#and making it this far probably implies you’ve found some sort of way to make ends meet

[yak-leather-whips]

False, from personal experience, ages 20-23 has mainly been characterized by repeated chantings of “I just have to make it through my 20s. Everything sucks in your 20s. I just have to make it through my 20s.”

getting older as a kid is like yippee!! wahoo yay!! but then immediately as u enter ur early twenties ur like whoa lol hold on wait wait hold upa minute stop

[moreespressoformydepresso]

What are your honest thoughts on all Descendants boys? From both books and movies?

Oehh that’s a good question! I’ll base most of this off of the movies because I remember them more clearly. Sorry this is so late, I needed some time to sort out my thoughts. Let’s see:

Ben: cutie, golden retriever energy, needs to grow a bit more of a spine but as a recovering doormat I vibe with him.

He’s got a good heart, and he’s definitely going places, but I have no idea who decided a 16-year-old should be king. Hilariously, he’s a better king than his dad because he cares about all of his people, not just the “heroes”. But still, he’s 16, let him have his dumbass teenage years. He’s still in his phase of wanting to please everyone and that isn’t gonna lead to the best decision making. You’re king, Ben, you can overrule your girlfriend’s selfish idiotic plan of closing the barrier. Just tell her “the barrier was opened for you to come through too. If those kids aren’t worth the risk, does that mean you aren’t either? Should we throw you back?!” And she’s change her tune real fast. You gotta give some tough love sometimes.

Jay: cool, I wanna know his gym routine, pretty funny but rash, needs Carlos to temper his brand of crazy (love their bromance).

I love the narrative parallels to the movie Aladdin. Jafar thought himself so far above a street rat and now he’s raised his son to be one so he can continue being a con-man. In the movies, Jay is actually a very accurate representation of your upbringing shaping you into who you are. All Jay knows is stealing, he’s never been taught to pay if he doesn’t have to, so to him stealing’s perfectly fine. It’s normal. It’s a lot more subtle than the whole “who doesn’t like being evil” bit, but the core idea is the same: when all you’ve ever known is one perspective, that’s gonna feel like the objective truth because you’ve never had a chance to try a different one.

Carlos De Vil: Best (movie) Boy, my baby, I love him. What a little nerd (affectionate).

He’s a big part of why I willfully ignore the absolute stupidity that is the third movie’s ending. I’m sorry Mal, wtf is wrong with you??? You set your supposed friend’s abuser free for nothing but some empty platitudes and dare suggest you’ve become an empathetic person?!?! In the books, we get a lot more insight into just how horrible of a mother Cruella is, but even in the movies we see he’s had it bad because of how jumpy and nervous he is. Disney is still Disney so we don’t get much of the healing process, but we see how he calms down and adjusts to a normal life over the course of the movies when he’s out of the bad situation, which is pretty good by Disney standards. Cameron Boyce did an amazing job playing him (R.I.P Cameron) and seeing an abuse victim get comfortable within their own skin and getting the happy ending they deserve is always fun.

Harry Hook: Insane (affectionate), most fashionable drama queen ever, absolutely crazy, more than a few screws loose but in the best way possible, he’s hilarious.

So on the surface, Harry’s pretty simple. A dude who’s lost his marbles and flirts with everyone. He probably has some kind of moral compass, since he didn’t rip Mal’s throat out with his hook when she revealed her little stunt in D3, but it fell overboard at some point and couldn’t be found so nobody knows what it is except Harry himself. Also, he has his sane moments, like during that same confrontation in D3 I mentioned before where he says “And you, King Benny... you're probably gonna throw us all back inside.” It’s the first time I’ve heard him sound… not like Harry. It’s sombre and defeated, a little disappointed maybe? Either way it’s really good acting and it implies he can act completely “normal” but he just chooses not to, which makes me like him even more. He’s just a dude living his best life despite the circumstances he was born into.

Gil: adorable, hilarious, kinda clueless but in a good way.

I love characters that have no idea what’s going on half the time but are absolute sweethearts trying their best. He’s like- the opposite of his dad in every way and I’m living for it!

Gaston Jr and Gaston the third: I don’t have much to say on them, let alone separately, so they get a section together.

Honestly? I don’t remember having an opinion of them. They made Evie happy by wresting, which is cool so they get points for that. Seem like they’re trying to out-gentleman each other to win Evie’s heart and since they’re not being creepy assholes about it they are objectively better than their dad. Very much brawl over brains, the two of them, with their constant wrestling reminding me of Carlos and Jay except they’re both the muscle. Kinda cute sibling relationship, even if it’s in a VK-typical villain-flavored way.

Anthony Tremaine: squeeeee, my type is pretty boys who sigh in annoyance at everything, I guess? We only get scraps but I happily cradle them to my chest.

Uhmmm so Anthony’s personality is mostly up for imagination? The only canon information we have is that he’s most likely Anastasia’s only kid (someone on Tumblr pointed out that, in the scene with the wicked step-daughters, he’s referred to only as their cousin, not their brother) and he’s very bored with his cousins’ antics. Given A Twist In Time the potential drama is endless. Every time Anthony’s mentioned we’re reminded he’s pretty and has good style, and I love that for him. Dude lives on an isle of junk and still looks like a supermodel. Lots of room for my own ideas while still remaining within the realm of “could be canon” with just enough base in there that I’m not just creating an OC, and as a writer and artist that’s all I need tbh.

Hadie: cute, deserves better, I need more of him and Mal bonding

Mal’s half-brother, son of Hades, very cool. I like that he’s trying to turn good and having a hard time, because that’s very realistic for someone who grew up not knowing anything other than evil. Descendants 2 tried to tackle it with Mal, but failed miserably. We know Hades sucks as a parent in descendants (neglect is abuse) so that’s not gonna help him.

Dough: Awww he’s so cute with Evie 🥺

No really that’s it. He’s a nerd that gets the girl, has some very funny moments, but honestly most of his character is centered around Evie? And they’re cute together it’s not a bad thing but there isn’t much to analyze. He’s understandably pissed about someone like Chad getting all the girls while using them, but that’s also only ever seen in relation to Evie.

Chad Charming: what a bitch (derogatory), total coward, I hate him but he’s funny.

So I have no issue with characters who conduct themselves terribly (I love Audrey, (fanon) Anthony, Uma, and many others from many fandoms) if, and that’s a massive IF, they have a good reason for it. And I’ll count “because I can and I want to” as a good reason, because by that point you have someone who’s mean and owns it. I can appreciate the self-awareness and usually those characters are very extra so it’s entertaining. If not that, there needs to be a reason they are the way they are. Audrey has the pressure from her grandmother (and the borderline verbal abuse), Uma has the very real grievance of living in squalor on a run-down island full of the worst of humanity because she was born, what does Chad have? He’s spoiled. A spoiled brat. And he goes from that to an overtly whimpering coward with none of the pretense of superiority in any field. His one saving grace is that he’s a massive joke.

Diego De Vil, Clay Clayton, Gonzo, Jace and Harry Badun, Herkie, Aziz, Jonas, Lefou Deux, Li Shang Jr, everyone else I missed: no opinion, because they’re not relevant enough for the writers to give them a personality.

I have nothing I’m sorry. I barely remember reading their names and I don’t remember anything from the scenes they’re (mentioned) in to get an idea of what to talk about here.

That was… a lot lmao

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Two Years and Counting

Pairings | Bucky Barnes x f!reader, Steve Rogers x f!reader, Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Warnings | swearing, dirty talk, smut, mm smut, anal fingering, anal sex, vaginal sex, oral (m and f receiving), slight degradation, kinda dub-con at one point but not really?, implied pregnancy, unprotected sex, sort of breeding kink I think,

Word count | 3.2k

Summary | Steve gets Bucky a present for their second wedding anniversary: you and a little something extra

A/n | so loads of people wanted more Stucky x reader...here you go

Masterlist

"So you want me to...sleep with you? Both of you?" You reiterated what Steve had just asked you, and the blonde man nodded.

"If you don't want to, please don't feel pressured to accept. It's just- we're very open, and Buck's been sayin' for a while how much he adores you." Steve admitted sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. "And I more than agree with him." Steve added quickly after, a smile spreading over his perfect lips.

So that's how you ended up here, your back pressed you Steve's chest, his lips at your ear and a cerulean-eyed super soldier lapping relentlessly at your core.

"That's it, Buck, right there. I want your face to be shiny with her cum by the time you've finished." Steve cooed, voice thick and heavy with lust as his teeth nipped playfully at your earlobe.

You couldn't take your eyes away from the sight between your legs; the brunet super soldier's head buried between your thighs as he relentlessly lapped at your clit. A sharp gasp accompanied your fluttering eyelids when Bucky placed a finger at your entrance, slowly pushing it inside you.

"You like his tongue, hm? Those fingers feel real good, don't they?" Steve purred at your ear again, breath hot on your skin as your head dropped back into his shoulder.

Your legs were pulled painfully wide over his knees, hips aching from the stretch as his firm arms looped around you: one at your waist and the other over your chest, pinning you to him with the ghost of a choke around your neck.

"Wait 'til you see what his cock can do, sweetheart. You won't be walking tomorrow by the time we're done with you." Steve smirked, but you were so far gone by this point the words barely graced your senses.

"Fuck!" You squealed, Bucky's teeth giving a little nip to your clit as your back arched away from Steve's chest. The man chuckled, bringing his tongue down and tracing your slit before pushing in.

With his tongue stroking your walls and his nose bumping up against your clit, it didn't take long for Bucky to make you cum. Steve's large hand still rested against your throat as you came down from your high, his plump lips pressing wet kisses behind your ear.

"You good, doll?" Bucky bummed, hands resting heavily on your thighs, rubbing up and down soothingly. You nodded, a dopey smile crossing your lips as you were brought back to reality. Bucky chuckled again, low and melodic as Steve's voice filled your ears.

"Maybe we should give the dame a break...get on the bed, Buck. I want you naked and on your back." You never would be thought Steve to be so controlling in the bedroom. Sure, he barked orders all day long but you'd always assumed that he'd want to let go for a while. That and you'd always thought Bucky gave you raging Dom vibes.

Bucky was quick to comply, kneeling up and pressing a quick peck to your cheek and then Steve's lips before he was scrambling over to the bed, tearing his clothes off on the way.

Steve helped you up, setting you down on the bed beside Bucky and pressing and lingering kiss to your forehead. He offered you a quick, small smile before his attention was on Bucky.

Steve's lips spread wider when he saw the bottle of lube in Bucky's hand, the blonde's own hand moving up to brush the hair out of his husband's face.

"You're such good boy for me, baby. Now let's get you nice and open, hm?" Steve cooed, leaning down for a kiss. You expected it to be sweet, and it was anything but that. The kiss was almost nasty, with tongues mingling and teeth clashing.

Steve grabbed the bottle of lube from Bucky when he pulled away, slowly kissing down the man's body. Bucky whined - like actually whined - as Steve took his time, taking a moment to let his tongue smooth over one of Bucky's nipples before moving on.

When he reached his cock - which you hadn't let yourself look at until now - Steve took the swollen and leaking tip in his mouth, suckling lightly and causing Bucky's hips to jerk up.

"Please, Stevie! Just - just fuck me already!" Bucky whined, hips wriggling as Steve tried to hold him still. A whimper bled through Bucky's lips when Steve's hand came down on his thing in a small slap.

"Don't tell me what to do. You'll take what I give you." Steve's voice was suddenly stern; it was his Captain America voice. Bucky whined, but settled down, his head tilted up as he watched his husband with hooded eyes.

Steve hummed to himself, leaving a trail of wet kisses down the length of Bucky's cock until he reached the base. It was then that he pulled away, nimble fingers flipping the cap off the lube and squirting a generous amount onto the fingers of his other hand.

"Relax for me, Buck." Steve mumbled, his free hand coaxing Bucky's thighs a little wider until he could clearly see the man's tight rim. You watched without blinking as Steve's pink tongue ran over his lips, his eyes solely focused on the sight between the older man's legs.

He circled Bucky's tight hole with the tips of his fingers, a smirk gracing his lips when an breathy moan slipped through Bucky's slightly parted lips.

"That's it." Steve was pushing a finger in then, slow and controlled and the digit worked itself passed the resisting muscle. "Good boy." Steve's voice was a low purr, wrist rolling to make Bucky moan as his fingertip glided over his prostate.

Bucky could already see stars, and he'd barley begun. You watched intently, feeling yourself get even wetter as you watched the way Steve played Bucky's body like an instrument he'd mastered over years of practice. And, in a way, Steve had.

Two years into their marriage and both boys knew each other inside out, the ways their body's worked and responded committed to memory. Your bottom lip found itself tucked between your teeth, hands pushing you up so you could get a better view.

Bucky's head was thrown back now, eyes disappearing into his skull and Steve rolled his wrist a little faster. The sight was heavenly, hair falling into his face and mouth parted as Bucky attempted not to squirm, his hands fisted so tightly into the sheets they looked as if they may rip.

"Do you want to try?" It was Steve's voice again, real soft and tempting as he peered up at you through thick lashed. You swallowed thickly, blinking away the sight of Bucky as you directed your gaze to the blonde.

"Huh?" Your voice was probably timid, arguably sheepish as the sound of question formed on your tongue.

"Would you like a go? At fingering him?" Steve repeated, a gently charming look in his blue eyes. You gulped, but ultimately nodded as the words in your mouth seemed to dry up. Steve offered a wide smile, slowly slipping his finger from Bucky - the resulting whimper making Steve chuckle - before moving to the side to give you some room.

"I- I don't know what I'm doing." You admitted as you placed yourself between Bucky's legs, hands on your thighs as your eyes slid over the sight before you. Steve breathed something of a laugh, leaning in close and picking up your right hand with his.

"I'll tell you how." Steve murmured near your ear, his other hand quick to pick up the bottle of lube again before squirting a good amount onto your fingers. "You need 'em nice and wet, it feels much nicer when they can slide right in." Steve explained, rubbing the substance around your skin to make sure they were saturated enough.

"Then what?" You breathed, unable to tear your eyes from the beautiful sight before you. Steve smiled, guiding your fingers to Bucky's little hole. Once the tip of your middle finger was lined up, Steve urged you to being pushing in. It met a bit of resistance, but the muscle quickly gave way again and your finger slid in fairly smoothly after that. Bucky moaned, long and loud.

"That feel good, huh? Does she feel good?" Steve cooed at Bucky, who could only seem to muster a nod as you begin to roll your wrist, just as Steve had. "That's it, take it real slow. You can build up the speed a little more in a moment." Steve mumbled beside you, eyes alight with lust.

"Can I- can I add another finger?" You tentatively asked, giving Steve a nervous glance.

"Yes, I think he's ready. Are you ready, Buck?" Steve replied, looking up at his husband.

"Yes! Feels s' good, so so good!" Bucky moaned, attempting to squirm but Steve placed a firm hand on his hip and tutted.

"Ask nicely." Steve chided, that hint of harshness back to his tone. You couldn't help but think that having sex with Steve would give you whiplash with how quickly his tone could change.

"Please can I have another finger? It feels real good!" Bucky stuttered out through breathy moans and whimpers. Steve smiled coyly, nodding to you when you gave him a look in question.

You let Steve squirt some more lube onto your index finger before pushing it in along side your middle one, a pang of arousal clenching your gut and the completely debauched sound that it pulled from the writhing super soldier.

"Good girl." Steve murmured near your ear, his eyes glued to your fingers slowly pumping in and out of Bucky's tight hole. "Why don't you give his pretty little cock a kiss, huh? It looks a little needy." Steve purred, eyes sliding over the swollen tip of Bucky's cock.

You nodded, wetting your lips with your tongue as you leant forwards. Buck's back arched so high you thought you could fit a goddamn pillow under there when your lips brushed the head of his cock, precum smearing over them.

"That's it. You gettin' close now, baby?" Steve cooed and Bucky whined. You let your tongue lap at his skin, Bucky's musk coating your tastebuds as you felt the warmth of him against you.

Steve hovered over you, his hand now palming at his own dick through his jeans as he watched you pleasuring his husband.

"Curl your fingers a little, doll. You'll know when you find the spot." So you did, and you definitely hit the 'spot'. Your fingers pressed into Bucky's prostate, pulling an dirty moan from the man as his back arched even higher and the sheets actually ripped in his hands.

"S-should I keep going?" You mumbled nervously, pulling away from Bucky's cock and looking up at steve through fanned lashes. He gave you a nod, but stopped you before your lips could meet the shaft of Bucky's dick in a wet kiss.

You pulled back again, pumping your fingers even faster when you saw Steve lower his own lips to Bucky's cock. They spread over the tip, saliva dripping from them as Steve spat onto Bucky's skin. The brunet groaned, loud, as Steve bobbed down, his nose brushing the patch of curls at the base.

He clearly did this a lot.

The other thing that surprised you, but sent a tingle of need up for spine nonetheless, was when Steve reached up Bucky's body, his fingers pinching the older man's nipple before rolling the bud between them.

The sight made you let out your own small moan, your hips unintentionally winding down against the covers as you felt yourself growing hotter again.

But a loud whine pulled you from your haze, Steve's warm hand over your wrist as he pulled your touch away from Bucky. You felt bad, the man was squirming under your heavy gazes; denied of his release.

"Ah, ah. We don't whine. Now get up; I'm itching to see you buried in our girl." You shivered, like visibly shivered, the words echoing about your mind. Our girl.

Bucky crawling across the bed pulled you out of your trance yet again, his hands of your waist to guide you so your back was flush against the now-sweaty sheets a delicious contrast of cool and warm.

"Good boy, now make me proud." Steve murmured into Bucky's ear, perfect teeth nipping at the man's lobe before Steve gave Bucky's ass a quick spank and pulled away. Bucky squeaked, but pulled his lip between his teeth anyway.

"Please, Bucky," you croaked, voice nothing but a breathy whine, "Wan' to feel you inside me." You were growing impatient now, witnessing the lovers' little interactions making you slick with want.

Bucky couldn't deny you that, the doe eyes you were flashing him making the man's cock ache with need. Wrapping a firm hand around his throbbing cock, Bucky glided the tip between you puffy folds, Steve chuckling as you bucked up at Bucky, hips jumping.

"Fuck, doll." Bucky growled as he sheathed himself inside you in one, slow thrust. You sucked him in, the walls of your cunt pulsating around his thickness as you groaned, hair sticking to your face as your toes curled and hands cling to Bucky's broad shoulders.

"Bucky!" You cried out, soon joined by the super soldier himself as he felt Steve's tip judge his tight opening.

"Ready, baby?" Steve cooed, almost mockingly. The strained nod Bucky gave him seemed to be enough for Steve, the super soldier the tip of his slick cock breaching the barrier of Bucky's stretched ass. A smirk widely spread in his pink lips at the sinfully loud moan he pulled from his husband's lips.

"S'tight. Always so fuckin' tight for me, doll." Steve purred against Bucky's skin as he pushed in, only stopping once he'd bottomed out. Bucky's eyes were wide now, a dirty moan spilling through his lips at the feeling of Steve's thick head massaging his prostate. Your own moans accompanied Bucky's, a filthy harmony of pleasure ringing through the sex-scented room.

Steve begun a punishing rhythm, one that Bucky was quick to match on his own, thighs smacking against yours. Your eyes were threatening to disappear into your skull and your back was beginning to arch, breaking away from the bed, but the thin sheen of sweat caused the covers to lift with you.

Bucky's balls were slapping lewdly against your ass, still wet from Steve's saliva. Steve grasped Bucky's hips to ground himself, his grasp on his husband so tight that all three of them only knew there'd be pretty purple bruises decorating his beautiful skin tomorrow.

Bucky grabbed for something to hold onto, his flesh hand pulling at your wrists until he managed to pin them over your head, the metal appendage cupping your flushed-hot cheek in a cooling grip. He smashed his lips against yours - messy and desperate as his tongue sought yours.

"You like that, huh? You like shoving your tongue down our girl's throat?" Steve rasped from behind, a smirk evident in his derisive tone. There it was again: our girl. The words truly made you tingle, but also made you hope that the name would be permanent. Our girl.

Bucky's moan was strained as he attempted to nod, his pace picking up even more as his lost release came back in sight.

"Filthy fuckin' boy. Look like such fuckin' whores when you kiss like that." Steve chided, hand grasping and palming the flesh of Bucky's ass. "Remember your manners, baby. Make her cum before you whore out and fill 'er up." Steve gritted, teeth nipping at Bucky's neck until it tingled with that glorious pleasure-pain.

Bucky nodded again, just as strained as the last time as his metal hand shakily reached down to rub circles over your clit.

"G-gonna cum!" You screamed, and Bucky smirked this time, a proud glance crossing his cerulean eyes. "'M gonna cum!" You cried, walls fluttering, spasming, clenching, clawing at Bucky's cock.

When it hit you properly it was white-hot pleasure, blooming in your core and spread throughout your body. You shook, bones vibrating as you felt your vision clouding with the intensity.

A harsh, rippling smack from Steve to Bucky's ass sending him over the edge with you, the brunet collapsing forward to cover your body with his as he emptied himself inside you.

Steve stilled his hips, heavy pants washing over them as he let out a dirty string of moans and grunts. He filled Bucky's ass perfectly, the sticky, white substance leaking around his cock before Steve carefully pulled out.

It was only in that moment that you realised it, the wince that escaped you when Bucky pulled out more from the feeling of his cum seeping from your hole that anything else.

"Wha- I'm not in anything." You suddenly gasped, eyes wide. Steve smirked after he ushered Bucky out the room, his large form bending over your and he cupped your face in his hands.

"That's the point sweetheart. Did you really think my gift would just be you? You're having our baby, doll." Steve grinned. You should be discussed by his words. He tricked you. But if anything, you were overjoyed. You'd discussed surrogacy before with the super soldiers, but had eventually ruled out the idea because you couldn't comprehend giving up your baby - even if it wasn't really yours in the first place.

"You mean-?" You couldn't find your words, the syllables scattered around the room as your mouth opened and closed a few times. Steve nodded, tears glistening across his eyes and most likely yours.

"You're going to be a mother, y/n. You're going to be ours." Steve mumbled, nose bumping yours as he leant in for a sweet kiss.

"What?" Bucky's voice drawled from the door, a little damp rag clutched in his hand as he returned - cleaned up.

"Shit." Steve muttered in a hiss as he pulled away, eyes flickering to yours before he stood up. "Buck, I can-" Steve began to explain but the completely overjoyed look on Bucky's face stopped him.

"We're having a baby?" Bucky mumbled, eyes widened with hope.

"Yes." Steve smiled, his arms open as Bucky crashed into them, head buried against Steve's chest.

"Thank you. I love you, so much." Bucky squealed, pulling away enough to connect his lips with Steve's before he was looking to you over his husband's shoulder. "And thank you, too, doll. Really. I can't wait to have you as ours."

Taglists

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[independentzaun]

“Fancy word, proprietor. Doesn’t that imply I’d have to own the place?” Voice a touch curious it didn’t betray the fact that Sevika knew exactly what proprietor meant. More than once in the past she’d let others think them smarter than her particularly if they looked like they came from outside Zaun. It was less lying in her opinion, and more giving someone a chance to show their true colors. If someone started to talk down to her because they believed that she didn’t know things they thought “important” like certain “fancy” words, or whatever else well that told her just about all she needed to know. “As for important, well, I am well known around here.”

No reason to tell the stranger of Sevika’s exact role in Zaun. The fact that she was one of the powerful Chem-Baron’s deputies, his trusted right hand and second in command and that most people gave her quite a bit of respect. However trying to deny that she was in some way important, or at least known would be rather foolish. “Most locals don’t need them, but some do. For one reason or another.” Typically it was people with lung or chest issues of one sort or another, or in some cases a person recovering from a particularly bad sickness. They were also used more commonly with the elderly of a certain age. Glancing to Elise her eyes narrowed for a moment hearing the exact response. See the worlds. That was a strange way to express traveling the world to see different lands. Ionia and Noxus and other places were far away yes, but even in Zaun there were stories of them and they were firm places that existed. You could even buy Noxian wine if you found the right person. Supposedly it was real, but who could really tell. However none of them were different “worlds” yet somehow Elise didn’t seem the type to misuse words. All the same as far as Sevika knew it wasn’t possible to travel worlds. It must have just been an odd turn of phrase.

The question as to where to look made Sevika turn a bit and study Elise. In truth she was looking for any sign the woman had lied, and that she was in fact from Piltover after all or in some other way a problem. It was just a split second, and Sevika made a decision motioning for Elise to follow her. Down a few stalls, and then between a few more it was still clearly the market place but it was a section with fewer wealthy looking people and more that were clearly Zaunties. Going up to a stall that had a selection of rebreathers that weren’t fancy looking, but if examined by someone that knew what to look for would clearly work well she nodded to the owner. An older man who was probably in his fifties, but looked like he was in his sixties. He had on a mask, but tugged it down a bit to make his voice clearer.

“Ahhh Sevika! The Iron Lioness graces my stall! I always knew you’d show up at some point. You’ve got to protect your lungs. I know you young people think you can just go without a rebreather but I promise you will regret it. And who is this nice young woman? You don’t look like you are from around here. I apologize for the smell, but I promise for a low and affordable price all that can be just a distant memory! I’m the humble owner of this stall, Maximilian De La Roseta’ahhh something something something. Hahahah, just call me Max and how can I help you?” Sevika just shook her head, and let out a soft chuckle as she glanced to Elise. “He talks a lot. Some would say too much. His masks work though.” Max waved a hand and scoffed. “I talk just enough thank you. If I was twenty years younger I’d…” Looking up at Sevika he puffed up his chest a bit which didn’t do much as he was only about five foot five before he chuckled and shook his head. “I’d be smart enough to walk away. Alright alright. Now.” leaning in a bit he smiled at Elise. “Looking for a mask? Any lung issues? Sickness? Chest problems? Or just general usage?”

Moved to new editor from; independentzaun

Sevika noticed the dagger, and the pouch but made no mention of either. Anyone who didn’t carry a weapon of some type was a fool in her opinion, and in Zaun people used all sorts of pouches and bags and other things. “It is. Coin is the simplest way to pay, but most are willing to haggle and trade.” Turning she headed down the street with her original arm moving like normal, and the mechanical arm moving under her poncho but seeming more deliberate. Despite having spent years with it, and being practically as comfortable with it as she was with her organic arm there was no way to make it seem exactly the same after all.

The question from Elise made her glance back at the other woman. “I work at the Last Drop down the way. It’s a club. Music, alcohol, some games, that sort of thing. I do a bit of everything, but you could say I help manage it for the owner.” It was true enough. Silco of course kept his hands in everything, but all the same everyone knew who Sevika was and respected her. She’d delivered his orders more than enough times, or simply been told to handle something and done so successfully to be what some Uptowner might call a manager. People in Zaun itself though knew the truth. She was the Eye of Zaun’s right hand, and deputy and disrespect her at your own peril.

As they headed towards the marketplace which really wasn’t too far away it wouldn’t be hard to tell that although Sevika didn’t make it a point to try to run into people or force them to the side they still moved aside for her. Nods, or glances up and then down or away, respectful little smiles, steps just a bit to one side to ensure Sevika had enough room. There an an obvious tone of authority and respect, but there was a bit of fear from a small few people here and there. People who seemed particularly down on their luck like they might owe a debt, or becoming increasingly desperate for a new dose of shimmer, or in one case someone who was obviously from Zaun but wearing clothes that seemed more suited to Piltover as though trying to pass themselves off as an Uptowner which really wasn’t working for them.

The walk stayed on the main streets however with no signs of a trap or scam, and before long the marketplace itself came into view and Sevika motioned towards it. “You can find most things you want there if it’s something available here, and reasonable.” More specific things like high class medical supplies, or certain weapons, or most strains of shimmer, and other similar things would not be at the marketplace. Food items, clothes, household goods, masks, toys, and the like would be there however.

Looking to Elise there was a curious glint in Sevika’s eyes.

“It occurs to me I didn’t return the question so… what is it you do?”

"How fortunate." Elise always had a few valuables on her person. Gold, silver, small metal trinkets for trade, and even a gemstone or three. The small resources were invaluable for starting up somewhere new, mainly so she wouldn't have to pay with healing services. It always felt wrong to barter someone's life or well-being over a box of potatoes or a blanket to keep the cold out. She had admittedly gotten better at it, which Elise wasn't sure was good. A growling stomach eventually won out, even if hunger couldn't kill you. Besides, it was challenging to operate with frostbitten fingers.

"Ah, so you are a proprietor of sorts?" As she followed along with Sevika, she couldn't help but notice the way people stepped out of her way, their way. It wasn't the same way people had avoided Elise, the sideways glances, the scowls and the occasional tailing. No, this was something else. "It sounds like quite the place. You must be a rather important person." Clubs weren't really her scene. There was often too much noise and not enough things to be done there. Though perhaps it was worth a visit. She was curious to learn more about the culture and people of Zaun, and what better place to do that than at a bar? Besides, it couldn't be an entirely ordinary place if it garnered this much respect.

"Are these rebreathers everyday items? I can see a lot of people are wearing them, though…" A glance around confirmed the same thing she had observed earlier. "I do not see a lot of the locals here wearing them. Are they very expensive?" The people that wore them were clearly wealthy or, at least, wealthier. Though most of them also wore different clothes. More fitting of the topside people.

The mirrored question earned Sevika a smile, though different from the friendly facade Elise had presented so far. It was cheeky, a slight twist at the corner of her mouth and a glint in her eyes. "I am…a nomad of sorts. I travel, see the worlds and practice my trade." It sounded like the healer was about to elaborate, but as if timed, they entered the market space, and she let herself get distracted. No reason to reveal too much before she got settled in. "This is the market, I presume? Any advice for where I should go look for a rebreather?"

( @independentzaun )

[burnedbyshoto]

for want of a bento box

– It’s plain and simple, you see, someone is stealing your bento boxes and you will find your lunch thief! Or, in which Todoroki Shouto keeps taking your bento box and you declare war. 

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pairing: todoroki shouto x reader

warnings: fluff, cursing, shouto is a bad chef, I believe I made reader pretty gender neutral but I whipped this out in two hours and I can no longer remember if I used any fem!pronouns but im pretty sure I didn’t

word count: 3,060

a/n: this is for the wonder coworker bnharem collab! I had intended on writing a completely different theme and storyline but was very overwhelmed by how much time it actually needed to be written compared to the amount of time I actually had. that version will be out another time! but for now, enjoy some pure flufffffff!!!!

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Having a normal, functioning, well-paying job was probably the most desirable thing to you. It wasn’t to say that you were slacking or that you were homeless, broke, and never to be seen again because you were that in debt. But it was nice having a job!

When you entered the prestigious Toshinori Company, you joined not as an entry-level job employee but as a senior representative. You thought it was crazy.

It had to be crazy.

You had no prior experience, and now you were going to be in charge and the lead in certain areas?!

“And that was the entire layout of the office!” Mina chirped happily, throwing herself onto the desk chair across from yours with a big smile. “Any questions?”

“I don’t think so,” you mutter, brows creased as you look around the room again. 

The office space was ample, sleek, open. Each desk has its own grand computer that you currently could not afford with your own money, comfortable chairs, and beautiful wood desks. It was elegant, far superiorly fancy, and yet, you didn’t feel out of place. Strange.

“Oh!” you say with a roll of your eyes as you reach below your desk to bring up your packed lunch. “Where was the break room again? I need to refrigerate my food!”

“Omg, of course, come this way!” Mina grins, standing up and motioning you to follow her. You smile gratefully and do. 

The entire way to the office, Mina takes the time to point at the many different people on the floor and give them names. Everyone so far had sort of acknowledged you earlier as Mina was giving you the official tour. Some were much more open and friendly, and some had sneers or blank stares that left you dumbstruck. 

Definitely a personable group.

“Hm, well, I guess Todoroki-kun isn’t here today?” Mina mutters as you enter the break room that has couches and comfortable-looking chairs. “Such a shame! You would have loved to see the office hottie!”

You snort at that, lips curled into a granulous smile as you place your plastic container with food into the fridge. “I’m sure I’ll live,” you brush off the fact that there was an absent person on your floor today.

“That’s the thing, though,” Mina points a finger at you, a lone eyebrow raised and a confident smirk on her face. “You won’t be thinking that again the moment you see him!”

You laugh, eyes crinkling as Mina joins your laughter. Eventually, she motions for the both of you to leave, and you nod in understanding. And with a weird sense of comfort and belonging, you realized that this job was going to be good. 

.

.

Eventually, you had been working at Toshinori Company for two months.

Sixty-two days to be precise, and in all that time, you had only met Todoroki Shouto once. Even then, you had only seen the man walking through the office with a blank face, fingers in his pockets as two other men were walking in front of him, bickering lightly.

Had Mina not quite literally thrown herself across the table and gripped the collar of your shirt and twisted your head to look at him, you would have never caught a glimpse at the man with red and white hair. The three of them walked into the break room and came back out with their own lunches before leaving.

And that was it.

You had learned that the three of them (Todoroki Shouto, Midoriya Izuku, and Bakugou Katsuki) were within your department but worked very closely with the very high up members within the company. Many rumors pointed at one of the three taking over the company when the current CEO stepped down. They were, however, on the roster for your floor; they just never appeared except to pick up their lunches. Something they seemed to come to grab whenever you were a) way too fucking busy or b) not in the room.

You weren’t too bothered, though.

It wasn’t like you were trying to date one of them! You had only wanted to say hi.

.

.

.

Now, at ninety days, you had your first and probably most crucial evaluation. 

Toshinori Yagi, the man who founded and currently ran this company, sat before you, looking at papers within a folder with tired but kind blue eyes. He nodded, impressed (hopefully), making small comments about the work you had been able to accomplish, a smile becoming a warming grin as he looked up.

“I’m impressed by the performance you’ve managed to attend to despite the short while you’ve been here, y/l/n-shojo,” Toshinori spoke, his fingers threading together and placing them onto the table. “I knew it was an excellent decision to put you in that position, and you exceeded my entire expectation!”

You flushed at that, lips twitching as you attempted to suppress that smile of yours. 

“Thank you, Toshinori-san,” you practically wheeze as he waves off your thanks.

“No need to thank me, you’ve done all this work!” he laughs, tired eyes closing with a glorious supply of crow's feet blooming at the corner of his eyes. “Typically, at these evaluations, I ask a bunch of questions because there isn’t too much anyone can do in their first ninety days, I must admit.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm, but because I am curious, is there anything that has been happening as of late that you feel needs to be addressed with me?”

You felt yourself stiffen but knew your one and only complaint was not something to bring up in this setting.

“No, nothing,” you shrug, and Toshinori beams.

“I’m glad!”

Now, the problem.

The big, fat, stinky, hooligan, wanting to throttle someone problem.

For the past sixty of your ninety days, someone has been stealing your lunch.

Yes, you heard that correctly; someone was stealing your damn lunch! Every morning you woke up and prepared a delicious bento box for yourself. Some days you went as far as cutting shapes into your fruits and veggies just to make yourself grin. You weren’t the best chef in the world, but your bento boxes were pretty enough to make up for it, in your opinion. But the thing is, every day when you went into the communal fridge, you noticed two things.

One, your bento box was no longer in the same place, and two, the bento box was not yours at all.

The food was disastrously organized. Rice and lettuce spilling out in every partition in the box. The fruit and veggies often packed in this box had multiple cuts in them, implying that whoever did this was less than ideal with a knife. The meat was often oversalted, the sushi never sitting together, and everything was just… not it.

The first time you had sighed and eaten it, grumbling about how your precious lunch was stolen. But you had quickly figured out that it was inedible, and Mina, Uraraka, and Yaoyorozu thank god, offered to share their meals. 

Seeing that you were distressed about how someone stole your egg and octopus sausages one day, Mina declared that they would watch the break room for whoever was stealing your light blue bento box. The first day you staked out, you had done it with Mina. But ten minutes into waiting around, you needed to pee. So you stood up and left in a hurry, leaving Mina alone.

But when you returned, Mina was gone, instead standing by Kirishima’s desk with a bright grin and a stance that screamed that she heard something she liked (gossip, possible in-office romance, a love confession?). Her jaw dropped as she noticed you and Kirishima had turned and waved in your direction as you raced into the break room to open the fridge, and sure enough, your bento was gone.

The next time, you staked out with Uraraka. Your arms were folded, your bladder cleared, and your lips twisted into a pout as you glared and stared down every single member who entered the room. Uraraka whispered to you her guesses about just who might be the thief, every other person rating an 8/10 likelihood of stealing your lunch.

But as the both of you sat there, your eyes narrowed at each passerby, no one came to collect your bento today.

“Deku-kun, no packed lunch today?” Uraraka asked as the green, curly-haired man you had only met once previously raced into the break room, grabbing the extra chopsticks meticulously hidden in the third bottom draw.

“Ah, Uraraka-san, y/l/n-san! Uh, no,” Midoriya greeted you both, who apparently responds to the nickname Deku, laughs off as he grabs a handful of napkins. “Todoroki-kun left all our lunches in his car by accident, and well… they spoiled… Kacchan’s pissed, so I ran off to get lunch for us today!”

Uraraka laughed, shaking her head, “Leave it to Todoroki-kun to act that way.”

Midoriya laughed, bright and clearly in agreement, “You should have seen his face when Kacchan asked for his lunch! I swear–”

“HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO GRAB FUCKING CHOPSTICKS, SHIT-KU! I’M FUCKING STARVING!” a voice roared from nowhere near the entrance of the break room. You did, however, jump a bit, eyes turning toward the break room entrance to see the blond man (Bakugou? Kacchan? You had no idea which was correct) near the entrance of the floor. 

“It’s only been a minute, Kacchan, relax!” Midoriya laughs, completely unaffected by the startling shout as he waves goodbye to both you and Uraraka before leaving, joining Bakugou as the both of them seem to talk comfortably… well, maybe more like bickering.

“Why are they–”

“Childhood friends, apparently,” Uraraka sighed, but the smile on her face betrays her exasperation.

No one stole your bento that day.

Yaoyorozu took up the third stake out, the two of you idly chatting about tea. You honestly had no idea what to talk about with Yaomomo; she was often just so elegant and mature despite being your age. When you learned that her family was in charge of the Yaoyorozu Corp, it had been strangely easy to accept that. 

It made sense.

So as the two of you stood at the kitchen sink, boiling water for tea Yaomomo swore would be the best matchup for your packed nigiri, the both of you missed the man who walked into the room, opened the fridge, and took your lunch.

“I… I am so sorry,” Yaomomo apologized, head bowed dangerously low as the both of you looked at the sloppily cut salmon in your not actual bento. “Please eat my food in reparation.”

“No, it’s okay,” you sigh, chewing on the somehow still warm salmon. “I deserved this loss.”

Luck was just on this man's side, it seemed. No matter what you did, you could never catch the man in action, and you were ready to give up.

But this was the last attempt you said to yourself as you returned to your office floor, the evaluation done, and the rest of your life coming to light. You could do this. No! You WOULD do this!

.

.

“Why don’t you just put your name on your bento box?” Bakugou asked, a lone eyebrow raised in what you could only assume was judgment and pity. The explosive man was standing in the doorway of the breakroom, watching as you and Mina were trying to climb up the counters of the breakroom to grab the camera you had previously planted. “Obviously, it doesn’t have your name on it.”

“Um,” you squeak, having been obviously caught by someone who intimidated you just the slightest bit. “That’s a good idea, thank you, Bakugou-san.”

“Tch, whatever, just clean up the damn counters, fucking nasty standing up on there. Some people prepare their food there.”

“We would never forget to do that!” you argue, desperate to not leave a bad impression on this man.

“I don’t know much about you, but I know raccoon eyes over there would.”

“MY NAME IS MINA!”

“Like I care.”

He left without so much as a wave but did seem to nod with his departure. You sighed as you hopped off the counter, Mina grabbing the cleaning supplies as she cursed out the long-gone man under her breath. 

But you were looking at the fridge with your missing bento box.

“I can’t believe I never put my name on it.”

“It’s okay! Not even Yaomomo thought of it, so I say we are still smart!”

.

.

.

It was the next day, you were at your desk, anxious as hell as you did your work, trying not to focus on the fact that it was lunchtime and you were actively avoiding the break room. You wondered if they wouldn’t come and collect it today. If somehow they were an asshole and wouldn’t care if your name was on it! What would happen then? What if it was someone like Bakugou who was taking your lunch? What then? You were sure you would cave in slight fear and major intimidation if he said that your lunch was his now.

“Want a cutie while we wait, cutie?” Mina asked, waving the small tangerine in her fingers as she grins.

“Please,” you say in gratitude for the food because you were starving. “Thank you.”

Eventually, you lost track of what was happening, becoming all too invested in the conversation that Mina was telling you about that involved Kaminari, Kirishima, Bakugou, Midoriya, twenty-seven Red Bulls, fifteen Monsters, and five shots of sake. It seemed that the former two were quite big instigators when they wanted to be, and the latter two were unable to back away from challenges, especially when the other was involved.

“Y/l/n?” an unfamiliar voice called from behind you, and you turned partially in your chair as you looked behind you.

Standing behind you was a tall man with red and white hair, and from this distance, you noticed immediately that his eyes were a deep grey and brilliant blue.

Todoroki Shouto.

“T-Todoroki-san!” you greet him back, voice unable to keep from trembling as your nerves shot up. What was going on? You two had never interacted before! He was always gone, never present, and whenever he was in the office, it seemed that you weren’t there.

He cleared his throat and raised up two identical bento boxes.

“It seems… I have apparently been stealing your bento boxes,” he concludes, pressing the blue bento box with your name written on it into your hands.

Your jaw drops as your fingers curve around the cool plastic, eyes blinking up a storm as you try to abstain from laughing high pitched and ugly like. 

“It was you?!”

A pink color blooms onto his cheeks as he averts his eye contact with you and nods slowly, “I am so sorry.”

“I just… how?!” you exclaim, exasperated, this man obviously being a bit dense if he had no idea he was taking your bento box!

“I prepare my bento boxes the night before, and I don’t really remember what I put into them….” Todoroki explains slowly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, his tongue clicking the roof of his tongue. “I just thought that my cooking was improving and that I was somehow doing an amazing job.”

The grin that overcomes your face is one of subtle, strange fondness and soft warmth. “I can tell you that you probably haven’t improved much,” you tease, opening your bento box to see your prepared meal for the day. 

Cucumber salad, bulgogi beef, rice, and some fruit.

It was packed exactly how you remembered.

“I can’t believe I finally get to eat a meal I prepared,” you continue to tease, your eyes moving up to meet Todoroki, who was also looking at your bento previously. “Thank you for returning my meals and apologizing.”

“It was nothing,” Todoroki waved off with a single hand before opening up his own disastrously assembled bento box. It looked worse than usual today. Everything was just thrown in, it seemed. You saw egg and rice, but everything else in there was indescribable. He smiles at you before sighing at his bento. “This looks more like my stuff.”

You laugh, shaking your head, “You want to share my bento box? I’m sure you probably don’t want to return to that.”

“No, it’s okay,” Todoroki gently declined, although he looked at your bento with great want. He cleared his throat, gaze moving to lock on yours, and you swore his cheeks were still pink but no longer from embarrassment. “I just wanted to come and apologize for stealing your lunch for so long and to thank you for the meals; they were all delicious. Especially the soba you had made.”

“It’s all good; it’s in the past now,” you say gently, somehow finding yourself falling for a man you’ve barely just begun to talk with. The both of you stare at each other, and your skin feels warm. You chuckle, gaze averting for a moment before returning as you tease him. “Although, if you steal from me again, I’m not so sure if I’ll be so lenient.”

“It won’t happen again, promise,” Todoroki smiles, and you feel your spine melt. “But I would love to make it up to you somehow. I can make you dinner one night or something?”

You laugh, head shaking, “No, absolutely not; I don’t trust your cooking skills just yet. But you can definitely take me out to dinner.”

“Yeah, I can definitely do that,” Todoroki agrees, and the both of you fall silent as the shy stares continue. “Does, um… is Friday at seven okay with you?”

“That works,” you say, and Todoroki smiles.

“Good, I’ll uh, see you then?”

“See you,” you agree with a sweet smile before turning around, your fingers raised in a small wave. 

You turn to see Mina, Uraraka, and Yaomomo staring at you, eyes comically wide and so very intrigued.

“Oh… my… GOD!” Mina shrieked as Todoroki walks away, and you shriek as she jumps across the table and shakes you, screaming about office romances and meet-cutes being entirely too underrated. “PROMISE ME I’LL BE INVITED TO THE WEDDING!!!!”

“MINA!”

.

.

.

.

.

It would take about three years of dating, several months of teaching Shouto how to cook, which resulted in a few bellyaches. Still, eventually yes, Mina would be invited to your wedding.

[fangirlwriting-stories]

To Create A Living

Summary: Roman had never been more excited in his life than when Thomas decided to pursue a creative career.  He'd been over the moon!

If only he'd stayed that way.

...

For a while after Thomas switched careers, Roman was on Cloud 9.  He was overwhelmed with excitement and ideas and hopes.  All of his plans about making Thomas into a star would finally come true!

When Thomas got his first couple roles and put his first couple videos out on Vine, the exhilaration just got stronger, and Roman could regularly be found dancing around the mindscape and singing in excitement.

He’d never expected to have this chance!  He’d been regulated to the sidelines for far too long, but now it was finally his, and more importantly Thomas,’ chance to shine!  This would be amazing, and everything was finally falling into place, and there was nothing that could take it from him!

…Then the first rent bill showed up.

Thomas had enough to pay, but it was a closer thing than he really liked, and that was the first time there was a little doubt in his head about whether or not this was the right call.

Roman didn’t like that doubt, but at the same time, there was a tiny voice in the back of his head that got it.  It was difficult to amaze audiences without a stable roof over your head and food on your table.  That had just never been Roman’s job before.

Nevertheless, he reassured Thomas when he came to him in concern, and Roman worked twice as hard the next month.  Thomas made more money and could be more comfortable with how much he had left for groceries, and savings, and a little fun outside of work.  Thomas was grateful, and proud of him, which felt amazing.

The thing is.

Roman was exhausted.

He’d never had to do a full time gig before, and having to make quality ideas while also worrying about making enough quality ideas to afford all of Thomas’ needs was incredibly stressful.  By the time Thomas finished paying the bills for the months Roman felt about ready to collapse, and there would just be more next month.

Clearly he had to do something else.  That, however, implied he had some other ideas.  And he was kind of fresh out of those lately.  He needed time to rest that he didn’t have.

Or, not necessarily.  He could probably work on something.  He just needed an idea first.

Which is why he started sort of shopping around for one.

He started with Patton, which wouldn’t seem like a good plan, except for the fact that all of his other options were worse.  It’s not like he was actually going to consider talking to Remus, Deceit, or Anxiety.  And Logan was… well.  And he couldn’t reveal to Thomas that he was out of ideas, that was the whole problem.  So he started with Patton.

“You don’t want to use one of your ideas?” Patton asked in confusion.

“Well, of course I do,” Roman said, waving his hand dismissively.  “But I just have so many to choose from, and I wanted to see what other people were thinking to find some kind of way to narrow down all of the incredible ideas I have.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” Patton said with a bright smile.  “Well, creativity isn’t really my strong suit, kiddo.  But I’m sure whatever you end up choosing will be amazing!  You’re so good at this, after all.”

Roman had to fight to keep the smile on his face.  “Well, thanks so much, Padre.  You’ve been a huge help.”

“Anytime kiddo!”

So Patton was as unhelpful as Roman really should have expected he’d be.  Meaning he’d have to go to one of the other terrible options for help with an idea.

In this, Remus really was the obvious least of four evils.  Anxiety was impossible to deal with, Deceit would never stop talking Roman in circles long enough to be helpful, and Logan was… well.

Remus’ ideas were never actually helpful on their own, but maybe Roman could find something marginally useful that he could expand on.

So, feeling more than a little disgusted with himself, he found himself knocking on his brother’s door, late at night, when no one could see.

“No, I’m not putting my bear trap back and you can’t make me!” Remus called from the other side.

“Why would I care about your bear trap?” Roman called back as loud as he dared.

There was a pause, and then Remus yanked his door open.  Before Roman could say anything, Remus pulled him inside, grabbed him by the waist, and flipped him upside down.

Roman yelped as something caught his ankle and pulled him further upright, dangling him upside down from the ceiling.

Remus shut the door behind him and walked around Roman like a predator sizing up his prey.

“Well,” he said with a shrug.  “Not how I expected to test that one, but it seems to work.  Now what the hell are you doing here?”

“I—” Roman’s face heated up, as apparently he wasn’t already as humiliated as it was possible to be.  “I need your help,” he mumbled, trying to hide what he was saying by turning his head to the side.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

Roman grumbled it again.

“What was that?” Remus asked, leaning close enough to his face that Roman could smell his terrible breath, and he gagged.

“I need your help, asshole,” he snapped.

Remus cackled, and whacked something off to the side that Roman couldn’t see.  The trap holding his ankle in place loosened all at once, and Roman landed hard on his back on the ground.

He stared up at the ceiling and wheezed, trying to get back the breath that had been knocked out of him, but before he could, Remus yanked him up by the waist again and tossed him across the room.  Thankfully, this time he at least landed on the bed— in something wet.

“Ew!” Roman exclaimed, leaping upright and snapping his fingers to get whatever it was off of him.

Remus cackled again.  “Aww, can’t handle a little mysterious substance?”

“Why are you like this?” Roman groaned.

“Hey, you came to ask me for help,” Remus said, summoning his morningstar so he could lean casually on the handle.  He grinned up at Roman.  “Finally realized you’re useless at this?”

Roman squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe past the shame welling up in his chest.  “Shut up.”

“Ooh, you did!” Remus said brightly.  He snapped his fingers, and suddenly Roman was midair, just momentarily before he dropped onto a couch.  He glanced back over at Remus to find him wearing stereotypical therapist glasses and holding a clipboard.

“Now,” he said, leaning forward and patting Roman on his head.  “Why don’t you tell me all about where this long-awaited breakthrough came from.”

“Could you take this seriously for once in your fucking life?” Roman snapped, jumping to his feet and waving his hands and making the illusion disappear.  “Do you think I would be here if I wanted to be?”

“Well, taking things seriously isn’t really my area,” Remus said with a grin.  “You picked the wrong side, Roro!”

Roman groaned and dropped his head into his hands.  “Why did I think this would be helpful?”

“I have no clue, really a mistake on your part.”

Roman sighed again and picked his head up.  “I’m going back to brainstorming.  Thanks for nothing.”

“Again?  Ro, slow down,” Remus said, raising an eyebrow.

“I can’t,” Roman snapped.  “I need to come up with enough good ideas that Thomas likes and that other people like.  That or he needs to get more paying roles, but that hasn’t been happening so far.”

“If you worry too much about what other people like you’re gonna burn yourself out,” Remus said, giving him a look.  “You need to pace yourself.”

Roman grit his teeth.  “I can’t,” he snapped.  “Because people liking Thomas’ creations pays our bills now, Remus!”

“So?” Remus said, rolling his eyes.

“So?  Do you want Thomas to miss his rent and end up on the streets?”

“Yes!” Remus said with a bright grin.

“Of course you do,” Roman mumbled, rolling his own eyes.  “Thanks for the help.  So glad there’s two of us doing this job.”

Remus flipped him off as he sank out.

In all honesty, Roman really should have known better than to ask Remus for help.  But regardless, he’d given it a shot, and it had left him with no idea, less time to think of one, and fewer options.

Deceit or Anxiety.

Again, an obvious choice, really.

“Why Roman, I was most definitely expecting your visit,” Deceit said, a smile already forming on his face as he opened the door.  “You so often make trips to this side of the mindscape.”

“I don’t, but that’s not the point,” Roman said.  “You’re a creative side, in your own way, right?”

“Of course, I understand your plight completely,” Deceit said, leaning against the doorframe.  “Things are so difficult for you nowadays.”

“I know, right?” Roman exclaimed, because he couldn’t help it.  It was actually really nice to have someone acknowledge that his job had just gotten significantly harder.  He hadn’t expected such understanding from Deceit, but he was glad to have it from someone.  “I didn’t think being in charge of Thomas’ job would be so much work!”

“Of course not, why would you?” Deceit said with a sympathetic nod.

“Exactly, I—” Roman caught himself, running a hand through his hair.  “Sorry, I’m not trying to be a bother.  I’m sure you have other things going on, it’s just…” Roman hesitated, looking up at Deceit.  “I didn’t expect you to be so understanding.”

“Well as you said yourself, I am something of a creative side myself,” Deceit said, waving his hand.  “Thomas lies every time he performs, after all.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I’d define it quite like that,” Roman said, rubbing the back of his neck.  Wait, no, if he wanted to win Deceit over in this interaction, he needed to be obliging.  “But I can absolutely see where you’re coming from.  That’s not why I’m here, though.  I, er, I was wondering if I could speak with you for a moment?  If you’re not too busy.”

“Too busy for you?  Never,” Deceit said with a smirk, though he stepped out of his room and shut the door instead of letting Roman come in.  He gestured for Roman to follow him, and when Roman did, he led them both over towards the kitchen.

Roman wasn’t super thrilled at the idea of talking about this out in the open, but he was using Deceit’s time.  It was only fair Deceit got to pick the location, he supposed.

Deceit simply sat down at the table and looked at Roman expectantly, raising an eyebrow.

Roman sat down in the other chair across from Deceit and cleared his throat.  “I, well, I was thinking about what Thomas should make next.  And I was trying to narrow down the very long list of ideas I definitely have.”

“Of course,” Deceit said smoothly.

“And they’re just all so amazing, naturally, that I’m having trouble doing it,” Roman said, trying a dramatic flair with his hands to show how confident he definitely was.

“That sounds like such a difficult problem to have,” Deceit said with a nod.

“So I was wondering if you had any thoughts.  Just so I could, you know, have an idea of some kind of consensus.”

Deceit smiled, folding his hands together.  “Oh Roman, what a brilliant idea,” he said.  “You truly are an intelligent side to know to come to me for help.”

“Heh, yeah, thanks,” Roman said, trying to puzzle out why that didn’t exactly feel like a compliment when Deceit clearly meant it as one.

“And of course I’ll help in any way I can,” Deceit said.  “I’m just surprised you want it from me.”

Roman blinked.  “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m one of the big bad villains, aren’t I?  Anxiety and Remus and I all just want to hurt you, don’t we?  That’s what you’ve all decided on?” Deceit said.

“Oh, I— I mean that’s not—”

“And here you are, asking for my help like we’ve never done you any wrong in your life.  Wow, you really are such a forgiving side, Roman.  And I admire your ability to admit you need help doing your job.  Not many sides would have the confidence to do that, you know.”

“Um, thank you,” Roman muttered, though he was suddenly not feeling as confident as Deceit seemed to think he was.

“It’s alright, you can rest assured that I don’t see you any differently at all,” Deceit said, reaching out and patting Roman on the arm.  “In fact, I still have total confidence in your ability to complete this task without my help.  But I’m so humbled that you’ve asked for my opinion anyway.  You surely don’t need it.”

Roman blinked.  “Uh, right,” he said, trying to work that statement out in his head.  Deceit was being kind, right?  That’s what was happening?  “That’s… right?”

“That’s right?  You know what, you’re right, Roman.  I could never insult you with the assumption that you need my help with something as simple as doing your job.  I’ve always admired you so, after all, and your amazing ability to perform as Thomas’ Creativity with astounding capability.”

“Oh, I mean, I wouldn’t be upset if you—”

“No, I can’t,” Deceit said, turning his head to the side, seeming deeply troubled by something.  “I can’t possibly interfere with your process, not when it’s led to such success in the past.  Please forgive me for thinking of such an idea for even a moment, Roman.”

“What?  No, I—”

“You’re right, you shouldn’t,” Deceit said, shaking his head, seemingly in disgust with himself.  “How dare I insinuate that the outstanding Roman needs any help whatsoever.  I should go.  I’m terribly sorry, Roman.”

With that, he swept out of the kitchen, leaving Roman to blink in confusion and wonder what in the world had just happened.

“It’s okay,” Roman said to empty air, suddenly feeling very small.

…

Roman sort of gave up shopping for ideas after that.  It’s not like Anxiety was going to be of any help, obviously, and Logan… he could do this himself.  Deceit was right.  He shouldn’t bother anyone else when he couldn’t successfully do his own job.

Giving up looking for them elsewhere did not get him any closer to coming up with an idea himself, though, and Roman was beginning to panic.  The day Thomas had said he needed an idea from him was rapidly approaching, and Roman was coming up empty.

Today he and Thomas were going to meet up together to see how things were going, and Roman was… not looking forward to it, to put it lightly.

He had nothing.  He had a blank notebook.  This was ridiculous, he was so good at coming up with ideas, it used to be all he did, and now he was incapable of doing his job just because of a tiny bit of pressure?

…Except it wasn’t tiny at all.  The fact that Thomas needed him to work at a speed and degree he never had before or they risked not being able to afford food or their apartment was immensely stressful.

But come on, it was an idea.  Roman’s entire purpose was coming up with the damn things!  He used to be able to do it in his sleep.

He dropped his head down on his desk, in the vague hope it would shake something loose in his brain and all his problems would disappear.

It wasn’t working.

When Thomas inevitably called him, Roman shoved the ball of nerves in his stomach as far down as it would go and rose up with a blindingly bright smile that had never felt this fake before.

“Thomas, what a lovely surprise!” he called.

“We were planning this meeting, Princey.”

“That we were!  Unfortunately, I am going to have to reschedule.  I was just in the middle of narrowing down my dozens and dozens of miraculous ideas when you called me, and I don’t have a single one to give you.”

“Hmm, well it seems like that’s an omen of doom on the horizon,” came a familiar irritating voice along with terrible eerie music.

“You should quit and go back to chemical engineering Thomas,” Anxiety said.  “You didn’t have to worry about money then.”

“No one asked your opinion Spiderfreak Chronicles,” Roman snapped, ignoring his dread and his panic and the feeling that Anxiety was completely right.

“Seriously, Anxiety, not helpful,” Thomas groaned.

“It really isn’t,” Roman said, crossing his arms.

“Hey, I’m just pointing out facts,” Anxiety said, holding up his hands.  “And those facts are that you’re doomed to fail and putting this much trust in Princey was always a terrible idea and you should keep working towards something that will actually help you instead of this foolish fantasy.”

“Ugh, you’re impossible,” Roman groaned, looking up at the ceiling.  “I do not like you.”

He half hoped for Logan to rise up and be irritated that Anxiety was claiming to represent facts, when in reality he was saying things that weren’t true in the slightest, obviously, and Roman definitely had this whole thing handled.

But Logan didn’t appear, because of course he didn’t, and how dare Roman expect anything from him right now, honestly.  What was wrong with him?

“I’m just trying to prepare you for the inevitability of your embarrassing failure,” Anxiety said with a shrug.

“That is not helping,” Roman snapped, because it really wasn’t.

“Okay, look, I really don’t have the energy for this right now,” Thomas grumbled.  “Princey, just have an idea narrowed down by tomorrow, okay?”

Tomorrow?

“Of course Thomas!” Roman said brightly.  “That won’t be a problem at all!  I’ll go do that right now!”

Roman sank out to his room and immediately started pacing back and forth, shaking his hands out in panic.

Tomorrow?  He had to have an idea ready to present to Thomas by tomorrow?  How in the world was he supposed to do that?

He’d already tried looking for ideas elsewhere.  He couldn’t admit to Thomas that he had nothing.  What was he supposed to do?  How in the world had Logan managed to do this?

Roman paused.  Logan.

No, he couldn’t.  He… Logan was…

Roman shook himself slightly.  He turned to his mirror, checked his appearance, and fixed his hair.

Desperate times.

Roman sank out to the commons instead of sinking out straight into Logan’s room, because that was probably smarter.  Hesitantly, he knocked on Logan’s door, three times because that’s what Logan preferred, and stood back slightly and waited.

Eventually, Logan opened it, and his gaze soured the second he noticed Roman.  “What do you want,” he said, not really asking a question.

“I…” Roman said weakly.  “I’m sorry.  I need your help.”

Logan’s gaze soured even further.  “Find another side.”

“I tried!” Roman said desperately.  “Please, Logan, I’m sorry, I— I don’t know what I’m doing.  I’ve never done this before.  Thomas wants me to have an idea by tomorrow and I’m out of them, I— I can’t—”

“If you don’t know what you’re doing you shouldn’t have pushed for Thomas to make this switch in the first place,” Logan snapped.  “You take my job and my pride out from under me and then come and beg me for help?”

“Thomas wanted this,” Roman said quietly, looking down.  “It makes him so happy to make things he loves, Logan.”

“So I don’t make Thomas happy then?” Logan said, his own voice going quiet.  “Is that what you’re saying?”

“No.  Logan, I—” Roman squeezed his eyes shut.  “I just don’t know how you did it.  How did you pace yourself without burning out?  Did you make a schedule, or is it different when you don’t have to do it all yourself?  Could we maybe… could we maybe try working together on this?”

He looked hesitantly up towards Logan, only to immediately feel a sharp stab of panic at the rage in Logan’s eyes.

“You shove me to the sidelines,” Logan said lowly.  “You make me unimportant and useless to Thomas.  You insist on trying to handle everything yourself, and then you come and beg me for help?  Are you trying to insult me?”

“Logan, you’re not unimportant, and you’ll never be useless.  I thought— I thought you might want to keep working with Thomas on his job.  I need help, and you want to help, shouldn’t— shouldn’t that solve the problem?”

“I don’t want to help,” Logan said, drawing himself upright.  “With your pointless, terrible, unessential ideas.  We were doing something important.  And now we’re throwing it all away to make stupid jokes.  How is anyone ever going to take us seriously ever again?”

“I—”

“And for the record,” Logan said, leaning closer and causing Roman to lean back.  “I never needed help.  If you’re really that poorly cut out for this, maybe you shouldn’t have suggested it in the first place.  Figure it out, Roman.  And leave me alone.  You’ve done enough.”

Logan stepped back and shut the door before Roman could get another word in.

Roman stared at the door for a while, trying to calm any of the rushing thoughts in his head.

He was right.  Logan was right.  Roman couldn’t ask for his help now, he had already been selfish enough.  He’d wanted this so badly, and he’d dug his own grave with not knowing what would come with it.  He couldn’t ask for help from Logan.  He shouldn’t need help from anyone.  This was his job, he should be able to do it by himself.

Roman buried his head in his hands and took a shaky breath.  Then he sank out to his room, walked over to his desk, and sat down in front of a blank piece of paper.

He was going to sit here until some workable idea fell out of his brain, no matter the quality.  And then he was never going to allow himself to consider asking for help ever again.

…

“Huh,” Thomas said, looking up from the paper Roman had passed him.  “That could work.  It would definitely take pretty low effort to just set up and film in my living room.  What do you want to call it?”

“I have no idea,” Roman said, rubbing the back of his neck.  “Something about identity, maybe?  You’re exploring yourself and us sides, right?  Or, you know, the good ones, me and Logic and Morality.  Anxiety can do something else.”

“So you really just want to make a video where you introduce yourself to my fans.  Do you just want a more direct spotlight, Princey?” Thomas teased, giving him a smile.

“Of course not!” Roman said, holding a hand to his chest as if he was offended.  “Why would I be giving Morality and Logic chances to talk too if that was the case?”

“Fair enough,” Thomas said with a small smile.  “Well, I think that could work pretty well actually.  Do you want to start working on the script tomorrow?”

Something inside Roman started screaming.  “Of course!” he said, keeping his smile wide.  “I will be back here tomorrow Thomas!  I think this is going to go well!”

“I think so too, Princey,” Thomas said with a smile.

Well, at least that meant Roman hadn’t let any of his dread filter through.  Now he just had to keep this up forever.

He’d be fine.  This would be fine.  He didn’t need help.  He was Prince Roman, and he was Thomas’ Creativity, and he had this whole thing so handled.

Being in charge of Thomas’ living was a piece of cake.

[cdroloisms]

uhhhh ,, , hi ??

i feel bad bc i havent been here in. LITERALLY forever lmao - hope you guys r all doing good!! ive been working on some stuff but it’s been pretty slow going, and school is also A Thing, so i definitely havent been writing as much as i’d like. 

as an apology, have this? really self-indulgent feel-good syndicate + c!dream centric oneshot bc i felt like writing this so u know. why not. 

tws: implied torture, abuse, self-harm, disordered eating, starvation mentions, prison arc themes - overall everything’s just blink-and-you’ll-miss-it mentions, not too much angst here for once! c!sam and c!quackity critical, sorry guys but we r still in the prison arc and they still r on their “fuck human rights” arcs. 

Dream leaves.

 It’s a surprise - or maybe it isn’t one, Niki isn’t quite sure. She’d never grown to quite trust the man, she knows, and she can’t really tell if the bitter twist of emotion that swells up her chest when Phil comes to her city with the news is betrayal or resignation - what can she say. She’s gotten more than her fair share of broken promises. They don’t exactly faze her anymore. 

 None of them seem all that surprised, save Techno, who entirely fails to hide the worry that flickers over his face when he calls the Syndicate meeting to officially inform them of what’s going on. She shares quick, careful glances with the other members when his back is turned - despite how many times he’s been burned, Techno still seems so adamant at holding onto every thread, trusting all too easily those who would use and leave him behind without a second glance. He can handle himself, she knows. Still, that’s not going to stop her from slapping Dream upside the head for being yet another worthless person to betray her friend’s forgiving nature. 

 Nothing much changes in the next few weeks. Niki has to admit, it’s strange without Dream around - he’d not been an ally, much less a friend before dipping completely, but he had been some sort of constant - and Niki is self aware enough to know that she misses him, a little, the same sort of way you might miss an old routine once it’s gone, if only for the familiarity. She still visits Techno and Phil with various baked goods, knowing that Phil would have his hands full just keeping Techno from running himself ragged - makes sure to check on Ranboo, whose nerves have inevitably returned with Dream’s disappearance. To be honest, she doesn’t worry as much as he does - ally or not, she’s spent enough time with the Dream that had left prison to expect that he won’t exactly be able to get himself very far should he come for the four of them, and doesn’t particularly care about he might pull with the rest of the server - if things get bad, she’s sure Phil and Techno will have it handled. She asks Phil, once, what happened, and he shrugs. 

 “I don’t know, mate,” he heaves a chest to the side, pulling out a stack of stone blocks that Niki gladly holds for him. “One day we woke up and he was just- gone. Everything. Was like he wasn’t ever there at all.” 

 Niki hums. “Why’d you think he’d do something like that?” 

 “If I could understand half of why Dream does what he does, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now, would we?” He smiles at her from behind a crate. “Shall we bring these things upstairs and start on dinner?” 

 Niki laughs, knowing that the conversation about Dream is over. “Of course, Phil.” 

Dinner is a welcome distraction; all of them have gotten better at cooking in recent months, between her baking and the veritable library of recipes Phil knows that she’s never even heard of, but Phil is still the only one she really trusts to hold his own behind the stove - Ranboo is still a little too nervous around water, and fire, and much of everything, and though Techno can be a perfectly capable cook, he’s been distracted as of late. She has a strong feeling that left to his own devices, he’d just grab a stack of steak and disappear for another few weeks, searching the server for information. 

 Honestly, she’s a little thrown off by his behavior - he’d not done anything like this with Tommy, if she remembers right, and had hardly seemed affected by Wilbur’s betrayal on the Sixteenth at all (then again, she was a little too lost in her own head to notice if he was.) She tosses her head over to ask Phil, who’s leaning over a few carrots he’s slicing to throw into the stew he’s making, and the man pauses, frowns. 

 “From what I know,” he starts, words slow, careful, “they’d spent three months in there together, and the conditions weren’t exactly- stellar. According to what Techno said, I’d assumed they had come to some sort of understanding.” He goes back to the carrots, expression dipping into shadow and out of sight. “Guess I was wrong.” 

 Niki hums. She can see it, sort of - spending months together with someone, no matter how insufferable, probably would end with some degree of attachment - she thinks back to plotting through sleepless nights with Jack, anger and grief leaving them simmering, crabs in the same pot of boiling water, remembers looking into his dead-eyed gaze and seeing her own stare back - and feels a brief pang of guilt. Besides, Techno is Techno. She’d never met someone so willing to forgive, understand, reach out despite everything that’s happened - for Dream to take advantage of that feels almost too obvious. Of course he would - what were they all thinking?

 “He’s Dream,” she says as if that explains everything, flipping open the oven door and feeling a wave of heat blast her face. Phil hums lowly, understanding. “I hope Techno will be alright.” 

 “He’s tough,” Phil cracks a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “And he has us on his side. He’ll get through.” 

 Niki opens her mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by the front door slamming open. Outside their quaint little cottage, the wind howls - it sounds like the beginning of a blizzard out there, flurries painting the world in a thick blanket of white. In the door, Techno strides into the entrance with loud, decisive movements, shutting the door loud enough to make the walls shake. Inadvertently, Niki finds her eyes drawn to the small pile of snow that he’s tracked into the house - Techno’s usually so careful to kick it all off on the porch, never liked it much when there was a pile of melting ice and snow dampening the floorboards and soaking into his shoes. He huffs harshly, stripping off a snow-dusted scarf from his face - a long, multicolored abomination that had been the product of her attempting to teach Ranboo how to knit. Phil has reached his side, hands splayed over his upper arms, eyes soft in the corners from concern. 

 “Techno, mate-” his tone is chiding but his movements gentle as he brushes snow off of Techno’s signature cloak, “you’ve gotten snow everywhere. What were you doing, dueling a blizzard?” 

 Techno shakes his head, not meeting Phil’s banter as usual, fur sticking up from the snow melted into it. His voice is gruff and holds little humor - unconsciously, Niki feels her shoulders tense. 

 “Phil, call a Syndicate meeting.”

 ---

 Phil, per usual, is unrelenting, so it’s not until a quick dinner and some hurried messages to their final member later that the Syndicate is gathered in their meeting room, Techno pacing the length of the room as they wait in their respective seats. He looks less frazzled than he did when he first entered the house, in part due to Phil’s sitting him down to eat and picking through his fur to smooth it out of its windblown spikes and tangles - Techno had grumbled at him to stop preening him, but looked a lot more relaxed by the time they were all finished with their food. Still, his ear flicks periodically, twitching toward ssome sound that Niki can’t hear, movements tighter and jerkier than she is used to. He’d always been a little flightier after the prison, but not quite like this - everything here feels like that but dialed up to eleven. Inexplicably, it reminds her of Dream. 

 “Techno?” Phil gestures towards his seat, prompting, and he settles into it with an obliging huff. 

 “Y’know, Phil, the code names are kinda pointless if we never use ‘em,” he says, words carrying no real heat - he looks back at the rest of them, lips thinning into a line. “Anyway. I called this meeting because I found a couple leads on Dream.” 

 “O-oh,” Ranboo stutters, tail lashing behind him. 

 “You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to, mate,” Phil reminds him gently, a sentiment that Niki affirms with a determined nod. 

 “There’ve been some reports- rumors, really,” Techno says, calling their attention again, and they all turn towards him, “of increased activity around the prison again. The Warden spending more time on its grounds, movement seen around the walls and around the portal- so I decided to go check it out for myself.” 

 Niki frowns, and watches as Phil does the same beside her - Techno had seemed to avoid the prison if he could help it, save for when he went on the initial mission to break Dream out. It was no secret to them that he didn’t exactly like the place. 

 “We could’ve helped if you asked,” Phil reminds him, and Techno shakes his head. 

 “I know, Phil. It’s just- that place is bad news. I’d rather keep you guys away from there if I can-” his hand goes to his head with a poorly hidden wince. “Sorry, Chat’s a little- worked up, at the minute.” 

 “Sorry, we’ll stop interrupting you,” Niki says, cutting off Phil before he says anything else. “So you went to the prison?” 

 Techno takes a second to gather his thoughts, mumbling quietly in the way that usually means he’s telling off Chat. “Right- I decided to stake out the portal. The rumors were right- Sam has been hanging around there, entered and left the prison four times yesterday. And today-” he hesitates, expression visibly darkening. “This morning, about an hour after the Warden arrived, Quackity came to the prison and went through the portal. He left the grounds about six hours later.” 

 “Quackity?” Niki frowns, eyes flicking over to how Phil has stilled in his seat. “What is Quackity doing at the prison?” 

 Phil ignores her question, reaching towards Techno, something indiscernible in his gaze. “Mate…”

 “He smelled of blood when he left,” Techno says, words sharp, and Niki feels her heart skip a beat. “Warden left about half an hour after, and I came back here.” 

 Ranboo clears his throat, sounding tentative. “Okay,” he drums his hand on the table when they turn towards him, eyebrows drawn, “but what, exactly, does this have to do with, uh, Dream?” 

 Techno and Phil trade glances, one of their bouts of unspoken conversation that Niki’s grown extremely used to. They seem strangely hesitant, she notes internally, Phil looking towards Techno with a question written clearly in the planes of his face. Techno sighs, a long puff of air through his lips as he closes his eyes and turns his face towards the table. 

 “You know how Dream was- injured,” he starts slowly, looking back up at them. Niki shifts uncomfortably - of course she noticed, it was impossible not to - if not the bandages that peeked under his sleeves and the cuffs of his pants, then how skinny he’d been, all skin and bones curled up uncomfortably in a pile at the corner of Techno’s couch. She’d not know the extent, by any means, and had always assumed that they’d been self-inflicted - she’d been in a bad enough place on her own before to know how your head can make you want to hurt, sometimes, how eating food can feel like choking on sawdust and the world could feel so much smaller when focused into delicate pricks of pain. Phil’s eyes are trained on Techno - on his face, then on the pinkish raised skin of a still-healing scar along his forearm, and she feels understanding settle like a rock in her gut. 

 “The Warden had apparently been lettin’ Quackity into the cell to torture Dream for the revive book,” Techno trails off, eyes narrowed and seemingly fixed on a random point of the opposite wall. “By the time I go there, it’d been goin’ on for months.”

 “But wait,” Ranboo’s tail moves even more erratically behind him, “You mean you think he’s back- there? How?” 

 “He has to be back in the prison,” Techno points out. “I can’t imagine anyone besides him that the two of them are goin’ to just start torturin’- Sam had been iffy about the whole thing when Quackity started in on me. It has to be Dream in there again.” 

 “But how did he get in there, then?” Ranboo asks, visibly confused. “Last time it took the entire server to lock him up!”

 “There were no signs of a struggle,” Niki points out, matter of fact. “I believe you, Techno, but I don’t really know how they managed to drag him back so easily. I can’t imagine he was jumping at the chance to go back in there.” 

 Techno shakes his head with an uneasy sigh. 

 “I have a feelin’ of what might’ve happened,” he says quietly. “And I really hope that I’m wrong and he’s less of an idiot than I think he is.” 

 ---

 They set out to investigate - and maybe attack - the next day, Techno and Phil taking on the bulk of preparations as Ranboo stays behind. He’d been understandably uneasy about the whole mission, so they’d left him back by the Syndicate room to set off their pearls in case anything went wrong. (“By the end of the day,” Techno had said, giving Phil a look with the corner of his lip quirked upwards, “don’t be like Phil here and think I meant the end of the month, alright?”) They’d all be supplied with armor and weapons, thanks to Phil, but she’d been handed the bulk of their potions, arranged neatly in her inventory by type in case they’d be needed. She lingers in the back of the room as Phil and Techno chat amiably over the sound of making last minute repairs on their armor, listens to Techno’s ceaseless reminders for Phil to be careful, watches as they make sure that their stasis chambers are properly prepared should they need them.

 (She watches as Phil nudges Techno’s shoulder when he lingers behind a certain chair, empty as long as she’s been part of the Syndicate, the fountain behind it bubbling quietly without a pearl inside. Techno sighs, expression strange. 

 “Should’ve set him up with one,” he says, quiet, and Phil pats him on the back. 

 “You couldn’t have known, mate. We wanted to wait a little before telling him about the Syndicate, remember?” 

 Techno hums, noncommittal. “Still.”)

 They Nether travel to the site of Techno’s lookout, which ends up being a little shambling thing with dirt walls dug into a small hill looking towards the prison portal, having hardly enough space to fit the three of them. Phil looks at it with no small amount of apprehension, and Techno shrugs lightly, wearing an expression that makes Phil turn to him with a look that makes Niki break into giggles. Techno crosses his arms- “in my defense-” and Phil looks up at the dirt ceiling with a long-suffering sigh. 

 “You couldn’t have made this a little roomier, mate?” Phil asks, voice dry as kindling, and Techno raises his hands by his head. 

 “Hey hey, it’s discreet, it gets the job done, it’s perfectly structurally sound-” the sound of the leftmost wall crumbling, along with the cloud of dust that puffs from it and fills their tiny space, undermines the tail end of his statement and leaves him sputtering, Niki falling into another fit of quiet giggles. Underneath it all, Phil sighs again, raising his wings behind him. 

 “...these are going to take so long to clean out.” 

 To his credit, Techno looks sheepish. “Sorry, Phil.”

 They sober up quickly; Techno turns around to the opposite side of the hill, where he’s hidden some peepholes inside the dirt - Niki settles herself by one, leaning forwards to put her eye to it and catch a glimpse of the prison looming over the water. It’s been repaired since the breakout, she notes, the gaping hole in the roof completely gone and replaced with obsidian, as intimidating and undamaged as it had been before, if not more so. Phil makes a considering sound from behind her.

 “Same plan as last time?” He asks, and Techno shakes his head. 

 “They’ve probably reinforced it, and Dream’s blueprints won’t include anything new the Warden’s added. I wouldn’t be surprised if they moved Dream to a different location completely. We don’t want to draw too much attention, either, we were cutting it pretty close during the breakout.” He narrows his eyes. “I was thinking we’d try something a little stealthier, this time. “ 

 He gestures at Niki, who blinks back at him with wide eyes. 

 “You got a couple of invis potions for us?”

 She distributes the potions among them all, one regular and two splash potions of invisibility each, and Techno points towards the prison once she’s done. 

 “The most important thing is to get through the portal,” he says with a grim expression. “Worst comes to worst, once we’re inside we can always blast our way through - but gettin’ through that portal is our first priority.” 

 Phil narrows his eyes at him. “The portal is locked, though. We’ll need to follow someone else inside- and I’m pretty sure Sam uses pearls, so he’s out.” 

 Techno nods. “Which is why I’m bankin’ on the prison gettin’ another visitor today. We’ll just have to wait.” 

 Niki swallows. “Do you mean-”

 “Quackity?” Techno turns away, not quite meeting her eyes. “I’m not totally sure, but he’s not exactly the type to just give up on his goals. He’s pretty predictable- an empire needs an emperor, always needs something new to rule- you know the type,” he says, tipping his head towards Phil. “He’ll be mad at Dream for disappearin’ on him and won’t miss the opportunity to prove he has the upper hand again. I’m not sure that he’s going to come today-”

 “-but you wouldn’t really be surprised, either,” Phil finishes for him, eyes steely with cold determination. “I trust your judgement, mate. Just stay safe- from what I’ve heard, Quackity has been...erratic.” 

 “When is he not,” Techno huffs a short laugh, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine, Phil. Just be careful, both of you. Don’t get too close. And if things get messy- which is what we’re tryin’ to avoid, by the way- then don’t do anything too risky. Our priority is gettin’ in and out alive.” 

 “We can handle ourselves, Techno,” Niki reminds him with a small smile. “And Ranboo is there in case anything goes wrong.” 

 “Alright, then. Here’s the plan.” 

 ---

 It takes quite a long time for Quackity to arrive, long minutes that Niki spends fidgeting in the corner of the room, brushing her hands over seams of the netherite plates that Phil had shoved into her hands, back at the Syndicate room. The set is inexplicably light - not weightless, by any means, as it is still netherite, but not nearly as bulky as any set of netherite armor she’s owned or seen in the past. The runes are precise, lines thin and exact, written with graceful strokes of lapis. 

 “Phil’s the best metalworker I’ve ever met,” Techno tells her with a small grin, catching her in the middle of tracing what she can make out as an Unbreaking rune along the metal strapped to her forearm. “But then again, he’s had the time to practice.” 

 “Are you calling me old again?” Phil huffs, and Techno flashes a smile her direction before looking at Phil with a slight grin. 

 “Well, Chat is,” he says, lips twitching when Phil glares back. 

 “You can’t just blame Chat every time you insult me, you little shit,” Phil groans, and Techno only grins wider. 

 “Phil, my ad revenue,” he complains, a dramatic lilt to his voice that has Niki stifling a snort, and Phil’s glare only grows deadlier. 

 “You’ll have more than your ad revenue to worry about if you keep this up,” he mumbles, going back to keep watch at one of the peepholes and stilling as he does. “Shit- Techno, Quackity’s here.” 

 Techno straightens up, hindered slightly by the low ceiling of their room. “Alright- we all know the plan, right?” 

 Niki nods in the affirmative, pulling out a splash invis and letting it settle in her hand, the glass cool beneath her fingertips. She reaches into her inventory and lets her armor fade into it, takes a deep breath and watches as the two across from her do the same. She doesn’t wear armor often, but so close to the prison, feeling mining fatigue settling deep into her bones - she’s never missed the security it offers more. Techno keeps watch, waiting- drops his arm in a signal. Now. 

 Niki throws the potion at their feet, flinching back at the sound of shattering glass and feeling its effects seep into her skin. When she opens her eyes, she can’t see anything but the inside of the room that they’d holed themselves in and the faintest of wisps rising from where their feet must be, curling around the grass. 

 (Please let this work, she begs to no one in particular as they walk towards the prison. And if you can hear me- please keep us all safe.)

 She hardly breathes as they follow Quackity across the path, holding someone’s hand in her own - Phil’s, by the feel of it - careful to muffle her footsteps in the grass and stand still whenever Quackity’s eyes come a little too close. Thankfully for them, he seems focused, hardly stopping or looking around at all as he walks towards the prison’s portal, movements stiff as he walks forward. He punches the button on the wall particularly harshly, and Sam’s voice comes crackling through a speaker a second later. 

 “I’m here for my visit,” Quackity says, punctuating the sentence with a snort of laughter that doesn’t sound particularly sincere. Niki hasn’t seen him in a long while, not after everything that happened in Pogtopia, and she feels a chill worm down her spine - this man looks nothing like the one that had laughed and danced and sung at her birthday party what feels like an eternity ago. What happened? 

 Sam sighs, the sound turning into a sharp burst of static through the speakers. “Hello Quackity,” he says, voice deep and tired. “Please step into the portal after I tell you to and then wait on the other side.” 

 “I know the drill, Sam,” Quackity rolls his eyes. “Just because the bastard was gone for a few weeks doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how this damn place works.” 

 “Just going through protocol, Quackity,” Sam replies, and something about this response has Quackity exploding into a brief fit of laughter, the sound grating against Niki’s ears. She feels her grip tighten on Phil’s hand, air caught in her throat. 

 “Protocol- ha. Whatever you wanna tell yourself, pal.” Quackity smiles, cold and cruel, and Niki tries not to think about how she’d seen that same grin on Wilbur, eyes sparkling from the light of the lanterns hung from the bridges and walls of their ravine, remember how she’d looked into them and realized her old friend wasn’t there, anymore. Quackity disappears into the portal, and after a second, the hand around her own pulls her inside of it too.

 On the other side, Quackity taps his foot impatiently, crossing his arms and waiting- Sam’s voice comes through the speakers again, words clipped. 

 “Go through the portal,” he says, and Quackity does- once again, they wait for a second for his body to disappear, then go within it themselves, pressed close enough together within its frame for Niki to feel the warmth of a wing wrap around her shoulders for a quick second before they’re out of the hot, stifling air of the Nether and into a large, neatly made lobby of blackstone and quartz. They duck into a corner, watching as Quackity moves towards the front counter, the Warden waiting there with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks- tired. His movements are slow, footsteps loud against the floor, shoulders tense and back hunched. He walks around the counter, sword strapped to his belt, and Niki feels her breath hitch at the sight of dried blood still stuck to the blade in patches and splatters.

 “He ready?” Quackity asks, holding his hands out - Niki catches a flash of metal as Sam drops something into them, watches as Quackity raises what ends up being a pair of shears, dangerous-looking and gleaming with enchants, to the light. 

 “Yes,” Sam says, side-eyeing Quackity with a small glare. “You know, it’s supposed to be your job to clean those things off when you’re done with them.”

 “I told you, busy day back in Las Nevadas yesterday,” Quackity waves a hand- “I’ll do it, alright? Don’t get all pissy now. What happened to being partners?” 

 “You said we’d be done with this months ago, Quackity,” Sam sighs, and Niki feels a light tug on her arm as Quackity and Sam begin to walk towards the wall to the right of them, breathes in slow and deep as she follows Techno and Phil towards the others. The wall yawns open with the hiss of redstone firing and pistons pulling blocks upwards, opening into a dark hallway that feels like entering the maw of some sort of giant, insatiable beast. They step inside as one, and the door shuts behind them. 

 “We’ll be done soon enough,” Quackity says, and Niki feels hairs rising on the back of her neck. “Trust me.” 

 They stalk forwards through a labyrinth of blackstone, Niki brushing the palms of her hand against her clothes when it goes clammy from adrenaline. Halfway through, she pauses to tip back a second potion of invisibility, careful to keep her movements slow and steady as not to make a sound - the liquid is silvery, cool and light on her tongue, and she lets the effects wash over her with her breath caught in her lungs before moving forward. The tunnels are simpler than she’d expected, bearing little obstacles or checkpoints - Quackity makes a wry comment a second after (“Guard tunnels today, huh? Appreciate the hustle, pal-”) that confirms her suspicions. Despite the potion particles still whirling around their bodies and the sounds of their footsteps, too loud in her own ears, they manage to make it forwards without much trouble, entering a large room with a doorway filled completely with a curtain of lava. 

 “Set your spawn,” Sam says, still stoic, and Quackity rolls his eyes again before doing as told. Niki keeps looking back at the lava flowing past the wall, its heat filling the room and making her already slick palms even worse, and Sam moves to the side to flick a lever, eyes trained on the lava slowly bubbling in front of him. 

 “Give me your tools?” Quackity asks, and Sam sighs before doing so - Niki watches as he hands over a netherite axe, then potions, then a few raw potatoes that Quackity accepts and puts into his inventory. Sam raises an eyebrow once he’s done, hand tight around the handle of his trident. 

 “You bring your own sword, today?” He asks, seeming irritated, and Quackity shrugs. 

 “Sorry pal, I need to make a new one. Guess I’m borrowing yours again.” 

 Sam sighs again, louder, and hands over his sword as well, watching as Quackity swings it a few times experimentally. The blade skims a little too close to her on one swing and she can’t quite help the squeak that escapes her lips as she throws herself out of the way, feels her heart hammer in her ears as she backs up against the wall. Please don’t hear that please don’t hear that please don’t hear that please don’t hear that-

 “Quackity, wait.” Sam raises a hand, ear twitching as he looks over in her direction with narrowed eyes. “I think I heard something.”

 Oh fuck.

 “Well, guess show’s up then,” Techno drawls, and both of them whirl towards his voice, giving Niki enough time to pull her armor back on, scrambling to get her sword and shield in her hands as Phil does the same besides her. Pieces of armor appear where Techno is standing, then a bucket of milk- oh, why must her friends be so dramatic- and Techno’s standing there, smiling sharply, with Orphan Obliterator held loosely at his side. “Let’s get this done, then.” 

 As one, Techno and Phil blur into action - Techno moves forward to catch the prongs of Sam’s trident on his blade as Phil parries Quackity’s blows with his own sword- they move fluidly, easily covering each other’s backs as the room devolves into chaos. Niki remembers their guidance as she flits in and out of the fight, scoring quick hits to keep the Warden and Quackity off balance while remaining out of range from their weapons, and it’s not long before both of them have fallen with a spray of items and experience orbs scattered all over the floor. 

 Techno moves over to block off the exposed face of the bed with a block, looking over at the two of them with an uncharacteristically severe expression. “They’ll be back soon- we have to move fast. Niki, you have those fire res, right?” 

 She nods as she reaches into her inventory, finding the potion’s orange-pink glow and smashing it at their feet. They dive into the lava together, Niki scrambling to keep up, her arms struggling to move through the thick lava, loses sight of both until she flails into something directly in front of her and hands are pulling her up out of the lava. 

 “There you go, mate,” Phil smiles down at her as hauls herself to her feet, making a face at the feeling of the lava clinging to her clothes. “Yeah, swimming through lava isn’t exactly fun. You good?” She flashes him a thumbs up, and he laughs- “Niki, you’re still invisible.” She flushes pink- right.

 A few sips of milk later, she gives him a proper thumbs up, and he laughs, loud and bright. She looks past him to where Techno’s crouched over something- someone, she realizes with a start, in the corner. Dream’s back in prison clothes, ragged and ill-fitting, and he’s curled up with his back towards the front of the cell, shaking enough to be obvious even from where she’s standing. Techno speaks lowly, voice barely more than a deep rumble in the air, almost inaudible.

 “You there, Dream?” 

 She watches as Dream turns his head, looking up with wide, bleary eyes. His hair flops in front of his face, and something within her itches to brush it out of the way. “T-Techno?”

 “Yeah nerd, who else?” Techno smiles, and Dream seems to blink awake, drawing himself up with a shuddery breath. 

 “Techno- it’s a trap- what are you doing here?” he hisses, and Techno gives him a look, deadpan.

 “Yeah, yeah, it’s a trap- come on, Dream, we’ve been over this by now, bro. You have to know that their traps aren’t goin’ to do anything to me by now,” Techno rolls his eyes, reaching forward to steady his hands on Dream’s shoulders when the other man sputters and struggles to breathe. “Easy, now. Geez, you wanted to prove me wrong about being homeless bad enough that you came back here? We could’ve just made you a house, you know. You didn’t have to go this far.” 

 “I- they were gonna kill you,” Dream breathes, face twisted up uncomfortably, and his eyes flick past Techno’s face to where Phil and Niki are standing at the opposite wall of the cell. “All of you- they said-”

 “And that’s what I thought you’d say,” Techno groans. “Come on, you idiot, I thought you were smarter than this-” 

 “They were right there, Techno!” Dream fires back, eyes alight. “You- they were right there, what were you thinking, they could’ve-!”

 “And my best friend is a necromancer, remember?” Techno shakes his head. “Come on, Dream- Sam and Quackity? You know we can handle them in a fight, especially when you can just revive us if anything goes wrong. You don’t have to do this whole self-sacrifice thing, bro- there’s only so many times I can break into the same prison, y’know.” 

 “You’re so stupid,” Dream huffs, but he leans in anyway, head just barely settling against Techno’s shoulder. “I- I can’t believe. You’re so dumb.” 

 “Hey, don’t be sayin’ that to the guy that’s breakin’ you out of prison,” Techno laughs, slinging Dream over his shoulder with an easy motion and laughing harder when it makes him yelp. “That’s just bein’ ungrateful. You’re making Chat sad, man, and when they’re sad they don’t subscribe-” 

 “I regret this entirely,” Dream says, voice muffled against Techno’s shirt, tone completely flat. “Put me down- you idiot- I’m staying here. You’re worse than Quackity.” 

 “Rude. Now you’ve really made Chat mad. I demand an apology-” 

 “Boys, boys.” Niki can’t help giggling, watching the way their gazes snap towards her, rolling her eyes as she moves forward with a few potions held loosely in her hand. “Dream, do you want a health pot?” 

 Dream seems to deliberate for a second, before nodding at her, expression slightly strained. “...sure.” 

 “You two can finish your argument after we’ve broken out of the biggest maximum security prison on the server,” Phil drawls from behind her, arms crossed at his chest. “Come on, now, before Sam gets back.” 

 “Isn’t this the only maximum security prison on the server?” Techno asks aloud, an amused expression on his face - one that only gets worse when Phil glares at him with one ice-blue eye. 

 “Shut-” he sighs, shaking his head. “You two are chaotic little shits, you know that?”

 “Don’t compare me to him, Phil,” Techno complains, Dream mirroring his words with muffled protests of his own, and Phil breathes another drawn-out, long-suffering sigh as he rubs at the bridge of his nose. 

 “Niki, give us some fire res please?” 

 She finds the potion bottle between giggles, throwing it to the ground as she tries to choke down the laughter rapidly bubbling up her throat. “Of course, Phil.” 

 She looks back at Techno and Dream before jumping into the lava, the two of them once again lost in some sort of argument, Dream draped over Techno’s shoulder. He’s breathing easier now, she notes, and Techno looks looser too - a little less tense, leaning back with a perpetual quirk to the corner of his lip as they fire insults back and forth. This is familiar, she recognizes with a soft twist in her chest, the same way that Phil and Techno can finish each other’s sentences and look at each other with laughing eyes sharing the same memories of the past, the same way Ranboo watches Techno’s every step as he adjusts his stance and lifts his sword and Techno laughs and calls him a main character in turn, the same way she and Phil will settle together on the porch over cups of tea and sit at each other’s sides for hours. The rhythm between them is one well-established, the road well-worn - she imagines them, huddled in this dingy cell for months together, and breathes in slow and deep. 

 “Come on,” she smiles, making sure to keep it on her face when Dream meets her eyes with wide, startled ones of his own. Dream still isn’t an ally, and isn’t a friend. 

 But - she watches as he smiles back, something inexplicably warm in her chest - maybe, one day, he could be.

[3d-wifey]

Temptation Sings

Pairing: Ryūnosuke Tanaka x Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Smut, fluff, senpai kink, p*rn watching, implied bisexual reader, excessive use of the word "babe" & some curse words

A/N: The senpai kink is sort of one-sided, but what kink isn't 💀 and the title is sort of based off a lyric from Super Freak by Rick James. Also, those are actual lines from a Hentai, but I fucking lost it half way through so I had to improvise. Anyway, this is over 3,000 words of straight dog water. Enjoy!

Synopsis: You ride Tanaka while watching hentai

"What kind of porn do you watch?"

"What?" Tanaka let out a quick bark of laughter before staring at you with wide eyes. His hand was frozen over the bowl of popcorn as he turned his full attention to you. The two of you had been dating for over a year now, yet, you've never had sex.

Sure, there had been some over the clothes stuff before. Some tops off heavy petting, some groping while making out, but it had never progressed past that. Not for a lack of trying, of course. Anytime you could find time to hang out alone, something would always interrupt you.

You weren't a virgin, but you didn't have much experience, so, naturally, you were more than a little nervous. And Tanaka, bless his soul, was pretty understanding. As long as you two could still make out and he could grab your ass, he seemed fine. But, he's still a teenage boy, no matter how respectful. He could only handle being blue balled so many times. And you wholeheartedly felt the same way.

This seemed like the best way to go about it. Establishing a common interest in what you both liked to get the ball rolling.

"Porn. I know you watch it, Ryuu. So...what kind?" You sat up on your side of the bed and leaned against the headboard, knowingly making him eye level with your breast. Nothing wrong with a little incentive.

"Okay, wow. You're serious. Um," he stuttered, eyes flickering over your chest and back to your eyes, before a blush settled flooded his cheeks, "You're just gonna laugh." He moved his gaze over to the movie playing on the laptop, avoiding eye contact. Was he embarrassed? He should know by now that you didn't judge.

You wouldn't be dating him if you did.

"I promise I won't laugh, baby. Look, I'll go first," you moved the bowl of popcorn off his lap and grabbed his hands to pull him up, "Pay attention."

"Wha–"

"There's Amateur, Lesbian," you ignored his questioning look and kept going, "Creampie, Fingering, Solo male and female, Public, and Taboo. That's all I can think of off the top of my head. You like any of that?"

He stared at you slack-jawed. Had you been too forward? You thought if you were honest about it, you both could be comfortable with each other. You watched in anticipation as he moved his gaze from you to the ceiling.

"Thank you, God," he whispered, almost on the verge of tears, "I must truly be blessed."

"Are you serious, Ryuu," you scoffed, hitting his arm to hide how relieved you really were, "You made me anxious for nothing!"

"That is so hot, babe," he grinned excitedly, moving to sit on his knees with his legs folded under him, "All that stuff sounds cool, and we're definitely gonna come back to that lesbian thing later, but I usually just watch...Hentai." He cleared his throat, scratching his cropped hair.

You pulled the laptop over to you and paused the movie playing. Pulling up the browser, you typed "Hentai" in the search bar, and hesitated for a second.

Hentai. Of course, it was hentai. You weren't surprised in the least that he got off to cartoon characters fucking. In fact, you expected it. You knew what you were getting into when you agreed to date him. You briefly wondered what kind he watched before it hit you.

Oh, yeah, you thought, he'd like that.

"What are you doing, babe?" He questioned. You paid his nervous laughter no mind as you queued up the perfect video. You were a genius.

_

"Are you okay with this, Kasuri?"

"I've been telling you that it's okay!"

You watched as the small girl pushed the boy on the ground and climbed on his hips to straddle him backward. To your complete surprise, you were actually kind of invested in the plot. Sure, some of the lines made you cringe and the ethics behind the sister trying to fuck her brother were a bit iffy, but, somehow, it was keeping you entertained.

The less than spectacular writing didn't seem to be affecting Ryuu any. With how much he jerked off to this kind of stuff, you figured he was probably used to it.

"I want you to take it...take me Senpai."

You felt Tanaka stiffen up beside you before quickly relaxing. Well, more like you felt him force himself to relax. You watched out of the corner of your eye as he subtly, or as subtle as Tanaka could be, adjusted himself in his sweats.

He was trying very hard to hide how much the video was affecting him; however, you always found Tanaka easy to read. The furrow of his brows, the twitch of his muscles, the restless tapping of his fingers along his thigh—all of it was effortlessly understood like the words of a well-loved book.

He was holding himself back for some reason that you couldn't find the effort in yourself to figure out, but he wasn't the only one affected.

"You have to tell me what you like. You have to teach me, senpai."

There was that stiffening again.

You placed your hand high on his tense thigh, completely ignoring the eyes burning into the side of your face. Unlike Ryuu, you were a fantastic actor. You decided you would wait for him to fully relax, or be as relaxed as any teenage boy could be while watching porn before you would strike.

You waited for the moment his leg softened under your hand and oddly enough it was at the point in the video where they showed a very detailed shot of the boy coming inside of the girl. He probably thought it was ending soon. Little did he know you were going in for the kill.

You cuddled further under his arm before you looked up at him with imploring eyes.

"Do you wanna do that...with me, senpai?"

It was just like any other kink, you rationalized. It was on par with the guys who were into being called 'Daddy' or 'Sir' or some other title. It didn't do anything for you, but if your magnificent hunk of a boyfriend got turned on by being called senpai, you were more than happy to go along with it.

"Well?" You prompted when he said nothing and gawked at you like a test he didn't study for.

"What did you call—is this—are we actually about to—" His wide eyes switched between you and the computer screen before deciding you were far more entertaining.

Instead of answering his stammering, you rose to your knees to pull the sundress over your head. You unhooked your bra and threw it off the bed with no regard for where it landed. It was a shame it wasn't one of your cuter ones, but you doubted Ryuu cared.

Your hands paused on the waistband of your panties when you realized he was frozen beside you, eyes flickering over your body like he didn't know where he should look.

"Am I gonna be the only one naked?" You would have thought he was on the court with how fast he jumped off the bed.

You watched from his bed as he struggled to get out of his clothes. It was adorable how excited he was, but he wasn't the only one. You've been waiting nearly thirteen months for this and you were practically vibrating out of your skin.

You were content to watch him almost bust his ass as he tried to get his sweats off when you remembered something.

"We don't need a condom. I'm on birth control." You started birth control years ago to handle your irregular periods, but it also came with the added benefit of Ryuu being able to cream you like a Twinkie.

He stared at you for a second with a blank face before closing his eyes with his hands clasped together...almost like he was praying? You heard him whisper something suspiciously along the lines of him being blessed before he practically bounded up to you like a hyper puppy

Probably not the best analogy to be made in your current situation, but it was true! He was bouncing on the balls of his feet and shaking his hands out like he always did before a match. You briefly wondered if he ever did this before. He never told you if he got this far with any of his exes and you never asked.

At that moment, you decided it didn't matter what he did before because you would be the best he ever had.

Your hands shot forward to pull his underwear down before pausing.

"Is... Is this okay?" You asked, hands hovering over his boxer briefs. For the first time during the entire affair, you were hesitant. What if you were pushing too fast? You hadn't exactly asked anything. You just gave out demands and he followed. You wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you ended up pressuring him into this.

"I—," he stopped, staring down at you with wide eyes and for a split second, your heart stopped, "Are you kidding, babe? God, yes, it's okay!"

You honest to God giggled when you pulled him onto the bed with you and clamored onto his lap, like the stereotypical school girl. You calmed yourself down enough to just look at him. The way he gazed at you with a year's worth of pent-up desire made slick dampen the seat of your panties.

"You're just—you're beautiful. God, I love you so so much," the sincerity in his voice was amplified by the goofy grin he gazed up at you with and the blush on the apples of his tan cheeks, "you know that, right?"

One look at Ryuu and even a blind man could see how much he loved you. It was a good thing his feelings were mutual or it'd be pretty embarrassing.

"I love you too, idiot," your hand settled on the back of his close-cropped head to pull him into a kiss. And in typical Tanaka fashion, he kissed you like you were the only thing keeping him alive. He kissed like his only goal was to leave you as breathless as you made him. And he always succeeded.

"Now," you took a deep breath, "are you gonna fuck me, senpai?"

The groan he let out against your lips was more than enough of an answer for you.

You rushed to pull your panties off, thanking whoever was watching over you that it wasn't one with holes or bleach stains on it.

You reached to pull him out of his boxers, but he beat you to it. It gave you pause how he whipped it out like it was nothing to gawk at.

A little over half the length of your forearm, his dick was nothing to scoff at. He was the same width as your wrist with a thick vein running up the underside of his shaft.

Not the first dick you've seen but by far the biggest. Your heart rate picked up as you thought of the logistics of how he'd even fit inside you. You'd probably have trouble with just the tip.

You pulled the foreskin back to see precum already collecting at the angry red head. He jerked when you took the heavy weight of his dick into your hand and you could barely wrap your fingers around him. You didn't think he'd be so sensitive but you called yourself thankful for it. Easier to tease.

You rubbed his tip against the opening of your pussy and pulled away, strings of slick still connecting you. You repeated the action a few times before taking pity on your poor boyfriend. You used his quiet moans as motivation as you pushed his head past your tight hole.

You hissed at the unexpected stretch. The burn veering on the side of uncomfortable, but not painful. You couldn't tell if it was because of how long it had been since the last time you had sex with anyone or if it was because of the sheer size of him.

You decided it was the latter as you tried to take more of him.

"Here," you grabbed one of his thumbs and rubbed it over your clit in quick circles. The callused pad pleasurably rough against the slick covered bud. Luckily, he caught on quickly and kept up the pace as you tried to sink further down. The ache in your walls added to the pleasure on your clit.

You sighed once you finally reached the base. You hadn't expected this much effort would go into just taking him.

He was panting hard, eyes closed and struggling to hold still enough to let you adjust.

"Okay," you breathed, "okay." You slowly rose to your knees and peeked at his dick as it came out coated with your slick, before driving yourself back down with a moan. You settled your hands on his shoulders as you picked up a rhythm.

"You're such a badass, babe," he praised and you would have laughed if him shoving himself into you, thrust for thrust, didn't fuck a series of moans out of you.

You peppered quick kisses against his lips as you drove yourself up and down. You ran the tip of your tongue along his bottom lip before nipping at it. He eagerly took the hint and opened his mouth to you. You swallowed his groans as your hand slid up to the front of his neck and squeezed, tongues pressing together in an openmouthed kiss.

When you pulled away, his eyes flickered between your bouncing breasts, where his dick split you open, and your lidded eyes.

"I've dreamed of this for so long," you moaned as his hand resumed its motion on your sensitive clit. How he was able to piece together coherent sentences was beyond you, "Wanted you so bad, baby. So. Bad."

The headboard slammed into the wall as you sped up your pace. You were lucky you two were the only ones in the house.

"That's right, babe. Bounce on Senpai's dick. Fuck," he cursed, voice cracking when you swiveled your hips, "You like that, don't you? My pretty girl." You didn't want to admit it, but the senpai thing was really doing it for you. Not the actual word, but the sheer affect it had on him.

You can't say you were surprised by how talkative he was, his dirty words dripping over your overheating body like rich syrup. If you knew watching porn would lead to this, you would have done it ages ago.

His big hands used his grip on your ass to rock you back and forth at a faster pace. You relaxed your legs and let him take the lead, pulling his head towards your chest. The animated girl's moans on the computer combined with Tanaka's and created a harmony that pushed you closer to your release.

You moaned freely into his neck as the change of positions dragged your swollen clit over his pelvis with every buck of your hips. Sweaty bodies pushing and pulling against each other in a motion that was more grinding than riding.

Wet and sticky slaps echoed around the room, punctuated by the meat of your ass meeting his wet thighs. Thighs made wet by your juices collecting at the base of his cock.

Your release bubbled low in your stomach, steadily being pushed higher with every one of Tanaka's sloppy thrusts. It pulled heavily from below your naval, expanding to the point where you felt like you could burst. You weren't a virgin—this wasn't your first time, but, God, it felt like it was. And it might as well be your first time with how sensitive he made you.

You were sweaty and you were sore and so, so completely overwhelmed. But your mind was wonderfully cloudy with the pleasurable haze of an incoming orgasm and it made it hard to care.

"You close, babe?" You whimpered out a weak yes as his lips trailed from your jawline down to your damp neck before sucking on the skin.

"Can feel you squeezing me. So damn tight." He panted against your heaving breasts.

You knew it was coming, but knowing and feeling were too different things. Your thighs burned with fatigue, but you couldn't stop. You were so close and the humid air blurred out everything that wasn't Ryuu's cock plunging against that spongy patch on your wall and you didn't want it to end.

He couldn't take his eyes off of you as you used him for your pleasure. Head thrown back and skin gleaming with sweat.

"Shit, I'm-" he grunted at the tightening grip your walls had on him, just begging him to cum, "Fuck, 'M not gonna last, babe." His hips twitched uncontrollably as he rammed into you.

The knot in your stomach built and built before suddenly loosening, your vision blanking completely. Not that you could tell with how far back your eyes rolled. Hands shooting forward to desperately cling onto him as you trembled. Nails digging into his tense biceps, a mantra of his name falling from your lips like a prayer. Your thighs shook as you rode yourself past the sensitivity.

And that's what does it for him, your impossibly tight heat clamping down on him. Tender balls pulled taut against his body as the white ring of cum coating his cock grew with every one of your thrusts down.

The only sound that escaped him was your name broken by his breathy moans.

Once you came back around, you're still dazed with cooling sweat gathering on both of your bodies. The air is still clammy and you were sore from your neck to your thighs but it didn't stop you from looping your arms around Ryuu's neck.

He gathered you into his warm chest, heavy arms locked around your waist.

"So," he huffed, "lesbian porn, huh?"

"Shut up, Ryuu."

[griffintail]

I love all the parental stuff you write, it’s all so amazing!! And I may have been thinkin about it a lot while at work, and I originally wrote this idea/prompt thing down on some receipt paper, but anyway!!

Y’know how Dream manipulated Tommy during Exile? Well, how would Dream react if a similar thing happened to his own child? If his child had been taken from him somehow, and is made to believe that no one loved or cared about them, that they had to behave a certain way if they wanted any smidge of affection, etc.? Like the kid, when Dream’s gotten them back that is, is obviously touch starved and sleep deprived and so many other things, but they don’t mention any of it because they’d been explicitly told doing so wasn’t allowed?

About how many pieces would Dream’s heart shatter into? I must know.

-Signed Angsty Anon from a Fast Food Joint🍔🍟

That’s a mood, I have an actual notebook I have at work to write work stuff...I write more in it about my prompts than my work stuff. I hope it’s to your satisfaction!

Little Terror

Pairings: Parental Dream x F! Reader

Part 2

WARNINGS! : TOXIC RELATIONSHIP, IMPLIED ABUSED, MANIPULATION, BLOOD, IMPLIED VIOLENCE

DO NOT READ IF THESE MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE AND/OR CAUSE A TRIGGER!

       (Y/N) was Dream’s kid. Dream didn’t have to worry, that’s what he told himself.

        When she wanted to go with that…boy…he knew she’d beat the shit out of him if he got out of line. He taught her how to do that. She assured him though, there would be no need for that. They were in love and they’d be ok.

        He should have listened to his fucking instincts. He knew he should have.

        He found out by accident what was going on.

        Dream trusted his little girl, she’d be ok, she was strong…but she was still his little girl and George and Sapnap were about to break Dream’s neck if they heard one more time how Dream was worried.

        So.

        The three of them went to where the pair had moved out. Dream remembered letting his little princess move away.

        “I’ll be fine daddy.” She gave her sweet laugh as she slung her inventory bag on her shoulder. “Trent’s a good guy.”

        “I just wish you’d let me meet the boy.” Dream huffed, his mask on top of his head.

        “He lives so far away; I don’t want to force him to come all the way here and you need to keep everyone in check.” She grinned, a sparkle in her eye. “I’ll write, I promise. I know if I don’t Uncle George will cry.”

        Dream laughed quietly as he nodded. “Yeah, he would. Just, be careful out there, alright sweetheart?”

        (Y/N) put a hand on her sword. “I’m not the little terror for nothing.”

        It had been so sudden but she wanted to be close to this boy she had started dating. She hadn’t written though as of late and he had begun to worry when for a few months, it just didn’t come. That’s what sent them out with Eret in charge.

        “Come on, she’ll be fine.” Sapnap nudged him, hands in his pockets. “She’s your little terror.”

        Dream smiled lightly behind his mask. “Yeah. We’ll see there’s nothing…I just worry and I have been missing her.”

        Three-day travel on foot, they made it to the village where (Y/N) said this guy lived on the outskirts of. It wasn’t hard to find the larger house outside the village and they came up, Dream knocking on the door. It took a moment but the door opened, (Y/N) looking at him, but…it didn’t look like his little girl. Her eyes were dull, with no spark to them as bags were collected under them. She had no smile on her face either but everything looked perfect and trim about her.

        Her eyes went wide seeing Dream’s eyes as his mask was on the side of his face, sputtering.

        “You…I—You don’t trust me?” She questioned.

        Thousands of alarm bells were going off in his head and a thousand more went off after her words.

        “What? Of course, I do (Y/N).” He gave her a light smile. “I just missed my princess, so did Sapnap and George.” He motioned to the men behind him. “So, we came to surprise you, surprise.”

        She didn’t hold any sort of excitement in her eyes. Trent’s words echoed in her head as she watched the man in front of her.

        If he really loved you, he’d trust you to be ok with me. Right? Because I love you and I trust you.

        “I…I think it’s best if you guys leave.” She muttered.

        Dream stood there as Sapnap and George were looking at each other in shock.

        “Why? We came out here to see—” As he spoke Dream reach a hand over to put it on her shoulder but she flinched back from him and all movement and thought stopped.

        She flinched from him. Why would she flinch from him?

        Dream had seen men flinch from him before; Tommy, Wilbur, most of the L’Manberg people did after the war. But that was because he hurt them…

        “What happened?” Dream asked carefully.

        “I-I-I don’t-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She sputtered, her mind running rapidly.

        She couldn’t tell him, that was the number one rule!

        “(Y/N), it’s me. Dream, dad. I’m here.” He spoke carefully. “What, happened?”

        “What’s going on here?” Dream heard from behind him and (Y/N) shrank back behind the door slightly.

        Dream didn’t not like the picture he was making and the tall, lanky man appearing did not help matters. The man was slightly taller than Dream but Dream slipped on his mask as he was anything but intimidated.

        “You Trent?” Dreamed asked, stepping forward.

        Trent looked to (Y/N) and then back to the man coming towards him.

        “Yeah, what’s it to you?”

        “I’m her father and I want to know what the hell you’ve been doing with her?”

        Sapnap stood a few steps behind Dream as George stood by the door.

        “I have no idea what you’re talking—”

        Dream simply shoved the man and he fell over. The masked man stood over him, his hands on his hips.

        “What, did you do, to my little girl?”

        Trent tried to kick Dream’s leg but Dream was quick to react, sidestepping his foot and instead stepping on the other man’s chest and putting his sword point to his throat.

        “(Y/N).” Dream looked over at her, lifting his mask up enough to smile at her. “Go get your stuff, George will help you.”

        She hesitated by the door as George stepped towards her carefully.

        “Come on kid,” George said quietly to her and she nodded slowly.

        She walked inside, Dream sliding his mask on as he grinned sinisterly behind it as he tilted his head as he looked at the man under his foot.

        “Now, why don’t we have a little chat?” Dream laughed.

        George was very careful not to make too fast of movements after seeing her flinch at Dream. He helped her pack the few things she had; George was concerned as he felt like she had less than what she actually left with. As he gathered everything up, he also saw how little she had in the way of personal belonging, such as pictures. The most significate thing he didn’t see was her old mask and that concerned him greatly. The color-blind man was worried about what Dream would do.

        The pair came out, George carrying her bags to see Dream without his mask on, his hands in his hoodie pockets as Sapnap smirked next to him with no Trent in sight. George could spot the small bit of blood under the cuff of Dream’s sleeve. There was no blood on his weapons, so it was safe to assume he had used his actual hands and the other man was probably alive but he was never going to be the same.

        “Hey sweetheart, let’s go home.” Dream smiled gently as he nodded his head.

        Her hands twitched but she walked beside the three of her family members. Dream was on her right as George was on her left and Sapnap behind the group. The group of them walked in silence towards the Dream SMP land. As night started to drop, Sapnap and George made camp, and Dream and (Y/N) sat by the campfire.

        When the two other men were going for firewood, Dream looked as (Y/N), who was playing with the end of her shirt.

        “I don’t know what he did.” Dream said and she jumped slightly, making him frown deeply. “And you don’t have to tell me right away, but I’m here sweetheart. I’m never going to leave you alone again.”

        She hugged herself as she looked around at their surroundings, expecting Trent to come out of anywhere.

        “I’m not supposed to talk about it.” She whispered. “But did you come because you loved me?”

        “Of course, I did.” He assured her and she hugged herself tighter. “Can I hug you, kiddo?”

        “I-I-I-” She stuttered.

        He carefully scooted over and first put a hand on her shoulder. She stiffened and Dream waited before he pulled her into a hug. With the hug, her entire body relaxed, having missed such a loving feeling. She started to sob and he pulled her into his lap and hugged her as tight as he could.

        His little girl, she was so broken. He didn’t know how that lanky, bitch boy managed to break her but he did. Dream ran a hand through her hair as he rocked the both of them as his heart was broken seeing his little girl like this.

        “It’s ok princess, I’ll make all this right.” He muttered. “I’m so sorry this happened, I’ll make it right.”

        He hated himself. He should have gone with her the first day she left. He should have done anything! He had to make this right now and he’d do everything in his power to bring her back. To make everything right.

 ....

        George and Sapnap came back seeing Dream holding a now sleeping (Y/N) as close as he could. Their friend looked so heartbroken as he held her.

        “I should have killed him.” Dream said. “No one else will ever get away with doing this to her. Are we clear?”

        The two other men shared a look before nodding to Dream.

        “Crystal.”

        Dream wouldn’t let this happen again and it was going to be a long time till he managed to fix his mistake.

[mysticalspiders]

Imogen and Invisible Illness and The Gnarlrock

This post is a sort of sequel to my post about Imogen and Invisible illness and how interesting it is to view Imogen and her struggles through that lens. It wasn’t until the last episode and this post by @utilitycaster that I realized that the gnarlrock and Imogen’s attachment to it makes a lot of sense through this lens as well as well as her devastation at the events of the end of the episode. 

Imogen’s focus on understanding her powers/dreams/mind throughout campaign three so far has resonated deeply with as someone who struggles with invisible, chronic illnesses. As someone who struggles with a chronic illness that debilitates my day to day life, I am always looking for more knowledge and understanding, solutions and paths to stability or management to make life more livable, and maybe on the distant horizons a cure. It means constantly looking into and trying new treatments. However, this is a fraught process in a way that I think well people don’t often understand. The sicker you are, the more treatments haven’t worked, the more treatments come with side effects, tradeoffs, and consequences. Often, a treatment can help with one thing while causing other problems in the background and you have to decide if its worth it. Treatments with little consequences that magically take you back to a time before being sick are rare and if you’ve been sick for a long time you have probably tried them and they haven’t worked. For me in particular, one of my most common side affects for treatments is affecting my mind and mood, making me feel not like myself. 

I say all of this about my personal experience with illness and treatment to color the way Imogen might be looking at the world and what the gnarlrock could mean to her. Imogen is someone struggling in a way very similar to chronic illness and as such, her life is devoted to trying to find answers and peace and stability. She has also notably spent a long period of time in pursuit of these answers with little success. She has threads that she is slowly pulling but they are far from guarantees.

The shard of the gnarlrock. The gnarlrock has always seemed dubious - it was found in the broodmother’s lair. And from nearly the start has been implied to have consequences, side effects. FCG tells Imogen that “where it resides, everything around it mutates and twists.” It’s interesting to note that its Imogen who seems the most trepidatious about it. And yet, the gnarlrock offered her comfort in her dream and later seemed to provide a path forward in the dream that wasn’t running or death. Imogen seems to be aware of the gnarlrock’s influence saying “I don’t remember feeling so explosive or frustrated about things before.” And yet, it has, alleviated some of her pain. Provided some stability and comfort and a path forward. This dissonance of treatment and side effect, solution and consequences is something people who are ill have to reconcile, something we saw Imogen struggling with in the conversation leading up to the destruction of the gnarlrock.

I, myself, am often the most wary about new treatments. I, after all, have to face the side effects and consequences. But when you’re desperate, when illness has debilitated your life, sometimes you will try almost anything to find stability even if it affects and corrupts your own mind. 

And this puts the destruction of the gnarlrock and Imogen’s anger into a new light. If looking at Imogen’s powers and struggle through the lens of chronic illness, the gnarlrock was a treatment, one with side effects, one with consequences, but nonetheless a tangible path forward to a more livable life. In this light of course its destruction was devastating. A potential path forward, an option, a solution suddenly gone is absolutely gut wrenching. 

[starlight-loki]

Precautionary Surveillance (Loki x Reader)

Or, That Time You and Loki Became Friends

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: none :)

A/N: this is platonic (and gender neutral! :D )

As this is my first imagine, I kind of just wanted to establish how the reader first meets Loki, but I’ve got plenty more fluff in the works! ;)

also this takes place post-Ragnarok, but Infinity War doesn’t exist here, shHHHH

Despite the long list of risks and expectations that came with living with the Avengers in their compound, you never thought that babysitting Loki would be included. And yet, a mere two weeks after having moved into the compound, Tony sheepishly approached you with the news.

He didn’t word-for-word call it ‘babysitting’ of course, but you knew it was definitely implied. 

“Think of it as... precautionary surveillance.” Tony had explained to you that morning as he packed a small backpack, supposedly containing enough supplies to last for a week-long mission. “Or if that’s too much, just be normal roommates. But check in on him every few hours. Make sure he’s not destroying anything. And don’t let him go out. Or to my lab. Or Bruce’s. Or the roof-”

“Okay, I get it Tony,” you rolled your eyes as you heaved out a sigh. “You want me to babysit Loki.” 

Tony shrugged, and patted your shoulder empathetically before zipping up his backpack. “Your words, kid. Not mine. Like I said, it’s just precautionary surveillance, we’ll be back before you know it.” 

“I don’t understand why you can’t just bring him along with you!” You protested, throwing your hands up in the air. “His fighting skills and abilities would be really useful for your mission, you know that right?”

You were fine with the fact that Tony and Steve weren’t confident enough in your fighting abilities to bring you along on missions just yet -- frankly, you were completely happy staying behind and burying your nose in a book. But now Tony wanted you to babysit Loki, going so far as asking you to log any ‘suspicious activity’ from the god. You thought the entire thing was ridiculous.

“You know why, Y/N.” Tony began sternly, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and starting towards the quinjet hangar. He was walking briskly, and you scowled as you had to practically run after him. “The New York Incident? The two-hundred or so times he’s betrayed Thor? That time he stuck his dad in an old folks home here and just paraded around Asgard in disguise for two years?”

“New York was nearly ten years ago!” You protested. “Look at him now, all he does is putter around the compound in sweatpants because you won’t let him out-”

Tony sighed loudly, cutting you off mid-sentence. “Look, I know you’re new here and you mean well, but we don’t trust him Y/N. Thor dragged him here because Asgard’s gone and there’s nowhere else for them to go, but Loki is not one of us. It’s going to be a damn long time before any of us think anything different of him.”

You glowered at Tony, fighting the tiny glow of anger that sparked in your heart when you heard him talk about Loki like that. 

You had stolen glances at Loki last week when he thought no one else was looking, and you knew he was far from the dysfunctional maniac who tried to take over New York all those years ago. Sure, the dysfunctional part may still remain, but he was far from a maniac -- you could see that in his features when he sat on the couch alone that day, flipping through a small worn book. 

He looked... lost. Empty almost, as if any possibility of a joyful life had been stripped from him. It hurt your heart to see someone sit with their own melancholy the way Loki did. The fact that no one else in the Compound trusted him -- evident from the fact that you were being put on babysitting duty this instant -- didn’t make things any better. 

“Take care of yourself, kid.” Tony said, pulling you in for a fairly awkward one-armed hug. “Keep an eye on Loki, but don’t do anything stupid.”

You frowned. “What does that mean?” 

“Just... keep your distance from him.” 

Tony’s words brought the image of Loki sitting alone in sadness back to the front of your mind, and you decided right then and there that you were going to do exactly the opposite of what Tony was suggesting. 

The first day felt like an eternity. Loki remained in his room with the door shut, and with no one else to chat with and pass the time, time seemed to crawl at an eerily slow pace. 

You made pasta for dinner. You figured the sound of pots, pans, and kitchen utensils clanging every now and then as you cooked would summon the lonely Asgardian out of his room to eat at the very least, and you couldn’t help the little sting of disappointment that appeared when you finished your meal as alone as you had been earlier. 

After placing your own bowl in the sink, you grabbed Loki’s portion you had set aside and padded down the hall to his room. You tried to ignore the slight tremble in your hand as you knocked on his door. 

“Loki?” You asked gently. “You there?”

You were greeted with a faint shuffling noise, but otherwise there was nothing but silence. 

“I made you dinner. I haven’t seen you all day, you must be hungry... um... I mean, you don’t have to eat of course if you don’t want to, but I’ll just... I’ll leave this here at your door if you want it. No pressure.” 

You felt fire rush to your cheeks as you cursed yourself silently for rambling, and carefully set the bowl of pasta on the floor. 

“If you want anything,” you added quickly in a voice that was barely louder than a whisper. “More food, tea, some company... I’m in the other room.” 

You stood frozen at Loki’s door for a moment, waiting for any sort of response. Earning nothing but more silence, you nodded to yourself before turning on your heel and heading back for the kitchen. 

You looked back over your shoulder before you rounded the corner at the end of the hall, and the pasta bowl was gone. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. 

The second and third day passed much like the first. If it weren’t for the fact that Loki was constantly on your mind, it would’ve felt like you had the entire place to yourself. You would have enjoyed the quiet, but there was a part of you that couldn’t stop worrying about Loki. 

After the god failed to leave his room once again, you brought dinner to his door which was hastily accompanied by another short little babble of an invitation to join you in the living room if he wished. Just like day one, you were greeted with silence and a meal that vanished out of the hall just before you turned the corner. 

On the fourth day, you couldn’t get Loki out of your head no matter how hard you tried. Was he lonely? Bored? Did he sleep the entire day? Did he even sleep at all? The rooms in the Compound were just about the same: spacious, yet minimal in decoration. Everyone got a TV and a small bookshelf in the corner, but that was about it. Judging by the fact that Tony and the rest of the Avengers weren’t allowing Loki to leave the Compound, you figured he probably didn’t have much for entertainment. 

Before you could convince yourself otherwise, you dashed off to your beloved little bookstore in the city. You ransacked the shelves for anything you felt Loki would’ve liked, as well as books you adored and would’ve wholeheartedly recommended to anyone else. If Loki was going to spend all day in his room, he deserved to have new books to keep him company, at the very least. 

Two hours later you returned home, your shoulder aching from the countless books that were weighing you down in the best way, and to your surprise you found Loki with his back to you in the kitchen. 

Was he... doing the dishes for you? 

You dropped your tote bag of books to the ground in surprise, and Loki flinched almost imperceptibly at the dull thud that echoed throughout the open space of the Compound. 

“Hi,” You managed breathlessly as the god turned and looked at you with wide eyes for the briefest second. You blinked, and just like that Loki had regained his cool composure. “You’ve finally come out of your room.”

Loki opened his mouth to reply, his eyes scanning the room as he searched for an excuse. After a moment of silence, he sighed. 

“Thank you for the meals. I appreciate it.” 

You took off your coat and hung it on the chair as you approached him. Your heart sank ever so slightly as you caught Loki take the smallest step back. 

“Of course, I mean... we all gotta eat right?” You laughed quietly and looked away as you ran a hand through your hair. “You don’t have to clean up, I can do that.” 

“It was the least I could do in return.” 

The silence that grew between the two of you seemed to amplify with every passing second. Loki nodded, almost out of resignation, and began to walk back to his room without a word. 

Now was your chance, if you wanted to make him feel welcome like you had hoped to. 

“Wait!” Your voice came out more as a squeak and you tried your best to ignore the fire that rose to your cheeks. “I, uh, I got these for you.” 

As you bent down to retrieve your fallen bag of books, you heard quiet careful steps as Loki approached you cautiously. He kept his distance, but leaned a little closer to you as you began laying all the books out on the table for him to see. 

“I picked out a few books I’ve read and love dearly. I figured you could give them a try. And... I, uh, saw you reading Shakespeare last week, so I thought you might like these two.” You gestured to the novels closest to him. “They’re  Ancient Greek tragedies.”

You glanced at Loki, and noticed how he picked up Oedipus Rex and began flipping through the pages carefully, as if the book were to vanish from his hands at any moment. 

“I’ve never read this one before,” Loki mused quietly. Your heart skipped a beat as his steady gaze moved to meet your eyes. “When would you like me to return these to you?”

You blinked in surprise. “They’re for you to keep.” You smiled. “I bought them for you.” 

You watched as gratitude, then confusion, then what almost looked shame flash across Loki’s features. He almost seem to clutch the book tighter in his grip.

“...Why?”

You pulled out the chair that you were leaning against and sat down with a sigh as you looked up at Loki. 

“I don’t like how everyone’s been treating you.” You admitted quietly.

“So this is out of pity?” Loki asked cooly, nodding at the books on the table with narrowed eyes.

 “No!” You exclaimed, shaking your head rapidly. “No, Loki, that wasn’t my intention at all. I mean, I’ve only been here two weeks and I could see immediately that everyone keeps their distance from you. You’re not allowed on missions-”

“Neither are you.” Loki cut in. You dismissed him with a wave of your hand. 

“Yeah, but I’m the weakest link at the moment. I don’t count.” You replied quickly, trying your best to ignore the intrigue on Loki’s face as he gazed at you. “I saw you last week, reading your book. You looked so lonely. I thought maybe you just wanted some space, but I’ve noticed how the others treat you. Tony and everyone else, they leave you out of everything! They don’t try to include you in conversations at dinner, you wear the same two pairs of clothes everyday because no one’s bothered to get you any decent clothes besides sweatpants. Hell, Tony kept me off this mission to babysit you and it makes me so mad! You’re an adult! You deserve your own freedom, Loki!”

You slammed your hand down on the table in frustration, and winced as your words replayed in your head. You definitely went overboard this time. You should’ve just given Loki the books and left.

You were certain Loki was going to retreat back to his room as he moved away from you and around the table, but to your surprise, he sat down in the chair across from you, his hands clasped carefully together.

“Perhaps Stark is right, this is what I deserve.” He said quietly, breaking the silence that resided between the two of you. “I haven’t exactly been... welcoming to anyone.”

You shook your head. “You lost Asgard, your family... Thor brought you here with the intention of this being your new home. The least everyone could is treat you like a person, not a hostage. This isn’t a prison. You deserve so much more than that.” 

“They don’t want me around.” Loki said simply. 

“I do.” You held his gaze unwaveringly, and reached out to place your hand gently over his. To your surprise, he didn’t pull away. “I want you around. You matter to me.” 

Loki sighed, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief second as he took in your words. 

“Thank you.” He spoke slowly. “Your words -- and your actions -- mean more than anything Stark or anyone else has done in the time I’ve been here.”

You smiled in response, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before pushing his books towards him. 

“You’ve got plenty of things to do while you’re in your room now.” You grinned nodding towards the books on the table. Anyone else would’ve missed it, but you caught Loki return your smirk for a split second. 

“I think I would prefer to read my books out here... with company.” 

The following day was nothing like the others. To your surprise, Loki greeted you with a small smile from his spot on the couch as you trudged bleary-eyed into the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

“You look tired.” He remarked quietly as you began searching the cupboards for something to eat. You managed a shrug.

“I don’t sleep that great most nights.” You admitted. You heard Loki get up from the couch, setting his book down on the coffee table gently before approaching you. He still kept some distance -- the kitchen counter did a good job of separating the two of you -- but he leaned in, almost grateful to be in the presence of someone who truly saw him. 

“Me neither.” Loki chuckled. “Thor sleeps like the dead, but I rarely sleep well. That’s how my love for books began, actually.”  

“Me too!” You exclaimed excitedly. “I’d stay up reading till 1 or 2 AM some nights as a kid. I’d have to use a flashlight and hide under the covers so I wouldn’t wake anyone up.”

That earned a genuine laugh from Loki, whose smile suddenly began to look like sunshine in your eyes. 

“I used magic to see in the dark, but hiding under the covers was the only way I could read at night without waking Thor up.”

“You shared a room with Thor?” 

Loki nodded, scoffing a little. “My mother thought it would help reinforce our bond as brothers. A lot of good that did.”

You leaned in towards him, your posture mirroring his as you rested your arms against the kitchen counter. 

“Thor still loves you.” You said quietly, a small smile touching your lips for a brief moment. Loki rolled his eyes.

“Sure he does.”

“No, really. He wouldn’t have brought you here to live with him if he didn’t. You guys got here before me of course, but I’m sure he had to pull a lot of strings to get Tony to agree to have you live in the Compound.” 

There was that silence again, like the day before, settling down gently between the two of you. You lowered your gaze to your hands. 

“Sorry. I meddle too much. I should stop.” 

This time, it was Loki who placed his hands over yours gently. 

“No,” he replied softly. “You speak your mind, I admire that. It shows you have strength.” 

“I don’t always feel strong.” You admitted quietly. 

“Only the foolish admit their own strength.” Loki whispered.

“...Does that mean Tony’s a fool?”

“Your words, not mine.”

A laugh bubbled up out of you at Loki’s words, and as your eyes met his, you noticed the loneliness you had seen before was gone. 

In their place was the warmth of a thousand suns. 

The two of you stood there, hands intertwined almost as if to keep the other afloat. Loki’s hands made yours seem small, but his were warm and soft and surprisingly gentle.

You closed you eyes, taking as much of this moment in as you could.

“I wish they’d let you outside.” You sighed quietly. “There’s so many shops and restaurants I think you’d like. You’d love Central Park, too.”

Loki frowned. “When is everyone due back?”

“In two days. Why?” 

You got a smirk in response. “Let’s go now.”

You let out a surprised laugh at Loki’s suggestion. It thrilled you to see this side of him.

“We can’t! Tony’s got cameras around the building, he’ll see us if we leave.”

Butterflies filled your insides for a brief moment as Loki suddenly winked at you. He raised his hand, which had begun to glow with a green hue, before snapping his fingers. Green sparks flashed briefly from the windows as he did so. 

“I believe Stark will be needing to replace his cameras once everyone returns. Where do you suggest we go first?” 

[lovely-jily]

almost caught

something for @jilytoberfest! prompt: "if we get caught-" "i'll make it worth your while, i promise."

i wrote this quickly and didn't revise it a ton, but im just excited to contribute for jilytober!!! hope you lovely's like:)

"Okay, James. I'm going to be completely frank here- and I wholeheartedly mean every word when I say this- this is perhaps the stupidest idea you've ever had- and you've had loads of stupid idea's."

"Oh, come on. Try to have some faith in me," James whispered back, opening one of the drawers of the desk. They were in the Ravenclaw Prefect's office. James had suspected that the Prefects were somehow involved with their Quidditch team cheating by using weighted and magic-infused balls. The only evidence he had to back his theory up was a "gut feeling" and the fact that the bludgers seemed to target the other team more often, which Lily chalked up to confirmation bias. While she disagreed with cheating, she figured a better idea was to talk to their Prefects, not snoop through their office.

"Famous last words," Lily rolled her eyes, "I can't believe that I let you drag me into this. If we get caught-"

"I'll make it worth your while, I promise," The boy reassured her as he looked up at Lily, messy dark curls hanging in front of his eyes. He had finished looking in the first drawer and moved to the one below it, quickly searching. Lily wasn't sure what he meant by that, "Besides, we won't get caught. Now, are you going to start searching, or are you going to make me do all the work like usual?"

"Like usual? Excuse me?" Lily said. She was standing in front of him, hands firmly planted on her hips disapprovingly before turning to the cabinets. Besides breaking his collarbone last night in a quidditch game (Which Madam Pomfrey fixed just fine, and if he followed her instructions, he'd be totally healed in days), the year was going swimmingly for James and Lily. She enjoyed working with him as Heads and was seeing real change in him. He was no longer a bully, and in fact, he always shut that sort of thing down.

"I don't even know what I'm looking for."

James just chuckled as he closed the second drawer, kneeling to search the third drawer, "Probably anything quidditch related."

"You've got the wrong person for this," Lily sighed. That was probably true. She knew nothing of sports- both muggle and wizard alike. She turned to the cabinets on the far wall, which was full of books, mostly student records, and smelled musty.

"You know, this would be so much easier if you just agreed to use the cloak with me," James commented as he stood up and brushed off his pants. Lily had grown to like him over the past few months and didn't mind working with him as co-Heads. He was kind, responsible, and enthusiastic enough that almost everyone adored him- even Lily. She was even starting to get butterflies around him, something she never thought could happen.

"I'm never going under that damn cloak with you," Lily said as she took out a book of student records. She dusted it off and then put it back where she found it.

"Never is a strong word," James said as he walked over to the wardrobe. He opened it up and stepped inside, pressing against the back of it to see if any secret openings were on the back wall.

"I know," Lily said, following him and standing behind him, "That's why I said it."

That's when they heard the door handle jiggle, indicating that someone was trying to come in.

Lily, panicking, looked up at James. He quickly grabbed her by her waist and lifted her into the broom closet, quietly slamming the door. One hand was on her waist, the other over her mouth to try and keep her quiet. He gently took it off and put it behind her head. One hand was still on her waist as he tangled his other in her hair.

Fucking hell, he was hot.

Lily's hands were holding tightly at the bottom hem of her skirt. She knew that if she didn't plant them there, they'd undoubtedly find themselves tangled in James's dark locks.

"Maybe you were right about that cloak," Lily whispered as they were both breathing heavily and pressed up against each other. She wondered if he could feel how hard her heart was beating. She wasn't sure if that was from fear of getting caught or being so close to James.

James just brought his finger back to her lips and shushed her softly. His breath was softly blowing on her bangs, which caused them to tickle her forehead. All Lily could do was look up at him, remembering what was going on outside the cabinet, hearing the door open. He then anxiously looked out through the crack of the wooden doors, trying to watch whoever she heard come in. Lily tried to ignore the way he was clenching his jaw. She noticed that was a sort of nervous tick of his, something that he did when anxious. One hand was still on her waist, the other resting on her hair on the nape of her neck.

Why was she caring more about James's hands on her than she did at the idea of getting caught?

"Weird, I swore I heard voices," Sabrina Wood, the sixth year Prefect, said.

"So did I," Robert Thomas responded.

James, seeming to spot something above Lily's head, quickly reached his hand up. However, he never got to inspect what he wanted to. Lily heard the sound of his collarbone crack, implying that it was rebroken. While Madam Pomfrey had patched him up just fine, she said he needed to refrain from sudden movements of reaching above his head. Lily now realized this was why.

James leaned forward and grimaced in pain. Still on Lily's neck, his hand grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled at it slightly.

"Fuck," He groaned quietly in Lily's ear, and she felt his hot breath against her ear and neck. Her eyes widened at how attractive that word was coming from his lips, silently cursing herself at the sinful thoughts that flashed in her mind.

The sound of footsteps walking around the office brought Lily back to the current reality. She looked above her see his arm clenched in a fist. He was in a lot of pain.

Wordlessly, she pulled out her wand and pointed it at his broken collarbone. She had practised nonverbal spells a number of times, although never this one. She wasn't sure if she'd ever done this one on a human before.

The footsteps were walking towards the wardrobe and she looked at James. He had relaxed his grip on Lily's hair (much to her disappointment) and moved it to her waist. He nodded slightly, giving her permission to try.

She wordlessly performed the healing charm. James gripped at her shirt in response to the painful snap of bone back in place, just as they heard Robert say something about how they needed to get back to their rounds. They heard the two leave and the door close, listening to the charm the Prefects performed to lock the door. Once they determined they were alone, James let out another groan as he brought his hand down from above Lily's head.

"Good girl," He exhaled as he melted into her, and Lily's eyes widened again. That should not make her feel the way it did, but regardless her toes crinkled and she tightened her grip on her wand.

"You alright?" She asked sheepishly, trying to relax. She was feeling bashful and disappointed that they now had to exit the wardrobe.

James, slightly sweaty from the pain, nodded and raised his other arm to what he wanted to look at earlier. He pressed against the wall, and a hidden drawer slightly popped out. He reached his hand in and pulled out a piece of parchment from inside it.

"Lumos," he said, still breathing heavily. The room lit up, and Lily looked at James, light reflecting on his glasses. He was looking so damn good, skin sticky and lips soft. She fought against the image of something else that could make James groan, sweat, and breathe heavily.

They both looked at the parchment, and written in neat handwriting was "For those who forget, use wingardium leviosa to control replaced quaffles."

James looked up at Lily, a victorious smirk on his face, which Lily couldn't help but smile at.

"God damn it," Lily said, annoyed that he was but also influenced by his contagious smile, "You actually were right."

"We did it, Evans," James said excitedly, putting his hands on her face and shaking it with enthusiasm.

Lily laughed, blushing at his hand placement, "For Ravenclaws, they really are thick. That was way too easy to find."

James shrugged and dropped his hands, "I don't really care too much. We'll take this right to McGonagall. She'll sort this whole thing out."

Lily nodded as he opened the wardrobe door, feeling the cooler air hit their skin. She blinked at the sudden brightness as he helped her out.

"I can't believe you could do that spell so well, and wordlessly too! You never fail to astonish me with your brilliance," James ruffled her hair with his empty hand and pocketed the parchment with his other.

Lily, blushing harder, smiled at him, "Says the idiot who rebroke his collarbone."

"True," James just laughed, putting his hand on Lily's back to push her forward. He then put both hands on her shoulder and shook them back and forth as he guided her out of the door of the office and down the corridor, "What would I do without you, Evans? My saviour."

Lily just laughed as she shrugged off his hands, playfully pushing him. She looked up at him, his hands clasped behind his back and glasses peering down at her.

"Probably walk around with a broken collarbone."

"Of course," He looked forward, "I've got a question for you, Miss Evans."

Lily's stomach lurched at that statement, and she bit her lip in anticipation, "Yes?"

He stepped in front of her, stopping her. His hands were still behind his back, and he looked down at her. They were nearly as close as they were in the wardrobe.

"Did you think about kissing me in that wardrobe?"

Shit. Fuck. How did he know??

Her stomach dropped, and while she was taken back from the question, but decided she wasn't too mad about it. So they were doing this now?

Lily, full of panic and anxiety, was determined to remain as calm and collected on the outside as she could. She smirked and tilted her head flirtatiously.

"Maybe. What's it to you?"

James smirked back and stepped back to Lily's side as they started to walk again, "Why didn't you?"

"For starters," Lily said, deciding to remain confident, started to lie, "You had a broken bone and seemed to be in a decent amount of pain."

James scoffed sarcastically, "I don't know what you're talking about. Didn't hurt at all."

"Ah, of course, it didn't," Lily looked at her feet as they walked as she remembered the way that he grabbed at her hair and his tone when he whispered "Fuck" in her ear. She got chills again.

They were heading to McGonagall's office. She wasn't sure how James would explain how he obtained the evidence to McGonagall, but she wasn't thinking about that too much at that point. They were talking about kissing, something much more compelling and appealing to Lily.

"Regardless, and back to the more important thing at hand," He smirked at her as he leaned to whisper in her ear, sending chills up Lily's spine, "Perhaps we can get stuck in another wardrobe soon- and don't hold back next time. I still have to make it up to you for nearly getting caught."

[no-droids]

Dove

Part 2 of 2 of The Locked Door Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.7K i apologize for NOTHING

Warnings: DUBCON ELEMENTS, SMUUUUUUT, religion kink, virgin kink, authority kink, degradation kink, praise kink, age gap, ohhhhh the list goes on y’all been here long enough

A/N: I have nothing to say for myself this time im sorry

***

Obi-Wan feels like he’s going to be sick.

Dinner in the grand hall was difficult enough, forking down mouthfuls of expensive food he’s sure was absolutely marvelous, if he could’ve tasted it.  The s’Ziscari clearly splurged on the celebrations—expensive food, expensive decor, expensive everything, down to the silk napkin he studied and fiddled with under the table as he awkwardly waited for you to finish your plate.

He felt uncomfortable, absolutely.  He’s felt uncomfortable ever since he shuffled into this blasted, Maker forsaken robe not long after he left your quarters earlier.

Not black, no.  Not like yours.  Not like what appears to be an overwhelmingly vast majority of the people he’s encountered so far this dreadful evening.

No, his robes are blue.

A strong, eye-catching royal blue, covering his body in waves of fabric—softer than anything he’s ever worn before and leaving him feeling incredibly exposed.  The far more practical robes he traded for these atrocious garments are made of a thick, scratchy wool, a testament to the Jedi’s philosophical rejection of fine or expensive materials.  And, against all logic—to somehow make matters even worse, the sash tying this uncomfortable piece of attire closed has no place to clip his saber, unlike the leather belt he usually wears.  As a consequence, he’s left simply carrying it around by his side.

Granted, for some unknown reason, his robes are still far thicker and longer and more protective than the… stars, the ultra-thin black silk wrapped around your body, but Obi-Wan is so self-conscious about his appearance that he’s not even allowing himself to look at you.  Obviously that doesn’t stop him from refusing to leave your side the entire night, and he finds himself rather grateful that only a very few number of s’Ziscari are fluent in Basic, if only to provide him with a valid excuse to socially detach.

Of the very few people he’s noticed wearing robes resembling his, they’re all far younger than him—much closer to your age than Obi-Wan’s, and stars, everything about this celebration is unbelievably unnerving to him—including, if not most of all, your response to it.  One of the reasons he knows the food was grand, apart from the immaculate plating and lavish dinnerware of course, is because you momentarily excused yourself from the seat next to him to dish yourself out a second helping.

Even now, even in the skybox seats of this distressingly packed arena, Obi-Wan struggles to keep down what little food he could eat while you stand tall next to him and seem completely unbothered by the situation—and by the Maker, it bothers him.  He isn’t used to this.  He’s used to you being the emotionally turbulent one, the one whom he has to pacify, and it twists his stomach with the way the roles have suddenly found themselves reversed.

“I think the blue looks nice, by the way,” you lean sideways to mention casually to him, and he knows.  He knows you’re just jesting, just trying to lighten the mood, but he feels the bile rising up his throat at the fact that you even commented on it aloud.  “Fitting.  Matches your saber.  Your face, though.”  The smallest hint of a smile tugs at your cheeks.  “It’s beginning to match the color of mine.”

“Thank you for that, young one; your sense of humor is positively delightful,” Obi-Wan gripes, clutching the metal hilt tightly in front of him with both hands while he gazes out at the stadium before him, bustling with black hooded figures and a rare flash of blue.  It does not escape his notice that in complete contrast, your arms are loosely meeting behind your back, your saber dangling in one hand while the other lazily holds your wrist.  Your body is… open.  Draped in garments somehow equally as opaque as they are revealing, presented to the wide panoramic view of the audience and stage with no qualms whatsoever.

“Wonder who I got it from,” you ponder with a tilt of your head, and… fair point.  “How long is this thing supposed to last anyways?”

“Stars—‘this thing’ can’t get over with soon enough,” Obi-Wan grumbles, his eyes anxiously flicking down at the empty stage in the center of the audience.  He’s struggling with butterflies and nausea like he himself is meant to have a starring role in this debauchery.  “They’ll have… acts.  Plural.”

“Heavens,” you sigh under your breath, and oh yes.  He agrees.

He’s also painfully aware that he should be using this free time to continue contemplating his decision about… matters concerning later this evening with you, but he’s already feeling massively overwhelmed as it is.  Right now, it’s all he can do to just breathe and attempt to face one trial at a time.

But then, as if the Maker is feeling just particularly malicious this evening, Obi-Wan’s stomach drops when something quiet flashes in the Force and the roar of the enormous crowd instantly falls to dead silence.  The ominous sign rockets through him and while a Jedi should not know fear, this might be the closest he’s ever felt to truly terrified.

“Ooh, dramatic,” you whisper, but regardless of your laissez-faire attitude, his heart is positively pounding as he watches the figures of robed Force sensitives slowly file out onto the stage, and everything inside him lurches at the realization that—

They’re all wearing blue.  Every single one of them is clothed in fabric that matches his current attire, the one that made him feel like a blot on the landscape the entire dinner and subsequent mass pilgrimage to the arena.  A bright splash of color in the midst of an almost inescapably giant ring of black.

You’ve stopped talking.  Truly, he has no idea if that’s a good or bad thing, not right now.  The Force sensitives join hands and create a ring in the center of the stage while every single person in the arena sits in perfect silence, and Obi-Wan feels dizzy.  He’s not getting enough air right now, but he doesn’t even want to breathe too loudly and somehow draw even more attention to himself.

Two of the blue robes break off from their fellow acolytes and meet in the middle of the circle, and to simply avoid having a heart attack, Obi-Wan very purposefully chooses to ignore—like he’s done multiple times this evening—the subtle flicker of curiosity he experiences at the significance of the color blue and what it symbolizes to the s’Ziscari.  He can’t even bear to watch the way the two of them slowly lean in and allow their lips to touch from under their hoods.

Maker, if he turned his saber on and stabbed himself with it, could he convince you it was an accident?  Probably not—no, definitely not, what a stupid thought to have—

“How does she wipe?”  He hears your voice whisper, and Obi-Wan’s facial expression immediately screws up in confusion.

He turns to you, his tone equally hushed but the bewilderment sharpening his consonants.  “How does who what—?”

Only—you’re not even looking at the scene unfolding in front of you.  Your expression is just as confused as his is, but instead of looking down, your chin is lifted and you’re staring directly across the arena at the viewing booth opposite to yours.  He still has no idea what you’re talking about though, not until he follows your line of sight and sees the way s’Zerthia has her jaw propped up in her hands on her throne, looking bored as usual, and how the length of her newly manicured fingernails curves halfway up her scalp from this angle.

“That’s dangerous,” you remark quietly.  “They’re like talons.  Gaudy little weapons she always has attached to her that she decorates, makes them seem less vicious than they actually are.  I see them.  I certainly don’t envy whoever she picks tonight to—”

You cut yourself off with a bit lip smile and turn your face away from him, and Obi-Wan is almost mystified by how casual you’re able to be about this. 

“Whomever she picks to…?”  He trails off with a sigh.  “Do I… Do I want to know?”

“Never mind,” you tell him quickly, lifting your chin once more while still clearly trying not to laugh.  You’re trying not to laugh, while… while that is happening in the center of the audience.  “It was, uh… tasteless.”

He blinks, wondering what that could possibly mean.  Everything about this is tasteless, the entire thing is just an absolute nightmare coming to life.

Though, after a moment of silence, Obi-Wan soon realizes he much prefers it when you fill the void.

“Members of the Royal Court take turns doing it for her,” he eventually replies, decidedly looking anywhere but where the man is slipping the blue robe from the woman’s body.  It takes you a second to register to what exactly he’s referring, but when you finally do, you snort.  It’s too loud.  A few heads closest to your isolated seats turn as Obi-Wan very quickly thrusts his elbow into your ribs.  “Quit being disrespectful,” he hisses under his breath.

“You just—!”  You quickly clamp your mouth shut and face forward again, trying not to smile in an appalled sort of way.  But then—“Oh,” you blurt, not loud enough for anyone else to hear in this open setting but still loud enough for him to glance around and be slightly anxious about it.  “Oh.  Wow.  I wasn’t… expecting…”

Obi-Wan’s eyes automatically flick down to the couple, only just long enough to catch a quick glimpse of stark nudity in the center of the arena before his gaze immediately bounces back up again and focuses on the incredibly interesting steel beam currently propping up the Queen’s viewing box, clearing his throat.  “I… did warn you.”

“Well, yeah, I expected them to…”  Your hushed voice trails off and you stay quiet for too long, too long to imply you’re still formulating an end to your thought.  You’re distracted by something, but then you appear to snap back to your senses and immediately clear your throat.  “I just wasn’t expecting… the, uh.  The… positioning.”

He says nothing in response.  It… it doesn’t give him great comfort, wondering how you could possibly know enough about this type of profanity to have expected a different sort of positioning.  The stark contrast between the color of his ceremonial robes and yours still remains completely unspoken, but it quietly pulls at the back of his mind nonetheless.

“What about it?”  Obi-Wan immediately hears himself prompt and oh, no, this is completely inappropriate.  Not only should he not be encouraging this kind of talk with you, but he also shouldn’t feel so… so negative, not about something so personal to you and something that’s certainly none of his business.  Regardless, he… still has this buried, unexplainable desire to know the truth about it.  Regardless of the indirect way he’s attempting to go about it, he wants to know the truth about whether or not you broke your oath, and while he recognizes it’s completely improper of him, the urge is still strong enough to manifest itself using his vocal cords.

“Oh, I don’t know, it’s just…  It’s…”  He doesn’t even have a visual reference for what you’re attempting to find the words to describe.  He doesn’t want to.  He just wants to know what you think about it.  “…Bold,” you finally settle on.

Bold.  It’s bold.  Perhaps Obi-Wan wouldn’t be analyzing your verbal responses so closely if he had something more interesting to look at besides the general coliseum-like structure of the large outdoor stadium, but there’s a certain horizon he just won’t let his eyes dip below right now and unfortunately for him, being so high up above the crowd, the upper hemisphere of his visual field remains relatively dull.

“Who would've thought,” he eventually sighs, blinking up at the star-splattered sky now and attempting to see if he can use the Force to break off a piece of a satellite and have it impale him in a tragic accident.  “Considering the s’Ziscari are such a conservative bunch.”

His eyes soon wander back to s’Zerthia, and—Obi-Wan startles to find her staring directly at him with a thin eyebrow dangerously quirked.  She motions two long fingers in a V shape at her eyes and then points down towards the stage, her expression expectant and waiting.

Obi-Wan’s teeth hurt at how hard he clenches them together, his jaw flexing but the thick blanket of his beard doing well to conceal it.  She’s playing with him, he realizes; he can see the hidden smile on her lips all the way from here.

Maker, maybe she’s right.  Maybe he’s—maybe he’s being ridiculous about this.  This is fine.  This is fine.  His stomach feels like it’s all his food might come up at any second, but he’ll do it, he’ll look.  He can at least just look, right?

His gaze slowly begins lowering, trying to take in just a few things at a time so as not to overstimulate himself.  Thousands of s’Ziscari lining the seats of the arena, almost every single one of them dressed in black.  Lower still—the platform leading up to the stage.  A perimeter of blue figures now sitting down in a circle and then, at its center, a… a naked man and woman.

Obi-Wan’s heart pounds as he struggles to comprehend the sight, never having laid eyes on a nude woman before.  She’s on her elbows and knees, forehead lowered and resting against the floor, and the man kneels behind her, one hand holding her hips and the other wrapping around his—

Stars, Obi-Wan wants to end it all.  Right here.  His aim will be true.

But then… oh, no, he’s an idiot.  He’s a complete dullard, because he forgot.  Consumed by his own sheer anxiety and unease, Obi-Wan stupidly forgot an extremely crucial detail of the incredibly little he’s been told about the Sh’inzith.

—the projecting.

All at once, he’s nearly knocked over by the strength of the two Force sensitives at the center of the arena as they deliberately cast their minds out across the entire audience, presenting every sensation and fleeting thought they’re experiencing in all its intensity.  Obi-Wan immediately works to reinforce his mental shields as soon as he feels the shockwave about to hit, but there’s thousands of Force sensitives present—all of them congregated into one relatively small area, all of them tuning into the same two signatures and then suddenly… amplifying them back until it’s impossible for him to shut out.

“Oh, uh—” he just manages to hear you mutter through the whirlwind, just the slightest hint of panic in your voice peaking through the symphony of whispered thoughts and pulsing sensations coming from the stage, “—that isn’t good—”

Obi-Wan abruptly stumbles backwards and gasps at the awful, wretched feeling of something brunt pressing up hard against somewhere elusive, somewhere he’s never felt before towards the lower part of his body, and his mind fights viciously against it as he feels you spin around and reach out for his rapidly retreating figure.

“Wait, no—it’s okay, M-Master, it’s okay, it’s—” your voice cuts off and your hands suddenly fist into the robes at his chest, your forehead dropping to his shoulder against the sharp sting just continuing to push and push and push, “—i-it’s okay, it’s oka—”

He trips over his feet in the chaos and falls back on complete instinct and you’re so tightly attached to him that you’re yanked forwards with the momentum, the two of you plunging to the ground in a clumsy heap of grunts and tangled limbs.  Obi-Wan immediately starts crawling backwards across the floor underneath you, still trying to escape the horrible, inescapable sensation digging into a part of his body that doesn’t seem to exist, but it’s like you’re of the same mind—you’re scrambling forwards in the same direction trying to get away from the same thing, frantically attempting to calm him and simultaneously deal with the agony yourself, and then suddenly—

Oh—oh, Maker—

Suddenly something gives and surges in, and then Obi-Wan gasps—his elbows buckling under him and as the both of you drop down onto the floor because stars, it’s nearly blinding with impression.  Not only the aching, hard fullness stretching sharp and deep somewhere in his lower abdomen—but now a new sensation.  A tight, wet silk he feels swallowing him between his legs, concentrated on a part of his body that… does exist, a body part that’s currently pressed up right between your spread thighs.

“Fuck,” you moan hot against his throat, trying to find somewhere to brace yourself next to his shoulders and push yourself up off him, and he tries—Maker, he tries so hard not to, but his hands shoot out to grab your hips before he even knows what he’s doing and then he’s dragging his lower body up into yours on instinct alone, clamping his eyes shut and groaning out a desperate sound he’s never heard himself make before as his head drops against the floor.

It’s staggering.  It hurts.  He can't even hear your muffled noises anymore, not over the roaring encompassing his mind and body.  All he knows is that your hips quickly jerk back and grind down into his in response, sending Obi-Wan reeling while you bury your twisted cry of pleasure and pain into his neck.

The sound of it breaks through everything else.

Obi-Wan’s hands shake violently as they suddenly release you and then frantically shove at your shoulders, trying to push you off without hurting you.  He can’t think, he can’t see, he needs to leave—

“Get away,” he rasps desperately up at the sky, blinking his eyes wide but somehow not seeing anything in front of him but blackness.  “St-stars, get away from me—”

Suddenly you’re flipping off his body and onto your back next to him, too quick for it to be a mechanical movement alone, and he doesn’t even have the space in his mind nor the processing capacity to figure out if he Force pushed you off him or if it was you who did it to yourself.  He just clambers to his feet and stumbles away in a terrified, graceless retreat, bent in half, limping and gasping and fighting for every step he takes.

***

Your Master was right to leave as soon as possible, you think.  You were wrong to linger here for just a second to try and gain your bearings, because the more you work to grasp and attempt to organize them, the more mindless and disorienting they become.

You eventually have to heave over and drag yourself after him.

The further away you get from the arena, the easier it becomes to block the projection, but Maker, it’s exhausting.  You’re resigned to start out with a crawl—one of those Jedi Core crawls you haven’t had to do since the Academy but this one exponentially slower, forehead dropped down and eyes closed, just focusing on alternating shifting your elbows and your knees forwards and dedicating the rest of your mental energy to just isolating your mind from the debilitating assault.

Consulars don’t usually see much of war—you tend to do absolutely everything in your power to avoid it.  It’s the Guardians who experience the horrors of combat most often, who deal with ambushes and onslaughts from enemies of the Republic.  But Maker above, every merciless thrust into that poor little virgin at the center of the arena is like a blaster shooting directly at you, but then couple it with the thousands of reflections and ricochets in robes lining the bleachers?  You’re in the trenches of a deadly battle you had no idea was even about to break out and you have no weapon of defense besides retreat.

When you finally get far enough away to be able to push yourself upright as much as possible and continue staggering back to the palace on two feet, you have no concept for how long it’s been.  You can still feel the projection vibrating and clawing sharply at the edges of your consciousness, but at least the majority of your thoughts are your own now, and it gradually becomes easier and easier to focus and speed up to a clumsy run.

Though, no matter how successful you eventually are at muffling the vibrant sensations and thoughts of the two Force sensitives behind you—when they cum, you stumble down to your knees again and have to bite the back of your fist to keep from screaming.

Maker, it takes you a minute to recover.  You don’t even cum, you just feel it—the burst of energy from the Force in every direction, the violent explosion from the stadium that feels like it should fracture the ground beneath you.

You’re able to get up after a moment, if only because they decide to take mercy and finally cut off the projection.  You know that it’s a temporary relief, that they’ll likely be at this all night, but you hope the palace will be far enough away from the arena to block out the sensations completely.  You wonder if Master Kenobi felt that through the Force or whether he was too determined to block it out that he was able to simply ignore the nuclear missile that just detonated less than a few miles away from him.

You force yourself forwards and you want to hurry, you do—but strangely, in your wild state of exhaustion, stark reality is almost as debilitating as swimming through that endless madness was.  It’s quiet around you but the noise of still air pulses deafeningly in your eardrums after breaking free from such a thick mental filter separating you from your surroundings.  You still have your lightsaber clutched in your hand, Maker rejoice, and your thin robes are skewed awkwardly across your body, but you eventually find your way to the doors of the palace.

Though, trying to navigate the empty halls back to your Master’s chambers takes you longer than it should.  His signature is cloaked spectacularly, concealed to a mere speck you wouldn’t even know was there if you weren’t so closely acquainted with it for more than a decade.  You follow the flickering pixel of blue light through the obstacle ridden darkness, adjusting the front of your robes with one trembling hand while you wipe your brow with the other, closing your eyes and doing your best to take deep breaths.  He’ll be spiraling right now.  He’ll need a boulder to cling to in this tsunami, solid ground to stand on while the stars are falling out of the sky.

You… find him in your quarters instead.

The door is open and his handsome profile is to you, the thick fabric stretching over his broad shoulders now an agreeable light cream, familiar and telling of his intentions.  His hands are moving.  Setting something down on your bed—your robes, you soon realize.  He’s laying out your Jedi robes neatly for you across the fur blanketing the large mattress.

Master Kenobi begins speaking as soon as you step foot into the room, the tone of his voice very clearly impatient after having waited for you for so long.

“Change out of those ridiculous garments,” he tells you hastily, neatly laying out your leather belt across your dark tunic without even turning his head to look at you properly.  “We must leave.  Quickly.  Also—tell me you didn’t forget your saber at the arena, because if so, I’m afraid it’s lost to us forever now.  Ilum is only three days from here, perhaps we can stop there on the way back to Coruscant to find you another kyber cryst—”

You drop the hilt of your lightsaber on the floor and step forward, cautiously reaching out for his figure as he continues to ramble.  “Master, I—”

Your hand is thrown to the side with a subtle flick of his wrist and you instantly jerk to an abrupt halt, holding your palms out in front of you and keeping completely still while he spins around, his jaw slack and staring at you wide-eyed.  He takes a few steps away from you in shock.

“I’m sorry—” he immediately gasps, reaching out towards you even though the rest of his body is still desperately evading yours.  “Stars, I’m so sorry—that was just… That was excruciating, young one.  Why would anyone ever willingly—?”

“It—it doesn’t always—” you cut yourself off just in time, clamping your jaw shut before you can finish your sentence.

“We must leave,” he says once more as he turns back to your mattress, not appearing to hear you at all and shaking his head, far too frantic to sound like he’s just reminding you alone.  “We can’t do that.  I can’t do that—”

“It doesn’t always have to be—”  Maker, what is wrong with you?  Your heart kicks up in your chest and somehow stutters to a halt at the same time.  It’s the lingering effects of the assault your mind just experienced coupled with your desperate urge to console him that’s making you so utterly careless, you realize, it’s making your tongue loose.

“Stars, what do you mean?”  Master Kenobi finally snaps, and your blood runs ice cold.  “How do you know that?”

It takes the sum of all your years of training to keep the raging hurricane of emotion from showing in any capacity.  You feel like he’s holding his saber to your neck with how dangerously little you’re even allowing yourself to breathe right now, how utterly and completely still you’re holding yourself in front of him.

Lie, a little voice in your mind supplies quietly, the little voice you keep locked inside an impenetrable box of everything you are but have never been allowed to confront, haven’t been allowed to openly think just in case someone is listening too closely.  Lie.  Lie, right now.  Your silence is giving you away.

Only—you can’t.  You shouldn’t.  It’s not fair to keep this from him, not when you’re asking him to do something so structurally compromising to his belief system.  If… if you tell him the truth, perhaps he won’t judge you too harshly.  Perhaps he’ll feel… reassured, knowing he’s certainly not the first Jedi to break a sacred vow when he felt times were desperate enough.

Besides.  This might be the only secret that could potentially get you kicked out of the Order, but… it still isn’t your worst one.

“Because.”  The word is out of your mouth before you can rethink it, barely above a whisper.  “I… know.”

He doesn’t respond, and no.

No, you were wrong.  You were wrong to tell him the truth, and the look on his face immediately shoots panic through your whole body.

He doesn’t look reassured.

He looks… alienated.

“‘It doesn’t always?’”  Your Master eventually repeats back to you, and fuck—the implication is instantly clear.  The implication is made so clear from the sharpness in his tone, the hard edge to it as he rounds out the vowels in the last word that makes your heart twist and throb in your ribcage.  He might as well have just asked you how many times you must’ve violated your code of honor to know the difference.

“It’s not.”  You clear your throat and flick your gaze up to the ceiling, feeling like he’s using the Force to squeeze your chest in on itself.  “That was the absolute worst possible sensation that can be felt during… It’s—it’s not like that.  It won’t… be like that.  Not.”  Are there tears coming to your eyes?  “Not… with me.”

Utter quiet.  So quiet that if you really concentrate, you can hear the distant sounds of the arena continuing on with the Ritual without you.  You bite hard at your lip and wait for him to say something, anything.  Yell at you, tell you how disgusted he is, banish you from the Order.

Instead, Master Kenobi quite suddenly… deflates.  He sighs—not a heavy, exhausted one, but a soft one.  A quiet, accepting sort of sound.

He slowly lowers himself to the edge of the mattress and closes his eyes, running both hands through his hair, and it’s just enough to give you pause.  You glance over at him, trying not to let tears fall beyond the plateau of your lower lids with the frantic downward movement of your eyes, and you’re only just barely successful at it.

“It’s alright,” he says gently.  “It’s… it’s alright, young one.  I… suppose I am in no place to judge.  Quite… quite literally,” he murmurs, gesturing to the space around him with a lazy wave of his hand.  Maker, his figure is too watery and unfocused to make out his facial expressions, but you don’t want to blink to clear your vision just in case a sudden downpour escapes.  “It’s none of my business and I shouldn’t have asked.  You’re… not my Padawan anymore.  I should have no reason to… even care at all, really.”

There’s something that feels… major in that, something monumental yet incredibly well hidden, but you’re still too full of blind panic to interpret it further.  Your breathing is shaky and you wonder, quite stupidly and not for the first time in your life, if it’s somehow possible to use the Force to evaporate the water in your eyes before it turns into tears.

“I am certain it took place in your younger years, a long time ago,” he continues calmly when you don’t immediately say anything.  “You did always have a… a rather unconventional relationship with the rules.” 

Your only response is a quick jerk of a nod.  Yes.

“Yes,” you immediately agree, hoping your tone sounds convincing enough through the lingering tremors.  “It was… a long time ago.  I’ve changed, since then.  Grown up in many ways.”

It’s his turn to nod, and you manage to calm down just slightly.  You’re still breathing too hard and you’re a bit too braced, too much of a stance to truly feel like relief, but your heart rate is beginning to settle back into a somewhat acceptable rhythm.

Master Kenobi looks over at you, and he says absolutely nothing about the traces of water still glistening along your eyelashes.  He just smiles softly and pats the space next to him.

You cautiously make your way over to him after a moment, feeling more unsure now than you’ve felt this entire mission.  You leave at least a half a foot of space separating the two of you once you carefully sit yourself down on the mattress, and you can’t even look in his general direction.  You just focus on the long, draping sleeves of your black robe as you look down at your hands and wait for him to speak first.

“Sometimes,” he eventually sighs.  “Sometimes I… feel like you’re the person I know best in the entire galaxy, you know.  I’ve… I’ve known you far longer than I ever knew my own Master, young one.  I picked you out of thousands, and I’d do it thousands of times again.  Sometimes—especially since the day of your accolade and subsequent absence, I feel like I can know exactly what you’re thinking, even from across an entire star system.  And yet somehow, you… always surprise me.  Even after all these years, I am just.  Consistently surprised by you.”

You don’t know how to take that.  You just sit there in a guilty silence, still unable to turn your head or offer any sort of response.

“I chose you as a Padawan because you surprised me, you know,” he reminds you quietly.  “I had certain expectations for you, and you did not meet those expectations.  Instead, you presented an alternative I’d never before considered, an alternative that forced me to reevaluate you—and by extension, myself—far beyond what I had previously.  That is not a bad thing.  It has never been a bad thing.  As is made blatantly obvious by the fact that I’m the one currently standing in the way of saving lives, and you’re…not.”

Maker, this is thin ice.  You don’t know what to say that’ll express hesitant agreement with his sentiment without making it sound like you’re not apologetic for breaking your oath.  You’re… well, you’re not, not really.  His response itself is causing you to feel far more turmoil than any legitimate regret for your actions.

“It was—” On instinct, you almost say it was a mistake regardless of the conflicts you’re just so happening to encounter on this mission, but something stops you.  You suddenly remember your place here, your goal.  To save the galaxy from the Separatists’ reign.  And, by extension… sleep with your Master.  You can’t call it a mistake if you’re going to ultimately try to convince him to do the same thing.  So instead, you scramble to finish your sentence with a different thought, knowing his full attention is pinned to you right now.  “…A long time ago,” is all your exhausted mind is able to come up with.

“Yes,” he gives you a small, companionable smile.  “It’s alright.  Your prior lapse—or, well… lapses in judgement… will forever be safe with me.”

And still, you don’t feel relief.  Not when Master Kenobi very quickly appears to look uncertain.

“I… apologize,” he offers after a moment, “if.  If I ever made you feel like… like you could not confide in me about any struggles or… or urges you may have been experienc—”

“Maker,” you suddenly interrupt with a frantic wave of your hands, everything cringing inside you, “Maker, we don’t have to do this.  None of it, it’s okay.  Know what?  Let’s just go home—screw the galaxy, I don’t care, just stop talking.”

He snaps his eyes over to you, a sudden bark of laughter escaping him before the rest of his face even seems to register something was funny.

It evolves.  Eventually he’s covering his face and stifling ridiculous little snorts behind his hands, trying to apologize in between the chuckles but laughing even harder.  It’s almost like… just a form of pure stress relief for him.  So far beyond traumatized that it’s revealing itself in a slightly hysterical way, even if what you said wasn’t hysterical at all.

“Now you have a mere glimpse into what my experience has been like today,” he finally tells you with a sparkling grin once he composes himself, lifting his chin as he looks at you and scratching his beard with a quiet flicking sound.  “Shall I keep going?  If this mission has taught me anything, it’s that no matter what, things can always get worse.”

“They don’t have to.”  You say it without thinking, the gentle reprieve caused by his laughter flowing through you in waves and making you throw caution to the wind.  The four words serve to shut him up quite quickly however, even though it was the opposite of your intent, and your smile drops.  Maker, just freely conversing with him about these things is navigating a minefield for his mental state.

“You… you say that, and yet even—” Master Kenobi eventually responds, cutting himself off with a cough.  “Even the things I’ve heard are meant to feel… pleasant, were just.”  He shakes his head and blinks his crystal blue eyes over at you.  “By all accounts.  Agony.”

“I know,” you nod.  “I know.  Projecting that specific situation was… sadistic of them.  A distortion of the truth.  Probably rooted in deep tradition, but also a great scare tactic if I ever saw one, playing with us by presenting the absolute worst of it before anything else.  It won’t hurt.  At all.  I promise.  In fact—I-I can make it feel—”

Maker, you don’t even finish your sentence, but you must think the general idea loud enough for him to understand.  You don’t actually have a specific word in mind—good, great, amazing, euphoric?—and yet, something quiet settles over you two at the silent implication, the mere whisper of the possibility of you pleasuring him.

And him… allowing it.

“Master, I—”

“Don’t,” he quickly tells you.  “Don’t call—You don’t have to… call me that.  Just for right now, it’s.  I don’t—” he takes a breath that sounds shakier than it looks, and then he paints an easy, fake smile on his face following the exhale.  You recognize that smile anywhere, though.  While you’ve never seen him wear it before, it’s the smile that politicians make when they’re about to present a lesser truth to you, a smile shown to you in negotiations all the time that signifies something… hidden.  He’s hiding something, something important, and you have no idea what it could possibly be.  “I don’t feel like I even deserve to be called that right now, young one.  Perhaps you should be the Master, and I the learner.”

“Ah yes, the circle is now complete,” you can’t help but jest in return, wanting to keep the tone light even though the subject matter is heavy.  “Is now when we trade lightsabers?”

“Indeed,” he smiles, this time more sincere, and… you can’t pinpoint when exactly it happened, but it appears you’re physically closer to each other now than you were when you first sat down.

“Do they, uh… actually expect us to…”  You clear your throat and wave a hand around, “…Project the entire time like that?”

Master Kenobi quickly shakes his head.  “No.  s’Zer—Queen s’Zerthia informed me that.  Ah.  For us, projection will only be necessary during the… well, she called it the ‘closing ceremonies.’”

Your eyebrows shoot up and you nod.  “I… see.”

It’s like you can physically feel his body start to break out into a cold sweat next to you at the sudden… realness of it all, the realization that it has to be getting late.  Close to midnight, if you’re not already pushing it.  It’s come time to make a final decision, you both know it.  You want to console him, offer him some kind of solace or reprieve, but stars, you just don’t know how, not when you’re this much of a mess about this, too, but for entirely different reasons.  You don’t have a single clue how to make him feel better about any of this.

“I just,” you rush before you lose the nerve, “I want you to know that—e-even if you feel like you’re somehow alone in this, you’re not.  Okay?  I’m… I’m really nervous, too.  I don’t… I don’t actually know what to do at all right now.  I don’t know whether to respect your apprehension or tell you it’s unfounded.  I don’t know if I should remind you what’s at stake here or whether I should avoid mentioning it at all costs.  I have no idea what position I should take, but I’ll—I’ll take whichever one you want me to.”

And it’s odd, because when you first launched into your confession, Master Kenobi gradually began to look more and more relieved, but at a certain point, something just goes horribly wrong.  You don’t know what you said, but whatever it was, it seems to rocket through your Master and suddenly his breathing stutters.

For a moment, you think he’s going to reach back, yank your neatly folded Jedi robes up from the mattress and push the dark fabric into your hands.  Tell you he’ll meet you at the docking bay posthaste, tell you not to linger, tell you that the mission was a failure.  But then—

“Before,” he suddenly says, the word almost startling you with how abrupt it comes out sounding.  Almost like he wasn’t quite expecting himself to say it either.  “Earlier today, you asked… you asked if there was anything you could do to… make this easier.”

“Yes,” you prompt immediately.  He won’t look at you, and for some reason your heart begins beating faster and the inside of your thighs are getting warm.

“I… I’m not sure I’ll be able to go through with this,” he admits with a whisper, his voice sounding so quietly reluctant, like he doesn’t want to say the words aloud but is forcing himself to.  “But… the Council put you in charge of negotiations.”

Your eyebrows furrow, trying to understand his implication.  What does that have to do with anything?  Is he saying that you’re supposed to be in charge, and therefore he’s defaulting to you?  “I’m not sure I—”

“The Galactic Republic…”  Master Kenobi enunciates very, very pointedly, still unable to look at you, “…put you in charge of negotiations.”

Specifying—or in this case, generalizing—doesn’t help much.  “I’m still not—”

“Maker, for—for the good of the Republic, young one,” he presses under his breath and finally flicks his gaze up to meet yours, sounding urgent and torn in equal parts.  “Negotiate.”

Stars, negotiate with who?  With—with him?  For the good of the…?  Is he asking you to somehow reason with him beyond what you’ve attempted to do already, or persuade him to do what’s right for—?

Maker—Master Kenobi is asking you to seduce him.

Shock paints your expression blank and his eyes instantly evade yours once more.  You have to sit there for just a second and double-check that you’re not dreaming.  None of this seems real.  All of it seems like an incredibly elaborate illusion of the Force, ever since you first laid eyes on him at the start of this mission.  You know you missed him but stars, did you truly miss him this terribly?  Your longing must rival something fierce to unconsciously conjure this wild of a scenario.  Is he actually here right now?  Have you been speaking to a ghost?  Are you actually here right now?  Are you going to wake up any second and remember he’s thousands of lightyears away and has been for years, risking his life on the front lines of galactic war while you’re left to play politics and negotiate treaties behind the scenes?

These thoughts aren’t safe to have in normal interactions with him, but nothing about this situation is normal, and while you know Master Kenobi has years of experience reading your signature, he most likely won’t be able to gauge the specific details of your thoughts when you can sense how intensely he’s focused on guarding his own chaotic mind from you.

So you let yourself think.  If only for a second, you sit next to him and allow yourself to just… think about him.  About how much you care for him, how desperately you ache for him—you let all these improper longings finally have their moment with you.  You let yourself confront it, crack the lid of the hidden box tucked away behind your consciousness and brave it, because if there was ever a moment to do so, it’s right now.

Your heart starts slamming up against your ribcage and your hands feel like they’re tingling.  He wants you to convince him to have sex with you.  He’s asking you to corrupt him.  He wants you to negotiate the galaxy’s survival with the last man standing in the way of its prosperity—a good man with strong, immovable morals, a man who understands the consequences that follow integrity around and won’t be easy to tempt.

“This was a bad idea,” suddenly comes Master Kenobi’s voice, quickly backpedaling after too long of a silence.  “I shouldn’t have said that.  Forget I said that, we should just g—”

“Would you like to meditate?”  You immediately ask him on a complete whim, shuffling back towards the middle of the mattress for the second time today.  You’re careful to make sure he doesn’t see you carelessly flick your neat robes to the floor with the Force, clearing the top of the large mattress.  “Let’s meditate.”

“Stars,” he breathes, shyly his head turning to follow you, “I’d love nothing more, but there truly just isn’t any time—”

You find it easier than you thought it’d be to pull a playful face at him, crossing your legs and straightening your spine.  “Please, you’re a Guardian.  You blue sabers practically invented battle meditation, did you not?”

He looks skeptical for a moment, as he has a valid right to be.  “Is this a battle?”  He eventually asks over his shoulder.

You say nothing in response to that, instead using the Force with a flex of your finger to tug at the loose cream fabric of his robe at his elbow.  “Come on, it’ll do us good.”

He looks conflicted for a second, but then ultimately decides to humor you.  “Alright,” Master Kenobi finally agrees, turning around and crawling towards you on the mattress, and you’re just quick enough to stamp down a flicker of arousal at the mere sight of it.  “It won’t hurt.”

“Of course it won’t,” you agree with just a bit too much air in your voice, but he doesn’t seem to notice it.  He just seats himself directly in front of you, facing you, crossing his legs close enough to yours that your knees barely touch, and—

—Maker, he’s lovely.

You purposefully let yourself think it as his eyes slowly fall closed and he takes a deep breath, beginning to tame the wild tempest of his mind.  You let the word flitter around your thoughts without instantly repressing it like you always do, and just the mere act of allowing yourself to acknowledge the truth is freeing.  He’s lovely.  He’s lovely.  You could scream it.

Your eyes trail down the lines of his ever softening, tranquil expression, not even bothering to pretend to meditate for his benefit this time.  Your gaze roams shamelessly across his face, the way his hair is combed back away from it.  The sandy, masculine beard leading down to the thick column of his throat, the broad lines of his shoulders draped in pale fabric, the way his chest slowly moves as he breathes.  Lovely.  Lovely.

And then you go… lower.

His abdomen is stretched long with how upright he’s sitting, his flawless meditation posture.  His thighs are spread wide in this position, pants stretched tight into an elusive drum over his crotch and preventing you from truly seeing anything—but stars is it a thrill even just letting yourself look. 

Especially knowing that the more his mind works to compose itself, the easier it’ll be for him to hear you.

You keep thinking, growing bolder the more you’re left alone with this box wide open.  You think about how lithe and strong his body is, how it would feel under your hands.  You think about all the different things you want to show him, all the… the mind shattering pleasure you can give him if he’ll allow y—

Master Kenobi says your name without opening his eyes.

It doesn’t sound the way you expect, though you don’t really know what you expected it to sound like.  A sharp, frustrated bark?  An exasperated, pleading attempt to get you to stop?

No—none of those.  It’s a quiet, low growl of a sound, and the clear warning in it absolutely burns a hole through you like he picked up his lightsaber and used it instead.

You take practiced breaths, trying to calm yourself down.  Stars, he just said your name, he’s said it so many times before, and yet hearing it in his mouth with that tone in this context feels like he just strapped rockets to your ankles and told you to stay put.  You’re impatient.  You’re turning yourself on, working yourself up, trying to get to where you can actually make a move on him after dedicating so many years to desperately repressing the longing to do so.  Once he told you to negotiate this deal with him, however, it’s as if every ounce of the impeccable self control you’ve practiced so spectacularly throughout most of your life slowly started to unravel.

Reaching out tentatively so as not to startle him, you wrap both of your palms around the bend of his knees and squeeze gently.  Master Kenobi displays no physical signs of—well, anything really, keeping his body completely rigid under your hands with no noticeable alterations in his breathing pattern.  Biting your lip, you begin to slowly rotate your thumbs, making sure to keep your movements slow and perfectly symmetrical.  Complete relaxation is your ultimate goal here—coaxing your Master into a serene state where physical contact is desired, not obligatory.  He's so uncomfortable with the concept of intimacy in and of itself though, from the way his eyebrows start to furrow and his spine begins gradually tilting back and away from you, it's almost as if your ministrations are dampening rather than fueling.

“Relax,” you murmur, and stars, even though you make it sound quiet and gentle, it’s like the melodic lull of your voice appears to startle him more than if you’d just spoken normally.  Maker—it’s counterintuitive; how are you supposed to turn someone on when the mere state of being turned on turns them off?  “Relax with me, it’s okay—”

“But I just can't, young one,” he suddenly implores, his voice pressed up tight in his throat, his cerulean eyes popping open in frustration and something else—an honest, heartfelt emotion that's strikingly less familiar to you, even after years spent by his side: deep, hot, stomach-wrenching guilt.  You watch your Master’s palms run the length of his thighs; back and forth, back and forth—almost like a nervous tick, you think—and it’s oddly endearing, if not increasingly concerning.  “I just can't, this is all so wrong.  Don't you understand?  E-Even if the Council did provide a—well, a rather admittedly ineluctable blessing for this downright ludicrous endeavor, i-it’s… I don't…”  He takes a deep breath, and visually, it looks like he's attempting to collect his thoughts and composure, but you know your Master all too well.  You know what he's really doing, and at this point, it's almost… frustrating.

“What are you so afraid of?”  You clutch his knees and whisper quietly, interrupting him before he can verbalize whatever perfectly logical reason he's trying to formulate as to why you both should leave the planet immediately, what he's going to say to the Council if they ever inquire as to why negotiations ultimately failed.  He jerks his head up sharply to look at you.

“The Jedi fear nothing,” is his automatic response, though his previously intense gaze strays slightly from yours after a second of too much eye contact.  “Fear is the path to the Dark Side, you know this.”

“And yet you are afraid,” you remark calmly, studying the way he’s turned his face away from you completely now, how you can still see his jaw clench under the thick beard with his profile shown to you like this.  “I—I’m trying to understand, Master, but I—I don’t.  Even if this mission were half as important as it is, your loyalty to the Order would follow you right into an early grave.  But this?”  You remove a palm from his knee to gesture between the two of you, the mattress beneath the both of you, “fulfilling this mission and these terms to save the entire galaxy is too ‘downright ludicrous’ for the Great Negotiator?  I don’t believe it.  Tell me what you’re really afraid of.”

Only, he’s suddenly moving—away from you.  Turning and planting his palms to fur, beginning to climb to the edge of the bed and sweep his legs around under him, and your voice has an unintentional edge to it when you address his back.

“Do you know how many lives over I owe you?”  You ask, and he jerks to an abrupt halt, feet just shy of stepping on the floor.  “Do you have any idea the stockpile of mortal gratitude you’ve amassed from me?  How many times you’ve risked your death to save me from mine over the years—can you count them?  I have.  I know my debt to you, I know the weight of my life piled on top of itself over and over again.  I remember each and every one of them like they happened yesterday, and not once did you hesitate even slightly, let alone the way you’ve hesitated today.”

”And?”  Master Kenobi quite suddenly snaps over his shoulder as he grips the edge of the mattress, sounding sharp but not necessarily directed towards you.  “What is your point?”

“My point is that if you’d so readily trade your death time and time again to prevent that of even one other person, let alone a difficult Padawan who caused the Order nothing but grief for years, then what is it that makes the deaths of trillions—” you nearly say preferable to bedding me before you realize how incredibly harsh that would sound, but something about the way he seems to tense his shoulders and curl inwards implies he was following the general cadence of your agitated signature more than the specific content of your words.

He says absolutely nothing, but he doesn’t move to drop his feet to the floor, either.  If only you could punch a proverbial hole through his practically indestructible mental barriers, you'd see the real reason he's so flustered, why he's purposely attempting to deceive you.  Unfortunately for you though, they feel like they're made of triple-reinforced beskar, a countermeasure gradually increasing in strength the more you try to probe.

But then—all at once, something clicks.  Something… fundamental.  An understanding. 

Your Master is a gifted negotiator, yes.  But more than that.

He wields a blue saber.  Not a green one.

He’s a Guardian.  A warrior.  He fights.  It’s something that has never truly been part of your nature, no matter how much you struggled with it over the years—but it is a part of his, no matter how exceptionally he’s been able to mask it for even longer.

So, all at once, you stop pushing.  Your signature abruptly pulls away from him, gives him room to breathe and simply hovers within your own personal space, unassuming and careful not to disturb him.  You see your Master lift his chin and straighten his spine slightly, immediately noticing your absence and the constant pressure you’d been applying, and you honestly can’t tell if he relaxes or tenses up even more because of it.

Finally, when you feel like it’s been long enough, you slowly reach out and gently place your hand on his arm.  This time, there’s no underlying motivation attached, no inherent desire for him to fulfill any sort of obligation.  Just a warm, companionable gesture to reinforce the simple knowledge that you’re both in this together, for better or worse.

Please tell me, Obi-Wan, you quietly whisper to him through the Force, allowing your tone and energy to transfer through your open palm and into his troubled spirit as softly and gently as you possibly can—a caress more than anything even close to a sentence or inquiry.  Your usage of his first name is entirely unprecedented however, and your Master sucks in a sharp breath in response.

I don't… But then the subconscious, half-formed thought fades away almost as quickly as it’s offered to you from behind the solid, unyielding fortress of his mind.  “W-what are you doing?”

You bite your lip, wondering how honest you should be with him right now.  Though, you suppose, if you truly want him to confide in you, you should at least meet him halfway.

“You’re the locked door,” you finally settle on.  “This is me knocking.”

Obi-Wan turns around and blinks at you, looking for all the stars in this galaxy like that was quite possibly the last thing he expected you to say.  You can see the frantic thoughts pass through his eyes almost as if the clear blue was completely transparent, likely remembering all the times you’ve leaned on him for guidance, listened intently and learned from his wisdom and experience.  And now you’re a fully grown woman patiently offering him your ear, wondering if you’ve earned enough of his trust for him to do the same.

“I’m afraid I’ll form an attachment to you.”  The words tumble from his mouth even though his body all but whips away from you in the process.  “It’s unreasonable for the Council to expect this from me.  From us.  I’m afraid our relationship will forever be tarnished from this, that neither of us will ever be able to go back to the way things were before.  I’m afraid that regardless of whatever decision I make, I won’t be able to carry the guilt on my conscience and continue to call myself a Jedi and Guardian of the Republic.  But mostly, I just—I-I—”

Your heart is pounding as Obi-Wan buries his face into his hands and his muffled voice groans raggedly, “—I’m afraid I’ll like it.  I’m afraid I’ll want it again, and again.  I’m afraid it’ll follow me back to Coruscant, that I’ll save the galaxy but spend the rest of my days aching for something I’ll never be able to keep, and that’s petrifying.  Desire, passion, selfishness, possession; all of them lead to Darkness, and I can—I can feel it right now.  Your soul is so gentle, so peaceful, and yet you… you inspire such Darkness in me, dove.”

Maker, you’re trying so hard.  So hard to keep your legs from clenching together at the utter desperation in his tone, how his breathing has picked up now that the words have ripped themselves out of his throat, like the whole thing was physical agony even just to say.  You have to take a second.  You’ve been so patient this entire time, but stars—this one makes you need a moment.  You’re so glad his eyes are clamped shut behind his fingers right now because yours lose focus trying to mask the absolutely debilitating wave of arousal that sinks down hot through your stomach.

Even when you regain the ability to speak, the ability to form a safe and proper response to the bombshell he just dropped on you completely evades you.

You purposefully don't say that you're already helplessly attached to him, that the colors of the galaxy somehow lost their brilliance the day you graduated to Knight, the day you left his side.  You don't say that you want this so badly you can feel it in your neck, that it would probably break you in half if he said no to this now.  Though it's the honest-to-Maker truth, you know discovering this information will only cause your Master to further distance himself from you, and somehow that thought alone is a million times worse than being denied the opportunity to be this close to him.  Even… even if what you end up sharing is more emotional than physical.

So you take a deep breath to center yourself, and choose your words very carefully.

“A compromise, then.”

Obi-Wan suddenly raises his head, turning around to look at you and blinking twice.  “A what?”

“You told me to negotiate.  What do we do as negotiators, hm?”  You raise an eyebrow, giving him a gentle smile and trying not to curl your fingers into the fur underneath you with how hard it is to conceal your burning arousal.  Do it for him.  Do it for your Master, you’re in l—you… care about him, and you care about the things he cares about, even if doing so feels like it’ll rip you apart.  “We compromise.  Yes?  So, let’s find one.”

He shakes his head.  “I don’t see h—”

“If you were to…”  You cut him off and look down, trying to find the most delicate way to phrase this.  “If you were to… find other means to bring yourself to completion, would you be able to convince anyone listening that I was the one doing it?”

Obi-Wan doesn’t even blink this time.  He just stares at you, holding himself like a statue in front of you.  Finally, he seems to find himself.  “I… I don’t—I don’t know if I can.”

“You’re stronger in the Force than anyone on this planet, Master,” you encourage softly, placing a hand back on his arm and squeezing this time.  “I’ve felt it.”

“N-No,” he practically hiccups.  “No, I mean I-I… I don’t know if… if I can.”

Your eyebrows narrow, a mixture of confusion and concern coloring your expression.  “If you can…?”

He looks back at you almost desperately, his eyes practically begging you to figure it out so he doesn’t have to say it.  Finally, Obi-Wan sighs, seeming to collapse in on himself with its intensity.  “I—I’ve never… purposefully reached completion before,” he admits.  “I’m—I’m not sure how to.”

Your eyes widen, wanting to kick yourself for making assumptions.  Of course.  Of course he’d follow his oath to its strictest interpretation, why would you ever think otherwise?  “Oh, y-yes, of course not,” you stutter, sounding incredibly stupid and perfectly mirroring the embarrassed flush also painting your Master’s cheeks, “I didn’t mean to imply—”

“It’s alright,” he holds up a hand.  “We simply… view such things differently.  So long as you do not pass judgment, then neither shall I.”

You nod and look down at your hands, wondering how else you can attempt to tackle this predicament.  “What if I…”  You blink slowly, almost wanting to keep your eyes closed in case he’s offended by the idea but figuring you should have them open to read his responses.  “What if I… don’t touch you?”

Now he just looks confused.  “I’m sorry?”

You blush and clear your throat, obviously phrasing this wrong.  “If you can modify the context of your projection, then I can… get you there.  Without touching you.”

“How could you accomplish such a thing without tou—” Obi-Wan immediately cuts himself off when you lift your hand and close your eyes.

His thigh.  The right one—you focus on it.  There.  Right above the bend of his knee folding over the edge of the mattress, you concentrate all the energy from your fingertips and reach out, connecting the two together.  And then you take a deep breath and begin to draw your attention slowly upwards.

Your Master’s breath catches in his throat as you use the Force to delicately trail further up his leg, not laying a single hand on him as his muscles start to visibly tighten and quiver.

“Young one, I—”  His breathing stutters when you keep your hand raised but let your head tilt and drop down towards your shoulder with your energy, slinking down the inside of his thigh like water and getting dangerously close to his— “Stars, hang on—”

You blink your eyes open at him and continue concentrating right there, letting your focus melt warm and thick along the muscle and squeeze it—

“Maker—”  Obi-Wan gasps and drops his head back, his legs nearly spasming apart.  “Maker, hang on, I…”

“Do you…” You breathe tightly, flicking your eyes down to the way he’s fisting the fur under his hands and subconsciously flexing his hips up just the slightest bit.  Even though the Force, his body feels good.  Strong, sturdy, and braced tight under your attention.  “Do you want me to keep doing this?  I can… go higher.”

“You can…?  The—the Force isn’t—” Obi-Wan groans, his eyes clamping shut, “—isn’t meant to be used in such… in such… If I’m to break my oath, young one, it needn’t be so… so blasphemous—”

Trying to conceal the hot sparks of arousal deep in your stomach, you simply allow your metaphysical hand to continue resting right at the juncture of his hip and thigh, waiting for a real answer.  You bite your lip and wait for him to tell you to either cut it out or to keep going.  He doesn’t even have to say it out loud if he doesn’t want to—he can just slide it under the impassable door still separating him from you, the door you’re eventually going to get him to unlock himself.

His back is to you, so you can only see a bit of his face from this angle, but you can hear him loud and clear when he opens his mouth and whispers to you, barely louder than a breath.  “Go higher.”

Adrenaline rockets through your veins and slowly, your fingers curl in thin air while your gentle energy wraps itself around his cock.

Both of Obi-Wan’s hands instantly fly up to his face and he releases a tight, longing whimper into his palms, and you feel almost as desperate as he sounds.  You can sense the ghost of his thickness in your hand, and the way he’s already throbbing for it is like pure spice to you.

You can’t stop your crossed legs from shuffling and rotating your body to face his hunched spine more directly, just taking a second and allowing him to adjust to the sensation of you just holding him between his legs like this.  Your fingers rest gently along his pulsing skin while he hides from you, and if only to get a little bit more of a reaction for your own sake, your thumb just barely angles to delicately brush up under his frenulum.  

Obi-Wan shudders and makes a choking noise behind his palms, and oh good Maker, you really want to see his face.  You know it’ll probably never happen unless you take your own initiative, but you also don’t want to overstep and snap him out of this blissful reverie.  Still, something compels you to be so gentle about it that he hopefully won’t even notice. 

You start to slowly work the length of him and squeeze his cock a bit more firmly, but a tendril of your energy slowly slithers upwards, so quiet and full of caution that it hardly even counts.  Very carefully, you start to flatten the lifeforce from your other palm over his stomach and trail it up, gradually urging him to stretch his slouched figure upright and then eventually start to tip backwards, never once letting your focus on his throbbing erection falter.

Your courageous efforts bestow prosperous rewards.  Obi-Wan’s hands drag down the length of his face and he makes it almost too easy to keep pressing him back—back back back until his muscles give up what little fight they were putting up against it and his shoulders are dropping down to the mattress, his head falling into your lap.

“There we go,” you whisper under your breath, just loud enough to softly encourage him if he’s listening but avoiding a break in his focus if he’s not.  “That’s not so bad.”

“It isn’t,” Obi-Wan gasps up at you, his eyes tightly closed but his jaw slack and his handsome features screwed up in rapture.  “Oh, no, it’s… it’s really… rea—good.”

You bite your lip and your cunt flexes hard between your legs without your permission, feeling so empty.  If you’re being honest, only touching him through the Force causes your hand to become increasingly bold, also feeling too empty.  Obi-Wan’s head rolls to the side and he pants hot air against the thin black fabric covering your thighs as you tighten your hold around him just slightly and start to move up and down his cock in earnest.

“Fuck,” he whispers, the dirty word and rasp in his voice contrasting brilliantly with the proper Coruscanti accent and the crisp enunciation behind it.  “Fuck, this feels so good, I—”

His fingers grab at the fur covering the mattress top and pull at it, his adam’s apple bobbing sharp along the arching column of his throat as he groans and twists his head around in your lap.  He confesses it like it’s so wrong, but it can’t be wrong when he fits so perfectly in your hand?  How can this be wrong when it’s the only pleasure you can possibly give him that’s anywhere near close enough to match the way you feel when he’s around?  Even then, it’s but a fraction.

Your gaze flickers briefly from his face to check your progress with his body, and—stars, there’s a startling wet spot staining the front of his pale trousers, his cock tenting up shameless and needy for you to ache and throb just as desperately for in return.  Fuck, he deserves this, he deserves more—

“I can—I can make it better—” you can’t help but gasp, your eyebrows slanting upwards with need.  “Oh fuck, I can make it so much better than this for you, Obi-Wan—”

“You…?”  He blinks his stormy eyes open and sounds like he’s about to explode.  “This can be—” he chokes out, “—better?”

You can’t stop yourself.  Your pussy is clamped up so tight between your legs and Maker, you want to reward him for being so good to you, give him true adoration instead of phantom touches.  You don’t think before you’re moving out from under him and slinking down onto the floor, slipping in between his spread thighs.  You use the Force with a bend of your finger to tug his pants down just enough, just enough to let the swollen tip of his cock peak through the waistband, and then your head is dropping into his lap as you let it slide into your hot mouth.

Obi-Wan lifts his head and snarls at you—and something across the room shatters as you widen your throat for him and slowly sink down his length, curling your finger to stretch his hemline further as you go.  His fingers aren’t gentle when they fist into your hair and neither is the way he immediately twists it sideways, feeling like he’s trying to pull you off and shove you down on him at the same time.

You’re stuck between going as slow as you physically can to drag this out and giving him the best oral you’ve ever given to make him dream about this for the rest of his life.  You want him to want this as badly as you have for so many years.  You want him to fall into this Darkness with you, to crave you and what you can give to him so much that he’ll never want to leave you again.

So you make it wet.  You make it soft and slow and wet, switching between sucking gently at the tip and swirling your tongue around it, and then inching his length down your throat and swallowing around the thick girth of it once you can’t fit anymore in your mouth.  Obi-Wan is just an absolute mess about it—he can’t sit still, he’s tugging uselessly on your hair, whimpering out his bliss into the quiet room while you close your eyes and ignore his squirming, just taking your sweet time enjoying him and the way he feels.

He tastes exquisite.  Maybe it’s just because all your broken, stupid brain can think right now is slightly varying forms of my Master’s cock is in my mouth and it’s fucking leaking while you slowly nurse from it with your tongue, but stars—he tastes exquisite.

He’s swollen.  Throbbing.  Aching for you.  Releasing precum from the tip like his body is producing way too much of it after decades of neglect and just needs to get it all out at once.  Shifting and writhing underneath you but managing to never move his hips or cock a single inch away from the soft attention you’re giving him.  You can feel his smooth skin pulse against your tongue as you continue your lazy pleasuring, finally giving him what you’ve both been denied for so long and steadily swallowing down the spoils of your endeavors.

“—Wait, wait, Maker—stop,” you faintly hear gasped from above you not long after you even begin, and it takes the sum of all your efforts to unlodge his throbbing cock from your throat and pull away from him.

“I’m sorry,” you exhale automatically, trying not to slur your words as a bit of drool slides down your chin.  “I’m s’sorry, Obi, I should’ve asked before I—”

“Something’s… n-not right,” Obi-Wan interrupts you and lifts himself up to his elbows, his abdominal muscles heaving and a wild, frenzied look in his startlingly bright eyes.  “My stomach was—I-I felt—”

Heat blooms through you along with a realization, and your eyelids begin to droop slightly at just how sexy it is—the fact that this man, this fully grown, red-blooded, warrior of a man is currently teetering on the precipice of his very first ever orgasm, and you’re the only one with the power to give it to him.

You shuffle backwards slightly, grabbing hold of his thighs and squeezing to get his attention.  “Hey.  It’s okay, relax.”

Obi-Wan nods his head vigorously down at you, the exact opposite of relaxed.

“Listen to me,” you urge quietly, trying to ignore the sight of his thick, swollen cock twitching restlessly against his abdomen, precum still steadily dribbling at the tip.  Is your mouth watering?  “This is it.  You’ll need to start projecting when you’re ready.  It’ll be tricky, but not impossible.  You’ll just have to imagine you’re inside me when it happens.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head vigorously from side to side, vehemently opposed.

“No, I don’t—” He croaks, “—I don’t know what it’s like, I won’t be able to—”

“Doesn’t my mouth feel similar at least?”  You ask, looking down at his cock once more.

“I-I—” Obi-Wan sputters, “I don’t know, young one—you tell me!”

Okay, well.  He… makes a valid point.

You settle back on your knees even further, gazing at your Master thoughtfully.  His chest continues to rise and fall with heavy breaths, a thin sheen of sweat coating his temples and a mild flush high in his cheeks, but his eyes have regained a bit of their focus.  “You can just try to imagine the, uh,” you try, your cunt nearly convulsing with burning need at the mere sight of him, “the same positioning and sensation from… earlier?”

“Alright, I can…”  Obi-Wan nods, though his hands are shaking.  “I’ll do the best I…”

You can’t help but lean forward to press a soft, encouraging kiss to his thigh, and he jerks under your touch.  You try it again, receiving the same result, and it makes you pause for just a minute longer.

“I’m nervous,” he blurts unceremoniously after a moment of stillness, as if you hadn’t noticed.  “Oh stars, I’m nervous, I—”

“Obi-Wan,” you let your voice lull, your hands squeezing gently around the bend of his knees once more.  “Calm down.  Clear your mind.”

He hiccups and you wait.  You wait with your mouth a few inches away from his cock, waiting for his breathing to slow and for him to follow your lead.

Can you hear me?  You murmur through the Force, and he quickly whimpers and nods.  Focus your thoughts.

You gently kiss at his tensing thighs once again, and he doesn’t flinch away from you this time.  His breathing slows into a calmer, steadier rhythm, letting you trail your lips gently along the curve of his leg.

Will you let me try something?  You ask after a moment, opening your mouth just the slightest bit to brush your tongue out and taste his skin.

“Y-Yes,” Obi-Wan says quietly, his breath stuttering through the word.

And—perhaps you shouldn’t have, but you give him something; a suggestion, more than anything else.  You give him a… visual.  A reference to guide his mind through the Force.

You, still in your black robe, slowly standing up from between his legs.  Widening your stance to straddle his lap, pull you robes up just enough, and then adjust your hips just slightly over the head of his cock.

Obi-Wan inhales sharply at the vision, his eyes clamping tightly shut against it in vain.  He can close his eyes, turn away, hide his face all he wants—he can’t escape the way your body looks as it slowly begins to sink down on his.

At the exact same time, you lower your mouth around his cock once more, and you try to make it as close to the sensation as possible.  You don’t even move your tongue, you simply lift your soft palate and close your lips around his girth, beginning to carefully bob up and down along his length in time to the image you’re conjuring of you riding him.

Only, you already feel his balls tightening up and his body starting to go rigid with tension once again, and you can sense him still wanting to resist his approaching orgasm.  It’s okay, Master, you encourage quietly through the vision, it’s okay, just let it come easy.

“I—I’m not—” he shakes his head back and forth against the bed frantically, his breathing getting shallower and almost immediately picking back up to where it was before you stopped.  “I d-don’t want—”

Stop fighting, you tell him, continuing to mimic the sensation of him thrusting into your aching, neglected cunt with slow and steady movements of your throat.  Don’t run from it, let it take you.

He grits your name tightly in response and subconsciously begins to rock his hips up to match your unhurried pace, his ragged breathing gasping out into the quiet room and gradually increasing in volume and desperation the longer he stubbornly tries to hold out against it.

You know not strong enough to use the Force to coax it out of him.  You can’t alter your technique and break the illusion, either.  So you have to resort to desperate measures.

There’s enough remaining wherewithal to your mind that prevents you from permanently damaging his clothing when you tear his robes open with the Force and allow the metaphysical image of yourself to rip them apart with your hands.  Obi-Wan gasps when both versions of you reach up his bare torso at the same time and dig your nails into his chest.

Master—you demand, taking his cock down your throat as far as you can go and then clawing hard down his stomach—cum.

And thank everything good and right in the universe that he remembers at the very last second to start projecting, because being this close to someone as strong in the Force as Obi-Wan when he finally succumbs to his first taste of the Dark Side is just a fucking atomic missile straight to your nervous system.

It’s all you can do to just remember to keep swallowing.

The projection he casts out through the shockwave is utterly flawless—brilliantly composed, looking and feeling so authentic and overwhelming even from this distance that there should be no issue at all convincing any s’Ziscari in the wide vicinity who are tuning in right now.

Except—then you hear it.  Through the roaring pleasure of his thoughts, a flicker of his subconscious he’s unable to mask through the mind blowing bliss.

Is she…? Maker above, she’s drinking it—

A ragged groan tears through the silence of the room, his cock pulsing spectacularly on your tongue.  He just keeps cumming, and cumming, and so you just have to keep swallowing, and swallowing.  You suppose you should’ve expected this from a fully grown man who lived a life of celibacy, but what would typically be a rather short moment with anyone else subsequently goes on long enough to where Obi-Wan is actually able to lazily raise his head up from the mattress and simply watch you continue to swallow his load, dazed and reverent in his stare, glassy blue eyes trained on the hypnotic movements your jaw and throat make around him.  The remaining traces of whatever visual he attempted to maintain immediately flicker out of existence, replaced instead by the sight of your mouth around his cock, diligently taking down each rope of cum he gives you.

When he finally stops throbbing, you reluctantly let his cock fall from your mouth and slowly stand up as the botched projection fizzles out completely.  His gaze eventually follows the movement like he’s on a five second delay.

“So, uh…”  Your voice is hoarse.  “We… need to have sex.”

“Alright,” he agrees dreamily, his eyes lazily dragging down your body.  “Alright, we can have… I… Wait, what?”

“You, uh.  I know it wasn’t intentional, but you might’ve, uh…”  You  shuffle awkwardly from side to side, wondering why you’ve chosen now of all moments to become shy with him.  You’re literally still savoring the taste of his release in your mouth.  “You might’ve accidentally projected a very specific thought towards the end there and let everyone know that we weren’t actually doing what we’re technically supposed to be doing.”

“What did… what did I think?”  The question would likely be nonsense in literally any other situation, but you understand.  And truthfully, for the life of you, you can’t find it within yourself to feel even a little bit mad about it, not when it means you can continue doing this together.  You can’t even conjure up a single shred of disappointment in his failure, it’d just be a lie.

“Doesn’t matter,” you assure him, your heart continuing to pound.  You know you should make your next move now while he’s still so loopy, the post-orgasm bliss causing his signature to vibrate with pulsing endorphins as he blinks up at you slowly from the bed.  “Though we won’t be able to do it for a little bit, just uh.  Just for general… anatomical reasons.  But that should’ve at least counted for… initiating the Ritual, so I don’t think we have to worry about time anymore.”

Obi-Wan just stares at you, his Force signature feeling more serene and spaced out than you’ve ever sensed before.  Oh Maker, how you wish you felt the same.  You swallow thickly, still tasting his hard orgasm on your tongue, and then try not to clamp your thighs together with how embarrassingly turned on you are.  Anyone with any experience whatsoever would know exactly what you’re going through with just a mere glance—you’re biting your lip with your entire body is subtly crumpled in towards your swollen, neglected pussy—and your Master has been watching you struggle through it this entire time.

“Are you alright?”  He asks dumbly, finally managing to at least push himself upright, still completely unaware or unconcerned at his softening cock on full display for you and your starving libido.  “You’re… shaking.”

“I—won’t die,” is the only serious assurance you can make to both him and yourself right now that’ll ease your suffering the smallest bit.  The last thing you want right now is to come on too strong and snap him back to his senses, bringing everything back to square one.  “Just, uh… r-really worked—worked up.  Trying to just.  C-Cool it?”

Your fingers flex at your sides because no matter what you try, you just can’t stop thinking about his.  They’re right there.  They’re so close, so strong and thick and—

“Aren’t you…”  He trails off, letting his head tilt and then drop to his shoulder with a combination of confusion and exhaustion.  “Aren’t you going to…?”

“To what?”  You prompt shortly, your hands suddenly clenching into fists to deal with another violent wave of arousal at how unbelievably drunk he still looks.  Maker, you did that.  That’s all you.

“s’Zerthia said all—” Obi-Wan murmurs, blinking long lashes lazily up at you, “—all Jedi must… participate.”

Fuck. Just hearing him provide you an excuse to give into the boiling arousal causes you to suddenly break out into a sweat.  You don’t know if he wants you to get yourself off or if he’s indirectly implying he wants to help, but you’re so far beyond desperate that you jump at the chance as soon as he so much as hints at the opportunity.

Very slowly, you move forward and lift one trembling knee to brace next to his thigh on the mattress, and then carefully swing your other leg over his lap, lowering yourself into a straddle in the same exact position he attempted to project earlier.  You’re so unbelievably cautious about his cock, making sure you don’t accidentally touch it and jolt him awake.  Instead of your newfound proximity scaring him away like you feared though, he stays so… docile.  Still so relaxed from his very first orgasm that he even rests his large palms over the thin fabric covering your thighs, letting the loose silk drape and fold over his hands as he drags them up and down.

His eyes follow your trembling fingers as you work at the knot tying the material around your body, your cunt throbbing between your legs at how he’s just… staring.  His eyelids are dipped slightly, breathing so calm and slouched under you, pliant and waiting.

The thin fabric slowly parts only enough to reveal the valley between your bare chest to him, and you watch his eyes fall down the thin strip of skin and catch on the dark line of your panties riding low on your hips.  Maker, you can’t help but remember his terror at even glimpsing the two acolytes taking off their robes earlier—the way his eyes bounced around and how his cheeks lost whatever color they had left to them as soon as he finally made himself look.  Now, though.  Now he can’t seem to drag his eyes away from the soft flesh of your tummy, the way your nipples are still covered by the thin fabric of your slightly parted robe but are impossible to miss while your breasts subtly move with your breathing.

You gently call one of his wrists to your hand with the Force and Obi-Wan is either mentally or physically too weak to resist your will.  He allows you to catch his hand and slowly lead it downwards with both of your smaller ones to the part of your body that’s longed for his attention for years, though now it’s absolutely weeping for it.

You don’t want to scare him.  You don’t want to scare him.  Oh Maker, you need him to be brave for you right now, or at least just continue to be stupefied.  You can work with stupefied, but you cannot work with panic, especially when you feel your own wanting to rise up the more you drag this out.

When the tips of his fingers brush against the waistband of your panties, Obi-Wan’s hand pushes under it without your guidance.

You’re throbbing.  It’s been years in the making.  Unable to stop the way your thighs contract and you lift your hips against his palm as it steadily curves down the slope of your soft curls, the sight of the finish line so within reach makes you reckless and too quick.  You can’t help it.  When he gets hesitant and eventually slows down to a halt right above your slit, you don’t even think before you’re suddenly giving his wrist an abrupt shove with the Force, pulling his hand down before he’s ready and forcing his middle finger deep through the soaking cleft of your pussy.

Your shameless moan of his name comes out sounding so grateful—you pour everything you have into it and sag into Obi-Wan’s chest at the feeling, but he startles and all but rips his hand out of your underwear before you can stop him.  He was a hair’s breadth from touching your clit and the denial of it—the sudden turnaround from your goal is just so massively overwhelming that tears suddenly spring to your eyes.

You can just barely make out the sight of him staring down at his trembling hand between the two of you, your slick shining wet and hot along the length of his finger. 

“Stars,” he rasps, blinking his wide, sapphire gaze up to yours—and then he quite suddenly looks alarmed.  “Did I—Did I hurt you?”  Obi-Wan gasps, his energy beginning to outright seize with distress while you blink rapidly and try not to crumble on his lap.

“No—I’m sorry, it’s just—I’m just… oh, fuck, I n-need it,” you stammer.  “Oh fuck, I need it Master, I’m so sorry—I’m trying to be calm but—”

“What is it, little dove?”  He urges, reaching his hand up to your face and flicking his eyes back and forth between yours, sounding almost as panicked as you do from your desperation.  “What do you need?”

“Oh stars, Obi-Wan, I need you to just—” You can’t fit anything into words, a tear finally making its way down your cheek when you clamp your eyes shut in frustration.  You just need him to understand, to give you what you’ve been craving for so long—but when you blink your eyes back open, his troubled expression has suddenly resolved itself.

Your Master’s hands immediately grab tight to your hips and twist you around, easily tossing you back up onto the mattress.  The jostle of bouncing back into the soft fur startles you, but not nearly as much as when he climbs over your body and braces an elbow next to your head, gently placing the tips of his fingers to your temple.

He pushes carefully but firmly against your natural mental barriers, flexing the energy shields inwards gently enough to not hurt you but with enough force to let you know he’s entirely capable of breaking through should you refuse to let him in.

So you do.  You let him in without a single thought, never mind a second one.  Obi-Wan gasps as your shields all but collapse for him that easily, and then he’s finally breaching the surface of your thoughts.

“Oh—Maker above, little one,” he grits almost immediately, his forehead dropping to your shoulder and his other hand wrapping tight around your arm as he struggles to acclimate to the blinding distress you’re experiencing.  “Collect—” he groans as your cunt clamps down at the rasp of his broken voice, “—collect yourself.  I can’t—can’t think—”

Oh, no, it’s too much.  It’s way too much, even just having him inside your head without being able to read him in return—it’s too much for you.  You start hyperventilating and instead of wanting him out, you just want to drown out the sensation of everything else.  The endlessly pulsing, aching throb between your legs that you’ve been dealing with for so long, the way you can feel his cock dragging against your tummy from this angle and how much you already want it in your mouth again, the way your nipples are so hard right now that even this soft fabric feels so rough and sharp against—

Your robe suddenly rips itself off your chest, and you whimper up at the ceiling as you dig your fingers into thick fur and writhe under him, almost completely naked and just desperate for him to do something, to at least just use his hands or his mouth to make you feel bet—

Obi-Wan’s head drops and his blazing mouth opens hot around your nipple, his tongue rolling soft and slick up under the hard bud.

You choke out the first part of his name and you barely even have a flicker of a thought—a brief flash of a rabid, baser desire you’re not even able to consciously recognize before you feel his jaw opening and his teeth closing gently around it, biting down just hard enough to make you spasm bright and urgent between your legs.  “Oh, fuck—”

As soon as you feel the pleasure and twisting ache spark deep in your core, Obi-Wan flutters his eyes shut and wedges his hand back into your panties, humming low in his throat when your legs jerk apart for him.

This time, your clit is the very first thing he touches.

He zeroes in on it.  The tip of his finger starts to rub it exactly how you’d do it to yourself, exactly the right angle and speed and pressure that your body suddenly feels massively overheated and dizzy from it.  It blindsides you.  It makes sense he’d be able to do this, after all, but for some reason, the whole thing just absolutely blindsides you.

“Maker,” you whimper at the ceiling, soft and pitched high in your throat, eyes rolling back when Obi-Wan gently bites down on your nipple again and continues to work to relieve you even as every muscle in your body feels like it’s tightening up.

“Stars—” he whispers when he pulls away, “This—this feels incredible, Padawan.”

You moan and roll your hips against his hand, on cloud nine at just how he’s slowly allowing himself to become filthier with you, to lower himself in all his righteous beliefs and descend into delicious sin with you, and—

—wait, did he just…?

Your cunt clamps down hard with realization as he continues massaging your clit better than you’ve ever even done it yourself.  Maker, it shouldn’t turn you on so much but it does, hearing that word in this context.  Padawan.  Padawan, holding her legs open while her Master explores her pussy.  Padawan, moaning desperately as her orgasm buzzes deep down inside with a rising, threatening resonance.  Padawan, Padawan, Padawan—

“Oh, you liked that,” Obi-Wan remarks tightly, taking a second to tug on your clit.  You nearly start to cry again, your insides pulling up and going rigid at the sensation.  “I heard it, little one.  You like it when I call you that?”

“Oh I like it when you do f-fucking anything,” you choke out helplessly, your words starting to slur together.  “Oh fuck, you’re so amazing, you’re so good at everything, you’re the best Jedi in the whole entire galaxy Master, you’re so much better th—”

“My, you’re agreeable like this, aren’t you?”  Obi-Wan grits, his touches growing stronger and quicker and rocketing you straight to the edge of madness.  “Shall I take that to heart, my darling little Padawan?  Or did you say such flattering things to the oth—”

“Wait!”  You suddenly exclaim, desperately trying to push his hands away.  “Oh, nonononono—wait, wait, wait, I—I-I’m about to cum—I need to—”

His hand yanks itself out of your underwear once more and you take giant, gasping breaths and try to compose yourself at least somewhat, but then your Master is quickly scrambling down your body and using the Force to rip your panties down your hips—

“Obi-Wan, wait—” you choke out, “that isn’t—you don’t… h-have to…”

He looks up at you, dark brows furrowed in confusion.

“I’ll be able to—y-you don’t—”  You have to take a few gasping breaths and remember how to speak Basic.  “I used my mouth on you before because I… I wanted to.  If—If you don’t want to do that, you don’t have to.  It’s not… oh fucking stars above, it’s not n-necessary.”

“Are you telling me this because you don’t want me to?”  He immediately asks, though you both already clearly know the answer to that considering how exposed your wild thoughts are to him right now.

“Ah, no I, uh… I just.”  You try to clear the thickness from your throat and you feel your body tremble while you focus as much effort as possible into trying to explain.  “I just want to be sure I’m not taking advantage of you, that’s all, I—I want you to know the truth about these things.  It’s not… necessary, b-but.”

“But.”  He repeats the word meaningfully as he glances back down at your weeping cunt, nodding slowly to himself.

And then your Master leans in, flutters his eyes shut, and slides his warm tongue deep into the seam of your pussy with absolutely no hesitation whatsoever.

“Obi—Wan—!?”  You gasp, somewhere between a squeak and a squeal, your entire upper body launching upwards around his head as your clit is immediately enveloped into a slick, dexterous furnace.

Hold still, you hear his voice warn through the Force, sounding so much closer than you’ve ever heard him before.  Whether that can be attributed to the fact that the command came directly from wherever he is inside your head or whether it’s simply because his tongue is now tracing gentle circles around your clit as you whimper pitifully into the quiet of the dimly lit room, you’re not sure.  All you know is that his mouth feels like velvet between your legs and his beard is scraping across your thighs and your fingers have buried themselves in his hair without your conscious permission.

Hold still, young one, he urges once more, but you just close your eyes and moan shamelessly at it this time, opening your legs wider for him.  His voice, it’s… it’s maddening like this, coming directly from your own thoughts.  Deep, precise, somehow sounding so true, so much clearer and full-bodied without your pesky ears in the way.  Your hips are subconsciously rolling slowly against the lower half of his face when Obi-Wan apparently decides he’s had enough.

An invisible energy wraps around each of your individual limbs and snaps them against the mattress without any warning.  You whimper high in your throat, arms and legs held so firmly against the bed with the Force that your internal struggles aren’t able to be translated outwardly; he doesn’t allow your body a single centimeter to move under him, no matter how hard you fight it.  Which means you have to lay there and just take the way Obi-Wan’s hot mouth continues to lick and kiss at your clit slowly, taking all the time in the universe to properly explore you between the legs he’s forced apart.

“Obi—” you croak breathlessly at the ceiling, feeling a familiar heat start to burn hot and tight through your core, “Obi, I—I have to p-project—before I—ah!—before you—before you ma-make me cu—ugh, f-fuck—I have t-to—”

Then project, he encourages simply, gently fluttering his tongue over your clit.  You gasp and he hums, murmuring through the Force once more to you.  We’re not hiding anymore.  They’ll all know I’m using my mouth on you like this.  It’s alright.  Let them know.

You realize you’re going to cum the second you hear your Master’s voice say the words using my mouth on you like this while he slowly sucks on your clit, and you barely have enough wherewithal to gulp in a giant breath and begin projecting your signature as far across the palace and surrounding city as physically possible before your body shatters hot into searing euphoria under him.

Obi-Wan groans deep in his throat and holds you perfectly still under him as you cum with a ragged, hoarse wail of his name, giant waves of white hot bliss beginning to radiate through the Force from you with spectacular power.  The contractions are so much more pronounced when it’s one of the only sets of muscles in your body he’s granted permission to move.  It’s like everything is concentrated and multiplied there because of it.  You can feel each individual spasm your floor muscles make as they convulse against his tongue, how each blazing shot of ecstasy that shatters through your body wrings more and more wetness from your cunt into your Master’s mouth.

Never.  Ever ever ever.  Has anyone done something so mind blowingly sexy to you.  Nobody.  Ever.  He’s a virgin, you frantically remember as Obi-Wan purrs softly into the folds of your pussy while it cums all over him.

Your thoughts, young one, you can just barely make out his voice remind you gently, just as gently as he sucks on your clit through the aftershocks, somehow sounding even more aroused than he did before.

After allowing your projection to flicker out of existence with a putter, you’re completely dazed.  Incapable of moving regardless of the way he keeps you pinned with the Force long after he pulls away, slowly moves back up your body and waits while you work to regain your bearings.  You don’t even want to open your eyes right now, knowing he’s looking down at your peaceful expression while you work to catch your breath.  You’re too stupid with pleasure you almost don’t even process the soft touch of something against your lips.

You’re lovely.

The thought is so quiet you don’t even recognize it isn’t your own.  Not until he keeps pressing his lips to yours so sweetly, not knowing to do anything else when your mind is too fractured with ecstasy to unconsciously act as his compass like before.  Everything is innocent and gentle and not reminiscent of the fact that the robes you’re both wearing are wide open and your mouths tasted of each other even before he kissed you.

Instead of melting into the soft touches, though, they just start to burn you alive, the thick fog of your orgasm clearing more and more with each gentle press of his lips and your need for him steadily growing.  He’s kissing you.  Master Kenobi is kissing you for a few precious, heart stopping seconds at a time before pulling away, pausing to look at your face each time to make sure your eyes are still closed, before leaning down and carefully pressing his lips to yours again.

The only part you can’t stand is that he won’t even let you move your jaw to kiss him back.

Kiss me, Obi-Wan, you urge desperately through the Force, not wanting to interrupt to speak.

“I am, little one,” he replies between kisses, and the sincerity in his tone tells you he’s not purposefully teasing you.  No, this is him kissing you, genuinely, the only way he knows how to.

Let me— you start to struggle in earnest against his hold on you, —please, let me—

The warm breath from his nose puffs softly against your cheek with a quiet little sound from far back in his throat, and then you suddenly gain the ability to move from the neck up.

You immediately part his lips with yours and Obi-Wan pulls back just the slightest bit in response, but your neck lifts up to compensate as you lick deep into his warm mouth.  He gasps at the foreign sensation and loses his concentration for a split second, enough for you to break free of it completely.  Your hands quickly fly up to cradle his face as soon as they can move and your fingers hook around the thick beard blanketing his sharp jawline, urging him back down into you.

Your legs come up to wrap around his lower back and he sags against your strong will with a needy groan, dropping down closer and obediently keeping his mouth open for you to taste.  As soon as he presses his body into yours, his cock strains and drags against your lower stomach, already throbbing hot and leaking precum along the soft hills of your skin.

Maker, you want it but somehow you… you don’t.  You just want to savor tonight as long as you physically can, keep holding him and kissing him like this for another few hours at least before you try to take his cock, but he’s unintentionally grinding it against you while his tongue shyly dances with yours, needy and already raring to go in his own timid way.

Do you want it, Master?  You finally murmur to him, running your fingers through his hair and gently biting his bottom lip, scooting your hips up to let him rub himself against something better than your tummy.  You feel… ready.

The only response you get from him is a shuddering, helpless moan into your mouth and you hold him tighter to you, grinding your still sensitive cunt up against his cock while he pulls hard at the soft fur next to your head.  Your feel your soaking pussy lips part around the solid curve of his length and gradually coat the underside of him in slick with every gentle circle and roll your hips make, and Obi-Wan finally pulls away from your mouth to drop his forehead to your neck.

“Yes, I—” he moans into you skin, “Oh stars, I want it.”

With a gentle wave of your hand, you use the Force to drop his hips down to the proper angle and tilt the head of his cock to line him up perfectly.

And now this is the part you don’t want to rush.  This is when you take Obi-Wan Kenobi’s virginity.  You’ll savor just being able to remember this for the rest of your fucking life.  You’ll see him in Council meetings years from now and be reminded that you’re the only person in the galaxy to know the thickness of him as he rests heavy up against your entrance, the way his voice presses deliciously tight in his throat as he gasps out into the quiet room.  You’re the only one who will know that sound, that sound is yours, that sound belongs to—

“Padawan,” he grits, hips stuttering into you while you wrap your arms around his shoulders, “your thoughts—”

You groan up at the ceiling and your pussy tightens at the reminder that he can still hear you, but your body is just too bold and desperate for it.  Your thoughts begin to flare bright, growing more possessive by the second, and you can’t even wait for him this time.  Every single muscle in Obi-Wan’s body goes rigid when you tighten your grip around him and roll your hips up into his cock, letting it break you open nice and slow.

It stretches you wide with a deliciously sharp fullness and pleasure rips through you as Obi-Wan instinctively tries to lift off you and away from it, but you’re clinging too tightly to him.  Your whole body hovers off the mattress to stay with him. 

“You said—” he gasps, “—it wouldn’t h-hurt—oh—”

“It doesn’t,” you groan, continuing to tighten your legs and hoist yourself up, lifting your hips to take his cock deeper inside you.  “Oh, Maker, it feels so fucking good, Obi—feel it—”

His elbows shake where they’re locked and braced against the mattress but he drops his head and holds strong like this while you work your muscles to take him as far as you can from this shameful angle.  Your body feels like it’s on fire while you desperately cling to him and the length of your robe brushes against the mattress while you just keep trying to get him deeper inside you—

Suddenly something grabs hard at your hips and tries shoves you downwards and off his cock, but you want it too badly.  You summon the hidden strength of your energy and then channel it into your legs where they’re hooked around the curve of his lower back.

Obi-Wan chokes at the unexpected resistance and his elbows buckle, dropping you both down to his forearms with a jolt, but you’re too busy mentally clashing with each other for it.  The result is… well, it’s maddening.

Every time your pussy is able to swallow him more than halfway, you pull back and let his energy shove you down his length—but then dig back in right before you drop completely and use the Force to bend your legs and fight the uphill battle to his cock once more.  Your Master gasps, beads of sweat gathering at his temples while you fight him with every ragged breath in your body to keep fucking him.

Except—he’s the fighter.  And you should’ve known.

You’re no match for the sudden blast of energy from him, easily hinging your legs apart from around his back and then ripping you down off his cock with a wet sound, bouncing back down into the mattress once more.

In order to stop the desperate tears of defeat from coming to your eyes, you immediately clamp them shut and twist your face away from Obi-Wan’s, but he makes a low growl and uses the same ferocious royal blue energy to keep your knees pinned open and wide against the bed. 

And then drops his hips and rocks back into you, giving you those last few precious inches of his thickness you weren’t able to get at before.  It hits sharp nirvana up inside you with his thighs pressed tight to your hips like this.  His name rips itself from your throat while Obi-Wan clenches his jaw and starts to lose himself in the pleasure, holding you down into the bed with the Force while he allows your desperation to guide him to the perfect angle and speed to sate you. 

He’s so gifted, so strong in the Force, he’s able to use your mind as his anchor and give you pleasure beyond anything you’ve ever experienced.  And in return, you want to do the same to him.  You want to read his thoughts, instantly be able to give him everything he never knew he needed—

“You do,” your Master chokes out, “darling, you already—”

Everything inside you surges up at the admission, aching that much harder to hear him, to hear everything the way he can hear you.  The tips of your fingers find his temple, slick with sweat, and you press just hard enough to tell him your intent.

“Let me in,” you whisper, wicked arousal swirling tight in your lower muscles as they start to bear down on his cock.

“I—I can’t—” Obi-Wan gasps breathlessly, “I can’t—”

“Open—open the door, Master,” you beg, “please, open th—”

“Fuck,” he cuts you off, his voice rising in pitch while his his hips snap just a little harder against yours and his rhythm falters, “—It’s too good, Padaw—I’m going t-to—stars, are you—are you r-ready?”

Some terrifying, swirling darkness manifests itself deep in your thoughts.  It rises up, part of the desperate, hidden subconscious that you’re typically capable of stifling.  No, it says, don’t let this be over.  Not yet.  You don’t want to go to sleep alone, wake up and remember you’ll never have this again.  You need there to be a next time, and a time after it.

You try your hardest to push the longing downwards when you recognize it, but your Master is too quick, too talented to deceive when he’s this close to you.  He easily plucks it from your mind and expands it, enlarges the chaotic string of thoughts until you feel them pulsing at the edges of your consciousness.

And then Obi-Wan sees it all, immediately playing out in your memories as you helplessly watch on.  Every desire you buried for him unearthed, every whimper you stifled with the back of your hand when you touched yourself at night and thought of him amplified.  The years of repression, the blind hope that simply ignoring it would make it go away.  How hard you worked to deaden the burst of affection that radiated through the Force when you finally saw him after two years apart.  The circumstances behind the night you lost your virginity—not a long time ago, as he suggested before, but only just last year.  So desperate in your loneliness and longing for his presence that you began routinely sneaking around and fucking other Knights—Guardians with blue sabers whose souls were just marginally close enough to Obi-Wan’s, and you thought of him the whole time.  Every time.

But, perhaps, worst of all.  The… fantasies.

He sees himself dropping to his knees and congratulating you for passing your trials by burying his tongue inside your warmth and telling you how proud of you he is.  He sees you opening his trousers and slowly licking his cock while he meditates, trying to get him to break his concentration.  He watches the two of you fucking in every conceivable position, how incredibly ready you always are to take him when he needs it.  Most importantly, he recognizes your inherent, blazing desire to drag this out as long as physically possible, to permanently brand every moment in your memory to get you through his impending absence.

And then… then Obi-Wan does something unexpected.  Something incredibly uncharacteristic.

You watch as he morphs the fantasies right before your eyes.  He's still on his knees with his head between your legs, but now he’s telling you how proud he is of you for negotiating the mysterious, confidential deal that ended the Clone Wars.  You’re licking his cock as the ship autopilots itself through the week-long journey back to Coruscant from s’Ziscari, letting him slowly cum in your mouth as he sprawls lazily in the captain’s chair.  He’s taking you against the wall of your quarters after a mindless and dull Council meeting; you’re riding him quietly in his bed after lights-out at the temple; he’s rubbing your clit while he sits behind you and advises you on matters concerning your own Padawan you’ll be choosing sometime soon, two fingers deep and squeezing a bared nipple when he whispers in your ear how much he absolutely adores you.

Thoughts that aren’t your own begin to fill the empty spaces of your mind, a lovely pale blue tenor to harmonize gorgeously with the soft green alto of your own consciousness.  The resulting color of your combined energies fills your soul with Light, a stunning turquoise of a color you’ve never loved more, one you wish you could live in for the rest of your life.

For every debased thought of yours he sees, he shows you one even more revealing.  The way he used to dream of you at night, especially after a close battle where many Jedi and Clones fell, and then he’d wake up in a cold sweat with an erection pulsing feverish and so terribly shameful between his legs.  How he tried to shove a pillow down there once to somehow relieve himself of the aching hardness, and then had to rip it away and launch it across the room with the Force when he realized he’d been dragging himself against it and thinking of you.

“I’m gonna—cum—” your voice scrapes across your throat, and you can already sense him throwing his beautiful consciousness out like a net.  You match him with what little mental strength you have remaining, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and your ankles around his lower back and pulling him down into you.

Obi-Wan’s energy keeps swirling a brilliant aquamarine with yours, presenting his every subconscious thought to you, one right after another, so quick you can barely keep up.  How he’ll always be with you, no matter what.  How the Maker himself won’t be able to drag him away from you now.  How quiet jealousy still tugs at his heart just thinking about the fact that you broke your oath—before you both could do it together.

Everything swells up inside you and you scream when it finally crashes over, your blended signatures sealing themselves together permanently and then detonating in a debilitating shockwave that ripples the air around you.  You’re blinded and deafened by its vivid energy, powerful and dazzling every shade between blue and green and Light and Dark, all balanced perfectly together.

You lay there in the gentle afterglow afterwards and feel your pussy still clamping tight to him, pulsing in random intervals while Obi-Wan slouches into you and every muscle in his body trembles with the comedown.  Everything is right.  Everything in you sparkles.

“Stars, Obi,” you start chuckling up at the ceiling, the sheer joy overwhelming you and bringing tears to your eyes.  “Stars, did we just—”

“We just won the Clone Wars, my dear,” he slurs into the crook of your neck while his cock still throbs inside you, and you can feel the exhaustion creeping up his spine, every single thought in his mind completely dead at the moment.

“How long do you… do you think it’ll take before it’s over?”  You ask quietly, brushing your fingers through his hair.  Obi-Wan groans and buries his face deeper into your neck.

“Few months, maybe.  Time for s’Ziscari…”

He stays like that for just a second, and you press your nose to him and breathe him in, marveling at how utterly gorgeous his signature is right now.  Clear blue with the lightest touch of teal, rippling like quiet water in a crystal calm riverbed.

Lovely.

You keep softly playing with the hair at his nape, and then quickly wrap your arms around him when he goes to try to brace his forearms next to your shoulders and lift up just the slightest bit.

“Wait, don’t—it’s—”  You bite your lip and feel him sink back down into your body without another word, clearly having only attempted it for appearances.  “This is good, let’s just… stay for a second.” 

He doesn’t respond, he doesn’t even move, and—a few months, you think.  A few months of his absence, of wondering where he is but never being able to ask.  It burdens your heart, but you understand it’s necessary.

The Council may… grant me a position with a more permanent location after this mission, he responds quietly to your dip in the Force after a moment, too tired to even talk anymore and exhaustion weaving his every thought.  On Coruscant.

Your heart pangs with sudden hope, and you know he can feel it.  “They would do that?”

I could ask to oversee the s’Ziscari’s assimilation into our ranks, he offers alongside a stifled yawn into your collarbone.

He’d… request that?  To be closer to you?  But why?

He doesn’t hesitate before offering the words to you simply, not even considering them before they’re the only thought in his mind.  Because I care for you more than there are stars in the sky.  I always have.

Lovely.

No, no, not even, that’s just.  Love.  By itself.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan murmurs softly into your neck, and your soul feels like it grows wings.

You both lay there in silence for a long time after that, and it takes you even longer to realize he hasn’t succumbed to sleep yet, even as the aching fatigue weighs heavy on his back.  He’s resisting it, keeping his eyes purposefully open against your neck while yours are blissfully shut.

“Master,” you eventually whisper up at the ceiling, and his cock twitches inside you.  Oh stars, you’ll have to remember that.  “Go to sleep.”

I have one more confession.  The thoughts are slurred and distorted, barely conscious as he desperately tries to outlast the sleep trying to pull him under.  I didn’t even want to mention it before because I didn’t know how this was all going to go, but…  He blinks slowly against your neck even as his eyes droop, only just a few seconds from passing out with exertion.  The Sh’inzith lasts six days, dove.

Your eyes pop open in shock just as his finally fall shut, and Obi-Wan stops fighting.

[murasakispace]

Adam/Shindo Ainosuke X Male Reader

Author's note : Adam needs a bit of love, don't you think? A little love that doesn't imply to hurt Tadashi. It doesn't prevent that it is certainly crap. English is not my main language and it must be awful.

Warnings : NSFW, spanking, degradation and all the BDSM pack.

You were a newcomer, a rookie here. In S. You had the time to watch the local legends fall from their safe sky on the large screens. The most incredible was the race against Langa. Well... You were still wondering if his name was really Langa. Maybe you misunderstood, hidden in your shadows. First Joe, then Cherry and finally Adam. You had to admit their style was eclectic. Even them had to learn again. They were believing themselves as gods because they were the founders of a clandestin course. It made you shrug a little while you were observing them.

People were people. Here, in S, freedom was at its most powerful. A place were no one could say, order to someone something he doesn't want to do. Everything was ruled by skateboard and the people's talent. You were quite happy of that. Because of an accident years ago in mountains with your motorbike while you were heading to the summit so as to practice snowboard. You had the ambition to reach the Winter Olympic Games in half-pipe. You fell from a cliff and you miraculously landed meters below with broken ribs instead of your backbone.

During years you suffered and your dream of medals in the Olympic Games was gone, vanished into the air. Your well-known recklessness almost hurried you in your grave. In the hospital, you spent the last three years to reeducate with an omnipresent pain in your back, anger against the people who had forgotten you when you would have given them your soul if they asked for it an ended alone. You nearly lost your mind when you woke up from coma and nothing appeared in front of you. You weren't able to see anymore. Time went by and you found yourself offered the chance to remedy to your blindness. But it doomed you to wear particular sunglasses every day of your life. A little cost considering what you've been through.

You suffered. You were still aching but less than these last month. Moreover you felt better each day passing. Only eternal scars remain. And to be here in S got you like you were free as much as before your accident. And you would thank Adam for this. Yet, you meant nothing, watching the same scenes which were playing in front of your eyes.

You were sitting on your motorbike far behind the last people composing the crowds ahead of you. Actually, the last time you came at S was when Adam had been defeated. Since then, you weren't coming as often as you should now. Everything was more peaceful and Adam abandoned this bad habit to smash people in the face with his own skateboard. Of course, the blue-haired show-off would never stop to make his little shows and big entrances. You don't think that one day his "hey bitches and bros and non-binary hoes" would leave your mind so easily.

Yet, even if you admired Adam as an remarkable skater, you wouldn't prevent yourself to hate him for everything he was aside all of it. He was "in love" as he told to anyone who would like to hear it with his partners of race. It was nothing like love. You didn't know how you manage to not go through the crowds to slap him right in the face. He didn't understand. He wouldn't anyway. Love is sweet, a fluttering sentiment which set upside-down your guts and your soul. It wasn't how you remembered this wonderful thing.

Anyways, Adam had been defeated by a rookie that you had the power to crush on a snowboard. Even if he was talented, had he the talent of someone able to go in the Olympic Games? You didn't think so. You had yourself a modified board. And right now before the attended race between two opponents, you were as if you were playing on the half-pipe near the start of the race.

You were jumping even higher than this little rookie and executing figures in air that were turning sick some of the people gathered in your audience. You were hearing the slight gasps of awe coming from several girls watching them. Even Langa applaused you in the distance with an annoying smile. That little group comprehending Shadow, Reki, Langa, Miya and the others was sincerely uselessly noisy. Though, they were sometimes giving you back a smile you had long forgotten it was existing. But you didn't care anymore. You were busy with your "switched back flip with nose grab" and to make people applause even louder around you.

They were kind and cute because even if the trick wasn't so hard, doing it on a skateboard was something else. And it earned you the nickname of Eagle in S. You were impressive to say the least and people were clearly stunned. What you didn't expect was to attract the boss' attention here. Adam. Actually, his little grieves left you as if you were like marble.

Not only was he sticking to you but he also was quite insisting in his behavior. You didn't like him at all. It may have been the second or the third night that you came on the half-pipe of S. No one challenged you that time. You just shrugged your shoulders and were going on the way to leave this place. The pressure, the people gathered here, the races and the clear lack of delicacy from them made you get away from here. A sort of repulsion ordered you to go away. A skatepark would be big enough to allow you to do the same show for any passerby. After all what was the point of tiring yourself by skating if no one could applause for your demonstration of pure talent. And today, several nights after Adam's defeat, you were leaving S for good this time. It has no point for you to stay.

Yet, Adam didn't want the same. He was observing you before Langa. So he caught you up while lights were dancing around him.

"Mmh... What a wonderful little bird I see here. Don't be scared my dove, I'm not going to bite you." Adam said both loudly and sensually, thus it made crowds look in the same moment towards you.

A heavy silence has just fallen onto the crowds. You have heard the wheels of Adam's skateboard behind you. And he came, leaving his hand on your hips, getting you closer and closer to him. You could feel his hands roaming and doing delicate circles on the fabric of your clothes. Such an intimate action while you could almost feel his head rest on your shoulder. He made a little comment about your scent. Does this man have really no shame ?

"Aren't you tired of your own bullshit, Adam? Losing once wasn't enough to bring humility in you?" you snapped back while the man gazed at you.

"Never, my sweet, stubborn little dove" Ainosuke whispered in your ear while his hands were circling around your waists.

His sweet, gentle, poisonous tone was near to give you shivers. You weren't able to discern within yourself if it was a sort of trespassing desire that was boiling in you or a fire of rage and the deep will to smash him with your skateboard. Probably both. Let's agree on the fact that this man was a living invitation to luxury and rough love. You were just a little smaller than him but strong enough to make him comply and kneel in front of you like a slut. You clicked your tongue and forcefully escaped from Adam's treacherous embrace.

"Alright Eagle. I challenge you into a beef" Adam called behind you.

"Carry on" You answered back while the crowds become immediately silent were watching you with great interest.

"A race. You and me. Right now. The loser become the slave of his opponent." Adam added with his usual disturbing smile.

For one of the first times since you were coming in S, it was one of your first beefs. Moreover, with the boss of all that mess. And finally, it involved something hidden behind all of this display. And you liked it. Why not enjoying fully the race and the aftermath. You used the back extremity of your skateboard you hit Adam in the belly and making him move backwards. You were almost ecstatic. You walked calmly until the start line, put lightly your skateboard on the ground and set your foot on the deck while you were waiting for Adam to come. Obviously, he made his way towards you.

"Mmh... I'll enjoy to turn you upside down after this race" Adam sensually whispered.

"Your self-confidence will kill you one day, filthy man" you replied with a dry tone.

"Let's say that now that I've lost my Eve, the only person in S having my attention is you my little dove. Be ready, I'm not going to be easy on you"

These last sentences would the death of you. His magma-like voice was burning your insides. How can someone warm you up so efficiently? That was a mystery. But you liked it. Adam was well-known to be kinky. You hated a little yourself at that time. You were falling for an insane guy who is now targeting you. Obviously, it was not in a romantic way. Yet, Adam remained a reachable fanstasm. And you were apparently one of his. The green fire came rapidly, thus the start of the race.

Adam became fastly the first. You forgot about everything and just tried to have fun. You were skating as if your board was a part of yourself, dodging rocks and Adam's attack. You knew very well that he didn't change that much after his first defeat here. He even did his little thing of holding you close to him with the sort of horns on his skateboard.

" I love the movement of your hips, so agile, so smooth, I can't prevent myself to wonder what it will feel like to love you fully until you will ache for attention under my touch. You are a snowboarder too, right?" Adam asked more or less.

"You could say that. But I'm not like that kid. I prefer half-pipes. Besides, you have really no shame, haven't you? Anyways, goodbye."

You increased your speed and left Adam behind. You were jumping the cliffs where the turns formed the shape of a snake with the lights in the night. While you were flying, you were shining with more and more complicated figures and graceful landings, making you significantly ahead of the blue-haired holy creature named Adam. He managed very quickly to catch you up. A little smile was playing on your lips. That was funny to see him a little bit in difficulty.

You were provoking him. That was unbelievable and remarkably bold of you to do so. You annoying smile was allowing to build desire and longing in Adam's heart. He was the king and yet, a little dove was playing with him shamelessly. Adam was so mesmerized by your own race that he barely realized he was in the factory. The screams of the people gathered in there dragged him from his thoughts. He saw you fly until the finish line and cross it. You win against him. A huge silent welcomed him.

"One of the first things you have not to lose when you run is your own concentration. I don't know what happened to you but it doesn't prevent that you weren't really skating. So for the beef, I cancel the slave thing." You declared when Adam went towards you.

You turned your back to him and headed to your motorbike followed by the blue-haired man. You didn't want to stay any longer. Adam's footsteps were soft behind yours.

"How can you cancel the slave thing, as you called it?" Adam demanded.

Seeing that he didn't have any answer, Adam reached you to catch your shoulder and make you turn to look at him.

"Because I'm the winner" you responded with a threatening tone.

"So having me doesn't interest you?" Adam questioned with a spark of deception.

"I didn't say that" you replied with a playful half-smile crossing your lips.

You were surrounded by darkness and no one cared anymore about you. For the people, you were remedying with your little issues about the beef. Nothing very interesting for them. Your hand climbed Adam's tensed thigh before going backwards to his ass and caressing it shamelessly. You heard the man getting a heavier breath and mumbling sinner sentences in your ear. You didn't even move when he came closer to enjoy the caress.

"Adam... You are such a slut... Look at you, you sound like a virgin discovering sex" You told with an incredible amount of heat on your voice.

You left your fingers coming down on his half-hard dick and rub it lightly. Just enough to give shivers to the man.

"Horny, aren't we?" you carried on while Adam was melting under your touch.

It was only simple caresses yet the man in front of you was letting himself go as if you were escaping and he won't have anymore opportunities to have you so close.

"More" demanded Adam while he has finally what he wanted so hard.

But you stopped here, creating frustration in the man.

"There's a love hotel down Crazy Rock. Come with your Grim Reaper costume." You requested with an overbearing tone.

Adam ordered to Tadashi who wasn't present in S that night to bring him to this place and the black clothes he was wearing against Langa. Once arrived in the building, he headed towards the receptionist who led him until the room. The space was dark and very classical for a love hotel but it was enough to arouse Adam. He felt as if your hands were still on him while he was changing his red costume. The memory of your hands trailing down his back to reach his ass and caressing it shamelessly was still unbelievably strong in his mind. Then he felt the touch join his cock, gently but still enough to make surrender to your touch. He desired you so much right now. Once he wore his Grim Reaper clothes, he laid down the mattress. He let himself go to the warmth he was feeling. He already wanted you so hard. He thought he was still dreaming when he felt the sudden touch of your hand on his neck.

"Ready to cum due to a shameless imagination. What a dirty little pet we have here. Were you planning to touch while you would wait for me? " You whispered in Adam's ear, getting him to have goosebumps.

Your fingers went down along his spine then reached the start of his ass. You were riding him from behind, each of your legs apart Ainosuke's body. You spanked his cheeks violently when you see you wouldn't get your answer, making the man moaning of both pain and pleasure.

"Use your tongue. You still have one, right?" you picked up after this unwanted silence.

"Yes" mumbled the submitted man.

"Louder. I don't hear you."you commanded.

"Yes"

He was speaking at the volume you wanted to listen. Loudly but not enough to disturb people out there.

"Better" you acknowledged with a neutral tone.

You got away from the position you have over Ainosuke. You were looking for the bad you brought with you. In the corner of your eye, you remarked the presence of a mirror. It could be useful but not now. You were secretly impatient to play with the king of S. You glanced at him and couldn't prevent a half-smile on your face. His hips were slightly higher than what would be normal. The blue-haired man was aching for your touch. Unhappily, it seemed sometimes you weren't as mean as some of masters with their human pet when it comes to tough, rough and painful but delicious sex. Well... It didn't matter actually. Your beautiful puppy lying on the mattress would love it anyway. You sincerely enjoyed the fact that this natural dominant male was completely under your control.

"Get up and kneel. Be rid of your clothes and keep your eyes on the wall. If you look at me I leave you here, tied and with a toy in your ass until you faint. Is that clear?" You ordered with a severe voice.

You didn't get any answer immediately.

"Yes". You heard behind you.

"Yes who?" You added.

"Yes Master" Adam ended while he just worked to be in his knees over the blankets.

The man got rid of his suit not so quickly. The fabric was comfortable and smooth, suiting perfectly his body. The memory of your touch was almost disappearing with him leaving aside all the clothes. He ended naked on the bed, his pale skin revealed to the air. He kept his eyes locked on the wall and he didn't have any access to the mirror to watch what you were doing. He only heard some noises somewhere behind him. Adam was shivering litghtly because of anticipation. He didn't want you to be kind with him. The rougher the better. Anyways, love and pain were both the faces of a coin, right? He submits but you serve.

Ainosuke felt your hand climbing along his leg and rest a few seconds on his thigh. You slided a lubed toy in his hole. You went as deeply as you could without bruising you pet and without leaving without any sensations. His insides were slightly stretched enough to emphasize the rubbing which you started from a few feets away.

You had the time to change in a black leathery pants and high boots, all black, with an open shirt lazily flying along your sides. After that, you were just watching Ainosuke's nakedness from behind. He was well-shaped. You couldn't say more. And this beautiful insane man was craving for your attention. You knew the effect the toy had. The more Adam was holding back his moan, the more the toy is going to make him lose his mind. You knew very well that the man had a certain endurance. Yet, it had no effect when the right points within his body were touched and loved.

You were still gentle. You could be more cruel and less careful about your little pet. Adam knew it very well. He was sure he looked like a little virgin taking pleasure for the first time but the thing inside of him suppressed all of his strength. He was grunting and moaning like a whore and he loved it. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't you.

"More..." Breathed the man while his whole body was totally shaking.

"More? Really?" you asked while you were enjoying the frustration on Adam's face and the red hue on his cheeks.

"Inside me... Touch me..."you went to caress Ainosuke's naked ass before spanking it another time.

"You have no permission to cum, dirty pet. I'll punish you otherwise."you warned with a threatening tone in your voice.

The heat was slightly consuming the blue-haired man and pleasure was way too heavy for him, almost choking sometimes. You would be the death of him if it carried on.

"Please..."Adam silently begged while you were heading to an armchair not far away from the display in front of you.

Were you sadistic? Probably. You had one of your legs hanging on the side of your seat and watching Ainosuke fighting the destroying pleasure inside of him. You were so desirable. No one would ever say the contrary. It was only the start for your adorable pet. But it wasn't enough for you.

"Come here." You commanded with a monotonous but commanding tone in your voice.

You saw Adam moving to reach you. He stumbled on the few meters he had to make to come at you. He knelt in front of you but it sounded more like he wasn't able to carry his own weigh. He was looking up at you with eyes tainted of pleasure. He caressed your legs as any good cat would do to please his master and get some food or any touch. Your hand reached his chin and you lift it without any delicacy. A few more and Adam was going to surrender and leaving himself being overwhelmed by pleasure. His red eyes were blurry and full of lust and you locked yours on his. Your hand went in his hair and you brought him closer to you.

"Take it. And do it well, slut" you requested with an overbearing tone.

You felt shaking hands roaming over your leather pants and undo the belts resting on your hips. His fingers freed your half-hard dick but he was too slow.

"Faster" you ordered.

Adam put his finger on the skin of your shaft, then his lips. You hardly held back a grunt of pleasure while you were feeling his hot mouth around your cock. That was divine but not enough. You settled your fingers in Ainosuke's hair and pulled it closer.

"Come on, slut"

The blue-haired man wasn't slow but it wasn't fast enough and it frustrated you. You ordered him for more speed and he did it. Adam was all focus on your pleasure, worshipping you with his tongue and his lips. It was warm inside his mouth. You wanted to dirty your sub with your seeds and make him feel like a doll in your hands. Besides, you increased the speed of the toy inside Adam's ass. He was fighting tou bring you pleasure and not to cum. His whole body must ache but you didn't really care. You wanted more. You helped a little Ainosuke with his movements. His tongue was caressing you shamelessly, and he was all focused on you. You were almost fucking his throat.

"You are really a whore my pet. Worse than a dog in heat. Loot at you"

You led his eyes to the mirror not far from you. Adam moaned when he saw the image of himself. The red hue on his cheeks while he was taking your cock into his mouth. The sight was mesmerizing. Then, lower, the pre-sperm was dripping from his own sex. Adam wasn't able to suffer it anymore and the last image had been the death of his limits and he cummed lankily on the ground. His muscles all tensed relaxed in a few seconds. He spilled his white liquid everywhere at the bottom of the armchair while he was moaning with your shaft still in his throat.

You raised your hand and gave him an echoing slap which made the blue-haired man fall on his back, covered of his dirty sperm. You perceived Adam hard cock raising between his legs.

"Kinky whore. You are not even able to handle it, right? Such a disobedient little puppy. You'll be punished, you know that, aren't you?" you threatened with a sweet voice, penetrating under Ainosuke's flesh.

You were watching your pet getting up from his position on the ground.

"Be happy that I'm not going to order you to lick it, silly kitten. On the bed, now. Twenty whiplash, and if you are not obedient, I'll double that number. Understood?"

"Please Master, no!" Adam surprisingly begged with and hoarse voice to you.

"This is the cost for your insolence and disobedience. It could be a hundred so take what I allow you" You replied without any softness.

You gave the order to your dog to be astride on the bed, on all four. Adam settled over the blankets and stayed still. The man heard you get the tool in your hand. And without telling him, he felt a painful burn on his ass, followed by your hand which rubbed it. Ainosuke heard himself grunt to the sudden soothing caress.

"It was the first. I won't be that kind after. Count them. At any mistake, It'll be thirty"

You blowed him again and your sub was counting but it was painful and red traces were appearing on his skin. You weren't soft with him and appreciated his delicious reactions of suffering and adoration. The toy was still in his ass, driving him crazy from both inside and outside. Adam wasn't able to keep up anymore and at the end on the punishment, he fell over the blankets, naked, full of shame, pleasure and love. He was crying due to the overwhelming amount of feelings. His shaft was so hard that it was painful and he wanted freedom from you. His pants were perceptible in the silence of the room. The blue-haired man felt your hand on his ribcage and forcefully turn him on his back.

He saw climb over the mattress and settle near him. Your finger roamed over your pet's belly and touch his nipples, making him shiver and grunt. Your softness was welcome for Adam. His body was aching due to tension and slaps but pleasure was still present in his blood and adrenaline was keeping him conscious. Suddenly, the toy Ainosuke had in his ass had a different movement, more intense, more rubbing and making him moan loudly.

"Did you seriously think it was ended?" you questioned with a playful tone. "No. Of course not".

You got up and put yourself in a riding way. You pushed your shaft inside Adam's mouth and start to fuck his throat again. Fingers curling down the sheets and becoming white. Your sub was testifying of this pleasure. And you were too. Your hips were getting faster and faster and Adam's eyes were rolling backwards while pleasure was burning him. You were silently moaning and keeping your features still but it was hard when your little pet's tongue was that agile and smart to find the areas able to make you shudder. It felt like eternity till you finally cummed inside of Ainosuke's mouth. Your sub swallowed everything and as a reward you ordered him to change of position and to rest on his belly. You removed the toy from his ass and caressed it softly.

"Master..." called quietly Adam.

"Mmh?" you responded with distance in your behavior towards him.

"Please. Fuck me." begged silently the man.

Where was Adam, the king of S, almost undefeated? Where was the show-off, the insane guy? You knew very well where he was. He was subdued to every of your desire now, drunken by pain and pleasure, knocked by envy. He wanted you in the simplest way. The incubus became the innocent virgin and you were his master. Nothing was left from the skater man that you met at the nightfall. He was just a body aching for softness after a hardship, pleading for quietness now. And more sincere than he never had been until tonight. He needed you.

"Please Master..." whispered again Adam.

But his begging stopped when Adam felt your dick against his hole. A slight moan escaped from him and you started to bury yourself in him. His insides were warm and comfortable but so tight. The rubbing was divine and you could help yourself but start to fuck his ass very slowly to push him to worship you. Adam had his hips hanging a little in air as you were thrusting to give you both an amazing amount of pleasure.

"P-Please Master... More..." moaned Adam while you were almost hitting his ass.

It was so nice to see the man so submitted to his needs coming from you. You couldn't help yourself but started to thrust more and more quickly and fastly. The sound of your flesh against each other was echoing in the room and you liked it. You got rougher and rougher but it was still nice and finally, you let yourself be. You felt Adam's hole tightening around your shaft for the second time. Your hands slide down his hips to find his own sex so as to apply languid caresses. It was too much for him and his muscled yet thin body sank on the bed and you followed him in his climax not long after him.

You were panting heavily and your pet was actually nearly fainting. You took him into a warm embrace and rubbed his skin to soothe him. You didn't have the time for a real aftercare because he fell asleep immediately. You would wait him to take a needed shower. For the time that you had, you left him be.

Adam had been a wonderful sub. You were happy. But you didn't have the intention to stay with him. If he wanted you, then maybe you should have a more serious and deeper conversation. But now, it wasn't what you wanted.

[seijorhi]

Nothing Fucks with My Baby

The (not so) long awaited Hitman AU 👀

Iwaizumi Hajime x Reader

TW Blood, minor violence, referenced/implied murder, stalking, implied kidnapping

Iwaizumi has one rule. No kids.

They could be the damn antichrist for all he cares, if they’re underage, they’re off limits. Anyone else is fair game - kind old ladies, rich corrupt businessmen, housewives, politicians. He doesn’t give a shit so long as he gets paid, and paid well.

You were fair game.

He never cares why. Iwa has better things to do than listen to meaningless justifications and vendettas. They make no difference either way - he’s being paid to kill, so he’ll kill, ruthlessly and without prejudice. All he wants is a name, a picture and whether or not they want brains splattered on pavement or something a little more refined. An address doesn’t go astray, but he’ll work with what he’s got, it’s the reason he can charge a fucking premium.

But you… you weren’t what he expected. He’s used to filth. Liars, cheaters, bottom of the barrel trash. Every once in a while some poor idiot gets caught up in something they don’t understand and ultimately pay the price for it, but good people don’t often end up in files splayed across Iwaizumi’s desk. He’s not used to innocence, and as far as he’s concerned, you’re as close as they come.

He supposes that things might have been different if they’d wanted you dead quickly. 

Publicly. 

But they didn’t want that. They wanted you to disappear without a fucking trace. It wasn’t a kindness - it just meant more work for him. It meant that instead of staring down the barrel of a sniper rifle perched in the window of an empty apartment across the street from yours, he’d have to get his hands dirty.

If you want somebody to blame, sweetheart, why don’t you start with them?

In hindsight, he probably didn’t need to go inside the little coffee joint you worked at. He could lie to himself and say that it was an excuse to get closer to you, to see if you had friends at your work who might try and get in the way, but the simple truth was that he’d been up since four in the fucking morning, and he might just have shot somebody out of sheer irritation if he didn’t get a hit of caffeine and soon. 

Might as well kill two birds with one stone, right?

And it wasn’t like you were going to recognise him. Three days in, and as far as Iwa can tell, you don’t have the slightest idea that you were being watched, much less that the pair of eyes watching belonged to a cold hearted killer. 

People tend to be a little more scared when they sense he’s coming - there’s a kind of innate fear that seeps from every pore as they scurry about trying to hide, trying to put off the inevitable - but you, you’re just blissfully oblivious, flitting around with those wide doe eyes like you haven’t got a damn care in the world. 

He honestly doesn’t know whether he wants to envy or pity you for that sweet naivety. 

Currently though, he’s more concerned with whether or not you can make a half decent cup of coffee. 

“I asked for an extra hot latte.”

Or he would be, if the asshole with slicked back hair and an expensive suit hadn’t cut him off just as he was about to step up to the counter to shove the coffee you’d just made him back in your face. He watches your eyes widen for a split second before you smile - apologetic and demure before you can even open your mouth.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is it not hot enough?” 

The moment the words leave your lips, you all but flinch. Both you and he know that despite the fact you mean them sincerely (which kind of surprises him, considering that if your situations were reversed he wouldn’t have been nearly so generous) they’re a mistake.

The asshole sneers down at you like you’re nothing more than scum on his shoes. “If it was fucking hot enough, I wouldn’t be wasting my time complaining, now would I?”

Even before he found himself dabbling in his current line of work, Iwaizumi never considered himself much of a knight in shining armour. The world’s a shitty place, it’s not his job to go around fixing things and softening blows. He’s not a cold, emotionless bastard, as most people assume, he just has better things to do than run around playing a damn bleeding heart and sticking his neck out for strangers. It’s not his problem and as far as he’s concerned, he doesn’t owe anybody shit.

Impassive olive eyes watch as you try and backtrack, apologising again, offering to make him a new drink, explaining that the reason the coffee wasn’t as hot as he wanted was because you were trying not to scorch the milk- for naught.

You in your naive little world don’t seem to realise that the asshole doesn’t actually give a shit about the coffee. He wants a power trip, and you’ve given him the perfect excuse. He wants to yell and scream and stamp his feet and take all of his repressed anger and feelings of inadequacy out on you so that he can feel like a big man. He wants to see you whimper and cry and bow down before him.

It’s pathetic, but Iwa’s content to watch it play out, drumming his fingers against the wallet in his hand, more irritated with the delay in getting his own coffee than the outburst itself-

Until the asshole reaches for his latte. 

Iwa’s good at reading people, predicting their movements before they’re even made. It’s a necessary skill in his profession, one that’s saved his skin more times than he can count. He sees the little vein in the asshole’s temple throb, his jaw tighten, and the moment his hand twitches towards the still steaming cup of coffee, Iwa knows that he fully intends on throwing it at you.

He moves quicker than a man of his size has any right to, an iron grip wrapping around the asshole’s wrist, squeezing. He glares, sneering down at the man who all of a sudden doesn’t seem quite so angry, much less imposing. 

“Get out,” he hisses.

It’s not a request.

But the asshole either has a death wish or he’s trying to salvage what’s left of his fragile ego, because his beady eyes narrow and he opens his mouth - no doubt to spew more vitriolic bullshit.

Iwa twists.

Not hard enough to break anything, but hard enough that it sends the man to his knees, whimpering like a kicked puppy, desperate to relieve the pressure on his wrist. 

“I said,” he begins, his voice colder than ice, “get out.”

Yet he doesn’t spare the asshole another glance, not even as he releases his grip and the man skitters away like he’s been burned. The cafe is deathly silent, and without even glancing around, Iwa knows that they’ve managed to draw the attention of most if not all of its patrons.

And for once, he doesn’t give a single fuck.

Iwa’s eyes, his attention, all of it is focused entirely on you - on the wide eyed, stunned look on your pretty face. It’s a violent outburst, not nearly close to what he’s truly capable of, but in the quiet little cafe on a dreary Tuesday morning, glaringly out of place.

Will you burst into tears, he wonders. Ignore it, brush it aside and pretend it never happened? Stutter out more apologies for causing a fuss, for making a simple mistake? He somehow doubts you’ll be the type to scold him for it. No, you’re far too meek for that.

You surprise him, smiling slowly instead, and it’s like the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm.

It’s a far cry from the contrite air you’d graced the asshole with earlier. It’s hesitant, nervous, but it’s very much real, and Iwa finds it difficult to stop the corners of his own lips from twitching upwards in response.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

He inclines his head a fraction. “Don’t worry about it.”

You don’t charge him for the coffee, even when he practically shoves the bills across the counter into your hands.

“Don’t worry about it,” you shyly parrot back at him, and he almost fucking snorts when there’s a warmed chocolate chip muffin waiting with his coffee when it’s ready.

He’s being paid forty grand to make sure you’re dead by the end of the week, and you’re here giving him free muffins. Oikawa would see the humour in that. Of course, Oikawa would have absolutely no qualms in charming the absolute hell out of you seconds before he pulled the trigger. Realistically, he shouldn’t either. It’s his job, nothing personal.

To say he enjoys killing is probably a stretch, but he takes pride in it. Iwa’s good at what he does. It’s simple. Easy - so long as he follows his own rules.

This shouldn’t be any different. You’re cute, he supposes, in an odd sort of way. Innocent.

Endearing.

It shouldn’t have an effect on him. 

It doesn’t, but-

He could have killed you two days ago. He’d be willing to bet good money that he could’ve walked right to your apartment, knocked on your door, made up some bullshit excuse on the spot and you would have smiled and invited him right inside. 

And it’s not like you’d stand a chance of being able to fight him off.

Over the past few days there have been at least twelve different moments that Iwaizumi could have stepped in and snuffed that pretty little life of yours out without making a fuss and it would have been easy.

But he hadn’t.

There’s a difference between surveillance and stalking - it’s a fine line, a blurred one maybe, but it’s there all the same. After yet another night spent camped out watching you move about your apartment - cooking dinner for yourself, zoning out on the couch and fiddling with your phone while the tv plays in the background before finally curling up in bed in the early hours of the morning - Iwa comes to the realisation that he’s crossed it. 

He wonders why it doesn’t bother him like it should.

The next day, he goes back to your little coffee shop. There’s no muffin this time, but your face brightens when he walks through the door and when he goes to pick up his coffee there’s a tiny, bite sized cookie sitting atop the lid.

“Don’t tell my boss,” you whisper, darting a glance back over your shoulder even as another pretty little smile graces your features.

Something unexpectedly warm and pleasant sings through his blood, and this time Iwa allows his own lips to twitch into the faintest hint of a grin in response.

You really are a truly awful judge of character.

Maybe that’s your downfall, that beautiful, naive innocence you just bleed. It’s a wonder that nobody’s come along to take advantage of you, especially when you are so very ripe for the taking. 

Well, nobody until him, he supposes. 

Iwa doesn’t know for certain why the men who want you dead do, he doesn’t particularly care either, but he does know that whatever their reasons are, it’s not enough.

Neither is forty thousand dollars.

It takes time, more than he’d like, to find the root of it all. It’s messy and he has to call in a few favours from old friends, but Iwa is nothing if not thorough.

He’s never particularly enjoyed killing, but there’s a certain satisfaction he gets from watching the light leave their desperate, pleading eyes knowing that he’s finally done his job. When he comes home, his shirt flecked with blood, his hands still dripping with it and coaxes your stricken, tear stained face up into a lingering kiss, Iwa feels content.

They wanted you to disappear entirely, he made sure that you did. 

[spxllcxstxr]

Inked • S.B

(Gif not mine)

Request: Hi! Could I request a Soulmate AU with Sirius please? Marauders era with matching tattoos. No rush and thank you 🌹🖤 — @fific7

Summary: Mary is determined to find your soulmate and not even an oncoming storm will stop her. (Soulmate AU)

Warnings: some tattoo talk?, rain, thunder, I guess hints/implied bullying, Peter makes an appearance but like he’s not a key part and he’s not like bad or anything

Word Count: 2.3k

A.N: This is the kind of star I’m envisioning for your soulmark (just not yellow) I actually never specify the color, so you can imagine any color you want. This took me like a week to write for some reason. But I like how it turned out. Hopefully you guys do too! Love you all ❤️

****

No one ever told you that soulmarks tingled.

When the eight pointed star seared itself into the flesh of the inside of your left elbow at age sixteen, you thought that was it. You thought that it would just sit there innocently to the point where it wouldn’t cross your mind every second of every day, but Merlin were you wrong.

The prickling of the mark was constant, like pins and needles jabbing relentlessly into your arm. It wasn’t exactly painful, it was just an obnoxious and infuriating reminder that you still haven’t found your soulmate.

Hogwarts was practically the place for the vast majority of witches and wizards to find their soulmate, as it was basically the only topic discussed amongst the sixth and seventh years.

Honestly, you just wanted your mark to stop its incessant tingling to the point where you wouldn’t mind anyone being your soulmate. You’ve never heard any complaints from your friends who had already found their true loves, so you assume that the sensation stops eventually.

But you were tired of scratching at your arm making it look like you had some weird sort of flesh eating disease. It was unflattering and highly inconvenient.

Sure, you could run around like a headless hippogriff with your sleeve rolled up asking everyone you encounter if they’ve seen another person with that identical mark, but that’s not romantic. And you wanted romantic, Merlin damn it.

Plus, imagine the burn of embarrassment that would overtake your entire being if no one shared your soulmark. You shudder at the mere thought.

So, you learn to live with it.

You almost want to rip your arm off when it gets particularly bad while studying or trying to get the perfect measurement for your potion, but after a full year you’re almost used to it.

You’re used to how often your friends would gush about their own soulmates and their constant questions about why you’re still single as well.

Mary MacDonald, one of your best friends, had already found her soulmate, some boy from Beauxbatons that sent her too many Howlers during breakfast, but they loved each other, so who were you to complain?

But ever since she found hers, she’s been pretty determined to seek out yours. Even getting her boyfriend to ask around his own school. You can never show your face around Beauxbatons and that’s final.

She’ll make you sit around the courtyard, pretending to read a book, while she scans the arms of the many crowds in search of your star. Mary tries to walk in on top secret Quidditch practices to get a glimpse of any rolled up sleeves, but so far, no good.

That’s really the only reason she’s dragging you down to the Black Lake even though dark grey clouds are hanging heavy in the sky.

“Mary!” You huff as she drags you down the grassy hills, the smell of rain thick in the air. “I know what you’re doing, I’m not daft, y’know.”

Her hand tightens around yours as she starts to feel you resist.

“What I’m doing? (Y/n), it’s a nice day to just hang out at the lake!” Mary cries, the lie hidden well if she wasn’t your best friend.

“Mary it’s about to torrential downpour.” You scoff.

“I thought you liked the rain.” She shrugs innocently, the sound of weeds getting crushed beneath your school shoes loud in your ears.

“Mary, my soulmate might not even be at Hogwarts!” You exclaim, trying to get out of this whole situation. You could be curled up by the fire with a sugar quill, but no, why would Mary let you have some peace and quiet? “They might be older or younger than me—“

“Well we won’t know that, will we, until we check everyone in our year first.” She insists.

The deep murky water is in sight, a few people are lazily lounging around the water’s edge. Like they haven’t even noticed the rain clouds overhead.

“You’re obsessed.” You sigh, finally stopping your attempts to wriggle away from her.

“It’s because I love you.” She smiles sweetly at you, cheeks pushed high, obscuring her dark eyes.

You continue to rub the inside of your arm against the side of your abdomen, attempting to find some sort of relief. The scratchy fabric of your white button down against your grey vest is probably the most effective. The closer to the bank you get, the better you’re able to make out the figures.

The owner of the vibrant red hair was obviously Lily, one of Mary’s friends, and also the more sensible of the group considering her coat was tightly wrapped around her. She’s in a somewhat similar situation as you—she hasn’t shown her soulmark to anyone. However, if what Mary drunkenly told you one night is true, it matches James Potter’s to a tee. Poor her.

Peter was also there, kicking rocks around and chuckling at whatever story Lily was telling them. His Gryffindor jumper is a little short on him while his slacks are a little long, mud dirtying the hem of them. As far as you know, he doesn’t even have a soulmark. It’s not uncommon or something to be ashamed of, but ever since certain people found out, it’s been quite the issue. Sure the infamous Marauders took care of the situation the best they could, but the damage was already done.

The last person was obviously Sirius, you could tell by the way he has his wand situated in his bun. He was closer to the water, picking up flat stones to skip across. His bark like laugh echoing across the space. You and Mary weren’t too far from the group now, so you could tell that the top two buttons of his dress shirt were popped open. Sirius Black’s soulmark was another mystery. He seems like the type to brag about something as important as a soulmark, but as far as you know, only James, Remus, and Peter were privy to that sort of information.

“Hey guys!” Lily perks up, waving at the two of you.

You smile and wave at her, but as Mary stops and chat, you gravitate closer to Peter and Sirius.

“So where are the other two?” You ask, watching as his stone skips across the water, finally ending with a satisfying plunk!

Sirius turns to face you, a few loose strands framing his face, blowing slightly in the wind.

“Detention.” He remarks casually, lazily trying to tame his curls.

“And you two aren’t?”

Peter shakes his head enthusiastically, blond hair bobbing around. “Sirius and I managed to escape before Slughorn lost it.”

“Hey Pete!” You hear Mary call from behind you. “Don’t you wanna know what you missed in Muggle Studies?”

“Shit, yeah.” Peter bounds over to where Lily and Mary are sitting, leaving you and Sirius alone. Your feet shuffle at the predicament.

You slowly inch closer to Sirius, the large distance awkward without a third person. You’re forced to hold down a wince as your mark prickles almost painfully.

Sirius’ eyes are almost the same shade as the clouds in the sky as they pierce into yours.

“You know how to skip rocks?” He tosses you a smooth stone which you catch effortlessly.

You open your mouth to respond but before you’re able to, you’re cut off by a clap of thunder. The ripples of thunder makes you jump slightly.

“We should probably go inside—“ You start, shivering at the cold wind that begins to roll past you.

“Scared of a little thunder, (Y/n)?” Sirius teases, smirking at your shivering form.

“Don’t be a prick.” You snort. “Just throw your rock.”

You push the thought of the oncoming storm to the back of your mind as you position yourself on the bank.

The water laps at you shoes as you toe the edge, running your thumb over the smooth surface. You mirror Sirius’ position, slightly crouched at the knee, body angled towards the lake.

“One...two...three!”

You watch his body move fluidly through the positions, the stone releasing and skipping across the water delicately. Not only do you get distracted by Sirius, but the mark on your arm gives a sudden jolt, making your posture falter and your stone crash recklessly into the lake.

Sirius brings a ringed fist up to his mouth, trying and failing to stifle a laugh.

“It’s not that funny.” You grumble, embarrassed.

“I mean, it’s pretty fucking hilarious. I thought you said you knew how to skip rocks?” He crosses his arms over his chest, eyebrows raised, a chuckle still lightly escaping his amused smile.

“Technically, I didn’t tell you shit.” You remark. “The thunder cut me off.”

“Ah yes. The spooky thunder.” He drawls, wagging his painted fingers at you mockingly.

You bring your hand up to flick him off when you feel a cool dot of water drop onto your hand.

“Hey, did you just feel a—“

In the middle of talking, one raindrop becomes hundreds, the torrential downpour almost instantly soaking you to your bones. You hair plasters to your skin, clothes clinging onto you.

“—raindrop?” You utter weekly, a chill coming over you.

Your eyes widen as you look at Sirius, how his dark hair sticks wildly to his face, like curtains across his eyes.

Lily and Mary let out identical high pitched shrieks, and you hear the sound of mud squelching as the three run back towards the castle.

As Sirius tries to wipe the wet hair from his face, you grab onto his wrist, pulling him as your sprint back to the castle. You’re fumbling as you try not to slip in the mud but at the same time try get to the cover of the castle quickly.

“A little thunder, my arse, Sirius!” You huff out, his wrist still grasped tightly in your hand.

You hear him chuckle behind you, easily keeping up with your pace.

Cold water traces down your back and fills your shoes, your discomfort rapidly increasing with every step and every second you spend outdoors.

Your mind drifts off to Sirius, who was only in his white uniform button down. He must be freezing.

After sloshing through puddles and mucking up your shoes, you manage to get under the cover of the stone castle.

Your teeth are chattering and you body trembles, but at least the rain isn’t cutting into your skin anymore.

Lily, Mary, and Peter are nowhere to be found, though they’re probably making their way to the Gryffindor common room already.

Sirius is wringing out his drenched dark curls, his wand between his lips, but you’re too focused in the face that his shirt is now completely see through. Your eyes wander as you ogle his fit body, shamelessly trailing everywhere. You bite your bottom lip at your confidence.

However, something catches your eye as you admire his arms. A black splotch. Like a tattoo in the inside of his elbow. You somehow go colder than you already were.

“Admiring my beauty—Hey!”

You step forward and latch onto his arm, trying to get a better look at the spot on his arm. Initially, he struggles, but you jab your finger into his skin, your own mark tingling beneath your wet clothes.

“What’s your problem, (Y/n)?” He angrily grunts.

“What’s this, Sirius?” You demand, looking at him.

“Why?” Sirius rips his arm out of your grasp, trying his best to hide the mark from you.

“Because,” You explain, rolling up your own sleeve to expose the eight pointed star on your arm. “We might have something in common.”

Your entire body erupts into shivers both from the cold wind against your soaked skin and the way your soulmark buzzing.

The star stands out against your skin and you watch Sirius’ eyes widen, his jaw going slightly slack.

“Sirius.” You whisper. “I need to know if you’re my soulmate.”

The rain pounds against the castle, wind whistles, and thunder claps, and yet you don’t jump. You’re too focused on Sirius’ expression.

Silently, he brings his index finger to your mark and lightly traces the shape with his fingertip. His finger is cold, but you barely realize it because of the shock that runs through your body, originating from his touch. Goosebumps run wildly across your flesh.

He swallows harshly before pulling away and recklessly pushes his sleeve up the length of his arm. Your heart beats wildly in your chest in anticipation.

Sirius shoves his arm in front of you and you bring your gaze to focus on the inside of his elbow.

And there it is.

His soulmark.

Your soulmark.

The lines are clean and the points are sharp, the star is clear against his skin.

“Oh.”

“You’re my soulmate.” Sirius mutters. “Oh thank Merlin!” He’s laughing, a smile growing across his face.

His laughter is infectious and you find yourself joining him, practically jumping with glee.

Sirius latches onto you, pulling your wet bodies close. He brings his lips to your forehead, warmth spreading from the contact.

“We should celebrate.” Sirius remarks, pulling away just enough to see your entire form.

“Hold on.” You chuckle. “I think you’re forgetting to do something.”

His grey eyes flick down to your lips. “How could I ever forget the best part?” He smirks.

You lips are slow to connect, relishing in the sounds of the rain and how his his hands wrap around your elbows, thumb pressed into your mark.

When they finally join together, you feel whole. Like two puzzle pieces linked together. Eyes flutter shut as emotion run rampant through your body. Your mark tingles before fizzling out when you and Sirius disconnect.

You’re breathless as you cling onto him, as he clings onto you.

“We’ve got a party to throw,” Sirius grabs your hand. “soulmate.”

A stupid grin makes its way across your face.

“Lead the way, soulmate.”

•

Sirius Black Taglist: @quindolyn @fific7 @msmb @lunalovecroft

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco