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ghostgirl101 · 1 month

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Imagine if Paul Atreides claimed you as his destiny: PART Ⅰ of Ⅱ

|| Word Count: 1.5K || Angst → Fluff ||

A/N: I had this as a big idea that I had to get down before the basic headcanons and stuff, so here's my take on our Lisan al Gaib 😎 if you like this then hit me up for some relationship headcanons and the like, I'm up for it all. Enjoy reading or watching the movie if you haven't already - I'm going again lol, and screen X is the best way to experience it fr Also I feel like I should write a second part to this lmao, if you liked what you read?

You weren't one for dreams of destiny.

The dreams you had seemed meaningless, confusing, nothing to do with what ifs and what could. Not like his.

But you always seemed to feel some kind of atmosphere, an aura you couldn't quite shake off, even when you woke up from the darkness. There was no face to go with the voice, the voice in the dark that called to you in whispers that you didn't understand. Beautiful words that weren't yours, but sounded so soft and gentle and powerful, as they reached out to you from distant lands.

You could never place them, pin them down and study them, understand them, until the day the Emperor was challenged by a ghost of a lost House, thought to be dead, left to be forgotten. You stand near the Emperor and his guards and men, the Great Houses looming and listening from higher above, as the Fremen fill up the space to watch the confrontation in spirited anticipation.

The life debt was paid. The late Emperor was overthrown. The ascendancy of Paul Atreides rose and took from the throne to claim it.

His attention flicks from his eyes boring coldly into the Emperor's, to meet yours, his voice smooth and set, full of conviction and force.

"Our destiny is together. I'll take her."

Your eyes widen slightly as his words sink in, blinking through the shock and incredulity that rushes through you and makes your heart race in apprehension and wonder. Though his voice twins with your wandering dreams, you don't know whether to feel fascination and longing, or fear and cautiousness at some greater force beyond your understanding, playing out before your very eyes.

"I..." your voice falters in uncertainty and disbelief, and you try again. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me well," Paul responds with an undying, stoic certainty that's almost unnerving. "As I know you."

His eyes study you, his Spice-stained blue eyes bleeding into yours, scanning every freckle on your face and curve of your outfit. Assessing you, knowing you, ridiculous throngs of power filling his aura and projecting onto you with his intense stare. You have to fight not to shiver under it, ultimately failing.

"What of me?" is the wisest reply you can think of before the silence stretches into dangerous uncertainty.

"Everything," Paul says evenly, but there's no mistaking the challenge and determination in his tone, almost daring you to reject him, to disagree, a built-up desire of dreamt promises resolving his stand. "I choose you, as my Empress. We will rule together, over the Empire."

Scepticism and bewilderment washes over you and makes your blood heat and stir, retreating into silence as he takes a step closer to you, gazing at you as if you're the most curious, exotic being he's ever seen.

Desire threatens to override Paul Atreides' reason, clinging onto the hope and chance of a narrow way through to light, a light that could only be sought out with you by his side. Without you, there was nothing in sight but pools of blood replacing luscious marine life and oceans running through Arrakis, disarray and disillusion at every turn and infecting every heart.

You were absolutely perfect.

And you were already his, long before this moment, before you and he were born into the world and named. There was no manipulation needed, because everything was laid out for him to take, welcoming him to rule and grow higher and higher. Fate had bonded you and strung you along to here and now, and as you blink up into his bright eyes that narrow slightly at you, frowning softly as if you hadn't understood his demand.

"Do you know what I am?"

You pause for a moment, speaking slowly and cautiously, as the crowd of Fremen and the wary, late Emperor watch on in tense wordlessness. "You are Leto Atreides' son. Former Duke of Caladan."

"What I am," Paul repeats evenly, "not who I am." He stares at you in silence for another beat, before speaking up again. "Do you know of the Bene Gesserit?"

You stop yourself from glancing in Lady Jessica's direction just in time; the runes patterning her skin, her once soft eyes now spiked with an unfamiliar darkness of ages past. Anyone could get trapped in her watchful glare, and her son's holds almost as much intensity.

"No," you decide on hesitantly.

"Kwisatz Hederach," he adds, taking another step forward until you can feel his breath tickling your cheeks, standing above you with unspoken grace and vigor. "I see the future. A part of me is the future."

His hand is suddenly squeezing yours warmly and tightly, making you flinch slightly and glance down at them before looking back up at him.

"In this future, I am with you."

All you can do is stare at him in awe and wariness, not knowing whether to let your curiosity guide you, or distance yourself as far as possible from the boy who reigns over the dunes.

"Why?" you whisper, the crowds seeming to fade around you as you focus on the boy in front of you, his fingers tangling with yours boldly.

"I've seen it," Paul insists, his tone a touch softer in thought and wistfulness. "All of it. When I am with you..." His grip tightens over yours, the fire in his eyes returning. "We're unstoppable."

"And..." your words dry before you can speak them, and you will yourself to go on, unable to break away from the deep blue hues of his gaze. "And without?"

His jaw visibly clenches at your question, and his hand drops yours, shaking his head only answer as he glances away in slight frustration.

"You don't have the leisure of choice. It's all been made for you, written in the sands and stars, and what you need to do is walk in its path. I will show you the way. You have no other. Do you understand?"

The firmness is strong in his words and glare, making you look away from him too, still in a slight stun over the rush of events. In less than a day, your freedom has been stripped to this young man's desires and destiny, entwined with yours. You, who barely knew him until now, only familiar with his voice, his words, that echoed and rang in your head like a lullaby.

But this feels so harsh and strict. The eyes of the former Emporer linger between the two of you, and Paul's army of Fremen stand behind him attentively, some gazing at you in admiration and hope, of their messiah's promised bride. And she is beautiful.

"That's unfair."

"The future is unfair," Paul says calmly, his collected, cool tone wavering for a moment. "But it will be so much worse without you by my side, and I will not accept that. Not for my people... not for myself."

You stare at him in fascination and caution, lost for words. His fingers rise to brush against the skin of your cheek, sending tingles in their wake and making you fight back the automatic reaction, your eyes following his surprisingly gentle touch. Two fingers trace down the shape of your cheek down to your chin, tilting your head slightly upwards. Just one step closer, and your lips would be touching too.

"Name anything," he murmurs to you, the Fremen straining to hear his voice as it reaches you effortlessly, his expression earnest and determined. "Anything. And it is yours. Only if you willingly wed me in turn. Not as a concubine, nor a mistress."

You blink, then blink again, taken aback as a million thoughts and suggestions race through your mind and make your head spin for a split second. You glance at the elder Emperor, who gazes back at you and the infamous Lisan al Gaib wearily, his eyes clouded with sombreness and light spite.

"I... I don't," you shake your head, overwhelmed by an impossible choice. "I don't know..."

Paul's expression softens into a smile you haven't seen before, one that makes your cheeks flush with colour as you watch him; a gentle, amused smile that's somehow familiar and unfamiliar all at once, one meant just for you, as he disregards his surroundings.

"You will know," he replies quietly, "and I will have you, and protect you, rule with you. Love you. As I am meant to."

Paul suddenly brings you closer, pulling you into a searing kiss without warning. The exotic, earthy taste of the Spice on his tongue floods your senses and sends shudders of ecstasy and heat coursing under your skin and hushing the myriad of thoughts buzzing in your mind in an instant.

When he pulls away, all too soon, you find yourself chasing his lips before you catch yourself, and Paul gives you another soft smile, his forehead resting against yours as your eyes lock.

"And as I long to," he finishes against your lips, his words grounded with a look of protectiveness and desire that makes you instinctively relax further in his hold.

⊹⊹⊹

From beyond you both, his mother smiles slightly at the scene, a hand hovering over her rounded stomach.

The first step has been made.

══════════════⊹⊱≼ part two coming soon ≽⊰⊹══════════════

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inbarfink · 6 months

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No, you see, one of the funniest things about Zim is that he’s not, like, 100% fully incompetent. Throughout the entire IZ Canon, Zim has occasionally demonstrated some moments of surprising competency in combat -

Infiltration -

Mechanical engineering and science -

Spaceship flying -

And Diabolical schemes -

Of course, all of these moments are contrasted with major scenes where he is very comically bad at all of those same things. But a lot of this can be attributed to his actual core flaws which are - his ego and his absolute inability to accurately assess threats.

(and obviously these two traits are extremely related. Zim falls into either underestimating genuine threats to his safety and goals due to his own overconfidence - or overestimating ‘threats’ and turning minor problems into anxiety spirals as a way to justify why he keeps failing).

And you can see how all of Zim’s other screw-ups kinda all stern from that one core Flaw. Zim is probably decent enough at hand-to-hand combat for a tiny little alien, but he’s totally unable to assess whether or not he’s punching above his weight. And so he ends up losing in horrible and embarrassing ways to guys much bigger and tougher than he is.

He’s a pretty impressive scientist and inventor - but his inability to see his own limitations and flaws means he can’t notice when his project is too ambitious for his abilities or even just when he makes some error that he could’ve probably fixed before test-running but.. well… he doesn't and he didn’t, so…

And all of his plans overlook serious problems, while focusing far too much on minor threats. Even when his inventions work well and he comes up with something legitimately cunning, they are wasted on Literal Petty Schoolyard Drama.

Threat assessment is the one thing Zim is Legitimately Bad at. Pretty much the only times he identifies danger correctly are explicitly a ‘even broken clock is right twice a day’ situations (see: ‘Plague of Babies’).

And that is so funny.

Because while it seems like the Irken Empire sees an Invader actually conquering the plant on their own as, like, a Good Bonus Assignment to do on the side and Zim, ever the overachiever, has basically decided that it’s his duty.

The actual main role of an Invader - as stated in the first episode is - quite simply

The job of an Invader is to assess threats.

Zim is not quite as incompetent as people see him, but he is an utter failure at the one thing he’s supposed to be doing.

#invader zim #zim #iz #zim iz #iz zim #zim invader zim #irken zim #zim irken #the nightmare begins

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nahoney22 · 9 months

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hi! congratulations on 3k followers, massively deserved. I was wondering if you could do a request with a female reader? I loved ‘Need a hand?’ And I can’t stop replaying the scene where reader kisses echo to escape the guards and was wondering if you could do the same with the rest of the batch and who initiates it first? But can it be a little more on the suggestive side 👀… Up to you of course! I adore your stuff, especially echo works 😊 thanks! Take your time. 💕💕💕

The Perfect Plan***

All Bad Batch Boys X F!Reader

warnings: rather suggestive so 18+ only please, female reader, first kiss, kissing to escape guards/empire, touchy-feely, implied sexual content, explicit language, strip club, neck kissing, dry humping, lap dance/strip, mutual pining, non established relationships.

authors note: thank you! That fic is one of my favourites ever so I’m glad you like. Also, @clu-ven did something similar to this and they’re amazing so check theirs out too! 🤍

Echo

Echo was the one who initiated the plan, driven by the height of the chase and long-burning emotions.

"Echo, they're right on us. We have nowhere to go," you gasped, sweat trickling down your face. Assigned to retrieve crucial information from an imperial base, your discretion had failed and a swarm of guards were hot on your tail.

With determination, Echo took a cue from Fives (whether he bullshitted the idea to him before he wasn’t certain) and knew what he wanted to do. He silently took your hand, and you looked at him with wide, confused eyes, realising the danger of getting caught. "Echo-?" you started, but he drew you into an alcove in the dim alleyway, pressing his lips against yours.

The adrenaline rushed through you as the guards moved away, and you found yourself melting against his mouth. Neither of you pulled away despite now being in the clear after seeming like a couple having an intimate moment. Eagerly, he held your jaw, capturing your sweet whimpers as he pressed himself closer to you, seizing the moment that he may never get again.

“Echo,” you say his name again but this time it was sultry and needy, just saying his name felt amazing as your hands tug on his armour to bring him closer. He’s flushed against you now, his knee pressed between your thighs that leaves you hot and flustered. “Fuck,”

You whimper at the sensation, not being able to help but grind down against his limb that earns a low chuckle in response. “You’re making me so hard.”

When he pulls away, you gasp as he nips at your bottom lip as he parts, leaving you wanting more. “Shall we get out of here, sweetheart?” He asks, both flustered and a little smug at your reaction.

You quietly nod your head, linking your arm through his and take off. You had a lot to talk about on the way back to the Marauder.

Hunter

The club music blares, strobe lights flashing against your bodies as you and Hunter squeeze through the crowd, staying close to evade your pursuers.

"Hunter!" you shout over the music, and he looks over his shoulder, taking your arm and guiding you through the exotic dancers with the both of you feeling out of place. "We need to blend in!"

When the two of you get to the dance floor, surrounded by heated bodies that flushed and grinds against anyone, Hunter asks through gritted teeth, "Blend in how?" He senses the enemy getting closer.

You quickly assess the situation, scanning the dancing couples and then the more intimate couples… and an idea pops into your head. "Pin me up against the wall,"

“Huh?!” He stares at you wide-eyed and completely shocked at what you just said.

“Pin me up against the wall,” you suggest again moving closer to him, breath hot against his face and fully aware that it's a risky move that may even affect your relationship but you feel desperate to not get caught. "Now."

His eyes shift, but he complies. He grabs both of your hands, pushing you back into the corner of the club, pinning your arms above your head. Rougher than expected. Your heart races, not anticipating this to be so alluring, and you hope the music masks the sound of your pounding heart.

"You... you need to hide your face," you say, loud enough for him to hear, his long hair and tattoo being an obvious giveaway. When he gazes down at you, something in him snaps. He leans down, his breath hot against your neck…

“Hunte- OH!” You whimper in pleasure, his lips sucking and kissing along the exposure of your neck. His kisses like fire.

Your back arches in pleasure, flushing your body against his which only has him groaning in ecstasy, his length noticeable as it presses to your crotch. Has… has he wanted to do this as much as you wanted to? “I love hearing you whimper darling, don’t stop.” His hot tongue licks along your neck, up to your ear lobe that had you doing what he loved to hear as he gently starts to suck on it.

But, the plan worked.

Not only had the pursuers turned a blind eye to the both of you, you and Hunter went to find somewhere a little bit more private. His lips had moved to yours by now and your hands had moved to somewhere else too.

Wrecker

Wrecker's world stops the moment your lips touch his. The urgency of the pursuit fades away as he stands there, caught up in the unexpected moment. You had asked him to kiss you as a form of public display, but he hadn't fully grasped the seriousness until you literally jumped into his arms, your legs wrapping around him as your lips met.

"Kiss me back, please," you whisper against him, a hint of desperation in your voice, seeking both safety from the guards and perhaps some deeper connection that is above his average flirting.

He responds, wrapping his arms around you, holding you close as the two of you blend into the shadows, using the act of affection as a cover. The guards might be searching, but they don't seem to suspect anything between you two.

With one eye discreetly open, you notice the guards still in the area, and you realize you have to escalate the act. You whisper softly and enticingly, “Touch my breasts.”

“Are ya sure?” He rasps shakily, savoring the taste of your lips as he briefly pulls back to look down at your breasts, covered by a shirt. Nodding in confirmation, he slowly moved his hand over your stomach before he cups your breast in his large rough hand.

You gasp under the touch, loud and wanton as he starts to fondle them. “They feel so fucking good.” He grunts, not caring if this was just a small ploy but as you keen into him, your tongue begging entrance to his mouth, he knew it was more than that. He swallows your moans and claims your mouth with his own.

“Move along citizens!” One of the guards called out to the two of you but paying them no mind, they soon grunted in almost disgust and disbanded.

The Marauder shook pretty hard that night.

Tech

"We seem to have hit a dead end. These directions from Cid's buyers are, unsurprisingly, incorrect," Tech's annoyed tone echoes as both of you stand in front of a towering wall that was supposed to be your way out.

"I couldn't dislike her more than I already do," you sigh, rubbing your temples, trying to devise a plan to escape from the angry Weequays you just stole from. Normally, Tech would have a solution by now, but as he looks around, silent, you start to feel hopeless. Then, an audacious idea strikes you.

"Tech, I have an idea, but it's a bit bold," you announce.

Curiosity shines in his eyes, visible behind his helmet. "Speak quickly," he urges.

"You need to..." you hesitate, feeling a swirl of nervous anticipation as you notice the innocence and intrigue in his gaze, "you need to act like my boyfriend. Or, to put it plainly, like we're a couple."

"I'm not entirely certain how that will help," he responds, seemingly puzzled.

"Think about it. Girls are always fawning over Hunter at bars, and we cringe and look away," you explain rapidly, hoping he grasps the hint.

"A public display of affection," he nods, acknowledging that it might be the best alternative. "But I don't see how merely holding your hand will be effective in this situation."

You gulp, your heart racing. "You need to take off your armor. They'll recognize it, but they haven't seen your face." Although hesitant, he quickly starts stripping off his gear, and you struggle to control your breathing as he does it in a way that leaves you a bit weak-kneed. You've always found Tech attractive and harbored a small crush on him, but you wish it didn't take such circumstances to get a little closer to him. You can only hope it won't jeopardize your friendship.

With his armor out of sight, Tech turns to you, standing tall as he pushes his goggles up his nose. "What's next?"

Anxious and apprehensive, you take his hand and pull him closer, backing up until your back presses against the wall, causing his throat to bob nervously as he swallows. "Place your hand here," you whisper, guiding his hand to your waist and then the other to the wall beside your head, concealing both of you in shadows.

His breath is warm on your face, and his eyes scan the surroundings. "I estimate they'll be here in approximately thirty-seven seconds," he rasps, unexpectedly getting a little closer, his chest brushing against yours. "I need to tell you something quickly," he says suddenly, catching you off guard.

You blink, nodding for him to continue.

“I have always imagined pinning you up against a wall like this.”

Before you could even have time to react to his alluring tone, the sound of hurrying footsteps were heard nearby and that’s when Tech took action. His lips press to yours, frigid but warm but as you let out a very soft moan, his body relaxes into yours and soon he’s kissing you with an intensity that scorches your insides.

The sound and the thought of the Weequays had completely vanished from your mind, just relishing the feeling of you and Tech together as his fingers gently bite into your waist that had you flushing yourself against him in response.

“Such a good girl,” he rasps against your mouth, trailing his tongue along your lower lip that makes you almost keel over but luckily his hold on you keeps you stable and you burn hot as you feel the ache in his pants press against you. Hard.

After a short while, the kiss is broken and it comes to both of your attention that the pursuers were long gone. And they had been for a while but the two of you clearly got caught up in the moment. He smiles kindly at you before gently kissing your cheek, genuine and soft before pulling away.

“Allow me to put my gear back on and then I’ll be more than happy to hold your hand as we head back to the ship.”

This man surprises you more and more each day. Maybe your plan had spurred you both in the right direction after all.

Crosshair

As Crosshair and you were tasked with keeping a lookout on top of a building, you never expected your cover to be blown. As he observes the approaching enemies through his scope, Crosshair curses and urgently pulls you to your feet, rushing you inside the building.

"They're going to find us!" you express worry as he guides you through the stairwells until you both reach a door with loud music blaring from within. To your surprise, the settlement you were on top of is actually a club, specifically a strip club.

"Oh," you squeak, but before you can react further, Crosshair has already dragged you inside, heading towards the exit. However, both of you freeze as the door is flung open, the pursuers searching for you both, while the patrons and dancers continue to revel in the club's ambiance.

Then, an idea strikes Crosshair. "You can hate me later, but we have to do this."

Confused, you're about to ask what he means, but suddenly, he firmly grabs your waist, backing you into a dimly red-lit corner of the room and forcefully makes you sit on his lap on a nearby loveseat.

"Crosshair, what-.” you begin to question.

"We have to blend in," he grunts sternly, cutting you off and wrapping his arms around your body, pulling you close. "Hide your face."

You’re completely flustered, never been so close to Crosshair before but you couldn’t lie and say you didn’t enjoy it because you did. You and Crosshair seemed to tip toe over each other's true feelings for one another quite often lately.

“We have to blend in properly in that case,” you whisper against him before quickly sitting back and he’s about to curse at you for not following his orders but his words are caught in his throat as you begin to slide your shirt off your body and grind your hips down on him.

He’s rendered speechless as he watches you but hey, if it does the trick… why not? His hands set on your waist, eyes now blown with lust as he gladly accepts this little lap dance from you, watching your hair fall past your shoulders as you tilt your head to the side, moving against him slowly.

“Look at you,” he starts with a coy smile, hand moving down to your arse and giving it a small squeeze, “have you done this before?”

“Not at all,” you rasp, a little nervous but feeling a heat course through your veins under his touch. You lean closer, nose just brushing against his, “are they still looking for us?” You whisper. He looks up carefully and nods his head, the enemy still in close range.

“Yeah. But you’re doing well.” He mutters, smirking in pleasure as he feels himself strain against his codpiece. He then groans as you grind down harder, his vision blurring with stars. “D-don’t stop.”

The cord had snapped and you launched forward, capturing his lips with yours to create the perfect plan of distraction. He kisses back feverishly, whispering your name. “That’s it, grind yourself against my cock.” He breathes into your mouth and you let out your own whimper of ecstasy.

“Anything for you.”

With the enemy way out of range now, this still didn’t stop the pair of you and in fact found somewhere more discreet to carry on this naughty moment.

Masterlist

Tags: @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @oohyesplease @theroguesully @mustluvecho @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @kixs-husband @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @imalovernotahater @kaminocasey y @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @raevulsix @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder r @mysticalgalaxysalad @photogirl894 @fantasyproductions

#queued post #nahoney22 writes #the bad batch x you #the bad batch x reader #bad batch x reader #bad batch HC’s #the bad batch #tbb #bad batch one shots #tech bad batch #Hunter bad batch #crosshair bad batch #wrecker bad batch #echo bad batch

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carriesthewind · 1 month

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"Although hired as a consultant by Washington County in this case, Baird had a long-standing independent agenda: helping foster parents across Colorado succeed in intervening and permanently claiming the children they care for. Often working hand in hand with Tim Eirich, she has been called as an expert in, by her count, hundreds of child-welfare cases, and she sometimes evaluates visits between birth families and children without having met them. Baird would not say how many foster-parent intervenor cases she has participated in, but she can recall only a single instance in which she concluded that the intervenors should not keep the child. Thinking that particular couple would be weak adoptive parents, she told me, she simply filed no report."

"With the supply of adoptable babies dropping, foster children were becoming a “hot commodity,” he said, and he and his colleagues (among them Tim Eirich’s law partner Seth Grob) realized that attachment experts could be called into court to argue that foster children needed to remain with their foster parents in order to avoid a severed bond."

"The judge ruled in favor of Eirich’s clients, a social worker and a real-estate agent. “Court found [Baird’s] testimony credible. She has significant experience,” the judge said, adding approvingly that Baird’s analysis had “focused on primacy of attachment over cultural considerations.”"

"Was Baird’s method for evaluating these foster and birth families empirically tested? No, Baird answered: Her method is unpublished and unstandardized, and has remained “pretty much unchanged” since the 1980s. It doesn’t have those “standard validity and reliability things,” she admitted. “It’s not a scientific instrument.”

...

Had she considered or was she even aware of the cultural background of the birth family and child whom she was recommending permanently separating? (The case involved a baby girl of multiracial heritage.) Baird answered that babies have “never possessed” a cultural identity, and therefore are “not losing anything,” at their age, by being adopted. Although when such children grow up, she acknowledged, they might say to their now-adoptive parents, “Oh, I didn’t know we were related to the, you know, Pima tribe in northern California, or whatever the circumstances are.”

The Pima tribe is located in the Phoenix metropolitan area."

"We found that — leaving aside the question of whether attachment theory should even be used as an argument in these cases — Baird’s assessments of foster children’s relationships aren’t just unscientific. They barely touch the surface of a child’s life.

“I don’t know these children,” she testified in one 2017 case, adding, “I have not met anybody.” Still, she said, she “strongly” recommended that those children’s birth parents’ rights be permanently terminated and that the kids be adopted."

"She also regularly uses terms like “mirror neurons,” “neurotoxins,” “synapses,” “hormones,” and “encoded trauma in the central nervous system” to justify her conclusions about children’s family relationships. (Baird is not a neuroscientist.)"

______________________

The New Yorker article focuses on possible legislative solutions, but I think these articles point to something more pernicious and more difficult to address. Judges - in all kinds of cases - routinely give credence to professionals and "experts" who are biased, bigoted, and testify far outside their expertise (if they have any expertise at all). These professionals have credentials (like being a police officer or social worker) that are validated by institutional hierarchies. Their frequent systematized interaction with the legal system is mistaken as experience that makes their subjective beliefs more credible, when in truth they lack any objective expertise. They are considered credible and unbiased because they conform to, and validate, systems of hierarchical oppression, while the people they hurt - often poor, marginalized, and most frequently, not white - are viewed with inherent distrust.

The ProPublica article focuses primarily on Baird. I'm more concerned with the judges who believed her, who used her to justify funneling children away from their (safe and loving, but poorer and frequently browner) birth families. She was only able to do so much harm because of the the power given to her by courts, and the judges inside them.

The ProPublic article ends with the line, "This past fall, with Baird’s help, the foster parents were granted full custody of the baby girl through her 18th birthday." It names Baird as a force that led to the theft of this child. The passive voice hides the judge who made the ultimate decision.

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talkingparrotkee · 5 months

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One thing I like about MCU Shuri and also think several people sorely get wrong is that she's the more cool-headed character. She is slower to shout, panic, and anger, being relatively more laidback. Shuri would rather wall up and bury herself in her lab (M'Baku confirms this at Ramonda's funeral, and we see her doing just that in the beginning) before lashing out.

Even Ryan described how T'Challa was more hotheaded to T'Chaka's diplomat, while Shuri was the more cool and laid back one to fiery Ramonda.

We see it in her clothing styles.

We see this in the way she initially approaches things. Two key instances:

The way she first responds and confronts Namor. Shuri is still on defense at the river, but she is less combative or reactive compared to Ramonda. Shuri more quietly assesses and responds to him. Compare this to Ramonda, who immediately fires back and disregards what he says without even checking if it could possibly be true, to which Shuri has to point out some truths by empirical evidence (i.e., Ramonda dismissed him saying only they had vibranium, Shuri gently nudges her, saying he's covered in it, so that cannot be the case). A similar thing happens when she is down in Talokan with Namor. Throughout it all, Shuri kept a leveled head and bit back her tongue to think of solutions, even when things started turning south. She knew how to shut up as well rather than argue him down more (something not many people know how to do).

The way Shuri tried to extract Riri compared to Okoye. For starters, Shuri did not break into bathrooms or bring spears in Riri's dorm - she blended in and used the door. She did not make threats and give an ultimatum either. Shuri just tried to explain the urgency to Riri and draw her out without the use of physical force.

We also see it in her reactions with other characters.

In the first movie, she tells T'Challa to "calm down" when he shouts at her to drive. We also see her not care to fight T'Challa for the mantle, even if it is her birthright (she just wanted to go home and get out of a particularly uncomfortable corset). Instead, she prefers to fight alongside and as support.

Black Panther: "The Black Panther lives. And when he fights for the fate of Wakanda, I will be right there beside him."

Black Panther 2: "I was not trying to save the mantle mother, I was trying to save my brother."

For another example regarding her interactions with characters from Wakanda Forever, Riri is consistently depicted to be the more anxious and is more inclined to lose composure. Shuri, even when she's stressed or overwhelmed too, is often the one to remain composed. Shuri attempts to calm Riri down so she doesn't have a panic attack. Shuri also didn't reply when Riri started snapping at her about the FBI, only calmly working about and mapping out an escape plan.

One last particular example is with Okoye. Shuri is less quick to be defensive or shout compared to Okoye. We see it in the way Okoye commanded her to get in the car, and rather than shout back, she simply uttered quietly, "Why are you shouting at me..." Shuri didn't reply to Riri snapping, but Okoye did not let anything slide, pointing the finger back to her. During this entire exchange, Shuri was quietly observing before cutting in, saying how they needed to work together to get out of their situation.

Black Panther Wakanda Forever was her later in-character out-of-character. In other words, that unrivaled anger and snapping you saw was never her baseline. She's not an angry or vengeful person. That was the point of Ramonda, "Show him who you are," when she was hesitating killing Namor.

It was the result of her character at a breaking point. Shuri was not coping properly and dealing with frustrations she couldn't see her way out of. Shuri was struggling with spirituality. She was trying to know if her family was truly still there. She was trying to find the reason behind her failure and loss. Shuri already began cracking since T'Chaka died (see: Wakanda Files). T'Challa's death just broke her, with her narrowly holding her pieces together.

#black panther #wakanda forever #princess shuri #bpwf #shuri black panther #shuri udaku #shuri #marvel #thinking about her #riri williams #okoye #mcu #character analysis #queen ramonda #Namor #letitia wright #she did a great job protraying this quality in Shuri #black women

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mandos-mind-trick · 11 months

Text

Monochrome

Summary: You find your soulmate in a certain sharpshooter. The Empire isn't thrilled.

Inspired by the song Monochrome by Babymetal.

Pairing: Imperial!Crosshair x medic!reader

Warnings: NSFW, unprotected sex, fingering, a bit of possessive behavior, violence, blood, just a hair of gore, brief mentions of medical procedures, needles, they're just a little toxic, insecurity, grief, angst with fluff at the end.

A/N: I didn't like the cut version so I decided to redo it with the full version. It's a bit emotional but it does have a happy ending. It's not short like it's supposed to be but maybe I should just give up writing short things. Every idea I have wants to be a multi-part fic lol.

MASTERLIST

He strikes when you least expect it.

You’ve just left the fresher, towel wrapped around your body. Your clean clothes are steps away when he materializes out of thin air. How much had he seen? How long has he been here?

He corners you like a scared animal, your back pressing against the wall. One of your hands desperately clutches at the towel wrapped around you. The last thing you need is it dropping right now. He towers over you, his gaze nothing more than his usual squint, toothpick in its usual place between his lips. His hand raises slowly, coming to rest on your jaw. His thumb presses against your lower lip, the rough material of his glove tugging at it.

It’s bold. So very unlike him.

He regarded most nat-borns with little more than seething glances, if he acknowledged them at all. You had seen more than that, though, from him. You’d been the one to care for him after they pulled him off that platform on Kamino.

Thirty-two rotations there alone.

He’d come to you almost dead, weak and malnourished. You’d nursed him back to health, while all he’d cared about was getting back to fighting. Of course, you’d expect nothing less from him. It’s what he was made for.

After that, you had been assigned to his squad, accompanying them on certain missions. He rarely acknowledged your presence, but often you found him staring from afar. When you’d catch him, he’d only narrow his eyes at you before looking away.

You’ve never been brave enough to confront him yourself.

“C-Can I help you, sir?” You ask, your voice wavering slightly. His presence does something to you, makes your body buzz with energy you can’t even begin to explain.

His gaze is hard as he stares down at you, assessing and analyzing like he would a target in the field. You try not to tremble under the intensity of it.

“I-I’m almost done...if you need the fresher...” Your voice trails off as his hand slides down your neck, closing around your throat.

He doesn’t squeeze, but he holds enough pressure to keep you still. Your pulse flutters under his fingers, breath hitching as he leans in closer. “You’re afraid.”

You stare up into his dark gaze, swallowing against his hand. You nod, not trusting your voice.

“Why?” He asks, the word coming out more curious than condemning.

“You scare me.” You whisper. It’s not untrue. It’s not just the danger that he poses that scares you about him.

He continues to stare down at you with that unreadable expression on his face. His eyes pierce right into you, like he can see into your very soul. He lifts his free hand slowly, bringing it to his mouth. He tugs his glove off with his teeth, his hand lowering towards you.

Your heart rate picks up even more, and you want to duck away from his touch. You can’t move though, frozen watching in slow motion as his hand comes to rest against the skin of your throat, those large hands cupping each side of your neck.

An electric jolt burns through you as his skin makes contact with yours. The world erupts in color around you, no longer just in shades of black and white. You stare up at his eyes, the most gorgeous shade of brown you’ve ever seen.

You inhale sharply, staring up into those brown eyes in shock.

He’s your soulmate.

Most beings in the galaxy have a soulmate. You’re usually born with your link, or it shows up shortly after. With such a diaspora of species, fate doesn’t usually pair someone with a mate they’d never meet, or would vastly outlive. You had been born with your link, unable to see any color.

You had spent so much time wondering when you’d meet your soulmate and what they’d be like. You spent years planning a trip around the galaxy in hopes you might run into them. Fate doesn’t pair people together who will never meet. You’d run into them eventually.

Then the war started.

After your home planet had been ravished by the war, you’d decided to join as a medic, using your skills to help aid the millions who risked their lives daily to protect the Republic.

It had been in passing the first time you’d met the clone named Crosshair. You only knew his name because you had overheard part of their conversation. Clone Force 99 had stopped at the same base as your battalion to resupply. You had passed them on your way to help gather supplies for the med bay.

Your eyes had met for half a second, but it had been enough. Perhaps you had known back then, but your mind had been so focused on the war, you hadn’t thought twice about it.

Perhaps that had been why you had decided to stay on with the Empire after the war ended. Many hadn’t, choosing to leave instead. You’re not sure what happened to them. You’re not sure you want to know.

It had simply been fate that you had been chosen to care for him after his rescue.

You adjust your grip on your towel, holding onto it for dear life. You don’t know what he’s going to do. You couldn’t possibly guess his next move.

“You’ve never said anything.” He finally says, thumb tracing the line of your jaw.

“I-I didn’t know.” You admit. “Not for sure. A-And if they ever found out...” You swallow thickly, staring up into those intense, dark eyes. “Could you...reject me?”

His gaze narrows, and for a horrible moment you think he’s going to. Instead he releases you, turning on his heel as he makes his way from the fresher, leaving you alone. Your knees nearly give out. You take a long breath to steady yourself. He hadn’t answered.

Would he, if they gave him the ultimatum?

***

You get your answer a few weeks later.

The squad had been called to some godforsaken planet where the Empire was setting up another base. Why you had been called there was beyond your understanding. Nevertheless, you went along as you were expected to.

It all becomes clear when you’re cornered on the landing pad. Your squad, and the surrounding troopers turn their blasters on you and Crosshair. You look up at him in fear, and slight anger, but the look on his face tells you he was not expecting this either. He hadn’t been the one to reveal your secret. So who had? Who knew about you two? You hadn’t told anyone.

Vice Admiral Rampart joins you, looking far too proud of himself. He steps up to you, looking down at you like you’re the absolute scum of the galaxy. “It appears we have a bit of a situation. It has been brought to my attention that you and CT-9904 share a soulmate bond. As you are likely aware, soulmate bonds cause some...unnecessary complications.”

“You don’t have any proof.” You say, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I don’t need any.” He smirks at you, turning to face Crosshair. “CT-9904, you will reject your soulmate.”

Your blood turns to ice, your stomach dropping through the landing platform into the very core of the planet. Would he do it? It has to be his decision.

“It doesn’t work that way.” You blurt out, trying to delay Crosshair’s answer. “You can’t force him. It has to be a willing decision.”

Rampart keeps his back to you, facing Crosshair. Crosshair’s gaze is on the tarmac, refusing to look anywhere else. You quietly plead for him to look at you, to meet your gaze. Your heart is pounding so loudly in your ears, you think the troopers flanking you might be able to hear it as well.

“Shame.” Rampart says, drawing a blaster. “You were a good medic.”

You don’t feel the pain. You’re in far too much shock to feel anything more than the force of the bolt hitting your chest. It’s a sloppy shot, but it’s more than effective as you stumble back, feet leaving the ground as your body falls over the edge of the platform to the ground below.

***

He sees red.

He watches the blaster rise, the shot fired. It misses the center of the target, but it’s enough to send her backwards off the landing platform. His stomach falls with her, anger burning through him.

How had Rampart found out? He hadn’t said anything, and he knew she wouldn’t have either. Someone had found out. Someone was going to pay.

He’s moving before he realizes it. It’s a suicidal move, but there’s not much left for him to live for now. His very soul had just fallen fifteen feet off the edge of the landing platform.

There’s no way she survived that.

He’s survived worse odds, but he hadn’t been alone. He’s alone now. One blaster against ten, well trained ones.

He doesn’t care.

He fires anyway.

As he stands amongst the wreckage, he can’t ignore the pain in his chest. He hadn’t been hit. The pain is from the knowledge his soulmate is fifteen feet below, likely dead.

They say losing a soulmate is the worst pain you can feel. Once the link is initiated, once contact has been made, death is the only thing that can separate soulmates, aside from rejection. Both are horrifically painful, but death is the worst. Most don’t live long after their soulmate dies. The pain, the grief of losing the other half of your soul is too much.

Crosshair approaches the limp figure slowly. She’s still, far too still on the platform. He stares down at her pallored face, far too peaceful for the violence she had just been a victim of. Blood pools around her head like some twisted halo.

He drops to his knees beside her. His hands are shaking, fingers trembling as he presses them against her neck. There’s a pulse there, fluttering against his fingers.

She’s not dead.

Maybe he can still get them out of this. He’s going to try.

Even if it kills them.

He lays her limp body gently on the floor of the ship, taking off from the base. He pushes the ship as fast as he can out of the planet’s atmosphere and into hyperspace. He moves without thinking, running purely off instinct as he sends out the distress signal, jumping into action as soon as the light begins flashing.

He digs through the ship, looking for the medkit. It’s not a full one, meant for minor injuries.

Not major ones like hers.

He sinks to his knees beside her once again, cradling her body in his arms. He presses the bacta patch to the back of her head, holding onto her tightly.

“Cross...” Her voice is weak, barely audible.

He stares down at her, watching her eyes blink open. They’re distant, not really staring at him. A limp hand fumbles at a pouch on her belt, his free hand opening it. Inside is a stim shot pack. He pulls a shot out, injecting it into her neck. Her body relaxes, eyes fluttering before they close again.

He cradles her, listening to the breaths rattling in her lungs as he holds the bacta patch to the back of her head. She needs a bacta tank not a bacta patch, but it’s all they have.

The ship shakes as it exits hyperspace. It’s flying blindly now but he doesn’t care. He can’t move.

Blood coats his gloves, soaks into his blacks. He closes his eyes, ignoring the beeping of the ship as the proximity alarm goes off. He doesn’t care who it is. Pirates, the Empire, something worse.

The ship rocks as something else docks onto it, the hatch opening. Something drops into the ship. He looks up, eyes narrowing.

“Crosshair?”

He looks back down, moving in slow motion as he stares at the pallored face. His eyes squeeze closed. He can’t think. Not right now. His head hurts.

Not as much as hers will when she wakes.

Moving her pains him. They’re gentle, careful. He stays close, too scared to let her go. If she leaves his sight, she might disappear.

He’s not entirely sure this is even real.

The ship feels small, too small. It had always been too small, but now it’s almost suffocating. She’s strapped to the table, looking even more sickly under the light. The blood is drying under his gloves, making his skin itch.

She’s dying. He knows it, they all do. The bacta shot can only work so fast, and the many red spots on the datapad prove it’s not enough.

“Crosshair.”

He squeezes his eyes closed. The name is said with a warning. His name.

He’s on his knees, hands gripping his head. Tears blur his vision. There’s so much he wants to say. There’s so much that needs to be said.

A hand on his shoulder. It’s too small, too light. He turns his head, blinking through the tears. It’s the kid. There’s such a soft look on her face.

“It’s okay.” The kid says quietly.

It’s not. He knows it’s not.

She’s dying.

“We know someone who can help.” The kid says, far too hopeful for this situation.

No one’s going to help them.

He doesn’t deserve it. Not after everything.

The kid takes slow steps back, his name repeated in that same warning tone.

His hand is on his blaster. When had he reached for it? His head throbs, the raspy breathing beside him like a knife to the chest. He covers his face with his hand, dropping his head until it presses against the edge of the table. He drops the blaster, letting it clang onto the floor.

He doesn’t move. Not until the ship shudders as it exits hyperspace. He listens to the painful, rattling breaths, counting each one. This can’t be the end. He won’t believe it.

He doesn’t move until they’ve boarded the ship. He’s there, hovering as they move her onto the stretcher. He follows until Hunter puts a hand on his chest. His eyes continue to follow, blinking against the bright sunlight, until she disappears into the building.

“I know this is a risk.” Hunter is saying.

“That’s what we’re here for.”

Crosshair knows that voice. He’d recognize a reg anywhere, but he knows this one.

Rex.

He was supposed to be dead.

Then again, many of them were supposed to be.

***

The guilt hits him harder now. The bandage on the side of his head itches. He ignores it, staring at the figure floating in the tank. She looks peaceful, suspended in the blue liquid, sedated so she wouldn’t wake panicking as the bacta began to work its way through her system.

Painful feelings crawl their way up his chest, threatening to choke him. He stares hard at the tank, trying to push them down. He can’t lose himself. Not right now. Not until he knows she’s okay.

The door hisses open. He doesn't bother looking. He knows that walk from the periphery. He doesn’t need to see him to know.

“You used the code.” Hunter says, coming to stand beside him.

“I can’t trust the Empire anymore.” He says, gaze still on the tank. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“You’re lucky you even found us.” Hunter falls silent for a moment. “What would you have done if you hadn’t?”

Crosshair stays quiet, unsure of what to say. What would he have done? Would he have looked elsewhere for help? Would he have resigned to his fate and died with her on that ship?

“Who is she?” Hunter asks, looking at the tank as well.

Crosshair’s gaze narrows, but his voice is thick with emotion as he answers. “She’s everything to me.”

***

You’re sticky when you wake, the familiar gummy feel of bacta on your skin, and in your hair. Many times you’ve felt the same on others after a long soak in a bacta tank.

Now it’s your turn.

You feel groggy, eyes slowly peeling open. Sedatives, most likely, so you didn’t wake panicking in the bacta tank.

You’re lucky you’re waking at all.

You remember the blaster shot. It was a sloppy one, hitting you to the side of your chest. If it had been to the left, or even centered, things would have been worse. It had sent you backwards off the landing platform. You had fallen unconscious before you hit the ground below, which is likely what saved your life. Fifteen feet, or so you had to guess.

You remember waking momentarily on the ship. Crosshair was with you. He had been looking down at you, nothing but pain and guilt on his face. That had been the last thing you’d seen before waking now.

The world around you is blurry, but you can’t mistake the sterile white of a med bay. You can’t feel much of anything aside from a slight ache in the back of your head. You lift a hand to your face, rubbing your eyes.

You hear someone approach, a figure stopping next to the bed.

“Oh good. You’re awake.” They say.

You recognize that voice. You pull your hand away from your eyes, blinking up at a face you’ve seen probably half a million times. You sit up in bed with a gasp, beginning to panic. Had the Empire realized you’re alive and taken you somewhere? What about Crosshair? Had they decommissioned him already?

“Easy.” A hand falls on your shoulder. It’s gentle, trying to get you to lay back down. “You’re safe here.”

You let the clone medic ease you back down into the bed. “Where?” You ask, your voice rough from your dry throat.

“I can’t say exactly, but you’re not with the Empire. This is a safe place for clone deserters set up by Captain Rex.” He runs a quick scan of your body. “You’re perfectly safe here.”

You lean up on your elbow, motioning towards the monitor. “Let me see. I’m a medic.”

He turns the monitor towards you, showing you a side by side of what was most likely a scan when you arrived, and then one now. You wince as you look at the scan before your soak in the bacta tank.

“You were in bad shape.” He says. “Few more minutes and you might not have made it.”

“I’m shocked I made it at all.” You say. By all rights, you shouldn’t have. You weren’t supposed to.

“You had some intervention on the way here.” The medic says. “Without it, I don’t think you would have.”

You glance around the med bay, but it’s just you and the medic. Did Crosshair bring you here? How had he known about this place? Did he leave you here?

You’re beginning to feel a tug in your chest, a yearning to see him again. Had he initiated the bond? If he had intervened to try and save your life, he must have done it out of necessity. If you’re beginning to feel it, he must really be feeling it.

After some negotiation with the clone medic, Nitro you learned his name is, he clears you to at least take a shower. You know from the scans you’re more than fine to be up and moving around. All you have is some residual pain from your injuries which would be gone in a few hours.

You follow his directions towards the freshers, but you don’t really need them. You follow the tugging in your chest, listening as it gets stronger and stronger. You pause outside one of the fresher doors, glancing both ways down the hall before stepping in. The door isn’t locked, almost like it’s an invitation.

There’s steam hazing the room, but you can still see him. He’s in the shower, hands pressed against the wall in front of him. The spray hits the top of his head, water cascading down his body.

Your hands shake as you begin to pull off your clothes. You’re taking a risk. He’d stop you, though, if he wanted to. He knows you’re there, even if he hasn’t looked at you. He’s too good of a soldier not to.

You step into the shower behind him, slowly wrapping your arms around his slim waist. You can feel the lean muscle, every ridge of it as you press your face against his back. Warmth floods through you as you make contact with him, easing the tugging in your chest. He lets out a long breath, probably feeling the same.

“You didn’t reject me.” You say, flattening your hands against his stomach.

“They tried to kill you.” He says, voice devoid of any emotions.

“They almost did.” You say, pressing yourself closer to him. “You defected for me.”

One of his hands drops to gently rest against yours on his stomach. “I did a lot more than that.”

You can tell by the tenseness of his shoulders, it’s not going to be a pleasant retelling later. You press a gentle kiss to the tan skin, closing your eyes as the water sprays over you both.

He spins around, startling you at the sudden movement. Your back presses against the wall of the shower as you look up at him, his body blocking the spray as he looms over you. His hand comes to rest against your jaw, a mirror of when you’d discovered your soulmate link. You lift a hand, wrapping it around the back of his neck.

You both move seamlessly, meeting each other in the middle as your lips press together. Warmth blooms beneath your skin, your nerves buzzing with electricity and energy. He presses closer, every inch of your bodies touching. You want to pull him closer, you want to draw him into your very soul.

He lifts you easily, your legs wrapping around him as he uses the wall to hold you in place. His lips leave yours, his face pressing into your neck. You wrap yourself tighter around him, holding onto him like he might disappear if you let go.

You know he won’t.

Neither of you are going anywhere.

His teeth scrape your throat, drawing a quiet whimper from your lips. His teeth and tongue draw a trail across your neck and shoulders, leaving small bite marks across your skin. It feels possessive. It is possessive. He’s marking you as his, even though he already has your very soul.

You can feel him pressed hard against your thigh, wetness starting to slick between your legs. You’ve never been this close to anyone before. Some don’t care and choose not to wait for their soulmate. You hadn’t had many opportunities, and then with the war you’d been so busy, there had been no time. You don’t know if he has before, but you don’t really care.

He grinds his hips against you, slipping a hand between your legs. You moan quietly at the feeling of his fingers on you, body already alive and buzzing at the close contact with him. You want to lose yourself in him and his touch.

“Kriff, mesh’la.” He breathes, sinking a finger into you.

You’re not unfamiliar with the Mando’a term. You’d heard the clones throw phrases around, and you’d been called that a few times by clones in sedative induced hazes.

Hearing it from Crosshair, though, is something different.

It’s not delirium, or even affectionate joking.

It feels so real coming from him.

Your head falls back against the shower wall as he slips a second finger into you. You moan his name, earning a sharp nip to your collarbone. He works his fingers in and out of you, holding you up easily. You can feel the muscles working, shifting under his skin.

“Crosshair, I need you.” You whimper, feeling a coil beginning to tighten in your stomach.

“You need to be more clear.” He smirks against your neck.

“Kriff, I need you inside me!” You cry out, tightening around his fingers.

He groans, pulling them free of your heat. You whimper at the loss, but you’re silenced as his thick head drags along your slit. He’s big. There’s no way he’s going to fit.

“Relax.” He breathes into your ear, wrapping his arms around you as he presses slowly into you.

You whine at the stretch, his hips moving in slow thrusts as he works his way in. Your nails dig into his shoulders, but he doesn’t seem to even notice. He presses a kiss to your forehead as he settles inside you, trying to ease your quiet whimpers as you adjust to him.

It burns, but it feels good.

You feel alive, your entire body buzzing from the connection with him. You can’t get closer, pressed up against him in the fresher. You can’t even begin to express how to feel, all the emotions swirling inside of you as you cling to him.

A matter of months ago you hadn’t even met him.

A matter of weeks ago you hadn’t known he was your soulmate.

A matter of days ago you had both been employed by the Empire, ignoring your soulmate link to save your lives. .

A matter of hours ago you had been near death and he had defected to try and save you.

Now here you are, solidifying your soulmate link in the fresher of a base created to support defecting clones.

He begins moving, thrusting his hips slowly. You can feel every ridge of him, every inch as he slides in and out of you. You’re hyper aware of him, of his very presence. It’s almost too much, threatening to overwhelm you. The only thing keeping you sane is the feel of him against you, grounding you.

He’s driving you insane and keeping you sane at the same time.

It’s euphoric.

Your moans echo through the fresher, likely audible from the hallway but you don’t care. You’re too lost in the pleasure, too lost in him to care. He’s groaning quietly against your neck, his thrusts getting sloppy. The coil is back in your stomach, winding tighter and tighter. You feel like you might burst, like your entire body is going to implode.

You cum with a cry of his name, soaking his cock as he slams into you, reaching his end as well. You cling to each other, the shower still spraying against his back. Neither of you care, though, too lost in each other.

“I would have died for you.” He says, leaning his head against yours. “I would have fought the entire Empire.” His hands squeeze into your flesh, almost painfully, like he’s trying to prove that you’re really here. “You’re everything to me.”

Tears burn your eyes, your fingers digging into his back to hold onto him. “Just don’t leave me.”

“Never.”

Taglist:

@stressed-cherry

#star wars #star wars fic #the bad batch #the bad batch fic #crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair x reader

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