise. He obliges. “Don’t worry,” he reassures you, “you look prettier than ever.” You smile and squeeze his legs.

“Again,” he says. You take him back in your mouth. On instinct and without really noticing, you slide one of your hands down his leg, your cunt desperate for your own fingers. He notices though, of course – and loosens a hand from your hair to catch your wrist and put your hand back.

“No,” he insists. “You want to touch yourself so badly? Then you need to earn it,” he says. “Prove you deserve it.”

So you do. You begin to bob your head, working the length of him in and out of your mouth. “Try harder. Lean on me,” he says. You do so, putting your weight forward against him via your hands as you desperately work your mouth over his length, focusing only on pushing him deep into your throat and out again, over and over, breathing sporadically through your nose, choking on him and your own saliva, making a complete and utter mess of yourself. You have no idea how long you are on your knees for him, but you enjoy every second. You love being told what to do, you find great satisfaction in making him moan, and the longer you take his cock in this way, the better you get at it. His growls and groans of pleasure are each more guttural than the last. You are so lost in the moment that you do not realise he has had his fill of your mouth until you are being lifted from the ground.

“Up,” he says, taking your elbow in his hand and heaving you to your feet. You settle on unsteady legs, weak from being down on the floor for so long, and from the intensity of your carnal appetite – Maker, your cunt is absolutely dripping. You cannot remember a time ever being so wet.

He snakes a hand through your hair, clearing your face and taking the opportunity to look at you. He growls softly, “pretty, filthy girl. I am going to ravish you,” he promises. Before you get a chance to respond, he lifts you back on to the table, and with a grin pushes you down into it with his sorcery – though he does not hold you down once you are there.

He drops to his knees before you - and positions himself so that the only part of you he can see is your sodden cunt. You lean up to watch him, and his hands grasp on tightly to your hips. He pulls you forward, your legs over his shoulders, and your weight onto him – then buries his face between your thighs.

It is instantly the most incredible, dizzying pleasure you have ever experienced. He laps at your clitoris with excessive devotion, and the determined swirl of his tongue is pure bliss – it sends sweet surges of hot satisfaction through your body, and oh Maker, he is relentless – he doesn’t stop, he hardly breathes, he just focuses entirely on your pleasure, on the wet, sultry deliciousness of your sex. It is so euphoric that you begin to believe you have fallen into an entirely different state of being.

His strong voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “Do you want to come?” he asks into your slickness, his hot breath as gorgeous a feeling as the caress of his tongue. “Would you like that?”

You reply with a string of pathetic whines, crying out “yes, yes, yes” over and over again. He chuckles, a deep booming laugh of pity that vibrates into your lower half. “Then come, you beautiful girl,” he says, “I want you to come.”

Then his tongue is back on your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you fast and hard, both hitting those wonderful parts of you exactly where you need them to – and it is so incredibly perfect. You squeeze your thighs around his head, and the horns at his temples dig into your soft flesh. You throw yourself back to the worktable with abandon, your hands grasp at your own breasts, your lips release frenzied moans. And then you are coming – a scorching orgasm, profound and consuming, it washes across the entirety of your body. Your cunt clenches on to his thrusting fingers, and he doesn’t stop his movements, not one bit. He keeps pumping and licking, working you with the utmost dedication, dragging out your peak as long as he can. Your legs begin to shake, and when your climax finally abates and your muscles relax – your mind is scattered and clouded in an orgasm-stricken haze.

You moan in contentment, unable to speak. He hums into your cunt, teasing and smug. “Are you quite ready for me?” He asks, “are you ready to take my cock now? Do you think that you deserve it?” He plants a final, gentle kiss on your slit as he pulls back and stands up.

You cannot seem to form what you want to say, still so speechless from your peak. You can only bring yourself to spread your thighs in response, opening yourself up to him and hoping he understands. “Mmm,” he moans. “I do like to see you in this way. But use your words,” he demands. “Tell me what I know you want.”

“P-please,” you whine, and he looms over you, settling himself between your legs which are opened up so wide for him. He stares down at your cunt, so perfectly soaked and stretched, just begging to be used by him. His hands run up your body, and then he is leaning over you and his lips are at your neck, his tongue hot and wet lapping at your skin, as if he can encourage the words out of you with his kisses. It works. “Yes,” you whimper, as he drags his teeth down, sharp and wild as he bites at the soft flesh of your breasts. “Yes, please.”

He catches your wrist as he moves back, pulling you to your feet. Then he whirls you around and bends you over the table, crossing your arms behind your back, gripping on to them tightly.

“Take me,” you moan, “take me, please, please.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he says, aligning his cock at your entrance. You try and move back into him, but his grasp on you is rock solid. “We have already practiced this, sweet, filthy girl,” he says. “Stay still.”

You stop moving, doing as he says. With a sigh of approval, he uses the cold metal of his lower synthetic leg to spread your thighs open further, and then he pushes his cock into you. He groans as he easily slips inside, your cunt so wet from all of his previous attention. You cry out enthused, whimpering moans as he then begins to move in and out of you, slow at first as you adjust to the length of him. But then he rocks into you hard, and he is soon in to the hilt – and Maker, the feeling of fullness is even better than you first imagined. He thrusts hard, over and over again, smacking the full weight of himself into you with each pound of his cock. One of his hands still holds your wrists tightly behind your back, the other he uses to grab the back of your neck, pushing you down firmly into the table.

He moves so rapidly, his cock drumming into you at a deliciously quick pace, his weight so heavy and severe against your backside. You groan through gritted teeth, and his hand slips to your throat, pulling your head up so that when he leans forwards, his lips are at your ear.

“You can take it,” he says, then slides two fingers into your mouth, and you moan around them as he pounds into you, again and again and again. He eventually lets go of you, throwing you down without concern – and you can tell from that gesture alone that he has been holding back, and that such weakness ends here. He is about to give you his all.

And by the Galaxy, are you ready for it.

He moves his hands to your ass and grips at you hard, his long nails claw at your soft flesh, using you as leverage to truly tame you, using the drumming rhythm of his cock to ride you into total submission. He does not relent, he just keeps going and going. He is merciless as he has his way with you, growling deep, harsh noises as he uses you and your body for his own gratification. It is so intoxicating, and you lie there unmoving, limp and pliant for the taking. He keeps going and going, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge, each moan he growls stoking that carnal fire within – until there it is, and another roaring orgasm tears through you, and it is such a thundering ecstasy that you scream his name again and again and again. He praises you with brash and filthy words, telling you how good and tight you are as your walls clamp around him.

You pant, breathing through the frenzy with deep, desperate gasps. He pulls out of you and grabs your body, throwing you to the floor. You laugh as he catches you just before you hit the ground. “My hero,” you say sarcastically. He lowers you down gently on to your back and falls between your legs. “I thought that I actually shut you up,” he says with a smirk. You lean up to catch that smug smile of his in a passionate kiss. He sucks on your tongue, then he sheathes himself back inside of you. You moan into his mouth, and he kisses you over and over again as he restarts that beautiful, hard rhythm.

“Tell me your name,” he groans between kisses, “tell me.” You gasp as he thrusts his cock inside of you deeply, holding your frame tightly in his arms as he does so. You reveal to him your name, pecking the corner of his mouth after you say it. Then he repeats it back to you, and the way he says it – kriff, it is such a gorgeous, addictive sound coming from his lips, such music when it is said in his rich and commanding voice.

“Look at me,” he demands into your lips. You pull away from the kiss to do as he says. “Keep your eyes on my face now. I want you to watch me as I ravish you.”

You lie back and hook your legs around his hips, gazing up at him as he takes you harshly into the ground. His handsome, tattooed face is no longer hard and unmoving like when you first saw him. He is thoroughly enjoying you, his expression softened with pure delight and satisfaction, his bright eyes burning into yours – until he stutters in his movements, until his moans become a decadent mix of curses, until his grasp on you tightens and he shuts his eyes as your heat and your obedience coax him into his own climax.

He groans through it, slowing his movements and breathing heavily, until his hold on you becomes lax and he slowly slumps forward on top of you. You pant beneath him, your heart racing. Maker. That was incredible, of course but – but it was also absolutely the most barvy and unexpected thing you have experienced in a long time. And by the Planets - you are shattered. You are certain now that you will finally be able to get some sleep tonight. You wrap your arms around Maul’s neck, planting a kiss on his cheek.

He hums a “mmm”, softly removing himself from within you and then lying beside you, so that you are both on your backs, looking up at the ceiling. You are both silent for a few moments. You tilt your head towards him to look at him, taking in the sight of his side profile. He is so striking, even when he is at ease like this, when he is calm and truly relaxed. His eyes are closed now, and he is clearly still basking in the euphoria of his own orgasm. You don’t actually know how it works, how his cybernetics allow him to experience such a thing – but it must feel damn good, considering how serene this once terrifying, severe man appears now. His fingers find their way to your hand and he traces small, gentle circles into your palm.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

“I’ve been better,” you reply.

He opens his eyes and tilts his head towards you with a glare, and you grin.

“Nah, I’m just playing with you,” you say, rolling onto your side. “I feel great.”

He smirks, doing the same, moving to lie on his side. He bends his arm and leans his head on to his hand. “This was unexpected,” he says.

You roll your eyes and shoot him a look. He smirks again, taking a deep breath. “A pleasant surprise, nonetheless.”

You nod in agreement, curling your body into yourself. He runs his free hand up your arm, watching as you smile at his touch. There is a moment of raw fondness between you, and it is strange – but also nice.

“Well…” he says, then his eyes glaze past your face and he stares behind you, and then he squints, that puzzled expression returning. “What?” you say curiously. He smirks, raising his hand from your arm, up into the air. A piece of metal shoots past your head and into his hand. “That’s just what I was looking for.”

You stutter, “you bastard, that almost hit me!”

He rolls his eyes and then sits up, groaning as he eventually stands. You stay on the floor, trying to summon the energy to crawl over to your sleep mat.

“You’re gonna have to pay me for that,” you say.

He slowly turns his head, raking his eyes over you and flashes an amused smile.

Then you understand how that sounded. “No not for that, no the – ” you groan. “For the part, laser-brains.” You sit up and reference the multitude of broken scrap around you. “And for all of this mess too, actually.”

He dresses himself, grabbing his weapons with a self-satisfied expression as he hooks them to his hips.

“I’m good for it,” he says.

“Yeah, sure, I’ve heard that before.”

“I’ll wire it over,” he mutters, “where is your – ”

“Fine,” you point to the other side of the room, where your datapad is. “You better.”

“What?” He says, picking it up and tapping at the thing – presumably, hopefully actually sorting the payment. “Don’t you trust me?”

“You are so lucky you’re a looker,” you say, rolling over, heaving yourself on to your sleep mat, and pulling your blanket over you to cover your nakedness. He throws the datapad down, then picks up his robe from the floor.

“Hey – I didn’t tell you how much you owe me!”

“It’s covered,” he says.

“Good,” you laugh, “Now get out of here. You rudely broke in here, and now I’m rudely kicking you out. I need to sleep, even more so now that I have to deal with the ruckus you’ve caused in here tomorrow. And I know that you don't have time for this. You are clearly a very busy man, you've got some crimes to commit I’m sure.”

“Something like that,” he says.

“Who told you to come here anyway?” You ask, “you said someone told you this was the place to come get your parts?”

“Some Rodian in the tavern down there,” he replies indifferently, pointing in the direction he means, then pulling on his robe.

Ah. So maybe she was your friend after all. Or maybe she just felt bad for swindling you for the box of trash. Or maybe she really hated you and sent a murderous wizard your way, hoping for your demise. Either way, you were mighty grateful she did send him on his way to you. You just had the best sex of your life, and now you were about to finally get some decent shut eye. Maybe you’d even buy her a drink.

Maybe. Depends on what you can sell those damn parts for.

“By the way,” you say before he leaves, “I’m sorry for shooting at you.” Then you blow him a kiss in an exaggerated gesture. “I’m sure glad I missed.”

He scowls, then takes one last look at you, orgasm-dazed and relaxed on your sleep mat – and he smirks.

“Mmmm,” he says. “Also, I did not break in, as you put it so many times. I walked in. You left the door unlocked.”

“Awh, hell,” you say. “Get that for me on the way out, will you?”

“As long as you leave it open next Primeday,” he shoots you that sultry glare that you have grown to like so much.

You huff a laugh. “If I don’t, be sure to break in anyway.”

Then he disappears into the shadows, and when you hear the click of the door’s lock, you close your eyes. Karkin’ wizard, you think, finally exhausted enough to fall asleep.

The usual racket of Level 1313 does not wake you for the rest of the night and into the late morning, not even once.

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#darth maul #darth maul fanfiction #darth maul fic #maul fanfiction #maul fic #darth maul x reader #darth maul smut #my fic #star wars smut #maul x reader #maul x you #darth maul x you #eloquentmoon

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