#just have someone pin the other person to a surface while sparring and have there be Tension and Energy there. easy.

[crypt1dcorv1dae]

I really like kafhoshi ... it good.... Ther s so much potential and so much material to work with AND YET THERES LIKE NOTHING!!!!! *Rolls up my sleeves* gotta do everything myself in this damn house...

[ann1-wr1tes]

Catch these hands!

Synopsis: Leon is your mentor. At first he was apprehensive and not too happy about it. But now he realizes he may like you more than he thought..

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 1,382

A/N: So here's another repost. Hope you all enjoy!!

-------

You pant as you shift your stance from foot to foot. Sweat dripped from your brow and down the back of your neck as your eyes narrowed in concentration and slight nervousness as the man in front of you seemed to not even break a sweat.

Then again you weren't surprised. It was Leon Kennedy we're talking about here. So of course it looked like he was having just another normal Tuesday but for you, a rookie that was new to the D.S.O, you could feel your anxiety creep up your spine. You'd be lying if you said that your mentor didn't make you a little nervous.

Since the first moment you met Leon you knew about his history with the government and the D.S.O. He started off as a rookie cop in Raccoon city, survived a horrible outbreak, then got recruited to the D.S.O where he very quickly became a huge name and even saved the President's daughter. Of course now he is different. He is older and more jaded.

You can tell by the way he carries himself, how he always has some sort of bottle in his hand that holds an alcoholic beverage, how his eyes look at you but at the same time it looks like he's looking right through you. It was a distant look that was glassy and dull.

You could also tell that he didn't intend on ever having to mentor anyone. Though that changed when the agency decided that Leon could use a little side project, a little distraction from all the harsh missions he was assigned to. So you were dumped on him.

Despite all the alcohol he drank and how he didn't take care of himself in the least bit, you could see that there was someone lying under the surface that would peak out every once in a while. You could see this mystery person every time you improved in a skill or took some of his advice and applied it to your learning.

It was almost enough to make your flutter when you'd turn to find him looking at you with an endearing smile. Though it wouldn't last long and he'd soon be back to his scowling grimace that seemed to be permanently stuck on his face. Despite this, the small smiles you'd catch him flashing in the corner of your eye or the small chuckle that escaped his lips on occasion was enough to make you want to learn more from him, learn more about him.

But right now you were learning hand-to-hand combat. Sparring to be specific.

You remember when you had first started to spar with Leon. It was nothing short of being humiliating. You'd swing one and he'd already have you twisted around and pinned to the floor. You'd try to catch him by surprise, he was always two steps ahead of you. It was almost like he could read your thoughts, like he could expect just exactly what your next move was.

As time went by you slowly improved but it was never enough to beat Leon and while it was frustrating and a little intimidating at times you took it all in stride.

"Don't take your eyes off me." Leon warned as he lunged forward towards you. "And don't forget what I taught you."

He pulled back slightly before making a sudden swing at you. You blocked it easily, blocking the other attacks coming your way. His strikes were quick and precise, always with no hesitation. Its like it was all second nature to him, his body moved instinctively with his mind. It was like a dance. But he never showed any emotion. It was always hardened stares and pursed lips.

As Leon throws another punch you grab his wrist and twist, trying to force him to the ground with a wrist lock. In response Leon yanks his wrist forward, pulling you along with it and as soon as you collide with his chest he spins you around and has an arm wrapped around your throat.

Quickly you tap his upper arm, signalling that you give up and he lets go. He releases your neck and backs up to keep a distance between both of you, watching you carefully, his arms folded across his chest. You take a deep breath as you wipe your face of the sweat.

"Again." He says. And without missing a beat you take a defensive position ready to attack and begin again.

This continued on until you reached your limits, your stamina dwindling rapidly and your movements slowed considerably due to exhaustion. Still, you were determined to win.

Leon waits for you this time. His eyes are trained on yours, waiting for an attack as he prowls around you slowly. As you reach to strike the first blow you watch a faint grin appear on his lips and then suddenly he lunges. The next thing you know you feel yourself fly forward, hit the mat hard, and then Leon is on top of you.

Struggling to get to your knees, you shove Leon off of you before he can pin you and you settle yourself on your knees, having both hands out ready to block or grip his wrists or a hand.

Leon goes to grip the collar of your shirt and he tugs you forward. He twists you around so you lay on your back and then goes to pin your wrists. Your mind scrambles to try to find a way out until suddenly a light bulb goes off in your head.

You buck your hips up and arch your back up, causing Leon to stumble forward and almost on top of you. Thinking quickly you hook a leg around his and you shift your weight, pushing him and you to the side so you can roll on top of him.

As soon as his back hits the mat you straddle him and plant your forearm right against his neck, making it a little hard to breathe and even harder to escape when you plant your foot down on his other hand to ensure it stays down.

You look into his blue gaze with determination and he gives you a smile. There it is. There's that pretty sight that you rarely get to see.

A rare smile directed solely at you. It almost makes your heart flutter but you have to remind yourself that he's your mentor. He'd never see you in any different light…right?

To solidify your victory, Leon taps out and you quickly roll off of him. You can't seem to contain your own smile as he sits up and looks at you with a look of pride.

"Not bad Rookie. Keep fighting like that and you may just take my job." He jokes and gets to his feet, offering you his hand. You accept it gladly and allow him to help you up.

"Any improvements? Or tips?" you ask, looking at him expectantly. That was the thing about you that he couldn't help but love so much. You were always willing to learn, always wanting to know more and improve. It was admirable, it was endearing. It reminded Leon of himself in some ways.

Without saying anything, Leon's hand comes up and tucks a stray hair behind your ear.

"Take it easy, you did good and you have more to learn but for now i'd say you're fine." He says and you smile wider. A real smile. One that reaches your eyes as well. Your cheeks redden a little and you look away.

"Thank you." you say with a genuine smile.

Leon waves you off and turns around, grabbing a water bottle and tossing it to you.

Despite how badly Leon would like to ignore it, he knew that there was some part inside of him that liked you a little too much. But as he watched you grow and improve and get stronger that feeling intensified. It was becoming more apparent to him every day that there was something special about you. But he'd ignore it…or try his best to.

But what he couldn't ignore was the swelling sense of pride that bloomed in his chest as he watched you drink some much needed water.

He was proud of you, so incredibly proud of you.

[nasaty]

Noctilucence

Student Aizawa x (she/her) student reader, so much angssssttt and grief and a bunch of fluff. (Do not bring any pedo shit into my presence or I will fucking destroy you)

This will be 9 chapters long. Ch. 2 here.

MANGA SPOILERS until episode 107 comes out. - also this requires context that I am not providing from MHA manga and the arc with Aizawa in Vigilantes. TW: death.

Lmk if you like it and I can post more!

Ch. 1 the Clouds

As someone who was uniquely talented and had a very useful quirk, the first few weeks of your first year at UA went by quickly. You were favorited by your new classmates because of your intelligence and your extremely powerful healing quirk, so everyone wanted you at their side. You decided to take the path of general studies, being that you wouldn’t be in combat much but more so in rescue services, you would be more well rounded that way. After the first few hectic weeks blew past, things seemed to settle and you realized you hadn’t made a lot of friends, just some colleagues and acquaintances, which was fine, networking is important, but didn’t make you feel like you fit in as much as you should. Everyone was friendly with you but usually just on the surface, so they can get you to you help them with something. You obliged, since the whole reason you went to UA was to learn to effectively help people in the first place. You drifted along in classes and were generally abject with your life, until you met Oboro.

You were asked to sit in on a few sparring matches by hero course 2-A’s home room teacher since recovery girl would be out for about a week. Since your quirk allowed you to heal from a distance, you stood with 2-A’s sensei and took in the abilities and personalities of your future colleagues. Being that they were in their second year and you in your first, you’d hardly seen them at all yet, but were mesmerized by their quick thinking and mastery they had obtained after such a short time. Though you meant to take notes, you were too distracted and hypnotized by each heros proficiency.

These sparring matches were essentially used as a practical midterm, so each pair had a designated time which meant you would probably be there all day, even though a few pairs went the day before. Each midterm took about a half an hour, sometimes more, and the heros seemed equally matched. Standing next to 2-A’s sensei, you felt small and cold because of the gyms air conditioning. One side of the gym was plain, almost like a basketball court. The other was a rocky, almost impossible looking terrain where the matches were taking place. You yawned as you looked at your watch, noticing it was well past lunch but neither of you had eaten yet.

The next pair came into the gym on opposite sides and shook hands, and the home room teacher blew the whistle signaling the start of the match. You instantly recognized their quirks; one had some sort of blast quirk that was very bright and dynamic, and the other had the ability of creating and manipulating clouds of some sort. It seemed clear to you soon after the whistle who would have the upper hand, but that flipped rapidly as the battle went on, immersing you in the adrenaline filled motions the boys made with precision. The larger boy with the sunglasses seemed to be somewhat irritated and yielded a bit, while the cloud boy with light blue hair was surprisingly agile and stealthy, even when his opponent’s blasts broke through his barrier. You hear him shout things a few times, almost teasingly at the larger kid, but it appeared to be light hearted.

Blast kid had connected one good hit on the cloud kid’s arm, and you heard it reverberate through the gym. You barely had the time to blink before thick clouds covered them both. Their home room teacher nudged you as if to signal to be prepared to heal either one of them since you had both lost sight. Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, cloud kid bursts from the top of the mist and pulled out a quarter staff, (you could’ve swore it appeared out of thin air,) and in no time, disappears into the mist again.

The vapor slowly dissipated and you saw cloud kid with an adorably bright smile on his face, while his opponent was pinned to the ground, scowling.

“I wasn’t even trying that’s why you were able to beat me. I don’t even care about this midterm,” he barked.

“Sure man, either way it was a good match! Thanks!” The winner said as he held out his hand to help him up. The other scoffed at him, stood up on his own, and mumbled something to himself. He exited where he originally entered the gym.

The homeroom teacher called out to cloud kid, “Oboro! Come here, that hit sounded rough.”

He lightly jogged over to you both, having not even broken a sweat, and was entirely gleaming. Seemingly bursting with energy he proudly shook his sensei’s hand as a small congratulations on the victory, and turned to you.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” he pulled out a granola bar from his pocket and started eating it sloppily. He spoke again before you had a second to respond. “Are you new here? A transfer student maybe? I’m Shirakumo Oboro, but you can just call me Oboro, or Cloud, or whatever you want. I don’t mind!”

For a second you were wary that he was being friendly to get you to do something for him, but then realized he had no idea who you were, so he was actually just that nice naturally. He surprisingly just met you and allowed you to call him by a nickname.

2-A’s Sensei leaned in, “Hey you’re on lunch now by the way, sorry it’s late, you’ve got an hour and a half till you need to be back here for the rest of it.” You thanked him silently with a head nod and he sauntered away. You made eye contact with Oboro.

“Hi Oboro,” you grinned, “I’m Y/n, I’m a first year so that’s probably why we haven’t met, but I am subbing for recovery girl today.”

“SUBBING AS A FIRST YEAR you must be pretty freakin cool then” he downed some water and some of it got on his shirt. “What is your quirk then?”

“I can heal people from a distance if I know what the issue is. So like if someone has kidney failure I can’t see that, so I might not be able to figure that one out, but if someone has a broken bone or something I can see that and fix it. So I’m learning a little internal medicine on the side so I can diagnose properly to heal.”

“Dang dude that’s sweet I just make clouds,” he bursted out laughing, and then heard your stomach growl, it has been a few hours since you’ve had anything to eat.

“Hey Y/n I have lunch right now too, do you wanna come down to the LRC with me? (what some kids called the Lunch Rush Cafe,) I can introduce you to some of our classmates.” You liked how he said our classmates, he’s genuinely very sweet and made you feel warm and welcome.

You started walking towards the cafeteria and filed into the hallway, following the crowd.

“I’ll still go down there even though I’ve eaten half my lunch already” he said pulling a sandwich out of his other pocket.

You giggled, “You have your whole lunch in your pockets?”

“Yeah?!” he stated with a mouthful, “you never know when you’re gonna need more energy, like after that match! At least I don’t eat those weird energy pouches like Shouta!” He laughed boisterously. You wondered who the heck ‘Shouta’ was.

You each went through the line in the busy cafeteria, Lunch Rush quickly handed you your meal and Oboro stuffed too many energy bars in his pockets.

“My friends eat on the roof if you wanna come up there! It’s….not exactly allowed but it’s not *NOT* allowed”

You pondered the thought of doing something that risky as a first year, but shook it off, knowing that Oboro wouldn’t lead you astray. Even though you had just met him, you were as comfortable as if you had known him for years. You nodded and hummed, signaling for him to lead the way, (you didn’t know how to get to the roof anyway,) and followed close behind.

[kalee60]

Wondering if you have any thoughts about beefy bucky? And maybe any thoughts about any thoughts that Steve might have about beefy bucky? For a cheeky anon 👉👈

Hoo boy Cheeky Nonnie... Do I have some thots about this??

*ahem - clears throat as it's a little thick for some reason... err - yes, yes I do... Many in fact...

Just to clarify - you mean...

Or even...

I thought so...

Oh - Cheeky anon - you are speaking my language! So I had set out to tell you my thoughts about Beefy Bucky...but Steve came screaming into the room, panting and excited, a light shining in his eyes and suddenly it was all about him... maybe one day I’ll get my say...

This got away from me slightly - hope you enjoy Nonnie! 😘

~*~*~*~*~

Steve tried to not stare, tried to be respectful like his ma taught him, tried to be the responsible adult, hero that he was. He was the paragon for truth, the beacon of all that was good, but all that ran through his head as he looked at his best friend, his semi-recently unbrainwashed best friend, was Bucky’s large frame manhandling him to the bed and doing unspeakable acts on Steve’s body.

He was past caring what these acts might be, he’d be open to anything, try anything - not having had much experience due to time or inclination. But as he sat in the mission brief and watched Bucky playing with a pencil, unintentionally snapping it between his chunky fingers, looking around sheepishly in case someone told him off for breaking SHIELD property - Steve thought about those meaty fingers wrapped around a specific part of his anatomy. A part he knew couldn’t snap off (he’d tried when jerking off - not intentionally, but sometimes he twitched hard in the heat of the moment - and he had super strength after all).

From Steve’s vantage point, a few yards behind Bucky’s immensely broad shoulders, he found his breaths coming in quicker, wondering how it would feel to be picked up and slammed into a hard surface by Bucky, to have all that unrestrained strength pushing him - up against his body. Steve shivered, knowing that, yes, Tony and Thor and the others with the use of their powers or suits could pin Steve for a few seconds - but Bucky - he’d had a similar serum as Steve and it gave him thoughts. 

Would Bucky be at the same level of strength and power, were they evenly matched in every way? And if Steve begged on his knees staring up at Bucky - would Bucky relent and finally give him all he’d been dreaming about since he was sixteen?

Steve didn’t know. But he fantasised about it a lot.

Bucky had always been bigger than Steve, had always towered over him when they were kids, and Steve fit under the crook of Bucky’s arm, snug and nice, knowing that even before the serum, Bucky could have had his way and Steve would let him - even as feisty and independent as he was. But oh god, given half the chance, in a million different ways Steve would have let him.

But then the war happened, Steve had the serum and everything changed - he lost Bucky, had lost his better half, his true north, and that was when Steve lost hope. Until the Winter Soldier appeared - no, when Bucky appeared. Hope welled eternal in Steve for the first time in years, and to now have Bucky before him, it was a dream come true and he was scared to do anything to break the bubble that was surrounding them in case he scared Bucky off again.

So through hungry eyes, Steve watched Bucky closely, helped Bucky with the holes in his memory as best he could, ignored the lack of compassion that sometimes came through, and tried his best not to ogle Bucky’s new physique.

It was hard.

Extremely hard.

Because Bucky was built, he was wide, he was thick and it made Steve jittery inside.

He was unable to hide the most basic of reactions when they sparred, growing stiff the moment Bucky threw Steve over his shoulder like he weighed nothing to land on the mat roughly before straddling him, hand gently around his throat and a smirk on his face. And Steve had to scramble to the toilets for a moment alone - each and every time. Images of Bucky’s muscular thighs either side of his stomach fodder for a slew of fantasies and he only ever felt a little guilty when he came, hand shaking around his dick and Bucky’s name on his lips.

But it was undeniable that Bucky had changed - his quick smiles gone, humour buried away with only a glimpse here and there, but Steve knew Bucky, his Bucky was lurking somewhere in the depths, and Steve was slowly teasing him to the surface. So it would be completely unfair to foist his desires on his friend - a friend who'd never indicated that he liked Steve on a romantic level.

So Steve sat behind Bucky in the briefing, letting his mind wander, allowing his gaze to rake over the back of the too tight dark blue henley, Bucky’s shoulders taking up more space on the chair than Steve’s did - and he watched. 

Steve’s eyes traced the lines of Bucky’s wide stance as he moved in the chair, watching the toned muscles shift under the shirt and he couldn’t help lick his lips, only to look up and find Bucky stalled, stopped in his tracks staring over his shoulder at Steve with something deeply shadowed in his eyes. And Steve had been caught, caught staring like a man dying of thirst and Bucky the only person in the world that had a trickle of water left.

Standing up hastily, Steve fled - heading towards his room on the thirtieth floor, not knowing if the briefing was over or not, not really caring - he’d walked out of them before - it was only a safety meeting about new protocols that Steve himself had helped to create, but he couldn’t sit behind Bucky and stare at his bulk any longer. Bucky might have already realised where Steve’s thought’s had been, and he needed a moment to agonise over it.

He’d only just made it to his hallway, sprinting up the stairs as it was quicker than the elevator, when a huge solid hand grasped his arm, yanking to slam Steve up against the wall and suddenly two very intense blue/grey eyes were staring at him, pinched at the corners, questioning. Steve was no longer concerned about being called out - he was too busy sweating heavily at the sheer muscle Bucky was showcasing by pinning him to the wall, and he flexed, trying to move, but Bucky - oh fuck - Bucky had him. Steve would have to exert a lot of energy to break the hold, and his knees buckled.

Bucky grasped him, holding him upright as he sagged, “hey pal - you okay? What in the hell is going on?”

Steve managed to get his knees to lock long enough to hold his weight, and Bucky wide-eyed and concerned held him trapped. Held him aloft in his strong arms, his flesh one just as huge and muscular as his metal one.

“Yeah I’m alright,” Steve ground out. And he was, mostly - except for the tenting in his cargo pants, something that if Bucky stepped in less than an inch would feel pressed against him in all it’s post-serum glory. And Steve shouldn’t have thought that - what had it done to Bucky if the rest of him had grown so thick.

Bucky exhaled slowly, then looked up at the roof and Steve watched the sinews dance under the skin of Bucky’s neck, the wide hefty expanse of muscle that had to be at least twice the size as before. Steve wanted to lean forward, nip at the jutting Adam's apple, lick it, suckle it and have Bucky tense the muscles so that Steve could trace the hardness under his stiff tongue.

Words escaped him before Steve knew what was happening. “You’re so big.”

Immediately his face flamed because the words didn’t come out like a question, or a matter of fact statement - it was breathy, whispered with reverence, with a tone that couldn’t be disguised - Steve sounded horny for Bucky, and shame welled up.

Shutting his eyes, Steve shook his head, trying to get up the strength to break free of the large hands holding him, but Steve was learning he was a masochist under Bucky's control, Steve wanted it, no matter how he got it - all of that power and force bundled into the man he’d been in love with all of his life, it was too much.

“Open your eyes, Stevie.”

He was powerless not to, not when Bucky called him that.

Bucky’s long hair had fallen over one side of his face, and he peered at Steve, a small frown between his eyes as he worked something out in his head, Steve having seen that puzzled expression many times, usually directed at the coffee machine or at Sam, until suddenly like the dawning of a new day - his face went slack. 

He’d realised something, something big. And Bucky stepped forward, closer, the entire length of his body now against Steve, and although Steve was still a little taller than him, he felt as small as his teenage self while Bucky held him aloft using just his body, and it was only then that Steve realised what Bucky was pressed against and… oh…

What was now pressed against Steve in return.

“Buck…” he said brokenly.

“How long?”

“Errr…”

“How long, Steve?” The demand came with a tightening of hands on his biceps and Steve groaned at the pinch, the pressure, and Bucky threw his massive flesh arm across Steve’s collar bone instead, restraining him, and Steve just about came on the spot. It was too much, the sheer strength, the sheer size of Bucky was making him quake like a teenager with too many uncontrollable hormones.

“For as long as I can remember.”

“Jesus,” Bucky swore and let go, Steve slumping against the wall, and Bucky took one step away, Steve had ruined it - ruined everything.

“Well, are you coming or not?”

Steve looked up at the order in Bucky’s voice.

“Where?” he croaked.

“Your room, it’s closer - I’m going to nail you to your bed and make you scream Stevie Rogers - I have one vivid memory of before the war, and I know it was just a fantasy. And right now... right now I want to make it a reality.”

Bucky strode away, intent in each step and Steve watched the sway of his thick hips, the delectable peach-like ass he wanted to sink his hands and teeth into, and Steve stuck to the spot, couldn’t believe what was about to happen.

“I’m not going to ask twice.”

Steve jumped to attention, and had never ran so fast in his life.

[ratsoh-writes]

What were the Horrors first real trigger on the surface world? For the swap and fell horrors too please

Under the cut because sad

Oak: his was with his physical therapist the first year he was on the surface. Oak had tripped and while trying to catch himself, dug his fingers pretty hard into his therapists arm, drawing blood. Oak had never wanted to hurt another person again and spent pretty much the whole day spaced out and unresponsive. His main trigger is causing pain in others, especially humans.

Willow: before he became a baker, he actually wanted to try and take the medical field as a way to “make up” for what he did underground. But the first time willow saw a human get a bloody nose, the panic was bad enough they had to get oak to calm him down. So that kinda crushed that dream. His main trigger is seeing blood on humans. But he can still handle raw meat just fine.

Rust: he actually hasn’t really had any “incidents” since coming to the surface. Because of the violent nature of underfell, rust and noir are much more adjusted than the horrortale and horrorswap brothers. Rust will still get anxious when he hears anyone’s stomach growl. Especially the kids he works with. He has this really intense need to make sure everyone around him is well fed

Noir: all of noirs issues are with food and storage. Noir gets super anxious and combative when the pantry is anywhere near less than half-stocked. And he refuses to waste food to the point of eating spoilt food that could even make a monster sick. He does his best to deal with this by making sure the majority of the food is long shelf life stuff, and by scheduling what meals are when so that everything is eaten in a timely manner.

Lilac: his biggest trigger is getting pinned underneath someone. That was the position he was in when his alphys cut off his leg. Right after lilac had made friends with the jocks, he thought he could handle some sparring and went against Jupiter. Long story short, Jupiter knocked him down, and lilac lashed out in panic putting a large crack on poor Jupiter’s upper right ribs. And Jupiter being himself ignored the pain and spent the whole afternoon comforting lilac until basil arrived. Those two are best friends now so it worked out

Basil: he actually didn’t become sensitive to the smell and sight of meat until after about two years on the surface. It started with loss of appetite whenever he smelled cooked meat, then it increased to nausea, dizziness and panic. He’s in therapy now and can handle going out if he’s wearing a scarf or face mask ti block any scents, but basil refuses to have meat in his home.

[asmo-ds]

mc x asmo x solomon but solomon is jealous of mc because they're naturally good in magic (bc of their ancestry) and mc is jealous because solomon has known asmo longer. as the only humans and demon masters (?) in devildom they train together, while in a training session solomon remembers how much jealous he is of mc, has a meltdown and starts to attack mc, mc thinks that they're just training and doesn't put as much effort so they get hurt. asmo is kind of in a relationship with both but no one knows and they don't know about each other, he pushes both away when mc gets hurt since he realises that he should've talked to them about it. after asmo pushes away both, solomon apologises to mc, he and mc become friends and later fwb to fill in the gap that asmo left. asmo apologises for everything and they end up all tgt

Have them Both

Asmo x Solomon x Mc

Warnings: Cheating, mature themes, jealousy, polyamorous relationships

a/n: this didn’t turn out quite the way I wanted it to but I’m suffering from major writers block sorry :(

Solomon wasn’t used to this feeling. He’d always been one of the strongest humans in terms of magical power. He had 72 pacts with demons and had a good life. So why? Why was it as he watched MC flimsily cast a spell he was filled with a strong sense of envy and anger.

They had so much power within them and they didn’t even take magic seriously, they could barely perform a simple seduction spell without it blowing up in their face! It was so unfair that he had worked so hard and ended up still being weaker than someone, especially someone who wasn’t even committed to the craft.

“Solomon and MC, you two will be partnered for the magical combat training today!” The teacher shouted towards the class before continuing to read off names and pairs for other battles.

Asmodeus waltzed up to Solomon, giving him a pat on the back before starting a conversation. MC looked over and felt their lips turn from a smile to a frown as they noticed the way that Solomon and Asmodeus talked with each other. MC wanted nothing more than to have that kind of connection with Asmodeus and it was so unfair how Solomon got to have it. MC was his lover aka the person meant to be the closest to Asmo, the one to know him most intimately. But instead all they ever heard about was stories of Solomon falling from Asmodeus's lips.

Solomon and Asmodeus separated, going to their respective battle areas and preparing to spar with their partner.

MC and Solomon stood across from each other, no conversation, no smiles. The air was thick with tension and Asmodeus couldn’t help but watch as the two began to spar.

Spells were being flung at each other and MC and Solomon lost control. They were so filled with envy towards each other that it no longer was a fake fight, but a real one with a possibility of a deadly ending.

Solomon, being the more skilled wizard, struck MC down with one of his spells before pouncing on them and pinning them down, claiming victory as his.

When the teacher declared the winner and Solomon tried to stand up he felt a sharp tug at his leg and he fell down, landing painfully on his back. MC climbed on top of him and began throwing punches at his face. He felt the anger boil up inside him, pushing MC off before kicking them harshly in the stomach and crawling over to punch them square in the face one time before there was a strong tug that separated them both.

Asmo stood there between their bodies that had been flung apart, panting from the amount of power it took to separate them.

"what has gotten into the two of you?!" he shouted, a rare expression visible on his face, anger and disappointment.

MC and Solomon began to talk over each other trying to explain their side of the story before he silenced them and they both stormed off towards the nurses' office. 

When they arrived at the nurses office the tension was just as strong as it was during their standoff and nobody spoke a word for a few minutes.

"Solomon..." MC began looking down shamefully, the sorcerer refusing to look at them and instead keeping his scowl facing the opposite direction. MC sighed and continued, "I'm sorry. I just- seeing you with Asmodeus and seeing how happy you make him and how you can make him laugh without even trying…” MC choked back a sob as the tears welled up. Solomon's expression softened and he slowly turned to look at the crying human, "I want Asmodeus to feel that way when he is with me too, I'm his lover, don't I deserve that?"

Solomon sat there shocked for a minute before he spoke, "you're his lover?? I'm Asmodeus's lover…” MC and Solomon both stared into each other's eyes, an understanding between them of what they had just discovered. 

"Other than the fact that you were so close to Asmodeus… I have always really admired you, Solomon..” MC stated softly with a blush, gazing down at their lap. The sorcerer felt his cheeks and the tips of his ears heat up as he responded.

“I was jealous of your power, because I think you have such a unique power and the fact that you don't have as much knowledge as me made me angry. I’m sorry too MC, I overreacted.” They sat there in a comfortable silence, glad to have gotten their feelings out.

“W-would you mind if I asked to practice magic with you more often? As you said you have a lot more knowledge than me.” MC turned to face the shady sorcerer, who then smiled back at them.

“I would be honored, in return however, I ask that you let me test your magical limits,” Solomon replied.

“It’s a deal,” MC stuck their hand out, meaning for him to shake it, but instead they felt his rough hands take theirs and raise it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on their skin.

“So it is,” He smiled up at them fondly.

The door to the room opened and Asmodeus was standing there, a worried look on his face, holding two ice packs that had definitely melted on the way to the nurses’ office. 

“Hey! Don’t touch each other, I don't want to break up another fight-” Asmodeus chuckled tiredly. 

“H-hey Asmo… uh we were talking and we kinda came to a realization.” MC stuttered and lowered their head shyly, nervous about confronting the demon.

“You have been sleeping with us both, correct?” Solomon asked bluntly, not a sign of emotion on his face.

“W-wel uh I- yes I have- BUT- but I love you both so much and I just… I can’t choose between you two and I just-”

“Why don’t we all create a relationship then?” Solomon asked, smiling at the other two.

“What do you mean?” Asmodeus asked shocked.

“We both love you, we like each other and you both love us so why don’t we form a polyamourous relationship?” Solomon asked once more, patting MC on the head as a sign of affection.

“I’m cool with that!” MC beamed, taking Solomon’s hand and placing it on their cheek instead, nuzzling into the rough surface of his palm.

“Yes! Yes I’d love to, I love you both so much!” Asmodeus squealed, pouncing to grab both humans into a tight embrace, placing a kiss on both of their foreheads.

[mudhornchronicles]

maroon | din djarin

gif posted by sledposting 

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

warnings: all the fluff, soft!din but then i said sike... angst, mentions of death and violence, also mentions of... sexual encounters?

a/n: lowkey wanna make into a series, but idk if someone has done this. if so, i do apologize. 

masterlist

“You best learn how to weave, girl. A husband wouldn’t be caught dead wearing tattered clothing, let alone a Mandalorian riduur.”

“You must wear much more layered clothing. A Mandalorian riduur wants a respectable woman at his side.”

“Learn these recipes and maybe you’ll find yourself a Mandalorian riduur.”

You’ve grown tired of hearing this every day, but you sit back and simply nod. Mandalore may have not been your birth planet, but they took care of you after your father and brother both fell valiantly in battle. You were on your own after that. Your mother was not a Mandalorian, she was originally from Naboo. When your father was called back to Mandalore to assist in the ceremonial trials, your mother decided it was time she left. She said she was promised a tranquil life with the clan of four on Naboo, but the creed had to be followed. You have not heard from her since you were 7 years old.

Now as you’ve come to an age of maturity, you were being trained to… be a wife? 

You sat back and obeyed the elders wishes, but you knew that their rants were not true - not in the slightest. Your father never depended on your mother to do anything for him. Because of that, he taught you how to defend yourself and be independent. Although your father was devoted to The Way, he did not want you to swear the creed. Not because you were incapable, but because he did not want you to go through life with the restrictions that the creed entails. Even if you wanted to rebel against your loving father’s wishes, you were not able to be properly trained nor swear the creed at such a late age. So, you were content with being a member of the Mandalorian culture as a civilian.

You sat at a table that the elders reserved for the women who taught young ladies how to sew, heal, cook, and take care of the warriors in training. Whether it was a torn cape or a sparring injury, you were there to help. You always believed you didn’t need to be there as you already knew how to do it all, but the view made up for it. The table was set up on the outer boundaries of the sand pit they called a sparring arena. You got to see young Mandalorians train their bodies and minds by lessons taught by the elders. As many Mandalorians came and went, your eyes were always set on a specific foundling you met many years ago. You sympathized with that warrior when you first noticed his colored armor. You had a crafted bracelet in a similar color – a deep red, a maroon to be precise.

All Mandalorian armor was painted, but each general color had deeper meaning. For example, blue represented the reliability of the warrior, green represented duty, black represented justice, and grey or silver represented mourning.

Red represented the honoring of a parent or leader.

You watched as the two warriors, one in green armor and yours in the maroon, sparred while the other Mandalorians watched and rallied around their fighting brothers. After 10 minutes, the maroon pinned the green down and was declared the winner. The elders at your table clapped and you can’t help but smile and cheer along.

As the noise settles down, you ask to be excused from the table and wait for their approval. Once the oldest member examines your finished shawl, she excuses you for the day. You clean up your yarn and needles, place them and your newly knitted shawl in your basket, and thank them for the day’s lesson. You turn and notice the maroon armored figure standing with his brothers as a new pair of Mandalorians prepare for their turn at combat.

You walk over and stand next to him, basket in your left hand and proceed to place your right hand on his pauldron. He looks over at you and tilts his helmet as he acknowledges you. You mouth a simple hi and a small wave, not wanting to distract him from the scene in front of him.

“Hello, cyar’ika.”

You smile as he turns and holds your right hand in his left. “How was today’s lesson?”

You shrug, rolling your eyes and letting out a small laugh. “Oh you know, learning what I already know. The usual.”

He chuckles at your visible annoyance at the uniformed program you’re practically forced to attend. “Are you finished or are the elders letting you breathe?”

You just can’t help but always smile at every word that comes out of his mouth. “I’m very much finished for the day. Are you?”

“Yes, Paz and I were just asked to demonstrate a sparring technique. Would you like to go for a walk?”

You nod excitedly. He gives your hand a light squeeze and asks you to stay where you are. You watch him as he strides over to one of the elders watching over the training session to what you assume is asking for permission to leave. The elder simply nods and goes back to observing the trainees.

Your Mandalorian leads you to an escarpment not far from the main town – not far by speeder bike that is. You both called it our place. As far as you both knew, no one had known about the place. The ground is scattered with sand and cracks, but the pair are protected from unwanted visitors by an oddly bent acacia tree and nothing beats the view. The capital can be seen far out in the distance, seeming small and faded. You looked down from the cliff to the ground below. You took notice that the ground had small traces of grass while the trees began to dry and then to your luck, you spotted a strill dragging the corpse of a fanned rawl back to its pack. 

You step back from the edge and walk back to the tree. Your beloved unclips his cape and places it on the ground for you both to sit on – despite your countless protest about getting it dirty and tears. He proceeds to take a seat in the middle of his cape and places his hands on your waist. You take the hint and take a seat on his lap. He wraps his arms around your body and lay on him and he leans back on the thick trunk of the tree.

You quietly stay like this for what feels like hours, just holding onto each other. You two rarely get alone time anymore as his training has begun to be much more advanced. More advanced means longer training hours and longer training hours mean less time with you. Mandalore has nineteen hour days and the elders now have him train for six which means you barely get to talk to him and he barely gets to breathe. 

You change positions to lay on the ground with your head on his thighs. He starts to play with your hair, but suddenly lets the strand of hair go. He leans over to grab your hand. He begins to play with your fingers and places his palm straight onto yours just to feel how different his hands are from your own. He did always say he loved your hands – soft and caring.

He loves holding your hand. He loves caressing it. He loves playing with them. He loves how they look when in his.

When you’re in the safety of your home, he blindfolds you and  loves it when you play with his hair.

When you make love, he loves when you run your hands down his chest and on his biceps as he thrusts up into you. He loves when you grip his arms while you’re riding him and he brings you close to euphoria or when his body is over yours and your hands press down on his back to beg for him to go deeper.

He’s gone a long time without having gentle hands touch him. You were the first person he let touch his bare hands since his parents died. 

His helmet tilts over to you and you look up to him. He sits and stares at you and you unsuccessfully stifle a laugh. “What? Why are you staring at me?”

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, ner kar’ta.” He says quietly. So quietly you feel as if it wasn’t meant for your ears.

You situate yourself onto your knees and cradle the side of his helmet in one hand and hold his own hand in the other. “I love you too, Din. More than anything in the entire galaxy.”

You’ve been in a romantic relationship with Din for five years and you’ve heard those words a total of seven times. You savor every time he speaks them as it sounds like utter bliss to you.

“Ner kar’ta, I- I’d like to gift something to you, but I must know something first.”

“You can ask me anything, cyare.”

“I know I don’t tend to express my feelings and you may be thinking this is going to be a negative talk, but I promise it’s not.”

“I know it isn’t, my love. Even if it was, you’re not going anywhere.”

He chuckles at this and he nods. You know this is serious when his visor isn’t on your face.

“Mesh’la… Do you wa- Are you sure you…” he stops and clears his throat. “Cyare, do you plan on wanting to be stay? With me? I know we never talked about this, but I just thought it was time to bring it up.”

“Are you asking me if I want to stay by your side for the rest of my life, Din?”

He nods.

“Din, love, of course I want to be with you. We’ve only touched the surface. There’s so much left to do. You still haven’t given me a piece of your armor, we haven’t done a riduurok, and we haven’t raised warriors! You aren’t getting rid of me!” you joke.

He stays silent and you begin to think you may have gone too far. He opens one of his pouches on his belt. Your mind is saying he pulled out the blindfold he always carries for you to kiss you, but your heart wishes it’s something else.

Your heart wins.

He offers you a necklace. It consists of a maroon colored beskar ring clinging to a chain – his beskar. Before he can say anything, you jump on him and wrap your arms around him. He laughs and gives you a squeeze.

“I had a speech prepared, but I’d be very happy if I didn’t have to read it,” he sarcastically says. You can’t stop the tears running down your cheeks as you shake your head while you tell him he doesn’t have to. You know what he’s going to say and you know he’s going to stutter and shake. You know how much he loves you. You don’t need to hear him say it as his actions spoke volumes.

“I knew you didn’t lose your buckle to Paz! You rather lose me than your armor!”

“Don’t be dramatic. I’d rather lose my sponsorship then you.”

You playfully shove him. “Di’kut.” You grab your drink from your basket and take a swig from the cold liquid.

“Cyar’ika, w- would you like to marry me? Right now?”

You almost choke. You look at him with wide eyes. “What?”

“Is it too soon?”

You shake you head. “No, no it’s been five years. The elders probably think we’re crazy.” You both share a laugh. “But, if you’re ready Din, then yes. I’d love to marry you right now.”

He stands and helps you up. He grabs the chained ring and places it around your neck. You look down and the ring falls beautifully next to the other necklace you wear, a nexu signet - your father’s clan. You reach up and bring his head down to yours as you connect your foreheads together. As Mandalorian culture states, the warrior must begin the riduurok and every phrase must be said by each to be vowed.  

Din’s hands are shaking, you can feel them. He clears his voice, but it does little to stop it from cracking.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus d-dar’tome”

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome”

“M-Mhi me’dinui an”

“Mhi me’dinui an”

“mhi ba’juri ver-“

You feel his forehead leave yours and you open your eyes. You follow his gaze and your heart sinks. Far out in the distance you see imperial ships slowly coming through the clouds. You see bright red light coming from the capital and you begin to panic. You know he has to go fight. As much as you don’t want him to, there’s no debate. 

You both run to collect everything. He stops to look at you.

“Ni ceta, ner kar’ta. I promise that I-“ you stop him and bring his forehead down again.

“It is your duty to Mandalore, Din. I know you’ll protect us and you’ll come back to me. Promise me you’ll fight with everything in you. I can’t lose you too.”

“I promise.”

With that you pack the speeder and ride back into town, although as the war begins, you wished you had just taken Din away and ran.

Blaster shot after blaster shot. Dead body after another. The cries of children and the screaming of mothers trying to find their babies.

You hear a Mandalorian usher women and children into life-ships, each with two Mandalorians escorts. You get rushed closer and closer to one when you catch Din in the corner of your eye.

You run to him as you hear your name being called out by the other women. Din sees you and tackles you down. He pins you against a wall yelling at you to get into a ship and go. You put your hands on each side of his helmet. Both of you are crying wishing this was only a nightmare. 

“Din, please promise me you’ll find me. Promise me you’ll make it out of here and come back to me. I can’t live without you. Please promise me.”

His visor is trained on you as you hold onto each other tighter than ever. “I promise I’ll find you and when I do, we’ll properly marry and I’ll take you far away from here so we can start our own clan. Ner kar’ta, I promise you this with my entire being.”

A promise sealed with a keldabe kiss. He runs with you towards a ship. You both ask escorts where the ship is going. No one knows. You try running out of the ship, but Din only pushes you back in. You hear him tell you how much he loves you before he jumps off the ship right when the ramp starts to move. You sob as the ramp closes until the view of your maroon-clad love is completely gone.

Little did you know that the war zone you had just witnessed was the fall of Mandalore and the last time you’d see the love of your life for many years to come.

update (1.1.21): Part two to Maroon has been posted - Saguine

 mando’a translations:

riduur = spouse, husband, wife, partner

cyar’ika = darling, sweetheart

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum = I love you

ner kar’ta = my heart

mesh’la = beautiful

riduurok = love bond, specifically between spouses - marriage agreement

cyare = beloved

di’kut = idiot

Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde. = We are one whether we are together or apart, we will share everything and we will raise our children as warriors.

ni ceta = i’m sorry 

[fictionfeast]

Naruto will always have a target on his back.

Sasuke has a vague concept of hypothermia, but nothing past that. He knows when someone’s lips are more purple and blue than a bruise, but their body is no longer shaking, it’s a bad sign. He presses two fingers against the pulse in Naruto’s throat, moving around until he can finally feel the dull lob of a pulse.

There's a chance his pulse will slow down in a few minutes now that Naruto isn’t being drained for everything he’s worth, but that won’t help the lifeless state of Naruto’s skin, deadly pale.

Naruto’s heart is close to giving out.

He doesn’t have medic chakra. In a recent impassioned fit with Sakura, over Naruto’s kidnapping and Sasuke’s inability to keep a cool head, she snapped how this wasn’t nearly her first time. She seethed about the Akatsuki, about Pain, about the time she held Naruto’s heart in her hand and pumped it with her bare, bloody fingers to keep him alive, and how Sasuke wasn’t there for any of it.

The only time Sasuke had shoved his hand through Naruto’s chest—

He could try to use a low level chidori to restart Naruto’s heart as a last resort. Chidori isn’t designed to save the life it’s piercing.

The ceiling crumbles, iced rocks are tumbling and shattering in the underground cavern in the rural part of the Land of Snow, where Naruto has been held for weeks now. Sasuke has to move fast. He has to do something to help stabilize Naruto before moving him or else he’s going to die and electrocuting his heart is not a promising last resort.

“Naruto,” he calls to him. There’s an urgency in his voice, despite trying to keep ii calm. “Look at me. Naruto.”

Naruto doesn’t open his eyes.

Sasuke grits his teeth. He’s never tried Sharingan on an unconscious person and everything he knows about his eyes has been through practice. There were never scripts or scrolls on Sharingan,  but words passed down from generation to generation — fathers who brought their sons to battlefields to cause enough distress to awaken their eyes under the belief it was the only way, older brothers who tell their little brothers they have to kill their best friend, buzzwords like godly and cursed.

It’s never been an issue before now. It’s never been an issue not to know how the Sharingan actually works and what limits it may or may not possess when it has always been plenty strong enough unchecked on the battlefield. Sasuke intimately knows that it can overpower, yet knows nothing of its ability for how it can save a life.

He gently pulls Naruto’s eyelids open. Only the whites and veins show; his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

Sasuke wipes his hands on his pants to get off the grime and blood coating his fingertips, pulling one eyelid open, and carefully, uses his other set of fingers to roll one of Naruto’s eyes forward.

The connection between them clicks in an instant. He would be surprised any other time — that Sharingan can work on the unconscious.

Fear would work, Sasuke thinks, to force Naruto’s heart rate up, but it might be too forceful. It might just kill what’s left of his heart’s effort and give out. Fear is just the only emotion Sasuke has ever pulled forward from another person. It’s all he’s practiced, and therefore, it’s all he’s ever known. Fear it’s just opening the gateway, and the individual will fill it with images, sounds, feelings of fear throughout their life. When Itachi had used it on him, Sasuke had seen Itachi gouging out his eyeballs. When Sasuke used it on Danzo, Danzo saw Itachi.

He has to hope it’s the same for other emotions too.

Something quieter, something softer, but still makes the heart flutter.

Anticipation.

It comes without needing to dig for it.

Sasuke breathes out, holding onto that feeling, chasing it down inside of Naruto like a fox down a rabbithole. Maybe this is why there are no scripts or scrolls on Sharingan when it’s so deeply connected to the psyche. To feelings. To thoughts. To pieces of humanity more abstract than the chemicals in a brain.

Fear inside of people is different. He doesn’t need to chase it. It’s like dark water right at the edge, all it takes is a little weight for it to spill.

It takes him a second to catch it, but when he does—

It’s him.

Sasuke almost reroutes, he must have gone down the wrong path, and he doesn’t have the time to make a mistake—

It’s him again.

Sasuke.

Sasuke laying in the grass beside Naruto and Sasuke remembers this. After a few rounds of sparring, they were taking a break, and Sasuke had sat down and leaned back to watch Naruto look over the edge of the mountain ledge. He remembers watching Naruto close his eyes, watching as the strong winds ran through his hair and through his clothes, like it belonged to him and he belonged to it, and when Naruto had opened his eyes and noticed Sasuke staring—

Naruto’s heart flutters.

In his chest, it picks up pace. Sasuke hesitates at the direction this is going, at what bubbles so quickly and prominently to the surface. Things that Sasuke isn’t supposed to see, but Naruto can’t afford Sasuke to hesitate. His life depends on it.

So Sasuke doesn’t.

The way his hands move and Naruto watches without Sasuke having ever realized, every smile, few and far in between they are, Naruto holds them close, and Sasuke can feel that too, as well as he can feel his heart rate jump at the unfolding memories; the times they’ve pinned each other down, Sasuke playfully taunting him, Sasuke touching him—

No. This isn’t a memory, not entirely, it’s a memory of a fantasy, and Naruto’s heartbeat remembers it—

All it takes is for the thrum of Naruto’s heart to feel a little stronger than before, before Sasuke opens a portal and pulls them both inside.

It took Sasuke several attempts to figure out how Obito used these dimensions so effectively to essentially teleport. Obito could open a portal right above someone’s shoulder without being a single inch off. Several attempts that could have ended far worse than it did — ending up in the Mizukage’s headquarters, another time at the bottom of a lake, and another in the secret scroll room of Amegakure — and it hadn’t been until Sasuke forced Naruto and Shikamaru into helping that they learned it had nothing to do with coordinates and how the space in Kaguya’s dimensions correlated with their world. It was a simpler concept, to Sasuke’s demise. He would have done better with coordinates.

You just had to imagine where you wanted to be.

Sasuke’s imagination is a little lackluster, and at the most, existent but never highly specific.

It’s never an issue if he’s conjuring to open a portal somewhere that he’s been before, but that’s because it’s a memory. He can’t use a memory right now. He specifically needs to get Naruto warm, submerged in warmth, and get his body temperature back up, and he can’t go too far, because while the concept of teleportation is simpler one might imagine, it sill has a toll.

The same amount of chakra it would require to travel that distance, except it hits all at once opposed to the days it would take on foot, and then some.

On his already depleted chakra.

Submerged in warmth and all the distance they can without killing him is an idea but it’s not specific. Which is why when Sasuke opens another portal open with Rinnegan, Naruto in his arms, they don’t land somewhere ideal like the nearest hot springs, where no one else would get involved — no one should get involved, these people are dangerous and will be tracking them — but the hot springs are exposed and open, and Sasuke can’ quite help that in his list of mental requirements while opening the portal, Naruto’s safety comes as a priority.

They land in the bathtub of the Kazekage’s brother.

Kankuro’s hand is still on the doorknob, his other hand occupied with a cross stitch, eyes wide with surprise. He is, in fact, bare ass naked.

“Hah?” Kankuro voices. He takes one look at the two figures, before grabbing his pants draped over the sink. He storms out of the bathroom, shinobi instinct kicking in without fault. “We need some medics in here! Hey, you— you punk, get a medic!”

Sasuke maneuvers his hand to wrap around Naruto’s chest, to keep him from slumping into the water. It’s still running. The faucet. The bath is hot and full with the space of two bodies, and Sasuke doesn’t process a goddamn thing except moving far enough back against the back of the tub, giving Naruo as much room as possible to submerge his body in the heat.

It occurs to him there’s likely some type of rewarming shock someone can go into — forced from one extremity to the other — that protocol may require a slower transition once the hypothermia has reached past a certain point. He doesn’t know how plausible it is. He doesn’t know if holding someone’s body in hot water is dangerous at whichever stage of hypothermia Naruto is in, but the alternative has to be worse. Naruto is built for impact—

A little shock won’t kill him.

Sasuke tells himself rather desperately, unaware of how quickly the water turns a bright shade of red, a lucid mixture of Naruto’s blood and his own. He finds Naruto’s pulse again, skin wet and sticky, pressing against his throat. It’s still there, he’s still alive.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Martial Arts.”

Had this lined up for today based on two requested ideas given to me by readers. I hope you like it and have a great day!

“I think you’re really going to like this.”

“So I assume it involves beating the ever-loving shit out of someone.” 

Adam grinned, “Exactly.”

Sunny cheered and Krill sighed, “Why do you two always insist on having the most violent pastimes.”

“I promise today is ALSO educational. Now stop being a stick in the mud. I am sure you will find use for yourself today.”

Krill sighed but allowed them to continue on. The Admiral was wearing a duffel bag over one shoulder, and the tennis shoes he was wearing, alone with the shots suggested that he intended to participate in some sort of physical activity. The same shades of blue light flickered over his prosthetic leg and those that licked over hers, and even from here, he could hear the soft whirring of the machine.

Sunny craned her neck at the city around them trying to figure out where they were being taken, and neither of them figured it out until the admiral cut right and shouldered open the door to a large building. 

Stepping inside they were greeted with a waft of warm, humid air. The ground under their feet was squishy, made of some sort of synthetic material, and all around the room humans in various stages of physical activity dominated the landscape.

The predominant sound was that of flesh impacting padded bags as humans -- both bare knuckled -- and wearing padded gloves punched and kicked and violently strove to beat the ever loving shit out of inanimate hanging objects. Krill wanted in surprise and -- what would have been horror if he wasn’t so used to being appalled-- as two humans sparred together in a ring lined with three large ropes.

They were padded, with gloves and face masks and helmets of some sort, but that gave them free reign to punch and kick each other silly, until one of the humans grabbed the other by the arm and flipped backwards throwing them both to the ground with a violent thud.

Across the room, humans wearing strange white uniforms tied with colorful belts moved in synchronization to the call of a master. He'd punch and then kick and then block venting air by way of shouts.

Sunny turned in a tight circle, her eyes wide as they fell on another padded platform, this time in an octagonal shape, and bounded by a chain link energy cage.

Inside two women were roused to blood, fighting with nothing but barely padded gloves and the clothes on their back.

One of the women managed to throw the other to the ground and for a second they were a mass of tangled limbs before she had her arms around the other’s neck squeezing tight. Krill stepped forward but a sharp tap on the arm of one woman to the other caused the winner to let go, and the fighters to return to their feet, one rubbing her soar neck..

“What is this place?” Sunny asked, in absolute awe

Adam grinned, “This, my fine friend is what humans call a dojo. Not exactly sure where the word comes from per say, but I am pretty sure it originated in asia more than two thousand years ago and basically means a location where people train in the art of hand to hand combat. 

Sunny turned her head again eyes wide as another two men grappled each other to the floor hands gripping onto each other’s uniforms tugging and pulling and trying to swipe with their feet.

“It all looks so… different.”

Adam nodded, “That's because it is. There are hundreds of different fighting systems developed by humanity over the years, sort of like how you have different spear stances in your culture fire versus water, accept these ones work on different principals.

He motioned to the square ring, “Boxing for instance focuses a lot of its attention on punches specifically. Historically the rules required that you couldn't use elbows knees or kicks, and your punches had to land above the belt, or at least that’s what I remember. He turned to point at the other side of the room where the men and women in white were still busy in their forms. Stuff like Karate Kung Fu and others are sort of more about forms and techniques. I would say that that sort of fighting is more of a philosophy or a way of life than anything, and very ancient.”

He then turned to look at the two men still wrestling on the floor, “Then there is Jiu Jitsu, a form of combat that relies on submission and grappling. USe the weakness of an enemies body against them, use their weight, use the weakness of their wrists and elbows and knees and neck. Jiu Jitsu is likely to always end up on the ground. It is similar to wrestling, though wrestling requires than you pin the other person’s shoulders to the ground.

Krill turned to look at Sunny’s face and would have rolled his eyes at the giddy expression she had if it weren't for his inability to actually roll his eyes.

“Why are there so many types?’

Adam paused tapping his chin, “Well, humanity has always been working to find a system that works best. In many cases it started with a philosophy of some kind. IN certain cases it was poise, or focus or any number of things. Monks dedicated their entire lives to the mastery and perfection of a single art of combat. In a way it was almost like meditation that could be used in times of need. Some martial arts required steal or quick movement which spawned stuff like Ninjitsu and still live son in spots like parkour despite it not being a combat sport.”

He lend them further into the room, “A lot of them spawned out of the fact that humans just love to fight, we love to see who is physically better. It made it’s way to the olympics, and then into popular culture. Wrestling, while a great athletic endeavor was just as much a theater production as it was anything else and requires an understanding between two parties to put on the most dramatic show possible.”

He walked over a few feet pausing before the octagon, “Then someone had the idea of what would happen if you put the different martial arts up against each other in a contest of who is better hence Mixed Martial Arts fought in an octagon just like this. At first practitioners of one discipline were pitted against each other to see who was better.” He rested his hand against one of the braces, “In the end it ended up weeding out a lot of the older forms of martial arts which were more a form of art than actual fighting. Philosophy wasn’t exactly helpful in the octagon, and many of the flashier forms, while they looked cool in practice turned out to be impractical in the ring.

He dropped his bag to the floor, reaching in to take out a pair of gloves, “The idea became that the more brutal straight to the point contact sports were most superior.”

Sunny crossed her arms, “So what is it, which martial art is more superior?”

Adam grinned, “That’s the catch… all of them are.”

“What do you mean.”

“All of them are assuming you put them together. Fighters that were well versed in multiple styles of fighting were the most victorious.” he fell into a standard human fighting posture feet shoulder width one foot before the other hands up and loose before his face neck down, “If you can punch like a boxer, Kick like a Muay Thai fighter, grapple like a Jiu Jitsu master and put all of it together, you may have more than a chance of winning.” he patted the side of the cage, “The general consensus is that the best kind of fighting is one that doesnt just take focus from one discipline, it is someone who can take the best things from all the disciplines and put them together all at once.”

Sunny looked on rather hungrily at the ring.

“Let’s do it.”

He grinned back, “I thought you might be interested.

Krill just shook his head and backed away, leave it to the drev and the human to find one of the most dangerous pastimes in the world. Who would have thought that philosophy could span a better way to kick the shit out of someone.

Kril Turned his head to look around the room and was surprised at all the thighs he saw. He may not have agreed with the martial arts necessarily, but there was something to be said about the variety, and the sort of human that came out of it. The men and women he could see practicing were, without a doubt some of the fittest humans he had ever laid eyes on, and he spent his time with a crew that wasn’t likely to shirt their physical health.

Men and women alike glistened with lean muscle sharp and prominent against their sweat glazed skin. Hands punched bags over and over and over again. In certain cases he watched as men and women kicked wooden poles repeatedly ramming their shins against the unforgiving surface their faces barely showing any hint of pain,

The feats of acrobatics which they managed, and the way they utilized their center of gravity was astonishing. He saw a five foot woman throw a two hundred pound man over her head simply by throwing herself to her back and kicking the other man over.

While weight and size seemed to matter to some degree there were a few humans here who didn’t seem to care.

Sunny and Adam were on the other side of the room Adam explaining the idea of kinetic linking to sunny, how by moving your body, you could force the power from your feet, all the way up through your legs hips and back and into a single punch making it more powerful.

Krill could see, on a physiological standpoint where that was true.

He even watched for a few sessions as Sunny and Adam went a few rounds Adam winning a surprising amount of times for someone who was so small, but often using the techniques that Krill was seeing around the room.

It was only after they had taken a break and were gearing up to go again that Krill noticed another human walk onto the floor. He was an older human, the pigment having faded from his hair long ago, bleaching him silver. Despite that, the man had the body of someone half his age, lean and sinuous, veins crawling up his arms like the vines of a tree.

Adam was just pulling on his gloves when the man stepped up.

“Excuse me, son.”

Adam lifted his head standing when the man approached, “Can I help you.”

The man set down his bag. Based on his voice, the man was clearly an older gentlemen though Krill had trouble guessing. Either way he had the opinion that this guy probably should take it easier than this palace suggested.

“I hate to ask, but My sparring partner is sick today, and I was wondering if you might consider a round or two. You look spry enough.”

Adam blinked in surprise but then shrugged, “Yeah sure I guess.” The way his ione eye traveled over the man suggested he was having the same thoughts as krill. He seemed like he was a bit too old to be doing something like this. Krill worried that he could potential break or tear something , but no one said a word as the man set down his bag and took a few minutes to stretch.

Krill was a bit more than surprised at the flexibility of the old man who managed a full split in both directions after warming up.

Adam seemed a little less sure of himself upon seeing that.

He definitely could not do that.

The old guy’s face was lined with delicate wrinkles through the skin, the body becoming less taught with age, but when the two of them hopped up into the ring, the older man seemed just as energetic as Adam, which seemed surprising.

No matter though, as old as he was, he would probably tire pretty easily.

“What do you say, no crotch shots and no eye gouging.” Adam announced and the old man agreed as they moved into position.

Krill and Sunny came to the side of the cage to watch as the two men squared off.

Adam kept his hands a bit relaxed, still guarded but not too concerned.

The older man didn’t keeping tight and low as they circled for a bit.

“You’ll want to keep up your guard, son.” The man chided, and adam smiled but pulled his hands in tighter.

Krill tapped his fingers.

Sunny smirked as if she knew something he didn’t

They exchanged a few blows, Adam going eas and the old guy, well being old and slow as Krill had expected. Adam’s guard began to drop again, and then all of a sudden out of absolutely nowhere there was a sharp blur of motion and a loud THWACK. 

Adam hit the ground hard dazed and confused as the old man stood over him.

Sunny ohhhhed in absolute glee.

Krill hissed in pain.

Adam had just been round kicked to the head.

“I told you to keep your guard up.” The old man said, reaching down a hand to help Adam to his feet, “probably also a good idea not to underestimate senior citizens.”

Adam rubbed his head, “Ok, ok I deserved that. Let's go another round.”

“You sure, you got your memory jogged kind of hard there.”

Adam shook himself and squared back up, his guard tight this time, “bring it on grandpa.”

The old man smiled and fell back into his stance. This time Adam was not smoking, and his expression was hard as he stared at the old man. Adam came forward with a jab which the man blocked and they exchanged a few punches catching each other only grazing blows as they hit. 

Adam got a kick to the upper leg,, the old man took a body shot that should have downed him, but by the staggering way Adam moved to the side suggested he had kicked something as hard as a brick wall.

The old man moved forward and the two of them were suddenly head to head, hands gripping shoulders, fingers digging into shirts, before any of them knew what happened Adam was thrown to the ground his wrist held tightly in the other man’s hands,

He tried to get up but the old man leaped down after him throwing his legs over Adams chest and positioning his elbow over his hips.

He arched his back subtly which had Adam tapping one of his legs frantically.

He let go and the two disengaged.

Sunny cheered.

Adam rubbed his elbow, “Armbar?”

The old man smiled, “I’m old boy, not an invalid.”

Adam raised an eyebrow, “I can see that. How about another round.”

With a teasing smile the old human winked a grey eye, “Only if you want to get beat again.”

Adam snorted, “yeah not so sure about that.” he squared up, “Besides, today’s early bird special is on a knuckle sandwich.”

The old man wiggled his head mockingly, “Oh a wise guy eh.”

Once Upon a time Krill would have assumed they were being aggressive in their words, but the cadence and the smiles on their faces assured him that, despite their actions, this was a friendly fight.

And how strange it was to see someone like the old man holding up so well against someone less than twice his age. By all rights Adam should have beaten him easily, but this old human despite his looks was more than what he appeared. Krill was going to have to do some more research on human aging processes, for there was something he felt he was missing.

The two had squared up again, dancing around in a circle as they came in repeatedly for attacks. Adam tried to get the upper hand with a sudden flurry of blows but the old man weathered it using precision to his advantage with precis body shots that had Adam packing off huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf.

At some point Adam did something neither of them had ever see, grabbing the man under his arms and turning, flipping the man over the fulcrum of his hips and sending him flowing into the ground. Adam jumped after trying to claim full mount but the old man somehow flipped him to the side and reversed it catching Adam around the back of the neck with a forearm.

The flat of his forearm went across Adam’s throat, his legs wrapped around his middle, and his opposite hand grabbed onto his wrist. As he squeezed, he also elongated his body..

Krill stepped forward hand out afraid the man was going to pop his cervical spine apart until Adam tapped falling to the ground with a grunt.

“Ok ok, ONE more time.” Adam said wobbling to his feet

The old man followed after grinning, “Whatever you say.”

This last fight went much like the one before it. An exchange up top and a sudden move onto the ground, though this time the man trapped adam using his legs, thighs constricting around the side of his neck.

Adam was still breathing just fine, until his body slumped to the side.

Krill leaped forward in shock and confusion thinking that the man had somehow injured his neck, killed him. But almost as soon as the man let go Adam twitched and then sat up looking groggy.

“What the.”

“You were supposed to tap before passing out.”

Adam rubbed his head, “Was that a triangle choke… didn’t even feel like I was choking.”

Krill stormed forward, “What happened! Adam are you alright. Do I need to call the police.”

Adam waved him off, “It was a blood choke krill, he temporarily cut off blood supply to my brain, no big deal.”

“No big deal!” Krill shreakied, “How is it having blood in your brain NOT a big deal.’

Sunny cheered with glee behind Krill’s protests leaping up into the ring and towards the old man, “Can you teach me.”

The old man seemed surprised, but agreed and glanced oer at Adam, “Someone needs some extra lessons anyway.”

Adam snorted and rolled his eyes but otherwise took it with good humor.

Krill sat fuming in the corner.

Humans, frigging humans always finding ways to hurt themselves. Crushing each other’s windpipes and cutting off carotid arteries, and bending joints that weren't supposed to be bent, and all for what because it was FUN to look STRONGER. He couldn't believe this.

Stupid 

Stupid humans.

He was going to have to tell someone. He was going to have to rant.

He was…..

Probably going to write an academic paper, though he was going to be angry while doing it. 

[boonki]

Ooh!!! "No more today, you’re at your limit.” ? ❣❣

Hi anon!! Thank you so much for sending this prompt in, I had so much fun writing it (also thank you for waiting, I’ve been a little slow with writing lately) 

do we want 3.2k of obikin in the bath? idk but i wrote it! (also do the apartments in the jedi temple even have baths? idk. in this story they do LMAO)

as always, i write at 3 am, so if there are any mistakes, please.. just dont look at them

enjoy!! 💖

____

Obi-wan throws a side kick that lands square in Anakin’s stomach, sending him stumbling backwards. He rolls over a shoulder, ready for the next attack. He blocks a fist to the face, and counters with a punch to Obi-wan’s stomach, which is easily batted to the side. 

They’ve been going at it for hours, lightsabers tossed to the side in favor of hand-to-hand combat. Their robes lay messily off to the side of the training room, discarded hours ago as the room sweltered in the summer heat, the pair left only in their pants rolled up at the ankles. Anakin can see Obi-wan faltering, making easy mistakes that cost him light bruises; he must be incredibly tired, just having returned lightly injured from a mission to the Outer Rim. Anakin would so much rather see Obi-wan resting and curled up over a cup of tea, or taking a nap on Anakin’s chest so he can pet his hair down and hold him. But Obi-wan had wanted to spar, and Anakin would never say no to that. 

Anakin sees the opportunity and tackles Obi-wan to the ground, straddling his bare stomach and pinning his arms above his head. Obi-wan bucks his hips to roll Anakin over, but Anakin had been prepared for that, digging his knees into the mat to keep grounded. Both of their chests are heaving, and a droplet of sweat drips off of Anakin’s chin and onto Obi-wan’s neck. 

“I think we should call it quits for today, old man.” Anakin releases his grip on Obi-wan’s wrists and perches back on his heels, looking down at him. 

Obi-wan smirks. “And stop while you’re ahead? No, let’s go again.” He makes to get up, pushing his elbows into the mat, but Anakin stops him with a hand to his chest. 

“I’m serious. No more today, you’re at your limit. You’re going to hurt yourself.” Anakin’s tone is serious as he can be, his eyebrows raised, features stern. 

Obi-wan falls back to the ground, closing his eyes as he catches his breath. “As far as I was aware, it’s you hurting me, but point taken, love. You win.” 

Anakin leans down and pecks a kiss to his cheek, tasting salt, and stretches his lips in a wide smile. “I’ll grab us dinner from Dex’s and I’ll meet you back in our quarters, okay?” He shifts his weight to the side so he can slide off of Obi-wan, wincing at the ache in his already sore muscles. “And go shower? You need one.” 

Obi-wan shoots him a wry look. “What, you don’t like the smell of sweat? I can’t, anyhow, I have to go report to the council first.” 

“Do you want your usual?” Anakin ignores his sarcasm and hops to his feet, making his way towards their forgotten robes, wishing he had remembered to bring a towel with him. 

“Of course, darling.” Obi-wan answers from the floor, still lying on his back with his arms stretched out above his head. 

Anakin dons his robes loosely, grabbing his ‘saber from the floor, and takes in the sight: Obi-wan is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, making him glow, and his hair is pushed back, giving him an oddly attractive tousled look. Anakin’s dick twitches in his pants, wanting to do nothing more than take him apart right then and there. But the desire to get some food in Obi-wan and see him rest and relax overwhelms the sexual urge. There will be time for that later on, no doubt. 

He makes his way back to Obi-wan in easy, long strides and squats down, kissing him sideways, holding his sweaty head in between his palms. “I’m serious, you stink. The council can wait. Go shower.” 

Obi-wan snorts. “No, they really can’t. Tell Dex I said hello.” 

____

Anakin shuffles through Padme’s favorite body shop, where she used to drag him when they had briefly dated years prior. He never would’ve admitted it to her, but he relished the fancy baths she had created for them, and had returned to the shop alone innumerable times since they politely ended things. His body always thanked him after a hot soak. 

With how tired Obi-wan seemed when he had come back from his mission and padded into their quarters earlier, and how sore he must be after today’s intense practice, Anakin wants to do something special for him. Besides, they’ve barely been able to spend time together because of the war, and Anakin misses it just being the two of them. He hopes the bath won’t be too much for Obi-wan, but he knows the man has a soft spot for fancy things under that rigid exterior. 

The shop is crammed and dense, with low ceilings littered with dried flowers hanging upside down, casting a faint rose hue over the entire place. Soaps in muted colors, wrapped in bright shades of paper line the walls, leading down to the wooden tables that hold syrupy oils and linen bags of flowers and herbs. Coarse soaps and lotions in clear tubs sit in wire baskets underneath the tables. The whole room smells like a meadow in bloom, and Anakin eyes the candles burning in the corners of the room in consideration. 

Thankfully, he’s the only one in the shop currently, so he can take his time picking the right products. He pops the cork out of a bottle of bath oil and takes a whiff: light, and flowery, with a faint hint of jasmine. Throwing it in his cart, he adds some cream soap, and, hesitating a little, a bag of assorted flower petals to hover on the surface of the water. He already has floating candle lights for the bath at home. 

“Are you all set?” Sasha, the elegant female Twi’lek that owns the shop, leans against the register, eyeing him fondly. She used to tease him all the time about coming here alone, but they’ve moved past that, into a tentative friendship. 

“Yeah.” He slides his basket onto the counter between them. 

She eyes his items, cocking an eyebrow. “Is this for someone special?” 

He can feel the blood rushing into his cheeks and ears, but doesn’t want to admit it one way or the other. “Maybe.” 

She barks out a laugh at his bashfulness. “Lucky person, whoever it is.” 

“Uh.” He doesn’t really know how to answer that. “Thanks?” 

Her smile is playful, like he’s a child that just said something particularly cute. With the efficiency of someone who’s been doing it for years, she rings out the total and wraps all the items up in a paper satchel, sliding it back across the counter at him. 

“That’s going to be 83 credits.” 

He really hopes the council doesn’t look into his expenses, he wouldn’t know what to tell them. 

____

The door to their quarters swings open cautiously and Anakin peeps inside, worried that he took too long. After popping by the body shop, he swung by Dex’s as promised, and Dex had wanted to catch up, and rightfully so; it had been too long. Anakin had shifted from foot to foot the entire time though, anxious about getting home to draw the bath before Obi-wan returned from meeting with the council. But Dex is a viable source of information, a fantastic cook, and most importantly, a long time and loyal friend, so Anakin had plastered a good natured grin on his face and quieted the nag of unease in his stomach. 

The living room and kitchen is quiet, and Anakin doesn’t hear any noise coming from either the ‘fresher or their bedrooms. Anakin is in the clear. 

He drops the food off unceremoniously onto the kitchen counter, throwing his outer robes over a chair on his way to the ‘fresher, bag of goods in hand. Flipping on the light, he starts up the hot water and pulls out the candle lights that sit underneath the sink. As the scalding water rises to the top, he pours in the oil and soap, and sprinkles the flower petals across the water, deliberately placing the candle lights in last so he could perfect their destination. They glow to life as soon as they make contact with the water, and Anakin smiles at the sight. 

Stretching back up to stand, he turns the light off and shifts the door shut, letting the dim incandescence float through the room, a heavy orange that immediately adds intimacy to the space.

He has to admit, he’s outdone himself. 

Then: a creak of a door hinge, the shuffling of tired steps, and crinkling of the take-out bag as Obi-wan no doubts sneaks a fry in before Anakin catches him. 

Anakin bounds back to the kitchen, like a child bursting at the seams. 

“I have a surprise, before we eat,” he says to Obi-wan’s back. (He is sneaking a fry.)

“That’s never good.” Obi-wan replies, turning around to lean back against the counter, chewing thoughtfully. 

“All my surprises are good surprises.” 

“Oh, like the time you superglued my datapad to the ceiling so I would pay more attention to you? You could have just asked, dear one.” 

Anakin huffs, and covers the distance between them in two short strides, nudging Obi-wan towards the ‘fresher, covering both of Obi-wan’s eyes with his hands. 

“Just,” Anakin murmurs, “trust me on this one.” 

They lumber towards the ‘fresher, Anakin pushing a blinded Obi-wan forwards with each step. When they make their way to the entrance, Anakin stops them, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Smells good, at the very least.” Obi-wan hums, in no hurry to have his sight back. 

Anakin, however, cannot wait and eagerly pulls his hands back, watching Obi-wan’s face for a reaction. 

The smile begins in Obi-wan’s eyes as they crinkle, and then it moves down to his cheeks and into his mouth, which is pulled back in a twisted, tender way. Joy sings through every feature, and Anakin is elated. 

Obi-wan turns his head to look at him, his gaze tender. “Is this for me?” 

Anakin bites the inside of his cheek. “For us, to share, if you want. Unless you want to be alone, I’m more than happy to go lay down, but I thought-” 

“For us, then.” Obi-wan leans in and kisses him on the jaw, already undressing. For the second time that day, Anakin looks down at a small heap of clothing. He closes the ‘fresher door behind them. 

As soon as he slides his legs into the water, Obi-wan moans, and Anakin, no matter how many times he’s heard it, blushes, his breath quickening. Obi-wan is somehow both the most proper, and most obscene person Anakin has ever had the good graces of knowing. 

The petals dance away from Obi-wan, ripples in the water sending them cascading in circles. “Come on, then,” he says to Anakin, who is still staring down at him with a dopey smile on his face. 

Anakin makes quick work of his clothing, standing naked next to the bath. He motions for Obi-wan to lean forward so he can nestle in behind him. 

The water is still piping hot, almost uncomfortably so, but Anakin makes a small ahh noise at the feeling of it on his sore muscles. He snakes his legs on each side of Obi-wan, pulling him back so that Obi-wan’s back lays flush against his chest, having to shoo a candle light out of the way. It bumbles along their sides, and out towards their entangled legs, illuminating the peachy bubbles and sunset tinged petals that bob in their wake. Obi-wan tilts his head back, resting it on Anakin’s shoulder, and sighs in contentment. 

He drops a kiss on Obi-wan’s temple, breathing him in, his arms finding their home around Obi-wan’s waist. The skin on Obi-wan chest, arms, and face glimmer in the candlelight, flickering orange, more radiant than any Tatooine sunset, and Anakin wants to fall face first into the radiant gleam of his heart, wants to crawl into Obi-wan’s chest and bask in the warmth of his love, his light. 

“This is lovely,” Obi-wan whispers, fluttering his eyes closed. “Thank you.” 

Anakin’s hold around his middle tightens a bit in response, trailing a hand up and down Obi-wan’s stomach in repetition, a mindless gesture. “You seem tired lately.”

Obi-wan turns his head toward Anakin’s, resting his forehead in the crook of Anakin’s neck. He doesn’t get a response for a few heartbeats, and Anakin wonders if Obi-wan heard him. And then: 

“Well, we are at war.” Obi-wan’s tone is flat, nondescript. Anakin knows Obi-wan is mincing his words for his sake, and as a bad habit of holding tight to all of his problems, like sharing them would break him. Anakin wants to share the load with him, help carrying the burden. 

“Are you sure that’s all?” He mumbles into Obi-wan’s humid forehead, sweat beginning to glisten at his hairline from the searing water. 

Obi-wan lets out the faintest of sighs through his nose, carefully considering his response. “I wish I…,” he grabs Anakin’s hands in the water, laying them on top and threading his fingers into Anakin’s, “I wish I could help more. Do more. None of it ever feels enough.” 

Anakin gazes over their tangled legs, barely visible underneath the bubbles drifting over the surface, and aches all over at the thought of Obi-wan feeling inadequate. He wishes Obi-wan could see himself as Anakin sees him: brave, selfless, the entire backbone of the war, and a brilliant General and inspiring leader. Anakin has, and would a million times over, follow him into the depths of hell. The petals stick to their skin, creating a small halo of reds and purples where their bodies meet the water.

“You’re doing enough.” Anakin sighs. “You barely sleep, you’re always doing briefings and writing reports, and when we’re finally on a break you’re off training younglings, sitting in for the council, kriffing asking for sparring practice.” He huffs a laugh of disbelief into Obi-wan’s hairline. “You practically run this war yourself sometimes. When do you ever rest?” 

Obi-wan is silent for some time, probably thinking of some way to deflect everything. He comes back with rare and unusual honesty. “It feels selfish, taking time for myself when I know there are people out there dying. Innocent people.” 

Anakin scoffs. “How are you supposed to help them if you’re ready to keel over yourself, hm?” 

“We’re jedi, that’s what we do. Besides,” Obi-wan rubs his face on Anakin’s neck, tone turning sweet, “I have you to make sure I don’t.” 

Anakin grins into the wet curve of his head, his hair plastered to his skull from the steam wafting up around them, making the edges of the room disappear into a soft and warm fog. 

“You’re enough, and you deserve rest.” He plants an overdone kiss on Obi-wan’s skull, rougher than usual to make a point. 

Obi-wan hums noncommittally and tightens his hold on Anakin’s hands, somehow sinking further into Anakin’s chest. 

He squeezes once and then untangles his fingers from Obi-wan’s hold to trace over his body. The tops of his thighs are as far as Anakin can reach, so he starts there, letting his fingertips graze over sensitive and supple skin, over soft hair and old scars. He moves to the base of Obi-wan’s stomach, purposefully ignoring his cock in favor of showering him with pure adoration and affection. He’ll let his hands wander there after they’ve eaten and gotten into bed. 

Anakin loves the broad plain of Obi-wan’s chest, loves to rest his head on it after a long day, so he spends extra time there, dragging his fingernails across the pink skin, smoothing the sting down with the flat of his palm. He glides up to Obi-wan’s neck and into the base of his auburn hair, gently massaging the tense bundles of nerves that always seem to gather after a long and stressful day, and Obi-wan melts into him, humming sleepily. 

Overwhelmed that Obi-wan is his, that this breathtaking man is resting in his arms, seeping into his chest and finding home in his heart, he can’t help but want to stay like this forever: clean, warm, safe, and together. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Anakin breathes out, voice cracking, “and I love you so much.” 

The petals gleam in agreement, hovering in reverence near him, their red hues like Anakin’s beating heart, holding Obi-wan in place. He understands their predicament; he, too, would bloom and fall and bloom and fall for this man, would reach out as far as he can from the wet and mossy ground to be regarded and gazed at, plucked and taken home. Even if it meant dying, wilting away, it would be worth it to be held near his face, to be carefully tucked into a vase to watch over him in the final days. Him and these flowers are one and the same, always gravitating towards the brightest point in the room, his sun, his reason for blooming. 

Soft and slow breaths escape Obi-wan, and his chest evens out in a regular cadence. He must have fallen asleep. Good, Anakin thinks. 

Anakin holds him close and watches the bubbles pop, one by one, as the time passes. Candlelight reflects off of the still surface of the water, the rise and fall of Obi-wan’s chest the only movement causing faint ripples. This is the closest he’s come to meditation lately, and it feels so wonderful. 

He’s not sure what time it is, and can’t be bothered to care if anyone has comm’d him. Here in the four corners of their shared space is Anakin’s entire universe, and bliss simmers in his chest. 

Anakin’s fingers are starting to prune and sweat drips off of chin. The water is starting to cool, though, and if Obi-wan hadn’t been stuck to his body, he probably would want to get out. He doesn’t want to wake him though, as sleep is rare and precious these days. 

His stomach, however, has a different idea, and growls loudly, startling Obi-wan awake, who chuckles at the sound. 

“Maybe we should go eat that food you brought back,” he teases. 

Anakin can’t help the guilty smile that creeps its way onto his face. “How does eating and going back to sleep sound?” 

“Sounds like the best plan you’ve ever improvised, my dear.” 

Anakin makes a psh noise. “I don’t ever improvise.” 

Obi-wan scoffs, a high pitched laugh from the back of his throat. “So this was all planned, then?” 

Anakin sees the opportunity and takes it. “What, falling in love with you? No, but that has been my greatest achievement this far.” 

Obi-wan raises his head from Anakin’s shoulder and meets him at eye level, twisting his body around to kiss Anakin deeply, biting his lower lip and sucking. Anakin snakes a hand to the back of his head and kisses back, trying to pour all his love, his entire heart, all of him, into Obi-wan’s mouth. He wants Obi-wan to pluck him, and know he loves me, he loves me, he loves me with the pull of each petal. 

Obi-wan breaks their kiss and leans back, staring into his eyes. “Well, unlike you, I do actually plan, and my greatest achievement this far will be devouring the order of fries waiting for me in the kitchen.” 

Anakin laughs, and flicks water at his face.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

NSFW Alphabet: Crosshair

A/N: Not officially a request, but I thought I’d better cover the whole Bad Batch while I’m at it. And as a reminder, remember to REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS!!! The tumblr tags are fickle at best and it’s the only real way to support creators on this hellsite.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He’s always stuck between wanting to keep your body against him, but at the same time not wanting to come across as needy. He’ll probably start kissing your shoulders and neck, before nipping at the skin and telling you to go take a shower. Once you do, he’ll try to play it cool like, “you can stick around if you want, not that I care either way”. But, he does. He does care.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes your waist. Odd, but true. It’s the natural place to put his hands when he pulls you close to him. He likes the way you shiver when he runs his fingers along your skin. Not to mention it’s the perfect place to grip you as his fucks you senseless.

For himself, he likes his legs. Yeah, they’re not as thick or muscular compared to regs, but they’re distinctly his. Plus even if he’s not any taller, it helps with the illusion that he is.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

His favorite place to cum is all over your chest and stomach. Seeing you a sweating, blissed out mess with his cum sticking to your skin is the single hottest image his mind can come up with. Second only to you hazily swiping his cum onto you finger and sucking with a moan.

You better be prepared if you do that because you won’t be able to walk the next day.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He has an impressive collection of dirty holos you’ve sent to him while away on missions.  He’s kept every single one.  It’s gotten to the point where he just picks a random holo and that’s the fantasy he indulges in to get himself off until he can see you again.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Like the rest of the batch, he’s had a pretty healthy string of one night stands since leaving Kamino. He actually has the most notches on his bed post which he is not ashamed to bring up whenever Wrecker is getting just a little too cocky. So, he’s pretty experienced all things considered.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Taking you from behind and against a wall. That’s the popular image of him in the fandom and I’m ain’t here to dispute it.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Not funny, but he’s definitely a smug asshole who can’t help but comment on every sound you make.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He keeps it pretty well groomed down there, almost complete shaven.  Also, dark hair down below, if you’re curious. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

It’s very rare for Crosshair to be emotional in bed.  He uses sex more as a way to get rid of tension or get a solid hit of dopamine.  Actually being open with someone is not something he’s comfortable with.

The most intimate he gets is when he feels he might lose you, either in the field or to another man.  Then, he uses it as a way to assure himself you’re with him and his. In that case, it can get pretty intense.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He jacks off often, before and after meeting you.  He’s got a higher sex drive than his brothers and needs someway to work off the tension after a mission.  He prefers doing it in the shower when he has the time, but he’ll honestly whip it out anyplace where he can get some privacy for fifteen minutes.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Let it be recorded that Crosshair is not only a Dom, but the only true Dom in entire Grand Army of the Republic. (With the exception of Commander Wolffe.)

Seriously, the man likes nothing more than pinning you down and using your body as his personally fuck toy.  His ultimate fantasy is keeping you tied up in various positions, your body spread open and willing for him to use whenever the mood strikes him.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere with a relatively flat surface. I cannot emphasize how much he does not care where he does it: bedroom, shower, locker room, bar bathroom, sparring room, between a couple of boulders out of view of the rest of the Bad Batch. He does not care.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

His ego...let me explain.

There are two ways to really get him going, but they both come down to how they effect his ego.

Number one, praise.  If you compliment him on a shot, confirm that he did, in fact, beat Wrecker at something, or rasp a dirty promise in his ear that he’s the only man who has ever made you cum that hard; that’ll get him going more than anything.

Number two, jealously.  If he sees another man actively flirting with you, he’ll all but sling you over his shoulder and carry you to the closest abandoned alley he can find to fuck you senseless.  He doesn’t care if you were interested in the guy flirting with you or not, you’re his and he needs to remind himself and you of that.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Humiliation for him is a no go. There’s the more obvious stuff, like the idea of you putting him on a leash or something equally degrading just gets him frustrated, and not in a sexy way.  But, more specifically verbal humiliation. He genuinely gets upset if you’re the one to say he’s not good enough for you in some capacity or compare him negatively to somebody else. That’ll kill the mood in seconds.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Much prefers receiving to giving.  Seeing you on your knees with his cock in your mouth his heaven.  And being able to cum all over your face and chest when he’s done? He’s in heaven.

That being said, he’s not bad at giving, he just ends up mostly using his fingers while he runs his mouth.  He can’t help it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Fast and rough, like all the time.  He basically has no other mode.  Now, whether it’s more intense with pent up emotions or a fun stress reliever depends on his mood.  Either way, if you’re not a sweating, panting mess by the end of it he feels like he’s failed in some way.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Yes.  He’s going to say yes to quickies.  Where ever and whenever is good for him.  But, don’t think it’s really over when it’s over.  He only considers it a preview of what he’s going to do to you once you actually get some time and a little more privacy.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s certainly willing to try different positions and kinks, but he’s not big on getting more toys in the mix.  He’s more than happy to tie you up and spank you, but he’s not so keen on adding a paddle or something like that, if that makes any kind of sense.  It’s about his body and what he can do to you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Just as good as every other clone, with a fantastic recovery time. A solid average of three rounds per night lasting as long as either of you can stand it.

That all being said, he’s in constant competition with himself on how long he can last and for how many rounds.

Current record for time is two hours before he came once with you cumming a total of five times. Current round total is him cumming five times in one night while you lost count of yours.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Surprisingly not his thing. He’s got some cuffs he uses on occasion with you, but not much else. Like I said, he’s in competition with himself, not him and a toy.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He doesn’t tease often, but when he does, he’s an asshole.  He’ll keep you pinned down, lazily rubbing the tip of his cock against your opening, never fully going in until you’re squirming and begging him to just fuck you already.  Sometimes he will and sometimes, he’ll leave you hanging there.  It all depends on his mood.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Not especially. In the beginning he keeps it almost conversational, as he talks dirty into your ear. But, it all changes when he comes to the end. It’s like whatever control he had over his vocal cords gets shut off. He curses a lot combined with grunts and borederline feral growls as he rams his cock harder and deeper into you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Crosshair has a real jealously streak, especially when it comes to regs. 

While he’s confident in his abilities, he’s aware more than Wrecker or even Tech that they’re basically a bunch of freaks the Republic likes to keep under wraps.  A funny little lab experiment.  While regs were made just as much as he was, they actually have a chance at being...well, normal after all is said and done.  He’s not sure he’ll ever be normal.  So, the fear of you realizing you’re dating an actual freak of nature weighs on him constantly.

He needs to remind himself that you’re with him, that you chose him and you’re not going to walk away.  It drives him crazy that you make him feel that way, but it’s the truth.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Just as long as his clone brothers (a solid 8-inches), but not as thick.  Not that he need that extra edge.  His talent is precision after all.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

I’d say he has the highest of the batch, actually getting agitated if he hasn’t had a good fuck in more than a few days.  His hand can only do so much for him before he gets down right hostile.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

I’d say it takes him a solid half-hour to finally fall asleep after sex. He’d never tell you, but he likes the feeling of you asleep in his arms. He’ll savor it for as long as he can.

[unholyplumpprincess]

Finally

A commission for @shortythescreen TYSM AGAIN AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!!

Summary: Anita has been friends with you for awhile and thought her yearning after you was simply her having a crush on you. Not seeing all the signs that pointed to you liking her back. Well, not until you two are in a sparring session and she pins you to the ground after some heavy flirting and goes for the kill. Only to find out you two are in fact, both into each other. Or!!!! In which Anita is oblivious of your adoration of her and once she finds out she fucks your brains out and calls you cute pet names like Princess and Baby Girl.

Reblogs > Likes. DNI if you are a minor or an ageless blog or you will be blocked.

Fandom: Apex Legends

Relationship: Bangalore/Fem! Reader

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, Reader is a cis gal, lots of pet names like Princess/Baby Girl/etc!, brief mention of hand around throat, big monster themed strap, breeding kink, Reader is a brat

Words: 6.1k

_________

Call Anita cliché, but she’d never met a girl like you.

She’d always thought herself to be the ‘not-so-romantic-’ type. Sure, she’d had relationships in the past, but that felt more like teenage exploration than it had been a real connection. Her 20’s had been too busy for her to even begin to think about having a relationship- IMC kept her real busy and made sure all her time had been eaten up. Well. Except for a fling here and there. And by the time she got to where she was now, she had the Apex games to participate in and friends around her.

So why worry about romance now, right?

When you showed up to compete, you didn’t seem like anything real special. Cute, sure, had your own sass about you but so did a lot of competitors climbing their way up the ranks to be known as Legend. You didn’t seem as arrogant or cocky as most competitors did, you seemed focused and determined, so you had that going for you. A plus in her book.

You had wound up clawing your way to the top through the same blood and gunfire as the rest of them did. You’d even gotten your fair share of hits on her. In fact, you’d managed to even take a few of the legends out- including her.

Anita was embarrassed to admit she hadn’t been exactly angry when you’d done it either. Your pleasant weight atop her, a small smirk on your face when you’d practically crooned out, “Nothing personal, Sarge. But, won’t lie and say this doesn’t feel great.” Before you’d taken her out with a knife removed from your thigh’s hilt.

That’s when you really caught her attention.

~Rest Under The Cut~

You were a new legend now, landing out on top of all the other competitors as champion. You’d proven your worth, and the Syndicate made damn well sure you got a great deal to make you stay. Seeing you out on the battlefield all geared up had been one thing, but to see you walking around the compound in casual lounge wear and doing things even like reading a book? That’s when Anita had realized there was something a little more about the way she looked at you.

Infatuation, she’d told herself, you were just hot. That should have been it. Not like she hadn’t thought that way about Ajay, Bloodhound, Wraith, hell even Witt had been smoking, what was the difference with you?

However, those feelings amplified as you two got closer.

It all seemed to click when one night you had been the one to offer a movie night for all the legends. When Anita laughed and said sleepovers weren’t her thing, you’d quirked a brow and asked if she was chicken. Cock fights and being baited into something like movies all because you’d poked at her and called her a coward- she should have known better. And yet she’d puffed out her chest and told you ‘In your dreams’ and showed up anyway.

The gall you had at making a swirl motion around your pinkie at her and mouthing ’Littlest finger’ and blowing a kiss her way SHOULD have made Anita red hot with anger. But instead, she’d been red hot with the feeling of begin flustered curling down her spine.

And the urge to wipe that damned cocky look off your face. Preferably with her mouth.

Freckled cheeks flushed and a huff exhaling from Anita‘s lips as she had turned her gaze away from you all snuggled up against Natalie’s side and trying to convince herself that it wasn’t because she was jealous. You just…looked nice and warm was all.

And maybe you looked extra cute when you laughed and threw your head back at a certain scene on the movie. And maybe Anita at some point didn’t totally wind up sitting behind you just so when you leaned back, you’d lean back all the way into her lap just to try and irritate her with your bratty attitude. And maybe, just maybe, Anita had pretended to look irritated just so you’d stay leaned back into her lap.

She didn’t exactly mean to fall for you, but not like it was hard. It felt like you were a ray of sunshine in her dark little corner at times. Even when Anita would be having a bad day and feeling a bit too touchy when it came to loud noises, it’s as if you just understood her, resting a hand on her arm and offering her solace in any way you could.  

Like one day Anita had been rather snappy, it was edging the anniversary of when her brother had…had been taken from her. Everything felt a little too much, memories waging wars in her head and she might have snapped at Makoa for something simple. She, of course, later would apologize to him for it, but in the moment, she’d been such a quick trigger. You had been the one to ask her to follow you until you guys found the nearest empty room being the gym. You’d sat her down on the floor, sat in front of her on your knees and held her shoulders firmly.

At first, she’d been irritated, rubbing her face and about to push you off. But, you’d spoken so softly to her. “Hey, hey, something else is bothering you and I’m not going to ask what, so don’t feel like you have to preach to anyone, okay? Let’s just sit here in the quiet until you can cool off. I’ll be right with you.”

Anita had looked at you like that was silly at first, but then when she caught your gaze your eyes had so much understanding written in them. She swears she teared up, but you didn’t even flinch. Not even when her arms had snug around your waist and dragged you forward into a tense hug that you had quickly returned, rubbing her back soothingly as she buried her face into your shoulder.

You were a good friend—hell, a great friend. She really isn’t sure what she did to deserve you, especially when on days she’d poke and downright be an asshole to you. It’s as if you knew without her ever needing to state the Why’s or the How’s. Not like she was taking all your kindness without giving, she’d found you were quite fond of physical touches like hugging when you were overwhelmed at things too. Now, Anita hadn’t been exactly the ‘hugging kind’, until once again, she met you.  

Although, it was a bonus for Anita to see you and for you to light up with a smile as you ran for her at full blast to wrap your arms around her waist and leave the scent of your perfume all over her. Especially if she’d lift and spin you just to make you shout with joy in that little way that always had her heart racing.

Man, Anita really had it bad, huh?

Recently, you two had been able to spend more time together. Not that Anita was even close to complaining about that. You had asked her if she’d be willing to train you on more hand-to-hand combat, explaining you hadn’t really had any that didn’t involve a weapon of sorts. You were great with a knife in close combat, but when it came to disarming someone or getting the upper hand with just fists, you weren’t trained in it.

So, that’s where this all started. Getting you in the sparring area of the gym, a flat ground surface with mirrors on the wall on one area to show your stance if you needed to practice. There, she taught you basics first of disarming someone, of how to knock someone off their feet and throw off their aim. You caught on quickly, tossing her over your shoulder and down onto the soft mats below when you’d yanked her arm back behind her and declared victory.

Anita can’t say she hated being under you, not when you were beaming so bright and proud of yourself.

But when your little bratty nature had come out? With a croon to your tone as you ruffled her curls. ”Maybe I’ll get even better than you in the ring, huh?” Then she no longer thought about being under you.

Anytime that little bratty attitude got the better of you, she thought of wiping that smug look off your face. Not with a hit, no, but by grabbing you by your throat and slamming your back to her chest. Making you watch your face in the mirror as her hand snuck down your pants to rub your clit until you shook and trembled while you had to watch your own pretty little face contort. Often times she got stuck day dreaming about that, throwing her off and making it easier for you to catch her off guard and tease her for it.

If only you knew how wrapped around your finger she truly was.

All your training leads to today, a more hands-on session without her actually teaching you anything. But rather, all your training coming into a sparring session. You look so cute in your workout clothing choice, if a little distracting. A black sports bra and a pair of tight matching yoga pants with your symbol on the thigh, your hair pushed out of the way and pulled back. The expanse of your neck was even more distracting, especially with more of your skin exposed.

Anita wondered if you would like to be marked up. If you would shy away from the pain or if you’d preen at it. Often enough times, hell, even just in this past week it’s all Anita could think about. Whenever she was alone, a hand down her pants and eyes shut as she imagined you beneath her. Taking her cock as your fingers twisted into the sheets and you preened and begged rather than that smart little mouth you always got. Saying her name again and again and again-

“Anita? Heellllooooo, paging Dr. Anita, do you copy?” Your teasing voice draws her out of her thoughts where she’s sat on the floor mid-stretch still. You’re bent over down towards her, waving a hand in front of her spaced out eyes until she blinks a few times and looks up at you.

“Yeah. Yeah, I copy. You already done, Nurse Brat?” She quickly switches the topic, matching your tone, switching legs to stretch and peeking up to see you beaming at her. It makes her heart clench, forcing Anita to look away and pretend to roll her eyes up at you instead when you happily nod.

Her own choice in outfit was camo tight yoga capris and her own sports bra, keeping her own movements free. She’s still riding the high of when you first saw her today, lowly whistling and looking clearly at her ass and complimenting it. Anita would have to try to wear tighter pants without making it too obvious she was trying to get you to look later.

After stretching, she tells you to take your position. Reminding you this was sparring to put everything you learned into motion, and that if you tripped up, don’t sweat it as this was just a practice run. Though, a smirk does rest on her full lips as she teases you. “Not that I’ll be going easy on you, princess.”

“Be as rough as you want, sweetheart. I can take it.” You croon back, fluttering your lashes all the while and making heat course through Anita at the way you say it. It sounded like you were implying more- but, no, that’s just probably her hope.

Right?

You throw the first punch and from there it’s like a dance between you two. Anita makes sure to dodge mostly, making sure you’re keeping your footwork correct and complimenting you the entire time on your frame. ‘Beautiful’, ‘There you go, baby girl, keep it up’, ‘Hey, almost got me there’.

Each time a pet name spills from her lips, your cheeks seem to get redder but not from exertion, and your movements just a touch sloppier. Anita might be paying too much attention to the way sweat curls down between your breasts, or how your lips pout a bit when you miss her but she manages to push you away and back, reminding you to keep your focus despite her own getting a bit foggy.

Wasn’t your fault you looked damn good like that, all pent up and sweaty. A healthy flush across your cheeks as you bounce on the balls of your feet and ready for her next pounce, a furrow of your brow in determination. Your lips part to take a breath and Anita’s eyes fall to them without thinking, and in a blur, you’re rushing at her to try and take her down with a low sweep.

She counters you, grabbing you by your waist to move with your momentum, spinning you until she can slam you down onto the ground beneath you both. You hit the ground on your back with a huff of air leaving your lips, a little out of it with a low groan of frustration leaving you.

There’s nothing but tension between the two of you. Anita’s heart pounds as she looks down at you and your cute little pout when you realize you’ve been defeated, parting your lips to maybe complain about your defeat. But you’re cut off when soft, full lips cover your own. Anita’s warm body fits on top of you, fitting a strong thigh between yours and her calloused hand cupping your cheek so adoringly. She considers pulling your hair, forcing your head back, but she parts after a moment so you two can pant and catch your breath together.

Your breath mingles with hers, only an inch apart and her being able to see your eyes half lidded and looking back from her eyes to her lips. It gives her the confidence in not wondering if what she felt between you two was just her imagination, but that doesn’t stop her from giving you a nervous, crooked grin and showing off one of her dimples. “Sorry ‘bout that. If I read anything wrong–”

“Jesus, no, I’ve been wondering when you’d finally do something.” You breathe back in an exasperated and whining tone. “Was practically popping my tits out the deciding factor for you?”  

“No. Been thinking about you for a while. But…your tits are always appreciated.” She teases right back, leaning down to ghost her lips over yours without touching, just to hear you whimper in frustration. Your fingers sink into her curls, trying to urge her down, but she quickly avoids your mouth to kiss your cheek and moving down your jawline to your neck. It’s a blessing at all to feel you press up against her thigh, dizzying her off your heat felt through both of your thin pants.

“You okay with this?” Anita sighs out against your neck, kissing up to your ear and smiling when you shiver when her teeth nip your lobe.  

“Thought I made myself clear earlier when I told you I can take it, Sarge.” You’re using that bratty tone again, raising your hips against her thigh where she can feel you lightly grinding. A soft sigh leaves your lips near her ear, and from there Anita isn’t sure she can keep herself cool headed.  

Her thoughts amplify, thinking about just whisking you away and fucking you raw and rough until you get rid of that little brat attitude you always carried. Maybe in the showers where anyone could walk in and see you- could hear you crying her name.

Instead, her fingers grip your hips, yanking you closer to her thigh and forcing you to move against her as her lips finds your neck. Her tongue moves along your pulse, delighting in how your breath hitches and your fingers tighten in her hair. “Little girl, there’s a lot of rules I have for you if you want to even think about ‘taking it’.”

From there, she sits back, dragging you into her lap. Your hands fall to her broad shoulders, squeezing as her hand on your hip squeeze fondly in return. Her other hand slides into your hair, yanking your head back and forcing your neck to be bared and making you hiss as she continues. “You know what a color system is? Red, yellow, green?” You nod as best as you can, and she hums approvingly. ”How would you feel if I told you I want to take you back to my quarters and fuck the brat right outta that pretty little mouth of yours?”

“Green.” You practically whine out.

“Aw, what’s the matter? Baby girl ain’t got such a bad attitude when she’s promised some dick?” Anita teases you, tugging your hair to emphasize her point on how good you’re being when your head follows the motion without resistance. When you huff in reply, rolling your hips into her lap without a peep of a response out of you besides a low whine, she’ll take that as a yes.

Your hair is released, your cheek instead cupped and her thumb sliding over your cheekbone as she turns your gaze to her. Anita wants to kiss you again, badly, but refrains as she strokes your hair back behind your ear. “I…I don’t want this to be a one-time thing either. Like I said earlier, been thinking about you for a while. So if you’re just lookin’ for a fuck buddy or–”

“Anita,” You cut her off, her name falling off your lips always making her flash a smile, this time a little sheepish at your tone. ”I literally asked you out on a date last month.”

“To that cafe? I thought that was as friends?”

“I literally held your hand and said you looked beautiful.”

“I…you weren’t just being friendly?”  

The look you give her of exasperation makes it all click into place. Any time you had flirted, any time you had brushed your fingers on her lower back, any time you had asked her to lean down so you could fix her hair, any time you had flashed her a smile and told her she looked great in her uniform-

“For such a smart woman, you’re so goddamned dense sometimes.” You laugh out when you watch it all click to place in her eyes. Anita’s cheeks flush red, huffing at you and hitching her arms around you as she begins to stand. You make a sound of delight as she lifts you up into her arms, your legs around her waist and her arms resting under your ass for support.

“Better late than never though, right?” Anita smiles up at you, feeling more and more at home with you in her arms and you beaming down at her in turn with your arms over her shoulders. You look like heaven, she thinks, the lights above you creating a halo around you and the sweat glowing on your skin. A devil disguised as an angel.

The walk back to her quarters is met with no traffic along the way. Able to hold you up with one of her arms to punch in her room code before getting you inside. There’s only a moment at the door where she’s kicking off her shoes whilst balancing you before she’s bringing you to the bedroom.

Her room is simple, minimal and clean. Just like she liked it. Her bed tucked against the wall opposite of the window leading outside, a dresser on the opposite side of the room away from her bed with a few pictures set up of her family atop and few knickknacks of her own- including a childhood bear. It sat with clear choppy repairs and a replaced eye near a picture of her and her brother Jackson in a candid image of them being caught mid arm wrestle and beaming at each other in their uniforms.

“Oooh, is that the infamous Tango I’ve heard so much about?” You croon at the bear before you’re set down on the bed. Anita follows your eyes over to her stuffed toy, rolling her eyes back down at you when you wiggle your fingers at him to say hello. “Should we go turn him around?”

You grin is quickly turned into a muffled laugh when her lips cover yours, swallowing down your laughter as Anita fits between your thighs. You manage to kick off your shoes to the floor, winding your legs around her waist as her hand squeezes your thigh and her other resting on your cheek to guide you through the kiss. When you smile against her mouth cheekily, Anita quickly nips your lower lip, moving her hand from your cheek to your hair to grip it and tip your head back.

Your gasp gives her easy access to lick into your mouth and hear your breath hitch through your nose. Your moan only urges her to grip your hair tighter, making you strain your head back and forcing you to part from the kiss and release the prettiest whine. Anita smiles against your flesh, kissing down your neck where she sucks over your jawline, sinking her teeth lightly there to leave a bruise and relishing in the mindless way your hips lift to hump against her almost frantically.

“Atta girl,” Anita murmurs against your neck, sucking another bruise there. She shudders when your nails slide down her back, gasping lightly when you reach down to grab her ass like the cheeky brat you are. You pull her closer to you, holding her still as your hips move a bit more obviously to try and grind against her with this sly little smile on your face edging through your pleasured sighs.

“Ever thought about being a toy, baby?” You tease her, using that little bratty tone you do when you want something. She knows she shouldn’t be baited into it, that you’re being a brat for a reason, that you want her to grab you by your hair and throw you around. But you really hone that feeling in when you roll your hips pointedly against her, letting her feel how you’re slick enough to be felt through your thin yoga pants. “Maybe you’re the one who needs to learn how to take it–”

Anita knows she’s fallen into it when she grabs your throat and you smile like it’s the best thing she’s ever done to you and fuck if she isn’t smitten with how elated you look at the action. Your smile falls into a pretty open-mouthed expression when she lightly squeezes, a hiss falling from her lips to threaten you. “Watch your mouth before you speak, princess, I don’t play well with brats.”

“And if I don’t want to watch my mouth?” You breathe out when she eases on your throat, making her quirk a brow down at you when you flash your pretty princess smile and flutter your lashes as if you didn’t say or do a damned thing. Wrapped around your goddamn little finger.

“I have other ways of shutting you up. Hold still. Don’t even think about moving.”

And you do, lying oh so prettily on her bed after crooning out a ‘Yes, ma’am’ just to get a further rise out of her. Anita moves off the bed, pulling off her sports bra, watching your eyes greedily fall to her freckled chest and making her confidence rise when you let out the softest, yearning sigh.

Her pants go next, her boyshorts sliding down over her hips and flicked in your face like a rubber band. A laugh falls from her lips when you squeak, jumping and tearing them off ur face with a clear shout on your tongue before you seem to lose whatever steam you had when your eyes fall down to between her legs. She knew she looked good. Soft curls resting there, trimmed with her clit large enough to peek from her lower lips, the curls following the happy trail leading up to her navel. Scars lingered on her body from the past, bullet wounds and knives or impact areas.  

“Like what you see, Princess?” Anita teases, a crooked smirk on her face when you nod your head eagerly. “Good. You’ll be getting up close and personal here in a sec. Lie back down for me, will ya? Or do I have to force you to behave again?”

Anita’s pleased when she doesn’t have to. In fact, you gleefully lie back down, doing a mock salute her way. It’s cute- and a bit flattering actually- to have you eagerly grab at her when she comes closer. Your hands slide over her thighs, making this soft, needy sound in your throat once her thighs frame your face. You look just as hungry as you sound when she looks down, resting a hand in your hair and seeing you bite your bottom lip as you look directly at her wet cunt.

Your arms hook around her thighs, clearly tugging to try and get Anita to lower down, but she holds steady above you. Her fingers card through your hair, soaking in how your eyes look up to her face with a pleading expression that has her weak. But she won’t cave, not yet. “C’mon, you’re so good at talkin’ a big game, and now you’ve forgotten basic manners?”  

“Anita-” You try to whine out, trying to pull on her thighs again with your brows knitting together and your face flushed at her implication. “Thought you wanted to shut me up?”

“Can’t blame a girl for wanting to be wanted, hm?”

You pout up at her, a full lip out pout that makes her want nothing more than to ruin you until you’re raw and aching. Anita gently tucks some of your hair behind your ear, briefly stroking along your cheek with her fingers, and that seems to do it. Just a little bit of softness having you whining out for her so prettily. “Pleeeease? Please, please, please, let me taste you? Anita- baby, I’ve been a good girl, please, please, please?”  

Anita could argue that if this was you being a ‘good girl’ then you two had a lot of training to do. But she’ll save that for another time, following your tugging until she can rest one hand on the wall behind the bed, the other in your hair and sharply inhaling when your tongue drags across her.

You don’t waste a moment for her, licking from her hole up to her clit where you press under it with your tongue in what she could only guess was to feel it jerk against your tongue. You moan like It’s the best thing in the world, dragging your wet lips across her sensitive flesh to wrap your lips around it and using your tongue in ways that make her thighs and hips tremble.  

Sighs and soft hitches leave Anita’s lips, so focused on watching you enjoying yourself to even think about speaking. But you part from her briefly, nosing at her thigh and looking up at her from under your lashes with the sweetest expression when you murmur just loud enough for her to hear, “Will you keep talking?”

Anita blinks a few times, her freckled cheeks flushing to her ears when you peek up at her almost shyly when you ask it. She makes a questioning sound, and you nose at her clit in turn to make her hips jerk and a brief gasp escaping her.

“I like to hear your voice,” You clarify, rolling your hips up behind her and against nothing in such a needy fashion that Anita nearly thinks about forgoing this whole ’lesson’ and just making you scream already. “Think you sound sexy.”

“I can do that.” She murmurs, gripping your hair again and guiding your mouth back with ease to her cunt where you get right back to doing whatever it is you’re doing with your tongue that feels so fucking good-

From there, she lets her mouth run. Not sure where it starts and where it ends. Crooning things to you like ’Gonna make sure everyone knows you’re mine by tomorrow’ ‘Might not let you get any sleep tonight’ ‘Baby girl might not even get to cum tonight’ that’s the one that makes you whine, gripping her thighs tighter and making Anita’s own breath shake.

Then a test of the waters when she croons out, “Maybe my little princess wants to get bred nice and proper by my cock–”  

Anita doesn’t even get to finish her sentence when you’re gripping her thighs tighter, moaning against her clit and seeming to work a little harder. Anita’s cut off by her own grunt, a low groan leaving her and a swear when your tongue keeps sliding across her sloppily. That does her in, cumming against your tongue with both her hands slamming into your hair and her head falling back. Her teeth draw into her bottom lip, humping along your eager tongue and catching when you pat her thigh so she can release you so you can catch your breath.

From there, it’s a blur of moving off you to rip off your clothes, much to your delight if your soft little whines are anything to go by. At some point she pauses in the middle of pulling off your pants to kiss you, a breathy giggle leaving your lips when she parts to kiss down your body and blowing a raspberry on your belly just to hear you laugh again.

There’s a double check you’re still okay before she’s moving off you to get everything prepped. A bottle of lubricant set on the bed near you and a harness disguised as some everyday briefs sliding onto her hips and her eyes looking at her collection of cocks. “How big do ya think you can take, doll?”

“I can take anything you throw at me.”

A quirk of her brow is seen as she looks back at you, but you seem perfectly content and honest in your answer. So she shrugs with one shoulder, trying not to grin as she grabs one of her bigger ones. ”Whatever you say.”

The cock in question is one her odder shaped ones. Marbled with black and gold colorations, with an almost tapered, rounded head that went into the same thickness and bulged with a bigger thickness as it edged the balls. It was thick enough to not be able to touch your fingers when they circled around it, but not too long to make up for its thickness. It was about seven inches total in usable length, definitely enough for you to feel it in total, but wouldn’t kill you. This time around at least.

Once it’s all in place, she moves back to you. Relishing in how you stare a bit too obviously at the cock and where there was a small tube running to her hip where a syringe was full of white, thick lubricant to act as cum. You’re not looking for too long, your head soon thrown back and to the side against her chest as she tucks up against you to lubricate her fingers and begin stretching you out.

You take it like a champ, turning your head into her shoulder as three fingers twist and curl into you. You cum against her fingers like this, humping against her palm and making noises she’d thought she’d only ever hear in her dreams. Your face gets peppered with kisses, even as your lips part and you whine and sob for her as she keeps finger fucking you open. Only when you beg and plead does she finally stop.

Soon the position is moved and she’s under you with your shaky thighs straddling her hips and your hands gripping her shoulders. The second you start lowering yourself down you let out a choked noise as her hands squeeze your hips, a predatory grin crossing her features when you make the prettiest face and hold still. “Aw, what’s the matter, baby? Too big for my girl?”

Your head bows forward in embarrassment, but she’ll hand it to you, you still keep going. Lowering yourself down, down, down until your pelvis is flush with hers and your nails digging into her shoulders. Anita strokes over your curves, down your hips and thighs and back up with soft, praising croons as your thighs quake. “That’s my girl. Good girl. You’re doin’ alright, baby, I gotcha. Just adjust, okay? Don’t worry about anything else.”

Once you’re able to adjust, her hands find yours and lace your fingers. Watching how beautifully you bounce on her cock, your hands squeezing hers and using her as leverage. The moans and whimpers leaving you make her tempted to roll you over, but she’s far too entranced with how your chest bounces, how pretty your face looks when your head falls back and you murmur her name. When her eyes fall down to your waist, she can watch your greedy little cunt take her cock again and again, making her mouth dry at the sight.

“Anita-” You whimper out her name in the prettiest tone, squeezing her hands with a quiver to your lips. Your hips are stuttering, looking a bit more frantic as you bounce on her cock and making Anita sigh at the sight. ”Anita, baby, please, I-I-”

Anita shushes you, releasing your hands to catch you in time and rolling you over quickly onto your back. Your legs wrap around her waist, her nails digging into your outer thigh and her lips catching yours to swallow your cries down as she pounds her hips into you. When you break the kiss, your nails are dragging down her back, your face burying into her shoulder to sink your teeth and making her grunt as you cum.

But Anita doesn’t stop there, only letting you catch your breath briefly as you lie back, an arm tossed over your forehead and heavy panting falling from you. Anita sits up, grabbing your hips and yanking you flush to her to fill you again with a jump to your hips and a cry. “Oh, baby, I’m not even close to done with you.” She promises, a dimpled grin on her face when you peek at her with such a helpless look.

From there you’re fucked again, starting off with slow, powerful thrusts to build you back up until you’re in that lost state again. Your eyes rolling back and fingers fisting the sheets as she fucks into you with precision. You’re yanked against her with each thrust, making your toes curl and those pretty sounds leaving your lips again that by this point are driving her crazy. She feels like a starving woman who finally got a meal again. She supposes that’s what yearning for so long did to her.

“What’s the matter, baby? Wanna be bred by my cock?” She croons out when you sob, tears pricking your eyes as they roll back. Anita thinks you’ve never looked more at home- let alone tamed in your life when you keep murmuring ‘please’ and ‘yes’ and her name as if you’ve forgotten every other word.

When you cum this time, she makes sure to press down on the syringe this time to fill you up just like what you keep pleading for. This happens two more times, fucking you in a new position and filling you up. The last one ending with you on all fours, your hair being pulled and your entire body trembling when you cum again.

You’re soon cleaned up, flopped on your side without an inch of feistiness or brattiness in your gaze. You look worn out when Anita returns to you after finishing cleaning herself up as well, returning to bed with herself in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and offering for you to sit up so she can clothe you.

She makes sure to kiss everywhere she’d bitten or bruised as she pulls the large t-shirt over your head. Pulling the lounge pants up your hips and lying in bed with you, bringing your head to her chest and kissing your forehead adoringly. “You all good, princess?”

“Mmmmhhhmmmm.”

“Nothing hurt?”

“Nuh-uh.”  

“Ready to get some sleep then?” Anita laughs out softly, feeling you squeeze sleepily around her middle and nosing at her chest with another affirmative sound followed by your breath deepening. Damn, quick sleeper, huh?

Well. At least she knows a fun way to get you to stop acting like such a brat, Anita thinks with a smirk. But her thoughts shift when you squeeze her a little tighter, feeling you absentmindedly kiss at her and mumble something to yourself before settling again. Her heart pounds, looking down at you with such an adoring gaze and feeling on top of the world.

Damn. She really was wrapped around your finger.

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Drawn to You

Nejire Hado x Fem Reader A/N: Hello again! I’ve had this done in August so it’s kind of old. I guess one possible warning for this oneshot is mention/ flashback of a bad relationship where the ex was dismissive and cruel with their words. It’s in italics if you want to skip that part. Other than that, I hope you enjoy, Nejire is such a sweetheart!

Quirk: Art-senal (like arsenal but art lol) draws something and makes it come right out of whatever surface that was drawn on! The drawback (hehe) is that carpal tunnel and general nerve pain and numbness of the hands will occur, causing your hands to become immobile after a certain point. ***

When rumors of a transfer student started floating through the class of 3-A, Nejire could not have been more excited. Mirio happily chatted with her, sharing guesses about what their new classmate would be like while Tamaki listened quietly. When their teacher appeared, everyone shot back into their desks and waited for them to introduce the prophesied new student. “Good morning class,” their Sensei greeted warmly. “You are all looking rather excited this morning, so I see that word has moved down the grape vine about the new student joining us,” they directed their attention to the door. “You may come in now.” The rumbling sound of hushed conversation began as the student entered the classroom and Nejire was at the edge of her seat with a billion questions already burning at the tip of her tongue as her eyes took in the new girl as she stood beside the teacher in front of the class. “Introduce yourself to your classmates, please,” the teacher asked, after a few moments of silence. “I’m (Y/n), it’s nice to meet all of you,” (Y/n) answered softly. So softly, Nejire almost didn’t hear her, and she was in the second row closest to the front. “Uh, some people like to say a little about themselves too. Have anything you want to share for the class to get to know you better?” The teacher asked. After a moment's pause, Nejire heard a very quiet “no” fall from (Y/n)’s lips as the girl kept her gaze trained to the floor. “A kindred spirit,” Tamaki mumbled from Nejire’s side.

“Ah, well then, feel free to take that open space in the back and welcome to class 3-A,” the teacher smiled sheepishly. (Y/n) brushed passed Nejire on her way to the back of the class and Nejire smiled sweetly and offered an excited wave. (Y/n) gave a smile in return, though it looked more like a grimace as she made it to the window seat in the back of the room about three more rows directly behind Nejire. As class began, Nejire wished she had a quirk that would give her eyes on the back of her head so she could stare back at (Y/n) and try to learn more about her. Like with any other student she came in close proximity to, she wanted to know everything. Her quirk, her favorite color, where she transferred from, what her family was like, what she likes to eat... really just anything and everything. When the bell finally rang after their fourth class, Nejire practically leapt from her seat and walked over to (Y/n)’s desk. “Hi there! I’m Nejire, nice to meet you,” Nejire greeted the girl as (Y/n) hastily closed her notebook. “Hi,” (Y/n) replied, quietly. “Where did you come from? What’s your quirk? Why did you come to UA? What’s-“ “Whoa there, Nejire!” Mirio laughed. “I think you came on a bit too strong there.” “What do you mean?” Nejire asked, giving him a puzzled look before turning back to the now empty desk. She turned back to the door just in time to see a flash of (h/c) hair disappear around the corner. “Wow, that was fast! Maybe some kind of speed quirk? I need to follow her and ask!” “I think she needs some space Nejire. She’s probably overwhelmed being in a new school with new people and being far away from home... I can only imagine how terrible that would be,” Tamaki shuddered. “Sounds like she could use a few friendly faces to make the transition easier,” Mirio grinned. “She probably went to the cafeteria to get lunch. Let’s see if we can get her to sit with us.” “Great idea, Mirio!” Nejire clapped. “Let’s get going, no time to waste!” The Big Three scanned the cafeteria, but (Y/n) was nowhere to be found. Nejire tried to quell her disappointment as she, Mirio, and Tamaki started eating. She soon regained her usual cheer, offering some food for Tamaki to try with his quirk as Mirio marveled at the possible applications a ramen noodle arm. When they returned to the classroom, (Y/n) was already back in her seat, looking out the window with a dazed look on her face. “Hey, (Y/n)!” Nejire greeted, startling the girl by kneeling in front of her with her arms folded over (Y/n)’s desk. “We were looking for you at lunch. You should totally sit with us tomorrow, it’ll be a lot of fun!” “Um, I don’t know,” (Y/n) mumbled, shifting her eyes nervously. “Hado, get in your seat please, class is starting,” “You got it, Sensei!” Nejire beamed. “Next period is quirk training and we’re sparring today. You should partner up with me,” she quietly told (Y/n) before making her way back to her desk. Nejire couldn’t help but glance back every now and then, flashing the new girl a dazzling smile every time their eyes met. When they made eye contact, (Y/n) would quickly jerk her head down toward her desk and nervously scratch her pencil into her notebook. Nejire wished she could see what she was doing, the movements didn’t seem to match routine note taking and it was fueling her curiosity even further. She just couldn’t wait until quirk training! “Hado! Face forward, please. You are being very distracting,” Sensei chided. “Sorry!” Nejire laughed sheepishly along with most of the class as she faced forward in her chair. She briefly wondered if (Y/n) had laughed too and thought about what it would sound like. Her own smile grew at the thought and she added it to her growing mental list of inquisitions. When class was over, she was held back by her Sensei for a minute for a light scolding. “Just because you are one of the top three students, doesn’t mean that you should be slacking off or distracting others, Hado. Please try to focus during your lessons.” “Sorry, Sensei! I’ll work harder,” Nejire smiled. “I better get to quirk training now or someone will snatch up my partner, bye!” Before her Sensei could object, Nejire darted out of the room and headed towards the locker rooms. She quickly navigated the space and weaved through the other girls changing their clothes to where (Y/n) was changing in the furthest corner. “There you are!” She cheered, causing (Y/n) to jump and quickly finish pulling her workout uniform top over her head. “I’m so excited to see your quirk! This is going to be so much fun!” Nejire continued to speak as she began changing into her own workout sweats. When she finished pulling her shirt over her head, (Y/n) was no longer in front of her. She swiveled her head and watched her scurry toward the exit. “Wait for me, (Y/n)!” Nejire called, adjusting her sweatpants as she skipped over to the fleeing girl. “You sure move fast. Is it part of your quirk?” She asked, poking (Y/n) in the back. “No, it’s not,” (Y/n) mumbled as they walked into the gym, thumbing over the pages of her notebook anxiously. “Hm? Why did you bring a notebook? Taking notes? How will you find time to do that while sparring? Are you sure you don’t have a speed quirk?” She asked tugging at (Y/n)’s sleeve. “I... the notebook is for my quirk-“ (Y/n) answered before Nejire invaded her personal space further, getting very close to her face. “Really? What do you use it for? Tell me!” Nejire demanded, bouncing on her heels and nearly knocking heads with (Y/n)’s. “I draw things,” the girl squeaked, taking several steps back from Nejire to no avail as the girl simply closed the distance without a second thought, her eyes blazing with an inquisitive fire that longed to be fed more fuel. “You draw and then what happens?” Nejire continued, matching each step (Y/n) took back with one of her own going forward until (Y/n) hit a wall on the other side of the training grounds and was quite effectively pinned. “I, um, swipe at the drawing and, uh, it’s like a replica of whatever I drew,”(Y/n) replied, her eyes shifting to look anywhere but the eyes of Nejire boring into her face, absorbing every word that left her lips. “Sounds neat! Will you show me? Like, before we spar? I want to see!” (Y/n)’s voice seemed to give out from all the attention Nejire was giving her so she simply nodded. Her hands shook as she flipped to a clean page and penciled in a quick sketch of an oak tree with a practiced hand. Nejire watched with rapt attention as (Y/n)’s fingers ran over the drawing and swiped outward, launching the sketch off of the page. Nejire grinned, watching the tree take shape and tower over them. It almost looked real, but there was a sculpted look to it that made it look like something right out of a fantasy novel. She looked back to (Y/n) and tugged on her sleeve. “That’s beautiful, (Y/n)! What a fun quirk! My quirk is Wave Motion, it looks like this,” Nejire released a spiral wave of energy from her hand and they watched it flow forward until it eventually died out. “Pretty cool, right? My waves may be slow, but they’re super strong,” Nejire explained. “Girls, please, I don’t mind a little constructive discussion, but do some actual sparring as well,” “We’ll get started now, sorry!” Nejire waved off the disgruntled teacher before turning back to (Y/n) with renewed vigor. “Okay (Y/n), time to show me what you’ve got!” (Y/n)’s hands shook a bit as she brought her battered notebook to her chest. A nervous sweat gathered at her brow as she watched Nejire drop into a fighting stance. Luckily, her previous training didn’t fail her and she quickly dodged Nejire’s kick in her direction. (Y/n) drew a brick wall to hide herself momentarily from Nejire’s sight. It was quickly destroyed however, by Nejire’s spiraling energy quirk. (Y/n) tumbled out of the way, quickly sketching a barrage of sparrows, the lack of detail causing them to look more like flying scribbles as they broke apart upon impact with Nejire’s swinging arms. It was enough of a distraction to allow (Y/n) to take cover behind the tree she had made only minutes before and she quickly got to work on a clone to further distract Nejire. (Y/n) could already feel her fingers begin to numb from so many consecutive drawings so she needed a bit of time to recoup. She sent out her self-portrait and watched as the mindless double ran awkwardly away. The “people” were always weird, sure they looked human enough, but the mannerisms were always off and any attempt at speech sounded like a garbled mess of nonsense. They were best suited as decoys more than anything. The clone did its job, Nejire ran after it, aiming a few wave blasts at it as she trailed behind and quickly started gaining ground. (Y/n) took the time she bought herself to stretch her wrists and fingers, trying to combat the numbness and aching settling in her hands. She was so preoccupied that she failed to notice the figure hovering over her with the help of swirls of energy gathered at their feet. “Boo!” “Ah!” (Y/n) was tackled to the ground by Nejire. Her notebook was knocked from her hands as Nejire’s hands forced her arms up over her head and Nejire laughed victoriously. “I got you! Nice try with that clone deception but it got kind of droopy and fell apart quickly. You need to be pretty quick and stealthy to use your quirk, huh? Can you make drawings in advance or do they need to be fresh? I think if you had things queued up it would be very useful!” Nejire spoke excitedly, her body still straddled over (Y/n)’s as she chattered away. “Can you get off, please?” (Y/n) mumbled, trying to create some semblance of space between herself and Nejire. “Oh right, I should do that shouldn’t I? Wouldn’t want Sensei to think we’re slacking off,” Nejire smiled. She stood and pulled (Y/n) up with her before kneeling momentarily to retrieve (Y/n)’s notebook from the ground. (Y/n) almost had a heart attack when Nejire began casually flipping through the pages. “Please don’t look in there,” (Y/n) quickly asked, pulling the pages out of Nejire’s hands so fast the other girl almost didn’t register it leaving her grasp. “Hm? Come on (Y/n), let me see!” Nejire giggled, playfully pawing at (Y/n)’s hands that tightly gripped her notebook. By the grace of All Might, the bell rang and (Y/n) ran to the locker room, but with Nejire hot on her heels. “Hey, wait up, (Y/n)! Tell me more about the intricacies of your quirk!” (Y/n) ignored her and made her way into the locker room, changing quickly back into her uniform as Nejire babbled beside her completely unaware of the affect she was having on the transfer student. “Hey, hey, (Y/n)? Are you doing anything after school? I have today off from my work study and we could totally hang out and I’ll show you around!” Nejire asked, casually threading her arm through one of (Y/n)’s as they exited the locker room dressed in their uniforms. “Mirio won’t be able to come, but I bet I could convince Tamaki to come along. What do you think, (Y/n)?” (Y/n) shuddered and tried to discreetly pull herself out of Nejire’s grip but the girl with the powder blue hair persisted with her hold. (Y/n)’s gaze shifted uncomfortably between Nejire and the ground beneath their feet as they made their way back to their classroom. “I don’t know, I was going to continue to unpack and settle into my room,” she finally answered after a bit of deliberation. “Oh! Well, I could help with that,” Nejire said, unperturbed. “Tamaki would probably prefer staying in the dorms anyway. Besides, it’ll be easier to talk without any added distractions,” “You really don’t need to help me,” (Y/n) added. “I usually work better by myself.” “It would be no trouble at all! We could order some take out too. I know a great place that does delivery,” (Y/n) felt her eye twitch. She had only been at UA a day. What had she even done to garner such attention? The only reason she transferred was to get some space after breaking up with her ex and with this girl, space seemed like the last thing she was going to get. It also didn’t help that (Y/n) found the girl to be extremely attractive and left her absolutely tongue tied. (Y/n) was honestly surprised Nejire hadn’t given up on her yet, she hadn’t exactly been friendly or sociable. “So?” (Y/n) was jolted from her thoughts as Nejire gently nudged her elbow into (Y/n)’s side. “What do you think?” Ah, what the hell? “Alright,” (Y/n) sighed, flinching when Nejire cheered and hugged her tightly. “We are going to have so much fun! I can’t wait!” Nejire hummed, pulling (Y/n) back into the classroom. “Yeah, can’t wait...” *** (Y/n) couldn’t escape Nejire even if she tried, and she did try. At the end of the day, Nejire practically flew to her side with her bag packed and ready to head to the dorms. “Lead the way, (Y/n). Ready for the most awesome sleepover ever?” Nejire grinned. “Sleepover?” (Y/n) questioned. “Oh! Good luck with Nighteye’s patrol tonight, Mirio!” Nejire waved, seemingly too distracted to answer to (Y/n)’s confusion. “Say hi to Fat Gum for me, Tamaki!” “I wasn’t even supposed to be in today,” Tamaki sighed. “Something serious must have come up, nothing good can come from this.” “Don’t worry, Tamaki! You’ll do great like always!” Mirio smiled, patting his friend warmly on the back, making a small smile form on Tamaki’s lips. “See ya tomorrow Nejire, (Y/n), have fun tonight!” “Will do!” Nejire cheered, flashing a thumbs up before dragging (Y/n) out of the school and veered off into the direction of the third year dorms. “Oh yeah, I was going to let you lead, wasn’t I?” Nejire giggled. “You did say that. You also said something about a sleepover?” (Y/n) reminded, hoping to gain some clarity into the situation. “Mhmm, it just makes sense. The boys are at their work studies so it’s a great time for a girl’s night,” “But, don’t you think we need to know each other a bit better before having a sleepover?” “But that’s what the sleepover is for, (Y/n), to get to know you better! Now come on, we’re wasting daylight!” “But it’s a school night,” (Y/n) whined, grasping at yet another excuse to give her a moment of peace. “Don’t worry, we won’t stay up too late. A good night’s sleep is important after all,” (Y/n) rolled her eyes and rubbed one of her temples, watching Nejire skip ahead to open the main door and usher her inside. She hadn’t transferred here to make friends, she transferred to be alone, to be left in peace in a place where no one knew her. To try to get over her breakup and move on with her life and with it all still fresh in her mind, she really didn’t want to be with this intrusive, albeit sweet, girl. “(Y/n)! Our rooms are in the same hallway,“ Nejire clapped. “How convenient!” She smiled, tapping a door a few meters away on the other side of the hall from where (Y/n) was standing. “I suppose it is,” (Y/n) grimaced, unlocking her own door and flicking on the light. “Oooo,” Nejire rested her chin on (Y/n)’s shoulder, causing the girl to freeze up a bit. “A bit cluttered, isn’t it? You didn’t have much time to get settled in after all. Good thing I’m here to help!” “Mhmm,” (Y/n) hummed distractedly, moving over to the closet to finish hanging up her clothes that she had left on the bed earlier that morning. She quickly fell into a rhythm, listening to each clack of the hangers as they hit the metal bar. “So, where should this go?” Nejire asked, suddenly appearing beside (Y/n) with a folded wooden structure in her hands. “Oh, be careful with that, it belonged to my grandmother. Just put it in the corner closest to the window please,” “What is it?” “An easel. You know, for holding up canvases for painting and such,” (Y/n) replied, gesturing with one hand as her mind tried to put her thoughts in a coherent sentence. “Neat! I couldn’t tell with it all folded up like this,” Nejire said, placing the wooden structure in the corner. “How about these plastic bins, wow! Is this all paint!?” (Y/n) turned and scratched sheepishly at the nape of her neck. “Yeah, I kind of have a bad habit of buying art supplies when...” I’m sad “When I don’t necessarily need them,” she finished after a brief pause. “Do you paint a lot? Did you bring any of your paintings here? Can you show me?” Nejire bounced, scanning around the pile of belongings hopefully. “I brought a couple small ones to hang, they’re in that blue portfolio case,” (Y/n) informed. Nejire scooped up the case and carefully slid out the first thin canvas. The painting was a lovely fall scene where the trees were alight with fiery orange and red leaves with dashes of yellow. The earth below the trees was a rich brown dashed with occasional bursts of color from fallen leaves. Winding through the wood was a babbling stream, water was twisting and weaving with the rocks that were caked in wet leaves and highlighted where the sun peeked through the trees, the beautiful blue water contrasted the scenery in a way that Nejire found absolutely enchanting. “This is amazing, (Y/n)!” Nejire praised, causing (Y/n) to turn and continue to fidget with the clothes she was hanging. “Can your quirk work on these?” She asked as she pulled the other canvases out of the portfolio and appraised every detail. “Mmm, possibly. I can use any medium with my quirk, but I’ve not quite gotten the hang of putting such detailed works into reality. They usually melt away and leave a big mess,” “Do you think I could watch you paint sometime?” (Y/n) was rather surprised that Nejire had asked. “You would really be interested in that? It’s kind of a long process... I’ve been told it’s actually pretty boring,” “Hm? No way, I’d totally be down to watch! I know I may seem a bit antsy, but I know how to entertain myself,” Nejire said, setting up some command strips to hang the art from. “Who told you that painting was boring anyway?” (Y/n) fumbled with her bed sheets as an image of her ex flashed in her mind. She remembered the way their nose would crinkle at the smell of fresh paint. She used to think it was cute, but the memory now left bitter taste in her mouth.

~~~ ‘Just because you have an artsy quirk, it doesn’t mean you need to waste your life on this junk. Come on, let’s actually do something worth our time,’ they smiled as if they hadn’t just said something hurtful. ‘Oh, well, we’ve been going out a lot lately. I actually haven’t been able to paint or draw outside of training for a couple of weeks so I was hoping maybe we could have a night in and we could make dinner or order in, talk, have a show on while I paint-‘ (Y/n) was cut off by a groan as their then partner flopped onto the couch. ‘You know, when I first asked you out I thought I’d find more,’ ‘...What do you mean?’ ‘You’re just so plain, if I had known before that what I see is what I’d get, I probably wouldn’t have bothered,’ (Y/n) felt like hot needles were crawling inside her throat and she gripped her paintbrush tightly. ‘But we’re stuck with each other now, can’t help looking back on the past I suppose,’ they sighed. ‘Guess I’ll text the gang to tell them you flaked again,’ ‘Don’t bother,’ They looked up from their phone, slight surprise morphed into a cocky smugness that made (Y/n)’s head pulse. ‘Ah, I knew you’d come around, babe-“ ‘Tell them I flaked yourself, because I’m not going and I don’t want you here anymore,’ ‘What are you saying?’ They scoffed, rising from the couch. ‘Just a minute ago you were begging for me to stay, now you want me to leave?’ They laughed humorlessly. ‘Is this because I jabbed at you for being boring and predictable? Nice one, you got me. Now put on some shoes, we’ll be late,’ ‘It’s not a joke, take your stuff and leave. I’m done. I’m not going to stand here and let you belittle me anymore!’ (Y/n) proclaimed. ‘You wish you could find something more in me, well, I wish I knew what I was getting into upfront with you so I would have never agreed to go out with you!’ She snapped. ‘Don’t say anything you can’t take back, you’re being crazy-‘ ‘Go!’ (Y/n) threw the brush in her hand, green paint streaked down the ex’s shocked face before the brush slid to the floor. ‘Fine! Have fun being alone the rest of your life, I was the only shot you had and you just blew it!’ They screeched, before turning and stomping out of the room. A few moments later, (Y/n) heard the front door slam shut and she felt like all her energy had been drained from her as she threw herself on the couch. When her guardian got home later that day she asked them where that transfer scholarship for UA was and filled it out with no preamble. Managing to send it out mere hours before the deadline. ~~~ “(Y/n)?” (Y/n) gasped at the sudden pressure of Nejire’s hand on her back. “Yes? Sorry, I was somewhere else I guess,” “No problem, what were you thinking about?” She asked curiously. “Nothing really,” (Y/n) shook her head, “Want to help me set up the tv?” “Are you kidding? Did you forget that I’m here to help you? Of course I’ll help!” *** At some point Nejire found the time to order the take out and the two ate while making a few finishing touches to the room. Light music weaves through the space, often broken by Nejire making comments or asking questions and (Y/n) found herself not minding at all, answering all of the inquiries honestly. Once everything was in place, Nejire darted out of the room to change clothes for the night while (Y/n) tried to find something to watch on tv. “I’m baaaaaack!” Nejire sang, jumping into the bed and causing a ripple effect that nearly caused (Y/n) to slip off of her perch on the edge of the bed. “Ooo! How it’s Made is on, can we watch How it’s Made?” “Sure,” (Y/n) affirmed, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. They settled in under the covers and Nejire talked over the show, adding her own commentary and questions she longed to be answered about the intricacies of making ketchup. (Y/n) found herself not minding, however. In fact, she found it rather entertaining, endearing even. She never expected to share her space with a virtual stranger, much less her bed. (Y/n) had to commend Nejire for her persistence as she wondered to herself just how long Nejire would stick around. Just as her eyes drifted shut, they opened in a flash as her cellphone began to ring on the bedside table. “Who’s calling you? Family? Friend?” Nejire asked through a yawn, apparently she was only moments from sleep as well. The way she was curled up in her own hair at (Y/n)’s side practically in a cocoon of her own design was incredibly cute. “Sorry, I’ll take care of it,” (Y/n) sighed and reached for the phone. All sense of tiredness left as soon as she registered who was calling her and in a panic she declined the call and tossed her phone back on the bedside table. “Why didn’t you answer it? Who was it, wrong number?” Nejire asked, shifting closer. “Wrong number,” (Y/n) answered quickly before laying back down. It could have almost been left at that, except the phone started ringing again. “They don’t seem to think so,” Nejire observed. (Y/n) turned on her side and reached for the phone and once more declined the call, only to immediately receive a third call. This time, Nejire reached over (Y/n) and took the phone herself. “Hello, may I ask who is calling?” Nejire yawned again, resting her head on (Y/n)’s shoulder. (Y/n) laid there absolutely dumbstruck, listening to Nejire’s side of the conversation she was having with (Y/n)’s ex. “Who am I? I’m Hado. It’s rather late, (Y/n) and I are trying to sleep. You want to talk to (Y/n)? Well, she doesn’t seem to want to talk to you. Do you know why that may be?” “I don’t know, I’ve only known (Y/n) for a day, but I’m sure she has perfectly acceptable reasons for not wanting to speak with you,” “No need to be so rude. If this is how you conduct yourself it’s no wonder (Y/n) broke up with you,” “Hey, do us a favor and don’t call back, okay?” Nejire replied sweetly to whatever retort the ex fired at her before hanging up and putting the phone back down. Then she snuggled back into (Y/n) and sighed pleasantly, seemingly content even after the phone call. “G’ night, (Y/n),” Nejire mumbled, her voice muffled from where her face was buried into (Y/n)’s shoulder. “That’s all you have to say? Good night?” (Y/n) found that hard to believe. “I’m sorry that you had a partner like that. I’ll treat you the way you deserve to be treated, much better,” came the sleepy reply. “What are you even saying?” (Y/n) pushed, her neck and cheeks growing warmer with each passing moment. The only reply she received was the sound of faint snoring. *** Over the next few months, Nejire and (Y/n) seemed to be attached at the hip. Quite literally in some cases as Nejire loved to cling to (Y/n)’s arms or hang off her back. (Y/n) got acquainted with Tamaki and Mirio and quickly stepped in a rhythm with The Big Three that made it look like they had all been friends for years. Before long, (Y/n) was feeling much better in her new environment and Nejire was beyond pleased to see (Y/n) smile and laugh so freely. “Hey, hey, (Y/n), I’m going to be patrolling with Ryuko but do you want to hang out when I get back?” Nejire asked after class one day. “Sure, come by whenever,” (Y/n) smiled. She found it rather exhilarating how effortless her relationship friendship! with Nejire seemed to be. Of course communication was key, once (Y/n) came out of her shell, Nejire’s endless chatter became a lot less one sided. They learned a lot about each other’s likes, dislikes, and general attitudes and behaviors and sometimes even seemed to know what the other was thinking without speaking. A talent that that kind of freaked Tamaki out. “Great! See you later then, bye!” Nejire swooped in for a quick hug before gliding off to catch a transit Ryuko’s agency. “Bye!” (Y/n) waved back before heading towards the dorms. Despite how well they were communicating, they never did discuss that phone call awhile back which (Y/n) thought was odd. However, she certainly wasn’t going to bring it up. She’d be happy never to talk about her ex ever again and since they hadn’t tried calling back since that night, (Y/n) felt lighter than she felt in a long time. She smiled to herself before heading towards the dorms, deciding to paint while she waited for Nejire to return. *** It was getting late, though (Y/n) wasn’t too worried. Being a hero in training is often unpredictable and being worked overtime, even for work study, was not an unusual occurrence. It just gave (Y/n) more time to finish up her latest painting, a close up look into a lively tide pool. She was making this particular scene to commemorate the day she had gone out to the ocean with Nejire, Tamaki, and Mirio a week prior and she was planning on giving the finished product to Nejire as thanks for, well, everything. (Y/n) continued to hum along to the light music as she continued to stroke more detail into the piece before her, striving to make it one of her best works yet. Her fingers faltered before she reached the canvas again, a loud thump sounded from the other side of the door, followed by a heavy sliding noise. (Y/n) paused her humming and set her brush and paint down carefully before cautiously approaching the door. Her eyebrows scrunched in confusion as she looked out of the peep hole to find no one standing there. She was about to head back to her canvas when she heard a weak knock coming from a lower position on the door. With a bit of apprehension, (Y/n) unlocked the door and opened it, causing Nejire to fall half into the room as her balance was disrupted. Nejire groaned but smiled all the same, looking dead tired in her scuffed up hero outfit. “Hey (Y/n), work sure was crazy today,” Nejire coughed, looking up at (Y/n) from her spot in the ground. “Nejire!” (Y/n) gasped. “You look hurt. Did Ryuko really let you come back to the dorms like this? Come on, let’s get you to Recovery Girl at least!” (Y/n) said with mild panic before beginning to tug the other girl into a sitting position. “No need to worry, (Y/n). I’m just tired from over exhausting my quirk. I’ll be back one hundred percent after some rest,” Nejire assured, however, the wince she made when (Y/n) helped tug her up did not go unnoticed. “Come on then, I’ll do what I can,” (Y/n) guided Nejire over to her bed and helped her sit. “What injuries do you have?” “Injuries? What injuries?” Nejire laughed, running her fingers nervously through her hair. “Nejire,” (Y/n) warned causing the other girl to pout before peeling off the top half of her hero costume so it fell around her hips, displaying the bruises that were littered across her arms. “Nejire!” (Y/n) exclaimed loudly. “Those look awful, you should really have gone to Recovery Girl or had Ryuko take you somewhere,” “But I was excited to see you,” Nejire whined. “I-“ (Y/n) took a moment to clear her throat and tried to fight back the warmth that flooded through her chest at her friend’s admission. “I’m not going anywhere, you can take your time to take care of yourself first in the future. I don’t like seeing you hurt and what if you had passed out somewhere trying to get back?” “I’m sorry, (Y/n),” Nejire frowned. “You don’t need to apologize, I was just worried, okay? Now, let me whip something up quick for those bruises,” (Y/n) grabbed a sketchbook off of her nightstand and flipped to a blank page as she took a seat next to Nejire. She was so focused on accurately drawing the medicine that she barely registered Nejire leaning into her side to watch her with sleepy eyes. When (Y/n) was happy with the details she swiped over the page and gabbed the newly formed jar of salve before it hit the ground. “You’re quirk is so useful, (Y/n),” Nejire complimented, pushing herself in a straighter position to accept the medicinal salve that was being held out to her. “Ah, thanks,” (Y/n) shrugged, suddenly hyper aware of how close she and Nejire were. “Anyway, rub that into your arms and it should help you from being too sore tomorrow. Then I’ll help you get in your room,” “Aww, but I want to stay with you,” Nejire yawned, rubbing the slave into her arms. “Ooo, chilly,” “Nejire-“ “Please, (Y/n)?” Nejire pleaded. “I require hugs to heal. Also, could you look at my back? I think it might be bruised too,” “First, you do not need hugs to heal and second, yes, I’ll give it a look,” (Y/n) stared in disbelief as Nejire turned, revealing a large bruise right below her sports bra. “Nejire, that’s a huge bruise! What even happened during patrol?” “Just a ragtag group of common villains, really. Nothing much apart but very distracting to fight them all at once,” “Still, this is a deep bruise, I wouldn’t be surprised if you fractured a rib. We are going to Recovery Girl tomorrow,” (Y/n) said, leaving no room for argument as she gently rubbed the salve over Nejire’s back. “Aww, you care about me,” Nejire giggled, craning her head back to rest it against (Y/n)’s chest. “Yes, I do,” (Y/n) replied, turning her face away to hide her probably beyond obvious heart eyes. “I care about you too,” Nejire replied, candidly. She turned over to hug (Y/n) tightly around the shoulders, her eyes catching the swirling blue, white, and green on the easel in the corner. “(Y/n)! Are you painting tide pools? So cool!” She got up and stumbled over to the painting. “Careful, Nejire! You really should be resting,” (Y/n) scolded, following close behind. “It’s beautiful, (Y/n).” Nejire praised. “I’m glad you think so. I was planning on giving it to you when I was finished,” (Y/n) smiled shyly. “Aw, really? (Y/n), you’re too sweet! Whoa, little woozy still,” Nejire stumbled backwards, but (Y/n) managed to still her. “Come on, you need to lay down,” (Y/n) said, half dragging Nejire back to the bed. “Woooo, the room is spinning!” Nejire laughed, flopping onto the bed and taking (Y/n) down with her. “Nejire!” (Y/n) admonished, face blazing as Nejire continued to giggle and hold her close. After a bit of struggling, (Y/n) finally gave in with a huff and allowed Nejire to snuggle to her heart’s content. Music was still played in the background and Nejire’s breathing had slowed to a point that (Y/n) believed her to be sleeping. (Y/n) sighed under Nerije’s weight, absently running her fingers through Nejire’s hair before remembering she had just been painting. “Shoot!” She hissed, raising her hand to her face. A bead of sweat glossed over her cheek as she observed the partially dried colors that were smeared over her fingers. “Hmm why did you stop? That felt nice,” Nejire softly complained. “Um, sorry! My hands are full of paint,” (Y/n) sheepishly replied. “Mm yeah, you also have some on your face,” Nejire informed nonchalantly. “Wha-“ (Y/n) raised her arm and rubbed at her cheek, finding a bit of blue and white paint on her wrist that hadn’t been there prior. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?” “It's cute,” came the simple reply. “Even so,” (Y/n) cleared her throat, “You should have said something! I got paint in your hair and who knows where else,” “That’s okay, we can clean up in the morning.” Nejire adjusted herself a bit to swipe her fingers over the last of the wet paint smear on (Y/n)’s cheek and transferred it to her own. “Look, now we match!” She cheered before snuggling back into (Y/n)’s arms. (Y/n) smiled, her fingers once more taking roost in Nejire’s hair. She never knew she could be so lucky as to have such a wonderful person in her life. “I really like you a lot,” (Y/n) sighed, the words falling from her lips full of love without her permission and immediately making her tense. “I mean-“ “You do? I’m soooo glad you said something! I was actually really nervous to tell you that I really like you too!” Nejire admitted. “I just think about you a lot, you know? I feel like I can’t ever get enough of you, but it hasn’t been very long since your break up so I didn’t want to push you,” “You can’t get enough of me? You don’t find me... dull?” (Y/n) asked timidly. “Never,” Nejire replied with uncharacteristic seriousness. “You are as vibrant as the colors you paint with, (Y/n). Don’t let anyone try to tell you differently,” “Thank you, Nejire,” (Y/n) simpered, a prickly heat crawled up her neck as she prepared herself for what she would say next. “So, would you want to go to the museum with me this weekend? There’s going to be a special exhibit-“ A soft snore broke (Y/n)’s flow and she realized that Nejire had finally fallen asleep. “I’ll ask you about it tomorrow,” (Y/n) smiled and reached for the throw blanket to cover them both, sinking further into the bed and with the comfortable weight over her, her eyes drifted shut and she soon joined Nejire in blissful sleep.

[highsviolets]

like real people do, chapter one: obi-wan x handmaiden!reader

summary: in which you and obi-wan stumble into each other’s acquaintance through accidents of honor and pleasure

word count: 3k-ish

cw: brief, brief allusion to body dysmorphia in first paragraph after part one (a). 

A/N: WOW it’s finally here!!! my handmaiden x obi fic!! my first multi chapter!!  anon you are so patient. thank you for bearing with me as i developed this concept and finally got words onto paper. This lil chapter takes place at the beginning of AOTC and sets the scene for all sorts of shenanigans. pls be gentle folkx i am v nervous i hope you love these idiots honorable humans as much as i do. 

*if this is your gif pls lmk!* 

like real people do, a fic by corellians-only 

prologue

Glamor. Satin. Hapan wine and curtseys and a diplomatic accent polishing over your country roots and the knife strapped to your thigh and a propensity to linger in shadows. This is your life, as handmaiden to Senator Padmé Amidala. This is your duty.

Grime. Sweat. Clone armies and custom armour and a commission muddling the balance of peace and deep-rooted affection and unwavering devotion to the Jedi Order. This is Obi-wan’s life, as High General of the Republic. This is his duty.

You meet before the chaos erupts, though, before it spills over the senate security and the temple’s walls and starts incinerating the foundations of life itself.

You meet before the chaos erupts, but your acquaintance is tangled with its aching tendrils. You do not see each other, at first. So many things are in the way. But slowly, gently, acquaintance forms into friend forms into companion forms into lover over cups of tea and night watches and snatched moments of vulnerability in a world that is determined to wrest your soul from your body. Armor and silk and robes are stripped away; duties that once swathed you tightly become more gentle. When you are together it is just you and him, but when you are in the world you are handmaiden and he is general.

But we are getting ahead of ourselves: let us go back to the beginning, when the wholeness was yet separate. Let us go back to the beginning, and meet ourselves anew. Let us go back to the beginning, where everything divines its purpose.

part one (a)

Shimmersilk voile glistens as you turn in the mirror. The tender glow of artificial sun lamps is enraptured by the diaphanous weave, and its metallic threads gleam under such ministrations. It’s a dress that drips with regality. A sense of noblesse oblige seems to ooze from every swish of the cape flowing from your cap sleeves, and you sigh. The act is heavy, and the cape grumbles as your shoulders heave with the motion. Brilliant flickers of gold and silver mock you as you continue to shift from side to side, scrutinizing your body from each angle. Another sigh leaves escapes through your nose, but this one is softer, gentler, more like the gossamer that now encloses you — more like the woman you been trained to be. You will never be as petite or slight as the Senator, but that, you observe, wrangling to adjust one final hairpin into your headpiece, was never quite the point. Your job is to stand in for her ladyship: not to assume her person.

The offending hairpin proves obstinate. You surrender to the cause and submit yourself to an evening of faint wisps of curled hair framing your face. Wisps of hair are too spontaneous. You must be crisp, but it is not about what you want — not in these petty, mundane expressions of living.  

While you have been doing battle a figure has entered the room. It’s one of the Senator’s new Jedi protectors, if the robes are any indication. Without fanfare he approaches you and plucks the pin from your fingers, like he is intimately acquainted with such things and communes with them on a daily basis. Gentle fingers — though, the bruised knuckles tell you they are not immune to struggling against life’s grip — smooth the hair at the crown of your head before he slips the pin into its rightful place, nudging into the golden circlet now held secure. The sleeve of his robe caresses your cheek, obscuring your vision, and you feel with your , rather than see, all of this occur.

“All of this” happens without sound, without breathing almost, as though the two of you have entered a vacuum that warps both space and time and sound.

The man takes a step back and paints himself with an apologetic smile, clasping his hands together in the privacy of his robe and offering you a half-bow.

“I apologize for the liberty, your ladyship.” The Jedi’s voice is precise. “I do hope I wasn’t too forward.” He announces every syllable, acknowledges every idiosyncratic whimsy, each grammatical proclamation.

You meet his gaze in the mirror, and despite the shadows casting about, you can detect the openness, the earnestness of his gaze. He holds no tension in his face, or anywhere else in his body, for that matter. It has been a long while since you have seen someone so at peace. Perhaps, hidden under the cloak, his fingers are grasping at themselves, trying to be rid of the vestiges of forbidden touches.

A half-smile graces your painted lips and you incline your head. The movement cuts but a short arc in the air’s currents, just as you have been taught. “It is no matter.” You toy with the idea of letting him continue to believe you are Padmé, the thought careening through your mind like a model airspeeder run amok. You let the thought crash. It is above you to engage in such petty games, you decide. Padmé would not do it, and it is your job to act as she does. Besides, the Jedi would know, wouldn’t he? Can’t they read minds with the Force? That’s what fisherman in your village used to say when you would let your feet dangle off the docks and graze the surface of the water and watch the boats come in with the day’s catch.

So you turn, then, the cape twisting behind you, and address him face-to-face. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Master Jedi.” You gesture to your twinkling gown. “I am not the Senator.” You catch the tail end of his frown as you avert your gaze, fixating on some unseen object just out of sight. “I am but one of her ladyship’s handmaidens.” You hear the clipped tone of your voice, the way every word is measured like cups of flour, like the yards of fabric for this dress, and you think you hate it, but you cannot tell.

“Oh, I am sorry.” The apology is sincere and bookmarked with amusement, and he rocks back on his heels. It seems he is laughing at his own mistake. “I must however, inquire after the whereabouts of her ladyship. The council has requested that my padawan and I escort her to this evening’s function.” The Jedi’s hands drop to his sides and the robes that shield them follow.

“I’m afraid the Senator has already departed,” you say, making for the exit. The Jedi matches your stride. “She left with another Jedi some twenty standard minutes ago. I presume it was your padawan, Master Jedi?”

“Blast!” he murmurs, but you hear his swearing and duck your head to hide your grin. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, throwing a glance your way. “I’m afraid my padawan has a mind of his own.”

“I think the Senator and your padawan will get along famously, then,” you remark wryly. You have reached the landing pad and are about to bid him a good evening when he climbs into the shuttle and extends a hand to guide you.

“May I be of assistance?”

Skin meets skin for the second time that evening. At this rate you will be more acquainted with his body than your own, and as you sense his muscles grow taut when you shift your weight to board, an unfamiliar sensation embeds itself among the metallic threads. It feels like when you have to receive the Chancellor when Padmé is away on business, or when you act as decoy traveling to and from Theed, but more subtle, more inviting.

“Thank you, Master Jedi.” Skin breathes on skin for one, two heartbeats and then the contact withers and he drops your hand.

A silence nestles over the two of you as the pilot races you over to the function. It persists as he helps you exit the shuttle and delicately rearranges your cape, ensuring the shimmersilk is matches the beams of fractured stars.

Obi-wan does not know why he does this; he does not understand why he feels the nudging of the Force to offer his arm like he is a chivalrous courtier, but he obeys. It is his duty to obey the will of the Force, so he does.

part one (b)

The function teems with lifeforms, and each one spars for attention. They are wrapped in chiffon and decked in damask robes and fine crystals compete for light so they can shine that much brighter. It’s some gala ostensibly designed to raise credits for a struggling cause, and it is like all the rest. A pathetic excuse for most Senators to say they are dedicated to more than greed.

To you, it reeks of Coruscanti power; to him, it stinks of politics.

The Jedi Master spots the Senator and her Jedi protector before you do, and he steers you in their directly, swiftly sidestepping curious glances and intoxicated beings. You manage to snag a glass of something from a passing tray.

He bows again, deeply. His hair seems to blend in with the crowd — it is copper and gold and refined.

“My lady,” he intones, and his voice sparkles like the gem-encrusted champagne flute in Padmé’s hand.

“It’s lovely to see you again, Master Kenobi.” She looks up at the gangly teenager by her side. Rich chocolate and licorice colored robes complement the Senator’s wine-colored gown. It’s a striking image, despite the youth’s awkwardness, here in the blurry illumination of the cavernous room.  

Padmé breaks into a full smile as she spots you lingering at Kenobi’s side. “I see you’ve met my handmaiden.”

“I suppose I have,” he says, examining you anew, “although I’m afraid introductions got swept away in the excitement.”

You think he sounds as unaffected by “the excitement" as one could possibly be, and the duplicity gnaws on your gentility.

You sip while Padmé sweeps together strands of lore about your service, about your loyalty, about your selflessness. The beverage is sweet and sparkling, rather like your gown, and like your dress, it feels sticky and cloying and altogether fake for something that tries so hard to be real. But you smile and nod and once more his skin melts into yours as he shakes your hand.

“The honor,” he says in that voice colored with melody, “is all mine.” You look into his cerulean eyes and wish, dimly, in that part of your brain untouched by starlight, that he had said pleasure.

Padmé’s eyes flicker between you and him, but the moment has passed. She pulls you away, citing the need for diplomatic business and brushes aside her escorts with a firmness she seems to have possessed since birth.

The pair of you wander through the crowd. You are always one step behind, always letting her be the first person they see. She is wearing her favorite designer tonight, and you wonder, taking another sip as she holds court with Bail Organa, why she has commissioned such a work of art for tonight’s event.

Like yourself, the Senator has opted for airy materials matched with splendor. And yet, her garb lacks your ethereality: the deep burgundy smacks of something firmly rooted in rich soil even as you strain heavenward. Tulle and satin are artfully draped over her lithe form, and beaded crystals cover her from head to toe. An open back reveals creamy skin. More than one being in the hall has dragged their eyes over the Senator’s body, straining to glimpse more, more, more, in the dim light.

The Senator pays them no mind. When she concludes her business with Organa, she refreshes her glass, and yours, and tucks you in her side. You begin to walk. It is an aimless thing, but not purposeful — now is when you see who is here, and who is not, who is watching, who pretends to look away, and who slips out unnoticed.

“How did you meet Master Kenobi?” you ask.

“Oh, it was years ago.” Padmé drinks. “I was still Queen at the time.”

“And?” Back in those days, she had retained at least a dozen of Naboo’s finest young women. Now, it’s just you and few others.

“And that was when we met,” she announces. “He’s very famous, you know. So is his padawan, Anakin Skywalker. They’ve protected at least half the galaxy.”

Confusion contorts your features, carving rivers in your forehead. “I’ve never heard of them.”

Padmé laughs, but the expression is faint, almost undetectable. Senators do not typically jest with their bodyguards. “That’s because you think anyone who reports on the Jedi is a gossip-mongering snob and you refuse to read anything about them.” She squeezes your arm and drops her voice to a whisper. “Don’t know know they’re the ones who write all the good stuff?”

“All…the good stuff,” you echo, voice flat and uncomprehending.

Padmé simply rolls her eyes and resume her stride. “They’re in charge of my security now, with Captain Typho. I expect that you’ll be working closing with Master Kenobi. Please help him fulfill his mandate from the Council in anyway you can.”

The mere suggestion of working with that man twists your insides. It’s the same feeling from earlier, swirling and basing into unease. Work with a Jedi? A famous one? The ache anxiety you are used to. It is familiar and it is your unwelcome companion but you have made peace with each other. This — this is something new. This is a grinding jaw and a drawbridge heart and hot and cold dueling for dominance in your stomach and something so strangely akin to anger. You drink more champagne to mask the disconcerting sensation.

part one (c)

The Senator is being pulled away, now, to a group of prominent Senators to discuss the new child labor protection regulations. She does her job and you do yours, melting into the shadows, embracing them, keeping eyes on all those who gather near to your mistress.

Master Kenobi’s sudden appearance at your side does not surprise you, though perhaps it should.

“Are you quite sure you’re able to keep watch on her ladyship from this distance?” His words are no longer melodic. They come to your ears dry and flinty, the way rocks feel without the rain to abate their constancy.

“Quite.” You fail to elaborate because there is simply nothing more to say.

“Your disguise is quite effective. You must pass along my compliments to Captain Typho and the rest of the security team.” He tries again, but you refuse to be endeared. He is stubborn, just like you — he resists being broken down by your cool acidity.

“Thank you, Master Kenobi.” You finally meet his gaze. “I was worried it would be too intricate, but the Senator assured me I had selected the perfect piece. It’s just enough like her for people to not look twice.”

“You engineered this?” Master Kenobi’s body is static, but his face swells with vivacity. A minuscule gesture to the left, an arching eyebrow, a corner of his mouth quirks upwards, ascending to meet his eyes.

“It’s my job,” you return, but the pH of your tone has neutralized somewhat. You are uncomfortable, so you try to tease him. “Maybe one day I can show you how to use all the weapons I have under this gown, and you will believe I can do my job.”

You regret the tawdry joke immediately when he shifts and looks away. “I’m sorry I’ve offended you, my lady.” Master Kenobi analyzes you, then the Senator, and sighs heavily. “I see you have everything well in hand. I shall bid you good evening, then, my lady.” He bows and exits in a boiling mass of robes, his padawan not far behind. Anakin Skywalker lingers on the threshold, gazing into the crowd, eyes frantic, but his Master beckons and he follows obediently.

part one (d)

It is not until early morning, during that brief moment between night and dawn, that you are able to think clearly about the strange feeling gurgling in your chest.

You think of Master Kenobi and his sentimental hair and the caramel of his accent. You wonder about his hands grazing yours, how your fingers curled so naturally around his, the ghost of fingertips in your hair. You consider his attempts at gallantry, at his fealty to his duty, to Padmé embrace of his presence and her lavish praise.

And you ask yourself what would it have been like, if he were just a boy, and you were just a girl, and maybe if he had danced with you he could have respected you more, and maybe if you had been less defensive he would have been more contrite, and you laugh at yourself.

Silly girl, you think as sleep nibbles at your vision. Those are not our kind of dreams.

tbc.

[wendimydarling]

Ground Sparring (Part 2)

Title: Ground Sparring (Part 2)

Summary: Log lines are the hardest part of writing. Just read the damn story.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x First Person Reader

Word Count: 2349

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, sex… all things sex. If sex triggers you, don’t read it.

A/N: Had a dream inspired by @littlefreya​‘s lovely story “Sand Castle - Lines in the Sand”. Decided to write it out and embellish it a tad… That’s Part 1. This is Part 2, which is all embellishment. Basically, I made it up. Smutty, smutty, smutty goodness. Constructive criticism is always welcome, so long as it’s done nicely!

P.S. There is a GIF out there that will give you a mental image of the shower... too bad its not Syverson, but ah well. I’m unable to figure out how to link it. 😑

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I entered the showers before Sy did. One of the other officers stopped him outside the training room to get a couple of signatures so I slipped by, hoping to at least wash the sweat out of my hair before he arrived; I also wanted to be  naked when he came in. No one else was there when I entered the shower room, thankfully. I quickly stripped, turning the water on as warm as it would go before stepping into the makeshift stall. There was only half a curtain, but that small bit of privacy was better than nothing.

I took my time, washing my hair while I waited. It was hard to wait; the sparring match had left me damn horny. My thoughts kept returning to the mat, and I was flying high thanks to my win. I finished my hair and still no Sy, so I moved on to my body, pausing longer than necessary at the apex of my thighs. The soap made everything so much more slick, and the lessened friction heightened my sensitivity. I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall, playing with myself as I thought back to having Sy’s face between my legs.

I heard a soft grunt and my eyes flew open. There stood Syverson, in all his naked, gigantic glory, arms crossed against his chest. His pupils were blown with desire and fixed upon my busy hand. I swallowed thickly, but my quick reflexes allowed me to turn my nerves into a show. I arched my back off the wall and sighed noisily, running my free hand up to tease my breasts as I continued to slide my fingers in and out of my folds. It was Sy’s turn to swallow, and he was in the stall in two seconds, his body pressed against me and his mouth hard on mine.

“Do ya have any idea how hard it was, how hard I was, standin’ there listenin’ to that yak?” he snarled as he pulled my hair to give himself full access to my neck. He planted open mouth kisses on my flushed skin between each phrase as he spoke. “Knowin’ full well—how naked you were in here—what ya might be doin’—to yerself—and hopin’ you’d wait—for me?”

Sy’s free hand dropped to cover mine, lacing our fingers so that he could feel how wet I already was as I played. He urged me to continue, to show him what I like. I complied, switching back and forth from light, teasing strokes to firm, pressured circles; I gave him small gasps and happy sounds in further knowledge of where and how to touch. He rested his forehead on my shoulder and watched as I taught him my body, breathing heavily as the sight grew him harder and harder. I untangled our fingers and wrapped my hands around his biceps, mewling as he took over the lesson. God, it’s always so much better when someone else does it. 

His fingers found their way to my entrance and hardly asked permission before entering my most private of places. Sy must have overheard some of the conversations the girls in camp had previously had, because he crooked his fingers directly onto the unusually located place inside me as if he knew exactly where to go. I gasped and leaned my head back, writhing at the sensation. I’d been told before that my sensitivity was a phenomenon and that I was fortunate, but my god, I had never truly appreciated that blessing until now. Syverson watched my face as he brought me to the edge faster than I’ve ever approached it in my life, then grinned wickedly as he pulled out right before I fell over it, denying me my orgasm.

“You son of a bitch,” I whined, frustrated and feeling empty.

“What, ya think you get to humiliate me in front everyone and then get rewarded?” he chided, “Think again, little lady. Now if I remember...”

Sy squatted abruptly and the next thing I knew he was standing again, but my legs were over his shoulders and I was in the air, my back and hips pressed firmly against the wall. 

“... This was where I first felt that delicious organ of yers flex against me.” he said, staring at the soft flesh that was now in his face. I inadvertently gasped; he was more observant than I’d realized. 

“That’s right, darlin’, I caught it all, every twitch, every groan. Ya know, it’s also remindin’ me of where I was when ya had me beat, and what I wanted to do to ya then.”

His mouth was an inch from my mound and the position we were in left him full use of BOTH his hands, which he put to work right away, one covering my mouth to keep me quiet and the other hand softly slipping through my folds the way I’d shown him. I moaned against his hand at the teasing touch, and as I watched him staring at my pussy, I could have sworn he actually licked his lips. His mouth joined in the assault, licking all around my swollen clit as his other fingers returned to my inner sanctuary, once again finding that place, that one place that drove me insane. 

The way he held me I couldn’t move my hips, nor could I find anything to hold onto for support. Not that I needed it, the man was a hog. There was a bar in the shower but it was too low. There was no ledge at this height, no handhold, and Syverson didn’t even have any hair that I could grasp, he was a jarhead. My hands scrambled for purchase against the cold tile as I took in the maddening sensations, suspended in the air. 

And maddening they were. His tongue was murderously soft; inwardly my body felt exactly what he was doing but if I actually focused on my clit, it was as if he wasn’t touching me at all. His beard tickled on the surrounding skin, and his fingers tormented my insides at just the right intensity that I was close, so fucking close... but my orgasm stayed just out of reach. 

Syverson had the perfect vantage point; the perfect firing position. He could feel when I got too close, my rapid-fire breaths and pulsating groin were a clear warning. Any time that happened he would halt all activity and retreat, leaving me aching, denied.The fifth time he did it I yanked his hand away from my mouth.

“Syverson, please!” I whimpered, as his fingers returned to their favorite place. I was so close already that just their presence had me on the edge.

“No.”

Another suck, another push, another denial. This time I smacked his head, hard, hoping to anger him into a new game. It worked. Well, sort of. Sy looked up at me with that damn eyebrow raised, knowing full well the answer to his next question. 

“You wanna come?” he crooned, brushing his fingertips along the outside of my pussy. I nodded, writhing against him. 

“You wanna come that bad? You don’t wanna wait? Fine then, have it yer way.”

Sy clasped his lips around my clit and plunged his fingers into my depths, massaging my center in the perfect rhythm as my orgasm exploded within me. I shook. My abs constricted. My trembling thighs squeezed his ears. Wave after wave of pleasure rolled over me, and after the fourth orgasm I stopped counting. His other hand returned to my mouth and I was grateful; even though I knew that whoever he had probably paid to guard the door knew what we were doing, I didn’t actually want them to hear us. I tapped out as the pleasure reached what I thought was too much, but Syverson ignored it. I tapped again, harder, so he pulled his mouth away to look at me, arrogant pride written all over his face. His fingers never stopped moving.

“You wanted to come, little lady, I’m only grantin’ yer wish.”

I pulled gently on the hand over my mouth, and he slid it down to my breast, twisting my nipple in earnest. 

“No more fingers,” I managed to choke out, closing my eyes as another orgasm threatened to surface. Syverson chuckled, ignoring me again as he drove me through the surge. I looked down at him, heaving as the pleasure abated.

“Please?” I whispered, barely able to speak. Sy took mercy and dropped me to the floor, claiming my lips in a heated kiss. I clung to him earnestly, unsure if I was capable of standing. I tried to slip my hands between us to return some of his kindness but he grabbed me quickly, pinning my hands to his chest.

“No ma’am, you are not in charge this time around.”

That tone was back, the low and authoritative one he’d used on the mat, but this time I could see his face. That look alone made me moan and sink into him, wondering what he had in store for me now. Syverson shoved me into the corner of the stall, sliding his thick length between my thighs. I grabbed the back of his neck with my hands and keened as the sensitivity in my nerves was renewed, my body anticipating being filled completely. I closed my legs and he rutted into the slick space surrounding him, heightening my desire to be broken. 

Sy kicked my legs apart, grunting as he slowed his thrusts. It was absolute torture, but since he was using his dick now I knew that it was probably as much torture for him to slow down like that as it was for me. I couldn’t resist teasing him so I wiggled my pelvis, relishing the throaty gasp that caught in his throat. He gripped me hard by the pussy, two fingers hooked inside for leverage, and pulled me so far upward that I had to stand on tiptoe. I yelped in surprise. How is it even possible to be this aroused? I was absolutely dripping.

“You do that again and I’ll leave you here, unfucked,” he warned me, “Is that clear?”

There was no mistaking the tone in his voice.

“Yes sir,” I said testing him. Syverson shot me the most sinful look I’d ever seen, and suddenly picked me up again, hiking my knees over his elbows as he grasped the bar behind me. I felt so open and deliciously exposed. Sy abruptly sheathed himself to the hilt in my vulnerable warmth and a long, satisfied groan escaped my lips. It was quickly replaced by short gasps and cries of pleasure as he began to fuck me in earnest. I could watch him have sex all day, I thought. He was noisy, guttural. He had the stamina of a bear. The look on his face as he watched me fall apart was almost reverent, and though we’d never had more than a casual conversation I felt like I knew him completely, and he knew me.

I lost count again as Sy wrecked my body, each orgasm melting into the next. I lost the ability to speak. At one point, I saw stars. There were times when I wondered if it was all just one incredibly long, incredibly powerful orgasm. I wondered if there was ever going to be a time when I wasn’t feeling pleasure. I wondered where the hell this man had been all my life, and I swore to myself I would never, ever give him up, not for anything. It was too much; I had finally discovered what it felt like to have too much. Everything began to hurt, all my nerves pushed far beyond what they’d ever been capable of before. 

Sy had to be close. I needed him to be close. I started to tease him.

“What’s the matter, Captain? Can’t finish what you started?”

Syverson rolled his eyes back into his skull and closed them, shaking his head to try and block out my words. I went on. 

“Cap’s got a problem he can’t solve, doesn’t he? He gets beaten in combat by a woman, and now he can’t even get off when he’s fucking her. What have I done to you, Syverson?”

He growled in warning and fucked harder, but I taunted again. 

“Stop being a pussy, Syverson. Take what you want from me.”

He grabbed me roughly by the jaw, staring into my soul with a look that shot straight to my core. There was something feral in his eyes that I had awoken, something that I was almost afraid of, but also felt the need to conquer. He needed to let go of the control. A notion sprang into my head and I acted on it, grasping him by the throat and squeezing.

“Come for me, Sy.”

Syverson threw his head down with a groan, watching his dick disappear in my body, releasing everything he had into me. He thrust in earnest, pulling as much of his own pleasure from my swollen entrance as he could while my walls squeezed around him, milking him for one last orgasm of their own. Spent, Sy slumped us into the wall, his head nestled between my breasts as he came down. The pressure of his weight on me felt heavy and nice as we rejoined reality.

Unfortunately, with reality came leg cramps and the urge to pee. I smiled as I eased Sy’s member out of me, slowly dropping my legs to the floor and testing their function. Nope, I thought as they gave way, grasping the bar as Syverson caught me. He was grinning.

“Didn’t I say you had a few things you could learn?” he chuckled, supporting me as I washed his warm seed from my legs.

“Yes you did, and I’ll definitely remember the lesson,” I quipped, turning in his arms to wash him as well. “Perhaps you could teach me something else tomorrow?”

Sy cupped my face in his hands, kissing me gently as I melted into his embrace.

“Perhaps.”

[queenofallimagines]

Hi! If your requests are open may I request headcannons of how Mirio and Bakugou would react to news that their fairly stoic female S/O is the runaway daughter of a notorious assassin family? Like, she was abused and defected from the family to become a hero to prove to herself that evil isn't in her blood. The guys realize that some of her behavior and skills during sparring matches and other training makes sense to them now. I hope this makes sense! I love your work 💕

Lmfao when I read this I said “so killua?”

Bakugou:

- I’m love

- He loves the type of person that can kick his ass

- He’s a masochist like that

- So when he sees you black widow style take down Todoroki it’s over

- “Fuck that’s hot”

- Will purposely pick fights with you so you can pin him to any surface

- “That all you got?”

- Lord

- But then he notices that you’re a little bit too good

- The look in his eye when you start fighting makes a shiver go down his spine honestly

- It’s just

- Not normal

- You always shift away from questions about your family

- Your always so secretive about where you are and where your going

- Wearing a disguise when outside

- He’s confused

- What’s are you doing?

- He sees you confront someone in a black coat and you tell them to back off

- He will ask you when your alone in your dorms

- “Who the fuck was that?”

- You spill your guts and he’s surprised

- Like this is the last thing he expected

- Your from an assassin family???

- Those are real??

- You tell him you’ve been hiding from them and ran away to become a hero

- He admires that

- “Well you’re obviously not evil shithead.”

- will comfort you if you ever feel bad about it

- He will ask more about your family tho

- Like how was growing up

- When he learns that you were abused he’s mad

- Ready to take on your whole family

- “I’ll blow them sky high!”

- Will think it’s cool that your immune to poison

- When he almost gets kidnapped

- I say almost BC if you were there this wouldn’t have happened

- You kick dabi’s sunburnt ass and save the day

- He’s super impressed

- You’re his personal bodyguard now lmao

- Y’all get into a lot of trouble

- BC if someone challenges you he won’t stop you

- You do a quick takedown and it’s over

- “That’s my kickass s/o!”

- He’s your hype man

- Will want you to teach him how to do cool stuff like that

- If you end up in a situation that gets a little bit too bloody he’ll try to calm you down

- Can’t have you reverting to you natural instincts

Mirio:

- he literally would never expect it

- Doesn’t even accuse you of being suspicious he just knows that you do stuff

- You don’t even have to use your cork you could take him down easily

- Everyone is Lowkey scared of the vibe you give off

- Stoic and mean

- Mirio doesn’t notice

- Neijire is the first to bring it up

- “Don’t you think they’re a little too... good at this.”

- “Huh?”

- “ they act like a movie assassin like don’t you wonder where those skills came from?”

- Only then will he really investigate

- Will ask you questions that you avoid

- “What do your parents do?”

- “You want some ramen?”

- Lmao

- When he sees you get grabbed in an allyway while on patrol he runs to save you

- You already beat this dude half to death

- Your asking his questions

- And mirio gets a little frightened

- Like where did this come from?

- You see him and freeze

- “What’s going on sunshine?”

- “This guy knows my parents.”

- ??? Did they hire someone to stalk you??

- W h a t is happening

- When you get what you need you walk away

- He will stop you and ask what’s up

- “My family is a group of assassins.”

- W h a t

- 1 million thoughts are running through his head at like the speed of light

- ”are... you one?”

- “I was. I want to be a hero.”

- Will understand why you kept the secret from everyone

- He will support you with his whole heart

- Even if you tell him not to hang around you too much in public because you don’t want him to become a target he’ll still do it

- If your family shows up then he’ll help you deal with them

- ”I’ll be your hero!”

- What a sweetheart

- Will be super amazing at the tings you can do

- “You can drink poison??”

- “I can kill someone with my thumb”

- “.... please don’t.”

- Won’t want you to use lethal force

- He doesn’t even want to be in a situation where you would have to hurt someone that badly

- There is no doubt in his mind you’re going to be a great hero