#lekku

You didn’t even want to watch Ahsoka.

Not really.

Only wanted to see your hit boyfriend on the screen.

It’s not that you hate Star Wars — you just don’t… care. Lightsabers are cool, Grogu is cute, whatever. But Hayden?

You care about him.

He had told you about the series offhandedly one night — mentioned it while brushing his teeth, foam in the corners of his mouth, like it was no big deal. “They bringed Anakin back. Flashbacks and stuff. Should be fun.”

You pretended to be chill about it. But two days later, you were curled up in his hoodie, sprawled across his couch, and five minutes into the first episode, you couldn’t breathe.

Because there he was. Angrier. Beautiful. Literally breath taking.

In Jedi robes and leather. Eyes blazing. Jaw tight.

And right behind him…

“Wait,” you whisper, sitting up. “Who’s that?”

Hayden chuckles, rubbing your bare thigh under the blanket. “That’s Ahsoka. His padawan.”

You nod slowly, eyes locked on the screen. “…What’s on her head?”

“Lekku,” he says casually. “She’s a Togruta.”

You blink. You’ve never seen anything like it.

Her skin’s a bright orange. Her long striped lekku hang over her shoulders like ribbons, soft and heavy-looking. Her eyes are intense, but everything else about her — the markings, the headdress, the subtle curves under her armor — makes your stomach twist.

She’s… stunning. Fierce. Almost hypnotic. And the longer you stare at those lekku, the more your thighs press together.

“What,” Hayden teases, nudging your leg with his knee, “you got a little crush?”

You scoff too quickly. “No.”

But you can’t stop watching her. The way the lekku bounce when she turns her head, the way they brush against her chest, her back, her lips when she moves. You picture how they’d feel against your skin — if they’re soft or firm, heavy or pliable. If they’d make someone gasp if they were pulled.

You imagine Hayden gripping them. Tugging. Fisting them tight as someone moaned under him.

You shift in your seat.

“Hey,” Hayden says softly, eyes on you instead of the screen now. “You okay?”

You nod. “Mhm. Fine.”

He leans closer, warm breath against your ear. “I’ve seen that look before, baby.”

Your cheeks flush. “What look?”

“The one where you’re secretly horny but pretending to be a nerd.”

You shove him weakly. “Shut up.”

But later that night, while he’s asleep, you’re wide awake.

You sit cross-legged on the bathroom floor in your pajamas, phone in hand, flushed and fidgety as you type:

“Where to buy realistic Togruta lekku cosplay headdress”

“Orange body paint safe for skin”

“Sexy Ahsoka-inspired outfits”

You don’t want to be Ahsoka. Not really. You just want to look like that. For him.

You want to see Hayden’s eyes go dark the second he walks in. You want to feel those big hands in your lekku. You want to crawl for him, fuck him, moan like a desperate alien girl while he ruins you.

You imagine what he’d say.

“What are you supposed to be, huh?”

“You dressed up just to be my little fucktoy?”

“You want me to pull these pretty things while you choke on my cock?”

You whimper, pressing your thighs together and turning off your phone. You don’t touch yourself.

Not yet.

The next day, you don’t say anything. You act normal. You kiss him on the cheek and send him off to a meeting. You curl up on the couch like always.

And while he’s gone, you prepare.

You test the body paint. Practice the makeup. Watch Ahsoka scenes on loop, mimicking the way she moves — graceful, confident, lethal. You practice posing in the mirror. Practice pouting. Practice what it’ll feel like to have his hands all over you.

You find the sheerest, sluttiest version of her tunic you can buy.

Then cut it even shorter.

You slip on the soft, handmade lekku headdress — long and silky, striped white and blue — and run your hands down the length. It’s perfect. They bounce. They sway. They even hang down between your tits when you lean forward.

And when you pull on the lacy black thong underneath?

You almost moan.

Two days pass before the perfect moment comes.

He texts you late, past 10 p.m.

hayden: “running late. exhausted. home soon”

Perfect.

You light a single lamp by the couch. Turn on a low Star Wars theme remix — something dark and slow and atmospheric. You smear one last line of white tribal paint across your cheek. Tug the tunic down to barely cover your nipples.

And wait.

Your heart pounds. Your thighs are already sticky.

You hear the door click. Hear him mutter something as he kicks his shoes off. He’s in his usual black t-shirt and jeans, his hair a little messy, brow furrowed.

You stand at the edge of the living room — tall, still, legs spread slightly apart. Lekku hanging low over your chest. Eyes dark.

He looks up.

Freezes.

Drops his keys.

“…Baby?” he breathes, voice hoarse.

You don’t say anything.

You step forward.

Slowly, you trail your fingers down your lekku, then across your barely-covered breasts. Nipples peeks out from the mesh. Your thighs rub together as you speak.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” you whisper. “About her. About how it would feel. To wear these. To be like her.”

You walk closer.

“To be… something new. Something not-human.”

He swallows hard, jaw clenched. His eyes never leave your body.

“And you said I looked cute,” you murmur. “But I don’t want to look cute.”

You stop in front of him. Place your hands on his chest.

“I want to look like your little alien slut.”

Hayden stares at you like you’re not real.

Like maybe he fell asleep in his car and this is some twisted, beautiful wet dream.

You can see the way his throat moves when he swallows. His hands clench into fists at his sides. His gaze drops to your legs, slowly drags upward — over the tight black lace between your thighs, the see-through mesh tunic brushing over your hips, the glowing orange paint smeared across your chest.

And then his eyes land on your lekku.

“You…” he murmurs, taking a step toward you, “are fucking insane.”

You grin.

“I know.”

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for minutes. His hand twitches, like he’s not sure whether to grab you or worship you. “Turn around,” he says hoarsely.

You obey without a word.

You turn slowly, like a stripper on a pedestal, showing off every curve, every painted inch of your skin. Your ass peeks out from under the short hem, barely hidden by the sheer black lace. The lekku swing down your back, brushing just above the top of your ass. You hear him groan behind you.

“Oh, fuck…”

When you face him again, his face is flushed and his eyes are wild.

“What’s this even for, huh?” he murmurs, finally reaching out to trace one finger along your lekku. “You wanna roleplay? Be my alien girlfriend now?”

You nod slowly, trying not to melt at his touch.

“I don’t care what you call me,” you whisper. “I just… wanted you to see me like this. Wanted to be something else for you.”

He wraps a hand around one of the lekku, testing the weight of it.

His fingers slide slowly down the length — then back up.

“You don’t even know what that does to me,” he mutters.

You tilt your head sweetly. “What does it do to you?”

He grips the lekku tighter.

Yanks.

You gasp — body jerking forward slightly, a sharp thrill shooting through your spine. Your thighs clench.

“Oh,” you whimper, breath catching. “That… that actually felt good.”

Hayden smirks, pulling again — just a little harder this time, watching how your whole body reacts.

“Sensitive, huh?” he murmurs. “Like a leash. Or a handle. I could drag you around with these.”

You whimper. “Would you?”

He steps closer. His hand slides down from your lekku to your chest, brushing over the thin mesh. His thumb flicks your nipple through the fabric — already hard, already aching. You arch against his touch.

“You really painted your whole fucking body,” he mutters, gaze sweeping over your glowing skin. “Made yourself my little alien slut.”

You nod, barely breathing.

“For you,” you whisper. “Only you.”

His lips crash into yours before you can finish the thought.

You moan, melting against him as his hands roam — rough and greedy, cupping your tits through the sheer mesh, fingers tugging at the fabric like he might rip it off. His teeth nip at your lip, then your neck, then lower. One hand cups your ass. The other grabs your lekku again, using it to tilt your head back and expose your throat.

“I’m gonna ruin you,” he breathes, licking a stripe from your collarbone to your jaw. “You have no idea what you just started.”

You’re dizzy already — from the makeup, the heat, the costume, the heavy throb between your thighs. You can feel how wet you are, soaking through the lace.

His lips close around your nipple, sucking hard through the fabric.

You cry out, legs shaking.

“Fuck, Hayden—!”

He pulls back, just for a second, eyes locked on yours.

“No,” he growls. “Not Hayden.”

You blink. Breathless.

“What?”

He smirks — dark, possessive, hungry.

“If you’re gonna dress up like a Togruta…” he whispers, yanking you closer by your lekku, “…you better start calling me Master.”

Your knees nearly give out.

He drags you to the couch, drops you hard onto the cushions. You land with a bounce, legs spreading slightly as you sink into the fabric. The music is still playing — that slow, heavy hum of dark strings and electronic bass — and the light from the lamp casts a golden glow over your skin.

Hayden stands over you, jaw clenched, hands fisting the bottom of his shirt.

“You wanna play this game?” he mutters, pulling the shirt over his head in one smooth motion. “You’re gonna fucking earn it.”

You nod desperately, eyes glued to the hard lines of his chest.

“I want to,” you whisper.

He steps between your legs.

And then he reaches down — both hands gripping your lekku.

He lifts them.

Pulls them apart.

And uses them to tilt your head up again, slowly, like you’re on strings. His cock is right in front of your face now, hard and twitching inside his jeans. You can see the outline. You can feel how badly he wants you.

“Open your mouth,” he orders.

You do.

But he doesn’t let you touch him yet.

Instead, he lets go of one lekku, using his now-free hand to push his jeans down. Just far enough. His cock springs free, thick and flushed, the head already dripping precum.

You whimper.

“Oh my god—”

He doesn’t give you time to say anything else.

He wraps one of your lekku around his cock.

You gasp — the pressure, the weight, the heat. You watch him jerk slowly into it, moaning under his breath.

“Fuck, this is so wrong,” he growls, staring down at you. “I should be ashamed of how hard this makes me.”

You lick your lips.

“Then don’t be,” you whisper. “Just fuck me like a dirty alien girl.”

Hayden stands over you, still holding the end of one lekku, slowly dragging it through his fist like a leash. Your head tilts slightly with the movement, and he lets out a low groan.

“This is fucked,” he mutters, eyes locked on your face. “You shouldn’t look so perfect like this.”

Your thighs rub together at the praise, breath hitching when his cock brushes your lips. You kiss the tip, soft and slow, letting a string of spit drip from your tongue down his shaft.

He twitches.

“Ohhh, fuck. That’s it. You’re already my favorite species.”

You giggle, licking a wet stripe up the side of his cock.

“Mmm. Maybe I’m just built for worship,” you tease.

His hand tightens in your lekku.

Then he yanks your head back, making you moan — the pain sharp and delicious.

“You’re built to be used,” he growls, fisting the base of his cock. “Now open up and prove it.”

You part your lips wider.

And he slides in.

Slow at first — letting you feel the weight of him, the heat, the stretch. Your tongue flattens under him. You hum softly, cheeks hollowing as your jaw relaxes. He cups your chin in one hand, guiding your movements while the other stays wrapped in your headdress.

“Look at you,” he breathes. “Face painted, tits out, drool already starting to drip down your chin…”

You moan around him, tongue swirling.

He rocks forward, a little deeper.

Then again.

Then again — until the head of his cock brushes the back of your throat.

You gag slightly, but he holds you there — not cruel, not forceful, just… testing you. Letting you adjust.

You blink up at him, eyes watery, and he moans.

“Oh, baby… fuck.”

You suck harder in response, letting your spit coat him. Your hands rest on his thighs, digging into muscle as he begins to fuck your face — slow and steady, hips moving with perfect control.

Then—

Pop.

He pulls out, and you gasp for air, drool spilling from your mouth to your chest.

“Tongue out,” he orders.

You obey.

He taps the tip of his cock against your tongue, smearing precum over the surface. Then he grips both lekku — both — and yanks your face forward as he fucks back into your mouth with a growl.

“Fuck yes—just like that. That’s it. You’re taking it so fucking good, baby.”

Tears sting your eyes. Your makeup is running. Your jaw aches. But you don’t stop.

You love it.

The mess. The roughness. The way he’s using your lekku like handles — pulling you down onto him again and again, until your nose is pressed to his pelvis, his cock buried deep in your throat.

You gag again.

He moans.

“That’s it. Choke on it, you filthy little Togruta whore.”

You clench around nothing. Your pussy’s dripping through your thong.

He pulls out again, and you cough, drool trailing down your chin, spit hanging from your lips to his cock in long, wet strands.

“Oh my god,” he groans, pumping his cock slowly. “You’re the dirtiest thing I’ve ever fucking seen.”

You blink up at him, lips swollen, throat sore, voice wrecked.

“I dressed up just for you,” you whisper, licking the underside of his shaft. “So you could fuck my mouth like a toy.”

He growls.

“Yeah? Then let’s finish what you started.”

He fists your lekku one more time.

And fucks into your mouth with no hesitation.

This time, there’s no buildup. Just deep, messy, relentless thrusts. The couch creaks behind you. His balls slap against your chin. You’re gagging constantly, barely breathing, mascara dripping down your cheeks.

You can’t even think.

You’re drooling like a broken sex doll, leaking between your thighs, moaning around his cock as he ruins you.

And then — you feel him twitch.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” he pants, “—gonna cum, baby. You want it? You want it on that painted little face?”

You nod as best you can with his cock down your throat.

He pulls out fast — and explodes.

Hot ropes of cum hit your cheeks, your lips, your tits. The lekku catch some too — sticky and glistening under the lamp light. You stay still, panting, tongue out, letting him paint you like a good little alien slut.

He groans as the last drops spill over your nipple.

Then silence.

He breathes heavy, staring at the mess he’s made — at you, on your knees, painted and dripping and utterly fucked.

“…Jesus Christ,” he murmurs.

You look up at him, flushed and smiling.

“Did I do good, Master?”

His cock twitches again.

“Oh, baby. You have no idea what’s coming next.”

“You think we’re done?” Hayden growls, voice low and dark as sin.

You’re still gasping on your knees — his cum sliding down your chin, splattered across your glowing orange skin, one of your lekku drooping wet and sticky across your tit.

You blink up at him, breathless.

He grabs your wrist and yanks you to your feet like you weigh nothing.

“Turn around. Bend over the couch.”

Your pulse spikes.

You move without thinking — stumbling a little in your heels, your thighs sticky with spit and arousal, your breath coming in shallow little gasps. Your knees hit the edge of the couch as you lean forward, arching your back.

Your hands grip the cushions.

Your ass is in the air.

The sheer black thong hugs your pussy like a ribbon, drenched and nearly see-through. The tunic rides up over your hips, bunching just above your waist. You can feel his eyes on you.

“Oh, baby,” he groans, dragging a hand up your thigh. “You’re dripping. You got wet just from sucking my cock like a filthy little alien.”

You wiggle your ass, just to tease.

“I got wet from the way you used me,” you murmur. “Like I wasn’t even human. Just your toy.”

His hand slaps your ass — loud and sharp.

You gasp, your back arching deeper, your pussy clenching.

“Fuck—!”

“Don’t pretend you don’t love it,” he growls, gripping your ass in both hands now. His thumbs spread you open, exposing your soaked thong, your sticky lips underneath. “You’re soaked through. And you want me to see it.”

You nod quickly. “Yes. Yes, Master—”

He spanks you again, harder this time.

You cry out, and he moans.

“Oh, fuck. The way you say that…”

His fingers slip beneath the lace, sliding along your soaked folds. You whimper when he finds your clit — already swollen and needy — and circles it slowly.

“You dressed like this so I’d fuck you like an alien slut,” he mutters, dragging your thong aside to bare your pussy completely. “So let me ask you, sweet girl…”

Two fingers slide inside, curling deep.

You gasp, legs shaking.

“…does your little alien pussy need to be filled?”

You cry out, pushing back against his hand. “Yes—please, yes—”

He withdraws his fingers slowly.

You whimper.

Then you hear the sound of his belt hitting the floor. The sound of his jeans shoving down. The sound of him stroking his cock behind you — slick and slow.

You arch higher, bracing for it.

And then—

He slams into you.

You scream.

“OH—fuck—Hayden—”

Another sharp spank on your ass.

“What did I say?” he growls, hips already snapping into you. “What’s my name?”

You can barely breathe. His cock is thick, deep, stretching you in a way that feels so good it borders on cruel.

“Master!” you cry out. “I meant Master!”

“That’s better.”

He grabs your lekku again — both of them — and pulls, yanking your head back like reins as he fucks you over the couch.

It’s fast. Brutal. Slick. Wet.

Your tits bounce with every thrust, your moans punched out of you with each snap of his hips. Your pussy makes obscene sounds, drool pooling on the cushion beneath your face.

“Oh god,” you whimper, drooling, makeup ruined. “I’m gonna—I’m—”

He pounds harder, gripping your hips, one hand slapping your ass again.

“You wanna cum already? From getting fucked like a slut in costume?”

You nod frantically. “Yes—yes please—I’ve been good—”

“You’ve been filthy, baby. But you wore this for me, so…”

He leans down, one hand gripping your lekku, the other sneaking around to rub your clit.

“Cum for me. Right now. Show me how wet little alien sluts fall apart.”

You shatter.

Your orgasm rips through you like lightning — loud, shaking, legs going weak as you cry out into the cushions. Your pussy clenches around his cock, milking him, soaking him. You’re gushing, thighs trembling, hands clawing at the couch.

He groans.

“Fucking hell, you’re tight—don’t move—”

He keeps fucking you through it, chasing his own release. The slaps of skin on skin echo through the room. His fingers dig into your hips, and you feel him twitch inside you.

And then—

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—I’m cumming—”

He slams deep.

And unloads.

You moan as you feel him fill you — hot, thick spurts of cum painting your walls, dripping down your thighs. He stays buried deep, panting over your back, his fingers still tangled in your headdress.

Silence falls.

Heavy breathing. Your heart pounding in your ears.

He finally pulls out with a groan — and watches his cum drip out of you.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “That might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You look over your shoulder, cheeks flushed, makeup destroyed.

“I hope you’re not done,” you whisper, licking your lips. “Because I wanna ride.”

His cock twitches.

“Oh, baby…”

He grabs you again.

“You’re gonna bounce on Daddy until your lekku fall off.”

You’re still trembling — legs weak, pussy full of his cum, tribal paint smeared all over your chest and chin. The lekku swing behind your back as he sits down hard on the couch and pulls you into his lap, his cock already stiffening again between your thighs.

“Get on,” he pants, looking up at you like he could devour you. “C’mon, baby. Show me how filthy you can get.”

You climb into position with shaky knees, straddling his hips, your painted skin sticky with sweat and sex. The sheer tunic is pushed up over your waist now, and your lace thong is ruined — still shoved to the side, wet and useless.

You don’t even take it off.

You reach between you, wrap your fingers around his cock, and guide him back in.

“Oh fuck—” you both moan in unison as you sink down.

He stretches you again, just as thick, just as deep — but this time, you’re in control. You sit fully, moaning as his cock presses so deep it aches, your thighs pressing to his, your painted hands resting on his shoulders.

Hayden stares up at you, breathless.

“You look…” he groans, “fucking divine like this.”

Your lekku drape down over your chest — two thick, striped tails bouncing against your tits as you start to move.

You roll your hips slowly.

Then again.

Then again, faster.

His hands grip your waist hard, guiding your rhythm — but he’s watching. Eyes fixed on the way your tits jiggle with every bounce, the way your tribal paint streaks down your flushed skin, the way your face twists in pleasure.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groans. “You’re actually fucking me in costume. You planned this—dreamed of this—”

You bounce harder, skin slapping skin, your moans loud and desperate.

“Yes—yes—I wanted this so bad—” you cry out. “Wanted you to use me—wanted to ride you—like I’m your little off-world whore.”

He groans, one hand sliding up to grab your tits, thumbs rubbing over your sensitive nipples.

“Oh, baby—your tits are unreal—”

You arch your back, giving him a better view, your pussy squeezing tight around him.

“I painted them for you,” you moan. “Wanted you to see them all bright and pretty while I bounce on your cock.”

And fuck, bounce you do.

You start riding him faster — hard and messy, your thighs burning, your hands fisting his hair for balance. His cock hits deep, again and again, right where you need it. The sticky squelch of your wetness fills the room.

He pulls one of your lekku over your shoulder.

And bites it.

Your whole body jerks, and you cry out.

“Oh my god—Hayden—”

Another slap to your ass.

“What’s my name?”

You grin through your moans, eyes rolling back.

“Master—fuck, Master, it’s so good—”

He grips your hips tighter and thrusts up into you, meeting every bounce with his own snap of power.

You’re both sweating. Shaking. Dripping.

“Keep riding me,” he growls. “Just like that. C’mon. Faster. Fuck—yes—bounce on my cock like a good little alien slut.”

You moan so loud you think the neighbors might hear.

Your tits bounce uncontrollably now, your lekku swinging wildly behind you, your body collapsing forward so your chest presses to his — and he loves it. His mouth latches onto your nipple, sucking hard while you grind.

You start to whimper.

“I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum again—”

“You’d better,” he growls around your nipple. “After dressing like this? Making me ruin you? Cum all over me again, baby.”

His thumb finds your clit.

And you fucking break.

Your body tenses, thighs locking, and then you collapse — shaking, screaming, pussy clenching around his cock as your second orgasm rips through you. He holds you through it, thrusting up to keep you bouncing even as your body goes limp.

“Fuck, fuck—I’m cumming—” he gasps suddenly, gripping your ass, shoving you down one final time—

And he fills you again.

Hot. Deep. Hard.

You feel it shoot up inside you, feel him twitching, feel your pussy pulse around every last drop. You collapse into his chest, both of you panting, breathless, shaking.

Silence.

Heavy, sticky silence.

Your head rests on his shoulder, lekku hanging down over his chest, both of you absolutely wrecked.

His voice breaks the silence.

“…you’re fucking insane,” he murmurs.

You grin, not moving. “You like it?”

He laughs breathlessly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I’m obsessed with it.”

You must’ve blacked out for a second.

One moment, you’re still in his lap — dripping, shaking, the mesh tunic clinging to your skin — and the next, you’re being lifted. His hands slide under your thighs as he gathers you against his chest, your sticky body sinking into the warmth of his bare skin.

You let out a weak giggle.

“Did I pass out?”

Hayden chuckles, breath hot against your hairline.

“Almost,” he says. “You definitely short-circuited.”

He’s carrying you — arms strong, steps slow and steady — one hand splayed across your bare back, the other cradling under your thighs. You feel weightless in his arms, small and spoiled and soaked in sweat, cum, and paint.

Your lekku hangs down over his forearm.

He kisses your temple as he walks.

“You good, baby?” he murmurs.

You nod sleepily. “Mhm.”

“I can’t believe you actually did this,” he adds, voice low, still a little breathless. “Like full-on… Togruta paint, mesh tunic, no bra… lace thong?”

You grin, eyes fluttering closed.

“I wanted to be your fantasy.”

He huffs a laugh. “You exceeded it.”

You hear the bathroom door creak open, then the hiss of water as he flicks the shower on with one hand. Still holding you. Still not letting go.

You could melt.

When he finally sets you down, it’s with insane gentleness — like you might break if he isn’t careful. He lowers you onto the tiled bench inside the shower, testing the water temperature with his hand.

“Too hot?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No. Perfect.”

Steam rises around you. The warm spray fogs the glass, beads of water clinging to your glowing skin. You close your eyes for a second, letting it all wash over you.

Then you feel his hands.

Not rough. Not desperate like before.

This is different.

Soft.

Hayden kneels between your legs with a warm washcloth and slowly, methodically begins wiping the paint from your chest. His touch lingers on your breasts, his fingers tracing over the raw, bitten marks around your nipples.

You shiver.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

You nod. “Still in space.”

He smiles, rinsing the cloth again. “Good. Stay there.”

He moves slowly — cloth trailing across your stomach, then your thighs, then between your legs where his cum is still leaking out of you.

You flinch a little.

He pauses. “Too much?”

“No,” you whisper. “Just sensitive.”

“I know,” he says softly. “You took a lot.”

His voice drops a little.

“Like a good little alien slut.”

You whine, hiding your face in your hands.

“Stopppp—”

He laughs.

“You don’t get to act shy now. Not after moaning ‘Master’ with your tits out and your headdress all covered in cum.”

You groan. “You loved it.”

“I fucking did,” he says, grinning. “I’m still hard thinking about it.”

You peek up at him, hair damp, cheeks flushed. “You really think I looked hot?”

He looks like he wants to throttle you.

“Baby,” he says slowly, “you looked unreal. Like some fantasy I didn’t even know I had. The lekku? The makeup? The fact that you learned a whole species’ name just to get fucked by me?”

You bite your lip, heart fluttering.

He leans in closer, lips brushing your ear.

“Next time,” he whispers, “I’m wearing the robes.”

You gasp.

“No. No fucking way.”

“Oh, yes,” he murmurs, nibbling your earlobe. “I’ve got them somewhere. Full Jedi gear. Leather tabards. That stupid belt. Lightsaber, too.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed.

“I will actually die.”

He laughs again, kissing you hard.

“You better not,” he mutters. “I’m not done wrecking you.”

The water keeps pouring, warm and gentle, as he wipes the last of the paint from your body. Then he wraps you in a towel and lifts you again — effortlessly, bridal-style — like he’s just decided that walking doesn’t exist for you anymore.

“You really like carrying me, huh?” you mumble sleepily against his neck.

He smirks.

“Have you looked at you? I’m never letting you walk again.”