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jane-the-good · 1 month ago

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Wander In Wonder: CALEB

WORD COUNT: 3.7 K

SUMMARY: Fantasy AU! You escape the confines of your life in search of one that is your own choosing. Caleb finds you along the path he was destined to keep and offers to guide you to live a life of safety and peace

AN: Caleb wasn’t here for Wander in Wonder, so I made it happen ◡̈ I love piecing the tiny details of the Caleb we know and love into things like this. I really wish this was real for him!!

CONTENT WARNINGS: smut, oral sex, mentions of explosions, combat fighting, death ♡

AO3 caleb masterlist

The cold is a living thing, curling around your skin, creeping into your bones, burrowing deep. It does not simply cling—it seeps, sinking past flesh and sinew, winding itself through your ribs with roots breaking through it’s cracked stone. You press your back against the rough bark of a tree, but there is no shelter here, no warmth. The wind howls through the trees, a mournful, unrelenting thing, whispering through the hollows of your ears, stealing what little breath you have left.

Your limbs are leaden, heavy with exhaustion, your breath thin as if the air itself refuses to fill your lungs. Every step that brought you here was a battle—against the waves, against the cold, against the weight of your own survival. You left the island behind, the place you once called a sanctuary. Now, with distance stretching between you and that lonely shore, you see it for what it truly was.

Not a refuge, but a cage.

Not safety, but solitude.

In the vast, endless dark of this unfamiliar land, you wonder which was worse.

The night presses close, the wind a whispering thing, threading through the trees. You clutch at your chest, fingers digging into the skin above your heart. The sacred gem pulses beneath your ribs, its light faint against the cold that has turned your body to ice. Someone is coming. Someone who will carve it from your flesh, who will steal its power and leave your corpse in the dirt.

Your vision wavers, your eyelids too heavy to hold open. The cold is a tide, dragging you under. You let it take you.

Firelight flickers, carving shapes into the dark. Warmth surrounds you, strange yet soothing, pressing against the cold that had seeped into your bones. The scent of burning wood curls through the air, and the dull ache in your limbs is softened by a heat that is not your own. You shift, barely, and realize—your body is pressed against bare skin.

Your eyes snap open. A man sits beside you, his chest bare, his arms wrapped around you, anchoring you to the present with his warmth. His grip is steady, his touch so careful. He does not flinch when you meet his gaze. He only watches, calm and unreadable, his dark eyes deep as an ocean.

“You were close to death,” he says, voice low releasing embers still holding heat. His eyes flicker with something unreadable—not pity, not fear, but understanding.

You do not fear him. There is no greed in his expression, no shadow of the hunger that has chased you across land and sea. The gift within your heart reveals truths, and in him, you see something rare—something safe.

“Who are you?”

He exhales through his nose, as if already tired of the question. “My title is Protector of the Sacred Path.” The words come out stiff, almost begrudging, in a role he never truly chose, “But my name is Caleb.” His voice softens, as if that’s the part that actually matters. “And you?”

You hesitate. The question shouldn’t be difficult, but it is. You’ve spent so long being something to someone else—a runaway, a target, a vessel for the thing inside you—that you never stopped to consider who you might be if given the choice.

“I don’t know yet,” you admit.

Caleb studies you, and for a moment, you think he might press further. But he smiles—small, understanding. “Fair enough.”

A silence settles between you, broken only by the distant crackle of the fire. He speaks again.

“If you’re running from something, you’ll always have an eye looking over your shoulder.”

You let out a breath. “I don’t think I have a choice.”

His expression flickers in thought but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he nods. “Okay. I’ll help where I can.” His voice carries a quiet certainty, holding a promise he doesn’t expect gratitude for.

Gentler, “Where can I take you?”

You swallow, feeling the weight of your answer. You are exhausted, frayed at the edges. Your entire life has been spent fleeing, surviving. Safety has always been an illusion, a concept dangled just out of reach.

And yet, when you look at him, the thought doesn’t feel so impossible.

“To safety,” you whisper at last.

His gaze holds yours for a moment longer, something knowing in his eyes. He nods.

“Then that’s where we’ll go.”

A ghost of a smile plays at his lips, not mocking, not dismissive—just quiet, understanding exactly what you mean. "I know the perfect place. A place to live a life. one that’s yours.”

You study him, searching for deception, but there is none. Only patience. Only quiet resolve. The fire crackles between you, warmth reaching into the empty spaces you had long stopped trying to fill.

“And what do you call this place?" you ask, tilting your head slightly.

His smile deepens, though it still holds something wistful, something you cannot yet name. "You'll see."

A beat of silence stretches between you, but it is not uncomfortable. It is something else entirely—something fragile, gasping for the first breath after nearly drowning. Neither of you acknowledge it. Neither of you have to.

Instead, he stands. A pause, a breath, a choice. He offers you a hand, and you take it.

Through tangled forests and winding roads. Through ruined cities swallowed by ivy and the bones of bridges long since collapsed. He moves as a shadow at your side—constant and unwavering. He is sharp edges and quiet loyalty, a presence carved inbetween heartbeats. He does not ask for explanations. He does not flinch from the weight you carry. When danger rises, he meets it with steel and certainty. When the cold creeps in, he presses closer. He is a promise of warmth.

At first, it is survival. A necessary truce. Two souls moving in the same direction simply because neither has anywhere else to go. But the road is long, and silence is a fragile thing. It breaks in small, stolen moments.

Awoken so thirsty in the middle of the, you feel him shuffle from beside you. The cold winds slipping between the gaps of what was, just a moment ago, guarded by his chest. He hands you your shared vessel of water. “There’s not very much left, but it’s warm.” Your fingers brush his as you take it. You both still, as if waiting for something unspoken to surface. But it does not. Not yet.

A day beneath a sky stretched wide and endless, the hush of wind through empty fields. He finds an overgrown orchard and plucks a piece of fruit, tossing it to you with a half-smile. “They taste ancient, in a really bad way.” You take a bite. It tastes like dust. He was right. But it also tastes like laughter held too long behind teeth.

A moment at dusk, when the world is painted in shades of dying light. The fire between you flickers low, casting long shadows, stretching time thin. You remember the first moment you saw him. The silence is not heavy, but fragile glass on the verge of breaking.

You feel his gaze before you meet it, a pull as inevitable as the tide drawn to the shore. He’s watching you—not like a question, but like an answer he hasn’t yet learned how to say.

“Didn’t know you hummed,” he says, voice quiet, rough from the long day of hiking.

You blink, caught off guard. “I didn’t either.”

His lips twitch—almost in a smile, but something softer. “Why?”

You hesitate, fingers curling around the worn fabric of your stolen cloak. “I think…” You exhale, shaking your head. “Maybe —for the first time in a long time—I don’t feel like I have to be quiet.”

He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t let you fold into yourself the way you usually do when words feel like too much. Instead, he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, the short depth between you shrinking with each breath.

“I really like it,” he murmurs.

The words settle deep, an unexpected warmth blooming in your chest. It’s terrifying, how easily he gets past your walls—how his presence has become something steady, something certain, and necessary.

The fire crackles. The wind stirs the trees. And still, neither of you move.

When he reaches out, you’re not surprised, you know he isn’t either, yet he is still slow and careful, as if giving you time to pull away. He cups your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek, tracing a path so light it could be mistaken for hesitation. But there is no hesitation. Only the unbearable tension of something long overdue.

You tilt your head, barely a breath between you now. His eyes search yours, and you don’t know if he’s asking for permission or waiting for you to break first.

You break.

The moment your lips meet, the world exhales. It is not desperate, not rushed. It is quiet, steady—the kind of kiss that doesn’t demand, but simply is. His fingers tighten against your skin, as if grounding himself, as if making sure you’re real. You thread your hand into his shirt, holding onto him using the weight of the moment as an anchor.

When you part, the absence is almost unbearable. He lingers, his forehead resting against yours, breath unsteady.

“Seizing what’s yours looks gorgeous on you.” He speaks without even thinking about processing his words. “I’m so proud.”

You climb on to his lap, to make him more proud. Enjoying how the sounds of the leaves fade when his mouth is on yours. His arms hold you with treasure and care, not wanting to let you go but giving you the freedom to move as your please. The rock under your bent knees scrapes each time you grind on his lap, but he will take of any wounds later.

You pull away from his lips to better worship is jaw and his neck and his collarbone and his chest.

“It was very kind of you to save me that day.” Your hands caress the sides of his torso with care before you guide his blouse over his head. “I thanked you many times, but I don’t really know if you felt it yet”

You pull at the laces on his pants.

He exhales a quiet laugh, but there’s something raw in his expression, something that flickers between restraint and surrender. “Should we slow down?” he asks, and there’s no reluctance in his voice—only care. One of his hands finds yours, stopping your movements with a featherlight touch.

“I don’t know,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “I really don’t want to.”

You both know how hard he is, the inevitability of it, the way you’ve been circling each other for so long that stopping now would feel like denying gravity.

“We don’t have to go to the stars,” you murmur. “We can just explore the path.”

You shift his hand from yours, guiding it to rest at the crown of your head, before resuming the deliberate task of unlacing his pants.

His fingers curl at the nape of your neck, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “I can never deny you,” he breathes.

The sound that escapes him when he’s finally freed from the constraint of his pants is nothing short of beautiful—raw, helpless, edged with relief and want. It ripples through you, sinking deep, settling low. And in that moment, you understand—this must be how he felt when he told you he liked your humming. Like hearing something so unexpectedly intimate, so undeniably yours, that it becomes a song he never wants to forget.

You gently grasp his base with both of your hands so you can kitten lick the tip, trying to discover what he likes the best. You lift your gaze to meet his eyes, searching for a flicker of reaction. He stands frozen, caught somewhere between disbelief and awe. You slide one long lick along the underside of the base before wrapping your lips around him.

“Darling, you are an other worldly treasure.” His head falls back.

You hum in response while sliding him in and out of your mouth. His hand on your hair tightens when you swirl your tounge around his tip. His moan settles between your thighs and climbs up your spine.

You glide one hand to cradle his balls and he involuntarily thrusts forward, sending him to the back of your throat, forcing you choke.

“I’m sorry, love, are you alright?” And when he pulls away just enough to meet your gaze, his thumb brushing against your cheek, his voice is nothing but devotion.

You swirl your tongue again and his head leans forward in blissed defeat. His breathing picks up and you feel him pulse against your tongue. His moans are so encouraging, you feel them in your own core. He is so close.

and just when you think you have him in the palm of your hand,

His hand pulls—swift, sure—from your hair to your shoulder, guiding you away with a touch that is both careful and desperate. And then he is on you, over you, pressing you down beneath him. The tide pulling the shore into its depths.

His lips find yours in a hunger that has been simmering beneath the surface, now set free. It is not a question. It is not hesitation. It is the inevitability of gravity, of two bodies drawn together, of something too long restrained finally breaking loose.

“I have never actually thanked you, for falling into my life” He grinds against you

His hand slides up your thigh, a slow, deliberate ascent, before guiding your leg around his back—anchoring you to him, as if you could ever drift away. His mouth maps its way down, pressing reverence into fabric, into skin, into the space between breaths. And when he finally stops, his breath is warm against your pulse, against the place where need and anticipation blur into something electric. Your leg drapes over his shoulder in a claim.

His voice is barely a whisper, but it hums through you like a vow.

“Please, let me make it up to you.”

You would do anything for him.

“Anything you desire.”

His mouth finds you almost instantly, a breath, a press, a kiss through fabric that leaves you unraveling beneath him. The sensation is so consuming, you barely register the hand ghosting up your hip, the slow, practiced tug of your underwear slipping lower, lower. Only when he pulls back do you realize—he’s peeling them from your legs, his gaze dark, reverent. Drawn by instinct alone, he lifts them to his nose, breathing you in like something sacred before leaning down once more, intent on finishing what he started.

You already knew his tongue is divine at teasing you with words, this is so different.

“Caleb.” You arch in bliss.

One hand finds your clit, teasing, circling, setting you alight, while the other wraps around himself, stroking in time with the rhythm he’s building between you. His moans are a melody against your skin, low and reverent, vibrating through you until you can’t tell where you end and he begins. When you breathe, it barely feels like breathing at all—just a sharp, shattered thing, like air caught between want and oblivion.

“Come with me darling.” He is desperate and demanding.

You see the stars—but not just the ones you expected. There are infinitely more, stretching vast and endless, and for the first time, you’re not just looking at them. You’re feeling them. You’re part of them. And the only thing more breathtaking than their glow is the quiet, steady presence of him with you.

You return to earth in gasping breaths, your body still singing with the echoes of him. He shifts, gathering you into his arms, pressing you, cherishing how precious and irreplaceable he has known you to be.

“I’m so grateful for you,” he murmurs, his voice rugged with something deeper than exhaustion.

Your fingers trace your name onto his chest. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

He hums, pulling you onto him, wrapping the cloak from beneath you around both of your bodies, cocooning you in warmth. His hand moves in slow, absent strokes along your back, grounding you, soothing you. The weight of the day settles over you both, but for once, it doesn’t feel heavy. It feels safe. Because you are here. Because he is holding you.

It would be easier to call this survival. Easier to blame the loneliness, the way time and distance have frayed you both down to something raw, and searching. But the thought lingers, soft and certain between words. Was it not someplace I left for, and instead someone? What if it was always meant to be this?

You do not know the answer. Perhaps you never will. But as you walk beside him, step for step, heartbeat for heartbeat, you know this: you are not alone. Not anymore. And for the first time in a long, long time—maybe never again.

The sanctuary is within reach when they come for you.

They strike as wraiths in the dark, wrenching you from Caleb’s grasp before you can scream. His warmth vanishes in an instant, replaced by the crushing grip of your captors. Rough hands pin you down, the cold press of steel against your chest. Then—pain. White-hot, searing, as they carve toward the gem buried within you. You thrash, but their hold is unyielding. Your own screams rip through the night, swallowed by the clash of steel, the guttural cries of men falling—falling to him.

Caleb fights as a man possessed. His voice cuts through the chaos, raw with fury, desperation—his only focus is you. He carves a path through them, reaching for you. He’s almost there. Just a little more—just a moment longer—

Then—an explosion. The world tilts. A shockwave tears through the field, slamming into you in a tidal wave. Sound collapses into a void. The night turns to ruin.

When your vision clears, the world is unrecognizable. Ash hangs in the air, thick as fog. The ground is littered with bodies—lifeless. Your stomach twists as you search for him. The second you see his body, the breath is stolen from your lungs.

Caleb.

He lies amidst the fallen, a broken thing in a world still reeling from battle. His body—too still. His arm—mangled, ruined, the ruin of it staining the earth beneath him. No, no, no— The word thrums through you, a desperate, useless plea. Your limbs barely obey as you pull yourself toward him, the ground unsteady, your breath shattering in your chest. Your hands find his face, trembling violently, as if trying to will him back, as if trying to anchor him here—here, with you.

"Caleb," you whisper, in a voice that is barely there.

His skin is so cold. You didn’t know that was even possible for him.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were so close. For the first time in centuries, you let yourself believe—truly, foolishly believe—that you could have something safe, something real. That you could be more than a shadow passing through time. Caleb made you feel like a person, like you could live, not just endure. Like you deserved to. And now—now he’s slipping away.

The cruelest part is that you can’t follow.

And now he’s gone.

Tears blur your vision as you clutch him. You should have been the one to fall. You should have saved him. But you weren’t given that choice. You were cursed to endure, to outlast everyone—no matter how much it destroyed you.

A sob rips from your chest as you press your forehead to his. "Please," you whisper. "Please, don’t leave me."

But the night gives no answer.

“No,” you whisper. “Not you. Not after everything.”

Your vision wavers, grief turning the world to nothing but shadow and ruin. You press your forehead to his, breath unsteady, heart aching in a way no magic, no curse, no wound has ever made it ache before. “Thank you,” you whisper, the words fractured, breaking apart as they leave you. “For everything. I never would have have experienced what living could be, without you.”

A sob tears through you more jagged than his broken dagger. Only one regret lingers—one thing left undone before fate rips him away. Your hands shake as they cradle his face, as you press your lips to his, soft and lingering, a farewell etched in sorrow.

Your heart clenches.

And then, it beats.

Once. Twice.

A pulse tears through your chest—light, warmth, and something else. Something ancient. Something eternal. The gem hums, its vibrations spilling outward, threading into his skin like tendrils of life. They wrap around his still form, caressing, binding, as if pulling him from the abyss with unseen hands that have always known him.

A gasp shatters the silence.

Caleb jerks upright, breath torn from his lungs as though ripped back from the brink. His fingers dig into your arms, grounding himself in the shock of existence. His eyes—wild, disoriented—lock onto yours.

"Why are you crying?" Are you hurt?” he asks, voice thick, oblivious.

A breathless laugh shakes through you, disbelief and relief tangling in your ribs. He doesn’t understand. Doesn’t realize he was gone. That you are the reason for his living.

Your heart beats again, but this time, not just for survival.

This time, it beats for him.

He pulls you into his arms, as if to shield you from a danger already past. Concern flickers in his gaze, as if the tears in your eyes are the only thing that matters..

The protector of the sacred path was destined to protect this path that you walked upon to seek understanding.

The power within you—the eternal blessing of the gem—was never meant to be stolen. Never meant to be wielded through blood and sacrifice.

Amplifying the reason it beats through unwavering, selfless, boundless, tender and unconditional devotion.

A heart cannot be ripped out, and divided to be shared.

It can only be given freely.

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uc1wa · 1 year ago

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18+ minors dni

OCT. 17 — KINKTOBER ‘23

KNIFE & GUN PLAY WITH JASON TODD

ktober m.list

tags: fem reader, blood, gun play isn't gorey, penetrative sex, cum play for a second, possessive jason, reader calls jason daddy once, (if i missed any pls message me!)

jason hesitated only slightly when you had mentioned having rougher sex. took a beat to read your face one night after dinner when the topic was somehow brought up, a tilt of his head and arch of his brow following.

it wasn’t like the two of you were purely vanilla when it came to your bedroom tendencies. you started by asking jason to choke you, your hand placing overtop of his to press harder—clearly nervous of his strength and your limits. then, jason tested out slapping… and with the way your pussy clenched around him, it was safe to say there was a green light in front of that too.

but… when you were playing with the switchblade that the man kept in his pocket when you had run the blade over your fingers gently, and the words, "i wouldn’t be upset if you used this in bed," fell from your tongue, jason could only smirk to himself.

"want me to put a lil’ tattoo on you princess?" he asks, holding his hand out in asking for the blade, to which you hand to him. you nod with a grin, lifting up the thin fabric of your pajama shorts. the soft flesh of your upper thigh being exposed, your fingers running over the skin. "right here," you say, the skin right under the hem of your panties being traced with your fingertip.

you look from the skin between your hip and thigh to jason who’s sat in front of you, his eyes darkening as he looks at your skin. the hand that’s not holding the blade grabs the soft flesh, squeezing it and giving it a little tap.

"'jason’s'… how does that sound?" green eyes meet yours, his demeanor changing to one of those that says he's ready to pounce on you at any given second. "mhm, mark me up. wouldn’t be your first time," you nod with a laugh, pulling up your top to show one of your boobs, a dark purple love mark sucked into the skin from two days prior.

jason tilts his head in thought, questioning if he should hold out on telling you his desire that followed yours. the desire that has just reached the front of his mind, a thought that only a questionable vigilante who's killed hundreds would have. his eyes trailed over your body as he does so, to which you scrunch your eyebrows. "yes?" he holds a momentary finger up at you as he silently walks away, making his way into your bedroom without a word.

a few minutes go by, your attention is turned to the television until the man walks back into the room. nothing has changed about him, besides the fact that he’s holding a hand behind his back. one end of jason’s lips is tugged upwards despite the nervousness to reveal the idea he was keeping away from you.

he takes a seat, sweatshirt bunching up around his hips as he brings his arm forward. now your eyes widen—excited and nervous yourself. the hesitation is understandable, as any other sane person would most likely make a run for it.

the shiny, clean metal was one you’d only seen when jason had come home from being the red hood. when he had come off of patrol and you were in the rarity of being awake at the late hour of the night, watching him strip himself of his vigilante clothing and tools. the tools he had hidden in the back of your shared closet, several locks attached as a safety measure.

the mechanism that your boyfriend had used hundreds of times—either to take a life or to severely hurt another. now, holding it in front of you, his eyes never leaving your face.

"why not both?" he asks, turning the gun to show you that the safety is on, continuing to open the slots where bullets would be found and showing that it was clear of any possibilities of harm.

while jason was around guns and every possibility of weaponry on a daily basis, you weren’t. but, you weren’t opposed to the idea, and the way your heart rate quickened and your underwear started to get wet was proof of that.

with wide eyes you nod and stand up to take jason’s hand, leading you to the room that you were normal to experimenting in.

you both were quick to strip yourselves of clothes, your mind occupied with ways that you could make use of the gun, finally landing on the one thing that you know jason would like.

on a carpet in front of your bed, you fall to your knees on the ground below you, hands sitting pretty and expectantly on your thighs. wide eyes watch your boyfriend smirk at the way you’re ready for him, finding his space in front of you, standing tall and proud with the gun still in his hand.

if jason hadn’t cleaned his guns religiously, you wouldn’t dare to put the one in his hand anywhere near you—god knows what would lie on the surface of it. but, jason took care of them as if they were his prized possession, the same way he took care of you.

so, he places the gun in front of him, right where his cock would usually fall if you were to suck him off. instead of him, though, your tongue slips between your lips to find the tip of the gun, letting it lay flat against the underside of the cool metal while his cock stands proudly behind it.

his eyes stay pointed downwards, watching the way you wrap your lips around the cold metal. while his face doesn't read anything but focus, his internals are going off the charts. his cock hard as a rock while his heart beats faster and faster in anticipation. anticipation of watching you suck his gun, and his cock, and fucking you with pretty metal touching your throat and scarlet running down your thigh from his idea of a tattoo.

while your soft lips left a salivated mess on the tip of jason's pistol, you decided to bring a hand to his member. thumb running over the tip, pleased to feel his pre and following suit in running down his length, beginning to slowly jerk him off. a soft smile tugging your lips when you watch his breath hitch in his throat from the contact.

like a flick of a light switch, jason's throwing the weapon to your bed with a shake of his head. helping you stand up with a hand holding your throat, forcing a choked whine to leave you because of the strength of your boyfriend. your eyes go wide when he leans down to face you, grip still holding the soft skin that coats your neck.

"i'm gonna give it all to you tonight, sweetheart. don't worry about that pretty head of yours, okay?" he questions, throwing you on the bed and finally releasing you, allowing you space and time to catch your breath while jason takes his time crawling between your legs that you oh-so gladly spread for him.

it should be a crime to be as wet as you are due to the minimal contact your boyfriends had with you. hardly laying more than a hand on you and dripping onto the bed without care, eyes meeting his dark ones and watching as he grabs the gun once more.

only this time, his confidence is at a high. all hints of hesitation leaving his body and the action of rubbing the opening of the gun between your folds is done selfishly. of course, he knows it feels good with the symphony of whines and moans you sing for him, but he can't help but to indulge in the sight alone. dark eyes watching the way your cunt flutters, begging to be penetrated rather than teased with the metal.

jason's hungry for everything you give to him.

"such a slut," he begins, locking eyes with you once more, "all wet from a fuckin' gun?" you babble something that sounds like a confirmation, and it makes jason scoff, halting his movements just where you need him; tip of his gun pressed and paused at your entrance. "beg for it."

your cheeks flush, turn red at the demand he makes. but, it's dumb to deny it. dumb to act like you won't fuck the killing machine that was just pressed to the puffy lips of your mouth.

"fuck me with it, please," you say lightly, knowing it's not enough, but wanting to push jason further. after all, he said he'd give it all to you tonight, so you'll make him prove it.

his voice grows deeper, louder and he nudges your clit that begging for attention with the metal, allowing weight to fall on it which makes you squirm under his harsh gaze. "fuckin' pathetic... fuck you with what?"

your eyes roll back, hips rolling forward in attempt to move the dead weight that is the gun and gain some stimulation. but, it's to no avail. your eyes grow wide, swollen lips closing before opening once more. "please daddy, wan' you to fuck me with your gun. gonna feel so good, please please please," you press, and jason eats it entirely. angry red cock spilling with precum, milky streak falling against one of his veins.

"mhm, princess," he says, moving the gun downwards and pressing it to your entrance once more, slowly, eyeing the way your hole swallows the metal that pushes inwards until it can't anymore. the sweet moan is something he appreciates, though he knows the size is only a fraction of his cock that you're used to. but, the coolness of it does enough to feel foreign and good.

with a cocky smirk on his lips, he begins fucking you with the weapon. pulling it in and out of you slowly, but increasing in speed with each thrust he delivers; a big hand holding it with his index and middle finger holding the trigger subconsciously. aiming straight towards your cervix, which he'll touch soon enough.

and he fucks you well. fucks you with an arm that has pretty scars and newer cuts littering the skin. veins starting on the top of his hand and trailing to his forearm pumping blood that's evident in the way his cock is begging for attention. but he wants you to cum once on the gun. make a mess out of it in a way that's unlike anything he's ever experienced.

and once you're arching your back against blankets, moaning his name out in a near yell, and attempting to move a hand between your legs to get him to stop fucking you, stimulation too much, he finally gets what he wants.

jason's perverted thoughts cloud his head when he's slow to pull the gun out of you. looking at the metal that's covered in your milky essence. slow enough that there's a string of wetness that connects you to the weapon, and he could cum from that alone.

but the real finale is when he realizes that your cum is filling the barrel of the gun, filling the once-empty space with yourself. he brings it to your lower tummy, spilling the mess all over you in a manner that's filled with pure filth. proceeding to throw the gun to the side, acknowledging the fact that it's served its purpose for tonight. the pain of his hard-on is finally coming to his attention, and he needs to stuff his pussy.

"how'd that feel, gem?" he questions, moving against covers and watching your half-lidded eyes. both hands pull your thighs up so he can push them back, tip teasing your swollen entrance. "g-good," you whimper, and jason would be lying if he paid any attention to your response. your convulsing pussy is the only thing that has his attention right now, the way you're attempting to suck him whole.

and without warning, he's pushing his entire length between your legs, filling you whole and halting his movements once he's completely surrounded by your soft walls. groaning at the sensation of you clenching around him, but resisting moving his hips the way he wants to.

one hand remains gripping the fat of your thigh while the other grabs the switchblade lying on the mattress beside your pretty figure. flicking it open with his fingers, somehow making it look like an art while he's in the process of doing so. your attention follows it, almost forgetting that you're being stuffed full of jason's cock without movement. unwillingly cockwarming the man.

"remind me, baby. where'd you want my name?" jason's eyes move to meet yours, and without fail, a whimper slips past your lips and he feels the tightness that's close to making him hammer himself into you. but he has the patience and self-control that you don't.

his palm meets yours halfway, letting go of your thigh and letting his hand fall overtop of yours, smoothing over the top of your thigh. in the space that's dangerously next to where he's laid out inside of you, and it makes him more hungry for you if that was possible.

he's transferring his blade to the hand that's closer to the skin where you want it, tracing only enough for your skin to become a shade lighter under the pressure. once again looking up at you, he takes note of the way your lips fall open while anticipation grows in your eyes. it makes him smile wildly, a reminder that you want this. that you're the one who asked for it.

"'s gonna hurt," you whimper, and jason shakes his head, setting the blade on your thigh while his big hand takes your jaw in his hand, squishing your cheeks. "you can handle it, baby. c'mon, where'd my strong girl go?" a smile pulls your lips upwards. "it'll feel just like that tattoo you wanted, it's like a trial before the real thing." he leans towards you, holding back a groan from the way he pushes himself deeper inside your cunt to do so, giving you a sloppy and messy open-mouthed kiss.

then he's pulling back, blade in hand once more, and beginning to get to work. the whimpers are a symphony to his ears as he presses the sharp tip against your soft skin, cutting his name so pretty in your flesh. his eyes watch the way the deep red liquid peeks through the cracks, beginning to drip down the side of your skin. the hand that's not cutting his name into you is squeezing and rubbing the skin of your stomach soothingly.

his hips moving in small circles, enough to give the both of you something, but not enough to make him mess up his painting.

"so fucking pretty, honey," jason says as soon as he's finished, throwing the bloodied blade on the floor to clean up later. but his eyes are unable to see his finished work of art, and jason isn't one to waste.

pulling out of you with a moan, he leans down to the expanse of your thigh, licking over the blood with his tongue flat. he doesn't take note of how you sit up, your eyes widening at the stinging but warm sensation. you watch the way scarlet red coats his tongue, finding its way to the corners of his lips while he sits back up on his knees.

jason's cock stands tall as he uses his thumb to collect the blood from his lips, dark eyes watching yours as he sucks on his own digit. longer than needed, but he can see you like it; whether it be your fluttering cunt or your eyebrows that furrow. he laughs, knowing he's completed what had to be done in order for you to fully be his property.

because now jason's pretty slut girlfriend can't show her cunt to any other man without reading jason's name right beside it.

🏷️: @harleycao, @idyllcy, @hails227, @aviixol, @hopeannalea, @hearttjason, @roysjason, @blursotongz, @zaxlarza, @wartofart, @loviie-stuff, @nmw-am, @nightjarwings

#welcome to my kinktober where i make one fic like 200 words and the next 3000 words #loveeee consistency #anyways this was so fun to write i love writing crazy themes #sigh cuz i want it #also realized i wanna start making text it’s actual size for fics! so will be doing that #drabbles still in tiny tho #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd smut #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd #red hood x you #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #red hood smut #red hood #kinktober

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zorosdimples · 2 years ago

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mdni - possessive alpha!kakashi. inspired by this ask from caly @qichun, this ask from aly @rookie98writes, and this ask from cher @honeylavendr <3

“i can still smell him on you,” kakashi growls.

you feel the thunderous anger rolling off his body in waves, lightening threatening to crack. he has your back pressed into the mattress, knees flush to your chest, dripping cunt on display and begging for him to fill you.

but kakashi’s heavy cock is too far away to kiss your messy folds; you whimper, whine, and writhe in need, but his firm hold is rigid—sure to leave plum blossoms on the back of your thighs. kakashi grazes his fangs up your jaw to bite and nibble at your earlobe, a teasing taste of what’s to come that has you mewling.

“k-kashi,” you pant breathlessly, an undisguised plea evident in your desperate tone. “he j-just asked for a hug.”

kakashi pauses his ministrations on your ear, silvery stubble scraping your flesh as he moves down to nuzzle the dewy skin of your neck.

“i don’t blame you, pup,” kakashi placates, mouthing a kiss on the column of your throat before raising his head, his narrowed gaze a storm. “but genma fucking knows better than to touch his hokage’s mate.”

without warning, he plunges his cock into your wet heat—you barely bite back a scream. his pace knocks the wind from your lungs, and your head lolls back as he pounds into your cunt.

“gonna fuckin’ knot you and mark you up, sweetness,” kakashi grits out, relentless pace somehow quickening. “everyone’s gonna know who you belong to.”

at that, he sinks this teeth into the healed mark on the juncture of your neck and shoulder. agony sears through your body and hot tears carve streams down your cheeks as he pierces your flesh. but the pain dulls as your mate’s soft lips worship the angry wound, his tongue spelling i love yous in apology.

the next day, per your hokage’s orders, you wear a low cut top around the village. genma can’t look you in the eyes.

#this is super tiny shorty short but i couldn’t help myself!!!!#i wrote it during my lunch break #i just need him to knot me right fuckin’ now #kakashi smut #naruto smut #kakashi hatake #kakashi x reader #naruto x reader #kakashi hatake smut #kakashi x you #hatake kakashi #tw a/b/o #tw omegaverse #༄ kae writes

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slightly-knot-insane · 6 months ago

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Goddess's New Favourite

Monstertober 2024 - day 6 [ Ancient God ] by @ozzgin

[ fem!goddess x gn!reader ]

content: giant/tiny

You felt incredibly lucky to be selected as the next Chosen one. Fertility Goddess's insatiable lust demands many lovers. Her pleasure brings abundancy to the land and her orgasms water the land.

Her huge and plump form is wonderous. She is beautiful and fat, decorated with flowers and vines. Her hair is the colour of the ripe wheat and the skin is the shade of the most fruitful soil.

All the Chosen ones caress her body, her neck, breasts, stomach and thighs. They brush her hair and pubes, and kiss her stretch marks. But the most precious part of her, her magnificent ample cunt, is waiting for you. It is soft, wet and red like the most succulent beetroot.

You first thank the Goddess for choosing you, bowing in front of her, and shaking from both awe and thirst. Your desire to please her is almost overwhelming. Her legs are barely open, just enough for you to squeeze in-between her thighs.

You approach her form and touch her folds, enjoying their texture. You massage them, and kiss them, licking every soft place. The Goddess moans and spreads her legs more and you immediately take her pulsating clit into your mouth. It's almost the size of your fist so you use both your hands and your mouth to pleasure her.

She is praising your efforts, your long arms and skill. She is guiding you deeper inside her, telling you where to touch and rub. You listen to her rich and soft voice and follow her every instruction until her moans become louder. She stops talking and you just follow the melody of her pleasure, until she reaches her peak.

She screams so loudly the earth shakes underneath your legs. But you don't stop since you're being pulled in by her throbbing pussy. You dive deeper and keep thrusting your entire body inside her until she reaches another orgasm and squirts. And you still don't stop. Not until she showers you with her juices two more times. You end up soaked and blessed by her, and she takes you as her new Favourite.

#monster #monster lover #monster fucker #monster fuqqer #giantess #giant/tiny #g/t #g/t writing #giant x reader #giant smut #smut #slightlyknotinsane #ski.doc #ski.monstertober

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baby-tini · 1 year ago

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Ok ok more dark skk poly with their little pet PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I need more, how would they treat them when they behave? Are they ever nice to their little pet and treat em good? Is gentle petting or are they continuously rough?

Of course of course babes

- They absolutely can be nice, they love their little pet, you're prettiest when you're mentally intact after all

- As long as you behave you're gonna be fine, Chuuya makes loads of cash, and who better to spend it on then his pretty pet? Dazai doesn't make much but he has surprisingly good taste when it comes to clothes. He picks out the prettiest collars too.

- You sit pretty on the couch while Chuuya makes you dinner and Dazai cuddles you, calling you his pretty kitty. Brushing your hair and petting your (faux) ears. Laying little kisses on your cheek.

- While Chuuya is the stricter one, he's not nearly as mean as Dazai can be. He makes sure you're well taken care of, waiting on you patently. Chuuya's the more responsible one, he cooks and cleans. Cleaning your collar, polishing the diamonds because only the best for his pet.

- Chuuya usually picks out your clothes because he has an eye for what looks good on you. The prettiest lingerie, the softest ears, cutest tails and even prettier collars.

- Soft sex is common as long as you behave and play nice, they'll rub your little clit, prep your pretty cunt and softly slide down your throat. Dazai will rub you over your panties and make you cum. You're so pretty when you cum, and he'll give you praise-filled kisses on your neck and head. Brushing away your tears and cooing at you to "be quiet before you wake Slug."

- They're the sweetest when they bath you, Chuuya rubbing you down with the best smelling lotions as Dazai washes your hair. Throwing in a couple bath bombs and bath salts. They'll even carry you out if you're sleepy.

- They'll dry you down and put you in the softest, comfortable clothes they find before cuddling you too sleep.

- Individually their aftercare is good but together!?!? It's amazing, their soft and will make you drink atleast two cups of water and get you a snack. Showering you in praises worthy of importance. Together, cuddles are the best. I picture Dazai to be cold and Chuuya as someone warm. So it's the best of both.

- Chuuya sleeps closest to the door because his ability is combat ready... but Dazai keeps a loaded gun under his pillow. They know being around you puts you in danger and they'll lay down their life for you and each other.

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silvvermoon · 6 months ago

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First time anal with Aki 💕

pairing: Aki Hayakawa x Reader

tags: anal sex, rimming, anal fingering, kinda soft-dom!Aki, AFAB reader, anal creampie, literally all just butt stuff.

NSFW, minors DNI

thinking about first time anal with aki and how gentle yet commanding he’d be with you. he knows you’ve been wanting this for ages, and even though you’ve already had his fingers in your ass multiple times while he’s eaten your pussy, he’s still so insistent on doing all the proper prep work. even when you remind him about the amount of times Aki’s fucked your pussy while keeping a lil’ plug in your ass at the same time. you’re prepared, is what you’re trying to say, but Aki’s having none of it.

because the first time he’s actually gonna fuck your ass with his cock? Aki’s more attentive than ever, even though you used a small butt plug in your ass the night before to prepare for him. Aki insists that he needs to rim you first, your legs up in the air with Aki’s face between your thighs. Wants ease that tight little ring of muscle with his tongue and spit until you’re hazy and begging for cock, fingers, anything. he doesn’t hold back, tongue circling your hole and slightly pushing in until you’re dazed and aching, whining for more. and he plays nice, murmurs sweet things into your skin like “easy baby, easy. gotta get you nice and lubed up for my fingers next, okay?”

and hearing that lube squirt onto his hands gets you more excited than it should. you feel so exposed like this, spreading your cheeks apart to give aki better access while he slides in one thick finger, stretching your ass out slowly while you moan and clench against him. you don’t give a fuck how pathetic you look, all you know is you’ve wanted this for so long and tonight you’re finally getting it. Aki’s gentle, as usual, leaning down to kiss your clit before looking up at you and whispering “want another, princess?”

Yes. Yes of course you fucking do and you nod as fast as you can, letting out a small whimper as Aki stretches your tight little hole with a second finger, making you feel so full. So good. He stays like that for what feels like forever, only gently pumping his fingers into your ass while leaning down to kiss your thighs. you barely notice his other hand creeping closer to your pussy, and you let out a sharp cry when he starts fingering your ass harder as his other hand begins to thumb at your clit. It’s so much, too good, tears welling in your eyes as bite your lip to stop yourself from making more pathetic whimpers. you know you’re gonna cum if he keeps this up, and no, no, that’s not what you want. Aki’s knows it all too well too, and after a few more thrusts he eases his fingers out of you, giving your pussy a light smack as he does so.

“shh, careful, princess. know you wanna cum with my cock in your ass tonight, don’t worry. you know I’d never let you cum before that,” he says, voice melting into your cock drunk brain as he squirts more lube on his erection. your eyes are watery but you need to see it. need to see how aki’s thick cock stretches your ass for the first time. it’s effort, but you manage to crane your neck down and watch as Aki spreads your ass cheeks apart, rubbing the head of his cock against your tiny little hole before pressing in.

he’s slow. deliberate. letting you take him inch by inch until your head falls back against the pillow, allowing yourself to just breathe. “Doesn’t hurt,” you murmur when you see his concerned look, the way he stills inside you. “Feels good, aki, feel so full of you. Please- fuck me. I need it,” you whimper, grinding your hips forward until more of his cock enters your ass. When he finally, finally bottoms out, you feel so full that it’s like there’s no space for you, just aki. you love it. the way he fits in you so perfectly, despite it being the first time he’s ever fucked your ass. you let out a gasp when he begins to move, slow, shallow thrusts into you while you reach down and rub desperately at your own clit.

you want this to be endless, Aki’s cock filling you up over and over again, and looking up at him you can see it in his face too. He’s looking at the way his cock spreads open your tiny hole like it’s unreal, and you let out a broken moan when aki reaches down and thumbs around the rim of your asshole that’s stretched so nicely around his cock. you can tell he’s not gonna last much longer, no matter how controlled he’s trying to be tonight. And the same goes for you. you’re a filthy mess, rubbing harshly at your own clit until you can feel yourself tightening up everywhere, both in your pussy and your ass. knowing that you’re so full of him is what sends you over the edge, crying out broken words like “aki, aki, m’ gonna cum, please, please-“ and aki knows what you mean, he can feel it. “Go on, baby, cum on my cock for me like a good girl,” he slurs out. the way your ass is clenching around his cock is too much, and it’s hard, but he manages to fuck you through your orgasm, fulfilling his promise of letting you cum from his cock in your ass for the first time.

It still feels good when you’re coming down, your whole body still tight and pulsing, aki pumping into your tight hole with his face buried in your neck, biting hard when he cums inside you. And aki cums hard. All rough thrusts that makes your sensitive hole twitch until he collapses on top of you, pulling out gently only after pressing a messy kiss against your cheek with heavy breathing. your ass is a mess of lube and aki’s spend and you’ve never felt better.

“Sore, princess?” he asks, breathless and still in awe as he gently fingers his cum back into your ass. He loves the mess he’s made of you. And sadly, so do you. You love it too much which is why you say-

“Not at all, wanna go again? I can cum again, probably at least 3 more-“

aki groans into the pillow, “not a chance, you, yes, you need a shower. Then sleep. Okay, baby? And if you clench around my cock anymore tonight, it’s probably gonna die.”

“Fiiiine,” you pout, pressing a kiss to Aki’s forehead. Maybe you can persuade him after a nap. Or tomorrow. And the day after that too. Because you’re insatiable and absolutely relentless when it comes to Aki fucking you.

#this was meant to be just a tiny 100 word thing but I got carried away again #aki hayakawa #chainsaw man #aki x reader #aki hayakawa x reader #csm x reader #aki hayakawa x y/n #aki smut #aki brainrot #anime x reader #aki hayakawa smut #aki thirst #CSM aki #csm smut #my writing #aki x you

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jetii · 2 months ago

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Event Horizon

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Pendulum

Chapter WC: 11,047

Chapter Tags/Warnings: author does not understand the Force and is doing whatever the hell she wants (threatening), angst

A/N: There are so many things I could say about this chapter but none will adequately capture the process I went through to get this out of my head and onto the page. I apologize in advance for the heavy handed use of metaphor. And for the everything else.

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Coruscant, 21 BBY

You wake to the sound of birds and a bright stream of sunlight shimmering through your window, and you immediately roll over and shut your eyes. You've only slept for a handful of hours, and the idea of waking up is almost too much to bear. But the sunlight continues to shine through the blinds, and the birds continue to sing, and the more you try to ignore it, the more awake you become.

With a resigned sigh, you force yourself to sit up, the blanket pooling around your waist. The movement causes the room to spin, and you blink hard, waiting for the sensation to pass. When the world finally settles, you look around the room and find the bottle of water and the pills on the bedside table.

You swallow the medicine and gulp down the water, and once the pain has faded and the nausea has passed, you push the covers aside and get to your feet. It’s not the worst hangover you’ve ever had, but it is the worst one you’ve had in months, and the thought alone is exhausting. You're not even sure how you made it back to the Temple from the barracks without falling over.

Your usual morning routine takes longer than usual, but by the time you step out of the refresher and dress, the fog has lifted from your brain. Once you’re presentable, you grab your comm link and check for messages, and you smile to yourself when you see the few you and Rex had exchanged last night.

You: Made it back to the Temple. We only stopped to vomit once.

Rex: Thanks for letting me know. Rex: We?

You: Booker. He’s going to have a hell of a hangover tomorrow.

Rex: [Image attached] Rex: Echo too. Rex: He says hi, by the way.

You: I’m impressed he’s still coherent.

Rex: That’s why I made him ARC trooper.

You’d fallen asleep after that, and now, in the light of day, you can't help but feel a little silly. The conversation was short, and yet, it had left you smiling, and the warm, tingly feeling in your chest is back.

It's strange, the difference a single day can make. Yesterday, you were determined to distance yourself from him, to forget your feelings and put a stop to the budding romance before it could start. Now though, all of those feelings are back, and they're stronger than ever.

The mere thought of Rex sends your pulse racing. And the idea of him loving you in return, of a relationship or a future together, is almost too good to be true. You have no doubt that the reality is much less pleasant, and that the situation is far more complicated, but the hope inside of you refuses to go away.

A small voice in the back of your mind tells you to stop this, to not risk it. But the other voices, the ones that want Rex, and love him, and crave a relationship with him, are louder. And right now, the voices telling you to move forward are the ones you're listening to.

But as much as you want to run off and find Rex, to talk to him and sort this out, you need time to think. There are too many questions and too many uncertainties, and the last thing you want is to make things worse. And there's always one thing that helps you think.

You: Still up to spar this morning?

Booker: can’t Booker: dead

You roll your eyes and type a reply.

You: You promised.

The minutes tick by, and the three dots appear, disappear, and reappear, before finally disappearing altogether. When the screen remains blank, you sigh and shove the comm link into your pocket. Looks like you'll be finding something else to occupy your time.

The halls of the Temple are quiet when you step out of your room. The early hour and the weekend mean that the place is deserted, and you make your way to the training room with only a handful of encounters. A couple of younglings are in the hall outside the library, their eyes wide as they watch you walk by. You give them a small wave, and they bow their heads and scurry away, their voices fading down the corridor.

When you reach the training room, you're surprised to find it just as silent as the rest of the Temple. It feels strange, wrong even, to be here and not have the place buzzing with activity. Even the lights seem dimmer than usual, the sunbeams streaming through the windows a poor substitute for the usual overhead lamps.

You used to crave the silence, doing everything you could to avoid the bustle and noise, but the quiet is uncomfortable now. After so many months at war, surrounded by people and chaos, the emptiness seems strange. Almost lonely.

You shake your head and step further inside, and a quick scan of the usual spots tells you that the training room is, in fact, completely empty. There are no signs of life, no indication that anyone has been here today, or will be for a while. Just you, the dust, and the silence, the tidiness a stark contrast to the chaotic energy of the last battle.

The last battle. You glance down at your hands, your eyes tracing the scars on your palms. The memory of the power that coursed through you, the heat and the energy, makes your fingertips tingle.

You don't understand what happened. This thing inside you doesn’t seem to want to leave, no matter how much you want it to, no matter how much meditation or positivity or mindfulness you try.

You’d foolishly thought it would fade after your conversation with Rex on the Resolute, that coming to terms with your emotions and your past would help you. And for a while, it had seemed to. You'd been calmer, more at peace, and the anger had seemed easier to manage. But the last battle, the sight of your men in danger, had caused it to come back in full force.

Maybe it will never go away. Maybe this thing will stay with you forever, no matter how hard you try to suppress it. Maybe it's who you are now. A Jedi with a temper, a warrior with a short fuse, a general with an unsteady hand. A person with too much anger, too much sadness, too much of everything.

It's not a comforting thought.

The last time you were here, you’d sparred with Obi-Wan. You held your blade to his chest and nearly killed him. And he forgave you, because that's what Obi-Wan does. But neither of you had ever forgotten how close you came to falling. How easy it would've been for you to snap and lose control.

How easy it still could be.

The memory makes your chest tighten, and you press a hand against your sternum and force yourself to inhale. You didn’t do it, you remind yourself, and you didn’t kill Dooku as Obi-Wan had feared you would. You didn't chase after him and try to strike him down, or fall prey to his false promises.

Instead, you'd turned your back on him and left.

A small part of you regrets the decision, but the larger, more rational part knows it was the right choice. It's what a Jedi would do. And as much as you don't feel like it sometimes, you are a Jedi. A Jedi Master. You made a commitment to the Order, to the Force, and to the galaxy. And you can't give up on that just because the anger is hard. Because the pain is too much. Because the memories are too raw.

You can't lose control.

With a sigh, you make your way towards the center of the room. You don't bother grabbing a weapon, and you don't bother stretching, either. You hold out your hands, palms out, and take a deep breath.

Dooku said he could teach you how to control the Force, to master the rage and the pain inside you. You’re not sure if he was lying, if it was simply an attempt to trick you or rile you, or if there is a truth to his words. Regardless, his offer weighs heavily on your mind, and no matter how hard you try, you can't seem to shake it.

You’d rather die than be his apprentice, his anything, but...you'd be a fool not to consider his words. Not to at least entertain the possibility of learning how to control the darkness within you. To turn it into something useful, or at the very least, make it bearable.

Obi-Wan would say no. That much is certain. He'd say that the anger and the rage aren't worth it, that you can't learn how to use the Dark Side without becoming a monster. And he's right. But that doesn't change the fact that Dooku was right, too.

This rage is a part of you. A part that can't, and won't, go away. The question isn't if it will come back, but how often, and how strong. How far will you go, and what will it take for you to stop? Will the next time be the time that you cross the line and fall into the darkness, or will it be the time after that, or the time after that? When will it finally become too much, and what will you lose in the process?

Rex can't be the reason you stop. Or the cause of your downfall. You can't drag him into the middle of this, can't force him to be the person who stops you from going too far. He can't be the person who pulls you back, or the person who holds the leash, or the person who saves you. Because you know he would, no matter the cost. You can't let that happen. He deserves better.

And so, you'll have to figure this out on your own. Somehow. Some way.

You close your eyes and inhale slowly. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Your shoulders drop, the tightness in your jaw and the ache in your spine easing slightly.

You need to learn how to control the rage. You can't keep living like this, and you can't keep putting those around you at risk. And if you can learn how to use it, if you can use the anger to your advantage, well...the benefits could be limitless.

The things you could do. The battles you could win. The Separatists would have no chance. Countless lives would be saved. And no more of your men, your friends would die. Rex would be safe. He'd live.

He deserves to live.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Your shoulders drop, and the weight on your chest fades slightly. The darkness in your mind, the pain and the fear, eases, and you feel yourself slip deeper into the Force. It’s a whisper of a song, a melody just out of reach, and the closer you focus on it, the clearer it becomes. It wraps around you, enveloping you in its warmth, and for a moment, everything is calm. Everything is peaceful.

Yaddle had always taught you to be the current, the wind, the water. To follow the pull of the Force and let it guide you. She told you to flow, to dance, to let go.

And yet, there are times that the pull is stronger than the current, the need greater than the need to let go. Those are the times you need to fight, to claw, to hold onto the threads with every fiber of your being. The times that the only option is to bend, or break.

Those are the times you need to win.

The muted hum of the Force grows louder, the vibration becoming a song you’ve heard a thousand times before. But there’s a discordant note in the melody, a sharp edge that hadn't been there before. The longer you listen, the more pronounced the discord becomes, and the harder you have to strain to hear the music beneath it.

It doesn’t feel like a gentle breeze or a quiet river. Instead, it feels like a torrent of water, a wave ready to crash down on unsuspecting ships. Like the moment of silence between the lightning and the thunder, the anticipation heavy enough to make the air tremble.

This is not the Force you know.

This is something else entirely.

And so, you don't let go. You grasp the threads and pull, tugging and yanking and ripping until the current changes direction, the waves rising higher and higher. Until the Force is yours, the power filling your veins, and the rage is under your control.

You need to break free of it. You need to tear the power apart, destroy the thread and shatter the current, and find the other side. And once you do, once you have control, you can turn it into something more. Something stronger. Something that doesn't hurt.

You hold the darkness in your hands, and for a moment, you can feel the lightness. You can feel the power, the potential, the possibilities. And with a single thought, a single spark, you could have it all.

This is what it's supposed to feel like.

It's the feeling of the first bite of food after days without eating. Of the first drink of water after wandering the desert. Of the first kiss after a lifetime of loneliness.

It's a feeling of rightness, of certainty, of power.

It's a feeling that terrifies you.

Your eyes fly open, and the training room disappears.

Instead, you’re standing in the courtyard in front of the Great Tree, the sunlight shimmering through the golden leaves. You close your eyes and breathe in, the scent of the flowers surrounding you, the air cool and sweet. You can hear the birds singing, the distant hum of traffic, and the soft murmur of conversation. And behind it all, the low buzzing of the Force. It's a familiar melody, a calming song, and you let the tune wrap around you, soothing and soft.

You watch as a leaf floats down from the Great Tree, drifting lazily through the air until it hovers right in front of your nose. You grab for it, but it floats just out of reach, and you let out a frustrated sigh and reach again.

"Come on," you huff, your arm stretching out. "Stay still."

It moves faster than you expect, dancing through the air, and no matter how hard you chase it, you can't quite manage to catch it. You move forward, your steps clumsy and awkward, and you can hear Yaddle laughing.

"Be the leaf," she instructs. "Feel the currents and the breeze. Be the leaf."

"I am," you groan. You stumble and nearly trip over a root, your fingers missing the leaf by a fraction. You growl and chase after it. "It's not fair. You're cheating."

The accusation only seems to amuse her more. You glare at her and chase after the leaf again, and again, and again. It floats just out of reach, hovering in front of you before moving higher and further until finally, it's lost in the branches.

You stop running and look down at Master Yaddle, pouting, and she lets out another laugh. She shakes her head and holds out a hand, and the leaf returns, fluttering down and landing gently in her palm.

"You will catch it," she tells you. She moves closer, and you instinctively kneel to meet her eyes. Her small, three-clawed hand rests on your shoulder, the touch warm and comforting, and the gesture is enough to make the pout fade.

"When?" you ask, and she tilts her head, her expression thoughtful.

"When the time is right," she answers.

She holds out her hand and the leaf floats from her palm into yours. You watch it spin and dance, the sunlight glinting off its edges, and the sight is breathtaking.

"But I'm ready now," you protest. "I can catch it now. I know I can."

Yaddle closes your fingers around the leaf, squeezing gently before letting go. Her hand rests against your cheek, her eyes soft and full of warmth, and she smiles.

"Not yet," she tells you, her voice quiet. She pats your cheek, and the wrinkles deepen around her mouth as she grins encouragingly. "One day, my Padawan, but not yet."

You get to your feet and look down at the leaf, and with a deep breath, you let it go. The breeze catches it, and it spins and dances through the air, disappearing into the branches of the tree. The world seems to shift underneath your feet, the sun becoming brighter and the sky bluer.

You blink and look around the courtyard, but Yaddle is nowhere to be seen. You turn in a circle, searching, but there's nothing but the flowers and the trees and the grass. It's just you, alone.

"Master?" you call out, your voice echoing through the courtyard. "Master, where are you?"

The birds sing their songs, the breeze rustles the leaves, and the sunlight shines through the branches. The world is bright and vibrant, but the longer you stand there, the more you feel the emptiness around you.

You're not sure how long you wait, or how many times you call her name before you hear her.

"I am here," she says quietly. "I am always here."

Her voice comes from somewhere behind you, and you whirl around, searching desperately for the source. But the clearing remains empty.

"Where are you?" you ask. Your eyes scan the flowers and the leaves, the ground and the sky, but there's nothing.

"I am everywhere," she tells you. Her voice is soft and gentle, the words almost a whisper. "I am with you."

A sudden breeze blows through the clearing, the wind causing the trees to sway and the flowers to ripple. The shadows seem deeper than they were before, the light dimmer, and a shiver runs down your spine. You wrap your arms around yourself to ward away the chill, and the warmth seems to seep from your bones, the cold settling deep inside.

"I'm afraid," you confess, the words tumbling out. "I don't want to lose control. I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't want to go too far."

There's a pause, the silence thick and heavy, and the fear builds inside you, threatening to choke you.

"What do I do?" you plead. Your hands are clenched into fists, the knuckles white, and the trembling intensifies. "I don't want to hurt anyone. Not again. Please. I can't...I can't hurt them."

Your voice cracks on the last word, the plea breaking into a sob, and the tears spill down your cheeks. Your chest tightens, and a choked gasp escapes your throat. You can feel the darkness clawing at the back of your mind, the rage and the fear swirling together.

In front of you, a leaf falls. It drifts to the ground, landing at your feet, and you stare at it, unable to move. The golden surface seems almost iridescent, the edges sharp and glittering, and the longer you look at it, the more the darkness seems to creep in.

You force yourself to look away, back up to the Great Tree. You watch as another leaf falls, then another and another, the leaves spinning and dancing, until a shower of them is raining down. They fill the clearing, covering the flowers and the grass, and the sight is so beautiful that it's almost painful.

Your hand reaches out to try to grasp the nearest leaf, but the current is too strong. Your fingers slip past the surface, passing through it as if it was made of smoke, and you pull back with a frustrated cry.

"Master Yaddle!"

You're not sure where she is, or how to reach her, but the desperation inside you is overwhelming. You spin in a circle, the panic rising, the world seeming to tilt beneath your feet.

"Master, please!" you beg. "I don't understand! What do I do?"

The world seems to shift around you, the colors fading, the darkness creeping in, and you watch helplessly as the leaves are swept away. The flowers wilt and shrivel, the grass turns brown, and the tree is nothing but a skeleton, the branches bare and brittle. The darkness surrounds you, enveloping you, and the weight of the despair is almost unbearable.

You close your eyes, hoping to block it out, but the vision remains, the darkness filling your mind. You can feel the tears rolling down your cheeks, and a sob escapes your throat.

And through it all, the words echo.

"I am always here."

The darkness seems to shift and twist, the shadows turning into something else. You open your eyes, blinking against the sting, and the world has changed. The courtyard has vanished, and in its place is a crumbling cityscape, the buildings reduced to rubble and the streets littered with bodies. The air is filled with smoke and ash, and the screams of the dying fill the air.

A battle. You're in the middle of a battle.

And above you, a shadow looms.

You look up, and a choked cry escapes your throat. Streaking across the sky like shooting stars are hundreds of missiles. Their paths arc towards the planet, each one leaving a trail of destruction and chaos behind it. The sight is almost impossible to comprehend, the sheer volume of firepower sending a wave of nausea through you.

You close your eyes and press a hand against your mouth, trying to keep from vomiting. When the sensation passes, you take a shaky breath and force yourself to look up again. The missiles are still coming, still falling, and the realization that there's nothing you can do hits you with an almost physical force.

This is beyond you. This is beyond anyone.

Fire falls from the sky, each impact sending shockwaves through the air. The ground trembles, and the buildings shake, and the screams become louder and louder until they're all you can hear. The pain is everywhere, the agony so intense that it threatens to overwhelm you. You can feel it inside you, in every fiber of your being, and you can't imagine the pain it must be for everyone else.

You can't imagine the agony.

There are hundreds of voices in your head, a cacophony of pain and despair, and the emotions are so raw, so visceral, that it's a struggle to even stay standing. You can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but feel the suffering of the dying. It's a feeling so deep and so painful that it threatens to consume you, and the only thing keeping you from drowning is the thought of what will happen if you give in.

The thought of what will happen if you lose.

You look down and watch as cracks appear in the ground, fissures spreading outward in every direction, toppling buildings and swallowing people whole. The planet seems to tremble beneath your feet, the very core shuddering and shaking. You can feel the tremors vibrating through your bones, a pain that threatens to split you in half.

And underneath the sound of the screams, you can hear a voice calling your name.

It's a familiar voice, and it fills you with a sense of comfort that's staggering. But there's something else. Something that seems to pull at you, a tug on the edges of your awareness.

"Come home."

The words echo through the destruction, and the pull becomes stronger, more insistent. You can feel it inside you, a yearning so powerful that it's almost a physical pain. The pull seems to come from everywhere and nowhere, the voice wrapping around you and whispering in your ear.

It's a voice you recognize. A voice you love. A voice you trust.

"Please," the voice begs. "Please, come home."

The pull is irresistible, and before you can stop yourself, you give in. You follow the voice, allowing it to drag you down and down and down, until the world around you changes.

The pain and the anguish fade, the screams quieting and the cries silenced. You can feel the heat of the missiles against your skin, the flames and the ash burning and choking you, but the sensation is muted. It's as if you're watching the battle from far away, removed and distant, and the only thing that matters is the voice calling your name.

The voice begging you to come home.

"Rex," you whisper. The name is barely audible, the word more a sigh than anything else, but it's a relief. He's here. You're not alone.

The pain of the battle, the devastation and destruction, seems to lessen. The world falls away until all that's left is the two of you. An endless void stretches out in every direction, and the only things that exist are his voice and the pull inside you.

The voice becomes a face, the words a body, and Rex appears before you. He's standing in the middle of the darkness, the only solid thing in the void, and the sight is like a breath of fresh air. But the look of desperation on his face is terrifying. There are tears streaming down his cheeks, and the agony on his face nearly brings you to your knees.

"Come home," he begs. His voice breaks, the words raw and hoarse. "Please, come home."

He reaches out to you, his hand trembling, and his fingers brushing your cheek. The warmth of his touch seems to burn, the sensation so overwhelming that it's almost unbearable. But it's the look on his face that hurts the most.

"Please," he whispers.

He's not real. He can't be real. But the pain on his face is real. The agony in his eyes is real. And the way he looks at you, like you're the only thing in the world, is real.

The voice and the pull and the need. It's all real.

This isn't a dream. This isn't a nightmare. It's something else. Something worse.

You can't bring yourself to move, can't bring yourself to speak, can't bring yourself to do anything but stand there. You know instantly that this isn’t a man burdened by the loss of a battle or the pain of a war. This isn’t a man grieving a friend, or a brother, or a comrade.

This is a man who has lost everything.

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut, and the breath leaves your lungs.

He's in pain, and it's your fault.

Rex's shoulders sag, and his eyes fall shut. His fingers trail along your jaw as his hand drops, and he lets out a shuddering breath. Another tear rolls down his cheek before he forces his eyes open to meet yours.

You feel it the moment his heart breaks.

It's as if a knife has been driven into your chest. The pain is sharp and intense, the ache so deep that it's a struggle to draw a breath. The agony is like a living thing, a monster clawing its way through your ribcage and tearing at your heart. The world seems to blur and darken, and the only thing that's real is the agony.

It's an agony that has no end. It's a torment without reprieve. It's a torture without mercy.

And it's all because of you.

You want to scream, to cry, to fall to your knees and beg for forgiveness. But you can't do any of those things. Because the look on his face tells you that he already knows.

Rex's hand shakes as he lifts his blaster, and the weapon seems to hover between you, aimed directly at your chest.

"Please," he whispers again.

The single word holds a lifetime of pain. His eyes meet yours, and you see the resolve there, the acceptance. The determination. And despite the sorrow and the despair, you can see the love in his gaze. The love that he's been trying to hide for months, the love that has grown despite his best efforts.

And it's the love that will kill you.

Rex loves you, and he's willing to do anything to save you. Even this.

You don't know what to say. There's nothing you can say.

You love him too. You've loved him for months, and you will continue to love him for the rest of your life. No matter how short that might be. No matter how much time you have left.

You don't want him to suffer. You don't want him to carry the weight of your death. But more than anything, you don't want him to have to choose between you and himself. Between his duty and his heart. Between what's right and what he wants.

Between his brothers and you.

"Do it," you whisper. "Save me."

His hand shakes, the barrel of the blaster inches from your chest, and you can see the conflict in his eyes. He's hesitating, and the last thing you want is for him to hesitate.

And so, you do the only thing you can.

You lift your hand and place it over his. The metal is warm against your skin, the barrel pressed against your sternum. Your fingers close around his, and you squeeze gently.

His eyes meet yours, and despite the pain, the tears, the sorrow, you offer him a smile.

It's not the ending you'd hoped for. It's not the ending you'd planned. But it's the ending you're willing to accept. Because if it means saving Rex from the pain, the suffering, the loss, well...that's a price you're willing to pay.

He loves you, and you love him. And that's the only thing that matters.

With a final sigh, you close your eyes and squeeze his hand.

"Okay," you whisper.

The blaster goes off.

When you come to, the first thing you notice is that you're lying on something soft and plush.

A bed. You're on a bed.

It takes a moment for your vision to adjust to the light. When it does, the sight of the Temple is a relief. The familiar walls, the dimmed lighting, the muted humming of the Force. It's exactly where you're supposed to be.

The second thing you notice is the dull ache in your chest. It's a small pain, almost unnoticeable, but the discomfort is still there. You lift a hand and touch your sternum, and the memory of the blaster shot comes rushing back with a sharpness that's staggering.

A blaster shot. Rex.

No. No. No. It's not possible.

You sit up quickly, pushing past the pain and stumbling out of bed. Your legs are shaky, and the movement sends the world spinning, but you force yourself to keep moving toward the window. You need to see. You need to know.

Your hands fist around the curtains, and you yank them open. Sunlight streams through the window, blinding you momentarily, and you blink hard against the brightness. When the spots fade and your eyes adjust, you look down at the courtyard, and your breath catches.

Everything is the same. The flowers are blooming, the leaves are turning, the sun is shining. Speeders and ships are flying overhead, dots against the bright blue sky. The air is warm and sweet, and the Force is calm. Nothing has changed. Nothing is different. Everything is the way it's supposed to be.

A sigh of relief escapes your lips, and you close your eyes. The nightmare was just that. A nightmare. Nothing more.

Except...it had felt real. Too real.

Your heart pounds, and you grip the curtains tighter. You can still feel the pain in your chest, the phantom ache of the blaster shot. And the way Rex had looked at you, the despair in his eyes, the pain in his voice. It's not something you can forget.

You don't want to forget.

Because it's not just a dream. It's a warning.

Your eyes open, and your gaze falls on the Great Tree. The leaves are dancing in the breeze, and the sunlight is glinting off the golden surface. But the sight is no longer calming. It's ominous. It's a reminder.

You take a deep breath and let the curtain fall. The world is calm, the Force still, but the dread lingers.

“You’re awake.”

You jump and turn, your eyes falling on Obi-Wan. He stands just inside the doorway to the bedroom, his arms folded across his chest. He's dressed in his tunic, his robe draped over a nearby chair, and you realize that you’re in his quarters.

"Obi-Wan, what are you—" You try to step toward him, but the room spins, and you reach out for the window sill, your balance unsteady. He's by your side in an instant, his hands gripping your upper arms and keeping you upright.

"Careful," he warns. He keeps his hold on you until the dizziness passes, and you manage to regain your footing. When he's satisfied, he releases you and steps back, his eyes scanning your face.

The concern on his face is unmistakable. You know him too well, and after all the years of friendship, you can read the worry in his expression. But it's the fear in his eyes that's the most startling.

You open your mouth to speak, to assuage his worries, but the words don't come. You're not sure what to say, not sure how to explain. Not sure if you even can.

Instead, you take a staggering step towards him, and before you can stop yourself, you're wrapping your arms around him and pulling him close. He tenses, clearly startled by the gesture, but after a moment, he returns the embrace. His arms are tight around your shoulders, and he presses his cheek against the top of your head.

"You're okay," he murmurs, his voice low. "It's over."

The words send a wave of relief through you, and you cling to him tighter, your hands clutching the fabric of his tunic. You inhale slowly, the air filling your lungs, and the pain in your chest fades slightly. It's not gone, but it's bearable.

It wasn't real.

Slowly, the trembling in your limbs fades, and the pounding in your chest subsides. The anxiety and the fear fade, replaced by a dull ache and a sense of exhaustion. You sigh and rest your forehead against his shoulder, allowing the last of the panic to drain away.

Obi-Wan pulls away, his hands settling on your shoulders.

“How are you feeling?" he asks.

You think about the question, the memories of the vision still fresh in your mind. The pain and the suffering. The fear and the desperation.

"I'm okay," you answer, the words barely audible. "Just tired."

He nods and releases his hold on you, taking a step back. He gives you a once-over, his gaze traveling over your face and down your body, and he frowns.

"What happened?" he asks as his eyes return to yours.

"I..." You trail off, the memory of the vision sending a shiver through you. You wrap your arms around yourself and shake your head. "I don't know."

You close your eyes, trying to recall the events leading up to the vision. You remember waking up, alone, and walking through the halls of the Temple. You remember reaching the training room, and...the rest is a blur. You don't remember falling asleep. You don't remember anything. Just the darkness and the pain and the fear.

And the blaster shot.

Your fingers touch the spot where the blaster would've hit you, and a flash of memory comes rushing back. The image of the courtyard outside, the golden leaves of the Great Tree shimmering in the sunlight, and Yaddle's voice.

Her voice.

The memory is faint, barely more than a whisper, and you can't quite grasp it. But it's there, like a shadow at the corner of your vision, and you can feel it. You can hear her.

And for a moment, the pain in your chest eases.

Obi-Wan's hand squeezes your shoulder, and you open your eyes and meet his concerned gaze.

"I found you in the training room," he tells you, his voice quiet. "You were unconscious, and I couldn't wake you. I had to carry you here."

He pauses, his brow furrowing, and his gaze becomes more intense. "What were you doing there?"

The question sends a jolt through you, and you take a step back, breaking contact.

"I..." You pause, your mind racing. Your arms wrap around your torso, and you take a shaky breath and shake your head. "I can't remember."

You're not sure if it's a lie, or if the words are true, but either way, it's a poor answer. Obi-Wan's expression changes, his gaze sharpening, and his jaw clenches.

"Try," he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You hesitate, and he leans closer, his eyes never leaving yours. You can see the determination there, the stubbornness. He's not going to let this go, not until he gets the answers he's looking for.

"I was...meditating," you begin slowly, the lie rolling off your tongue. "I was trying to connect with the Force. I...wanted to understand."

His brow furrows, his gaze never wavering.

"Understand what?" he asks.

"Myself," you admit. "The anger and the...pain. I wanted to understand."

His gaze softens, and he sighs, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. He looks away for a moment, his eyes focused on the floor, before his gaze finds yours again.

"I think I know," he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. He sits on the edge of the bed and motions for you to do the same. You settle beside him, and he turns towards you, his gaze searching, his hands twisting in his lap. "You felt the darkness. Didn't you?"

You look down at your hands, at the scars on your palms. The memory of the battle, the fight with Dooku, the vision, the blaster shot, it all swirls in your mind, flickering past your vision like a broken holo.

You close your eyes, the pain in your chest throbbing, and you nod.

Obi-Wan shifts, and you open your eyes to find him staring at the wall, his brow furrowed. His expression is contemplative, and the lines around his eyes seem deeper than they were before. There's a sadness in his gaze, a pain that goes beyond the physical, and his mouth is set in a thin line.

"What are you thinking?" you ask.

He shakes his head, his expression turning pensive.

“What happened on that planet? With Dooku?” he asks. His tone is gentle, but the words send a wave of anxiety through you. “You never told me the details.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, the memories flashing through your mind. The anger. The rage. The darkness. It had been overwhelming, terrifying. It had taken every ounce of strength and willpower not to give in. And even though you'd won, you'd come close. So close.

Too close.

You shake your head.

“We fought. He nearly killed me, and Rex and Jesse saved the day,” you say, your gaze fixed on your hands. “There isn’t much else to tell. I'm not sure why you're bringing this up now."

"Because I've been thinking about what happened on the Resolute," he tells you. His voice is quiet, and there's an edge to it that hadn't been there before. A sadness. An anger. "How convenient it was for a hyperdrive malfunction to lead you to the exact place Dooku was hiding."

“He wanted to kill me,” you counter. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the frustration bubbling up. You know where he’s going with this, and you can’t help but feel defensive, protective of your secret.

"No." Obi-Wan shakes his head. "He wanted to turn you."

The words land like a punch to the gut. He isn't saying anything you don't already know, but hearing it out loud, the implications and the potential...it's too much. You stare at him, speechless, and he stares back.

"What are you accusing me of?" you finally manage.

He's silent for a moment, considering his words carefully. His eyes are dark and troubled, the lines around them deepening, and he sighs.

"Nothing," he answers quietly. "Not yet."

"Not yet?" you echo, your tone incredulous.

"When I found you in the training room, there was something wrong. The Force was...out of balance," Obi-Wan tells you. His gaze never leaves yours. "There was something dark. Something wrong."

You open your mouth to speak, to deny, to defend, but he continues before you can get a word out.

"I know you've felt it too," he says, his voice softening. "I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it."

You look away, unable to meet his gaze any longer. The truth of his words stings, and you can feel the guilt and shame rising up, threatening to drown you. He's right. You have felt the darkness. You've seen it, felt it, and tried to ignore it. And now you’re trying to hide from him. But he's not going to let that happen. He's not going to let you hide.

"Obi-Wan," you try again. Your voice is barely more than a whisper, and you can't seem to look him in the eye. "I don't—"

"Don't lie to me," he cuts you off.

His voice is sharp, the words like a slap to the face. You flinch, and his expression softens.

"Did Dooku tell you how to access the darkness? How to harness it?" he asks quietly.

"No," you say immediately.

"Are you sure?" he pushes. "Because you seem to know more than you're letting on."

You hesitate, and his expression hardens. You look down at your hands, the scars seeming to burn. The darkness inside you pulses and writhes, the rage and the pain simmering just beneath the surface. It's a struggle to keep it contained, to not let your emotions win out. And Obi-Wan sees it all.

"Tell me the truth," he demands.

You swallow hard and look up at him. His gaze is intense, the blue eyes piercing, and you can't bring yourself to lie to him again. You can't hide anymore.

"I've always had it," you confess, your voice hoarse. "The anger, the darkness. I've always had it, but now it's worse. I'm more connected to the Force than ever before, and the power is incredible, but it's overwhelming."

You pause, taking a deep breath, the emotions churning inside you.

"It's getting harder and harder to keep it under control," you admit quietly. "I can't ignore it. I can't pretend it doesn't exist. And I can't let it go."

His eyes never leave yours, and you can see the understanding, the acceptance. He doesn't blame you. He doesn't hate you. But he's worried. You can see the concern in his eyes. He's scared for you. Scared of what you might do.

"Dooku tried to make me think he could help me, but I'm not stupid," you tell him, your voice stronger now, more determined. "I can feel the darkness, and I can see the effects it's having on the galaxy. The war is tearing everything apart, and the violence and hatred are everywhere. I don't want that for myself."

"Good," Obi-Wan says simply.

"But..."

You pause again, your throat tight, and you force yourself to continue. You need to say this. You need to confess the truth of what happened on that planet, and you need him to understand what's at stake.

"I nearly lost control," you whisper. You can feel the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, the memories flooding back. "When we fought, it was like I could see every weakness, every fear, and I wanted to destroy him. I wanted to end his life."

"And you didn't," Obi-Wan counters softly. "That's what matters."

You shake your head.

"I could have. I came so close," you mutter. You let out a bitter laugh. "Or I would've died trying, anyway. If Rex hadn't been able to convince me..."

Your voice trails off as you recall the memory of his words, the plea, the desperation. The same words mirrored in your vision, and the understanding that comes with them.

You could have destroyed him. You could have embraced the darkness and brought about his demise.

The thought is a sobering and horrifying reminder of just how close you'd come to losing control. Of how much destruction and devastation you could have caused. Of the power you possess. And of the danger that comes with it.

"That's why you have to stop," Obi-Wan urges, his tone gentle, but firm.

"I am trying," you say.

"Not hard e—"

"No," you snap.

The word comes out sharper than intended, and you take a deep breath, trying to calm the rising tide of emotions. You close your eyes and count backwards from ten, your jaw clenched tightly, the anger and the frustration simmering just beneath the surface. The last thing you need is another argument. Another opportunity for the darkness to take hold.

When the feeling subsides and the urge to scream passes, you open your eyes.

"No," you repeat, more calmly this time. "I am trying. I'm doing everything I can to resist the darkness. I'm meditating and training and trying to strengthen my connection to the Light. I've let go of my need for revenge, and I've been forgiving and compassionate, and none of it is working."

You look away, focusing on the far wall, and you force yourself to keep talking. You have to explain. He has to understand.

"Every time I think I've finally gotten a handle on things, something happens and it slips out of my grasp," you continue, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Like on Bothawui. I didn't lose control. Not completely. But I could feel it. The anger. The hatred. And the part that scares me is how natural it feels."

Obi-Wan's eyebrows rise in surprise at that admission, but he says nothing, letting you continue.

"It's like a reflex," you say quietly. "Whenever someone attacks me or threatens someone I care about. It's just there. Waiting for an opportunity."

Your hands clench into fists, and your nails dig into the palms of your hands. The pain is a welcome distraction from the emotions roiling inside you, and you close your eyes and take a deep breath.

"That's why I'm trying so hard," you say, your voice calmer now. "I'm trying to control the darkness, not embrace it. There has to be something, some kind of balance I can find."

There's a long silence, and the only thing you can hear is the beating of your heart, the blood rushing in your ears, and the steady inhale and exhale of your breathing. The anger has faded, but the fear remains, the terror of the vision, the nightmare, coming back in full force.

"There's something else," you whisper, your eyes opening to look at him. "Something you should know."

His brow furrows, but he doesn't interrupt, allowing you to continue.

"When we fought Dooku," you begin hesitantly, the memory of the battle still fresh in your mind, "He said something."

"What did he say?" Obi-Wan asks, his voice low.

“He said things…things I know now not to be true, but they made sense at the time," you admit, the words coming out in a jumble. "That the Order is corrupt, the Senate, the entire Republic. That the Council is using the war to increase its power and influence. That they betrayed me, kept things from me, used me."

"And you believed him?" Obi-Wan asks, disbelief coloring his words.

"Yes," you answer. "For a moment, I believed him."

You pause, the guilt and the shame rising up, threatening to overwhelm you, but you force yourself to keep talking. He needs to know. He has a right to know.

"When we fought, he tried to get me to join him. And he seemed like he knew all the buttons to push, all the things I wanted to hear," you explain quietly. "He was good. Too good. Like he knew exactly what to say and do."

"What are you suggesting?"

"That Dooku's been watching me," you tell him. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the inevitable reaction. "That he's been planning this since the start."

You close your eyes, expecting anger, denial, rejection. But none of those come.

"I know," Obi-Wan's voice breaks through the silence, and your eyes fly open, meeting his steady gaze.

"You what?" you ask, shocked.

"I know," he repeats. "And I agree."

"How? How do you know?"

"Master Windu and I have suspected as much," he admits quietly. "The Separatists have always been aware of our strengths and weaknesses. We've tried to keep the details hidden, but there are times it's difficult to keep information quiet."

You stare at him in shock, the revelation leaving you speechless.

"Dooku has spies in the Senate, in the GAR, and likely in the Jedi Temple as well," Obi-Wan explains. "The fact that you were attacked during a classified mission was a concern for the Council."

"I...Why didn't you tell me?"

"We weren't sure how you'd react," Obi-Wan answers truthfully. "It seemed prudent to investigate further."

It takes a moment for the implications to sink in, the realization that the entire Council has known and has been keeping the knowledge from you a struggle to comprehend. You take a shaky breath and close your eyes again, the anger and the betrayal washing over you in waves, but there's something else underneath it. Something darker. Something more dangerous.

The seed of doubt, planted by Dooku and watered by the Council's secrecy, is taking root, and it's not going to let go easily.

"If the Council has known that I'm being watched and targeted by Dooku and his allies," you begin slowly, "Then why have I been kept in the dark? Why haven't they told me?"

Obi-Wan sighs, his shoulders sagging slightly, and he looks down at his hands clasped tightly in his lap.

"We were worried you would act impulsively," he answers after a moment, his voice low and resigned. "That you would be reckless, and the consequences would be dire."

"Well, you were wrong," you snap. You stand up from the bed and turn away from him, pacing the length of the room. "I figured it out on my own. And I kept my head down and focused on the mission and the war."

"You did," he concedes, his eyes following your movements. "And that's admirable."

"But you don't trust me," you continue, not giving him a chance to say more. "The Council doesn't trust me."

"We trust you," Obi-Wan says softly. He stands and steps toward you, his hand resting on your shoulder, forcing you to stop and turn towards him. "I trust you."

"You don't."

"I do," he argues, his voice firm, the conviction in his words ringing true. "You are the most important person in my life, and I trust you implicitly."

"But the Council—"

"The Council is worried," he admits quietly. "They are concerned for your safety. And their concern is warranted. You are a powerful Jedi, and you are a valuable asset to the Republic.”

You close your eyes, and the images flash across the backs of your eyelids, the vision replaying itself over and over again.

The blaster shot.

Rex's grief. The destruction you're capable of causing. The death and the despair.

The way he looked at you.

It was a warning.

A warning of what's to come.

"You are strong," Obi-Wan tells you quietly. His hand slides down your arm and grips your hand. "You are capable of incredible things, and the Council recognizes that. But you are also human, and you are vulnerable, and they are worried that Dooku will use your strength and your weaknesses against you. Especially after your outburst over your investigation into Master Yaddle's death."

Your eyes fly open at the mention of Yaddle's name. The memory of her voice is still echoing in your mind, and you can't help but wonder if this is somehow connected. If she's reaching out to you, trying to warn you. Trying to stop you from destroying everything and everyone around you.

"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan adds after a moment. "I wish the Council could have been more forthcoming. But the fact remains that you are an asset in the war, and they can't afford to lose you."

The words sting, but there's no malice behind them, no anger or resentment, and you know that he's telling the truth. That the Council is scared of what might happen if Dooku and his allies managed to turn you away from the Light.

You are an asset.

A weapon.

A tool.

Nothing more.

"I understand," you say softly, the resignation in your voice matching his. You pull away, the distance between the two of you seeming like a gulf, and you shake your head. "And I don't blame them."

Obi-Wan gives you a small smile, and he reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "That's a relief."

You grab his wrist before his hand can fall back to his side, and you hold his gaze, the intensity in your eyes matching his.

"But I need to know that you believe me," you say quietly. "That I'm doing everything I can to resist the temptation."

His expression softens, and his fingers twitch, but he doesn't try to pull away. He nods and squeezes your hand gently.

"I believe you," he murmurs.

The words send a wave of relief through you, and a bit of the weight on your shoulders lifts. It's not much, but it's something.

You let go of his wrist and step away. Your hand drops to your side, and you turn towards the window, looking out at the courtyard below, the leaves dancing in the wind, the sunlight glinting off the golden leaves.

"What happened in the training room…” you start slowly.

Obi-Wan's arms are folded across his chest as he comes to stand next to you, and he leans against the windowsill, his eyes on the courtyard. "What is it?"

"I...had a vision," you confess. "Or a dream. I'm not sure. But it was bad. Really bad."

You can see his brow furrowing out of the corner of your eye, and he turns towards you, the worry in his gaze unmistakable. "Tell me."

You hesitate, the words stuck in your throat. You can still feel the weight of Rex's grief. The pain and the anguish. The way he had looked at you. And the way he had pointed the blaster at your chest and pulled the trigger.

Your hands grip the sill tightly, the stone biting into the skin of your palms, and you tell him everything. Yaddle. The destruction of the city. The darkness. Rex. The blaster shot. Everything.

"It felt so real," you finish. Your voice is shaking slightly, and you can feel the tears threatening to fall, but you manage to keep them at bay. "I could feel the pain. I could feel the fear."

Obi-Wan's silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he speaks.

"Do you think it's a vision of the future?"

"I think it's a warning," you reply. "It has to be."

He nods.

"I agree," he says quietly.

The words send a shiver through you, and you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. It's not a relief, not really, but it's a validation of sorts. A confirmation that what you're feeling is real, and that it's worth fighting against.

"And I think..." you begin hesitantly, the memory of the blaster shot still fresh in your mind. "I think Rex is the key."

"The key?" he asks.

"In the vision," you explain. "Rex is the only person who can stop me. He's the only person who can save me."

"From yourself," Obi-Wan concludes, understanding the implication of your words immediately. At your nod, his brow furrows, and his hand comes up to stroke his beard thoughtfully. "Are you sure about that?"

You hesitate. Are you? You think back to the way Rex had pleaded with you, the desperation in his voice, the way his hand had shook as he'd pointed the blaster at your chest. The same way he pleaded for you to leave Dooku behind and live instead of killing him and dying yourself.

It's everything you'd feared and more. Rex doesn't just hold your leash. He holds your life in his hands. If you can't control the darkness inside you, the anger and the rage, the potential for destruction, Rex will have to be the final defense. He will have to be the line in the sand.

You can't let that happen.

"Yes," you finally say. You swallow hard and look down at your hands, the scars standing out starkly against the skin. "I'm sure."

Obi-Wan sighs and shakes his head.

"Well," he says. "That complicates things."

"It does," you agree quietly. You can feel the anxiety and the fear rising up, the dread settling in the pit of your stomach. But you push it back, forcing yourself to stay focused, to keep the fear at bay. "But I'm not going to let that vision come true."

"No," Obi-Wan agrees firmly. He places a hand on your shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "You're not."

You nod and take a deep breath, the confidence in his voice bolstering your resolve. You're not going to let the darkness win. You're not going to become the monster in the vision. And Rex isn't going to have to pull the trigger.

"You have my word," you say quietly. "Whatever it takes."

"I believe you," Obi-Wan replies. There's a hint of a smile on his lips, and he pulls you into a hug, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. "I'm proud of you."

"Thanks," you murmur. You close your eyes and lean into the embrace, the warmth and the safety a welcome comfort. You allow yourself a moment to enjoy the feeling, the fear and the anxiety fading, before pulling away and looking up at him. "I...I'm sorry. For everything. For keeping this from you. For lying to you."

"Don't be," he says gently. He runs a hand over your hair, his expression softening. "I'm sorry we weren't more forthcoming. It's as you said before. We're both to blame. Though I would agree it was more myself and the Council to blame than any other.”

"I can’t argue with that," you sigh. You shake your head and offer him a weak smile. "I'm still sorry."

"Me too," he says quietly. He gives your shoulder another squeeze before letting his hand drop back to his side. "And if you promise never to hide anything of this nature from me again, I might consider forgiving you."

You snort and roll your eyes playfully. "Deal."

"Good." He smiles and motions toward the door. "Now let's get you to the Halls of Healing. You need to be checked out."

"Obi-Wan," you whine, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, "I'm fine."

"You were unconscious for hours," he reminds you. His voice is stern, but there's a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, and he gives you a shove towards the door. "I'll hear no more complaints. We're going."

"Fine," you grumble.

The two of you make your way out of the bedroom and down the corridor. You're relieved to see that the Temple is relatively empty, and no curious eyes are on you as you pass through the hallways and make your way to the Halls of Healing.

"In the interest of honesty," you begin, keeping your voice low so no eavesdroppers can hear, "There's one more thing I should probably tell you."

"Yes?"

You take a breath, steeling yourself.

"I’m in love with Rex."

You don't wait for a reaction from Obi-Wan. Instead, you continue walking, stepping into the lift and hitting the button for the Halls of Healing without pausing. The doors slide shut before the two of you, and the lift begins its descent.

"Well," he remarks once the lift starts moving. His expression is carefully neutral, but there's a glint in his eyes. "That's certainly an interesting development."

"Interesting," you repeat dryly. "That's a nice way of putting it."

Obi-Wan chuckles. "Forgive me if I'm not entirely shocked by the news."

"Not entirely?"

"I'm a bit surprised you're only now bringing it up," he admits, the teasing in his tone impossible to miss. "I tried to tell you, several times. But you insisted that the two of you were just friends, and that the way he looked at you meant nothing. As if I wouldn't recognize the way he looks at you."

"I was being stubborn," you admit sheepishly.

"You were," Obi-Wan agrees. He gives you a playful nudge. "So what changed?"

"I've always felt something for him," you start slowly. "But the more time I spend with him...the stronger the feelings have become. And last night, some of the Torrent boys let it slip that he was in love with me."

"Ah."

"It was the way they said it. Like it was something everyone knew, something so commonplace, so inevitable," you continue. You can't help but smile, a small chuckle escaping your lips as the memory comes back to you. "They were talking about him like he was this hopeless romantic, and I just...I couldn't ignore the truth of it anymore."

He hums and gives a small nod. "He does seem rather devoted."

"Yes, well," you huff. You turn and give him a pointed look. "Apparently it's been that way for a while."

"And?"

"And," you continue, "I realized I feel the same."

Obi-Wan is silent for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the floor. He seems to be deep in thought, and you find yourself holding your breath, waiting for his response.

"I'm glad," he finally says.

"You are?" you ask, surprised.

He nods and turns to face you fully, a small smile on his lips.

"I'm glad that the two of you have found happiness together," he tells you. His voice is gentle, and his expression is soft. "And I'm glad that you've finally admitted your feelings for each other."

"But the Code," you protest weakly.

"The Code is meant to guide us. To give us structure and focus. But it's not infallible," Obi-Wan answers softly. "The Code does not forbid love."

"But attachment–”

"Is not the same as love," he finishes for you. He reaches out and takes your hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "It's possible to have love without attachment. You know that well. You just have to choose to be selfless. And I have no doubt that both of you are capable of such a thing."

You let out a shaky breath and blink back the tears that are suddenly pricking at the corners of your eyes, giving him a grateful smile.

"Thank you," you murmur, and you squeeze his hand.

"You're welcome," he says softly. He sighs and looks down at your joined hands, his expression turning wistful. "I was worried. For a while. After our...disagreement about the Council's decision not to investigate Yaddle's death."

You frown and open your mouth to respond, but he shakes his head and continues, cutting you off.

"It was a difficult time for you, and I know I was a part of the problem," he tells you quietly. His thumb strokes the back of your hand absently. "I didn't want you to lose your faith in the Order. In the Light. In yourself."

You stare at him, your heart swelling in your chest.

"But you didn’t. And I'm so proud of you," he murmurs. His gaze finds yours again, and his smile is warm. "And I'm glad that, even though your path is complicated, and the journey is challenging, you're finding happiness and love along the way. It's apparent how deeply you care about each other. If this is what it takes to keep you from falling, I'll gladly give my blessing, however much that matters to you.”

"Obi-Wan..."

You trail off, the lump in your throat preventing the words from forming. You're not sure how to respond, or even what to say. The relief and the gratitude and the love are too much, and the tears threaten to spill over. You blink hard against them and force a shaky smile.

"You won't lose me,” you murmur. “I promise."

"I hope not," he says. There's a sadness in his gaze, and a bitterness creeps into his voice. "Nothing is certain in war. Nothing is guaranteed. Not even love."

"I'm not going anywhere," you reassure him. You step closer and wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. He returns the embrace, his arms wrapping around you, his chin resting on the top of your head. "No matter what happens, I'll always be here."

Obi-Wan is silent, and you can feel his body tense underneath your touch. There’s a tremor in his hand, and you can hear his heart pounding in his chest. His grip on you tightens, and his breath hitches. For a moment, you wonder if you said the wrong thing, if he's upset or angry. But all you can feel through the tenuous connections of your bond is sadness and grief. Regret.

Finally, Obi-Wan pulls away, and his eyes find yours. There's a weariness there, a pain that's been hidden away. A burden he's been carrying for years. He looks like he wants to say something, but the words won't come. The emotions are too strong. So instead, he gives you a soft smile, and he steps away as the doors open.

"I know," he says quietly. He looks away and takes a deep breath. "I know.”

taglist: @baddest-batchers @lolwey @chocolatewastelandtriumph @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @aynavaano @floofyroro

@ayyyy-le-simp @mali-777 @schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon

@heavenseed76 @dreamie411 @sukithebean @bimboshaggy @bunny7567

@lostqueenofegypt @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus @heidnspeak

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @mrcaptainrex @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay

@callsign-denmark @julli-bee @moonychicky @captn-trex @feral-ferrule

@webslinger-holland @marchingviolist @cw80831 @chaicilatte @somewhere-on-kamino

@sensitive-shark @kashasenpai @kkdrawsdecently @isaidonyourknees @awkwardwookie

@sugarrush-blush @lunaastars @capricornrabies @champagnejaig @silly-starfish

#the clone wars #captain rex #clone captain rex #captain rex x reader #rex x reader #roy writes #event horizon #okay SO #kinda completely changed the direction of this fic during my tiny break #rewrote the outline #fleshed out my timeline spreadsheet #drew some things #deleted other things #wrote a rex pov smut set like 20 chapters ahead of this one?#idk what happened #anyway next chapter is a good one i promise #and it's the last chapter in part one!#in reality that means very little but im excited about it

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harbingersglory · 1 year ago

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I'm not sure if multiple requests are allowed (if not please feel free to ignore), but can I also request Lisa kink hcs?

{☆} characters lisa minci {☆} notes drabble, hc's, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings 18+ content, drugging (consensual)

{☆} pet play

lisa adores breaking in brats just as much as she loves obedient pups– either works for her, really, but seeing you on your knees with a collar and a leash around your throat..oh it gets her going. she won't even let you talk unless you need to stop– dogs don't speak, after all. if you've been really bad she has no problem muzzling you, too. hearing your panting and whining muffled by the leather as she constantly edges you, pushing you to the edge just to pull you back..it's her favorite part. if you've been bad, anyway. if you were a good pup, she might just overstimulate you instead, see how many times you can cum before those pretty eyes of yours roll back.

{☆} bondage

bit of an expected answer but she definitely enjoys every aspect of it. she certainly doesn't mind coming home to you already restrained, but theres something especially intimate about doing it herself. it let's her tease you, too, making sure the restraints aren't too tight by making you instinctively tug on them when she suddenly touches you or moans in your ear..shes not opposed to being restrained, either, don't get her wrong. leather, ropes, silks..she's got something for every occasion. just be careful to choose something she can't squirm her way out of, because she's surprisingly flexible, and she might just turn the tables on you mid session.

{☆} aphrodisiacs

i mean. this is pretty self explanatory. her passive literally helps with potion making, she's absolutely made something of this variety before. whoever takes it depends on the mood– sometimes it's just one of you, sometimes it's both. she just loves seeing you so needy and warm, barely able to keep your hands to yourself. when it's just her taking it, it's more of a means of..relaxation. no stress, no worries, just being taken care of by you for a bit where she can turn her brain off and enjoy it. but her favorite is when you both take it– let's you both just..let loose and fuck like rabbits for a bit, get out a bit of pent up energy. especially if you haven't seen each other for a while. if you thought she was insatiable on a good day, it's so much worse now.

#asks #Anonymous #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #minors dni #writing tag #lisa minci x reader #lisa minci smut #second one may seem too generic but lord. this woman will find any excuse to tie you up #also is this late? yeah. dont ask abt my absence i was uhh. checks notes.#stares at the pretty bird lady. um #sweats #anyway #lisa my beloved......i mean she knows a thing or two abt potions so like. cmon #aphrodisiacs r right up her alley #hard on the pet play she will dress you up like one of those dog moms buying 300 outfits for their tiny dogs #gets you matching ears and tail and like. 30 collars depending on her mood that day #you basically get treated like a spoiled lap dog #which is what you basically are lbr #just play nice or youll be in for a bit of a. shock.#anyway. see u in another month /j

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hungharrington · 2 years ago

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since you are likely my favorite user for steve blurbs right now, i am here to share my thots.

i just wanna make out with steve in that stupid bmw. middle of summer, he’s in some stupid little shorts and a crop top, all breathless and shit UGH just let me know your thoughts on this important topic 🎤

firstly, i’m so very flattered 🥹 ur a very talented writer yourself so i was a beside myself receiving this from u! i’m sorry it took me so long! my thoughts are…. well it’s such a delicious thought i had 2 expand….

The radio sounds just a little bit out of tune when you’re this far out from Hawkins.

The noise a bit grainy, coming out low and wavy from the speakers in Steve’s car and mixing with the heat waves of the hottest season. It’s baking hot this summer— mirror mirages spill onto the roads, flocks of people gather to the lakeside, and swim-suits are the only appropriate apparel to combat the sweltering temperatures.

You, however, are entirely too hot for another reason altogether today.

Steve is always warm. He seems to glow from the inside, always hot enough to warm your cold hands should you worm them under his shirt — though, he always yelps and bats them away. Loves it secretly. Today, he feels as warm as sunlight itself under your touch.

His lips have been softened from your endless kisses and there’s a laziness in the press of his mouth against yours. His hands are gentle, tracing invisible patterns up your sides and back. It’s slow — a gentle push and pull of you in his lap, your legs slung atop his bare thighs and arms around his neck, messy kisses shared.

You love summer, if only for the fact it gets Steve into shorts. The pair he’s in now are cherry red, white lining the edges and all the motion has them riding up his thighs. The paler softer parts of his thighs are exposed and you have a half mind to slink down and continue your kisses there. Fingers twined in his hair, you give a soft scratch along the nape of his neck and are rewarded with a soft sigh in Steve’s kiss.

The song on the radio tapers off and there’s a crackle of the radio’s host voice, announcing something in a mumble you can’t hear. Steve’s hands on your waist pull you closer, rocking your down and you release a little groan, fire catching in your tummy at the friction when—

“Oh, man, I love this song.” Steve pulls back abruptly, interrupting your heated make-out. He licks his swollen lips which are sheened with your spit and you blink at him, surprised. It takes another second for a smile to slip onto your lips as Steve scrunches his eyes closed for a second, beginning to sing along lowly as he bangs his head lightly.

“Just take those old records off the shelf…” He opens his eyes again and smiles at you. He’s so handsome that it makes your stomach swoop.

“D’ya know it?” He asks, one hand leaving your hand to push some hair behind your ear. You nod, taking advantage of the closeness and smacking a quick kiss onto the inside of his wrist. Steve melts a bit, sinking further back into the drivers seat with a gooey grin.

You’re glad for it, relishing in your new view— eyes skim down his chest, fixing hungrily on the sliver of his tummy that’s exposed. The shirt he’s wearing is killer. You had full on stammered when you climbed into the passenger seat, at the cropped and loose shirt Steve was wearing; the tan skin skin of his midriff well on display. Paired with those shorts? You had uttered a silent prayer, unsure if you were giving thanks or asking for some goddamn mercy.

“S’good song,” He says, though his eyes have got that distracted look in them, utterly trained on you.

His hands paw at your side, nails scraping to bring your closer for another round of lazy making out. But you dodge his kiss— dotting a quick kiss on his cheek before you nose under his jaw. Steve takes a second to catch on, not moving to give you any space. You nuzzle in closer and make a little noise, nose pushing at his jaw til he finally tilts his head back, letting you creep closer.

Lips meet skin and you kiss, kiss, kiss- til your desire grows and expands, threads of lust twinging in your tummy. You suckle, nibbling and soothing the skin — the heat of the day wanes around you, fueling you more. Below you, you can feel Steve’s hips shift around, his hardness growing beneath you.

“You’re a fiend,” Steve teases. It loses all heat with how breathless he sounds.

“Says the one who brought me out to Lover’s Lake,” You lick a hot stripe up his neck, taking his earlobe into your mouth and Steve groans loudly, grip on your tightening. “Wouldn’t exactly say you’re full of pure intentions.”

“Touché,” He breathes. Then pulls you down, rocking your hot cunt against his cock once more, both your soft groans mixing in the hot summer air.

Steve grins, saccharine and devilish all at once, and you waste no time in kissing it away, hands twisting in back into his hair with a tug. The fire from inside, heavy with lust, and the warmth from outside, the blistering setting sun, mix and mingle— as you let the your sun-kissed boy take you apart in beemer, lakeside.

#a little blurb :)#WISH THAT WAS ME BRO #i’m so glad u shared ur thots :) ur brain is fucking massive and i’m kissing it #croptop steve is. the man for me #and tiny shorts? WHEWWWW 😮‍💨😮‍💨#jay writes #steve harrington x reader #steve x reader #steve harrington #it’s a little bit smutty #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader smut

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queerofthedagger · 5 months ago

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the problem with sites like bluesky is that you'll follow some tolkien scholars because you own books of them and think what they do is fascinating and then they just. follow you back. like my good sir we post incest elf porn here. oh my gOD

#*mine #mona rambles #in other news andrew higgins now follows me on bluesky and i will have to disappear into the woods forever 🫡#like THIS is why i stay on tumblr. good fucking god #this happening while i'm in the midst of writing my silm smut exchange really just added to the whole experience #in ways that will haunt me just a tiny lil bit. god bless

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sugarwarachan · 16 days ago

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having to write for work is the worst because while my thoughts are full of 2d men railing reader as a professor!/doctor!/fireman!/pornstar!/lumberjack!/vampire!/merman!/whathaveyou! IM WRITING ABOUT REALITY

#i was born to write tiny smut drabbles while lounging on a pile of cushions outside #not whatever the hell this current reality is #sugarwarachanwrites #andy.txt

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wearyeyebrow · 2 years ago

Text

Worthy In Blue

Summary: You’ve been working on a little surprise project for Lucifer involving navy blue rope and a mahogany chair. You know Lucifer has a penchant for ropework, so what if you gave him an evening to put those skills, and your own, to good use?

Tags under the cut.

Tags: submissive lucifer, dominant MC, rope, restraints, MC is in rope, Lucifer is restrained, pegging, cunnilingus, gn MC, afab MC, mutual possessiveness, romance, established relationship, pre-nightbringer

Tonight is the long awaited Grimte Banquet where all the noble houses gather. Relationships are maintained, new ones started, and it’s all Lucifer can do to keep his brothers in line. Luckily, he has you to keep Mammon by your side and Beel full of food.

The night drones on spent managing many noble advances. He spares you a weary glance and you wink at him from across the hall. He can’t help the quirk of his mouth, a slight smile amidst everything. You’re impossibly charming.

A few moments later and he hears your voice in his ear. “Meet me in the coat room, I have something to show you.”

You slip away and disappear somewhere in the crowd. Eventually he manages a moment alone, horribly curious as he finds his way to you.

You close the door behind him, nearly hidden amidst coats of all sizes. “Hi gorgeous,” you wrap your arms around his waist.

"A coat closet?" He muses.

“I won’t keep you. Pretty sure Beel is looking for me too… Here.” You hold up your phone, “What do you think?”

You’re showing him a picture of… rope? “This is what you wanted to show me?”

“I could hardly send it to your phone right now, what with the entire royal court surrounding you. Plus, I’d rather explain its implications in person.”

“Implications?”

“Mm. Are you free next Friday night? Around 10pm?”

“I…” he allows himself a small smile, “I might be able to spare you some time.”

“Oh might you?” You smirk, “Well, if you’re too busy I completely understand. I’m capable of appreciating my own hard work.”

He acts affronted, grabbing you by the waist and kissing your hand. “Would a willing participant not please you more?”

“Isn’t that why I asked you in the first place?” He’s captivated by the crinkle of your nose, by the warmth of your smile.

“You’ve caught me,” he chuckles, “I’m all yours.”

“Then it’s a date. Do you like the color?”

You show him your phone again and he hums appreciatively. "Did you get it from Cloven Boutique? I didn’t think they stocked colored rope."

“They don’t, I dyed it myself."

“Truly?” He looks closer, in want of his glasses. “It looks like a professional job."

"Well, I had to get the color just right - I love the look of you in blue."

"Oh?" His tone softens.

“Mhm…” You appreciatively sweep your eyes up his body, lingering the gold peacock tie-clip you got him last month. You reach out and adjust his collar, “I love seeing you in things I’ve bought.”

“You have good taste.”

“Do you really think so?”

He frowns. “I wouldn’t wear something if it didn’t suit me.”

You laugh, “I know, I just wanted to hear you say it.”

“You’re horrible.”

“I’m charming.”

He fondly rolls his eyes. “I suppose both descriptors are accurate. I will look forward to it all week.”

“I think it’ll be worth the wait.” You lean up and brush your lips against his, “Don’t dance with too many nobles now.”

“Haven’t you noticed? All eyes are on you tonight. It’s taken everything in me not to whisk you away.”

“Likewise, darling.” You wink at him again and his heart certainly doesn’t flutter.

Lucifer knocks on your closed door, waiting for you to beckon him inside.

The first thing he notices is an old mahogany chair in the middle of your room, stolen from the hallway. It sits odd against your comfortable furniture.

You make a show of locking your door, brushing against his shoulder as you pass by. Then you cast a noise canceling spell - nothing but an emergency could disturb you now.

When you meet his eyes you're delighted by his wanting expression, unguarded and open in his desire. "I wonder…" you walk over to him, "how much you've thought about this night, curious about what I've planned?" You straighten his tie, close enough to see him swallow.

"It has been on my mind." He takes your hand in his own and kisses your knuckles, looking every part adoring.

You chuckle fondly, "Especially in the evenings, when you think of me?"

His cheeks heat up but his gaze is steady. “I won’t deny it."

“Honesty suits you." He goes in for a kiss just as you pull away. "I want to show you something."

He makes a curious sound and you leave him to open your dresser drawer. "Now, you knew I'd be using rope tonight, but for what exactly I didn't tell you." You gather the rope in your arms, "It might not seem like much of a deviation."

"Oh?" He eyes the rope you've picked.

"You still like it?"

He turns the rope over in his hands, "It’s richer than I remember. How did you do it?"

"Blue mangled beetles - kind of like carmine, but the process is simpler. When dried and crushed they make a beautiful dark navy dye that doesn’t bleed."

"You did your research."

You chuckle and take the rope from his hands. "Only the best for you. Gloves off."

He slips off his right leather glove, finger by finger - wait. “Blue?” You look at him inquisitively. His nails are a rich navy blue, perfectly manicured and glossy.

His eyes flicker behind you, cheeks dusting pink. “I painted them a few days ago.”

You're confused for a minute, then it hits you. “Wait - because of me?”

His voice drops, “You - you mentioned-" He clears his throat, "I thought you might like them.”

"I love them, Lucifer…" You kiss his knuckles, his palm, his wrist, before pulling him in for a proper kiss. His hand cups your jaw and he makes a small, plaintive sound. He really had been thinking about your words all this time.

You pull away with reluctance. "It's time I tell you what we’ll be doing tonight. Shall we start the scene?"

He clears his throat again and sweeps his own magic over your door. "Let us begin."

"Any titles are allowed tonight, you can address me however you’d like. Red to stop the act, yellow to pause, and green for all good. Fire if you want to stop the scene entirely."

"Understood.”

“Then…" the glint in your eyes makes him a little weak in the knees. "I know you have a penchant for ropework. And I know how much you enjoy earning my praise. So, I had a thought - tonight I’d like you to use your ropework skills and tie me up, but I want full range of motion, you know, a design strictly for aesthetics.” You pull the rope taught in your hands, “And then, if you do a good enough job, I may reward you with some rope of my own. What do you say?” You hold out the rope to him.

You smile and oblige, settling into the cold wooden seat. He eyes you and then the rope, contemplative, before loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves. He circles you, and you admire the focused, pointed look on his face as he carefully plans an intricate design in his mind’s eye. He’s completely in his element and you love to watch him work.

“What an intriguing idea...” He takes the rope from your hands with soft reverence, feeling the rough texture between his fingers. “You really got such a nice shine to it,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. He breathes out slowly and gestures to the mahogany chair, “Please dear, relax.”

“Ah,’ you suddenly realize, “This might help.” You lift up your shirt and drop it next to the chair before shimmying out of your bottoms, leaving you bare before him.

“Yes…” he murmurs as his eyes roam your skin.

You feel a pleasant tingle up your spine when he brushes his fingers through your hair, gently gathering until he can put it up properly above your neckline. Your body relaxes under his touch.

The first knot is an anchor tie just below your bust, he uses four strands and divides them into two, slipping each half over your shoulders and back down to meet your back. The rough texture warms you from the outside in but his careful touch is cool against your skin.

You watch him as he works, loving the interplay of shadow that falls across his sharp features. He catches you staring.

“Am I pleasing to look at, Madam?”

“Yes, very much so.”

Your pact mark sings and you chuckle, bemused at the sensation. “You like it when I compliment you, don’t you, my little black bird?”

His cheeks heat up and his eyebrows furrow, as he’s put off by the pet name, but the humming in your chest only continues. “I can feel it, you know? Honesty really does suit you best - your face is much prettier wearing it.”

The tips of his ears turn pink but he circles you, wrapping his arms around your midsection to finish fixing a knot in place. Suddenly his warm lips press into the crook of your shoulder. The deep undertones of his voice make you shiver as he whispers in your ear. “You will be the death of me.”

You turn to meet his eyes, coy mischief in your own. “I think you’ll survive.” He chuckles and you kiss him once, twice, just to make him simmer. He almost goes back in for a third but you brush your thumb over his bottom lip. “Not yet.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He kisses your shoulder once more.

Time passes in a lovely, hazy sort of way. Lucifer relaxes into the process as you'd hoped he would. It’s a gentle sort of focus where his mind is set on something, a place where nothing else can bother him or tear away his careful attention. He loves taking your direction, easing him out of his mind, constantly wound too tight.

Finally he kneels to finish the job, gingerly maneuvering one of your legs up and over his shoulder to wrap a strand around the back of your thigh. His eyes wander this time, following the line of your body until he lingers between your legs. As if he can’t help himself he kisses your skin, leaving a delicate trail up the inside of your thigh.

You cup his jaw in one hand and he kisses your palm, eyeing between your legs. “After you finish,” you murmur, “You’ll have to earn what you get tonight.” His eyes flicker to yours and he continues moving, finishing the tie he started.

“I believe I’m finished, will you stand?”

You do so, feeling the bend and flex of rope. Nothing feels too tight, everything is snug, hugging the curves of your body. You admire what lacing you can see, particularly the delicate design around your hands and wrists. He truly had taken his time, a glance at the clock proves that an hour has passed.

Finally you turn around and examine his work in the mirror. Your eyes light up at his intricate ropework. You’re beautiful, elegant, fully mobile and yet covered in faux restraints. You admire yourself, making a show of your appreciation. His chest puffs out and the pact mark on your chest rumbles. You gently circle your clit with one finger and enjoy how he shifts uncomfortably behind you.

You want more from him. Your body aches from an hour of foreplay.

You cup his jaw with one hand. “Kneel.”

“Yes Sir,” he murmurs, almost breathless.

His willing, almost eager demonstration of your power over him, of his own lack of control, further spurns you on, and you know he can hold your weight.

"Show me, then, devotion to your work." You prop one leg up on the hard mahogany seat, exposing yourself for him. Rope hugs your thighs, indenting and highlighting what he wants most.

His eyes flicker between your face and your clit. He licks his lips. "Thank you, Sir."

You run a hand through his hair and brace the other on the back of the chair. As soon as his tongue touches your clit you gasp, unable to help yourself. You’ve been on edge for so long now, throbbing at every new rope and delicate detail. You savor his mouth, rocking your hips into his face gently. "Yes…" he sucks and licks as you drip onto his tongue and he moans softly at the gentle tug of your hand in his hair.

You'll come quickly and you know it - you rock against him faster now and he wraps his fingers through the ropes on the back of your thigh before squeezing your ass and petting between your legs.

You look down at him, at his disheveled appearance, tousled hair, and too-tight pants. “Lucifer, darling, you - ah - you don’t have to say anything, no thoughts, no control, just take what I give you."

He groans and claws at the backs of your thighs, pulling you forward against his mouth.

You tilt your head back. "Good man, good job-" he whines and flicks his tongue with renewed vigor, "fffuck, right there…"

You fuck his face, shivering and shaking, chasing your orgasm. He holds you upright and supports your body, grasping at his own ropework. You moan and twitch. A glance at the mirror brings you closer still, “Look baby, look at you, making me feel so fucking good… shit-” Your grip on his hair tightens as you twist your hand, pulling him forward. He moans, high and breathy, harshly breathing through his nose.

His right hand supports your waist while his left squeezes your ass. Just a minute more, a second more, finally, finally his palpable desire sends you over the edge, and god how it fills the air. He takes it all and you don't fall, even as your legs lock and your grip falters. You shake and shiver in his tight grasp, palms holding tight to his shoulders. He keeps licking, just enough to keep you there until tension dissipates and you’re overstimulated. Only then does his grip loosen, following your body as you stand on your own, knees shaking.

There's an unspoken tenderness in his eyes - your baby takes pride in service.

You step away from him when you can, fixing his hair and cleaning your cum from his lips. "Sit on the chair, darling."

His knees crack when he gets up, stiff from his place on the hardwood floor. He sits, bulge straining against his trousers, watching you with rapt attention.

"I think…" you turn around, "You've more than earned your reward - as if there was any doubt in my mind."

“Oh?” He practically glows at your praise.

"And…” you walk over to your nightstand once more, "I'm not done with this yet." He swallows, gaze fixated on the rope in your hands. You smirk, "You like that idea?"

He shifts again. "Yes I - very much."

You reach into your nightstand and pull out a matte black silicone dildo, smaller, elegant even. You hold it up. “What about this? Are you up for it tonight?”

“Yes,” he nods, “I prepared myself for the possibility.”

“Perfect,“ you breathe, already excited. “Then…” your smile is nearly wicked as you regard him and his cock throbs in earnest. “Clothes off. Hands behind your back - hold your forearms.”

He acquiesces, knowing exactly what you want.

Soon he’s sitting naked on the chair, hands held behind his back, willingly at your mercy. Your ties aren’t nearly as elegant, but they restrict his movement and hug his body. You restrain his arms behind his back with a chest harness, carefully distributing the weight of the rope, adding just a touch of flourish. Even in such a simple design he looks lovely. Blue really is his color, you think, admiring him. He catches your eye.

“I was right,” you say, tilting his chin up for a chaste peck on the lips, “You look lovely in blue.” He groans and chases your lips this time. You let him, just once, and deepen the kiss yourself, before grabbing him by the hair, wrenching his head up. “Not yet, darling.”

“As you wish.” He’s breathless and kiss bitten.

You leave him and stack two large pillows on top of each other. You motion for him to stand before grabbing him by the restraints. “I will help you get into position,” you chuckle darkly, “I want you face down.”

His cheeks feel hot but he nods, “Yes Sir.”

“Good man. Lie down.”

It takes a moment since he can’t move his arms but you finally have him exactly where you want him, chest pushed into the bed, hips and ass raised by the pillows beneath him.

He tilts his head to look at you with one eye, eyebrow raised as you appear with more rope.

‘Can’t have you squirming too much, now can I?” He groans into the pillow beneath him and nods.

“Tell me if you’re ever uncomfortable or need to readjust, this position might get tiring after awhile.”

“I’m sure I can take it.”

“I’m sure you can, but I’m not asking. Tell me.”

He shivers. “Yes Ma’am.”

“Good.”

You uncap the lube on your nightstand and snap a glove on. He shivers at the cold feeling of your lubed finger rubbing against him, but as your hand warms so does his body and he slowly starts to meet your gentle thrusts as you enter him. You love this part. It’s incredibly intimate, almost more so that the ensuing sex, because anyone else would have been thrown out long ago - he has only ever done this with you.

Once you’re up to two fingers comfortably you withdraw your hand and replace it with your lubed up strap. “Ready?”

“I’ve been ready.” You smack his ass and he gasps.

“What was that?”

“I apologize, yes I - I’m ready.”

“That’s better. One more remark like that,” you murmur, pressing in slowly, “And I’ll rethink your reward.”

He hisses, wiggling his hips, “A-Apologies - it won’t happen again.”

‘I know it won’t,” you smile, “because you love this too much.” Finally, finally you move your hips, slow at first, until finding a gentle rhythm. You use his bound legs as leverage, pushing deep inside of him as his low, desperate moans fill the air.

As his body strains against the rope it holds tight, digging into his skin - this heat, this pleasure, your power over him is dizzying. For a few blissful moments he can’t think, all he can do is feel you surround him and hear your haunting voice in his ear.

It is easy to admire him, Lucifer Morningstar splayed out before you, rocking his ass into your hips, wanting more, more. You grab the rope holding his forearms tight against his back and pull, arching his back against the sheets. He cries out, and you lean down, pushing all your weight on top of him.

“That feel good, baby? Heh, you love it don’t you?” Your hips are slow and deep, grinding on his favorite spot, “You love being fucked like this. Wrapped in my rope, under my hand-” He moans, long and debauched. “I’m the only one who gets to fuck you like this, you belong to me, don’t you?”

“Yes-!”

You’re breathless above him. “We belong to each other, right, love?”

His eyes open and he gazes at you in the adjacent mirror, “Yes…” You dip and kiss the back of his neck, soft and sweet, "Hnn…" he takes in a shuddering breath and lets his head fall forward.

“That's right, no one else deserves to touch you, no one else is good enough, worthy enough.” You whisper in his ear.

He gasps your name and pushes his ass against your hips, pathetically fucking himself on your strap. Every slap of your skin sears welts into his body. You grab his hair and jerk his body up.

“Eyes open, look at yourself.” He didn’t think he could get any redder, but the sight of you behind him, fucking his ass with slow purposeful thrusts, restraining him while tied in his own ropework, it's too much, he can’t - he’ll -

You wrench his head up, “Keep looking,” you pant, “look at the face you make when you come for me.”

He can’t help it, he comes fast and hot, hips stuttering, mouth open and gasping. You slow but you don’t stop. He whimpers but dutifully stays, taking it all.

“Good man,” you praise him, “So. Fucking. Good-” you punctuate your words by digging your nails into his back. You slowly drag them downward and tiny specks of blood bubble to the surface. He hisses but his cock jumps beneath him. “You like a little pain, don’t you?” You slap his ass with an open palm. “Answer me.”

“Yes, yes Ma’am -”

“Yes what?”

"Fuck - more, please-!”

“Filthy.” You bite, before indulging him with another slap on the ass.

You run your nails gently over the welts and he sighs in bliss. In this moment of calm you use all your strength to hoist him upward again, until his back is flush against your chest. You wrap a hand around his throat and start to bounce him on your cock. His eyes roll back and he groans, reaching around to grab your hip as he rocks back into you.

“When I cut you loose,” you pant, “I want you to lie down on your back, legs spread, waiting and ready for me again. Do you understand me?”

He swallows breathlessly and nods.

You lean him forward and gently pull out. You untie his legs, and then his arms before dropping the rope next to the bed. His body is tinged red with slight rope burn, just how he likes.

He rolls over onto his back, finally making eye contact with you. You smile at him, gentle, and his pupils pin. “Spread your legs for me.”

Lucifer grabs his own knees, and spreads his legs while you refuse to let him lose eye contact. His red flush is delicious, and so is his twitching cock, clearly enjoying this.

You grab more lube from the nightstand and quickly reapply before holding one of his legs to your chest and slipping back inside. He groans and rocks his hips forward, savoring the feeling.

You slowly snap your hips forward, reaching deep inside him, you keep repositioning until he gasps and then you hold there. Little thrusts of your hips grinding against his ass. He gasps low, moaning sweetly in his deep voice as sweat trickles down his temple.

“Kiss me-” he croaks, reaching for you. You melt into him and grind against him as his hands roam your body. He doesn’t realize he’s whimpering and shuddering, or if he does he doesn’t care.

You continue like this for a while, enjoying his gasping deep moans in your ear, his lips and teeth on your neck. Finally, at your mercy, you gently trace your fingers over the head of his cock. The noise he makes is agonizing, and you have half a mind to continue neglecting him. But he has your heart as you keep up that gentle, light contact, and he doesn’t ask for more. His head is spinning, filled with thoughts of you, you, just you.

You speed up your hand as your hips get tired and he grips your back, rocking into you. Finally you feel him tense, feel his blunt nails dig into your back.

“There you go, my pretty bird,”

He gasps, light and beautiful, shuddering as he comes, keening as each slow, deep thrust of your hips milks another dribble of cum out of him.

You kiss again and again, covered in sweat, cum, and specks of blood, ignoring the passage of time.

Darkness blankets your bedroom, barely lit in deep navy shadow. Your fingernails fall up and down rhythmically over the rope burn on Lucifer’s back.

“I heard you were approached last week.” He murmurs.

“At the Banquet…? Oh, did Asmo say something?”

Lucifer chuckles, "He said something akin to "Everyone here is itching for their chance, don't let them out of your sight."

You feign exasperation. "And what did you do, you let me out of your sight. Now I'm in bed with a demon."

Lucifer snorts, "The very same demon you propositioned in a coat closet."

"What can I say? I know who I want," you kiss his temple.

Lucifer leans into you further, draped across your body. "Don't you have plans early tomorrow morning?"

“You yawn again, “Solomon said he has something important to talk to me about. What exactly, I’m not sure… he can wait until I've had breakfast.”

“That sorcerer…”

“He wants you so bad,” you chuckle, “I mean, it isn’t up to me, but I enjoy acting as if it is.”

“Rest assured,” he kisses your shoulder, “he’ll never have me, not like you do.”

Your smile is gentle. “I love you, Luci.”

“And I you.”

Lucifer closes his eyes and relaxes his sore body, satisfied and calm. He resolves to make you breakfast in the morning before seeing you off to Solomon.

Truly, he thinks, there's nothing he can’t face as long as you’re there when he wakes.

#lucifer obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me smut #sub lucifer #dom mc #my writing #wearyeyebrow #teeny tiny bit of nightbringer angst at the end #dom!reader #sub!lucifer #sub obey me

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