#ship: like a cold shower on a hot night

[detectivelokis]

Playing Doctor

Words: 2.2 k

Warnings: Vague mentions of violence, injuries, and body horror.

A/N: My starter piece for the Horror Bang Exchange. Thank you to @sstewyhosseini for looking this over 🖤 @aceghosts including you since you asked to be tagged when this was posted.

Raccoon City was in ruins. 

After a week of, what felt like, hell on Earth, the city had been decimated. One single bomb extinguished the last flicker of light. Not that there was much left after the virus had taken hold of its occupants. Adults, children, hell, even animals gone in the blink of an eye, turned into nothing but snarling and lumbering husks of themselves.

Save for a few lucky survivors, one of them being Charlie. 

It had been a surprise to almost everyone, including herself, that she had managed to make it out in one piece. Her? The runt of her platoon?  It was more than luck that got her out of there, it was a goddamn miracle.

“How did you manage this?,” she asks herself, green eyes transfixed on the cascade of bubbles trailing down her bruised and reddened body. 

It’s not that Charlie isn’t a capable person, far from it in fact. But, throughout her life she has always been second best. Second best sharpshooter in Montana; the one always getting a participation trophy. There are no billboards proudly displaying her face for all to see, no parades to welcome her home.

She is no prodigal daughter.

It doesn’t matter to the rest of the world that she survived a catastrophic event well beyond what most people are capable of imagining. No, all that matters to anyone that’s in the know, and for all she knows that really could be anyone, is that she was an employee of Umbrella. An enemy of the state now.

But, at least she isn’t alone. She never really had many encounters with Carlos while they were both still mercenaries, both on different platoons and stationed in different locations, but she knew enough about him to know that going on the run with him wasn’t the worst thing she could do. Not anymore at least. 

Being on the run was lonely, though. For the first day Charlie had laid in her motel room, too stressed to sleep and too anxious to go visit her newfound ally. It didn’t stop her gaze from lingering on the connecting door that led to his room, constantly hoping that he would make the first move and come to her.

After just a few hours of solitude and trying to send signals with her mind to the room next door, Charlie had given up. How could she just sit around moping about when the one person who could understand what she’s going through is right there?

Which is how she now finds herself in his shower, her delicate fingers poking and prodding at the bruises littering her skin; blood and dirt pooling at her feet. Yes, she had lied and said her own was broken and only producing cold water, but she could tell from the look in his eyes that Carlos had wanted company too.

“Are you alright in there?,” the aforementioned man calls from behind the door, distracting her from injuring herself any further. “The water doesn’t stay hot for too long here either. Now the water pressure on the other hand, that’s -”

“I’m fine,” Charlie calls out, interrupting him. She chews on her lip as she thinks of what to say next. She doesn’t want to leave the comfort of the shower if she’s being honest with herself. Once she emerges from her cocoon of steam that means she has to go back to her own room and she doesn’t want that, as childish and dumb as it may seem.

She doesn’t want to be alone.

But she has to face her fears. She survived an onslaught of zombies that lasted a week, she should be able to leave the bathroom, not even her own bathroom, and see if Carlos actually does want her company or not.

After a few more moments of letting the water scorch her battered body, she finally emerges. As she dries herself off she eyes the oversized robe that she had found hidden in her room. She doesn’t know where it came from or who wore it before her, but she doesn’t have many options with her only clothes still covered in sewage and blood. 

“Wow,” Carlos says as she walks out of the steam-filled bathroom, dark eyes scanning her figure with a playful gleam. “You look refreshed.”

Charlie wants to roll her eyes, give her usual snarky reply to the comment, but she doesn’t. Instead she blushes; freckled cheeks turning a shade of crimson she didn’t even know was possible. 

“You were right about the water pressure. Felt like a nice trip to the spa.”

Sitting on the bed with a wince, Charlie notices the bags and containers of fast food laying about on the table her companion is currently sitting at, her stomach growling despite the pain.

“You okay there?”

Carlos stands as he sees her face contort in pain. Fuck. And here she was thinking she was being subtle.

“I’m fine,” she holds up a hand, trying to wave him away. “Is that,” she pauses, shooting him a soft smile in an attempt to distract him. “Is that the strawberry shake I asked for? You actually ordered it?”

Carlos sighs, eyes glancing back at the table before he picks up the drink. He looks like he’s about to hand it over to her, his arm outstretched and if she wasn’t in so much pain she could reach out and grab it. But he doesn’t. 

“How about we make a deal? You let me take a look at your injuries and I’ll give you your milkshake. Does that sound good?”

Charlie’s eyes linger on the drink, drool forming at just the thought of the creamy concoction hitting her taste buds. Jesus, she’s hungry. 

“Fine.” She lets out a huff as she undoes the belt of her robe, letting it fall open to expose her mess of a body. 

It doesn’t faze her when his eyes immediately spot the massive bruise that has made its home on the side of her torso. After working for Umbrella she’s gotten used to changing in front of her teammates, but she does almost jump out of her skin when his fingers tentatively touch the sore spot; both from pain and shock.

“Jesus.” 

Carlos lets out a low exhale as his calloused hand runs down her side, brow furrowed in concentration as he takes it all in. “Why didn’t you come to me sooner? Did this happen when you were thrown?”

“I dunno. I guess so?”

Charlie shrugs, trying to play it cool despite the agonizing pain she’s currently in. But the memories of the police station flood back to her in a wave. 

That creature outside the locker rooms, its skin inhumanly pale; almost translucent, and its brain matter partly exposed, had cornered them. It looked like one giant, disgusting hairless cat guarding its territory. When it noticed them it had lashed out, whipping her into the vending machines. 

She had hit it with such force that her body had left a dent, despite how tiny her frame is, and cans of soda came careening down upon her, one particular can of Sprite bursting and fizzing its contents all over her head. She’s pretty sure the scent of lime and shit will now be embedded into her skin for the rest of her life.

Except for now you smell like him.

The thought alone sends a shiver down her spine as she watches Carlos inspect the cuts and bruises on her arms and torso. She had come into his room and used his room and used his shampoo, his lotion. It feels way more intimate than she was expecting.

“Here.” Carlos holds up her shake for her to take before pushing himself to his feet. “Just wait here while I grab my first aid kit and I’ll patch you up.”

“Can’t I eat my chicken tenders first?”

Carlos laughs softly as she pouts up at him. “Don’t worry, princess. I’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

Charlie bites down on the inside of her cheek at the pet name. Princess? Really? She knew some of the people she had worked with had thought of her as prissy and high-maintenance, but Carlos had only just met her this week. Unless…

Oh.

The realization that he’s flirting with her dawns on her suddenly and she perks up, as much as she can, at least. With everything that happened in Raccoon City she hadn’t even had time to process any type of emotions, let alone that she might be attracted to him. But, as Carlos comes back, first aid kit and supplies at the ready, Charlie realizes almost immediately that she is. 

She is very much attracted to him.

“Wow. You weren’t lying about playing doctor, were you.”

Charlie looks up at him through her lashes, milkshake cradled in her hands. She can see the corner of his lips quirk up at her words and she sucks on her straw to stifle her own smile. 

“Playing doctor, huh?” He lays everything next to her before he sits down, the bed creaking underneath his weight. “You make a terrible patient, you know that, right?,” he teases.

Moving the left half of her robe aside, Carlos begins to gently cleanse and disinfect the scattering of small cuts alongside her arms and torso. It burns more than she would care to admit and Charlie can’t help but hiss as he drags the gauze over her skin.

“Sorry.” 

He looks up at her sheepishly, dark eyes filled with a gentle kindness. It makes something inside of her stomach flutter. 

“I wish you had come to me sooner, so far it doesn’t seem like they’ll get infected. But this one,” he pauses, his fingers graze the bruise on her side as a frown starts to form on his face. “This one might need some extra attention.”

Charlie scoffs. No fucking way is she going to the hospital right now. Yes, she is in excruciating pain and yes, it hurts to both sit and stand. But going and getting it checked out after what happened in Raccoon City? Not a chance in hell.

“Go to the hospital and have the government catch up to us and question us about our affiliation with Umbrella or stay here and have you do your best to help me take care of it.” She holds up her hands as if weighing the options. “I think I choose the latter.”

Carlos sighs in response. Charlie knows he means well, and she does genuinely appreciate the concern, but their employers not expecting them to make it out of the city alive put them in quite the dangerous predicament. 

“It shouldn’t be us who’s on the run. Those motherfuckers need to pay for what they’ve done, what they’ve put us through.”

“I know.” 

Her voice is quiet and she bites her lip, inwardly wincing as her teeth connect with cut flesh. She doesn’t know what the future holds and she’s uncertain about how to feel about her past, but despite everything the present isn’t quite as bad as she imagined it would be.

“Listen, I want to be able to fix this,” he says, gesturing at her injuries. “But that doesn’t look good. You could -”.

Not wanting to hear anymore about the potential risks of not seeking medical attention, Charlie leans forward, cutting him off with a simple, chaste kiss. She wasn’t intending on doing that and pulls away almost immediately, mouth agape and cheeks flush from embarrassment.

“Oh, fuck. I don’t know what came over me.”

Carlos doesn’t let her get another word in, taking his chance to interrupt her, his hand cupping her cheek before leaning in to kiss her. Unlike hers it’s neither gentle nor soft. Instead, his lips greedily capture hers in a way that brings out a different hunger in her.

She whimpers as his teeth tug on her lower lip, a trickle of blood from her cut trailing out. It’s devouring and all consuming; exactly what she needed after everything that’s happened to her recently. After a few moments she pulls away. She wants more, she needs more, but she knows now isn’t the right time. 

“Wow.”

Charlie peeks up through her lashes at him, an innocent, almost girlish expression on her face. What has gotten into her?

“Yeah. Wow.”

Carlos rests his forehead against hers and for a couple of minutes the two just sit there, their breath heavy as his thumb strokes her cheek. Unable to handle the silence any longer, Charlie sighs exasperatedly. 

“Can we eat the chicken tenders now?,” she whispers, eliciting a chuckle out of Carlos.

Maybe this was always supposed to happen, their paths crossing despite all the horrors they’ve seen. It’s certainly a nice thought.

[ilovemilestellersmoustache]

Letters I Couldn’t Send

Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolts!reader

Summary: Bob's been feeling lonely in between missions especially when Y/n isn’t there to occupy his mind, so he decides to try therapy. There it's suggested he writes his feelings out. But what happens when the letters get out to her?

WC:4.3K

A/N: Well his definitely couldn’t of had a much more satisfying ending but in outta ideas guys please send me suggestions

⸻

It started with the silence.

Not the battlefield kind, Bob could handle that. That noise had a rhythm, a reason. The thunder of explosions, the sharp crack of gunfire, the barking of orders over comms, it all had a place. It meant something. Chaos with a cause.

But the silence in between missions?

That was different. That was the kind that lingered like smoke, curling around his ribs, felt like a question he didn’t know how to answer.

The team had shipped out again. Another international crisis. Another mess the Thunderbolts had been sent to clean up. This time it was Seoul, some subterranean weapons lab under the city that had to be neutralized before things got out of control. A high-risk, high-stakes mission.

Bob hadn’t been cleared to go.

He never fought the orders. Not anymore. There were a few missions within the year he was able to go, but not after what happened the last time he’d pushed it. He knew better. When the possibility of unleashing the Void even whispered into the room, the protocols snapped into place like a cage around him.

Stand by.

Stay ready.

Do not deploy unless sanctioned.

Those words, cold and clinical, had carved themselves into the soft tissue of his brain. And so he stayed behind. As always.

And now… now it was just him, alone in the tower. The rest of the team was who knows where, halfway across the world, running through smoke and fire. Maybe Ava was phasing through walls. Maybe Yelena was laughing in that sharp, unbothered way as she cracked someone’s ribs. Maybe Bucky was gritting his teeth through another close call. He could almost see it all. Feel it.

Meanwhile, he sat in a worn-out hoodie on the rec room couch, staring at the flickering screen of a movie he didn’t remember choosing. The credits had rolled five minutes ago, but he hadn’t moved. Didn’t blink. Just sat there in that electric stillness, his coffee long gone cold in his hand, the cup sweating against his palm.

That silence was the worst kind. The absence. The hollowness.

On good days, Y/N was there to fill it. Her laugh, her voice, her presence, it was like light through a cracked door. Just enough to remind him that the darkness wasn’t total. That he wasn’t always a ticking time bomb. That sometimes, someone saw him as more than the Void’s vessel. That someone could love him anyway.

But she was on the Seoul mission, too.

And without her…

It was like something had been scooped out of him and never put back. The walls felt closer. The silence had teeth now, and it bit every time he looked.

He didn’t blame the team. Of course he didn’t. It wasn’t their fault he couldn’t be trusted, not really. The risk was real. He knew it. They followed orders. They didn’t write them. Still, knowing that didn’t stop the isolation from curling around him like smoke, quiet, creeping, inescapable.

He tried to distract himself. He worked out until his muscles screamed, then showered in water too hot to be comfortable. He tried reading but couldn’t focus past the same three sentences. The TV offered its flashing noise, but none of it landed. Everything felt… detached. Like he was watching the world through glass.

Three days.

Seventy two hours of radio silence, punctuated by brief check-ins from mission control.

No voices he wanted to hear.

No knock on his door.

No trace of her.

On the third night, long after the bunker had gone still and the movie had long since ended, Bob sat there with the remote loosely clutched in his fingers and the cold coffee in his other hand, staring at the black screen that reflected only a faint, distorted version of himself.

He looked haunted.

He felt haunted.

And not by ghosts, exactly. Not even by the Void, though that shadow was always somewhere at the edge of his vision. No, this was something worse. Something smaller, but deeper.

The ache of being forgotten.

The ache of still being here, when the world kept turning without him.

His throat worked around a dry swallow. He hated how dramatic he sounded, even inside his own head. He was alive. Safe. Fed. Sheltered.

But he was also invisible.

And for the first time in a long time, Bob Reynolds thought, not about the darkness, not about the power sleeping beneath his skin but about something gentler. Something simpler.

Maybe I should talk to someone.

Not about the Void. That would come with too many complications.

Not even about the past stories or the weight of being left behind.

Just… about being alone.

About what it did to him.

About feeling like a ghost in his own skin.

And maybe, just maybe, if he said it out loud…

It wouldn’t feel so permanent.

⸻

The therapist’s name was Dr. Madani.

Mid-forties, calm eyes, no nonsense. She wore neutral colors and practical shoes, and her voice had the kind of steadiness that made you believe she wouldn’t flinch even if the walls started to bleed. That first session, Bob had waited for the telltale sign, disbelief, discomfort, judgment when he told her exactly why he was there.

That he was part of the New Avengers?That he had powers that could level cities if he lost focus? That sometimes, he wasn’t allowed to leave the country, not because he’d done something wrong, but because if he got too emotional, reality itself might tear open like wet paper.

She didn’t blink. Didn’t ask him to repeat it. Just nodded once and scribbled something calmly into her notebook.

That was a good sign.

Better than good. It was rare.

So he kept coming back.

Once a week. Tuesday mornings. Early, before the rest of the compound stirred too much. He liked it that way, quiet halls, empty coffee pots, sunlight just beginning to filter through reinforced windows. He sat on the same couch every time, hands braced on his knees, sometimes talking, sometimes not. Dr. Madani never pushed. She asked questions like she was handing him a flashlight, not leading him anywhere he didn’t want to go.

And slowly, very slowly, the words started to come. About the silence. About the guilt of being spared from missions he wanted to join. About feeling like his existence was always something to be managed, measured, mitigated. Not lived.

He didn’t tell anyone at first.

Not because it was a secret.

It just felt… personal. Sacred, even. Like something he needed to protect. A small part of himself that hadn’t yet been cracked open by the Void.

But eventually, people noticed.

It started in little ways. He was a bit more grounded. A bit less like he might disintegrate if someone looked at him too long. A bit more… here.

Yelena was the first to say anything.

She poked him in the arm one afternoon after training and gave him a once over, lips pursed. “Therapy?” she asked, like it was a codeword.

Bob blinked. “Uh… yeah.”

“Good.” she said with a sharp nod. “Maybe now you won’t look like you’ve seen a ghost every morning.”

Then she grinned, wide and wolfish, and wandered off before he could respond.

John, never one for subtlety, clapped him on the back so hard Bob nearly dropped his water bottle. “You’re seeing someone?” he asked, then immediately corrected himself. “Like a therapist someone?”

“Yeah.”

“Figured, couldn’t be a woman.”

Bucky in the background expression shifted into something more sober. “Good man. Wish I’d started sooner. Might’ve saved myself a couple bad years.”

Bob wasn’t sure how to respond, so he just nodded. They didn’t have to say it all out loud. Not every wound needed to be unpacked in public.

Alexei found out next. Over breakfast. The Russian looked up from a plate piled with bacon and muttered, “Ah, Westerners. Always with the talking.” in that deep, sardonic tone of his.

But it came with a rare approving nod. One of those subtle things Alexei did when he didn’t want to make a big deal out of being proud of someone.

Ava didn’t say much. She never did.

But one evening in the corridor, she passed him on the way to her room, paused, and met his eyes. No smile. Just a shared, quiet understanding. A nod of solidarity from one ghost to another.

And then there was you.

You found out by accident, really caught the tail end of a conversation between Bob and Dr. Madani over the phone as he tried to reschedule a session after dinner ran long. You didn’t press. Didn’t joke, didn’t pry.

Just waited until the next time the two of you were alone, in the stillness of his quarters where the air always smelled faintly like cedar and coffee, and said, gently.

“I heard… you’ve been talking to someone.”

Bob stiffened, a little embarrassed. He opened his mouth to downplay it, but you stepped in before he could.

“I’m proud of you.” you said.

Simple. Quiet. Honest.

And that-

That undid something in him.

Like a thread pulled loose from a tightly woven net, a quiet unraveling that wasn’t painful, just… necessary. The tension in his chest gave way to something warmer. Softer. Real.

He looked at you, really looked, and saw the sincerity in your eyes. No pity. No worry.

Just love. Just you.

His voice caught in his throat, but he didn’t need to speak.

You knew.

You always knew.

And in that moment, for the first time in months, Bob Reynolds felt less like a walking disaster waiting to happen… and more like a man becoming whole.

⸻

Session 9

Topic: You.

He hadn’t walked in planning to talk about you.

That morning had been like the others, gray sky, stale coffee, muscles sore from a workout he barely remembered doing.

Bob had come in wanting to talk about anything else.

But somewhere between describing the chaos in his life and feeling alone and how he’d locked himself in the tower for twenty hours afterward just to feel again, you slipped in.

You always did. Eventually.

“She’s different.” he said quietly, almost without thinking. “Y/N, I mean.”

Dr. Madani didn’t flinch. She never did. Just tilted her head the way she always did when something important passed between the lines.

“How so?”

Bob stared at the ceiling for a long moment, fingers laced together in his lap. “She doesn’t look at me like I’m going to break.”

“Who does?”

“Everyone.” he said. And it wasn’t bitter. It wasn’t even angry. It was just true.

Dr. Madani nodded slowly, absorbing that.

“But she doesn’t.” he continued. “She doesn’t tiptoe around me. Doesn’t treat me like glass. When she talks to me, it’s like…” He paused, struggling for the right shape of the thought. “It’s like I’m me. Not Sen- Not a broken man. Not whatever nightmare people think I could become.”

“You trust her.”

That landed like a stone dropped into still water.

He nodded. “Completely.”

Dr. Madani leaned forward, just slightly. Her tone softened, but there was steel beneath it. “Do you have feelings for her?”

He hesitated.

Not out of denial, but out of reverence. As if the truth might shatter something sacred.

Then he breathed out and said, “Yeah. I think I love her.”

The words changed the air in the room. Denser. Heavier. Not oppressive, but real. Like the truth had settled onto the couch next to him, folding its hands neatly in its lap.

He didn’t look at her when he said it. He looked at the floor, where his boots had tracked a bit of mud in from the rain. It felt safer, somehow, than meeting anyone’s eyes while admitting that.

Dr. Madani’s voice cut gently through the silence. “So why haven’t you told her?”

Bob stared, long and slow.

“I don’t know how to explain it.” he said. “She sees the real me. The part I don’t show anyone. And I think if I try to have more… if I try to touch that kind of happiness…” He swallowed hard. “I’ll ruin it. I’ll ruin her.”

“You’re afraid.”

He didn’t argue. Just stared at his hands, watching how they trembled ever so slightly.

“Yeah.”

For a long moment, there was only the soft ticking of the office clock.

Then Dr. Madani leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees. “Try this.” she said. “Write it down. Letters. Say what you want to say to her but don’t give them to her. Not yet. Keep them for yourself. Get the words out of your head.”

He looked up, brow furrowed.

“Even if you never show her?” he asked.

“Even then.” she replied. “Letting love exist on the page is still better than letting fear keep it caged.”

He didn’t say anything, but the thought rooted in his chest, somewhere between his heartbeat and the Void.

That night, when the tower was quiet again and everyone was asleep, he sat at his desk under the soft buzz of the overhead lamp, a pen between his fingers and an untouched notebook in front of him.

For a while, he just stared.

Then, finally, he wrote:

Y/N,

You don’t know this but when I hear your voice, the noise in my head quiets. The shadows settle. The Void gets smaller. I think that means something.

I think you saved me before I even knew I needed saving.

He stopped there.

Closed the notebook.

And for the first time in a long time, Bob went to bed feeling like something in him had been released.

⸻

Letter One

Not Sent.

Y/N,

You asked me once casually, like it was nothing, what the Void feels like.

I gave you the easy answer. Told you it was a black hole. And that’s true. It is. It’s gravity and hunger and noise. It’s this constant ache just under my skin, like I’m being pulled in two directions toward destruction, and away from myself.

But I didn’t tell you the rest. Not really.

The Void isn’t just darkness. It’s absence. Of peace. Of quiet. Of being seen. It’s like standing in the middle of a screaming crowd where every voice is my own, shouting all the worst things I’ve ever believed about myself.

And then there’s you.

When you talk to me even just in passing, about dumb things like who drank the last cup of coffee or how Ava pretends not to like that dumb soap opera you got her into the noise changes. It doesn’t vanish, not completely. But it dulls. It backs off, like it knows it doesn’t belong in the room when you’re in it.

You make the world quieter, Y/N.

You make me quieter.

And I think that’s what love is.

Not fireworks. Not grand declarations. Just… a quieting. A calming. Someone who makes all the chaos feel like it has somewhere to go.

You do that for me.

And maybe I’ll never say this out loud, not the way I should but I need somewhere to put the truth.

So here it is.

I think I’m in love with you.

⸻

He wrote after therapy.

After the sessions where he’d dig through the wreckage of his mind and come back with shards too sharp to hold. After days when Dr. Madani asked gentle, pointed questions that left him raw and humming with things he didn’t know how to say out loud.

He wrote after bad dreams, when the Void swallowed cities behind his eyelids, when he woke up choking on screams that never left his throat. He wrote because it was the only way to drain the darkness out before it rooted deeper.

And sometimes, he wrote after the softest moments. The ones that shouldn’t have meant anything.

Like watching you twirl a pen between your fingers during a mission briefing, utterly focused and unaware.

Like the way your brow furrowed when you were reading intel too fast.

Like the time your laugh, real, unguarded, echoed off the walls of the living room at 1 a.m. because Yelena told a joke so bad it looped back to being good.

Those moments lodged themselves in him like stars against an obsidian sky. They glowed when everything else went dark.

He wrote because he couldn’t tell you.

He wrote because he wanted to.

Because his hands could say what his mouth never would.

The letters piled up.

Neatly folded, tucked into the back of a weather-worn notebook no one ever touched.

No signature. No dates. Just page after page of aching clarity.

He didn’t need to claim them. They were all his.

All you.

Sometimes they were two sentences.

Sometimes five pages.

Sometimes just a line that repeated over and over again until the ink smudged:

Please don’t ever leave.

They weren’t meant for the light.

Weren’t meant to be found.

They were a quiet kind of survival. A confession without consequence.

But even as they sat hidden in the dark, they were something real.

Like the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching.

Like the way he never said goodbye, only ���Be safe.”

Like the silence that always followed after you left a room.

⸻

Then they were gone.

It only took one careless moment.

Late one night after training, the team had drifted into the bunker kitchen like ghosts, sweaty, half-laughing, bruised from sparring but wired from adrenaline. Yelena, still in her tank top and boots, ducked into the storage lockers for her secret stash of Russian chocolate.

Bob’s locker was just below hers. She nudged it with her foot, just to balance herself, and something shifted.

A low thud. Then a soft, papery sound like wings.

A field manual slipped out and landed on the concrete floor, its spine cracked from age and use.

“Oops.” she muttered, bending to grab it.

But when she reached down, her fingers brushed not one, but several loose pages, creased and tucked between the manual’s back cover and its binding. They scattered like leaves. Maybe a dozen. Maybe more.

She picked one up without thinking. Eyes skimmed.

Then stopped.

The words weren’t tactical notes. Not mission logs.

They were intimate.

You asked me once what the Void feels like…

Her stomach dropped.

Another page.

When you laugh or look at me like I’m just Bob, it’s like the noise goes quiet…

Her breath caught. She looked over her shoulder, eyes wide, then back at the paper in her hand like it had burned her.

This wasn’t a journal.

These were letters.

To Y/N.

Without waiting, she grabbed a few more pages, reading faster now, pieces of the same heartbreak pulled out of hiding:

Sometimes I don’t know if I want you to know how deep this goes. If you knew… you’d leave. Or worse, you’d stay, and it would break you.

I would never forgive myself for making you carry this weight, too.

I think you make me want to be something more than just a weapon.

Yelena stood frozen, heart pounding.

Footsteps padded in from the hallway. John, towel slung over his shoulder, drinking water from a bottle. “You find your chocolate or what?”

She didn’t answer. Just looked at him, eyes dark and unreadable.

Then she held up the pages like evidence.

“Guys…” she said, voice steady but soft. “You need to see this.”

Within minutes, the small living room was quiet. Too quiet.

John sat with one knee bouncing anxiously, flipping a page with careful fingers.

Ava stood against the wall, arms crossed, reading one of the shorter ones three times over and saying nothing.

Alexei muttered something under his breath in Russian that no one asked him to translate.

But it was Y/N’s arrival that shifted the air.

You walked in fresh from a shower, towel around your shoulders, hair still damp, laughing at something on your phone.

Then you stopped.

They were all looking at you.

And on the table in front of them, you saw the unmistakable handwriting you’d seen on Bob’s grocery lists, his mission notes, the corner of your birthday card this year.

And your name.

Over.

And over.

And over again.

The letters weren’t signed.

They didn’t need to be.

⸻

The team sat around the table. Quiet.

The kind of quiet that wasn’t natural for them. No joking, no casual bickering. Just the kind that settled in like fog before something heavy fell.

Yelena had spread the letters out like puzzle pieces, some wrinkled, some barely touched. All fragile in their own way.

“This is about Y/N.” she said, voice low but certain. “All of it.”

Ava, slow and careful, picked one up. Her eyes scanned it with that clinical precision she used when reading threat assessments. Only this time, her features softened.

“It’s him.” she said. “It’s Bob.”

John leaned back, frowning. He tapped a page with the back of his knuckle. “No shit sherlock.”

The second your eyes fell on the handwriting, tight, slightly slanted, every ‘t’ crossed with a deliberate flick you knew.

Because you’d seen it scribbled across mission logs, smudged onto napkins from midnight meals. Because once, during a stakeout in Argentina, you’d fallen asleep beside him and woke to find your name written in the corner of his notebook over and over like he was trying to memorize it.

Because only Bob would write something like:

You make the monsters quiet.

And suddenly it felt like the ground beneath you shifted. Not in a way that knocked you over. But in that slow, undeniable way earthquakes start, quiet and deep and unstoppable.

You stepped forward, hand hovering over the letters like they were sacred. Your eyes flitted across half-finished thoughts, tear-stained lines, pages where he’d scratched something out only to rewrite it again a few lines down.

I watch you brush your hair behind your ear, and it’s like watching sunlight bend.

If I were braver, I’d tell you. But I think if I did, something inside me might unravel for good.

You are the only silence I’ve ever trusted.

The breath caught in your throat.

You didn’t cry. Not yet.

But your fingers curled slightly, like you were gripping onto air to stay steady.

Yelena watched you carefully, saying nothing for once.

No one spoke. No one moved.

The room belonged to you now. You, and the weight of what he’d kept hidden.

All those nights Bob had stayed behind while the rest of you flew into chaos. All the long silences. The soft, watchful way he looked at you when he thought you wouldn’t notice. The way his voice always softened when he said your name.

It was never nothing.

And now, it was everything.

⸻

You found him on the roof.

Of course you did.

It was the only place he ever went when the bunker walls started closing in, when the weight of what he was, what he carried, got too heavy to breathe through. Up there, the night sky was endless and forgiving, and no one asked him to be a hero or a ghost. Just a man.

The wind tugged at your sleeves as you stepped beside him, silent at first.

He was sitting near the ledge, knees pulled up, hands clasped tightly between them like a boy waiting for punishment or a prayer to be answered.

You stood there for a long moment before you spoke.

“I found the letters.” you said softly.

His head jerked slightly. “What? I mean- what letters, I-“

But the panic in his voice was already giving him away.

He flinched, shoulders curling inward. “They weren’t supposed to get out, you weren’t supposed to see that-“

“I know.”

Silence again. The wind whistled low between the buildings below, a distant car horn echoing like it belonged in another life. He still didn’t look at you. His jaw tightened, and you could see the twitch in the muscle near his temple, an old tic from when he was trying not to fall apart.

“I was scared.” he said eventually, voice raw. “Not of you. Of what I’d do to something good.”

He swallowed hard. “You’re good.”

You sat next to him. Not touching, yet. Just close enough that the heat from your shoulder brushed his.

“So are you.” you said.

He let out a broken laugh. Shaky. Bitter.

“That’s not true.”

“It is to me.”

And that’s when he looked at you. Really looked.

Not the sidelong glances in mission briefings. Not the half-second stares when he thought you were asleep on the couch. This was different.

This was Bob, stripped bare.

And what you saw was everything, the fear he’d never quite shaken, the hope he’d buried under layers of self-control, and the longing so sharp it cleaved straight through the air between you.

“I’m not perfect.” he whispered. Like it was a confession. A warning. A truth he thought might send you running.

“Neither am I.” you replied gently. “But I still choose you.”

He blinked, and his whole body seemed to tilt toward you, like he didn’t quite believe the weight of what you’d just said. Like he didn’t dare.

“But the Void-”

“Isn’t all of you,” you cut in.

“But it could be-”

“And if it ever is.” you said, voice steady now, “I’ll be there. I’m not afraid of the dark, Bob. I just don’t want you to live in it alone.”

The breath he let out was half a sob.

He turned away, just slightly, as if giving himself a second to pull the world back into place but he didn’t move far. And when you reached out and slid your fingers over his, he let you.

Just like that.

A quiet surrender.

A beginning.

You sat there together until the sky turned navy and the stars blinked on, one by one. No grand declaration. Just being. And a passionate overdue kiss that’s been waiting to happen

Because love, real love isn’t always loud.

Sometimes, it’s just two people on a rooftop, holding hands in the dark.

⸻

Letter Twenty-One. Sent.

Y/N,

You told me once that I wasn’t alone. I didn’t believe you then. But I do now. Because you saw me when I didn’t want to be seen, and you stayed.

I love you. In every version of me. Even the ones I haven’t met yet.

Always,

Bob

⸻

[salemwasnteverhere]

Yandere!Tentacle Monster x Fem!Lighthouse keeper! Reader

Damn that title long

Cws: Tentacles are referred to as more than one, reader is a bit of a perv for wanting to bang monsters, consensual somnophilia, excessive cum, cumflation, penetration, the monster is buff ngl 💦, this is supposed to be freaky/kinky :p also reader is morally grey

SFW

You've always loved solitude. Even when you were a young girl in foster care.

Fog, mist, rain, thunder, dark clouds, all of those added to the feeling of being enclosed where no one else was.

You don't like sunny days. Not in an emo way but in a need for a calm, and the blistering sun couldn't bring you that.

Fast forward 20 something years and you struggle to stay at a job because of people. Rude customers, loud kids, lazy coworkers. Hell you got fired from your local grocer because you threw a cabbage at some entitled asshole.

And by some luck, you weren't in cuffs yet. Fate? Prolly lol

You were reading the newspaper one day and saw an ad for a lighthouse keeper. It must have been urgent if it was in the paper 4 times.

The people you met for the job were shady as hell. But they offered to pay good for you to just take care of the lighthouse completely alone for 6 months.

They put you on a boat and shipped your ass out to an island hours away from the mainland.

It had the lighthouse (duh), a cabin for you, a very small forest, and beaches covered in driftwood and seaweed.

It was foggy, cold, and wet with no sun peeking through the clouds.

Perfect.

The people who hired you were eager to get off the island. So immediately after showing you the basics they ran off.

The cabin was old and rustic, with a few holes in the roof that were covered by aged duct tape.

There was an outdoor shower and the place used gas lamps for light.

But you enjoyed it. The solitude.

Now let's skip to two months later.

You got the hang of keeping the light on and keeping it fixed. The stairs definitely worked you out though.

You spent 80% of your time using the small workshop to repair the cabin. It eventually looked slightly livable.

Everything was completely normal

Until that day on the beach.

You were outside your cabin showering.

The outdoor shower didn't exactly have curtains so you were exposed to the beach it faced.

The hot water kept you comfortable in the cold weather and you were relaxed...until you heard a growl.

You assumed it was an animal and looked around when you saw something light purple disappear into the ocean waves.

Coral you thought just coral

You went on with your week like nothing happened but you always felt watched.

It wasn't until one night during a storm you felt it.

A storm had hit the island hard, it was freezing and your shitty blankets did little.

You barely managed to fall asleep when something warm engulfed you, arms and slimy embraces.

You screamed in shock and fear but your unwelcome bedmate held you harder and wouldn't let you move.

It was only after you calmed down that it relaxed.

Light purple skin was what you noticed when looking down. With scales in areas that were slightly darker.

The tentacles were wrapped around your legs tightly, writhing in certain areas.

You got a better look when your holder put you on your back and sat above you.

A humanoid creature with light purple skin and what seemed to be a jellyfish head sat on its actual head. It had no nose and completely white eyes, not to mention a gentle smile.

It cooed at you, dragging it's hands up your stomach and sliding up your bra.

Slimy and warm, that was it's skin.

You normally would have thrashed and kicked, but maybe it was the pheromones the creature left out, or how one tentacle pressed right against your cunt through your damp shorts.

But you moaned when it touched you. A soft, unashamed moan.

The tentacle at your shorts practically tore them off, panties included, and it slid up and down your slit and flicked against your clit.

You watch as it's hand fondled your tits and pinched your nipples, its eyes slightly lidded.

You let your body roam down it's chest and saw it didn't have a cock. It was kinda like a ken doll. But the tentacles must have the same effect as one when you saw white precum drip from the larger tentacles tip.

More tentacles held your arms and legs open while the tentacle squirmed into you, thick and struggling.

There wasn't a part of you it didn't fill. Your stomach bulged slightly as it didn't wait and immediately moved in you, wiggling before pulling out and slamming back in.

The cabin was full of lewd wet noises and your cries, along with the creature chirps and coos while it pet your head that night.

NSFW

There wasn't a second it didn't have a tentacle on or in you.

Despite its main body being in the water there was a tentacle wrapped around your legs that you never found the start of.

It had an iron grip and wouldn't come off unless the creature itself was nearby.

When the tentacle wasn't dormant it would rub against your clit through your pants or would be in you, gently drawing orgasms after orgasms until you begged it to let you breathe.

The creature was never gone for more than a few hours. And when it came back it came with gifts.

Shells, pearls, fish, jewelry it made or rusty jewelery it found on the bottom of the ocean.

You noticed it liked it when you wore the jewelry during sex, mainly due to how much rougher it was.

Then there was the slight fear of getting knocked up.

Every single time you had sex you would try and tell it to pull out but it would just smile and pet your head before cumming in you for the third time that hour. And you loved it.

Sometimes, when you were especially needy, you'd put on more of a show when showering.

Even touching yourself when you knew it was watching. The creature loved it.

You'd see it stand in the water and would beckon you closer, to which you happily obliged.

You'd meet in the water and it would kiss you roughly before lifting your legs around its waist and kept you above the water as it fucked its tentacles deep into you. The water mixing with the (possible) gallons of cum that spilled from you

One of your favorite things was waking up to its coos and growls.

You'd be held tight by its tentacles while it found shoved it's tounge in your cunt, hitting deep spots with its flexible prongs.

Other times it would wake up to you using one of its tentacles, whining when you couldn't get it to stay stiff by itself. It would act asleep and slowly stiffens the tentacle so you could have your fun.

What a perv you are

But then again the sun's gonna blow up one day so :p

It seemed to have infinite stamina and an infinite libido.

It could be the most inconvenient time ever and all you need to do is give it a look before your suspended in the air by your hands while it curls a smaller tentacle around your clit and fucks you with its thick one.

The creature was possessive before you knew it was there, especially when people dropped off your supplies.

But now that your it's? A whole new genre of possessive.

On time you had to keep a straight face while talking to someone cause the mini tentacle was rubbed right against your g-spot while somehow rubbing your clit under your skirt.

It even started biting you hard enough to leave marks.

--

Requests are open :)

[sugarrrvenomm]

even though the stars are blind // obi-wan x reader

hello h word for obi-wan nation ! yes the title is from the paris hilton song.

word count: 4k

summary: master kenobi lets you use his shower after a mission, among other things

You really think you’re imagining things when Obi-Wan asks you to stay behind after the briefing is over and offers you his personal water sonic to use rather than the communal one used by his men. It’s not the request itself that has you wondering if you’re still sane—you’ve never known him to be anything other than a perfect gentlemen—it’s the look on his face while he says it. Those grey-blue eyes narrow into something darker; moodier, and the corner of his mouth ticks up, so slightly you’d miss it under his beard if you weren’t already glancing down at his lips. 

After you obviously agree (even if you’re hallucinating the look in his eyes, you still want the privacy of his sonic), his com-link chimes, and the last thing he does before he saunters off to whatever part of the ship is calling for him, he stops by your side and tells you the code to his personal quarters, accent lilting while he takes your hand in his own and pretends to punch in the numbers on your palm. 

You wonder what he keeps in his sonic that makes him smell so good. The thought of being amongst his personal things, even mundane ones like soap, curls in your stomach and makes you sweat behind your knees as you walk through the Negotiator’s seemingly endless halls. It takes longer than you expect to find his quarter’s, but that’s most likely because you were too shy to ask a clone for directions to their general’s private rooms. When you finally reach his door, you’re glad no one else is in the corridor to see you walk in—you can can only the hope it’ll be the same when you walk out, with wet hair and fresh clothes. 

Unsurprisingly, Obi-Wan’s quarter’s are nearly spotless. The messiest part is the desk; an obscene amount of data-pads stacked and a few half-empty cups of caf decorating it. Aside from that, the only sign someone lives in here at all is the unmade bed—which just the sight of sends an illicit thrill through you. It’s surely gone cold by now, but you make yourself blush by imagining running your hand along the place where he lies at night, feeling the heated impression of him in the mattress. Obi-Wan is one of, if not the, most stressed Jedi you know. What does he do in this bed to relieve that?

The rush of heat that dives between your legs at the thought has you pressing your thighs together, and you dart to the refresher, not wanting Obi-Wan to return and find you staring at his bed and panting like a hound. 

After turning on the water sonic, you strip, and that feels illicit too. He’s got a basket with worn clothing in it, but after deciding it might be an overstep to toss yours in, you leave your dirty robes on the floor; picking up your tunic with a pointed toe and draping it over your panties so they’re not visible. 

In the sonic, you find out nothing in here is the reason Obi-Wan smells so delicious. Everything on his single shelf is GAR-issued, and smells of nothing. That doesn’t change the fact that washing your hair with his shampoo, and running your hands all over your body with the same soap he touches his own with doesn’t excite you. Just looking down at your feet and knowing he stands in this very spot, naked and wet, is enough to make you pulse between your legs. You spend a little too long massaging your tits, squeezing the flesh between your fingers and making your nipples tighten—but you don’t dare to actually touch yourself. Partly because you don’t want to use all his hot water, partly because you’re not sure you could keep quiet. So, you force yourself to finish up relatively quickly, turning off the water and calling a towel to yourself with the Force so you don’t drip onto the floors. 

You’re sleepwear comprises of shorts and a soft, oversized tunic. Normally, you’d go without underwear underneath, but this time you slide a pair on. Something about being around Obi-Wan makes you want to be proper—good. You don’t dare walk around his ship in your thin, tiny shorts barely concealing your pussy. Though, not even his influence can make you wear a bra. 

The wet ends of your hair soaking the shoulders of your shirt make you rub your towel over your head like a youngling, it’s not the normal way you’d treat your hair, but it’ll have to do. Of course, it tangles the strands something terrible, and you groan when you can’t quite pull your brush through a few stubborn spots. Prepared to give up, you gather your things and palm the ‘fresher door open—and there is Obi-Wan; sitting at his desk, legs spread wildly like the almost always are when he sits. He’s stripped down to his under-tunics, and you feel oddly endeared at the sight of his socked feet. 

“I’ll have to call you back, Anakin,” he says hand reaching for his com-link, eyes on you. 

“When?” The static voice of his former Padawan asks. 

“Later,” is all Obi-Wan says before he hangs up.

“Thank you,” you rush to say after the call disconnects. 

He keeps looking at you, eyes never dipping below your face, a single finger dragging along his bearded jawline. “Of course,” he offers simply, mouth curving up like it did in the briefing. “I hope it was to your liking.”

Even this small talk makes you blush; his presence overwhelms you. Nodding in response, you look down at the brush still in your hand, then back up with him. “Any chance they make GAR-issued detangler?” 

When your attempt at a joke actually lands, and he breaks into a full, chuckling smile, you breathe a sigh of relief and light up inside. You stomp down the urge to climb into his lap and lick his teeth. “I don’t think so,” he says, leaning forward in his chair. “But perhaps I could help—Force knows I’ve tamed the gundark’s nest of Anakin’s hair before. I’m rather handy with a brush.”

“Really?” You try not to squeak it out, but you’re sure it comes out that way regardless. More so, you hope he doesn’t see the way your toes curl in response to his offer. It’s all you can do not to squirm completely. 

Obi-Wan nods, tilting his head and smiling at you. “If you’d like.”

You nod, crossing your arms in front of you—which reminds you of the fact that you’re not wearing a bra. Obi-Wan stands and walks to his bed, sitting back against the headboard and making you lose your breath. Surely he’s not going to—

“Come here, darling,” he beckons, curling two fingers to signal you closer. When you take a step, he spreads his legs and pats the space between them. 

Dropping your bag, you climb onto the bed, mindful of your shorts riding up. One of your calves brushes his when you climb over his leg and that alone makes your breath quicken. When you sit, there’s inches of space between your bodies; of course, you imagine there’s not, though. You imagine you’re pressed as close to him as possible, feeling his strong chest against your shoulder blades. Looking down, your bare feet seem small in-between his. 

“Now, let’s see if we can get you sorted,” Obi-Wan mumbles, so close it almost makes you flinch. As you try to keep your breathing steady, you feel a hand cascade down your hair, and can hear him stroking the brush through the ends of it, working his way up a small section until the brush glides smoothly. It goes on like this for a few moments, him softly touching you without pause—until he reaches one of the knots, and you hear him grumble in response to the brush getting stuck. When he pulls it free, you hiss, and he murmurs back a cooing sound. “Delicate thing.”

You want to protest, but his voice lulls you away from the urge, as does the way he’s working the knot in your hair with his fingers, dragging strands out of the mess until you feel the brush against you again, and this time it runs through easily. 

“There we are,” Obi-Wan murmurs, and he sounds so pleased, like you had done something right; you can’t help but preen a little, smiling to yourself while he keeps brushing until he hits another knot. This time, he wiggles the brush free far gentler, making sure you feel no pain, and then he’s repeating the process from before, meticulously separating your hair until the brush can pass through. You both fall into silence as he works, and despite the heat between your thighs only burning hotter and hotter, his touch calms you until you’re so relaxed it’s almost as if you’re meditating. If you were paying better attention, you might be able to tell that at some point he’s brushed through all the knots, and has started randomly running the brush through your hair while you purr like a loth-cat.

“Feels good,” you murmur.

“Hm?” Obi-Wan hums.

“Haven’t had someone play with my hair in years—since I was a youngling, I think.”

There’s a sound, and you know without looking that it’s Obi-Wan setting your hairbrush on the small table next to his bed. It seems unnervingly loud, for some reason. You shiver when his hand brushes your hair back on one side, moving it to cascade down your back as he leans forward to murmur, “Is there anything else you’d like me to play with?”

All you can do is whisper, “Obi-Wan,” in the neediest voice you’ve ever heard come out of your mouth, and that seems to be all the confirmation he needs. You feel his hand press against your tummy, broad and warm even through your shirt, giving you goosebumps. He uses it to pull you back against him, erasing the space between your bodies just like you’d imagined earlier, but it’s still not enough. You want—need—to feel his skin, so you start to turn in hopes of getting his shirt off, but you’re stopped by an arm across your torso, with a thumb tracing the underside of your breast. 

“Relax. You’ve worked so hard today, done so well. Let me take care of you.” The words are spoken into your neck, and his praise makes you squirm. The arm holding you only tightens, while his other one reaches down and tugs down your shorts, leaving you in your panties that you only wore to be polite for him. His big hand cups your cunt, rubbing lazily with no intent other than to rile you up. It fucking works, and you claw at his wrist and whine. 

“Just—off,” you plead. 

Obi-Wan doesn’t listen, instead nuzzling his thumb against you until he’s putting pressure on your clit. “Or I could keep rubbing you like this; watch you soak the fabric.”

You blush, but let him do as he pleases until you can’t stand it anymore and pull down the underwear yourself. When you do, you can see the wet spot that’s more like a puddle you’ve left in them, making you shyly draw your legs together. Obi-Wan snickering behind you only makes it worse. 

“Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed about how needy you are,” he drawls into your ear, rubbing your thigh. “Let me see your cunt, pretty thing.” You let him part your legs, and have to reach down and dig your nails into his thigh when he slides his fingers along you, groaning a low sound as he does it. Even if you hadn’t seen the state of your underwear, you’d be able to tell you’re soaked by how easily he slides one of his large fingers inside of you.

It’s a single finger, but it fills you up so good you moan and writhe on it, rutting forward to try and get friction elsewhere. “My—my clit,” you mumble, eyes closed, head tipping back onto his shoulder.

“Of course, my darling,” Obi-Wan tells you, before slipping his finger our and dragging it up and adding another to swirl around the swollen bud, making you grit your teeth and arch your back. You feel like you’ve been wet since he looked at you in the briefing room—finally getting touched where you longed for it all this time has to careening to the edge startlingly fast, especially since Obi-Wan picks up on what you like easily, spreading your lips with one hand and keeping your clit vulnerable for him to rub steady circles on, every so often catching it between his fingers and squeezing gently. Every touch makes you gush—at least, it feels that way. 

Your legs begin to shake, and that’s when he pulls away. There’s no time to protest before he’s pulling you even closer, to speak hotly against your cheek. “I want your soaked little pussy on my face, darling.”

You groan at the thought, but with the way he’s dragged you closer, you can now feel the hard line of his cock digging into you, and you groan even louder when you imagine taking him into your mouth. Right now, there’s nothing you want more than to see what the great, composed, Master Kenobi looks like when he’s getting his cock sucked. You project the thought, and almost expect a remark about inappropriate use of the Force, but Obi-Wan just nips your jaw and asks, “You want that?”

When you turn your head, he finally, finally kisses you. It’s wet, and messy—but his tongue sliding against yours might be the best thing you’ve ever felt. You can tell he knows what he’s doing, and for some reason, that makes your pussy throb. 

“So much,” you answer against his mouth, and he hums a pleased sound before sucking your earlobe into his mouth. 

“I’m sure a clever girl like you can come up with a way for us both to get what we want, can’t you?” 

You feel his smirk against your skin, along with the way your ears burn. Still, you’re determined to please him, so you turn around to sit between his legs facing him. As soon as you make eye contact, he lunges forward to kiss you, but you retreat back out of his reach and pull at his hips until he takes the hint and inches down the bed until he’s laying down. With one more pull, he lifts his hips and you tug down his trousers—he’s not wearing anything underneath.

Spit pools in your mouth at the sight of Obi-Wan’s cock—it’s perfect, you think to yourself. Big enough to make your eyes roll back but not so big that you couldn’t take him without pain. It’s blushing pink at the tip and dribbling pre-come, messy and wet just like your pussy. You want to touch it so badly, to feel the warmth and weight of it, to feel the head of him streak your palm with pre-come, so you do touch him, taking him in hand softly and moaning quietly at how soft his skin is here.

A hand on your face pulls you out of your one-track mind, and you’re tilted up until you see Obi-Wan propped up on one elbow, staring down at you, cheeks pink, mouth smirking, one strand of hair hanging out of place. “Let me eat your cunt, sweetheart,” he rumbles, rubbing his thumb along your lower lip. 

You almost say yes, master—but just barely manage to hold it in. With his guiding hands, you crawl back up his body and try not to burn up in your shyness when he turns you around so you’re sitting on his chest, facing his cock. With a hand sliding up your back, Obi-Wan gently pushes you down until you’re forced to spread your legs and arch your back. You take a moment to gather yourself, puffing out a breath and washing the way the hairs around his cock move with it. 

Obi-Wan, however, needs no breather. He cups your backside and squeezes harshly. “You really should wear more traditional robes. I thought I was going to get myself killed today being distracted by you and your ass.” Language wise, it’s not the crudest thing he’s said to you tonight, but hearing Obi-Wan Kenobi admit he’s not above staring at your ass and getting turned on by it in the field makes you feel dirtier than ever. You spread your legs even further, and then nearly collapse on his chest at the feeling of his tongue licking a hot, wet line up your center before kissing your folds messily, teasing you. 

In response, you drag your tongue up the length of his cock, humming a happy sound when he twitches and pushes his hips up. When you take the head into your mouth, you drool all over it, making it messy immediately, coating it in spit and placing sweet kisses on the leaking slit. Obi-Wan moans against your cunt where he’s switching between dipping his tongue into you and sucking gently on your clit. You sink down, eyes watering the deeper you go. His cock is still perfect—filling up your mouth and tasting so good and being so pretty; taking it is just difficult enough to be a challenge, but not one that you don’t want to take on. Bobbing your head, you hollow your cheeks and hum around him as you press you hips back. You wonder if his face is getting as messy as yours is, dragging your lips off go him to sloppily jerk him off, using you other hand to drag your hair that’s now plastered to your wet cheeks away. 

You stop stroking him, but only to slide your hand down and cup his heavy looking balls, earning you the loudest groan you’ve gotten out of him yet. It’s almost like he’s more sensitive here than his actual cock. On a whim, you spit, foamy and warm, onto his balls before taking them in hand and rolling them in your palm, separating them with a thumb and massaging. An even louder sound is made against your cunt, so loud it vibrates against you and makes you gasp. Then, Obi-Wan closes his lips around your swollen clit and sucks so hard you see stars. It’s so overwhelming your body doesn’t know whether to push into or away from it, and you end up pushing up on Obi-Wan’s stomach, squirming and crying out, mouth hung open. 

He doesn’t let you go anywhere, though. With a durasteel grip on your thighs, Obi-Wan holds you down, keeping his mouth on your cunt, lifting his head when you try to shy away from him. He continues like this, sucking and licking and moaning, until you’re sure you’re about to make a mess and soak his beard entirely—and once again, he stops before you’re pushed over the edge. 

Your head’s still spinning when he gets himself out from under you and turns you around to face him; both of you kneeling on the bed. Obi-Wan brushes back your hair, cups your face in his hands, and pulls you in for a wet kiss, both of of you moaning at the taste of each other. When you reach for his jaw, you feel how wet his beard has become and mewl against his mouth. He tugs you closer, and his big cock rubs up against your shirt that you cannot believe you still have on, and separating from him for the one second you take to rip it off is torture. Now you feel his cock, hard and leaking, pressed against your tummy, making him let out the neediest sounds that go straight to your cunt, and so quickly it becomes not enough—you take him in hand and guide his cock between your legs, not inside of you, just stroking along your folds, soaking him and  grinding your cunt on his length. 

“Don’t tease me,” he gasps. He looks so fucking good like this—sweaty and disheveled with that one fucking hair hanging over his forehead—that you can’t deny him. You push him back on the bed and straddle him once more, but just as the head of his cock presses against you, his strong grip on your hips halts you from sinking down. Blinking, you look down at him and make a questioning noise. 

Obi-Wan looks at you just like he did in the briefing room. “Tell me you want it,” he says. 

“I want it,” you say automatically. 

“More.”

“Obi-Wan,” you whine, “Please, give me your cock. I want it so bad. I need you fuck me full of your cock.”

He lets you go, and your hips meet his with an obscene, wet noise. “Baby,” he groans, and you cry out at both the way he feels stuffing you full and at the new pet-name. You only sit on him like this for a few seconds before he sits up, making you feel even fuller, then he barrels you over so he’s on top, hiking your legs up to hook in the crooks of his elbows, staring down at you and panting. “Tight little pussy,” he groans. “Taking me so well—you look so pretty on my cock, darling. Is this what you wanted?”

You nod deliriously, bucking your hips to tempt him into moving, and he does, sliding out and back in far slower than you need him to. Still, at this angle, you can feel the hair above his cock drag rough and slow against your clit, so you arch you back and rake your nails down his. “Yes, yes,” you chant. “So bad.”

Obi-Wan picks up the pace, but just barely. “Is this what you imagined when I said you could use my sonic?”

Again, you nod, and he picks up speed.

“I could tell,” he murmurs, “You looked so shy, but I knew you’d have bent over the holo-table for me right then if I’d asked. Practically begging me to use your wet little pussy with the looks you were giving me.”

You had been so focused on the way Obi-Wan was looking at you in the briefing room you hadn’t given much thought to how you were looking at him. Perhaps you were giving him that kind of look; the kind that said you wanted him to spank you and come on your face. It wouldn’t have been inaccurate. He must take your lack of response as an admission, because he laughs and fucks you harder, finally pushing into you at the pace you need. You shake and moan, and he coos at you, “I know, baby,” before grabbing your hand and sucking the tips of three fingers in your mouth and then leading them down between your legs. “Touch yourself—give your needy fucking clit some attention. I want to feel your cunt throb on my cock.”

Doing as he says, you stroke and circle your clit the best you can as Obi-Wan fucks into you, slapping your hips together and moaning. With your free hand, you claw at his chest, groping one of his heaving pecs, which makes his hips stutter. The knot in your gut grows tighter and tighter, and the pulse between your legs becomes stronger and stronger until you can barely stand to keep moving your fingers, but you keep going, pushing yourself closer and closer to the edge, tightening your thighs around him, arching your back, chanting his name, “Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan.”

“That’s right, darling, come for me. Come all over this fat fucking cock,” he grits out, and just like the knots in your hair, he loosens the one in your stomach—and you come so hard you feel him wince with how fiercely you’re digging your nails into him. You curse and scream and quake as he doesn’t let up his thrusts, feeling as if he’s making your orgasm never-ending, until he buries himself deep one last time, and lets out the sexiest groan you’ve ever heard as he empties his balls inside of you, pumping you full of come. 

When Obi-Wan tries to slide out eventually, you don’t let him, and he doesn’t fight you. He only props himself up on one elbow and caresses your hair. “I think I’ll have to brush it again.”

---

ps girlies i didn't proofread this so if that shows im so sorry LMFAO

also i prommy ill write the dad thing next ok u have my word

[ryry-rebel]

Mafia Boss Sukuna

Mafia Boss Sukuna x fem reader

Warnings- Sex, Cussing, Mentions of killing

Word Count- 690

Pronouns- she/her the reader is female

Content- cussing, kissing, fluff, mentions of killing, smut, degration, pet names, penetration, slapping, aftercare, groping

My Masterlist -> Masterlist

Mafia Boss Sukuna who would murder anyone for you. He would burn the entire world down for you if it was you who asked. You say the word and whoever you want is dead. He would kill them however you wanted; your wish is his command. “I will tell my men to get rid of them tonight. You say the word and it’s done.”

Mafia Boss Sukuna who caters and gives into your every need. Nothing is too expensive for him. “Kuna look, that dress is just so beautiful.” “Put it on me.” You jumped up and down with excitement as you ran into the store to try the dress on. His generosity towards you went further than clothes. Jewelry? He’s got it covered. Are you craving a specific dish? He will order it and have it prepared for you.

Mafia Boss Sukuna who is so overprotective of you. He wants to be with you all the time, but with his job, that’s impossible. So, you are forbidden from going out without him or one of his most trusted employees with you. He wants to keep you safe from harm. “Baby, I know you want to go out, but I have enemies and I don’t want their disgusting hands all over what’s mine.”

Mafia Boss Sukuna who tortures anyone who wrongs you. “What did he say to you? I’ll have his head on a spike, and I’ll ship his body back to his family! Nobody hurts my girl.” If someone dared make you cry, other than him, they wouldn’t live to see another day. He would track them down and murder them with his own two hands. Their death would be slow and painful.

Mafia Boss Sukuna who lets you attend his meetings with him. “Master Sukuna, is this woman allowed in here?” “This woman is my lady, and you will treat her with upmost respect. She is to remain at my side.” Sukuna would sit in his big leather chair and pull you onto his lap. He will rub his fingers along your hips as he goes on with business. His hands will squeeze your plump thighs as he watches you wriggle in front of his associates. He will ask for your opinions on his business matters too. Most likely he won’t take your words into consideration, but he wants his underlings to have respect for you.

Mafia Boss Sukuna who claims you in bed. He buries his cock deep inside your cunt and thrusts his hips into yours with extreme force. “Look at you, taking my big cock like a good little slut.” “You are my little slut, aren’t you? Such a pretty little whore for this cock.” He would wipe your tears away as he continued to assault your little pussy. He would slap your ass until you were crying out his name. “That’s right baby, cum on my cock for me.”

Mafia Boss Sukuna who surprisingly gives the best aftercare. He would kiss up and down your body, making sure he tends to all the marks and bruises he left. “I didn’t hurt you too much did I sweetheart? I didn’t mean to be too rough with you.” He would run you a hot bath and use your favorite bath bombs. “I’ll wash you up baby, just relax for me, okay?” He would massage your aching muscles while he brushes your tangled hair. “You did such a good job for me.”

Mafia Boss Sukuna who has a soft spot for you and only you. Everyone knows Sukuna’s cold demeanor and vicious personality, but you get to witness his warmhearted and loving side. When he got you alone, Sukuna would shower you with praise and kisses. “You look so gorgeous today doll.” “You’re such a pretty girl, and you’re all mine.” He would wrap his arms around you tightly and pull you close as he places warm, gentle kisses to your forehead. At night he would cuddle you and whisper sweet nothings into your ear until you drifted off to sleep. “Sleep tight baby. I love you so much. You mean the absolute fucking world to me.”

[overtaken-stream]

Heyy,Can you do Zoro as a boyfriend? Sorry if that's too like creamy😭

Don't apologize! I probably have to say sorry if this is gibberish and makes 0 sense. I wrote this at night, so my eyes aren't seeing. I hope u like it

I feel like Zoro takes it upon himself to stay near you at the beginning of his journey with Luffy and the rest of the crew, doesn't matter whether you are able to defend yourself or not, his mind is only focused on two things: strength and how he is able to use that strength. Are you staying on a ship instead of exploring the island? Hope you dont mind his snoring. Are you leaving to buy some supplies you guys need to stock up on? He'll carry them and turn the trip into a workout. And if he is able to protect you from a battle you promised, wouldn't have happened? His smirk is suffocating and perhaps a bit bloody if the opponent was strong. Zoro doesn't purposely rub his muscles in your face. The man's not much of a flexer except when it comes to Sanji.

He does this even before becoming your partner. However, as the time all of you stay together, he slowly becomes sure of your powers/strength and doesn't stick to you as closely.

Zoro doesn't like arguing with you, mostly because you're the only person (aside from Sanji) who knows how to push the right buttons to make him lose his cool. During heated arguments, he tries not to raise his voice, but the man is almost a master at harsh jabs. He knows what will hurt you, and in certain moments, his tongue becomes as much of a weapon as the katana's he carries around his waist. It's always sure to stab into your heart and get you mad once again, but before you can start arguing, he walks out to calm himself as well.

Zoro's apology would come after 2-3 days. At first, he's getting used to being in your presence once again after the fight. He'll also never admit to the awkward turns he takes to avoid you, along with the cold shame he feels on those days. he'll apologize for the harsh words, but he won't go back on his opinion.

Zoro doesn't often speak about his feelings, so he gets mistaken for a coldhearted person by those who aren't familiar with him. However, just because he doesn't verbally express his love for you doesn't mean he isn't head over heels for you. Zoro just prefers small actions, such as pouring sake in your cup first or putting your weapon next to his katana's while he is taking a nap.

Not a fan of PDA, not because he doesn't enjoy your affectionate company, but because he is hilariously shy in "public." Try and teasingly slide your finger up his back, give a surprise kiss between his workouts routines out on the deck, and you will be able to feel the hot redness that spreads on his cheeks and tan shoulders.

Despite his dislike of PDA, Zoro lets you give him massages out on the deck until he has a satisfied smirk written on his face. In those moments, he doesn't care who sees you two. He focuses only on the feeling of relief your gentle fingers bring.

He becomes your responsibility whenever you two step off the ship though.

+ You make him shower 2 times a week, and that alone should be the proof of his love for you.

[hummingbird24220]

The Ace Effect (Part 1)

One Piece x Reader

I cant stop thinking about this man, the fanart i keep seeing doesn't help. I need a cold shower. I ship him with too many people (mostly myself tho ;)) (((I feel like Robin would understand)))

You’ve never been one to believe in fate or prophecy. Science is your thing—data, hypotheses, conclusions. So, when you stumbled face-first into the inexplicable, you reacted like any reasonable, well-educated person would:

You made a presentation.

"—and here," you said, tapping your pointer on the next slide, "we see Exhibit C: Ace and Mihawk. You’ll notice the contrast. It's the scar-tattoo-brood combo. Delicious. Balanced."

Robin sat across from you at the library table, sipping tea like this was a TED Talk she had paid to attend. “Hmm. You’ve done your research.”

“I had to, Robin.” You turned dramatically to face her. “I had questions. Big ones. Existential. Why is Ace so stupid hot? Why would he look good with anyone? Anyone at all? Why do I feel betrayed and like he's emotionally cheating on me with everyone else?”

She smiled. “And your conclusion?”

You clicked to the final slide, which was simply a photo you’d drawn of Ace shirtless, lounging next to Nami, Sanji, Vivi, Smoker, that one sexy fishman guy, and a sword. Not a swordsman. A literal sword.

The title: “Ace: A Versatile Flame. A Study in Universal Compatibility.”

“…I think it’s the freckles,” you whispered.

Robin leaned in slightly. “You may be onto something. They’re quite… whimsical.”

“I know, right?” you hissed.

-

Sanji had passed by earlier, caught a glimpse, and walked away muttering “What the actual hell” with a bleeding nose. Usopp asked if you’d consider putting him in a hypothetical ship chart with Ace, to “test the aesthetic,” and you did—he looked great. You added him to Slide 12.

Zoro saw the chart and left the room in silence. You think he was internally screaming. Good.

Luffy just said, “Cool drawing! I like the one where Ace is holding the cow,” and then left to go fight a cloud.

-

Robin leaned back, satisfied. “You’ve built a compelling case. Though you may have overlooked one important pairing.”

You blinked. “Which?”

She gave you a small smile. “You and Ace.”

Your brain did a full reboot. “I—what—I’m sorry, what?"

Robin pointed calmly to Slide 8, where you had accidentally drawn yourself next to Ace for a height comparison chart. He had his arm slung around your shoulders. You’d given yourself really nice eyelashes.

“…that was for scale,” you said weakly.

“Of course.” Robin sipped her tea. “And scale is important.”

Later that night, you sat on the deck with a sketchbook in your lap, muttering curses as you started a new drawing.

Ace, smiling at you.

Just you.

No Smoker, no fishmen, no sword.

Just you and him and those damn freckles.

And maybe… that wasn't such a mystery after all.

-

You were in full David Attenborough mode.

Hidden behind a barrel (for science), your notebook was open, pen poised, watching Portgas D. Ace interact with the crew like a charismatic apex predator in his natural habitat.

“He’s approaching the chef,” you whispered to yourself, eyes narrowed. “Posture relaxed. Smile: crooked, dumb, and weaponized.”

Sanji laughed at something Ace said.

“Interaction: Positive. Sanji is blushing. Is he blushing?? He’s blushing. Dear god.”

You scribbled frantically:

Sanji + Ace = Flame + Cigarette = FLIRTING?!?!?! (Possibly romantic tension? Check for more encounters. Monitor closely.)

Ace tilted his head back, laughing at one of Sanji’s quips, and Sanji offered him a lighter. Ace, ever the showman, lit his own finger and sparked the cigarette with a wink.

You dropped your pen.

“…That’s seduction. That’s actual seduction.”

Later, he moved on to spar with Zoro.

You ducked behind a barrel again, dramatically flipping the page.

“Subject has shifted zones. New environment: Combat flirtation???”

Zoro was annoyed, Ace was grinning, and there was so much tension you were practically melting. Or maybe that was just the heat. Or your soul leaving your body through your ears.

Zoro + Ace = SWORDS + FIRE = ENEMIES TO LOVERS? (The heat, the sweat, the shared aggression… it’s all there.)

You added an asterisk.

Note: Explore fanart potential. Maybe rain scene. No shirts. Very cinematic.

At some point, Ace caught your eye across the deck and waved. Big smile. Bright eyes. Pure sunshine energy.

You waved back, totally chill.

Totally normal.

Then ducked behind your notebook and started sketching.

Y/N + Ace = ????????????????? (Unstable variable. Dangerous. Possibly terminal.)

You drew little fire emojis and hearts and one tiny gravestone labeled "RIP Me (Death by freckles)."

You didn't even realize Robin was standing behind you until she placed a calm hand on your shoulder.

“You’re spiraling,” she said gently.

You screamed and nearly hurled the notebook into the sea.

“I—I wasn’t—Robin, I can explain.”

She looked at the notes. “Hmm. These equations are getting suspiciously self-incriminating.”

“…I’m a researcher.”

“You’re a simp.”

“…touché.”

[redsupulse]

Beloved

"Come on, I'm hungry my beloved. We must go."

Tim Drake x Reader, Interview with the Vampire inspired AU. Vampire!Tim Drake x Human!Journalist!Reader

MDNI 18+. Explicit Content

AO3 Link Here

Warnings: This fic is very much freak4freak. Possessiveness, jealousy. Mentions of unhealthy dynamics. Vague Mentions of stalking. References to drug use. kind of a sugar daddy relationship? Monster fucking (as much as vampires are monsters). Oral Sex. Reader is gender neutral in this one. Basically if you've ever read a devil's minion fic it's inspired by that ship. i don't go too much into the lore of vampire powers but maybe in another fic.

You awake to the feeling of being watched. Months ago, this would have startled you, sent you into a fight or flight tailspin that had you fleeing the country - if not the continent - in which you were currently residing. Months ago, a chase had begun, though at this point you are unsure of who's chasing who. Nowadays, the eyes in the corner are a comforting presence.  “Hey boss…” you tease with a voice drenched in sleep. The weight at the end of the bed is cold when you brush against it, but you don’t flinch away. It’s not the first time something freezing has crawled into your bed. Instead you just turn your head, “you haven’t fed yet.”

“I’ll feed later, beloved,” Tim says as he fully settles above you, “I wanted to see you first.” He presses a kiss to your face, then another, then another. You settle into a relaxing, lazy wake up… until he firmly wraps his arms around you and hauls you out of bed. 

Shrieking fills the room as you leave the warmth of your blankets into the cold night air, “Tim this is so fucked up!” You cling to him, but that just makes the cold worse. He just hums at you, like an asshole, before setting you on your feet in your bathroom. It’s only when you’re standing directly in front of it that you’re aware of the shower running, filling the room with steam. 

“Just because I said I wanted to see you first doesn’t mean we aren’t still going out.” He strips you of your sleep clothes, tossing them in the direction of the hamper and letting telekinesis do the rest of the work. The only care is to your necklace, which he removes delicately and sets in the dish on the counter. It’s easy to let Tim do the work, herding you into the shower, washing your hair. You bask in the warmth and in the claws scratching in your hair as he works the shampoo in. The water is hot enough that it warms even him - just for the moment - as he bathes you. “Don’t fall back asleep,” Tim pulls your head back from his shoulder to rinse the shampoo out, “this is going to be worse for you if you fall back asleep.” You huff at him, but follow his advice. Shaking off sleep is much easier when you’re no longer hiding in his neck. The rest of the shower is silent, as is Tim coaxing you out from the warmth and into a chair to do your hair. “I have an outfit picked out for you already, it’s in the closet.”

You leave Tim to get ready, dutifully dressing in the clothes he has set out for you. The tags have been cut out after a very memorable incident when you realized one of the shirts Tim bought for you was $150. It’s a point of contention in your relationship - on one hand being spoiled is nice, on the other hand it’s a complete mindfuck to be covered in expensive gifts all of the time when just under a year ago you were traveling around with only the clothes on your back and what you could hold. “Are you ready?” You stick your head back in the bathroom and see Tim compulsively touching up his hair.

“All good,” he scoops up your necklace from the dish on the counter as he walks over to you. It’s carefully clasped around your neck, then he takes a minute to fidget with the small details of how you look. At this point you let him do as he pleases - whatever he sees with his ancient eyes is beyond you. When he’s satisfied, he tugs the vial of his blood that hangs around your neck to pull you in to kiss. The heat from the showers worn off already, leaving him unnaturally cold again.

Your lips separate with a wet smack. Tilting your head back in invitation, you ask Tim “You want a snack before we go out?” 

A harsh tug to your necklace, “calm down, you’ll get what you want later.”  Tim uses his grip on the chain to tug you out of the bathroom - “come on now, I’m hungry and there’s a new band playing downtown.”

-

It’s easy to get a VIP table at any club when you own the island they operate on. You’re pretty sure all of them only have VIP tables in case you and Tim show up. He herds you into the booth, risen above the rest of the crowd with a full view of the stage on the back wall. Tim’s picked out one of the more lavish clubs on Night Island, one of the ones with intricate flooring and well maintained booths. You haven’t heard of the band that’s playing tonight, and frankly you doubt that Tim has either. “You will be my teacher,” he had whispered to you in the quiet dark one night early in your relationship, “teach me about what people do in this modern era.”

He’s an ancient vampire freak. 

He’s your ancient vampire freak. 

A wave of contentment hits you that is distinctly not your own. “Did you mean to send that to me?” You think extra hard in his direction.

An eye roll, a pinch to your thigh “maybe I wanted you to know how happy I am, beloved. Don’t be a brat.” Tim’s voice echoes in your head. The crowd below roars to life as the lights dim and the opening band takes the stage. He settles his hand on your upper thigh, mindlessly tracing shapes into your skin. At least you think they’re mindless - who really knows with Tim. It’s probably just to rile you up. The opening band is okay, but you’re distracted the entire time. “It's rude to not pay attention,” Tim whispers to you with a harsh squeeze, “people paid good money to come to this show.”

“Well it’s not like you paid anything,” you snark back, despite knowing that you’re definitely walking headfirst into a nasty punishment. When you turn to look at him, Tim has a far off look in his, a usual sign that he's connected to that weird vampire super network he’s mentioned before but never explains. 

“I’ll be back in a moment, beloved,” a kiss to your cheek and then he’s gone. You shrug and turn back to the show happening below - you don’t feel like starting that particular fight right now. It’s too good of a night. The rest of the opening set passes by with no reappearance from Tim. The overhead lights come back on

Someone taps you on your shoulder and reflexively you jump. “Sorry,” a man says, “I was wondering if you needed anything to drink.”

“Uh, a cosmo, I guess,” usually Tim orders your drinks, since you are horrifically indecisive. He also has a running spreadsheet of every drink you like from every bar on the entire island, and which drinks he prefers tasting on your blood after. The perks of dating someone who over analyzes everything. The man nods and walks away without further conversation and you finally relax. It’s only a few moments later when weight settles next to you again, paired with the clink of a glass hitting your table. You turn, expecting Tim, and instead it is the man from before - “hello?”

“Well you looked a little lonely sitting over here all by yourself so I thought I would keep our VIP company…” his voice trails off. It’s probably because you have the most confused face on the planet. The audacity is shocking. He tries to course correct when suddenly his whole body goes rigid. When he rises from the booth, it’s less like he stands and more like he’s dragged away from you. When you look around to see if anyone notices, you realize that the entire room has frozen. Instinctually, you try to get up to follow him, but it’s like your feet are rooted to the ground.

Panic starts to scratch its way through you. There are very few vampires who are capable of this level of feat and you don’t want to particularly encounter any of them-

Then Tim rounds the corner. Oh. Right. He can do that. He snatches up a handful of napkins off of a table as he walks towards you, carefully dabbing at his mouth. Fresh blood flows through his veins, bringing a flush to his face. When his hands cup your face, he’s borderline feverish. Your back hits the wall as he hurries into your space. The kiss is hungry. He’s trying to eat you alive. He’s trying to mark his territory. You moan into him, and all at once your body is free to move again. Your hands come up to claw at his blazer as you kiss back.

Suddenly your head swims. You need to breathe air. Sometimes you think Tim forgets. One of your hands lets go of his jacket to slap him hard on the back. When he pulls back, you can tell that pissed him off, but then you gasp for air and he relaxes. “Sorry beloved.” He’s not that sorry. His hands move from your face to your hair, pulling your head back but preventing you from concussing yourself on the wall behind you. Tim trails his lips down your face, absolutely covering your neck. The closer he gets to your pulse, the more you whine. “Do you want something?” the cocky son-of-a-bitch taunts.

“C’mon boss. You can literally read my mind,” he huffs a breath against your neck but doesn’t deny it. For a second, there’s just the tease of fangs against your neck, then the world shifts and you're dragged forward into Tim’s lap. His arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against him. A moment of disorientation, then sharp pain courses through you. Perfect, beautifully sharp pain. You’re glad that Tim’s frozen the room around you, there’s no way you could have kept quiet with his fangs in your neck. The swoon hits and you grind down into his lap, feeling him straining beneath you. He’s practically snarling as he drinks from you in deep gulps. “Tim…” you whine.

Next thing you know metal creaks behind you, then there’s a loud crash. Tim pulls away from your neck with one last drink, “down, now.” You blink at him in confusion - the blood loss really doesn’t help with your ability to keep up, but you normally wouldn’t have it any other way. Carefully, you move back, instinctually trying not to hit your head on the table as you crawl to the floor.

The table that is no longer behind you. It’s been ripped up, bolts and all, and thrown into the walkway next to you. That really shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Tim tears at his belt with such a ferocity that you think he might have actually just ripped the belt loops off of his bants. You drop back onto the floor with little care for your knees. Your hands rise up to help him pull his dick out when your body freezes again. “Relax,” he whispers as he strokes himself, “you just need to sit there and be pretty. Let me do the work.” 

“Okay,” you smile up as he threads a hand into your hair. Without even thinking about it, your mouth drops open obediently and he drags you forward. The tip of Tim’s cock slides into your mouth, shallowly at first, but slowly pushing deeper and deeper. He moans as he works your head up and down, loud and unashamed of his pleasure.

“Beautiful thing,” he coos at you, “look at you.” His hand that isn’t in your hair slides down your neck, stopping briefly to press at the bite mark on your neck that is still slowly leaking blood, before tugging on the chain of your necklace. “All mine, aren’t you?” 

You can only hum around the intrusion in your mouth. Tim’s hips buck up at the stimulation, pushing himself further in your throats. Tears well up in your eyes as his nails dig into your skull, sending sweet pleasure-pain coursing through your veins; he’s losing some of that carefully maintained control as you get him off. He only lets be smug about it for a few moments. One of his legs inches forward until it presses between your thighs - suddenly drawing your attention to how turned on you are. Without any control, you rut your hips into the press of his calf. “I know beloved,” he soothes as you whine. “You just can’t help it, can you? You love being mine. You may throw your little tantrums and go running off but you always come crawling back to me.” Maybe it’s your garbled response, or your running thoughts, but Tim thrusts once, twice more and cums into your throat. He tugs you back and off of him by your hair. 

The two of you pant in the quiet of the still frozen room for a moment when how turned on you are wins out over your common sense. Your hands reach up to grasp his pants wantonly as you grind into his leg. Above you, he tsks in disapproval - you rise to your feet like a puppet. “None of that now, you can wait until we get home.”

“Oh come on! Just one-” 

Before you can protest too much, Tim rips into his wrist and presses it to your mouth. “Don’t whine, drink up and then we’ll go.” Color explodes on your tongue, and you clamber to drink it like it is the sweetest nectar. It’s just the briefest drink, enough to tease. The wound closes too soon, then Tim is tugging you up and out of the club.

The world springs back to life as you exit. For a brief moment, the bouncer at the door looks startled at your sudden appearance, but he seems to brush it off quickly enough. The people on Night Island don’t get paid to ask questions about the mysterious owners. Tim’s hand stays on your lower back as you walk back to your car, only leaving when he opens the car door for you to climb inside. He settles into the driver’s seat with a practiced coolness, like he didn’t just get his dick sucked in a nightclub after killing a man. One of his hands - now warmed with the recent meal - intertwines itself with yours, “let’s get home now, beloved.”

[chiacanwritesometimes]

quiet bucky headcanons

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

ship: no ship, just bucky :)

word count: 1.1k

summary: a collection of headcanons post TFATWS, including but not limited to: nightmares, socialization and the winter soldier.

author’s note: i’ve been dealing with a little creative block, so this helped me ease out of it. i like writing for bucky, because it helps me connect a lot with myself. this one isn’t so romance involved, but more so things i think would happen to bucky post blip and post steve leaving. i delve into topics of nightmares and self harm in this fic, so please do not interact if these topics bother, trigger, or make you uncomfortable.

===========

there are two voices in his head. one of them, james buchanan barnes. a sargent, a kind man, and a soldier out of time. the other, him. the scary thing was not that the winter soldier spoke to him on occasion, but that he couldn’t distinguish the differences between the two voices. it scared him to think that he was the winter soldier; to think that he was no longer the host for the parasite, but the parasite becoming the host altogether.

taking his metal arm off helped a lot. despite it being a different arm from the one that traumatized him so, it still felt so similar. the hum of the metal, the cold touch of the fingers, the whirring of movement; it was all too familiar.

he wasn’t not careful, but he didn’t seem to pay attention when doing mundane tasks. he wouldn’t notice when he would burn himself when cooking, or when the shower water was too hot. he felt it, sure, but it’s not like there would be any lasting impact. aside from the small scarring, there was little to no proof that he was capable of hurt. he felt as if he was playing with fire (in more ways than one), trying to see how far he could get away with this curse. he wasn’t an alcoholic, but he drank more than humanly possible. he wasn’t a pill abuser, but he would take two pills too many. it wasn’t abuse, honestly. that is, his body physically didn’t allow for abuse to happen. the nightmares, though. the nightmares were a whole different issue.

he would often wake up to the screams of his victims, his vision red with guilt, red with anger, red with blood. the irony was that it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling; feeling as though he wasn’t in control of his body. its one he was pretty used to, so it was almost humorous that it was self inflicted this time. his dreams would start off normal, wether it be memories with steve or just weird dreams that we all have. little clues would litter around; a star on people’s sleeves, faces covered with a weird shadow, people getting handsy with him, their clothes drenched in red, and eyes. eyes everywhere. eyes on the walls, on his hands, on the faces of people he knew. even though he wasn’t able to see their expressions, he knew they were all the same. pure, unabashedly-stricken with horror. he would run to a safe corner, only to be flooded with eyes and hands everywhere. strangely, there would be no noise in the beginning. no rustle of clothes, no evidence of struggle against him. that was, until he fought back. as soon as he landed his first punch against the flock of arms, the screams would come all at once, like banshees. he would cover his face with his hands, but that of course proved of little aid. they would rip his hands away, pin them against the wall, and leave him with the sickly and sticky residue of oily and grimy hands. the cacophony of noise would wake him, often with screams of his own. he would shakily walk to the kitchen, not bothering to clean up the blood on his hand from self inflicted wounds. he’d get a glass of water, and recite the names of people he’s met.

steve, sam, natasha, t’challa, okoye, shuri, raccoon…

he would keep going until he couldn’t think of anyone else, or until he felt his eyelids grow heavy. he didn’t dare return to his room, rather spend the rest of the night on the couch.

after steve left, he truly felt alone. of course, he was alone in hydra, alone in the years before steve found him. but he felt betrayed that steve left him. “till the end of the line”. he didn’t know the line ended with leaving him stranded in an unkind world, a cold, cold world. he was left to live the rest of his days alone, to wake up each day alone, to walk this world alone. life’s biggest joke was making him a super soldier, thus doubling his life span. after the events of sam confronting the senator, he needed to lay low. gone where the days were he seemed to be fighting a new villain every week, and the calm and quiet world frightened him. on days where the lazy afternoons lulled his heart to feel warm, he walked. he walked, and walked, until he reached parks, woods, nature. when in parks, he would sit in a bench, watching all the people go by. sometimes, someone would sit next to him. very rarely, they would make conversation. but when they did, he tried not to shut them out so fast. he was kindest to the elderly folks who would sit next to him, and ask what a handsome young man is doing there by himself. he would always answer the same.

“getting my mind off of things.” they would chuckle, and pat his leg.

“psh. a boy like you should be going out, seeing the world and meeting women. or men, if that’s what you youngsters do now.” they tease, winking. he would smile softly. how it hurt that they were the same age, but in totally different circumstances.

“is that what you did?” he asked one man, with a decorated veteran hat. he looked kind and frail, something he felt often were hand in hand when it came to the type of people he attracted.

“of course. i met my wife in france, you know. i don’t think you would like french girls, you seem too calm.”

“one way to find out.”

“yeah, yeah. join the army, or learn a language. before you know it, you’ll look like me and wish you could’ve done more.”

“what’s the one thing you wish you would’ve done?” he asked, his eyes looking towards the older man.

“mmm.” he took a moment to think, his finger resting on his chin. “meeting my wife sooner.”

after conversations like that, he would try to socialize more. of course, within his own age group. which, unfortunately, meant senior citizens. he didn’t mind, though. in fact, he liked that. he felt that talking to them calmed him down, and he enjoyed that they could bond over music, films, and books that he grew up with.

at the end of the day, he would return to his cold apartment, and fall asleep in an empty bed.

his heart though, was less empty. yes, it was less empty indeed.

[detectivelokis]

❓️+ Charlie how did you feel about Carlos flirtinv with you in the middle of a zombie outbreak?

“This is probably a little dumb, but I kinda liked it? I dunno, we were always stationed different places around Raccoon City and Umbrella, but I had noticed him in passing and thought he was cute. So, despite the horrors, a little flirting put a pep in my step, so to speak, and gave me even more incentive to survive. Is it - is it wrong to want to live just so you can get laid afterwards?”

[bedoballoons]

I wanna request smthng simple,,,

Any character with user that naturally have a really hot body temperature plz (on my knees)

This is actually right up my alley, I always run warmer compared to everyone else! I love it, thank you so much for your request and I hope you enjoy <3

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ🍂𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ🍂

{༻~To hawt~༺}

CW: Suggestive fluff! MDNI! Mentions of being in the shower together and multiple other scenarios! (Pet names: Lyney: Mon amour, Diluc: My dear, Albedo: My love,

(Includes: Lyney, Diluc, Albedo,and Wriothesley!)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

𑁍༄Lyney:

You tossed and turned in bed, feeling like you were melting under the hot covers...when had the cold night air turn into muggy warmth. You lifted the blanket off of yourself, almost gasping at the relief the cooler air brought to your body, now if only Lyney could take the rest of the blankets so they weren't touching you at all, then you might just be able to-

"M...mmon amour?"

"Oh no did I wake you Lyney?"

"No, its just really cold out and I could feel the blankets moving. Why are you in uncovered? You're going to freeze to death. Here let me tuck you in."

"No no, that's okay! Ha, I was actually feeling warm!"

"..." He paused for a second, contemplating wether you'd actually meant your body temperature was running higher than a normal person's would...or if this was actually due to some suggestive dreams. The second answer left a bit of room for flirting, even if it was the middle of the night he'd never miss the opportunity. "Mon amour, if you are ever feeling overheated...you can always ask me for help~"

𑁍༄Diluc:

Diluc pulled back from the water the second it hit his skin, feeling like he'd just been hit with a bucket of ice water,...when he said he wanted to take a shower with you...he hadn't expected that to mean a cold one. "Ahem...could we turn up the heat of the water? I can't imagine what use we have for a cold shower at this moment in time."

"It's not cold though, this is my normal shower temperature. Actually it's a little warm for me." You smiled at him brightly, rubbing shampoo into your hair while he stared back at you in shock...how could water that felt like it had been shipped right from the dragon spine streams...be what you shower in everyday? "Diluc...?"

"...is it because you're to hot?"

Your eyes widened at his question, soap suds running down your soft skin as his face turned red, he hadn't meant it the way it sounded, but now of course he couldn't take it back, especially since the both of you were currently naked in front of eachother...trying to unsay something like that wasn't going to work in this situation.

"...."

"....."

"Just to hot to handle I guess."

"Yes, yes you are my dear."

𑁍༄Albedo:

"Here you go my love, please keep warm with it." Albedo draped his coat onto your shoulders, hoping to heat you up while the two of you watched the subtle snowfall of dragonspine. He wasn't sure how you hadn't started shivering already, usually humans would be freezing about now, but you actually didn't seem bothered in the slightest.

"Awe you don't have to. I'm actually not cold at all if you'd like to keep it." You snuggled up closer to him, emphasizing your body heat as your warm hand slid into his delicate cold one...you really didn't seem affected by the snow. How very interesting. "We've been together for awhile now and I've noticed you always tend to run warmer than others. Is there a reason behind this? Perhaps somewhere in your family lineup your relatives bonded with that of a pyro slime..."

"What in teyvat are you talking about? I highly doubt any of my relatives had relationships with pyro slimes, I just have a high body heat and being near you doesn't help." Your heart instantly picked up pace as your words slipped out before you could stop them...when had you gotten flirty?

"I suppose it would be a slimy situation either way then hm?"

"A-a-albedo!"

𑁍༄Wriothesley:

"How would you like your tea?" His grace set out a cup of sugar, excited to hear what kind of ways you liked to mix up the delicious drink. In truth this was a incredibly important question to him, after all it's his favourite beverage and he makes it often, knowing your order will tell him more about you and allows him to make it just the way you like from then on. He only hoped you wouldn't get tired of it soon after he started serving it to you..

"Hmm a couple spoonfuls of sugar and lots of ice!"

"...ice?" His ears perked up, attention fully trained on you...he simply couldn't imagine why someone would want to put ice into their hot tea. To cool it down? But wouldn't it loose it's flavour, leaving it more like a tea flavoured water instead?

"Mhm! Iced tea is so yummy and it makes it harder for my body to overheat!"

"...iced tea. Do you normally use ice as a means to cool yourself off?"

"...yes."

"Interesting, I'll have to remember that~"

"Remember that for what???"

"Nothing."

"Wrio??"

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚~Have a nice day~*⁠.⁠✧

[a-gassy-antelope]

B.O.B SHIPS AND SHOWERTIME

-Winnix: Dick is a morning shower-er after his morning workout. Lew wakes up roughly around the time Dick is done showering. They don't shower together but about 40% of the time there is a morning fuck just before Dick gets out and Lew begins his shower routine.

- Baberoe: Gene always showers after his shift at the hospital with all the lights off, in complete silence. Babe is a morning shower person and blasts music. They rarely shower together and if they do, it's adorable cuddle time. Occasionally a shower fuck.

-LuzToye: they shower together regularly, it's not a sexy thing it's just their routine. Probably night time shower-ers. A great place and time to discuss the day and their plans. Although they can be disgustingly cutesy and cuddly.

-Webgott: Web is a very thorough bather, especially considering his body hair. He washes between his toes, scrapes under his nails, shampoos twice. Lieb is the type to have expensive products for his hair but at the same time doesn't think he needs to scrub his legs or feet. They used to shower together (which usually lead to fucking) until one day Lieb was brushing his teeth in the shower and spat his toothpaste out onto Webs feet and didn't understand why Web was upset. Lieb is not allowed in the shower with Web anymore. He sticks his head into the curtain like a dog begging to be let inside.

-Harry and Kitty: Harry washes Kitty's hair and gives a full scalp massage. She is spoiled and knows it and deserves to be. After they have children, Harry knows that's Kitty's time to herself without being nagged, so he never comments on the fact that she uses all the hot water. He showers with cold water.

-Muck and Malarkey: they're disgustingly sweet. Also often fuck in the shower. But it's a gamble to see if one of them farts and ruins the whole ordeal.

- Speirton: They fuck nasty in that shower. Until the water goes cold.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

Morning News with Asmi 14 Oct '24

OOPS I FORGOT TO MAKE A POST YESTERDAY AND SO I GUESS 13TH OCTOBER WILL REMAIN A MYSTERY FOREVER. AAAAAA. ANYWAY HI IT'S TECHNICALLY MORNING OF 15TH TODAY BUT IT'S TOO EARLY TO CARE IT'S 14TH IN TEXAS MMKAY.

1. HURRICANE UPDATE: PEOPLE ARE NOW SHIPPING THE TWO HURRICANES. THERE'S FANART BASED ON THE VAGUE FACE SHAPES THEY MADE?? EVERYTHING IS FINE.

2. I MANAGED TO SURVIVE A VERY SMALL BIT OF THE SPICIEST CHIP IN THE WORLD EVEN THOUGH MY FRIEND WHO LIKES SPICY FOOD ATE THE SAME SIZE TEENY BIT.

3. THE BIRD, REDDIT, FLEW BACK HOME TO ITS HUMANS ON SUNDAY?? ITS HUMANS WERE THE CONSTRUCTION WORKERS FOR THE PLOT NEXT DOOR? SO... THE BIRD JUST WANTED A GODDAMN NIGHT AWAY AS A HOLIDAY WHILE ITS HUMANS WERE SEARCHING FRANTICALLY FOR IT?? IM

4. MY FRIEND INTRODUCED ALIEN STAGE TO ME LAST NIGHT (YEAH THREE OF US JUST RANDOMLY HAD A SLEEPOVER ON A MONDAY EVENING ART SCHOOL IS FINE WE'RE FINE) AND AAAAAAAAAAAAARGH IVAN MY BELOVED AAAAAH SUA AAAAA MIZI (FOR OUR PRINTMAKING CLASS, THE FRIEND--THE SAME ONE WHO THOUGHT TUMBLR WAS DEAD--MADE FANART OF THEM) OH NAAAAAAY CLEMATISSS AAAA

5. NORTH KOREA IS ABOUT TO ATTACK SOUTH KOREA APPARENTLY?

6. SOMEONE NAMED DAVID ALABA HAD AN INJURY WHICH MIGHT AFFECT HIS CHANCES AS REAL MADRID. WHAT THE FUCK IS REAL MADRID? FOOTBALL? CAR RACING? BASKETBALL? YAHTZEE?

7. I FINALLY LEARNED HOW TO PLAY UNO AND I WON THE FIRST PROPER GAME I PLAYED AND IT WAS OF UNO FLIP IM A GENIUS

AND NOW FOR THE WEATHER AND I SWEAR I WILL NOT FORGET ANY CONTINENTS THIS TIME

1. Australia: Hot and stinky. Just like me. I didn't shower yesterday.

2. Asia: Wet. Water. Wet wet sploosh. But not the ao3 way.

3. North America: Hurricane gay porn season I guess.

4. South America: Cloudy with a chance of moqueca.

5. Antarctica: ...still green. I wonder why my brain said piss-coloured. Green isn't piss. I mean. Piss isn't green. It's too early for this.

6. Europe: COZ IT'S TOO COLD FOR YOU HERE AND NOW SO LET ME HOLD BOTH YOUR HANDS IN THE HOLES OF MY SWEATER

7. Africa: The sun peeks out uwu from clouds

AND THE ANSWERS TO SATURDAYS CROSSWORD:

1. Baby food that adults can be allergic to: Milk. Well. It's not an allergy, it's an intolerance. Which involves different biological processes and not being able to digest it rather than the body reacting to an allergen. Shhhh. I never claimed to be smart.

2. Makes shitty copper: El-Nair (thanks @arkytiorlecter for that wild ride)

3. A condition that causes strong reactions to panic and pain at certain sounds: Misophonia (ily mad thanks for educating me @falling-raine)

4. A decaying virtual room of insanity orgies from the 10's: Tumblr

5. With ____, anything is possible: BARBIE!

IM TOO LAZY TO MAKE A CROSSWORD SO INSTEAD HAVE THE LESBIANS I PAINTED FOR MY PRINT-MAKING (MY OC'S)

AND BANGALORE PALACE WHICH I VISITED ON SUNDAY:

I LOVE YOU FORGIVE ME FOR MY NEGLIGENCE HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY/NIGHT MAGGOTS OF MINE

[yoitsjay]

hello hello, i saw your requests are open!!! (i got so excited)

might i request some tech x f!jedi reader where they start by just working on the marauder together. and like over time both of them get more comfortable with each other and start opening up to one another. then one night after a battle on her homeworld they finnaly realize they have mutual feels and kiss? thanks sooo much!!

i hope you have a great day/night!!!!!!!

Yes requests are always open! Feel free to request any time 😊

This is so cute, enjoy!

Don't Want You Hurt

Pairings: Tech x Fem jedi! Reader

Summary: you were on your homeworld fighting droids when you got swarmed by more separatists. You almost got hurt and Tech realizes he can't hide his feelings or concern for you any longer.

Warnings: cannon violence, fluffiness, reader gets hurt, kisses

Word count: 1,992

As a padawan you were faced with many hardships, you were only a child when you were thrown into the clone wars. Your master Aayla Secura taught you all she knew while also teaching you the harsh faces of battle and how to deal with the death that followed.

But you were an extremely gifted jedi and the council knew this. You had rare force abilities that not many jedi had anymore, life force healing as well as battle meditation. Aayla taught you how to harness those capabilities and amplify them without harming yourself.

You had passed your trials when you had turned 20 and often assisted Aayla’s battalion while you waited for your own. However that never happened, and instead you were told that you would be assigned to an experimental clone unit.

When you first joined them you felt very out of place, you tried bonding, amongst other things but it didn’t really get you that far, so you just focused on missions. You only ever really spoke to Hunter when it was about planning, since you were their commanding officer they did have to listen to you.

It had taken a while, but the way you fought so fiercely and protected many of them from harm, they started trusting you and actually holding conversations with them. Tech especially had asked you many questions once he got comfortable around you.

You were currently on Coruscant doing some repairs on the Marauder as well as getting it fueled up. You were out of your armor and instead wore a thin tight pair of workout shirts and a sports bra, sweat dripping down your back as you worked outside the Marauder.

You didn’t know why it was so hot outside, but you heard the news broadcasters mention something about heat flashes for a week so that could have been it. “Y/n i need your abilities to lift up the new hyperdrive.” Tech requested as he stepped out of the ship, you stood up, wiping the sweat of your brow as you nodded.

The hyperdrive had been damaged in a battle, you managed to get it repaired in order to jump but had to stop in Coruscant to get a new one.

You closed your eyes and with both hands you reached out, using the force to pull out the old and busted hyperdrive before replacing it with the new one. You could feel Tech’s eyes on you as your muscles flexed and you grunted before standing up straight stretching out your arms.

“Okay i’m gonna go take a break.” You told Tech, offering him a smile as you walked back onto the Marauder, graning as you slumped down onto the cold floor of the bunk room. Crosshair poked his head in, smirking as he saw you on the ground ass up.

“hot sweetheart? i bet i can help” he flirted, but you just groaned and flipped him off, pushing yourself upwards before getting off the ground. “I just don't get how all of you can still be in your armor while I'm dripping sweat down my back and thighs.” You huffed, walking out to the little fresher in the Marauder. Tech had walked inside, watching you slink into the fresher before shutting the door.

He looked over at Crosshair who was snickering to himself before he entered the cockpit.

By the time you were sweat free and dried off from your shower, Hunter and Wrecker were back with a new mission and fresh rations. So you got dressed.

You had long forgotten standard jedi robes in favor of hard plastoid armor which was even painted to match the bad batch’s armor. Granted you still had significantly less armor then Hunter or the others since you still needed that added mobility, but you had a chest plate, pauldrons, arm bracers and lower leg armor, leaving your lower abdomen to above your knees more vulnerable.

They had tried to get you to wear a full set but you just wouldn’t budge on it, always arguing back that if any armor hindered your movements you could put the team at risk, and you always had your lightsaber to deflect shots.

“We have a new mission, boys- and Y/n.” Hunter spoke up as he entered the Marauder, you rolled your eyes, but followed him into the cockpit. “We're being asked to travel to Onderon since they reported some separatist activity. So we’re gonna destroy it.” Hunter explained, however your eyes went wide.

“Onderon?” You repeated, Hunter nodded. “Yeah? Why what's up?” he asked. You sighed, sitting down in the cockpit as you rubbed the back of your neck. “It's just- that’s where I was born… I haven't been to Onderon since… since I was a baby.” You started, shaking your head. “I’ll be fine, it's just… kinda crazy.” You muttered.

Tech turned to look at you, raising an eyebrow before he spoke up. “Why is it crazy?” He asked, you turned to look at him before sighing and leaning back in your seat. “It’s nothing, seriously I'm fine.” You stated, not wanting to really talk about it anymore.

But you had a bad feeling growing in the pit of your stomach.

-

Turns out you were right about the bad feeling bit.

After some scouting you found the separatist base outside of Onderon’s city but it was empty. You decided to do some solo scouting and told the rest of them to stay back and watch your back in case anything had happened, but eventually you slipped out of view.

What they didn’t see was you getting knocked out by droids, your double bladed lightsaber was taken, and force blocking cuffs were put on your hands as you were taken prisoner inside the base.

Hunter knew something was wrong when thousands of droids emerged from the forest at once and walked into the facility, so he, Tech, Wrecker and crosshair scaled the wall of the base when the coast was clear and started searching for you.

“I can’t believe we captured a jedi!”

“General Grievous will be so excited!”

“Maybe I'll get promoted!”

The battle droids conversed, and Hunter raised his hand and pointed in a direction, Tech followed where he was pointing, eyes widening as he saw you, suspended in the air with your arms and legs bound.

“We have to get her.” Wrecker whispered, Tech nodded in agreement as he lowered the visor part of his helmet and surveyed the area as Hunter came up with a plan.

You on the other hand were starting to wake up, a sharp gasp leaving your lips as your eyes flew open.You pulled at your restraints, growling at every droid that passed by you. “Let me outta here you dung heaps! I swear to the maker when my men get me out of here I'll sever all your heads!” You shouted angrily.

This caught Tech’s attention, and he couldn’t help but smile as his brothers chuckled.

However before they could begin their plan, a lone fighter ship had entered the atmosphere and flew down into the base. Emerging from it was none other than grievous himself. You spat at his feet when he reached you, narrowing your eyes as he roughly grabbed your jaw.

“My my, what a fine specimen… you’ll be a wonderful addition to my collection.” he stated. Igniting one of the lightsabers he held.

“Wait!” You exclaimed, and he paused as he held the green blade to your neck. “If you're gonna kill me, why not make it fun? Let me down and give me my lightsaber and let me challenge you. If you win you kill me, if I win- well- I win.” You breathed out, turning your head away as you closed your eyes, fully prepared for him to just cut off your head.

“Yes… yes I will grant you this request.” Grievous said, before releasing your restraints. You dropped to the ground with a thud, and a droid waked over, tossing your saber to your feet. A circle of droids was made, and now you and Grievous stood in the middle.

He ignited all four of his lightsabers, but you had yet to ignite yours. You circled each other, but as you did you unclipped your chestplate and pauldrons, letting them fall to the ground.

Grievous then charged you, but you dodged his quick and angry blows, ducking, jumping and just overall avoiding his swings. You glanced up, catching the flash of a rifle. You grinned, knowing your men, your friends had these droids surrounded.

As Grievous swung his sabers at you you finally ignited your dual saber and blocked the attack, however he had only attacked with three sabers, using the fourth to stab you in the abdomen, You let out a choked sound of surprise, clenching your teeth as you closed your mind before calling on the force to push him away before you jumped back.

Pain burned through your abdomen, but you didn’t let one stab cripple you, or kill you. You then ran forward, jumping high into the air as you nodded to whoever was looking, and a bomb charge was thrown into the air.

Mid jump you directed the bomb towards Grievous, landing on the ground as you cut through some droids before jumping up and onto the wall beside Tech. “Miss me?” You asked, teasing almost despite the growing burning pain in your torso.

“You are critically injured Y/n, we are returning to the Marauder.” He stated, catching you in his arms as you stumbled forward when the pain had gotten too much. You nodded weakly, allowing Tech to pick you up in his arms.

You weren’t surprised at his amount of strength, he had shown many times that he had the muscle and the skill for many things outside of blaster combat.

Hunter, Wrecker and Crosshair covered your exit, but soon you were all back on the Marauder and tech was already looking at the small hole in your abdomen. It was entirely cauterized, so all he had to do was put bacta on it and cover it.

Hunter piloted and also sent a message to the council that Grievous was there and that the operation was bigger than they thought, and that they were injured. You groaned and winced as Tech cleaned up the area a little bit before placing the bacta over both sides of the wound. He was being as gentle as possible with you, and you couldn’t help but stare.

His helmet was off, but as you studied him, you noticed a tear fall down his cheek, and then another. “Tech?” You called out, placing your hand on his. “You don’t need to cry, you know I'll be okay.” You whispered, holding his hand in yours. “I know, but you…”tech trailed off, avoiding eye contact.

“Tech, you can talk to me.” You whispered, hearing him sigh. “I find myself caring for you, more than I should. I don’t want to ever see you hurt.” He explained. You frowned, but nodded, gently reaching up to cup his cheek. “I care for you too Tech.” You whispered, slowly sitting up with a grunt before pulling him into your arms.

“I started having these feelings for you a while ago.” He muttered into your shoulder. You chuckled, pulling him back as you cupped his cheek again. “Me too Tech… I love you.” You expressed honestly, seeing him smile at you.

“Don’t ever duel Grievous on your own again.” He ordered sternly, but you simply rolled your eyes before pulling him into a gentle kiss.

Wrecker cheered in the background, only for Hunter to slap a hand over his mouth, pulling him into the cockpit with crosshair to give you and Tech some privacy.

“You can't give me orders, you know, I outrank you.” You whispered to Tech, who just rolled his eyes and pressed his lips to yours again.

➺

Tag list:

Tech tag:

Tbb:

@moomoog017 @only-my-unexistent-fiances

[vodika-vibes]

Hard Times

Summary: You’ve been hiding your problems from Jesse, he has so many things to worry about already and you don’t want to add to his problems. Only, he’s coming home and you’re not sure you can hide this from him.

Pairing: ARC Trooper Jesse x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1266

Warnings: Nightmares, Reader is having prophetic dreams about order 66

A/N: Do I have over 80 requests sitting in my inbox? Yes, yes I do. Did I want to write this instead? Yes, yes I did. Anyway, happy reading!

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

You’re glad Jesse is home.

Sure, he has a few more scars than he did when he left. And sure, his armor is a little more dinged up, a little more worn in some places, but he’s here and he’s alive and you’re so happy about it that you cried when you saw him.

His first day back is always a little strained. 

It takes time for him to decompress from being on the ship, but a good meal and a hot shower do wonders. Plus, he can pull you in for a hug or a kiss, and every time he does you can feel the tension draining from his body.

And when he lays next to you in bed, his arms secure around you and his face pressed into your hair, he falls asleep in a matter of moments. 

You wonder if it makes you a horrible person that you resent him for that, a little.

You haven’t had a good night's sleep in weeks. Your nights are haunted by blood and screams and a cold that lingers even when you jolt awake from your nightmares. And, even after you wake up, your hands tremble for hours after the fact, and some nights you even have to throw up, the dreams are so bad.

So that’s where you find yourself. Safely wrapped in Jesse’s arms, eyes burning from how tired you are, and exhausted down to your bones. But too afraid of your dreams to actually fall asleep.

Honestly, you're surprised that he didn’t clock your exhaustion when he showed up this morning. Everyone else in your life has.

He’ll notice in the morning, you know. Jesse is stupidly observant when he’s not recovering from a long deployment. 

Jesse sighs in his sleep, his arms tightening around you as he pulls you closer. Almost as if you’re a beloved teddy bear. You turn your head to watch him sleep for a moment. 

He looks peaceful. Untroubled. As if the stress of his life doesn’t exist now that he’s here, in your bed. 

You have to fight the urge to brush your fingers across his cheek. Even a light touch will be enough to wake him up, and that’s the last thing you want right now.

How could you be afraid of anything with Jesse right here?

And slowly, without your permission, your eyes flutter closed as sleep claims you.

Cold. It’s so cold.

Lights dim, and then go out completely, drowning you in a sea of frigid darkness. Only a few dim lights remain, but they’re so far away. Too far away.

The more the lights go out, the colder it gets.

Is this how it ends? Is this how everything ends—

“Cyare! Wake up”

Your eyes snap out, and it takes you a moment to realize that you’re still safely in bed. Jesse’s hands are on your shoulders, and he looks worried, though the expression fades as your gaze meets his.

“Jess—” You’re trembling from the cold, it feels as if someone shoved ice into your bloodstream.

“You were having a nightmare,” He grabs a fleece from the end of the bed and drapes it over you, it won’t help. You know from experience, “Your temperature just dropped, are you okay?”

His hand presses against your cheek, and he frowns before he leans to the side table and grabs his comm, “I’m calling Kix. You’re like ice.”

“I’m okay,” Your tongue feels heavy and clumsy, “I’ll be alright when the sun rises.”

Jesse stares at you, unimpressed, “Yeah. No. I’m calling Kix.”

You sigh, and your gaze flickers to the chrono next to the bed. Four hours. You’ve only slept for four hours. Jesse moves out from under the covers, and you watch as he slips into the fresher, still listening to his brother. 

He returns with a thermometer and passes it to you.

You already know what it’s going to say, but you stick the small device under your tongue anyway. Your temperature is going to be edging towards hypothermic, but not so low that you’re actually in danger.

At least, that was what Spoogle told you when you started having these nightmares.

It beeps and you hand it back to Jesse, who dutifully reports the number to his brother. Whatever Kix says clearly bothers Jesse, based on the way his eyes narrow at you, and then he hangs up the comm.

“Jesse?”

“Kix says to get you into a warm shower. Not hot, but warm.”

“Jesse, I’m fine.”

He takes your hands, pulls you out of the bed, and tugs you towards the fresher, “Forgive me if I don’t believe you. Kix is on his way right now.”

“It was just a nightmare, Jesse. Really, I’ve been dealing with this for a month now.” 

His hands pause from where they’re tugging your sleep shirt off, and he pins you in place with a disappointed look, “Your temperature has been dropping like this every night for a month? And you didn’t see a doctor?”

“I…well…Spoogle said—”

He sighs and turns to start the water, “Babe, I love you but you’re such a dingbat sometimes.”

“Hey!”

“Your lips are blue.” He counters flatly, and then he turns and lifts you into the shower. The warm water burns against your icy skin, and you flinch out of the way.

Jesse’s frown deepens, and he turns the temperature down a little, “How’s that?”

Hesitantly you hold your arm under the water, and when the water doesn’t burn like fire, you step under the spray of water fully. “It’s better,” You admit, as the shivering starts to slowly subside.

“Good.” He scans you for a moment, “So, these nightmares. What are they about?” Jesse asks as he props open the fresher door so he’ll be able to hear the doorbell when Kix arrives.

You shrug and fold your legs to sit on the floor of the shower. You’re too tired to stand, “I don’t remember the details. Just the cold, and the blood. And the dark.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

You’re quiet for a moment, and then you sigh, “You’re fighting a war, Jesse. I didn’t want to distract you.”

He sighs as well and crouches next to the tub, his hand coming out to press against your now-soaked hair, “I’d like it if you told me these things, cyare. We’re supposed to be partners.”

“Sorry.”

“I forgive you.” His hand moves to cup your cheek.

“...I should get out of the shower before Kix gets here.”

“No.”

“...but I’m naked?”

Jesse huffs out a laugh, “It’s Kix, and he’s coming here in his capacity as a medic. I don’t think he’ll care that you’re naked.”

“Oh.”

Something softens on his face, “If it bothers you, though, then we can get you dressed before he gets here.”

You pause and then nod slowly, “I’d prefer that.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” His hand is still so gentle against you, that you sigh and lean into his touch.

“Love you, Jesse.”

“I know, cyare. I love you too.” He runs his thumb across your lips, “The fact that you’re sick is probably why you’re having these nightmares. Kix will help.”

“...yeah.”

You know, somehow, that the dreams are warnings. But how are you supposed to say that? You’re no Jedi. You are just some lady from the lower levels who works as a translator. 

Maybe he’s right, though. Maybe your dreams aren’t a warning of something to come. But, if they get much worse, maybe you’ll ask Jesse to bring you to the temple.

Just in case.

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[eye-may]

Your top 3 favorite ships! And headcanons! Pleaaaseee !💖💝💖💗💖💝

Also

You draw so cool! And your headcanons are so interesting

not sure if you mean like fav hc per respective ship but I'm gonna go with that XD I'm not big on romance so most of these are going to be platonic/familial 🥴

Tuggoffelees - on cold nights at the junkyard, it's commonplace for the cats to sleep in cuddle piles. Mistoffelees will almost automatically gravitate to Tugger in search of warmth. When Mistoffelees worms his way into Tugger's side, the latter habitually drapes his big fluffy tail over the former like a blanket <3

Munkustrap and Alonzo - Alonzo is a young adult cat who more or less idolizes Munkustrap and seeks to emulate him. Munkustrap regards Alonzo as his "right-hand cat," the secondary protector of the tribe, and an unofficial protegee. Although Alonzo maintains a stoic and serious veneer, he's not as confident deep down as he may seem, and is prone to lapsing into episodes of self-flagellation at any perceived failures---which usually results in maladaptive coping mechanisms, like overworking. Munkustrap sees a lot of himself in Alonzo, and so he attempts to emulate the same gentle and level-headed guidance that he himself received from Deutoronomy. Often enough he'll coordinate one-on-one "sit-downs" with Alonzo where they'll just pleasantly talk. Not necessarily about work, or patrols, or pollicles, or Macavity, or any such unpleasantries---but about quaint, casual things. How are things going with so-and-so? Did you see that meteor shower last night? Remember that funny thing that happened at rehearsal two days ago? Munk hopes that this gesture is at least somewhat cathartic for his uptight mentee.

Demeter and Bombalurina - I actually could see these two developing a romantic relationship, but I know that's a Hot Take lmao. Obviously, as it follows, I don't see them as sisters. Platonic or romantic, whichever way, I just think the pair of them emblematize female solidarity and rage and the harrowing quest for independence and freedom. I like to imagine that there are times (usually at the behest of Bombalurina) that the two of them go off on their own specifically to unleash their pent up turmoil in the company of only each other---free from judgment of their emotions, their appearances, their utility, propriety, etc. They'll just leave as a pair to throw things, sing, scream, improvise dances with one another, take long walks on which good, deep conversations are had. I think they dually believe that the other is the only person in the world who can really understand and relate to each other, and not smother each other in platitudes of sympathy or patronizations or macho heroic promises. I also think that they "balance each other out," e.g., Demeter surfaces Bombalurina's gentler, nurturing instincts, while Bombalurina makes Demeter feel empowered to explore and unleash her more turbulent thoughts and feelings without fear of retaliation.

bonus! Bustopher and Mistoffelees - Bustopher is, to all and sundry in the junkyard, the eccentric and endearing uncle. I don't see him as biologically related to Mistoffelees, but I do think the two of them have a special familial bond; although Bustopher keeps up his militant, pompous veil, he would be woe to admit that doesn't find Mistoffelees particularly winsome. When he visits the junkyard, if he isn't instantly greeted by the young tuxedo, he'll say something like "and where is that diminutive illusionist?!" if anything untoward ever befalls Mistoffelees, and Bustopher hears about it, he'll thunder onto the scene lol. Likewise, if vice versa, Mistoffelees will go to any length to help Bustopher, even if that entails reckless disobedience.

Also, thank you for the kind words anon! <3