#bring back galaxy leggings

[mutatedponies]

petition to bring back 2014 galaxy 😊🙈🦄😝🍭🥳

[oceanisnthere]

If 2024 is the new 2014 how come no one is wearing galaxy leggings.?!?!

[aboutnavi]

I genuinely, wholeheartedly think we should bring back galaxy leggings. And I don’t mean like… let’s make it a trend so it will be cool when I used it. No. Just bring it back enough that I can find a place to buy it. People can still find it weird and cringe or whatever, I don’t care but it’s impossible now to find a place to buy it and I’m going insane because I really want one.

[bigfatbimbo]

I love you like an Alcoholic

2.1k words,, Bill x Reader

a/n — You did it, you saved the town.

warnings — NSFW, dom!reader, sub!Bill, toxic relationships, book of bill time era, orgasm denial, ambiguous superpowers, NOT PROOFREAD**

summary — Bill goes to his incredibly powerful (moreso than him) business partner, you, to try to get him out of theraprism. Things take a turn.

“I had to pull a lot of strings for this Bill,” you cross your legs and lean back in your thrown. 

Bill straightens his bow-tie, “Well toots, what if I told you I can make it worth your while?”

You breathe and then get up from your chair, “I’d tell you to stop floating in my lair. It’s distracting.”

Snapping your fingers, a bar appears in your otherwise empty room. While pouring yourself a drink, you can feel Bills eye-roll from across the room.

With a tip of his hat, his more human form appears, and sits down at the bar stool next to you. “Better?”

“Could do with more abs.”

He laughs but doesn’t change his appearance, “So, y/n. We go way back, right? I’m not gonna sugar code it, you’ve always been one of my favorites to do business with, doll. Wanna know why?”

“The fact i’m always so interested in what you have to say?”

His eye practically twitched at your indifference. Your attention was never payed in full. “Ha! Don’t flatter your self, pal. No, i’ll tell you why: did you know out of everyone in the galaxy, you’re the only equal I do business with?”

Your eyebrow arches, “equal?”

“Humor me,” he doesn’t give you the chance to reply before continuing. “Now, given my current position in ‘necessary therapy’—“ he makes a point of doing obnoxious air quotes, “—I don’t have much to occupy my days. And we both know i’d be of better use to you out here, right?”

You took another sip of your wine before getting up from the bar and walking over to your throne. The bar disappears behind you, leaving cipher ass-flat on the ground.

“Oh come on—“ His open eye turns red momentarily, before he dusts himself off, “Look, it’s hard being a god, y/n, I know that much. With that responsibility, I think a business partner would do you good. And all you’d have to do is bail me out, that’s practically no downside for you at all, buddy.”

Your patience had been wearing thin, and without further consideration you let out a larger grown from your chair, “Cipher, you’re a liability. I don’t want you. I’m honestly struggling to find enjoyment in sharing a drink with you, despite our history.”

A flick of your hand lifts him off his feet and brings him over to you, “Thought you had a no floating policy, eh?” There’s no fear in his voice, but there is in his eye. He’s losing.

“I’m gonna make this clear to you. You’re gonna take your disgusting human form, and you’re gonna march your happy ass back to theraprism, and you’re gonna stay there. Want my advice? Stop being so damn pathetic.”

A portal opens to take him back and he struggles in your invisible grasp, “No, wait! Please, I’ll do anything, just wait!” 

A human form was already a disadvantage, one he’d accepted in order to strike a deal, but a disadvantage still. And he hadn’t had any contact in a long time, aside from various psychiatrists telling him what’s ’wrong with him.’ 

So, you being someone he has history with could have contributed to his annoyingly human problem. Maybe it was the excitement, your attention or the lack there of, but something terrible happened at that moment. 

“Jesus, Bill. You really have hit rock bottom,” You murmur to yourself as you pull his floating body closer to you, your fingers dance around the bulge without touching it.

“Hey, hey, watch it— Your the one that made me have this stupid fleshbag, anyways— cut that out!” He struggled in the air, finding that he just couldn’t turn back into his normal form. You’re doing, he’d assume. 

To his dismay, you giggle and lean back, “Well now i’m enjoying myself. Now this I could help with, Cipher,”

“Ah, ah pass! Just get me down from here and—“ Back to prison? He’d have to swallow his pride on this one. And besides, it’s not like he wouldn’t like it… “Whatever you want, doll. I’m here all night.”

You examine him further, “Is that so?” 

Before he can answer, you drop him to his knees in front of you. “Ow! Careful with the merchandise, sweetheart. I’m not in mint condition these days— ah!”

Your foot presses down lightly on the bulge in his pants, and your fingers grab onto his chin, “Been a minute since we’ve done this. Huh, Cipher?”

He nods, going to say something, before you interject, “So i’d be good if I was you, baby.”

You press down on his hard-on with more pressure, watching Ciphers face flicker, biting his lip, before letting on a whimper. 

Despite not being his first encounter, so to speak, with you of this nature, it never failed to eat as his pride. And furthermore, despite this, it felt good. If Bill was anything, he was selfish. He could admit he was letting it happen for himself, instead of in spite of himself. So it can’t be that humiliating?

But in this position, there’s always shame.

“Y/n — give me a break—“ He breathed, eye twitching. 

You rolled your eyes and snapped your fingers, with that, his pants were gone and his dick was exposed. That’s another thing he could do without: your unpredictability 

“Next time, say please. Asshole.” You say, lifting him up with your powers once more.

“Wow, buddy. I’m not the one being the jerk here—“ It came out quick, as Bill words often did. But these ones he regretted immediately.

Your eyebrows furrowed, “Tough crowd?” He felt a sensation tugging at the base of his dick, indicating the start of mind games that wouldn’t end anytime soon.

He backtracked. Play it off. “Yeesh, you’re a tough crowd! Did I say jerk? You heard me wrong, I meant lovely— Ah, wait! Wait!”

A wave of pleasure flooded his senses abruptly, followed by a short pinch of pain, similar to what a mortal feels when they prick their finger on a piece of metal. Does that happen a lot? They’re all so clutsy, can’t be that out of the ordinary—

“Smooth talk your way out and maybe I’ll lighten the blow, yeah?” You smile cruelly, hand dangling out, flexing as if teasing what you could do to him.

“I— I know we’ve had our disagreements but I— augh!” A spike of pain, his eye rolled back a bit, “You— I’ve always admired your work— Yes! Respected you even, you’re an idol, sweetheart, ah, yes!”

With each compliment a burst of pleasure would go through him, landing at his unnatural dick, now leaking with precum. He was nearly babbling, but he was as aware of that as he was aware of the fact it was dearly encouraged.

“Very good, Billy. You’re too sweet, really.” Your voice was smooth and you bit your lip, watching him writhe with pleasure mid-air.

“A-anything for you, toots! Ah, more, more!”

He didn’t notice he said anything wrong this time until it was too late, but your face had noticeably darkened at the statement. 

“That’s awful demanding for someone in your position, dontcha’ think?” You weren’t actually mad, of course you weren’t. But you loved to you with him, and you took every opportunity. One of the reasons Bill tried to avoid you when he could; you were far too similar people, dealing in cruelty for the sake of entertainment.

“Wha- No wait!” The attention to his dick ceased to exist, and he was left with only aching for attention again, despite the fact you never gave anything physical in the first place. 

All mind games. “That’s- That’s not fair!”

“I’d watch who you were talking too, baby,” You flick your hand, spreading out his body parts mid air, hard leaking cock protruding out, crying for any kind of sensation. 

“You know what I can do. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you,” You sigh expectantly.

Bill tried to speak to defend himself, to talk his way out, but he found his ability to gone.

“I can make you do what I want, Cipher. Can make you feel whatever I want. Extraordinary pain—“ He cries out for a split second, eye flashing with fear, “—Or overwhelming pleasure.”

This time his eye rolled back, and he moans in wonderful agony, unable to move expect for wriggling his body parts weakly. His dick twitched.

“You like that feeling?”

He nods weakly, eyes fogging up, letting a small whimper escape.

“Don’t want me to hurt you?” Another nod, “Want me to make you feel good? Think you deserve it?”

“Ah— y/n, I need…” He swallows, revising his words in his mind, “Please, I need this.”

It’s true, Bill had never reached such a low in his entire existence. And he wasn’t sure if this interaction was pushing him further down or making him feel better. Now, however, he was struggling to think.

“Aw, baby. You have taken your punishment well? Been having a rough time too..” Your tone switched to something softer, almost to a condescending note.

His pathetic appearance did him justice, he pretended this was on purpose. 

Either way, a whine slipped from his throat and he shut his eyes, playing into it. You cooed in response, bringing him closer to you in order to run your hand along the side of his cheek. 

A spurt of pleasure shoots through his dick once more, and now he can’t help but yearn for something more. “Touch me— I need it— Please.” He threw in, trying to help his chances, despite the struggle at forming a coherent thought other than need.

“Hm,” You consider. Finally you reach out, running a finger along the base of his cock, to the tip. “You really want me to?”

He nodded desperately, mouth falling open to let out a small whine. Swear bedded his hot, red face, and dripped down, make his multiple chins glisten. Ugh, you preferred him further away. His already greasy looking hair was now slick against his forehead, and his eyes were glazed over. 

You slowly shift all of your fingers onto his shaft and then saintly drag them up and down for the first few strokes. A gutteral whimper falls from Ciphers mouth, “Oh, yes!”

“What do we say, baby?” You ask, grip tightening suddenly as if to bring him back to reality, but not too tight. 

“Ah— Thank you!” He’d almost forgotten to detest you for making him say that. And he’d almost forgotten to remind himself to be mad after he was done feeling good.

He used to daydream about taking you down after these sessions. Rising to power and having you at his feet. But now he only wants to keep your attention on him. Now it’s all he can think about. 

You continue to stroke his leaking cock, leaning in to kiss his cheek fat, “Good boy.”

He moaned, “Don’t do that-“

“I’m not patronizing you. I mean it, you’re acting better than usual and i’m glad. Maybe you’re more desperate, or touch-starved, but you’re doing good. I’m proud of you, sweetheart.”

“Ah—“ He would have came right there if he could. And in the most literal sense, he couldn’t. You weren’t letting him. “Please, let me come. I can’t do this, have mercy, I’ll do anything—“

“I don’t know, I’m having a good time. Why should I?” Another desperate need to release wipes over him, an uncontrollable need that was actively being controlled. 

Despite himself, he teared up. His fingers rose to touch his face, which he realized, was now damp with falling tears, “No, no, no! I can’t- I’ve never- Human bodies— I need to. Please!”

You look at him and smile. 

“I’ve been good,” He reminded you.

With that, you have in. Your other hand moved away to snap your fingers, a gesture that wasn’t need to carry out the action, but to show that he’d earned his reward. 

“Yes! Thank you! Oh gods— Oh-“ He leaned back, finally having the orgasm that was being withheld from him. And god, it felt good.

You felt good, and he hated that. 

[yandere-sins]

Monstober - Day 3: Alien

I've read so much alien romance by now—it's a good way to incorporate monsters ngl—I feel like I have seen it all. And yet, there is just something about it that I will never tire of ♥

Prompt: Day 3: Alien | Otherworldly // Uncanny Valley // Space Warnings: Yandere, Violence (Threats, (Alien) Blood Mention, Killing (of aliens), Getting cut), Abduction & being auctioned off situation, Belittling of Humans, Alien Manipulation

"And next up: A very rare pet of the type "human"! Directly imported from their home planet, "Earth," to be loved and cared for! Bidding starts at one million GSC!"

You felt terribly exposed without your clothes, merciless, harsh lights burning down on you, and no shade to hide in. Even with your arms tightly wrapped around your body, legs tugged in and crossed over, you still felt the stares of the creatures below, even if you couldn't see them. Their hungry growls and huffs echoed all around you while the price kept rising.

The lanky stature of the monster that hosted this auction paced back and forth on the edge of the stage, asking for participation and making this deal worthwhile. The creature looked like a humanoid cricket, with spindly legs, four arms, and three fingers on each hand that it kept pointing left and right.

"Four million GSC! Four-point-five million GSC! Do I hear five? Five million, thank you!"

You couldn't help the tears filling your eyes as you listened to the worth of your self, something you never had a say in determining. Even with your father swearing up and down that he adored and cherished you more than his own life, you knew that his gambling addiction would one day ruin everything you loved. You just didn't think he'd go as far as to sell you—to aliens nonetheless.

On earth, you had thought you had seen it all—highs and lows, in person or on television. But in your cell on the spaceship that flew you through the cosmos, you learned you knew nothing. You were a tiny speck in this endless design, and it left you feeling empty and meaningless.

You met quite a few species back when you were waiting for the auction to take place. Humanoids, insectoids, and some completely unexplainable. You learned that most aliens sold themselves to wealthier species to live a better life, not so much concerned with pride or shame as humans were. Thus, the existence of an enslaved human caused quite a ruckus in the galaxy. You had yet to learn the worth of GSC—the currency beyond your planet—but apparently, one million was akin to a yearly income here.

"Twenty-five million GSC! What an amazing price for a priceless pet! At this point, it will only be fair if you lovely participants know what you're getting into!"

At this, you finally raised your head again, bracing your eyes against the painful light as the thumping of steps closed in on you. A three-fingered hand reached out for your arm, and as green and gnarly as it was, its movements were fast and precise. You cowered away but weren't as quick and nimble, and the fingers were large enough to wrap around your upper arm, yanking you back.

Without any warning, a small claw emerged from one of the alien's free hands, cutting you right above its own fingers around your flesh that held you in place. You gasped but the creature hummed approvingly before it dabbed a white tissue to the wound, soaking up the blood. Unnecessarily harsh, the monster discarded your arm again, making sure to let you know how much you really meant to it with all its actions—nothing.

You were simply a means to an end. One that would hopefully bring lots of money.

If not for the precarious state, you should have been angry. Angry at your father, angry at the world—the whole galaxy even! How dare they sell you like a piece of meat with no regard for your well-being and wishes! Sure, they weren't used to the pridefulness of a race they deemed weak yet untouchable by the laws of their organization. But the way they treated you, abused you, and disregarded all of your self as if you truly were a mindless animal only seeking food and shelter to simply survive was beyond insulting!

You were still a human! The superior race on your planet. You still had intelligence and empathy and deserved so much more than their belittling treatment!

But here, you were nothing. The alien disappeared with the sample of your blood, and you saw it bend down at the edge of the stage, leaving you to assume it was passing the tissue to someone else, who, in turn, probably gave it to the patrons of this establishment. The crowd suddenly erupted in a heated cacophony of sounds. More groans and huffs spread through the masses, and the alien auctioneer clapped his four hands together as more offers were yelled into the room.

You were just a piece of meat. One to purchase and show off, play with, ruin, break, and then force to be the good pet that they paid millions for. At this point, you were pretty sure that they wouldn't stop and keep your dignity intact. That no one here truly cared whether you'd be happy or scared or embarrassed.

"Fifty-three million! Sixty-four! Do I hear sixty-five—Seventy million GSC!"

The enthusiastic grunts and murmurs made you sick to the stomach, and you hunched over, cowering in your position. Maybe they were right; perhaps you really were just an expensive piece of meat.

You hadn't given the future too much thought yet, too afraid of the present after you were kidnapped and shipped to space. But what if, despite them calling you "pet", you'd actually be killed and eaten? What if once you weren't new, weren't special anymore, you'd simply be discarded, ending up on the streets of an alien planet where you were at the mercy of those creatures? What would you do if they were all hulking, strong beasts that could throw you around like a ragdoll, hurting you, abusing you?

Or worse... Oh god, you could think of so many more things they could do, and yet you were too afraid to form the thoughts in your head.

There were so many cruel ideas in your head as you sat there, hunched over, despair filling your body and mind. You had to do something, had to get away. Pride was one thing, but survival was the most primal need you had in you. And as much as you wished for it all to be over, how could you possible achieve this? How could you, a simple human make them stop tormenting you? Secretly, you had already accepted their superiority; it had been this way since the old ages. Masses made you humans strong, but you alone? No chance.

"Do you wish to end all of this?"

Your ragged breath came to a halt, your head slowly turning to the side from where the voice came. There was no explaining what you were looking at, those humanoid features so similar to humans, yet somehow their features were sharper, elongated, cheekbones too high to be real, the nose too slim to look functional. The creature's body was lean and tall, its torso almost entirely in view from above the stage. You examined them for a long time, their blue skin standing out against the harsh lights. You spied the flick of a tail behind them every so often, sleek with a puff of hair at the end. And despite being so different, somehow, they scared you less than the aliens you had seen on your journey here.

"S-Sir, with all due respect, you're not supposed to approach them without them being restrained."

The auctioneer called out to them, stepping in front of you and blocking the line of sight unsuccessfully with its spindly, insectoid legs. You shuddered at the thought of going back into the restraints you had woken up in after being knocked out and readied for shipment. "What if they attack you or get filth all over you? These creatures are known to spit," he added more quietly, hoping to appease the one standing in front of the stage, their tail flicking more often now. Was it annoyance that crossed their features? Or did the light blind you to see the truth?

The creature's gaze lingered on you for a while longer, their eyes drilling into you from between the gaps in the legs before their head snapped upwards rapidly, lips parting in a menacing grimace. "Let them speak," they growled, and the auctioneer jumped back, sputtering before moving to the side.

Only now did you notice the deadly silence in the hall, and you slowly unfurled from your hunched-over position, looking up. But not without your arms tightening around you, shielding you a little from being exposed.

The alien's head fell back down, facing forward, the movement much gentler, less frightening—intentional. Their dark blue gaze softened, no pupils but swirls of lighter blues and purples swaying in them. And then they smiled, and it almost seemed comforting, if there weren't two rows of spiked teeth. One of their hands raised from below the stage—another uncanny feature as their arms were just too long—and the other settled on the stage tapping on it, beckoning you closer.

When the other arm emerged, it held a smooth kind of fabric in it, maybe a coat or a rag, but the dark blue color glistened in the direct light made you assume it was something better than a poor person's rag as they spread it out on the edge of the stage, pushing it in your direction as far as possible.

"It's okay now," they purred, and a sudden relief washed over you, their words sinking into you like a warm hug and reassuring backrub would, your jaw unclenching and shoulders sinking. Something about them calmed you, and although your brain was telling you to be extra careful, you couldn't help but feel connected to them. Hesitantly but curious, you inched closer, fingertips reaching for the fabric. Part of you expected the creature to pull it away from you the moment you attempted anything, but they didn't move, didn't even breathe. It was unnerving how still they could be, still like a trick of your mind, an illusion, but the soft fabric beneath your hand was very real, and you tugged at it warily.

It followed your pull, and soon enough, you pressed it to your chest, covering up your naked body. Greed settled in as you reached for more with your other hand, spreading the blue around you, the fabric seemingly never-ending, at least not until you had utterly cocooned yourself in it, nothing but your face and a few strands of your hair still looking out of it.

It had this grounding smell that enveloped you like a second layer of fabric, sweet and earthy, but also reminded you of the ocean you used to visit at home. Your heart ached as you took another deep breath, unwilling to part with the memory.

You couldn't help a shuddering breath from escaping as you looked back up at the creature. So much closer to them now, their size was even more towering, yet you didn't hesitate to look into these intriguing eyes of theirs, the swirls now creating pools of depth inside of them with how fast they were circling, looking as if they were entirely fixated on you.

"Thank you," you muttered, genuinely grateful for the help.

"My pleasure," they replied, their long-limbed arm reaching out, catching the loose strands of hair and twirling them in their fingertips. You felt like you needed to recoil, but for some reason, you didn't move, completely at peace with the creature touching you, their skin smelling much like the fabric around you. "Now, about my question. Do you wish to end all of this?"

It was a strangely phrased, hard-to-interpret question, but you didn't wreck your head before agreeing with a nod. You did want all of this to end; you didn't want to be a pet to some strange creature that was paying a lump sum just to own you. They were all the same greedy monsters that your father was: heartless and unsympathetic. Why would you not want to end this damned situation?

"Wonderful, but I'll have you know that that power comes at a price," they chuckled, hand falling from your hair to your cheek. A large palm cupped your face, thumb splitting off to caress your lower lip, pressing against it, their gaze fixating on the plumpness jumping back in place after being fondled. Then, their hand slid further down, unwrapping your neck from the fabric and slipping around your throat to the thumping spot of your puls that it wrapped around.

"Are you willing to pay that price?"

"B-But Sir! Please..." someone whimpered from beside you, but it was nearly impossible to break eye contact with the alien before you and acknowledge whoever was speaking. They had a mesmerizing aura to themselves, the swirls captivating your attention, and you felt ashamed to say they fascinated you. It felt wrong, yet... right. Was it supposed to feel that way?

"What's the price?" you mumbled, a part of you still a good human, aware that nothing came for cheap and everything should be in equal value.

"Mhm," the creature hummed thoughtfully, but not appalled by your question, their thin lips curving into a grin similar to that of a human but more foxish and uncanny.

"Your life to do what I please with, in exchange for..."

They made another thoughtful sound before the rumble in their chest turned into a purr. Their lips split into that menacing smile from before, many sharp teeth creating pristinely white rows, and you knew they thought themselves on the winning side. You felt their grip around your throat tighten, and with an unexpected yank, you were pulled forward, just a breath away from their face.

"How about every life that dares to look at you with appalling intentions? Every soul, or the equivalent in their respective race, in this room, calling you a mere pet? Every alien that touched you as if you were an object of their possession? Anyone that has ever or will in the future harm you? Would that be enough, little human? Do you require more from me? It shall be yours. Your life in my hands in exchange for everything you could want—and my coat."

You tightened the fabric around your body, a waft of the sweet scent you smelled before tingling your nostrils. It was a damn good coat, and an even better offer.

Somehow, it bothered you less to hear you'd still be sold like a slave—although perhaps better a slave than a pet. At least it would be on your terms, right? Or the alien's... Your head felt dizzy as you thought about it. If this was the promise, you could live with it. You'd at least get out of this situation and live to see another day. And you were so angry at these creatures around you, your father, everything! Why should you care about them? Right, you shouldn't. You should... agree. Take the deal and be done with it. Dealing with one alien was better than all the others.

"Do you swear to keep your promise?" you asked, and the creature sighed blissfully, nodding their head before resting their forehead to yours. Tension that you hadn't realized had been there before left their body, and you noticed their free hand creeping up on stage, closer to your bundled-up form.

"I swear," they uttered solemnly, and you nodded in acknowledgment.

"So do I."

"S-Sir! You cannot disrupt this auction as you please! There are rules on the Galactic Space Hub that prohibit direct selling of wares and—"

The sound of squashing flesh interrupted the auctioneer's speech, and your eyes widened—as did the creature's cheeky grin. You felt something hot and wet splatter on your coat but didn't realize what it was until it hit the alien in front of you on the face. Your head slowly turned with hesitant movements, but their free hand reached up, keeping your face forward instead while hushing you.

"Don't look," they chuckled, and chaos erupted in all forms of sounds around you. Neighing, squawking, and the occasional grunts were to be heard everywhere. You couldn't ignore the squashing, sputtering sounds of fluids and flesh being cut open, your body shivering with not even the coat being able to keep you warm all of a sudden as you came to a realization of what kind of deal you had made.

"Shh, shh," the alien hushed, bringing a hand up to their own face to wipe away the alien guts that had splattered them. With a flick of their wrist, they returned the arm to your back and wrapped it around you. "Just keep looking at me, don't look at them. It's your turn to keep your promise and not to disobey my orders. I hope you remember your part of the deal and spare yourself the misery."

Pulling you off the stage, you were cradled against their chest, flat and tight under what looked oddly similar to a vest and dress shirt from earth, intricate patterns decorating the seams. The curiosity of any human wanted you to look and witness the devastation that had taken place, but you couldn't tear yourself away from this strange, otherworldly creature, their command seemingly effective.

"Your Majesty, it is done. What do you wish to do now?"

"Hm," the creature hummed, leaning forward a little more, lips almost brushing yours. You held your breath, fingers clawing into their shoulders. You tensed in their hold as they carried you out of the harsh spotlight, shrouding you in the darkness that had once given privacy to the aliens trying to buy you for their own pleasure. But nothing more than silence was left now, and it was an eery one, paired with many pungent yet alluring smells around you.

"Ready my ship," the alien ordered, and you felt hypnotized by their eyes paired with their smell so close to you now. Tempted, almost, to have a taste of their lips, see if they tasted the same as they smelled. "Sent a fleet ahead of us and tell the court I am finally coming home."

They grinned again, and you should have recoiled from the sharp teeth shining in the darkness. Their whole body seemed glowing even outside of the light.

"And tell them I bring back my blood mate, my newly betrothed, and prepare for the harvest."

You gasped as you heard the creature announce their plans, pushing away from them and managing to tear away from their hypnotic gaze. No one said anything about your blood! What were their intentions? What did they want with your blood? How much blood did they want? You thought this would merely end in you being a companion, rather than a mere pet, but it seemed you had been entirely wrong.

"Ah, ah," they chuckled. "Remember, it's the price you promised to pay. My kind values clean bloodlines above all else. Imagine how hard it was to find one of your kind that matched mine? Otherwise I would have never been allowed the pleasure to keep one of you, be with one of you. You are simply perfect. Interesting, "fun". Exactly what I want in a blood mate!"

"What?" you winced, feeling a strange sense of betrayal. "Why me then? Why a human? Why not one of your own kind? O-Or the others!"

"Your kind is the most interesting of them all," they explained. "I can't wait to uncover all these emotions you are feeling, one after the other. I must know all about what it's like to feel "pain" and "happiness". You have no idea how boring these other species are, no matter what I do to them. I'm not wasting my time copulating with those simpletons. I want something more from my mate. Something they can't give me, but you can."

Their explanation sounded threatening even when they smiled throughout it, their intentions becoming awfully clear, and you squirmed in their arms that only seemed to tighten the more you moved. You fell for it like a fool! you thought, scolding yourself inwardly for not being more careful. You trusted the creature even though you knew better! None of those aliens would have treated you well! None of them had good intentions!

And you might have just fallen for the worst of them all—a curious one.

"Now, now," they tutted, a hand wrapping around your neck from behind, squeezing until you gasped for air.

"It's time to hold up your end of the bargain, as will I, always."

[nereidprinc3ss]

hii i love love how u write spencer omds🥸

uhh i was wondering if you could write sth based off the song “we’ll never have sex” by leith ross? pls dont feel pressured to write this btw😭😭😭 hope ur having a good day lovely💗💗

hello my love i have no self control so this is extremely long and plotty but i love this song and i hope that this is any good at all crying emoji (i'm on a laptop LOL) enjoy!!

warnings/tags: angst/fluff, fem!reader, negative self-talk from reader, mentions of past sexual coercion/feeling used, mentions of past excessive drinking to combat social anxiety, ive been watching a lot of new girl lately and i think it shows, SO FRIENDS TO LOVERS, happy ending

You weren’t expecting to end up on Spencer Reid’s worn-leather couch at two in the morning, clutching a chipped mug of coffee in your hands as you listen to the sounds of the city from the street below. But there you are, sitting with your legs folded under you, in your favorite dress and first date-night makeup (now bleeding and smudged from all the crying.) And realizing that despite considering him one of your closest friends, you haven’t been to his apartment in a long time. There are, of course, good reasons for that—but you try to push those from your mind. 

“I’m really sorry about this,” you sigh, staring at your warped reflection in the glassy black surface of your coffee. Spencer is coming out of the small kitchen, now bearing his own cup. 

“Please, stop apologizing.” 

You glance up, tentatively studying him from behind the safety of your mug. While he may not have been asleep when you knocked on his door ten minutes ago, lachrymose and barely verbal, he must have been getting ready for bed. He’s clad in patterned pajama pants, mismatched socks, and an FBI crewneck that is just big enough to reveal the collar of the tee-shirt underneath. He’s already taken out his contacts, and you were startled by the reminder that he also has glasses. 

“So...” he begins, bringing you back to the present moment, “we don't have to talk about anything, if you don’t want to, but...” 

You sigh, watching coffee bubbles swirl like stars in a galaxy. 

“It’s fine. Honestly, I’m kind of embarrassed. I didn’t really think, I just... ended up here.” 

“Yeah... where did you come from?” he laughs quietly. “Not that I’m complaining. But I recall you not living super close by.” 

“No, no. I was actually on a date. Kind of.” 

“Ah.” There’s a beat of silence, and ostensibly Spencer is waiting for you to say more, but instead you take a sip from your mug. “At two in the morning?” You nod dully, staring at the labyrinthine pattern of the Persian rug.  

“I’m taking it that it wasn’t a very good date...?” 

A whoosh of air escapes from your puffed cheeks. 

“No it was not. Not by the end, anyway. It actually started really well, which made it even more disappointing when he...” you laugh, but there’s not much humor in it. “Well, when he kicked me out of his car on a street corner because I didn’t want to sleep with him.” 

You don’t look to see Spencer’s reaction—only take another long, baleful sip of coffee and ignore the heavy silence.  

“I’m really sorry. You... you deserve so much better than that.” 

An attempt at a jaded scoff from you falls flat. 

“Yeah, well. Tell that to the last three white house interns I’ve gone on dates with. It’s the same thing every time.” 

“Have you considered going on fewer dates with white house interns...?” The nervous humor is a thin veil over genuine critique. You shrug, biting the inside of your cheek. 

“It’s not just them. Every single guy I’ve liked since I was 15 has been like this. Even my past relationships, I felt like I was almost... tricked into, you know? I mean, these guys, they act all understanding and willing to take it slow or whatever, until you’re in a relationship, and suddenly they’re guilt tripping you so hard and making you feel so obligated to...” you catch yourself just in time, glancing up at Spencer. You’re not sure what to make of his expression. The drawn brow and slightly squinted eyes trained so intently on you could be sympathy, or anger, or pity, or apathy—you look away, not sure you even want to know what he’s thinking. “Sorry. You don’t need to hear all about that. Basically romance is exhausting and since I’ll clearly be single forever I’m considering running away to join a nunnery.” 

When he doesn’t respond for too long, you look back up quizically. 

“I’m not sure you know what romance actually is,” he says as soon as your gaze meets his, like the eye-contact activated some kind of hair-trigger in his vocal box. 

You blink, lowering the coffee cup to your lap. 

Says Spencer Reid? 

“...sorry?” 

He flushes, stammering to clarify himself. 

“I just meant—I—I know I’m not exactly fighting women off with a stick—” he interrupts himself with a self-conscious (adorable) laugh— “but... but I have been in love, at least once.”  

“Maeve,” you say, gently—trying to shove down bitter guilt as you remember how jealous you’d been when Spencer had first told you about her. “I remember.” 

He swallows and nods. 

“We never even met—we just talked. All the time. I had no idea what she looked like. But it didn’t matter at all. Because I knew her, and I loved her. Maybe things would have gone further if I hadn’t been calling her from public phone booths, but that wasn’t the most important thing to either of us. We were still in love.” You try to shut out the sharp ache in your chest. Being jealous of the way he speaks about a dead woman is so wrong.  

“What I’m trying to say is that romance isn’t solely about sex, or even physical appearance. It sounds to me like you’ve been with a lot of men who don’t understand that. And it would be such a shame for you to write romance off in general before you even get to experience it. You are... an extraordinary woman. You’re funny, and intelligent, and kind, and so capable of being loved. One day, someone is going to see beyond your pulchritude and prove that to you. I hope you let them try.” 

More tears blur the pattern on the rug, pooling in the rims of your eyes before spilling down your cheeks in fast, fat drops. Shakily you set the cup down, resting your elbows on your knees and hiding your face in your hands. You sniff once. Twice. Shake your head quickly, attempting to wipe the tears away without further smearing your makeup everywhere. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Spencer breathes, leaning forward but obviously unsure how to comfort you. “Please don’t cry, I wasn’t--I was trying to do the opposite of this.” 

“No, I’m sorry! You didn’t have to—you didn’t—I’m sorry. That was way too nice.” 

But you're not crying because he was nice.  

Someone will love you, but not me. That’s all you can hear. 

His voice is a mere whisper when he next speaks. 

“I meant every word.” 

You take a shuddering breath, allowing yourself a moment of reprieve behind the peaceful black of your eyelids. You can’t be looking at his face when you say what you’re about to say. 

“I had a crush on you for the longest time, you know.” 

Ringing silence. But it doesn’t last as long as you’d imagined. It’s not as world ending. 

“Had?” 

The little smile in his voice is like a fist around your heart. 

“Yeah. You know what changed?” 

“What’s that?” 

Absolutely nothing. 

“Every time I got super drunk and started hitting on you, you’d just drive me home. And I did it a lot. Like, for months. But you were such a gentleman. It drove me fucking crazy. So eventually I figured you just didn’t like me and I gave up.” 

Another stretch of silence. A breeze comes in from the open window, fluttering the curtains and cooling the tears on your face. His response is sad when it finally comes. 

“You thought I didn’t like you because I didn’t try to take advantage of you when you were drunk?” 

“Pretty much.” You smile ruefully, fingertips still pressed over your eyes. “God, listen to me. No wonder I get treated like garbage.” 

“Stop. Don’t talk about yourself like that. Did you hear anything I just said?” 

You sniff, looking to the ceiling. 

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. It was really sweet.” 

More silence. 

“But you don’t believe it.” 

A bitter laugh poisons the air around you. 

“I don’t know.  I’m kind of tired of waiting for someone to prove it to me. Just for once, I want someone to be interested in me beyond having sex in the back of their fucking... Range Rover, or whatever. Like, maybe all that stuff you said is true, but there’s no evidence to support it, and I know logically you’re probably right but I can’t help wondering if... if I’m the outlier. Maybe there just isn’t someone for me like that. Maybe I’m just gonna be the sex in the back of the Range Rover girl forever.” 

A noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob forces itself from your throat and you bury your face in your hands again, shaking your head. 

“Wow, I am so sorry,” you say a little too loudly, “I did not mean to be this honest tonight. Did you spike my coffee?” 

“You are not the outlier,” Spencer whispers.  

You sniff, lifting your head haltingly to look at him. 

“What?” 

His voice shakes slightly as he speaks. 

“You said you can’t help wondering if you’re the outlier, and maybe there just isn’t someone for you like that. That’s not true.” 

“Spencer, those are just words. You can’t possibly know that. Statistical probabilities don’t count.” 

“That’s... that’s not how I know.” 

Your heart drops as you study his face.  

No. 

Surely he’s not saying what you think he’s saying. 

Surely he wouldn’t do this to you after you’ve just told him everything you told him. You have been harboring feelings for him for years. Since you met. He can’t just spring this on you one night because you’re a little bummed out. If he felt the same, you would have found out a long time ago; he had ample opportunity to tell you. There was a period of months where you practically threw yourself all over him at every chance you got, and he did nothing. So this... this is just cruel—something you’ve never known Spencer Reid to be. 

You stand up, trembling slightly with rage and grief and humiliation. 

“Don’t do that. Don’t say things that you don’t mean just to make me feel better.” 

“What are you doing? Don’t--” 

You scoop up your purse, trying to get to the front door as fast as your gelatinous legs will allow. More tears are streaming down your face now and you don’t need him to see what he’s done to you—to see how much you care what he thinks. 

“It’s fine. Thanks for the coffee, I’ll see you around—” 

A hand around your wrist stops you in your tracks 

“Stop. Just... please give me a second to talk, okay?” 

With nothing left to give, you turn to him. 

“Don’t be mean, Spencer. Don’t act like you liked me too. That makes me feel... so much worse.” 

He takes a deep, shaky breath, as if steeling himself. Tawny eyes bore into your soul, and you realize that there is so much sheer nervous energy radiating off of him it’s infectious. Your heart begins to pound as he speaks. 

“I’m not doing that. I’m being an idiot, because you just told me that you don’t feel that way about me anymore but... but I do. And I have to tell you now because for six months I tortured myself wondering why you would flirt with me so much when you were hammered and then act like nothing happened the next day. There were so many times I almost told you how I felt but I didn’t and now I am because even if it ruins our friendship you need to know that somebody... that I wanted to be that person for you. I still do.” 

Your heart is like an unmoored zeppelin in your chest, bumping against your esophagus and threatening to either burst or jump out of your mouth. You take your chances, whispering so quietly it’s almost inaudible. 

“You... you like me?” 

“Yes,” Spencer sighs. “I have liked you for a very long time. And I’m sorry—” 

Whatever ridiculous thing he was going to apologize for, you don’t give him the chance. Instead you launch yourself at him, capturing his lips in a kiss that feels so much better than it’d ever been in your fantasies because it’s real. You hear his sharp intake of breath, but it only takes a second for him to respond, cradling your face in his hands like you’re the entire world. For a moment, time bends. Years of longing, of buried dreams crash into the present in a brilliant, dazzling explosion.

And then, as quickly as it started, he pulls away. The absence of his touch is like a vacuum, so much worse now that you know exactly how it feels to have his lips on yours, even if it was only for a few seconds. How the hell did you live like that for so long? How are you supposed to live like that ever again?

“You’re not thinking clearly,” he breathes, tilting his head back toward the ceiling like he’s barely holding onto his self control. “You just want someone to comfort you, I’m not going to take advantage of you when you’re in an emotionally vulnerable state and confided in me which is manufacturing a false sense of attachment—” 

You grab his wrists, which still graze your jaw.

“Spencer, stop intellectualizing for thirty seconds. I promise you I am thinking clearly.” 

“You said you used to like me, past tense—” 

“Yeah, I did. Do you believe every single murderer who says he didn’t do it?” 

“No, but—” 

“Have you ever heard the phrase; a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts?” 

“Of course I have.” 

“Then what more could you possibly need to be convinced that I really like you? I already kissed you! What is stopping you?” 

Another deep breath is taken by him that seems to suck all the air out of the quiet room. Briefly, you wonder if you’ve made a terrible, terrible mistake. If you really do like him so much more than he could ever like you.  

Until he looks back down, eyes so golden-brown in the dim light, so kind and full of affectionate concern as he carefully assesses every square centimeter of your face, looking for... well, you’re not exactly sure what. It’s like he’s extracting every thought from your head, turning them over like sun-warmed stones until he finds what he’s looking for. He smooths his hands over your hair, brushing strands away from your teary face. Finally, after what feels like an eternity of holding your breath, he speaks. 

“I just want you to believe what I believe about you. But I don’t want you to have to rely on me or anyone else for your own self-worth.” 

“Well, don’t you think very highly of yourself,” you tease with a sniffle. He laughs—it's quiet, but his smile is so bright without even trying that suddenly you can’t remember why you’ve ever been sad. The small miracle of his laughter makes you feel so light, and you realize it has nothing to do with the way he makes you feel about yourself. It has everything to do with who he is. 

Once the giggles die down, you tentatively mirror his hold on your face. 

“Spencer, I don’t like you because you like me. I’ve liked you for an embarrassingly long time. I liked you enough that I gave myself a severe hangover at least once a week for three months just so I could have an excuse to flirt shamelessly with you.” 

A half-sad smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, and he gently swipes under your eyes. 

“You never had to do that. I would have welcomed your sober brazen flirting with open arms.” 

“Well... do you believe me?” you plead. His amber eyes shine. 

“I do.” 

“Will you kiss me?” 

“If that’s what you want.” 

You nod, rising on your toes to meet him halfway. 

When your lips meet again, it is sweet, and honest, and slow, and deep. Still, there is no desperation--no race to an imagined finish line, no clash of teeth and pawing hands. It is a kiss for the sake of it—as if it were the greatest intimacy. Not a precursor to sharing a bed, but something bigger than that in and of its own. Something just as worthy and important. For the first time, you think you’re beginning to understand romance. And while you wouldn’t mind if things did escalate, you also know that Spencer knows that’s not what matters right now. Because he actually understands you—he actually cares. He will wait until you understand that you mean so much more than that to him.

To that end, he pulls away, gently supplanting his absence with a kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

“It would be polite of me to offer you a ride home, wouldn’t it?” he whispers, like it’s the last thing he wants to do. You bite the inside of your cheek, coming up with reasons not to go. One ridiculous one arises from the depths of your memory that you know he won’t be able to say no to. 

“Or... I could stay here, and we could watch one of those nerdy foreign films you’re always talking about?” 

A slow, perfect, high-watt smile blossoms on his face, and you know you’ve said exactly the right thing. 

“Nerdy? Oh, my darling girl... Soviet-era filmography is far from nerdy. небесная машина will completely defy what you thought you knew about the life of an average Russian villager in the 1950’s.” 

“Oh, good. Because I’ve really been meaning to change the way I think about the average 1950’s Russian villager,” you smile, already closing in to kiss him again. 

------------------------------------------ 

epilogue

Three hours later, you’re crying because the life of the average Russian villager in the 1950’s was so much worse than you’d previously thought. 

“It was good, right?” Spencer asks as the credits roll over a bleak snowy sepia landscape, leaning back to get a better look at you. You sit up from where you’d been leaning against him, furiously wiping your eyes. 

“It was terrible! Why didn’t you tell me that everyone except the kid dies in the end?!” 

“Because that’s the whole point of the movie!” he laughs, pulling you back into him. “I’m sorry. I probably should have explained how depressing this entire era of film was outside of the US.” 

“And also how long the movies were. I was not prepared for how many five minute long clips of empty fields there were going to be.” 

“You’re right,” he ammends, wrapping his arms around you in a way that gives you butterflies and makes you sleepy at the same time. “Next time we can watch whatever you want to watch.” 

Time passes like that—you in his arms, watching weak light slowly flood the room with half-lidded eyes and listening to the sounds of the city waking up from the street below, underscoring the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Thoughts float by like leaves on the ever-flowing current of your mind, and you’re happy to let them pass until one in particular catches your attention. 

“Spencer?” 

He hums, like he’d been deep in his own proverbial river of thought. 

“What does pulchritude mean?” 

It takes him a split second to remember the bit of conversation from earlier to which you are referring, but when he does, he chuckles, running his hand over your messy hair. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

And so you let it float away. 

[darthfighter]

what do you see?

Chapter Three of Your Shadow series

warnings: tension, vulnerability, character death, angst like a mf, character development, sexual tension at the end…

summary: as qimir takes you in, he welcomes you into his home and the two of you grow closer physically and mentally (especially mentally)

word count: 3.3k

authors note: i’m gonna be so real i cooked with this chapter. i’m so proud of it, i hope you guys like this. smut in next chapter..

part two here !

Hyperspace always brings comfort to you. The quiet yet loud humming of traveling through the galaxy. Slightly feeling the force of gravity change. It’s like it’s just you in those moments. Like time doesn’t exist.

Time. Time. Time.

Time always moves forward while you look back. Your legs keep walking while your neck keeps looking back for your memories. Your neck should be sore at this point. You sat in Qimir’s ship, traveling with him and not knowing what the future held for you. You’d think that’s what you’d be thinking about, the future, but no. You thought of pristine glossy floors that reflected your every step. The Jedi temple floors. As you close your eyes and think about pacing, stomping, skipping through the massive halls, you find your comfort. The comfort that makes you feel warm inside again. Though, if you spend too much time. You get hot. Hot burning memories that scorch your head and skin. Some days at the Jedi temple, your again– hot tears would splash onto the reflective clean floors.

As if on cue Qimir comes around the corner. With your unspoken, and not so quite understood connection you have with him, you don’t doubt that he sensed your distress.

Your hand reaches your face and delicately wipes your salty tears off your undereyes while disguising your action with now scratching your eyes pulling them down to show a shade of pink beneath your white and colored eyes. The scratch burnt.

“We’ll be there soon.”

You nod. A couple silent seconds, and he takes you in with his gaze. Sucking, or lightly biting his lip. It makes your heart escalate. Qimir turns around and walks over to his kitchen, rummaging around. You stare at his build as he isn’t looking at you. The way his hair is long but not too long, his clothes and how they hug his body, his forearms with veins traveling around them like vines. He turns to grab a bowl on the other counter letting you see his side profile. He is smiling showing his unavoidable smile lines.

He knows. He knows your orbs are set on him. You look down to your hands in your lap and very loudly curse in your mind. Of course he can tell what your actions are. He’s a– well you were gonna say Jedi in your head, but he’s not. If anything, you hate to think, but he’s better than a Jedi. At least so far. He sees you the way you wish to be seen.

“Here.” You look up to him holding the bowl out for you. Relief washes over you. Your hands take the bowl without a second thought. Before even thanking him as you should in a moment like this, your hand meets the spoon and scoops up whatever is in it. You are so hungry you don’t even care to know. As you satisfyingly taste and swallow the food he gave you, he turns back to the cockpit making his way there. Your stuffed mouth is more than a thank you.

The slop in your bowl moves as you jump out of hyperspace, falling a bit more to the side.

—

You walk off the ramp of Qimir’s ship with a full stomach to be met with crashes of waves. The air smelt of salt and sea making the air damp and cold. Feeling as though moving your hand through the air could get your hand wet with all the moisture.

You slightly walked behind him, following him since this is his element. He looks back at you. The two of you look at each other, and the distance between you two is left unsaid. No words. Although with the short amount of time you’ve known Qimir, you can tell the two of you talk more with your eyes. In this moment his eyes say to follow him, and you do as such.

Shoes walking on uneven rocks, waves crash in the distance, cliffs with different ridges and textures, and comfortable silence. This island is nothing like what you grew up around. Feeling out of place is what you need. Nothing can make you feel like you're back in your child's body, besides the thought on how this can't compare to your home.

Your knees begin to use their strength with the elevated path you two began to walk on. Now walking beside the huge mountain resting on this piece of land. Eventually, you make it in front of an entry into the mountain. The uncertainty of it causes your pace to suddenly end. Your eyes inspect the entry. Though, Qimir is already halfway into the cave-like hall. Without turning around he speaks and his voice echoes against the rock walls, “Come on.”

He can read you, you thought. Why stop now?

Anxiously, you step into the hall. With each step more and more gets revealed. Before you know it you are greeted with a lair like house. There is a bed built into the mountain, a kitchenette, and a small hot spring. It’s not much, although you can’t help but find pieces of Qimir when you look around. How he made this his home. You’ve had more homes than you can care to keep track of. The only one you consider home is the one your family resided on. Home is gone.

This is home, for now.

With a full stomach means you feel satisfied and relaxed. Meaning your senses were decreased. Making Qimir’s verbal tour of his place muffled through your ears.

“Kitchen is over here. Workbench over there. I can leave if you wanna take a rinse off in the hotspring, or you can go to the shore. Over there is the-” Your body is already melted and stuck to the bed like a childlike sweet on a table in the suns. After Qimir looks at you, he finishes his sentence“-Bed.”

—

You jolt up awake. Alert. You're still here in Qimir’s home. You're not running, for once.

You’re still dressed in your poorly made disguise you put together to scout your old home, but since the climate is different, you decided to take off a sheet of cloth being your robe that rested on your shoulders. The air on this island was cold from all the crisp water, so all you needed was your thin dark green shirt, your baggy black pants, and work boots you’ve kept since one of your old jobs on a planet you forgot the name of.

Qimir was nowhere to be seen. It felt weirdly empty to be in his home without him in it. With that thought, you decided to go explore as much as you can.

Your legs wandered until you made contact with the waves meeting the shore. As you continue to wander, you find a rather comfortable spot with a large rock to rest your back against. Making contact with the rock made your back cold, sending shivers down your spine.

You were cold. Not hot. So you close your eyes, and start cold in your past.

“Master.”

“I will not hear it!” Your master's demand vibrated through the Jedi Temple training room. “Get up. And try again.”

You were sore. Countless fails. Many bruises. One weakness. Family. Early in your padawan days, you had a hard time being away from your family. Your mother and brother. They sat comfortable in your mind for your whole life, and to have the Jedi order be in your main mental chair, was a hard adjustment. Your family clouded your thoughts. To Jedi, this is a weakness. Though in their defense, you can care for your family, but to let it be in control of you, was not. In this case it was the reason behind everything to you.

Your family is the reason why you talk the way you do, the reason why you walk is because of your mother, the reason why you have compassion is because of your brother, the reason you can handle immense amounts of heat is because of your home. Where your family stays.

These thoughts cycled through your brain during training at this moment. Making you tumble to the floor.

“Again!”

“Master.. I’m tired.”

Before your master protests, she sees a bruise on your arm start to grow a darker shade. As well as a burn imprinted on your left hand from accidentally burning yourself with your own lightsaber due to your clumsiness. She puts her hands behind her back.

“Tomorrow, we resume. Let your thoughts not be clouded tomorrow.”

Now, you look down to your hand. You only see a scar. The reason for the scar not being your accident of combat, but a reminder your family will forever be on the front of your mind. Uncontrollably.

Although now it's warm. Your eyebrows frown at knowing you're not hot at your negative thoughts that aren't here, but you feel warm for another reason.

“Mind if I join you?”

Qimir stands above you. He radiates heat whenever you're around him, like he is a source of energy.

You scoot your bottom a bit to the side for him to position himself next to you, and when he does, there is barely any distance between the two of you. His bicep rests directly next to your arm as you both stare into the endless amount of waves onto the shore.

“So with what you said, before. On the roof.” You pick up a rock near you to examine as you ask Qimir your question, but he pays attention to you. Looking at you as you speak to him. “With joining you. You.. teaching me.”

He takes the rock out of your hands lightly. “What do you think it means?” He asks smoothly.

Quickly you retort “By using the dark side.” You don't even have to look at him to know he’s shaking his head. Your eyebrows frown together, trying to meet as one.

As he shakes his head he looks up to the shore as he answers you “You were molded to think that way. I'm gonna help you crack yourself out of the way the Jedi shaped you.”

You inhale through your nose to take his words in, like you needed to ingest them through your senses. Then, you grab a hold of the rock this time. Now feeling the warmth rest itself on the surface of it from both of your frictions caressing it.

“How will you make me chip away then?”

“Show you that you can do good in your own way. The natural way.”

“You think the dark side is natural?”

“I never said it’s the dark side.”

After going back and forth, he takes the rock back into his hands. This time, taking his sweet time lingering his touch on yours meaning his fingertips brushed your skin a bit longer than before. His touch burns you.

“You already are a natural at it.” You look up to him and his eyes are already set on you. He looks down to your lips for a split second and speaks again “I saw it. Yesterday on the roof.”

You don’t speak your mind at this moment. Though your mind is thinking about how right he is. You turn your neck in your mental memories, and look back at all the times you “failed” as a Jedi, but it was you just feeling the natural feelings that resided in you. Qimir seems to bring that out of you.

You agree with him as much as it is new to you to agree with such a different way of thinking than what you’re used to. It frustrates you on how it doesn’t feel wrong to agree with him.

Qimir personally hands you the rock this time, you lightly take it out of his hands. It’s warm.

He stands up to his feet and is looking down at you as he says “Tomorrow. Let your thoughts free.”

—

The next day you wake up feeling like you got the best rest since you left your childhood home. Maybe it had to do with our last conversation, you thought.

You lift up your body from the bed to see Qimir stirring a spoon in a pot. Instantly the smell of his meal hits your nose like a punch. You get up from the bed and walk over to join him. He pours out the liquid into your bowl. You reach out for it but he takes back the bowl slightly leaving your arm in the air before saying “Don't hide your thoughts today.”

“Okay.”

“Or your actions.” He leans the bowl towards you for you to grab and instantly the hot bowl meets your hands.

This was new to you. It went against everything you were taught. It was a new way of living. If anything, it felt like he was going to teach you how to breathe all over again.

After both of you finished your meals, you both silently got ready to prepare for your first day of training. If that’s what this is, you said in your brain.

You followed Qimir’s lead until he led you on the top of the mountain.

It felt and looked like you were in a dream. The fog that covered the top of the mountain like a blanket was all around you. Beyond Qimir who was about two steps in front of you, you couldn’t see beyond that. It was just you and him. As you rested from your very difficult hike up here, you breathed in and out.

Inhaling and exhaling the air, the fog traveled its way into your lungs. Now residing in you, making a sheet of fog in your insides.

Qimir then sits down in front of you. As he sits criss crossed, he looks up to you. You already know that look, so you join him.

“So how does this work exactly? Do I just tell you my darkest thoughts?” You humorly ask.

Although Qimir stays honest, “You don't have to tell me anything.”

This makes you feel comfortable, immediately.

“All I ask is for you to let your mind and body do everything for you.”

Your eyebrows frown in a question-like manner.

“When you think of anger, what do you see?”

You keep your eyes on Qimir as he asks this question. As he faces your silence, you close your eyes. You see yourself young. You’re hurt and bruised. You feel the fire in your chest as a Padawan. Being taken in to be trained as a powerful Jedi while your family is left behind. You remained homesick and it clouded your thoughts. It caused you to not perform well. Caused you to fall behind. Especially because your Master was extra hard on you. Thinking back on this, you shake your head in that moment thinking how a grown adult could be so cold to a young one like this. Qimir see’s this reaction, and asks his next question.

“When you think of fear, what do you see?”

Being taken in by the Jedi. The day you left is a memory that will always pop into your head every single day. How devastated your brother looked as you left him behind. Your mothers face is full of wet tears, and as you look at her, her eyes are nothing but red from despair. But despite her red eyes, she held a smile on her face. A smile to let you know you’ll be okay, as will they. As you boarded the ship, your knees shook below you. You walked by yourself onto the ship. Once the hatch closed, you fell to your knees. Kneecaps crashed onto the metal floor stinging you instantly. A Jedi present softly laughed at finding humor in it, but how could you, a child, find humor in being so afraid of being on your own that your legs gave out on you.

“When you think of loss, what do you see?”

The intercom. You see the hologram of a good family friend, broken apart as they tell you it’s your brother. That it is his last stretch. Surprisingly, The Jedi Council agreed to let you visit your home this one last time. It was only your third visit since becoming a Jedi. The other visits were to come back and heal your brother. Your brother was the hardest worker you knew. This brought him to his death. Working his blood, sweat, and tears wore him out. Those two times, you were lucky enough to be a medicine to him. To make him better. That third time, you weren't so lucky. Once you got to your homeplanet and landed your ship and booked it off your platform, you made it to your home. Where he laid. There was one specific thing you remember about that day, that being how cold he was. Walking up to him in your clean Jedi robes, to him in his worn out room. You began to do what you came to do. To heal. Your hand came in contact with his. In that moment, you gasped and underestimated how cold his flesh would be. Your heart stung in agony, but you needed to remain focused. You tried to heal him. You tried to make it work. You tried again. Again. You tried.

He was too far gone for saving.

Although you knew. There was a chance. A chance to revive him as you have done previously, but that meant he’d take your life. You’d give him yours. You turn around to your mom who has been hiding in the corner like a shadow. She says your name low, like a monster hiding in the dark. She disapproves. She scares you. You don't care. You grab his burning cold hand and start to use the force. You’re thrown out of your trance as you are thrown to the floor. Your mother stopped you. You rise to your feet as she throws her hands in the air, rambling to you how this was life. How life has beauty and ugliness. That this was a part of the ugly life, the life you didn’t want to face.

Your mother looks you dead in the eyes like a dagger, and tells you that this was the Jedi way. No attachments. Let it go.

You couldn't accept this. You attempt to push past her, but your emotions made you weak. You know you’re a million times stronger than your mother and can easily get her out of the way, but you couldn’t bear overestimating your powers and accidentally hurt her. So you wail like a baby instead, in her arms like the day you were born, on the day your brother died.

Your chest rose and fell at a pace that was noticeably fast, and you open your eyes to see Qimir. As you thought back on your worst painful memory, he sees you in this state. Vulnerable and hurt. Though, you see something in his eyes. You see resemblance. He’s also lost something.

You close your eyes again and with this familiarity between the two of you, you start to control your breathing. You feel the need to relax. To get warm. You think of home on the hottest days. You think of your mothers juice. You think of the excitement of finding your kyber crystal. You remember the anticipation to cut off your padawan braid. You again feel the relief of turning away from The Order. You reminisce on spending your first paycheck on blue noodles. You think of Olega, how arriving there you felt like something was there, waiting for you. You think of bumping into Qimir. You think of him seeing you as you are.

Your breaths are steady. Precise. You open your eyes.

Qimir’s eyes are set on you. With his teeth sucking in his lip.

“When you think of desire, what do you see?”

You look at him in front of you, and as he waits for you to close your eyes again. Your eyes stay open, seeing Qimir.

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

a/n- 3.5k: boothill comes back to you for a tune up, but instead of his body, it's his heart that needs tending to after you scare the hell out of him [minor boothill story spoilers if you're not caught up on that jazz, but nothing major!]

warning(s)!: boothill is implied to have an artificial tech!eye and he takes it out (not descriptive tho!)

the last time boothill saw you, he was in for a cooling agent refill. it was also during that last visit when he saw that you had fixed up the small robot he had picked up on a distant planet and brought back as a gift. with your affinity for tinkering with things, he knew you'd like it. and he wasn't wrong.

it's been a month, maybe, and while that shouldn't be considered a very long time away considering his goal steeped in revenge would eventually require him to be gone for far longer- or even not come back at all- he damn missed you.

that, and the censor inside his eye has been on the fritz and well... if he can't see, he can't exactly shoot straight. he didn't need to be discharging bullets like a psychopath- he's a galaxy ranger, not some low-ringed IPC lacky who's a bit too trigger happy.

luckily, his eye wasn’t so fudged up that he couldn't see at all. the world around him was all blurs if he moves to quickly, but given the time to adjust, he's able to more or less make out what was in front of him. just don’t ask him to read anything... not that he was stellar in that department to begin with. it's like the crosshair infused with his artificial eye was out of focus or something.

boothill knows the path to your shop- that acts also as your home- like the back of his hand. someone could pluck his eye right out of his head, yet he'd still navigate his way to where you are. it was one of the few roads he has taken time and time again. he hope's it'll stay a place he can keep coming back to in health or otherwise.

stepping off his small, single-man ship after landing it near the junkyard you usually dig around in, he stumbles out of it onto the ground with a censored curse. he wishes he could land the thing closer to your shop, but he had once come in with too much a gusto and scorched a section of your lawn. once was all you needed to prohibit him from landing anywhere near the building again.

the walk from junkyard to the shop wasn't a treacherous one, hardly even a workout. still, the back of his neck just at his hair line breaks out into a cold sweat. it isn't brought on by exertion, but by the engraved instinct that something... wasn't right. something in his gut was telling him something was wrong.

boothill's learned to trust his gut.

his leisurely pace picks up to a more urgent gait and he can smell the 'something wrong' before his unfocused eye can try and see it.

it smells like smoke.

his steps falter at the disgustingly familiar scent- the smell that brings back memories he forces himself remember. memories that push him towards his goal of revenge- his goal in finding oswaldo. memories of his ruined home. he swallows thickly but it does nothing for his throat that's sudden too dry.

boothill hated fire. he's hated fire since his original name died with his family... with his daughter. since he chose to become "boothill" altogether he's abhorred fire.

he's familiar with fire. with its destruction. with its color. with its smell and heat and ruthlessness. its lack of mercy and greedy nature to swallow up anything in its path that can scorch.

the billows of smoke he could barely make out once his long, mechanical legs took him running to your shop could only be explained by fire. where was it? was it large? contained? were you inside? were you hurt? the cowboy didn't see any flames from outside, so it must not be that bad yet. you're fine. you're fine. you have to be.

all formality is left at his heels when he barges through your shop's doors. there's not much smoke in front of the shop when he enters.

"y/n! are you in here!" you don't respond to his shouts. "fudge!" god, boothill wishes he could properly curse right now. screw his synthesia beacon to hell.

the dim lights make it harder to navigate the area around him with the addition of his already busted vision, but just like the path leading him here- boothill is familiar with the inside of your home. he could walk it blindfolded and deaf.

boothill follows his nose. the smell of smoke got stronger the further back into the shop he goes. the ranger starts hearing commotion along with his narrowing down of where the fire was coming from.

clanging. some bangs. you're coughing. you're cursing.

boothill pushes open the metal door that leads into the main workshop with his shoulder. the room is always filled with all sorts of scrap metals, wiring, wielding tools, normal tools, and all sorts of other gadgets and knobs that he's sure you keep cluttered in different drawers and corners.

the smoke he saw outside floods the workshop, filtering out through the windows you had thrown open and up the chimney you don't ever use unless you need to melt down metal. the grey, sooty gas lingers high towards the ceiling. wafting around his head as soon as he enters the workshop, causing him to choke on it before his mechanical insides whirl into filtering it all out of his system.

sometimes being mostly robotic had it's perks. not choking to death on smog was always a plus.

"sugar!" he calls that familiar endearment over all the noise you're causing. the normally sweet, yet playful, nickname he's been calling you since he discovered your unbelievable sweet tooth feels sour coming out of his mouth this time. your coughing is muffled, and he can only assume it's because you're covering your mouth with a cloth or something. you better be, he hisses internally to himself.

"boothill?!" your shock is as muffled as your cough. "hold- gahk! son of a- hold on a second!" he can hear you rushing around the shop's concrete floor. "ore, did you get to the switch!" you direct your attention away from the unanticipated arrival of boothill. instead, you steer it towards the aforementioned, small robot you refurbished into new, mech-life. you had named it ore after the piece of unknown gem used as his power source.

small beeps of affirmation filter through the soot and smoke and you cough three more times into the cloth you're holding over your mouth and nose.

"flick it left!" you instruct ore. another set of beeps before the shop is bombarded with a force that's almost enough to knock boothill off his feet. the smoke was gathered quickly into a vacuum of air that soon collected all of it up then sequency shot it up and out the of chimney.

the room was basically clear now. all that's left after ore flips the switch back to the right to halt at vacuum assault is the mist of remnants that would soon find their way out the windows you intend to keep open for a good, long while.

you lower the rag from your mouth that had been used to keep smoke from invading your lungs and grimace at it. you had been previously using that rag to wipe oil from a machine you were working on. the very same machine that you had kicked a bit too roughly, causing some faulty wiring inside to shift and ignite. that bucket of broken bits was what led to this predicament in the first place!

finally, you look towards boothill. you hardly get a chance to acknowledge him properly since the moment you turn towards the doors he had come through; he was already at you.

crossing the room with urgent, quick strides, his metal arms clad in his cropped jacket and hanging red scarf wrap around your shoulders. one of his hands push against the back of your head and he doesn't care if the threads of your hair tangle into the groves of his fingers. his chin drips to rest his cheek against your crown.

his head dips so low, cheek and face pushing against your head so closely that the brim of his cowboy hat dents against your skull before falling off to the floor. it falls upside down with a soft thwomp and he can't seem to care.

"hey," you whisper in shock as you curl your arms upwards, bringing your hands to rest concerningly against his shoulders. his scarf was soft against your palm. your fingers thread through parts of his long, white and black hair that rest over his hunched back.

you've never seen him like this. not ever. you were certain that if he were completely human with a full body of flesh and blood, he'd be shaking like a leave. "boothill," you call, trying to get him to hear you.

he doesn't answer you. not verbally.

boothill shakes his head in two small shakes, somehow pushing his cheek further against the top of your head. he was taking deep breaths, taking in the smell of oil and rust and work that you always seem to be coated in. the arm around your shoulders holds you hostage and the one behind your head doesn't let your face pull even a single inch away from his neck where he keeps you.

his eye is still blurry and he still can't see properly. he needs to keep you against his body so his censors can make sure you're alive.

boothill can't 'feel' anything anymore from the neck down. the metal frame he calls his body is just that- metal. a shell that doesn't allow him to feel pain externally. so, he needs to anchor your body to him, so that all his internal do-dads can verify to his malfunction vision that you were okay.

you don't know how long boothill keeps you still like this. you don't keep track of the time. ore beeps confused and concerned once it finds its way back to the nearest tabletop closest to both of you. it's digital face with two oval, pixeled eyes that slice in half like a cartoon character's paint the expression clearly. there's even a small dash of pixeled sweat at the corner of it's 'face' that shows just how distressed it is.

eventually, boothill uncurls his arms from you, and you wince at the small strands of your hair that do end up snagged in his hands and knuckles. when you finally get away enough, you look up at him.

his face is down turned and anxious. there's a cold sweat on his cheek that's come from his hairline and slides past his ear (did he still have sweat glands?). he looks empty without his hat on, even though you should be good and well used to the sight. he often gives it to you to wear when he comes by- for whatever reason.

looking at him longer, you notice something off. with squinted eyes, you reach up and touch his cheek.

"hey, is your eye-" the cowboy jolts at the feel of your hand against his flesh and you wonder if he's sensitive to skin-to-skin contact since this small space is all he has left to experience the sensation. you go to pull your hand away, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

boothill feels you pull away and quickly stops you. his metal palm that's still warm with the heat of your body pushes against the back of your hand as he leans his face into your warm, soft palm. his bullet earring is cool against the tip of your fingers that he isn't engulfing with his hand. the eye you're so used to looking at shuts at the sensation.

"boothill?" you try again now that you've both had time to calm down. you really have never seen him act like this way. was this really the same haughty, galaxy ranger who waltzes in every few months or so because he keeps jamming his arm gun, or running low on coolant, or just to bug you?

"the fire," he says. you look behind you at the scorched pile of metal that was the sole perpetrator for the whole kit and caboodle. "are you hurt?" the synthetic twinge to his voice is more noticeable when he speaks lowly you notice.

you shake your head before answering. "no. i'm okay."

"swear it." he doesn't ask.

"i swear i'm not hurt. i didn't even inhale all that much smoke." your thumb skates under his eye as he reopens it. you almost go to your toes to look closer at it. it looks different than usual. like something about it is... wrong? "is your eye okay?"

"what caused the fire?" he completely ignores your question in lieu of his own and if he wasn't so distraught right now, you would've let him have a piece of your mind. but you don't. you can circle back around to his eye once he feels satisfied.

"an old rig i found in the junk yard. i thought if i could fix it up, it'd make a decent heater for the winter months. but, i messed it up and it blew up in my face." you pout at the loss of a project since you weren't willing to go through another fire 101 lesson any time soon. you'd dissembled the hunk of junk and place it back in the junkyard where you found it.

"so that's what is was," he sighs. hearing your explanation, his shoulders deflate, and you swear you hear his body hiss out tension. "dadgummit," he curses. "scared me shirtless. don't do that, sugar." he was calming down. thank goodness.

"sorry about that," you chuckle humorlessly, "i wasn't expecting you, so i'm sorry you had to see that."

you don't know much about boothill's past. he's told you bits and pieces, but you've never take the initiative to actively pry into it. you can tell it hurts him to recall, so you just leave it be. you know he doesn't like fire. he hates the ipc- some guy named oswaldo you think it was? he lost his family on his home planet. that's the extent of the man before 'boothill' you know for the most part.

but you were able to put two and two together. the idea of someone dying and homes being scorched must scare him.

you pull you hand from his cheek and raise it so your fingers invade the right side of his hairline. the black curtain of bangs shift with your movement as you comb through the treases once, then twice before dropping your hand again. his bangs return to their black cloaking nature to his face's right side.

"it's all okay now. isn't that right, ore?" you look over your shoulder to your small assistant robot. its concerned expression it has been favoring shifts into jolted delight as its square head nods with a series of affirmative beeps. a bright green, pixelated thumbs-up pops up on its face before disappearing into curved eyes that blink open reassuringly.

you take both of boothill's arms gently and lead him to the small sofa that's full of mismatched patches of fabric from all the patching up and repairing it's needed over the years. you let him sink into the cushions first before following, you knee touching his.

your hands find themselves in your lap, finally disconnected from boothill and he's just about sad over it. but, he was calming down. and he didn't need to cling to you like that- honestly, he's almost embarrassed over it. acting like a scared dog like that? god, he wishes he could overheat into a full system meltdown.

"feeling better?" you ask. he takes a deep breath and can taste the lingering smoke in the air. still, he nods.

"yeah," he sighs. "yeah, i am." the sound of small metal taps rush around before coming closer. looking down, ore had taken it upon itself to jump from the worktable to the floor. grabbing the brim of boothill's fallen hat, it began the mission of dragging it all the way back to its rightful owner. ore's digital eyes curve up again when boothill and you look down at it from the sofa.

you chuckle before leaning down and offering your hand with your palm up. ore steps backwards up your fingers, dragging the hat that is five times its size and hanging onto the brim as you lift it and the hat into the air. ore offers the hat back to boothill with a smile he can see better now that the little guy is closer to eye level.

the galaxy ranger accepts his hat back, flipping it over and dusting the top of it off. he didn't need his eye to work to know it was probably covered in dust from ore dragging it across the concrete floor you most certainly haven't swept yet.

"thanks, lil buddy." ore chirps happily at the praise.

you lift your arm to let ore rest on your shoulder where it takes the small carabiner you fashioned onto a small guard you wear in the shop and clasps it to his back. you made this so the robot wouldn't constantly be falling off your shoulder since it often makes itself comfortable there.

"so," you clear your throat, "about your eye." you try and get down to business now that the situation has passed. "does it need refocused?"

"sure does." if memory serves, you have a machine for autofocusing equipment around here somewhere. you lean over the back of the sofa, snagging your laptop you keep behind it on a roll away desk that way it doesn't get harmed by all your other tools or dirty by a strong pump of oil or something.

you unclasp ore from your shoulder carabiner. "could you go and find the adjustment scanner? i think it's in the toolbox drawer, top right. if not there, try two rows over." ore chirps and slides down your arm to your lap, then down your leg to the floor.

boothill can't see but can hear the little metal steps run off across the room.

"how does it get onto your tables?" he's asking partially to fill the silence, but also because he's genuinely curious. "figured you'd be cartin' the fella around everywhere."

"i usually do," you admit. "but, i did install small pully lifts with extra wiring and metal pieces i had laying around." you open your laptop and open the screen to unlock the device. "once on one of the metal pieces, ore can pull himself up manually with the designated wire."

the man chuckles at the image of you macgyvering something like that up. "you're dang cute," he chides. he can imagine you sitting on the floor, eyes squinted and leaning in so far, your spine would scream while installing those things. you don't respond. you usually don't to his passing words of flirtatious intention. whether deliberately or obliviously, he doesn't know.

soon, ore returns and hands you the piece of tech you need. hooking the scanner into your laptop, boothill can hear it whirring as the fan of your laptop kicks on to prevent any overheated crashes.

"alright," you let ore back on your shoulder and the robot hooks itself on safely via that carabiner. "let's see what's wrong."

you stare at boothill's unfocused eye. boothill looks back at the blurry image of you. you huff after a solid fifteen seconds of still silence.

"if you expect me to pop your eye out myself, guess again cowboy."

for the first time since he got there, boothill barks in laughter. oh what a mental sight that would be! it's slightly horrifying to picture having the person he's so infatuated with pluck out his eyeball thought.

boothill turns his back, a series of hisses and deep breaths later, he turns around and with his empty eye socket closed, offers you the tech eye he was installed with when he underwent his initial cyborg transformation.

it took 20 minutes and some light jabs from you- 'how did you uncalibrate it this badly?'- before the scans show a recalibrated and refocused eye. you hand it back to him before he's reconnecting it with his socket. the wires hiss and attach into place nicely.

"now that's better!" he cheers when he blinks and is able to see clearly again. he looks at you for the first real time in a month and he's never been happier to see the soot covering your nose and cheeks. oh, you're too cute.

the hat he's kept on his lap the whole process is relocated to your head the moment he could see your face and recognize it again. it plops over your skull and you sigh as- once again, he's making you wear his oh so precious hat.

"if i ask," -you flick the brim of his hat on your head- "will you tell me why you insist i wear this thing every time you're here?"

"nope," he pops his p before lifting his arms to rest his elbows on the back of your sofa. finally getting comfortable. he stares up at your ceiling. "it's a secret."

the fire made a sooty mess up there. it'll be a bitch to clean no doubt.

the hatless cowboy chuckles to himself as he hears you huff with an eyeroll. "naturally."

a/n pt.2: okay wow. this got a bit outta control. whoops? also, i didn't want to gender Ore so hopefully reading the lil guy as 'it' isn't as confusing as i think lol

[tteokdoroki]

𑊡˚+₊🍼✦ — oh baby ! + katsuki bakugou.

૮ ͈>◡< ͈ა warnings — fluff, suggestive but no smut, minors dni, mentions of trying for a baby, love-sick!bakugou can’t resist your baby fever.

“if we had a baby, what would you name it?”

bakugou peers at you from over his phone, dark brows drawn together in the centre of his forehead while he frowns lightly. the pair of you are lounging about on a colder afternoon, him on his back on the couch— shirt riding up a little — and you between his legs and lying on his tummy.

“we’re not having a baby—“ he can tell by your sharp in-take of breath and the pout that ensues that he’s fucked up— quick to lock his phone with a click of the power button before grabbing the roundness of your face between his rough fingers, holding you with care. “yet. we’re not havin’ one yet.”

the smile that returns to your face is almost instantaneous— gleaming like a higher being has struck stars and galaxies into your eyes and magic into your grin. “why not?” you ask, cheekily licking katsuki’s hand now that you’ve got his attention.

“‘cause you’re my baby. don’t need’a ‘nother one to take care of while you’re around.” the blonde grimaces at the trail of saliva you leave against his palm— groaning in disgust as he wipes it on your shirt (the one that he lent you) as if he doesn’t enjoy watching you slobber all over his fingers during your nightly round in the sheets. “babies drool. you keep fuckin’ droolin’ on me. can’t deal with two people droolin’ on me—“

“would you want one? a baby?”

he’s still in the middle of complaining when you ask, your voice wistful like you’ve been daydreaming and you draw heart shapes on the patch of bakugou’s skin that’s been exposed by his tank top riding up.

“what’s gotten into you? talkin’ about babies ‘n shit…you sneakin’ off to see those todoroki triplets again?”

“it was the midoriyas this time…and i’m serious!” you swat at his chest, a little less gentle and a ripple of love shoots through katsuki at the sound of your angelic laughter. “don’t you think we’re ready, kats? i mean we’d both be great parents…”

he sits up a little, ruby red eyes narrowed into slits, head full of straw blonde hair tilted in curiosity. you can’t help but wonder what your kids would look like with a mix of your genetics. “you seriously want a kid?” bakugou says quietly, inquisitively, cautiously— scared to spook you as if you’re a deer in headlights.

you nod.

you’d want that…with him? “why?”

“‘cause i think…now would be a good time?” ringing your fingers, you toy with stray strings of your clothes and the fabric on katsuki’s, heat rushing to your face. “i mean…you’re set to take over best jeanist’s agency and my career with hawks is going great. we’re well off, married, your mom won’t stop bugging me about grand-babies—“

“don’t bring my ma into this, she don’t exactly inspire fuckin’ you so that we can make a baby—“

“— and i want to. start a family. with you…i want a family of baby katsuki’s and baby me’s running around and clambering onto you when you get home from patrol.” there’s that tone again, dreamy and excited— your face glowing with the possibilities of parenthood. “sometimes i imagine what our cosy Saturday’s would be like, little ones curled up on the couch with me while you make us breakfast. i can’t help but wonder how happy we’d be…i want a baby with you, katsuki.”

silence filters through the room, sunlight fluttering your skin and filling the room with love along with warmth as bakugou weighs up the choice. “if we’re having a baby, we’re naming it somethin’ with meaning.” he mumbled after sometime, looking away from you with a blush.

katsuki still can’t quite wrap his head around how much you love and want a future with him.

“like, katsuko? it means victorious child.” you suggest as if you’d been thinking of the name for your child the entire time.

it rolls off your tongue smoothly, like butter, similar to katsuki’s own first name— it too having a strong meaning. you’d really wanted this with him, dreamed up a whole life with your husband and future baby.

“katsuko. that’s a good one, i like that name.” the blonde grins, sitting up fully as he tugs you into his lap with a slow and steady smile. “close to mine, no doubt the kid’ll be a winner like you.”

“so you want one, a baby. with me?” you giggle, mirroring his expression while bakugou’s rough hands slip under your shirt to squeeze at your ass, pinch at your curves— hunger brewing hotly between you both.

“yeah, now roll over. if we wanna bring katsuko into the world we gotta start baby makin’ somehow…”

“katsuki!”

[kusanagihaku]

an indentation, in the shape of you

⭢ haku x mc, 6.1k

God, the sight of him like this – kneeling between your legs and head bent, moss-green hair tangled between your fingers, eyes dark and fierce – it is nearly enough to send you over the edge. It’s funny, some distant, coherent part of you thinks, how he looks like he’s the one in worship but you’re the one chanting his name in fervent prayer. or: my first and last time ever writing smut, so help me god. ao3 here.

｡°⚠︎°｡ minors dni!! ｡°��︎°｡

You’re late. 

You’re late and you should have met Haku twenty minutes ago by the Galaxy Express gates so you could head out for the night, but due to an extremely foolish lack of foresight you’ve put off trying on your Halloween costume until now, which of course meant something was bound to go wrong. 

You stare despondently at your reflection in the mirror. You don’t remember cheerleader skirts being quite this short. 

Maybe you’ve bulked up since you’ve arrived at Darkwick? After all, you’ve been running around and pulling off frankly inhumane feats of strength during missions (never mind that those feats were mostly mental and emotional). That’d explain why the top of the cheerleader uniform fits more snug than you thought it would when you ordered it online. 

Would it explain why the hem of the top ended higher up your midriff than you’d like? Would it explain why the skirt, albeit high-waisted, barely covered your ass? Maybe not. 

You tug at the hem of the skirt again, as if it would magically lengthen in the span of time since you last tried to stretch it to cover more leg. Perhaps the real problem was you ordering a costume online. Maybe you should have just borrowed a fox robe or whatever, like Haku decided to do. 

You exhale. The only choice would be to wear a white turtleneck and some stockings underneath and a longer jacket over your costume and pray really hard the area Haku ends up bringing you to won’t have too many creeps.  

Of course, that’s where the next problem arises – you only have the Darkwick-assigned standard black stockings, which barely came up to mid-thigh and barely go with the white turtleneck, and a pair of bright white exercise leggings, which frankly would be ugly as hell. 

You’re going to scream. 

You’re about to give up and go with the lesser of two evils when the chime of the doorbell echoes throughout the empty cathedral. 

…Haku. 

You scramble downstairs to the doors, tugging it open to see a very bemused Haku. 

“Did you forget our- oh, woah.” 

You feel the heat of his gaze brush down your body, catching slightly on the bare of your midriff before alighting on the hem of your skirt, coaxing a flush up your neck and leaving a raise of goosebumps in its wake. Or maybe it’s just the impending chill of October seeping in through the open doors – you reach out to pull your boyfriend in so you can safely shut the doors. 

“That’s, um,” Haku says. “Woah. I thought this’d be for my eyes only, princess.” 

You roll your eyes, and turn away to walk back upstairs. You hope he doesn’t see the burn in your cheeks – it’s been a while since you’ve started dating, but Haku’s casual compliments still sends your heartbeat thundering through your veins. “That’s why I’m having trouble choosing what to wear underneath.” 

“How about nothing?” You can almost hear the growing smirk in his voice as he gets over his initial shock. He catches up to you easily, long legs matching your stride as he follows you up the staircase. 

You snort. “And stay cold? I’d rather not. Help me–“ 

“Help you get undressed?” Haku interjects, teasing grin in his voice. You turn to swat at his shoulder, only to find him a couple of steps further down than you expected, golden gaze trained on where the pleats of your skirt barely covers the curve of your ass. 

The spark of his gaze sends flames dancing across your skin. It is both a familiar feeling and not, a kind of burn only Haku can rouse from the base of your spine, a burn you fear will get you addicted but hope you will never get used to. Heat creeps up your cheeks as you bite back a smile. “Stop it.” 

At least he has the decency to look sheepish as he closes the distance between you, slipping his arm around your waist and kissing the crown of your head. “Can’t help it. I’m just a guy, and it’s such a great view.” 

The warmth of his palm on the bare of your skin spreads as much through your veins as his words do. His thumb stretches, accidentally (?) slipping under the hem of your top as you reach the top of the stairs. 

“Anyway,” you continue hastily, as if filling the air with words will distract you from the questing of his fingers. If you give in to his touch now neither of you will make it out of the dorm tonight. “I was thinking about wearing a white turtleneck underneath this top.” 

Haku hums. “Shame.” 

His thumb slips up further. Definitely not accidental. 

“The issue is I only have black stockings.” 

“Go without,” he suggests, blithely. His thumb slips out from under your top and tucks itself into the waistband of the skirt. 

You turn to narrow your eyes at him as you enter your room. “And let everyone see half my ass?” 

“Hey, now,” Haku frowns, and all of a sudden you are pressed up against the back of your door, his arm coming up to rest beside your face. His hand slides out from your waist to the curve of your ass, squeezing, and he dips his head towards yours, lips brushing the top of your ear as you suppress a shiver. “Who said anyone else is seeing anything?” 

Your breath hitches as the heat of his mouth finds the shell of your ear in the exact way he knows will drive you crazy. “I thought– I thought you wanted to go to–“ 

He laughs, a low chuckle that melts straight into your throat and dries out your mouth. His hand moves lower to skim the hem of your skirt, tugging gently on it, “I mean, we were… until you decided to put this on.” 

Your eyes slip closed as his lips meet the hollow behind your jaw, soft and hot and open-mouthed, and you struggle to find the words you need, hands coming up to rest against his biceps and head tilting back to allow him more access. It’s amazing how after so many times he can still take you apart with one well-placed kiss. “It– it wasn’t on purpose–“ 

Haku grins against your neck. His fingertips drift lower, running over the back of your thigh and dangerously close to where your legs are pressed together. “Really.” 

Well. You’d be lying if you said no. You did order this outfit with your boyfriend in mind after all, wondering how he would react to your showing a little more skin than usual. You just didn’t expect this much skin. 

And you definitely didn’t expect this big a reaction from him either – if anything, your make-out sessions so far have been soft and languorous, framed by the gentle sounds of drizzle on the wood of his Hotarubi veranda, and punctuated with laughter and adoration as you explored each other’s bodies. 

Oh but this, this Haku is different. His hands are everywhere, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with the sudden increase in expanse of skin chest-down, and his mouth is hot and panting on the column of your neck as he pivots you away from the door and stumbles you backwards toward the sofa. 

You crash into the scratchy grey of the sofa, legs falling apart naturally to accommodate where Haku has slid his knee between them. He braces one arm on the wall behind you, and his other hand comes up to stroke the side of your face. 

His eyes are dark with an almost-hunger as he leans over you, trailing down to your lips in a silent request, and when your tongue darts out to wet your lips he groans, tipping his forehead forward against yours. “So fucking beautiful.” 

You flush – you’ll never get used to the praise Haku lavishes on you. But before you can think of anything to say in return, his mouth finds its way onto yours. 

When he kisses you it is all tongue and crash, a messy and hungry and wet that steals your breath away. He licks into you, like he cannot get enough of your taste, and when you pull away, gasping for air, his mouth finds its new church on the bruises he sucks onto your neck. You let out an involuntary whimper – the nip of his teeth and smooth of his tongue is only overshadowed by the way his hand slides from your cheek to your ribs, brushing gently over the curve of your chest to tuck under the tight hem of your top. 

He only stops two seconds later, frowning and leaning back to tug at the pale purple fabric. “How-“ 

“Zip,” you say, slightly breathless, and lift yourself off the sofa so he can reach around you. His deft fingers make quick work of the zipper in the back, loosening the top, and his eyes follow your chest as he helps you lift it over your head.

His voice is deep and pained as he watches your breasts fall out of the confines of your top. “No bra?” 

You shake your head, eyes tracking the lick of his lips as he stares at your nipples hardening in the cold room air. “Shirt was too tight.” 

“Fuck, princess,” he swears, and slides his hands up your waist to rest under the curve of your breasts. “God, you’ll drive me crazy.” 

He leans down to lick you, experimentally, sliding the rough of his tongue over a sensitive nub. It sends a jolt to your system that immediately pools between your legs, and a gasp escapes your lips. 

Haku grins at the sound. His hand comes up to squeeze the soft flesh of your other breast, pinching your nipple between his fingers and eliciting another gasp. He presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the swell of your chest, “You always make the most beautiful sounds for me.” 

“Haku…” you squirm at that, but he is already leaning down to attack the expanse of skin underneath his hands with his tongue, biting and nipping and pinching and drawing all sorts of sounds from the back of your throat. His hungry mouth finds your nipples again, soothing and pinching as he suckles bruises into the soft fat under his fingers. 

You arch into the warmth of his hands, keening. There will be marks littered all around you by the end of the night, you’re sure – Haku has never been one to hold back when it comes to tasting the sweet of your skin. 

He bites, harder than usual, on the saliva coated nub between his fingers before laving his tongue over it, and the combination of pain and sooth explodes from your lips in a tight, “Ah, Haku–“

Your legs snap shut. You rut, shamelessly, against the firm of his thigh between yours – the tension between your legs has been building with each slide of his tongue, and you crave some sort of friction so bad– 

Haku presses a hand against the plush of your leg, preventing them from clamping around his own. He pulls back slightly to look at you, eyes looking as lust-hazy as you feel. His lips are slightly swollen, you notice, a delicious pink brought on by the assault against your skin, and it sends a shiver through you as he murmurs, “Let me. Please.” 

His words sink straight to your core; he sinks straight to his knees. His hands drift to your knees, pushing them apart to allow him to sit between them, then pushing them up to allow him a better view of your inner thighs. 

The flimsy skirt flips upwards as you set your heels on the sofa, leaving you exposed to Haku’s hungry gaze. He takes one look at the underwear you chose for the evening and groans. “God, princess, you wanted to go out wearing this?” 

You flush again, embarrassment flooding your cheeks as you try to clamp your knees shut, but Haku’s grip is vice-like on your thigh. You know what he’s talking about – the piece you chose today was a thin, black lace number that barely covered anything. After all, you needed to make sure it wouldn’t leave panty lines when you put on the cheerleader skirt. You didn’t think… 

His groan goes straight between your legs. You watch him lick his lips, almost unconsciously, as his eyes zero in on the dark spot in your underwear. You know that you’ve been getting steadily wetter since Haku first kissed you, and you know the effects of Haku’s ministrations definitely show in the dampness of the black material. “Haku…” 

His eyes drift up to meet yours. You know what a mess you must look to him, all dishevelled and neck and chest littered with red bite marks, legs spread and gasping his name without his fingers even touching your drenched core. Your eyes drop, self-conscious, but Haku just chuckles. He rises to kiss you, the gentle, chaste press of his lips on yours a far cry from the way he’s been devouring you. “Gorgeous. Always takes my breath away when you’re spread out like this, just for me.” 

God, he always knows exactly what to say. 

“Just for you,” you echo. Your voice comes out breathy, needy, thinned with want, and Haku’s brows immediately tighten as he rocks backwards, swearing as he kneels between your legs again. 

“Fuck,” one hand slides further up your thighs. “The things you do to me, princess.” 

He places one, two, three kisses on your inner thigh, sliding closer and closer to where your underwear is doing absolutely nothing to hide the way you’re dripping for him. “How did you expect me to keep my hands off you the whole night, hmm?” 

When his mouth finally reaches your core, placing a gentle kiss at your clothed clit, you arch against the sofa with a loud gasp. It takes Haku’s grip holding your thighs apart to keep you from wrapping your legs around him. 

The heat of his breath ghosts across your underwear as he chuckles. “That sensitive already?” 

You could cry. “Haku, please–“ 

He ignores you, choosing instead to place another kiss over the wetness of your core before nosing at it. His eyes drift closed as he buries himself in your scent, nose bumping again and again against your most sensitive part as he places kisses through the lace. 

It takes you a few more dazed seconds of his earrings tickling your inner thighs to realise he has taken his left hand off your leg, and to recognise that the pumping movement of his arm means he has pulled himself out of his pants. “Haku, I can–“ 

His eyes snap open, dark pupils almost taking over the gold of his irises, and he presses an open-mouthed kiss to where he knows your clit is.  

The pressure instantly steals your words away, and leaves a loud moan in its place. 

Your cheeks burn as the sound leaves your mouth. God, the things Haku does to you, too. You want to touch him, you want to feel the weight of his cock on your tongue, feel the stiff of his cock slide into you, heavy and thick and him, but–

Haku swiftly pulls your thin underwear to one side. The shock of cold air on your exposed core wrests another gasp from the burn in your throat, before it is replaced with the inferno building on his tongue.  

Your head hits the back of the sofa. “God, Haku, please, oh–“ 

He hums against you. Whether or not it is a muffled moan at the taste of you or if he is just pleased with the way you drape his name on the tip of your tongue, it does not matter – the vibrations unfortunately shoot straight up your spine and into the most animalistic pleasure-centred part of your brain. You squeeze your eyes closed, trying to keep yourself from humping his face as you press the back of your fist into your mouth. 

Haku stops. “Princess,” he says, roughly, and the pet name is so loaded you pry your eyes open to look at him. His voice is thick with want as he rushes out a, “Don’t– don’t hold back. I want to hear you.” 

Almost as if he can sense your hesitation, he rests his cheek against the soft of your thigh. His gaze is filled with something you can’t quite name, a blend of lust and adoration, a different type of exaltation you only see the likes of when Haku is between your legs. “Please,” he rasps. 

Lord, you would do anything in the world for Haku, if only he asks. 

You move your spit-slick hand away from your face, wincing at the way a string of saliva connects your fist to the shine of your lips, and Haku’s gaze hardens at the sight. 

“Fuck,” he growls, and sinks his teeth into the tender skin where your leg meets your core. 

You jerk up in surprise, his name flying from your lips as he soothes you again and again with laps of his tongue. Before you can say anything else, though, he licks a slow stripe up your centre, rough and sweet, dipping his tongue in between your folds. Your fingers find their way into his hair as he moves into you, tongue pressing inside your aching core desperately like a man who has not found water in days. A familiar tension coils between your legs under the movement of your boyfriend’s tongue, a slow burn that you know will consume you and leave you bereft at the end of the night, but right now you need more, more–

“Taste so fucking good, princess,” he pants, breaking away. The lower half of his face glistens, a testament to how fucking wet you are for him; a whimper escapes you at the sight. 

He taps a long finger against your entrance. “Can I–“

“Please,” you whine, hips shifting shamelessly to press yourself against his finger. “Need you–“

When he pushes his finger into you, gently, slowly, your eyes drift closed, his name floating on the shape of your moans. Every drag of his fingertip against your walls draws fireworks on the back of your eyelids, sends sparks up to the cry of your lungs; every clench you make on the slender digit sliding in and out of you sends fresh curses spilling from the sweet of Haku’s mouth and loads his name on the runway of your tongue. 

When he latches onto you, sucking harshly on your clit and sliding another finger into you, his name flies out from your lips, the vowels of Haku, please, ah, Haku, Haku unintelligible amongst the squelching as he pushes you closer to your climax. 

God, the sight of him like this – kneeling between your legs and head bent, moss-green hair tangled between your fingers, eyes dark and fierce – it is nearly enough to send you over the edge. It’s funny, some distant, coherent part of you thinks, how he looks like he’s the one in worship but you’re the one chanting his name in fervent prayer. 

But oh, Haku curls his fingers just right, just so, exactly in the way you acutely need and are so hopelessly addicted to, and just like that you lose all train of thought and tumble headfirst into the delicious friction of his fingers. You cannot help but tighten against the pump of his hand, breathless and wanting and so, so close, and are rewarded with a hazy hum that blazes right into the fire between your legs. “Haku, wait, I’m gonna–“

“Fuck,” he curses, voice strained, “Love it when you say my name like that– you’re so good, so tight for me, princess–“ he sucks your clit hard, once, twice, vibrations of his voice echoing through your nerve endings “–fuck, cum for me, please–“ 

He curls his fingers again, and all at once everything explodes behind your eyelids, a blooming white that shoots from between your legs to the tips of your fingers and the curl of your toes. His name tumbles again from your lips, a desperate devotional that he rises to seal and swallow against his own as you ride out the waves of your orgasm. 

You don’t know how long your free fall lasts, a blinding pleasure that sends trembles through your thighs and soaks into the pump of his fingers in and out, in and out, but as you regain some semblance of cognition, weakly clenching around the still steady push of Haku’s hand, you taste yourself on the slip of Haku’s tongue against your own. 

“God,” he says, resting his forehead against yours, breathless, “you should see yourself when you come. So beautiful, so good,” another kiss, pressed against your open, panting mouth, “like a work of art.” 

You whine a little at the way his thumb is still rubbing circles against your clit, shifting your hips slightly away from the overstimulation, and he chuckles, finally bringing his hand up to your mouth. 

The chuckles stop, however, when you take his fingers into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks around the long digits as they slip toward the back of your tongue. “Gods, princess–“ 

You take your time cleaning his fingers, tasting your own slick and licking up and down and between them, brain still hazy from the way your orgasm slammed into you less than a minute earlier. Christ, the way his fingers work you – you’d spend all your life worshipping them if you could. 

Haku groans, watching your tongue flick around the base of his middle finger, and with some degree of self-control, tugs them out from between the pink of your lips. He presses his lips against yours instead, soft, gentle, reverent. 

Your mind is marginally clearer after that. You mumble his name as he helps you sit back up, propping you against the sofa backrest with your heels on either side of him. 

“Hmm?” he says, as he runs his hands down your thighs, searching for where your underwear is still clinging to your hips through force of will. 

“Are we… are we still going out?” 

Haku laughs, startled and breathless, then taps your hip so he can pull the soaked scrap of fabric you used to call underwear off your legs. “I don’t think we can.”

You want to suggest that you maybe go tomorrow (or whenever you can find a more… suitable costume, really), but your eyes follow Haku’s fingers as he wraps the damp black lace around his cock, stroking slowly. 

Fuck.

You try and sit up. “Haku–“ 

Haku groans again, using his other hand to press you back onto the sofa. “If you touch me right now, I don’t think I can last, sweetheart.” 

Only now you notice the sheen of sweat around his temples, the squeeze of his fingers around the tip of his leaking cock like he’s trying to hold himself back. You swallow at the sight of his precum smearing itself onto his hand, throat bobbing as you consider his words – he got so close to cumming at just the act of eating you out. God. 

You can’t believe he’s real. 

Oh, but the thought of the taste of him on your tongue, the weight of his cock hitting the back of your throat just the way you like it, the tug of his fingers in your hair as you swallow around him–

“Please,” you whisper, looking up at him – from underneath your lashes, in just the right way you know will bend him to your will – “I want– I want to taste you,” and just like that you watch his resolve crumble like dust in the wind. 

“Ah, fuck,” he mumbles, and rises to crush his lips against yours. It is all teeth and tongue this time, a dance of desperation that tastes all too much like you and not enough of him. 

You whine, scrabbling your nails against his biceps – how is he still clothed – and he lets you flip him backwards into the sofa. 

From there it is a battle of will for you, caught between making sure he is as unclothed as you are so you can nip and suck your way down his body, and going straight for his cock. You end up trying for the former, clumsily, if only so you can watch the flex of his abs as he comes; Haku takes pity on you and helps you divest the rest of his uniform as you straddle his lap. 

You run your hands down the smooth of his body, then lean forward to kiss him once, twice, thrice. You can feel the laze of his smile against your lips, a familiar sensation from your quiet afternoons in Hotarubi, a reminder that– 

You shift forward a bit too much, and the head of his cock brushes against the bare of your core. 

The moan bursting out from Haku’s lips is sinful, melting straight between your legs and reigniting the ashes of a fire not yet burnt out. You roll your hips again, whimpering at the drag of his cock against your folds, thick and solid and delicious, but Haku grips your hips, pushing you away from him as he squeezes his eyes shut, panting. 

God, the way he reacts to your touch – you want to bottle this feeling up forever. 

It takes all your remaining braincells to remember your goal, and to the disappointment of the other parts of your body you do not impale yourself on the tantalising firm of his cock, but instead push off his lap to kneel between his legs. You take the base of his shaft in your hand, squeezing lightly, and are rewarded with Haku’s voice, thick with want. 

“Gotta let you know, princess, I’m not gonna last long.” 

You lean up to kiss his abs, hands letting go of his length to brace against his thighs, tongue flicking out to taste the hard muscle. “Then don’t. Let me– let me make you feel good.” 

Haku makes a sound at the back of his throat, eyes on you as you lick your way down his obliques, leaving a trail of spit and kisses in your wake. His skin is feverish under your lips, a far cry from the casual leisurely make-out sessions you’ve spent exploring his body. His cock strains under your chin as your mouth goes lower; it weeps pre-cum against where it slides along the bruises he has left on your neck. 

Haku’s hand comes up to rest on your hair. He is a complete wreck beneath your mouth, breathing rapid and Adam’s apple bobbing in anticipation. “Look so good like this– ah– between my legs.” 

His breath hitches as you take him in hand again. You press a soft kiss, feather-light, to the tip of his cock, and hear his sharp inhale. He twitches, in your hand, the head an angry purple-red smoothness that leaks clear pre-cum into your touch. His body trembles beneath you; he groans, clearly holding back from thrusting up into the soft of your fist.  

You give an experimental tug. Your thumb rubs the thick vein running down the side of his cock as you pull the weight of his cock towards you, tongue darting out to lave over the thick pre-cum coating his tip. It is salty, bitter, mixed in the taste of you from where he slipped along your folds earlier. “Taste so good, Haku.”  

His hand slides down to cup your face, thumb running over your cheekbone. You look up at Haku at his gentle touch, only to find him watching you intently, dark ochre eyes trained on the way you lick his slick from your lips. 

“So perfect,” he mumbles, moving his thumb to brush over the spit-shine of your lips. “Mouth was just made for me.” 

You tilt your head to suck lightly on his thumb, just before he can move away, and feel his cock twitch again in the palm of your hand. He groans. “Don’t tease me anymore, princess, please.” 

Alright. 

You don’t give him a warning before you sink your lips down over his head, flattening your tongue to take the length of him all the way into your mouth. 

He cannot help the jerk of his hips in response to the unexpected wetness, forcing the head of his cock past the back of your mouth. It triggers a swallow almost instantly; the sudden push of your tongue on his shaft against the roof of your mouth as your mouth tightens around him drags a low groan from the back of his throat. “Fuck—“ 

You pull off slightly to breathe, hollowing your cheeks around him before bobbing back down; what you cannot reach with your lips you make up for by stroking the velvet of his skin with your fist. You set a comfortable pace for yourself, making sure your teeth don’t scrape the sensitive skin and making sure the head of his cock hits your soft palate every time you sink down on him. The salty taste of his precum fills your mouth; you swallow again, looking up. 

Oh, Haku is glorious. 

His forehead is sweaty, fringe stuck to his forehead in a mess; the red strings of his earrings are plastered to the side of his cheek, darkened with sweat. His mouth is open, panting with the effort of restraint, and his eyes are hooded, staring down at you with a mix of adulation and awe as his cock rests in the heat of your mouth. 

You quicken your pace, twisting your wrist just so as you pump the base of his shaft, and watch as his golden eyes glaze over as he groans. “Fuck, you’re doing so good for me, princess, so good with your tongue–“ 

The gravel of his voice makes you squeeze your thighs together. Your other hand leaves his thigh to wander beneath your skirt, sliding between your legs to–

“Fuck,” Haku curses, and adjusts himself so he can see where your hand has pushed the edge of your skirt up. 

You pull off of him, cock springing from your lips as you shuffle on your knees, trying to adjust your own position in accordance with his. A thin string of spit connects your lips to the tip of his cock as it tips back to hit his abs. 

“God,” he breathes, eyes darting back your lips, “what a sight you are.” 

His voice is rough with need, but filled with adoration all the same as he brushes your hair away from your face. You can’t help but smile back up at him. You’re a sight, you’re sure, on your knees and hair dishevelled and salivating for him, but when he looks at you like you’ve personally hung the stars-

Your hands return to his cock, smearing the copious mix of your saliva and his pre-cum down his shaft. The image of you on your knees, both hands pressed together around the thick of his cock, does not slip by you; what was it that Haku said the other day, murmured words lost in the rustle of undressing – something about a belief that your lover is cast in the image of your gods. When you glance back up at Haku it feels like you understand. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he murmurs. He reaches to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Like what?” 

“Like you’re praying.” 

You laugh. Haku’s uncanny way of knowing exactly what you’re thinking strikes again. You press a kiss to his shaft, then another and another, up the throbbing vein in his side until you reach his glans. You swirl your tongue around the flared head of his cock, dipping into his slit to collect a pearl of precum before sucking lightly on his tip, coating it in the warmth of your spit. “And what if I am?” 

“I’m pretty sure whatever– ah– whatever holy you pray to isn’t supposed to– ah, princess– isn’t supposed to defile you like this–“ 

You hum, taking all of him into your mouth and sinking down until he hits the back of your throat before swallowing around him. Is it defiling, if you want the taint of his taste on your tongue? Is it defiling, if you have never wanted to be pure of him? 

What is the point of holy, anyway, if not to find something you’d devote yourself to? 

You set a far more punishing pace this time, his thickness threatening to split your jaw open, and watch as Haku tips his head back in pleasure. Your personal deity, your personal idol. You’d stay on your knees all night for him, if he’d let you. 

It doesn’t take long before the tell-tale flex of his abs comes, before he tangles his fingers in your hair and your name in his speech, before he tugs tenderly on your scalp and a litany of praise comes spilling out, unfiltered from the gold of his tongue. “So perfect, princess, you– ah– can I—“ 

Your deity, falling apart under the heat of your tongue. 

You hum around his cock, meeting his eyes in permission, and all at once he comes, hot of his seed shooting into the warm confines of your mouth. The thick cum is salty as it hits the back of your throat, and you swallow, drawing out pump after addictive pump from the twitching cock between your hands. 

His body jerks up, thrusting shallowly into the heat of your mouth as he rides out his orgasm. He groans your name, low and long. “So tight and warm, so beautiful around my cock, ah– so good for me–“ 

You continue hollowing your cheeks around him, rubbing your tongue along the underside of his shaft. One hand leaves his cock to brace against his thighs; the other keeps up the slip-slide of his cock into the heat of your throat as his hips begin to stutter. You swallow as best as you can, trying to keep the thick rivulets of cum from spilling out between your lips as the erratic jerk of his hips against your hands slow and come to a stop. 

When you look up, lips still wrapped around him, his eyes are trained on you again, glassy and awestruck. 

You’ll never get tired of the way Haku looks just after cumming. His skin is covered in a light sheen of sweat, almost like he’s glowing, and the light catches in his hair like his own personal halo. All dazed, all blissed and reverential. All fucked out, just for you. 

You suckle on him, again, dragging his cock along the pad of your tongue. His hands tug on your hair, the pain a delicious distraction from where your jaw is aching around his width. He lets out a groan at the overstimulating shift of your mouth around his tip. “Princess, please–“ 

You grin, pulling off of him with a pop, and you both look down as the string of spit and cum connecting the head of his cock to your lips elongates and breaks apart. His thumb finds your cheek, stroking gently as you leave a kiss on the soft pink of his tip. 

You rest your cheek against his thigh as you breathe in the salty musk of his scent. Your voice is slightly hoarse as you look up at him, “I don’t suppose we’ll make it to that Halloween fair tonight.”

It takes Haku a while to find words, like he has to pull braincells back from where you’ve been sucking them right out of his dick. He smiles lazily at you, “We can always go tomorrow.” 

You laugh, and he sits up to help you up off your knees. His hands rub at where your knees have turned red, then reach up to smooth over the pleats of your skirt, still too short to cover anything important. He playfully squeezes your ass, before tugging you down into his lap.

You let out a soft unf as you land in his lap, straddling him. You shift forward to kiss him, pressing your chest against his; in doing so your folds, wet and warm, brush once again over the thick of his cock. 

Haku groans into the kiss at the same time a small gasp escapes you. You feel him twitch in renewed interest against your core, stoking the small fire that now burns brighter between your legs. 

“That is,” he adds, voice husky, hands moving under your skirt to grope your ass, “if you can still walk tomorrow.” 

You roll your hips against his, grinning brightly. “Bet.” 

[trendywaifus]

ex girlfriend! acheron ends up bumping into you during her aimless walk back to the lobby. she’s visibly surprised that she crossed paths with you in penacony of all places. despite how awkward the situation was, she didn’t bother (or perhaps didn’t realize) to hide the longing look in her eyes as you explained to her the directions to the lobby. eventually, you folded under her gaze and instead, decided to personally guide her to your hotel room to catch up. cw: fem!reader, oral sex (fem!r receiving), cunnilingus, cursing

“ mm, next time, please don’t look at me with those sad puppy eyes or else we’ll end up like this again.” you groaned, tilting your head to the side so her hot lips can have more access to your neck. the galaxy ranger’s hands squeezes your hips, grinding her wet pussy against yours.

“ . . .sorry. “ acheron shyly mutters into your skin, leaving behind open–mouth kisses. you can easily admit that you missed everything about her and it’s disappointing that she decided to end things after weeks of endless thinking, and the final reason was understandable—to protect you from enemies who would go through any means to see her crumble. acheron knows you’re fully capable of defending yourself but she’s afraid of losing another person precious to her.

“ don’t apologize—i missed you too. “ you smiled, she lets out a sad, strained chuckled. the purple–haired woman rocks her hips in a painfully slow rhythm, relishing at the perfect feeling of her throbbing clit rubbing against yours. a soft, yet deep moan escapes her lips, which sounded like heaven to your ears. she brings herself up to sensually kiss your lips, holding herself back from rolling your bottom lip between her teeth.

“ ‘want you to eat me out like you use to. “ you whispered breathlessly between kisses. she stops and pulls away, looking into your eyes with fierce loyalty. “ as you wish. “ acheron simply says, kissing your lips one last time before making her away down between your legs. you shudder as feathery kisses travels along down your navel and inner thighs.

acheron lets you wrap your legs loosely around her head as her warm tongue broadly licks at your dewy folds. “ i still can never get over your taste. “ she mutters, spreading your pussy lips to momentarily admire the sight of your dripping hole. diving back in, she circles her tongue around the entrance, coating the wet muscle with your juices. “ fuckk. .“ you moaned, already on the verge of losing yourself when you catch her half–lidded eyes intently observing you. your face contorted into a adorable look of embarrassment under the intensity of her gaze.

“ y-you. .—i-i’m telling you, you’re going to make me burst if you keep staring at me like that, acheron.”hot breath fans against your clit, causing it to twitch as a chuckle fell from her slick covered lips.

“ i will gladly continue if i get to see those cute expressions on your face, my pretty lady. “

[shadowdaddies]

Closer to You

Rhys x Reader smut

A/N: this can be read as a part 2 to Close to You, or on its own. PRIOR CONSENT BY BOTH PARTIES IS IMPLIED. Read the warnings, loves

Warnings: somnophilia, pure smut, oral f! receiving, p in v sex

Rhys finished his work, leaning back in his chair to hold your sleeping form close to his chest. A small mewl of pleasure escaped you as his cock brushed your walls, the new angle drawing pleasure from you even in your sleep.

Hips rolled against his, breathy moans escaping you in dreams at the feeling of your mate filling you deeply, tip sliding against your sensitive walls. Rhys bit back a moan, teeth digging into his lip while he stood slowly and winnowed you to your shared bedroom.

Laying you down on the mattress, Rhys looked down at your form, ethereal in the glow of the moon as he planned his next move. You were too peaceful to disturb, body too soft and vulnerable for him to desecrate how he desired. Eyes darkened as he scented your arousal building even in slumber, hips rolling against the sheets in front of him in a beckoning call.

Rhys’s hands slid up your legs, your mate anticipating the sharp gasp that left you as he spread your legs, warm core exposed to the cold air of your bedroom.

Testing the waters, Rhys kissed up your thighs, hot lips and onyx locks tickling the skin as he worked upwards toward your core. 

You writhed beneath him, blissfully unaware that your dream was reality as your mind imagined your mate’s tongue against your body. Soft licks slowly worked up your legs, warm and cold spreading through you from the pleasurable sensations.

Rhys licked a careful stripe up your pussy, strategic in his slow assault on your core. Small gasps escaped you, moans echoing through the room as your eyes fluttered under his tantalizing touch.

Tongue dipped into your core, Rhys lapping eagerly at your arousal while you ground against him, your subconscious convincing you that this was all a perfect dream.

Warm hands caressed your breasts, tweaking your nipples as Rhys’s movements became more frantic. Your moans left him rutting against the bed, desperate for friction as he longed to be inside of you.

Eyes rolled, back arched as you crashed into your high, the wave bringing you from your deep sleep to a half-wakened state. You recognized the form of your mate, aglow in the soft night light above you as his tip pressed against your entrance.

With a lazy smile, your legs wrapped around him, urging him to thrust. Rhys’s thick cock filled you, awakening you fully to see the concentration on his face, how hard he was trying to stay gentle with you in your sleepy state.

“Rhys,” you whispered, earning a glance from violet eyes that danced with galaxies. “Fuck me hard, please.”

The sound was a weak mewl, needy and desperate for distraction from the day you’d had. As though understanding your desire, Rhys’s hips met yours fully, joined sounds leaving both of you at the full stretch.

You looked up through glassy eyes, hunger stirring within you as your hands found his neck. “More,” you urged, rolling your hips against his for emphasis.

Rhys groaned, the High Lord’s strong arms bracketing you, as they forced your legs over his shoulders. “I love you,” he whispered against your lips, his cock sliding out of you for only a moment before he thrust back in fully.

Nails scraped against his back, clawing desperately at your mate’s tattooed skin as his hips rolled against yours, cock brushing deep inside of you with each movement.

Your high reached you quickly, Rhys’s stomach brushing against your clit as he hammered out both of your frustrations. 

His name left your lips like a prayer, chanting for mercy and strength as you felt his release inside of you. Collapsing into your hold, Rhys’s lips found your neck, licking the sweaty skin there, kissing and nipping along the curves of your body.

A soft laugh escaped your lips, fully coming to your senses to see your mate panting above you, sweaty bodies intertwined as pleasure settled deep in your bones.

“I need a bath,” you whispered, pausing to kiss your mate’s neck. The taste of salt seeped through your tongue, “And so do you.”

Rhys’s soft groan sent a jolt through your sensitive core, his mirthful stare all-knowing at your reaction. “Then let’s go, darling,” he purred, arms wrapping around to hold you against him as he stood. “I’ll take good care of you.”

[mint-yooxgi]

Kinktober Day 5 - Yandere!Moon God!Soobin + Somnophilia & Praise

@stopaskinf Said: Yandere! Moon god soobin with somnophilia and praise 🧎‍♀️

A/n: I got more carried away with this one than I thought I would lmaoo I hope you enjoy!

Warnings/Genre/Rating: 18+ MDNI - Smut, Mature, Established Relationship, Yandere, Possession

Word Count: 1,209

Kinktober 2024 Mini Masterlist

One hour.

It’s been about one hour since he’s started.

Good. 

One hour is all it will take.

Blocking out the sun is no easy feat, but to him, it’s as easy as closing the blinds. A spontaneous solar eclipse is child’s play for him, especially with everything he’s had planned.

There you rest, head delicately pressed against his chest with his cock still buried deep inside of you. Your body is draped over his own, his hands gently caressing over your spine as he holds you close. Even though he had wanted the previous night to last forever, it sadly could not. Thus, this is the next best thing.

Soobin has never hated the sun. It is the glorious star that give his rock light. However, when it comes to you, there is nothing more satisfying than the way you look bathed in his moonlight. Besides, why use the sun when you are the only light in his life he will ever need?

Darkness has always been his best friend, and now, it shall be yours as well.

The corner of his lips quirk upwards, his one hand coming up to caress the side of your face. Tenderly, he brushes his fingers over your cheek, admiring every inch of your bare skin pressed against his own.

He may have claimed you as his last night, but now, Soobin wants more. Nothing will ever be enough when it comes to you, and he promises to never make you doubt his affections for you. After all, this is only the start of your forever.

Gently, Soobin rolls his hips up into your own, the moon almost completely covering the sun. He’s lucky you sleep so soundly for the moment, for he doesn’t want to risk the eclipse damaging your eyesight. Despite the fact that he could heal you instantly, he swore to never hurt you. Even if the end result will bring the two of you even closer than you were last night.

His cock twitches deep within you, his chest rumbling contently as thoughts of the previous evening fill his mind. He can still hear the way your voice cried out for him, and your desperate moans as you pulled him in closer, begging him for more.

Carefully, he rolls you both onto your sides, hooking your leg around his hip. His hand slides up your thigh and towards your ass, squeezing the tender flesh appreciatively. He can feel his cock throbbing deep within your warmth, and the way you involuntarily clench around him makes him moan.

Again, he grinds his hips into your own.

Kisses are placed softly against your face, tracing a path from your forehead to your nose, over your cheeks, and finally to your lips. His tongue traces the curve of your bottom lip, nose nuzzling yours before he’s finally pulling you flush against himself. His kiss is desperate as he rolls his hips against your own.

Your eyes flutter open, a soft moan breathed against his lips.

Soobin wastes no time. With his hands holding you steady, he shifts you onto your back, hovering over you as galaxies shimmer within his eyes. The very stars are only emphasized by the way the world goes still around you, blanketing you both in a comforting darkness.

“Good morning, Beautiful,” his low voice rumbles out. “Do you like your gift?”

Leaning in, Soobin begins tracing his lips against the skin of your neck. Open mouthed kisses are placed along your pulse, tongue laving over each spot soon afterwards.

He pulls almost all of the way out of you only to slowly thrust back in.

A small gasp escapes your lips, head tilting back as you feel his cock fill you just as it did last night. Your eyes catch on the beautiful solar eclipse hanging directly over his open temple, blanketing the world in darkness and making you feel like you are the only two in the world.

You clench around him.

“Beautiful.” The word is a mere whisper on your lips as you tangle your fingers in his hair.

“Yes. You are, Gorgeous,” he hums, repeating his tender movement of pulling nearly all the way out of you only to push back in slowly once more. “So beautiful when you let me fill you with my cock.”

A sigh of his name slips passed your lips.

“That’s it, Beautiful.” A low, pleased hum escapes him. “Sing my name to the heavens and tell everyone who lives to serve you.”

Your nails scrape against his back, his thrusts increasing slightly. That intensity you’ve come to recognize from him never leaves his gaze as he rests his forehead gently on your own.

“Fuck- you take me so well, Gorgeous,” he pants, his eyes shimmering with starlight as he brushes his nose against your own. “Like you were made for me.”

“I was made for you, Soobin,” your eyes flutter shut, words a mere blissful sigh on your lips. “As you were made for me.”

A pleased rumble shakes his chest, his hips snapping into yours particularly hard at your words. His one hand sneaks between your bodies, thumb finding your clit and gently beginning to rub in circles. The way he hears you choke on a moan only causes his lips to twitch upwards.

“My Goddess,” he growls in agreement. “Fuck- I never want to be parted from you.”

Your back arches slightly as he increases the pressure of his finger over your clit, a high pitched whine escaping you.

“Look at how perfect you are.” His voice is but a low whisper, affection dripping from his tongue. “Nothing compares to your beauty, My Goddess. I could worship you for all eternity, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

You pull him in closer, clenching hard around his cock. That familiar tightness is building deep within you, and with every drag of his cock over your walls, with every flick of his thumb over your clit, you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

The moment you guide his lips to yours in a desperate kiss, you feel yourself let go.

A pleased snarl escapes him as he feels you keen into his touch, your chest pressing firmly against his own. The way he can feel your warmth squeezing him has his hips stuttering, burying himself deep inside of you as he lets himself go. He comes with a low groan, swallowing every whimper you offer him as his thumb continues to circle your clit, needing your pleasure to last as long as it possibly can.

The first rays of the sun begin to reappear from behind the moon.

Soobin pecks your lips a few more times in succession as you come down from your high. His hands trace over your sides, holding you as close to him as he can, needing to feel all of you pressing against all of him. His forehead rests lightly against your own, nose nuzzling yours softly. His chest rumbles contently, rolling his hips against yours tenderly. The faint wet squelch he can hear each time he pushes your combined releases back into you only serves to make his head spin.

His eyes flutter shut.

“My Perfect Goddess.”

[frostbitebakery]

Loud.

part one two three four five

“Why are you buttering me up, Master?” Obi-Wan signs, taking another careful sip of the cookie shake.

Master Tholme unfolds his hands on the table, cane resting against his leg. “Because I understand that you might not want to participate in this mission,” he signs back. It must be one of those days where he doesn’t want to talk. Obi-Wan understands and lets the silence engulf them. “But the Council and I feel that this is where you need to be.”

.

“Master,” Obi-Wan signs and bows.

“Hello, Obi-Wan.”

It’s not the first time he’s seen Qui-Gon again after Melidaan’s parting gift almost killed him. Of course they’ve seen each other. Qui-Gon had been there for him while he recovered, had hovered over Master Tholme’s shoulder like a shadow.

“A particularly annoying shadow,” Master Tholme had commented drily back then. “Which is funny, considering.“

Obi-Wan opens his arms and Qui-Gon’s tall frame closes around him. Maybe a queezing too tight but… but that doesn’t matter. “How are you,” he taps on a broad shoulder.

He’s abruptly let go. Not pushed back, thankfully.

“I am well, thank you.” Qui-Gon falls silent.

Obi-Wan has forced himself to stop trying to make the awkwardness between them less uncomfortable by the time he turned sixteen and Master Tholme sat him down to explain why he should let Qui-Gon come to grips with everything that has happened between them on his own until Qui-Gon reaches out to him.

“How are you?” And the caring and heartbreak lingering in Qui-Gon’s eyes is too much.

“I feel prepared to accompany you on this mission.”

It had been Qui-Gon who had taught him sign language in different iterations useful across the galaxy, before and later. Tholme has taught him tap code, after.

“Then let’s not waste any time,” Qui-Gon says, eyes on his long padawan braid.

.

Meeting Anakin feels… weird in the Force.

“So you don’t talk? Ever?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head, amusement crinkling his eyes.

“You don’t want to or you can’t?” the boy asks before his eyes widen. “Both are fine!”

“Cannot,” he signs carefully, settling on an Outer Rim dialect.

“Oh, ok!”

It’s the beginning of a never ending nightmare. Tatooine. Naboo. The desperate attempts to stop a war from happening.

He keeps to the background, inconspicuous and invisible.

Which is the only reason he ends up in the plasma refinery complex.

.

“It’ll be alright, little one,” Qui-Gon murmurs, gentle fingers wiping tears away before they reach the mask. “Just squeeze my hand.”

“Master,” he taps, hiccups threatening to disrupt something in his throat.

“Take care of the boy.”

.

So he does.

He brings Anakin back to the Temple, watches over his nightmares in silence.

He kneels as Master Tholme cuts his braid.

He explains to the Council what he thinks.

Anakin is bright. Smart and a beacon in the Force. He’s older than usual, granted. But his connection to the Force is palpably vast and potentially dangerous if he isn’t trained to handle that connection. He’s safer in the Temple where they can watch over him and teach him.

The Council agrees.

.

He introduces Anakin to Depa.

Her dry wit has the boy relaxing. Her no-nonsense attitude is a guiding light, a steady framework he can lean on and count on.

Depa delights in showing him the Temple, the opportunities to learn and try out new experiences.

.

Shadow work piles up and suddenly Obi-Wan is running around the galaxy trying to put out fires.

When he’s slumped in the back door of an abandoned factory in the shady part of an Outer Rim planet, struggling to breathe and feeling like he’s dying, lightsaber in a death grip, he makes the decision to return to the Temple. The mask has to change or he will die because he is out of breath. Unacceptable.

The technicians look at him chagrined and apologetic, explain that this is all they can do at the moment, maybe he can take it a bit easier?

“No, you need to adjust the valves on—“ a small voice peeps up from behind his shoulder.

Obi-Wan has been aware Anakin is clinging to his back like a monkey bear. He’s ignored the looks he’s gotten on the way to the tech complex.

“Have at it, then,” he signs.

Anakin looks at him like he’s personally chosen every star in the galaxy as he hands over the mask.

.

“An order.”

“A strong suggestion,” Mace corrects.

“Call it what it is,” Obi-Wan signs, cutting through the air with his hands he’s so furious. “Chancellor Palpatine has no business wanting to spend time with Anakin.”

Mace sighs, leans back in the chair. “I’m aware, Obi-Wan.” He taps his fingers against the armrest but he’s releasing energy, focusing his thoughts, not code. “How are you feeling?”

The renewed esophagus has him out of the mission count for a bit yet, he’s slowly weaned off the artificial nutrition. Overall, he’s starting to feel a bit restless.

“Perhaps you want to enjoy Coruscant’s scenery while you’re here?” Mace asks, a twinkle in his eye. “Though I beg you to not get into trouble,” he adds with a frown. “Too much trouble, I mean. I forgot for a second who I was talking to.”

Spying on the Chancellor is not on Bant’s list of approved activities but what she doesn’t know…

Obi-Wan touches his chin and brings his hand forward.

.

“So you can either sign in the dark or write tap code with these gloves. You can adjust the brightness and still sneak around.”

“Thank you, Ani.” It’s one of the best gifts he’s ever had the honor of receiving. It solves a lot of problems on missions. He hugs the boy close and feels swept up in the thoughtfulness. “I don’t sneak.”

“You totally do and it’s so wizard!”

.

“You were supposed to be my Master!”

[sakkiichi]

CRUEL SUMMER.

the summer heat is becoming unbearable, but if you can be with him, you think you’ll survive this unforgiving weather.

ft. Kaedehara Kazuha, Scaramouche/Wanderer, Xiao, Kaveh, Alhaitham, Kaeya x gn! reader.

cw/genre: fluff, romance, a tiny little bit suggestive. reader’s hair is long enough to be put into a ponytail in Kaveh’s.

word count: 1.6k.

decided to try this other layout formatting to make the post more pleasing (hopefully haha), hope you enjoy <3

✧ KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

If you didn’t know him so well, you’d think he’s doing this on purpose.

White short sleeved t-shirt on, Kazuha sits by your living room’s fan.

A strawberry popsicle in his mouth, he looks unfairly good with sweaty strands framing his face, as he reaches to tie his hair up into a high ponytail.

You want to mess it up. You think, cheeks heated, and not because of the weather.

You watch with envy as droplets slide down the vibrant popsicle on your boyfriend’s mouth.

And then, a devilish idea pops into your mind.

“Kazu…” you call him, a mask of innocence over your less demure intentions. “Can I have a taste?”

Sunset eyes set on you, soft pink lips separating from the icy treat.

“Of course, my dove.” He smiles, offering you the ice pop.

With your tongue sticking out the corner of your lips, your hand closes over his.

Your gaze, however, settles for another strawberry hued treat.

You lean in, and Kazuha’s lips taste like frozen sugar. The hold you had on his hand tightens, as his free one reaches up to cup your cheek, your hand on top of his.

You feel cool droplets from the melting ice cream on your skin, the wind from the nearby fan cooling you off.

When you pull away for air, your lips close around the melting sweet, still in Kazuha’s hand, your eyes never leaving his.

“Now I want a taste, hummingbird.” The samurai utters, taking your chin in between his fingers, guiding your kiss to him once more.

✧ SCARAMOUCHE

He won’t admit it, but your whining’s kind of cute.

Your form laying on the bed, splayed out upside down, your legs kicking every now and then for some semblance of air.

He certainly wants to steal the air off your lungs right now.

“Kuniiiii!” You look at him, a pout he wants to kiss off all too enticing on your lips. “It’s so hot…”

He sighs, exasperated. Most of his clothes have been discarded already, the black tank top in stark contrast to his pale skin doing nothing to help lower your temperature.

“How many more times are you gonna say it?” The wanderer huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’m gonna melt into a puddle…” You complain, looking at the night dawning out the window, hoping the sunset brings at least a slight breeze.

“Ugh, you’re insufferable!” Are the words that contradict the spreading pink blooms on your lover’s cheeks. “Give me your hand.”

You stare back at him, tilting your head to the side from your upended position.

“Come on, I’m gonna do something about this heat.” He spats, the fake malice melting off his tone at your sparkly eyed gaze.

Standing up, you rush to your wanderer, putting your hand in his perfectly spotless one.

The air you so desperately craved leaves your lungs momentarily when his other arm hooks under your thighs, starlight kissing your skin the moment he leaps out the open window.

You brace yourself for impact.

“Open your eyes, silly.” You hear, followed by a flick to your forehead.

Galaxy-like eyes regard you, soft, akin to the polarity of a moon against the dusky edges of his smirk. “Didn’t you like the stars? It’s relatively cool here too.” The wandering doll states, landing on a corner of the rooftop.

The scent of nearby wisteria surrounds you when your arms wrap around him, your head nuzzling into his chest.

“Thank you, Scara.” You softly whisper.

“Weren’t you hot?” He retorts at your closeness, tone amused, arms tightening around you.

He never cared for the stars above, and certainly not now that you make constellations shine in the firmaments of his stare.

✧ XIAO

Xiao wonders if you have a fever.

Your skin is all hot, you lay down more than usual, you’re not hungry, and you won’t stop shifting in bed.

He is worried. Is this because of his karma? The yaksha ponders, lower lip caught between his teeth, his spoon picking at the frozen almond tofu he would have otherwise devoured in seconds.

“Xiao?” You ask, sitting by his side, on a shaded area of Wangshu Inn’s balcony. “Is everything okay?”

Sharp golden eyes set on yours. Dark shadows pool under your stare. You didn’t sleep well, again.

“Qingxin…” the conqueror of demons begins. “You look tired… are you sick? Did I do something wrong?” Xiao worries, silk flowers blossoming on his pale cheeks.

You sigh heavily, laying down with your head over his thigh.

“I’m not sick, love…” You tell him, your hand reaching up to cup his face. “It’s just… this heat is a bit too much…” You smile, a little strained.

“I see…” He breathes, relief lacing his tone. Then, you feel something cool against your forehead.

“Xiao, what-“

“This will help.” He mutters, face still a crimson watercolor, as he awkwardly holds the cool almond tofu plate over your temple. “Here, have some too.” He mumbles, busying himself with scooping up some, bringing the spoon to your parched lips.

You swallow the treat, eyes focused on his features, the scorching breeze combing through the dark stands of his hair.

“You’re so cute, Xiao.” You smile up at him.

Now, he’s the one having a heat stroke.

✧ KAVEH

Why did you decide on today of all days to tidy up his study, you might never know.

Droplets of sweat uncomfortably trickle down your neck and back, your shirt sticking to your skin.

You huff, running a hand through your sweat dampened hair.

Now, of all times you just had to forget to bring a hair tie. Sighing, you resign yourself to suffer moving yet another box, strands sticking to your face and the back of your neck.

“My darling,” Your lover delicately calls, his voice honey sweet. “Allow me.” Kaveh’s hands rest on your shoulders, moving up to your hair, gathering it at the back of your head carefully.

“Mmm…” You hum at the sensation, eyelids briefly fluttering closed. “This is nice.” You sing, as you sway against the architect.

He chuckles.

“I can’t let my gorgeous padisarah suffocate in this weather, now, can I?”

You turn around, hair now neatly tied, a golden shimmery scrunchie holding it into a ponytail.

“Well, you could effectively avoid that keeping the room tidy.” You tease, bopping his nose.

“Fair…” Kaveh mumbles, zaytun peach pink painted on his cheeks.

You let out a soft laugh, lips tenderly brushing against his pouty ones.

If you get to spend moments like this with him, you can endure this.

✧ ALHAITHAM

Sometimes, you think there is no way your boyfriend is human.

How can he, in this weather, be reading his book so nonchalantly, completely unbothered by the unforgiving rays of the midday sun?

You rest your cheek on your crossed arms, keeping you afloat on the edge of the swimming pool.

“Are you really not going to come take a bath, Alhaitham?”

The scribe momentarily looks up from the tome, vibrant turquoise leveling you before returning his gaze to the words.

“I’m fine, [Y/n].” Your partner utters, flatly.

You ‘ugh’.

“Rude!” You whine, as you splash a wave in Alhaitham’s direction, soaking his t-shirt, the book on his hands somehow still perfectly dry.

You turn around, your back to him, resting against the pool’s wall.

Suddenly, you feel a strong hand tilting your chin upwards.

Silver and teal flood your vision before your lover kisses the corners of your mouth, tongue swiping over the pretty pink of your moist lips.

You smile into the kiss, but right as you were going to deepen it, the former acting grand sage pulls away.

“Ah- ah.” He tuts, smirk outlined in his handsome features. “I’m afraid not now, sweetheart.”

You whine in response.

“And you’re lucky the book is dry.” Alhaitham answers you, already walking away, that grin still etched on his face. “Let’s talk about it tonight.” Is the scribe’s last statement before immersing himself in his read again.

✧ KAEYA

As enchanting as the Veluriyam Mirage is, you can’t deny the rainforest climate is a bit too warm.

The humidity and high temperature are certainly not helping your state, as Klee urges you to follow her, claiming she wants to ride the choo-choo cart again.

How could you deny her? When her hopeful eyes and bright smile expectantly awaited your answer? When she looks so excited in her new mage costume?

So, you push through, panting as the girl runs along in front of you.

When she stops near Silver Bottle Courtyard to play with some hydro eidolons, however, you are thankful. And you certainly don’t pass up the chance to freshen up and drink some water in the nearby fountain.

“Well, someone looks tired.” A familiar voice speaks.

“Kaeya…” you weakly call, faint smile tugging at your lips.

The swordsman, or rather, bandit now, steps closer to you, sitting himself next to you on the fountain’s stone edge.

“Allow this thief to cool you down a little, darling.” He offers, dipping his fingers ringed in gold on the crystalline waters.

Slipping his hands under your shirt, the water cools at Kaeya’s contact with your skin, eliciting pleased sighs from you.

“I take it this is better?” Your knight teases, dark manicured fingers caressing your nape.

“Much better.” You announce, with a satisfied smile. “If you’re going to do this, you can steal me away any time, my bandit.” You tease.

“Oh, don’t ever doubt it, beautiful.” He flirts back, with a kiss to the side of your neck.

[entitled-fangirl]

I know you made her your riduur.

Din Djarin x reader

Summary: Din finds his little clan held captive by Moff Gideon with the Darksaber. He intends to do anything to get them back.

Warnings: kidnapping, mention of blood, fighting, threatening

Author's note: I'm a huge sucker for protective Din, so any requests of that is more than fine by me...

Masterlist

..........................................................

The door slid open to a sight Din never wanted to see.

Moff Gideon held the dark saber above the Mandalorian's clan.

Y/N and Grogu.

The two were in cuffs, the child in the woman's lap.

When she saw the familiar beskar, she let out a breath of relief, "…Mando…"

He stepped through the doorway slowly with his blaster pointed at the man. But he knew it did no good.

"Drop the blaster." Moff Gideon commanded.

When Din hesitated, Gideon lowered the blade closer to the woman's head. 

The soft white glow from the saber illuminated the woman and child's faces, only spotlighting their concern gazes on the Mandalorian.

But Din could barely see it through the red anger that was clouding his vision.

"…Slowly."

Din obeyed, setting the blaster on the hard metal floor.

Y/N shifted in her chair, "Don't… please."

But Din didn't care. 

As much as her frail voice made his stomach drop, he would do anything to guarantee that he could keep hearing her voice forever.

Even if that means surrendering.

"Now kick it over to me."

And Din did so. He pointed to his family, "Give me the kid and the girl."

"They are just fine where they are."

Just to tease the beskar-wearing warrior, Moff Gideon menacingly brushed the blade back and forth, mere inches from the girl's head.

She grimaced slightly, looking down at the child.

Moff Gideon didn't care to even look at them, "Mesmerizing, isn't it? Used to belong to Bo-Katan. Oh, yes. I know you've been traveling with Bo-Katan. A friendly piece of advice, assume that I know everything."

Din shifted his weight to his other leg, as he contemplated what to do.

"Like the fact that your wrist launcher has fired its one and only salvo. And that only two weeks ago did you make this pretty girl your riduur."

Din's voice hardened through the modulator, not only tired of the situation, but angered by the mention his weaknesses. "Where is this going?"

"This is where this is going: I'm guessing that Bo-Katan and her boarding party have arrived at the bridge, seeking me or, more accurately, this." He held the saber up. "See, but I'm not there. And I imagine that they've killed everyone on the bridge, the murderous savages they are. And now, they're beginning to panic.

"You see, she wants this. Do you know why? Because it brings power. Whoever wields this sword… has the right to lay claim to the Mandalorian throne."

Y/N's eyes shift up to Din at this information. She takes note of the light glow that reflects from his armor.

"You keep it." Din says immediately, "I just want the girl and the kid."

Moff Gideon tilts his head in consideration, "Very well. I've already got what I want from the kid. His blood. All I wanted was to study his blood. This child is extremely gifted and has been blessed with rare properties that have the potential to bring order back to the galaxy."

Din finally lets his gaze move to the woman and child. He takes notes of the small cut on Y/N's cheek, the unshed tears that sit in her eyes. The child seems unscathed enough, but his eyes are just as saddened as the girls.

"I see your bond with the child," Gideon continues. "Take them."

Din steps forward.

Moff Gideon's voice becomes low, "But you will leave my ship immediately and we will go our separate ways."

Din nodded, moving to his little clan.

Gideon stepped forward to let the Mandalorian do so.

When his gloved hands connected with Y/N's, Gideon ignited the saber, swinging it right into Din's back.

Y/N had never been more thankful that Din wore beskar. 

He grunted at the impact, immediately blocking the next swing with his armored arms.

He managed to get the battle away from the two hostages as he lured Moff Gideon into the hallway. 

As much as Y/N wanted to help, she knew she was in no state to do so. And she could help Din the most by protecting the child.

She stood up with him in her arms, moving towards the sound of the saber hitting beskar.

She stayed in the doorway, watching the two fight.

Finally, Din got the upper hand and kept his spear pointed at the defeated Moff Gideon who slouched on the ground.

The dark saber had been thrown from his hands, and now resided on the floor near Y/N. She hesitantly picked it up and pocketed it.

"You're sparing my life? Well," Moff Gideon smiled, "This should be interesting."

Din took a moment to remember the girl and child. He turned to see them standing in the hall a few feet back. He motioned them towards him.

Y/N immediately walked to him.

Din managed to get the cuffs off both of them, and only then did he relax.

His hand wandered to Y/N's cheek, lightly grazing over the cut there.

She leaned into his touch, "You came for us…"

"Of course I did. I made vows to you, and I intend to keep them." He lets his eyes wander down her frame, "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head, hugging the child to her, "We're just fine. Are you… are you alright?"

His helmet moved just barely in a nod, "I'm alright now."

She smiled, reaching into her pocket with the arm that didn't hold the child to retrieve the saber. "Here…"

If only she could've seen his own matching smile under his helmet, "Thank you, cyare."

He turned back to Moff Gideon, letting his voice harden once more to the warrior he was, "Let's go."

And just like that, Y/N felt safe next to the man who would kill anything that stood in his way.

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