#even if i fall back into a haze again afterward

[agentsquirrelsgotrobots]

When your brain is determined to throw every mental illness symptom you currently have at you all at once but you just got off one of the most fun weeks of your life, so you flip your brain the finger, stay alive out of pure stubbornness, and go to sleep at a reasonably hour.

[cherie-doll]

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon : When They Come Back

✧˚ Ghost, Keegan, Soap, König, Phillip Graves

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Fluff for you suckers -hope you enjoy the word vomit ;(

Working under constant danger put a strain on them, at moments when it seemed like the world was nothing but shambles and havoc they’d close their eyes and remember what brought them warmth. There was a certain feeling they yearned for and were only satisfied when you were near.

There is something special in knowing someone is waiting for you.

Ghost

This man comes back completely drained; physically, mentally, emotionally…

At first, he was hesitant concerning your worry about him

“If you won’t let me take care of you, who will?”

Might be a little distant at first, it takes time for his mind to come back

No going out, at all

You say comforting phrases to him

“You’re not at war anymore, you can come home”

He’s been through a lot, a warm meal and hugs are all he needs for days afterward :(

It takes some time for him to recharge

When he feels better he lets you know much he appreciates everything you do for him

Takes time to admire you; he silently takes in your facial features

Affectionate gazes that flicker between your eyes and lips

He knows you aren’t obliged to it yet you make an effort for him and that makes him feel like he’s earned a much better reward than money or glory could give him

Keegan

Saying this man missed you is an understatement

It’s like you placed a spell on him the moment he met you

If it were up to him, he wouldn’t want to be a moment away from you

He’ll miss you in silence, won’t send letters or texts or anything knowing it’ll make his heart ache more

But when he walks through the door he falls to kissing you

Bites your lip just for the taste of you on his tongue

His lips leave yours for breaks in between intense kisses to whisper “I love you”

He feels empty without the intimacy and closeness of you

He doesn’t care what you do or don’t say, doesn’t expect anything big either, he just wants to see you with your arms open for him

Soap

No matter how bad it was this time, he always comes back with a smile on his face when you open the door

Even behind that loving smile, you catch the subtle dimness in his eyes

Peppers you with kisses all over your face

Extremely clingy

Needs to be reminded that the world can be kind and gentle

Needs you to dote excessively over him

You give him a shoulder massage as he washes up in the bathtub

Convinces you to join him

Afterward, you crawl into bed with him, cradling his head on your lap

Both of you turn into couch potatoes for a couple of days watching cozy films

König

Keeping up a stoic demeanor can be tiring, so he easily drops the poker face as soon as he buries his face into your neck

No matter how much prying you do, you won’t get him to open up about what disturbs him

He’d rather keep those horrors locked away from you, you’re his most cherished possession

A lot of quiet moments where he’s just content to be with you again

Little is said between you as tender and passionate kisses are exchanged

Don’t think he’ll leave your side for the next few days, you’re attached at the hip

As you trace the scars on his back to his shoulders, you feel his body tremble beneath your fingertips

Your touch is addictive to him; soothing him into a tranquil sleep

Phillip Graves

He’s had to deal with a lot of crap so he’s relieved to finally come back to some peace, and most importantly; you

At first, he didn’t want to overwhelm you with issues that aren’t yours, but as your relationship progressed he started opening up more

Oftentimes, he’s in an irritable mood when he comes back

You listen to him rant if that’s what he needs

Other times it gives him too much of a headache to even think about

He adores you for understanding him without words being spoken

With so many enemies he has, he feels undeserving of you, someone who’s like a warm ray of sunshine in his austere life

When he falls silent you know that’s your cue

A sort of haze entrances him as you trail soft, torturous kisses along his jaw

Your scent obscures his mind as he gets drunk on your affection

He can’t even remember what he was mad about

[sunny-mercya]

Wasted

Poly! Billy Loomis and Stu Macher x Male Reader

Fandom -> Scream 1996

Masterlist

H a v i n g t h e T i m e of my L i f e !

D i g g i n g t h e D a n c i n g Q u e e n

«Where's [Name]?» a question Billy shouldn't have asked Stu—he looked like a deer caught in the headlights, wide eyed and a flicker of realisation and panicky fear in them.

«Stu. Where is [Name]?» Billy repeated again, harsher this time, demanding even. Giving his boyfriend a expectantly look, brow raised, a sort of glare it was—the kind of which a parent would give, when they aren't being amused and mildly disappointed with what their child did.

Stu feels like this metaphorical child. His hands getting clammy, eyes darting around from side to side, everywhere and anywhere—even focusing on those, in his humble opinion, absolutely ugly paintings which hung on the walls alongside the staircase, just so he doesn't have to look at Billy and getting this....this look of disappointment from him. Though when Stu accidentally did, he winced visibly.

Now, this was a situation—one of the rare occasional ones—where Billy, who's normally an composed person, was feeling restless and a tiny amount of fear spiking up in him.

This wasn't one of Stu's many parties, where they have established unofficial rules to what was allowed—in drugs and alcoholic beverages wise and where they have control over everything—this was the party of an stranger, a person Sidney (or had it been Tatum or another one of their friends?) was acquainted with, from over next town.

A party, where the two couldn't keep a proper watch over you. Couldn't keep you out of harms way—and it wasn't like, that you neither could hold your own or defend yourself in dire times of need. You're perfectly capable of such things. But, for them, you're their precious little boy—which they just, if they could, would love to lock up and keep safe.

And Stu had one fucking job this night, keeping you near him. Yet in the end, Stu had failed in it, managed to lose you in this crowd.

Billy was craning his neck, straining his muscles and he even could feel a pull at it. Trying to find you in that cramped mass of human strangers. Stu, standing behind Billy on the staircase, being a lot taller then his friend, swirled his head from right to left. He too trying to spot you, your mop of (h/c) hair or the clothes you are wearing. No avail.

An underlaying panic, deep buried in their pits of stomach, sets itself free. Rising up and giving them side stabs. Leaving goosebumps on their skin and a tingle down their spines.

«Fine. We're going search for him together. [Name] can't be that far.» a string of cruses left Billy's mouth afterwards.

~~~

You swayed from side to side, trying to find your way back to the house as you wandered through the backyard, a rather big one with lots greenery, some trees and a stony path. You hoped at least that you were still in the backyard, sight a bit too blurry to tell what all the difference blobs are.

A hiccup here and there left your mouth. Swallowing your own salvia and taking another sip from your cup, drowning the last rest. Wanting the sandy dryness to get away.

A few minutes later and your mouth was dry again. You drunk enough to have your body being hydrated. More limo and soft drink than alcoholic beverages, besides a few shots and one or two cups of beer.

So getting a dry mouth within seconds was a bit weird, so you thought. Did you always had such a excessive sweating? And since when was the night so warm?

You stopped your walking, just standing there wherever that was, because it sure doesn't look like a backyard anymore (and perhaps it never has.)

Taking one step forward, still wanting to continue your way back and in the next moment of seconds, you felt a wave of air around you. Falling and your face hits the asphalt.

The small shock shook your mind awake form the haze. Turning onto your side, you tried to sit up. Needing a few tries before you accomplished it. The few glass shards, which laid around, digging into your palms—leaving bloody cuts.

Huh, funny, the blurry dots which comes flying nearer and nearer, reminded you a bit of your boyfriends—the colours seemed to fit the dots so well.

You snorted loudly at this thought, falling onto your side again. Giggles left your mouth, waving a hand at your dot boyfriends. Dot boyfriends. Another snort.

~~~

It had taken some time till Billy and Stu had found you. First they searched inside the house, checked every room—interrupting a few people by two things; sex and taking a piss. Then they took a look around the backyard and pool area, but nothing.

A few fleeting thoughts, what if imagines came to their minds. Non of them pleasant at all. You could have been kidnapped or you going back all on your own or you even going with someone else.

They came to the same conclusion. You're wandering somewhere on the streets around and on their way out of the house—passing through the mass crowd, bumping shoulders—Billy sneered at Sidney when she gave them a confused questionably glance.

If it weren't for Sidney, this wouldn't even be happening. Not Stu was at fault.

All of this was her fucking fault.

Billy thanked whatever god might be existing above there. They didn't had to ventured through the streets for too long, till they saw you sitting in the middle of the street.

Stu helped you sit upright again, keeping his hands on your shoulders to give you hold.

Billy crouched down in front of you, holding your face into his hands. Scraping the small bits of shards away and drawing circles with his thumbs over your cheeks. You leaned into his touch—a contrast to your warm skin.

«....It's so warm....» you mumbled, blinking owlish at Billy, eyes dropping every so often.

«What happen [Name]?»

Billy watched patiently how you opened your mouth, trying to form words but all it came out was a jumble of unintelligible sounds.

Billy was concerned, even if you were drunk—fully intoxicated—you would still be able to say intelligible words.

Though you didn't look too good either; laboured shallowed breaths, ghostly pale, sweat trickling down your skin, shivering—besides you complaining about the chilly night being way too hot—pupils dilating and your nonchalantly about the cuts.

Noticing the empty cup next to you, Billy had a hunch and hoped he was wrong. The bit of leftover drink in the cup, a slight purple colour with a bitter smell, had proving his hunch correct. Drugs.

Billy narrowed his eyes, pursing his lips into a line. He crushed the cup in his hand, throwing it away. Whoever fucker had done this, they would pay this. Dying a long and painful death.

«You carry him Stu, though lets find the fucker first.»

~~~

«Bills, let us go home. [Nickname] needs to sleep and getting the drugs out his system» Stu whines a bit, adjusting his hold on your thighs again to carry you more evenly on his back. All the while you nuzzling your nose into the crook of his neck, moaning out complains—with a few giggles and in between incoherently talking of something—how damn hot it was, how thirsty you are and that you want some cuddles.

Stu, to keep you delighted and from falling asleep, nodded and agreed along to whatever you were saying. Giving you seriously meant answers.

Billy let go of Ben's—the asshole who drugged not only you, but also Kelly—shirt collar, leaving him leaning against the wall. Ben snickers, smirking at Billy, practically a invitation of dare.

«Aww, c'mon a bit of drugs hasn't harmed anyone. Don't get yer panties in a twist. Pretty boy is taking well, isn't he?»

A wave of anger took over Billy's face, contouring into a grimace of furiousness. Without wasting another second, Billy punched him across the face. Breaking Bens nose in process, a satisfying crack being heard.

«Try to drug him again Benny boy and I will make sure that your nose isn't the only thing I will break.

~~~

«Ya think some good ol' horror films will help our darling babe to fall asleep faster?»

«No Stu. That wouldn't be such a good idea, not with the intake of drugs. Could mess with his mind.»

Stu laid you down onto the bed, crawling next to you and pulling the covers over you and taking you into his arms. Billy coming back in the room, placing a glass of water and some pills onto the nightstand. Putting a cool washcloth onto your, already burning up, forehead.

Bill sat on the edge of the bed, caressing your cheek, swatting away Stu's hand from himself for a moment. Deciding after all in the end, to lay down next to you too.

Ben would pay for this, Billy having planning the perfect death for him.

Though this could wait for a bit later, after all you're their first priority.

D a n c i n g Q u e e n, f e e l t h e b e a t

D i g g i n g t h e d a n c i n g Q u e e n

[sentientgolfball]

for the requests maybe a slice of life (but smutty) for the aftermath of Phantom having his ass pounded for the first time by Mountain? Anal virginity stolen by Mountain who showers him in aftercare afterwards and Swiss who walks in and teases him about his cute little gape? yeah… yeah

This ended up more sweet than smutty but ough I love it when that happens

No further tags the ask has it all :3

My requests are open !

Their ears are ringing, breath coming in short pants. They can feel their hair sticking to their forehead with sweat. They stare up at the ceiling, head completely devoid of thoughts as they slowly come back down. They barely even register Mountain’s large hands rubbing up and down their thighs. 

“You with me love bug?” He asks in between his own shallow breaths. 

They nod, eyes still glazed over as they slowly come back into their body. 

Mountain chuckles, “Good. How are you feeling?” 

Phantom has no idea how to answer that question. They hurt, but deliciously so. They feel like they’re floating, like they’re watching the scene play out in third person. Part of them wants to beg for another round and the other says they’re already spent. They also feel like they were just split in fucking two. Phantom truly did not understand why Mountain was so hesitant when they came to him asking him to be their first Topside. They get it now. Fuck do they get it. 

“M feeling…full.” It’s the only word that comes to mind. 

Mountain smiles and kisses in between their horns “I didn’t hurt you did I?” 

Phantom shakes their head and a deep purr rumbles through Mountain’s chest. He was surprised when they asked him of all ghouls to be the one to break them in. He honestly figured Swiss had already gotten to the little bug with how often they show up at breakfast together. Oh but when those lavender eyes looked up at him with blown out pupils and a desperate little plea fell from their lips Mountain couldn’t resist. He couldn’t lie, the knowledge that he was the first one to get his hands on their little bug only sweetened the deal. 

Mountain looks down at them, really taking in their appearance for the first time since the haze of lust has subsided. Their eyes are closed, little chest rising and falling steadily. Not asleep, but probably inching closer and closer to it. Their neck and chest are littered with deep purple marks. Mountain almost feels bad for how prominent some of his fang indents are. He bends to press kisses to the worst of them, a silent apology. Phantom squirms and giggles, chuffing with each soft press of Mountain’s lips. 

“Mounty stop, stop. It tickles.” They try to faux shove him away. 

He smiles against their skin, kissing them one more time before sitting up. He shifts forward, pressing a kiss to the tip of their nose before tilting his head to press their lips together. It’s nice for about five seconds before Mountain furrows his brow and pulls away. He looks down between them and grimaces at the mess that got smeared around. Phantom’s cum now coats both of their stomachs and it has gotten unpleasantly cold. 

“Okay bug let’s get you cleaned up.” Mountain carefully pulls out of them, soothing a hand down their thigh. 

Phantom whines at the loss, “I don’t wanna move ever again.” 

“You can lay in cum all you want but I’m not cuddling you if you’re sticky.” 

Their head shoots up to look at him. They look at him like a kicked puppy and Mountain’s heart throbs. He lifts one of their hands, pressing a kiss to the knuckles. 

“Stay here. I'll be right back.” He stands from the bed. 

Phantom watches him go into the bathroom, ears twitching with each click from his hooves against the floor. They shift around while they wait for him to come back, fixing the pillows to be able to lay more comfortably. There’s a pleasant ache that radiates through their whole body. Their limbs still don’t quite feel like their own, heavy and full of static. All they can think about is how good they’ll sleep tonight as they idly trace over the teeth marks on their collarbone. 

Mountain returns from the bathroom with a washcloth in hand. Phantom chirps when he sits on the side of the bed, tail thumping happily against the mattress. Mountain huffs a laugh before gently wiping their skin off. He goes slow, running the warm cloth in gentle little circles. Phantom chuffs the entire time, happy as long as Mountain keeps touching them. When he’s satisfied that Phantom is no longer a sticky mess he tosses the cloth into his laundry basket before sliding back into bed. Phantom immediately clings to him, burying their nose into his neck to inhale his herbaceous scent. Mountain chuckles, wrapping his arms around the little bug and pulling them onto his chest. He runs his hands up and back their back, fingers tracing the raised lines of their lichtenberg figure scars. 

He can feel Phantom growing heavier by the second, muscles relaxing as they get closer and closer to sleep. He grabs his phone off the nightstand, scrolling through his messages until he finds the one he’s looking for. He sends a quick text before placing it face down once more. A moment later he gets a reply, the ping making his ear twitch. He doesn’t check it though, he’s content to close his eyes and breathe in Phantom’s frozen apple scent. 

He tries not to, but his mind ends up wandering. He can’t help but think about how Phantom looked just a few months ago when they were first pulled from the Pits. Skinny and gaunt, ribs and vertebrae clearly visible under their skin. They hadn’t spoken more than a few words for the first week, too anxious to be caught making a sound. They had hid away in their room, only letting Aurora in until rehearsals finally began. Even when they did start to come around they were still wary around Mountain. He understood, a ghoul his size is something to be afraid of. 

Mountain never would have guessed he’d be here now, Phantom half asleep and drooling into his fur. He was sure the little bug wouldn’t be comfortable with him until well into the tour. He was pleasantly surprised the day they found him in the greenhouse, curious about the brightly colored flowers. Who knew that was the spark that was needed to turn the mumbly little quintessence ghoul into someone as boisterous as Swiss? 

He’s pulled from his thoughts with a knock to his door. 

“Haven’t heard a noise in like twenty minutes, is my bug still alive?” Swiss calls as he steps into the room. 

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. 

Mountain smiles, motioning for him to keep it down. It’s too late though, Phantom is sitting up and rubbing at their eyes. They smack their lips a few times after they yawn. 

“Swiss? What are you doing here?” They mumble sleepily.  

“We’re throwing a party bug. Gotta celebrate, it's not everyday your cherry gets popped by the big green giant.” Swiss laughs, walking over to set the plates of food in his hands onto the nightstand. 

Phantom furrows their brow and looks at Mountain, “Sarcasm?” 

“Sarcasm.” Mountain nods. 

Swiss grins and bends to kiss in between their horns, “I was instructed to bring dinner. Something about someone never wanting to move again.” 

Phantom suddenly perks up at the mention of food. Their nose twitches as they finally notice the two plates. They make grabby hands at Swiss, tail wagging hard enough to smack Mountain in the leg. 

“You’re lucky you’re adorable.” Swiss hands them the plate, ruffing their hair once his hands are free. 

They crawl off of Mountain, sitting with their back against the pillows as they dig in. They pop the dumplings into their mouth at an almost alarming rate, devouring it like they’ve never eaten. Mountain pats them hard on the back when they inevitably choke. 

“Please remember to breathe,” Mountain says in between his own bites. 

While they eat Swiss digs through Mountain’s closet, mumbling his disapproval of each item he touches. When he finally finds what he’s looking for he turns around, fully intending to throw the hoodie at Phantom. Instead he stops in his tracks, completely frozen by the sight before him. Phantom is leaning over Mountain, reaching to place his empty plate back on the nightstand. The position gives Swiss a full view of their ass and he gets light headed with how quickly the blood rushes to his dick. 

He stalks over to the bed, gripping Phantom’s tail when he’s close enough. He yanks it upwards pulling a surprised gasp from them. 

“Swiss? What—“ 

“Phantom. Baby. You’re fucking gaping.” He can’t take his eyes off of the way their hole is still wide open despite being completely empty. 

“Could probably fit inside you right now.” Swiss reaches forward. 

He’s stopped by a low growl coming from Mountain. He looks up, meeting his emerald eyes. He can see the warning in the way they darken. Swiss grins, fangs flashing in the dim light of the setting sun. He’s never been one to back down from a challenge. 

[ddejavvu]

oh mei.....

running into dbf!hotch when ur ever so slightly (absolutely) wasted and letting it slip how viscerally attractive u find him and what u want to do to him and watching him squirm because he can't react the way he wants to LORD i wanna make that old man flustered

please there's nothing like dbf!hotch <33333

--

You're a giggly drunk, and you know it. Aaron doesn't, though, which is why it's such a surprise when you spot him from across the street, standing on the patio of a bar as he walks from a restaurant with his team.

"Aaron- Aaron!" You shout, waving wildly as if he's having a hard time spotting you. The people around him look confused, but it turns into alarm when you dash across the street.

"Hi!" You squeal, slamming into him like a car could have into you, "Ohmygosh, you're here! And- and wow, I'm here, and we're here!"

"We are here," He can't fight the amused smile on his face, chuckling softly as he steadies you, "Now why are you here? It's late, and you have classes tomorrow, don't you?"

"Just a lecture," You shrug, "And I- I don't need to be there, he'll post the notes online. So I'm out with my friends!"

"Me too," Aaron keeps your arm in his grip, pivoting you to face his team, "These are my coworkers. You've met, uh, Dave before. And I think that's it."

"Hi, Y/N," Dave smiles kindly at you, though his eyes linger on the way Aaron's hand smooths up and over your shoulder, staying there.

"Hi," You grin jovially, remembering the kind man Aaron had brought with him to dinner once, "It's nice to meet you all! I'm- I'm drunk, but-"

"She's Y/N," Aaron laughs, "But she is also drunk. Let's walk you back, okay? I don't think I trust you to go by yourself again."

"You have to hold my hand!" You urge, shaking his arm off of your shoulder and grabbing his hand where it falls at his side, "Just to be- to be safe."

"Uh, okay," He nods, cheeks flaring up slightly rosy, "Let's go, sweetheart."

You drag him across the street like an excited puppy. He grabs you by the waist when you nearly trip, and with his help you make it back across the street and to the bar.

"Let's get you a drink," You grin, an evil expression that makes it seem like you're leading him to his doom. And perhaps you are, with the pretty little dress that's hugging your figure and the wild look in your eyes.

"I don't need a drink," He tries slipping his hand out of yours once you're safely on the patio again, "That's okay, honey. I'm due home now, okay? You go have fun with your friends."

"Wait- no!" You frown, lower lip puffy and wobbling as crocodile tears invade your eyes, "That's not fair. I finally- finally got all pretty and made up and you won't even stay with me?"

"What do you mean?" Aaron lets you take his hand back, and doesn't protest when you start playing with his thick fingers to distract yourself.

"I knew you were coming tonight," You admit in your drunken haze, "i heard you talking to my dad about a team dinner. And I wanted you to drink with me afterwards. But you just want to go home, you don't even like my- my dress," You sniffle, "Or my makeup, or my shoes, or-"

"Okay, okay," Aaron murmurs, smearing a stray tear away from your cheek before it can streak mascara down your face, "Let's just- uh, let's sit down."

He leads you to a patio chair, and squats at your feet.

"Honey," He starts, commanding your attention even if it's sparse and spacey, "Listen to me. It's not that I don't want to- uh, there's nothing wrong with- no, okay... you're drunk. You know that."

You nod, head bobbing on your shoulders.

"Right, and- and I don't think it's very fair of me to, uh- appreciate the effort you've put in tonight while you're drunk. Okay?"

"But I want you to," You whine, grasping his hands in your own, "I want you to push me up against the bar, and kiss me, and put your hands on my waist, and- and then take me home and-"

"Okay! Okay, okay," Aaron squeezes your hands, "I hear you. And maybe one night, when you're not drunk..."

"You promise?" Those damned tears are back, and Aaron can't resist gripping your chin to tug your face down. It takes all of his willpower to dot a kiss to your forehead when your lips are right there, but he does so successfully and even smiles at the sloppy kiss you plant on his chin when he pulls back.

"I promise." There's a strange sensation in his chest, like it's a balloon filled with rocks. He's elated, thrilled at the prospect of your hidden desire, but already worried about the complications of your impending relations, "Do me a favor, sweetheart?"

"Anything," You breathe, shiny-eyed, and his heart skips a beat.

"Let me drive you home," He offers, "Not like that. Just so that I know you get home safe. You don't really need to go back in there, I think you're drunk enough."

"Okay," You nod, chin still in his grip, "But- but my friends need rides."

"Then your friends can come too," Aaron stands, helping you rise to your feet with a hand under your arm that hooks over his shoulder, "Where are they?"

"Inside," You nod towards the building, 'But, uh- Aaron? Will you please tell them you kissed me? If they ask?"

"What?"

"I told them I was going to tell you how I feel tonight," Your face crumples in worry, "And- and I know you said not tonight, but I want them to think that it worked, so-"

"If they ask," He tries not to smile at the knowledge that he's hot gossip among your friends, "I'll tell them you jumped me in the parking lot."

[mslanna]

Raphael reacting to waking up to his little mouse tending to his injuries?

(also on AO3) enby Tav without body configuration. comfort, wound tending, too soft for sanity

Hurt. Hope. His.

The last thing Raphael remembered was launching himself at his father as Mephistopheles held Tav between his fingers about to squeeze them in half. The red haze that descended over the cambion blurred everything afterwards.

Pain, he remembered. Shouts. Screams. The smell and taste of blood. And then –

Nothing

Pain remained. In the quiet darkness surrounding him, the pain was still there. But so was a gentle warmth and movements over his skin. Broken? Burning? Something moist touched the side of his face. When he tried to jerk away, pain flared up through his whole body, rendering the attempt futile.

"Ah, look who's coming to!" Haarlep's voice, shrill in the silence and cutting into his skin. "I knew it wouldn't be long once we got to the healing pool."

"Shoo." The sound was soft, gentle and lenient towards the incubus in a way Raphael would not have permitted. But it seemed to work. The ground under him – mattress? – moved and steps receded.

"They were jittery ever since you went down." More soft words falling down on him. Nice. Warm. Safe. Tav?

Raphael tried to pry open his eyes. It hurt. It didn't matter. He had to make certain –

A cool hand settled over his eyes.

"Not yet." There was a decided pause after the last word, as if he had missed a word. "Soon. Let me finish with your face first."

He relaxed. Tav. It had to be. Small hands, deft. Sure. And so gentle on his broken skin. It still hurt. But in a reassuring way. Raphael let them work. The rhythm was soothing, a gentle motion in the ocean of pain that rocked him. He must have dozed off.

A sweet dream piercing through the pain of small hands on his face and soft lips breathing a kiss over his. Raphael tried to reach and hold on but the pain the movement caused woke him. At least he was now able to open his eyes.

Tav knelt at his side. Alive. Whole. Not snapped in half by his father's hand. The relief flooding his system overrode all pain. Raphael reached for their face, and though his hand hung in tatters, Tav didn't flinch back. They accepted the bloody touch, cradled his broken hand and placed it back at his side. Raphael could not look away from the dark red smears on their cheek.

"You need rest." Tav's lips moved but the words reached him only much later. Raphael blinked, aware again of the pains covering his body. "Drink. And sleep."

Tav raised a carafe to his lips. Then she shook their head, amused about something Raphael did not understand. The water disappeared from sigh but that was alright. Tav moved to lay his head in their lap. The repositioning hurt, but it was worth it.

Soft eyes looked down on him. Warm. Safe. His? He tried to reach out again, but Tav wouldn't have it. "Be still," they murmured. "You need to heal. Please."

They looked away at the last word and for the first time, Raphael wondered how badly he was injured. His jaw worked and Tav's fingers alighted on it.

"Please."

Tav reached beside them an raised the carafe again. This time they placed it against his lips and unthinking, Raphael drank. Warm. Cool. Hurt. His? He swallowed the water and pain in one. It earned him a smile. He drank more. Each sip making its way into his stomach felt like pearls of ice and fire.

It probably looked very bad if even this sent his body into a painful healing frenzy.

Tav pushed a strand of his hair back behind his ear. No pain. Good. Welcome. More. He mumbled and water spilled down his throat. Tav shook their head, but not angrily. They put the carafe away and produce a wet cloth with which they carefully wiped down his throat.

Raphael felt his skin prick, move and mend. A short check on his extremities proved that most of them were broken and open in some way. Bandaged badly. Preliminary. Behind Tav's head, he saw the ceiling of the boudoir. Home. Good. Safe. He looked back at Tav who had cleaned out the cloth and worked slowly over his right shoulder.

"You relax now," they said gently. "Leave it to me."

He wanted to, he really did. But a part of his mind wondered where Haarlep had gone and when they'd return and what would happen then. His eyes wandered but didn't get far without turning his head. And the mere attempt hurt.

Cool fingers stroked the side of his neck. "None of that now," Tav murmured. "I promise everything will be well. Just let me work."

Another of those empty pauses reserved for a word that never came. Raphael closed his eyes and let his mind chase the shape of that emptiness. A vain pursuit as the gentle touch of warm water on his chest dragged his thoughts away from anything else. Tav's hands followed the water, caressing healing tissue.

Raphael felt the arms of sleep reach for him and soon they would drag him down into their dark embrace. He fought it. With one thought cropping up in his dazed mind whenever he was about to go under. One thing. Important. Now.

He stirred and once again; gentle hands stilled him.

"I will be here when you wake." A soft smile. Hope.

"Mine?" The word croaked from his lips and splintered.

Tav ran a hand through his hair. Then they placed their cool fingers over his lips again. "Yours."

It was barely a whisper. It was enough.

[elsweetheart]

bsf!hazel being jealous when you’re getting ready for a date and tries to get you to stay home 🤧

omg the tension wait

“so like, who is this girl anyway… do i know her?” hazel shrugs what she thinks is casually as she rests on her elbow on your bed, laid on her side watching you do your makeup through the light up mirror of your dresser.

“i met her on hinge, remember? we’ve been talking and she seems actually not half bad, which is rare for a dating app.” you concentrate on tapping the liquid highlight into the bouncy skin over your cheekbone, not noticing the way she’s staring at you desperately through the reflection.

“hinge? so you’ve never met her? what if she’s like… an axe murderer or something. you know i heard this crazy story about this girl who went on a hinge date and ended up in a suitcase and i’m just—” she starts but you cut her off with a chuckle.

“let me guess, that story involved a man. how often do you hear about women doing that kinda thing? gay women, even?” you spin in your chair, throwing her an amused smile with your head tilted to the side slightly. she didn’t respond, and not because she didn’t have anything to say— ‘cause she totally did, but because you looked like an angel in that moment, mirror lights illuminating you, high points of your face glowing under the low light. she should be the one taking you out.

you speak again before she gets the chance. “whats the issue anyway? its like you don’t want me to go.” you complain, voice quieter as you concentrate on lining your bottom lip, speech a little slurred as you keep your mouth fairly stationary as to not mess up.

“i just… i just think it’s a bad idea. anyway you were supposed to hang out with me tonight.” she sulks, sitting up just to slump her shoulders dejectedly, feet hanging off the bed and hands dangling between her knees. your posture softens, standing up and coming to sit next to her on the bed, wrapping your arm around her, resting your temple on her shoulder.

“i’m sorry, haze. y���know it’s not like that. i won’t be all night, i’ll come right back to you afterwards and we can watch movies.” you lift your head, grinning in a way you hope convinces her. she turns her face to you, sad, and whole body drooping like a basset-hound.

“or just don’t go” she sighs softly. you stare at her, swallowing a lump in your throat, something stirring in your stomach. surely… not?

“why not, haze?” you whisper, looking at her through your thick, mascara’d lashes.

“hinge girl doesn’t love you.” she returns your tone. you laugh openly, shaking your head.

“no shit, dingus — i haven’t met her yet. but she could fall in love with me, eventually, i mean it’s not totally impossible.” your smile is still cemented on your face and hazel hasn’t smiled once.

“she will.” her voice is quiet but firm, 100% factual. “shes gonna totally fall in love with you. maybe even on the first date.” god, the eye contact is intense. you can’t bring yourself to look away. your eyes flutter for a moment, trying to comprehend what she’s getting at.

“well…” you’re at a loss. “so what if she does?”

hazel just stares at you, before turning her face away to stare ahead. she’s met with her own reflection in your light up mirror, watching the sight of you sat right up next to her on the bed, staring at her. this is how it should be. she side-glances at you, eyes naturally dropping to your mouth, and then your outfit, and then back to your eyes, her head tilted back a little. she looked really good.

“‘kay, i won’t go.” you shake your head, suddenly filled with the desire to… please her? you wanted to be on her good side. hazel was good to you and… you suddenly… you just weren’t feeling this date anymore. her expression doesn’t change except her brows raising, head still tilted back a little.

“really?” she asks, like she didn’t think her words would actually move you.

“…i… yeah. i don’t know. maybe you’re right. maybe she’s gonna kill me, or something.” you chuckle nervously, feeling fizzles in your tummy and you wasn’t sure why. anxious? not really. nervous? a little. was it hazel?

“yeah.” she continues staring at you, and you feel hot under her gaze. what had gotten into her?

“stop.” you laugh shakily, half focused on sending your date a shitty little excuse via imessage. hazels brows furrow a little.

“stop what?”

“looking at me like that. you got your way.” you pout, throwing your phone to the side.

“sorry.” she exhales, looking away from a moment before her eyes shift back to you suddenly with a smirk. “you totally dropped your date for me.”

“you told me to.” you huff, turning your body to face her more on the bed.

“and you did it… dude i have power over you, that’s crazy.” she chuckles and you stare at her dumbfounded.

“of course you do you’re…” you cut yourself off and she raises her eyebrows.

“wait, i’m what?” she asks, her usual curious self.

“you’re… you. i’d drop anything for you.” you shrug honestly, looking at your hands before back up at her. she stares at you, jaw a little gaped.

“well… yeah… same goes for you…” she stares at your mouth shamelessly. “or whatever.”

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

Monster!Reader (Part 4)

Requested: Yes

Warnings: Manipulation, Phycological Horror, Forced Amnesia, Light Gore, Dismemberment, Obsession, Stalking, Kidnapping, Broken Limbs, Poorly translated Russian, Character Death (background), Mentions of eating people (not technically cannibalism since the reader isn’t a human), Traditionally female monsters but reader is kept GN.

A/N: I uh, got a little bit darker with this one. And I’ll give credit where credit is do. @ghouljams I didn’t do it on purpose but when I was proofreading Roach’s part I realized it sounded a lot like Threat. It was a complete fucking accident 🖐.

König - Pixie

The heat around him was suffocating him, especially with his mask on. The sweat soaking through the fabric and making it stick to his face. Troublesome, making him unable to focus on the target through the scope of the rifle. So he opted to simply tear it off, careful to keep it within reach should he need it. But he hadn’t realized that in doing so, he left himself vulnerable to the many bugs surrounding him. Mosquitoes especially, annoying little things that he had to keep smushing.

And when he felt something soft and light brush against his cheek, he didn’t even think before he smacked it, startled by the crunch of something and a cry of pain. Loud in his ear but quiet when he pulled his hand away to see….you. Clutching your bent leg, one of your shimmering wings at an odd angle, sobbing your heart out in the palm of his hand, clearly in quite a bit of pain. He panicked, forgetting the fact that this was a very weird situation and that five minutes ago he didn’t even know that pixies existed, just cooing to you and gently trying to examine you, jumping when you screamed as he brushes his fingertip against your wing.

“*Tut mir leid!” He cried, probably a bit too loudly considering the way you jumped in fear, curling in on yourself the best you could. A scared little injured mouse in the paw of the fierce lion. “It’s okay. Shh, I will help you, *Kleines Glühwürmchen. Don’t be afraid. *Es tut mir so leid.”

He pulled you close to his chest, shushing you even as you beat at his fingers with your tiny body, kicking with your good leg, biting, and scratching at him as he placed you in a pocket of his vest, clicking it shut so you couldn’t fall out when he moved. He still had a job to do, but he promises he’ll take care of you afterwards! Bandage you up and get you back to perfect health again. He hoped those pretty wings of yours weren’t as fragile as they looked, hoped that they would heal so you could fly around again.

If not, well, he’d just have to keep taking care of you.

Roach - Jorōgumo

How you two met was kind of a mystery to Roach, like a haze had taken over his mind. He remembered soft lips, music, flashing lights. Did he drink? He must have. It was the only thing that could rationalize the pure confusion that night brought up. All he knew was that he woke up to you lazily stroking at his head, and it felt like coming home. Like safety and love. So fuzzy with the feeling that he doesn’t even question when you stay in his home, when you crawl into his bed at night and kiss at his neck. Just giggle when he slurs out how much he loves you, how he can’t live without you. The feeling so overpowering that nothing began to feel real except for the touch of you.

He doesn’t remember his friends anymore, his brothers in arms. Their names forgotten somewhere in the back of his mind. Sometimes the thought of them itches at him, scratches at his skull like a rat in a jar. Incessantly, loudly, painfully. He’ll ask you, voice softened by a headache that pounds in his frontal lobe, if you know what he’s forgotten. But all you do is smile and kiss his cheek, and suddenly all those worries and the pain just fade away, putting him right back into that place of cotton candy sweet happiness and love.

He doesn’t notice the near invisible strings that wrap tighter and tighter around him everyday, cinching around his neck like a noose but never really biting into him. And your eyes always sparkling with poorly hidden mirth as he scratched at his neck, asking if you saw a hair that he couldn’t get. He believes you when you say no, doesn’t question you when you lick along that same line that night.

Ignorance is bliss, and he’d do anything to stay in your arms.

Rudy - Witch

Rudy didn’t encounter you first hand for a long time but he found traces of you everywhere for months on end. Short curly hairs in his food, strange animals watching him from behind buildings and trees, and the ever present feeling of eyes watching him. Always the eyes, daggers digging into his back, reminding him of how he was never alone. Always watched. It was unnerving but also….comforting. On his loneliest nights, on his most dangerous missions, those eyes were always watching him. Keeping him company.

Some days he woke up swearing he felt the warmth of you at his side. The shape of your body denting his mattress, the weight of your arm tossed over his waist, the feel of your legs tangling with his. It was maddening as much as it was exhilarating and he couldn’t stop the wave of pure lust that rolled through him, needing to stroke his heavy and aching cock while those feelings still remained. Eyes rolling back in his head when he felt a phantom tongue lick the cum off his belly after he’d finished himself off.

But of course not everything can be so hot for Rudy. There are things that start to scare him. Nightmares of creatures looming over his bed, the vague shape of people in the dark corners of his room, sleep paralysis, and of course the sudden death or dismemberment of the people around him.

A too aggressive superior grabs his shoulder hard enough to leave bruises, and he loses that same hand in a freak accident with a shredder. A kind recruit bumps shoulders with him in the hallway and has half of her body burned during a mission. A man in a bar flirts with him and ends up dead in an alleyway, his own cock ripped off and shoved down his throat, eyes gouged out of his head, and his heart missing from his chest cavity.

That last one might be what scares Rudy most. As he’d woken up to a box on his bedside table, the vital organ still beating in the pretty red paper around it. But most horrifying was that he….wasn’t upset by it. Found his own heart swelling with affection as he reached out to touch it, feeling cold fingers creep along the back of his neck, leaving bloody trails. It felt like love sinking into his very soul.

Nikto - Rusalka

Nikto couldn’t remember how he got to the lake. Couldn’t remember why he wanted to be at the lake. But here he stood, at the water’s edge, peering into the dark depths of it, moonlight shining on the surface. Soft slow waves lapping at the tips of his boots like a dog welcoming him home. Was this home? Nothing felt like it anymore. Nothing made him feel safe and warm and comforted, all the things people described as home. Nothing but that big moon, staring down at him. The chill of the breeze nipping at his cheeks through his mask, and the gentle touch of a hand reaching out to stroke at the small patch of skin on his ankle not covered by his pants or socks.

“I’ve missed you.” He heard you whisper, and he couldn’t even bring himself to listen to the voices in his head whispering that it was a lie. Your voice somehow overpowered them. It was the only thing that did. “*Мой сладкий ягненок. Step a little closer.” You beg, voice soft and pleading, ringing in his head like the wind chimes his Babushka used to hang around her house. He couldn’t deny you.

Slowly, carefully, he stepped deeper into the water, your approving hum vibrating through his bones. Deeper and deeper he waded, but never seemed to reach you. Not until the water was at his neck, your unnaturally sharp teeth glinting just below the surface of the waves.

“*хороший мальчик.” You whispered, the words making his heart pound despite the cold’s best attempts at making his blood slow. He sighed as you cupped his cheeks, pulling him forward until his face was nestled in the crook of your neck, humming a soft lullaby in his ear. He never understood why you didn’t kill him. Why didn’t drag him down into the watery depths like so many men before him but….he was glad for it. Glad to spend another day cradled in your arms, fingers slipping under his mask to tenderly trace his scars.

And if one day you changed your mind, then he’d be just as glad to be in his watery grave. His bones lining your nest, his flesh nourishing you, his very soul haunting you for the rest of your life, your guardian forevermore. Oh, what bliss.

*Tut mir leid! = I’m sorry!

*Kleines Glühwürmchen. = Little Firefly. (Also can mean Glowworm but the intention is Firefly.)

*Es tut mir so leid. = I’m so sorry

*Мой сладкий ягненок. = My sweet lamb.

*хороший мальчик. = Good boy.

[invis-o-william]

Day 2: Wish

All Amity Parkers knew that “wish” was practically a forbidden word. Years of interactions with Desiree had all but guaranteed that. Younger children weren’t even taught the word anymore out of an abundance of caution, after all nobody wanted a repeat of the “Toddler Wish-mageddon” that had occurred just a year prior. The firemen had been cleaning chocolate syrup out of the streets for weeks afterwards. This left the naive and unassuming newcomers as targets for Desire’s power, many of whom didn’t quite believe the city moniker of “The Most Haunted Place on Earth” yet. One of those newcomers was Thomas Kincade, and one way or another he too would learn the consequences of the word “wish”.

. . .

Thomas had barely lived in Amity Park a week before his coworkers started messing with him. He had just been sitting down in the breakroom for lunch when Craig from accounting had sidled up in the next chair.

“Oh hey Tom,you’re new to town, right?” he asked while grabbing a bowl from his bag.

Thomas hummed an affirmative while digging through the box chock full of leftover lo mein that his wife had left him that morning. “Yeah, just moved from Springfield like a week and a half ago, why? Also, it's Thomas.”

Craig pointed a fork his way, “Well you should probably invest in a lunch bag or something. That box is a prime target for the Box Ghost you know. He’s usually pretty harmless, but he’ll definitely steal that thing in a heartbeat if he sees you with it man.” He accentuated his point by tapping on said box with his fork.

Thomas sighed. Although he’d only lived in the city for under two weeks, he’d already seen more than enough of the “ghost tourist trap” schtick. “You can give the “ghost” thing a rest Craig, I think I’ll be fine.” he said with a roll of his eyes.

Craig shrugged, “Alright Tommy, don’t say I didn’t warn you. You transplants never quite believe it at first anyway.”

“It’s Thomas.” Thomas said pointedly. Craig made a noncommittal noise before digging into his meal.

. . .

The next day it happened again. Thomas was working at his computer when his deskmate Maria leaned over the divider.

“Hey Tim, did you see the news this morning?” she asked excitedly.

Slightly irritated, Thomas looked up. “No, I didn’t. And it’s Thomas.”

Maria didn’t seem to hear him as she waved her hands around, “They got some footage of the fight between Phantom and that big metal ghost last night on the corner of Park Place and Amity Row! It looked so intense, and the big ghost is so cool looking!” She practically squealed the last words.

Thomas groaned and let his head fall back. “Look, I get it, you guys are pulling my leg, ‘ha-ha lets haze the newbie’ kind of stuff, but its getting old.”

Huffing, Maria crossed her arms. “How long have you been here now? Two weeks? You can’t tell me that you haven’t seen one of the ghosts yet! Hell, blob ghosts are so common I’m surprised one hasn’t popped into your yard yet” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Just hope you don’t encounter any big ones, you definitely don’t want to run into the Fenton’s with their tank-on-wheels.”

With a sigh and a shake of his head Thomas turned back to his work as Maria shrugged and did the same.

. . .

Thomas was getting fed up. Everyone kept talking about ghosts. “Phantom’s been seen here” and “The whisps have been really active lately” and all that crap. How long was everyone going to pull this? Not to mention that nobody wanted to call him anything but nicknames. Why was calling him Thomas so hard for them???

The last straw was his boss stopping by his desk an hour before quitting time.

“Hey Timbo, everyone on the floor is going to head over to the Mitty Boulevard Bistro after work for dinner, company’s treat. Want to join?” he said, leaning an arm on the desk divider.

Thomas’ eye twitched. “Yeah, sure that’s fine. And please. It’s Thomas.”

His boss smiled, “Great! Originally we were going to head over to the Mexican place on Park Place, but they’re closed for cleanup from that ghost fight last night.”

“Yeah! You can thank Phantom for that, honestly the Bistro is sooo good. I like Mexican food and all, but you gotta try the Bistro’s fries Tim!” Maria said, perking up from her seat.

Thomas had had it. “Ghosts this, ghosts that! I’m so sick of this! Just give it a rest already! And my name. Is. THOMAS. Not Tim, not Tommy, just Thomas!” he cried as he picked up his coat and lunch box. “If this is how all of you are going to treat me, then count me out of the dinner. Honestly I wish you guys would just cut it out already!”

Everyone in the office went deadly silent and stared at Thomas with wide eyes.

“Thomas,” began Maria, “you shouldn’t say that word. I’m sorry that we were teasing you so much about your name, but you really shouldn’t say that word.”

Thomas scoffed, “What word?”

Everyone looked around nervously, “The “w” word,” his boss said, “there’s a ghost who grants them, usually in the worst ways possible.”

Thomas threw his hands up in the air. “What, wish? Now you’re telling me that there’s a wish-granting ghost? If there was, I'd wish she’d make you all see sense right now because ghosts aren’t real!”

The office was deadly still and many held their breath. There was always a chance Desiree wasn’t around, but some still expected her to appear and grant the wish.

Instead the Box Ghost popped in out of nowhere, grabbed Thomas’ lunch box, shouted “BEWARE!”, and vanished.

Thomas could say he knew better now to pack his lunch in a bag.

[sorrowandchartreuse]

A writer's guide to describing passing out

Because i just passed out (again) and the second thing i thought of upon waking up was that glazed donut no mark save it for your art post, here is a list of what you could use when writing about characters passing out:

Beforehand:

you're going to feel really, really lightheaded. for me, that's what starts it all off. it's going to feel like when you stand up too fast, but it never goes away. your head doesn't clear

eventually, that lightheadedness feeds into a tv static sort of fuzziness. your head is whirring, almost. it's like a really drawn out buzz. you feel it in your forehead, in your jaw, in your ears.

your mouth starts to get thick, too. that tv static moves in there. your teeth start to feel fuzzy, especially the front and back ones.

by now, youre shaking and your limbs are heavy. at this point, i know to sit down, but it depends on your characters! is this regular enough of an occurance for them to know to sit? are they going to reach out to another character because they know what's going on? or are they going to reach out because they don't know what's going on? do their knees buckle and they fall while all alone?

it's all very disorienting at this point in the process. you have enough sense to form thoughts, but they're not all that coherent. words? not going to be that coherent either

During:

you can't pinpoint the exact moment you pass out. at least, i can't.

when you're passed out, there can be certain degrees to alertness. for example, i've had times where it feels like years pass but it's only a few seconds. i've had it feel almost like im in a really foggy dream. i've had times where i dont remember anything from it. most recently, i didn't remember passing out itself, but i remembered waking myself up from it. it was a very conscious struggle, where i knew i was passed out and i needed to wake up now

does your character remain somewhat alert? do they enter a dream-like haze? what's waiting for them there? i've seen faces and shapes there.

i personally can't feel when someone is touching me while i'm passed out, regardless of degree of alertness

do they know that being passed out is Just Not Right? do they wake themselves up?

Afterward:

you pee. that's just the deal. your bladder is going to release. i know this is not romantic, but like man thats just what happens.

peeing, like most things, could hold a plot point. who cleans your character up? or if they're on their own, how do they clean themselves up?

youre also drenched in sweat. just absolutely sopping in sweat. passing out loves the release of excess body fluids. its sexy like that

mention sweat on their neck, their forehead, their hair pressed down by it. do they wipe it off? do they have the strength to? if they don't, does someone else?

your face will have no color. describe this, but don't stop at the face. your character's lips will also be drained of it.

you will be wobbly. standing up, even sitting up, is going to involve a lot of shaking.

when you first talk, it won't be loud (fuzzy tongue, remember?) so it takes a couple tries to get what you want to say out. or if you do get it out right away, it surfaces extremely weak

it's important after you pass out to get fluids in you. not just water, but orange juice, cocoa, anything that will get you awake again. who gives this to your character? if there are multiple characters present when your character passes out, who won't leave their side and who runs to get something for them to drink, knowing it will help them?

your hands will shake lifting anything

it takes 3-5 minutes for me to regain color again

it takes about 5-10 minutes for me to feel normal again, but this likely depends on the person and how often passing out occurs for them

Please keep in mind this is based soley on my own experiences! also please feel free to add on! i hope this helps!

[hansols-yoda-boxers]

SKZ Kinks - Vocalracha

Contents: fem!reader, reader wearing dresses and skirts, reader being referred to as cute, pretty, girly, and feminine, mention of corruption kink, video taping, degradation, use of slut, and whore, dumbification, mention of begging, brattiness and brat taming, edging, orgasm denial

Seungmin

Wearing cute outfits (especially dresses) - Listen I know it’s Minho corruption kink this and Minho corruption kink that but the way this man would love to see you in something pretty and cute and girly. There’s something about you dressing in a softly feminine way that just turns him on so much. If you’re wearing pretty skirts or dresses around him don’t even expect to make it out of the door. He’ll have you pinned against the kitchen counter so fast, murmuring to you about how he couldn’t possibly let you just walk out the door looking that fucking cute while getting his hand up under your skirt.

Making videos - It will take him forever to bring this up. He knows it’s a big thing to ask you so he’ll wait until a lot of trust is built up before broaching the subject. The moment he gets a yes though he is over the moon. The first time he’ll just use his phone, filming you as he fucks you from behind and inadvertently catching a lot of his own little groans and moans on the recording. And watching it back the whole thing has you both so turned on you just need to do it again. He’ll try setting up his camera to capture both of you and afterwards he’ll make sure you both have copies of the videos. He loves watching them and reliving every little moment, thinking of how you felt the whole time. It quickly becomes his favourite thing to watch to get off.

Degradation - He loves you so fucking much and he expresses that by calling you his pretty little slut. He just can’t help himself, not when you’re on your knees, licking the cum off your lips and looking utterly fucked out just from sucking him off, or when you’re whimpering and squirming under him as he takes his sweet time teasing you and inching you closer to your release. God, you look is fucking pretty under him and the way you get even more desperate and needy when he starts calling you a little slut or a pretty whore, when he tells you just how desperate he knows you are, how he knows how badly he just want him to fuck you already. When you get like that how could he not tell you?

Jeongin

Dumbification - He didn’t even know he liked this until you. But the first time he properly fucks you he sees it, the way your eyes go all glassy and your gaze is all doe-eyed. The way your answers to him come slower and you repeat things in a dreamy haze. The way your blinks come slower and when he asks you a question you scrunch your nose up, and it’s like he can see the gears slowly turning while you struggle to answer him. The way you end up only being able to moan his name because everything but the pleasure has been wiped from your mind. He’s hooked. He’s so fucking hooked. He loves eating you out until you’re squirming and pulling on his hair but not managing to make a sentence. He adores fucking you with every ounce of his energy and watching you utterly fall apart on his cock. But fingering you, nice and slow, and watching you slowly unravel, might just be his favourite.

Brat taming - He likes a little bit of a challenge. Of course if you wanna be good for him some days he’s not gonna say no. It is nice when you get on your knees for him, lips falling open from just one look. But there is a special joy when he tells you to do something and you say “make me” with a little smirk on your lips. It’s such a fun game to him and he knows you too well. You both know that he knows just how to break you, how to get you crying and dumb for him. But it’s not about that, it’s about the journey, about him breaking you in the best, most pleasurable way possible. Orgasm control - There is just something so fun for him about being in total control of your pleasure. He has so much patience with you because he loves the way it affects you when it takes him forever to get you right to the edge, only to pull away before you can actually cum. He loves when it makes you whine or squirm, he can read it on your face how bad you want it even if you won’t say it just for the sake of your own pride. He’ll edge you over and over, as slowly as he can, no matter how hard and needy he is, because watching how it affects you is so worth it. He wants you to fall apart before he even gets his cock in you, he wants you begging for it in fact. If you’re extra bratty he has no problem telling you he’ll gladly deny you any orgasm at all. If that’s not enough to make you behave and you still want to push him even more he’ll take great joy in jerking himself off, cumming all over your pretty pussy and leaving you needy and moaning after watching him, finally caving in and begging him to let you cum.

[ontherocks21]

Someday I'll Write It

Lady Vader Part X

“Save her!”

She knows that voice.

“Pl -- can’t lose --”

Even unfocused and disjointed, the cadence and timbre resonate deep within her soul. Its panic stirs something in her own, makes her startle and kick against the leaden weight dragging her under. She fights back hard; knows she’s winning when the muffled words ring clear.

“Please, I can’t lose them!”

Anakin!

She means to yell out for him, assure him she is here, that she isn’t lost to the abyss. But what escapes her is a guttural moan, an animalistic noise she doesn’t recognize and only heightens her husband’s fear tenfold.

“Padmé?!”

Nearer now, the darkness calls and she struggles against its alluring lullaby, tries to sit up until her nerves flash with lightning and her muscles scream from her effort.

“Oh gods,” Anakin groans, “that’s a lot of blood.”

Pressure increases, agonizingly so, at the juncture of her hip and belly, and she tries to wrench away from it until a new warmth washes through her, dousing the flames licking along her veins.

“Be still, Padmé! That’s enough, Anakin.”

That is Obi-Wan!

If she could frown at his bossy commands, she would, but the warmth recedes and she’s left shivering, a dreadful chill crawling inside her bones.

“We’ll be at the medcenter in two minutes!”

Bail?!

“We may not have two minutes. They could be suffocating.”

Icy fear numbs her remaining pain, freezes her struggle into place. Almost to the surface, she floats just shy of the black void’s hold, weighing what it may cost her to break free, knowing that there is one price she will never ever be desperate enough to pay.

They hadn’t discussed names, and now she might not be able to. But there is no stopping that now. What she can do is use her dwindling strength to help him make one last impossible decision.

Help him see it’s the only choice.

Through pain’s veiling haze, her fingers somehow manage to find his wrist, wrapping themselves around tacky flesh and squeezing insistently. She forces fire into her lungs, burning her children’s names into existence.

“Luke…” she breathes, then gasps, summoning all her energy to choke out, “Leia…”

She tries to locate his face, her eyelids fluttering, her vision swimming, her hand falling limply out of his.

“No, no, no!!!! Stay with me!!!” he begs her.

“Save them,” she thinks she says as the darkness takes over once again.

*****

She hadn’t really known what to expect afterwards, but this is definitely not it.

It’s far too bright for one thing.

It also looks too much like a medcenter for another.  From the sparse sterile furnishings down to the pervasive stringent tang of bacta in the air, she would be lying if she said she wasn’t expecting more of the beyond.  But there’s no agony searing her alive anymore either, so she supposes she should be grateful for small victories.

Despite the incessant beeping from a monitor positioned somewhere above her head, a soft coo and responding murmur draw her attention.  Padmé looks to her left and all thoughts of her disappointing afterlife vanish.

Not even her worst nightmares would cast her husband in them, so she’s not dreaming and she’s not dead.

Anakin glances up at her movement, the indescribable smile he’s aiming at the bundle in his arms giving way to a paradoxical mixture of exquisite relief and noticeable concern.  Gingerly, he shifts over to her bed, managing to perch near without jostling her or his cargo.

“Hi,” he whispers, trying for bravery but cracking around his edges.  “Look who’s awake.”

Padmé starts to ask whether he’s talking to her or about her when a tiny hand pokes it way out of the blankets in Anakin’s arm.  A thousand emotions pass through her so quickly she can’t begin to name them, but the one she lands on feels like ineffable joy.  She thinks her heart might actually burst as devastating hope steals her breath.  “Is that…?”

Anakin nods, his face now reflecting the incandescence blooming within his wife.  “Do you want to meet her?”

It’s all too easy to ignore the sudden ache pounding in her lower half as she sits up and Anakin places her daughter into her arms.  Brown eyes stare up at her with the same wonder returned in her mother’s gaze.  The little fist waves erratically before five perfect fingers touch Padmé’s lips, instantly dissolving her into a sobbing mess.  She tries to hide her quivering by pressing a kiss to the dark downy head.

“She’s perfect.” Padmé turns to Anakin, a smile permanently stretching her lips even as the tears continue to rain excess emotion over her cheeks.  “What do you want to name her?”

“Leia.”

Padmé’s eyes go wide.

“You heard me??” she whispers.

“I did.”

Easing off the mattress, Anakin moves to retrieve another blanketed bundle tucked in a nearby bassinet.  Just as he had with Leia, he cradles the swaddle gently, and carefully presents her with their son.

“This is Luke.”

Oblivious to perhaps the most important introduction of his nascent life, Luke sleeps soundly.  Cautiously, reverently, Padmé can’t stop her free fingers from their need to run over his tuft of blond hair.

“What color are his eyes?” she asks.

“Blue.”

She only tears away her adoring gaze so she can see the color her husband confirms.  “I can’t wait to see them,” she beams.

Anakin chuckles.  “Oh, he’ll be awake soon enough.”  For the first time, Padmé sees the dark circles beneath those cerulean pools and notes the paleness of her husband’s complexion.

“What happened?” she asks.

In the brightness of the room, Anakin’s face darkens considerably, his hand tightening fiercely around her shoulder.  “We aren’t going to worry about that right now.  You’re safe.  Our children are safe.  The galaxy is safe.  This is a happy moment.”

He smiles down at her, and she can’t fight her smile’s radiant return, nor can she recall another time in her life that she has felt more blissful content and divine joy.  Padmé snuggles closer in her husband’s embrace, and for the first time, basks in true peace.

“The happiest moment of my life,” she agrees.

Image Credit: Eli Hyder

[son1c]

a little something for falling stars :3c

The smell of smoke hung in the air like a haze. Shadow scrunched up his nose because of it. His entire body burned like it was on fire, so maybe the smell was actually his quills, and he had just been barbecued. The strange thing was, he couldn’t remember standing over a spit roaster recently. In fact, he couldn’t remember anything at all. And when he opened his eyes to look for clues as to where he was, he was met with an unfamiliar scene.

He was laying in the center of a fresh crater. He knew it was fresh, because the treeline that led up to it was the source of the smoke–the oaks bent in half and smoldering in what appeared to be a straight line until suddenly stopping where he and the blue hedgehog beside him were laying.

That was another thing, the blue hedgehog. Shadow frowned at him. The hedgehog’s breathing was labored, and his expression was pained. It was clear why–his left leg was twisted unnaturally, almost certainly broken.

Shadow’s gaze snapped away from the stranger’s leg when he began to stir. “Don’t move,” Shadow said automatically. If he bent that mangled leg of his further, Shadow was sure the pool of blood beneath them would grow even deeper.

Sonic shifted slightly, and was rewarded by a wave of pure agony wracking his entire body. With a hiss, he followed Shadow’s instructions immediately afterwards, and kept himself perfectly still. If something as simple as wiggling his toes caused that much pain, then he’d rather be a statue.

How had he ended up here? Like Shadow, Sonic couldn’t recall. Where his memories should’ve been was a vast expanse of nothingness. The only thing that stood out among the darkness was the image of something–or someone–swathed in gold, shimmering like a star, and smiling. But their face was obscured, and no matter how hard Sonic tried to bring it into focus, their visage remained blurry.

Sonic pinched his eyebrows in frustration. His head was killing him, almost as much as the rest of him, and he was so, so tired. Whatever power nap he’d just woken up from clearly wasn’t enough, and his exhaustion was making everything that much more difficult.

Maybe he should go back to sleep for now, and figure out what had happened to him later…

But Shadow was watching when Sonic’s eyes started to drift closed, and he decided to speak up. 

“What’s your name?” Shadow asked.

Sonic blinked. He focused on Shadow, who he was just seeing for the first time. The intensity of Shadow’s stare compelled Sonic to stay awake, and, when he looked closer, Sonic was struck by the strangeness of Shadow’s appearance. The hedgehog’s pitch black quills and ruby red streaks were like nothing Sonic had ever seen before. Although, that wasn’t saying much, since he couldn’t remember seeing anything at all. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was a bit alien about him.

Oh, right. Shadow had asked him a question.

“I can’t remember,” Sonic finally replied. He offered Shadow a small, strained smile as compensation for his less-than-stellar answer. “You?”

But Shadow couldn’t remember either. 

So, Sonic laughed. It was a soft sound, one that was nearly drowned out by cracking wood and popping flames as they licked at the sky. He could barely hear it over the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears. 

“Cool.” 

Sonic was quiet for a moment. Then, he asked,  “Do you mind if I call you Stripes?”

Shadow stared at him like he’d grown a second head. A nickname? That’s what he was worried about? “You’re injured,” Shadow said seriously, stating the obvious.

But Sonic just laughed again. “Yeah, I know,” he replied. “But I don’t really wanna think about that right now.” His mouth quirked up in a half-grin, half-grimace. “If Stripes ain’t your style, maybe Red? I don’t think that one sounds as good, though.”

Shadow sighed. “Stripes is fine.”

All of the pain left Sonic’s expression when he heard that. He grinned big and wide, and Shadow almost had to look away, the brightness threatening to overwhelm him. 

“Awesome,” Sonic said. “So, what’s the plan, Stripes? I’m open to ideas.”

Shadow’s eyes drifted down to Sonic’s leg again. “The plan…” he began, “won’t be pleasant. But I don’t see another option.”

“So long as it involves getting us out of here, I’m all for it.”

Shadow suddenly became aware of the situation he was in. Waking up, having no memory of his past, with a strange blue hedgehog who couldn’t remember anything either. What if he was an enemy? Shadow shouldn’t entertain him. If he wanted to play games, then he would have to do so on his own time, and leave Shadow out of it.

But…

Shadow’s gaze turned back toward the treeline. A straight line. Leading here. And Shadow had woken up in the blue hedgehog’s arms. The blue hedgehog who was much more hurt than he was. Almost like he had hit the ground first.

Almost like he had caught Shadow.

In one swift motion, Shadow sat up. His head pounded in protest, but he ignored it. “This will hurt,” Shadow warned, looking down at Sonic.

Sonic’s eyes hardened, the seriousness of their predicament finally reflecting on his face. “I can take it,” he said. After taking a deep breath, he added, “Just don’t drop me. Okay?”

Shadow nodded. Then, as carefully and quickly as he could, he brought Sonic into his arms and stood up. Sonic gritted his teeth against the fresh waves of pain that washed over him, but kept his cool. He wrapped his shaky arms around Shadow’s shoulders and focused all of his attention on breathing.

Shadow, meanwhile, pursed his lips as blood began to soak through his gloves.

“Hospital,” Shadow said. “That’s the plan.”

Sonic tried to chuckle, but it came out sounding more like a wheeze. “Sounds good to me,” he replied.

Shadow started up the crater. Thankfully, it wasn’t too steep, and he reached the top with little trouble. Once his feet were set firmly on the flat grass, he glanced down at Sonic. “Keep your eyes open,” he told him. Then, after a short pause, he added, “…Blue.”

Sonic’s ear twitched. Shadow could feel him relax ever so slightly in his arms. “Eyes open,” Sonic repeated. “You got it!”

[mothdruid]

Home for the Holidays || fic snippet

pairing: bradley "rooster" bradshaw x fem!reader

summary: Bradley might have lied about having a girlfriend. His best friend, you, decide to help him out and go home for the holidays with him. As the trip unfolds, so does your and Bradley's feelings for one another.

a/n: the lovely @gretagerwigsmuse asked, so here it is ❤️ the fic will contain smut, fluff, and a small amount of angst.

"Are we home?" A sleepy haze was still casted over you, eyes not fully open and words raspy. You turned inward, on your side a little bit as you stared at him. It looked as though you were fighting to stay awake. 

"Yeah." Bradley wished you would have slept a little longer, anything to prevent him from not being next to you. He turned towards you, watching as you leaned deeper into the seat of the car.

"I'm tired." Your voice was barely above a whisper.

"I know," Bradley smiled, "you slept the whole way here." You ran a hand over your face, yawning afterwards and closing your eyes. "How do you feel?" You shrugged. 

"Just sleepy." You had never wanted to sleep in the passenger seat more than in that moment. 

"Hey, hey, babe. Let's get inside, then you can sleep in a big warm bed, okay?" Bradley started to panic, thinking you had already fallen back asleep. The sleepy flutter of your eye lashes informed him otherwise. You nodded, unbuckling your seat belt and sitting up a little bit. Bradley watched you closely, unbuckling his own seat belt. “You good? Gonna throw up or anything?”

“No.” Another borderline whisper. Even though there was a thick mixture of sleep and alcohol coating your brain, it hung onto that one word. Babe. Bradley exiting the car and coming around to your side didn’t even register on your radar. Suddenly your door was opening, Bradley with a big warm smile staring at you. Why was he being like this? There was no one around to watch this fake arrangement currently, so why?

“Come on, babe. We gotta get you inside.” There it was again. Bradley wrapped an arm under your armpits, you placing one around his shoulders. It was awkward, him being taller than you, but you two made it work. 

The two of you made your way slowly up the small driveway, to the steps leading to the door. Bradley quickly unlocked it, still holding onto you so you wouldn’t fall. It was like your legs were jello, barely supporting your weight without his help. You caught yourself onto the small bench in the foyer-like room, slumping back against the wall. Your eyes were trained on Bradley as he closed and locked the door. 

“Haven’t been this drunk in awhile, huh?” He asked, taking his coat off and hanging it up. Slow-motion had taken over your brain, slowing your movements. You had never realized how hard it was to unzip a coat until that moment. Bradley watched you struggle for a moment, finding your struggle with the zipper a little adorable. He hadn’t seen you this drunk since college. 

“Here, let me help you, babe.” That time something clicked in your brain. You let him take over on unzipping your coat, only for a jumbled question to exit you. 

“Why.. Why do you keep sayin' it?”

[daimyosprincess]

PART IV: ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

—PARING: Professor!Boba Fett x F!Librarian!Reader

—SERIES RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

—SUMMARY: Your new relationship with the Mandalorian studies professor begins to take shape.

—WORD COUNT: 11.2k

—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, alternate universe, professor!Boba, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is mid-twenties and Boba is late forties), alcohol consumption by reader and others, reader described as having enough hair to grab, Dom/sub power dynamics (Dom!Boba and sub!reader), BDSM elements, oral sex (male and fem receiving), unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up irl), creampie, lots of pet names, praise kink, dirty talk, light degradation (discussed before, use of "slut" and "whore"), choking, hair pulling, one dude being a creep but nothing bad happens

As always, let me know if I missed anything that needs to be tagged! Mando'a translations at the end.

—AUTHOR'S NOTES: Y’all I’m not going to lie to you, this got filthy FAST and idk how this ended up at 11k but I’m not sorry ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ And, yes, I am naming these chapters after different parts of a book because I think I’m clever. We've got some new chapter warnings this go around as well, so be sure to mind those!

A big thank you to @rexxdjarin and @agirlnamejacq for betaing, and thank you my beautiful readers for your all support and feedback 💖

Read on AO3 — Series Masterlist — Taglist

<Part III — Part V>

Rain plinks steadily against the thick, wavy glass of the library’s windows, its hypnotic rhythm lulling you into a trance as you watch the gray sky curl and coil outside from your post at the circulation desk. In your relaxed daze, your mind slips back to your date with Boba and the morning after. You think about how you got to fall asleep in his arms, tucked into his chest that was so warm and safe you only needed the sheet on top of you, and how even in his sleep he kept a protective arm slung over your body.

The way he woke you up with kisses on your neck, whispering how happy he was to wake up with you in his bed as his tongue laved over the bite-shaped bruise he left there the night before, and how it felt when you let him kiss down your body until he was once again laying between your thighs. How his hooded brown eyes searched for permission to continue like you would ever deny him any part of you. 

“Can I taste you, princess? Can I have that pretty pussy for breakfast?”

“Please, it’s all yours.”

He was in no rush to take you apart, groaning into your wet heat and sucking more bruises into the tender skin of your thighs in between licking and fucking you with his tongue until you finally begged him to push you over the edge. After he let you soak his face, he stole you away to the shower, promising you his fingers and his cock. Afterwards you had returned the favor in the steamy, warm water, not content until he spilled every last drop of his release down your throat, cursing with his fist in your hair that you were going to suck the life out of him.

“No,” you smiled deviouly, licking the last dribble of cum off his cock, “just your soul, old man.”

Flashing you a shark-like grin through the haze of his release, he reached behind you and turned the water to cold before jumping out of the shower. You might not have forgiven him as quickly as you did if he hadn’t made you the best omelet you’d ever had for breakfast.

Since neither of you had been willing to part, you spent the day sprawled across him watching reruns on TV and talking about your lives: what books you liked, your dream vacations, what the best pasta sauce is, first crushes, anything really. The conversation flowed with such ease you might have talked the whole day away if you hadn’t gotten distracted with exploring each other’s bodies. It wasn’t all sex—though there was plenty of that too—it was soft touches mapping out curves and lines to memory, lips tracing over scars and dimples, warm hands on sore muscles. In short, it was pure bliss, like coming home after a long journey. 

You had been loath to leave him when the treacherous sun started to set at the end of the day; Boba even threatened to keep you forever if you weren’t careful, as if that was supposed to make you want to leave any more. How could you be expected to sleep in your own bed now that you knew the warmth of his? Go to sleep without his chest rising and falling next to you? You were falling hard, tumbling down into love’s abyss with arms open and heart willing. That should scare you, it had in the past, but how could you be afraid when it was Boba Fett you were getting lost in?

When he finally did take you back to your apartment once the sun dipped below the horizon, you almost convinced him to come inside for “just one drink” before he thought better of your ploy to keep him and sent you through your door with a smack on the ass.

“Nice try, princess. I know what you’re up to.”

“What? I’m just being a hospitable host.”

“I’m pretty sure hospitable hosts don’t try to put their hands down their guests’ pants in the doorway.”

“The good ones do, and only for guests who can fuck like you.”

He laughed with that rich, delicious rumble of his then kissed you until your head spun and your lungs cried for air. Just thinking about it now makes your chest tighten and breath catch in the back of your throat. Gods I wish I could sneak over to his office and kiss him like that again. Run my hands over his broad shoulders and strong chest, feel his heartbeat quicken when I kiss him.

With the advent of classes, you’d hardly seen him outside of the afternoons when he’d walk you to your car at the end of the day. Talking on the phone every night was great, but it couldn’t replace actually being with him, especially when you’d been able to spend almost everyday with him those last two weeks of the summer break. All this time apart served to show just how much you enjoy just being around Boba; you miss the weight of his voice, the serenity of his solid presence, his dark eyes and the bright smile he seemed to reserve for you alone. He fed a part of you that you didn’t know was starving and tended to the soft pieces of yourself that had been trodden down by the unkinder parts of life. 

Oh, and he can make me come so hard I forget my own name. Repeatedly.

The sound of someone actually saying your name interrupts your daydreaming. Unhappily snatched back from the rosy past to the dreary present Thursday, you swivel towards the source of the interruption: a smirking Selena leaning against the back office door with her arms crossed, smug. “Thinking about your professor again?”

“No,” you deny rather unconvincingly, rolling out your shoulders to sit up straight with a huff. You’d been caught fair and square but that didn’t mean you're going to admit it.

Your coworker scoffs, rolling her eyes, clearly not fooled by your posturing. “Pfft that’s not what the hearts in your eyes say. I think you even have a couple floating above your head.”

Looking around the spacious room, you throw your hands up. “Does nobody in this library have any work to do besides harass me?” There’s barely a patron in sight, the large oak tables in the atrium sitting empty except for a handful of students hunched under the green bankers lamps lining them. 

“On a day like today? Absolutely not.” Selena drops down on the chair next to you with a yawn and a stretch, not bothering with the guise of work at all. “Did you decide what you’re wearing to the baccalaureate reception tomorrow?”

The event in question is the big kickoff to the academic year for faculty and staff at the end of the first week of classes. Held in the space the two of you are currently seated in, the library’s ornate atrium would be cleared of all its furniture and set up for an evening of hors d’oeuvres and drinks on the university’s dime. Despite the ostentatiousness of it all, you enjoyed the reception as it let you catch up with colleagues you rarely got to see during the academic year and mingle with the new professors. You were especially looking forward to this year’s, not in the least because it provided the opportunity to see a certain Mandalorian studies professor dressed to the nines.

“I was thinking of the green velvet dress, the one with the mesh top,” you answer. The outfit in question is one of your favorites; the rich material hugging your curves in all the right ways making you feel effortlessly sexy—you can’t wait to see Boba’s reaction to it. If you're lucky, you hope, he’ll drag you off somewhere and have his way with you before the night is over. And then again when we get back to his house.

Selena squeals and claps her hands excitedly. “Eeee, the one that makes you look snatched?” she wiggles her eyebrows at you “‘Cause if it is, your man doesn’t stand a chance!”

You laugh, curling your hands inward and cocking your head dramatically. “Yes, that one. You still got those black heels I can borrow?”

“Yeah, as long as I can use that clutch you let me use the other week.”

“It’s a deal,” you grin. “Oh, and Boba said we can get ready in his office so we don’t have to go all the way home and come back.”

“Are you sure he meant ‘we,’” she gestures between the pair of you skeptically, “or just you? I’m not trying to cut my contour while you two are going at it on the couch.”

You throw a pad of yellow sticky notes sitting on the computer at her. “He meant we, and besides,” you smirk, “I’ll just suck him off before you get there so you can fix my makeup after.” You both burst into giggles after a poor attempt of stifling them, your laughter earning you a glare from a passing professor, which you ignore. 

Balancing her chin on her hand, your friend considers you for a moment. Her big brown eyes are a bit lighter than Boba’s, ringed with dark lashes and expertly applied winged eyeliner. “So you really like this Boba Fett then?” 

A sunny smile spreads over your face, the answer easily on your lips. “You know what? I do, I really, really do. He’s strong and kind and funny in his own way, and he makes me feel safer than I have in my whole life. He matches my energy like… like he was made just for me. I don’t think I could ever get tired of looking at him or hearing him talk. He could read the kriffing phone book to me and I would be riveted.”

“Hold on, let me write all this down so I can send it to Hallmark for their next movie,” Selena interrupts, grabbing a pen from the cup on the desk. You roll your eyes and she snickers before softening. “Really though, I’m so happy for you, girl. It’s not every day you find someone who makes you feel like that.”

Her warmth and genuineness make your heart twinge: you are truly grateful to have a friend like her. “Thank you, Sel, that means a lot.”

She leans in and rests her head on your shoulder, and you give her a squeeze. “Now,” she starts, grinning, “do you know if he has any sons around our age for me?” Dissolving into giggles once more, you decide to give up on work for the remainder of the rainy day.

You rest a hand on your hip, taking a swig from your water bottle and admiring the efforts of the last half hour’s labor: the primly decorated circulation desk showcasing all the library’s services and resources for the reception guests to peruse. The attendees would begin arriving any minute and you were eager to present all the library offers for the faculty; you genuinely enjoy your work and you’re proud of the new primary source collection you’d established over the summer. It also meant you finally got to see Boba—you hadn’t gotten to see him when you and Selena went to his office to change, his department meeting having run over. 

Try as you might, you can’t help the wanton tingle that sparkles down your spine under your dress, or heat creeping into your cheeks at the racy memories of the pleasure you found on his tongue, cock, and fingers. What you wouldn’t give for a quickie right now, just a little something to take the edge off…

“Excuse me, miss, where can we put the catering carts?” 

Right, I’m supposed to be working. Stuffing all the wicked thoughts swirling in your head to the back of your mind, you smile at the event server and direct him down the hall. Hearing the swell of voices from the lobby, you turn and see the first attendees filing into the atrium, dressed in cocktail dresses and suits. Your eyes search for Boba in the crowd but you’re quickly caught up doing your presentation on the library’s collections and resources.

It’s not until your last group before you hand over your representative duties to Selena for the remainder of the evening that you spot Boba leaning against the wall across from the desk, watching you with Fennec at his side. Your practiced spiel jumbles together at the wicked gleam shining in his eyes and he smirks, whispering something to the handsome woman next to him. Taking a sip of water, you recover and roll your shoulders back to stick your tits out just a little more with your chin held high at his challenge. 

After the group clears out and you hand things over to your friend, you saunter over to your two favorite professors. Sticking out a hip, you trail your eyes up the oxblood colored shirt stretched across Boba’s chest, taking in the delicious way his sharp onyx suit is tailored to his thick frame. Knowing what all is hidden underneath his clothes only makes the whole ensemble even hotter.  “Can I answer any questions about the library for you, professors?” you ask in a syrupy voice, your tone laced with dark sugar.

Gazing at you rather appreciatively, Fennec answers first. “Yeah, are you free later?” 

Your brows raise with a suggestive arch, biting your lip and leaning into her game. “Why, what do you have in mind?” you shoot back, letting your gaze linger on her pink lips.

She’s practically purring, running her long, graceful fingers down the length of your arm. “Why don’t you come home with me and find out, kitten?”

“Mmm sorry, no can do, Fenn,” you hum, flicking your eyes over to an amused Boba, “I already made plans with the new Mandalorian studies professor after this.”

“What? That old man?” she scoffs, flicking her intricate braid over her shoulder. 

Boba throws an elbow at her, grumbling, “We’re the same karking age, Shand.”

“Well, Fett, I guess some of us just wear it better then.”

“I don’t know, that’s not what she was moaning in my ear last weekend,” Boba replies, as smooth as Corellian whiskey and just as sinful. A jolt of arousal shoots between your thighs, his open possessiveness sending heat straight to your core. 

That remark earns a full-bellied laugh from Fennec. “Touché.” 

Another faculty member passes by and steals Fennec away, allowing you to slip into her spot next to Boba and press your arm against his. While you don’t intend to hide your more-than-professional relationship with him, you don’t want to draw judgment down on either of you. “Fenn make you a little jealous?” you tease, bumping your elbow against him.

He smirks, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Not when I know you’re coming home with me, princess.” He slips a hidden hand between you and the wall to skim his fingertips down your back to settle his palm just above the swell of your ass, making your skin light up with the sensation of him. “It’s good to see you, babygirl, I’m sorry I couldn’t make it before the reception started,” he adds in a sweet, low voice, pressing a quick kiss into your hair. “And your presentation was excellent.”

You lean into him for just a heartbeat, savoring his affection before breaking away. The heated pulse between your thighs spurs you on. “Oh, you were actually listening? Looked to me like you were peeling this dress off me in your mind.”

“I heard you're supposed to imagine everyone else naked to do public speaking.”

You smack his arm, giggling. “That’s if you’re the speaker!”

“Ah well, it was worth it anyways,” he grins at you. Seeing a group approaching, he regretfully takes his hand off your back.

A few faculty from the biology department come over and greet you, its ever-affable head, Professor Bernard, pressing a glass of champagne in your hand. “The department of biology’s honorary member needs a drink!” he proclaims with a hearty laugh before clapping a hand on Boba’s shoulder, telling him, “Come see this one here if you need anything. She’s found papers and journals I didn’t even know still existed!”

“I’ve heard she has some… special skills,” Boba answers with a quirk of his lips.

Catching the tone gilding his words, you slide your gaze over to him and see that same mischievous twinkle in his eye. Oh, so it’s going to be like that then? Hope he knows what he’s started. The conversation continues as introductions are made on both sides and stories of the first week of classes are shared.

“You didn’t get stateside until a few weeks before the semester? How on earth did you manage to get everything done, old sport?” Bernard questions.

“Oh, that would be thanks to me,” you interject, grinning at the ensuing laughter, “Lucky for Professor Fett here, I was able to work very closely with him to get everything he needed.”

“And for that, I am eternally grateful. It’s not everyday you get someone who's so eager and willing to please,” Boba replies calmly, sipping from his own drink like he’s simply discussing the weather.

You cover your scoff with your glass and drain the rest of it. “And now since he owes me one, I’ve got him at my mercy. Just where I like him.”

“Looks like you’re in for it now, my friend!” the old biology professor guffaws, grasping Boba’s hand in a firm shake. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Fett. Stop by my office for a drink some time.”

The group moves on to the next familiar face in the crowd, leaving you and Boba alone. “Better watch it, princess,” he rumbles, enticing danger coating his words, “Or I won’t show you any mercy later tonight.”

With a cursory glance to confirm that no one is watching, you brush your lips over his ear, just enough to raise chill bumps on his tan skin. “Oh, professor,” you whisper, sordid and low, “that’s what I’m counting on.”

Though he’s never confirmed it in so many words, you know your professor likes to watch you play your little games, talk and flirt and ensnare yourself so deep in your own undoing you have no choice but to beg him for mercy when the night is over. He’s the patient hand of justice to your calculated subversive impulse, the solid weight to balance your scales. He’s the rock you scrape your match against to set your passions ablaze. 

You’d learned to build bonfires, great roaring things, on the summer camping trips you’d taken with your cousins as a kid. You were even quite good at it, the framing of the timbers and the flick of the wrist necessary to strike the flint coming naturally to you. Maybe that’s why you were so good at burning through Boba’s patience with slippery innuendos and heated looks.  

You know building a fire takes time; seasoned wood must be gathered, tinder procured, a spot cleared for the blaze, all this before the pyre can be built stick by stick. If constructed correctly, the dry litter would catch the struck spark and burn bright and hot, igniting the kindling to crackle and snap, eventually spreading the growing flames to the larger logs for a sustained burn. If the ratio of smaller sticks and thicker pieces was off or the build of the bonfire didn’t allow enough oxygen in to feed the early feeble flames, then the pyre would be nothing more than a smoking pile of cold wood. And that would not bring Boba to a boil, make him spill over hot and scalding in vexed passion. 

His restraint and control were truly commendable. To his credit, he’d spent the larger part of the evening calmly watching you work the room during the baccalaureate reception, gifting smiles and glittering laughs to men who didn’t deserve them and to women who wouldn’t actually do anything with them, even if they wanted to. You are in your element and you know it, making you not only powerful but dangerously so.

Taking a sip of the sparkling flute of champagne pressed into your hand by the one of the history department, you let your eyes wander around the vibrant space, taking in the celebratory atmosphere around you as laughter and animated conversation twine together in a lively buzz. You take your time in your survey, knowing that your gaze would eventually land on what it sought. You spot Selena next to one of the exquisite floral arrangements decorating the room laughing with one of the film professors and Fennec leaning against one of the polished marble columns in deep conversation with a pretty woman with sparkling eyes. Looks like I’m not the only one going home with somebody tonight.

Finally, your languid scan of the party falls on its target: a certain Mandalorian studies professor. He looks truly glorious under the glistening chandeliers illuminating the library, they cast a soft, warm glow that makes his bronze skin gleam and scars glint with tantalizing effect. It’s his eyes, however, that make your knees go weak: they shine dark and expressive, the umber of them always on you no matter where you found yourself in the room. If eyes really are the windows to the soul like they say, then Boba Fett has a soul like the ocean, with unknowable depths and enough pressure to break bones, towering waves that doom sailors and hidden currents that whisk the unsuspecting into the abyss.

Gods above, you want to drown in him even if it takes calling down Poseidon's wrath to do so. You’ve built your pyre, now all that’s left is to light it. 

Putting on your most dazzling smile, you sidle over to the drinks table to casually “bump” into Professor Lancaster, the admittedly handsome 30-something hot shot bachelor of the university faculty. “Oh, I am so sorry!” you apologize in a breathy rush, immediately grabbing a napkin to dab at the splash of champagne on the young man’s suit jacket. The look of surprise on Lancaster’s face swiftly morphs into opportunistic pleasure when he sees that the person with their hands on him is the young research librarian in a tight dress.

He grins. It’s a scavenger’s smile, hungry for a kill that isn’t his. “No worries, bright eyes. You okay?” 

“Better now that I’m with you.” His brows shoot up and, you’re absolutely sure, so does his dick based on the way his pupils dilate. “Sorry,” you giggle, fluttering your lashes, “too much?”

You can feel how his greedy gaze slides over your exposed skin in open interest. “Maybe not enough,” he winks, “Let’s get you another drink.”

You spend the next twenty minutes at the young professor’s side as he slowly inches you towards the side door by circulating from one group to another under the guise of “making introductions”—like you didn’t already work at the university. The entire time you sneak peeks at Boba watching your antics with rapidly decreasing levels of patience. Eventually, you lose sight of him behind a cluster of English professors.

You’re literal feet from the exit when Lancaster slides a hand down to your waist, tugging you against his side by your hip bone. “What do you say, bright eyes? Wanna get out of here?”

The pompous look on his face tells you everything you need to know about this man: he’s used to getting what he wants and he’s not afraid to take advantage of your possible inebriation to get it. He’s disgusting. Suddenly, you’re very conscious of how much you dislike this man and consider slamming your heel down on his overpriced loafer. Before you get the chance, however, a familiar deep voice sounds from behind your back.

“Excuse me, I have some business with this one here.” Boba’s voice leaves no room for disagreement, at least if one was smart enough to know it.

Lancaster, unsurprisingly, is not. “We were just leaving,” he says dismissively with an annoyed expression, reaching to turn you towards the exit, “It’ll have to wait.”

“Don’t think it can,” Boba responds flatly. He grabs your bicep and peels you out of his grasp. Ignoring the younger man’s sputtering as he leads you down one of the hallways branching off from the atrium, going far enough that the noise from the reception starts to fade off. Rounding the corner into the stacks, he abruptly flattens you against the wall, caging you in and pinning you with his hips. 

If his slight manhandling of you before had you wet, this has you soaked: his thick forearm rests on the wall next to your head while his other hand remains locked around your upper arm, just tight enough to remind you it could bruise if it got any tighter. His hips, however, are likely to leave their mark on yours—it’s all enough to drive you nearly insane with desire. You’re too hot for your own skin and Boba is radiating enough heat to brand you and melt your brain like wax.

“Not so brave now, are you, little princess?” Boba croons, licking his lips like he can taste your salt on his tongue. “Now that you’ve got nowhere to run and no pretty boys to bat your lashes at.” His muscular thigh pushes its way between your own and he grinds up into your center, forcing a moan up behind your teeth.

“I have… no idea… what… you’re talking… about,” you gasp, writhing on his thigh as your hands fly out to fist his suit jacket in a gnarled grip. You can feel your brain melting down the sides of your skull under his piercing gaze.

“Oh, you don’t?” he mocks, “Well let me enlighten you then, sweetheart. You spent the entire evening driving every man and the women Shand didn’t get to first out of their minds with your pretty little face and flirty little mouth. And all for what, to get my attention?” 

You’re burning so hot you can’t even think, much less get your tongue to unstick to form a coherent sound, so all you can answer with is round, shiny eyes and a shiver.

“Well, now you have it, princess,” he continues, a predatory smirk slashing across his dark features that makes your insides twist with his danger. “What are you gonna do with it?”

“I-I was just having fun,” you manage, your voice coming out hoarse and pitchy. Boba’s pressed so far into you that you’re scraping along his thigh as you ride it.

He grunts, shaking his head in disbelief. “She says she was ‘just having fun…’” he mumbles to himself as if the thought is amusing to him. You flash a tentative smile in hopes of sweetening him up, but the lurid flash in his eyes signal that it’s far too late for such mercy. “If that’s what you do for fun, princess,” he hisses out the pet name, “then it looks like I need to keep you on a shorter leash.” Releasing your bicep, Boba’s hand wraps around your throat faster than your muddled perception can register.

The strangled curse that claws up from your chest can’t even escape the confines of your throat to sound. Blood rushes to your head as your entire existence narrows down to the rough hand pressing in on your airways. You’re gushing into your panties, the amount of wetness now coating your thighs utterly obscene. Fuck he’s going to be the death of me and I want him to do it.

Boba’s rumble of pleasure at your response rattles in your own chest as he eases up on the pressure of his fingers to let you suck in desperate air, rubbing the delicate flesh underneath. “Oh, you liked that didn’t you? You like it when I’m rough, dirty girl.” His taunts are pouring fire into your bloodstream and sweat begins to slick your skin. Leering, he drags his tongue over your racing pulse point and your mind goes searingly blank. For a moment, you think you might have actually come with the way blinding pleasure floods your entire body.

“Fuck, Boba!”

A sinful chuckles drips from his plush lips into your damp skin, and he seals it away there with a wet kiss before pulling back to look into your glazed eyes. “Do you know what I do with brats who forget their place?” he asks in a timbre so low you can feel it in your bones.

This you know, you think, this you can push back on and regain some ground. “You punish them with your silly little toys and spank their asses a bit,” you spit out, your derision honed sharp as your initial surprise begins to wear off.

“Oh no, princess, you’d enjoy that too much.” An acidic laugh pours from his lips, making your blood run painfully cold, and he smiles at you like you’re struggling prey caught in his maw. “What I do,” he growls, “is I don’t let them come.”

Before the words even leave the air between you, Boba releases you and pushes away from the wall where he had you pinned. You stumble forward, your head spinning with the dizzying loss of contact and terrifying revelation. Panic sticks needles into your skin. He wouldn’t… he couldn’t. He couldn’t, right?!

“Aww, is that not what you were expecting, sweetheart?” Boba asks with a crushing amount of false sympathy, chucking up your chin on two fingers. You’re coming apart at the seams and he loves it. “Thought you could pull one over on me?”

Heart pounding against your ribs, you race to figure a way to repair your situation, one that ended up with him fucking you through at least one orgasm. Kark, why did I think this was all a good idea again? Gods I’m so kriffing wet I can’t think. Come on… focus, focus!  The second you get the idea you act on it, wasting no time debating its worth.

You drop to your knees right in front of him, yanking him forward by his belt buckle. Boba catches himself against the wall with an outstretched arm and a curse, his smug expression shattered by genuine shock. As he stares down at you with wild eyes, you grin a wicked thing. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was that not what you were expecting?”

Boba stares at you like you’ve remade his entire universe, his broad chest heaving under the straining buttons of his shirt. Sucking in a ragged breath, he hauls you to your feet and slams into you, his hand cupping the back of your skull so it doesn’t hit the wall when his lips crash into yours. You pulse and throb into one another, your every breath melting into his as your hands claw into clothes seeking the heat of the other. He becomes you and you become him as time stops moving—if only for a minute. 

“Baby, princess, angel,” Boba moans into your mouth, “I gotta have you, I have to have you right fucking now. Go to your office and start touching yourself. Get yourself nice and ready so I can slide right into that perfect cunt as soon as I get you home. I’m going to pull the car around.”

Your panties don’t even make it into the house: Boba literally tears them off you as soon as he puts the car in park in his driveway, stuffing them into his pants pocket and promising to buy you a hundred more so he can do it again. Stumbling with you up the blessedly short path to his front door with a handful of your ass, Boba jams his key into the lock and you both tumble in the door, lips still connected. “Shit, aren’t you always good for a surprise?” he pants between kisses, fumbling with the door bolt until it locks behind him. “Dropping to your kriffing knees in the library. Kark, couldn’t even punish you after that, my bold little princess. Made me too fucking hard.”

Your lips smile against his as you push his jacket from his shoulders. “You just bring it out of me, sir, I-I can’t help it. Couldn’t stand the thought of not having you.” Boba groans at the epithet and you start pulling open his buttons with shaking hands. “That’s why I do it… can’t help myself, just want you so kriffing bad.” When you reach his pants at the end of his shirt, he snatches your wrists and spins you so your back is shoved against the door.

“You’re so good to me, so fucking good. Even when you’re a brat, you’re my little angel, doing it all for me. Maker, you’re perfect.” Boba snags the hem of your dress and bunches it over your hips, allowing the cool air access to your slick folds and making you shiver. “Good girls get rewarded, don’t they, princess? Yeah, that’s right. I’m going to make you feel so, so good, give you the reward you deserve.”

Your desire-dazed brain can’t decide whether to focus on the stream of filth pouring forth from his mouth or his lips as they kiss over your dress and down to your soft belly as he comes to kneel in front of you. Effortlessly tossing your leg over his shoulder while balancing you against him, Boba steadies your body with his hands on your hips. “Will you let me return the favor, pretty girl? Will you let me lick up this perfect pussy?”

Smiling down at him with lust-blown eyes, you answer in a breathy laugh. “But I didn’t even actually suck you off.”

“Bet you would have, though, princess, if I had let you.”

Fuck, he’s probably right. You weren’t kidding when you said you can’t help yourself. “Yeah, I would have,” you giggle, “Why didn’t you?” The thought of slipping his thick cock in between your lips when all those other people were just a hallway away sends a fresh wave of arousal dripping from your core.

“Mmm because I want to hear every single sound that comes out of your mouth tonight… and none of those fuckers deserve to even think about you, much less hear those sweet noises you make when you’re coming apart.” Boba begins layering sloppy kisses over your thighs and abdomen, circling ever closer to your drenched center. His dark eyes flick you to capture yours in a heated gaze. “Let me hear it, pretty baby, can I eat this sweet cunt?”

Lacing your fingers with his hand on your opposite hip, you lean your head back on the door. “Please, sir, please let me have your tongue.”

The words don’t even finish leaving your lips before he dives into between your legs, groaning like a man starved getting his first meal in months. The sounds of his slurping and sucking have your knees giving out almost immediately, rapturous pleasure consuming your entire being. All that exists is the way his tongue fucks into you, the way his lips wrap around your aching clit and how he pulls moans deep from within your stuttering chest. When his thick, calloused fingers push inside your weeping heat and curl, your hand slaps over your mouth to stifle a ragged scream as explosions of color blur your vision.

Boba claps his palm against your ass and pops off your clit. “Don’t you fucking dare cover that mouth of yours. I want to hear everything, sweetheart, I want you to wake up the whole fucking neighborhood with how good I make you feel.” 

The torturous coil in your belly tightens to a delicious pain and you let your pleasure be heard, your jaw falling slack as your head tips back against the heavy wooden door. Boba redoubles his efforts, cursing and praising, sucking and licking, twisting you tighter and tighter around your own desire until it’s almost unbearable. When a third finger slips into you, it feels like the floor drops from beneath your feet and you know you're doomed to your desire. “Please, can I-can I-”

“Fucking come all over me,” he growls straight into your clit, digging so deep into you think you see the Maker.

A wail tears free from your chest, echoing off the walls and vibrating in your skull as you dissolve into pure pleasure, raw and vulnerable against the mountain of his body. To be so ethereal and untouchable in his arms is a new, divine dimension of your ecstasy that heals you even as you fall apart into a soaked, quivering mess. 

“Nau’ul be kar’ta,” Boba coos in a voice like crushed velvet, rich and dark, “my beautiful, perfect girl, come here.” You collapse in a trembling heap into his waiting arms, your mind nothing but a plane of warm, fuzzy bliss. You’re lifted and arranged in his lap by impossibly strong hands as you drift through the glowing stars of your high. Boba rocks you gently against his heaving chest, a stream of patient praise streaming from his lips pressed into your hair. “You did so good for me… taste so sweet, makes me want to keep you on my tongue forever… kark, bet the whole street is jealous with how loud you were, such a good girl, letting me hear that sweet voice just like I asked…”

Eventually your senses start to return and you wiggle around to straddle him, placing your molten core directly over top of his straining erection and eliciting a graveled groan from him. “Mmm, that was amazing, professor,” you hum into his throat, “Now let me return the favor.” You tug his shirt off and he lets you drop it to the floor. “I wanna go over every single tattoo on your body with my tongue until it’s all I can remember.” 

“Kark, you’re filthy, princess,” he groans, his cock twitching with interest underneath his pants as hauls you up with him off the floor. By the time you stagger to the bedroom, your clothes are gone, littered in a trail from the door to his room. Seizing your opportunity, you shove him back on the mattress and hop on top of him, pushing a grunt from him that makes you giggle. “Easy, little one, I’m not as young as I once was,” he grits out between your kisses.

Grinning into the thick muscle of his pec, you nip at the ink you just traced with your tongue. “Sorry, I forgot I have to be careful with you, old man.” Boba pinches your ass and you squeak, though you remain unrepentant.

“You must want me to be mean to you tonight, sweetheart.”

You continue licking and sucking over the dark swirling patterns on his chest. “Mmm, maybe I do.” While you’d never been much for that sort of thing before, none of those men before had been Boba. If his praise is sweeter than honey you can only imagine how delicious his ire would be, and something hot sparks between your legs. “But I wouldn’t want to wear you out, old timer.”

A dangerous, low chuckle emanates from the ribs under your lips and your insides twist into knots. “You really know how to bring it out of me, don’t you, naughty princess? I think you really do want me to be mean, want me to treat you just like how you’ve been acting all evening.” Snatching you against his chest, he grabs your jaw in a tight grip. “Tell me, little one, is that what you want? You want me to call you names and remind you who you belong to?” He brushes his thumb over your cheek in a small show of affection that reminds you this is all a game, and you can call it off if you want to. It makes your heart sing—and your pussy clench.

“Yes, Boba,” you rasp, molten desire pumping hot and heady under your heated skin, “I want that, please.” You’ve accepted the fact that Boba Fett makes you want things that you never have before, sinful things that make your cheeks burn and heart race. It’s a forbidden fruit that the professor is all too willing to indulge you in, him licking up its sweet juice as it dribbles down your chin.

“Anything you don’t want me to call you? Any limits you want to set?” he questions, his voice taking on that firm, guiding tone he always used when he worked through things with you. 

Chewing your lip, you consciously slow your breath like how Boba taught you so you can focus in the moment when you’re all worked up. “Don’t call me ‘bitch’ or anything too serious like that. ‘Whore’ and ‘slut’ are fine though.”

He nods, placing a quick kiss on your forehead. “Remember to stop me if you don’t like something, babygirl, I’ll never be upset if you do. What’s our word?”

“Kamino,” you answer dutifully, wriggling a little in your excitement, desire licking up your thighs—your evening-long machinations were about to come to fruition.

“Good girl,” he praises, “Ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

The dominant, possessive side Boba tucked away during your discussion returns tenfold more wicked now that it’s all decided. He sits up, taking you with him as drops down into the armchair against the wall. “Then get on your knees,” he sneers, “You want to act like a whore, throwing yourself at everyone who shows you any interest in that tight little dress you had on, I’m going to treat you like one. I want you sucking my dick like that’s all you know how to do.”

You drop so fast it makes your head spin, allowing your base desire to freely submit. You undo his belt with hungry fingers, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants to reveal his half-hard girth. Instead of yanking down the last barrier separating him from your tongue, you run your nails up his thighs and drag your open mouth over his growing bulge over his underwear, pulling a hiss from his lips.

“I didn’t say tease me, girl,” he admonishes, though he’s fully hard now, straining against the confines of the fabric still on him. “If you do as you’re told, maybe I’ll think about giving that pussy what I know it needs.”

You moan into him, his cock jumping at the feeling. You tear down his underwear and his beautiful cock springs forth, proud and already leaking. “Fuck,” you exhale as you take him all in, “you’re so big.” Kark, I swear he’s even bigger than last time.

“Aw, don’t be scared, sweetheart, I like it when they choke,” he taunts with a cruel chuckle that goes straight to your sopping cunt. He pumps his tanned length a few times and your mouth waters at the sight of it. “Now open up that pretty mouth.”

Your jaw drops open and you stick your tongue out, wide and ready, your hands folded in your lap. Wiggling in anticipation, you blink big eyes up at him through your lashes. 

“Fuck, look at you. You’re fucking filthy for me, aren’t you? On your knees right where you belong, tongue out like the good little slut you are. Go ahead, princess, I know you want it.” He smacks the head of his cock on your waiting tongue and you lunge forward, ravenous for more of him. He groans as you swirl around his frenulum, lapping off the pearls of precum waiting for you. Your hands travel up his thighs and he releases his grasp to let you replace it with your own.

Cupping his balls, you plant wet, sloppy kisses down his length, pleased when you feel the slightest tremble in his thighs. Peeking up at him, you find Boba looking down at you, his eyes pitch black and voracious in their desire. Keeping your gaze fixed on him, you lean in and pepper kisses around his base before flicking your tongue out to drag along the seam of his balls.

“Shit-fuck!” His right hand flies to your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair. “Kark, you’re dirty,” he rasps, tugging your face back a little to look in your eyes. 

You grin up at him, spit already dripping down your chin. “Just for you, sir.” Your voice is breathy, your chest already heaving from exertion. 

“Good girl, learning her place already. Now finish this up for me, little princess, I still have to fill that pussy full so everyone knows just who you belong to.” The whimper that falls from your lips would have been embarrassing if you weren’t so turned on you can barely form a thought that isn’t concerned with getting his dick inside you. “Aw, does that make you wet, pretty baby?” he mocks, clearly enjoying your depraved reactions. “You like it when I talk to you like you’re my personal whore, my warm mouth and tight little pussy to take whenever I feel like it?”

You pull at the hand holding you back by your hair, desperate to have him down your throat, desperate to cry and gag at the size of him. Boba chuckles, deep and pleased in his chest and loosens his grip so you can get him back in your eager mouth. Once you have him heavy on your tongue, you hum happily and begin bobbing your head over his velvet length, gradually taking more of him into your mouth. Boba’s hips stutter when you slide your tongue along the pulsing vein on the underside of his cock, triggering your gag reflex. 

You try to swallow down the suffocating feeling, but the sheer girth of him makes your throat close up. Choking and coughing, you pull off of him, tears beading in your lashes and spit running down your neck. Boba takes your face in his warm, calloused hands and tilts your face up to him. “Everything okay, little one? Too much?” he asks, concern lining his handsome face.

“No,” you pant, voice already ragged, “‘s perfect, just caught me by surprise.” You smile up at him then turn your head to kiss his palm. He’s so good to you that it makes you ache.

He swipes his thumbs over your cheeks, wiping away the moisture collected on your lashes. “Okay, I want you to tap me anywhere three times if you need to stop. It’s the same as our word if you can’t speak. Can you say that back to me so I know you understand?” You nod, repeating back the information. “That’s my good girl,” he beams, “Now I think there’s something you need to finish.”

You’re on him in an instant, guiding him back into your waiting mouth hungrily. As much as you love licking and sucking up and down his cock, slurping and swirling with abandon, what you really want is to do is take him to the hilt and swallow him down until he loses control. Taking what hasn’t made it past your lips in hand, you start pumping him and twisting your wrist, your fingers sliding easily over his spit-soaked skin.

“Fuuuu- that’s it,” he grunts, “look at you taking me so well. You must really want me to fuck you, my filthy little princess, must really want- shit.” He hisses, his hand shooting out to brace himself against the wall when slide enough of him in your mouth to take your hands off him to rest them on his hips. You look up to see his eyes screwed shut and his jaw clenched, and you hum appreciatively around the thickness stuffing your mouth, “Osik, d-do it, I know you can take it all, sweetheart. Do it for me and-shit-and I’ll fuck you so good I’ll be dripping from your pussy for days.”

You moan, your throat relaxing to take the last inch and you swear you could’ve come just from the sound that ripped free from his chest if it didn’t take all your brainpower to keep him seated in your mouth.

“Kark-fucking-stars above,” Boba chokes out, his free hand coming to guide you up and down his cock at a steady pace, “Look at you taking it all, I’m so proud of you, so p-proud, fuck, pretty girl.” His eyes are locked onto where he’s disappearing over and over again into your open mouth.

Blinking up at him with watery eyes, you swallow around his thick cock and he snarls. He tugs you off him and pulls you up into his arms, kissing you like he needed you to breathe and walking you both back until your thighs hit the bed. It feels like he’s everywhere, his tongue filling your mouth, his hands grabbing every inch of you as his hips pin down your own. “Shit, open up those legs for me, princess, I need to be inside you right fucking now.”

You fall back on the mattress, letting your thighs fall open. “Please, sir,” you gasp when two of his thick fingers slide inside you with no resistance.

Boba groans, the sound so deep it feels like it rattles in your own. “This fucking wet just from sucking my dick. Kark, you’re really a whore for an old man aren’t you, sweetheart?” You can only moan in response, clenching around his rough fingers and keening into him, unable to communicate any more of an answer than that. “Cockdumb already, little princess? Here I thought you were my big girl… maybe I should just go back to fucking your mouth if you’re not going to use it. You certainly were eager to run it earlier though, weren’t you? Talking to all those other men like they could possibly make your sweet little pussy feel like I can.”

His thumb finds your clit and you cry out, arching into him. “Please, Boba! Please fuck me, please give me your cock!” Your head is snatched back by your hair, making a high whine catch in your abused throat at the sudden movement.

“You know better than to say my name,” he threatens, his rasp dangerously low. “Mmm, since you suck cock so good I’ll let it slide this one time, but you had better not forget again, little girl. You hear me?” Boba’s eyes are ablaze with dark fire, the intensity of him burning with the heat of a dying star, sucking you into his inescapable gravity. 

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” you whimper. His scalding words are going to make you come apart at the seams just as much as his fingers.

“Oh, you will be.” He pulls out you with an obscene squelch, a trail of your arousal connecting him to you. “Look at that, my princess wants it so bad. She wants anything I fucking give her. Isn’t that sweet? No, you know what, don’t answer that. Be a good little slut and clean this up for me.” He pushes his slick coated fingers past your swollen lips and you moan at the tang of your own arousal, your heady taste spreading over your tongue as you suck his fingers clean. He removes his hand from your face, the digits in your mouth coming out with a lewd pop.  

Lining himself up with your dripping slit, Boba takes your face gently in his large hand, the caress so much softer than his previous words. “Hey, look at me, babygirl.” You slide your gaze up his broad chest to find his sable eyes. “You good? Everything okay? I know I usually prep you a little more than this.”

“Yeah, s’good. I’m so fucking wet, bet you’ll slide right in,” you giggle, slurred and happy. Truthfully, you hope it’d hurt a little, just enough so that you’d feel it tomorrow—a secret reminder that you were his.

Boba gives you a smile, a real smile bright and shining, not one of his mean ones from your game. “Okay, little one. Remember you can say your word or tap me three times if it gets to be too much. I don’t want my princess hurting.”

Golden affection blooms in your chest even as you give him a sassy little salute. “Yessir.”

“Maker, what am I going to do with you?” he huffs, exasperated. The twinkle in his eye betrays him, however.

“Hopefully, fuck me.”

“As you wish, brat.” Boba slots his lips over yours and slides into your heat, inch by inch as you moan into each other’s mouths, completely enraptured with the feeling of one another. When he pulls back to sink in further, he hisses out a curse. “How’re you always so fucking tight? Shit, you feel so fucking good.”

The way he’s slowly splitting you open makes your eyes roll back in your head, your hands scrabbling across his shoulders for purchase. “Fuck, you’re going to tear me in two… don’t stop,” you whine. The stretch around his cock burns, quickly fizzling into hot pleasure that makes you crave more, deeper, harder. It’s ungluing the edges of your mind, pushing your good sense out of your skull one thick inch at a time. Tears prick your eyes at the delicious strain, your teeth biting down on Boba’s lip as he pushes flush with your hips. You’re not sure if the guttural moan is his or yours or both combined, you’re so full of him.

Boba snaps his hips, jolting you further up the bed and setting a harsh pace that has your legs shaking around his hips. You’re burning, melting, screaming, completely wrecked by his pleasure. He’s leaning over you now, an arm bracing himself next to your head as he drills into you with unwavering force. Tearing his lips from yours, he licks a searing stripe up your neck that makes you clench around his pounding thrusts. “Fuck, you think that boy can fuck you like this? Think he can stretch you out on his cock and make you cry and beg for him? Hmm?”

Hot tears spill down your cheeks. Whimpering, you shake your head. “N-no, s-sir, only you! Onlyyouonlyyou, fuck, only you!” 

“Fuck, you’re dirty, aren’t you? Ready to suck my dick with all those people there, riling me up all night so I’d take you back here and fuck you like the slut that you are for me. That’s right, isn’t it? Yeah, I know it is. You’re such a good little slut for me, taking my cock like that’s all you were made for. Kark, I bet you’d let me fuck you in front of all of them wouldn’t you, my filthy little princess?”

You moan, raking your nails down his back and making him curse in pleasure. “I w-would do anything, you feel so good, fuck, I would let you do anything to me! Just don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

 “You want it, huh? You want me to fuck you and make you all mine, fill up that tight little cunt and so my cum runs down your legs? You gonna take every drop I give you like the good little girl I know you are?”

“Yes, sir, please,” you sob, overwhelmed by the rough drag of him against your collapsing walls and his skin burning into you with each thrust of his powerful hips.

“Then tell me who this pussy belongs to, I wanna hear you say it so you never karking forget it again.”

“You, you, it belongs to you!”

“Say my name, princess, say my fucking name.”

“Boba! It belongs to you, Boba Fett, I’m all fucking yours, Boba, please!”

He pulls back, grabbing the back of your thighs and shoving them up, folding you in half. Slamming back into you, he slides a hand between your bodies to rub your clit in tight, maddening circles. 

“More, please more!” you beg, clawing at his free hand until he lets you have it, and you place it on your throat. 

Boba growls, wrapping his fingers around your neck and squeezing so that your world narrows down to just the feeling of him. Finally just him and nothing else.“Osik, you’re so fucking filthy and perfect, never wanna stop fucking this sweet cunt. K’atini ner cyare!”

“I’m gonna… can I… please,” you choke out, barely holding onto the last shreds of your sanity against the onslaught of ecstasy burning through you.

Groaning, Boba covers your mouth with his. “Come for me, soak my cock, give it to me, come on, princess, I know you can do it.”

Everything goes blank, your muscles constricting and your nails digging into his shoulders. Pure, electric energy fires through your veins, overloading your senses to a searing bright pleasure that makes you understand how the universe could start with a bang. You’re rocked with two, three, more pumps that shatter your fledgling universe and then you’re flooded with the sweet heat of his release.

You’re not entirely sure if you’re conscious as you float through the glittering galaxies that flash behind your eyes in dazzling color; you’re not even sure you remember how to breathe but you must be, because your lungs aren’t protesting. The next thing you’re truly aware of is being in Boba’s arms, laying curled into his chest on the bed while his fingers scratch pleasantly against your scalp. Humming in delight, you snuggle deeper into his woody scent.

“Mmm, there she is,” he chuckles, the warm sound buzzing in his chest.

“Nuh uh,” you shake your head, squeezing your eyes back shut—you want to be lost in him forever.

“Gotta come back some time, pretty girl, or I can’t get you in a nice warm bath then tuck you in bed with me,” he entreats, rubbing warmth into your limbs with calloused hands.

You consider this tempting offer; it certainly would be better than sleeping sticky all night, you suppose. “Can you bring me a snack?”

“I can bring you a snack.”

“And I can have a massage?”

Boba lets out an amused huff, giving you a squeeze. “And I will give you a massage,” he confirms.

You make a show of pondering the issue further, chewing your lip and studying the ceiling thoughtfully. “I guess I’ll allow it then, professor.”

Boba laughs again and eases you both up to a sitting position before sliding from underneath you so he can walk around to your side.

Rolling over, your thighs spread a little, and you gasp and slap them back together when you see the mess there. “Boba!” you squeak. 

“What, little one?”

“You, it-it,” you stutter, tripping over the words in your shock, “how is there so much?”

He cocks a brow and you let your legs fall all the way open. “Oh, princess,” he breathes out, his voice a strained rasp. The inside of your thighs are slick with both your cum and your folds are coated in his pearly release, the excess dripping down to soak a spot on his sheets. Boba reaches down and spreads your lower lips a little farther apart, sending more of him leaking down your slit. Boba curses and you bite down hard on your bottom lip around the moan flooding up your chest.

“Well,” he grins, smug as the cat who caught the canary, “I did tell you I was going to fill you full, princess.”  

Feeling equally refreshed and drowsy from your warm bath, you robotically go through the motions of your nighttime routine. From his bathroom mirror, you catch a glimpse of Boba where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed: he looks forlorn, his eyebrows furrowed over a pensive expression. For such a larger-than-life man, he seems almost… small. 

His pain weighs heavy on your soul, prompting a visceral reaction in your gut. The muscles in your chest tighten and your arms yearn to press him close so there would be no room for pain in his body. Flicking off the light, you pad over to him with deliberate ease as not startle him in his revelry; Boba is a hardened man, you know, but you want to nurture that slip of vulnerability he allows himself in your presence, protect it close to your own.  

He smiles when he sees you approaching, quickly papering over his melancholy expression with a happier one, but it doesn’t manage to make it to his brown eyes. He spreads his legs a little wider so you can stand between them and pulls you close with his hands on your hips. “All done, princess?”

“Yep,” you answer, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck. You let a few silent seconds slip by, making way for him to speak his mind. When he doesn’t acknowledge his latent discontent, you settle back on your heels with a sigh. “You gonna tell me what’s bothering you or am I going to have to threaten you again?”

Boba grumbles a huff that sounds a lot like “too observant” and tips forward to bury his face in your tits, pulling you further into him. You allow him a few moments of respite, stroking the back of his neck with light fingers before easing his face up to look at you. 

“It’s nothing, really-” he starts, his expression clouded over with false reassurances.

“Don’t try that crap with me,” you cut him off sternly. Then, more gently, you add, “Please Boba, be honest with me. You help me… let me help you.”

“You know I can’t deny you,” he mumbles after a moment, defeat echoing in the back of his throat. He leans forward, and you let him rest his cheek on your chest while he silently composes his thoughts as your fingers resume their patterns on his neck. “Watching you tonight… you are so bright and young and beautiful, and I’m just an old man with a scar for a heart that never quite worked right. You deserve… so much more than what I can give you. Someone who can make their words come out right because you deserve to know how special you are, cyar’ika. Someone who doesn’t have a past like mine, a person without so many sharp edges and broken parts. I’m missing pieces and you deserve someone who’s more… whole.”

There’s true pain in his voice, the agony and strife of a man who has endured and had to bear the cost of that survival on his own, with wounds that never completely healed alongside scars that run so deep they’re etched into his bone and being. If only he knew how beautiful it made him that he never let that secret soft part of him die, you think. That despite what would have been the logical choice for anyone in his position, he chose to tuck his tenderness away for safekeeping rather than letting it wither in reality’s harsh sun.

“Boba, I want you to listen to me and listen to me good.” You take his beautiful face between your palms and trace your thumbs over his cheekbones, mimicking the affectionate gesture he often used with you. This close you can see the dark lashes around his brown eyes and all the torment held within them; it makes you physically ache to know that this man, this perfect, wonderful man doesn’t think he deserves everything good and pure because he’s roughed up and his soul has some dings in it. That it somehow precluded him from deserving the same love he so willingly gives to you despite your own imperfections.

“I love you, Boba Fett, I love every scar on your body, every bruised muscle and broken bone. I love your dark, hidden parts just as much as the ones which see the light. You know why? Because they made you who you are, they made you into the man who makes me feel safe, makes me feel beautiful and happy. You are a man of action and that’s worth far more to me than any string of pretty words ever could be. You are enough and you are mine, and the sooner you accept that, the better.” 

By the way his fingers clutch into the plush of your hips, you can tell he desperately wants to believe you, that he wants to reject the jagged demon of doubt buried in his heart like old shrapnel. But Boba casts his eyes down, still unsure. 

“Do you trust that I can make my own decisions?” you ask, soft and firm, patient but unrelenting. He nods with a hum of agreement. Closing the gap between you, you rest your forehead against his creased brow, “Then let me make this one,” you whisper, kissing him until your lungs burn for air, and even then you stay on his lips for a few more lingering seconds.

Boba looks into your eyes, staring like you held all the secrets of the universe within them. After a couple of heartbeats, he loops his arms around your waist and pulls you back on top of him on the bed, making you yelp and giggle. Kissing you, he maneuvers the two of you under the blankets. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” he breathes into you, the peaks and valleys of his father’s tongue rippling in your mind like cool water over rounded river stones. “Thank you for that, babygirl. I will try.”

You hadn’t yet asked him what any of the Mando’a words that slipped out of him meant, permitting him his secrets for now. Shifting your hips over his and deepening the kiss, you lick into his mouth as you lazily start to rut into him. Boba has given you a lot just now and you want to see that he’s rewarded for it.

“Little princess,” he chastens when your pace begins to pick up, “it’s late and I’m old.”

“You're not that old,” you nip at his lip, “and I’ll be on top.” You accent your offer with a grind of your hips that has him groaning at the friction between your bodies.  

“You're not a very good listener, are you?” he grunts, “Besides, I need you well rested for tomorrow. I'm taking you out on a date.”

You stop dragging your hips over his, pulling back to stare at him. “A date?! You didn't tell me that, I didn’t bring anything to wear!”

“That’s because first, I’m taking you to get some more of those little sundresses you like to tease me with so much, and then I thought we’d go to that poppy farm you showed me on your phone the other day. They have ice cream there and a lemonade stand.”

You squeal in delight, kissing Boba all over his handsome face while he smiles warmly up at you. “You are too good to me, Boba Fett!” you manage between your flurry of pecks. He puts the sun in your chest and in air in your sails, and on top of all that, he’s apparently a secret romantic.

“Princess, I'm just getting started. You mean so much to me and I'm going to do my best to never let you forget it.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and you settle into his side, curling into him. “Now get some sleep, cyar’ika, I’ll be at your side, always.”

—Endnotes: I went to a poppy farm the other weekend and it was so effortlessly romantic I knew I had to write some Boba to go with it. (also don’t look at me like that, y’all KNEW this was gonna be a sugar daddy fic eventually lmao)

I've got some stuff coming up so the next posting will be two weeks out instead of one (I'm sorry 😭) but rest assured that I will be posting some extra snippets to make up for it!

MANDO'A TRANSLATIONS

(ner) cyare - (my) beloved, love

cyar’ika - sweetheart, darling, (a diminutive of cyare)

nau’ul be kar’ta - light of my heart

ni kar’tayl gar darasuum - I love you, (lit. "I hold you in my heart forever")

osik - Mando'a curse akin to "shit"

<Part III — Part V>

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Chapter 2 - Closed Eyes

Fancy Boots

And he continues to have a wonderful time, because I decided to share my migraine with someone.

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Riordan trudged down the road from the Citadel into town. His feet barely lifted off the ground, nausea roiled in his gut with every step, and he squinted at the path ahead through almost closed eyes. Even so, the light of the afternoon sun bore into his skull, and the sound of birds chirping on the trees lining the path made him feel like his brain was turning into soup.

The way would have been fine—probably—had he left an hour earlier. But he had not. Instead, he had filled out the necessary paperwork, made sure to submit a note of his absence in the proper places, and handed a pile of his clothes over for laundry, because the clothes he was wearing at the moment were the last clean ones. Freya didn’t seem like the kind of person who would admonish someone for a stained shirt, but he wanted to make a good impression.

The impression he was currently making was anything but good. A group of travelers cast him questioning looks as they walked past him. He ignored the whispers behind his back and focused on setting one foot in front of the other. In the haze of growing pain and declining ability to focus, the course of action had been so clear to him: visit the people he felt safest and most comfortable with. But as the town came into view and he stumbled along the streets leading him to his friends’ house, doubt began to settle in his heart.

How rude of him to bother them once more during one of his attacks. He could as well have waited it out in his rooms. Sometimes, he did, but the citadel was not a quiet place, and he craved silence as much as he craved some company—company he knew he would be barely able to stand. So his friends would once again be walking on tiptoes around him, half driven by pity, and half by guilt that still lingered no matter how often he assured them it hadn’t been their fault.

When he arrived at their house, he made his way through a garden in full bloom and sat on the small stone step in front of the backdoor. Torn between longing and guilt, he buried his face in his hands. Pressing against his eyeballs didn’t help against the pain, not really, but it did elicit the illusion that as long as his eyes were unable to move, it would at least not get worse.

Slowly, he leaned back until his shoulder hit the door and he relaxed against it. Shit. Rude or not, he wouldn’t make it all the way back to the citadel before this attack was over. He could think about a way to make it up to them afterwards, but for now, his focus would have to stay on not throwing up on their doorstep.

The door opened. Riordan flinched. He tried to catch himself, but his reflexes were too slow. When he began to topple backwards, his fall was stopped with a knee between his shoulder blades. 

“Riordan?”

Hands on his shoulders replaced the knee, holding him upright as the figure stepped in front of him. He pulled one hand down and cracked his right eye open, meeting a concerned gaze from storm-gray eyes.

“Hey,” he croaked.

“Shit.” Merridy straightened up without letting go of him, kicking the door fully open. “Can you get up?”

He lowered the other hand as well but kept his eye closed as he grabbed the edge of the step. If he didn’t want to spend the next twenty-four hours or more on the ground behind her house, he had no choice but to get up. That didn’t make it any more pleasant. Pain shot through his head, but he gritted his teeth, glad that between Merridy’s hands and the doorframe, he was unable to collapse.

She led him inside and pushed him in the direction of a chair, pulling it out with one foot so he could sit down. He did so gladly, laying his head on his crossed arms and breathing slowly to combat the sick feeling in his stomach. He shouldn’t have taken a second dose, knowing so well that it would make the nausea worse. It didn’t seem to help at all, but every time he decided to stop taking the medication, a small voice inside his head wondered if it would be even worse without. He was not keen on finding out.

Merridy returned with Damien in tow. He didn’t say anything, he only put his hand on Riordan’s shoulder and squeezed it. Riordan relaxed ever so slightly, the touch a welcome distraction that grounded him without being too much.

Cupboards and containers opened and closed. Water splashed. Footsteps approached. Merridy didn’t say anything, either, but she took his arm and nudged him to get up. There was little he wanted to do less, but he couldn’t stay at their kitchen table—or in their kitchen, as tempting as the thought of curling up under the bench was.

It was his luck that he knew the house reasonably well. Clinging to Merridy on one side and the handrail on the other, he climbed the stairs, eyes squeezed shut against the pain. Any kind of exertion only made it worse; getting up had been bad enough, but stairs were a special kind of nightmare.

At the top of the stairs, Merridy gave him a moment to catch his breath before she nudged him onwards into the living room. When his toes hit the sofa, he opened his eyes after all, to make sure he was dropping down at the right spot. He all but fell onto his stomach, wrapped his arm around a pillow, and buried his face in the fabric. 

“Mpf.”

Gods, he was not going to get up again anytime soon.

The muffled footsteps on the carpet moved around him. Merridy closed the curtains, the sound of heavy fabric sliding over the wooden rods a familiar one. She grabbed his feet and pulled off his boots, pushing his legs fully onto the sofa. Next, she slipped the strap of the small bag he had brought over his head and pulled it out from under him. A blanket followed, tucked in around him and pulled up to his shoulders.

Damien entered the room. Riordan felt it more than he heard it. The sound of ceramic on wood promised a cup of water waiting for him, should he need it, and something was placed at his side, spreading blissful warmth across his skin. A hot water bottle, but not a metal one like the one his family always used. Instead, it was made from soft leather, which made it less hot, but much more comfortable to lean against. 

In the face of so much care, his bad conscience reared its head again. He had to pull himself together. He wasn’t dying, his head just hurt, and here he was, having them tend to him like he was a toddler. Pushing himself to the side, he squinted through almost-closed eyes. Damien was crouching in front of him. That was good. He didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to have his own voice tumble around in his head. 

“I’m sorry,” he signed, small and jittery.

Damien took his hand and squeezed his fingers before moving them.

“No. Sleep.”

The signs weren’t quite right, but close enough for Riordan to understand. His eyes burned at the obvious attempt to be quiet for his sake, and he pressed his face into the pillow again, because if he started to cry now, it would hurt so much more.

Damien was still holding his hand, so it couldn’t be his fingers brushing through Riordan’s hair. They pushed a few curls behind his ear before rubbing his temple. A second hand joined, tracing the tense muscles along his neck and shoulders, exerting a bit of pressure, but not enough to cause him more pain.

Riordan was aware Merridy knew where it hurt because he had told both of them about his frustration after visiting multiple healers with no success. That didn’t make it any less wonderful that she remembered. He willed his body to relax and his heartbeat to slow down, focusing only on her touch. For a moment, the pain faded, and that was all it took for him to fall asleep.

[ID: The banner shows the feet of two people wearing boots, sitting next to each other in the grass. The title fancy boots is written next to them in a fancy looking, curly font in a bright green to yellow gradient. All other images are purely ornamental lines. End ID.]