Warnings: fluff, angst, overcoming insecurities and trauma, applying makeup on someone, close proximity nervousness, suggestive language at the end.
Summary: As the many days have gone by in each other's company, Silco has caught you watching him apply his typical nude foundation to cover the left side of his face on many occasions. One day, he asks you to help him put it on. Such an intimate exchange of trust catches you by surprise. You couldn't possibly deny him, despite your nerves telling you all the ways you could fail.
Masterlist
My kofi🙏
Silco had just gotten out of the shower, beads of moisture raced against each other as they approach the towel lazily fastened at his waistline. His Adonis belt lies beautifully on display as he tousles his dampened locks, pushing the loose strands back and out of the way. Your heart flutters at the sight of him, so comfortable and relaxed when around you. “Something... catch your eye?” Silco pries, raising a brow in your direction. He drags his tongue across his bottom lip to earn a mewl of expression to escape you, taking advantage of your flustered mood. They slowly widen into a grin when you hesitantly hide your face in the covers, having been caught staring.
Hearing him take long strides towards you, his weight displaces the tension on the bed as he sits and you bob up and down with the ripple. Unable to see him, but you can smell him and he’s handsomely aromatic, refreshed but heavily provocative. Peeking out from beneath the duvet, his eyes find yours and you squeal at the surprise. You feel his hands fish around, skating across your body betwixt linen as he inches closer, finally stealing a kiss. The imprint of warmth lingers from his bathing, welcoming and true as you sigh into each other’s breath.
“You always do.” you reply, tracing your hands along his jaw. Silco pauses for a moment, looking past you in thought. The sunbeams creeping in from the open window catch him blooming like a morning glory. You’re thankful for this moment of meditation but can’t help but feel the stirring of his thoughts drive a minor wedge into the tranquility. “What’s the matter?” you ask.
“I want you to help me with something.” he says assuredly. “Come with me.” Still clad only in a towel and you wearing nothing but his crimson button-up shirt, he takes your hand and leads you from the bed towards his vanity. Silco pulls on the drawer handle to remove his ornate compact mirror, tossing it at you. Fumbling it in your hands, you look to him in confusion. “Why don’t you have a go this time?”
You’re nearly crippled with nerves but it's soon salved by the flooding confidence in his gaze. It’s not like you’ve never used makeup before, but the circumstances varied in this aspect. This required the cosmetic alteration of scarring and discoloration as opposed to freckles or acne. Let alone if there’s a lingering soreness to his infection. You wouldn’t want to hurt him...
“Me? Are- are you sure?” He hears the distress in your voice but disregards it, instead telling you exactly what you need to hear.
“You’re the only one I would ever trust with something as delicate as this.” he confirms while sitting in front of the mirror, towel nearly falling off. Silco’s nonchalance is so intimidating, disarming you with its grace. He rests his head on the back of the chair to allow you to have a stable canvas to work on, closing his right eye. The absence of the other eyelid already has you weary that you would unintentionally get foundation dangerously close to his waterline. “I never do anything extravagant, you know that. To be frank, I typically do a pretty crude job of it despite my years of practice.” he shrugs with a snickering chuckle. “It’s foolproof, my dear."
Taken aback by the revelation, did he really not hold himself to the same elevated regard that you do? It beckons many questions: ‘When did this become a part of his daily wardrobe such as that of cufflinks or clean socks? How long has he held this aversion to the person he sees in the mirror?’ Your heart aches, hoping one day he will see himself through your gleaming eyes.
Deducing these sentiments within your own mind, you answer each of the rousing queries with skepticism. Silco’s vitality knows no bounds. There’ not a pitiful bone in his body, but you're still curious.
“You don’t need this, you know.” mumbling to him while tapping the case. “You look more than fine without it.” The statement earned a playful laugh, shaking his head at your innocence. It was never about egotism, but blocking out a painful, haunting memory.
“Sit.” Silco requests with a tap of his palm on his bare knee. Doing as you’re told, he readjusts to accept you into his embrace, letting you brush the hair out of his left side to analyze him better. “It’s far beyond that. One cannot cover up their past or pretend it didn’t happen. Seeing this-” Silco gestures with a turn of his head, “It’s not the fact that I was damaged that hurts; looks aren't everything. It’s a reminder of the person, who did it.”
You look away, downcast expression taking hold as you realize you’ve regrettably forced him to explain something so painful. Silco grasps your chin to turn your face back to his, strangely not even half as phased as you are. “Don’t waste your tears on that which cannot harm you, darling. Go on.”
Nodding in agreement, Silco lets go, allowing you to rise. With a press of your thumb to the compact’s clasp, it springs open and you take the sponge with your dominant hand. Silco melts beneath your touch, soft dabbing motions between blending the product across his features become... therapeutic. He senses that you’re steering clear of his eye and reaches for your wrist, gently holding your hand in place to get your attention. “What are you so afraid of?”
You gasp, heart rate skyrocketing under his concentration while you attempt to roughly swallow in a dry throat. “N-nothing?” A silly lie, but it would suffice for explanation, vividly recalling your own endeavors of battling with blemishes that can’t be erased.
“It’s as if you don’t watch me stab myself there, repeatedly throughout the day. I’ll be fine, love.” Silco lets go of your wrist to let you finish. A few more pets to his brow and undereye complete the procedure but something’s amiss. “The pencil is in the drawer next to the cigars.” he says, almost telepathically. You reach for it with one hand and Silco’s lighter with the other, igniting it to melt the pigment at the end. With a few steady strokes, the ensemble is revived and he’s picture perfect, teasing you with a wink at your accomplishments, no matter the size.
You move out of the way to let Silco examine himself in the mirror. He points his chin to the ceiling and glides his fingertips across his jawline to reflect your own movements from before, smirking with approval. He reaches for the materials in your hand to set them down, holding you instead. “Well done.” he rasps lowly, touching his forehead to yours. “See? I knew you could do it. ” He stands up, instantly towering over you and the towel finally drops to the floor after backing you into the mattress, forcing you to fall flat on your back. Gripping the sheets at his instant exposure, you’re in disbelief at the revealing stance, proud and tall. “Now... let’s just see how well your work holds up.” Silco speaks with a mischevious drawl, kneeling before you to part your legs, littering them with alternating kisses down your thighs with the impending and sultry approach.
Warnings: fluff, wee bit o’ angst, full-body massage, implied smut, bruises, visible injuries, reference to chronic disorder.
Summary: Maul’s disquieted state sabotages his own cover when he tries to thoughtfully join you in bed to be welcomed by his embrace when dawn arrives. His sore muscles and battered bones are in desperate need of tender love and care while it also reminds him of the importance of decompression and connection.
Writing Masterlist - My Kofi✨
Read on Ao3 and Wattpad.
Maul has always been a sort of loner. Even after years spent by your side, it is as if he doesn’t want to let the harsh realities of his troubled past bleed into the wholesome environment you’ve curated for this household. Upon his entry, the dwelling is pitch-black but still easily navigable with his refined vision. The fading remnants of freshly baked bread linger deliciously with the simmering pot of goods on the heat element in the kitchen, cooking low and slow all day to create a harmony of savory flavors to be shared come morning light. He tries his best not to impose when every square inch of this space is just as welcome to him as it is to you. He is tidy and always minds himself; a blessing of course but when is he going to finally relax?
It’s far past midnight when muted footfalls and intermittent grumbles rouse you from your deep and dreamless slumber. Still sneaking about like a shadow in the darkness, he makes his futile attempts to slip into the bedroom unnoticed but you’re already stretching across the sheets, breathing his charred and leathery scent in.
“I thought that was you.” Sighing deeply, you extend yourself across the mattress and feel for Maul’s physique with the bottom of your foot. You can’t see him, but you can feel his gloved palms clasp around your ankle. He holds it tightly, before just as quickly releasing it to exhaustively peel his many layers of robes away. “Let me help.” You suggest, lazily rising to your knees and scooting across the cushions.
“You’re perfectly fine as you are. I’ll join you soon enough.” Maul gruffly whispers as though you were still sleeping. With your eyes now adjusted to the obscurity, you can see his glowing irises looking back at you, peering under the shroud of his hood. With a swift and tender movement, you pull the draped cloth back and let the cloak roll off his broad shoulders, collecting it and hanging it on its designated hook besides your own on the wall.
“But I want to. It’s been a while since you came around.” Getting a closer look at him, faint swelling and evidence of bruising across his features plants a seed of concern deeply within you. “Are you hurt?” It becomes clear why he took this covert approach to his visit, shaking his head and diminishing the possible severity of his injuries.
“I’m quite alright, I assure you. A thorough rest is all I need.” Maul puts up a feigned fight when you remove layer after layer of his ritualistic clothing. He succumbs to your forgiving touch, relieving him of the hefty weight of his garb. “I’ll try not to have such a lengthy departure next time.”
With his upper torso completely bare, you trace the contours of his flesh as it refracts a tiny bit of moonlight dampened by the drawn curtains. Their rigidness holds a plethora of knotted tissue that earns a few groans from Maul after initially working the muscles. Upon further inspection, you’re pleased to see that he doesn’t have any broken bones, but the fear of him not coming back never leaves your mind. “What if... there isn’t a next time?”
Maul ceases your aimless kneading to hold both your hands in his, joined at the wrists. “Doubt is not in my vocabulary, dear. I will always come back to you.”
“You’re here, but constantly miles away, I have noticed.” Shyly, you turn your head down, avoiding his analytical gaze but Maul stops the motion before you dip too low. He lifts your face by the chin and holds you there, sensing the trepidation manifest a wedge between you.
“Explain. What have you noticed.” With a prompt seriousness, he doesn’t deny the things you pick up on or even say they’re delusional fabrications. Maul validates your concerns and wants to see what you see.
“Sometimes, when I would say how I feel about you, about us... you’re afraid. Still are, but less now.” Maul softens at your words, the tension in his brow easing away into forlorn guilt for always leaving a part of himself at the door. “You don’t have to keep your guard up around me anymore. You know that, don’t you?”
He doesn’t say anything yet, fully absorbing the oasis of affection from your statement. Maul realizes what it is you’ve been trying to teach him. Something that can take a lifetime to comprehend; he needs to let himself be loved. He thinks himself a machine, unable to feel the way real people do. At least, until you’ve begun to show him. Pulling him towards you, he follows your lead and climbs beside you on the bed until he’s nestled in your lap with your back against the wall. He’s still thinking about what you said, calculating the most appropriate response before he takes a breath, languidly releasing it when you resume your massaging of his shoulders. “That’s an impossible request, I’m afraid.”
“How could you be so sure?” You ask, digging into his shoulder blades a little harder to gain a couple more gratifying moans from Maul, a reminder to what he’s missing every time he leaves.
“I’m certain because I have you.” He adds with finality. Sitting up, he pivots to direct his attention to your silhouette. “It can be so effortless to become lost and fall far from the ideal path in one’s mind. Having you, knowing you, my path is clear because you are my home. I must protect that.”
“But I don’t really know you though, do I?” Slightly recoiling, Maul is privy to the bluntness in your tone and has more than enough patience to heed your honest remarks. “You want me to have this idea of you. To perceive you how you want to be seen. I need you to understand that I need more than that and I think you do too.”
He nods in the pitch-dark silence, agreeing with everything you say. The weight on the bedding shifts when he leans into you, enveloping you so that you fall comfortably into his lap instead. Honing in on his luminous eyes, you can feel his breath waft over your lips as he contemplates diving in for a kiss. It accelerates out of sheer nervousness, feeling the adrenaline of the first time he pressed his mouth to yours surge through his veins once again. It may be a cliché that distance makes the heart grow fonder, but at this point, Maul regards himself as nothing but a fool for abandoning your devoted company.
The movement of his jaw dances in cadence with yours, eventually prying it open with his gentle yet assertive tongue. He craves you, both apologetically and without contrition at the same time. Maul wants nothing more than to break down the dividing walls that keep his true self at bay. He is practically on top of you but still at arm’s length; if not in body, then in mind. However, there is a difference in his kiss this time. An urgency, like he’s trying to tell you something he has a hard time formulating into words. Breaking contact, Maul shallowly gasps just as you take massive gulps of air, forgetting for a moment how long you were bonded. Blinking your eyes, a sliver of crisp moonlight slices through the room from where cooling wind has disrupted the curtains, landing on Maul’s sculpted frame above you.
“I’ll never tire of your forthright nature. And you’re right. I shouldn’t be as avoidant as I have been. You don’t deserve that.” Letting his words quietly pass over you like a blessed incantation, he doesn’t see that the very same shoe fits him perfectly.
“Oh, my foolish Lord. Neither do you.” His graceful grin shines brilliantly at your unabashed discipline, chuckling under his breath at how effortlessly you disarm him from his own mental acrobatics. Maul joins his smile with yours, relaxing his consoling weight across your body.
Petting your face and hair between smooches, you feel yourself getting pinned by Maul’s hips as he uses one of his knees to part your legs. It’s so routine and articulate with how often you’ve held this exchange but you have a different vision of how this night is going to play out. Taking advantage of Maul’s position, you sling your arms around his neck and initiate for him to roll over so that you’re atop him now. His horned crown makes sharp impressions in the pillows when they yield to his tapered traits. Watching as he lays on his back, Maul destresses every bone in his body into proper alignment. “Turn over.” You command with a magnetic emphasis. Maul squints, curious about your intentions but willingly obeys.
On his stomach with you sitting on his backside, it’s a vulnerable situation but Maul is already releasing a melody of moans and groans when he makes the satisfying connection. Your knuckles follow the perimeter of his tattoos that extend across every inch of his skin. There’s a particular mound of strain throughout his shoulders and it gets worse the farther down you explore. His vocalizations morph from casually composed to almost violently vacillating, ranging from pitch the harder you work the muscle. You knead every limb, paying close attention to other sore spots such as his biceps and calves. Maul appreciates your conscientious inclusion of his hands and feet with this session. He thought that every time you left his side was because it was coming to an end, laughing to himself when you would return with more fragrant lotion.
“Where did you learn this?” He beckons, cheek pressed to the bed while trying to hold your gaze with half lidded eyes.
“Most of it is personal preferences I’ve adapted to use on myself, but my interest originally derived out of physical therapy.” Maul tilts his head, looking at you in query due to the lack of obvious illnesses. “Having a glucosamine deficiency is pretty annoying. One day I can be walking around just fine, but if I sleep on my hips wrong just once then I can’t get around without some form of assistance. Massages like this help a lot with uncooperative joints.”
“I never knew... Have you maybe thought to seek a cure?” Maul turns over, letting you rest your head on his chest after such a painstaking demonstration.
“Vitamin rich foods, stretches and exercises like this. All you can really do is manage it as best you can with whatever works.” With Maul holding you preciously close, you’re able to listen to the measured beating of the pair of hearts in his chest. The room is no longer concealed in the indistinguishable darkness as it once was. Your surroundings are tinted with a deep indigo to signal that there are only a couple more hours of twilight remaining.
“Then it would be rather beneficial for me to return the favor, wouldn’t it?” The insinuation in Maul’s response stirs a flutter in your heart, inviting you back on top of him in the same manner as you were previously, more nimble and ecstatic this time.
“Are you sure you don’t need sleep?” You ask, stroking his cheekbones with the pads of your thumbs.
He bites his lip, sinfully stretching the skin as he holds it tightly between his teeth while looking you up and down. “I’ll sleep better knowing you’re taken care of, my dear.”
Warnings: (18+) angst, smut, fluff, comfort after trauma, first-aid, male oral receiving, edging if you squint, PinV, biting, creampie, smoking, alcohol mention.
Summary: After the devastating events that took place in Shrike Part 1, Silco does everything he can to help you acclimate to life again. He is more than thorough in easing all your anxieties, mental as well as physical.
Masterlist
My Kofi✨
Silco washes the last remnants of grit and grime away, cradling you with every kind motion. He handed you a plump and juicy fruit to nibble on as you bathed, satisfying your appetite for the time being. The humidity of the room is excessive, forcing his hair to become dewy with offset locks to linger out of place as tiny droplets fall. For a time, you’ve forgotten what it felt like, the welcoming bliss after walking the unforgiving road of strife. Your hearing grows muffled, drowned out by the painful thoughts and memories, unable to even notice Silco calling your name. Your eyes sting with tears that refuse to shed, gathering at your waterline.
A hand on your shoulder pulls you back to Silco’s troubled gaze and you blink away the moisture before he scans your distressed features. “Let’s take care of these, shall we?” he says, motioning to your speckled arms before throwing away the stem of the fruit you finished. Silco helps you rise from the tub and affectionately wraps you in a plush towel, making sure to catch the running drops of water that drizzle from your hair. Your stance is slightly shaky from the lack of proper strength after suffering such an episode and he takes note your staggered steps to help regain your balance. His luxurious bed is not even ten paces away and he effortlessly lifts you into his arms a second time, walking you through the threshold to comfortably set you down.
Trying to downplay your nerves as well as injuries, you attempt to deter the attention away from yourself. “Most are pretty old... Hardly a problem anymore. Really, I- I’m fine.” Silco scoffs at your modest dismissal and retrieves a container of paste-like ointment to thoroughly dab the puncture wounds of various healing stages. Some have already turned to scars, others have a ring of dried, flakiness from scabbing but very few still bear the evidence of their recent infliction.
“Nonsense.” Silco retorts with a firm, snap. He’s selective when expressing displeasure and aims to demonstrate the importance of your comfort, even when you see it as an inconvenience. “One can never be too careful.” His voice reverts back to its suave modulation to assure you that he wants to help you feel more than better. He wants to bring you all the pleasures of life, starting with soothing every discomfort.
Silco opens the jar and gathers a bit of salve on his fingertip, slowly leaning into you. “May I?” he asks, other hand outstretched. With a nod of agreement, he begins to tenderly coat every blemish in sight with the medicine. A couple of them slightly burn at his touch as the remedy is already taking effect. You fall rigid, trying to breathe through the pain. Silco sees this and takes a second to look at you, placing his clean hand on your cheek. “It’s okay to show that it hurts, you know. What you’ve been through... it can’t have been easy.” At first you think he’s referring to the superficial markings across your appendages, but what he was really talking about was the ordeal as a whole.
At those words it’s like your psyche was finally given permission to come to grips with what happened, able to break free of the shock that imprisoned your mind. Silco uses his thumb to wipe away the disdain that finally revealed itself, smiling at your remarkable bravery. Setting the materials down, he pulls you into a hug and you grip the fabric of his shirt, staining his chest with your tears. “No tragedy will befall you for as long as I live.”
You crane your head to look at his gleaming heterochromatic eyes before eagerly throwing yourself at him, dampening his face with your grief. Silco leans back, yielding your weight on top of him with the towel now lazily draped across your form. His hands glide from shoulders to thighs, grasping at your brilliant curves that peek out from the scarce fabric. Silco rid himself of his opulent vest and cream colored neck-tie since leaving that cursed lair. It left the buttons that lined his vermillion dress shirt completely unobstructed. You frantically begin to unfasten each one as he slides his tongue into your mouth and a clear stream of saliva drenches your chins, shameless in its wake.
Silco rolls over, hovering above you now and the hesitation makes you nervous. After a moment of contemplation he stands up, stripping himself of the rest of his clothing before laying next to you instead. Cuddling against him, you lay side by side, completely bare and waiting for him to say something, puzzled by the pause.
“I know you probably want nothing other than to feel good after all that has happened. I don’t blame you, of course.” Silco’s attention drifts to your exposed frame, pondering his next phrase. “But if there’s ever a moment where you get... overwhelmed, let me know and everything stops. You’ve nothing to prove to me.”
Letting your next actions do the talking, you assure Silco that you're not as fragile as he believes, forgetting the fact that just prior to this you took someone's life. Someone who had a selfish agenda where the ends heinously justified the means.
Without warning, you reach for him and he's startled by your change in demeanor. Silco gradually hardens within your grasp, taking deep and methodical breaths between each stroke while squinting those endearing eyes of his. Pulling you closer, he uses his free hand to wiggle his way between your legs. It’s foreign and unfamiliar but he’s so accommodating with the way he handles you. The only hands that you have felt before this moment were that of a cruel, liver-spotted grip; thankfully never venturing beyond your forearms and calves when administering restraints. Silco’s hands differ greatly from Singed’s and you crave to feel them skate across every inch of your deprived body. The emotional armor you wore slips off with the towel as you mount him. Just as Silco had said: you’re free and no longer bound by fear.
“Mmrr!” Silco mumbles against your lips at the sudden dominance. His angular frame is balmy against your lavish skin, indenting you with every muscle and bone. Grinding against him, Silco commits every hill and valley of your physique to memory. Taking advantage of your newfound confidence you begin to line his jaw with kisses, getting lower and lower as he stares wide-eyed at you. His breath picks up when you tease just below his naval, literally inches from the firmness against your chest. Silco’s knuckles crack with the tension of fists in the covers, imploring you to continue.
“Stopping is the furthest thing from my mind.” You finally speak, voice tickling his torso as you keep sliding down.
“Attagirl.” Silco responds, clenching at your taunts with his mouth agape, baring his teeth. Mirroring his facial expressions, you open your mouth wide as can be with the added flourish of tongue. Dipping low enough to finally taste his sweetness, one of your hands grabs hold of his shaft while the other finds a home within your folds. Silco bucks his hips up in defiance, trying to close the distance by stealing another touch of your lips but you hold him in place and he groans heavily, rolling his eyes. You giggle at his shattered decorum, moaning into the next long sample of his flavor, going from base to tip.
Silco throws his head back in bliss and your fingers gain speed in tandem with your mouth. He can’t contain the lust he feels, watching you skillfully pleasure yourself while simultaneously demonstrating your oral talents. Executing the tried and true formula for your own ecstasy, Silco holds your face as waves pulse through you, every remnant of air in your lungs being involuntarily punched out. He’s baffled at your ability to multitask, straining to concentrate on your eyes as you rhythmically bob your head.
You let him go with a loud gasp and Silco abandons all ceremony, assisting you in crawling up his form to mount him once again, with purpose this time. You hiss at the stretch of lowering yourself down and Silco stifles a moan, letting you acclimate to his size and its displacement deepening within you. Once comfortably seated, he smiles at you in accomplishment before a forceful thrust pushes you over, nearly colliding your head into his.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” he whispers into your neck before taking an aggressive bite, shrieks now filling the air as he moves your hips up and down his length. After what feels like an eternity of being maneuvered so seamlessly, you’re beside yourself, dizzy from Silco’s clouding breath around your face. You feel it cool the collection of saliva he’s left from the constant grazing of his teeth. He soothes your tender collar with kisses and soft nibbles, flexing with every clench of your walls around him. In a familiar spurt of determination, Silco releases your hips and coils an arm around you instead, energetically flipping you over so that you’re now on your back.
“Gah!” you exclaim, feeling a forbidden pang of soreness reach an extent you’ve never been able to find on your own. Silco falters, eyebrows knitting with concern thinking he’s hurt you. Hooking your legs around his waist, you pull him flush with your entrance and he witnesses the infatuation spread across your face, biting him back with a grin to assert the challenge. He grimaces from the sudden attack but the excitement is ever present as he double-takes, rubbing the mark you left on his chest.
“Oh... so it’s going to be like that now, is it?” Silco raises a brow at you, one of his fanged molars creeping through his smirk before he takes each of your wrists with his left hand and raises them above your head, driving himself deeper. You whimper and whine, finalizing the predicament in your mind as you shy away from his burning focus. Silco’s free hand finds the crook of your knee and he uses the natural leverage in the curvature of your anatomy to open you up. His cadence of movement gets faster, more powerful and you’re left blubbering incoherent phrases and pleads.
“Don’t be shy, d- darling.” He speaks in a gruff tone, stuttering slightly from the buildup of self-indulgence, “I want to watch as you f- fall apart.” Opening your eyes, he’s slack-jawed and love drunk on your essence. A tightness reinforces itself from subjecting to each other’s attention and Silco feels it too. Letting go of your pinned hands, he gently caresses your face before tracing your lips with his thumb. You dart your tongue out and he appeases you by slipping it behind your teeth, letting you suck on it.
“Yes... That’s it.” The gravel in his speech has you climbing closer to that exquisite summit as Silco’s grunts in unison with your muted wails. Arching your back, the muscles contract so hard it nearly shoves him out but Silco fights past the resistance to empty himself completely into you. His hair falls in offset strands against your forehead, lowering himself into a kiss with the exertion. The once vigorous tango has now slowed down to an arduous waltz, torrid heat leaking out between every fragmented movement of his hips.
Silco pulls away to assess your condition, pleased to see a broad look of amusement make an appearance on your face. Panting and satiated, he slips out of you, ready with the aforementioned towel to collect the mess pooling between your thighs. You flinch at his deliberate pets as he takes care of you, so precise and attentive. Silco tosses it into a nearby wicker basket after wiping himself off with the opposite, unsoiled end. Once cleaned, he takes your hand and leads you to use the lavatory together, a healthy practice that brings you closer with the intimate vulnerability.
“What do you think about having a real feast?” Silco suggests with a bright adulation, passing you a lightweight robe he pulled from the shower rack before donning one himself. “You deserve to know the luxury of abundance. Besides, It’s only customary that we dress for the occasion.” Within Silco’s master bathroom, a pair of embellished doors lie hidden behind a brilliant purple curtain. Swiping the drapes aside, he opens the passage way and welcomes you into his dashing wardrobe. A rainbow of gowns with ribbons of silk and gossamer lace hung opposite to Silco’s personalized and eccentric apparel. He tilts his head at you, coaxing you to explore to your heart’s content.
Silco helped himself to a cigar as you browse through the closet, snipping off the rounded edge with precision before setting the dried tobacco ablaze. The freshness in that intoxicating smoke had you taking gulps of his air, lost in the amaretto fragrance. Holding the roll between his teeth, Silco uncorks a decanter and pours a spicy bronze liquor into a couple of gold plated glasses, one intended for you.
The pageantry of these garments coupled with the generosity of his nature had your heart fumbling within the confines of your ribcage, threatening to leap out. Silco viewed you as nothing short of royalty in his eyes, even if you didn’t believe it yourself. You hurriedly pace towards him, burying your face into the pleats of his robe so that he doesn’t see you sobbing at his never ending hospitality. Nearly dropping the glasses, he widens his stance to brace for your impact, wrapping his arms around you and laughing at the failed attempt to hide your tears. Silco can see what this means to you, plain as day. Your worth will never be in question as long as he has something to say about it. He rests his cheek on your crown while swaying to pacify your emotions, giving you proper time to realize you’re home.
Warnings: (18+)angst, fluff, interrogation, rescue from servitude, reader commits murder, language, softness at the end that leads into second part.
Summary: It was a long time coming. Singed was growing a little too big for his britches, monopolizing Shimmer and threatening to undertake the grand enterprise that fuels the nation of Zaun. Little did he know that personal vendettas would come back to haunt him, allowing Silco to take his place as champion of the undercities.
Part II
Masterlist
My kofi🙏
“Where were you?” Silco barked aggressively at Singed from where he stood in the doorway, startling him in his own dungeon-like quarters, patience wearing heinously thin. Silco ordered one of his trusted associates to monitor Singed’s actions to confirm the rising suspicions. He is embezzling his own personal reserve of Shimmer through a number of different refineries, stockpiling it for his own cruel scientific demonstrations.
“Why... I’ve been here, overseeing your order of operations. Who else would require my assistance?” Singed is playing coy, demeanor close to breaking with nerves on high, trying to stifle a panic.
“Is that right?” Silco sighs, already disappointed by the time wasted on formalities and lies. “That’s odd, because I’ve been keeping tabs on you and this was your last chance to prove to me that you’re still an asset.” He steps into the darkened room before shutting the door behind him, locking the deadbolt. A soft, neon glow of bubbling tanks and luminescent test tubes scattered about the space refract against Silco’s sickly skin as he advances towards Singed. This underwater lair held a peculiar mood of isolation that assured Silco there would be no witnesses to worry about. “The others tell me you’ve abandoned your station for many weeks now. So you’ll have to do a little better than that.”
Singed attempts to blame the interceptance of cargo shipments on the enforcers, thinking he’s done well to cover his tracks. “I-I don’t know who you’ve been talking to but I’ve only been where I’m needed. I’ve gotten word from Topside. They’re seizing everything. All the accounts, the refineries are going under-”
“We knew there would be a reaction with Piltover when we increased the supply chain. Haven’t I given you everything you could ever want? ” Silco sarcastically references the elephant in the room, offering more lenience than Singed deserves while still playing along with this charade.
“Yes... I know but I-” He’s stuttering, failing to confidently enunciate his half truths and hyperbole.
“Relax.” Silco cuts him off by pulling a bundle of dynamite from his coat pocket, rolling it in his palm before tapping the collection of threads with his fingertips. “Everything will calm down soon.” Retrieving his favorite gilded lighter to flick it open with the other hand, Silco ignites the fuse and a violent scatter of sparks emits from its end, cascading onto the floor.
“What are you doing?! You’ll kill us both!” Singed backs into his workbench, knocking over vials of questionable liquid that stain his notes and blueprints.
Silco scoffs at his fit, as if the newly adjusted lifestyle has forced Singed to grow spineless. “Are you afraid to die?”
“...No. Are you?” The rhetorical response was one made out of desperation, pathetic and without any real threat.
Silco shakes his head in disagreement with a nefarious smile and continues to let the fuse burn, getting lower and lower as the ash gets caught on the wind of his laughing breaths.
“Put it out.” Singed begs, painfully aware of his impending demise.
“I should only have to ask you this once.” Silco sways the wand of dynamite from side to side, juggling with it to keep his adversary on his toes. “Where. Were. You?” He beckons the question a second time.
“Put it out, damn it!” The fuse is seconds from detonation but Silco has Singed caught red handed, dishonesty shining through the hysteria. He takes the threads into his hand, snuffing out the flame with his fingertips. A confirming demonstration of power that proved to get a rise out of such daring subordinates.
“Are you with me or what?” Silco challenges, still wondering why he’s even giving Singed the time of day; why not dispose of him already and be done with it?
“When have I not been with you? Are you doubting my loyalty, sir?” Singed is grasping at straws, found out with nowhere to run like a caged animal.
“I’m doubting your ambition. If you’ll inevitably choke on your aspirations.” Silco notices that Singed is reaching for one of the sealed glass vials on his workbench, quickly swatting it away to grasp at his throat. He needn’t know what atrocious tincture he was planning to use but the result would have been nothing short of deadly. “Brave men have a way of dying quickly.” Silco continues, nearly crushing his windpipe.
“You’re only co-comfortable with war,” Singed tries to speak through Silco’s aggressive hold, “leading everyone else to their slaughter.” Without warning, Singed’s manner of speaking altered from feigned gallantry to that of unhinged wails and screams, collapsing to the stone floor.
Silco backs away from the defenseless heap of a man and into a makeshift bookshelf, receding as far as possible. Analyzing the room for possible threats, he’s completely unaware that you’ve broken out of the subterranean confinement in the shadows of the workbench. You can’t remember the last time you saw daylight, been kept here like an imported brew on tap. A stray scalpel fell through the grates and you’ve been planning this skirmish for days. Not eating, sleeping; rage being the fuel to your explosive inferno.
Singed is slashed at the ankles, the tendons that support his stance have been severed and he helplessly tries to crawl to safety. Silco watches as your aphotic form manifests before his eyes. ‘Where did you come from? How long have you been here?’ He thinks to himself. Paying absolutely no mind to him, you’re primarily focused on Singed as he gets further and further away from you, reaching up to Silco to beg for his assistance. He stands in awe with his back against the cool walls of the den, an audience to this caustic departure.
You hover above Singed’s decrepit form and slam your foot down on his spine, dislocating the vertebrae. A cacophony of groans and objections spilled from his lips in tandem with a flowing stream of cruor. Sitting down on his now crippled body, your weight adds insult to his extensive and growing injuries. You hold the scalpel in both hands above your head, interlocking your fingers with your thumbs fortifying the handle. The repetitive speed and force with which you throw your hands down, piercing into his back brings a quaking excitement to awaken within Silco. Singed’s gurgling agonal breaths fade to nothing but you don’t stop. Silco has to rip you away from the deceased, immediately taking him for another threat amidst your episode.
“No! Don’t fucking touch me! No-” You shriek in distress, unaware that there was even anyone else in the room. Trying to clamber away, Silco stops you from going any further, holding you in his arms to try and bring you out of the adrenaline rush. You turn the scalpel onto him but he easily disarms you, instead replacing it with your face in his hands.
“Shh- shh- It’s okay. He’s gone.” The reassuring truth of your reality travels on the vibrance of his eyes. One as blue as the sky you longed to see again, the other is darker than the deepest corners of your prison; but both are welcoming and sincere.
“He tried to-” Your speech cuts off with a whimper as he hugs you firmly against his chest, thankful that this unnamed stranger also had a bone to pick with this delirious doctor. He wipes the splatters of blood from your face, studying you, pondering at your immense tenacity and willpower, a likeness in durability when it came to suffering that Silco could relate heavily with. You had seen a way out, unknowingly fashioning him as bait. An arrangement that turned out to be beneficial for all parties involved.
Well... almost all of them.
“What are you doing here? What was his purpose for you?” Silco questions, lifting you into his arms to be up and away from your captor.
Holding on tightly to his collar, your knuckles feel the familiar burn of the scalpel in your hands as you burrow your face into his neck, avoiding eye contact. “I was taken and brought here from Piltover. He used me as a human ‘fountain of youth’, I guess. Had some theory that topsider blood has better antibodies, not weakened by the fissures in The Lanes- whatever that means. He’s been keeping me alive but... just barely.” Struggling to say the final confession, it abruptly tumbles out against your will, stroking the stale bandages across your arms and legs. “I’ve been steadily drained intravenously for... I couldn’t tell you how long. Said I reminded him of his... daughter.”
Absolutely mortified, Silco heads for the door, efficiently unlocking it despite his occupied hands to take you far away from this place. “You have no fear anymore. You’re completely free.” He whispers so low you could hardly hear above the steam vents and clanging of pipes. He smells like a burning flame with notes of sweet herb, powerful liquor on his breath. Comforting is an understatement. Tunnel vision closes in fast as you slip into unconsciousness, exhausted from the accumulation of events and hypnotized by his essence.
Running water rouses you from the deep and dreamless slumber. The stiffness of sore muscles ache as you shift in place, trying to stretch. You blink away the blur in your sights and a familiar, slender form can be seen clearly, sitting on the edge of a porcelain tub. “Ah. You’re awake.” He says. That gritty voice dragged itself against every nook and cranny to find a home in your ears, wiggling its way into your mind. It was a stark contrast from the eerie drawl of that mad scientist, inhumanely detached and unpleasant. “I hope it’s not too hot for you.” Rolling up his sleeves, Silco dips his hand into the crystalline water, and lets the excess drip from his palm.
You look down and see that your clothes are stained with a vile combination of filth and scum, but fresh blood remains at the forefront, bombarding you with its vulgar sight. ‘It wasn’t a dream. You... killed him.’ Thinking to yourself, you force your eyes shut in denial of your actions, unsure if you should scream, cry or jump for joy. Shock sets in as you recoil into yourself, scrambling to strip the tattered rags from your body.
Silco quickly stands up from the rim of the tub and stumbles backward, nearly tripping over his own feet to turn away from you, preserving your decency. Crossing his arms, he awkwardly rocks on his heels, listening to the water slosh around as you hurriedly enter the bath. After finally steadying his breath, he notices you’re still as can be, not a peep to escape you. Growing concerned, Silco tries to get you to speak. “Let me know if you need anything, alright?”
Silence.
“I should have known... Warm water has a tendency of stinging fresh wounds-”
“Where am I?” Silco tilts his head at your interrupting question, then replies with a smile, “You are safe. This is my home. Yours now as well, if you choose to stay.”
Nodding with acceptance, you exhale deeply, submerging yourself in the mineral enhanced waters, their healing effects already soothing the muscle spasms. Once resurfaced, washing your hair becomes an arduous task, straining to lift your hands above your head. That’s when you notice the dried and flaky remnants of death rehydrate, streaking down your arms in a ghastly, clotted pattern.
“Gah!” You exclaim, furiously scrubbing so hard the bandages are ripped off and rouge clouds bloom in the water. Its murkiness sends you back to that hellish lair and Silco rushes to your side to keep you from harming yourself any further. Those blazing eyes ground you back to your senses, confiding in him once more. “There were others he used before me but they couldn't survive... What if there are more like him? What if people don’t believe the evils a practice like that holds?”
Silco grasps your wrists to stop the infliction, one hand reaching for a lathered sponge to gently clean you off. He concentrates on your wounds, somber pets to sterilize without worsening their condition and he is successful in appeasing your outburst. “What is truth but a survivor’s story.” He says calmly. “The opinions of others shouldn’t concern you. They weren’t there. They will never understand. But I do.”
You find his eyes again and he pauses, struck by your sudden magnetic gaze. Nerves pass through you both in waves, creating a static in the air. It’s tranquil yet electrifying and you come to terms with the intimacy of the situation, slowing time all around you. Once your skin is blemish free, he reaches for your face to help clean your scalp. Bowing your head, his hand rests on your cheek and he leans in to slightly brush his lips against yours.
The breath is forced out of you on contact and Silco breathes it in. It’s disorienting, the push and pull of momentum that gracefully melds with the aromatic steam feels eternal. Silco pulls away and you’re left reaching for more, glancing nervously between him and the tile flooring, silently wrought with desire.
“Let’s get you something to eat first. Then we’ll see about continuing that if you're still up for it. You’ve got to be incredibly famished.” Smiling in accord with the suggestion, you feel a growl unexpectedly rip through your stomach, earning an enthusiastic laugh from Silco.
He takes a chalice from nearby and sinks it into the water, filling it to the brim. Silco has you close your eyes to lean back, expecting a waterfall across your crown but instead you feel him press a kiss atop your head, reminding you that the kindest people can be found in the bleakest of trenches in this world.
Summary: You have long since been freed of the gladiatorial fighting pits where you worked your days maintaining the visceral grounds. With a tasteful change of view, now you're an employed waitress serving drinks alongside butler droids at Garsa Sanctuary when a particularly tense and recognizable wookie causes a disruption.
Masterlist
My Kofi ✨
You couldn’t be more grateful to be in the employ of one of, if not the most elegant establishments in Mos Espa. Madam Garsa was never one to let talents be wasted, opting to let her staff choose their own work positions. The genuine comfortability made the whole place feel like an oasis amidst these desert wastelands where parched patrons come and go to replenish themselves with the rich and luxurious amenities. Even with the most problematic of guests, the interests of her trustworthy personnel always came before her clients. Of course, having to forfeit a percentage of the house’s income came hand in hand with the license to operate in these turbulent territories, but it at least gave the Madam some peace of mind that she could run the joint any way she sees fit.
However, the laid back ambiance was soon shaken up when someone from your previous occupation pops in to kick the proverbial irling’s nest.
After Jabba’s death, a power vacuum swallowed Tattooine whilst The Twins rode out the aftermath on Nal Hutta, taking Krrsantan with them to pose as a personal bodyguard. Treated to such a liberating stretch of time, happiness and content suits you well. You could pick and choose your own wardrobe as glamorous as you wanted it to be. He probably wouldn’t even be able to recognize you as the unkempt, frail and timid girl who used to shovel rancor manure out of the dungeons and combat grounds. Certainly a droid could complete the task in a fraction of the time, but you speculated that this was just a passive form of humiliation they chose to put you through.
You anxiously escape to the bar with a rattling tray of empty glasses after seeing his graying coat and piercing eyes enter the business. He towers over everyone in the room, commanding a presence wherever he goes and you could not fathom seeing him again. Even though he only ever encountered you in passing, he was nothing but kind. Harassment and teasing was a part of the job when a Hutt sat upon the throne but Krrsantan was always there to give a disapproving glare or a menacing growl at the gesture, already executing a code of ethics on those deserving of ridicule and those in need of protection. He could clearly see you as being the latter, stepping in to buffer the mockery. You’d be lying if you said you never had prying feelings for him.
Unsurprisingly, you’ve found your own voice, no longer relying on the reluctant help of others to be a safeguard. Trying to focus on work and not colorful backgrounds of the clientele, Madam Garsa orders you to bring him refreshments while she advertises a list of services to partake in. He denies everything from gambling to courtesans, simply requesting an open tab with an endless flow of liquor that gave everyone else here a run for their credits.
Krrsantan soon morphed into the living embodiment of pure rage and all it took was a congregation of rambunctious trandoshans on a hot streak. Every time they were dealt a winning hand his chest would rise and fall with the guttural timbre. Occasionally, a static crackle would flicker across his clenched knuckles, priming them up. At this point, he’s completely abandoned sipping from a gilded chalice, violently taking massive gulps straight from the pitcher. Aware of the impending chaos, you safely gather some of the other girls away from the scene and behind the bar. At first they’re confused until they see bodies flying across the foyer, ducking beneath the counter in fright. They later beckon the question how you predicted such a turn of events, whispering to themselves at the possibility that you have a history with this tenacious wookie.
One last outburst sealed their fate as everyone on Krrsantan’s hit list was tossed aside like unwanted garbage. One of them even gets a little testy, idiotically shattering a bottle of spirits over his fortified and spiked pauldron. Unphased and more insulted than anything, he turns to face this unfortunate trandoshan, hell bent on dismembering him for daring to breathe the same air. Even through all this... you had to admit, he looked good when he’s been mean.
“I think you’ve made your point.” A calming yet assertive voice cuts through the noise, revealing itself to be your courageous manager driving a wedge through the altercation before anything or anyone else suffers a beating. She tries to reason with him, dialogue muddled by the murmurs of the onlooking crowd as well as your spooked colleagues. The yammering dies down a bit when she refers to the cruel past that these two quarreling species share, being sure to mention Krrsantan’s rise to fame through intense martial prowess. Madam Garsa humors his aching mood, hoping to ease this calamity by offering to clear all record of his debts he owes here.
Krrsantan methodically weighs the cost in his mind, giving his adversary a false sense of hope that he would consider yielding to rational thinking. Air is sucked out of the room as the masses gasp in fright at what happens next.
The shrill cries of pain travel on the reverberation of offended groans at the sight of Krrsantan dropping his victim in pieces. The poor girl tending to the now mutilated party stands with her palms upright as he unceremoniously relinquishes a large portion of his funds, finding satisfaction in paying his own debts, no matter how brutal the tactics. He scans the room, feeling the burn of judgement scorch his ego until he sees a striking set of eyes that force a bombardment of memories to flood his brain. Your understanding gaze is the only thing that ever convinced Krrsantan to show mercy, to not give into the taunts of his enemies. Had he seen you just a moment sooner, this might have never happened. He disguises the guilt he feels from bringing this unhinged savagery to your workplace with disgust for its spectators, storming out in a temperamental exit.
“It was worth a shot.” The proud new Daimyo stated to Madam Garsa from where he stood at the entrance before following Krrsantan outside. She shrugs with a scoff, rolling her eyes at such drama, then tells the band to continue playing. The tension breaks and everyone acts as if it was just another day at The Sanctuary and you’re left trying to grapple with the most eventful workday of your life.
‘You’re imagining things. He glares at everybody like that. There’s absolutely no way he recognized you.’
Shaking your head loose of these plaguing questions, you put on your best drink-serving face and finish the remainder of your shift. Wages were handed out as maintenance droids powered on and soon the premises was clear of inebriated stragglers with the rising of the Twin Suns. You looked forward to walking home in the cool dawn before the blistering heat sets in, tired from this nocturnal routine while wishing you could see a certain guest from last night.
You’re westbound, walking with your back to the sunshine. The warmth is stark against the eclipse that befalls your face and you giggle to yourself at the stretch of your own shadow. Its playful form spans the entirety of the horizon before slowly expanding in width. For a moment you think it’s just a trick of the eye, your fatigue taking hold until you find that the darkness has completely engulfed you.
This wouldn’t be the first time an overzealous drunkard has followed you home, concentrating now on the crunch of dirt and pebbles beneath their feet. Your heart begins to race as you sneakily reach for the vibroblade you keep holstered at your thigh. Mustering up all your bravery, you pivot on your heels to get the jump on this predator, defensive stance ready for anything.
“Stop! Stop following me!” You yell at the obscured silhouette. The glare of sunlight was blinding and made it hard for you to make out who it was. Fear set in the closer this tall, mystery figure got to you. You hold the knife outward and recoil into yourself until your eyes adjust.
“It’s... you.” Speechless and trembling, Krrsantan obeys your command and doesn’t move any closer. Instead he kneels down, the brightness blinding you for a second until he stands tall once again, basking you in his shadow. A rectangular tin slides from his feet to yours and you flinch at its approach. Putting away the blade, you pick the little box up and rattle it against your ear, something soft tumbling inside.
“Is this for me?” You ask, perplexed and he nods, patiently waiting your reaction. Opening the container, a vibrant and intoxicating smell filled your nostrils. It was full of wasaka berries with a piece of flimsi stained in red poking out from the bushel. The words ‘I’m sorry’ were signed in aurebesh, and your jaw grows sore from grinning so hard. This tender little care package melted your heart when you realize he had to get someone to write this apology note for him personally. Pondering to yourself, maybe it was that sharp dressed Daimyo that shared a few words with him on the patio of back at work.
“It’s okay. If anyone is to understand why you did that, it’s me. We go way back, don’t we?” You both laugh dryly, not wanting to address the bantha in the room that you’re both free of indentured servitude. “Glad to see you’re on your own now.” He shrugs, humbled by your presence and pleased to know that you’re in much better care as well.
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen a friendly face. You’re not expecting me to eat all these by myself, are you?” You chuckle while pointing your thumb behind you in the direction of your domed house, only a few minute’s commute away.
Krrsantan has to remind himself to take smaller steps as he walks alongside you, wanting to travel at your pace to make the most of this trip. He listens to your every word as you recount the events of the past few years, in awe of your resilience. You both were conditioned to endure in such different ways but each no less tormenting. He remembers the filthy confines they would keep you in and is pleased to see your cozy abode, albeit a bit small for his tastes. Krrsantan has to hunch down to get past your threshold but is thankful for the cavern-like interior to give him more mobility and headroom as you navigate him to the collection of mats and blankets in the common area.
With the berries washed and plated, you distinctly remember these being a delicacy on the planet Kashyyyk, but also a symbol of affection to those who receive them as a gift. Your pulse accelerates with the realization that this was more than an apology. This was an act of passion.
Kicking yourself for not noticing before, you think of a way to reciprocate this offering in the most unexpected way possible. Krrsantan was so polite in your home, waiting for you to finally approach him. You circle around with the plate of fruit and pop one in your mouth, holding it in your teeth by the long stem. He raises his scarred brow in your direction, astonished that you’re privy to his native customs and fidgets with excitement when you offer it up for him to take.
His eyes grow wide, lips parting and you can see his ivory fangs, glorious and pearlescent. He bites down on the dried stem that creates a bridge between your mouths and you pause to watch him savor the fruit from the vine. Within an instant, you’re being pulled by the teeth to collide with him as he jerks his head back, making you stumble into his lap.
Krrsantan’s embrace is comforting, ever so gentle as your palms are cooled by the unforgiving protective plates that cross his chest. Your nonverbal permission for him to explore your body is met with a hasty removal of his cuirass as it chimes in a pile on the floor. All that remains is the ornamental charms in his long hair, tasteful and stylish from your perspective as you admire his long, salt and pepper locks.
Taking a second to catch your breath, Krrsantan pets your face with his broad and calloused hands, raking his long fingers through your hair. With every motion, you began to notice something out of place that only confirmed the horrendous treatment of this renown champion.
You reach for one his massive hands with both of yours, fingers tracing each digit up to his notorious knuckles until you feel something completely foreign bulging beneath his skin. He lets you examine the extent of these modifications, verifying the rumors to be true; metallic alloy injections on every knuckle that made him a threat even without his dusters. How alienating this must have felt to only be perceived as a killing machine, never at a feudal disadvantage.
Krrsantan grumbles in defeat, thinking you’re having second thoughts about this whole ordeal when all his worries are hushed as you follow the line of your own jaw with his coarse hands, caressing them against your smooth skin. He freezes, stunned by your seamless acceptance of something that strikes fear in all who cross his path. You are slowly proving that he can leave all expectations and insecurities at the door, finding himself in good company at last.
It's as if the fictional shackles that weighed him down have been released and Krrsantan can show you that he wants this; that he needs this. Those shifty glances he sent your way through the years began to add up. All the times you saw him stand just a little straighter when you walked into his line of sight started to make sense. He has been the shield that guards your realm even long after making a name for himself. He never dared to forget about the spark of life you gave him. If anything, you were the highlight of those grueling days. Seeing your face meant there was still hope.
Of course you want to keep going, but Krrsantan is getting ahead of himself and you have to tell him this is new and you’re in uncharted territory, feeling him travel lower and lower to grope your luscious assets. You appreciate his eagerness but there are stages to this game and you need time to... adjust.
“Hold- hold on a minute, Santo.” He makes note of the change in your demeanor, a confused inflection in his purring. “I’m sure you know it takes a little while for humans to- uhm... prepare.”
He looks at you with a slump of his shoulders and you clearly deduce his body language to be amused by your rhetorical statement, wasting no time to embark on this crucial step if you’re to really enjoy yourself. Krrsantan holds you by the nape of your neck, stroking his thumb on your features to keep your eyes trained on his as he unzips your formfitting jumpsuit from the collar down. You gasp at the painfully slow pace he undresses you. The way the stretched fabric vibrates against your nipples sends shivers down your spine and Krrsantan hums upon the reveal of your bare breasts. His eyes dip down to idolize your beauty, the gentle hand caressing your nape slightly gains aggression as he takes a fistful of your hair, firmly holding you in place. It’s blatantly obvious what he is craving and you dare not to keep it from him for another moment.
“Go ahead... I know you want to do it.” At that notion, Krrsantan tightens the grip in your hair, pulling you up to his mouth. His lips rear back to proudly reveal every fang and molar before carnivorously latching onto your neck. The bite isn’t nearly strong enough to be lethal. Just enough to make you clench your thighs together with arousal.
Krrsantan opens your knees to dive between your legs as he marks every naked patch of skin in sight and you yelp at the alluring sting. He strips you of the singlet with ease and you’re being lowered onto the mountain of pillows. The pads of his fingers offer the ideal friction as he finds the perfect spot to tease you, rubbing circles around your clit before probing you with one of his hefty fingers. He hovers, supporting himself on his elbow as he watches you wiggle and writhe at the sudden intrusion. Judging by the depth he was reaching, it was difficult to comprehend this was only one of them.
Your hands fly to his wrist in shock when he locates that sweet spot deep inside that makes you abandon all control. The continued pressure he applies to your core coupled with the brushing against your clit had you holding onto his pelt for dear life, screaming into his chest and thrashing in waves. Krrsantan’s vigor knows no bounds as he inches down your torso, replacing his hand with his mouth this time.
“K- Krrsan-!? Wh- what are you doing!” You watch in disbelief as Krrsantan hooks your legs over his shoulders, presenting your blossoming center right in front of his mouth. Putting his robust and muscular arms under you, he raises himself to his knees to fashion you as a mask of sorts, his hair acting like reins. He would never drop you, but the awareness that your ceiling was an arm’s length away had you giddy with how weightless you felt in his clutches.
If you weren’t wet before, you’re definitely soaking now. You couldn’t decipher where his saliva starts and your slick ends, let alone already losing count of the climaxes he’s rung out of you. You’re breathless and debilitated from the strain, but he’s nowhere near done with you yet.
He finally breaks contact to initiate the next phase. You glance at him, disoriented and confused as to why his grip on you is loosening until the thought finally clicks. The backs of your knees slide down his shoulders until they meet the crooks of his elbows. “Oh!” You exclaim when a firm prodding appears at your backside. Krrsantan maneuvers you with one arm while guiding himself in with the other, careful not to invade the wrong area. He growls in unison with your high pitch wail during the splitting entry. Knowing it’s too much too fast, he steadily bobs you up and down until your supple body yields to his breadth. You wince at the stretch but soon find yourself welcoming every ridge and vein as it impales you further.
With a face burning hot, you lose yourself in the incredible magnitude of the distension emerging in your abdomen. Before long, the tickle of Krrsantan’s draping fur met with your rippling ass, pushing as far as he can into you. He stops for a beat to watch himself disappear within your walls and you roll your hips, feeding into your own pleasure to grind against him. He throws his head back, letting you push him into the bedding as you take his place, asserting your dominance. Krrsantan studies your every move as you mount him but is baffled when you swivel on his shaft, facing the opposite way.
Now on your knees straddling his waist, you bend down to really give him a show. Spread wide and hugging every inch of his vast length, your elbows snugly rest on one of the many pillows that surround you. Krrsantan’s legs clench at either side of your head and you dizzily smile at how well you fit together. Amidst your continuous slamming, he would land a rigid slap at the crown of each cheek, massaging the tingle away until it was nearly soothed before reviving the flare all over again.
Krrsantan started to position himself on his knees now, lifting your waist with him as he keeps your face pressed down without ever faltering. He so courteously pushes your dampened hair aside, allowing you to breathe as well as see your contorting expressions. Your entire body quakes with his thrusts as he scores your back with his abrasive nails, deafening shrieks being muffled by the cushions in your face. Krrsantan was becoming more vocal, allowing his roars to fill the room and advertise the sensational bliss that comes with collectively approaching that blessed summit. It was the perfect fuel to your seductive fire, especially when he made sure to keep in contact with your clit.
The captivating influence you have over one another has Krrsantan lacking in speed, easing himself out of you as hot ropes of his spend shoot clear across your back, dripping down your curves. The sheer amount turned you on more than you ever thought possible, letting out a shaky breath when you watch a glistening stream stain the bed of textile that separates you from the stone ground. Krrsantan is blown away, panting to himself as he stumbles about to look for a cloth to wipe you down with. You’re left tipsy by the afterglow as your body surrenders to the fatigue, laying flat on your belly.
A rumbling laugh sounded off from where he stood in the room, entertained by your worn-out state. After a long shift followed by strenuous physical activity, you were about ready to pass out. With a few thorough swipes of the towel, Krrsantan cleaned you off. You were too drained to even move so he curls up beside you on the floor, pulling you into his space. The suns have risen far past the horizon, indicating it to be at least high noon. You should have been asleep hours ago but luckily for you, you have the next couple weeks to yourself for a desperately needed vacation. After this day, you’ve never had a deeper sleep than curled up in Krrsantan’s lap.
Warnings: (18+) smut, fluff, angst, close proximity nervousness, praise, fingering, biting, slight edging if you squint, face sitting, oral female/male receiving, 69ing, creampie.
Summary: Cad Bane prided himself on having such a seamless outlet for relaxation, usually a few liquor drenched rounds of sabacc were enough to make him call it a night until a new list of bounties made it to the guild boards at the start of the next rotation. However, after meeting you, it’s been many moons since he last visited a crowded and pretentious casino, opting to spend his downtime tangled into your limbs.
Masterlist
My Kofi ✨
The foggy atmosphere threw a blanket of morning dew across the swampy terrain on Numidian Prime and it made you reluctant to leave your bed. With nothing planned for the day and the overcast sky being the perfect incentive, you roll over and submerge yourself in blankets, deciding on a few more hours of shut-eye.
*clink* pause *clink*
“Hmm?” You lift your head from the pillow and blink the crystalized sleep away from the corners of your eyes, trying to ascertain where that noise came from. The drapes are pulled on the row of windows in your towering woodland abode, blocking the gloomy view to the outside. Due to seasonal flooding, your elevated home is built into a gnarltree so you chalk it up to a branch tapping the exterior and go back to concentrating on falling asleep.
*clink clink clink*
Those taps were a little too methodically placed to be a wandering branch. Your interest is piqued and you saunter over to inspect the balcony. Sliding the screen door aside, you slip out into the cool breeze, stopping for a moment to inhale the crisp, clean air when a sultry voice beckons your attention below.
“Mornin’, little lady.” Cad Bane murmurs from beneath the wide brim of his hat, concealing those flaming eyes of his. You can faintly make out his laid-back smirk spread wide across his face as he rolls a toothpick around his teeth in the distance. “Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep, but I was in the neighborhood-”
“Bane!” You excitedly cheer at his unannounced visit. It was routine for him to drop by during his time off but he always made sure to call first. He was always unpredictable, going long stretches of time without ever venturing to your neck of the woods. “Come on up!”
Oddly enough, he still doesn’t look at you, only nods in acceptance before gliding to your entryway steps. His stride is slightly sluggish and it sends a concerning dagger of dread to emerge from the pit of your gut. After hastily washing your face and fixing your hair, you decide to meet him halfway down and it strangely looks like he’s depending on the vine-like railing to support him. Upon hearing your approach he forces himself to stand tall, pretending to be completely fine but you know him better than that.
“Why didn’t you call? I would have been up earlier.” You question while silently observing his clenched jaw and labored breathing, waiting for the right moment to pry.
“Eh... Comm is busted along with Todo but they’ll be up and working in no time. Things got a bit hairy on that last bounty.” He replies with an annoyed shake of his head. “Didn’t even seal the deal neither. Whole thing was rigged from the start. Remind me to never work with Kaminoans. Ever. Again.”
“Those aren’t the only things that are busted. How long were you gonna try to hide those bruised ribs from me, huh?” Bane laughed at your astute observation as you slung his arm over your shoulders, helping him inside.
“It’s not so bad. Quit yer fussin’.” Bane tries and fails to deviate from your coddling, so independent. He’s still not used to the way you demonstrate affection, always timid and flustered every time you give him a helping hand. He lets out a strident hiss when you remove his floor-length duster coat, further exhibiting his condition.
“Not so bad? You wana prove that?” Unconvinced, you turn your back to him in the direction of the resfresher to retrieve your first aid kit when a strong hand grabs your wrist, twirling you around in a blurred motion. He always hated it when someone called his bluff.
You’re being pinned against a wall, wrists on either side of your head with the canopy of Bane’s hat casting you in its shadow. “This proof enough for ya, darlin’?” His face is a mere inch from yours now and you’re startled by his playful assertiveness. The span of his angular form is pressed firmly against yours making you unable to move. Even in this beaten and battered state, he could easily overpower you and the thrill had your heart nearly jumping out of your chest. “You think I came all this way so you could stress yourself over something that could be fixed by a good night’s sleep?” He tilts his chin towards yours and you draw a sharp breath at the closeness, momentarily self conscious with your drowsy appearance. “One of which I know you’ll provide for me no problem.”
“It- it's not too much trouble to p-put a med patch on...” He started to seek out the adorable stutter in your voice that happens when you’re nervous, pushing every foreseeable button in order to watch you crumble.
“And waste valuable time I could be using to show just how much I missed you?” His devilishly handsome eyes drift closed and your mouths feverishly collide, confirming his true intentions. The scent of carbon scoring and charred leather blessed your senses, remnants of his most recent expedition. Bane’s grip on your wrists loosened to let you pull him even closer by the collar of his shirt. “It can wait.”
Cad Bane is well known for his cunning resilience, every hint of discomfort he displayed before is no longer present as he slides his nimble fingers under the thin fabric of your sleepwear. His palms are stark cold in contrast to your balmy skin and you let out a high pitched moan in surprise. There was enough heat radiating from your core to compensate for his chilled anatomy, soon acclimating yourself to his touch.
“Where’d your pretty song go? Loth-cat got your tongue?” Bane loved to tease, asking the silliest of questions when your mind is literally bombarded with his intimidating essence. He delves past the elastic band at your waist, helping himself to your pulsing prize within. You couldn’t stand the emptiness anymore wiggling forward to desperately gain friction on his abrasive, swollen finger pads. Bane sees your determination and raises the stakes, giving into exactly what you’re wordlessly begging of him.
You slump over, loudly crying into his slender embrace as he drives a singular digit inside. “Now, that’s more like it.” He declares, referring to the colorful whines that escape you. This marksman is a professional with his extremities, able to consistently please with little to no effort at all, thus reducing you to a blubbering mess within seconds. The initial rapture has you winded, riding out the fluttering surge of bliss.
Bane feels the increased weight of your grasp as it starts to yank at his clothes, unable to effectively undress him yourself. He takes the hint, pulling his hand down and out of you to coax your garments to the floor while simultaneously sliding his other one up to your shirt sleeve, stripping you first before himself. Beryl hues flood your vision upon seeing his pure, albeit scarred skin as clothing falls in a pile around his boots leaving absolutely no barrier between your desirous flesh. Just before Bane kneels to the floor, he focuses that smoldering stare on you as he drops his jaw to savor the lingering nectar on his used finger, cleaning it off.
“Sweeter than sugar...” He drawls, dabbing your lips with his saliva. Starting at the peak of your breasts, his towering form descends, groping any and all vantage points. Bane hums to himself, favoring your curves such as a royal subject admires his queen, pining for her grace. He stops at your voluptuous thighs, parting your legs so your feet are at least shoulder width apart. With a flash of his tapered teeth, he bites down hard and you grouse at the prickling tingle. Bane soothes your affliction with his tongue, petting the entire way to the enticing purgatory of your hips.
At the drop of his hat, he began to devour you like it was his last meal. He navigates past your folds, tasting your ambrosia from its source and you’re bracing yourself against the wall. The panic of hurting him is a mere afterthought due to his viable behavior, but it still pesters you. Bane can sense your apprehension, resolving it by hooking his arms around your legs to have you brace against him instead. You’re being guided away from the wall as he secures you to his face. The whir of his breathing apparatus activates, getting lost under the cacophony of wails.
Daring to look down, his glowing fixation meets with yours at the same time he decides to hone in on your blossoming bud. Bane has to fight to keep your knees from clamping shut, aware of your imminent climax before a bright idea causes him to shoot to standing. No longer being supported, you wobble into his grasp as he sweeps you off your feet, making a beeline for the bedroom.
Setting you down, he lays on the mattress, stark naked and erect while motioning his hand in a ‘come hither’ signal. You raise a brow, thinking he wants you to return the oral favor so you climb over, about to take his throbbing shaft in your hands.
“No.” He tsks. “Up here. Let me finish what I started.” He takes your palm in his, drawing you in. As you make the awkward maneuver to mount his features, Bane is left aghast when you topple over, compromising so you both get what you want. “Hell, that’s even better than what I had in mind.” He groans when you finally coil your velvety grip around the rigid girth that taunts you, tongue darting out across his tip, bobbing up and down to slather him in your spittle.
Cad Bane has been very clear in the past about how he feels when you cautiously hover above his features, making it a regular practice to forcibly hold you in place, no matter how violent your writhing becomes. He usually wouldn’t let you go until you’re hyperventilating and overstimulated, but with the added benefit of your flirtations conduct, you might just give each other a bit more than you bargained for.
Bane is able to bring you back to the substantial plateau that had your muscles contracting before, all the while bunching the blankets in his fists with how deliciously you taste him. His upward thrusts into your mouth muffle your incessant whimpers as you withstand wave after wave of electrifying pleasure, aimlessly swinging in this makeshift pendulum.
After nearly inducing a cramp in your calves, Bane tosses your limp and frazzled body aside, letting you rest for a moment on the pillow as he changes positions. Cupping the back of your knee, he raises a leg to spread you wide, gawking at your divine figure while scooting even closer. “Ready, little lady?”
The clever rhetorical question made you giggle as you nod earnestly for him to split you open. Bane attentively coats himself in the accumulated slick and you both watch as he sinks into your walls. He starts incredibly slow, reveling in the loveable expressions you make with every push and pull of his hips. The sway is exhilarating, sending you adrift on a never ending estuary of sobs. Soon he’s hunching over you, caressing your stomach to feel the minor bulge at his depth and showering you with compliments. He’s always so proud of the erotic journey you both embark on during every engagement. Each time has just as much passion as the last, making the days when he doesn’t come by drag on, monotonous and unfulfilling. He truly had a way of adding a dose of spark to your life.
Bane was getting close and you could see it in the periodic spasming of his shoulders. His thrusts increase in power, punching every vestige of oxygen from your lungs until you’re silently screaming. The tightness nearly threatens to push him out of you but he refuses to let up, intent on filling you with his spend. He anchors himself on your breasts to undergo the discernable wavering that these finales entail, an ornamental lust to encourage a spectacular finish. A few final convulsions and you’re brimming with excessive release, feeling it already making a mess of your sheets. Bane is completely drained, sliding out to witness the shimmering flow pour from you.
He leans in, closing the distance to steal a kiss and you taste the muted notes of yourself still present on his face before he speaks. “What do you say after we hop out of that refresher of yours, I let you play medic with me?”
He has no idea the awakening he’s set off by doing that. However he is in need of some medical attention, after all. “Only if we get to go again.” You sinfully agree.
Warnings: angst, fluff, hurt, comfort, conflict from misunderstanding, canon typical violence, language, a kiss.
Summary: Rogue clones aren’t the only persons of interest that The Empire can’t afford to lose. Now, they’ve put a bounty on the head of every member of medical personnel that had anything to do with genetic advancements. The cascade of control slowly shuts down the entire System in stages and it’s only a matter of time before that chokehold finds its way around your throat.
Writing Masterlist - My Kofi✨ - Part 1 Here
Read on Ao3 and Wattpad.
After a few moments, the dust has settled from the enlightening revelation and you break the uncomfortable silence with a single word. “No.”
Crosshair removes his head from the shroud of his hands to look up, confused that you would defy their want to virtually erase your identity from existence. A method like that seems easy on the surface, but you know without something for these mercenaries to report back to the authorities, they will never stop coming. You want to make sure they believe you’re dead or, at the very least, too much trouble to pursue. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean, what if we devise a plan where we fabricate my death? Or just lure them all together like fish in a barrel. I am open to options here!” You’re riding out the high that this price on your head ultimately makes the many placed on countless clones pale by comparison. There is a only a fraction of sought after personnel with an appraised cost much higher than the subjects they experimented on. Why would anyone waste their time with something they regard as a lab rat when they could track down the regenerative stem cell specialists themselves?
“This won’t be like any other mission.” Echo chimes in, somewhat doubtful of the basis of your plan but remembers he didn’t stand down when it came to confronting his history with the Separatists. He already has his reservations about them, but this is a different enigma altogether. “Regardless, it’s worth a try.”
“I think it would be beneficial to go over the outcome probabilities to a certain degree. Just to see where hypotheticals lead.” You are ever thankful that Tech can be the voice of reason, allowing your plight to be heard despite the obvious protest.
“This sounds dangerous... but I understand your strategy.” Omega surprisingly agrees. Your confidence has been boosted, knowing even a child won’t shy away from this battle.
“Yeah, I’m with the kid. Nobody messes with us!” Wrecker enthusiastically confirms his supportive stance and all that’s left is a consensus from Hunter.
“You’re not seriously thinking about going through with this, are you?” Crosshair jumps to his feet to advance towards Hunter, knowing he might get out-voted.
Hunter contemplates for a while and you’re held in agonizing suspense. It’s no secret everyone works best as a team, but you don’t want your own people to have any bad blood. Stakes as high as these are too fragile to gamble on personal feelings.
“Okay. We’ll do it, but on one condition.” The elation you feel when he casts his vote has you jumping in place, but you promptly remind yourself to maintain composure and listen to his stipulation. “If things get too crazy, we cut our chances and abort. I don’t want to see anybody playing the hero, got it?”
“Speak for yourself. This is a mistake.” Crosshair’s grimace shifts from Hunter to fall upon you before departing into the darkened hull. You’ve been so focused on your own endeavors that you didn’t even consider why he would feel so sore about this. You want to prove that you’re not a liability and this, in your eyes, is the perfect opportunity.
With the attention all on you, a massive divide has put you at odds with one of the most vital members of the group. Nervously sighing, you decide to follow Crosshair. “I think I should go talk with him.”
He’s sitting on his bunk, rifle in hand and occupied by disassembling the main components and reassembling them at an expert’s pace. He doesn’t even acknowledge your entry and the coldness strikes you to the bone. “Hey. Is there something you want to tell me?”
A bitter scoff escapes him accompanied by a disapproving shake of his head. “You’re too smart to be that dense. I can’t believe people once called you Doctor.”
Well that most certainly hurt, and it’s getting harder to resist his taunts, manipulating you into into playing his game but there’s more to this than what meets the eye. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that and just come out and ask: why do you have such a problem with me? I’m just trying to do what you do.”
“You don’t want to ‘do what I do’. People like you, it’s not in your nature.” Every chastising word out of Crosshair’s mouth since you’ve joined them has been a direct jab at your capabilities and you weren’t going to put up with it for another second. You thought it was just playful hazing before, like a rite of passage, but now it’s clear he has a bone to pick with you.
“Before, when I pulled the blaster on you, I just wanted to test that skill you taught me. I know I can do more than just heal wounds. I can prevent them from even happening if you help me defend myself and others too.” Your attempts at winning Crosshair over aren’t as fruitful as you hoped. His fists clench around the mechanics of his firearm before sliding them into place, slamming the stock into the floor. The loud disruption is startling and you fall back into the adjacent wall.
“You help in far better ways than killing.” He retorts, turning his back to set his gun on the rack, hoping that would be the end of the conversation.
“I never thought the notion of killing anyone was a problem. You do it all the time.” Letting your temper get the best of you, you reply with a patronizing observation that showcases just how close-minded your view on the war is.
“We didn’t have a choice! I didn’t-” Crosshair’s voice remains quiet enough for it to stay below a full-on yell, but the intensity and grit in his tone increases tenfold. He cuts himself off, exhaling roughly through his nose so he doesn't accidentally say something he’d regret. After a couple breaths, he steadies himself before continuing with a fluctuation in his voice “Soldiers take lives. Doctors save them. You haven’t the slightest clue of what it is you’re asking for.”
“Crosshair...” Taking his warm, gloved hands in yours, the both of you sit at the edge of his bunk together. His knee bounces anxiously and he refuses to find your eyes but you speak to him anyway. “You can’t shield me from all the blaster bolts in the galaxy. I’m going to have to learn how to protect myself eventually.”
His face contorts into an exacerbated scrunch but softens when he realizes you have a point, grumbling in frustration. “I hate it when you’re right.” The ability to reconvene with an otherwise brick wall of a person makes you a valuable asset that Crosshair isn’t prepared to lose. “Just... don’t do anything stupid.”
“How about this, I promise to aim for the legs. Slowing them down is better than the uh... alternative. Deal?” The compromise you offer helps morph Crosshair’s apprehension into some semblance of relief, allowing a smirk to appear at the corner of his reticent mouth.
“Deal.” The anger from before fades and the emotional barriers keeping you apart have dissipated. Resting your head on his pauldron, it grants a much needed period of reflection and tranquility that gives you both the assurance necessary to overcome this trial.
You and Crosshair are immediately welcomed with wide smiles back into the main deck of the ship where Hunter is fast at work leading the capable crew through a plan to get this bounty off your back. Tech uploads holograms of various convicts in pursuit of the same goal and each one illuminates the space in blue light. “Cid gave us a list of competitors that have also been commissioned to do this job. As far as she knows, it’s a rag-tag group of Nikto bikers that were banished from the Kintan Striders of Tattooine for taking their pillaging a little too far. If we can make sure Cid believes we’ve completed the mission, then eliminating the rest will be the easy part.”
“How can you be so bad you’re shunned from other bad people?” Omega’s bewilderment is a reminder that there will always be new levels of barbarity to uncover in the world.
“If we received the same intel from Cid then they should still be somewhere on the planet.” Tech theorizes in conjunction with Hunter’s announcement. Heading towards one of the computer terminals, he sits down and begins rapidly tapping the interface. “If I can bypass control of the security system in Ord Mantell City, I might be able to pinpoint their whereabouts before they stray too far.”
“But then what? We still have to take them out.” Wrecker contemplates, wondering what the plan of action is.
“Use me as bait. I’m who they want right?” The finality in your tone astounds Crosshair, urgently letting his disapproval be known.
“I agreed to this mission but you’ve got another thing coming if you think I’m agreeing to that.” His fury returns with a vengeance but this is the only way you can think of that would exploit the greedy customs of your foes to your advantage.
“Come on! It’s the perfect plan! Let tunnel vision work its magic so they’re blinded by the price on my head.” You try to rationalize with Crosshair, hoping he will come around to your logic, even if it is quite hazardous.
“They’re right, Crosshair. These guys sound like they’d rather cut their losses and kill each other instead of having to split payment.” Echo adds and Crosshair’s eyes shift in contemplation. Desperate times would call for measures of the same magnitude and the chances of that happening are pretty high. This push and pull is beginning to wear on him and he acquiesces once more.
“You’re not making this easy, Doctor.” That moniker holds a different ring when he uses it, especially when you’ve provoked him with your boldness.
“Things worth doing usually aren’t, Crosshair.” Your snappy counter told him that you weren’t giving up and you could count on hearing him complain or watching him pout the entire way there.
“Then that settles it. Gear up everyone. We’re heading out as soon as Tech has the coordinates.” Hunter commands leading everyone to scatter amongst the armaments and equipment, but Crosshair opts to sit in the cockpit to mope all by his lonesome until takeoff. His position on this matter makes all your decisions come with a backpack of guilt when all you want to do is show him that you’re just as adept as they are.
Tech locates an abandoned cathedral that was once a bustling place of worship. The Kintan weakness for vandalism is what gave their headquarters away; crude insignias painted over nearly every entrance to symbolize the overtaking of the territory. It’s not a very fortified stronghold. Hardly any guards in crucial vantage points and it almost looks deserted if it weren’t for the aromatic incongruous elements wafting from the establishment. It’s more of a crash pad than anything, holding pungent notes of Sansanna Spice and your nose burns at the scent.
“Remember the plan?” Hunter asks and you confirm with a nod while pulling the hood of your poncho up to cover your face.
“Memorized every bit ” You respond, tapping a finger to your temple through the cloth.
“Keep the volume on your comm off so we can hear you but they can’t hear us.” Echo adds as a final tip and you make the adjustments accordingly.
“I swear, if I don’t see that thing blinking in five minutes I am storming in there myself.” Crosshair's modulated voice pries a chuckle out of you, something that you need more than anything right now. Unfortunately, beneath that comic relief, there is true fear on the same breath that is meant to soothe your nerves. The plan is to go headfirst into the nexu’s den: give the gang leader some phony story about how you can’t hack it on your own and you’ll go back to work so long as you’re not executed for desertion.
“I’ll be fine, Cross. Trust me.” You bring your hand up to the base of his helmet, unable to see the torment behind that smoked out visor but knowing it’s there still leaves a bruise on your heart. He doesn’t try to talk you out of it or say that he is displeased. Crosshair just can’t find the right words to tell you that he doesn’t want harm to befall the people he cares about. He tucks his chin to lightly press his helmet to the top of your head, holding it for a moment or two before pulling away. That’s the most you've ever received from him, apart from the “That’s my girl.” he said when showing you the life-saving maneuvers earlier.
“Take my blaster. Please.” He fiercely implores while holding his pistol out, but you choose to deny his wishes.
“I already told you, it would be more believable if I didn’t.” With a piteous sigh, Crosshair nods and places it back in the holster.
“Keep what I taught you in mind then.” He grumbles before departing with the rest of the group, giving your hand an encouraging squeeze as you push through the ornate yet sadly dismantled threshold.
The first floor is vacant and filthy. There is evidence of drug use on every surface along with half empty spirit bottles and illegal assets strewn all over. A pair of dusty stairs scale either side of the foyer that leads to the next level and you decide to take the one on the left, audibly shouting the terms of surrender. “If you're up there, I know you’re looking for me. I’ve come to turn myself over. It’s too hard out here and I’d rather have three square meals a day and a roof over my head instead of dying for some cause I can’t afford to believe in.”
The lack of noise is unnerving but you keep yourself moving forward. Any wavering in your behavior and it could cost you the integrity of this ruse. Hopefully these thugs are dim enough to fall for it.
You’re atop the steps now and no one is in sight. The feeling in the pit of your stomach screams that this is wrong but you hold off on activating your comm just yet. They have to be here. The coordinates? The footage? Your fretfulness urges you to question the accuracy of Tech’s findings.
“A long way from home aren’t you, braniac?” Comes a gruff and abrasive voice in front of you. From the woodwork emerges the leader of this band of brigands, blaster in hand and pointed directly at you. “Thing is, if I kill you now and take your head, there’ll be no one else to claim the winnings.”
“Look, I know the Kaminoans said ‘dead or alive’ but what’s in my head is worth a hell of a lot more than this. Just let me-” Your train of thought is derailed upon sensing an agony that blocks you from finishing your statement. The first warning bolt is fired at the mention of a wager for your life and it scorches your left shoulder. The smell of charred textile and flesh don't blend well with the sour atmosphere and you feel like you're going to pass out from shock.
“You’re lucky there’s more of you out there. I can just pick up the next one when I’m done. You see, it’s a long way to that dreary system and in this economy? You can’t expect me to waste the majority of my credits on something like fuel.” Taking a gamble, you try to reach for your comm device but he fires a second shot downward, grazing your leg. The searing pain forces you to stumble, dropping to your knees with the device clattering across the room. Luckily, the impact activates the comm and delivers your signal to the cavalry just outside.
The doors are blown out with a blaring explosion that fades into blaster fire. It startles you as well as the sleemo with a loaded pistol at your head. The panic in his scaly face grows when he hears the only backup he was planning to betray are dropping like brainless insects a level below. “Call them off or you’re done for.” He threatens, taking a couple impatient strides forward so he’s just out of arm’s reach.
Someone can be heard stomping up the right side stairwell and the gang leader tries to stop them in their tracks by saying, “I hear you get any closer and they’re dead!”
Crosshair wastes no time in aggressively responding with “And you’re dead if I do so it’s your move!” His enraged voice echoes through the building and into the upper chambers, giving you the strength to put your feet beneath you to stand.
“Please just let me go, okay? If there’s more like me out there as you say, then am I really worth it? He’s not gonna kill you if you let me go.” Raising inch by unbearable inch, you almost meet his eye line and you’re trying to calculate the perfect moment to reach for his gun, exactly like Crosshair taught you.
Crosshair continues to yell stalling threats over a few flights of stairs and the gang leader listens, turning his head to the side and taking his aim off you for just a second too long. Utilizing the adrenaline in your veins, you successfully disarm him. He’s just as taken aback, laughing in your face as if he didn’t expect that to happen either. “Full of surprises, aren’t we? Sorry, but you don’t look like the type to-”
The impulse to pull the trigger overwhelms you when confronted with that insolent impression of your character for a second time. The sickly green Nikto falls on his back with a pillar of smoke levitating from his chest to the ceiling, coughing between the yelling of expletives. There’s no way he’s going to live through that and you're floored at the thought of the moral consequences.
He lays writhing in death throes and you hear the familiar sound of boots on stone floor closing in. Pointing the blaster in the direction of the clamoring, you see that it’s none other than Crosshair sprinting into view. “It’s alright. It’s me. See?” He slings the Firepuncher around his torso to move it out of the way, freeing both his hands to grab your comm and secure it to his utility belt. The substantial grip you have on the blaster is more guarded than you opponent’s by a long shot and Crosshair wants you to drop it. He walks over the indisposed assailant, one hand cradling your wounded shoulder and the other covering the slide of the gun, eyes skating over your whole body in assessment. “Look at me. Focus. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“He’s dead... Oh, Maker. He’s dead!” You exclaim between quickened breaths.
“No, look he’s still breathing.” Crosshair clarifies before firing a deadly bolt between his obsidian eyes to cease the last vestiges of his wailing. “There. Now he’s dead.”
You feel the prickling twinge of an impending cry but it stops short when Crosshair caresses your face. Peering through your lashes, his helmet slides off and you’re able to look into those glowing russet eyes of his. “Don’t you feel sorry for him. Don’t waste a single one of your tears on scum like that. He was going to kill you.” It’s not that he doesn’t want to express emotion, but there is a time and a place for it and at this second he need you to concentrate.
“I tried to aim for the legs but,” You wince from the radiating soreness of your wounds when Crosshair puts his arms around you, fighting to speak. “I... I don’t know what happened.” Continuing to incoherently ramble faster than you can properly enunciate, you careen through your words and Crosshair has to grapple with your state of mind.
“I know you hated doing that. I hate it too. But you did what was necessary in keeping yourself alive. Look at me!” Tightening his grip, he doesn’t want to shake you up more than you already are, but the turbulence of seeing someone die this way is heinously repulsive to you. It’s not like being in the Kaminoan clinics where it happens on an operating table. A person’s life is not a matter to take lightly. “I need to get you home. Everyone’s downstairs.”
The lightheadedness that clouds your mind is gone in a flash when Crosshair holds your gaze, eyes periodically flickering to your parted lips. The pain, the hysteria, it’s all there but he is able to pull you out of the disturbance after some coaxing. Your breath is in tandem with his and the hyperventilating has come to an end. Crosshair’s hold softens, shifts from rigid and unmoving when trying to get your attention to tracing the contours of your jawline with his thumbs. He lifts your chin a little higher then pauses, searching for approval in your ragged disposition.
Pleading for contact, your hands reach for his chest plate and his powerful stance keeps you upright. Hovering with half-lidded eyes, his kiss is a special type of serenity you will cherish forever; a bittersweet minute that feels like it lasts hours. Crosshair pushes himself into your face just a little harder before pulling away, taking you in his arms to carry you down the monumental stairs.
The remainder of the squad watches his meticulous descent, meeting him halfway to pore over the damage you sustained. He could hand you off to Wrecker and let him carry you to the ship, but Crosshair deems you too precious to let that responsibility be fulfilled by anyone else. The right loving sentiment is all you require in order to properly initiate the healing process from this traumatizing occurrence.
Cid hands over an ample payout for a job well done, nearly quadrupling the rates when she heard the malicious Kintan gang has been removed from this realm, but the loth-cat is out of the bag. She finds that they spared you all along, looking the other way when she sees you unconscious and resting upon arrival. She takes pity on you and your fearsome friends, thinking a break is in order and turns your name into one of trillions crossed out bounties on the guild list; all because she sees the financial benefit to having her own little clone force to do her expeditious bidding.
Crosshair and Omega stay by your side through it all until the blissful moment you regain consciousness. Lula’s plush ear on your cheek welcomes you back to reality but there’s something else. Blinking the crystalized sleep from your lashes, a clear image of Crosshair clutching your arm with Omega playing on one of Tech’s hand terminals beside him clears up.
“You’re awake!” She cheerfully exclaims and Crosshair’s strained expression melts into long-awaited comfort.
“I knew you would.” He whispers with a smile, leaning over to touch his forehead to yours like he did at the cathedral without the barrier of a helmet to buffer his affections. “You’re strong, just like us.”
