#could rail me anyday and I would THANK him

[whatanoof]

Of Angels and Promises

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Boba Fett x Reader

Word Count: ~12.2k

Warnings: fluff, smut, violence, swearing, sexual tension, rough sex, daddy boba is a warning all on his own, implied throne fucking

Summary: Promises are bad. They imply attachment and accountability, both  very hard to come by in the maker-forsaken deserts of Tatooine. Falling in love inspires promises that one isn’t able to keep, and you let your guard down with him.

You saw the ship. It soared through the sky, slicing through the air like an arrow. It was the same one that he had drawn for you on the rough sketching paper in your mechanic’s workshop, and it was even more beautiful in person. It was a cloudless day, and the green paint contrasted the sky perfectly. You could track every movement across the blue expanse and expected to watch the ship set down directly by your hut. But it didn’t. It continued, stretching farther away in the direction of the palace with every passing second that you stood, frozen in space and time. 

So you do what every other abandoned lover would. You ignore it and tell yourself that you were mistaken. It’s easy to pretend you’d imagined it. Because if Boba ever came back, he would come back to you, right?

A gentle knock on the doorframe rouses you from the depths of overthinking, and you accidentally slam your head on the shelf in surprise. “Shit! Motherkriffing, dank fucking farri-”

Your first name echoes through the building and cuts through your vicious curses like a bell, and you stop in shock. No one out here calls anyone by name. Your hand drops to your workbench and grasps a heavy wrench. You slowly approach the door and slide to one side of the frame to prepare an ambush. The voice calls your name again, and this time you register that it’s female, low-pitched and soothing. An arm appears through the doorway, and you swing the wrench with all of your might.

You expect at the very least to graze the limb appearing through the doorway of your workshop, but you’re sorely disappointed when you miss entirely. You stumble forward, off-balance from the misplaced strike. A hand seizes your wrist, torquing it violently to one side and forcing you to drop the makeshift weapon. Before you can blink, you’re pinned against the wall with your arm twisted behind your back.

“Let me go!” You struggle against the grip, but it’s too strong, and you grunt at the strain in your joints. “Please, I have water, maybe a handful of credits in the house.”

She doesn’t release you and your name is muttered sharply again. “Is that you?”

“You found me. If you’re going to kill me,” You turn your head enough to spit on the ground, “Tell Bib that I’ll come back to haunt him and shove it where the suns don’t shine.”

��I don’t come on Fortuna’s orders.” She spits the Twi'lek name like a curse. Now you’ve pissed her off. If you weren’t going to die before, you would now. “I come on Boba Fett’s.”

You stop struggling immediately, “What?”

“Boba Fett sent me to bring you to him.” You inhale sharply at the confirmation. 

Betrayal flashes through you like lightning. “Let me go.” The words are an angry hiss, reminiscent of a desert serpent ready to spit venom.

She does so and you turn, rubbing your shoulder. The woman is deceptively small, with dark hair in a long braid down her back. A form fitting leather tunic and coat accents her slim waist and fit body.  She’s wearing a helmet, though you can see dark eyes through the visor, and a long rifle rides on her back.

“Who are you? Are you a bounty hunter?” 

“I am.” You wait for her to reach for her rifle, “But that is not why I am here.” She disengages her helmet lock and pulls it off. She’s too pretty to be a hunter. You wish that wasn’t your first thought, because now you can’t help but stare. You’re vaguely aware that you probably look stupid, but you’re too busy gaping at her smooth skin and fine features. The only indicator of her profession is the stern set of her mouth and perfectly shaped eyebrows, okay you need to stop.

Because you weren’t mistaken earlier. Boba is back on Tatooine, and you’re not sure how to handle that after so much time.

---

“Come on, don’t do this to me right now. No, no no no no n--” A puff of smoke drifts from the comm unit, and you drop the screwdriver with a defeated sigh. Kriffing hell. Weeks of searching for the right parts, the blazing hope within you that you might be able to finally get off this ball of sand when you saw the Imperial signal boosting unit, all ending in a smoking and sparking mess in your hands. Anger flashes hot through your veins, and your hand flies up and whacks the communicator hard, hard enough that the stinging impact chases away the anger momentarily. Then the fury returns, doubling in intensity, and the sheer injustice almost makes your vision white out. 

The distant grinding of the sandcrawler shakes you out of your fervor, and you haul yourself to your feet with a sigh. Trading days always... intensify you. But you can’t afford to get hung up on one comm unit. It has been years of fried comm units. Even if you managed to patch together a working one on your limited knowledge, who would you call? A single name flits across your mind, but you veto it instantly. Even if he was in range, he wouldn’t come to get you.

So, back to the original plan. The long plan, the one that has stranded you on this planet for solar cycles. You busy yourself with the various scavenged parts that you’d collected over the past month, polishing and dusting the pieces until they glint like gems in the late afternoon suns. Every small scratch garners another twelve minutes of debate over whether the rebuilt astromech viewport would be worth the trade for the polished transparisteel, or the additional inhibitor units.

The first thing that’s off is the Jawas themselves. They seem… tense. No, that’s underselling it. They’re always high strung, running around and worrying about different bargains and barters. But today, they’re absolutely freaked out. Dual sun-stroked. High on their anxiety. Which is good for you; they’ll be distracted and maybe they won’t try to barter for your spare vapor consolidator again this time.

So you naturally pay it no mind while setting up your line of wares. You had a good haul this week, enough to make the water taxes this month.

The Jawas crowd out of the sandcrawler deck, and you greet them as you recognize them. A flurry of Jawaese flies around your head as they run about, laying out the wares for you to examine.  One scurries to your offerings this week: random parts and a series of old mouse droids that you had reprogrammed. They examine the small droids while speaking to each other too quickly for you to follow. Finally, they come back with two of the small droids, nodding to each other as they present the desired pieces to you.

“Got any working EC processors lying around in there to trade?”

They look at each other, and one says a single phrase that you translate roughly to, ‘Bring him out.’

“Bring what out?” But you’re too late and the Jawas are already inside, hauling a mass covered in sackcloth down the ramp. “Is that a patch-in droid? Where the hell did you scavenge a whole one fr…”

The second thing that’s off is the human body. They rip the sackcloth off of the form, and you trail off. “What in the kriffing hell is that?” After further examination you confirm that it is probably a he. His eyes are closed, and he’s lying in the sun too limply to be healthy. There are bruises and cuts on the skin that you can see, but he’s draped in dark clothing that has to be sweltering hot in the Tatooine suns. A Tusken gaffi stick lies pinned underneath his body. 

The Jawas erupt in a storm of chattering, waving their arms around their heads as you try to keep up your limited Jawaese. You crouch by the man. He’s breathing shallowly, and you don’t see any visible injuries, but dammit, you don’t know much about first aid. “Slow down, please!”

They don’t slow down, and you’re left scrambling trying to remember the difference between preterite verb forms while continuing to try to check on the man’s health. “He broke into the sandcrawler, killed your warriors, and took a nap?”

More unpleased Jawaese flies around your head, “He broke in, killed your warriors, and didn’t try to escape, just sat down and tried to interrogate you. And then you knocked him out and broke his legs.” The Jawas cheer gleefully in affirmation, and you sigh. A second glance at the man reveals the sunken skin around his eyes and the unnaturally pale color of his skin. There are white scars over his face that look like acid burns. “Maker, how long has he been in there?” The Jawas keep talking, but you’re not paying attention. He won’t last another day without attention, and that is coming from an inexperienced mechanic. You may not know medicine, but you can’t leave him in good conscience.

“I’ll take him off of your hands. Keep the mouse droids.” 

It’s a kriffing miracle that you manage to get him back inside your hut and onto the cot without pulling a muscle. You don’t even know if he’s going to wake up. He just lies there, and the weight of the situation slams down on you in a single crushing moment. “What the hell did I just do?” You rake your fingers through your hair, “Take in a dying stranger, why don’t you? Sign away half of your supplies, half of your food, half of your water, half of the credits meant to get you out of this damned place? Dumbass.”

He groans, and you start. He’s awake. With a heavy sigh, you face the newest burden in your life. “Here, drink some water.” You grab the half-empty jug from the table and kneel beside the cot. “You’re lucky that the Jawas decided to meet me today. If they had gone to Tokonu’s farm, you might not have lived through the next few hours.” You reach to prop his head up.

In retrospect, you shouldn’t have tried to touch him. There’s an explosion of movement, and you suddenly find yourself pinned to the ground, arms locked painfully behind your back. Maker, he’s half-dead, and you barely saw him move. “Where am I?” The growl is so deep that you can feel it in your toes, though the roughness of his voice suggests that it hasn’t been used in a while.

You look over your shoulder, and you see dark eyes piercing into you. A shudder runs the length of your spine at the predatory gaze, and you’re feeling less like an unlikely caretaker and more like trapped prey. This is a dangerous man, no matter the state of his health. Then he curses and the weight on your back lifts as he falls to the side and you remember the broken legs.

You shakily roll to the side and sit up, studying the man next to you on the floor, who’s clutching his legs and muttering rude phrases about Jawas and thieves that you’d rather not repeat. He’s older, with creased skin and a dark scowl contorting his features. Scars run the length of his face, adding to the aged appearance. His dark clothing masks most of his body, though you’re sure that the rest of his skin bears similar scars to the ones slicing through his features. 

“You done staring?” The rasping voice makes you jump and look away hurriedly, cheeks flaming red in embarrassment. 

You stand. You have to find a way to splint his legs. “I don’t see many other Terrans out here.” He grunts, and you hurry to your workshop. You need wood, or metal, or something straight. Fuck you’ve never set a broken bone before, but you grab the bacta from the back cabinet. Your gaze lands on the ladder in the corner of the room.

“Hey.” His head lifts when you re-enter the room, lugging the ladder through the door frame. You dump it on the floor in front of him, and he looks up at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Angel, I’m not going to be climbing anywhere anytime soon.”

You ignore the endearment and the sass, “I’ve never set a broken leg before. I need your help if you ever want to walk normally again.”

“You’re going to set my legs?” He asks.

“I’m assuming that you know how to.”

He doesn't confirm your theory, instead tilting his head and looking at you more seriously, “Big assumptions.”

“If you know how to break an arm, you know how to set one.” 

He just leans back and laughs, “You have a tongue on you.” You won’t dignify that with an answer, and his smile only grows. “Break the ladder. I need two straight planks.”

---

The massive palace is dank and cold, the polar opposite of the planet outside. It’s a new world compared to the heatwaves and sand dunes. The silence amplifies your quiet footsteps as Fennec leads you through the hallways. Speaking of which, she is absolutely silent. Her footsteps are nonexistent even on the cold metal floor. She put her helmet back on when you entered the palace, so you can’t even hear her breathing. The only sounds are the ones made by you, and the walls seem to amplify them to the point where you’re sure that wherever you’re going, you will be expected.

You can’t help but feel like you’re walking to an execution, though you haven’t decided if it’s your own yet. It could be. You don’t know if he’s changed. It’s been years. You’ve changed, that’s for sure. Actually, scratch that. You know that he’s changed, because he didn’t come straight to you.

You frown. There’s a piece of the puzzle missing, though you can’t place your finger directly on it just yet. After years of being tied to no one, of being perfectly free and independent, why would he come back to Tatooine?  What is tethering him to this desert of a planet besides his own suffering? 

Out of nowhere, a staircase yawns in front of you, and you hesitate slightly before following after Fennec. The arched ceiling opens into a large room that prominently displays a raised dais, though it all falls away when you see who is seated on the throne. 

It’s been a long time since you’d seen him, and you’d never seen his armor in color, only a sketch. The smooth green and red accents are color combinations that are in short supply on Tatooine, he cuts a menacing figure against the dark throne. He’s splayed out on a throne built for a Hutt thrice his size, legs spread and arms resting on the sides. It might be intimidating if it were a stranger, but you keep telling yourself that he’s not a stranger. It’s easy to imagine that he is, due to the blatant showmanship and armor. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him, but this suit of armor isn’t the Boba that you knew.

---

“What’s that?” You’re sitting at the workbench while he’s in a kitchen chair that was dragged into the workshop so that he could have a place to rest. He’s recently become mobile, though he’s only allowed to move under your sharp eye, making sure that he doesn’t try anything stupid that will leave him bedridden for another month. That would be another seven weeks of extreme food rationing and existing on supplies only meant for one. That being said, he mentioned that he was willing to lend an extra pair of hands in your workshop, and you’re not one to deny free help, so long as he promised to not push himself too hard. Your measurement tools were left on the table, and to your surprise, he picked up the stubby pencil and began sketching with it. The rough parchment now shows evidence of a human-like figure.

“My armor.” 

“What color is it?”

“Green.” Another purposeful sketch on the paper and there’s a prominent blemish in the helmet. “And red.” Stars, it’s like pulling teeth.

“Did you lose it?” Maybe you’re intruding, but you’ve been taking care of him for the past month, so you’ll excuse yourself from this one.

“Yes. These--” He waves a hand around his face, indicating the pale scars, “--are from a Sarlaac. When I fell in, I lost consciousness. Woke up without the armor. I need to find it.”

The Sarlaac pit is an execution site for those who oppose the Tatooine crime syndicate. You’ve never heard of anyone surviving either the wrath of the Hutts or the Sarlaac. “It’s important to you.” “The armor belonged to my father.” It’s hard to imagine the toughened man in front of you ever being dependent upon someone else. Though, you suppose that everyone comes from somewhere. You wonder not for the first time where this man came from. “It’s part of who I am.”

---

“Boba?” The name is a quiet whisper that echoes emptily through the chamber.

He says your name in return, but his deep baritone makes it sound so much more full than his did floating in the air. “Just as beautiful as the last time I saw you.”

“Can’t say that I can make the same observation.” You shift nervously. It’s too empty and cold in here, the absolute antithesis of the world you made your own. You can feel the dampness leeching the energy from the air. 

“That’s fair.” There’s a beat of silence.

“How have you been?” It’s a passive question, nothing more than something to say to break the silence.

“Good. And you?” The conversation is stunted and awkward, though it only used to be stunted. Now, you’re looking at this man and you don’t know him anymore. Even before, he was your friend above all else. Now you’re stuck making basic observations about him.

“You got your armor back.”

The helmet inclines once, barely an acknowledgement of a statement that you feel should receive so much more. “Found it through a friend.”

“Some friend. Am I going to get that story?”

“Later.” It’s infuriating, the distinct lack of personalization. For solar cycles, you had Boba. Then, nothing. Now you have Boba Fett, the bounty hunter.

---

“What’s your name?” You can’t believe it’s taken you this long to ask, though in all fairness, there’s not much need for names when there are only two people around for leagues. You simply speak, and he assumes you’re talking to him. He rarely speaks, so when he does, he’s always talking to you.

He doesn’t answer at first, only continuing to hold the sheet of metal in place so that you can continue welding it shut over the gap in the droid’s body. You don’t mind. If he wants to answer, he’ll answer. Though it would be nice to have a name to place to the stoic face. It would also be nice to have a name to whisper when you touch yourself at night. 

You hadn’t meant for it to end up like this, but you can’t help but admit that you had been setting yourself up to fail. Living with a man, especially one so tall, strong, so… kriffing dominant in how he carries himself? You’re just surprised that it took the dreams half a solar cycle to start up. But now you can’t stop thinking about how it would feel for him to back you up against a wall and pin you to the rough stone with just one of those wonderfully strong hands. 

“Watch it angel--”

You snap back to the present just in time to see your torch drifting dangerously close to your hand. You yank it away, but the damage is done and your glove is burning. He curses, bare hands immediately flying to the thick cloth and yanking your arm forward. A few rough pats later, and your glove is smoldering. Shit. That had been your last good pair. You sigh, pulling the glove off and getting up to find another. You snag a mismatched glove from the bottom compartment of your storage unit and settle back down to finish the job.

You’re two inches into the welding line when he speaks. “If I had known you’d be so distracted by silence I would have spoken.” The tone is dry and sardonic, and your gaze darts up to meet his deadpan one before flicking back down to your work in time to keep the welder from drifting again.

“No you wouldn’t have.” It’s the truth, based on how he doesn’t seem to have a snappy answer.

Finally, he sighs,  “My name is tied to my past. I’ve done some bad things.” This time, you know better than to look away from your work. 

You raise an eyebrow at the sheet metal, “I know.” You finish and click off your torch, settling it carefully down on the work station beside you. “No one ends up in a Sarlaac pit by following the law.” Air puffs out of him a little more forcefully than normal, and you squint. Was that a laugh?

“I wasn’t the one getting executed.”

“Didn’t take you for a clumsy person.” He doesn’t dignify the jab with a response, and you suppose that you deserve that. You examine the weld before pulling the torch back out. It’s a little sloppy. “Do you regret those things?”

“No. The sum of a person’s lifetime is found in his actions. Regrets or none, they are who I am.” That… is shockingly poetic considering that you’d only asked for a name. 

“You’ve killed people.” It’s not a question, there is no doubt in your mind of the answer, but you want to hear it from him.

“Yes.” A beat of silence. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“Depends.” You inhale slowly, trying to figure out how to phrase this, “I… understand that you don’t have an easy past.” He snorts at that, and you glower at him before continuing. “Tatooine doesn’t need more war.”

“You’re scared.” It’s a pointed statement, blunt and uncaring about the blatant assumption.

“No.” No, a million times no. You had not cowered in fear during the Clone Wars, you had picked yourself up and survived. But ever since Bib Fortuna took over the syndicate, violence had been minimal. You do not need more. “As long as you live here, I do not want you to be the one who brings it back.” You’re on shaky ground here, considering that you really don’t have much control over him or his choices. But this is the only request you have made of him so far.

He grunts in response, a thoughtful silence settling over the workshop. “You really care for this planet?”

“No. I fucking hate deserts. I’m blowing this joint as soon as I can.” You yank the glove off with more force than perhaps you needed. Whatever, it got the job done. You squint down at your calloused hands, “I just don’t want to be the reason that more innocent people get hurt around here. Bib does enough on his own.”

Bib Fortuna. The Twi-lek that currently commands the most powerful force planet-side on Tatooine: the crime syndicate that was left leaderless after Jabba the Hutt died in mysterious circumstances involving a Jedi and a Sarlaac execution. Wait a minute...

 “No violence?”

You shake your head, chasing away the puzzle pieces that just began to slot together. “Only self-defense.” You’re not unreasonable, Tatooine may be more peaceful than during the war, but lowlifes still exist. “And if you get a chance to get off-world, take me with you.”

“Steep price.”

You raise an eyebrow, “I saved your life. You may as well return the favor.”

“Fair enough. You have my word as a…” He slaps a hand over his chest, but trails off before finishing the sentence, as if only realizing then that his armor is not there. He amends, “You have my word as a man.”

An awkward silence settles over the shop again, though there is no logical reason why it should be awkward, giving you the moment to remember the seed of the conversation. “A man with a name?” It’s a fumbling and clumsy attempt to turn the conversation back towards your objective, and you can tell that he picked up on it. 

He looks at you with amusement, “Persistent.” There’s a half-beat of silence as he considers you. “You may recognize my name.”

“I live in the middle of nowhere.” You counter. “Who would I tell?”

“That’s not why I don’t want to tell you.” 

Oh. You can’t really think of a response to that, so you stand and begin cleaning your station. Rusty bits of scrap go into that bin, useful parts go into that one over there so you can tinker late at night when you can’t sleep. 

“I don’t know your name either.”

You turn a prop a hand on your hip, dramatically lowering your voice, “My name is tied to my past. I’ve done some bad things.” There! Another huff of breath, and a halfway crooked smirk from the usually grim-faced and unreadable man. You smile back, “Trade?”

He considers it briefly, “First names only.”

You grin. That’ll do nicely. “Deal.”

“Boba.”

You introduce yourself, “Nice to meet you, Boba.”

---

“Why are you back?”

“Are you not happy to see me?” He sounds amused.

“I am.” You shift back and forth on your feet. “Why am I here? Why are you here?”

“Because I wanted to see you. To know that you’re alive and healthy.” He’s avoiding answering. 

“That’s only half of my question.” Your voice becomes small, “Why didn’t you come home?”

“If I had come to the farm, Bib would have sent hunters out again. You know how that ended last time. You have to cut the krayt’s head off, or it will just keep coming.” You don’t miss how he’s avoiding calling the farm his home. 

“You don’t have to pretend, Boba. You have your armor and your ship, you don’t need me anymore. If you came back to take over the syndicate, I won’t be angry.” Even if it means that he’s throwing you away and not looking back. Your heart would heal.

“I--” He hesitates to finish the sentence, and your stomach drops as you expect him to confirm your suspicions. “I didn’t only come back for the throne. I still wanted to see you.”

 “If that were true, you would have come yourself.”

“Ang--”

“Stop making excuses.” Your gaze narrows onto the visor blade, meeting his cloaked eyes, “If you really wanted to see me, you would have come to the farm, not sent your lackey.  You have your armor and your ship. Why are you back?”

---

It’s all he talks about anymore. And it’s not like he talked that much before, so now ninety-nine percent of the conversations that you have with him are about the nearest pawn stalls, or the Jawa trading route, or the ship scrap yards scattered around the planet. He’s been moving about independently for the past two months, each day venturing out further into the sand hills in search of his armor. 

The jug of water is disgustingly lukewarm, but refreshing all the same. You swipe a hand over your forehead as you pace around, propping open all of the windows and shoving the door open. You don’t want to work anymore, it’s too hot for this shit. Late afternoon is the worst, hanging the promise of sunset overhead while continually beating the world into submission with the heat that makes it feel like you’re dragging fire into your lungs. With nothing better to do, you slowly sweep the floor of the house, brushing sand outside just as it continues to blow inward.

The moisture vaporator is functioning passably, your supplies were restocked two days ago, and you made decent headway in your workshop. Nothing is urgent enough to spur you into action. All there is to do is wait for Boba to come home. That’s the brightest point of your day; seeing his figure appear in the shimmering heat waves as he treks through the sand towards you.

He still doesn’t talk much. Neither do you, but there is a comfortable sense of companionship every night when you set the meal down and eat together. If conversation is needed, then it’s needed. But until then, you’re content to sit with him. He’s my friend. The stark realization nearly makes you stop in your tracks. You’re friends with the gruff man who you took in with two broken legs and who leaves you alone for the better part of the day. The man who you imagine on the rough nights when you long for a body beside you.

Finally, finally it’s sunset. You climb to the top of a nearby dune. He’s there in the distance, he always is. You watch the suns sink beneath the horizon and turn to head inside. 

You don’t hear him come in, though to be fair, you never do. You expect him to sit at the table. Instead he appears at your elbow, silent as a wraith but as large and solid as any human. You nearly jump out of your skin, “Stars, Boba, you kriffing scared m--” You turn, but are stopped short because he’s right there, crowding you against the counter and there’s something feral in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

He’s breathing heavily through his nose, face hovering an inch away from yours and gaze fixed on your lips. Your eyes are glued to his almost black ones. His flick up to meet yours. You can smell him, something spicy and musky that’s drawing you in. Stars, you want to fuck him. 

Your eyes flicker down to his lips and the tension shatters. He shoves past you, planting his hands on the counter. He hasn’t changed out of his gear, and the gaffi stick sways threateningly on his back. The tip is darkened and shines in the dim light of the lantern. 

Dread pokes your heart. “Boba, are you hurt?” You try to look over the rest of his body for hints of injury, but his baggy clothing masks his body. He seems to be moving fine.

There’s a strained silence before he rips himself away from the counter and stalks away with a terse, “I need to change.” He halfway out of the door when he stops, and you watch him carefully as his head turns back halfway. “Meet me in the bedroom.” The ‘fresher door bangs in the distance, and you nearly collapse against the counter. 

You’re not sure how you make it to the room. You’re a trembling ball of nerves, anxious and fidgeting as you stare at the corner of the room. He killed someone. Someone is dead, because of him, and he doesn’t seem to be torn up about it. Only… tense. Like he’s more concerned about the consequences on you than him. You remember his promise.

He’s standing there now, dressed in clean clothes and looking at you like you’re the most complex problem in the room. He seems calmer, though he’s in this mode that you can’t describe with a single word, though you had witnessed it before when you first brought him into your home. There’s a feral intensity about him, almost primal. You don’t know what to say, so you keep your mouth shut.

Finally, he speaks, “I would never hurt you, angel.”

You nod. There’s a shared understanding of this, though it had never been verbalized. He has your back, and you have his. A mutual survival and benefit exists between you two. 

“Will you come here?” There’s an underlying question to read in the rasped question. Will you go to him? There’s also a warning. He’s not a safe man, but you’re willing to ignore your fears about that if it means you'll have him. You stand and walk towards him purposefully, each step sealing your choice. You stand in front of him, barely allowing yourself to breath as he scrutinizes you. A hand comes up and tilts your chin upwards carefully.

And then he’s kissing you, more like absolutely devouring you with how far his tongue is down your throat. It’s sensory overload, because all at once he’s so close and so there right in front of you, pressing against your front so closely that you can feel him hardening against your thigh. His hand comes up to tangle in your hair, and you gasp as he yanks your head back. 

“I don’t know if I can be gentle, angel.” His pupils are blown, dark eyes even blacker with desire and boring into yours. You can see the restrained lust in his eyes, and you shiver at the silent promise in them.

You grin, only barely aware that it’s slightly feral, “No one asked you to be.”

His own responding smile is nothing short of primal. “Maker, you’re fucking perfect.” His hand roughly smooths over your hair, and you melt into his touch. “Now strip.”

You can’t yank your shirt off quickly enough, but he stops you as soon as the offending fabric flutters to the ground. A hand traces over your collarbone, the rough calluses scraping over the crisp outline of the ink. “What’s this?”

You hesitate before answering, “It’s, uh, it’s artistic.” He makes his skeptical face at you, and you step in closer to him, pressing your body against his more clothed one, “I saw the design in a shop and liked it.”

The distraction seems to work, because he crushes his mouth to yours again, his hands removing the rest of your clothes so that you stand completely bare before his piercing gaze. You fight the urge to cover yourself. He has this way of making you feel like an open book even when you’re clothed, and now you feel that he can look into your soul without any other barriers.

“Beautiful.” The compliment is growled into the tension filled air. Blood rushes to your face, and you duck your head shyly. A hand tilts your chin back upwards to meet his eyes, “Get on the bed.”

He pushes you backwards gently so that you land on the mattress, bouncing slightly as you watch him remove his coverings. With every delicious inch of skin revealed, you feel another shot of heat between your legs. You hadn’t seen much of his body since that first day, and it’s like watching a gift unwrapped in front of you. When he pulls the last of it off, your eyes unavoidably drift between his legs, and your heart stutters at the sight. Stars he’s thicker than you’d expected. 

You don’t get anymore time to overthink because then Boba is caging you to the mattress with his body. Your breasts heave, nipples brushing against his chest with every inhale. One thick finger slides through your folds, and you almost cry at the contact. Maker, you’ve wanted this for so long. He pushes into your heat and you swear your body seizes at the sensation. 

Boba grunts, “Angel, you’re so tight.” His hips jerk seemingly of their own volition against your leg, his erection sliding over your skin. “Want to be inside of you. But--” He adds another finger, scissoring his fingers to stretch you out more, “--I think I’d break you.” 

The heel of his hand grinds into your clit, “Boba. Please, fuck. Told you not--” He curls his fingers against your g-spot and you gasp, “--not to be gentle.”

He pulls his fingers out with a growl and flips you around to your hands and knees. You shiver in anticipation as you glance over your shoulder while he aligns his hips to yours. He barely gives you any time to prep before he sinks into your heat. 

Oh shit.

He is so much thicker than you expected. The stretch burns so good, and-- you spare another glance over your shoulder as it just keeps coming. Your arms give and you collapse to your elbows with a whine. Your teeth clench as you focus on taking him, and your hand slaps the mattress as you tense. He stops behind you, “Angel, you need to relax.”

You exhale shakily. Fuck, you can’t relax, it’s too much. He’s going to split you in two. You’d told him to be rough, but you hadn’t been prepared for this. So you crouch on the bed, trying to breathe enough to allow yourself to form words. 

“I can stop.” His cock inches marginally out of you, and you panic. 

“No! Fu-- keep--keep going. I can do it.” He’s holding himself back. You can tell in the tiny quiver of his hips as he inches further into you. All you can focus on is the feeling of him rubbing against the inside of your cunt. His fingers rub your clit, and a garbled moan escapes your throat as your hips press backwards into him. The pain mixes with pleasure, a bone-deep one that you feel through your entire body as it arches against the bedsheets.

When his hips finally fit to yours, you let out a breathy moan. But he doesn’t continue. He just rests there, which is ridiculous considering how every nerve ending in that region of your body is firing with pleasure and how is he staying so still when this feels like fucking paradise? You might go insane just lying here with him bottomed out so deep inside of you that you can feel it in the back of your throat. His hand leaves your clit to grasp your waist. He eases out of you, the satisfying fullness retreating until the head of his cock hovers at your entrance, just barely inside of you. He’s teetering on a cliff, all of that potential energy built up behind his body as he hovers there, waiting for something. He’s trembling, Boba is trembling as he waits for something that he never asked you for. There’s molten lust creeping through your veins, you need him to move, to fuck you nine ways to next week. “Move. Please. Need--need it.”

He rolls his hips forward and you swear the world implodes behind your eyelids. He doesn’t stop this time, just yanks you closer on the bed and fucking wrecks you. The pace is unforgiving and rough, and the obscene slapping sound of skin on skin echoes through the small home, making you ever more grateful that there are no neighbors for miles.

A whine escapes your throat before you can help it, and you clap a hand over your mouth. He chuckles as he pushes back into your dripping pussy, “Oh, you like that angel?” His hand seizes your hair and drags your back flush against his body, “Ah ah ah. Take it off your mouth.” You do so, your hand trembling, “I want to hear every.” Thrust. “Beautiful.” Thrust. “Noise.” Thrust. You could almost feel him in the back of your throat with that last one, and a strangled cry is ripped from you. “Understand?”

You whimper and nod at the velvety purr against your throat and he hums in satisfaction. “Good.” He shoves you back down onto the sheets, one hand pinning you to the cot by your neck, the other curling around your waist. Without your hand to muffle the noises, your sounds come without you intending; choppy moans that are only broken by the force of his thrusts. He’s anything but quiet himself, a series of soft grunts and curses coming from the general vicinity of his head as he continues to slam into your body.

Your orgasm peaks without warning, ripping through your body before you can think to prepare yourself for it. The climax ripples outwards from your center, white flashes appearing behind your eyelids as you keen high in the back of your throat. Your floor muscles clamp down on Boba, and his rhythm stutters.

“Angel--” With a curse, he rips himself out of you, painting your ass with his release. You’re in a daze of pleasure as you come down from your high, the sheets smooth beneath your cheek and his cum warm on your back. He pulls the sheet, and you whine in protest as he yanks the comfortable bedding from underneath you. He cleans you up with the cloth, tossing it to the side into a random corner of the room.

It’s dark now. The only light in the room comes from the flickering lamp in the corner. Boba pulls blankets over your cock-dumb body, and you snuggle down into your bed, fully expecting him to leave. He doesn’t sleep much, but when he does, he naps on the floor with a blanket or two. You don’t expect him to climb into bed behind you, arms wrapping firmly around your waist and pulling you close to him. You drift before finally surrendering to peaceful sleep.

You wake when he moves behind you. The sunrise glints through the window, spraying warm light around the room. You’d have to get up soon, but not yet. He doesn’t have to go. You turn and look at him.

Your voice is raspy with sleep, but it cuts decidedly through the silence of early morning. “I trust you. You know that, right?” You don’t wait for an answer, because if you don’t say it now, you probably won’t have the courage to do it later, “It’s not hard to earn my trust. It’s hard to keep it, and even harder to regain it.” He’s quiet, and you can feel his deep, even breaths against your front and how his arms tighten fractionally around your waist.

He rolls over, and you feel the mattress dip as he stands. “I need to cover another sector by tonight.”

You turn on your side so that you can’t see the door. Best not to get attached anyway.

---

“Should I be calling you a title or something?” You’re hesitant to refer to him as anything in your mind. He’s just Boba. Not your boyfriend, or your lover, because you only name things you expect to endure. If you find a super cute loth cat, but you can’t keep it, you don’t name it, that's just a rule of life. Don’t label it if you don’t want to keep it. Don’t get attached to something that will not stay. “Lord Boba? King Boba? Master?”

He snorts, “Not necessary, Angel. Though I wouldn’t mind that last one.” You blink at the old nickname, the familiarity of the endearment stirring up emotions that you’d thought had long since been buried. “I’m still me.”

“Are you?” The question slips out before you can think to restrain yourself, the tone more accusatory than you expected. 

“Do you want me to be?”

Now you’re the one caught off guard. You had thought about it, in the empty silence while he was gone, when the bed was too cold and empty after so much time adjusting to his weight on the other side of the mattress. No decision had been made. But once, in the darkest hours of the morning, right after you’d made yourself cum on your own fingers that couldn’t hope to measure up to him, you’d wished. You had wished that you had labelled it when you had the chance. Because maybe you had wanted the relationship to stay. 

---

“Why do you call me that?” The words are whispered into the darkness of another early morning. He’s curled around you, the heat of his body keeping you warm despite the freezing cold desert night. You need to start thinking about getting up soon. It’s a new day, a fresh start, a time to restart. Chores are waiting, like they always are. But you can’t seem to bring yourself to want to move when he’s at your back.

He shifts, breathing in the scent of your hair, “Call you what?” His arms tighten around your midsection and you wiggle slightly in his grip, your hips pressing back against his half-hard length. “Ohhhh, angel you’re going to start something that you won’t be able to finish.” 

You turn so that you’re facing him in the darkness, his features just a ghost of an outline against the early dawn rays glowing faintly through the doorway. “That. Angel. Why do you call me that?” He grinds against you, and you stifle a whimper at his heavy erection against your thigh. “Stop distracting me.” 

He sighs heavily, but he does stop and allow you to regain your focus,  “I call you angel because of that first day. Do you remember?”

You roll your hips against his, “Hard to forget.”

“Yes.” His teeth sink into the bare flesh of your shoulder, licking and sucking until you’re sure that there’s a mark. “I was in that sandcrawler for days, it’s a haze in my memory. Just blinking in and out, hoping that the sound would stop, that the world would stop moving, that those damn creatures would stop jeering at me for just a few minutes.” Your hand slips down and grasps his erection, and he inhales sharply, “And--and then. They’re grabbing me and dragging me out of that hell. And you’re there, standing above me, framed by the suns. And my first thought was that you--” He grunts as he thrusts up into your fist. His cock is leaking profusely over your hand, and you swipe your thumb over his head, “-- you must be an angel. How could you be anything else? You saved my life.”

“Bold of you to think that I’m from heaven.” With a wicked smile, your other hand drops to fondle his balls, massaging the flesh in your hand as you continue to slowly jerk him off. He snarls quietly, hand anchoring in your hair and tugging your head back so that he has access to the bare flesh of your neck and shoulder. 

“Now, you’ve become more of a devil in my bed, my angel of death.” His teeth sink into the juncture of your shoulder, no doubt leaving a mark. You were prepared for the pain, but you weren’t ready for his hand zeroing in on your sensitive clit, rubbing with the exact amount of pressure that could cause you to come in seconds, and you have other plans. 

You roll on top of him, swinging your leg over his hips and positioning his head at your entrance, “So you try to break the arm of every angel you encounter?”

“That was your fault.” You can hear the smirk in his voice as his hands reach to grasp you around the waist. “For pushing me, like you are doing now.” His hips roll up, and your eyes roll back. The day can wait.

---

The surge of emotions only serves to make you more frustrated, and that’s not going to help matters. You may have a long fuse, but once your anger ignites, it burns hot and long. He knows this, and yet he continues to push you. “I came down here because I owe you one, for saving my ass. So you better talk if you’re going to keep me here.”

“I saved your beautiful ass twice in return.” He’s amused, and that only serves to make you angrier. “So you owe me two, one for coming and one for staying while I explain.”

Hell no, he doesn’t get out of this by throwing in a shabby compliment, though you furiously fight the rising embarrassment all the same, “No, the first one repaid me for dragging your dying carcass out of the sandcrawler. And the welding incident hardly counts, so you’re on thin fucking ice right now.”

“Angel--”

“No, you are going to stop with this pretentious bullshit and tell me what the fuck you think you’re doing.” Your arms are waving in the air, you’re on the verge of hyperventilating, your voice is rising in pitch and you’re vaguely aware that you shouldn’t be working yourself up like this, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to care, because he’s there. And you’re here, at the foot of the throne.

“Why are you so angry, angel?”

A laugh explodes out of you so forcefully that your throat stings, “Your fucking audacity, is pissing me off. You leave without explaining. You come back, and don’t think to come to find me yourself. You send your incredibly attractive, what are you, his sidekick?” Fennec raises her chin in response, though you don’t know if that’s a confirmation or not. “You drag me down here where I find out that you’ve killed Bib Fortuna and become Tatooine’s newest crime lord. And yet, you still haven’t shown the basic decency of telling me why I’m here. Do you have to kill me because of some new fucked up bounty hunter code? Because you know that I won’t go down easy, whether you have me two to one or not.” You’re scarily aware of Fennec’s gaze boring into the back of your neck.

Silence screams into the empty air as Boba freezes on the throne. “You know.”

“That you’re a bounty hunter? I’m not an idiot. It was smart to not give me your last name that first time I asked. As soon as the hunters told me, I knew. Jango Fett was your father.” The name drops a bombshell in the center of the throne room.

“What do you know of Jango Fett?”

“Not much. Only what Hondo told me.” Hondo Ohnaka. The pirate, the outlaw, the man who had morals enough to take in a starving child rather than leaving her to die.

“Hondo Ohnaka.” He leans forward, clearly interested once he recognizes the name. “But you’re not Weequay.”

“Fortunately, the man cared for children. He wouldn’t abandon one in need. He fed me, essentially raised me.” You’d been caught picking his pocket. Instead of killing you, Hondo took you in. You feel the corner of your mouth quirking up at the memory of the old pirate and the small-time smuggling jobs he’d allowed you to help out on, with your small size and quick fingers. “He’d always remind me that he used to be a feared outlaw throughout the galaxy, and that he wouldn’t be as soft the next day.”

“But he kept you anyway.” 

You shrug, “He lived by a code.”

“The pirate code?” There’s skepticism in his voice, and you don’t blame him.

“Hondo… didn’t exist by societies’ laws. He was honorable, but never good. Told me to be the same.” The advice was the best that you’d ever gotten. It allowed you to move on from guilt, to live isolated from the chaos of the galaxy. It taught you to live on your own and to be independent, to not feel for the suffering of the collective galaxy. But it also commanded you by the morals that saved your life. Don’t steal from the poor, but the rich won’t miss a handful of credits. Don’t hurt a sick child who’s just trying to eat. Don’t kill a helpless enemy, even if he hijacked your ship and crashed it onto a desert planet in the middle of nowhere. Leave him to die in the sand instead. 

“I was stranded on Tatooine a few years ago. I had no money, and no ship. I found the abandoned farm, and put together something so that I could save enough to escape one day.” No communicator either, and you’d only just struck out on your own too. Hondo was lightyears away by the time you’d thought to try to comm him, and none of the technology was current enough to reach that far. You’re pretty sure he wouldn’t have come to pick you up anyway. “Whe--” Your voice breaks, and you curse your emotionally sensitive vocal cords. You clear your throat, “When you left--” “You think that I could have taken you with me.”

“You could have!”

“It was dangerous, angel. I hated that I had to leave the way that I did, but--”

“You smeared bacta on me and disappeared. Was I supposed to feel happy?”

---

The day he left started the same as any other. The moisture filter needed replacing, but you didn’t have the credits yet. So you had a date with an ancient filter and your multitool. You look up, flicking hair out of your face when you hear the footsteps behind you. “Hey.”

He doesn’t answer, as per usual, but he nods and rubs your hair with a gloved hand. “I’m scouting towards the flats today. Only a day trip, I’ll be home before dark.”

“Sounds good. See you.” You turn back to your multitool. You’re too focused on tweaking the settings to allow for a greater flow rate to see him smile, a rare one-sided grin before he turns to leave. His path takes him south, so he doesn’t see the three dark shapes in the heat waves approaching from the north.

The vaporator beeps loudly, protesting the absence of the filter and loudly proclaiming that it needs the filter to harvest water from the atmosphere. You tune out the obnoxious sound. After a ten minute struggle, you snap the filter’s frame out of place, exposing the internal wiring. You’re going to need a smaller drill point to reach the last resistor knob. You walk towards the workshop, wiping the sweat out of your eyes, fiddling with the screen as you do so. You’re too distracted by the tech in your hands to notice the figure slipping around the outside wall of your hut.

You grab the smaller bit and unlatch the last knob, absentmindedly walking outside to get better light into the inner workings. Despite the heat, Tatooine’s afternoons were perfect for mechanics, with the twin suns illuminating all but the tiniest crevices. Unfortunately, with your attention elsewhere, it doesn’t reveal the crime syndicate members waiting outside your door. 

The air rushes out of you as something slams into your midsection, effectively knocking you onto your ass on the sand. The filter flies out of your hands, but you’re focused instead on the helmeted figure standing over you, vibroblade levelled at your throat. “Where is he?”

Your hands are shaking as you raise them in the air, attention fixated on the masked figure. Adrenaline surges through your veins, and you almost don’t notice the second one hanging back near the wall. A third, the only unhelmeted one, stands beyond the first, smiling nastily. The blade grazes your throat, and you whimper at the cool metal against your skin. “I said. Where is he?”

“Who? Maker, please, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Fett! Boba Fett!”

Your stomach drops at the surname. The hunter curses viciously, holstering the weapon and grabbing you by the front of your shirt. You’re yanked to your feet, “Intel said that he’s here, so I’m guessing that you’re his little pretty piece on the side.” An arm presses over your throat, and you gasp as your airway is almost cut off. “Where is he?” The question is purred into your ear silkily. 

He must be insane if he thinks that you’re giving him that information. “I don’t know, he said he’s going towards the Dune Sea today. I swear, he’s gone. Left an hour ago.” You inhale sharply as the blade stops against your jaw.

“You’re pretty.” Your stomach turns at the sneer, and you fight the urge to bite him. Better to bide your time. “But an awful liar.” The angle changes so that the point is pressing into your skin and you cringe in anticipation of the cut.

A sharp command rings through the air and your captor stops. You exhale shakily, but don’t allow yourself to feel any hope. Boba’s gone and will be all day. They’re going to kill you, or use you as leverage when he returns. Or both. You’re not getting out of this alive, but you’re not going to lay down and die. Your eyes fix on the knife in front of you, but you’re visualizing where the hunter’s holster is.

Blaster fire explodes behind you, and you duck as sparks shower down onto you and your captor slumps to the ground. You don’t waste a second, ducking to rifle through the hunter’s pockets, snatching the blaster. Boba is there, features contorted in rage. He’s standing over a body, blaster in one hand and his staff in the other. Your eyes lock, and for a moment, you can almost hear him asking if you’re okay. You nod your head almost imperceptibly, but he gets the message.

A laugh rings through the air, and the moment shatters. There is a single hunter left, the one who was hanging by the hut while the other one threatened you. The cocksure swagger tells that this is the one in charge, the one who gave the command to keep you alive. And yet, the favor doesn’t hold any value to you as the helmet tilts up at Boba, “Boba Fett. You’re a hard man to find.” Boba doesn’t answer, instead jerking his head and you move towards him, “Bib Fortuna wants to talk.”

Now Boba responds, “I don’t.”

“150,000 credits to me says that you will.” Another blaster(fucking blasters) points at you, and you stop in your tracks, fighting to keep your breathing steady. He’s only a few meters away, a dead shot if he decides to let his finger slip.“Because he may want you alive, but not her. And she lied to me. Drop the blasters, or I shoot her now.”

You slowly lay the weapon down, eyes fixed on the barrel. Boba does the same, his hands raising placatingly as the shiny metal plops into the sand, “She’s nothing to me.” 

“You can try to tell Bib Fortuna that, but he’ll believe it even less than I do. I’ll cut you a deal. You come with me, I get my credits, she gets to live.” You focus on Boba’s face, trying to steal some of his stony calm. 

Boba smirks, “You’re even stupider than you look.” Then he’s moving, eating up the meters between them faster than you can blink. The staff arcs up, the wicked point glinting in the sun before smashing into the hunter’s helmet, crushing the metal with stunning ease. Your mouth is still hanging open when white-hot pain flares through your shoulder. Fucking blasters. You drop to the sand, curling in on yourself as your entire body seems to throb in agony. There’s no blood on your hand when you pull it away, but the smell of burnt flesh almost makes you vomit. The suns are too bright and you blink rapidly, trying to get rid of the spots dancing in your vision.

A form crouches over you, blocking out the light. Someone is saying your name repeatedly, slapping your face gently as they support your head and neck, “Wake up, stay with me. Gotta get bacta on that shoulder.”

You blink blearily. The world is swimming before your eyes and nothing is focusing correctly. It’s a struggle to stay awake, never mind focusing on what Boba is saying to you. The sand is so warm. Sleep would be nice. You wouldn’t have to stay awake and focus on the implications of what just went down. You wouldn’t need to feel the hole burned in your shoulder. Fuck, Boba had been shot before? How did he bear it?

He turns away, but he’s instantly back, gloved hands ripping apart your shirt at the shoulder. You mutter, “Leave it. Self cauterizes. Best way to get hurt.” The suns blend into twin slurs of light across the sky. ‘Meteors,’ you think, ‘They look like meteors. Or shooting stars.’ People make wishes on those, right?

Boba snorts, “Bantha shit.” He smears the bacta on the wound, and you shudder as the pain lessens marginally. He starts talking as he works, though it’s a struggle to understand anything when you’re so distracted by the world spinning beneath you. “Angel, I have to leave. They’ll be coming for me. I can’t stay here with you. Do you understand? Tell me you understand.” 

Okay. Okay, you tell yourself it’s okay. You’ve been expecting this day for some time. He’s a dangerous man, it was right to assume that he’s wanted by someone, you just didn’t expect the someone to be the resident crime lord of the planet he is kriffing living on. It’s hard to stay in one place for some time, but he did. For you. And now it’s your turn to let him go, to sacrifice for him because he sacrificed for you. But you can’t seem to bring yourself to say it. You have to settle for a shaky breath and a tiny nod. 

He lifts you and carries you inside, arranging you on the bed. He brushes a strand of hair out of your face, a second of tranquility before he turns and begins gathering supplies. You fight against the encroaching sleep, resolving yourself to watch and savor these last moments. He won’t be coming back, not while Bib Fortuna holds the bounty on him, and Bib has a long memory. 

So you commit every detail of him to memory. His grim and stoic face and the deadpan sarcastic humor that you’ve grown to love. His broad shoulders remind you of the first time you met him. It was absolute hell fitting his massive frame through the small doorway of your home, only for him to flatten you to the ground when you moved wrong. His careful and smooth gait that you observed every time he walked out into the dunes and away from you. His lips, which sometimes wear that devastatingly attractive sideways smirk that promises trouble, but more rarely wear a genuine smile that you’ve only seen once or twice. His powerful legs that pinned you to the mattress more than a few times. And you wish on the twin meteors outside that this wouldn’t be your last memory of him.

You try to summon words to your dry throat, but they come out as a raspy cough on your first attempt. “Boba.” 

He’s by your side instantly, so quickly that you would do a double take if you had any strength to do so. “Here.” He offers the water jug to you and you sip, remembering the first day that you met him.

But there’s no time to reminisce, “I know that you have to go. I know that I probably won’t se--” Your voice breaks, but there’s no need to finish the sentence. “But I’ll be here. If you ever come back.”

---

“You broke your promise that last day.” 

“It was self-defense.” A huff of air echoes through the modulator, and he sits back on the throne, “Angel, everytime I kill, I kill for a reason. It’s not senseless.” No, that’s not what you’re talking about.

“You broke your promise when you left Tatooine without me.” You took a chance on him. You trusted him to hold to his word. And he’d betrayed that trust.

“I was trying to protect you. You couldn’t come with me, it would have been too dangerous. You have an entire life ahead of you. Coming with me off-world would have thrown it all away.”

You laugh scornfully, “So what, you just made that promise without ever intending to keep it? Is that all your word as a man is worth?”

“I made the promise intending to keep it.” His voice is stiff, mirroring his posture as he regards you with all of the bearing of a king lording over his subject. You hate it. “But my loyalties changed, angel.” You open your mouth to continue, but he cuts you off, “I couldn’t bring you into my life within good conscience. I promised to save you in any opportunity promised. My way of saving you was leaving you here.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me.”

“Angel, if you had come with me, I would have been violating both aspects of the promise. You would have seen killing, pointless and meaningless death. And it would have destroyed you, whatever good hope for the universe you had left.”

You scoff, “I am not a good person. I have flaws, Boba, you just refuse to see them.” You tear your collar open, revealing the tattoo inked into your skin. You’d told him that it was artistic, and it was the most beautiful reminder of your old life that you had. It’s the mark of a thief on your home planet, curling into your skin and reminding you everyday of what you had run from. “I lied and cheated and stole my way through life. I am not too naive to hear the real reasons for you coming back.” Because that’s why he didn’t tell you. He thought you were too pure to know about his job. He thinks you’re too innocent to know why he’s back. Well, you're done with him handling you with kid gloves.

“If you ever cared about me, you’ll explain why you’re here now. Because I won’t stay.” You stare down the emotionless visor, knowing that you can’t hold your ground. Your anger is still burning white hot, but it’s beginning to subside for lack of fuel. You’re exhausted, and you have no power here. You inhale, ready to continue to ream him out except the breath catches in the back of your throat and comes out a strangled half-sob. You continue to stare at him, but all you can manage is a little, “You promised.”

The suit of armor staring back at you holds the power, and he could kick you out in an instant without a backwards look. What’s a few solar cycles compared to a lifetime of independence? But someone is going to have to give ground here, and you’re almost convinced that it’s going to be you when he speaks. 

“Fennec.” Without a single word, she turns and leaves. You watch her retreating back, not knowing if you should feel relieved or trapped. “Do you want to know why I came back today? Or that day?”

A rebellious tear slips down your cheek, and you scrub it away angrily. “Pick one first.”

He’s silent again for several heart breaking moments, and you’re terrified that you’re going to have to leave, “I didn’t break my promise at first. I didn’t leave Tatooine that day.”

“What?” The tears have stopped, and that’s one little victory you won’t have to fight for here.

“The day that I left.” His hand rubs against the visor of his helmet, and you can almost imagine that he’s rubbing the visor of his helmet, right over the bridge of his nose the same way he always used to when he was stressed. “I went to Bib and bargained. A year of my service to leave you alone. I had no choice, it was the only way I could try to protect you after they came after me.”

Your heart drops and rises in your chest simultaneously, making you feel both like you’re plummeting off of a cliff while bound to a torn parachute. Puzzle pieces click into place too quickly, laying out a picture that’s still unfinished, but one that you understand primitively. The next command from Boba is unexpected, slicing through your problem solving.

“Up.” 

You blink, “Excuse me?”

“Come here.” You stand and walk to him. “Give me your hands.” His grip is gentle, guiding your fingertips under the lip of the green painted beskar. His hands stay on your wrists as you carefully lift the helmet, inch by inch, and it’s a good thing that they did because without his support your hands might have been shaking too hard to get the damn thing off. 

He looks the same as when he left all that time ago. Same strong chin, stern mouth, and scarred skin. But you look at his eyes, and you know that he did change in the time away. There’s a soft look in his eye that you had never seen before. 

“What happened to you?” Your hand grazes over his skin, and he leans into your touch.

“I fell into a Sarlaac pit.” The familiar sardonic smirk appears, but you don’t smile along with him. It vanishes, “I--” He breaks eye contact with you, looking down and licking his lips as if he’s trying to gather the words to explain, “I met a man. And a child.” He looks back up, and you almost melt at the muted shine in his eyes, “They reminded me of what is important. I came back.”

You gently set the helmet on the ground and raise your hands to cup his face. “Boba--”

“I came back that last day because I realized that I loved you. I turned around and came back to tell you, and it’s a good thing I did.” His hands come up to cover yours, and there’s the wicked spark of humor in his eye. “I wanted to stay, angel. I wanted to stay so bad, but you were safer if I didn’t.” Your eyes slip closed as you lean down and graze your forehead against his, the way that he taught you. His hand leaves yours to plant on the back of your neck and holds you there. “We couldn't be together until Bib was dead. I was wrong, to come here first and to send Fennec for you. But I needed time to… prepare.”

He had to prepare for the possibility that the bargain didn’t work, or that you had moved on. He hadn’t needed to worry, because you promised that you’d be here. You slip onto his lap, straddling his thigh without moving your head away from his. “I’m here.” 

“Are you still upset?” A hand comes up and ghosts over your hair. You lean into the touch almost subconsciously. 

“I’m working through it.” You pull back and fix him with a stern gaze. “This isn’t resolved.”

“But?”

“We’ll work through it.” He nods, his mouth hanging slightly open in a look of contemplation.

“I won’t stay.” What? You freeze, dread spiking through your chest. He must feel the tension in your body because he rushes to clarify, “I-- uh I, ah shit that was a bad way to put it.” He pulls away and meets your eyes, “I will leave this. I’ll be Boba. Not Boba Fett. Not king of the crime underworld. I’ll be anything for you. We’ll escape off-world together or some shit. We can go find Hondo, if he’s still alive.”

You snort, “That old man is too tough to die.” You tap his nose with your fingertip, “Like one other that I know.”

He snaps his teeth playfully at your finger, and you squeal happily. “My point is--” He looks up at you with such peace in his eyes that you want to curl up against his chest and never leave, “We can do whatever you want. Just the two of us. But I want to stay with you, this time around. That past life is all done. We’ll find something else to do, besides hunting bounties.”

Your eyes track towards the doorway that Fennec disappeared through, and his gaze follows. “Fennec will be fine. I’ll release her from my service. Hell--” He chuckles dryly, “Maybe I’ll leave the throne to her.”

That’s a terrifying thought that you’re not quite ready to consider just yet. “You’d give this all up for me?”

“Angel, that’s what love is. Sacrifice. I just didn’t learn it soon enough.”

You kiss him, a real one this time, melting into his lips, “Love can be compromise. And this is a point I’m willing to give on.” 

“What?”

“I’ll admit,” You tilt your head, a mischievous grin sliding across your face, “Queen of the crime underworld has a nice ring to it after being a moisture farmer for several years.”

He smiles, the real one this time, “I like the title on you.” His hands attach to your hips, holding you down on the hard ridge of his thigh as he grinds the leg up into your cunt. “Makes me wanna act out, Your Majesty.”

You gasp at the surge of wetness between your legs. Stars, it’s been so long that you almost forgot how much you loved the feeling of his body beneath you. “Boba--”

“Ah ah, is that any way to address your king?” So this is how he wants to play? Fine.

“No, Your Royalness.” Wrong answer. One hand comes down hard on your ass, and there’s going to be a mark for sure. “Your Excellency?” Nope, and another spank burns on your butt. “My king?” You brace yourself for another, but the hand stays. 

“Hmmm, I like that one.” His grip tightens, and you know that you’re going to have finger shaped bruises on the pillowy flesh. He captures your lips against his, and you roll your hips downwards onto his thigh. His erection rests heavy against the inside of your thigh, and you purposefully angle your hips to create more friction against it. “Angel, I want nothing more than to take you now, but--” He stands with a grunt, easily hoisting you into the air with his hands supporting your butt. 

“--I’d rather taste you first.”

A/N: Okay wow this took me so long. This project has literally been in the works for months, and I found a way to finish it finally! I’m not sure if the Boba Fett craze has passed yet, but either way here we have Boba. Some throne-fucking for those of you who would care for it. 

Taglist: @alliterative-albatross​

[artzee-bee]

Paris Lights| Chat Noir x reader

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Request: “ chaton x reader [fem or gn plz!] where he shows them what he can see while patrolling the city- the paris lights, etc, etc <3 ”

Pronons: none mentioned

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: none

~~~

Once Chat got an idea in his head, it was hard changing his mind. Usually, it could be fun! He was a superhero afterall, so with him possibilities were almost endless and his impulsive tendency made for fun stories, but right now it was simply annoying.

"Come on sweetie!" 

"Chat, you are on patrol!" 

"So are you!”

" I'm no SUPERHERO Chat!! "

" You are from now on. Through extension from me! You can thank me later." he smirked proudly

" You're gonna get in trouble"

"You wish, sugar. Ladybug is on the complete opposite side of town. There is no way we are going to run into her.” he said smiling “Now, stop with the chit chat and get dressed, I’ll wait on the balcony” he said, walking outside and closing the door of your balcony behind him, the same door he came in through.

You changed out of your pijamas into some blue jeans and a sweater since it was pretty chilly out. You weren’t sure what had gotten into Chat tonight or why he insisted on you coming with him on patrol. You’ve been friends for a while now, after he saved you from almost being akumatized one day. You kept in touch and he sometimes came over to your place to hang out, but he’s never exactly dragged you into any ‘superhero business’. He always said he wanted you to be as safe as possible and patrol was a little too anxiety-inducing for your taste, but you trusted him.

Stepping out onto the balcony, you saw the blonde boy balancing on the railing. You knew he was theoretically part cat but his balance was still impressive.

“Finally,it took you long enough!” he teased

“Shut up” you giggled before wrapping your arms tightly around his neck, like you always did when you flew across Paris with him. One of his arms wrapped around your waist and before you knew it, Chat extended his baton, sending you both flying through the night

You held tight onto the hero, each jump making you wince . No matter how much you would do this, you couldn’t imagine yourself getting used to this means of transportation.

Finally, Chat dropped you off on a strange rooftop. You untangled your arms from his neck , looking around, trying to make sense of where you were exactly.

“This is where I usually start patrol. I like starting from the outskirts of the city and moving inward. It’s quieter here, helps me get into the right headspace”

“That’s nice, Chat!” you smiled. Around you were only  a couple apartment buildings surrounded by many different types of businesses. You heard a tiny thud behind you but when you turned around to investigate, Chat was gone. Suddenly overwhelmed by panic, you called out to him

“Right here sweetie” he said, reappearing behind you

“Chat, you scared the crap out of me, don’t ever do that again!” only now you noticed the little bag in his hand

“What is that?” you asked and Chat’s face beamed with joy, as if he was waiting for you to ask 

“Right now we are sitting on Mrs. Dubois’s rooftop. She’s a sweet old lady, her husband died a long time ago. She always leaves me a bag of baked goods on her window sill when she knows I’ll be patrolling”

You heart warmed at the thought of Chat and this elberly lady having such a sweet and thoughtful bond

“That’s so sweet of her”

“Yeah, she’s the best. Sometimes she stays up late to see me and give me a fresh cup of tea. She’s the best person to have tea parties with, I’ll tell you that much!” he giggled “Anyways, tonight she left brownies. You want one?”

Indeed, Mrs. Dubois’s brownies were the best. You and Chat ate all of them quickly before he dropped the bag back at the nice lady’s window and you kept going.

The hero carried you to a couple different rooftops and spots he always patrolled, both of you watching carefully for any suspicious activity but luckily, there was none. It was getting late and you were getting tired but Chat was as energetic as ever. You could really tell he was used to this. You were getting closer and closer to the city centre, meaning your night would soon come to an end. Chat told you this was the last stop before he would drop you off back home and go meet Ladybug.

“Well, I don’t see anything” you said, as you were looking out into the neighbourhood below “Do you?”

Chat didn’t respond. When you looked at him, you noticed he was watching something down below. You carefully approached him, thinking he must have seen something out of the ordinary but when you looked down, all you saw was a group of teenagers, hanging out in a little park, laughing at a story one of the guys was telling

“Chat?” as if pulled out of a trance, the hero looked up at you with a fake smile

“Yeah?”

“Are you ok?”

“I’m perfect sweetie, I’m just looking” he said, returning his gaze to the group of friends

“They seem to be having a lot of fun” you said, trying to get him to talk

“Yeah, they seem happy” he said softly and than, after a little break, he added “I wish I had more moments like that”

“Do you not get to hang out with friends?”

“Well, my civilian life is a bit more complicated…” he said, sadness and frustration laced in his tone

“Chat..” you said, making him look up at you “For what it’s worth, you’re always welcome at my place” 

The hero couldn’t help the smile on his face

“Thank you Y/N” his voice was so sincere and grateful, it made you blush. His green eyes were drowning in yours and for a second, it felt like time stopped. You only realise it hadn’t when you felt the cold touch of Chat’s hand on your cheek. His fingers made their way into your hair, tucking a few rebellious strands behind your ear before finally, his palm rested on the back of your neck, pulling you close. He kissed you softly, as if you were the most fragile thing he’s ever held. He felt his warmth travel through you, even though you were barely touching.

When he pulled away, you were both blushy messes. You looked into his eyes and quickly pecked his lips one more time, making him giggle. Chat got up quickly, holding out his hand to help you up

“I have one more stop before I drop you home, but you have to keep your eyes closed. Can you do that sweetie?” you nodded excitedly

You found that it was much easier to travel with Chat when you couldn’t see the ground beneath you. You held tightly onto him, burying your head in the crook of his neck before he finally reached his destination

“Keep your eyes closed” he said, taking both your hands into his and turning you around

“Ok, you can open them now” it took you a moment to get used to the sudden light of the city. It took you even longer to realise you were sitting on top of the Eiffel Tower. So high up in fact, the area was restricted to tourists. You could practically see the entirety of Paris from there. The lights of the city were mesmerizing to look at, this wasn’t a sight you see everyday

“Chat this is…”

“It’s beautiful right?”

“It’s more than that, Chat! It’s gorgeous, it’s incredible” the hero laughed at your excitement

“I knew you would love it” “Thank you, Chat!” you looked at him in awe. In the pretty lights of the city, he looked even more handsome

“Anyday sweetie” he smiled at you. You stepped closer to him, pulling the blonde boy in for another kiss. His lips were soft against yours, leaving you a mushy mess. This was nothing like the kiss you had minutes ago. That one was shy and insecure, but with this one you knew exactly what you wanted: you wanted to love Chat! All of him in whatever way he could allow you. You wanted him to know how much you loved him and cared for him. You didn’t care as much about who was behind the mask, no matter what this boy will always leave you breathless. Finally, you pulled away from the kiss, resting your forehead on his

“Thank you” you whispered again

“I need to bring you up here more often if this is how you are going to thank me” he smirked, making you laugh

“I’d love for you to bring me here more but right now, I should head home”

“Your wish is my command sugar” he said, picking you up and carrying you all the way to your apartment

He sat you down on your balcony, while he was once again, balancing on the railing.

“Thanks for the help tonight”

“You’re welcome. We should do this more often” Chat looked at you quizzically as you said that

“Oh really? I thought you were no superhero. I thought you didn’t like patrolling!” he teased

“Yeah well, I might have changed my mind about that” you smiled

[sekceesimps]

Yandere Chrollo HC (D and H)

a/n thank you for the request, I love Chrollo sm! Here are H and D from the yandere alphabet. Hope you enjoy, feel free to leave a request, simps!  Also please don’t read if you’re not into yandere and angst

Sincerely Coffee 

Darling - Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

He’s going to be very hesitant about hurting you. He knows that inflicting physical damage will make it so much harder for you to accept him. However, he’s not against inflicting emotional and psychological damage. It’s more enjoyable for him to see you in tears instead of covered in blood as you come back to his side. He also knows it pains you the most when he breaks your trust if he decides to take advantage of you, so of course he exploits that when need be. 

He’s willing to (and does) abduct you in order to keep you by his side. Chrollo gets what he wants and if he wants your obedience then he will break your will and emotional walls to do it. He will do anything and everything for his own gain and if it means getting you to do what he wants he would harm you without restraint. This is especially true if Stockholm Syndrome already set in and he knows that you love him as much as he loves you (in his own twisted way). If he’s secure in the knowledge that you won’t be falling out of love with him anytime soon, then his punishment to disobedience will be a much more cruel and he will wholeheartedly abuse all the knowledge you trusted him with (hey, he enjoys it when you’re sobbing for mercy). 

These punishments can range anywhere from a mild spanking to something severe like playing mind games and letting you think you have the upper hand all before he takes the little hope you have and crushes it (more on the worst punishment in H). 

Hell - What would their darling’s worst experience with them be?

Chrollo is the type of yandere to spoil their darling with love and gifts. He’s aware that the beginning of your relationship has to be the most normal otherwise his plans will be derailed. He’s the best yandere to have, because he’s going to try and treat you well in order to make you fall in love with him the traditional way. That being said, he won’t be against using force when you’re being especially defiant. 

The worst experience of this was after you tried to escape when he had first taken you. Of course, you had no chance of actually being able to leave him, but he let you believe that so he could continue to observe you. As you got closer and closer to actually leaving and your hope of escape increased, he took great pleasure in coming up behind you and letting you know how futile your plan actually was as he watched the hope drain from your face. To cement this memory, he decided that it was time to mark you as his. He had chained you up against a wall and left you there high and dry for a couple hours. When he came back he chose to leave deep teeth marks in your neck and across your thighs. Along with that he had used a knife to cut up the soft sections of your skin and at one point he had carved his name, like an artist signing his name onto a masterpiece, onto the smooth area right above your hip. He went back to leave light kisses on top, but it was more so to rub in the fact that you belonged to him. 

The only reason your punishment was as severe as it was, was because it was your first lesson (and also the last) of the rules and consequences to defying Chrollo. It’s safe to say that his darling doesn’t attempt escape again, but he’s quick to make amends and go back to his kinder self. 

a/n this might have turned into a Chrollo stan blog, but I don’t even care, that man can rail me anyday 

[sushis-wild-imagination]

Just a Little Longer

Nam Joon x Reader

Summary: You are an idol signed by BigHit and you are very close to the boys, you've always had a crush on Nam Joon and he confesses to you that he likes someone.

Words: I don't even know, longer than my assignment for sure.

Warnings: A LOTTA FLUFF friendship fluff?????

Note: not proofread, also its been a while since I wrote I’ll get better.

MASTERLIST  PROMPTLIST

Hiii, so this is my first BTS fanfic, hope y'all like it. I think this will turn into a series, let me know what y'all think of that. Jin is my bias but Nam Joon and Yoongi are here to wreck it anytime anyday. Honestly I just want to be friends with them. I want to be in the gang. That's all.

-----

You were a female idol signed on to BigHit Entertainment around the time BTS was signed on. You and BTS were very close, army and your fans got used to it after a while. There were tons of times where you would look out for each other. You also recently became and international idol following BTS, they would look out for you at all the award shows you were both at. Taehyung would even walk you to the stage and up the stairs.

You were a part of the family. You would surprise them at their concerts, go on trips, bomb their Vlives. There were YouTube videos titled "BTS looking out for (Y/N)" online. You were a solo artist so you got grouped up with the boys often and the fans liked seeing you with them too. So they often let you tag along to shoots and even be a part of them sometimes.

You were a 94' born. So Tae, Chim and kookie called you noona. You were the closest to Yoongi, you vibed with him the best. You were the same kind. Maknae line were your babies, you pampered them a lot.

You were on your way to surprise the boys at the "BTS In the Soop" house. They thought it would be a good idea for you to make a special appearance on the show.

The boys were already there for a day. You were all packed taking in the air, you drove to the destination. You were excited, you hadn't seen the boys in a while because of a busy schedule but you were in touch via messages. Tae would send you regular updates about his life.

You pull up at the house and push the door open. Tae and Jimin were playing ping pong outside, you would see Hobi flying his glider. You smiled and got out. Jimin's attention went to the car and the ball hit his face. Tae and hobi burst out laughing, you also let out a chuckle. "(Y/N) Noona" he yells and you wave at him frantically.

As soon as he says that, all three boys turn heads to your direction. You keep waving and they rush towards you. Suddenly you are jumped at by 3 grown men almost knocking the air out of your lungs. You couldn't help but laugh. "Hi guys, miss me?" You ask. Hugging them all back. Tae nods. "I knew today would be a good day" hobi ruffles your hair. "What have you been upto, did you forget about us" you laugh to that as if you could forget your 7 best friends.

"Where's everyone else?" You ask looking around. "Yoongi Hyung should be in the Campervan, I think Jin Hyung and Jungkook are fishing and NamJoon is reading in his room." Jimin responds and Tae gets your luggage out and rolls it out. You take your luggage from Taehyung saying a quiet thank you. You roll out your luggage to the living room and walk towards the upper house, the boys go back to whatever they were doing before you came.

You walk to the upper house and spot the campervan. You open the campervan to surprise Yoongi. "Yoongi Oppa, Suprise!" You yell as soon as you open the door. He's so startled he almost three his equipment. "(Y/N) what are you doing here? I was so startled" he says holding his heart. You laugh your heart out at his reaction. "I'm sorry" you say and sit down next to him. "Whatchu working on?" You ask and he hands you one side of his earphone. It was his new project.

"How long are you here for?" He asked you. "I think until the end, no one told me anything" you say.

The door suddenly slams open. You and Yoongi jump, yoongi was holding his heart again and you were holding on to the table for dear life.

"JUNGKOOK" you yell.

"I'm going to die of a heart attack today" You hear yoongi mutter under his breath.

"(Y/N) Noona" he waves his hands at you and you slowly step out of the van to hug his big frame. "Did you grow taller in 3 months?" You ask. "I hope I did" he answers. He drags you to see Jin at the house. You see Hobi and Jin prepping something. "Jin Hyung close your eyes" Jungkook says and tries to hide you behind the door.

"What's this now?" He asks thinking it's one of Jungkooks pranks. "I have a present" he says. He does as the youngest says and closes his eyes.

You position yourself right infront of Jin. You feel his hand pat your head. "Is it a big plushie?" He asks with his eyes closed. You stiffle a chuckle.

"Open your eyes" Jungkook instructs and Jin looks at you. "(Y/N)" he squeals and hugs you. He jumps up and down with you in his arms. "I missed you" you laugh. "I've missed you too"

You smell something burn. "oh my fish" he screams and runs back to the kitchen.

Hobi Jungkook and Jin were making lunch, you always loved watching them cook. It was therapeutic. You also helped out when you could. "Is NamJoon still reading?" You ask in the air waiting for someone to answer. They all look at each other awkwardly before one of them says "You'll see him at lunch" you nod and continue eating the chips lying around.

------

You were rolling out your luggage to the floating house that's where you will be staying for the rest of the days here. The boys offered to switch but you wouldn't let them, it has to be fair. You were heading out to lunch with Taehyung who was hanging out in your room until lunch was ready and you unpacked.

"Your hair has grown out, can braid it later?"

"Only if you massage it too" he smirks and you nod. "Alright, after lunch" you salute to him playfully.

He warned you about bugs and how you'll have to gulp you food as soon as you see it or you will end up eating a bug. "I think I swallowed one yesterday" he says making a face that screamed disgusting. He makes you laugh and you smack his arm lightly.

You see Nam Joon from a distance. "Nam Joon-ah" you yell for him to hear you. You run to him to give him a hug. He puts his arms around you but loosely. It felt weird, this is not how he usually hugs you, something wrong but you let it go for now. "The boys told me you've arrived" he says pulling back. He flashes a warm smile.

You look at him, giving him an 'Are-you-okay' face and he understands it immediately and softly nods at you.

"Thank you for the food" Jimin yells in the back and you both head to the table.

"One more mouth to feed" Jin says jokingly and shakes his head. "C'mon, you know you love me" you respond that immediately left Hobi bursting out in Justin Bieber's Baby in the middle of lunch in his adorable English. You all have a big laugh.

------

You were all gathered in the living room now and Jimin was rapping??? Leaving you and Hobi laughing, you could feel your sides cramping up, gasping for breath as you laugh. "What activites did you ask for?" Taehyung asks.

"I brought my sketchpad and some books to read" you respond.

You stick your hand out to his hair and comb through, "Braid time" you say and he turns around, back facing you. Jimin hands him the mic and he sings some BTS songs while you braid his hair. "I'm so sleepy" he says, it's the effect of the head massage. He gets up from in front of you.

"I'm going to go nap" you nod. You see Jungkook already passed out in the living room. Hobi was still building blocks. You walk out of the room to the deck.

You look out to see Jin fishing, trying to Fish.

"Should I come pick you up?" He yells from afar. "It's okay" you yell back and look out in the distance. You see Jin's boat coming towards you. "Hop in" he says holding the boat still and he sticks one arm out.

"Where do you want to go, Juliet?" He asks dramatically once you've settled. "To your heart, Romeo" you play along trying not to laugh. "Extra points for playing along" he says laughing. You fake bow in the boat.

He casts his line and you wait. The scenery was beautiful. "It's so pretty out here" you talk to no one in particular. "Gets better in the night" Jin says waiting for fish.

"Jin oppa" you call to get his attention. "Is Joonie okay? He's been acting weird" you say. You were concerned about him. "He was okay yesterday, I don't know maybe if we let him be, he'll come back" Jin suggest. NamJoon always has been the type to go off on his own for a while and come back feeling better. "Maybe" you mutter and look around.

-----

You had played a bunch of games, had dinner, got drunk with the boys by the fire. It was almost cinematic, you forgot how at home and peaceful they made you feel. You still couldn't get around talking to Nam Joon and you were determined to do it. It was almost midnight. You all had turned your mic off put it away and gotten ready to get into bed. You hear some footsteps outside. You get up to check who it was.

You see a man bent over the railing of the deck looking at the river. It was almost 1am. You recognize the man. Nam Joon.

"Hey Stranger" you say sneaking up behind him. He almost jumps. "(Y/N)" he gasps. You go to stand next to him.

"Can't sleep?" You ask.

He nods playing with his finger rings. "What's wrong" you ask really concerned, hoping he'll spill and feel better.

"There's just been a lot on my mind"

"You want to talk about it?"

"Nothing in specific"

"Tell me anyway, I'm here to listen"

You hear him take a breathe.

"There's someone I like but telling the person or acting on it is not going to do any good for either of the parties but I don't know what to do, do I let it go?"

"woah" you were taken aback, Nam Joon doesn't open up this quickly you didn't expect it either. You expected some vague things about his career. You heart sank. You used to crush on him where you were a bit younger but you thought you outgrew that? Guess not.

"Telling her won't work?"

"No, it won't, I can't date. Not with this schedule and this kinda career but what if I let it go and I don't get a chance like this again"

"Are you scared of missing out on love?"

He slowly nods. "I guess, I mean I love my career, I love the boys I love how far we've gotten, but it's taking everything, especially my youth."

You were dumbfounded. You didn't know how to respond to all of this. You didn't even know how he felt.

"Are you sure she's the one?" You ask.

"No, how can anyone be sure about anything so early on? I'd love it if she was but we'll have to try to know and the trying can't happen in the first place"

Your always amazed by his maturity. "I think if you really like her, you should give it a go tell her how you feel, just to get it off of your chest, even if you know for a fact it's not going to work out, and if it does work out, well good for you. Right?"

He slowly nods. "Do I just tell her?" He turns to you. you can feel his eyes pierce through your soul even in the night. It's like he knows what he does to you and continues to do it.

You nod to his question. "You'll feel better"

"Okay" he nods to himself as if he's encouraging himself to do it. You had an immediate urge to hug him, you put your head on his chest and your arms around his back. He likes someone else, why does that bother you? It was a stupid crush, two years ago, what is wrong with you? You ask yourself.

"Are you okay (Y/N)" he asks. You nuzzle further into him.

"I thought you needed one" You needed one.

"You have feelings too, you robot, why do you supress them so much?" You mumbled. He chuckled. "I don't like to talk about them" he brushes your hair.

"You should"

You try to pull back but he hugs you tighter.

"Just a little longer, please" you happily oblige. He did need a hug after all.

Are you crushing on him again? Are you ready to get your heart broken?

-------

Don't ask I don't even know, I think I'll make this a series, let me know what you think of my first BTS imagine, a lot more to come, I'm obsessed with these boys.

Masterlist

Promplist

[fanfiction-hell-my-dude]

The Gallery

Characters: Moira O’Deorain, Artist!Fem!reader, mentions of Jesse McCree

Requested: Nah

Word Count: 764 words. I kept it shorter this time!

Authors Note: I know this one is short, but I’m hoping to make it into a series! Also, I don’t believe I listed Overwatch as a fandom, but it 100% is.

Warnings: Not anything notable I think.

You had long ago sold your soul to art. I completely ignored the world around you, spending your days entertaining the rich and safe with exquisite galleries and dramatic pieces. Some may have said you were too into your work. Bu that thought seemed impossible to you.

When you decided to have a gallery near the current Overwatch base who’d thought nothing of it. You’d never given a shit about Overwatch’s good deeds and hopeful dreams. You were here for the money they attracted.

Nevertheless, the gallery occurred. Music played, the guests were well dressed, but you were the shining star. That was until she came in.

Her hair was fiery red, and from where you stood it seemed her eyes had different hues, not that you could quite tell what each were. Her jaw was sharp, as was the rest of her it seemed. You had never seen such a beautiful being.

You had unknowingly caught her eye as well, with your (h/l), (h/c) hair, and that dazzling false smile you put on. She knew right there you were a god of manipulations. A god that deserved to be worshipped.

The two of you danced around each other for most of the night, barely grazing each other at the time, but never speaking. You had the patience of a python, calmly lying in wait for your prey to approach. And it was you who had won.

You had been in a conversation with a cowboy, noting that for whatever reason many of the Overwatch heroes had come to this gallery, for god knows what reason. But Moira had approached quietly, wound tight like a cat ready to pounce.

A clawed hand tapped Jesse’s shoulder and he almost jumped ten feet in the air when he turned around. Moira borderline purred when she spoke, “How about you go harass your boyfriend Jesse? I could've sworn I saw Hanzo flirting with a young man a minute ago” she teased him, an internal chuckle flashing across his eyes as his face turned red before he turned and stomped off.

You had to hold in a snort, hour hand covering your mouth before Moira bowed before you, “You must be y/n. The artist correct?” she knew the answer to her question and she knew you knew it. A smirk appeared on your lips as she kissed your hand, realizing she had yet to quite the silent game the pair of you had begun.

“Why yes, that’d be me. I do hope you're enjoying yourself?” you were studying her now since this was as close as the two of you had been tonight. She was wearing a black suit, a vibrant thin tie centered perfectly down her chest. Her nails were different lengths and you found yourself wondering how she worked with those things. You could feel her eyes raking down your figure, following the curves you gown displayed. And it all happened in a matter of seconds, but both of you were left burning.

“Oh, I think I am. Tell me, is there anywhere more private? All this noise makes it hard to hear you” she was teasing you now, trying to push the game quicker. Yet you decided to indulge her. You looped your arm in your own before heading up the stairs to the second floor of the building. It was restricted to everyone but the staff and yourself.

A wide smirk was on her slender face and damn was it fitting on her. You lead her through your room, to the balcony connected to it. The wind was strong tonight, sending a chill down your spine, but you forced yourself to ignore it. This game was much too fun to weaken now.

“I hope this will do Miss O’Deorain. Unless you’d like to explore other parts of the floor?” you questioned leaning against the railing, the cold metal pressing into the small of your back. She smiled this time, unbuttoning her suit jacket and shrugging it off, before wrapping it snugly around your shoulders, causing a thankful purr to escape you.

“I quite like you, Moira. I think I may stay in town a bit longer than usual because of it…in that time would you maybe like to experiment a tad?” you were genuinely smiling now, looking up at the taller women, studying her face more closely this time. You studied each detail her eyes, the deep red flecks that pulled around her iris in her left, and the floating dark blue in her right. You memorized them both.

“Experiment on you, darling? Anyday”

[imagineaworlds]

Caught In Your Eyes (Part Three)--Billy Hargrove

Written By @rune-of-a-writer

Part One | Part Two

Original Request: “Hi. I love your work. I was wondering if you could do a billy imagine where the female reader is new to town and she’s a bad girl and billy instantly falls for her and tries to get with her. Thank you!!”

Warnings: cursing, being drugged, vomit(?)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x fem!reader

Summary: Following being drugged, James and Billy help you out. As well as an unexpected companion.

Word Count: 4,041

A/N: I do NOT own the gif, credit goes to the original owner.

“Hell if I know,” Billy snapped, harshly glaring over at Vance.

“You’re the one who last saw her, Hargrove,” Chris said, looking around the side of the house himself to see if he could see you-but to no avail. “You sure you left her on the porch?”

“Yes I’m sure, Smith,” he responded, harsher than before. He didn’t like being accused of things, especially kidnapping an unstable girl. James was over by your car, checking to see if you were inside there, but you weren’t.

“Alright, quit fighting. It’s barely 20 degrees outside, she doesn’t have a jacket, and there’s something wrong with her. She couldn’t have gotten far. Billy, me and you will drive around and see if we can find her. You two,” he motioned to Chris and Vance, “walk around the houses and see if she’s around there,” James instructed, slamming your Mustang shut as he attempted to wipe his eyes of their bleariness. He could still feel the burn of the vodka in his throat and stomach, and his face was hot despite the cool air.

“Why am I getting dragged into this?” Billy protested even though he was already walking towards his car and unlocking it.

“Because you’re the one who found her and left her,” Vance stated, jumping over the porch railing and following after Chris who had began walking off. Rolling his eyes, Billy opening the door of his car and slid in, impatiently waiting for James. The other boy was quick to hop in the passenger side, swaying slightly when he sat down. Starting the car, Billy sped off causing James to grip the side of the door until his knuckles turned white.

“If you don’t slow down I will not hesitate to throw up in here,” he warned, his brown eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to push down the quickening nausea. The Camaro came to a halt, the car and James’ screeches becoming one. “What the fuck, Hargrove!”

“Don’t throw up in the car!”

“I wasn’t going to, until you fucking did that!”

“Then get the hell out, Tullen!” their yelling was getting louder, the both of them attempting to make the other do what they wanted. Billy wanted James to get out and force himself to throw up so he wouldn’t do it later. James wanted Billy to keep driving so they could find you. Either way, the Camaro stopped in the middle of the road was beginning to get louder than the house down the street.

--

You had gotten hot. So, so hot. It was like your leather jacket had turned itself into an oven and was now strangling you with heat. But it was so hard to move. You wanted nothing more than to get up and get inside your car, but when you looked through the gaps of the porch you couldn’t tell which car was yours anymore. Billy had left, to go inside you figured. He probably thought you were just drunk and needed to sleep it off. That’s what you would’ve done with some random drunk person at a party.

Except you weren’t drunk. You knew what alcohol tasted like: vodka, whiskey, rum, wine, beer. And none of it tasted like your Pepsi had. You’d heard of girls’ drinks being spiked and guys taking them to a room, or to their house or a car. But no guy came to ‘claim’ you. You had zero idea what had happened, and that was what pissed you off the most.

So now, you were stuck on some random person’s porch, incoherent and unable to do anything. But you couldn’t sit there any longer. Finally, you pushed your back off of the wall and reached over to grasp at the porch balcony. Pulling yourself up, you let out a strangled gasp at finally being able to move. It hurt and you felt as though you’d fall back down at any second, but you had to keep going. Gripping onto the railing, you carefully made your way down the five steps. The wood dug into your hand from your tight grip, but you’d take splinters over a broken ankle anyday.

Once you made it to the dying grass, you huffed out in relief. But now what? You didn’t know which car was yours, and even if you did you couldn’t drive. Leaning against the house, you began stumbling along it, trying to think. But with your head pounding, vision unfocused and blurry and your body suffocating, no clear thoughts were coming through.

“This fuckin’ jack’,” you growled through your teeth, grabbing the leather material and practically ripping it from your body. You loved your jacket, you were never seen without it. But right now, it was the worst thing in the world. The second the tight material had been lifted from your body, you welcomed the cold air to your bareskin. The jacket slipped from your hands, landing on the ground silently as you carried on.

You had no idea what time it was, but it had to be late. The streets were vacant of any light from their houses, your only way of being able to see was the moon and occasional streetlight. Every step you took became harder and harder. You wanted absolutely nothing more than to just allow your body to drop to the cement below you, regardless of injuries, and just lay there until whatever was in your system wore off. But you couldn’t. You needed to find a park. You couldn’t call anyone even if you were able to get ahold of a phone-who would you call? You only knew James, Chris and Vance and they were all at the party. And you couldn’t call your uncle, who you’d been living with since you’d moved. It’d be disastrous. So sleeping this off on a park bench was your best bet.

That was until you heard yelling from behind you. It sounded familiar, but the voices were still distorted and you had no idea what they were yelling about. Turning your body, you leaned against a wire fence and squinted your eyes, trying to see where the yelling was coming from. The road wasn’t straight for you, it was basically on it’s side and everything on it was going in other directions. But you could see a shocking color of blue. A color that you hadn’t noticed while you were stumbling up the street. The color was in the middle of the road, and there were two bright white lights mixed in with it.

A car. It had to be a car. The yelling had to be coming from the colors, which had to be a car. That was your best chance of getting to a park safely. Or it was your best chance of getting killed. Either way, it was a chance of something. Letting out a determined huff, you released your grip on the metal fence, wincing slightly at the pain in your hands. You began stumbling your way towards the color, trying your hardest not to look like a deranged lunatic. As you got closer, the colors began filling themselves, taking on their actual form. It was indeed a blue car, and the yelling was coming from there. But, it was a blue Camaro. Billy motherfucking Hargrove’s blue Camaro. You were about to turn around and stumble back to where you came from, when you heard James’ voice.

“I am not going to throw up on your damned child! But if you don’t start driving, I will throw up on you!” you heard his voice yell, loud and clear. Child? Since when did Billy have a child? Shaking your head of the thought, you tripped back over to the car quickly, not wanting them to drive away now. However, there was a rock in the road that you hadn’t noticed, and your delayed foot got caught on it, propelling you forward. Your hand (dotted with specks of blood from gripping fences and other things) slammed onto the window of Billy’s car door loudly.

--

Before Billy could respond to James, an incredibly loud sound hit his window, causing him to jump and turn around quickly. James on the other hand, saw what Billy didn’t; a bloody hand smacking down onto the window before falling to the ground. Billy thought he was going to go deaf from how loud the other boy was screaming. Ignoring James, Billy slowly opened his door only to find you groaning on the road beside his car.

“Jesus, (Y/N)!” he shouted, quickly pulling his feet out of the car and kneeling beside you.

“Wait, it’s (Y/N)?” James gasped, throwing open his door and running around to Billy, and kneeling on your other side. You pressed your hands against the asphalt below you, not really feeling the pain that dug into your palms even more. Pushing yourself into a sitting position, you allowed James to wrap his arms around your waist, and leaned your head against your shoulder. A jacket was put around you, put it wasn’t the restricting leather you had earlier. Squinting down, you saw light blue material, but you didn’t know whose it was.

“Where the hell did you go? The Lewis kid was about to rip my head off,” Billy gripped, pulling your hands off the ground to inspect them. There were bits of gravel in the open parts now because of your fall, but you only had a few splinters and some cuts.

“Van’ can’ do shit,” you mumbled, closing your eyes. Your breathing was harsh and ragged, as if you had just run a few miles. You felt as though you were burning despite your skin being cold to the touch.

“Come on, Wanderer, let’s get you in the car,” James said. He moved his body so your arm was slung around his shoulder now, and Billy moved to your other side. Together, they slowly stood up, lifting you with them. Once you were safely on your feet, James removed himself from your side so he could push Billy’s seat forward. Your hand tightened on Billy’s leather shoulder, feeling the dizziness coming back.

“Jesus, princess, how much did you drink?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow and holding back a smirk. He grunted although when he had to hold you up more, your body going limp against him.

“I di’n’ ‘av’ any,” you snapped. James turned around quickly at that, and Billy turned his head.

“Wait, what? I just figured you accidentally drank a little too much,” James said, his eyes wide, coming to stand in front of you. You shook your head, starting to remove yourself from Billy to get inside the car.

“Woah, let’s not fall over again. Come on,” he ordered, pulling you back. You glared up at him, but let him and James both maneuver you into the back of the car. “Alright, now what do you mean you’re not drunk?”

“It wasn’ alc-ol,” you sighed, not wanting to talk. You had moved so you could lay down in the back, James handing you your jacket that he had found. You still weren’t sure whose jacket was around you, but it was more comfortable than yours. Using your own jacket as a pillow, you curled up on your side, hoping the other two would get the hint. They didn’t.

“Then what was it?” James questioned once he had got in the car and shut the door. Billy had pulled the car to the side of the road so that cars could pass if needed and they’d be out of sight. Now they were both turned around and staring you down.

“Fuck if I know,” you slurred, keeping your eyes closed. Laying down allowed you to think clearly. You no longer had to worry about where you were, what was happening, or about having to keep yourself upright. You could relax, but you still found your body filled with rigid tension.

“Someone must have drugged you,” Billy sighed obviously, running a hand down his face and then through his hair. “Did anyone talk to you right after?”

“Jus’ you,” you mumbled, burying your face deeper into the cool material of the jacket. James looked at Billy sharply with accusatory eyes, causing Billy to throw his hands up.

“If I had drugged her, would I have come to get you guys to take her home? Or would I have done it myself?” he snapped, and James deflated with a nod.

“Well she’s safe, that’s what matters. Let’s get you home, (Y/N/N),” James sighed, reaching back to ruffle your hair. The sensation was nice, but you were too panicked to enjoy it. You sat up quickly, your head swimming with regret once you did.

“Fuck,” you moaned quietly, holding your head with your hand. “I can’t go home,” you said, forcing yourself to talk thoroughly. It was slow, but it was clear. “If I go home without the car,” you stopped to catch your breath, “and in this state, he’ll get so pissed off.”

“Alright, alright,” James said quickly, not wanting to give you a panic attack while you were high. “Uh we can… we can uh…” he trailed off, racking his brain for an idea. The vodka was still in him, and he truthfully couldn’t think of a good idea. His mom was expecting him, Chris and Vance for the night. Not him and an intoxicated girl she’d never met before.

“My uh, my dad and stepmom are gone. They went to her parents house for the weekend I think…” Billy said after a couple minutes of your panicked breathing and James’ frantic cooing. “My step-sister is home, but she’s asleep probably… I know it’s not ideal but you can sleep on the couch or something,” he offered quietly, rubbing the back of his head. Billy knew what it was like to worry about going home at night, and he often wished he had a friend to rely on some nights. He didn’t usually bring girls home, and he never brought them home to just help them. But somehow this was different.

“That’s great. Yeah, (Y/N/N)? That sound okay?” James asked, still petting your (h/c) hair. You thought over the idea quietly. You didn’t know Billy at all, and the two of you hadn’t gotten along the past week you had known him. But at the same time, if you went home to your uncle like this it’d end badly.

“Yeah, okay,” you said softly, slowly lowering yourself back down. James let out a sigh of relief.

“Great. Then, tomorrow he can bring you to get your car and everything can get sorted out,” James concluded with satisfied grin as Billy began driving again, slower this time.Which reminded you of something.

“Wha’ about the kid?” you asked, your voice muffled from the jacket. James turned around with a questionable glance.

“I already told you, Max’ll be asleep,” Billy huffed.

“No. Your child,” you responded with a huff of your own. “You two were yellin’ ‘bout it.”

“Oh. Oh no,” James laughed loudly, but stopped abruptly when Billy hit his shoulder.

After dropping James off, Billy drove the two of you to his house. You had fallen asleep in the back, and Billy truthfully almost forgot about you with how quiet you were. But when he went to get his extra jacket from the back, he was reminded.

“Okay, here we go,” he sighed to himself. Moving the seat forward, Billy leaned back and gently shook your shoulder. You didn’t move. Your breathing didn’t even falter. So he tried it again, harder this time. Then again, and again. But you weren’t waking up. “What kind of…” Billy trailed off with a grumble of annoyance. Rolling his shoulders back, he reached in and gently pulled you from the car. It was  admittedly difficult, but he managed to do it without hurting either of you. Holding you in his arms, he kicked the car door shut, internally wincing about it before making his way to the house.

Getting the front door open was another story. He had to kneel down and use the hand that was under your knees to unlock the front door, cursing when the keys feel to the ground once the door finally opened. He couldn’t pick them up, so he opted for kicking them farther in instead. Quietly shutting the door, Billy paused and waited to make sure the house was silent. Once he was certain Max was indeed asleep, he made his way to his room. He didn’t want to risk Max waking up and finding you on the couch, especially while you were in a black out.

Laying you down on the bed, Billy removed his jacket from you, tossing it in the corner. He took off your shoes next, leaving everything else on and pulling his sheets over you. Letting out a sigh, Billy kicked off his own shoes and took off his jacket, tossing it on top of the other one. He peeled off his uncomfortably tight jeans, putting on a pair of grey sweats so you wouldn’t be too freaked out in the morning before getting in beside you. Once he laid down, it only took a few minutes for him to fall asleep.

--

The next morning, you awoke with a groan. Your head was pounding, and you could taste bile in your throat. Opening your eyes, you took a few seconds to blink away the haze before realizing you weren’t at home. You were laying on someone else’s bed-they had black sheets and a dark red comforter. In front of you was an open closet, various shirts hanging off of their hangers. To the side was a built in shelf with random things askew on it, however you did notice some of things were broken and on the floor. Against the wall, beside the bed was a dresser with a mirror hanging over it and an ashtray on it. Beside that was a low dresser-like stand with an advanced stereo system and record player, and albums of music laying neatly below it. In fact, it was the only neat thing in the room. Across the room, beside the door was another shelf with a dartboard on it. All around the room were random posters, not in any particular place or of any particular interest. Hanging on the back of the door was a feather-like object, which caught your attention. It was oddly sentimental for the rest of the room, which held a very random vibe to it. As if whatever was found, made its way into the room. But not the feather, that belonged.

An arm suddenly hitting your back brought you back to the present. And it also brought a wave of nausea over you. You needed to get to a bathroom, and quick. You untangled yourself from the sheets quickly, making your way towards the door. The room was spinning, but not as bad as last night. That’s when you remembered everything that had happened, but you didn’t have time to reminisce. Opening the door, you looked down the hallway, thankfully spotting the bathroom with the door open. You quickly walked inside, shutting the door behind you and kneeling in front of the toilet, finally allowing the drug from last night to exit your body. It was rough, the vomit racking your body into harsh sobs. One of your hands held your hair back while the other held onto the toilet.

You heard the door open, but you couldn’t focus on who was coming in. You couldn’t care less if Billy saw you throwing up, it was inevitable at this point. But when a small hand was placed on your back and another took over holding your hair back, you were shocked. Out of the corner of your eye you could see red hair, but your attention was quickly diverted back to the toilet as another wave of bile came up. Max rubbed your back, her hand holding your hair back at the same time. You weren’t sure why she was doing it, but you were thankful. Once the nausea had subsided, you let out a few strangled coughs, spitting the remaining bits of vomit out. Grabbing some toilet paper, you wiped your mouth, tossing it in the toilet before flushing. You sat back against the bathtub, breathing heavily with your eyes shut.

“You okay?” Max asked quietly, sitting in front of you. Peeking your eyes open, you flashed her your award-winning smirk.

“Yeah, kid. I’m fine. Thanks for keeping my hair safe,” you joked, silently applauding yourself when she laughed. She nodded and got up, grabbing a cup that was laying on the counter and filling it with cold water. You took it gratefully, first washing your mouth out and spitting it into the toilet before taking an actual sip.

“I thought it was Billy at first, and I was gonna yell at him,” she admitted, playing with the ends of her hair, “But when I saw it was you, I figured I’d help you out since you helped me with my skateboard.”

“Thanks,” you said again, reaching over to ruffle her hair, chuckling when she attempted to dodge it. A knock on the bathroom door caused you both to look up and see Billy standing there. He was wearing grey sweatpants but he didn’t have a shirt on. Surprisingly, him and Max didn’t snap at each other.

“You feelin’ okay?” he asked, his hands shoved into the pockets of his pants as he leaned against the sink.

“Decently. My head hurts a lot, but that’s about it. Throwing up helped, like it usually does,” you stated, stretching your legs out infront of you. “Boarder over here helped out.”

“Yeah, she’s good at that,” he said without thinking, and Max scoffed but none the less grinned up at him.

“I’m going to make pancakes. Are you staying?” Max asked, standing up and looking down at you.

“Yeah, sure. Just give me a minute to regain everything,” you agreed. She nodded and pushed past Billy, disappearing down the hallway. He came over to you, putting  the toilet seat down so he could sit on it.

“You remember what happened?” he asked quietly, looking down at his hands rather than you.

“Bits and pieces. I remember figuring out something was in my drink, leaving the party, you coming out to the porch, and then at some point ending up on the ground by your car. That’s about it,” you told him. “I don’t know why someone would do that though, and not try something. That’s what I don’t get. As messed up as it is, and as thankful as I am it didn’t happen, it doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yeah. Maybe you left too quick? Too many people?” Billy said, looking over at you. He had never understood the point of date rape. He had always been able to get a girl in bed with him with a simple smile, and if a girl said no then there was always another one willing to. So for someone to be so desperate to try and drug someone to the point where they couldn’t do anything was beyond him.

“Most likely. They probably got scared off when they saw the Big Bad Billy follow me out,” you chuckled, flashing him a grin. Billy laughed too, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, then I’m glad I saved your cute ass, princess.”

“Yeah, no. You totally left me behind, asshole. For all you know, if I hadn’t had walked off then whoever it was could’ve gone back out when you went inside,” you retaliated, narrowing your eyes.

“Alright, whatever you say,” he grinned, standing up. “Let’s go. I need to make sure she doesn’t burn anything again,” he told you, holding out his hand. You took it, allowing him to pull up. Had you not taken an extra step, the two of you would’ve ended up chest-to-chest. His hold on your hand tightened, his blue eyes looking down at you and your (e/c) eyes staring up at him. You bit back a smirk, shaking your head at him.

“Not a chance, Hargrove. Pancakes are more important than you.”

----

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