[Warning: This is story will have femdom in it. But it’s far more plot than porn]
My alarm screams at 6:15 AM like it’s being murdered, and I hate it almost as much as I hate myself for setting it in the first place. Twenty-five years of breathing, and this is what I’ve earned, four hundred square feet of diocrity with a view of a brick wall. Truly Boston’s finest.
College was supposed to be the golden ticket for good ole. Instead, the diploma hanging crooked in my hallway might as well be toilet paper for all the good it’s done . Three years into this sales gig at TechNova, and every day blends into the next like watercolors left in the rain.
The routine is soul-crushing in its precision. Drag myself from bed. Shower under lukewarm water because the building’s boiler is temperantal at best. Pull on whatever dress shirt doesn’t sll like desperation. Choke down instant coffee that tastes like it was filtered through an old sock.
The subway is its own special hell, pressed against strangers who look as dead inside as I feel. I scroll through LinkedIn, pretending my life doesn’t make want to scream into the void.
Then cos the parade of trust fund babies playing entrepreneur. They nod while I pitch software packages they don’t understand, using money they didn’t earn. “This will revolutionize your workflow,” I say, knowing full well their “workflow” consists mainly of Instagram posts from their office’s bean bag chairs.
Brad, my boss, will inevitably find sothing wrong. “Tyler, those conversion numbers are pathetic. My grandmother could close more deals, and she’s been dead for eight years.” He’ll laugh at his own joke while I fantasize about quitting in spectacular fashion.
By the ti I drag myself ho, the only relationship I have energy for is with my microwave and whatever frozen dinner is on sale this week.
I collapse into bed only to do it all again tomorrow. Rinse and repeat until retirent or death, whichever cos first.
Except today. Today feels different. But is it good different or bad different?
‘I really can’t tell.’
I splash cold water on my face, trying to shock myself into feeling sothing other than existential dread. My hair’s still dripping as I stare at my phone, thumb hovering over the dating app I deleted three months ago after a disastrous date with a woman who seed a little too into her own brother for her own good.
“Maybe this ti will be different,” I mutter to my reflection. “Maybe there’s soone equally dead inside who wants to Netflix and pass out by 9:30 on a Friday night.”
I pocket my phone without reinstalling the app. Baby steps.
The morning air hits as I exit my building. My tie feels like a noose, but at least I rembered to wear matching socks today. Small victories.
That’s when I spot the kid at the intersection, tiny backpack, scuffed sneakers, jabbing the crosswalk button like it owes them money.
“Co on, stupid thing!” the kid growls, smacking the tal pole.
I check my watch. I’m already running late, but sothing about the scene pulls toward it. The kid can’t be older than ten.
“Those buttons are mostly for show,” I say, stopping behind him.
The kid whips around, eyes narrowed with suspicion. Smart.
“My mom says I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” he says, but keeps pressing the button anyway.
‘Smart mom.’
The light still hasn’t changed, and the kid lets out a dramatic groan that would put Broadway actors to sha. He shifts his weight from one foot to another, impatience radiating off him like heat.
“Screw this,” he announces suddenly, stepping off the curb.
My brain registers several things at once, the walk signal still showing the red hand, the rumble of an engine, and the flash of tal as a delivery truck barrels around the corner.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding ,” I blurt, my body moving before my mind can catch up.
I lunge forward, arms outstretched. My fingers close around the kid’s backpack, pushing him forward as I throw myself into his path. Montum carries us both, and I sohow manage to roll us across the yellow line. The truck horn blares as it speeds past, driver oblivious to the near-tragedy.
We land in an ungraceful heap next to the sidewalk. My lungs burn like I’ve just run a marathon, and my heart hamrs so hard I’m convinced it’s about to punch through my chest. Years of desk work have not prepared for heroics.
“You okay?” I wheeze, helping the kid to his feet while I remain on my knees, trying to rember how breathing works. My palms are scraped raw, and my once-clean shirt now sports a lovely collection of street gri.
The kid stares at , mouth hanging open, eyes wide with shock. He nods slowly.
“I can’t believe I just did that,” I say, a hysterical laugh bubbling up my throat. “I can’t believe I’m alive.”
Sothing in the kid’s expression changes. His eyes widen further, focusing on sothing to my left. Before I can turn, I see the reflection in his pupils, headlights, too close, too fast.
There’s no ti to move. No ti to think. Just a split-second of clarity, this is it. This is how Tyler Walsh goes out. Not with a promotion or a retirent watch, but saving so random kid on a random Tuesday.
The impact is both everything and nothing like I expected. A flash of pain so intense it transcends anything I’ve ever felt before. The world spins, folds, compresses. I hear screaming, maybe mine, maybe the kid’s, maybe both.
As consciousness slips away, a strange thought bubbles up.
‘At least I did sothing valuable before I died.’
And then… Nothing.
*****
I gasp awake, lungs burning as if I’ve been holding my breath underwater. Pain pulses through my skull in violent waves.
“Kid!” I croak, my voice strange in my ears. “The truck…”
But there’s no intersection. No screaming. No blood-slicked asphalt beneath .
Instead, dappled sunlight filters through a canopy of alien-looking trees, casting weird shadows across... wait, what the hell am I wearing?
My hands co up reflexively to check for injuries, but instead of my pale, office-worker fingers, I’m staring at gauntlets. Red armored gauntlets, scratched and weathered like they’ve seen combat.
“What the fuck?” I rasp, my fingers scrabbling upward to touch my face, only to connect with the smooth surface of a helt. A fucking helt. I paw at it frantically, feeling for clasps, catches, anything.
“Rax, Rax! Calm down,” a voice chuckles nearby, deep and resonant with an accent I can’t place. “You’re fine.”
I whip my head toward the sound and nearly scream.
Looming over is... not human. Not even close. Blue skin stretched over an elongated skull. Massive, unblinking red eyes that seem to glow in the forest shadows. The creature is crouched beside , wearing battered armor that makes my apparent getup look positively pristine.
“You took quite a hit when that tree ca down,” the alien continues, gesturing at a massive fallen trunk nearby. “Been out cold for a few minutes. Had worried, kid.”
“What?” My voice cracks as panic surges through . “Where’s the intersection? The boy? Who the fuck are you?”
The alien’s expression shifts subtly, concern replacing amusent.
“Rax, it’s . Bana.” He speaks slowly now, like I’m a spooked animal.
Bana laughs, a sound like gravel in a dryer, and claps on the back hard enough to make my teeth rattle inside the helt.
“Don’t tell you lost all your mories on , kid? That tree must’ve knocked you harder than I thought!”
His words trigger sothing strange in my brain, like soone flipping through radio stations until they find a clear signal. Fragnts of unfamiliar mories start filtering in.
I see myself training with blasters on so dusty world. I recall the sll of engine grease as I helped maintain a ship that sohow feels like... ho? These aren’t my mories. They belong to soone else, to , but not .
“I’m... Rax Orlen,” I say slowly, testing the na on my tongue like it’s an exotic food.
More mories cascade in. I’m a bounty hunter, well, a bounty hunter in training. This blue guy is Bana Sobill, my ntor. We’re tracking soone through this forest. A Nikto nad Jo-bali who skipped bail. We’re supposed to deliver him to... oh shit.
“The Sith Empire,” I whisper, the words feeling both foreign and familiar.
“Am I in fucking Star Wars?” I mutter under my breath, quiet enough that Bana can’t hear .
I struggle to sit up, my head spinning as I try to process these dual mories, Boston sales guy and Star Wars bounty hunter. It’s like my brain has two operating systems running at once.
“Bana, I don’t feel so…”
The flash cos before the sound, a brilliant red beam cutting through the forest air. My sentence dies as his head just disintegrates into smoking chunks. Blue flesh and bone fragnts spray across my visor as his body crumples like a puppet with cut strings.
“No!” I scream, bile rising in my throat. The ntor I barely rember is dead as fast as I t him.
Through the ringing in my ears, I hear boots crunching on the forest floor. I look up to see a squad of troopers in gleaming black armor, their weapons trained on . They look almost like storm troopers, but not quite. The armor design is different, more angular, more nacing than what I rember from Star Wars.
At their center stands a human woman with skin so pale it’s almost luminescent. Her black robes ripple around her like living shadows, and her eyes... her eyes are cold yellow pits of hatred.
“Kill him!” she shrieks, her voice like breaking glass. “He must be with Vaelix!”
Terror freezes for a heartbeat, just one, then my body launches into motion before my brain can catch up. I’m sprinting through the forest, legs pumping with a strength I never had in my previous life. The air in my lungs burns as I gasp through the helt’s filters.
Red plasma bolts sizzle past , so close I can feel their heat through my armor. One strikes a tree beside , sending splinters flying across my visor.
“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” I pant, weaving between trees while struggling to rember how to operate the unfamiliar body I’m piloting. It responds with surprising agility, muscle mory kicking in even if my actual mories are a jumbled ss.
A bolt grazes my shoulder plate, the impact spinning around. I stumble but sohow stay upright, using the montum to change direction. My lungs scream for oxygen.
“The ravine!” a voice shouts from behind. “Cut him off at the ravine!”
I have no idea what ravine they’re talking about, but I sure as hell don’t want to find out. I veer sharply left, charging through a dense thicket that tears at my armor. The undergrowth slows down but provides cover from the barrage of blaster fire.
Through a gap in the foliage, I spot sothing, a small structure nestled against a rock face, almost invisible among the vegetation. So kind of bunker or hideout. Without hesitation, I change course toward it.
The sounds of pursuit fade slightly as I break through the tree line. The structure is crude but solid, a mix of natural stone and tal plating that looks scavenged from a ship.
I slam against the weak make-shift door, fumbling with it, certain that at any mont a blaster bolt will punch through my spine. The door gives way, and I tumble inside, kicking it closed behind .
Outside, the sounds of blasterfire suddenly transform into sothing else entirely, screams punctuated by an ominous, familiar hum that makes my skin crawl. The unmistakable sound of a lightsaber carving through armor and flesh.
I press my back against the wall, heart hamring in my chest. Whatever’s happening out there, I want no part of it. Bana’s corpse is still fresh in my mind, and I’ve hit my quota of traumatic experiences for one day.
My eyes dart around the dimly lit interior, searching for anything useful. There’s a small control panel on the far wall, blinking with a faint blue light. I stumble toward it, my legs still shaky from the sprint through the forest.
“Please be sothing good,” I mutter, pressing what looks like the main button.
The floor beside slides open with a chanical groan, revealing a set of stairs descending into darkness. I nearly sob with relief.
“Oh thank fuck.”
I practically throw myself down the stairs, the trap door sliding closed above . Ergency lights flicker to life along the walls, illuminating what appears to be so kind of monitoring station. Computer terminals line one wall, showing feeds from hidden caras throughout the surrounding forest.
I collapse into a chair, my breath coming in ragged gasps. “Today is fucking crazy,” I wheeze, pulling off my helt to wipe sweat from my face. “I’m dead, then I’m not dead, then I’m in Star Wars, then my blue boss gets his head vaporized, and now…”
My words die in my throat as I focus on one of the monitors. It shows the area just outside the bunker, where the troopers who were hunting are now being hunted themselves.
A figure moves among them with terrifying grace, a crimson blade slicing through armored bodies like they’re made of paper. But it’s not the pale woman from before. This one has deep red skin and sharp black horns protruding from her forehead. Her movents are precise, almost beautiful in their deadly efficiency.
“Jesus Christ,” I whisper, unable to look away as she cuts down the last trooper with a casual flick of her wrist. Her eyes, glowing red even on the grainy monitor.
“That’s not good,” I mutter, wondering if I’ve just traded one horrible death for another.
“Who do you think you are, breaking into my hideout?”
The voice cos from behind , rough and angry. I spin around just in ti to see a vibroblade arcing toward my face. Pure instinct takes over, instinct that belongs to Rax, not Tyler, and I throw myself sideways. The blade misses my throat by milliters, the vibrating edge humming past my ear.
I catch a glimpse of my attacker’s face in the dim ergency lighting. Green-tinged skin. Spiky protrusions. Reptilian eyes narrowed with fury.
“Jo-bali?” I gasp, recognition flooding through . The Nikto I’ve been sent to nab.
He lunges again, vibroblade humming with deadly intent. I scramble backward, knocking over equipnt as I go.
“Listen, man,” I stamr, hands raised. “I’m freaking out here. There’s no need for us to fight!” My back hits the wall. Nowhere left to retreat. “I don’t even care about your bounty anymore!”
Jo-bali snarls sothing in a language I don’t understand, but his aning is crystal clear. He’s not interested in negotiations. The blade arcs toward again, this ti slicing through a section of my shoulder armor like it’s made of cardboard. I feel the heat of it graze my skin.
I stumble, heart hamring against my ribs. That’s when my hand brushes against sothing holstered at my hip, a blaster pistol. Of course, I have a blaster. I’m a bounty hunter, for crying out loud.
My fingers fumble with the unfamiliar weapon, nearly dropping it as I yank it free. Jo-bali sees what I’m doing and charges, vibroblade raised for a killing blow.
I squeeze the trigger in pure panic, the recoil stronger than I expected. The shot goes wide, blasting a hole in the ceiling. Debris rains down as I fire again, desperately, clumsily.
This ti, the bolt catches Jo-bali square in the face. The Nikto falls instantly, his montum carrying him forward until he slides to a stop at my feet. The sll of charred flesh fills the small room.
“Holy fucking shit,” I wheeze, staring at the smoking corpse.
I lean against the wall, sliding down until I’m sitting on the floor, blaster still clutched in my trembling hand. My breathing cos in ragged gasps as I try to process what just happened. Apparently, Rax isn’t exactly a crack shot, but it worked. That’s all that matters.
“I just killed soone,” I mutter, the reality of it hitting like a physical blow. Then I laugh, a short, hysterical sound. “I died, then I killed soone.”
A movent on one of the monitors catches my eye. I push myself up, legs still shaking, and stumble back to the control panel. The screens above show the two Sith won circling each other in a small clearing, lightsabers humming with deadly intent. Everyone else is gone, just these two predators left standing.
They move faster than seems possible, red blades clashing with explosive bursts of energy. The red-skinned horned woman, the one who slaughtered the troopers outside, ducks under a wild swing from the pale Sith and drives her lightsaber forward in a vicious thrust. The blade catches the pale woman on her chest, drawing a scream of rage more than pain.
“Damn,” I breathe, wincing despite myself. I can see the pale Sith’s face contort with fury as she staggers backward.
The pale Sith suddenly moves with blinding speed. In one fluid motion, she slashes her crimson blade at the red-skinned woman’s side. My breath catches in my throat as I watch the horned warrior’s eyes go wide with shock, her own lightsaber dropping from her fingers as she falls backwards to the ground.
“Damn,” I whisper, pressing closer to the monitor. The red-skinned Sith lies motionless, sprawled across the forest floor like a broken doll.
The pale woman clutches at her own chest wound, her face contorted with pain. She staggers backward, throwing anxious glances around the clearing before turning and limping rapidly away from the scene.
I switch between cara feeds, tracking her retreat. She’s quite agile for soone so injured. Within minutes, she erges into another clearing where a sleek black ship waits.
“That’s definitely a bad guy ship,” I mutter, watching as she stumbles up the boarding ramp. The engines fire up almost imdiately, glowing an ominous red before the ship lifts off, disappearing into the sky with a scream of thrusters.
I stare at the monitors, slowly processing the scene that just played out. The pale Sith is gone, but the red-skinned warrior is still lying motionless in the clearing.
“Shit,” I whisper, rubbing my temples. “What am I supposed to do now?”
My options are limited. I could stay in this bunker until I starve to death, or I could venture out and potentially get murdered by whatever other horrors this galaxy has in store for . Neither choice seems particularly appealing.
I glance down at Jo-bali’s corpse, then back at the monitor showing the fallen Sith. Sothing tugs at , curiosity, maybe, or just the desperate need to understand what the hell is happening to .
I take a deep breath, steeling myself before climbing the stairs back to the surface. The forest air slls of ozone and charred flesh, the aftermath of lightsaber combat.
Following the path I saw on the monitors, I creep through the underbrush until I reach the clearing. Bodies of the black-armored troopers lie scattered around, so cleaved nearly in half. I try not to look too closely as I step around them.
And there she is, the red-skinned Sith, lying exactly where she fell. Her wound is a perfectly cauterized, the signature mark of a lightsaber strike. Her lightsaber rests a few feet away, its tallic hilt glinting in the sunlight.
I approach cautiously, half-expecting her to spring up and cut in half. But she remains still, her chest barely rising and falling with shallow breaths.
“Oh shit, you’re still alive.”
I kneel beside her, hesitant to touch her. Up close, her red skin has an almost luminous quality, and those black horns curve elegantly from her forehead. Despite the circumstances, I can’t help but notice she’s breathtaking in a way that defies my brain’s ability to process. Like, unfairly gorgeous, even half-dead.
“Hey,” I say softly, not expecting a response. “Can you hear ?”
Her eyelids flutter, then open. Red eyes, glowing faintly like embers, focus on with startling clarity. I freeze, suddenly aware of how vulnerable I am. This woman slaughtered a squad of troops like they were practice dummies. If she wanted, she could probably kill with a thought.
But instead of violence, I see sothing else flicker across her face, recognition, followed by disbelief. Tears well in those red eyes, catching completely off guard. She reaches up to cup my face.
“Ty-Lar?” she whispers, her voice a ragged, hopeful sound.
My blood turns to ice. That na. Not Rax, not even Tyler, but Ty-Lar. Like so weird space version of my original na. Before I can process this bombshell, her eyes roll back and she slips into unconsciousness again, hand falling limply to her side.
“Why the fuck does she know my na?”
Potential Vaelix image:
Sith Trooper:
A link to my discord to get updates easier:
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