#(obligatory ‘don’t tell me’ comment)

[luveline]

𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

When Eddie asks you on a date, you don’t believe it. He probably meant as friends, right? Spoiler alert — Eddie wants to be more than friends, and he’s willing to prove it. [4k]

fluff, slight hurt/comfort, fem!reader, plus-sized!reader, reader feels undesirable, kissing, obligatory ‘don’t be cruel’ scene, eddie calls you pretty like ten times, requested here

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie has one of those smiles that screams trouble. Every time he looks at you with that smile he might as well have "I'm gonna break your heart," written across his forehead in tandem. 

You sneak a glance at him across the atrium. Eddie’s paused bussing tables to talk to a patron, his customer service voice in play with a matching smile. It isn't the one you mean, but it's bad enough to make you flush red-hot. You cross your arms over the bar, regret it for its stickiness, and let your head rest against the crook of your elbow. 

You've been working together for a long time now, almost six months, and he's your favourite coworker hands down. He cleans up after himself, he brings snacks that you never accept (lest you look like the greedy chubby girl you worry everyone expects you to be), and he talks to you like a real person.

It's horrifying and it's not fair, but being fat means that sometimes guys don’t want to look at you. They don't want to be in the same room with you, and you can tell; they avert their eyes, or simply don't talk to you directly.

You've never had that feeling with Eddie. He meets your eyes, unflinching, and he sends you one of those pretty smiles and you think Fuck, because he should've been a movie star, he has the cheekbones for it, or a rockstar like that band he's always raving about. He'd have a slim LA girl on both arms, no doubt about it. 

He likely wouldn't waste his time with you. 

Not someone pretty as he is. Sometimes he'll lean over and expose the flat stretch of his stomach, his v-lines and the dark trail of hair peeking above his jeans, and you feel acutely miserable 'cause you know you'll never get to touch him. Workplace crushes suck. 

"Hey, are you okay?" a voice asks, a hand dropping against your shoulder. 

You pull yourself up quickly. Speak of the devil, Eddie stands beside you with his hair tied away from his face. He looks more entertained than concerned, his smile unfortunately genuine. 

"I'm fine," you say, stepping back. His hand falls away from your shoulder. "Sorry, just tired." 

Eddie leans into your space, squinting. You freeze up, but he's only checking the time on the clock behind you. "Gotta tough it out. Still an hour and a half 'til closing." 

Which means there's more than two hours of your shift left. Your face must show how unexciting that is —Eddie laughs, warm and quiet, and gives your hand a squeeze. 

"You'll live," he promises. "Are you busy tonight? Maybe we could go get pizza or something." 

"What, nobody else is available?" you ask. 

His head juts back a touch, put upon shock. "And why can't I ask you? I like you and I like pizza, that's a good combination. And even if you don't like me that much, you like pizza, right?" 

You know —you know, you do— that Eddie doesn't mean it as a slight. This isn't some thinly veiled insult on how you look. Why wouldn't you like pizza? Most people do, but his comment twists itself into an evil inky ball in your chest anyways, thick and hot as tar. 

You shake it off. 

"Who says I don't like you?" you ask, steering the conversation away from food altogether. 

His smile gets somehow better, which is to say worse. You're being punished for something, a childhood wrongdoing or a future crime, perhaps. Nothing else could warrant the mental torture that is being so close to him while he looks the way he does. 

"Good. Good, then we should get pizza. It's a date," he says, nodding. 

Morgan the shift manager calls for him to stop distracting you, though the Hideout is abandoned tonight, and there's nothing to distract you from. Eddie stands at full height, with a soldier's salute. "Yes, sir. No more lollygagging." He turns to you when you laugh, and you share a secret smile. 

He and Morgan disappear into the back of house. If you strain your ears, you can hear Eddie complaining about having to keep his hair in a bun, as it's totally against what he stands for, dude, it's stifling his self expression. 

"Count yourself lucky I don't make you wear a hair net, kid," Morgan says.

You turn back to your sticky bar, numb. It's a date? Did he mean, like, an actual date? A romantic date? 

Not a chance in hell. It's a colloquialism. Nothing more. 

Despite yourself, you stare into the silver reflection of a beer tap and try to liven up. You fix your hair, check your teeth, dig a lip balm out of your apron pocket and scratch the corners of your mouth just in case. The entire time you're heckling yourself about delusions. Eddie Munson doesn't like you. He's had a girl come around once or twice, and she'd been everything you're not: slender, confident. You'd wanted to dislike her, but she hadn't done anything wrong. There's no crime in being desirable. 

For the remainder of the night, you man the bar and serve the occasional patron. It's a Sunday night, so most stick to light beer or soft drinks. The live entertainment says goodnight and the Hideout empties like an opened floodgate. You clean the bar, Eddie buses the tables, and the kitchen staff turn on the radio and get to work cleaning. Soon, you can smell cigarette smoke and reheated mozzarella sticks. 

You wander into the kitchen to help. 

"Hi beautiful," Leon says, one of the cooks, "you want something to eat?" 

"No she does not!" Eddie says, helping the dishwasher Marcie with her last round of plates. Suds drip down to his rolled sleeves as he waves his hands around. "We're going to get pizza." 

"Yes!" Marcie says, delighted. 

"Where are we going?" Paul asks, another cook. 

"We," Eddie says, pointing at you and then himself, "are going to Marletto's. Yeah?" 

You startle when you realise he's asking you. "Oh, sure. Anywhere you want." 

His head bobs up and down, pleased. He goes back to his dishes. "Anywhere I want," he murmurs to Marcie, though he's saying it for everybody to hear, "hear that, Marc? I'm spoiled." 

You wipe down a few counters, label some leftover iceberg lettuce and put it back in the fridge. It's easy work, made better by the camaraderie of your coworkers, but you can't settle down. Your heart races at what's to come. "It's a date," is starting to feel less colloquial now Eddie's dissuading the other from joining you. That's how that works, right? He wants to be alone with you.

It might not mean anything. Maybe Eddie needs something from you he doesn't want the others to know about, like money. Maybe he wants girl advice, finally chasing that pretty girl who drops by sometimes. Or boy advice —there's a guy who comes around too, tall and blond and handsome. 

There's a logical solution. Any other girl would hear the word date and take it at face value, but you aren't them. You're you. You can't remember the last time somebody looked at you with desire in their eyes, if they ever have. High school was a shit show and work isn't exactly a hub for romance. Eddie joining the team here is the most excitement you've ever had in your life, for all his gentle squeezes and teasing elbows, his inside jokes and his tendency to burst into an air guitar solo at any given moment. He's a cheeseball, and you like him. It sucks. 

"Hi, are you ready?" he asks, coming out of nowhere. You're kneeling down near the lockers tying your shoelaces. 

It is a horrible position for him to see you in. You can't imagine what you look like, but you know it won't be pretty. You spring up with your shoelace untied still and smile weakly. "Yeah, I'm ready." 

"You need help with that?" he asks, eyes on your shoe. 

You burn with embarrassment. "I– no, I–" 

Eddie kneels down on the floor and reaches for your shoe. He ties it quickly in a double-knotted bunny-loop and pats the side of your ankle when he's done. When he looks up at you, you're in the middle of hoping a natural disaster will occur and put you out of your misery. 

He smiles at you from his position. Does he ever stop? 

"Cool," he says, standing up. He grabs his coat from his locker and doesn't bother closing it. "Let's go! I'm starving, man, Leon needs to mess up more often so I can steal the rejects." 

You follow him in a daze. Through the lockers and out of the kitchen, waving goodbye to the lingering closers and a grimacing Morgan. You aren't looking forward to seeing him again tomorrow. You're more than sure he'll have something to say about workplace fraternising and general dawdling. 

"You okay for us to take the van?" he asks. 

Eddie's given you rides home before, and what felt awkward before has lended itself to a familiarity. You nod your agreement and cross the small parking lot out back, your breath rising in the cold night air. 

Eddie pulls open the passenger door of his van with a strong-armed tug. 

"Been meaning to get the latch looked at. I'd rather it have trouble opening than trouble closing, though, so that's a plus." 

He waits for you to climb the short step and sit before he closes the door. 

“All limbs inside the ride?" he asks. 

You laugh. It comes out weird. You kind of sound like you're being held at gunpoint. 

Eddie gets in the van and makes small talk as he starts the engine and pulls her out of the lot. Your mind isn't there, exactly, or rather it's too close. You want to think about your answers but instead you're worrying about how you look while you say them. You're worried about the seat belt around your stomach, and the way you look from the side. Being around Eddie makes you more self-conscious than usual. 

Marletto's isn't the best pizza place in Hawkins but it's open until three AM. You and Eddie take the first empty booth you come across, and the agony of ordering in front of someone else begins. 

"Meat feast for me, obviously," he says, pulling off his jacket. 

The cracked vinyl seat beneath him crunches with his movement. You dedicate yourself to staying still. 

"I'll get a margarita," you say, glancing between him and the menu for his reaction.  

"Didn't take you for such a bore," he teases. "Drinks? Sides?" 

"Just water will be fine." 

"Are you sure? I'm paying. If you wanna take advantage of me, now's the time."

You shake your head, pushing your cold hands under your thighs. 

Eddie frowns. "If you're sure…" 

He gets up to track down the register. You sit there, wondering why you agreed to this, what possessed you, why you could ever think this was a good idea. You don't wanna eat in front of him, you don't know what to say, he's looking at you like everything's normal but this is so not normal, this is the opposite side of the spectrum. 

Eddie returns with your water and a coke, all smiles despite your clear nerves. 

He puts the drinks down and clambers into the seat with a leg folded underneath himself, his elbows halfway across the table. He looks you straight in the face. 

"That guy just looked at me like I was crazy. I'm hungry, sue me. Three orders of mozzarella sticks is a normal human thing to get, right?" 

"Three?" you ask. 

His hand reaches toward you. If your hand were there, he'd likely squeeze it roughly as he sometimes does, like a playful scolding. "I'm hungry," he repeats. "I didn't get any lunch on my lunch break. What's the point in that? Just sat down in the locker room thinking about it. It was actually worse than working." 

"You should've had Leon make you a burger. He's always offering." 

"Always offering you, maybe. The rest of us gotta fend for ourselves." 

"That's not true. He asks Marcie, too." 

"Yeah, well, Leon's a sucker for pretty girls." 

You look down at the table. 

"I got enough fries for both of us, I know you didn't want any sides but everyone wants fries. I won't be sharing the mozzarella sticks, so if you want some you better speak now." He raps the table with his knuckles. When you look up, his face softens. "Well, alright. Maybe I'll share them with you. I'm a sucker, too." 

"What's that mean?" 

"What?" 

"You know what," you say. 

Eddie crosses his arms across the table. His hands and arms are pale, the ink of his black tattoos stark. You could draw them without prompting, that's how often you've fallen into his trap. When he crosses his arms like this, his biceps bulge up a little bit, emphasising the pretty curves and ridges of his arms and the hints of greeny-blue veins hiding under his skin. He tilts his head toward his shoulder, his limp curls dragging against the table. 

"It means…" he says, holding your eyes, a gentle smile playing on his lips, "that you're pretty. You're so pretty, I'd do anything you asked me to." 

You flinch. You pull your numb hands from under your thighs and cover your stomach with your forearms, glaring at the table between you thoughtlessly. 

"That's cruel." 

"What?" 

"That's cruel, Eddie. You're being mean," you mutter.

"I–" Eddie stammers. "What? I'm just trying to tell you how I think about you– how I feel. I'm sorry if you don't wanna hear it, I'm not trying to be mean." 

Hurt creeps into the lines of your face, your eyebrows pulled down and the starts pulled up, your lips pursed. Heat bursts in your throat as a molten lump takes shape there. You don't trust yourself to speak, but you have to. 

"I thought you were my friend," you say quietly. 

"I want to be more than that." 

"You're making fun of me." 

"No." 

Eddie reaches across the table again. There's nothing for him to grab so he spreads his fingers and presses his palm flat. He ducks his head to meet your gaze. His eyes are ridiculously big, the black of his pupils blown and leaching into his dark irises until they're almost indistinguishable in the fuzzy lighting of the restaurant. 

"Come on," he says quietly, "when have I ever done that to you? I mess around, but I wouldn't say shit like that unless I meant it." His fingers lift off of the table. "I mean it. I think you're beautiful." His voice takes on a raw quality. 

You bite the tip of your tongue, fully frowning now. "I don't believe you," you say. 

"Why not?" he asks, frowning back. 

"Because I'm– I'm– I'm fat." You hate yourself for saying it out loud. 

People hate that word. Usually, if you admit to it, there's a rushed response. No, you're not. Pretty friends talk you down, loved ones wrap an arm around your shoulder and harp about puppy fat or big bones. 

Eddie doesn't do either. He sits back in his seat and smiles hesitantly. 

"Why's that a bad thing?" he asks. He shakes his head at himself. "I mean– I'm sorry, I should've said you aren't, you aren't–" 

"No, I am," you say. 

"You're so pretty," he says again, in a rush. "I don't care what size you are, I really don't. I just think you're beautiful and I wanted to ask you on a real date but I saw you and I couldn't wait anymore." He wraps his hand around the neck of his coke bottles and pulls it towards his chest. "Shit, I've made a huge fucking mess of it." 

You lean forward. Your body doesn't know what to do, the whiplash of hurt smothered by his enthusiastic, sincere compliments.

Why's that a bad thing? means more than anything else he said to you. 

"You really think I'm pretty?" you ask timidly. 

"Drop dead," he says. Hope flickers behind his eyes. "Morgan pulled me aside on my second week, you know that? Said if I didn't stop staring at you he'd put me in the back for the week." 

"He did put you in the back," you say, confused. 

"Exactly." 

Oh. You raise your head properly. Eddie's watching you, just you, obviously waiting for you to speak. The hope on his face is clear as day now, his lips parted, the tiniest peek of his tongue on display. 

"You promise you aren't messing with me?" you ask finally. 

"I promise." He holds his hand out, palm up. "I swear." 

Your heart a hummingbird, you take your hand from your waist and put it carefully in his. His fingers curl around yours like a prince, the tip of his thumb rubbing over your knuckles slowly, half an inch at a time. You exhale out of your nose as goosebumps race up your arm. 

He looks like he has more to say, but the pizza and all his sides arrive. You spring apart like teenagers, blood rushing in your ears. The server unloads his tray.

"Alright guys," he says, looking down at you both with a knowing smile. "Anything else I can get you while I'm here?" 

Eddie sneaks a look at you that holds way too much meaning. "No, I think we're alright." 

There's a tiny, awkward silence. You busy yourself with unfolding a napkin over your lap, not sure what to say to bridge the gap. 

Eddie takes the plunge. 

He slides a basket of mozzarella sticks at you. "Pretty girl privileges," he says.

You feel insecure eating in front of him, but the sheer ferocity of his compliments discourages any shame. He thinks you're pretty. He held your hand like it was made of glass and he got put in Hideout jail for staring. 

"I think you're handsome, too," you say. 

Eddie almost chokes on a handful of fries. "Shit," he says, swallowing roughly, hand thumping at his chest. "Thank god for that. I mean, of course you do. My devilish good looks are hard to resist." 

He's not wrong. 

—

Getting put on kitchen duty isn't half as bad as Morgan seems to think it is. Eddie kind of likes it, the noise, the chaos, the heat. Plus, he can steal fries hot and fresh out of the basket. He's only burned himself once. 

"What're you in for?" Leon asks him.

"Staring." 

"You're a freak, Munson, you know that?" 

Eddie shrugs. "If your girlfriend looked like mine, you'd stare too." 

"Uh-huh." Leon grabs up a spatula to flip a burger, pink meat down and brown side up. Fat sizzles dangerously. Neither man flinches. "She ain't going nowhere." 

"You don't know that. Some rockstar might blaze through here and snap her up. Who would I be to stop her? She should be a trophy wife, she's a stunner." 

"Christ," Marcie says from across the room. 

"How the fuck can you hear us?" Eddie asks. Over the sound of the overhead spray and the sizzle of the burners, Marcie must have superpowers or something. 

"Uh, 'cause you're fucking yelling," she says. 

Eddie looks to Leon for some defence, but Leon agrees. "You are super loud." 

"You would be too–"

"If I had a girlfriend as pretty as yours," Leon says, audibly grouchy. "I know." 

"Don't be jealous that I got there first." 

"How is this fair? You get in trouble and I'm the one punished." 

Eddie blows a big breath out of the corner of his mouth, one of his shorter curls dancing away from his warm face. Ridiculous. They're all awful, and jealous, and nobody wants him to be happy. "Losers," he mumbles. 

He's kidding, mostly. He knows that everyone is actually very happy for the both of you. How could they not be? Eddie's happier than ever and you've turned to mush. It's his favourite thing in the world. 

He thought you were pretty before. These days, you're gold dust incarnate. You see him and smile like you've been waiting for him, no more nervousness (which, he found out, was down to a raging crush on him) (he walked on air for days), no more shying away from his touch. Eddie puts a hand on your shoulder and you don't tense; you melt. Butter in the sun. 

It's glorious. 

And sure, Eddie ends up in the brig a lot. He 'hovers' apparently. So what? He'll say it again, if any of these guys were in his shoes, they'd fall victim to the same compulsion. 

He waits for an opportunity to arise, four dinner tickets and a dishwasher disaster, and sneaks away as silently as he can manage, creeping out of the kitchen and to the bar. You're busy pouring a beer and don't notice him until the customer's left and he's wrapping an arm around your waist. 

"Eddie," you scold lightly, leaning forward to accommodate his weight against your back, "come on. You might actually lose your job." 

"They can't fire me. I'm the best bus boy ever." 

You turn your face to look at him. Eddie wants to put you on TV, you look that sweet. 

"No, you're awful, you," —Eddie interrupts you, leaning down for a quick chaste kiss— "distract me, and you," —he steals a second— "don't actually bus tables when you should," you finish, disjointed. 

He brings his hand to your soft cheek, stroking a badly behaved baby hair back into place. You go lax like he's some kind of quick fix drug, and your eyes contain a tenderness that makes his chest ache. He covers his heart with his hand. 

"You're awful," you murmur. 

He takes your face into both hands slowly. One cups your cheek, and the other slides behind your ear. He pulls your face forward and down toward his chin, his lips by your ear. You smell amazing. His eyes close on instinct.

"A little. It's not my fault. You're just–" 

"So pretty?" you ask. "Yeah, you've told me." 

"I have, have I? Have to let me tell you again." He kisses the skin before your ear, more a press of his lips than anything. "You're beautiful," he mouths. 

You shiver, but ultimately end up planting your hands against his chest and ushering him away from you. 

"Stop it. I mean it! We're in public, at work, and you're gonna mess me up." 

"I want to mess you up," he says easily. 

"I know you do." 

Eddie sighs, agonised, but heeds your warning. "Alright," he says, squeezing your shoulder in goodbye. You smile and squeeze his elbow in return. It's your new thing, silent conversation in fond touches. 

He's a couple of feet away when the urge to turn back is too much. He jogs back to your side, gets his hand behind your neck, and kisses you with enough pressure that your lips part underneath his in shock. He adores the side of your neck with his thumb one sweeping stroke at a time, his nose digging sliding against yours as he inches in further, and further. The dizzy pleasure of your lips can't be understated. Eddie fights back a kiss-ruining smile with all he's worth. 

"Sorry," he says, pulling back. Your lips shine and you blink, dazed. "Sorry," he says again, leaning in to kiss them dry. 

You laugh quietly, a breath against his cheek, and he's a goner, dropping pecks all over your pretty face until you're giggling and sinking into his arms. 

"I really am sorry." He punctuates with a kiss under your jaw. 

"No," you say breathlessly. Your hand twines loosely in his hair. "You're not." 

No, he isn't. He's never felt less sorry for anything in his life. 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! If you did, please consider reblogging, it helps more than you know!! <3 

[goldensunset]

again. do i WANT to heed team plasma’s directions. do i want to respond to an invite from the leader of the literal evil team of the game. even if i like him and care about him a lot and do want to talk to him again. we are by no means officially allies and he still has threatened me even if he has also expressed admiration for me. i don’t think i should just waltz into a dangerous remote location to meet him. that is like. a textbook trap. actually what would really be a trap is if they were like ‘we want a peace treaty :)’ or w/e. but they won’t even tell me what it is n wants. whateverrrrr i’m coming anyway my dear bug

ok brycen did step out of the gym and he uncovered that the shadow triad were right there hiding all around us. i suppose this is why i keep my mouth shut before jumping to conclusions lol

[ddejavvu]

Betrayal - Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Summary: months into the war and it's not as exhilarating as you'd hoped - not for your battalion, anyway. when the air conditioning in your compound blows, an old friend brings his tech genius of a padawan to fix it for you. while anakin is working, you convince his master to spar for old times' sake, and simple adrenaline gives way to a landslide of long-buried feelings neither of you should have for each other.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni, fem!reader, jedi!reader, reader is a general, sweat kink (? they are really sweaty and i talk about it a lot), oral (m+f receiving), semi-public sex (risk of being caught), sparring, lightsaber use, throatfucking, messy kisses, scratching/marking, lotsa spit, obligatory 'had you said the word' (sorry satine i had to steal his line)

WC: 16.9K / navigation / inbox

A/N: sorry this took me so long to finish! i didn't have time to write for like two months but it's done now and i hope you enjoy it <3 this is set a couple months/a year into the clone wars, but i have chosen to fuck with their ages a little bit. in this, anakin is like 12-14-ish, even though he was older in AOTC when the war began.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Neglecting the option of taking a padawan under your wing is what stuck you on this humid, blazing, hellish planet, and you almost regret it. You’d wanted more freedom in your duties, didn’t want a youngling clinging to your leg begging for help with their rudimentary saber drills, so instead you swapped it for what you thought would be constant battle, exhilarating speeder chases, and the glory of proving yourself. Unbecoming of a Jedi to wish for, yes, but you’ve never claimed to be Council-worthy.

Now your butt is sticking to the chair you’re planted in, overlooking a very empty, very desolate, very boring outpost. It’s so hot that you think you’ve melted into the chair and fused with its fabric. Standing might tear your skin away from your flesh, leaving an imprint of you behind in your seat.

“General,” One of your clone troopers calls, sticking his head through the doorway to your station, “Nothing on my scanners.”

“Nor on mine,” You drawl lazily, “We’re scheduled to be inspected today. Any word from the crew?”

“None.” He laments, “I just hope they bring a droid that can fix the cooler.”

The base you’re stationed to isn’t always this disgusting. The structure is wired with an air conditioning system to keep the inside much cooler than the outside, but after a rather unfortunate incident with a freshly manufactured astromech droid with some crossed wirings, both lay broken and singed in the maintenance bay. Your clones don’t know how to tinker with droids or heating systems, and you’d probably wind up just as ash-covered if you tried.

“Alert me when they land,” You order the trooper, leaning your forehead against the cool metal of the scanner screen before you, “I want to have time to change into an outfit I haven’t soaked through with sweat.”

The scanner grows warm against your flushed skin far too soon. Everything is hot, and sticky, and gross, and you find yourself yearning for the cold showers you used to despise at the temple. Perhaps you yearn for the temple in general, for the familial atmosphere shared among overconfident Padawans and exasperated Masters. You think specifically of Obi-Wan Kenobi, a man you’d trained with, now Master to his apprentice Skywalker.

You haven’t seen the pair in years, but you remember Anakin’s blonde mop of hair, as well as his penchant for chaos. Watching Obi-Wan’s eyes fill with horror at whatever shenanigans his Padawan had gotten into that day was part of what helped you make the decision to decline one yourself, though you hold no distaste for the boy. He was simply young and untrained in the ways of the Jedi, and you were not a patient enough person to gracefully navigate that predicament then. You’re not sure you are now, either.

Even though you know you’re better suited on your own, you wonder if you’d have been more fulfilled with a Padawan learner of your own. Surely anything could be better than this, wasting away- rotting on a planet hot enough to boil your blood if you stepped outside without proper protection.

Your base is secluded and temperature-controlled, even if the contraption that the Republic had fashioned under pressure of time to keep you isolated is rather crude. It’s, in essence, a large dome, seals in place to ensure that vessels can land and takeoff without destroying the temperature control. It’s cooler within the dome than it is outside of it, but the hurriedly-designed system can only do too much, and you greatly depend on the air conditioning to do its job. Now that it’s not, you’re irritated from the heat, and you wish that the inspection team would just hurry up already. The patience you’d had drilled into you from your early years as a Youngling is nowhere to be found under the pressure of a heat wave, and your foot taps impatiently against the floor while you itch for some action.

You think it’s rather pathetic that you yearn for excitement so badly that you’re anxiously awaiting the inspection team. Their job takes barely an hour, a scan of your equipment and a survey of your troops. They’ll walk in and out without so much as a pleasantry, but you long for something new, something more, something exciting.

The call over your comms comes over an hour later, a time in which you remain at your post but begrudge it all the while. “General,” Your trooper barks, voice staticky and rough over the channel, “We’ve got visitors. Inspection team’s here. Initiating landing procedure.”

“Copy that,” You bolt out of your seat, barely remembering to lean over the microphone to reply, “Thank you.”

Finally.

Finally, someone new to talk to, even if they have the same face as everyone else you’ve spoken to on this long, dreary assignment. You’re friendly with your troopers, of course, but that itch for more is back in your brain, igniting you with vigor you don’t normally possess as you rush to greet the inspection team.

However, when you reach the landing bay, and the ship’s hydraulics hiss, clone troopers aren’t the only ones to disembark. Jedi robes make their appearance, shrouding the very man you’d just thought about, as well as the child by his side. 

Obi-Wan wears the years that have passed since you last saw him, but time has treated him well. His hair is longer now, gone is that stiff Padawan buzz. His braid is missing as well, giving way to luscious strawberry blonde strands that he’s slicked back so that they drag against the back and sides of his neck. Longer hair looks good on him, just as it had when he was fifteen and had refused a haircut for months in a typical, if rather tame, display of teenage rebellion. Anakin is also significantly older than you’d kept track of, but he can’t be older than fourteen if his lanky limbs and awkward demeanor are any evidence.

Obi-Wan smiles at you, and you nearly forget to shove down that shameful part of you that wants to take more out of him than he can give you. Even as Padawans you’d always gravitated towards the man opposite you, sneaking out to roam the gardens after hours together or sharing sly glances across mission briefings. But he’s an honorable Jedi Master - a member of the Council itself, so you’ve heard - and you wrestle down your repressed feelings to grin at him.

“General Y/L/N,” He greets with a smile so charming you lament that the Jedi Order interrupted his chances of being a model.

“Master Kenobi,” You greet, but you know he’ll chide you for the honorific if you use it more than once, “I wasn’t aware you’d be on the inspection team.”

“We’re not. Technically.” Obi-Wan admits, arm coming to press against Anakin’s back and nudge him forwards, “We got word that your air conditioning system is out, as well as one of your new astromechs. Anakin here is still an excellent mechanic, I thought we’d come out to offer you some reprieve from the heat.”

Anakin looks embarrassed by the attention that’s fallen upon him, in typical pubescent fashion, and you take pity on the timid teenager, casting your glance back at his Master, “Maker, thank you. We’re melting out here.”

“I can imagine,” Obi-Wan laughs, and you turn again to Anakin who’s anxiously awaiting your orders.

“Anakin, if you could fix our air conditioning, that would be wonderful. Honestly, I’m not even sure I want the droid fixed, it’s what got us into this mess in the first place. But they’re both over there,” You point to the shorted out panels, “And my troopers will offer you any supplies you need, like tools or wiring or refreshments.”

“Thank you.” Anakin nods, hands clasped behind his back obediently even if he looks mortified to be the center of attention once more, “I’ll have things up and running as soon as possible.”

“I’m leaving you here,” Obi-Wan warns the boy, pointing an accusatory finger at him, “I don’t often leave you alone with machinery and tools, Anakin, for reasons we’re both aware of. Promise me you will not do anything reckless?”

“I promise,” Anakin mutters reluctantly, and you avert your eyes so he has some semblance of privacy.

“I mean it, Anakin. This is no time to experiment with your technical prowess. You simply fix their system and you wait for me back on the ship, understand?”

“Master,” Anakin pleads, “I understand.”

“Very well. Get to your duties,” Obi-Wan dismisses the boy, turning to you only after he sees his Padawan crouch by the singed panel.

“He shouldn’t take long. He most likely will try to tinker with the astromech, though.” Obi-Wan smiles sympathetically, “He’s not one to leave a droid unusable.”

“I remember he had a particular talent for mechanics,” You muse, starting off towards the main base intent on leading Obi-Wan to your rec room, “If I recall correctly, he figured out how to inconspicuously rewire his communicator to give you an ‘unavailable’ signal if he didn’t like what you were asking him to do.”

Obi-Wan scoffs as he lets you lead through the doorway, “Yes, my Padawan has always had very selective hearing. I’m sure you don’t mind not having one of your own.”

“That’s one of the reasons I justify my choice,” You chuckle, letting the door shut behind you as you make your way through the halls. The base that the Republic had granted you is spacious, even decked out with training facilities and rec rooms interspersed throughout your rows of quarters, but it’s unbearably hot and you’re tired of being cooped up inside of it.

“This isn’t bad for a base,” Obi-Wan muses, robes swishing behind him as he strides beside you, “But I hope Anakin fixes that cooling system soon.”

“Try being stationed here permanently,” You scoff, tugging at the sweat-soaked neckline of your tunic, “I have long since abandoned my robes.”

“Do you have somewhere I could set this?” Obi-Wan asks, fingers catching the front of his cloak as he slings it off. It falls gracefully from his shoulders, and he holds the garment up as he laments still having to wear the rest of his robes.

“You can leave it in my quarters,” You veer sharply to the right, letting him catch up, “They’re just down this hallway.”

There’s unmarked doors on either side of the corridor, and you’re still impressed that each clone trooper knows where their bed is at night. Your door has a plaque beside its frame that reads ‘General’s Quarters,’ and you’re not confident that you could navigate the halls without it. You type in your access code, and the door slides open with a hiss.

“Just set it on the bed,” You gesture towards your mattress, “If we have some time, I thought,” You reach into the closet, pulling out your seldom-used lightsaber, “We could spar.”

Obi-Wan laughs, discarding his cloak onto your bed as his eyes crinkle happily at the corners, “You’re lacking a bit of excitement here, aren’t you, Y/N? There’s no way you’d duel me willingly after I took you down the last time.”

You’d sparred together since you’d been handed a saber for the first time. Sure, your initial weapons were wooden, then training blades designed to be duller than their more advanced counterparts, before you’d finally been granted allowance to manufacture one of your own. But there were no more dedicated sparring partners than the two of you, and you can tell the man opposite you is fond of the reminder you’ve given him, even if he is trying to tease you.

“You did not take me down,” You gawp, “I mean- yes, I was on the floor, but I wasn’t done! You didn’t win!”

“Mm, yes. I didn’t win because no one did.” Obi-Wan sends you a sly grin, “Anakin interrupted us, don’t you remember? We never got to finish.”

“Then a rematch,” You insist, gesturing towards the open doorway, “Once and for all we’ll prove who the better duelist is.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll win. After all, I can tell you spend every waking moment practicing and making sure you lose none of your fighting abilities,” Obi-Wan’s hand darts out to switch on your holotable, revealing an in-progress game of chess. You’re losing.

“I’ve only been using that as of late,” You snap, defensive, “It’s insufferable to train without proper ventilation. And only when I’m not on duty. I don’t spend all of my time sitting and playing chess.”

“Losing at chess.” Obi-Wan arches an eyebrow, finally stepping out of your quarters so that you can shut it once more, “Come, Y/N, show me to your training grounds.”

The training room is just as hot as everywhere else on the base. You walk through the doors and humid air greets you, something that wrinkles Obi-Wan’s nose and rustles his mustache.

 “God, I hope your Padawan knows what he’s doing,” You groan, rolling up the sleeves of your own tunic but jumping excitedly into action despite the heat. You ignite your saber, slightly embarrassed by the thrill that the weapon gives you as it thrums to life. You haven’t felt this in a long time, at least, not paired with the thrill of battle. It’s significantly less awe-inspiring to ignite a saber against a training droid you know wouldn’t be able to singe your tunics if you stood stock still. Obi-Wan brings his to life as well; blue and green lights bathe your faces.

“I’ll go easy on you.” He smiles infuriatingly, cocking his head slightly to one side, “Ready?”

“Ready.” You jolt right, a fakeout before you dart left instead. He catches on rather quickly, though, and his blade clashes against yours as you aim for his leg.

“Nice start,” Obi-Wan admits, “But you can’t rely on misdirection for your entire fight. You’ll have to overpower me.”

“I could easily overpower you,” You swing left, breaking the contact of your two sabers, then jabbing so that he has to move his foot out of the way to avoid the plasma. He stumbles, barely catching himself against his back foot, but it gives you time enough to bring your blade up and around to nick at his shoulder, a hole now slashed into his tunic.

“Okay,” He stands straight, eyeing the tear in his clothing warily, “I won’t go easy on you.”

“Never underestimate your opponent,” You tease proudly, saber still ignited, “That’s one for me, Obi-Wan.”

“That doesn’t count,” He scoffs, standing at the ready, “I told you I’d go easy on you. Now I’m serious.”

“All I’m hearing is excuses,” You gloat, feet light as you step around him, “You lead this time, Kenobi.”

He does. He swings downwards, and you block your face with your own blade to stop him. He nearly jabs at your gut before you can prevent it, and you feel the heat from his blade as your own comes to block his.

You fling his weapon away with yours, and he lets you. After such a long period of no action (and shamefully little meditation) your abilities with the Force have grown slightly weaker, as have your regulatory skills. You can still sense what he’s going to do when he squares his shoulders, but you’re almost not fast enough to interpret those senses, and you barely make it to block him from swinging his blade in a fiery circle that would clip the edge of your arm.

“You’re rusty,” He taunts, his own Force abilities stronger than ever as his presence seeps through the cracks in your mind. You try to force him out, but it takes effort, and it’s effort you can’t expend elsewhere. It means that you can’t foresee his intent to aim for your face, and his blade hums inches away from your cheek as he holds it there.

You freeze; you’re caught.

We’re even,” You grunt, sweat beading at your forehead, “But we’re not finished.”

“Hang on,” He disengages his saber, letting the apparatus clatter to the ground as he tugs at one of the outer layers of his robes, “I’m going to shed a few things.”

“Stripping will not help your cause.” You tease, “I’m not distracted by sex appeal.”

Clearly, he isn’t expecting your jab, and he lets his mouth fall open as he slings off one of his garments, an incredulous laugh filling his throat.

“Y/N. You’ve obtained a foul mouth somewhere along your career. It certainly wasn’t in the temple.”

“It’s the clones,” You groan, “Try being stationed with a troop of grown men who went through puberty in record time. They’ve got the appetite of an adult with the filter of a teenage boy.”

“They’ve never tried anything with you,” Obi-Wan narrows his eyes questioningly, and you try to avoid looking at the sweat glistening against his tanned neck as he strips to his base layer.

“No, they’re respectful.” You assure him, “Just crass.”

“Yes, well,” Obi-Wan frowns distastefully, “They haven’t had Jedi training. I suppose I’m not surprised.”

He stands there for a moment with only his undershirt covering his chest, then decides that it’s still too warm, tugging at its hem to raise it over his head.

You feel your insides ignite with a fire you haven’t felt in a long time when his bare chest is exposed, skin marred and riddled with coarse, wiry hair. His stomach is flat but not as tight as you remember in your youth, softer now. You can tell there’s an impressive layer of muscle beneath the milky white skin, though, even if it’s not outwardly visible. He uses his tunic to wipe the sweat off of his face so you’re granted a moment to ogle him, your mouth watering as you try to conceal your thoughts. 

“Okay. Enough with this child’s play.” You shake your head, letting Obi-Wan have just enough time to toss aside his tunic before you plant your feet against the mat. Obi-Wan stands at the ready, both of your sabers ignited, “I want a real match. A long one, now that we’re warmed up. Best two out of three, Kenobi. Winner takes all.”

“Winner gets to stand in front of the air conditioning vent when Anakin gets it up and running,” Obi-Wan suggests, sweat trailing down his neck and over his chest. You avert your eyes, lest the fraile state of mind you’re in betrays you.

“Fine.” You shrug, reaching for the hem of your vest. It’s tactical, good for keeping with you on duty, but it’s etching lines of sweat into your back now. You sling it off, letting it land in a heap similar to Obi-Wan’s robes, and exposing the tank top you have on beneath it. “I know just the one I’ll pick. In my room, there’s one just above the bed. Maybe I’ll let it hit my back while I win at holochess.”

“I think the heat might be getting to you,” Obi-Wan cracks, a slight heave to his chest as he tries regulating his breathing. It’s hard when you’re as hot as you are to get enough oxygen, and you’re doing the same. It’s awfully difficult not to indulge in the view of his bare chest rapidly rising and falling, and you feel a tug below your gut as a vision flashes through your mind. It’s of what else could make him pant in such a way, and you can’t afford to entertain the thought, not around him. “I’m not sure which outcome is more delusional; that you’ll win this duel, or that you’ll win at holochess.”

“You’re wasting time,” You croon, charging with your blade poised for battle so that you have no more time to fantasize, “I think you’re scared.”

“Do I feel afraid?” Obi-Wan laughs, blocking your attack with little effort and redoubling to launch one of his own. The clatter of your sabers almost drowns out his words, “Reach out, Y/L/N, all you’ll feel is confidence.”

“I’m not sure I could feel you if I tried,” You lament, chest heaving as you block one of his swings, “Not while my mind is occupied with our duel. I am rusty, you were right.”

“Practice more,” He chides, “Less chess, more meditation.”

“One is a lot more boring than the other!” You groan, barely managing to get your arm up in time to take a shot at his own, “And the less boring one is chess, so that’s really saying something.”

“It may be boring but it is beneficial,” Obi-Wan lectures you, and you wonder if he thinks you’re still a Padawan. You fight with heaving breaths and monumental effort, the heat sucking your energy out through the sweat that drips down your skin. He turns and his back is glistening, which is really not a sight that helps you to stay focused.

“Now I’m starting to see why Anakin tinkered with his communicator,” You call, as Obi-Wan whirls around your left side, “You’re very dull as a Jedi Master!”

You have to throw yourself onto the floor to avoid a swing at your head, your right shoulder aching as you do so. But you scramble away from him, righting yourself and miraculously avoiding the blade of your saber coming into contact with the training mat.

You stumble to your knees, driving the forward momentum you have against Obi-Wan as he tries blocking you. You nearly get a nick out of his pants, but he pushes you backwards with the threat of his blade, and you fall with your back to the mat.

Your stomach drops when a blue blade hums hot and bright near your throat, its tip directed at your jugular. It doesn’t matter that it’s on its training setting; it’s inescapable and daunting when it’s an inch from your skin. You’re done for. 

“I may be dull,” Obi-Wan pants, beard glistening as sweat streams down his neck. His chest heaves as he speaks, bare and open for your eyes, and his pink tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth to dart along his lips, “But I am victorious. Does this remind you a little bit of the last time we fought?”

It does. He’d been standing over you then as he is now, and you’d had to fortify your mind back then not to let slip vulgar thoughts about being on the floor below him. His thighs, meaty with muscle and strong from training, are hidden behind loose pants, but their crotch has tightened slightly, a chub to what should be a relaxed surface.

A pang of arousal shoots down your spine, and suddenly the lightsaber near your throat isn’t the most daunting thing in the room. It’s Obi-Wan.

He swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing as you lay beneath him.

“Your thoughts betray you,” He observes, and you feel his invasive presence in your mind, sucking out the private thoughts coursing through your brain. They’re of panting breaths, heaving chests, wandering hands, and meshing tongues; passionate embraces, intimate attachments. Things no Jedi should fantasize about, not under the code. Things that should bring shame to you, and maybe they do, and maybe you like it.

“Your body betrays you,” You’re able to muster, swallowing the saliva pooling in your mouth as you glance pointedly at his bulge. It’s only grown since you’d last glanced at it; evidently your visions did something to him too.

He sees, or perhaps, feels what you see, freezes, then clicks his saber off. The blade retracts with a hiss and there is a distinct vacuum of sound where its humming once was. He breaks the unnerving silence with a clatter as he tosses it aside, feet still firmly planted on either side of your hips. 

“It’s natural.” He weakly supplies, a poor defense, “It’s adrenaline-fueled, nothing more.”

“Really? So when you duel sith lords, when you chop the heads off of battle droids, you walk away with a stiff dick?” You carefully observe his body language, feet poised like he might bolt if you make any sudden moves. He’s flighty, and you have to make your next moves carefully.”

“Y/N,” He begins, his voice weak, “I wish you wouldn’t use such foul language.”

“Is it the language that bothers you?” You push your elbows against the mat, hoisting yourself up at an obtuse angle to meet his eye better, “Or is it the truth it carries? Obi-Wan, you were right. It’s natural. And it is not something to be ashamed of.”

“It is against the Code,” He reasons, his voice still fighting to sound resolute. He offers no other reasoning, and you know it’s because he has none.

“It’s not.” You insist, “The Code is ancient and rigid. And celibacy is not required, only a level head.”

“That’s the problem,” He chuckles weakly, “I don’t have a level head when it comes to you, Y/N.”

“You seem as though you do.” You press cautiously, careful not to push your luck, “I’ve never felt anything unprofessional about your feelings towards me.”

“That’s because I haven’t been around you in a long time,” He admits, “Not consistently. I was better at controlling it- no, hiding it when we were Padawans. I had to do it every day, it was natural to me. But I am out of practice now, and I have been since you were stationed here. I barely have the ability to hide how I feel about you, Y/N. And- and it is not something the Council would approve of.”

You sit up now, fully straightened. You’re still between his legs, but you’d need to rise to your knees for your face to be level with his bulge. You plan to.

“The Council is not here. Nor can they see us, or hear us, or feel us. They will not know what we do, Obi-Wan.”

“I will know.” He breathes, his voice growing weaker each time he tries raising it against you, “Y/N, I will never forget a thing we do together on this base. If we… If you touch me, I will remember every brush of your skin against mine for eternity. If you- kiss me, I will never be able to put the thought of your lips on mine out of my head. And I would not know how to live without it for the rest of my life.”

Your heart sinks in your stomach like a stone in water. He’s loyal to the Order, he always has been. But you’d been so blinded by isolation, so convinced by your own delusions, that you’d assumed his loyalty to you would be stronger. But it’s not, and you can’t earnestly be angry with him for it.

You swallow what little saliva has accumulated around your tongue to give yourself something to do, then rise to your feet.

“It sounds like you should walk away.” You mutter regretfully. His eyes hold the same feelings, strikingly painful. He nods, almost imperceptibly, but before he can follow your orders, you continue.

“But will you forgive yourself if you do?”

You feel it, his swell of emotions. Every single one is unbridled, yearning, heartache, fondness, want; all of them unleashed from the man whose mind is usually a fortress. They’re washing over you like waves, invading your brain and turning your thoughts their colors. 

“No. I couldn’t,” He admits, “But-” and there’s always a but, “The Council would never forgive me if I didn’t.”

“They won’t know.” You insist, but it’s lost on him, “Obi-Wan, please make a decision. Who is more important, you or the Council?” Then in a more timid, soft voice, as his soft eyes bore into you and beg for mercy, you give him the opposite, “Who is more important… me or the Council?”

He kisses you. There is no warning, no shift in his Force signature, only his hands on your face and his lips on your own. There is strength in his touch, his hands firm where they pull your cheeks ever-so-slightly towards his face as if he’s trying to mash them into his own. His beard is rough and grating against your face, but it’s not unpleasant, especially when it brings with it his lips. His lips, which are much softer than you’d have imagined them, merely frame your own. The kiss is sweet but chaste, and the only indication you have that he wants more is the way that he holds you against him. Otherwise you’d mistake his courtesy for disinterest, and you tilt your head slightly sideways to encourage more enthusiasm from him.

When your lips reconnect he sighs, a breath from his nose that fans over your top lip. He’s letting you lead, letting you dictate whether you want to keep kissing him or whether you’ll suddenly switch positions; it’s like he’s afraid that you’ll rip off a mask and reveal yourself to be Master Windu, scolding him for his reckless passion. But of course you don’t, and you lick gently against the plush of his bottom lip instead.

He hums at the feeling of your tongue against his mouth, but he’s suddenly pushing against your cheeks instead of pulling.

“Are you absolutely sure,” He starts, but can’t seem to resist the temptation to steal another kiss from your spit-slicked lips, “That you- mm, that you want this? Because I cannot-” He breaks off with a weary, pleading, defeated look in his beautiful eyes, “I cannot turn back if we go further. If we proceed… I will not be able to forget what we do. If you’re not interested… please tell me now, so that I may save myself from loving you for an eternity that you do not wish to share with me.”

You scoff, moving in for another kiss at his lips. He doesn’t reciprocate, only pushing you back so that you can respond.

“I just spent five minutes,” You pant, desperate to reconnect your lips, “Bargaining with you to get you to forget about your nerves. And you don’t think I want this?”

You try surging forwards again but he holds you back, eyes still begging for your words.

“Please. I need to hear you say it.” He seems almost self-conscious, worried you’re not interested in him the same way he’s interested in you. But you have been since you can remember, and you’re more than willing to work around the unconventional aspects of your relationship if it means you can have him, even just for today.

“I want you,” You breathe, the exhale hitting his lips, “Please- Obi-Wan, I want you. I want you no matter what the Code says. No matter what the Council says; I want you.”

He looks like he could cry. He is devoted to the Order, far more than you have seen most Jedi, and to hear you choose him over the Code must mean a great deal. He pours passion into the kiss you share, chest filling with oxygen that he gulps just to be able to keep his mouth on yours for longer. He consumes you, fingers pulling at your cheeks and tugging you closer still, like he thinks you might fuse if he tries hard enough.

He groans into your mouth, his tongue more exploratory now that you’ve pledged your devotion to him. He’s not afraid of taking now, of getting his hopes up only to be thrown down, and he swipes the wet muscle in a hot stripe over your own tongue. He rolls it against your lower lip, so wonderful to kiss for someone with such lacking experience.

“No one is coming,” You breathe, exhaling against his mouth as your hands wander to his waistband, “No one- no one can see us.”

“I want you in your quarters.” He protests, grabbing your wrists when your hand sinks to his bulge and ghosts over it. He jolts at the unexpected contact, but holds you back, “I want to lay you down, Y/N, I want to indulge in every part of you. Worship you.”

“I will let you,” You moan, tilting your forehead against his and mouthing at his lips in a sloppy kiss, “You may have me any way you want, Obi-Wan. But here, I- I want to have you. I need to have you now,”

“Impatient,” He notes, sounding suspiciously close to lecturing you. But he lets your wrists go, and you sink to your knees instantly. He hears them hit the training mat, knows they must ache, but he can’t find any part of him available to worry about it, not now that your hands are prying greedily at the waistband of his trousers.

He’s a near stranger to physical pleasure, at least in recent years. He’s a grown man, he has urges, but he also has responsibilities, and the constant pressure of an ambitious (read: reckless) young Padawan under his supervision mixed with a quickly-rising rank within the Jedi Order leave him with little time nor interest to indulge in his barest desires. Your hand gently squeezing his clothed bulge as you wrestle with his pants nearly knocks him off of his feet, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle having your warm mouth envelop it.

Finally you tug loose the drawstring within his pants, and yank them down his thighs. They’re seldom bare, you see from the milky white tone of the skin there, but they are muscled and thick like he does not neglect them.

You can’t help yourself when you lean forwards, tongue already protruding from your mouth to lick a fat, wet stripe around one of his thighs. It’s sturdy beneath your tongue that dips into the crease between his skin and the parts of it that are covered by his briefs. His muscles tense like you’ve struck him with a fatal blow, and an open-mouthed groan escapes his lips.

His skin tastes of the sweat that’s currently moistening every inch of your bodies, salty and tantalizing. There’s no escaping it in the brutal heat, but it makes him all the more sexy, his skin glistening before you even get a chance to smear it in your saliva.

You’re guilty of impatience as he accuses, and you can’t resist mouthing at his covered bulge. He’s half-hard, but when your lips purse around the outline of his cock in his briefs he twitches, and you feel him stiffen against the restraints of his underwear on your tongue. 

His knees give out with no warning, and he barely has the foresight to grab desperately at a bench press behind him for stability. He falls quickly to its surface, perching on the edge of it while you desperately chase his cock. You fit your mouth again over his briefs and drool against the fabric, surely soaking it through with your saliva. His cock, though restrained, is heavy and thick on your tongue, making your mouth water and produce enough drool to soak through his entire ensemble. His hands clutch the bench beneath him with white knuckles, and he grits his teeth to stop himself from shouting as you suck at his clothed cock.

“Oh, Y/N,” He pants, voice strained as you get lost in your task and forget that you need to actually pull his briefs down. He reaches for your head, gently nudging you away with his knuckles against your temple.

“Darling, please, I can’t- I won’t last for very long. Please, have me properly.”

He grips at the waistband of his underwear, tugging them down hurriedly and letting his cock spring free. It’s of decent length, but slightly thicker than average, its base shrouded by a patch of curled hair at his groin. It’s a similar caramel color to the rest of his hair, and his sweat has accumulated particularly within its wiry constraints, leaving him musky. The smell might bother you if it were anyone else, if you were anywhere else, but here and now, on your knees for Obi-Wan in the training room, it’s the most disgustingly tantalizing thing you’ve ever smelled in your entire life.

That’s why you bury your face into it, the hair tickling at your skin. His hips jolt as you inhale deeply near the base of his cock, groaning and letting your tongue fall to drag against just the shaft of his erect dick. He’s painfully hard, embarrassingly seconds to orgasm, and your spit now glistening on his length doesn’t help. Or it helps too much; either way, he’s close to cumming and you haven’t even had a chance to put him in your mouth.

“Darling,” He begs, pushing at your forehead once more, speaking through an eternal shortage of breath, “Please, I- it all feels too good. I can’t take it. I won’t last long.”

“That’s okay,” You pant, your breath falling over his cock as it practically pulses with pleasure, “We’re here for a good time, not a long time.”

“Terrible,” He manages to chuckle weakly, but any further chiding he has planned for your cheekiness is cut short when he stops breathing. He actually forgets how when your wet mouth closes around the head of his cock, your tongue licking flat over its head and covering most of its surface area. It’s so much sensation so fast that Obi-Wan has to clench his hands around the bench not to cum right then and there, and he feels pinpricks of pain over his skin that he realizes are from his fingernails digging against his palms. When you draw your head back off of his cock with a slick sound, then move in again to take more of his length into your mouth, his lungs suddenly remember their function, and heave within his chest.

His groans are filthy and they only pool more slick wetness between your thighs as you kneel for him. You don’t care about the ache in your knees, nor the pain in your neck from the slightly awkward angle you’re indulging in him at. All that matters is his cock, heavy and thick on your tongue, sweat and precum alike flooding your taste buds. 

His restraint is put to the test. He’s a member of the Jedi Council, for Force’s sake, and he should have a little more control over himself than this. But it takes almost all of his energy not to buck his hips forwards and plunge the length of his cock down your throat, and it means that he’s not able to devote as much restraint to delaying his orgasm as he’d like.

He’s twitching in your mouth, and even with your faded Force abilities, mental muscles weakened by disuse, you can feel the tension coursing through his veins, hot and wild. You don’t need to look at his strained, white-knuckled grip on the edge of the bench to know that he’s devoting all of his energy to restraining himself, and you take pride in being able to undo Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi with merely your mouth. You indulge in his painful hardness, tongue smoothly caressing the underside of his length as you bob your head back and forth around him. Each time you draw back you flick your tongue up and over the ruddy, leaking head of his cock, something that makes that fiery tension in his body glow even hotter.

“I’m going to-” He warns you, voice petering out weakly as he tries controlling himself, “I can’t- I can’t help it, I’m going to cum.”

“Cum,” You speak in unison, your word coming out muffled as you speak it against his cock. You smooth your hands up his thighs, feeling his muscles impossibly tight beneath your fingers. You stroke them soothingly, encouraging him to unclench his jaw that’s wired so tightly that you’re sure his teeth are on the verge of cracking, “Cum, Obi-Wan, please.”

Even if you hadn’t asked him so kindly, he’s sure he wouldn’t have been able to withhold any longer. Not with your pretty eyes gazing up at him from between his legs, lashes latticing the tender emotions swirling in your gaze. Your fingers slide calmly, sweetly over the expanse of his thighs, and the mere thought of you digging your nails harshly into them and leaving marks is what elicits the final twitch of his dick on your tongue.

Evidently, you’re more in tune with his thoughts than he’d expected. You’d caught the quick image that had flashed through his mind, now completely unguarded to you, and you curl your fingers quicker than he can comprehend, carving searing marks into his thighs that will show up red for at least a week. Paired with the movement of your fingers, you suck hard at his cock, plunging your face forwards to nestle against the base once more. His tip hits the back of your throat with force and it makes you gag, and Obi-Wan isn’t sure what sensation is more overwhelming: the vivid burning at his thighs, the way the tip of his dick nestles so securely into the warm, wet sleeve of your throat, or the way that you’re breathing in his sweat-marred scent like it’s the purest oxygen you’ve ever had in your lungs. All he knows is that together, they’re his undoing, and he lets out a rugged cry; he can’t control himself any longer when pleasure roars through him with a fury he’s almost frightened of. 

He’s always calm, collected, in control. But now he’s grabbing your face with shaking hands as he pumps warm spurts of cum down your throat, holding your jaw steady so that you can’t back away, not that you want to. He holds you in place while his thighs begin to tremble, your tongue continuously smoothing over the underside of his cock while it twitches in your mouth. He keeps himself fully nestled into the back of your throat while he cums, and if he had energy to be embarrassed about cumming as much as he was, he’d be apologizing. But he can’t, not when you’re swallowing him so eagerly, throat convulsing around the head of his cock and only milking more out of him. There’s obscene groans coming from his mouth, the kind that bring heat to your own core, and you think you could get off to the sound a thousand times over if you recorded him now. They’re deep, throaty, and desperate as he holds your face around his cock, gagging you on his dick as his orgasm takes control of him.

A part of your training that hasn’t left you yet was your extensive disaster training, in which you were taught how to extend the time for which you could hold your breath. That comes in especially handy when Obi-Wan’s hands cradle your jaw, keeping you snugly choking around his dick. You have to fight not to draw back at the strange sensation of your throat being plugged while his cum splatters against the back of it,, and you use all of your strength to keep yourself from panicking at the lack of airflow. You’re only slightly ashamed to admit that you’d willingly die like this, a fucktoy for his cock.

Once his orgasm has worked its way through him he seems to remember you can’t breathe, all of the tension having leaked out of his muscles. He inhales with a start, pushing against your cheeks and tugging his cock out of your mouth, “Oh, Y/N, darling- Y/N, are you-?” 

At the sight of your spit-soaked lips, tongue desperately running over them to collect any of the sweat that had accumulated there from being pressed against his pelvis, he lunges forwards to meet his lips with your own. He can taste the slight savory hint of his own release, your tongues meshing wetly and messily. He’s hunching now, even though you’ve straightened up on your knees, and he feels you clumsily palm at his dick, tucking him back away into his briefs. It makes his lips go slack with a gasp even though he’s just finished, and he’s more than eager to take you by the wrists and help you to your feet. You toss his undershirt at him with careless speed, and he nearly gets lost in its beige expanse from the way that his arms shake as he pulls it over his head.

“My quarters,” Your voice is thick and ragged, still recovering from your prior lack of oxygen, “We can- it’s soundproof, no one will know.”

“Yes,” He breathes, legs shaking slightly as he gathers the rest of the clothes he’d shed while sparring with you, “Um- we can... Anakin still hasn’t gotten the air conditioning running.”

“Uh-uh,” You shake your head, feeling nothing from the vent to your left, “Hurry, let’s go before-”

“General,” The door slides open, and you both startle, much less in tune with the force presences of those around you than you’d like to admit. One of your troopers sticks his head through the door, “The kid needs a multitool.”

You blink once, registering a slight soreness at the back of your throat, “Get him a multitool, then.”

You’re sure he can see your haggard appearance, and all apart from the glossy look of your lips looks like you’ve been sparring. Which you have, technically. You just hope Obi-Wan’s trousers don’t look like they’ve only just been hitched up around his waist again, or his shirt barely pulled down over his chest.

“I lost mine, general,” The trooper admits sheepishly. There was an abundance of the supplies that were offered to you before you’d been shipped out to this battle station, and more had been stocked for a long time in one of the supply closets, but your troopers are bored more often than not, and you shudder to think of all of the times they’ve used them as target practice by standing them on the balcony and opening fire. Apparently, you need to request some more from the next inspection team, as well as impress upon your troops the difference between an abundance of resources and useless clutter begging for a blaster wound.

“I have one in my quarters,” You sigh wearily, “Let’s see to it that we don’t misuse our equipment anymore, soldier.”

“Yes, General,” He nods vigorously, stepping out of your way to offer you the open door.

“Obi-Wan,” You turn apologetically, “We’ll have to continue our sparring match after I retrieve the multitool for your padawan. You’re welcome to follow us, though I’m not sure it’s any cooler out there than it is in here.”

“I’d like to stash my clothes somewhere, if you don’t mind,” Obi-Wan holds up the outer garments he’d shed, “I think it gives you somewhat of an unfair advantage if I’m liable to trip over my own tunics.”

You grant him a good-natured laugh as you pass your trooper in the doorway, and all in all, you think that the two of you have done a fantastic job at pretending his dick wasn’t in your mouth only minutes ago.

Your trooper makes the wise decision to stand outside of your quarters when you enter them, although any initial disappointment you’d felt at his poorly-timed request has well worn off by now. That’s all he’s guilty of, anyways; you find their antics amusing despite their destructive nature. It’s not his fault that you’re canoodling with the Jedi master, so you forgive him his abhorrent timing. You beeline for a locker in your closet, punching in the numeric code and letting the squeaky hinges reveal your small weapons store. It’s a multipurpose space, blasters on a rack that’s affixed to the back, a mount for your saber, and a drawer of various other mechanical supplies down below. You throw it open, and Obi-Wan watches you dig for the multitool where he stands by your bed, his tunics laid on your bedspread.

You realize all too late that one of your other mechanical supplies is in full view of the Jedi master standing behind you, black in color for subtlety but unmistakable in shape. It’s phallic and has a second prong that shoots off of the base to vibrate against your clit, something you only use when you're absolutely certain no one can hear. Besides, the sound could very well be mistaken for one of your troopers shaving their scruff, so you have ample opportunity. You snatch the multitool out of the drawer and slam it shut, making your trooper’s shoulders twitch in a quickly concealed wince. You’re thankful that only Obi-Wan was a temporary witness to your lack of organizational skills.

“Here,” You rush to hand it off, forcefully locking the cabinet and thrusting the tool towards the trooper, “Take it- uh, keep it, I’ll put in a request for more supplies tonight.”

“Thanks, General,” He nods warily at you, and you pity the way he’s taken your context clues and misarranged them to view your behavior as standoffish and exasperated with him, “My apologies again.”

“No worries,” You try not to snap at him, unnerved by the abnormal lack of mental pressure from Obi-Wan behind you. He used to tease you abundantly in your youth, prying at your mental shields and slipping snide remarks through the cracks while you fought to keep a straight face, but now that he’s laid his eyes on possibly the most embarrassing item you own, he’s completely still, completely silent.

“Goodbye.” You shut the door with a hydraulic hiss, and stand facing it until Obi-Wan speaks, pretending to fuss with the control panel.

“It seems you overlooked another multitool in that drawer,” His voice finally reaches over the silence, carefully bundled so that the underlying mirth is something you can only guess at, “Now I wonder if your battalion is really the cause of your foul mouth.”

“Shut up!” You whirl on him with cheeks blazing on opposite sides of your face like Tatooine’s twin suns, “Don’t tease me-”

“I’m not teasing you!” He insists, voice sounding aghast, like it’s out of the question, like he’s offended by the accusation, taking your arms into his grip when you look like you might shove him. His face is split into a smile - not a grin, which is reassuring - but a warm smile, even if there is amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“Yes you are,” You scoff, and you have half a mind to pull away when one of his hands releases your arm and anchors itself against your face instead. It’s warm, rough from wear but impossibly gentle. You fight leaning into it for as long as you can, pride still bruised, but he leans in to press his lips against your forehead in a chaste kiss. 

Typical.

You’d gagged on his dick ten minutes ago, and he’s kissing your forehead.

“Darling,” He hums sympathetically, tucking your face against his chest so snugly that you think it was engineered for the curves and bumps of your skin. You relish the hug he traps you in, the tender hold even though you’re interested in something more carnal, feral, hungry. His voice is strong and soothing as he speaks, and the vibrations thrum through his chest and against your face “You had my cock in your mouth not ten minutes ago. I’m not going to make fun of you for having a toy.”

Oh. Perhaps he hadn’t forgotten.

“Such a foul mouth,” You admonish him, tucking your grin away between the haphazardly-righted folds of his tabard. 

He pinches at your side, fingers greedily prying at the soft flesh of your belly through layers of clothing you wish weren’t between your skin and his, “Yes, well, it’s because I’ve had yours all over me.”

His hand, similarly bold to his mouth, flattens out along the curve of your side, tucking into the space above your hip bones. The other stays in place against your cheek, finger running idly across the underside of your jawline. You don’t know whether the shiver that shudders down your spine is due to the ticklish nature of his touch, or the sensual area he’s chosen, but he feels your spine thrum, and he presses further into you like it was an invitation.

“Darling,” He starts, back to that well-practiced hesitancy, “If you still want to…”

“I do,” You nod, feeling sweat drip down the back of your neck and soak into the fabric of your tank top, “Do you think we have time?”

“Anakin can occupy himself with scrap metal and multitools for hours,” Obi-Wan recollects with a smile on his face that isn’t committed to fondness or resignation. You’re sure he’s proud of his padawan’s abilities, but not of the havoc he wreaks with them.

“Hmm, that might be cutting it close,” You pretend to debate it, gnawing at the inside of your cheek, and he lets out a laugh as warm as the runoff heat from his saber with none of the bite of its blade.

“You’d occupy yourself with me for hours?” He teases, but when you nod, it’s earnest.

“I’d occupy myself with you for the rest of my life, Obi-Wan.”

The breath that he draws in when you begin speaking is the last one he draws for a while. Instead he holds it there, letting it burn and sear at his lungs while he wonders if any words he could produce with it would contain even a fraction of the yearning he feels roll over him in a nauseating wave. Very little has ever made him want the life of a civilian - his home is between the opulent walls of the Jedi temple, but any walls he shared with you would be infinitely more grandiose if only for your place within them.

“Had you said the word,” He elects to speak the truth, even if it isn’t even a chip away at the trove of feelings he keeps locked tightly away in his mind for you, “I would have left the Jedi Order.”

Would have.

You know why he won’t now, and you’re not upset with him for the reasons. You understand them, even if you don’t relate to them.

“But Anakin…”

“I know,” You nod against his chest, fingers taking hold of his undershirt’s fabric edge and fastening there, “You made a promise to your master. And to him. And he needs your help. I wouldn’t ask you to leave.”

“Would you have? When we were younger,” He idly strokes down the length of your spine, arm wrapping comfortably around your waist.

“Maybe…” You admit, “Maybe if I’d known your trip to Naboo would bring about such change. Maybe if I’d known I only had a few years left with you as we were. But I didn’t. So I never asked. And I never will.”

He doesn’t react verbally or physically after your confession, but the silence that ensues isn’t an awkward one. Instead, he maintains his hold on you, and you feel a gentle wave of affection flow from him through the Force. Affection, appreciation, love, which you feel so broadly through the Force, but rarely so devoted to you yourself rather than the galaxy in its entirety. You’re no stranger to the feeling, but it’s different channeled privately between two people than it is as a way of life.

“Let us pretend,” Obi-Wan finally musters, his voice thicker than usual, though if you were not so in tune with him you wouldn’t have perceived it, “For the next few fleeting moments, that we are still young. That we don’t have responsibilities other than those to ourselves, and to each other.”

Though your youth may have escaped you, your mind weary with resignation and Obi-Wan’s eyes darkened with the perpetual exhaustion of adulthood, his touch does not feel tired or incapable. It feels strong, firm, and mindful where it slips from your chin to your waist. His other hand sandwiches you between them, and you’re tilting your chin up to kiss him before he gives any indication that he’ll do the same. But he does, his boldness almost reset from the interruption you’d suffered. Like you need to coax him out of his shell again, like he’s worried you’ve somehow changed your mind.

You take the back of his neck in your hand, finding it slick and tacky with sour-smelling sweat, and pull him down so that his lips smash messily to your own. It’s a move he’s not expecting, and a startled groan escapes his lips as proof. You drink it, sucking it down your throat and pulling him towards the bed with the same backwards momentum. He’s nimble even if he’s unprepared, probably to do with his extensive agility training. You’re more than ready to fall back onto your bed when your calves butt against the frame but he lowers you down gently, with ease, drawing back from your kiss despite your fervent protests to watch you look up at him.

“Obi-Wan,” You beg, your voice weary, “Why are you hesitating?”

“I’m not hesitating,” He answers, and you feel it to be truthful, “I’m admiring you, darling. I’m not unsure, I’m more sure than I’ve ever been in my life.”

“Prove it,” You plead, already pulling at the hem of your tank top. You peel its sweat-soaked binding off of your skin, showcasing the equally stained garment beneath it that keeps your chest closer to your neck than your stomach, “Please, Obi-Wan, take me like you want me. Not like you feel bad for having me.”

“I do not feel bad for having you,” He promises, mouth barely parting from yours to utter the words. His lips are pink-tinted, glistening with spit, probably a mixture of his and yours. He pants slightly, cheeks similarly ruddy, “Perhaps later I will. When I stand in front of the Council and tell them we conducted routine maintenance. When I lie, when I guard my memories of you from them. But I’m not occupied with that now, darling. Only with you, I swear it.”

“Oh, well, that’s good to know,” You hum, kissing an inch lower than his mouth, the apex of his chin that’s marred by the scruff of his beard. It’s prickly and rough beneath your lips, and when you draw back they glisten with transferred sweat, “I’m glad you’re not thinking of Master Yoda while dipping a knee between my thighs.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan ducks his head, advances on pause as he plants his forehead against your shoulder, “That’s awful. Really, truly vile.”

You laugh, and despite his disgusted bravado, so does he. His chest shakes against yours and you relish the sound, hand still planted firmly on the back of his neck. You briefly consider breaking out your rusty Yoda impression, ‘kiss me, you must’, but decide against it, instead choosing to press his head closer to your torso, letting his forehead lay flush and sweaty against your shoulder. It puts the scruff of his beard on the curve of your tits, and you feel it burn your skin as he kisses along it lightly. 

His mouth is soft, and his beard is its abrasive opposite. They trail in tandem along the slope of your breasts, first the soft lips and then the burn of the beard, until he’s lit a fiery trail across your skin to the padded edge of your bra. When his lips meet fabric instead of skin he noses beneath it, surely smelling a morning’s worth of sweat accumulated beneath the weight of your chest. You’re self conscious, for only a flash, then he takes a deep drag of air, inhaling until his chest seems fit to burst.

“I’m sorry,” You find yourself humming, regardless of his clear interest, “I wish a shower would help. Even the cold water doesn’t prevent sweating.”

“I don’t want you to shower,” He muses, pushing his face between your breasts to kiss at the skin between them. He mouths gently, tongue sliding over your skin with little form and too much spit that blends well with your sweat, “Sex is not sterile, darling. Soap and water defeat the purpose.”

You’re not sure whether it’s his insistence on the natural state of your body or the way that his knee gently prods against your center, but whatever it is, your fingers itch and you fling them up to cup the underside of your chest.

“Take it off,” You beg, and Obi-Wan shows no hesitation in complying, his hands sliding beneath your back, rough and weathered from work. They’re gentle as they slide over the clasp of your bra, and you push yourself up onto your elbows on the mattress so that he can maneuver the stretchy fabric easier.

“Does it hook or button?” He nudges his nose against yours to ask, and your stomach flops at the question. Both the fact that he doesn’t have enough experience to know, and the way that he feels comfortable enough admitting that to you by asking so earnestly only make you want him more, and you’re barely able to mumble ‘clasp’ before pressing your lips to his own once more.

“Three,” You add later, against his lips, when he unhooks one and still doesn’t have the garment undone, “There’s three.”

He takes your orders with unfailing patience, a trait you’d admired even in your youth. While you’d been more prone to hotheaded outbursts, he’d take you by the arm and speak for the both of you, usually resulting in far less severe of a punishment than you’d have gotten if you’d spoken your mind. Then the two of you would share sneaky, fleeting glances at each other while scrubbing the floors of the refectory, trying not to laugh loud enough for the Knight unwillingly supervising your punishment to hear.

You’re pulled out of your reverie when he finally unhooks the garment and slips it off of your shoulders, meaning you have to draw back from where you’d tucked your face over his shoulder, giving him a view of his work. As your faces pass each other he offers you the same grin he’d worn all those years ago, his pretty eyes alight with the love you feel seeping from his fingertips. You see a glimpse of the boy he was through the man he’s become, and both are equally endearing to you. The first, because you’d grown with him, like ferns tangled together in sticky, clinging tendrils. The second, because he wears his accomplishments on his face, crows feet at the corners of his eyes from laughing at his padawan’s wayward antics, and frown lines for scowling at the same incidences only moments prior. He’d laughed at you in your youth, and frowned just the same at your more uncouth ideas for adventure, and now those expressions are etched into his face, like layers of makeup no longer dissolvable with remover. He’ll wear them forever, and you want to see him display them even in his old age.

He watches the way that your body moves when he peels the sweat-soaked garment away from your chest. He watches your breasts succumb to gravity’s harsh pull, sloping sideways and downwards rather than maintaining their tight compress towards your chin. He watches them sag, watches them fall to their natural state and declares, “You’re beautiful, darling.”

He takes them in his hands, their mass in his palms as he rolls his thumb over the skin of your nipples. They’d usually pebble in the cold but now they’re pulling taut beneath his touch, and when he brushes his thumb over their peak you stifle a gasp.

“Beautiful,” He repeats, and leans down to meet one with his mouth. He gravitates towards the right one first, and the embrace of his hot mouth against your skin tempts your back to arch. His tongue presses flat against your nipple, then drags up its surface, and his lips kiss over the stripe of saliva he’d left behind.

His beard rubs against your skin and it’s not rawing, not yet, but you know it will be the more he mouths at your breast. He’s licking, sucking, pulling, but never biting, teeth merely grazing your flesh rather than indulging in it. His tongue does that instead, flattening out over your raised flesh and dragging hot, wet stripes over the bud of your perked nipple.

“Obi- Obi-Wan,” You gasp, dragging desperate, heaving breaths into your lungs as your hands fly to his lengthened hair. You’d ruffled it many times when it was short and spiked, but now you’re able to get purchase in the strawberry-blonde locks, curling your fingers around the soft, sweat-darkened strands and pulling. 

You don’t pull hard, but it’s unexpected, and you feel the momentary pinch of Obi-Wan’s teeth around your breast. It floods heat to your already-pulsing core more than you’d have thought possible, considering the sweltering temperatures you’ve been in the whole time, but the soft groan that then ripples through your skin from the depths of his throat only makes you more desperate. All of a sudden the long-suffering heat is tepid by comparison, and you yank at the material of his undershirt so hard you nearly rip the fabric.

“Off,” You pant, “Please, take it- get it off, Obi-Wan.”

In a fluid, crouched movement Obi-Wan tears his undershirt off with one hand at its hem, his muscles flexing as he swings the arm up and over his head. He discards the shirt carelessly beneath him and it droops to the floor, no longer covering the bare skin of his chest that you’d admired earlier.

You have half a mind to do to him what he’s been doing to you, to sink your teeth into the flesh of his chest and suckle on his sweat-soaked skin. But he dips his face back to mouth at your tit once more, so you settle for running your hands greedily, desperately over the layer of soft skin that blocks his muscled chest from view. When he was younger, what seems like an eternity but must only be five years, his build was more defined. You’d gotten plenty of eyefuls of his bare, heaving chest during a particularly intense sparring match, or down by one of the large pools that were definitely supposed to be used more for reflection and tranquility rather than the chaos you’d wreaked upon them. But years of planning someone else’s schedule before his own has meant that he’s softened out around the middle, muscles still prominent when you dig your fingers into his skin, just not starkly visible anymore.

Age does that to a person; pushes them harder than ever before to achieve a less-defined result than they’re used to, but you find that you want to grind down onto the thin layer of pudge he’s accumulated just as much as you’d have wanted to drag yourself over his defined abs. The thought of doing both, either, anything makes you dizzy with desire that you express by scratching your sharpened nails down his skin, feeling his muscles shudder beneath your fingers.

“Darling,” He groans, choking on the word like it’s gagged him, “I- I think we ought to- are you ready?”

You marvel at his sincerity, at the idea that he’s not aware of the throbbing, slick mess that your core has become. You’d been ready twenty minutes ago, sprawled out on the floor beneath him, and you’ve only gotten more eager since then. His concern makes you want him more, and you use your grip on his soft hair to tug him upwards to meet your lips in a kiss. 

“I’m ready,” You breathe, laying the words out in a hazy moan over his tongue, “I’m ready, Obi-Wan, please- please take me.”

A groan melts from his mouth like molten butter, dripping over your tongue and down your throat. He pants, lets you suck his tongue into your mouth in a long, eager drag, then mumbles clumsily, “I want you. I want- I want to have you, darling, I want to take you.” His hips roll experimentally against your own, the tight pressure of his clothed cock digging into your panties as he nearly loses the function in the muscles that are holding him up above you.

He lets out another moan as you drag your hips up to meet his premature thrusts, and this time it’s a weaker sound, more strangled and mottled. It’s satisfying, knowing that you’ve reduced the ever-stoic, prized Jedi negotiator Obi-Wan Kenobi to a heaving mass of sweat and desire. His undershorts are rucked up around his meaty thighs, but he hasn’t yanked them off to free his stiff cock yet, so for a moment, all you do is grind against each other. 

The layers of clothing between you, one covering you and two covering him, provide frustrating boundaries but much-needed friction, and the scrape of his rough undershorts dragging against your thin panties makes your fingers curl into his back once more. You suspect that when he wakes tomorrow, your marks will still be there, and you take pride in knowing that he’ll have a very hard time forgetting you.

“Obi-” You really do intend to say his full name, but your breath leaves your lungs too quickly for it, and you revert back to the nickname he’d loathed as a teenager. Too juvenile, he’d protested greatly at the clipped diminutive, but he leans into it now. He licks the word right off of your tongue, his own plunging past your lips and dragging over your teeth in a messy, imprecise fashion. You get the sense that this is not about sex to him, it’s not about mechanics or equations or the perfect formula. It’s about you, and him, and you and him together. He doesn’t kiss you like a storybook prince because he kisses you like Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan wants to lick the spit out of your mouth and suck on your tongue. Obi-Wan wants to feel, not think, for once in his life, so he does.

“Obi-” You falter again, hands traveling from his muscled back to his hips. Your fingers dip beneath the waistband of his undershorts, then his briefs where they lay against the same stretch of skin, “Off. Off, please- Obi-Wan, off, take ‘em- off.”

He grunts his approval into your mouth, obscene squelching sounds coming from where his spit pools between your teeth and your tongue. He reaches down with a blind, clumsy hand to tug at his waistband, but when it doesn’t provide immediate results, he finds himself getting frustrated. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, not the frustration itself but his inability to control it, and he feels his brow crease in irritation as he reluctantly parts from your mouth to focus on the task at hand. All he needs is a little extra leverage to slide his shorts off of his waist, briefs bunched together, and as soon as they’re out of his way he’s reaching for your own underwear.

You crane your neck downwards to watch him, and the glimmering mess of saliva in your mouth practically doubles in volume at the sight of his red-tipped, rock-hard cock. It’s curved slightly up towards his stomach in its desperation, and there’s precum oozing from its tip, foaming and all too appealing. You want to suck him off again, to really choke yourself on it this time and never draw back for air, but there’s no time when he tugs swiftly at the elastic band of your panties, tearing them easily away from you. They drag beneath your thighs but he merely pulls harder, until they spring free and bunch up around your knees.

“Up,” Obi-Wan taps at your left thigh, and you struggle to bend your knees amidst their relentless trembling. He helps you, strength having stuck with him even when composure has abandoned its post. You get your left thigh up first, exposing your glistening cunt, smeared sticky with your own slick. His breath catches, you feel it stutter to a stop in his chest that you’re groping, and his eyes glimmer in the warm lights above you.

“Darling,” He breathes, taken by the mess of your drooling cunt. He reaches out, touches it carefully, with only the pad of his pointer finger. He ghosts it along the side of your slit, and even the infuriatingly chaste touch is ultra erotic. At the way you writhe beneath a single one of his fingers he brings his thumb up to stroke down your slit, catching wetness on his thumb that his mouth opens to accommodate.

He sucks your release clean off of his thumb, you’re almost certain he scrapes his teeth along his skin just to get it all. 

He leans into his own thumb, chases after it like he’s not the one taking it out of his mouth. He hesitates no further in clamoring backwards on the mattress until his knees hit the floor below, and he thanks the Force that the beds you were given are low enough for him to lean over the edge and bury his face in your cunt.

“Obi-Wan, no!” You plead, fingers tangling in his pretty blonde hair, “You’ll- you said- don’t cum yet, please, I- I want it in me!”

“I will cum in you,” He pledges, voice deep and determined as he nudges his nose against your wet cunt, “My darling, I’ll do whatever you ask. But I need you here, now. Please,” He breathes, his exhale shaky and warm as it heats your cunt, “Please, Darling, I want you here.”

“Have me,” You whimper, squirming your hips from side to side to propel yourself down the mattress. Your cunt bumps messily against his face that he doesn’t bother moving, and you buck your hips once, twice against his nose, riding his face, “Please, have me, Obi-Wan, you can have me.”

Your consent is all it takes. His mouth is open and his tongue is out the second you say the word, licking wet, tantalizingly slow stripes up your slit. He doesn’t breach it, doesn’t delve his tongue into your entrance, he laps at the slick smeared on the outside, as well as the wetness that has thoroughly soaked your thighs. Your skin is tacky with it even when he’s replaced it with his spit, and your cunt throbs at the meticulous approach he’s taken to appreciating every drop you give him. 

It’s too meticulous. 

After another slow, careful, nearly chaste lave of his tongue over the crease between your thigh and your cunt, probably just as soaked with sweat as it is with slick, you retighten your now-loose grip in his hair. You’d let go of the strands when he’d given you what you wanted, but now you want more, and you lead him straight to your core where he’d been lapping at your thighs instead.

“Here,” You beg, pulling his face against your drooling cunt until you’re certain he’s unable to breathe. You feel his nose breach your slit, nudged into your cunt by your insistent tugging on his hair.

“I need you here, inside, please.” You beg, pussy aching with abandon. His slow, careful ministrations had driven you mad, and now you are teetering on the edge of insanity as you nearly howl, “Please!”

His response is white-hot and wet. His tongue prods gently from between his lips as his jaw widens, and he watches your reaction as he fills your cunt with his slick tongue. A gush of your own wetness greets him, and as insistent as he is at meeting your eyes, his own flutter shut at the taste.

“Force,” He breathes, and the exclamation is uncommon from him. The muffled, garbled word sends vibrations straight into your cunt, and after the initial shock of his tongue inside of you, you feel his beard.

It scrapes abrasively against the sensitive, licked-over skin of your inner thighs, and prickles deliciously at the base of your leaking cunt. You feel sharp hairs prod at the curve of your ass, and his mouth moves fluidly, tongue wriggling with surprising prowess through the mess of slick you’ve accumulated in your cunt. It slides wetly along your inner walls that have made way for his tongue, and that will stretch eagerly to accommodate his cock. 

His cock, oh, you’d forgotten the thick weight on your tongue, and your jaw aches with the ghost of it. Your cunt aches, too, and when his nose softly bumps your clit you gasp as your hips jolt upwards. He catches your thighs with Jedi agility, his muscles not straining at all to hold you to the mattress. The casual, easy display of strength makes your thighs quiver, and something inside of you tighten like a knot.

He licks you out like he’s drinking ambrosia, the glistening substance smeared over his face and starting up the bridge of his nose. The noises that he makes are hungry and wild as he licks more, sucks more, takes more. He’d moderated himself at first, lapped the sticky spillings of your wet cunt like he was rationing a meal. Now he feasts, tongue losing focus from inside your pussy and rapidly licking over your clit. His lips suction on and his beard burns tantalizingly at your sloppy cunt. You feel stimulation everywhere, the knot below your belly tightening ever-stronger until you feel the beginnings of a fray. It’s a step you take, an incline that you scramble up, and each pedestal you achieve gives way to a higher one. You let yourself climb, climb, climb, against every pulse of his suctioned lips around your sensitive bundle of nerves, and you breach the clouds as Obi-Wan broadens his sucking mouth to half-latch to your clit, his tongue delving back into your drooling cunt. You leap for the final pedestal and a surge of pleasure hits you, soaking wet like a wave that you ride back down to the surface. 

You tremble, you whimper, you love. Your thighs shake, the muscles in your stomach stuttering as your hips jolt and jerk. Your mouth produces such feeble sounds, whines and moans and ‘Oh, please, yes’s, and ‘Obi-Wan- kriff!’s. Your fingers in his hair latch tight but cling gentle, holding him to you as you lose control of yourself in the Force. All of the love, all of the passion, all of the attachment, all of the terrible-horrible-no-good-very-bad-un-Jedi-like things that you’re not supposed to feel surge through the Force and hit Obi-Wan like Coruscant’s train, knocking the wind out of him, though he never stops sucking at you.

Obi-Wan licks you through your orgasm, tongue pressing tight and hot and wet to the quiver of your cunt, letting it spasm against his mouth. He sucks up every last drop of slick that you’ll give him, greedily mouthing at your cunt long after it’s begun stinging from oversensitivity. You want his mouth off, and his cock in, although that first part sounds like a heinous thing to wish for. His tongue is perfection, slippery and knowing you well enough to hit just the right spots even though it’s never had you before. You only push his mouth away to beg for his cock, but you’re tempted to let him white out your vision and lick at you until he passes out.

“Obi-!” You gasp, pushing instead of pulling at his golden hair, “Obi-Wan, no- no more! Here, up- here, please, and I want you inside of me.”

He lets you unlatch him from your pulsing cunt, rife with the sting of stimulation. You need only a matter of seconds to come down from your high, but they’re seconds you can’t afford to spend on Obi-Wan’s tongue, or the clock won’t ever start. He licks at a smear of slick over your thigh that he’d missed earlier, and his brain seems to register your begging.

“Alright, darling,” He pants, out of breath from the way he’d spent it all in your cunt. His voice is ragged, drowned in slick and thick with want.

He clamors back onto the mattress, all humbly-forged muscles and greed. He hovers over you, and dips down to claim your mouth the way he had your cunt: with broad, sweeping swipes of his tongue. He licks your slick across your tongue, letting you taste yourself on him.

“I’m here,” He soothes, his voice a notch deeper than usual and his words malformed due to the open ring of his mouth. He licks against your tongue once more, sloppy and hot, as his hips grind down against your thigh. He knows you need time but he doesn’t have long, and he grinds against your hip until you’re ready. You feel his stiff cock digging into your flesh, and it sends pulses of energy to your recovering cunt that make it beg to be filled. He’s not composed the way that he normally is, but he’s managing to hold himself together through grunts and groans into your mouth. If you don’t act fast, he’s going to splatter your stomach with cum, which wouldn’t be distasteful by any means, but you’d rather him paint your insides with it.

“You are intoxicating,” Obi-Wan proclaims, speaking directly into your mouth, an addict that can’t wean off of his drug, “I don’t know how I am supposed to pretend like this never happened.”

“Don’t,” You beg breathlessly, “Don’t forget me. Keep quiet around others, and- and when you are alone,” You reach down to take his cock into your hands, heavy and thick and waiting, “When you lay in bed at night, when you touch yourself-” He lets out something teetering on the edge of a whimper as you stroke your hand along his flushed length, an angry red coloring the tip that exposes how much self-control he’s composing, “-touch yourself, and- and think of me. Think of my hands, of my mouth, of my cunt. Think of me, Obi-Wan.”

“I will,” He vows, his voice holding like a frayed rope with one thread remaining, strained and pulling and clinging together, “Please let me have you. Please,” He braces his forehead against yours, his cock throbbing in your palm, “Please darling, let me in. I want to be inside of you, I want to have you, please.”

You’ve never seen him babble before. Not when he’d been seven years old, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked, caught with a stray tooka cat in his robes halfway back to the creche. Not when he’d been fifteen and a warrior, his side split open in a gory mess of blood and flesh and lymph and bone. Not at his old master’s funeral, the light from the pyre’s flames dancing upon his stoic features. Obi-Wan Kenobi is a master at composure, but he is breathless now, sacrificing it to the dewy-warm crease where your neck meets your shoulder, and sucking up your sweat-salty scent in return.

You place your free hand on his back, sticky and flushed beneath your touch, and use it to help guide him into you. Your other hand, still wrapped around his cock, lines it up with your entrance and he needs little coaxing from there. He pushes himself into you slowly, courteously, but loses himself to some deep, primal urge that he’s buried beneath layers of meditation and balance. 

He comes undone.

His muscles surge and his hips buck in what begins as a steady pace, but transforms into a wild rhythm that pins you against the mattress. He lets out a groan into the sweaty juncture of your neck, something that sounds like it could be from a beast and not a man. You feel the scrape of his beard against the seldom-touched skin there and you’re sure it’s growing raw, but you couldn’t care less. He’s not holding your hips up - his hands are plastered to your side and holding you there with a force carefully and pointedly short of bruising - but you angle your pelvis up anyway, allowing him to hit that much deeper inside of you. The tip of his cock never hurts where it connects briefly each thrust with your cervix, but you feel it intimately, every vein and ridge and curve that his body has to offer. 

You’re grateful for the sound-proof walls of the military compound because you realize after a moment that you’re making noise just the same as he is. It’s softer, quieter, but it’s there, the underlying harmony to his leading grunts and groans. 

All the while he is soft and gentle, because what he wants is not sex, it is you. Perhaps if he were a lesser man, he’d squeeze you, or bend you, or break you, all to take you the way he wants. But it is the soul inside of you that he’s after, and he takes great care with the vessel it’s enclosed in. He holds you, but he does not squeeze you. He kisses you, but he does not bite you. He moves with you, not against you. Your hips surge upwards to meet the thrusts of his cock and he latches his mouth to yours desperately, pleadingly. Your breathing is short and staccato through your nose, fanning against his top lip as he mashes it messily to your own, and you’re much easier to bring to a climax the second time around, sensitivity still roiling in your blood from your previous orgasm.

“Obi-Wan,” You beg, the words spilling languidly into his mouth, as you move in tandem, in, out, in, out, forwards, backwards, everything, nothing.

“Obi- I’m gonna- ooh, I’m gonna cum,” You cry, overwhelmed by the consistent drag of his cock against the walls of your soaked cunt. You’re slick again, gushing enough to replenish however much Obi-Wan had licked out of you. It squelches as he drives his dick into your pussy, foamy from the repetitive motions that are only creating it at faster intervals.

“Please- please do,” He moans, his dick twitching inside of you, “Force, I- ah, there’s nothing I want more than to feel that, darling. Please- please cum, please-”

“Kiss me,” You plead, even though he’s never stopped, if the way that his mouth moves against yours can still be considered a kiss. It’s far from any conventional peck on the lips, mostly tongue and drool that seeps down the side of your mouth and into your neck, mixing with the sweat already lingering there from your workout.

He tries kissing you more neatly, his lips tightening and suctioning around your own, but the closer you both get to your impending orgasms, the sloppier his thrusts are, and the more slack his mouth goes, smothering your own instead of truly kissing it while his tongue continues its dogged pursuit of your own. It’s no matter; his spit leaks uncontrollably into your mouth and you relish the taste. You don’t need perfection, you need him.

You can’t help your wandering hand from snaking down to his waist, curving just below his cock to cradle his balls against your palm. They’re heavy and warm as you take them into your hand, and doing so elicits a gasp from the man chasing his release inside of you, his hips stuttering in their pursuit of the wet warmth of your cunt. You squeeze them, not harshly, just a gentle compression, and Obi-Wan melts. A whimper escapes his lips, still slack and pressed to your own, and though his thrusts momentarily slow, they resume at double the pace. He’s rapidly bucking his hips now, barely containing himself enough to lift one hand off of your side and bring it to your chest. He fits his palm over one of your breasts, your stiff, sensitive nipple caving against his palm. You gasp at the prickling sensation and your fingernails momentarily dig into his back, but when his dick twitches once more inside of you, desperate, fit-to-burst, you drag them down his back in searing red lines.

If you hadn’t been able to feel Obi-Wan cum inside of you, you’d have known it was happening from the cry he releases alone. It’s abrupt, like his orgasm catches him off-guard even though he’s been pursuing it. But you can feel it, you can feel his warm cum ooze out of the head of his cock, momentarily stationary as it’s snug against your cervix. You feel it gush from his dick, filling any and all available space in your pulsating cunt before flooding outwards, dripping down your ass and thighs in an obscene display that soaks right into your bedsheets. Obi-Wan rides out his climax at a pace rapid enough to coax your second one out of you, and you welcome the now-familiar sensation of cumming around Obi-Wan. It’s mind-numbing, your ears ring for a faint moment, and your cunt rapidly clenches and unclenches around his cock that’s all too happy to continue occupying the space.

He grunts, moans, and groans as his sloppy thrusts finally slow, and your cunt appreciates the reduced pace. You’re well and truly spent, difficult to achieve for someone who’d gone through endurance training since childhood, and you’re not surprised that Obi-Wan, too, needs a break. He lowers himself to your chest with a slow, shaky exhale, eyes closed and face glistening with sweat just as your own does. 

His beard grates roughly against your skin, shifted with every ragged breath that he draws in. His hair spills over the breast that his mouth isn’t nestled beside, and you stare down at his face, marveling how beautiful his barely-fluttering lashes and heaving chest are.

Before he opens his eyes he angles it towards you, so that the first thing he sees is your flushed, sweaty, open-mouthed expression. He’s in the perfect position to kiss the side of your breast, and it tingles with the phantom sensation of his palm flat against your perked nipple barely minutes before. His beard scrapes your skin like it has since you first kissed him, and you wonder if you’ll ever be able to live happily without the scratch of it against your cheeks, or thighs, for that matter. The skin between your legs is still raw, stinging with the friction of Obi-Wan’s coarse hair against your flesh..

“You look beautiful, darling,” He hums, his voice grated raw from fatigue. His breath fans hot over your chest, but he pushes himself up on his tired biceps to hover over you. His weight against you had been comforting, but his gaze is even more so, and you let him loom over you.

His chest, peppered with auburn curls so fine they glisten in the poor lighting of your quarters, rises and falls deeply in front of you. You have half a mind to bury your face in it; you might if his face wasn’t impossibly more captivating.

His eyes search yours, for what you’re not sure, but you realize that his breathing gets more shallow until his chest stills completely. He only releases his breath when you reach up to thumb gently at his sternum, loosening his lungs again.

“Do you regret it?”

You suppose you didn’t have to ruin the moment so harshly, but you want to know the truth. You want to know if this was worth it, or if you’re going on the list of regrets that Obi-Wan pours over obsessively.

He takes a moment to answer, but you suspect it’s because he’s been caught off guard by your question. He shakes his head, dipping his face down to kiss the swell of your cheek.

“No, I don’t.” He mumbles against the dewy skin of your face, hiding his words there in self-preservation. You kiss the fleeting scruff of his beard as he pulls away, and your eyes find the blue of his instantly.

“You needed convincing at first,” You recall warily, something sinking in your chest now that you’re not puppettered by lust, “Are you certain it was the right thing to do?”

“Not at all,” He admits, “In fact, I think it was wrong of me. But I’ve done it anyways, and I am happy for that.”

“Why wrong?” You ghost your knuckles against his cheek, and he leans into it like he used to do when you’d clean scrapes and cuts he’d acquire while sparring. 

“I am more attached to you now than ever,” He offers simply, but it doesn’t seem like it pains him to confess. He seems lighter now, less embroiled in his own anxiety.  “And I’m not certain I can keep my personal feelings- well, personal. I don’t know that I could think rationally about you. That’s not desirable to the Order, or to the war effort.”

You bite your tongue, teeth digging softly into its muscle.

“All the same,” He continues, “Jedi are not without attachments. Younglings form friendships in the creche, and their minders love them. Padawans love their Masters, and vice versa. Masters engage in relations,” He acknowledges, then his brows tick up and he considers, “Ki Adi Mundi has four wives. Perhaps I’m not the most blasphemous Jedi they’ve ever seen.”

A laugh comes tumbling from your lips before you can stop it, and Obi-Wan’s face softens into a grin of his own.

“Five,” You correct him, “He has five wives.”

“Force, he’s a heretic,” Obi-Wan exclaims, but it’s all for show; he holds no ill opinions of the council member.

“I’m happy for his wives,” You hum, the sound just short of a giggle, “But I prefer your beard over his.”

“Oh, but he’s got a better mustache than me,” Obi-Wan settles on his side facing you, a smile etched permanently into his features as he plays along with the banter you’ve started. He relishes its lighthearted nature compared to the hesitance of moments prior, “Maybe I should grow it out and curl it like his.”

Before you can offer him another round in exchange for a promise to never shape his facial hair around Master Mundi’s, the walls of your compound give a creaky grinding sound, then a rumble, and air whooshes through the vents you’ve come to loathe for their uselessness in the recent past.

“He did it!” You gawk, sitting up excitedly, nearly forgetting that you’re topless, “Oh Force, Anakin’s a wizard! He really is, he’s a mechanical wizard, and I’m going to buy him a speeder for this.”

“Do not,” Obi-Wan groans, sitting up beside you and tugging you easily to fit your back against his chest, “The last thing that boy needs is the ability to go faster.”

“He did it,” You sigh happily, leaning back and pressing your lips to Obi-Wan’s. He reciprocates easily now, unlike before when he’d run himself ragged with doubts.

“That means we’ll be off soon,” Obi-Wan reminds you gently, and you deflate slightly in his hold, “But I don’t think comming each other should be any issue.”

“Every night?” You suggest, kissing at the prickly cleft of his chin.

“That’s- ambitious.” He chuckles, but it’s not meant to tease, “Every night, darling.”

“You can send me dirty videos,” You gush, scrambling to free yourself from Obi-Wan’s hold when he tries locking his fingers onto your sides, nipping sharply at your shoulder.

“I will not!” He insists, voice firm but chest trembling with barely-withheld laughter, “Force, if I pressed the wrong button…”

“Perhaps Master Mundi could share it with one of his wives,” You laugh, scrambling back into your underclothes and heading for the fresher to clean yourself up, “Hurry up and get dressed, Obi-Wan, one of my troopers is probably on their way to tell us the good news!”

Your suspicions are confirmed only moments later, thankfully, after you’ve both had time to right your appearances. You look flushed and sweaty, if anything, but the cool air hasn’t managed to flood the entire compound yet, and you’ve been exercising, so it’s excusable. No one but you two needs to know that exercising didn’t mean sparring for longer than ten minutes.

“Anakin, you’re fantastic,” You call, rushing through the empty hangar where he’s standing near the ramp of the ship, “You’ve saved us all. I’m fairly certain my troops would have resorted to fratricide if we’d had to melt here for any longer.”

The padawan gives you a valiant effort at a polite chuckle, and you press on, “For the record, I told your master I’d get you a speeder for helping us today, but he said no.”

“Y/N,” Obi-Wan starts, exasperated, but catches himself on the use of your first name. Perhaps it feels different now, coming out of his mouth much more measured than it had only twenty minutes prior. He doesn’t speak further.

Anakin’s eyes briefly glint at the fantasy of his own speeder, but he controls himself quickly. He’s a credit to his master, who manages to look convincingly like he hadn’t just broken a very long streak of celibacy. Still, you appreciate that war hasn’t managed to suck the most basic of excitements out of the child, and you reach up to pat his cheek in a gesture distinctly un-Jedi like. 

“Take care of yourself, and don’t let Obi-Wan bore you with a million lectures on economics, or politics, or the two combined.”

Anakin nods, but bites his lower lip to refrain from smirking, saving himself a lecture on sass later on. You hear Obi-Wan exhale huffily behind you, and you turn your attention to him when Anakin retreats onto the ship.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t add to my apprentice’s willfulness,” He grouses, but the corner of his mouth twitches upwards in fondness for you both, “He’s got enough of that on his own.”

“Take care of yourself,” You ignore his teasing, your voice tender and sweet, slightly more than it had been for Anakin, “I know they don’t send you out much, because he’s only fourteen, but- but please take care of yourself, Obi-Wan.”

Perhaps if Anakin hadn’t been lingering on the ramp of the ship, perhaps if there weren’t five clone troopers stationed in the hangar, perhaps if you were the only two people in the world, like it had felt less than an hour ago, Obi-Wan would have kissed you. But he doesn’t, all he does is nod, 

“We will,” He vows, and you nod, satisfied.

“I mean it,” You continue, more threatening than your earlier sentiment, “Comm me.” And you think back to the request you’d made earlier, breathlessly, the words fanning out against his sweaty skin, “And… think of me.”

You know he’s recalling the same moment in time when his cheeks tinge pink.

“I will,” He promises, singular this time, confirming your suspicions that his mind is flashing with visions of your flushed skin beneath his hands, “And please take care of yourself, too, General.”

Something hard and aching tugs at the back of your throat at the honorific, such a far cry from the intimacy you’d shared. But now you are General Y/L/N, and he is Master Kenobi, and that is the way things must be in the presence of others.

“Master Kenobi,” You bow, bending at the waist and noting the soft tug of soreness there.

“General Y/L/N,” Obi-Wan mimics your gesture, hands folded neatly into the sleeves of his robes.

He turns. He pivots on his feet and strides up the ramp of the ship they’d taken, Anakin waiting until he’s passed through the doorway to follow behind him. The door hisses shut, concealing them both, and the mechanical whiz-kid has the engines powered up in no time. You watch their ship take flight and navigate the narrow entrance to your hangar with ease, waiting until they’ve passed each temperature-isolating layer of defense that enshroud your compound and disappear into the planet’s heat-hazy atmosphere to turn away.

“General,” One of your troopers lingers behind you, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” You put on a convincing show, smiling serenely, “I’d just forgotten how much of a challenge sparring with Master Kenobi is. I’m fatigued; I think I’ll retire to my quarters for some rest.”

“General,” He nods, stating your title like a vow of loyalty, standing at attention as the hangar doors finally shut you in. 

You walk the familiar path to your sparse quarters absentmindedly, feeling that same twinge of achiness each time you take a step. Only once your door hisses shut do you release the prim tension in your shoulders, slumping and slouching like you’d just escaped the throes of battle. 

There is a shirt on your bed.

It’s white, though it’s been worn thoroughly, so the color is muddied ever so slightly with the tan tinge of sweat. It’s rumpled, from a hasty removal. It’s laid over your poor excuse for a blanket, cream-colored against the starkly contrasting black fabric. It’s impossible to miss, which means it had to have been placed there deliberately; it wasn’t forgotten.

It’s Obi-Wan’s.

You overcome your momentary stun and pad towards the bed, reaching for the shirt with a hesitant hand. You take it, feel it ever-so-slightly damp with lingering perspiration, and your stomach flips.

It’s Obi-Wan’s; it’s yours.

The shirt winds up snug around your pillow, tucked beneath the Republic-issue linen. It’s invisible to the outside eye, but when your nose is pressed gauchely into the pillowcase you can smell Obi-Wan through it, a mix of natural and artificial scents.

The musk of cologne and the acrid smell of sweat. Composure and lust. What is right and what is wrong.

You and Obi-Wan.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[morganbritton132]

Love the idea of Steve and Eddie being so sickening in love that Eddie calling him by his name makes Steve be like “why are you being mean”. Imagining how funny it would be if Steve was hanging out with a new friend or co worker or something at the house for the first time and Eddie comes in and is like “hey Steve” and kisses him on the cheek before introductions and obligatory “how was your day” and when Eddie leaves a couple minutes later the new friend is about to comment on how nice Steve’s husband seems when Steve turns to her and is like “I’m so so sorry you had to see that he is not usually like that he is just still pissy about (insert dumb funny thing here)”

This is cute and hilarious, and it’s so canon to this AU that it hurts. I love it so much.

I’m picturing Steve having a group of teachers over because they’re part of a committee and they’re planning an event at the school. Some of the teachers are people that Steve has known years, but the majority are people who don’t know Eddie outside of the guy that sometimes picks Steve up on bad brain days.

They’re in the thick of making posters and streamers when Eddie comes into the house, guitar case in hand from practicing at Jeff’s. He comes into the dining room where everybody is, plants a kiss on Steve’s cheek like, “Hey, Steve. Missed you.”

“Missed you more,” Steve hums back, sinking into Eddie’s side when he wraps his arm around his waist and pulls him closer.

Eddie rests his head on Steve’s shoulder and looks down at the poster he is making. It’s very glittery. He asks, “How’s it going?”

He listens attentively as Steve tells him of all they’ve accomplished and even reminds him of something that he said he wanted to do for the event and forgot about. He smiles and shakes hands when he’s introduced to other teachers and even recalls some of the things Steve told him about them.

At the ends of it, Eddie kisses Steve’s cheek again, tells him that they’re doing amazing work, and then says, “I’ve got a melody in my head, gonna go iron it out. Let me know if you need anything.”

He even says as he leaves, “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Steve echoes back. Once the basement door closes, Steve just sighs and says so apologetically, “I’m so sorry you had to see that and if it made any of you uncomfortable. He’s not typically like that, you know. He’s just mad at me right now because I won’t walk a red carpet with him next week.”

At first everybody thinks that he’s joking but Steve looks so genuinely embarrassed that they have to believe him. Everybody is just like, “Excuse me, he’s mad at you?? He isn’t usually like that??? Meaning that he’s typically more loving and affectionate???”

Kathy, a seventh grade English teacher who shares way too much about her failing marriage, is just like, “Shoot, I can’t even get my husband to say he loves me half the time.”

“Kathy,” Steve says sincerely. “You need to divorce your husband.”

“I know.”

There’s a beat of silence before David, a newer teacher at the school, asks, “Red carpet? He is like, movie star or something?”

[ghostaholics]

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 '𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓' 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

➸ PAIRING: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem!Reader; 18+ only ➸ BANNER CREDIT: cafekitsune ➸ OTHER GHOST NSFW HEADCANONS: here & here

➸ BLINDFOLDING: obligatory, a deal-breaker especially early on in the relationship; lots of things he has planned for you that involves his mouth, and while he could pull up his mask as far as he needs to, just have the hem of it resting on the bridge of his nose, sometimes he prefers to do away with it all so as not to become an obstacle that's impeding on his fun – hence, a blindfold (maybe a spare military scarf that he's got lying around or any other scrap of fabric that'll suffice) to block out the visual of his face – the temporary deprivation of sight has your other senses heightened, with tactile being the most obvious as you become extremely responsive to his touch when you’re not sure what to anticipate next (❝ Should tie you up too, tease you 'til you can’t stand it anymore. How’s that sound, sweetheart? ❞)

➸ RECEIVING HEAD: likes it almost as much as giving; will never turn it down when the opportunity presents itself

(1) deepthroating - you need the practice since you couldn't get it all the first time he fed you his cock, couldn't quite accommodate the girth of him no matter how hard you tried that night; so, you've been working up to it, finally able to get your mouth full, throat fucked, just your wet heat encasing him and he can't help but apply light pressure, palming the back of your head to push you down on his dick and letting out a guttural groan whenever you occasionally gag while taking him down to the base (❝ Breathe through your nose, love. Choking on my cock like this... fuckin' hell. Don't go hurtin' yourself now.❞)

(2) when he's sitting with his legs spread wide, you kneeling in between them and looking up at him through your lashes - doesn't rush you, tells you to slow down in fact, so he can enjoy the sight of your lips wrapped around his dick for longer, how you're so enthusiastic about making him feel good - about cock-worshipping - practically drunk alone on the pleasure of sucking him off as if this might be more for your benefit than it is for his; you start working him with your mouth - gently licking at the seam of the sensitive head and lapping up the prespend there because you're a good girl for cleaning up the clear and sticky mess gathering around his slit before pressing a kiss to the blunt tip, or when your tongue runs wet along the length of him before trying to swallow him down your throat (❝ So good to me... love this almost more than that pretty pussy of yours. C'mere, sweetheart. Gonna return the favor and spoil that li’l cunt with my mouth. ❞)

➸ PARTIALLY-CLOTHED SEX: can be impatient when he’s in a rush, certainly has little to no tolerance for undressing you or himself for a shag somewhere inconvenient (it’s called a quickie for a reason but he’s only interested when there’s a high probability that you’re already wet before he’s even laid a finger on you, e.g. eye-fucking him across the room for the last hour while lightly chewing on the tip of your pen and dragging it across your bottom lip before pausing at the corner of your mouth, or verbal foreplay throughout the day where you’ve been dropping dirty comments about how you much you’ve been thinking about him just slowly rubbing at the entrance of your cunt, having him fill you up with his fingers or his cock); honestly doesn’t want to waste time sliding into you after all of that – the most he’ll otherwise do is ruck your shirt over your chest to paw at your tits, knead at the flesh and pinch/roll your nipples between his fingers while pounding into you from behind (❝ Move these panties to the side before I rip ‘em off you. Really don’t think you should’ve been bloody wearin’ any in the first place. ❞)

➸ SQUIRTING: riding him, leaning back slightly with one of your hands grasping at his muscular thigh to stay upright – and the view drives him crazy, how you’re bouncing, fucking yourself down on him over and over, along with these desperate little rolls of your hips; you’re doing so good for him that he makes the executive decision to assume control now, thrusts up into your aching hole, bruising – almost punishing, but he can’t stop when he’s got you moaning even louder now and gasps spill from your mouth when you take him to the root – cockhead brushing against the front of your cunt at this angle every time he drives inside you (❝ Right there, huh? That the spot? Fuckin' know from how goddamn wet you're gettin' me— ❞) and he keeps going until you start coming hard then, soaking his cock so bad that the fresh rush of slick pools across his thighs, leaks down his balls (❝ Christ, got you gushin’ all over me. Let's see it again, c’mon. ❞)

➸ DEGRADATION KINK: light on the insults, doesn’t necessarily mean it in a literal sense but knows that they have their time and place during sex; he equates them to something affectionate – prefers to use the ones that possess a more positive connotation in lieu of/alongside praise based on the situation and really enjoys how your cunt involuntarily clenches upon hearing that sort of stuff

❝ Yeah, can feel this cunt pulsin’ around my cock. Such a cute li’l fucktoy – jus’ can’t help it, can you? Need you to stay still for me, though. ❞ (e.g. cock warming)

❝ Taking me so well… being so good, aren't you? Careful love, don’t want ‘em hearing how loud you are; they might get the wrong idea about you, moanin’ like a whore and all that. ❞

❝ Where’s my dirty girl want me to finish? Inside, is that it? Fuckin’ Christ you’re a naughty one, sweetheart, lettin’ me fill up this cunt. Greedy for it, like a bitch in heat— ❞

❝ I know you’re more than a cumslut, love. But you beg me to fuck you stupid, damn near let me abuse every single one of these holes of yours, and—c'mon, you see why I might have a hard time believin’ myself, right?”

➸ HAIR-PULLING: if he finds out you're into it, then he’s very much in favor of grabbing a handful of your hair, fingers spanning over your scalp and slightly tugging so that he tips your chin up – not enough to hurt; usually only does it when he’s trying to get you to look at something (bent over the sink, and you need to look at your reflection, don’t want to miss that, of course) or he just wants something to grab onto (when you’re on your knees while he’s face-fucking you, gotta make sure you maintain eye contact); accidentally discovers you share this kink when his intention is to give you a low warning for teasing him, bringing your ear close so you can hear him properly without him having to raise his voice but you just end up letting out a soft moan in response

(1) if your hair's long enough - he likes wrapping a ponytail around his hand, and will appreciate a nice plait, but he's not choosy

[monst]

Where are those Bruce Wayne hcs 🤨

Oops my b forgot to post them lmao

Bruce Wayne General Hc’s

  Kinda random, Kinda angsty, 

700 wds

I don’t know where I cooked this up but a big Indiana Jones fan. And sue him he loves “Raiders of the Lost Ark”. He also enjoys rewatching “The Mummy”, “Alien”, “Jumanji”  and “Jurassic Park”. Adventure movies are his favorite. Science fiction movies are also right up his alley. 

His most prized possession is his parent's old vinyl records. He remembers learning how to dance atop Alfred’s feet as his parents danced next to them, they’d swap partners after each song. His mother's laughter as one of her favorites played “Tom this is the song we met too!” Thomas telling Bruce all about how “you should sweep your partner off your feet. After all, it worked for me~” After their passing, Alfred had made an offhanded comment “They were the worst dancers on the floor that night. But they were so happy.”  He hadn’t had the heart to play them or part with them. Also, no one play “Angel of the Morning” Near him too many memories of his mom belting the lyrics in the morning. 

Baths. Bruce Wayne is a bath whore and few people know this. Background music, incense, bubbles, candles, wine, body scrubs, and some Epsom salt for his sore muscles. He rarely gets the chance to take them since he’s usually busy but he’s always looking at his calendar to see if he can squeeze one in. Lotions up after, and ends up sleeping like a rock. Those who don’t know this about him think that the bath bombs he gets gifted him are gag gifts. 

Obligatory sock mention. Very plain sock wearer they’re either navy, white, or black. They also end up bunched up at the legs of the bed. The pets in the manor love it when his door is open because the socks accumulate and the pile gets divvied up between the two dogs and cat. He’s not very happy when he has to buy new ones either because he can’t find them or because he can’t use them. 

That being said he carries a lint roller. At all times. Has to use it frequently and since Damian doesn’t care about having his shirt look patterned he ends up going through two rollers per week. Three, if the Waynes™ need to show up. 

He has a sweet tooth. It’s not that he hides it, it’s more of a ‘They ate all the cookies’ so he can’t have any. It’s fine since they’re usually the typical sugar or chocolate chip cookies good but not his favorite. His favorite cookies are Oreshki’s and he doesn’t play about them. No one knows he likes them because this man will never share them. 

It’s not that he can’t cook. It’s more that he’s very utilitarian about it. He’s more worried about hitting his macros than he is about whether the chicken even has salt. Doesn’t have to be edible just has to fuel him. It’s not something he favors which is why he doesn’t usually cook but if not grabbing the species saves him time well your eating the most tasteless of foods. It’s not that he can’t make it taste good it’s that he doesn’t bother. Besides he can barely taste it if his attention is wrapped up in another case so no big right? 

Suffers from Google translateitis. Especially in high-stress/traumatic situations. Meaning, that brain-to-mouth filter sometimes gets run through Google Translate, and what the heck Bruce why would you say that?! Or How could you say that?! Look now you're drawing conclusions and putting words in his mouth. He was getting to it, he had to get out the negative before the positive. His brain just sorts things a bit differently, let him gather his thoughts and re-word them. And on no, they left. Story of his life and a symptom for all who suffer from Google translateitis. 

Was on Shark Tank once but his deal was so generous that they didn’t want to invite him back. “We’re supposed to take a shark deal Mr. Wayne and you just gave him a handout.” However, after the episode aired and it did numbers on tv&social media the network was blowing up his phone. So every once in a while Brucie Wayne is throwing around money in the Tank. 

[marsplastic13]

'Complicated' (part 8) - Kaz Brekker x Reader

Idea - Kaz Brekker hires a prostitute to overcome his touch aversion, and be a better man for Inej, but things take an unxepected turn. Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Prostitute!Reader, (had to use y/n because I'm bad at names) Genre: modern AU, slow burn word count: 7k notes: can't wait to hear what you have to sayy

@millercontracting @coldmermaidhologram @syd649 @luffysprincess

For days, Kaz was insufferable, and no one could figure out why. Even Inej was perplexed by his sudden mood swings and outbursts. Kaz's frustration boiled over one evening when he got into a fight with Inej, something that never happened before. She was bewildered and hurt, unable to understand what had changed in him.

Kaz's obsession with y/n's Instagram stories didn't help. He watched every update with a mixture of longing and jealousy—expensive dinners, shopping sprees, gym sessions, and nights out with her friends, but never at his club. The final straw came when she posted a picture of her legs in a car, a man's hand resting on her thigh. Kaz knew it was meant for him, a message that stung deeply. Enraged, he threw his phone against the wall, startling Inej.

Inej, for her part, was annoyed because Kaz was dragging her to a business dinner with his boss, who had insisted for everyone to bring a plus one. Even Jesper had managed to secure a date, and Kaz didn't want to go alone. The dinner was to celebrate a deal he had closed, though his boss was taking all the credit, adding to Kaz's irritation.

They arrived at the restaurant, seemingly the last to do so. After some obligatory small talk, Kaz, his patience wearing thin, asked in his usual harsh tone, “Are we waiting for someone?”

“Didn't I tell you, Brekker?” his boss said, circling Kaz's shoulders with his arm. “I invited my new flame.” He leaned in conspiratorially, “A wild twenty-something. Don’t even ask me how I convinced her to go out with me.” He laughed, and the other men joined in. “She’s a pilates instructor, if you know what I mean. Oh, there she is.”

Kaz didn’t need to turn around or look at Jesper’s face to know who had just entered. He sighed heavily, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. How was this even possible?

“Hi, baby,” he heard the familiar voice behind him, and for a moment he frowned, hearing the nickname, before turning to see y/n talking to his boss, a man at least fifty years old. She cupped his face and kissed him. “Sorry I'm late. I had to stop someone in the middle of the street to help me zip up my dress,” she said, laughing. Kaz had no doubt it was true.

They locked eyes for an instant before her new boyfriend started parading her around, introducing her to everyone. When they reached Kaz and Inej, he saw Jesper's smug grin, dying to see how they would handle this.

“Inej, we met at that chocolate tasting thing. Still a huge fan,” y/n said, kissing both of Inej's cheeks.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Inej remembered with a warm smile.

“Do you know each other?” Kaz's boss asked.

“Of course, love. Inej is TikTok famous, and I spend too much time at the Crow Club. Of course, we know each other.” The man turned towards the others. “See? I don’t understand a word she says! Tik, what? Isn't she a beauty?” He patted y/n’s ass.

“You're handsy tonight,” she commented with a laugh.

“So, you're a pilates instructor,” Jesper chimed in, and Kaz already knew he wasn't going to like whatever came next. “Must be heavy. How was work?”

“You have no idea. I had a double shift today,” y/n replied, her challenging eyes not leaving Jesper’s.

Jesper leaned back, a smirk on his lips. “Double shift, huh? Must be tough, keeping everyone’s bodies in shape.”

“Oh, it’s a workout, for sure,” y/n shot back, her smile saccharine. “But then again, some of us are just naturally flexible. Unlike others who are just naturally... bent.”

Jesper chuckled, feigning a wounded look. “Bent, you say? That’s rich, coming from someone who has to stretch the truth just to keep things interesting.”

“Stretching the truth?” y/n’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “I guess you’d know all about that.”

Kaz could feel the tension ratcheting up with each exchange, and he knew he had to intervene before it got out of hand. “Alright, enough,” he muttered, but neither Jesper nor y/n seemed inclined to listen.

“Oh, come on, Kaz,” Jesper said with a grin. “We’re just having a little fun. Right, y/n?”

“Absolutely,” y/n replied, her voice like honey laced with poison. “Fun is what it’s all about. Although, some people might confuse it with a desperate attempt to stay relevant.”

Jesper’s eyes flashed, his smile fading. “Relevance isn’t something I need to worry about. Unlike some who cling to their... clientele for attention.”

y/n leaned forward, her expression deadly calm. “Better to have a clientele that appreciates my talents than to rely on cheap tricks to get noticed.”

Kaz felt his patience slipping away. “Seriously, can we just focus on dinner?”

“Oh, we’re focused,” y/n said, her gaze flicking to Kaz. “Just making sure we all understand each other.”

Jesper snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, we understand. Just remember, flexibility only gets you so far. Eventually, you have to stand for something.”

y/n’s smile turned icy. “And some of us are just fine standing on our own, without the need for constant validation.”

Before Jesper could respond, Kaz stepped in, his voice firm. “Enough. Let’s drop it.”

“I didn't know you knew each other so well,” said nervously Inej, glancing between the three with a confused look, but no one bothered to reply to her.

They settled at the table. The boss sat at the head, of course, with Kaz to his right and y/n to his left, directly across from Kaz. He looked disgusted as the older man kept trying to hand-feed her, and she couldn't stop laughing.

“Baby, I'm vegan, you know that,” she giggled, shoving his hand away.

“I have no idea what you're saying,” the man insisted, trying to put an oyster in her mouth. y/n leaned back, dodging the oyster with a graceful twist, her laughter tinkling like a bell. Kaz clenched his jaw, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene.

After a few courses, y/n excused herself. “This is weird, right?” Inej whispered in Kaz’s ear.

“Absolutely,” he replied, his mind racing. If Inej found it unsettling, she had no idea how strange it was for him.

Unable to control himself, Kaz faked a phone call and followed y/n to the restroom. He heard the unmistakable sound of someone throwing up. After checking that the other stalls were empty, Kaz locked the door behind him. “y/n, it's me.”

“Are you here to hold my hair?” she replied between heaves, her voice shaky and weak.

Kaz waited, leaning back against the sinks, his mind racing with anxiety. After what felt like an eternity, she emerged, her face pale as she washed her hands and mouth. “What do you want?” she asked, her annoyance barely masking the exhaustion in her voice.

“Are you okay?” Kaz asked, his voice softer, more vulnerable than he intended.

“Why do you care?” she shot back, turning to dry her hands.

“You looked sick out there. I couldn’t just ignore it,” Kaz said, his worry deepening with every passing second.

“He kept trying to put dead animals in my mouth,” she said, proceeding to reapply her lipstick. “I had no idea he was your boss. You never talk about details of your job, and I don’t really listen to him.”

"Why are you dating him?" Kaz's voice was sharp, edged with an intensity that mirrored the turmoil in his mind. He stood firm, his eyes searching y/n's face for some semblance of understanding.

"I know you're not familiar with the concept, but I'm doing it because it's fun," y/n replied, her tone laced with defiance as she finally turned to face him directly.

Kaz clenched his jaw, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "Are you sleeping with him?"

"It's none of your business. Why do you care?" y/n shot back, her gaze piercing through him, challenging him to justify his concern.

A pang of something he couldn't quite name surged within Kaz. He couldn't believe that just a week ago, y/n was one of the people he felt closest to. They had shared intimate moments—shared a bed, watched shows together, kissed. Hell, he had probably kissed y/n more than his own girlfriend.

“I care because this is awkward.” Kaz admitted, his voice tinged with regret.

“It is for me too,” she said, stepping closer, “But I mean, it’s not like I married him. Even if he asked me.” Her smile became dangerous, “he asks me everytime that we are in bed.”

Kaz felt a surge of anger rise within him, his jaw tightening as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. The thought of her with his boss, a man old enough to be her father, made his blood boil. 

She stepped even closer, her frustration boiling over. "Why are you so mad, Kaz? Why does it matter to you so much if he proposes to me?"

“I just... I can't stand the thought of you marrying him."

"Why?" y/n pressed, her voice rising with intensity. "Why does it bother you?"

"Because," Kaz began, his voice strained, "because it's him. Because he's not right for you. Because... because you're better than that."

y/n sighed, shaking her head in exasperation. "That’s the thing that you don’t want to accept, I’m not better than this. Maybe I’ll say yes just to let him plan a wedding and leave him at the altar."

Kaz's jaw tightened, his frustration boiling over. "You don't mean that."

"Don't I?" she challenged, crossing her arms. "You have this idealized version of me in your head, but the truth is, I'm not the person you think I am."

Kaz took a step forward, his eyes pleading. "I know you, y/n. I know you're better than this. You don't have to do this to prove anything."

y/n's expression softened for a moment before hardening again. "You think you know me, but you don't. You see what you want to see. The truth is, I like chaos. I thrive in it. And maybe, just maybe, I enjoy watching you squirm."

Kaz felt a wave of anger and sadness crash over him. "Is that what this is about? Hurting me?"

"Maybe," she admitted, her voice cold. "Or maybe it's about me taking control of my life in the only way I know how. You have Inej. You have your stable, predictable life. This is mine."

Kaz shook his head, his frustration mounting. "You don't have to destroy yourself to take control. You deserve better."

"And who decides what I deserve?" y/n shot back. "You? You can't even decide what you want."

Kaz opened his mouth to argue, but the words wouldn't come. He knew she was right. He was torn between what he had with Inej and what he felt for y/n. "I just don't want to see you hurt," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh baby, it takes a lot more than a lovesick idiot decades older than me to hurt me,” she laughed, the sound harsh and unfeeling. “Look, you have your thing with your girlfriend. You two are like high school sweethearts or something. You're going to stay together forever and fuck only in missionary to stare into each other’s souls, repeating how much you love each other.”

Kaz flinched at her words, the biting tone cutting deep. He wanted to argue, to tell her she was wrong, but he couldn't find the words.

y/n paused, her eyes locking onto his with a dangerous glint. “I like it when things get ugly, Kaz. Accept it. Also, your girlfriend is right there, go be jealous of her! Don’t you have any shame left, Kaz?”

Kaz shook his head, a mix of anger and desperation flooding his chest, “Lower your voice.”. 

The girl didn’t miss how he tensed at the mention of his girlfriend, "How are things with Inej?"

Kaz blinked, caught off guard by y/n's directness. He shifted uncomfortably, the weight of her question pressing down on him like a lead blanket. "Static," he finally answered, the word tasting bitter on his tongue as he met her intense gaze.

y/n raised an eyebrow, her expression a mixture of curiosity and concern. "Static," she repeated, as if she could sense the underlying tension in his voice.

Kaz sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, static," he elaborated, his frustration seeping through. "We're... drifting. It's like we're stuck in this loop, going through the motions without really connecting."

y/n nodded slowly, her eyes searching his face for more than just words. "That doesn't sound good," she observed quietly, her voice edged with sympathy.

"It's not," Kaz admitted, his tone raw with honesty. "I thought I could handle it, you know? Keep things steady, maintain control. But..." He trailed off, unable to articulate the turmoil brewing inside him.

"But it's not what you want," y/n finished for him, her voice gentle yet probing.

Kaz hesitated, grappling with his own conflicting emotions. "I don't know what I want anymore," he confessed quietly, more to himself than to her.

She hummed, “Can I go? I don't want to stay around you.”

Kaz chuckled harshly, not moving from the door. “We could have been friends, Kaz. Why did you do it?” Her eyes filled with sadness and anger. He let her go, unable to voice his thoughts.

As she left, he stood there for a moment, feeling the weight of his decisions pressing down on him. Then, he grabbed her by her arm, “Break up with him. I don't want to lose you," he said quietly.

"You never really had me," y/n replied, her voice gentle but firm, going back to the table.

The dinner went painfully slow. Kaz saw an incoming text and grabbed his phone hopefully, but it was a message from Inej.

‘Can we invite her with us later? I can’t stand the thought of her going away with him.’

Why did she always have to be so kind and worried about other people? Why did she have to put him in that position?

‘No,’ he texted back.

‘Come on, it’s painful to watch.’

In reality, they looked really good together. y/n could play ‘faithful girlfriend’ really well. His boss was whispering in her ear, tracing patterns on her arm, and she looked sincerely amused. Maybe they really felt something for each other.

‘Looks like they’re having fun.’

He heard Inej sigh. ‘I’m asking her.’

“y/n, do you have plans for later?” asked Inej with her motherly voice.

“I don’t know, do we have plans, baby?” y/n asked, turning towards her boyfriend.

“I guess you could come with me, bring me luck in a few rounds of cards,” he said, eating her with his eyes.

“Why don’t you come with us?” asked Inej, full of enthusiasm. “I’m sure Kaz and Jesper have to go to the Crow Club. We could keep each other company.”

Jesper’s wide eyes fixed on Kaz, who pinched the bridge of his nose. Why was this happening?

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude,” y/n laughed nervously.

“Nonsense, I’ll be bored out of my mind. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Kaz saw y/n completely caged. “Why don’t you come dancing with us, love?” she tried desperately, looking at her boyfriend.

He laughed, “I’m too old for this, but go and have fun, alright?”

y/n made a tight smile. “I guess I will.”

Kaz’s heart twisted as he watched the interaction unfold. y/n’s eyes flicked to his, a flash of something unreadable passing between them. He felt a surge of conflicting emotions—anger, protectiveness, jealousy. His mind raced with thoughts he couldn’t quite articulate.

“Great!” Inej said brightly, oblivious to the undercurrents. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

Kaz forced a smile, his mind still reeling. As they all stood to leave, his boss leaned in to kiss y/n on the cheek, murmuring something that made her laugh, though her eyes didn’t quite match the sound.

Of course, Jesper invented an excuse about why y/n couldn’t go with him and his date, so she followed Kaz and Inej to his car.

As they left the parking lot, Kaz and y/n noticed at the same time that her phone connected automatically to his car system, and they shot a panicked look at each other in the rearview mirror. 

“Oh saints, is there a fire?” y/n shouted to distract Inej, who was seated beside Kaz. 

“Where?” Inej was looking outside, trying to find the source of the commotion.

“Oh, nothing, must have been something else,” y/n mumbled, while Kaz quickly disconnected her phone.

Kaz had never felt shittier than at that moment. Inej didn’t deserve any of this. The guilt gnawed at him as they drove in silence.

They settled at their usual table in the Crow Club, an awkward silence hanging over them despite the loud music. Kaz could feel the tension mounting, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts about Inej, y/n, and the tangled web he had woven.

A waiter approached, and y/n immediately assaulted him with her order. “How much vodka are you legally allowed to pour in my glass?” she asked with narrowed eyes. The man looked puzzled and made an approximate sign with his fingers. 

“Great, I’ll take three,” she smiled. The waiter hesitated, “Do you want something with it?”

“Oh yeah, uhm, those little funny umbrellas you put on fancy drinks,” y/n nodded, avoiding the weirded-out looks from the others at the table.

Kaz sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Make them six. Without umbrellas for me.” Inej shot him a side-eyed glare while the others proceeded to make their orders.

Jesper broke the silence, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “So, y/n, why don’t we talk a bit about your boyfriend? That was a surprise.”

“Don’t tell me,” she said with a tight smile, her fingers tapping nervously on the table.

Kaz glared at Jesper, his frustration mounting. There was  no reason to make the night even more weird, he thought.

“How long have you been dating him?” Jesper insisted, ignoring Kaz’s glare.

“Don’t know, three weeks, a month.”

“The age difference doesn’t bother you?” asked a concerned Inej.

Y/n shrugged, “No, it should?”

“Sorry, I’m not judging you,” said Inej warmly.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure you are,” commented y/n under her breath, finishing her first glass in one go.

Kaz tried to steer the conversation away from y/n, but Inej persisted. “I didn’t mean to offend you, really.”

“Mh, are we sure of this?” y/n said with a nervous giggle, studying her nails, the nails Kaz had chosen for her.

“Do you like them?” y/n stuck her hand in front of Inej.

“Oh, ehm, yeah, not my style, but they look nice.”

y/n hummed, locking eyes with Kaz for a second. Kaz quickly emptied all three of his glasses, his thoughts becoming more blurred. He could sense things going sour pretty fast. Jesper couldn’t stop making allusions to y/n’s job, Inej was still trying to repair what she had said about her boyfriend, and Jesper’s date looked too confused to intervene.

“I really like your dress,” y/n blurted out towards Inej at a certain point. “Did you choose it for her?” she said, turning to Kaz. “I bet he’s really good at picking outfits.”

Kaz rolled his eyes, and Inej frowned. “I don’t think he ever chose an outfit for me,” she said, puzzled.

“I heard you’re vegan,” Inej tried again, wanting desperately to befriend y/n.

“I am,” she confirmed without adding anything.

“You know, the other day I found vegan ice cream in Kaz’s fridge, and it’s weird because he always says that vegan stuff must taste horrible,” laughed Inej

y/n snorted, “Does he? I bet he even thinks that smoking is bad for you.” she retorted, leaving Inej confused.

Jesper shot Kaz an exasperated glare and asked him to step outside for a moment. “Vegan ice cream? Was she at your place again?”

Kaz sighed, feeling too tipsy to elaborate good lies. “Her AC was broken.”

Jesper’s face reddened with anger. “Oh, so now every excuse is good enough for you to hook up with her in the same bed you share with your girlfriend?”

“Nothing happened, Jesper. We just slept in the same bed.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Jesper's voice rose, frustration evident. “You’re crossing lines, Kaz. This isn’t just about Inej anymore. You’re messing with everyone’s feelings, including your own.”

Kaz rubbed his temples, the alcohol making everything blurrier. “What do you want me to say, Jes? I’m not going to see her anymore, so just save it.”

Jesper tilted his head, scrutinizing Kaz. “Did something happen between you two?”

Kaz hesitated, his mind swirling with confusion and guilt. “Nothing… physical,” he finally said, but the words felt hollow.

Jesper’s eyes narrowed. “But you feel something for her?”

Kaz nodded, defeated. 

“Does she—?” Jesper's voice softened slightly, but his anger was still palpable.

“She does, but it’s…” Kaz struggled to find the right words. “I love Inej. I’ll forget whatever this is, don’t worry.”

Jesper shook his head, clearly not satisfied. “Kaz, you can’t just ‘forget’ feelings. And what about y/n? She’s not just some random girl; she’s got feelings too. You’re stringing her along while trying to stay loyal to Inej. It’s not fair to any of you.”

Kaz looked away, feeling the weight of Jesper’s words. “I know, Jes. I know I’ve messed up. But I’m trying to fix it.”

Jesper’s anger flared again. “Trying to fix it? By ignoring it? That’s not fixing anything. You need to face this head-on, talk to them both, and figure out what you really want.”

Kaz clenched his fists, frustration boiling over. “It’s not that simple, Jesper. You don’t understand.”

Jesper stepped closer, his voice low and dangerous. “No, Kaz, I do understand. I understand that you’re scared of making a choice because you don’t want to lose either of them. But if you keep this up, you’re going to lose them both. And you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”

Kaz’s eyes burned. “I can’t lose Inej,” he whispered.

Jesper softened slightly, seeing the pain in his friend’s eyes. “Then don’t.”

Kaz kicked a rock, the anger and frustration boiling over. “I went to her house while Inej was sleeping in my fucking bed,” he confessed, his voice thick with regret. “I made a fool of myself and she rejected me. There’s not much more to do or to say. She’s right, Inej is the person for me.”

Jesper took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “I never questioned what there is between you and Inej, Kaz, but are you sure it’s still there?”

Kaz clenched his fists, the weight of Jesper’s question pressing down on him. “It has to be. I did all this mess for her, it has to work, we have to work” he insisted, though his voice wavered.

Jesper shook his head, his tone gentle but firm. “Just because you’ve done everything for her doesn’t mean it’s right anymore. People change, feelings change. You can’t force something that’s not there.”

Kaz looked away. “Inej means everything to me.”

“But is that enough?” Jesper pressed. “If you’re still drawn to y/n, if you’re feeling things you shouldn’t be feeling, then something isn’t right. Ignoring it won’t make it go away.”

Kaz’s mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He knew Jesper was right, but he couldn’t bring himself to accept it. “Y/n made it very clear that she doesn’t want anything from me,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration and sorrow.

Jesper shook his head, his expression serious. “It’s not fair to use Inej as a rebound, Kaz. She deserves better than that.”

Kaz’s eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and guilt. “Do you think I don’t feel bad about it? It’s consuming me,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “Every day, it’s like I’m being torn apart. Inej means everything to me, but there’s something about Y/n that I can’t shake off.”

Jesper’s eyes softened, but his stance remained firm. He listened attentively, sensing there was more Kaz needed to get off his chest.

“She’s funny, Jes, she’s so fucking funny,” Kaz sighed, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he recalled their time together. “And unpredictable. We spent an entire night awake smoking weed, binge-watching House, then out of fucking nowhere she starts cooking, and we ate at three a.m. half-naked with her roommates,” he paused, the frustration evident in his voice, “and I had fun.”

Jesper’s brows furrowed, absorbing Kaz’s words. “Kaz, you need to be honest with yourself. Are you really happy with Inej, or are you just clinging to what you think you should feel?”

Kaz looked down, the weight of Jesper’s words hitting him hard. “I love Inej,” he said quietly, as if trying to convince himself more than anyone else.  “Without her, I don’t know who I am.”

Jesper let out a long breath, clearly torn. "You owe it to both of them, and to yourself, to figure this out. Hiding from it won’t make it go away.”

Kaz’s mind raced, grappling with the conflicting emotions. “Inej deserves better than this,” he muttered, his voice filled with self-loathing.

Jesper placed a hand on Kaz’s shoulder, his grip firm. “Then don’t lie to her. Be honest.”

Kaz shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t break up with her, Jesper. I’ll figure it out.”

They made their way back just in time to spot Y/n quickly leaving the table, her face a mix of frustration and hurt. 

“Everything okay?” asked Inej, looking up at Kaz with concern. He leaned down to kiss her temple, a gesture that felt both comforting and laden with guilt.

“Yes, you?” he replied, his voice strained.

“Yeah, Y/n said she had to leave. She is a bit weird, right?” Inej commented, her tone uncertain.

Kaz’s jaw tightened, a surge of protectiveness for Y/n bubbling up. “Maybe she just didn’t like all of you questioning her all night,” he replied, his words coming out harsher than he intended.

“I wasn’t questioning her,” said Inej defensively, her brows furrowing.

“Come on, Nej, you were,” Kaz countered, his frustration slipping through.

Jesper, sensing the brewing tension, quickly intervened. “Hey, let’s not turn this into a fight.”

Inej looked between Kaz and Jesper, confusion and hurt evident in her eyes. “I was just trying to get to know her. If it came off wrong, I’m sorry.”

Kaz sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You knew what you were doing. You too, Jesper.”

Inej’s eyes widened in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

“You both kept pushing,” Kaz said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Maybe she felt like she was being interrogated.”

Jesper frowned, crossing his arms. “We were just curious. She’s new, and it’s not like she was very forthcoming.”

Kaz bit back a retort, knowing he had to be careful. He couldn’t let on how well he knew Y/n. “There’s a difference between being curious and making someone feel uncomfortable. Maybe next time, ease up a bit.”

Inej looked hurt, but she nodded. “I’ll be more careful. I really didn’t mean any harm. And certainly I didn’t know you cared so much.”

Kaz tried to brush off the tension, forcing a casual tone. “She’s the boss’s new girlfriend. Doesn’t seem like a good idea to piss her off.”

Jesper raised an eyebrow. “You’re right. We don’t need any unnecessary drama.”

Inej sighed, her expression softening. “I understand. I’ll try to be more considerate next time.”

Kaz Brekker had done a lot of awful things in his life, but making his girlfriend apologize for how she treated his... what? Other girl? was by far the worst one.

***

Kaz stood outside the workplace with his boss, engrossed in discussions about some upcoming deals. The atmosphere was serious, focused on business, until the abrupt interruption by y/n Mini's aggressive arrival. Her car screeched to a harsh stop in front of them, tinted windows hiding her expression from Kaz's view.

“Pray for me, Brekker, this girl drives like we have extra lives,” Kaz's boss joked, patting Kaz on the shoulder. Kaz felt his jaw clench instinctively. y/n began impatiently honking her horn, prompting Kaz's boss to gesture for her to wait.

“It really shows she didn’t have a father to teach her, let me tell you,” the boss remarked with a chuckle, clearly unaware of the impact of his words on Kaz. The comment hit him like a weight in his stomach. y/n had never mentioned her parents or their absence to him. Apparently, she had confided in his boss, which left Kaz feeling a mix of confusion and hurt. He thought about all the times they had spent together, the conversations they'd had, and the intimacy they'd shared. Yet, there was this significant part of her life that she had kept from him. 

The realization stung. Kaz had always prided himself on being perceptive and insightful, able to navigate the complexities of people's lives and motivations. But now, he felt blindsided and uncertain. He wanted to understand why she had chosen to reveal such personal details to his boss and not to him. But again, they were properly dating and Kaz had been just his client.

“But she’s worth it. She’ll be the death of me, wild little thing she is, let me tell you. I’m not that young anymore,” his boss continued with a conspiratorial tone, leaning in closer. Kaz's skin crawled at the familiarity in his boss’s voice. “Best thing is, all of her tastes like candies,” he added with a lecherous grin. “And the way she moves, Brekker, I’m not even going to tell you, but I mean, you are with the Wraith, I bet you know a thing or two about flexible women.”

Kaz's jaw clenched so hard he thought his teeth might crack. The casual vulgarity, the smug tone, the blatant disrespect—it all churned his stomach. He fought the urge to lash out, knowing that any reaction would only add fuel to the fire. He forced his hands to remain at his sides, his nails biting into his palms.

“You should see her when she’s in a playful mood. It’s like she’s got this spark, you know? Makes every moment feel like an adventure,” his boss continued, clearly enjoying the effect his words were having on Kaz. “And let me tell you, she knows how to keep a man entertained. Never a dull moment with that one.”

“Are you coming or are you waiting for me to reach your age?” y/n’s voice cut through the tension, her tone dripping with impatience as she leaned out of the car window. Her eyes, sharp and challenging, met Kaz's for a fleeting moment before focusing back on his boss.

Kaz's boss laughed heartily, either oblivious to Kaz's internal struggle or simply not caring. He waved off Kaz, already heading towards the car. “Better not keep the lady waiting,” he said, throwing a wink at Kaz.

As his boss and y/n sped away, Kaz was left standing there, grappling with a flood of emotions. He felt a pang of jealousy towards his boss for seemingly knowing a side of y/n that Kaz did not. There was a gnawing realization that despite their closeness, their relationship might not be as deep or transparent as he had assumed. He wondered why she hadn't shared this part of her life with him, and whether there were other aspects of herself she was keeping hidden.

***

Kaz's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts as he received Jesper’s text, ‘They broke up’. The message shattered the otherwise quiet evening he was spending with Inej. She was talking about something important, probably really interesting, but he lost focus completely, consumed by the sudden news. 

‘What happened?’ he typed back quickly, his fingers almost shaking with anticipation.

‘No one knows,’ came Jesper’s swift reply.

A small, involuntary grin tugged at Kaz’s lips. He would have given away his car and his house to know more. 

“Inej, love, something happened at work. I have to go,” he said, standing up abruptly.

“Love?” she laughed, a lighthearted teasing in her voice. “Who are you?”

Kaz cursed himself for letting the endearment slip out—something he never used before. He headed out fast, leaving behind Inej’s puzzled expression.

He reached his office, where he expected to find his boss. The man's angry shouts were audible even from outside. Kaz strolled in casually, pretending to look for something. As he had anticipated, the boss spotted him immediately and called him over.

The boss was already taking out two glasses and a bottle from a cabinet, gesturing for Kaz to sit. “Are we celebrating something?” Kaz asked, trying to maintain his composure.

“Celebrating? That bitch broke up with me,” the boss spat out.

“What? Why?” Kaz feigned surprise, leaning forward slightly, eager for more information.

The man studied him, taking a long sip. “You know, I trust you, Brekker. You’re my right hand. Hell, you're like a son to me.”

“Thank you,” Kaz replied, trying to look amused. He needed his boss to keep talking.

“I was just too old for her. I should have seen this coming,” the boss muttered, clearly annoyed. “She has this way of... I don't know how to explain it... making you feel light and special.”

Kaz hummed, knowing firsthand how right he was.

“Stay away from women like that, Brekker. When you become aware of what they've done to you, it's too late. You find yourself lonely and drinking, with your heart broken.”

Kaz couldn't believe what he was hearing. He hadn’t thought his boss actually fell for y/n; he assumed it was just the rush of dating a woman so much younger than him.

“I know you lost your father when you were young, so no one could teach you these things. Let me step in for a moment,” the man poured a third round. “You found yourself a good girl, Kaz. Even after everything she's been through, she's doing God's work around the world, such a good girl. I didn't think she would settle for a broken bastard like you. But you've been lucky. Those are the women you can count on.”

Kaz wasn't sure what to say. The man’s words were both insulting and painfully accurate.

“And well, let's be honest, the fact that she's always away lets you be more… Free, let's say,” he added with a wink.

Kaz frowned. Was he implying that he would approve if Kaz cheated on Inej? After all that praise?

“I don't think I'm following you.”

“Oh, Brekker, you don't fool me. I've known you since you were twelve. I saw you coming in here, walking three feet above the ground,” he chuckled, “What's her name?”

Kaz felt utterly exposed. “Sir, I don't know what you're talking about.”

His boss openly laughed, “You want to play it like this? Your choice. I thought we were having a man-to-man conversation, an honest one.”

Kaz hesitated, his mind racing. Was it true? Was it really so evident?

“I saw you happy, Brekker, the same smile you have when a few hundred thousand kruge go your way.” He poured more liquor, and Kaz drank it fast. “As I would tell a son, keep having your fun while your girlfriend is out there saving the world. You've never been a saint, don’t start now. But this other girl, don’t turn it into something else, something it’s not meant to be.”

Kaz sat there, the weight of his boss’s words pressing down on him. “I'm not cheating on Inej.” Kaz hoped that his voice was steady enough.

His boss smiled, a knowing glint in his eyes. “I'm not judging you, son. You're a man. Your girlfriend is always away. It's how things go. Whoever she is, she's good for you.”

Kaz nodded, lost in thought, wondering what his reaction would be if his boss knew the girl they were talking about was the same one who had broken up with him a few hours earlier. It was a twisted irony that left him feeling even more conflicted.

Kaz took a deep breath, the alcohol burning in his throat. “It’s not just a mistake,” he said quietly. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Complicated, huh? So there is a girl.” His boss leaned forward, pouring another round of drinks with practiced ease. “Come on, Kaz,” he urged, his tone almost fatherly. “You can talk to me. I’ve seen it all—business and personal. You know I’ve got your back.”

Kaz hesitated, his mind racing. Apparently, the hesitation was enough to make the boss jump to his conclusions. “I knew it, good for you.”

“Kaz, you’re not fooling anyone. You’ve got that look—conflicted, torn. You don’t get that way unless there’s someone involved. This other girl—she makes you feel alive, doesn’t she?” 

Kaz nodded reluctantly. “Yes. She does.”

“Then put yourself out there, Brekker, but remember, serious relationships are for women like your Inej, not the wild ones. Don’t mess it up.”

Kaz’s heart sank at the words. He felt a strange mix of guilt and longing. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Look, Kaz,” his boss said, leaning in closer. “The wild ones—they’re exciting, they make you feel things you never thought you could feel. But they’re not the ones you build a life with. They’re a thrill, a distraction. Inej, on the other hand, she’s the kind of woman you build a future with. Don’t confuse the two.”

Kaz’s mind raced, the conflicting emotions churning inside him. The way his boss spoke about the situation made it sound so black and white, but to Kaz, it was anything but. He tried to steady his breathing, feeling cornered by the conversation.

“You don’t think you can make a wife out of a little slut you’re having fun with?” his boss continued, his tone dismissive and crude.

“She’s not a slut,” Kaz said through gritted teeth, his fists clenching on the table. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

The boss raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by Kaz’s fierce reaction. “Alright, alright,” he said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “I didn’t mean to offend. But you have to see where I’m coming from. There’s a difference between a good time and a lifetime.”

Kaz’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to stay calm. “She’s not just a ‘good time.’ She’s... she’s important to me.”

“Important, huh?” His boss leaned back in his chair, studying Kaz intently. “Important or just good in bed?”

Kaz clenched his fists, struggling to keep his temper in check. “It’s not like that. It’s more than that.”

His boss chuckled, clearly skeptical. “Is it? Or are you just telling yourself that because she’s giving you something you’re not getting from Inej?”

Kaz looked away, feeling the sting of his boss’s words. He couldn’t deny that the physical aspect of his relationship with Y/N was intense, but it was more than that.

“I have to go.”

At a red light, Kaz texted y/n, 'Heard about the break up, how are you?' He didn’t expect an answer, but a few minutes later, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and nearly ran into a stop sign. It was a selfie from y/n, taken from the nose down. She was on a bed, and someone was biting her neck. Guess she was dealing with it pretty well.

Kaz's mind spun with thoughts. The image brought a mix of jealousy, curiosity, and a pang of regret. He wondered if they could ever revert to being just friends. They had blurred too many boundaries, making it hard to imagine a platonic relationship. Where would they stop? Would they be able to spend time together without succumbing to their intense chemistry? Could he even desire a non-romantic relationship with her now?

Their connection had always been more than just physical, yet now it seemed impossible to separate the two. The lines had been crossed, and there was no going back.

Kaz pulled over to the side of the road, needing a moment to collect his thoughts. He stared at the photo again, trying to decipher the emotions it stirred within him. Could they ever just be friends, or had they ruined any chance of a simple, uncomplicated relationship?

***

Weeks later, Kaz and Inej got into a fight. A big one. One that made them scream at each other like they never had before, leading to him storming out of his house. The words Inej had said echoed in his mind, and he couldn't believe the things she had thrown at him in anger. He got in his car and started driving, his hands gripping the wheel tightly as rage flooded through his veins. 

He drove straight to y/n's house, not caring that it was late, not caring about anything except the need to see her. The light in her apartment was on, which was a small relief. He was ready to wake up the entire neighborhood if necessary. He picked the lock on the door of the building with practiced ease, his movements fueled by a mix of desperation and anger. He went straight to her apartment and knocked on the door, his heart pounding.

After a moment, y/n emerged, her head poking out cautiously. At first, she looked scared, then puzzled when she recognized him. “I… I thought it was the police,” she muttered, her voice shaky.

Kaz's breath was heavy, and adrenaline surged through his body. Without a word, he took out his phone, opened his banking app, and turned the screen towards her. “Take whatever you want, empty my bank account, I don't care. I want you. Now.”

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: you call on your favorite doctor to help you out with some chilly problems

WARNINGS: none!! :D

COMMENTS: just figured out winter itch is a thing!? i kidna miss kyle shhh dont tell him

this is unedited because i wanted to take a break from work LMAOO if theres a typpo NO THERE ISNT!!!!!

TAGLIST: obligatory @vivislosingitagain tag

you sigh as kyle’s hands work against your thigh, rubbing in the lavender scented lotion jonah was kind enough to purchase you a few weeks back. his hands are gentle as they massage your skin, and if it wasn’t for the irritation across your hips and legs, you would almost think of this as romantic.

“get some unscented lotion next time. and make sure you’re showering with lukewarm water, hon.” he purses his lips, looking up at you through his pretty eyelashes, “and come to me if it gets worse.”

“i will, doctor kyle.” you smile, smug as ever when his cheeks glow pink, “nobody could treat me better.”

“don’t say things like that.” he huffs, pinching the fat of your left thigh.

it’s such a gentle pinch that it feels more like he’s tickling you. you giggle under your breath, and he smiles.

“thank you.” you murmur when he finishes, knowing he didn’t have to take care of you but decided to anyway.

“yeah, of course.” he smiles, pushing himself up from his position on the floor.

he tilts your chin up and steals a soft kiss from you, nuzzling his nose against yours as he pulls away. you find yourself frozen for just a moment before you jolt forward, kissing him again.

you whisper i love you’s against his mouth and he returns them, smiling hard enough to hurt his pink cheeks.

oh, how you adore him.

and so you kiss him again, cupping his face and pulling him close, melting away the irritation from hours before with sweetness from your beloved.

[corrodedcoffincumslut]

❤️🖤Pairing - Eddie Munson! x Plus-sized Fem!Reader

🖤❤️Porn with some plot - You dress up as Eddie’s fantasy cheerleader for Halloween at The Hideout. Eddie metaphorically dies when he sees his girlfriend dressed up & fucks her cock drunk. No use of Y/N.

❤️🖤Author's Note - Reader is referred to with pet names & named “Bunnie”. Reader is described as a curvaceous, plus-sized alt beauty. Big tits, small waist & large hips, absolute perfection in my opinion. Had to add in Eddie with a cock piercing & reader with nipple piercings, sorry It’s self indulgent I know! Big loves to @bexreadstoomuch for her help editing this one and inspiring me to write some smut. 😘

🖤❤️Please comment & reblog if you enjoyed my work. I’m working on maybe this being a mini-series of Eddie & Bunnie. Let me know if you would like to read more of my smutty ramblings!

❤️🖤Please DO NOT SHARE my work on other platforms without my permission!

🖤❤️Warnings- SMUT! Pure unadulterated smut! Over 18’s + ONLY - Under 18’s Do Not Interact!!! Plus-sized reader, Graphic descriptions of sex, PIV raw (M & F), Oral sex (M & F), Semi-public sex, Daddy! kink, Dom! Eddie, Switch! reader, Breeding kink, Overstimulation kink, Cheerleader kink, Younger Pervy Eddie, Cock piercing Eddie, Nipples pierced reader, Dirty talk, Mentions of marriage, Cream-pie, Cum-eating, Multiple orgasms, Squirting, Plus-size reader has feelings of insecurity about her body (Eddie puts this right, don’t worry! He loves a thicc babe!) Eddie is soft & fluffy bf at parts. Mentions of alcohol & weed usage.

❤️🖤Word Count- 6.6k

🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️

Eddie always had a thing for cheerleaders. The sinfully short skirts, the pretty bows in their pigtails swinging as they danced in formation, the playful pom-poms, long thigh high socks that went all the way up, basically school-safe stockings. He never mentioned it but you could tell just by the glint in his eyes whenever the topic came up when you reminisced about your school days, especially since his high school crush was captain of the cheer squad.

Before you, Eddie was just like any other sexually frustrated teenage boy. Looking from beneath the bleaches, for a upskirt view of the tight skin hugging shorts and if he was lucky the outline of what lay beneath his pristine, perfect, princess girl’s pussy, wishing she’d forgone the shorts knowing he’d be lurking under there, all under the disguise of a good place to catch a smoke break and escape the Jason and his goons.

Now years later sat with the guys buzzing around a table in The Hideout in the post-gig afterglow, the conversation topic turning back to their shared school days. Eddie admits his previous crush on Chrissy and the other cheerleaders. You on the other hand were the complete opposite of his high school crush. Short in stature with curves in all the right places, big doughy thighs (that Eddie loved to squash his big hands into), a high plump ass (all the better for spanking in Eddie’s mind), wide hips (perfect to hold onto whilst he rutted into your soaking core), slim waist (he’d always loved Jessica rabbit), heaving tits (need I say more) that overspilled every bra you bought. Not exactly built for the cheer squad pyramid. Causing your mind to flood with insecurities.

Your mind overwhelmed, opened back to your old demons. The ones you’d thought were dead and buried after leaving your school years behind. Your body was different, not hideous. You didn’t hate it by any means, but it was definitely bigger than the slender slips of skirt your boyfriend had spent years pining over. Trying to woo and failing before finding you one night in the Hideout, drunkenly headbanging to Megadeth, Anthrax, crushing the air guitar solo in Slayer’s “Raining blood” (your favourite). You were wearing your favourite criminally short denim cut-offs that hugged your ass, fishnet tights adorned with the obligatory holes torn in the pattern and your brown tasselled cowboy boots. Topped off with your favourite Def Leppard muscle vest cropped to show your soft belly and navel piercing. A heavenly vision straight from Whitesnake video as far as Eddie was concerned.

Eddie instantly fell in love. The swing of your hips to the flick of your hair, as you grinded and swayed when the Jukebox switched to Van Halen’s “Panama” caused his cock to twitch in his pants, stiffening and straining more against the zipper more as you danced to the beat of the music. Wandering hands following the lines of your own curves, fingers dancing, cupping your voluptuous chest, up your neck and through your tousled, wild hair. Eddie’s eyes just about fell out of his head, when you locked eyes across the distance, you beckoned him over, with the curl of your finger and the biting of your bottom cherry red lip, as you’d noticed him watching from across the dingy, dimly lit bar. All this leading to you two becoming inseparable since. Nonetheless you let the doubts crawl into your subconscious. Were you what he really wanted? That he dreamt of, the perfect girl, his perfect cheerleader, his Chrissy.

You swallowed down the remainder of your beer and continued to laugh and giggle with the rest of the guys and their girls, pretending you were unphased by Eddie’s confession. An hour or so had passed, as had Gareth found himself a nondescript college girl from the next town over and Jeff left with his girlfriend, Sarah. Kevin, unfortunately, is still unlucky in love with the girls and gets a lift home with Jeff, leaving you alone with Eddie at the bar.

You chewed at your cheeks as you glanced up at Eddie, him ushering over Randy, the Hideout’s owner. “Two more buds for me and Bunnie please, Rand!” Eddie shouted across the width of the busy bar. Smiling, he glanced down at your distracted expression, causing his eyebrows to furrow. “Everything okay there, sweetheart?” Eddie whispered in your ear, lips brushing the edge. Nodding you smiled, staring into his doe eyes, melting your sadness away momentarily. “You sure?” He questioned again, not believing you, seeing the sorrow in your round ocean blue eyes. “Am I enough for you Eddie?” you whimpered, only just above a whisper, the beer making your secret inner self-deprecating thoughts spill from your mouth. “What?!” Eddie gawked back, spinning quickly to face you, stunned.

“You said you liked the cheerleaders back in school Eds, said you pined over them. Perving on them at break in the canteen. Hangin’ around the school field after class to watch them rehearse, said it drove you wild, Said she drove you WILD…I know you said you are over her, and she’s married, a mum of two and living her own life now, but I’m no cheerleader baby. Far from it, look at me! I’m a metal chick, I don’t wear those pretty ribbon bows and I don’t know the chants, I’d be on my ass in the dirt if I tried the dancing and the pyramid and tumbles and that stuff…sure I can blast a beat on the air guitar, kick a guy in the dick for being too handsy on the dancefloor and sink a beer quicker than most but I’m not the embodiment of school spirit like you wanted!” you ranted, off on a tangent stuck inside your own insecure thoughts, stepping back you pointed to your own body, almost shamefully at your curves “is THIS what you WANT?” Biting your lips trying to fight back the big, wet tears that threaten to spill over your lower lashes.

Eddie was dumbfounded at the words falling from your lips. He thought you knew how he felt, how he felt about you? Maybe he got swept up with the boys earlier, forgetting you might get a little jealous or insecure about his past endeavours. You’d never reacted like this before when you had spoken about the past, you took as many lovers as he had, if not more, you were a sexually liberated woman and loved your freedom before you settled down together.

“Sweetheart, why would you ever think that? I’d choose you over a thousand Chrissy’s” he said as he placed his large hands on the sides of your jaw, thumbs stroking the apples of your cheeks, kissing your pink bitten lips. “I’ve only ever loved you Princess, sure I thought me and Chrissy we meant to be…But I was 17, and stupid, thinking with just my dick. You make me think with my heart and my dick! Baby…” Eddie sighed. “Bunnie you’re everything to me, you’re all I want and could ever want. I love you and only YOU” He smiled, placing another hasty kiss on your lips. “And for the record I think you’d make a smoking hot cheerleader. I swear to our saviour Lemmy, if I ever see you in a cheer uniform I’ll lose my shit, hey I’m pretty sure I’d wife you right there!” he smirked and half joking. Swallowing your woeful thoughts again, you smiled, glanced back into his big brown orbs. Losing yourself there in those muddy wells, so in love. Noted, you thought.

Fast forward to where you are now. Halloween was next month and you were searching for a costume to wear to the annual Hideout’s Halloween metal fest gig. Corroded Coffin were on the bill, as well as some other local metal bands. When the thought popped back into your brain. The perfect costume. You called Robin to see if Vickie could help with her sewing skills and enrolled Nancy on costume design. All agreeing, the pieces falling into place perfectly.

The night before the gig, Robin called yours and Eddie’s apartment leaving the message on the voicemail “Hey Bunnie, it’s ready”. Eddie’s puzzled face rounded the corner of the kitchen island as the message played. “What's that about Sweetheart?” he asked, confused by the secret simplicity of the message. Smiling, you answered “just girl stuff Ed’s, don’t worry about it. But I’ve gotta nip out quick Eds, I’ll be back soon” turning to grab your car keys you kissed him on the lips and dashed out the door to Robin’s.

Facing the floor length mirror, it was even more perfect than you’d imagined. Every detail was impeccable, the red stitching over the black fabric. Contrasting deep black with crimson red and bright white. Eddie was gonna flip his lid and shoot his load, when he saw you.

The black skirt, trimmed with a crimson stripe running parallel to the hem, skimming the tops of your plush thighs, a pair of sinfully small tight black shorts covering your modesty. The top was a crisp white with black and scarlet ribbon sewn in line to the neckline in a deep V, exposing a criminal amount of cleavage. And front and centre Eddie’s design, the Hellfire Club logo. The devil face, encrusted with shining red crystals, horns in black gems and eyes of bright yellow sparkles.

“Vickie!” you exclaimed, “it’s incredible!” pulling her into a bone crushing hug. “Eddie’s gonna cum in his pants when he sees this, I bet we don't even make it through the show!”you joked. Laughing she rubbed the back of her neck shyly, always unable to accept the compliment. “You’re so talented, I can’t thank you enough, it's amazing. I owe you big time!! Beers are on me for like the next 6 months I swear. Robin you never said she was this good, like this is another level, she should be working in the theatre making this stuff!” Robin smiled, kissing Vickie’s cheek agreeing with your gushing words of praise. “I tell her all the time she’s too talented to be working for some stiff in a suit but she never listens to me” Robin replied.

Changing back into your jeans and tshirt you folded your new uniform into your tote. After landing big sweet friendly kisses on both Robin and Vickie’s cheeks you left Robin’s and set off back home to an unbeknownst Eddie. As soon as you hit home, you ran past the kitchen and into your shared bedroom, hiding your costume amongst your usual assortment of band shirts in the closet away from Eddie’s prying eyes.

A week later, the day had arrived, Eddie had to set off early to the event with the rest of the boys, helping set up the stage and equipment ready for the party to start. Eddie had dressed as his go to as always every halloween, one the lost boys. A black cotton loose shirt, closed by a small amount of buttons, open to reveal his lean muscular chest and tattoos, two chains dangling round his thick neck, tight leather trousers, that made his ass & thighs look so good you wanted to bite ‘em, the closure of which was leather thong string tied in a bow. (One pull and all his deliciousness would be revealed you thought.) Hair loose, tangled in curls and down as always. Eyes smoked out with black liner, defining the chocolate orbs you loved so much. Finished to perfection with two white fangs on his canines. Simply insatiable you thought, as you caught a glimpse as he popped the teeth in the bathroom mirror while you showered. He knew you loved him like this, always trying to tease you, every halloween.

He popped his head through the shower door, trying his best not to get wet under the spray, “I’m off Sweetheart, I’ll meet you there. I can’t wait to see your costume, I can’t believe you're being so mean and won’t let me see it beforehand. We always share costumes before we go” he chided with a fake frown. “Patience is a blessing Ed’s, believe me you'll need it” you sweetly sang back, landing a soft kiss to his awaiting lips. Before stepping back under the water spray, water running between your heavy soapy tits, left hand pinching your pierced nipples and right hand leading your fingers into the neat sprinkling of hair that covered the front of your mound.

“Jesus, Bunnie. You’re gonna be the death of me, I swear. I’m popping a boner already, I’m gonna be cradling this all night now, you just wait till I get you back here later” Eyes closed, he tilted his head back, biting his lip, thoughts swimming of images of you entwined together later. “...Love you Princess, be good” he playfully warned leaving the bathroom. “Bye Ed’s, love you Handsome” you giggled hearing him pick up his van keys, stuffing them into his leather jacket pocket, guitar case and amp from the living room. Hearing the door slam shut, your plan could be set into action. Finishing your shower, you quickly dried off and started your transformation.

Swiping the shiny cherry red across your lips, you kiss pouted into the mirror, placing the lipstick in your bag for touch ups later. Giving your pigtails one last adjustment tug to your head and pulling the ribbons tight into the bows towards your scalp. You stepped back and gave your costume another once over. Eddie really was going to lose it. Paired with a pair of white socks, black stripes at the top and blank white tennis shoes. He was sure going to be gonner the moment he laid eyes on you. He was right, you did make a smoking hot cheerleader, even if you didn’t have the school spirit, more inclined to have the alcoholic spirit you’d hidden in your hip flask. Hearing the taxi’s horn you dashed out the door, and down the stairs to meet your love.

The gravel crunched under your bright white new tennis shoes as you crossed the Hideout’s car park towards the entrance, Gruff Harold the usual bouncer smiled upon seeing your gleaming face. “Christ Bunnie '' he gulped as you gave a little curtsy, (guessing the costume was working its magic already you thought to yourself). “Free entry for fallen angels tonight” he winked, stepping aside allowing you entry, knowing you were there with eyes only for Eddie.

Inside the bar was full of familiar and new faces, all ages out enjoying the buzz of live music and the promise of cheap booze, shredding guitars and heavy drum beats. You recognised the band currently playing, another few local guys. “Occult Offerings” meaning Corroded Coffin were up next, and Eddie would be backstage still prepping with the guys, psyching himself up.

Heading to the bar you ordered yourself a beer and whiskey chaser for courage and another beer for Eddie, knowing he’d need it mid-set. Gulping down the first sip and downing your shot, your eyes scanned the packed space for your friends. Steve’s hand flew into the air to get your attention, along with little’s faces flying into view near the front of the make-shift stage. Dustin excitedly bounced on his heels to the quicken drum beat.

Squeezing through the crowd to join them, you greeted Steve and Nancy both with a hug, it was rare to see them both out after they’d had kids, Mrs Wheeler on babysitting duty with Holly in tow. Steve was dressed as a werewolf, furry ears nestled in his quaffed hair and claws on the ends of his fingers, torn chequered shirt and jeans. Nancy was a naughty nurse, a fitted cotton dress and a cap perched in her permed curls. “Bunnie, you look incredible! Hey if you weren’t Eddie’s girl I’m pretty sure you’d have a queue of fellas buying tickets to the prep rally” Steve pawned at you, earning a nudge from Nancy, “Steve!” She eyerolled. “They’re all animals, honestly” she giggled at you “But honestly Bunnie, you look great, God help Eddie when you finally see him”.

You spotted Robin and Vickie coming back from the toilets over Nancy’s shoulder, smudged lipstick over their mouths. “No guessing what they’d been up to in the toilets then” you smirked to Nancy as they stumbled over, still kissing every few steps. Robin dressed as Elvis, a beautifully rhinestoned catsuit presumably made by the same talented hands as your costume, Vickie as a cat, with now smudged whiskers drawn over her cheeks.

Each little had their own costume too. Will was his wizard character you’d recognised from Eddie’s campaigns, Mike and El were a couple costume of Lydia and Beetlejuice, Lucas wore his old basketball kit, fake slit throat, kit shredded and covered in blood splatter. Max was a zombie in a torn shirt and her jeans, face covered in latex, scabbed up, dripping in fake blood, never to be out done by her boyfriend. Dustin’s costume was less extreme, dressed as Dr. Emmet Brown from Back to the future. Clever and cute as always. Jonathan and Argyle were nowhere to be seen, presumably high in the carpark, hot boxing Argyle’s van once more you thought.

You chatted and cheered for Occult Offerings as they finished their last song. Randy came on the stage, clapping enticing another loud cheer from the audience “Give it up for Occult Offerings people!” He shouted into the mic. “Up next, and a firm favourite here at The Hideout, Corroded Coffin!” stepping to the side and letting the boys take their places on the stage for the bands change over. You placed Ed’s beer by his usual mic stand and quickly disappeared back into the crowd to keep your costume a surprise a little longer.

Ten minutes passed and you’d chased another whiskey at the bar and were well into sinking another beer, when you finally saw Eddie stepping up to the mic ready to start. Nodding to the other member he spoke into the mic, “Hi, we’re Corroded Coffin” before starting to play the beginnings of Judas Preists, Painkiller. Announcing the title and diving straight into the song. You loved watching him play, completely losing himself to the music, head thrown back, fingers teasing over the frets, strong wrists strumming the strings, truly living his rockstar fantasy. It always made fire start in your core, instantly as his fingers teased the strings.

You snaked your way back to the front of the crowd in front of the stage, when his eyes found you in the crowd still approaching, he miss-placed a note. Causing the other members to look up and over to him, finding his love drunk expression fixed on you. “Hey Baby” you mouthed smiling back with a small wave. Eddie’s chocolate brown eyes drank you up, all of you, jaw slack mid solo, the rest of the audience disappearing into the ethos as he saw only you. You danced and Eddie watched in awe, tits bouncing, head banging, pigtails swishing with the motion. Luckily his sweetheart was good at hiding his growing bulge at the front of the tight leather pants, which would have been hard to disguise without the guitar covering. Your movements took him straight back to the moment he first laid eyes on you, but even more beautiful than he remembered.

The show went on for another twenty or so minutes before Eddie announced this to be the last song. “This song goes out to my pretty, number one, cheerleader” Eddie shouted into the mic, locking eyes you grinned. Doe eyes now looking through your long lashes to catch his wink in your direction, “I Surrender” by Rainbow. Singing every word to you, staring into your eyes the whole song and meaning every word. You held your hands in a heart shape blowing a kiss, and he pretended to catch it and kiss his knuckles between the lyrics. He was a goner and you knew it, completely at your mercy. As the song finished he jumped down from the stage pulling you straight into his arms.

“Fuuucccckkkk Bunnie” he growled in your ear. “Are you trying to kill me?!”

“Guess you like it then Ed’s” you kissed his lips. “Do I like it?” Taking your hand he rubbed your hand over his rock hard cock against his leather clad crotch. Another kiss. “Tell me Princess, do you think I like it?” And again, a kiss. You swallowed a tantalisingly sweet giggle at his needs. “C’mon Ed’s I’ll get you another beer, you look a little…. thirsty” you teased as you turned, taking his hand to walk through the crowd towards the bar. “No” was all the reply to you. “Van. Now.” Dragging you in the opposite direction towards the door. Leaving your friends laughing behind, you shrugged allowing him to lead you backstage. “Look guys, can you grab sweetheart for me, I’m, errr, we’ve gotta, I..I” Eddie stuttered to the three still on stage wrapping up their equipment. “Just go” Gareth rolled his eyes, “you'll be useless to us right now anyway” he laughed knowing the effect your costume was having on not just Eddie, but most of the male population in the packed out bar. Eddie nodded in appreciation, busting through the back door into the cold air outside of the car park by his Van. “Keys” he grumbled to himself, turned on his heels and ran back inside, leaving you alone outside.

Reaching into your bag to pull a cigarette out and lit the end with the trusty silver zippo, Eddie had gifted you on your last birthday. Inhaling the smooth smoke, you blew it back out into the inky sky. Before you could take another puff, Eddie snatched it from your lips, taking a huge toke on the burning stick, before dropping it to gravel, and on to your mouth in one swift move. Causing you to stumble back on the brick wall of the building. Towering over you, wolfish grin across his teeth. Fangs now tucked in his pocket, (you didn’t need another reason to make you choke).

“Bunnie, I’m sorry. I just need you…I NEED YOU NOW” he gasped between haste kisses, sloppy, all teeth clattering and lips missing their mark. You moaned into his mouth through another heated kiss as you felt his thick calloused fingers travel up your thighs, round your plump hips and onto your chubby ass cheeks, staying in place with a firm squeeze to the fat there. Nudging his thigh between your thighs, pushing his knee up to your now soaking core. Causing you to grind your clothed aching heat on his firm lean thigh in response. “All this for me, Bunnie… Fuck” he leaned back for another look at your unholy appearance.

“You must have been made for me Bunnie, Christ. Look at you. Look what you do to me, I’m a feral animal for you. There I was playing all with my best friends, doing what I love most and all I could think of was every way I could ruin you… and thats what I’m going to do…I’m going to fucking ruin you” Eddie whispered in your ear, nibbling on the lobe. Kissing down your neck to find your sweet spot, behind your ear, down over your collar bones, his hands working your shirt up over your chest to expose your heavy tits to the crisp night air. Pulling your breast from the bra cup, he placed his lips straight on your peaking nipple. Sliding his tongue over the cool metal bars and softly sucking. An uncontrollable loud moan fell from your lips. “Eddieeeeee'' you whined.

Eddie fingers found the font of your tiny shorts and tore them down your thick thighs to your knees, tangled up on your socks. Rubbing his fingers through your tidy sparse hair and between your wet folds. Your hands flew instantly into his messy head of curls, nails biting into his scalp. Inviting a guttural groan from Eddie. Still suckling at your now hard bullet like nipples he kept sliding his fingers back and forth through your slick, gathering it and pressing his rough fingertips up to your swollen bud, lightly tapping and flicking your clit. “Eddie, someone could see” you gasped, not that you really cared. “Yeah they could”, he replied. Pretty matter of fact and nonchalant, without batting an eyelid, continuing his minstrokes, continuing with the assault on your body. Thus causing the white heat to begin to build, panting moans a song of pleasure into the autumn breeze. “Eddie we can’t...our friends are inside…the kids are all here…Dustin came back from college to see you” you choked out between moans pushing your hands into Eddie’s chest, “Sure we can Princess” was all the answer you got back.

Eddie’s fingers still exploiting your overly sensitive centre, “I’m so close, Baby. Gonna cum” you panted into Eddie’s mouth through rough open mouthed kisses. Tongues in a hot wet battle between connected lips. “Good girl” he beamed. Feeling the pleasure intensifying with every pass of Eddie’s touch of your drenched heat, the blinding pleasure gushed from your core, covering Eddie’s nibble fingers in your juices. Eddie held his fingers up to his mouth and tasted your sticky slick humming in elated glee. “Sweetheart, you taste even sweeter than usual in this outfit” he purred, diving his fingers back to your pussy to collect the nectar and back to your open mouth. He pushed the tips in your inviting mouth and grinned as you sucked the taste from his fingers, your flat tongue allowing him to push them further back in your wanting mouth, before swirling them round and hollowing your cheeks, letting them go with the loud pop.

“I need another taste, ‘tis like honey straight from the source”. Kneeling to the floor he pushed your skirt up round your waist and pushed his head under. Pushing his nose into your mound of curls and taking a deep inhale of your natural scent. “You smell like heaven Bunnie” he muttered, before pulling your panties off your ankles and hiking your leg over his shoulder, opening your pussy to his with his nudging nose and zeroing in on your clit. Looking down you met his chocolate orbs swallowed by huge black pupils, full of lust staring back into your own icy blue ones.

Digging deeper into your wet folds, his tongue going forward into your entrance, rapidly tongue fucking your pussy. Your body rippled with pleasure, the familiar coil beginning to tighten once again, more intense and quicker since he’d already beckoned one from you. As Eddie pursued his assault on your cunt, high pitched louder moans creeping from your throat with every slurp and teasing suck on your inner lips and walls. Plunging two fingers into your hole he concentrated his attention back to your tingling clit. “Edddiiiieee” you cried out “Gonna cum again”, mouth fixed in a permanent O shape. Throbbing with desire, Eddie sucked hard on the bud, pulling a booming cry from your throat. Feeling your walls tighten, Eddie upped the pace of his fingers and licked and sucked unmercifully, until the pressure in your stomach became too much and the coil snapped.

Your vision going white, eyes dancing in sparkles and your body convulsing in ecstasy, you came hard, coating your inner thighs and soaking Eddie’s face. You didn’t care that your back was all scratched from the roughness of the brick wall, your head an empty space, your only thought was Eddie. Cum drunk and coming down from your high you floated back into yourself.

Eddie’s lips crash back on yours, his chin wet with your cum, you taste your sweetness on his tongue rapidly into your luscious mouth. Not wasting a second you pushed Eddie back, spinning him, now you caging him against the bricks. “My turn big boy” you purred into Eddie’s plush, pink, wet lips.

Pulling the ends leather thong, easily undoing the fastening of Eddie’s trousers. Eddie’s bulge poking through the gapping front. Diving your soft hands under the comfortable chequered fabric of Eddie’s boxers and onto his big, girthy cock. Encasing your hand round Eddie’s throbbing member you began to move your hand up and down, along the length, fingertips tickling the tip and ball ring that sat through the end, which caused Eddie to take a sharp intake of breath between his teeth. “Fuck sweetheart” Eddie groaned and you smiled prettily, now kissing down the length of his chest. Pulling out his cock, pushing his plaid boxers under his heavy balls, you fell down onto your knees, sharp gravel and stones digging into your knees (something you might later regret, only a second thought for now!) Only burning hot lust clouding your mind instead of your grazed sore knees.

You licked a fat flat lick from the base of his cock right to the top, encircling the flushed rosy head, flicking the piercing with your tongue lightly, enclosing it with your lips before releasing him and licking back down to his balls. Taking them in your mouth and tasting Eddie’s natural aroma. “Bunnie, you must be a some kinda succubus, cause you’re fucking killing me here” Eddie choked out. Taking his full length in your mouth and hands, you felt his hands settle round your pigtails. Humming in approval you sucked up and down his sizable pulsating cock, the vibrations creating more moans and groans in approval from Eddie. Hollowing your cheeks and opening your throat, to increase the pressure on every pass, the metal grazing your closing throat. Eddie threw his head back in rapture as he chased his orgasm.

Spit dripping from either side of your red lips and dribbling down your wet chin with every bob of your head, as Eddie began you fuck your throat. Eddie’s thrusts quickly became sporadic and erratic.“Fuccccckk” Eddie came hard with a loud groan, white spurts landing in your throat, you hummed with delight, swallowing down his cum in one gulp. Sticking your tongue out playfully, showing your empty mouth, you giggled as Eddie’s dick kicked up again in arousal. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, smudging what was left of your red lipstick across your sweaty glistening face. Eddie pulled you back up to stand.

“Van. NOW.” Knees now blooded with cuts from the uneven rocky ground and pants left behind on the ground. You were hastily pulled over to the van’s back doors, tripping over your feet as you stumbled trailing behind Eddie. Eddie unlocked the doors, impatiently fumbling with his keys in the lock, once unlocked he ripped them open. “Bend over” Eddie’s voice, velvety with lust, rough hands pushed you down onto the cold metal of the van’s back step. Catching your supple stomach as you fell forward with his huge, splayed ringed hands.

Kicking your legs apart he teased his stiffened hard cock through your soaking folds, enticing another soft moan from you. Before plunging into you, inch by agonisingly blissful inch into your awaiting, inviting hole. Holding your hips in place with a bruising grip. He waited a few seconds for you to adjust to the stretch, enticing a nod from you to continue, before thrusting into your creamy wet cunt, at a merciless pace. Eddie’s cock hitting your g-spot on every thrust, the fire began to rapidly engulf your senses again, ripping through in your muscles.

“You gonna cum again, Baby?” Eddie cooed. “Hhmmmm” you hummed, losing yourself in his lustful gaze. “Yeah, cum on Daddy’s cock, I wanna feel you let go, wanna watch you come undone for Daddy” Eddie encouraged. Incoherent sounds of pleasure echoing came from you, echoing on the van walls bouncing into the night sky. After a few more thrusts, you came again, shuddering, drenching the crotch of Eddie’s pants and boxers. “Dadddyyy, I’m cumming” you whined, your legs going weak under you, causing you to fall forward, as your limbs gave way, chest now pressed down on the van floor.

Flipping you onto your back, Eddie entered you again, pushing your knees into your chest. Eddie looked down where you connected, eyes lighting up with hunger, throwing his head back, throaty moans echoing into the darkness. Eddie’s Large hands gripped your outer thighs for leverage, clenching fingers bruising your opulent doughy skin. Your legs wrapped round Eddie’s slim waist, ankles crossed, heels digging in his lower back, locking him in. Pushing him even further forward with every grunting thrust, deeper and deeper into your greedy cunt. “Fffffuuuuuuccccckkkkk” Eddie groaned, throwing his head forward, hair falling forward framing his pretty face. Your pulsating walls squelching devouring his throbbing cock.

Your eyes slammed shut as you tried to stay conscious as the intensity built again between your legs. Eddie’s cock and piercing caressing your g-spot on every impaling rut. Eddie’s thumb finding your painfully overstimulated clit. Relentlessly rubbing figures of eight into the sticky, warm flesh. “Open your eyes Princess, I wanna see your pretty face when you come undone on my cock” Eddie muttered between thrusts “best sound in the world, better than any symphony baby, better than Metallica, better than Dio, Even better than Sabbath. One day, I’m gonna record you and I’ma put it on a song and then the whole world can hear your beautiful sounds. Hear how needy you are for my cock, for your Daddy’s cock” Eddie mumbled to himself, pussy drunk.

“Uh-huh” is all you could manage in response as the coil tightened again, your walls clenching violently against Eddie’s unyielding cock. “Hold it for Daddy, I’m…real…close baby” Eddie panted out between breaths. Eddie’s thrust quickly became irregular and sloppy; you could tell he wasn’t lying. After a few more minutes, your walls were gripping him impossibly tight, choking Eddie’s cock from the inside. You could hardly hold it any longer, vision blacking out and body going numb, head swimming in euphoria.

You heard Eddie’s voice in your muggy mind. “Cum now Princess, cum for Daddy!” Letting all your stiffened muscles instantly relax, releasing all tension from your physique. You squirted, cum gushing out your soaked hole, dribbling down Eddie’s persistent spearing cock. Upon feeling your pulsating walls, rippling along the length of his cock, Eddie instantly came too. White washing your throbbing walls with his seed, your soft, warm, wet cunt milking every drop of cum out of his softening cock.

Falling forward into your chest, Eddie pulled himself out of your abused hole, causing you both to wince as the loss of contact. Dizzy love drunk smiles painted your faces. Eddie lay listening to the rhythmic beat of your heart in the comfortable silence, as you floated back to earth. “You okay there, Champ?” you chuckled as you ran your nails through Eddie’s hair, tenderly massaging his scalp with your nibble fingertips. Eddie nodded and turned to place his chin between your breasts, resting over your bunched up shirt. Breath still taken out of your lungs. High crashing and the cold air getting the better of you. You both slid back into the back of the van, Eddie closing the doors as he crawled in. Shuffling back he sat back against the seats, tucking himself back inside his damp boxers. Tapping his chest, inviting you in to cuddle, before passing you a t-shirt from the van to clean off with and a fresh bottle of water.

Wiping between your thighs you hissed from the sensitivity and joined Eddie at the back of the van. Taking a few big gulps of the refreshing water, you offered it to Eddie who did the same. Laying your head on Eddie’s chest you listened to his pounding heartbeat, decreasing in pace as he came down. A comfortable silence fell throughout the van, peaceful after the fucking you just had.

“I fucking love you Bunnie” broke the silence. You glanced up into Eddie adoring eyes, cheeks flushed with love. Smile from ear to ear. “I love you too, Eds” you smiled back. “No, I really love you, like really, really love you. You’re beautiful Bunnie, fucking beautiful in every way” Eddie said back. You kissed his lips again, this time endearingly. “You’re beautiful too, Eds, and I really, really, really love you too”.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday, right?” Eddie asked suddenly. “Yeah Ed’s” you said back confused at the strange timing of the question, “Good, I gotta get you a ring, I remember me saying something about making an honest woman outta ya, if I saw you in a cheerleading outfit…I guess Nevada isn’t that far of a drive for a weekend, right…?” he cackled obnoxiously loud. “Eddie, are you asking me to marry you?” you whispered back meekly, shyness creeping over your face. “Yeah…yeah I guess I am” Eddie smiled, placing a kiss on the crown of your head.

“Eddie, its fucking miles” you sighed smiling. “Get me a ring first and get down on one knee and we’ll talk.” Eddie beamed with joy, “You’re gonna make me the happiest man alive Princess, when you say Yes. You even gonna let me pump a few babies in ya? Let me watch you grow all big and swollen, carrying my hellspawn. You’ll look so fucking pretty. Have a few mini Munsons running around causing havoc”.

“Don’t be putting me down for six nuggets there, Harrington!” you chortled, love drunk on Eddie’s ambitions of your family together, “But sure I’d love that Munson. Me, you and some mini Munsons running around…But first let’s get back in there, I think you owe Vickie, Robin and Nancy a drink as a thank you. And I know Dustin is just dying to talk nerdy to you, compare D&D notes, he’s built a new character you know… something about a Paladin he said”. Eddie grinned as he pulled you tighter into a breathtaking hug, tucking you into his side. Resting his chin on your head ignoring the last part, “Wait! You mean Robin, Vickie & Nance were all in on this as well? You women are a devious breed” he chuckled “all plotting together against my demise!” And Dustin calls me weekly to discuss his latest campaign so I’m up to date with the D&D updates!”

Shifting in your seat you pull your shirt back down, push your tits in and bra back up, adjusting your costume to make yourself semi decent again (well as much you could be lacking your bottoms). “Plus you owe me a beer for wearing this” you counted back, laughing pointing down at your now dishevelled outfit. “What the wife wants, the wife gets!” Eddie shouted, stuffing himself back onto his pants and retying the leather thong, before butt shuffling to open the back doors. “Eddieeeee, can you grab me my shorts please, it’s fucking freezing out there!” you shouted after him, as you crawled towards the edge.

Eddie appeared moments later around the corner of the door, your tiny shorts dangling from his index finger. “Hand them over Munson!” you pleaded, as you sat on your knees, arms folded, hiking your breasts up under your chin, bottom lip sticking out like an upset toddler. “Come get ‘em” Eddie smirked cruelly, turning heel darting back inside. Eye rolling you scrambled to the back bumper exiting the van, slamming the doors shut.

A biting breeze brushed under your wickedly minuscule skirt, passed your soaked folds and moist, sticky thighs, causing you to shudder. You began to run, back to the door Eddie had left open in his haste earlier. The fabric kicked up with the movement of your soft thighs revealing all as you chased after Eddie, your panties now stuffed in his back pocket. “Give them back Edward Munson!” you bellowed, running through the door after him as he disappeared into the crowd. Gareth, Jeff and Kevin howling, sharing a knowing glance as they caught a glimpse of your ample buttocks, no panties in sight as you dashed past.

🖤❤️Thanks for reading! xoxo

Here’s a extra gift for you below cause you got to the end!

[vampiric-succulent]

OUAW EP 20:

It’s not even past the bean footage yet and already I have a thing to comment about—

“Hey. Keep working. Keep your hands down.” Idk if it’s just Mace or if it’s me but this is an interesting thing to start the episode with

Also I lowkey already watched this but considering that I wasn’t really paying attention due to Sleep im rewatching

Oh this is the Silly Goofy episode. Got it.

Watching this is so different now that I know how tall each of these people actually are in real life

“Mr Kremyyyyy….. Torbek had a nightmaaaare………..” torb <3

Hot jones?

Why is Mikey using the King Shmebulon voice

Oh the energy here is so weird today

NEXT YOURE GONNA TELL TORBEK THAT A SHRIMP FRIED THAT RICE and they’re gone

The improv shenanigans here are SO GOOD— “the wee hours” watches and the blue J and the bottle of something

HOT JONES!!!

“There was that guy and he was like… woah.” Bi Gricko!!!! “Why you always watching these kingly types and looking at their woah?” Lmfao Gideon you are no better

Degenerate Jones

TABAXI TORBEK and eughhh Mammon Tiefling Gricko (applying for all Mammon Tiefling Gricko)

I love how Kremy is super paranoid thinks everyone is out to get him but still immediately tells Gideon everything (I need to see Gideon do some sort of something back bc coalecroux is feeling increasingly one sided and it is making me sad)

“Torbek was happy with the infinite abyss”

THE FEDS

Poor Twig she went from dealing with absolute loneliness to dealing with all this bullshit. She needs to have the space to Bogart out a little bit like get this woman a destruction room

Twig 🤝 Torbek

coping mechanisms

Gideon has such older brother who acts like a father figure to Twig vibes

THE FEDS THEYRE IN THE CLOTHES

Torbek is simply following suit… following the suit to the ground lmfao

PENIS NOSE?????? HOW IS THAT AN OPTION

Gideon is overwhelmed by Penis im sorry

This is just reminding me of when Frost got the proud nudist curse and Derek made that slapping turn joke 😭

Obligatory “im walkin here” please stop

Nvm we have the coalecroux and also poly party affirmations (long shots and headcanons)

OH!!! Woah there Kremy

“Think of the Federal government!” Quick Gid take your clothes off!! The government!!!

OH NO THE ORCIFICATION

NO THE FUCKING CABINET

DEREK. DEREK WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT DEREK WE COULD HAVE NEVER GONE DOWN THAT ROAD

Love Torbek’s Spring Aladrin voice. It’s like some sort of old English aristocratic friend of Oscar Wilde.

Oop! Theseus’s Ship mentioned (kind of)

“Did we do a bunch of drugs before bed again?” Funny you should have asked that Gideon given what is now happening

“Tentacles probe me” “yes Gideon join us the time is now get naked”

WHY IS IT ERECT NOW DEREK. PUT THAT DOWN. “Something about beekeeper helmets…” HUH

Oh god Twig is gonna bogart out

PUT IT DOWN. PUT THAT THING DOWN AND AWAY.

“STOP BEING ERECT. STOP EATING MY BONES”

Love how Nikkie says “your mind is back to Gricko” and Mikey just starts screaming

Whoops!

It is so impressive how Twig is so controlled. Like she has every justification to absolutely freak out right now and she’s keeping calm and trying to manage things.

Thank god Hootsie is out of this lol

NO TWIG LOOK AWAY

“Torbek was *very* thorough.”

Okay seriously how old is Twig?? This is a very important question. Like REALLY important.

I’m imagining Spring Aladrin Torbek lying on a couch like he’s gonna say “draw me like one of your French girls”

Guys. Please. We are nearly halfway through this video. Please.

YES CAST SILENCE. HUSH MICHAEL.

No Twig it’s not your fault!!!!!!! No!!!!!!!!!!!

Not the Pennsylvanian sperm trees

“After what I’ve watched today I don’t think you’ll accomplish anything of value.”

Not the milk joke PLEASE y’all not the cilk

Frost is so sweet tho

No more Hot Joneses :(

Yesss Twig establish those boundaries!!!!

Tom is such a deep cut

Okay so Twig is at least 200 years old. Good. That’s really good. Good to know.

Grinko is having a stronk. Please call the Gronkulance.

WHAT HAPPENED TO HOOTSIE.

Omg she’s their niece!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But also HOLY FUCK HE HIT HER??? WITH A CABINET????????

“Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.”

Menasith, and their older sibling Menapauthe.

The Glowing Anus 😭

Oh this is Nikkie’s fault. Fantastic.

MORNING FROTH CONGRATULATIONS EVERYONE

“That’s very funny Gricko. Your daughter is possibly bleeding out.”

Ohhhh Hootsie’s okay thank god

Gricko however is really not

Okay so I know this is a fantasy campaign and we are in the literal Feywild so this like kind of doesn’t matter but how does Gideon get energy??? Does he need to absorb nutrients or is it just sort of as long as he keeps his internal furnace alive he’s okay?

Twig boundaries 100 with regards to Torbek but fully get the party’s concerns

Also Twigsy ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Not Gricko being hypnotized by Spring Aladrin Torbek’s hip sway

Torbek does not know but Torbek must dance!!!!

Oh Torbek’s ticket is so sad

“This is an Acorn Satchel!!!”

Mikey annoying Nikkie so much that she just takes things away

Frost getting jealous over the Gricko impression 😭❤️

What is a mud meffet?????

I love Andy so much. Oh he’s wonderful. So glad he’s here.

KLUTZY RETURNS for like two seconds

Love these guys. Oh my lord. Also what the fuck happened in the first like hour???? Still a fun little episode.

[wordbunch]

SFW alphabet: Isildur

a/n: partially requested by @queenmeriadoc and mostly written very self-indulgently for me cause i love this chaotic boy and i miss him!!! i hope you enjoy, and be so kind to let me know in comments/reblogs <3 this is literally for me and like 3 more ppl, but it is the last thing in my drafts which have to be cleared out before i start with new things ehehe

A = AFFECTION (how affectionate are they and how do they show affection?) Moderately affectionate, usually in teasing and playful ways, when you two are around others. If he notices someone looking at you a bit too much for his liking, an arm around you is obligatory! Behind your four walls, he is soaking up every touch and kiss that you give him, and sometimes he will be borderline annoying with how much he loves to have you physically close.

B = BEST FRIEND (what would they be like as a best friend and how would the friendship start?) Pretty cool, except sometimes flaky. But he would always enthusiastically try to make up for everything he missed, and he would always have an adventure up his sleeve!

C = CUDDLES (do they like to cuddle & how?) Don’t tell his friends, but he is an absolute cuddle bug! As soon as you’re alone, he will all but glue himself to you, and complain when you want to get up - he is willing to sacrifice food in favor of constant skin-to-skin contact with his stunning partner. All cuddling positions are good cuddling positions, but especially the ones where he can relentlessly shower you with kisses.

D = DOMESTIC (do they want to settle down; how are they at cooking/cleaning?) Somewhere down the road, he’d like to settle down with you, but right now you’re young, wild and free! He is sort of a mess, and he can be a bit lazy around the house, but just make an enticing promise of a reward for his help, and he’ll be up and running to do whatever you need him to.

E = ENCHANTED (what was their first opinion/feeling about you when you just met?) Oh he was smug, and very flirty when he first approached you, not necessarily ‘cause he immediately liked you, but because he wanted to show off in front of others, and be flirted back with. He most definitely found you attractive, but if you responded with a sarcastically flirty comment, he’d get the most gigantic crush right then and there. Before you knew it, he was wrapped around your pinky finger.

F = FIANCE(E) (how do they feel about commitment; how quickly would they want to get married?) Somewhere down the road for sure, but he needs his 'young, wild and free' time. But also having a sleepover with your best friend for the rest of your lives sounds pretty enticing... I wouldn't put it past him to want to just randomly elope somewhere and go on a boat journey as a honeymoon! Also once you two are officially a couple, he will only have eyes on you and definitely be a tiny bit possessive.

G = GENTLE (how gentle are they, physically and emotionally?) Regarding this... he is a complicated one. He can surely be a bit rough, and always is to his friends (of course in a loving way), but for you he tries to learn to be gentle and sweet in every way. It's actually super cute!

H = HUGS (do they like hugs, how often, what are they like?) He will absolutely give you surprise hugs and hugs from behind, and the hugs where he picks you up and makes you laugh, so it's mostly playful hugs with this boy. Except if he's feeling down about something, then he will instinctively look for your touch and warmth. He's almost neutral towards hugs on everyday basis but he's absolutely not going to say no. However, in private he prefers to go all in and at least have a cuddle session.

I = I LOVE YOU (how fast they say the L-word) It takes him some time for sure, but I feel like he'd blurt it out in some random moment, and he'd most definitely be staring at you like the most lovesick puppy as you do something or just talk, and maybe he would say it quietly at first so you'd have to double-check - he was surprisingly shy about it! But all is well when you say it back, and he can't get enough of hearing it.

J = JEALOUSY (how jealous do they get and how they act then) He is fiery and quite impulsive still, and also very aware that you’re very attractive, so he tends to get quite jealous quite often. As soon as someone is giving you unwanted attention, he is there with a snarky comment and a slender arm sneaking around your waist tightly. He will side-eye the person while subtly checking over you to see if you’re alright. In those moments you will try to suppress laughter, because he looks so cute when he tries to act all manly and big. Maybe later you tease him for it a little bit.

K = KISSES (what are their kisses like, where do they like to kiss you/be kissed?) Unpredictable and sometimes desperate, like kissing you is air that he needs to survive. He will grab your face with both his hands and smush his lips (and half his face) against yours until both of you need to pull away for oxygen, it’s kinda funny but also super sweet, and one of the ways he shows you that he’s absolutely smitten with you. He is the biggest fan of kisses on the lips, 

L = LOVE LANGUAGE (what is their love language and how they show you love) Physical touch is definitely up there, and maybe quality time. He is quite touchy-feely with you, especially in private, and he will gladly ditch anyone and anything to have more of that with you. Something that shows he’s very thoughtful is the way he plans little dates and outings for the two of you, on normal days as well as more special ones.

M = MORNINGS (how are mornings spent with them) Usually he’s active and energetic, and he can run on not too much sleep, but once he gets addicted to falling asleep while cuddling you, and waking up by your side, his sleeping hours get a bit longer, and his mornings a little bit slower and lazier. It’s also in the mornings when he’s the most quiet and just enjoys your presence and warmth.

N = NIGHT (how are nights spent with them) This boy loves to be outside on chilly starry nights!! His absolute favorite thing to do with you in the evenings would be to walk around the city and share a couple of drinks, maybe socialize with your friends, but after that he must steal you away and go either for a night boat ride under the stars, or a night swim - or both!

O = OPEN (when would they start revealing things about themselves; everything at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?) On the one hand, Isildur wants to pretend he’s this mysterious I-can-get-anyone type of guy, but the real truth is… you look at him with a head tilt and ask him about something, and he will crumble and say everything at once. He can be influenced by you big time.

P = PATIENCE (how easily angered are they?) Young Isildur can be feisty, that’s for sure, and he tends to get annoyed by some relatively trivial things sometimes, but most of the time there’s no use trying to rationalize with him over them while he’s upset - rather just let him air it out and get over it, maybe he’ll go horse riding or have a short swim to cool down, and then he’ll come to you like a pouty baby.

Q = QUIZZES (how much would they remember about you – every little detail you mention in passing or do they kind of forget most things?) Not every little detail for sure, he’s somewhere in the middle of the spectrum. Sometimes you’ll be surprised by the fact that he’d remember something very tiny and almost insignificant, but ended up forgetting something that was a bigger deal. 

R = REMEMBER (favorite moment in your relationship) The lead-up to his favorite moment wasn't sweet in the slightest - a man who'd had too many drinks in a tavern was making suggestive comments about you, and Isildur most definitely wasn't going to let that slide; his impulses got the best of them and he ended up getting into a fight. When you finally pulled him away from it, it was time to bandage him up, and it made him feel really loved. It was so worth it to go through the fight to defend his beloved, and then afterwards receive your affection and care and lots and lots of kisses to cure the pain.

S = SECURITY (how protective are they; how they'd like to be protected and how they protect you) In theory, he's definitely going to be like 'my partner is so badass and doesn't need my help and defense' but in practice... all it takes is someone's weird look towards you for him to be running to your side. Sometimes he's definitely partial to taking it too far and then you have to step in and calm him down a little. However, he's not the biggest fan of you acting protective over him publicly - he isn't going to stop you or tell you anything, but it's going to make him feel insecure and insufficient in a way. That's something the two of you work on.

T = TRY (how much effort do they put into dates, gifts, anniversaries, everyday stuff) Okay so, he is secretly convinced that you can do better and fall in love with someone better than him (you wouldn't tho), so he's going to do anything in his power for you to stay with him for good, which includes sometimes too elaborate date or anniversary plans. Once you catch on, you have to push a little bit to get to the bottom of it, but eventually you reassure him that he doesn't have to have every detail figured out - it's okay to go with the flow on more special days as well, if some things don't work out perfectly!

U = UGLY (some bad habits of theirs) He can be messy and chaotic, he doesn’t spend much time inside so his room is not in the best of states. He usually just runs inside to grab or leave something, and late in the night crashes in the bed which, you guessed it, was unmade all day.

V = VANITY (how concerned are they with their looks?) Not too concerned, he knows he looks good without putting too much effort in, so why should he? Except for when you two have something special planned, then he’s going to try his best, and if you compliment him he will absolutely burn on the inside!

W = WISH (something that they really want to do/experience with you?) He wants to go sailing with you on a very early morning, when it’s still dark outside and the sun is only beginning to rise - the colors look beautiful reflected on the water, everything is quiet and the air is misty and fresh, the water is basically perfectly calm. He is planning to use that date idea for a birthday surprise for you, and that might even be how he’d like to propose.

X = XTRA (a random headcanon for them) While he is relatively self-confident, and doesn’t have too much trouble approaching anyone he deems interesting or attractive, he will become an absolute flustered stuttering mess if he gets approached first, especially if the person approaching him is immediately flattering or flirty to him!

Y = YUCK (what are some things they dislike generally or in a partner?) Isildur hates being bored and passive, except on the days when he really wants to just be lazy, so he would prefer a partner who is also relatively active in their everyday life.

Z = ZZZ (a sleep habit of theirs) He is a very restless sleeper and he tosses and turns quite a lot, and ranges anywhere between throwing the blanket on the floor in his sleep and wrapping himself in it and being a complete blanket hogger. 

-

💕 taglist my beloved @lotrnonsense​ @starlady66​ @queenmeriadoc​ @thesolarangel​ @averys-place​ @valkyriepirate​ @noldorinpainter​ @asianbutnotjapanese​ @fenharel-enaste​ @starryeyedrogue​ @lady-of-imladris​ @suncran @asianbutnoteastasian @moth-makay @bubbleyukismile @herstudios💕

[gemsofgreece]

Hi!

I saw this amphora for the first time today when I was researching things about Helen of Sparta as a reference for drawing her. From what I saw, the woman is Helen and this art is dated 550 BC. I thought what she was wearing was really beautiful, so I looked up the name of this outfit so I could draw it better.

I got the impression that it's a peplos from the images I saw (in particular, these Kore statues are kind of similar because of the patterns: 1, 2, 3. And the shape reminds me of that) and because of the year of the amphora (I read that apparently peplos was popular around the same time), but I'm not sure. Also, is that veil that Helen wears a specific piece of clothing? The only similar thing I've seen referring to clothing in Greek visual arts is himation, but I also don't know if it's one because I haven't found a himation being used specifically in that way (the ones I saw seemed more involved around the body/head).

Do you (or anyone in the comments) know if it's a peplos? If it isn't a peplos, do you/anyone know what it is? And what is this veil, it's a himation?

Hi, I am pretty sure Helen’s outfit is indeed a peplos. You can also tell from how the fabric bulges on the torso.

As for the veil, yeah, I don’t think it’s a himation (it still might be though). It’s little known that occasionally Ancient Greek women did wear a veil, which was called καλύπτρα (kalyptra). A kalyptra was usually used by a matron, a dignified older married woman, likely an aristocrat, and in general the lady of the household. It was associated with propriety and the avoidance of unwanted advances.

Helen, as a married queen in the presence of several men as we see in this amphora, is totally eligible as a woman who would have a kalyptra on. It might also be the artist’s attempt to redeem Helen and in this way abdicate her of any responsibility when she was forced to leave Menelaus for Paris.

A kalyptra was a thing, though not as obligatory or paramount a garment as a veil was in Rome or in the Eastern cultures. The reason we probably don’t see it often in statuary is that Greek sculpture depicted mostly youth and the human body. Young unmarried girls wouldn’t wear such garments.

Here you can see the differences with himation. Himation was a thicker fabric, used for warmth. When cold, it could double as both a himation and a kalyptra. The thin fabric the woman with the chiton in the middle is holding could be a kalyptra.

Not an expert though, so if anyone else has more info about this, please share.

[bunting27]

obligatory 12 from the fluff prompts with huggy bear pleasee (yay for 100!!! your writing is so good!)

go out with you ✏︎ q. hughes

bunting27's 100 follower celly !

a/n: thank you all for the congrats in my asks <33

prompts: "your hugs are nice"

wc: 0.7k

taglist: @kenanlotus0 @sidcrosbyspuck

✏︎

maybe it would have been a good idea for her to look up before clinging onto the person who had answered the door for her, seeing as elias wasn’t the only person who lived here, and she hadn’t even texted him that she was coming, much less that she was on her way.

she didn’t do that, however, which is why she was now in a bone crushing hug with quinn hughes, and not elias pettersson. quinn was endlessly confused, elias wasn’t home and he usually told him when she was coming. she hadn’t even noticed she was hugging the wrong guy until she took a deep breath and inhaled his cologne.

“why are you wearing a different- you are not elias,” her eyes went wide and her face grew red, but she never pulled away from him, not moving a muscle.

“no, i am not elias.” he blinked rapidly, arms around her instinctively. they had never really talked to one another. quinn was very reserved and he never wanted to butt in whenever she was over, since that was time for her and elias to spend together. 

she never initiated anything, either, because she would die before asking her best friend about his (cute) roommate, knowing elias would immediately clock that she wasn’t just asking for no reason.

“is he here?” quinn shook his head slowly, the two of them still clung to each other rather awkwardly. 

“he never told me you were coming, either. is he expecting you?” she shook her head as well, trying to figure out whether or not she should pull back and pretend this never happened.

“no, i ran here. i was looking for something at the mall down the main road and when i came out to my car that weird dude from the bar the other night was just standing there. i was gonna ask him to come with me and get it. do you- your hugs are nice.. do you know when he’ll be back?” she let it all out in one breath, the comment about his hugs coming out entirely by accident.

she blushed, and he shook his head slightly, a small smile on his face as he hugged her properly. she relaxed against his chest and sighed, trying to get her breath back both from running here and from trying to explain herself.

“uh, thanks? i can go out with you, if you want. i mean- go get it with you, the car..” it was his turn to go red, his arms finally dropping from their place around her waist so he could run his hands through his hair.

“you don’t need to, i mean, i don’t need to be anywhere, right now, unless you want me to leave, then yeah, please-” quinn shook his head, ready to spew out random words that were not at all cohesive in an attempt to tell her that she could stay as long as she liked, but he was cut off.

“if you two don’t pull it together and go out soon i might just actually physically push your heads together, like-” it was elias, punctuating his sentence by taking his hands and pretending to push their faces into one another for a kiss. y/n jumped when she heard him, staring at him with wide eyes.

quinn looked like he’d just been caught underage drinking by his mom, and once elias was done making fun of them, he leaned against the doorway that had been left open with a smile.

“did you hear what i said or are you just gonna keep staring at me like that?” quinn glared at him, feeling very called out, and y/n was still just looking at him, alarmed.

“i’m just saying, do you need me to go? or- okay! okay, leaving,” elias laughed at quinn, who’s glare got more and more intense as his friend kept talking. once elias was out of the room, quinn looked down at y/n.

“...maybe we can get your car after dinner and a movie?” she smiled 

“the theatre with the frozen yogurt?” he ran his hands through her hair and hugged her again, grinning.

“anything you want”

[frozenjokes]

I support all of his wrongs (he’s never done a right in his entire life)

obligatory fic snippet time, find the rest in my pinned post

the kestrels will absolutely believe scar when he tells them he isn’t haunted. why would he lie.

***

“I guess I don’t have a choice then,” Scar frowned, risking a glance back. He was expecting the ghosts to be there, but not directly behind him, hanging over his head. Scar couldn’t stifle his own startled gasp, turning stiffly back around. Hopefully no one saw that. Based on the way everyone was staring, they absolutely did. Oh boy.

“Alright!” Sausage clapped, drawing the room’s attention back to him, “If you haven’t already guessed Scar, this is about your.. hm.. Let’s say your attitude when the topic of the paranormal surfaces. I think I can speak for all of us when I say we- especially after recent events- are concerned. Don’t you think that’s fair?”

Yeesh. This was going to be a shit show. “Okay, yeah, I understand where you guys are coming from. I know weird stuff happens around me a lot, and I know everyone likes to joke around, but you’re looking too deep into things. That’s all.”

“Well, we don’t feel that way.”

“Blunt.”

“You need to hear it, Scar, so take this seriously. And we want to help you if we can, so just give this a chance. I’m going to start, and we can all go in a circle and share times where we feel that your, or our lives have been endangered. I’ll go first! I will not lie, I did not appreciate you pulling your sword on me when I tried to take the ouija board away. Clearly, at least to me, whatever happened with the screaming event was connected, and I’m honestly quite concerned you want to keep something that dangerous around.”

“Alright, that wasn’t my best moment, and I am sorry, but I don’t think you have any right to touch my stuff.” Scar was ready to start tearing out his hair. Grian seemed awfully bold today, floating forward to laugh in his face. Pearl joined him, flicking her fingers in Scar’s face to try and get him to flinch. His frown only deepened.

“Me next?” Kyle pointed to himself, and began on Sausage’s nod, “Well, the big thing is the first ouija board incident. That was crazy. Those scratches weren’t deep, but I think they’re going to scar. But it isn’t even just that- it’s also how freaked out you were about it, before and after. You knew! And I don’t blame you for the fact that it happened, you warned me and I didn’t listen, but if you really don’t believe in anything paranormal, what’s with the edginess?”

Scar opened his mouth to respond, but was distracted by Impulse floating across the circle, using some unknown momentum to do little flips in the air. Scar closed his eyes. “No comment.”

“Okay, well my turn!” Oli started, puffing out his chest, “Now I know you tell me whenever you see me to mind the noise, or don’t think too hard about, or whatever, but gosh Scar, you are so loud in that room of yours! And I get it, everyone talks to themself from time to time, so I wouldn’t have said anything if I hadn’t heard who you were talking to! I mean, you even call them by names! The night you had your, for lack of a better word, seizure, you were talking to a Grian! And then there was another night where you were talking to someone else!

screenshot in doodle page is a direct continuation, the rest of it needs more context so it’s not here

***

[sidekick-hero]

✨ fic writing review 2023 ✨

tagged by my homies (and as always fashionably late to the party): @judasofsuburbia @steddieas-shegoes @steddieasitgoes and @thefreakandthehair 💜💜💜💜

rules: Feel free to show whatever stats you have. Only want to show Ao3 stats? Rock on. Want to include some quantitative info instead of stats? Please do this. Want to change how yours is presented? Absolutely do that. Would rather eat glass than do this? Please don’t eat glass but don’t feel like you have to do this either.

words & fics

263,365 words published

40 fics published

Finished 3 multi-chaptered fics

top 5 fics by kudos

You know I'm a show off (I would let you get some): Pure, self-indulgent smut. My love letter to Steve Harrington's, well, everything. He's a goddamn tease in this and Eddie is along for the ride. Quite literally.

Louder: While laying in bed, the two of them can't help but overhear their upstairs neighbors going at it rather loudly. Eddie turns to Steve after a while, and asks, You wanna fuck louder than them to establish dominance? And that they do.

I’m tired of asking to settle the debt: my first ever steddie fic, written for Lex first seasonal challenge. 5 times Eddie warms Steve's hands and that one time Steve returns the favor.

Run Boy Run: Another self-indulgent smutty piece. I'm a passionate runner, and so is Steve in this one. Turns out, he had been running towards Eddie all along.

 Will you cleanse me with pleasure?: The obligatory monsterfucker, pardon me, monster love making fic. Eddie is a lake monster with way more appandages than Steve can handle. Or can he? 

fandom fic events in 2023

@thefreakandthehair's holiday challenge (2022) but finished 2023: I’m tired of asking to settle the debt

lex's spring challenge: Catch me like the falling rain

Steddie Big Bang with @legitcookie: Suitcase of Memories

Kinktober: we tangle endlessly like lovers entwined (also Eddiemonth), on the tip of my tongue, on top of my thighs, tell me it's love, tell me it's real and wear me like a locket around your throat (last two with @yournowheregirl)

steddiemas and steddieholidaydrabbles: I want you to want me,  let the impulse to love and the instinct to kill entangle to one, we were meant to be (we live happily in my fantasy) and  tangled with what I never said

lex's winter challenge (upcoming)

STuad fic exchange (upcoming)

Reverse Big Bang (upcoming)

continuing wips into 2024

The next chapter of hold me close (I’m shaking apart) in which Steve asks Eddie if he wants to experiment. Eddie wants so much more, but he takes what he can get and tries to not let it break his heart.

Pickup Note, a collab with @thefreakandthehair and @firefly-party about Steve joining Corred Coffin as a sub drummer. Inspired by Kei's fanart HERE and HERE.

Dear Future Self: Eddie is in love with Steve, who has become a fast friend after saving the world together but he's too afraid to make a move. Good thing his future self decides to help things along.

Take your time (I wanna cross some lines): Steve wants to try something new: getting used by strangers. He asks his best friend Eddie to watch over him while he's doing that so he can feel safe. But who watches over Eddie's heart?

History throws its shadow over the beginning: B-side to @legitcookie and my very first collab, I wore his jacket for the longest time. It's the same story, but told from Eddie's POV.

Closing Time with @legitcookie: After the worst date in a long while, Steve decides to take home the cute bartender who cheered him up.

Stranger Things Reverse Big Bang

tagging (with ZERO pressure): @legitcookie @yournowheregirl @starrystevie @scarcrossdlvrs, @henderdads, @stevethehairington, @starryeyedjanai, @cranberrymoons, @steddielations, @maxinemaxmayfield

Thank you to everyone who read my stuff and let me feel loved and cherished by liking, reblogging and commenting on them. It's been such a wonderful experience to be part of this fandom and I wouldn't want to miss it in the world. Here's to hoping for many more fics to come in 2024 💜🥰

[chaosnojutsu]

good morning!! I see your backstory ask post and I would love to hear more about the bridgerton AU or extraordinary love!! Whatever you want to say about them. they are faves of mine!! ❤️ thank youuuuuuu

You get both as I try to decide if I can swing something for Shikatema month and prep for Nejiten month! Perfect timing, I actually just re-read these two last night looking for inspiration!

ask about the backstory for one of my fics!

send shivers down my spines: I wrote all the Nejiten story and separately wrote all of Lady Whistledown as one cohesive letter, and then decided where I wanted to place each of her gossipy interjections. That was neat to explore as a writing device because I had room to expand upon the world and add a little more flavor (like detailing Naruhina’s relationship and my obligatory background Shikatema mention) without feeling like I had to do it all from Tenten’s POV, which would have detracted from the core of this story: Tenten being horny for Neji.

Another fun part of writing this was casting what role each character would play! Coding Neji as Simon was easy — deciding to split Daphne between Tenten and Hinata then seemed natural; the premise of having sex in the library comes from Daphne and Simon, but it felt disingenuous to her character for Tenten to be the diamond of the season. My personal favorite analog is Tsunade and Queen Charlotte, which also felt like a duh decision given their roles in society, but I liked the nod to Tenten wanting to impress Tsunade.

I solemnly swear to never refer to Tenten’s junk as “nethers” again lmao. I usually can’t stand that one, but it felt appropriate for the piece. And I can’t talk about this fic without bringing up the dom Neji agenda! Who’s going to tell the head of the house he can’t give head anywhere he wants in his house?? Definitely not Tenten, and apparently not any of their house staff. I’ve spent some time considering what a dom Neji might look like since your initial comment on the fic, so he might make a stronger appearance in another work — yay and thanks for putting the bug in my ear!

extraordinary love: “Temari knows damn well why a stupid social construct like her nonexistent virginity matters. Back in the day of arranged marriages, the whole thing was more of a business deal. The wannabe groom would have to pay more to his bride’s family in exchange for her hand in marriage if she was pure. Virgin brides from influential families were high dollar items. Temari’s family is influential enough. But now that the matter of virginity is off the table… this barter is looking more like the Sand seeking retribution against the Leaf than tit for tat. If her marriage is blessed, they’ll probably stipulate Shikamaru move to Suna instead of the opposite, which is not what Temari and Shikamaru decided on. In the most drastic worst case scenario, like Kankuro said, their engagement (or the knowledge that said engagement has been consummated on a number of occasions) might be seen as an act of war. They’ll stick Shikamaru’s stupid, handsome face in a bingo book with shoot to kill orders.”

This premise is the heartbeat of the story. What does it look like when your personal values don’t align with those of everyone else around you? How do we respond when well-intended people stick their nose in our business and give an opinion we never asked for? Combined with fan theories/headcanons that Shikadai was a pre-wedding pregnancy — and that’s an interesting concept to me, especially considering what that might have looked like for Temari and Shikamaru if they were still long distance or abruptly decided not to be (and the parallel to Mirai and Kurenai and Asuma, of course, which I didn’t hit in this story because Temari wasn’t actually pregnant) — everything fell into place.

Making the call to write from Temari’s POV was exciting but scary because she’s so Particular, you know? But this story needed to come from her because of what it is, and it’s about Temari’s agency: she gets to decide who she marries, and whose baby she has, and she gets to decide when those things happen. And then I got to actually write her being in love (which I’m eager to try again), and I love the energy of Temari being like “Look how impressive my fiancé is! I made a good choice! I’m trying really hard to make you approve of him!” and Shikamaru being like “Yeah, what she said!” Because Shikamaru understands that as far as Suna’s customs and culture go, he doesn’t have a dog in that race, he IS Temari’s underdog in the race.

I’m honestly proud of this fic because I know I just made it sound really serious in terms of themes etc., but it ultimately is a comedy, and anyone who has ever done comedy can speak to how difficult of a skill it is to learn and hone. One of the things that makes comedy work well is that the characters have to take everything seriously and respond sincerely, now matter how ridiculous or grandiose their circumstances or responses may be. Temari even says from the beginning of this story that she knows she has the Kazekage on her side, but she panics a little because of her circumstances and takes matters into her own hands, and she doesn’t relinquish that control until shenanigans have ensued and Gaara finally reminds his sister that his support of her was never in question. (I’m not sure how I feel about my iterations of Gaara and Kankuro individually or overall, but I do like their scenes with Temari as siblings and their consistency.)

Side note: the reception of this story gave me the confidence to write chapter 15 of Reliance the way it panned out!

(also, I’m late, what’s new, lesbian nejiten is coming i promise)