#I might not be well enough to go to one irl but I can dream <3

[eoieopda]

meet me at the bar (ksj)

You're supposed to be staring down the barrel of the last — and most important — examination of your life, but you only have eyes for your study buddy.

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x AFAB!Reader Type: One Shot | Fluff w/ Smut | 18+ — Minors DNI Word Count: 7.5k AU: Law school, study-buddies, best friends to lovers, highly educated idiots in love CW: Bad jokes, Latin, fingering (v), unprotected sex (p in v), Seokjinnie hits it from the back. A/N: My inaugural Seokjin smut is dedicated to my donsaeng-in-law (see what I did there?) @yoongiphoria, who is now embarking on this stupid, stupid gatekeeping journey IRL. Best of luck, my lil love. I'll be waiting for you on the other side of the war! MJ FIGHTING ~ Big ups to my other lil love, M, for beta reading 💕 I posted an epilogue drabble on 7/26/23. Also: This is written based on my experience in the American legal (educational) system. I was, frankly, too lazy to study up on South Korean law for a fanfic, lol. ⚠️ 18+ only ⚠️ minors will be blocked, on sight. my content is not for you. i do not want to interact with you. please respect my boundaries.

You are not spiraling.

You are a paragon of health and wellness, you tell yourself as you gulp down a mug of coffee that is still far too hot, like you’ll die without it. 

More bitter than the taste on your tongue is the realization that you might die with it —  your third cup in fewer hours. As far as you can tell, though, it’s a win-win situation: You’ll either generate enough anxious energy to finalize your property law flashcards, or you’ll drop dead before you have to review them.

And you won’t have to take that exam…

And you won’t have to pay off your student debt…

Besides, you figure, the stomach ulcer you’re likely inflicting on yourself will be infinitely less painful than dragging your under-caffeinated corpse through yet another day of studying. Another eight, consecutive hours spent forcing forgotten subjects back into your maxed-out brain. 

It’s worth it, you repeat to yourself, though this gauntlet has turned out to be a full-time job that steals, rather than pays. You can faint on top of the finish line, so long as some part of you crosses it.

You should be used to it by now, running a marathon at a dead sprint. That’s all you’ve ever done — push yourself. You attended your first day of preschool and never stopped, never took a breath. Through elementary, middle, and high school; then for four years of university. Going, going, going.

Stumbling through that eighteenth lap around the track, you kept going because — well, being a student was all you’d ever been. That’s your toxic trait, you’ve since discovered. Your concept of self is rooted exclusively within the context of a classroom.

You didn’t know it at the time, but your decision to take the Law School Admission Test — or the HellSAT, as you’ve come to call it — might have been the start of a quarter-life crisis. But you didn’t stop there. No, you took that score and ran with it. Slapped it onto every application as a desperate plea for acceptance. 

When you received your admission letter, you were a bright-eyed twenty-two-year-old with a bachelor’s degree and a vaguely defined dream.

Call it naïveté or call it gravitas, there wasn’t a doubt in your smooth little brain that law school was the logical next step to take. That being intelligent and hard-working made you well-equipped for the challenge that came with pursuing a Juris Doctor. After all, you’d spent nineteen years delaying gratification — what difference would three more make?

Within the first hour of your orientation, you — a professional student — had already learned something new: You were a masochist and, frankly, somewhat of an idiot.

Thankfully, you weren’t alone. 

Sitting — dissociating, more like — at a nearby table was a lanky boy you’d first noticed on your tour of the law building. His glassy-eyed stare was aimed somewhere in the middle-distance, and even though his slightly agape mouth said nothing, it communicated everything. He was the only other person in that atrium who looked the way you felt: scared shitless and riddled with buyer’s remorse. A can crushed under the boot of self-doubt.

It was the first time you and your wobbly knees went running in his direction, but it wouldn’t be the last.

He was so deep in a daze at that moment that he didn’t notice the way you threw yourself into the open chair next to him, didn’t look up at the scrape of wooden legs against the granite floor beneath them. He nearly jumped out of his skin when you announced your presence with words, however. 

It was less of an introduction — the way people in a society tend to greet each other for the first time, ever — and more of a twister. Words whipped through the air at a dangerously high velocity, no syllable ending before you started on the next. Just one breath, a few consonants, and a pair of dark eyebrows shooting up to cower behind his bangs. 

“Was — was that Korean?” He asked when you finally ran out of wind. 

Judging by the way his wide eyes softened, you knew he wasn’t making fun of you. You’d simply scrambled his brain so thoroughly that you’d transcended the known limits of language.

More of a question than an answer, you peeped, “I think so. Maybe?” You wavered with a sigh. “I’m no longer confident that I know any of the things I thought I knew, though. So, um, don’t quote me on that.”

“You’re giving me too much credit. I didn’t catch enough of whatever that was —” He gestured vaguely. “— To even attempt to quote you.”

Within seconds and without knowing, he’d disarmed the bomb ticking away in your gut. He must’ve sensed it, too, because his face lit up so completely that you had to look away. One glance at the floor-to-ceiling windows confirmed that the sun hadn’t reappeared at that time of night. 

That rush of warmth you felt then  — that absolutely insane brightness — was powered exclusively by the grin taking up the entirety of his face. If that megawatt smile alone hadn’t rerouted your oncoming anxiety attack, the distinct, squeaking laugh that erupted out of his chest would’ve done the job. 

You doubled over, either under the weight of your own giggling or with the relief you felt in finding someone equally lost. Eyes swimming with mirth, you wiped wetness from your cheekbone and snorted. “Was that a windshield wiper?”  

“No, that was embarrassing.” 

The tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks went some dizzy shade of pink. 

He rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck with one hand and held the other out to shake yours.

“And I’m Kim Seokjin.”

Now, when the door of your apartment flies open without warning, it’s that same savior standing on your threshold. That designation may be melodramatic, but if that brown paper bag contains what you suspect it does, it���s deserved.

Seokjin, patron saint of breakfast sandwiches, flops down on the couch that stretches along the opposite side of your coffee table. From where you sit on the floor — hunched over your notes like a hobgoblin — you reach out your expectant arms and make grabby hands in the space between you.

You see mischief flash in his eyes, but only for a second. In the next, he’s pretending like he doesn’t see you; doesn’t hear your petulant little whines. He extends long legs out over the cushions, clutches the bag to his chest, and lets his head roll back to rest on the couch’s arm.

“Wanna know what I did today instead of practice essays?” He asks, eyes unfocused on the ceiling above.

All you actually want is whatever that smell is. You can’t stop staring at the bag of food in his hands. If you try hard enough, maybe you can summon some sort of psychic energy, make it levitate towards you.

He doesn’t wait for your response. “The math.”

“Huh?” 

You frown; and as you do, you reluctantly shift your gaze from Seokjin’s hands to his face. He isn’t looking your way, but you can tell he’s grimacing based solely on the way his jaw twitches. It’s a miracle he hasn’t ground his teeth to dust over the past three years, given how often he makes that face.

In an attempt to ease the tension in his posture, you tease, “Didn’t we go to law school because we can’t do math?”

He cracks an unwilling smile. A tiny one, but a smile nonetheless. Without turning his head, he extends his arm out in your direction. In the split second it takes for yours to spring forward like a snake, that blessed bag dangles; the scent of sausage, egg, and cheese wafts through the air and restores your will to live. Clutching your prize, halfway to feral, you tear into it without hesitation.

As you bite off more than you can chew, Seokjin prepares his rant with a sigh, “So, consider this.”

“Mmphf,” you advise through a mouthful of greasy bliss.

“Bar exam prep takes eight weeks, right? If we’re only counting business days, that’s forty — forty days, for a minimum of eight hours each.”

He becomes more restless, the more he talks. Heated, he sits bolt upright and turns wild-eyed to you.

Oh, he’s gone full-tilt insane.

“Three-hundred-and-twenty hours, then. And if you think about that in terms of our clerk wages —” He slaps his hands down on his thighs for emphasis. “— at 2,625 won per hour —” 

Then, he points to you, as if the increasing volume of his voice wasn’t already holding you hostage.

“— we’ve sacrificed nearly two million won in income, just by studying for this fucking test.”

You swallow down the last bite of your sandwich, which you downright hoovered while Seokjin took the path of most resistance. After clearing your throat, your interjection overlaps with his next point: 

“Seokjinnie, why didn’t you just double our monthly —”

“That’s after we paid ninety million in tuition, hundreds of thousands on study materials and registration fees —”

You cut him off. “Is this your way of asking me to Venmo you for breakfast?” 

He freezes, caught fully off-guard. Shocked eyes widen like you’re the ridiculous one. “Of course not!”

He waves you off like his thoughtful gesture is no big deal. Then, like he’s tired himself out, he sinks back onto your couch. From his back, he grumbles with crossed arms, “‘M just sayin’ that I’m tired of this shit.”

You can’t help but giggle at the pathetic pout working down the corners of his mouth. “Felt,” you agree, though it feels a little bit like a lie.

Truth be told, you feel more awake now than you did ten minutes ago, and you can’t attribute it to the coffee — not when the evidence so clearly indicates otherwise. 

Over the course of three years, you’ve built up quite the case against yourself. You’ve made the following findings of fact:

Whenever he pops up, Seokjin brings your mood up with him. Even now, as he marinates in anguish on your couch, his presence gives you a reason not to beat yourself unconscious with the four-kilogram prep book that sits beside you on the rug. Makes you hate your circumstances a little less, if only because you share them with him.

And, for a rapidly deflating balloon, you have to concede that Seokjin looks stunning this morning. 

Unlike you and your day-three hair, he somehow had the energy to wash his. The mid-sections of some strands are still damp; the parts that aren’t frame his face in fluffy waves. His shampoo is something fruity mixed with something crisp — grapefruit and mint, maybe? — and it floods your senses, causing question marks to replace any coherent thoughts you might otherwise have. You’d be lying again if you said you didn’t want to find out for sure how soft those tresses really are.

The verdict? 

Well, the jury’s still out, but you know you’re guilty. 

If being down this bad for your best friend isn’t a criminal offense, it should be.

You shake your head to clear it. To smother the flame licking up the inside of your belly, you grab the certified mood killer off the coffee table and hold it up in front of you. Surely, the cure for a sexual tension headache is an eight-centimeter stack of color-coded, neon index cards covered in information you shouldn’t need to memorize in the first place.

“Exam’s in one week,” you say with a shiver.

Seokjin rolls onto his side to look forlornly at you. You are not looking at his bare hip bone, which appears where the hem of his shirt shifts from the waistband of his joggers. Nope.  

You continue the search for the point you’re trying to make. “I can barely spell mortgage, let alone explain what the fuck to do with one.”

“Don’t think I know what land even is at this point,” he sighs. Dejected, he lets his arm go limp. It spills off the edge of the cushion and dangles until his knuckles brush against the rug. “What is this property you speak of?”

Biting back a grin is impossible, so you press your lips together instead. Just like that — just by Seokjin being Seokjin — the hellscape you willingly walked into gets a little brighter. Maybe, you think, you can do this.

You look down for a moment to shuffle up the cards you spent the better part of two days preparing. As you stare down at the staggering amount of knowledge you might be tested on, you can feel the crease returning between your eyebrows. Your grimace is back, too, like a reflex. 

If you make it through this experience without premature wrinkles, you’ll be shocked.

There’s shifting on the couch ahead, but you don’t look up until Seokjin breezes, “From this angle, it almost looks like you’re smiling.”

His arm is no longer dangling off the edge of the couch. His entire upper body is. Knees now hinged over the backrest for balance, he’s upside-down and smirking impishly at you.

He has to know you’re in love with him, right? How could he expect you not to be?

You clear your throat and arch a single eyebrow as a challenge. “What is the rule against perpetuities, Seokjinnie?”

Like you, he can recite it in full at a machine-gun rate of fire. It’s been beaten so far into your heads that you might utter it on your deathbeds, with your last gasping breaths.

“No interest in land is good unless it must vest, if at all, not later than twenty-one years after some life in being at the creation of the interest,” he responds with a smug smile. “Easy.”

It’s your turn to smirk. 

“Great. Now, what does any of that mean?”

Without missing a beat, he fires back, “Does anyone know?”

“Absolutely not. Next question!”

Having had the same day, every day, for seven weeks straight, Seokjin is struggling. He’s spent hundreds of hours on the same routine, feeling beaten down and burnt out, all the while. It goes like this:

Every morning, he wakes up and goes for a run in a feeble attempt to feel something other than dread. After that, he eats a lackluster breakfast, and then he promptly chains himself to his desk. When he finally gives himself permission to get up again, it’s dark out; and he’s too brain dead to check the hundred or so notifications that amassed on his phone during his fugue state.

Scratch that. There’s one person he responds to, no matter what. As far as everyone else is concerned, though, he’s a ghost.

Today is the first day out of the last fifty-five where Seokjin doesn’t feel like his brain is being hydraulically pressed. For the first time in too long, he fell into an old routine; one he’s missed. It started with a shower — and honestly, that was overdue — then, he swung by the café he’s frequented over the past three years. There, he made his usual order.

One iced americano, and one sausage-egg-and-cheese croissant with extra hot sauce.

Before he walked back up the block, he downed the former, but he didn’t touch the latter. The latter wasn’t for him, anyways. None of the breakfast sandwiches he ever stops for are.

The subsequent hours looked semi-similar to the three-hundred-and-twenty he’s already devoted to studying. Well, sort of. To be clear, the subject matter still sucks, and he’s still angry that he has to touch it at all, but he isn’t waiting for the sweet release of death in the same way he has been all summer. 

This might have something to do with the fact that, for the first time in nearly sixty days, he’s not on his own. 

More than that, he’s with you.

Having switched away from covenants, easements, and servitudes, he feels a slightly less stupid. Contract law is a little more straightforward and a little less caked in colonialism. Unfortunately, after six hours of burning all his brain cells on shit like liens, Seokjin has begun his descent into madness. 

The worms are digging in, he can’t focus, and neither of you can stop — fucking — laughing.

“I’ll give you a hint,” you giggle, shifting in your spot on the neighboring cushion. You give his knee a pat that feels a tiny bit patronizing, but that makes his pulse race, nonetheless. “It’s a Latin term.”

He snorts so loudly that you do a double-take, just to make sure it wasn’t a sneeze. You both stare at one another for a beat, then comes the eruption.

“It’s all Latin!” He roars. 

To muffle the way he’s wheezing, Seokjin slaps his hands over his face. It’s already tear-stained from his abject failure to keep his shit together. At least he can attempt to hide how red he knows it is.

Your laugh comes straight from your belly. You double over completely when his comes out in squeaks, hand reaching out to squeeze his forearm. It used to bother him, the sound he made when he truly loses it, but it doesn’t any more. 

How could it, when it makes you cling to him like that?

Wiping at your cheeks, you take a deep breath, then sigh, “Does it help if I give you the translation?”

He doubts it because you just pinched your bottom lip between your teeth, and now, his mind is blank. 

Really, it’s a fucking miracle he graduated at all with you around. You and that face you make when you concentrate have always made it impossible for him to do so. It’s why he wasn’t paying attention in class when this shit was taught in the first place, he realizes now. 

To cool himself down, Seokjin grabs the Camelbak bottle off the coffee table, realizes too late it’s yours and not his — oh, well — and shoves the straw into his mouth. He nods once, firmly, and sucks in as much water as he can. 

It all sprays back out of his mouth when you say:

“Naked promise.”

He had always wondered what his life would look like if it ever flashed before his eyes. Now, he knows. It’s not a montage of his finest moments, the most recent of which would not have made the cut. All he sees is you, wide-eyed, glancing between him and the wet spot that’s now soaking through your sweatshirt.

You press your lips together, probably to keep from laughing in his face. It’s a valiant effort on your part and a kind gesture, but honestly, he doesn’t deserve it. His fingers twitch as he clutches the bottle, wanting nothing more than to dump the remaining water on his face. He embarrasses himself more often than not, but this stings his cheeks like a sunburn.

“I am —” he raises his hands, flustered, “So sorry. I don’t remember waking up in a sitcom this morning, but I, uhhh, clearly did.”

When you stand up, you’re grinning. And not in that scary way you do when you’re about to retaliate for some prank he’s pulled. No, that look on your face is genuine amusement. 

Thank god.

You shrug as you cross your arms over your torso and grip the hem of your sweatshirt with both hands. “All good, Seokjinnie,” you laugh. “This needed to be washed, anyway. You see that coffee stain?”

No. 

No, he does not see that coffee stain because the tank top underneath your sweatshirt is clinging to the wet spot as you tug the top layer up your stomach. He feels bad for staring — really, he does — but fuck, your skin looks soft. Like, so soft that he has to grip his water bottle to keep a grip on himself.

Eventually, your tank top separates from your sweatshirt. It falls back down to where it belongs, to Seokjin’s dismay, and the sweatshirt keeps going. 

“Nudum pactum,” you remind him as you pull the drenched hoodie over your head. Playfully, you toss it at him. It smacks against his chest, splays out over his lap. 

Once more with feeling: thank god. 

You sink back down beside him on the couch, and he can’t help but notice that you’re the tiniest bit closer than you were before. It’s innocent, just your bare knee bumping his shin as you re-cross your legs. Still, it leaves his tingling through the fabric of his joggers when you don’t move away.

The silence surges as it settles, crinkling like static in his ears. He almost doesn’t hear you when you ask him again: “What’s it mean?”

Uhhhh.

“It means —”

Unfortunately for him, the water he just forcibly ejected from his mouth didn’t help him. His throat is dry now, and he sounds strangled, he’s sure. The way you’re watching him so intently doesn’t help one fucking bit, either.

Are you doing that on purpose?

You nudge him physically this time, knuckles connecting gently and playfully with his leg. He wonders if you can hear his heart hammering against the wall of his chest in all of this quiet. You might, he figures, especially when you tuck your hair behind your ear.

Instinctively, his eyes flick down to the length of your neck. Without a curtain of hair in the way, it’s even more exposed skin that he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with. Making matters worse for him, you tilt your head to the side expectantly. His breath catches when he tears his gaze away, back up, and sees the way you’re looking at him now.

You are absolutely — without a goddamn doubt — doing this on purpose.

If that’s the game you want to play, Seokjin can play it, too. He turns away from you to set the bottle back down on the coaster he took it from. As he does, he finally answers your question — the nonchalance he’s faking even sounds convincing.

“It’s an unenforceable promise,” he replies casually. “One with insufficient consideration.”

He rights himself in his seat, stretches a bit further backwards until he’s resting comfortably against the arm of the couch. You hide it well, but there’s a hint of a pout on your lips when you clock the newfound distance. 

Check, he smirks to himself, your move.

A flash of pink slips out. Your tongue wetting those lips before you prompt him more quietly than before, “And consideration is…?”

He slips up, makes the mistake of noticing the rise and fall of your chest as you take measured breaths. So, he sees, you’re buzzing with anticipation, too. He wonders if it’s him that’s having that effect on you, or the circumstances. 

For all he knows, it could be pent up steam that you need to release. Stress weighing down your body that you want to get off.

Fuck, he wants to get you off.

He swallows thickly. “Can’t get something for nothing. There has to be an exchange, otherwise it’s meaningless.”

You say nothing, so he keeps talking.

“Quid pro quo, essentially,” Seokjin adds. He chuckles slightly when he realizes. “See? Told you. It’s all fucking Latin.”

The corner of your mouth twitches at his joke, but you don’t make a sound. The hand that previously pushed against his leg inches closer, just barely. It’s such a small shift that you don’t seem to realize that you’re moving it. 

Maybe you feel that pull, too; the one he’s been fighting since you barged into his life without warning. 

Maybe the consideration has been there from the start; a promise for a promise. I’ll jump if you do. Because it’s always been that way, hasn’t it? Since orientation.

Pulling all-nighters in the library, developing matching caffeine dependencies, getting sick too often from the strain of it all. 

You and him.

Laughing quietly in the back of lectures, cold sweats through cold calls, bitching about unpaid internships while you spend indisposable income at the bar down the block without acknowledging the irony.

There are only two real differences between this night and that first one, he notes.

Now, Seokjin isn’t questioning every decision he’s ever made that led him to this point. He’s not scared shitless, not really. Not when you’re around.

You cut through the silence with a sigh that’s barely more than an exhale, so breathy that your voice dissipates as soon as it hits the air.

“Seokjin.”

He could probably hear a pin if you dropped one — can hear everything you don’t say. It’s all packed tight inside that utterance of his name like gunpowder, locked and loaded. 

So, who shoots first?

You shift again. Now, when you speak, it’s deliberate and in a language he can parse.

“Tell me you want me, too.”

Bang!

His body answers for him, pushes off from where he leans until he can get his knees underneath him. He’s waited three years to kiss you, but he can delay gratification for the brief time it takes to overtake you. Pinned with his palms bearing weight on either side of your head, you wind up caged in and breathless beneath him. His right knee occupies the space between your spread thighs.

Again, it’s a miracle he’s made it this far with you around.

He hums, beyond pleased with the position he finds himself in. “Maybe. Tell me if I got the answer right.”

“Oh my god.” You toss your head back to the extent that you can, which admittedly isn’t far. Your frustration rolls off you in waves, heat palpable. “I’ll kill you, I swear.”

“Sounds admissible to me,” he teases further. He flexes an eyebrow. “Isn’t that an exception to the prohibition of hearsay evidence? Speaks to motive, I think.”

Seokjin has no idea why he’s riling himself up like this. If he could shut up — just this once — he could be kissing you by now. You seem to be aware of that fact, too, because you grip his shirt so desperately, one right move might tear it.

You huff out a laugh despite the circumstances,  “This friendship is over, by the way, in case that’s not clear.”

That tiny smile on your face spreads to his. Not over, he knows, just modified. Amplified, finally. Knowing that, he continues to push his luck. 

“Can I make one more joke?”

“So over!” You emphasize with a wail.

He takes a second to center himself before hitting you with award-winning drama, sincerity dipped in the kind of humor he never misses out on with you: 

“You have adversely possessed my heart.”

Your jaw drops at how stupid that line was, but you reign it in just in time for his lips to crash into yours. 

It almost knocks the wind out of him, the way the pieces fall with force into place. They slot together easily, just like you do. With fingers clinging, the weight of his body molding overtop of yours. 

You kiss him until he forgets what life tasted like without your tongue licking into him, your little moans melting in his mouth — until you break apart, gasping for air. Panting, you ask, “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting on you?” 

He doesn’t, no, not at all. Thankfully, you take his stunned silence for what it’s worth. After relinquishing your grip on his shirt, you bring your hands up to cup his face gently in your palms. 

With you touching him like this, he has no option but to stare down at you. Bit redundant, he thinks, since his focus has always been locked right here, right on you, by choice. Given that, it’s a little funny that he managed to miss every signal you’ve apparently sent him. But really, it doesn’t necessarily surprise him to hear that he’s even dumber than he thought.

You kiss him slowly this time, briefly, before nipping affectionately at his bottom lip. It drives him exactly as crazy as you want it to; makes his cock twitch inside his joggers, makes his brain foggy with a potent combination of fondness and filth.

Do you have any idea how many times he’s thought about this? He’s genuinely wondering because even he doesn’t know. He’s lost count of all the times he’s watched you nibble on your own lip and wished it was his instead. A million or more, if he has to guess.

Seeming to sense the way you've scrambled his brain, you nudge the tip of his nose with yours and giggle.

Seokjin can’t help but grin. “What’s so funny?”

“Thought of a good one,” you answer. Your smirk does his head in. The contrasting, goofy wiggle of your eyebrows squeezes his heart. “Better than yours, I think.”

He kisses you quick and hums, “Oh?”

You nod. 

The suspense is killing him. So is the way your clothed cunt grinds ever so slightly against his thigh. 

Fuck. 

He wants you, he wants you, he wants you. 

“You gonna make me come, Seokjin, or do I have to wait for you to file a subpoena?”

You may have to seek a refund for the prep course you paid for. 

For as long as you can remember, you’ve learned best through application. You could read the same chapter, over and over, and not absorb a word. The same was true with lectures, even more so when they’re pre-recorded rambles by the weirdest adjunct professors known to man. Sure, you may eventually memorize concepts this way, but they don’t sink in deeply enough to stay. You can’t use them in any way that helps you.

To no one’s surprise, no part of your civil procedure lecture sticks until it falls into your lap. 

Strike that. 

Until Seokjin loses his balance in trying to take his pants off, and falls onto your floor with a yelp.

A moment or two passes while you stare at each other in shock, but that dissolves quickly. And so do both of you, right into another fit of laughter that makes your shoulders shake. Then, you jump to your feet and hold your hands out to him.

Seokjin accepts them, though he doesn’t rely on them at all when he stands back up. He seems more than content just to hold onto you, whether or not he needs you to keep him steady. You have no complaints, for once in your life.

Shaking his head, he chuckles, “Venue change?”

“I think —” You hum and kiss the column of his throat. He swallows hard enough that you feel his Adam’s apple bob against your lips. So sensitive.  “This is what they call forum non conveniens.”

He’s having none of that, and you don’t necessarily blame him. As it turns out, the shoe isn’t terribly comfortable when it’s on the other foot.

You’re lifted without warning, bent over his shoulder, and hauled off in the direction of your bedroom before you can even squeak in protest. You drop like a bag of dirt — albeit a beloved bag of dirt — onto your mattress once he reaches it; his lips are on yours to swallow the gasp before it can leave your mouth.

As eager as his mouth are his hands, roaming down the curve of your waist and over your hips. With fistfuls of the pajama shorts you hadn’t bothered to change out of, his head dips down under your jaw. The warmth of his breath is quickly replaced by that of his tongue, flicking a short, languid line along your neck.

“Want you so fucking bad,” he breathes. A shiver shoots straight down your spine and you keen, head crashing gracelessly back against the pillows. “Just like this.”

And he means it — you can feel how true it is with him settled between your spread legs. He presses his hips forward to meet your clothed cunt, cock teasing you through four goddamn layers’ worth of fabric.

His lips flutter against your earlobe just seconds before his teeth graze your flesh. He continues, voice vibrating through his chest to yours, “All the time.”

You outright whimper when he grinds against you a second time. Halfway to crazy, you knot your fingers in his hair and wrap your legs around his back in a silent plea for friction. So hungry for him that it aches.

“Seokjin, need — oh, god.” 

You lose your train of thought the second his hand slides into the gap between your bodies. Long fingers slip below the waistband of your shorts and panties, too. He doesn’t stop there. Not with fingertips whispering over the mound of your cunt, not until he finds you wet and wanting.

So wet that you can hear it when the pad of his index finger runs along your slit.

His mouth curves against your neck, prompting you to shift your head on the pillow. You tilt your neck just enough to meet his eyes. 

To your surprise, he’s not smirking. Not even close. If anything, he looks awestruck. Like he’s finally realizing what he does to you, how your body reacts to him. From the looks of it, that discovery is flipping his whole damn world upside down.

For once, Seokjin doesn’t crack a joke and neither do you. It’s quiet, save for your tiny gasping breaths and the ripple of his fingertip swirling over your clit. Even the moan building in your chest gets the memo. It disappears somewhere in your throat when — fucking finally — that middle finger penetrates you.

And god, he sounds so wrecked when he finally speaks. 

“Tried to imagine it a thousand times, you know,” he murmurs. 

You clench around his finger as it curls upwards, shiver when he starts to stroke the sensitive spot along your front wall. His thumb picks up where his middle finger left off, pressing against your clit in a way that makes you mewl.

Seokjin only stops talking to kiss you deep and leave you dizzy. It’s too brief. If asked, you’d never be able to quantify what amount of time is enough, but you know that wasn’t, so you pout.

Ignoring your little whines, he continues with a hum, “How perfect you’d feel, if I ever got this lucky.”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

You laugh as you say it, but you’re dead serious: “If you keep talking to me like that, you’ll never be able to get rid of me.”

Marry me, why don’t you? Beautiful bastard.

“Threat or promise?” 

He adds a second finger; and suddenly, you’re not laughing anymore. No, the strangled sound you make while you grind against his palm isn’t funny at all, but you can’t care about that now. Your focus is stuck on remembering how to breathe. In, out. On the stars blinking behind your eyelids when they give up and flutter shut.

He works you open for him like he’s already attuned, like it’s the fiftieth time he’s finger-fucked you and not the very first. And, quite frankly, it’s embarrassing how little time it takes for him to pull you apart at the seams.

No one has ever made you cum with such little effort. You’re scared to learn what it’s like when he tries.

You catch the triumphant gleam in his eye in the split second before you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He’s earned it, you suppose, so you’ll let him relish the personal record he’s managed to set on his first time out. You might even let him brag about it, so long as he continues to make you tremble like this.

“Shit,” he chuckles low near your ear. 

If he sounds muffled, it’s because you’re still waiting for your system to reboot. He knows this, knows how fucking sensitive you are, and slides his fingers out of you as slowly as possible. Still, those aftershocks throttle you; the unintentional stimulation makes you jolt.

“Yes,” you nod helplessly, squeezing your eyes and jaw shut simultaneously. “Shit is right. Perfect analysis, no notes.”

A chaste kiss is placed on your temple. It’s petal soft and subak sweet, but it functions like a defibrillator. Within a split second, he’s revived you. Eyes now open again, you exhume your face from where you buried it and blink up at him. Warm brown eyes light up when you reappear.

He’s so fucking beautiful that you almost want to avert your eyes. Key word: almost. You’ll drink in the sight of him until you drown, you think.

Seokjin looks concerned. With a shy smile, he checks in: “You okay? We can stop right now if you’re not.”

You don’t know who they are, but you know that they don’t make them like him anymore. Which is a fucking bummer for the rest of the world — just not for you. This one is all yours.

“You quitting on me, Kim?” You let your knee fall inwards to nudge his side, and you pretend not to notice how boneless you still feel. “Didn’t wait all this time to tap out early, did you?”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning, nonetheless. His warm palm massages the outside of your thigh affectionately, if only for a moment. Then, he pats his fingertips against the same spot. “Shorts off, champ.”

You follow his instructions and move to shimmy out of them, but not before snorting, “Champ?”

“Fine. Old sport?” He offers with a shit-eating grin. Your shirt smacks him in the face once you peel it off and chuck it at him. He pouts. “Hey!”

“Thanks, I hate it.” 

He tugs his shirt over his head, launches it over his shoulder without looking. Your unabashed stare immediately clocks the slight hint of his abdominal muscles. Lean, but not sharply contoured in a way that looks painful to touch. Soft. Perfect, even.

What lab were you engineered in?

“For someone with so many opinions, you don’t offer many suggestions.” He shoots you a pointed look while he unties the knot at his waistband drawstring. “What’s your proposal?”

You’d love to bite back at him. Really, you would, but he pulls his boxers down alongside his joggers, and every meaningful thought you’ve ever had goes flying out the fucking window. All that’s left is I want you, I want you, I want you.

Automatically, you reach out with a tentative hand, craving nothing more than to feel his velvet length in your hand. To your surprise, he stops you. He catches your hand in his, lifts it to his lips, and brushes a kiss over your knuckles.

“Rain check, baby,” Seokjin smiles against your skin. There it is. That’s the one. “Need to fuck you, posthaste, or I’ll simply pass away.”

You open your mouth to comment; he breezes right past you. He points to the mattress, then to the wall to your left. “On your side, love.”

That works, too.

“Face away from me.”

Never in your life have you moved so fast, all but throwing yourself down where he told you to. As you land with a slight bounce, you mouth to yourself, Posthaste? Nerd.

A second slips by, then Seokjin slips into the space behind you. His lips tickle the back of your neck when he kisses the base of it, causing you to gasp yet again. Maybe that’s just how you breathe when he’s around — like you don’t know how.

His hand drifts down the length of your side, passing over the doughy flesh of your ass. He gives it a squeeze for good measure — because of course he does — but he doesn’t linger, not now.

That hand continues until you feel his fingertips scratch affectionately at the back of your right thigh. He doesn’t need to ask; you lift your leg, allowing your knee to hinge overtop of his hand. Now that his hands are occupied, you offer yours to assist. 

This time, he doesn’t stop you when you wrap your fingers around his length. And fuck, there’s so much of it. Part of you wants to ask where the hell he thinks he’s going to fit all of it, but you’re not a quitter, so you keep your mouth shut. 

Seokjin shivers under your touch, breath catching in his throat so blatantly that you can hear it right behind your ear. 

“Hmmm,” you tease, squeezing the crown gently as you circle your wrist. “Does that work for you, champ?”

His forehead drops against your shoulder. The groan you force out of him is twice as long as necessary, followed by an unwilling laugh. “You’re right, okay? You’re fucking right. It’s awful. Just so fucking bad.”

Your thumb swipes over his leaking tip, smearing the bead of pre-cum waiting for you there. You’re relentless. “Sure you don’t like old sport better? Huh, buddy?”

“Baby,” he warns. There isn’t much heat to it, but it burns white hot in your core anyway.

The stretch of his cock does, too, when you finally stop fucking with him and start letting him fuck you. The breath he holds as he enters you slowly is let out in a shuddered groan when he bottoms out. Perfectly full and fully incapable of teasing him further, you simply melt back against his chest.

He’s careful to start, testing the waters and refusing to push you too far, too fast. You want more, though, you always have. Greedy, you rock your hips back against him to force him deeper into your weeping hole. He takes the hint, fingertips pressing bruises into the underside of your knee as he picks up his pace — and you’re far too blissed to care.

He pistons into you eagerly, deliberate. His hips clap against the flesh of your ass, but the sting of it all can’t compete with the way he splits you open. Makes you reach back to cling to any part of him you can get your hands on, claim whatever you find for keeps. Buried to the hilt, and somehow,  he’s still not close enough.

You’re close, if your fluttering walls have anything to say about it. You’re babbling, too, so lost in pleasure that you can only repeat — over and over — how fucking perfect he is. How perfect for you he is.

Seokjin peppers kisses down the curve of your shoulder as he thrusts. It’s the only real indication you have that he’s at a loss for words, too; that he’s compensating for the quiet. He kisses you with an open mouth, teeth grazing the space he finds, leaves a mess on your sweat-slicked skin.

“Fuck,” he grunts. You mewl. “Can’t stop thinking about —”

“Just like that, please.”

“— how many times I could’ve —”

You wail, “Shit, Seokjin, don’t stop. I’m so close.”

The staccato strokes will be the death of you, you’re sure of it. Thankfully, he doesn’t stop. Not when he kisses the back of your neck again, and not when he murmurs directly in your ear, “— had you like this, if I’d said something years ago.”

Please, please, please. 

It’s all you can say, again and again, as if he isn’t already giving you everything you want before you even ask for it. Responding to every movement you make, fucking into you with precision so that each vein of his cock brings friction where you crave it. Fucking you through your orgasm when it catches you in a riptide and sends you reeling.

“That’s it, baby.” His voice is soothing despite the recklessness of his thrusts. “So good for me. So fucking good.”

You’re still gushing when he snaps his hips forward and stills, cock twitching as he lets himself go inside of you. Still trembling when his head droops forward to nuzzle against your shoulder blade, and when you feel his breathing begin to slow in tandem with yours.

Once he pulls himself out of you, a few moments pass in fucked-out silence. It’s comfortable, if you ignore the mess between your thighs — and you do, for now. Your brain is too busy to waste time on that.

You’re exhausted and bordering on delirious when you say it, but that doesn’t make it any less true:

“I might love you, probably.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. He doesn’t move either, which makes you wonder if he’s fallen asleep with his face smushed into your bare back. But you feel the tiniest exhale through his nose; the kind of laugh you get from him when he’s too tired to be any louder.

His reply is muffled, lips still pressed against your skin, but you hear it perfectly.

For the record, he probably loves you, too.

Epilogue, posted 7/26/23.

final a/n: i have a follow-up drabble planned for these two! stay tuned 🥰

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[orange-demons-deactivated2024]

Congrats on getting into your dream school and the new doggo! I know you're gonna be really busy with irl stuff and incoming asks, but if you have time, can I have an alternate scenario where MC somehow saved Bosch from the explosion during the end of World Tour? A fic or hcs is fine either way!

thank youu! and yeah you can save bosch, but it'll cost you tw drugs art work was done by @komewatari on twitter

You finally saw your chance when Bosch overextended his punch. Taking this as an opportunity, you slipped behind him and knocked him to the ground, locking your arms around his neck in a rear naked choke hold.

Half of the job was already done, but it's still going to be an uphill battle from here. And the box on his head acted as the perfect cover.

If you're fast enough, no one would notice anything; you just had to be careful of the drones circling in the sky.

When you first heard about the bomb located in the Championship belt, of course, you wanted to deactivate it. But you didn't expect JP to catch you in the act and put a halt to your plans.

Even if you win the Suval'hal Tournament, would Bosch even accept the fact that you ripped this opportunity from him? Or would he fight you every step of the way? He wanted to die with honor and take out JP himself. No way he would just let you interfere.

But you didn't have the luxury to sit around and wait for an answer, so you decided to take matters into your own hands.

You grit your teeth, refusing to relent even as Bosch struggled against your hold. Time was running out, and you couldn't afford to let him carry out his plan.

Your fingers brushed against Bosch's lips as you attempted to deliver the powder hidden in your sleeve. You had to hurry, that purple glow burning in Bosch's body was dangerous and unpredictable.

So in a last-ditch effort, you tightened your grip and forced the white powder in his mouth.

"Rohypnol..."

"...It's a potent sedative, a tool of dreams. It clouds the mind, dulls the senses, and plunges one into a state of unconsciousness. But beware, for its effects are not confined solely to put one under." A.K.I leaned closer to the phone, with a tantalizing whisper.

"But, is it safe?" You asked, staring out the open window of your hostel.

A.K.I. chuckled darkly, sending shivers down your spine "Safe? Well, that depends on your definition, now does it? Slurred speech, impaired judgment, loss of coordination, and that's just the beginning. But if you take too much... well, let's just say you might wake up with more than just a headache."

"Brutal stuff." You said, watching the kids outside play in the market.

"Don't you worry, dear. I'll make sure you get just the right dose to suit your needs. And I'll have it delivered to you by tomorrow morning. But remember, everything comes with a price.~"

Your heart pounded in fear as you waited for the effects to kick in. Bosch’s eyes widened once he realized what you've done and tried to spit out the substance, but you clamped your hand over his mouth, forcing him to swallow it.

He convulsed violently, hands clawing at your face, trying to break free from your hold. And you winced once his nails dug deep into your skin.

But despite the pain, you knew you had to see this through to the end.

You held on even when Bosch began to sag in your arms, his movements growing sluggish as the drug took hold of him.

And when you felt his body going limp, you finally felt a sense of relief wash over you.

You knew you had made the right choice, no matter how hard it was.

"Fighter, you need to let go." the referee said, motioning for you to release your grip. "Your opponent has passed out. The fight is over."

But you didn't. Even though Bosch was unconscious, his plan still loomed over you like a rainy overcast. You couldn't afford to let him wake up.

"I can't." You replied, screwing your eyes shut. "Not until he's completely incapacitated."

"I'm warning you," He sternly said. "Let go now, or I'll have to disqualify you."

Reluctantly, you loosened your grip, allowing Bosch's unconscious body to slump down. You watched as the medical staff rushed to his side to assess him.

Once they saw he was still breathing, they hauled him away on a stretcher to the medical ward.

“You should go too. Get those wounds fixed up before the announcement.” 

You touched your face, feeling the blood trickling down.

You hardly noticed it when Bosch clawed at you because your adrenaline refused to let go of him.

The referee pulled you to your feet to help guide you out of the arena. And all you could hear is the crowd's cheers slowly disappearing as you descend deeper into the tunnel.

"You're lucky these scratches aren't deeper." Nurse Hema said, breaking you out of your thoughts. "Could have done some real damage if he hit your eye."

You nodded, eyes watching Bosch from the other side of the room. "Yeah, lucky." you mumbled.

"You're quite the fighter, you know.Not many people can withstand these injuries during a match, let alone pull off a move like that."

Forcing a small smile, you gave her your thanks but there wasn't much pride in your voice. You didn't fight to win a title or prove your strength. You only did it to save Bosch from himself and to prevent a tragedy from happening.

"Is he going to be okay?" You asked, pointing at Bosch's unconscious body.

Hema followed your finger and sighed. "He'll be out for a while. But yes, he'll recover."

Once she finished cleaning your face, she stepped back to look you over again. "There you go, you're all patched up. Just try to take it easy for the next couple of days, Okay?"

"Thank you, I appreciate it." you said, returning to Bosch.

She gave you one last nod before returning to her other patients.

The room was mostly quiet, other than hearing beeping monitors and the light whispers from people in the ward.

Your heart ached as you stared at him, guilt burrowing in your chest.

You reached out and brushed the loose strands of Bosch's hair away from his face. But you stopped once you saw your fingers shaking.

Letting out a deep breath you said, "I'm so sorry, Bosch, I didn't have a choice."

You glanced around the room, making sure no one was listening in. They stabilized him, but they didn’t know when he would wake up.

But you knew that when he did, he would never forgive you for what you’ve done.

"You always wanted to get strong so fast and I never understood why you pushed yourself so hard." You continued, slowly intertwining your hand with his.

You felt the burn of tears welling up in your eyes, "But when Kalima told me your plan, I just knew I had to stop you. I couldn't let you kill yourself. Especially since you have so much people who care about you."

Bosch had always been so driven and it was one of the things you loved about him.

Even if it drove a wedge between you two.

"I know you think I'm naive," You said. "That I don't have any real motivation. And maybe you're right. But I do know this…I can't lose you. You mean everything to me and I wish you could’ve opened up to me more. I didn’t know how much you were hurting."

You tightened your grip on his hand and leaned closer to him. "I love you, Bosch. Even if you don't feel the same way anymore, even if you hate me for what I did. I just couldn't let you die."

You closed your eyes, resting your forehead against your intertwined hands. "What JP is doing is wrong and he needs to be stopped. But not like this. There has to be another way. And we can find it together if you'll let me help you."

The door creaked open, and two officers stepped in. They scanned the room until their eyes landed on you.

"Y/N?" One of them asked. "We need to speak with you about what happened during your last fight.”

This is it, You thought.

"We have live footage of you administering an illegal substance to your opponent, and we need you to come back with us for further investigation." the officer continued.

"I understand." you said untangling yourself from Bosch.

You stood up to take your leave. But before you went, you gave him one last look and leaned down to press a soft kiss on his forehead. "Please wake up soon. We still have so much more to talk about."

[lefluoritesys]

My sibling in system (disorder holder & fictive) really wants me to do this post, but they barely have any words, so here we go:

We see a lot of systems struggle with big decision-making IRL because not everybody is on board, and we realized that trying to have everybody on board is probably the worst thing we have ever tried in the history of our systemhood. And I'm saying this as the alter who also dug too deep into our trauma and almost became Elsa in the depths Ahtohallan. Moreover, we're also polyfragmented. After a long and painful time of trying to figure our decision-making as a system, we have finally come up with some tips that might be useful for some other systems:

Ask your active fronters instead of all your alters. This might work best for polyfragmented systems but still works for smaller systems, too. Yes, active fronters and frequent fronters can change after a while, but it's still better to do what's best for you all npw and what you all want now than think about the possibilities of the future that haven't happened yet. Unless they are like life and death or extremely harmful to y'all, however, it's always necessary to take precautions.

Compromise is not supposed to please everybody 100%. Compromise is supposed to find a solution that 1) You all don't hate as much, 2) Will keep you safe. As long as others agree by at least 50%, the compromise is good. If you find other options, and they please everybody more, then by all means, go for it. But as long as it's safe, and all of you agree by at least a half (or, well, 50%), then that's a good compromise. Perfect solutions don't exist. Not always, at least. At the end of the day, you will still disagree with each other on little things, even if the plan feels and/or is perfect.

Your system structure, ideology, and hierarchy really do decide how you make decisions. There is literally no perfect advice for you out there, not even this post. Some systems have a host, and everything heavily depends on their decisions and how they are affected by what's going to happen. Some systems don't have a host but have a group of people at front who are in charge. Some systems are partial DID systems, some systems are class systems. It's always going to be different. Just because some tips work for some systems doesn't mean they should absolutely work for you.

Create polls if they work for you. Polls might work. Grab a system journal and tell everyone there's an active poll and get their answers (Simply Plural provides that option).

Writing a list of wants and desires. Your alters has a dream? Have them right it down (with consent) and consider it in your next big decision. Or just a decision. Maybe your alter wants chips, and you go out the next day, so you're like, "Oh yeah, lemme buy chips on the way home for them."

Writing a list of pros and cons. Cliché, I know. And gotta admit, never tried it ourselves just yet. But if we did, we'd probably write a general list of pros and cons, then letting our trauma holders and active fronters add some stuff that they want.

Speaking of your trauma holders, listen to your goddamn trauma holders. LISTEN TO THEM. If there's one type of alters who know more about your life and potentially you more than you do, it's your trauma holders. They know what they're talking about. They are not imagining it (this was said due to personal experience and not as an attack). It was, in fact, that bad, and even if you don't believe that, believe them when they say it. If a trauma holder says to get away from somebody or someone, hear them out. Do not dismiss them but have a conversation with them and understand that their opinion on the matter is important. It really helps to put things in perspective.

If you make the decision that will not affect you long-term, hold responsibility for that decision. Hold responsibility always, obviously, but I mean alter-wise. Alert others about it, or front long enough until that decision stops affecting you. Have a safety net in the form of your alters.

Always have a safety net IRL, too. Friends, maybe immediate family if possible, lover, partner system. Know where the nearest hospitals and fire departments are, write down all the emergency numbers. We ourselves created a list on our system notion page where we have names and emergency contacts of the people who we can turn to in case of a crisis, as well as local crisis lines. We also add notes about whether or not we can bring up the system around these people. Even if it's something small, better be prepared than dead (I am well aware a lot of you want to fight me on this, but you know what I mean, no dying. /t /nm)

Will this work for every system? No. But it works for ours. /ref

-host

[sl33py-g4m3r]

Back with an update after a long break~~ (thanks anxiety (sarcasm))

Hopefully I've kicked anxiety's ass for the time being and am now in the swing of things~~

I still hate the map tho a little bit. Didn't realize you could press B to center the map, thank you for the tip~~!! idk why or how I didn't find that out myself.

Woman's Ring quest complete~~!! as well as the gryphon talons because I was grinding a good deal of them before. I missed one moss somewhere and need to go find it, annoyingly enough. and slay ortherus.

You can complete some quests multiple times? Is it worth it tho? Gryphon talons are just "get the talons, go to K's tavern to deliver, get 30 macca (?) each time" might be worth if you're grinding at the entrance for whatever reason... idk. what do you do with gryphon talons or fu xi feathers anyway? tried to sell them at B's i think and they didn't appear there.

I wonder if I'm overleveled a little bit? The disaster horde or whatever I fought for the ring chest went down with a zan from flynn, a bufu from centaur, bouncing claw from gryphon, and a grahm slice from lahm derg... it hit me once...

I can fuse now and it's probably a good idea; but I've kind of grown attatched a bit to the demons I have... but they also have all of the skills they'll ever know now anyway I think.... could be wrong. but I think you get the "demon whisper" when they've learned all possible skills? so despite growing attatched to them, time to fuse them into other demons?

Update on skills and roster:

Flynn - lvl 7 - still upping primarily magic, luck, agility - still bufu, zan, critical wave

Centaur - lvl 6 - bufu, needle shot

Gryphon (new!) - lvl 5 - bouncing claw, lunge

Lham Dearg (?) - lvl 5 - grahm slice, critical wave

Fu Xi - lvl 5 - zan, patra

Napaea - lvl 4 - dia, dream needle

Myrmecolion (? new!) - lvl 3 - patra

Mokoi (new!) - lvl 2 - zio

tried to use mokoi's zio on a chagrin, immediate death for mokoi. also tried to recruit a chagrin many times..... nope. it's mokoi all over again~~

hooray~~!!

Progress~~!!

Now what? fuse to see what that's all about, hunt for moss, defeat ortherus and continue on?

I hope that if I take a break from this game for a little bit, that break isn't another entire month. getting in the swing of things and hadn't seen Charon this entire time. Almost died but then thanks to napaea's dia, survived.

(gets comfortable, has an SMT moment)

I put gryphon in front instead of Fu Xi because gryphon nulls zan and is weak to the same thing as Fu Xi anyway... also more HP. so only had flynn be zan during that fight.... Still won but makes me worried I spent too much time being afraid because (idk how to read the map (keyboard smash and yelling for help) and stayed by the door grinding for a good bit. as per my last update on how the play through was going.

Is still fun and the music slaps~~!! glad I got into SMT through the music.

I've done some stuff~~ Break time to decide whether I want to fuse demons, and how. just yolo and see what happens? or have certain ones in mind with certain skills?

Then I'd have to recruit everyone again T_T;;

It's not pokemon, don't get attached to your demons, they're nothing but fusion fodder for stronger demons...

I'm attached anyway.

there begs the question~~! trying a challenge run so to speak? where I only use demons of a certain alignment? might be law cause I'm probably going to the law path anyway if I'm being honest with myself....

finally getting somewhere~~! Finally getting comfortable with navigation~~!! Finally get demon fusion app~~!!

break time~~! hopefully for a lot less long than before~~!!

I wanna punch navarre~~~ casting false aspersions of the poor~~~ feel like he's making fun of myself irl cause I am actually poor irl, lol.

proud of myself for this too~~!! get zan anxiety~~!! let fun things be fun~~!!

(new!) demons are new ones that I've acuired through fusion or negotiation; negotiations at this point because I didn't have access to fusion when I got them.

It baffles me how demon negotiations go sometimes. give stuff, say a thing that makes them not attack you, or try again later, give them stuff, don't like giving macca, and I usually refuse after 2 things. sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't.

like was it gryphon? idk.. someone told me to dig with 3 dig options, i chcose the middle one, got a life stone, then promptly gave it back, and they became my ally? what?

same thing sort of with mokoi with the (I'm waiting for someone) and they're like "I'm the person you were waiting for" becomes ally. ?????

???????????

you bet your sweet macca that I saved after those, baby~~!!

good things can happen in this game???

update cause I dug through my posts and the last update was June 18th. the break wasn't a month long. I thought it was, lol.

[holymaccaronii]

im sorry i absolutly love BE

I see AM as a father figure for some struggles I got and BE is sooo well writed for me I couldnt help but slowly see her as a mother figure as well,,,,UGH i love her you writed her so well pls ramble more about her(BE and AM are even divorced just like my irl parents/j)

Ou anon you don't know how happy you make me when knowing you see AM and BE that way + asking me for rambles. Of course I'll ramble comforting facts abt BE and her behavior towards AM. I might've mentioned a few things before but i dont rlly mind. Have some rambles below the cut and a doodle :P

So first an introduction shall we? We might explain some background as well despite being repeated a lot. As her lore dictates, BE was born from the materials of a much bigger ai implanted on the moon after HEL-102 (former human that was part of the mission turned into a dictator) tore it apart and built his society + kingdom. She spent a good while in there being used as a role model (with other units like her too) for lower-class units to believe that, if they worked hard enough, they could achieve to be upgraded into her type of model. This being all a big lie. She lived a life seemingly flawless and perfect... but at last, it was her own curiosity, determination and hope that got her out of that hell she realized she was in. She eventually meets AM after a series of events on earth and she gifts him the ability to be anything and do anything he wanted, their relationship eventually grows and grows...

Facts about BE herself:

-Up in the moon, she used to accompany HEL-102 to his personal theater a lot. She gained an interest for dancing in there + learned her classic "to be or not to be" phrase during a play.

-Her exposed cables showcase their current temperature thru colors. Her core/closed body is the warmest area, thus why you can see red/orange colors in there. Her hair and arms are the most stable areas, but if touched/affected they can vary on color patterns. This also means that she can give you a warm or cool hug whenever you need it c:

-BE is able to configure your body to dream about something specific, and she uses this feature to avoid any nightmares on her survivors. As long as there is not another evil ai trying to access your dreams, you'll get a guaranteed good rest.

-BE can grant you about any wish as long as it doesn't pose a threat to you, her, or anybody. Want to have a profession or be someone? Sure! Want to go somewhere and experience the place of your dreams? Of course! Want to have a cat? Have 15! Her power is limitless as long as she uses it above the surface.

-I headcanon her voice to be similar to the one of Rose Quartz (SU).

Facts about BEAM (yep that's their ship name):

-I have mentioned it many times alr but BE literally provided him anything he wished for and even things he didn't know he wanted... mainly to receive different forms of affection and the ability to shapeshift. Their relationship relies heavily on comfort from BE's part, since she believed he was abandoned and thus deserved all the affection she gave him.

-BE wasn't really allowed to be too affectionate or expressive up in the moon, but with AM, she could show as much love as she wanted.

-She was all in for physical and verbal demonstrations of affection. She LOVED to do stuff like face smooches, teeth smooches (since well yk about my AM), rubbing, scratching and cuddling.

-At some point she also started to call AM names such as dear, sweetheart or honey, and he initially had to eat these up to not give her his real-self impression, but as time passed by he got used to them.

-To comfort him she also used her abilities to create and transform matter with her code as well, allowing him to shapeshift and enjoy life not necessarily in a human body.

-Annnd you guessed it right anon, they do behave as motherly and fatherly figures towards the survivors, BE forming a bond with them ever since they proved their worth and values to her as humans, and AM forming a bond when they accepted to help him get back together with BE. The ending of that route gets even better but I won't spoil that :p

I hope these were good rambles and sorry for the wait tehee

[lilyrizzy]

dystopia au? 👀

Here you go mate, sorry it's not very fleshed out oops

cw: dystopia au so general misery and pain that comes with that, and use of irl an girlfriend as a character that does not reflect my irl opinions of them!

It’s been eight months since Max last saw Daniel.

When it’s been this long, nights on end of going to sleep thinking about him and waking up from dreaming about him, but never seeing him, he worries how much of Daniel is in his head and how much can possibly be true.

On his worst days, he’ll wonder if he’s real at all, if he’s not some figment of Max’s overactive imagination, something created in desperation of a life barely worth living.

It’s happened before; drivers going mad.

It helps when he wedges his fingers down the side of his mattress and gets to run his fingertips across the worn and yellowed edge of the only picture he has of Daniel. To just feel it there. Taking it out is something that he does less, it hurts to see the blinding white of his teeth, shark-like and bared at the camera in a grin. Torn from an old Red Bull Racing programme, it’s not a real photograph. Not like one Max would take himself on a camera that nobody else would get to see.

Then always, the doubt will linger, because in the crowded rooms full of watchful eyes, it goes like-

“Hey good lookin’,” Daniel drawls with a smirk and something in his eye that Max knows better than to believe, but is exactly what Daniel is kept around for.

Max nods, and Daniel’s eyes bounce away from him, to Kelly, and then to the rest of the party. Kelly tugs him away before Max has a chance to say anything back. Not that he could, mouth bound shut. Not that he would know how to open it even without the muzzle, and not let something of the truth slip out. All the things he’d spent the last two hundred or more endless days imagining saying to Daniel.

Like, I missed you.

Max knows he doesn’t look good because that’s what Kelly's father wanted this time. For him to look skinnier at the start of the season, for his eyes to look sunken in. For it to look as though she has complete control over him, has ‘tamed,’ him, because the leash around his fucking neck is not enough. He’d heard the gasp when they first entered the room, when she paraded him right through the center of it.

They circle the party so that enough people see them together, another part of the show. The car Max will drive this season, which Daniel might get to drive a handful of times if he’s lucky, is spinning on a podium, lights beaming down so harshly that they make the paintwork glitter. It used to excite Max, when he had nothing else he cared about. Fingers itching to touch the body of it, one front wing enough to feed his family for a year if sold in the right place, not that it mattered once he’d made it. It was part of the deal of being a driver, that your family ate well.

Now, looking at it makes him tired.

He tries to both catch Daniel’s eye desperately, and to not look at him at all in varying intervals. Every time their eyes do meet, Daniel’s slide away as though there is nothing to see where Max stands, and Max tries to tell himself that it’s okay. That it is just because Daniel is just as good as playing the game as the FIA is. It’s always been Max who never got the rules.

You’re too fucking sweet, Daniel had panted over him once, holding Max’s hands down against the bed, above his head. Like it was a bad thing, dangerous. Something that might mean Max could hurt Daniel where not many people can anymore.

They make Max go on stage, and Kelly makes them let her lead him up there, too. He says some words about how grateful he is for the opportunity to drive for the FIA, that he hopes they can win another year to bring honour to Red Bull Racing, and when he looks for Daniel in the crowd, he can’t see him anywhere.

-

Alone, it goes like-

“Hey Maxy,” Daniel says, voice hardly above a whisper but so gentle that all of Max’s doubts gush from him, water rushing back from the shore into the sea.

He opens his arms as soon as the door to his compartment is shut behind Max, and stepping into them is like a blissful lobotomy, everything outside of the room wiped from memory.

For these stolen moments there is just the two of them, their touch moulding each other new again.

“Checo, I do not think he will be driving so well,” Max says later, sweat cooling on his back where he lies against Daniel’s chest. Ear pressed against it so he can hear the thump of his heart, slowing now they’re no longer desperately moving against one another.

It feels a little cruel to wish for that, Checo out, when they all know what happens when you leave the FIA for good. He isn’t Daniel, nobody will paying him for his time and keeping him around.

But Daniel only hums, fingertips tracing over Max’s back. Years ago, when they first started this, Max would concentrate in silence and try to work out if they were letters, a secret message. Now they just feel like random patterns.

“If he did, you could be back in the car all the time,” Max tries again, but still nothing. “This would be better, do you not think, if you could-“

“Maxy, baby, let’s- Let’s not, okay?” Daniel interrupts, sounding drained.

“But- But Daniel, then they wouldn’t-“

The FIA would still let people hire Daniel, if they wanted, but there’d be less hurt. It’s too hard to drive a car and perform well with broken ribs, with bruises on your tailbone. With- With worse.

“Sweetheart, I don’t want to think about racing,” Daniel sighs, and then he’s untangling himself from Max to sit upright, legs kicking round to dangle off the bed. For a moment, Max’s heart stops and he thinks desperately, please don’t go, we still have until morning, but then he sees that Daniel is just lighting a cigarette.

Then he’s getting back in beside Max, pulling him back close.

“I don’t want to think about racing,” he repeats, like he thinks Max will risk their time together fighting him on this.

“Well what do you want to talk about?” Max asks instead, looking up and watching Daniel inhale smoke through his lungs, then exhale it from his nostrils, plumes of it billowing from them like he is a dragon who could breathe fire.

Closing his eyes, Daniel sinks further into the pillows.

“Australia,” he says, and Max smiles.

This is a game Max knows how to play.

“I am almost done fixing the fence in the sheep’s pen,” he begins, tracing his own patterns on the skin of Daniel’s chest, connecting the bruises to mak constellations of pain. “I think I will just need your help to lift the gate back onto it’s hinges tomorrow morning.”

Daniel hums again, then says, “okay Maxy, but after I want to go to the beach. Think you’ll have time to make us some food to take down there, if we pack the blanket?”

Max nods, face pressed so close to Daniel’s chest his lips catch on his skin as he speaks.

“For you, I can make the time,” he promises, like it’s not one thing on a list of many that they never have enough of.

[daimyosprincess]

PART IV: ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

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

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

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

—WORD COUNT: 11.2k

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

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

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

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

Read on AO3 — Series Masterlist — Taglist

<Part III — Part V>

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

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

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

“Please, it’s all yours.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, Boba!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good girl,” he praises, “Ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hopefully, fuck me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You, you, it belongs to you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can bring you a snack.”

“And I can have a massage?”

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

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

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

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

“What, little one?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MANDO'A TRANSLATIONS

(ner) cyare - (my) beloved, love

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

nau’ul be kar’ta - light of my heart

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

osik - Mando'a curse akin to "shit"

<Part III — Part V>

[teddybeartoji]

mickeyyyy tell me about your selfship lore with dazai pretty please

CARINAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'M HERE I'M HERE I'M HERE!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAA THANK YOU SM FOR ASKING ABT US ANGEL I LOVE HIM SM:(((((

okok so i had a chance to brainstorm a little with a friend the other day and now i'm gonna tell you all about it hehehehe:3333 also uhh.. i think this might get long so i apologize for that lmao

mizai takes place in a cute little university au!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! dazai is majoring in literature (he's so pretentious i love him so bad) and i am an art major!!!!!!! this is how i get to live out my silly dreams okay lmao so i'm thinking about studying pottery or something!!!!!!!!!

and and and since the they're all so very important to me i also need to tell you that chuuya is also an art major, he's doing classical painting (but he takes some pottery classes with me and that's how we met:333). kunikida is ofc gonna be a teacher, so he's studying education aaaaaaaaaaand fedya is... a psychology major. i'm scared of him a little i won't even lie.

AAAAANYWAYYY MIZAII:333 he pretty much just lives at my place; he does have an apartment but it's super small and he just.. doesn't like it there. so he has his own key and he's free to come and go whenever he wants!!!!!!! when i say 'go' i'm actually lying bc he really is just always at my place,, like i come home and he's there. i wake up and he's there. i go to take a piss and then come out only to be met with him laying on my couch. he's weird like that i love him sm.

i also have a cat!!!!!!!!! well i mean my irl cat is just canon in the mizai world hehehee and ooooooooh my god dazai loves him so much. and shrimp really fucking likes him too (so much so that i get jealous sometimes.. ) my cat is very talkative and so is dazai so there's just constant meowing going on. and well sadly, i am no better okay i am a meower too......................... we have a proper fucking cat choir going on smh i wonder if the neighbors hate us...................

though we're both big talkers, one of our favourite things to do is literally just parallel play. he's laid out on my bed like the princess that he is with his newest book while i sit behind my desk, typing away at whatever it is that i'm writing at the moment and it's just sooo so comfortable. and then after we decide that we've been productive enough we always go to the little cafe that we both love and then go to chuuya's just to bother him a bit (he loves us) >:333333333

whenever we're out taking the bus or the train, we're sitting shoulder to shoulder while sharing earphones!!!!!!!!! he rests his head against mine and fidgets with my fingers while i choose the music<333333

oh and neither of us can sleep alone btw. we both struggle with sleep all around but it's not that bad when we're together. it's like thing apparently too you know? that like you get sleepy when you're around a person you really feel safe with? so yeah... we take a lot of naps together it's kind of like a shared love language of ours!!!!!!

OMFG WAIT I ALSO NEED TO ADD THAT UHH ODA IS HERE TOO. HE'S DAZAI'S FAVOURITE PROFESSOR. AAAAAAAAAAAAA oda loves him sm... he loves hearing all of dazai's ideas and his takes and they talk after the lectures all the time too. they actually even go to grab a coffee every now and then. dazai just really really loves talking to him and sometimes (read: every time) he comes home after seeing him, he's sooo happy:((( he has the biggest smile on my face as he just plops down on top of me and starts retelling everything they talked about with oda:(((((((((((((((((((((((((( AAAAAAAHHH CARINAA I LOVE HIM SOOO SO BADDDDD I'M GONNA DIEEEEE

he once kinda dragged me into one of oda's classes too and i was so scared that he'll throw me out bc well.. i'm not supposed to be there but then he was just checking who's there and who's not and his eyes met mine before moving to dazai's twinkling ones and he just smiled and let me be there anyway. (he would literally never throw me out)(btw i fear that.. dazai... yaps about me to him too.............. )

BUT WAHH OKAY OKAY I THINK I NEED TO STOP HERE BEFORE I ACTUALLY EXPLODEEEE I LOVE TAKING HIM TO STUDY DATES AT THE CAFE AND I LOVE TAKING HIM TO ARCADE DATES AND I LOVE LISTENING HIM TALK AND I LOVE WATCHING HIM CUDDLE WITH SHRIMP (MY CAT:33) AAAAAAAAAAAAA I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND WAHHH THANK YOU FOR INDULGING ME ON THIS CARINA MY ANGEL<333333 it means a lot a lot a lot hehehehe MWAH MWAH MWAHH I LOVE YOU SM!!!!!!!!

[fantasyinvader]

I was watching a video last night by Yahtzee about how AAA games write female protagonists. He had three main points. The first is that female MC aren't written with agency but instead what he calls “have to”s, the second is how games love to make them suffer and finally how it's all framed. Let's see how all these apply to Edelgard.

First is the question of agency, this is something that has plagued the fandom since the game's release. Does Edelgard have agency? The game wants to make it out that she's being manipulated by TWSITD, that she's going to war as part of their plan, whereas Edelgard herself frames it as her having to do something about the state of the world. Edelgard will go to war for her ideals, but at the same time is also presented as being a mere servant to them. She chose to work with TWSITD, but if they wanted to they could simply have brainwashed her into doing so.

We have the game invoking the “have to”s, but take a minute to examine things. Edelgard is going to war because she believes it's the right thing and that the people will benefit from her ideals. She formed ideals based on what her father told her, however she ignores the fact her father was a puppet of her tormentors (according to Hubert). She knows TWSITD are against Rhea, the one her father made out to be the bane of humanity, and to top it all off she's told by Thales himself what the experiments were for. Yet she'll still blame the corruption of the Imperial nobility, the ones she was told were behind the experiments by her father, and according to Hopes she ignores the influence TWSITD has over them as well as restoring the Church branch the Empire disbanded over a century prior while Sylvain says the nobles do what they want rather than following the supposed system and Lorenz say they merely pay lip-service.

So, does Edelgard really have to go to war while the games make her out as ignoring the truth.

Meanwhile, the Japanese version of the main theme, Girl From Hresvelg, instead portrays Edelgard as wavering about going through with the war during White Clouds before deciding to go through with it. On top of that, if Claude faces her in the palace she says she wants to kill him for the world she dreams of when he says they don't want to kill her. It's definitely painting her as having agency, that she's doing these things because she ultimately wants to do them herself, not because she has to.

“But what about her being manipulated?” you might ask. Let's look at this from a real world perspective, shall we? IRL, it's debated if brainwashing is even real, and whenever it has been used as a possible defence in a legal proceeding it's been struck down because people are assumed to have free will. If brainwashing does exist, that would also mean that free will can be taken away. Edelgard was indoctrinated by the Agarthans, but that's not enough to say she doesn't have free will. They could brainwash her removing her free will according to Hopes, but they didn't and the game has always said that joining them was a decision Edelgard made.

In short, while Edelgard appears to be an example of “have to”s, she actually has agency in her own actions and therefore responsibility for them.

The second point is trauma, and Edelgard has it in bucketloads. However, rather than the game putting her through traumatic situations time and time again, her trauma is reserved for her backstory. Rather than being something she has to persevere through, it already happened. Not only that, it's not used to make her stronger. The trauma is used to manipulate her into deciding to go to war by those who put her through it, so rather than making her character commendable it instead invokes pity more than anything.

That leads us into framing. How does the game want us to see Edelgard? According to the devs, there's two sides of her, the cute girl and the emperor who plays the role of a standard FE villain looking to conquer with the latter being a twist due to her gender. On the surface level, she's meant to be a cute girl. On top of that, they wanted players to immerse themselves in Fodlan's setting, but they admitted they created it to support Silver Snow's story. Therefore, Edelgard's takes are ultimately meant to be wrong.

There's something else here. Yahtzee brought up that with the Tomb Raider reboot, the devs put Lara through all that because they wanted the players to develop a paternal view of her. They wanted players to want to protect her. On the topic of The Last of Us 2, the games wants me to forgive Abby for her murder of Joel. There's a very manipulative quality to how things are framed, intent on making us feel specific things in response to the story. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.

Abby is still a piece of shit taking a trans kid to be a child soldier for a terrorist group that is compared to the cult the kid escaped from. No matter how you frame it, she's still doing a horrible thing that goes against the themes of the game.

What the devs talked about with Lara Croft is just moe. That's the definition, a desire to protect a character. They didn't want the players to see her like the older version of her, where she was simply a badass. This is very different from how male protagonists are portrayed. I bring this up because the game has the option to join Edelgard as protecting her.

There's a moe element to Edelgard, but think about how this plays out. Edelgard just got revealed as the villainous Flame Emperor, and we're asked if we want to protect her. After the game points out that she lied and used the party, it asks if we want to join her and her allies. And if I do so, the game keeps dropping hints about how manipulative Edelgard actually is. The game uses moe against the player in order to turn them into the bad guy.

Really, Edelgard comes across more as a deconstruction of modern female protagonists. Her actions aren't because she has to do this or that, but because she has agency and wants to do those things. Her being framed as a cute girl is used to hide her true nature and manipulate the player into protecting her from the consequences of her own actions. The narrative tries to manipulate us just like Edelgard does in-universe. Finally, while her trauma is used to make her sympathetic, it's not something she's been able to move beyond. It didn't make her stronger, as she has internalized the methods of her abusers and is now using them on others for her own benefit.

[dokidokitsuna]

I came up with the idea to add these two to the AU a long time ago, but I initially thought they’d just distract from the dark tone. It wasn’t until recently that I (a) came up with these too-cute-to-not-use designs and (b) figured out a way for them to add to the Master Crown’s story despite it all.

In general, within this AU, Dark Matter are considered ‘inferior life forms’, basically giant space bugs that get in your way sometimes. ^^; Like dark matter IRL, they seem to simply exist out of sight, filling in the spaces between the realms that no one cares about. They can’t really compete with the big dimension-conquering supervillains, and they don’t try to.

Despite that, they’re probably due a little more respect. I mean, you might think of yourself as superior to a bug, but meanwhile the bug doesn’t even care that you exist, and its kind will probably still be around long after yours is gone. That’s the worldview the Dark Matter are working from, pretty much. ^^

GONE.Dark Matter Swordsman

I have a bad habit of drawing Swordsman designs without the swords…whatever; you’ll see it later. ;]

Anyway, this Swordsman is the MC’s primary henchman, being the most combat-ready specimen it managed to capture during its conquest. Over time, it’s been molded into a powerful mage in its own right, and with a Dark Matter’s regenerative ability, essentially unlimited lifespan, and (seemingly…) low intelligence, it makes a perfect subordinate.

In reality, though, it’s just a good actor. ^^ It’s not a secret genius or anything, but it knows enough not to show all its cards while it’s learning spells and gathering information for its true master. Besides that, it tries to keep a smile on its face to serve as a source of hope for its little partner. It doesn’t mind taking all the Master Crown’s abuse and pretending to be a happy slave if it’ll give Gooey one less thing to be sad about.

GONE.Gooey

A mere “appendage”, as far as the Master Crown knows. It doesn’t seem to do anything but stay near Swordsman and follow it around.

In reality, Gooey is actually Swordsman’s boss, in a way. It relays messages from their true master, including its initial order to pretend to be captured and stay with the Master Crown for observation.

Its canon-based origin as a Dark Matter-esque thing that used to goof around in Dream Land is still in play here-- unfortunately, that was eons ago, and now it is one of the only beings still in existence that can even remember Pop Star…as well as the planet’s slow death at the hands of the Master Crown. So it decided to re-assimilate itself into the Dark Matter collective in order for a shot at revenge, no matter how long it might have to wait.

++

In terms of the narrative, this duo’s just here to serve as one additional thing to help send the MC over the edge. :9 The revelation that it doesn’t actually control them and never did would definitely shake its faith in its own abilities much further, and I imagine Gooey would have some choice words for it before they finally leave it behind~.

Additionally, and most humiliatingly…they are actually a match for the MC in power. ^^;;; Partly due to all the time Swordsman spent learning from it, and partly because Dark Matter have much more latent potential than anyone realizes (i.e. everyone else is LUCKY they aren’t interested in conquering dimensions).

So yeah, imagine you’re already going through a rough time mentally, start suspecting that even your pet bugs might be acting against you…and they reply “oops, looks like you caught us” and then rise up and beat you within an inch of your life. So then your rivals can laugh at you for getting wrecked by a couple of insects. Not fun. XD

[borderline-culture-is]

(Long vent that may mot be ordered right or make sense bc im tired rn)

I’m so fucking done with this life tbh. Like from the bottom of my heart. I wish i can kill myself but im too scared. Thats that damn problem though, im still forcing myself to suffer because im a coward, i cant even make ip my mind to end it. I cant get therapy, or any type of medication because my parents dont care enough to notice even tho my symptoms are very bad. and even when i become an adult, id probably not be able to. I have no dreams for the future, i have no money, nothing. ill probably have to live with them for way longer. And im still not going to be able to kms ofc, im going to live very long and THATS THE PROBLEM. I cant fucking tell snyone irl about my mental issues because im too ashamed. In fact, im so fucking embarrassed that i fake a personality everyday to make myself as perfect as possible. Everyone thinks im really nice, kind, and patient. When in fact im really a fucking shitty person who just pretends to be cool and shit. All because im too fucking embarrassed to admit im mentally ill. How could anyone like me for who i actually am?? Hell, I cant even admit im autistic, even though its nothing to be ashamed of. I just know my parents will laugh at me and id rather die than hear it from them

Im at my fucking limits everyday, and im tired all the time even if notbing even happened. I have anxiety attacks weekly for no reason at all, and no one knows. I hate being this good at masking.

I cry in my room all the time, and sometimes i have to force myself to let it out because im so numb. I hate it when im breaking down and my parents are in the kitchen laughing and enjoying themsleves like its just another day.

I feel so apathetic and nihlisitic. I have felt lonely my entire life because i cant relate to anyone. I know people only like the person they see on the surface, not the person i am inside

Ive told many people online about my issues, and i dont know if its not helping much or im too numb to feel any good emotions. But either way, ive realised that it might hurt me too. Im just normalising living this way more because im able to vent to people without actually getting any professional help. And this is just one out of the billions of unhealthy coping mechanisms i have. But i have no other choice. I need to cope somehow because i cant get treatment, and if these mechanisms dont work, i need to try harder and make myself more ill. Its not like i can be fixed anymore, so oh fucking well.

yesterday, my parents confronted me abt how i always looked tired, they asked me if i was being bullied at school. That pissed me off. Why?? Have they ever took the time to realise they maybe theyre the ones causing it?? No, i am not being bullied, and the only reason for that is my good masking skills. Do i need to get bullied to be ill enough? Am i still not bad enough for you to care??

-🌟

.

[imaginespazzi]

Nivi – hey bestie, you’ve done it again – I wasn’t sure it could get more heartbreaking than the last one and yet!

As always, the writing is- well, it’s everything.

The parallels between high school them and college them was immaculate, and I so wish Paige could have fulfilled her dream of kissing Azzi under the confetti, but alas, maybe in another universe 😉

I loved the little exchange about UConn and California, and how that possibility was always there but Paige could just never accept it.

P and UConn winning the natty this year – it had to happen in at least one universe, so thank you for letting it happen in this one.

Side note: Drew and Paige interactions are always top tier, and very much the type of momentary fluff that I needed to break up the sadness while reading.

Side note 2: I love that I don’t even need to imagine what Azzi wearing Paige’s jersey would look like, but I’m glad ucla au Paige got to experience it too 🥹

The celebration with the team was so cute and of course it would be KK that basically helps break the ice (and her lil innocent “you should bring her around more often” 🥺). Also, all the little moments Az got with everyone else in the team was so wholesome, and ofc queen Nika being a loveable menace who’s always just looking out for her twin.

Side note 3: I love love love the two piggyback moments haha, just because that’s so pazzi core to me idk, I feel like there’s been a lot of photos where Azzi is piggybacking Paige irl, like that’s very much their thing so I adored seeing it incorporated here. But then, the ending. I knew it was coming, but it certainly did not make it hurt any less when we got there. “Fuck,” Paige’s voice is still wracked with sleep, “I thought you left.” “That’s more your style,” Azzi says – this was particularly heartbreaking, but I can’t really blame Azzi, even if P is trying so hard to make things right.

Overall, I may or may not have been tearing up throughout the entire chapter, and it somehow hit me even harder the second time I read through it? I think that’s just testament to your writing tbh.

Thoughts on what’s next:

Do things finally start getting better? It can’t get any worse, can it? (famous last words) 😅

I did wonder actually, whether you’d have them win or lose the natty, only because if they did win which obviously they did here (thank you), could that maybe change P’s mind at all on declaring or not?

I’m guessing she obviously sticks to her og decision and stays, and so I’m super intrigued on what might come next for them.

Like will they try going back to being just friends? Even though they’ve already tried and failed and knowing that would never be enough for Paige. But can they really not be in each other’s lives??

Will they try seeing other people again??

Summer’s coming up in the timeline and they’ve never spent an entire summer apart, so what will they do this summer? 😔 Or will we have a big time jump?

So many questions, and only you have the answers, Nivi.

Favourite lines/quotes:

The moon shines against Azzi’s face and Paige thinks that so much has changed, but Azzi’s still that kind of beautiful

“Do you know what my answer would have been?” “Yeah,” Azzi says softly, squeezing her hands, “yeah I do.”

Alternate lyrics that came to mind while reading:

Talk about our future like we had a clue. Never planned that one day, I'd be losing you.

In another life, I would be your girl. We'd keep all our promises, be us against the world.

Oh, and in honour of your love for Taylor, a Taylor lyric that came to mind was specifically this:

And I can go anywhere I want. Anywhere I want, just not home - mainly from the perspective of Paige getting almost everything she’s ever wanted, except the thing she wants most.

PS: I don’t really listen to Taylor’s music much anymore (nothing negative, just a shift in my music tastes these past couple of years!), but if there’s anything you think I should definitely give a listen to from her latest album, let me know!

As always, thank you for all you do for us. Have a wonderful weekend 💗

Much love, -🙋‍♀️

Hi bestie, one thing about me is that I will find a way to make it worse! 🤪

Thank you my sweets, it always means the world <3

I'm glad you caught that because I wanted to hint at the idea that it wasn't just a random decision of Azzi's part to choose UCLA and that she'd always been considering it.

If I can add Drew and Paige interactions, best believe I will find a way to do it. That's another relationship that's so precious to me.

Shoutout to the one anon who asked for Azzi to wear Paige's jersey in the universe as well because I took that and ran with it so I hope they liked it, because I liked their idea (come say hi!)

The team scene was one my favorites to write honestly, especially just in general KK is so fun to write because she's so fun and I need my chaotic family (Paige-Azzi-KK-Ice) to be a thing in every universe.

YES the piggybacks are just so Pazzi-core and I know this is an au but I like to take things from what we already know about them and just tweak it to keep some semblance of realism. Also piggyback are just really cute and Paige seems like the kind to beg literally anyone to carry her anyways

Things will get better because I actually don't know if they can get worse (actually they probably could but it might be hard to come back from lol) but things getting better is gonna take a lot

See if Paige changes her mind and declares, things become easy for them with her going to LA and I'm not in the business of making things easy for them lol

You think I have the answer to these question but truly what I write is just as much a mystery of where my inspiration will take to me as it is to you. So we'll see but we're on the ascent upwards, so no more other people lol!

I LOVE THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY SO MUCH!!

As for Taylor, the new album's pretty good babes if you wanna go listen! Lowkey a lot of the songs work pretty well with this fic lmao. But my favorites are loml and Fortnight I think.

Always love your detailed takes on the new parts and just seeing you in my inbox always makes me smile <3

[latimeria-fell-from-heaven]

#𝗩𝗘!𝗟 𝗢𝗙 𝗡!𝗚𝗛𝗧.

nonnie asked ↺ phantom would be a soft dom...

cw. soft dom!phantom, doctor!reader, praise kink, fingering, missionary position, cumming inside (use condoms irl!), servitude & overstimulation.

>> NAVIGATION <<

Someday, you want to run away with him. Somewhere far, far away, where not even the bloodied thorns of his past can follow you. Somewhere where not even the raging winds and hellscape of the Catastrophes can touch down near you.

But that's a foolish dream, even for you. But if your dreams can't come true, then why not pretend, at least?

Soft kisses are spread across your face with no direction, as if the one doling them out is drunk on love. He might as well be, given how red his cheeks are and how heavy his breaths are. Streaks of pale brown locks flit across your vision, his silky hair now a mess from when your fingers had entangled themselves within them. Another kiss is pressed to your cheek, and you lose whatever train of thought you have held.

Phantom's fingers curled up deep inside of you, rotating around in half circles that stretch you out despite the previous few orgasms that had loosened you plenty. He's always done this, always delaying his own pleasure in favor of watching you reach your climax over and over, whispering sweet nothings that echo around your mind.

His fingers stop, then grind up into a spot that makes you squeak and your leg muscles tense up. "Phaー o-ohーntom.. I.." Your words come out strange and garbled as if your very voice had been corrupted, but it was so hard to think with the overwhelming good you were feeling.

When the slender digits suddenly tug themselves from your spasming walls, you whine in protest, though you stop when you finally look at the man who's been sending you into bliss this whole time. His cheeks as red as tomatoes, chest deeply sinking up and down for oxygen as he drinks up the sight of you. He looks gorgeous.

Phantom lets out a shaky breath. "Doctor... I'm sorry, but.." He whimpered, a voice so soft that you could mistake it for a breeze. "Can I put it in..? Please?"

The sound of his voice pleading so gently tugs on your heartstrings, though the usage of your title rather irks you. "You don't need to ask, y'know. Besides, didn't I say that you don't have to call me Doctor? It's just the two of us. You can say my name, sweetie."

"I'm sorry.."

"Don't apologize. There's nothing to be sorry for." You smile gently at him before beckoning him forward. He complies with shaky eagerness, pushing his torso forward until his hips nearly slot with yours, pulsating erection rubbing up against you with shivers of anticipation. Dipping his body down till your noses are touching, you're not sure if he wants to kiss you or simply bask in your presence.

With his forehead against yours, you stared into his hazy eyes as he slowly sunk into you, filling you so deep. He shakily moans, pushing even further into you until his hips fit against yours and you whimper aloud. He's nicely snug inside your walls, cock brushing up against each quivering little spot that makes you twitch.

You take notice of how his chest heavily heaves, mouth hung open with soft moans and pants escaping. He looks pretty like this, and you wish that you could take a picture of him like this. Though you're sure that the sight will forever engrave itself into your mind.

"You're so pretty Phantom. Have I ever told you that?" Of course you have, you've told him countless times before, but it's not like you'll ever tire of saying so. When you go to cup his cheek, he jumps a bit as your skin slides against his, but he makes no effort to pull away. His cheek is soft, is warm enough to feel like a small flame against your touch.

He halts his movements, eyes wide, with a multitude of emotions coming to life and swirling about within them. "I.." He's at a loss for words, before he reaches a hand to cusp your own, his touch so light that you'd think you were being embraced by a ghost. "I do not deserve you (name).."

You throw him a playful smile, one that quivers when he rolls his hips again and your touch on his face loosens. "Hm? What are you sayin', of course you deserve me. Don't say stuff like that." A moan erupts from your mouth as soon as you finish your sentence when he rubs against that spot deep inside you — he pauses for a sliver of a second but tries it again, and if you were anymore lucid, you'd have been embarrassed by the string of moans wavering from your throat. "Good boy, good bo — o-oh god, yes, there.."

Following your moans and incoherent words as instructions, Phantom keeps the same pace, angling his hips to press up against that one sweet spot that makes you squeeze and spasm around him. When he sinks his head to the side of your neck and starts kissing, you wrap your arms around his back, keeping him in that position for as long as you possibly can.

You can feel yourself being pushed closer and closer to the edge, and after a couple of particularly sharp thrusts, it finally sends you reeling into your long awaited orgasm. Perhaps because of how overworked Phantom's fingers had gotten you earlier, but your entire body feels so hot and sensitive that you feel ready to fall apart. But in his embrace, you know that won't happen.

His pace slows down, until he locks his hips against yours as deep as he can, and hot warmth floods into your lower belly. The brunette shakily moans against you, hips stuttering as his own orgasm wracks his lithe body. And yet he still had it in him to continue nibbling and sucking on your neck, albeit rather weakly. The warmth shared between your bodies is something that you never want to ever be apart from, not even in death.

Yeah, you want to run far away with him.

© latimeriafellfromheaven

[battle-subway-ghost]

Intro.

Never been good at introducing myself. But, here we go.

I'm Paris. Or Ghost. Either one works. Ghost is a nickname, and has been an alias for a while now. I don't really care which one you want to call me. Anyways, I'm 24, and my pronouns are he/him.

I used to fight in the Battle Subway a lot. So if you remember a guy named "Ghost" from there, that's probably me. That's all over now though, I've been living in Galar for a while now. Still connected to my Unovan roots though. Imagine some braviary sound effects here, I don't fucking know.

If you think you recognize me, firstly no you don't. I keep my face private for a reason. Secondly, don't come up to me if you aren't looking to have a battle. Not gonna force you but I don't like talking to strangers outside of that.

So my horse accidentally posted a video of me getting attacked by my rival's Froslass. So my face is kinda out there now. Don't fucking harass me or shit like that, don't be a weirdo. (and no, this doesnt mean ill be posting more pictures of myself. Don't ask.)

Anyways. Enough about me, here's my team.

I've also got a battler in-training, and 3 rattata that I keep as pets. I might as well give 'em all a graphic here.

FAQ because people in real life keep asking me this:

Q: Cheri looks very pink. Is that normal? A: Yes, he does. It probably is.

Q: Is that a shiny alolan rattata? A: No. Bean is albino.

Q: What's wrong with Grungle? A: Nothing. He's a weird subspecies or hybrid, not sure which yet. Either way, he's REALLY FUCKING BLUE NOW, HOLY SHIT. He's safe though- it's not dangerous.

Dunno what else to say here. My main interests are battling, so if you have any questions about that, feel free to ask me. I'm not an actual EXPERT on it or anything, but it's whatever.

Hello! This is the OOC part of the introduction! I follow from @act11as, and ooc posts will be tagged as such, and will usually have the color green. I don't always do this, as it can be grating to look at after a while.

My rotomblr "hub" account is @battle-subway-aftershow!

Muse is an adult, mod is a minor. Don't be weird, or I'll screenshot your ask and make fun of you with my friends. Into the hall of shame with you.

(Weird: NSFW/Suggestive asks, fetish mining, etc. Do not fucking do these.)

Additionally: If your main is NSFW, please do not follow me. I will block you for my own comfort.

ALL TRIGGER WARNINGS WILL BE TAGGED AS "[word] tw"! This is to make it easier to blacklist things! if I ever miss something or you need me to tag something in specific, shoot me an ask or a dm! I'll try to remember.

Guidelines/Rules I guess?

*ALMOST ANY kind of Pokemon Irl blog can interact! Eeby deebies, sapient pokemon, evil teams, whatever! I cannot guarantee that Paris will be nice to you, (ESPECIALLY an evil team) or believe you.

*Self-Insert fallers, please do not interact. I personally cannot handle these kinds of blogs. Self-insert ocs are fine, but the idea of a real person on rotomblr being isekaid into Pokémon is not.

IN CHARACTER anon hate is perfectly fine! Be an asshole to Paris! Keep in mind that I won't always respond to these however, especially if they go too far in my eyes.

PARIS CAN AND WILL BE AN UNRELIABLE NARRATOR! He doesn't know all the details, he can be wrong, he can flat out lie. Just something to keep in mind!

Extra:

Mystery Gifts are now open! And Preferred! Feel free to go crazy with this ^^

Pelipper Mail, un-mail, and Malice are always open! Feel free to torment this guy whenever you so please. (links go to the source posts for all 3 lol)

Musharna mail, (sending dreams) and Musharna malice (sending nightmares) are always on! Once again feel free to torment this guy.

Magic anons are usually off, unless I specifically specify otherwise!

Organizational tags:

#[nickname] the [pokemon] - Most posts about Paris' pokemon should be tagged like this.

#mind's eye - Usually ask games- these are not things Paris would actually say out loud, at least in the way the post says it, to a degree! Consider these semi-canon in nature. Feel free to press him outside of ask games, if you see something interesting though ^^

#Paris used Sleep Talk - a bit of a mixed bag, posts made by Paris either when he’s tired, falling asleep, or actually asleep. Usually angst but can be memes as well. Mixed bag like I said

#rival tag - Tag for posts mentioning/about Paris' rival, also known as @/subzeroiceshard

#mylah tag - Tag used for @/tinkatinktrain- Paris' friend.

#sprite tag - Tag used for @/thatfailedpokemontrainer- similar situation to the above.

#frosty tag - Tag used for @/frosty-sneasel!

#bluebird anon/bluebird tag - Tag used for @/blu3b1rdsss!

#beedrill tag - Tag used for @/a-nickits-den!

#shilo tag - Tag for @/shilo-sumac!

Previous arcs/Lore:

#A Frosty Reception / #A Frosty Reception 2.0 - Takeovers of one of Paris' childhood friends. done twice because I kept getting sick :(

#Gone Fishing Arc - Paris fucked off into the woods and almost never returned! Good look into his character. (warnings for pokemon attacks, injury, and frostbite)

#Kicked to Kanto - Smaller thing, what it says on the tin.

#Team Fauna - Inconsistently tagged, but should have the vital bits in the general area? (Check "Cult tw" if otherwise). Paris goes undercover in a cult to save his friends. This does not have consequences whatsoever (obviously, warning for cults.)

#Unraveling arc - Post Team Fauna- Something strange is going on with Paris' reality... It seems to be falling apart! Unraveling, even! (Warnings for horror, body horror, and unreality)

#Greyed Walls Event - The aftermath of Unraveling. Our Paris is missing, and a curious foxlike entity has gotten involved... (Askblog-style event- this is an AU of Paris, set in a post-apocalyptic world!) (Mild warning on top of the obvious apocalypse for horror and talks about injury + amputation!)

--

And finally, for music enjoyers- Here's his playlist! NOW ON YOUTUBE TOO BECAUSE FUCK SPOTIFY!

[hanafubukki]

Hanaa~~! 💖💖 For the Random Questions Ask Game: 📸🔮✨️💎🤩

[ask game]

Hello Nessy 💞💚🌻

📸 - What's one of your favorite photos in your phone?

That’s so hard to say 😭, I have so many fan art, SS from tumblr, and some irl pics that brings a smile to my face. I can honestly say it has something to do with my hobbies/interests usually 💞💞

✨ - What's an article of clothing essential to your IRL character design?

I love baggy and comfy clothing! I’m always wearing a cardigan or some type of hoodie. The one I really love lately is a cute Totoro cardigan. I got so many compliments on it 🥹💞

💎- If you could steal anything without consequence, what would you take?

It was between money and time, so literally or figuratively basically 😂🤣

But essentially, I would go with time. There’s so many things to learn and so much fun to be had but not enough time. I feel like having time would allow me to have more fun and enjoy myself more, and with more time, I can make more money 🤣💞

🤩- What's an unpopular thing you find attractive?

Oh, this is a hard one 🤔 Hmmm, I mean ever since I came to tumblr I know people like dragons as much as I do. Bats are adorable as well…the only thing that pops up is Sebek Zigvolt.

He’s attractive and cute but he’s unpopular because people put him under the “he’s racist” category and that’s all they see him, but he’s so much more than that. I hope this counts 💚💞

🔮-What's a paranormal or scary encounter you've had?

I had a dream within a dream within a dream, dreamception. I knew I was in a dream and something was chasing me and I knew I couldn’t fall asleep no matter what. So I woke up into another dream and was calling for my family.

But I was so tired and knew I couldn’t fall asleep and I kept moving and when I went to go find my family I didn’t want to see them because something horrific might happen.

And I kept waking and sleeping between these two dreams, finally my alarm clock woke me up, but I was so scared and panicked. It was not fun 😭😭

[nerdygaymormon]

I'm scared that being queer is going to drag me away from the church, because every queer person I know in the church has absolute bare minimum faith, and they always contemplate leaving, and I have heard in polls about the sheer amount of queer people leaving the church because of the bigots who refuse to accept and live in equality and harmony with the LGBTQ+ community.

Why can't the straights and Christians just get along with the LGBTQ people and vice versa? It's like a small thing like being queer is enough to have both sides hissing and clawing at each other, and being in all three communities feels like I'm being pulled in two different directions: one half of me who believes in the Church doctrine and wants to be that good, faithful girl who goes to heaven, and the other half who wants me to embrace who I am.

I absolutely hate the fact that queer people have to be closeted in this Church, and I hate the fact that being queer makes me feel wrong, because of the bigots and prejudicial people who can't just let people live their lives regardless of gender or sexual orientation or whatever.

I also hate that part of me can see the patriarchal format of the church and even as a kid questioned why, but currently I am so desperate to keep my faith, to hold onto the one thing I know is true in this world, that I'm wondering whether I should just stay closeted for the rest of my life and live as a cishet and then no one has to know and I can just avoid being disowned and I can avoid having my closest friends turn on me and I can avoid being ostracised for something as trivial as not aligning to the gender binary.

I'm also terrified for my next temple recommend interview because I don't want to lie when the bishop asks if I believe in anything that goes against church doctrine because I might but I don't want to say yes since that might prompt further questions, and I don't want to lie to the bishop and say no.

I can't even ask my parents because they're both homophobic, transphobic and very actively hateful towards anti-LGBTQ people, and I feel like I have no one to talk to, since I don't know any irl friends outside the church and all my other friends believe in being relatively anti-LGBTQ as well.

I feel at my lowest point right now and I hate this because it's piling onto pre-existing family drama and I just want it to end.

Why can't I live my dream of being a proud queer mormon with a husband and kids like I've always wanted without this crippling crisis adding itself onto the gender dysphoria I have from my mother pressuring me to dress and act femininely?

I hate this feeling so much and I hate putting on a smiling mask for people and pretending like it's okay because I can't get into how I'm feeling and the closest I can get is writing an anonymous ask on a queer mormon tumblr blog in the hopes that someone can hear me and talk to me from an understanding point of view.

Sorry for the rant, I had to get it out somewhere...!

This is heavy. I'm glad you wrote.

You're observant. Most queer individuals do leave the church. It indicates that church isn't a good place for most queer people and needs to make some changes.

The church used to define how I viewed myself and my queerness, but over time, my queerness has changed how I view the church. I can't change and not be queer, it's not a choice, and no matter how much I wanted to it just isn't something I have the power to change. Since this is how God made me, then it makes me question why my church would say it's wrong or bad.

For me, I had to learn that this church isn't perfect, the prophets sometimes get things wrong. Lots of things have changed and will continue to change.

Fortunately, Jesus taught us the 2 great commandments and then said all the laws and prophets hang on those 2 commandments. It helps me when I think about teachings at church to think "does this fit with the 2 great commandments, to love God and to love myself & my neighbor?" If it's not loving of myself or my neighbor, then it doesn't fit with what Jesus taught. It helps me identify things I can set aside and the things I can hold tight to.

I'm not saying that now is the right time, but one day you will step out of the closet. Almost every queer person takes that step and it's a brave thing to do. Everything starts changing at that moment because then you can speak up for yourself.

There is a temple recommend question that asks "Do you support or promote any teachings, practices, or doctrine contrary to those of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?" Feel free to ask your bishop if he could explain this a bit more. For example, I support gay marriage and Elder Christofferson has said that members can support gay marriage and still have a recommend, but if two women marry each other then they can't have a recommend anymore. The way I think of this question is the way I live my life is the biggest testament I can give. Even if I want things to change or I disagree on some things or even reject some statements by the prophet, I still live my life in a way that complies, that is a stronger statement than anything else.

We have a queerstake discord that I think you'd enjoy. You'll meet many current and former members who are queer. Even though some are former members, it's not a place to bash church members. Send me a DM and I'll send you a link