#forced to be a reflection of someone else for your entire life and met with violence when you finally dare to have an identity of your own

[forever--darling]

the spoken code

summary: it's been six months within the temple & suddenly, you can't shake that this connection with anakin skywalker seems out of the ordinary, even among jedi, enough so you are prompted with a sign from the force itself, only eliciting more confusion & concerns.

pairings: anakin skywalker x jedi!reader

word count: 14.0k

warnings/notes: mention of war, of death, mention of clone wars, mention of reader's past life, swearing, fluff, soulmate au, teasingaotc!anakin, lots of plot development for these two, pre-angst

series masterlist | 03

Darkness, something you had become quite accustomed to for months. It was waning, though, you knew it; the comfort, the desire to lean into it until it swallowed you whole. It was dissipating day by day, being replaced by something else entirely, by someone else entirely. Yet, you still couldn’t understand it. This hold, this plan, the force had written out for the two of you. 

The more you searched, meditated, and felt inclined to ask Master Obi-Wan, the more the answers seemed further and further from clear. What did they want from you? What did the higher powers of the world want? Why did you suddenly seem so important within the plays of humanity? You couldn’t know. 

A light appeared, pulling you from your thoughts, seeming to be as loud as your lingering footsteps among the dark tiles. Near the end of the hallway, it glowed brightly, a soft blue, enticing you to move closer and closer. 

“Hello?” you called out, your voice a mere echo among the long black walls and black floors. All that was in response to the wallowing silence was but the sound of a faint step off into the distance. One and then perhaps two. 

That quietness loomed, and your chest tightened, confusion the only feeling you could grasp as you continued forward. Reaching for your belt, you found the spot empty where your lightsaber usually sat. As you peered down, you realized then, in the dim light alone, you weren’t in your robes either. The familiar tunic and pants are somehow gone. Replaced by a long white skirt that brushed softly along your bare ankles, paired with a tight long sleeve just as white. It was small along your wrists but comfortable, forming around you as a second skin. 

Another faint step could be heard just off to your left. You turned quickly but were only met with the pitch black. Your pulse spiked. “Who’s there?”

Once again, the silence was the only response. Sighing heavily, you turned back to the bright light that remained floating within midair, dauntingly so, as if daring you to step forward. With no other sign in sight, that was exactly what you did. You walked forward, carefully until you were face to face with the bright light. With furrowed brows and eyes reflected by the strange orb, some feeling suddenly washed over. A need to stretch out your arm, to brush your fingers among it. A certain impulse that only grew. 

With no Master to advise you over your shoulder or the tall chosen one to talk it over with, you couldn’t help but reach forward, fingers outstretched. With the smallest brush, a warmth appeared first in your fingertips and then among the empty space in your chest. 

It took a second, no more, before the ball of light disappeared, erupting more so and soaking upon the walls before you. Your whole sight was washed over with brightness, and you couldn’t help but shield them, a wince falling from your lips. 

A moment passed, and you felt almost afraid to drop your face from your elbow until you heard the lightest laugh. One far too familiar that it had caused your chest to tighten and almost skip. As you dropped your arm to your side, you gasped in surprise. Surprised to find the darkness completely gone but bathed in so much sunlight, all of which washed over cream and beige-colored pillars that towered above you, tangled among the thickest branches and veins stringed with white flowers. 

“Grandmother,” the young voice laughed again, it filled with so much life. You had almost forgotten it once sounded like that. 

You turned, and your eyes widened slightly at the sight before you. There within the arbor sat a small girl no older than eight, wearing a white long skirt and a long sleeve that matched your own. Her hair was long and pulled back out of her face in a low knot, small gold butterfly clips laced within the strands of hair. Her face was bare of any invisible scars, evidence of misfortunes. She was pure. 

“What?” The older female voice came from the adult sitting close to the child, legs outstretched, long greying curls bouncing along her shoulders, “Y/N, my darling, are you saying you don’t believe me, the former queen?”

Grandmother. 

The eight-year-old version of yourself giggled again, shaking your head with the uttermost oblivion, “No, it can’t be true. They couldn’t fly, at least not way up there.” 

Your heart ached at the sight then, at the mere innocence that once reflected your skin in such oblivious happiness. Your Grandmother chuckled, that warm comforting sound you had forgotten about not long after she passed when you were no more than fifteen. A soft smile formed across her aging face, so much peace there and then as the sounds of Bakura echoed around the arbor. 

“Shall I tell you another story then?” the former queen asked, only to have the young girl nod eagerly. “Alright, let me think for a moment?” 

“Nona,” you interrupted, small eyes peering up through the arbor as if looking for what could only be invisible during that time of day, “The stars.” 

“Which stars?” 

“You know which one’s.” 

The older woman chuckled, acting as if she didn’t for a mere moment only to cave at the sight of the small frown that filtered over the young princess’s lips. She, of course, knew which ones because they were the same stars who lined the window of your chambers every night. It didn’t matter how much the earth spun or the seasons changed; it remained in the same spot, unmoving, unaligned amongst the rest that moved with life. “Oh, you mean the Stars of L’âme?” 

The Soul Stars. 

The young princess nodded, her little head already filling with so many questions. You knew because it was the same expression you still got — furrowed brows and bottom lip tucked with ease between your teeth as you thought long and hard. 

“My darling princess, I have told you that story many times before. You know how they came to be.” 

“Yes, through a collision of energies in the form of pressure and heat.” 

The former queen hummed in agreement, smile widening at the great memory her granddaughter proved to have, “And what makes them so special?” 

“They formed outside of the stellar nurseries, but I just don’t understand it.” 

“Understand what, my darling?” 

That confused look only deepened, and you remembered fondly how the story you had forgotten until now went, the mysteries never quite aligning with reason. “How is it even possible?” 

“Sometimes, even when things are possible, it doesn’t mean we are deemed worthy of knowing. Sometimes it is better for us not to know. Remember, what I told you about these stars. Though they formed outside of the stellar nurseries, they formed for a reason. A reason that only occurs every hundred years. Can you remember?” 

Your heart skipped then at the thought, the memory forming behind your fuzzy mind that you hadn’t thought back to for years. The younger version of yourself smiled warmly at the thought, “Yes, every hundred years, two souls are chosen by whom we don’t know. When they are born, they seem connected just as the two stars in the sky.” 

“Two lost souls,” your grandmother corrected, “That is something to remember most of all. This act is never random. This choice by the greater powers of our worlds. It is never a mere act of happening but by some sort of fate itself.” 

The young princess slumped for a moment, the story, the long winding details becoming a lot for her to handle. Even the version of yourself standing off to the side of the arbor found it difficult to understand then in your adulthood. It felt as if you were hearing it all over again for the first time, and as if the force, the stars themselves, wanted to relay a message, you reached up to lay your hand over your chest. 

You hesitated, unaware of what it all meant, and your stomach twisted in nervousness. 

“Nona?” 

“Yes?” the former queen chuckled again as the questions never seemed to cease with the little one who found her head always up in the clouds, believing in the untouchable of everything she couldn’t see but feel. 

“Why have the stars never aligned? The two never seem to find each other.”

Your grandmother’s smile remained stoic, but the lines around her eyes deepened. So much so that you found yourself pushing away from the wall of the arbor just to get a better view of it. Just as she went to open her mouth, sure to answer the young princess’s every question asked, another voice boomed from just off the steps of the arbor. “Mother.” 

A figure emerged, and you felt your breath fall short upon your tongue, unsure of how to even react as the looming frame of the current queen and your mother stepped within the arbor, eyes narrowed down at the sight of you cross-legged in front of the older woman. 

“Mom,” the young girl sighed, slightly disappointed that she had interrupted her grandmother’s answer. 

Your feet suddenly stopped, and you felt stuck in the ground, peering over at the beauty that had been your mother. The queen of Bakura, the love of your father’s life. The very person he left the Jedi order to be with. The only woman to have ever held a light to his heart other than you. She appeared so young, only ten or so years older than you were now. In all the time without her, the days passing into nights, her face had blurred, the image of her having become so unclear over the years.

Pictures were limited, and suddenly graced with her presence after so long, you couldn’t help but finally accept that your father had perhaps been right when he constantly told you how much you reminded him of her. You were almost her spitting image, and suddenly that ache returned, fully, and you had to grasp even tighter to your chest, just wishing she would turn — would see you, look you in the eyes after so long. 

“Y/N, go on, your father wishes to see you?” the cold tone brought you by surprise as this was something you couldn’t remember. This side of her. 

“But—” 

“Go,” the queen sighed, rubbing her temple. 

The young princess shared a last longing gaze with her grandmother before running off. As soon as she was gone, your mother turned to her own as the former older queen stood from where she had been sitting on an orange-knit blanket. With her arms crossed over her chest and feet tapping impatiently along the wood of the arbor, you couldn’t help but step even closer, unsure if this part was a dream or rather something else, you somehow were being granted to see. 

“Why do you have to go and tell her those stories?” 

Your grandmother sighed, a look of disappointment appearing, “Stories? Is that what you see them as now?” 

“That is what they are,” your mother argued. 

The former queen tutted softly, frown deepening at the thought, “Does the king think so too? Your husband?” 

“Don’t bring him into this.” 

Your ears perked up at the mention of your father, him still so apparent and so clear to you that the mention of him hurt. Your mother’s eyes darkened while your grandmother only appeared so solemn at the sight of her own daughter’s frustrations. “How can I not? He felt it from the day that she was born.” 

“Mother…” 

“He is a Jedi, so don’t you dare diminish it. There is something entirely wonderful here, and you are so worried about hiding it.” 

With parted lips, your eyes deepened, a weird feeling washing over you. You tried to lean into it, the force, your senses, but it seemed they had no ability here. Not on these two people who no longer were alive to think these current thoughts or recant them. Instead, you could only stand there and listen, feeling as if the world was ending with each and everything they said that seemed to dance around the conflict at hand. 

Your mother sighed, that anger fading into nothing but almost sadness, in despair, “We don’t know what or if there is anything here, and I’m not going to put outlandish thoughts inside my child’s head.” 

“So you are never going to tell her?” Nona asked, that shame in her daughter apparent more than ever. 

Your mother didn't seem affected by it, not one bit, as she shook her head, glare still settled across her beautiful face, “There is nothing to tell.” 

The coldness raked a shiver across your form, and as you reached out to touch her, your mother, the person you had trusted most in all your life, you felt the scenery fade, almost melting. You were ripped away by a force you couldn’t recognize, something heavy. A small yell fell from your parted lips as your stomach sank and your head spun with uncertainty. Before you realized it, you were bolting up, a heavy breath falling from your parted lips in surprise. 

It took a matter of seconds to recognize where you were. The room was dark besides the light of the moons sneaking in through the windows kept untouched by the curtains. The sheet and blankets pooled around your frame near your waist as you were raked with unsteady breaths. Sweat gathered along your brow, and your throat was tight, and it suddenly seemed the weight of the world was falling upon you. So much uncertainty and confusion at the dream that pierced you. The images so clear so vivid, of Bakura, Nona, your mother — the memory that had to have been real as you stared back almost in a mirror of the past at a young princess completely blind to the future before her. 

Wiping the sweat from your hairline, you pushed back your long hair from your face and eased your breathing down to a simple inhale and exhale. Silence once again encompassed the air around you, and you felt it all slowly start to swarm your mind, almost like a carousel sure to never stop its incessant turning. You knew the noises within your mind wouldn’t stop then, at least not for the rest of the night, so you pushed the blankets even further from your frame and stood from the bed. 

Finding a robe to pull over your night-slip, you left your chambers, the door closing behind you with a gentle hiss. The temple was quiet and dark, night still gracing the city in peace. The floor was cold against your feet, but you didn’t care to go back and find shoes, not when it was somehow welcoming to the immense heat you had felt when you woke up. That discomfort still lingered as you walked the empty halls, unsure of what or where to go. 

Far from your chambers, near the other end of the temple, you stumbled along a corridor that wasn’t familiar and often went unnoticed by many of the Jedi within the temple as it was much narrower than the others, void of many rooms within it. Feeling like you were called to go down it, you walked steadily until you came upon a windowsill sitting right next to a large window, expanding most of the opposing wall. Peering outside, a small sense of relief almost appeared at the sight of the city before you bathed by the dark sky decorated with far too many stars. The sky has always been able to bring comfort ever since you were a child. 

It seemed that could have very well been because of Nona and her stories — the ones that surrounded the stars, the planets, the unseen forces you couldn’t begin to understand how she knew about. Sitting upon the windowsill, legs outstretched and robes spilling over the edges, you stared up while the visions from the night reappeared; reminding you just how much you yourself couldn’t get what any of it meant. 

There was something strange that had happened that night. You didn’t want to admit it — not even as you had felt it as the weight of your body sunk deeply into the mattress of your bed. Your breathing had shallowed out quickly, not having known when the stars and the sky of Cruscant had faded into darkness. Into the most comfortable of darknesses soon to only be replaced. Replaced far quickly. Quicker than it ever had before, as if the universe was nullifying all the former pain that had been written in deep pen across your soul. 

Peering up, you found the stars, the two that seemed to never escape you — both so bright, a strange tint of light blue, and just as you had imagined them to be, they were unaligned. The upper one slightly shifted towards the left, while the lower one favored the right. You knew then it appeared just the same as always. 

What are you trying to tell me? 

It was a silent ask, one that weighed quite heavy, so much so you hadn’t felt it. 

That familiarity that seemed to follow you around wherever you went. Instead, he was given away by his footsteps, his shoes appearing much louder than your bare feet had been. Your fingers shifted upon your knees without even realizing, the air warming around them as the voice filled your ears. 

“Hey,” it was gentle, soft, as if trying not to startle you. 

At the immediate familiarity, a small huff escaped your lips, eyes closing for a mere moment at the awful timing. Then as your attention returned to your surroundings, the energy of him became just as apparent as it always had been. Sighing, you opened your eyes again and turned to look within the small corridor. He was leaning against the windowsill near your feet, having come from around the corner without you even noticing. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked, just as softly back, as you took in his frame, unaware you even had been doing it. 

His hair was slightly mousled from sleep, the skin around his eyes red as if he had been rubbing them. Long loose pants covered his lower half while a robe was tied quickly around his waist, but not tight enough as you were able to see the bare skin of his chest peeking through. You tried to ignore the sudden stir you felt just at the mere sight alone, hoping more than anything he couldn’t sense every single thought running through your mind. 

Stepping closer, the light from the moon washed over him incandescently, and you scolded yourself internally for having even noticed. Especially now that most, if not all, the frustrations towards him had faded, forming into something else entirely. 

He ignored your question, instead taking in your bare feet, which led to bar legs sticking out from your robe, that familiar quirk forming along his lips, “Can I sit?” 

A second of hesitation, and then you were nodding, pulling your legs up closer to your chest to give him some room. He slid up across from you, his back resting against the opposite wall, his legs following. You tried not to stare so much as he got comfortable, but you felt your throat tighten slightly as his legs widened, leaving room for your own. The windowsill wasn’t long enough, leaving the outside of your legs to press along the inside of his — your bare skin able to feel the soft material of his pants and the warmth admitting from within them.

Stare sliding up his frame quicker than you would have liked, you found him already staring over at you intently, too much so that you began to fiddle with your fingers, almost willing to start picking at them but knowing better. You didn’t want him to see how nervous you truly were, whether it was because of your dream or him, though you weren’t really sure which was at the forefront of your mind. 

His knee bumped yours enough to keep your eyes on his, and you felt your confines weakening slightly, even if that meant him getting to see just what you were feeling at that moment. 

“You never answered my question,” you opposed, not willing to back down then wishing to see the way his expressions shifted, “What are you doing here?”

He smirked, almost like it was inevitable to tease you at least a little bit when that furrow appeared between your brows, “You’ve been thinking awfully hard for how late it is. Though I’m not sure what about. All I know is, it was hard not to feel how upset you were from only a few halls away.” 

“Fuck,” you cursed under your breath, unable to hold it back, “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” 

He laughed, unable to hold back at how cute you sounded swearing like that, and as he did, his knee bumped yours again. “No. I was already awake.”

That furrow deepend then, frowning at the mere possibility of him being unable to sleep as well. Able to read your features clearly, he sighed as if hesitant to admit it to you, though he knew the only way for the trust between you to strengthen was to be honest. You didn’t know him, not much past the sly smiles, the wit he was told by your dear master to keep to a minimum and the brief moments of softness he had displayed to you. Other than that, there wasn’t much else.

You two knew more about each other’s body language, the way their pulse quickened, or the feelingsound in the other’s head more so than the past, or much else. It hadn’t had the means to be brought up, not until then. 

“I don’t sleep well anymore.” 

“What do you mean?” you asked carefully, slightly shocked as it seemed you had been so consumed in your own sleeping habits lately that you hadn’t been able to feel through your senses that he had been struggling too,

“My mother,” he explained softly, knowing now he would have to explain it all to you, “It was a vision or a dream, perhaps, I’m not really fucking sure. But somehow, she was in my arms, and she was dying.” 

“Anakin,” you gasped, “How long ago was this?” 

He shrugged, “A week or so ago. They’ve only become more frequent since then. These dreams of my mother.” 

Your face softened, eyes widening slightly. His stare never wavered from your own as he reveled in your reactions. He had been holding it in for so long, silently dealing with this pain, this fear. You had only agreed to stay a month or so ago, and he didn’t want to do something that might weaken this sudden bond you two had seemed to have. 

“Where is she now?” you couldn’t help but ask. 

“Tatooine.” 

Your brows lifted then at the name of the planet, one of many you had studied immensely in your time of preparing to be queen. It required a lot from you, having to understand the political issues that overtook them all, their forms of government, and the allies and enemies of each. Upon hearing that name, you couldn’t have even imagined that Anakin had possibly been from Tatooine. 

“Tatooine, so she’s…” 

He nodded, “A slave? Yes. I was too. And then, when I was nine, I met Qui-Gon, and we struck up a deal. If I won the Boonta Eve Podrace, and he betted on me, he would have enough money to buy my freedom.” 

“And you won?” you smiled softly, unable not to as this was the first time you were hearing about his childhood. A childhood that wasn’t perfect, was different than your own, but was him. It was something you had found yourself wondering about for months now; where was he from, what were his parents like, what kind of kid was he? All of these questions, you felt too afraid to ever ask — worried what the answers would be.

“And I won. Then he brought me here to train under Obi-Wan. It’s been ten years, and I’ve thought about her every day since I left. I promised I would go back for her, but…”

“The code,” you finished for him, cringing slightly at the thought. 

Relationships and attachments were forbidden, even among parents and children.

“I would. I want to more than anything. I just haven’t had the opportunity. I know how fucking awful that sounds. It truly is—” 

“Stop. It’s not. I get it,” you said cutting him off while also reaching forward without even realizing to place your hand on his knee. It was warm and reminded you so much of the day that he had taken your hand in his, the day he had convinced you to stay. The day he silently promised you he could be the one person to trust. 

He traced the small touch with his blue orbs, one of the first touches you had ever initiated on your own. You bowed your head slightly, a flush appearing along your cheeks, suddenly second-guessing how natural it had all felt. Feeling inclined to retract your hand, a small smile appeared along his lips, one that was different than you had ever seen before. It was a look you wished to see for as long as possible, so you decided against pulling away. 

“One day, you will rescue her. Promises aren’t taken lightly when it’s a Jedi making them. You meant your word, and I know at the first possible chance you will do as you say.” 

He nodded, a calmness now falling over him he hadn’t been able to grasp since he had woken up in a cold sweat, panic seeping throughout his body, eyes unable to look or find anything to hold his attention long enough to forget about the crumpled form of his mother. Not until suddenly, you were sitting in front of him, touching him the way you were while saying all the things he needed so desperately to hear. He couldn’t help but react by covering your hand with his own, the warmth encapsulating the coldness of yours in a gentle squeeze. 

“And what about you?” he asked, drawing your stare away from your joined hands. 

“W-What about me?” you stuttered lightly, hating how something as simple as his hand could pull such a reaction out of you. 

“Why are you awake? What has gotten you so worked up that I felt I had to come find you?”

Though he wasn’t wrong, you hated that he put it that way. As if he needed to come in and save you at every chance he got — all to silence the many demons that filtered in throughout your head. You didn’t like the thought, the idea of depending on him so much, that he could feel exactly what you were feeling. How much further would it go? 

None of this made sense. The force didn’t make sense. Anakin didn’t make sense. The way he cared about you was too much, and sometimes you wished more than anything you could sever this connection with the hope that he didn’t have to feel so obligated to protect you all the time. That night and that dream only made it all worse. 

If it were true, you didn’t know what you were going to do.

“Y/N?” Anakin asked, his thumb beginning to rub gentle circles on the back of your palm and you hated how your pulse began to speed up at the small action. He could sense your apprehension paired with the look in your eyes, the fear of saying anything at all. 

“I—uh— don’t even know how to make sense of what tonight was.” 

“Just try.” 

You inhaled, that furrow returning between your brows and a hand running through your hair, unsure of how much you could even say. What did you even know? “I thought it was a dream, but now I think it might have been a memory maybe — something I haven’t thought of in years.” 

“Okay…” he replied carefully, trying to communicate in every way that he was fully listening to whatever you had to say. 

“I was somehow in Bakura within the backyard of the capital in our arbor. It was green and full of life and so, so beautiful. And Nona, my grandmother was there telling her stories, some that I always told myself to not believe. I was eight, sitting there just listening to every single thing she said. I forgot how young I used to be and so happy. I had never seen myself like that, and it was the strangest thing,” you laughed sadly, eyes glassing over slightly as the images of that night seemed to resurface, appearing just as they had been in the moment, “It was like I was even there, Anakin but almost a ghost, watching it all.”

Anakin, with his hand still wrapped around yours, was leaning forward, eyes never wavering as he listened and tried to make sense of it. His brows knit together as he tried to make sense of you. As you met his eyes then, you felt your breath almost fall short at how intently he was staring.

Inhaling, that smile dropped slightly, “Nona was telling me some story about the stars. The Soul Stars, she called them. This one always felt different from all of the rest, as if everything she said was true. I was asking her a question about them, but then my mother appeared, and she sent me away to find my father. That was the last thing I could remember and where the memory should have ended, with me running off towards the capital, but it didn’t. Instead, I found myself watching them, the way they argued, about me, about something they were keeping from me. So, I don’t know if this was merely a dream or…” 

“Or something else. Something the force could be trying to tell you,” Anakin finished your unspoken thought, your two expressions appearing so similar as you tried to realize what exactly could be occurring, between his dream and your own. 

“It sounds crazy, I know, but it felt so real and so familiar. If I had known sooner, years ago, maybe I could have set this all straight, but my mother died not long after that, and now I can’t help but wonder. Wonder if she was hiding something? If m—my father knew.” 

“It’s not crazy,” he said, hand loosening around yours, just enough for his fingers to intertwine with yours. He pulled on them gently. “Not at all.” 

“How could any of this be possible?”

“Sometimes it just is. There’s no explanation, no possible reasoning. Impossibilities are possible until proven otherwise. Master used to always tell me that when I first became his Padawan. Being a Jedi, the ability to move things with your mind, know what others are feeling, thinking — none of it should be possible, and yet it is our reality.”

You hummed, peering out of the window once more at the pair of stars. Could it really be? Two souls connected so immensely. But what did that mean? Connected. What did any of it mean? 

It was as if he could hear your thoughts then, and maybe he had because he was whispering your name so softly while pulling on your fingers again to draw your attention. Eyes finding his again, you melted slightly at the sight. The way his brows were raised, a look that was so warm reflecting off his face, and a slight lift of his lips. 

“I feel like there could be something wrong with me,” you admitted, and he couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound deep, felt throughout your own chest as if it had been you who was the one who made the noise and not him. 

That warm expression seemed to only deepen, forming into the most beautiful smile while he reached forward, his fist bumping lightly along your chin. You tried to ignore the way it lingered there for a second longer. “There is nothing wrong with you. That’s a ridiculous thing to say.” 

“But—” 

“But what?” 

Holding back, you bit onto your lower lip, unable to say anything more. Because what else was there to say? What else, when you didn’t know everything there was to know? Other than the strange feeling you got within the middle of your chest and at the bottom of your stomach whenever he was around somehow dimming all the anger you once had to almost nothing. 

“Y/N, you’re doing well. So well.” 

“Anakin…” you trailed off, but he only silenced you with a narrowed look and another squeeze of your cold palm. 

“Don’t try to diminish anything that I’m saying. You’re too hard on yourself.” 

“Perhaps I’m just cautious. Waiting for something to happen or waiting around for the day that I finally fuck up, and become someone worth being disappointed in,” you explained, suddenly unable to withhold his touch, the way it could have muted every fear to ever appear within your mind — you felt unworthy of him, of his kindness then, enough so you pulled your hand away instead to pick at the skin around your nails. 

He watched this, his stomach twisting with discomfort at your need to retreat, at your need to cause your fingers to bleed. “I wish you didn’t think that way.” 

“Well, I’m afraid, Anakin. I don’t know how else to think of it. There is no other way to. I’m afraid of what I might do.” 

You were staring down at your fingers, unable to look up at him, too nervous to, and in doing so, you focused on the loose skin around your nailbeds. Silence hung in the air as you pulled at the skin, enough for it to tear and start bleeding from how deep you truly had dug with your fingernail. 

“Stop that!” he scolded, voice thick, deeper than you had ever heard it as he reached forward, yanking your hand away but back within his own. He stared at the blood, the way it flowed, sure to drip off your finger at any moment. “There is no need to be afraid. I will protect you. Since the first day I met you, I’ve known. Known that I could and always will protect you.” 

The question was slipping from your parted lips as if he was pulling them from you. “Could you protect me even from myself?”

A moment, this prolonged pause of time stilled by the mere sound of his soft breath and the knitting of his brows. There was a small frown evident upon his pink lips, as if he was truly able to feel every insecurity, every ounce of fear that could be felt from your end; every inclination of uncertainty that flooded your body, your sole being. He could feel it all, and within that pause, those few seconds, his hand once again tight around yours he was filled with the most conviction you had ever seen

“I know it doesn’t seem like it all of the time, but I would do anything to keep you safe.”

How in a matter of months had it come to this? You weren’t sure. To see through your eyes what the two of you were, none of it could have been true, cruel intentions masked by the simplest affections. That’s what it had become. A lie behind your visions, distracted by his handsomeness and the mere enticingness that came from his smirk or the color of his eyes when they found yours from across the room. It could have not been real. That idea can’t be the most plausible but a figment of what you wish could be. 

A Jedi shall not know anger. 

Nor hatred. 

Nor love. 

You had experienced two in the span of a few weeks within your training, and now you couldn’t help but worry you would fall victim to the last as well. The last of the forbidden causes that came with being a Jedi. You couldn’t. Not when you had come as far as you did; in your training, in your ability to trust, in the ways of simple living that came with being one with the force. There wasn’t room for any more. There wasn’t room for Anakin Skywalker, and yet he was always there. Almost like a lightsaber to your hip, a protector as he claimed to be, but also the young man who would find ways to scare you, making you jump as he snuck up behind you. He also was the man who would tease you any chance he could as if the sight of you rolling your eyes or your brows furrowing was the only sight he wished to ever see. 

He wasn’t insufferable as you once had deemed him to be and never cruel but thought of himself highly enough to still throw half-witted comments towards you anytime you were training even with Master present, more so if he was present. You thought he had been everywhere before, able to feel him all of the time, but that was minuscule compared to now, compared to how this connection had forged the two of you into the ability to feel so close it was as if you were sleeping next to one another. Sometimes, you swore you could hear his heart beating or the gentle lull of his breath, on rare occasions, he could actually sleep throughout the night. It was only on those few nights when he wasn’t with you. 

It had become a habit, you had found, to be seated within the small corridor of the temple, sitting upon that damn windowsill, legs always pressed against one another. You had found you didn’t sleep well anymore either. It wasn’t even that you were having more visions, memories, or dreams but that you were kept up late at night by just the single mysteries of the one and how it seemed to coincide so much with how you felt about the young Skywalker. 

A Jedi shall not know love. 

And yet you found him to be breaking through every single resolve and healing the deepest parts of sadness you hadn’t even known were there. He made you happy, and that was the greatest weakness to have, even if it had made you a better Padawan, even as it had made you a strong Jedi. 

It was so much easier when you were angry, you realized. When he had you burning from the inside out and willing to hit him with training sticks because it meant you didn’t know this. This feeling. 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” 

The voice was gentle but firm as his frame leaned over your back where you were sitting, lips close to the shell of your ear. He was far louder than he should be for the library. Leaning forward over your shoulder, his hand found the table while his waist pressed up against your back. Your breath stilled for a moment, the words in the book almost blurry to the point of no longer being able to read them. 

It seemed he had found you, hiding away within the shelves of the library in the Jedi Temple. You were sat at a small table, a few books sprawled out, trying to make use of the minimal spare time you had before your next training session with master. With trials at the end of the year, there was almost no time in the evenings outside of meditation, or practices to really study the code or material. At least that’s what you had told yourself until he had appeared feeling so warm as he loomed over your frame. 

You didn’t dare move but instead kept your position of sitting straight within the chair, eyes cast down at the book before you on balance and the molecular configurations of the force. It was difficult, though, as his hand and his eyes could be seen from your peripheral. 

“Hello, Anakin,” you replied, a voice at a lower level, aware of the many other Padawans and Jedis that crowded other tables outside of between those two shelves. 

He huffed, aware of your ignorance towards his previous statement, and instead leaned over further to get a look at the book that was open on the table. He let out the same noise when he realized what you were reading while his chest somehow was now brushed up against your neck and temple. You leaned away slightly, suddenly overwhelmed by the smell of his cologne that stuck to his tunics. 

“What are you doing in here?” he grumbled as he pulled back from you and instead took a seat in the chair next to yours, but not without scooting closer to your side enough that his knee bumped yours every time his leg moved. 

With his chair angled towards you, his elbow pressed up along the tabletop, you couldn’t help but peer over at him innocently, already making a note of the frustrations that filtered along his face as he leaned against his closed fist. He was already staring at you, and it made you raise a brow in interest. 

“It’s the library.”

“Yes, I know that but we have like thirty minutes until our next training session with Master.” 

“Which is why I am studying,” you said matter of factly. 

“Y/N,” he whined then, louder this time, making you glance around the two of you suddenly embarrassed. 

“Anakin, the trials are at the end of the year and I am behind.” 

“You’re not that behind.” 

You sent him a stern look, “You have been training to be a Jedi since you were nine, you know everything there is to know for the trials. I have at most a year to learn what you have gotten to learn in the last ten.” 

“You know there is no fucking set timeline on when you need to become a Jedi, right? They hold trials every year. You don’t have to take them this year, which I am sure none of the council really would be expecting you to.” 

Your throat tightened at the mere thought of being a Padawan without him, “I know that, but if I could take them this year, I would like to.” 

He watched you intently the seriousness to which you said it, but as he sat there thinking, looking at you, he couldn’t help the thought that appeared. Or how it led to that smirk of his forming and that deadly glint that seemed to fill his eyes too often. “Oh, I see what’s going on here.” 

“What?” you sighed, knowing even if you didn’t wish to entertain his advances, he would send them your way anyway. 

“You’re worried about still being a Padawan when I pass the trials. Because then I could someday have the ability to be wise enough and be granted by the council to become a Master myself. Which means on instances where Master Obi-Wan won’t be able to meet you for lessons or training, he might ask me to fill in,” he teased, unable to hold back the steady chuckle from his chest at the mere thought or the look on your face that could only resemble both embarrassment and slight frustrations. 

“Anakin.” 

“It would be quite a sight, wouldn’t it. Me, Master Skywalker, with you, Padawan Y/L/N,” he shook his head, humming in satisfaction, “Now, that is something that would be fun.” 

“First of all, you know that’s not plausible because Master would not ask someone else to train me in his absence, and second of all,” you paused, turning more towards him and leaning close enough that his eyes flickered across your features in interest, a look of playfulness of your own forming, “I hate you.” 

“No, you don’t.” His tongue clicked along the inside of his cheek, a look of satisfaction forming enough for you to bow your head to peer back at the page you had reread at least twice already before he had interrupted you.

There were two seconds where you were able to find your initial place when, “So, are we getting out of here or what? I mean shit.” 

You sighed then eyes finding his again but yours suddenly resembling a gentle glare. 

“We have a half-an-hour. Let’s go do something fun.” 

“You mean something that would get us into trouble,” you corrected, unable to stop the urge to do as he says. To close that book and leave it on that table just to follow him wherever he asked. 

“Not exactly. Is that what I was referring to?” 

You chuckled dryly, “They are one and the same, Anakin. Besides, you see me every waking moment of every day as well as at night. Aren’t you able to separate from me for at least thirty minutes so I can read at least two chapters?” 

“Two chapters on the molecular configurations of the force. Seriously, this over hanging out with me? Really? I can say that doesn’t sound that fucking appealing. Plus, you’re wrong. I haven’t spent every waking moment with you because I didn’t see you last night. Or the night before.”

“I was sleeping,” you replied quickly, it sounding completely and utterly false the second it fell from your parted lips. Lips that had suddenly seemed to have Anakin’s attention. It made you shift within your seat, unsure if what you were seeing was actually real. 

He chuckled again, his tongue poking within the inside of his cheek, his jaw tightening slightly as matched your stare, “And now you’re just lying. I’m sorry, my lady, but it’s not quite a good look on you, so I’m afraid I am going to have to apprehend you from this boring ass library and take you with me.”

You couldn’t help but stare at him then, a smile forming on your lips, unable to hide any of it as he stood from the chair. A cocky grin accompanied that young handsome face of his as he barely glanced away from your form to close the book with a small thud. 

“You’re ridiculous you know that.” 

“No, I’m just better than you,” he said then, that smirk never ceasing as his stare once again flickered down to your parted lips smiling for him nevertheless, “Now, come on, I’ll make your time somewhat useful, and show you how to do my backspin with the lightsabers. Maybe, then you can get used to the idea of Master Skywalker.” 

You didn’t have any more grievances then, only able to stand and follow him through the library, somehow at a loss of how something that felt like this could be so wrong in the eyes of the people who were deemed good.

“You’ve been doing very well, Y/N. Everything that a young apprentice should be,” Master Obi-Wan complimented, glancing at you briefly from the corner of his eye as he continued walking ahead with his hands clasped behind his back. 

“Thank you, Master,” you responded, voice a mere mumble as you stared forward at the Temple’s garden before you, seeming to be one of the few things that remained untouched by the city. 

It was fresh, luminous, shades of bright green with looming trees and large bushes, many decorated with the most beautiful flowers and arches. It was something you had been desperately needing, some fresh air, some wisdom from the older Jedi, having been nothing but stuck in your head for most of the day, which appeared like most days. 

Anakin had done what he had promised and spent all of his thirty minutes of free time before training, showing you how to successfully engage in his backspin, unable to keep the Master Skywalker jokes to a minimum. Though you had only landed the move twice, you couldn’t help the way your face ached from the smile that never dared to disappear at the sight of him. 

It was something Obi-Wan had noticed as he had watched from the hallway for a few minutes before entering for the training session. He was taken aback at first — at that look upon your face, the smiles, the lingering stares, the soft touches Anakin always engaged in first. It seemed he had been a little blind himself those past few months, lost in the bliss of his two Padawans finally getting along because perhaps it was more than he realized, more than a sense of camaraderie, more than just a bond among Jedi. 

He could see trouble looming — looming over his trusted apprentices, over the closest thing that had resembled a son, the chosen one. It was the same trouble that seemed to be mirroring your face then. As if the solemness had returned upon the young Skywalker’s absence. 

“You are quiet,” Obi-Wan observed, stopping at the fountain near the middle of the garden. 

You hadn’t even realized you had walked that far.

“I’m sorry?” you asked, seeming to not have heard him the first time. 

“You’re quiet, my Padawan.” 

You bowed your head slightly in shame that you had found your mind drifting, so much so you were unable to listen to Obi-Wan for more than a few minutes. 

“You’re deep in thought. Pondering such things I cannot know, so speak.” 

“I’m afraid that I am behind in my training,” you admitted then, the very thing you had been admitting to Anakin over and over again deep into the night. 

“Behind? I would say you are advancing quite well. Just as I would expect you to be.” 

“But not fast enough to be ready in time for the trials.” 

At your confession, Obi-Wan fully turned to face you then, no longer content at staring at the foliage around the two of you but instead the worry that elapsed across your soft features. “The trials? You wish to participate in the trials this year?” 

“Yes, Master.” 

“Y/N, that has never been done before, do you understand that? Padawans require years of training to ever reach the mental and physical competence to become a Jedi. You are lucky the council granted our ask for you to become a Padawan at all. It has never been done to even accept someone at your age.”

“I understand, it’s just—” 

“It’s just Anakin,” he cut you off, the name falling freely then from Obi-Wan’s lips, and it was enough to stun you momentarily. 

“Anakin?” you asked confusion showing. 

“I see how close the two of you have gotten. There is a connection there between two Padawans I have yet to see, maybe ever. Far different than I can say your father and I were. It would be hard, I know, to imagine him passing the trials, possibly leaving to engage in war, or traveling to protect those that require him.” 

“Master I…” 

“It’s a connection I hope I haven’t mistaken for fondness. I would hope your feelings wouldn’t cloud your judgment or even his. He is the chosen one with a responsibility to end this war. You know better. I have taught you. Jedi shall not know love,” he lectured, each and every word diminishing every confidence you had had before, every thoughtful task that didn’t have anything to do with the chosen one. 

You smiled awkwardly then, suddenly feeling as if you were being looked at under a microscope at risk of being accused of distracting the very Jedi that this war depends on. “I can assure you, Master, that love is not a word to use here. Not even close. This isn’t about him, sir. He has been a comfort, I will not deny that, but to assume I would ask of this because of him is…” 

The truth was you hadn’t thought much about that, last night when you lay awake. It had been a passing thought, one you couldn’t focus on — the inevitable that would certainly lead to the two of you apart one way or another with a certain strain on this newfound connection you were still trying to explain. 

“What is it then, Y/N?” he asked, a single brow raised, certainly surprised by my recollection of his words and your choice of response. 

“It’s just I can’t fathom the thought, the thought of wasting away most of my twenties being an apprentice, this young Padawan who has yet to accomplish anything. I want to be able to be active, make a change, have a voice, and teach. I was made and brought up to be a queen. I can’t possibly let that be a waste.” 

He tutted softly as if thinking, as if wondering just how exactly to advise to bring about a lesson to our words. You weren’t sure if he completely believed you or if he could ever see past the evident connection you and Anakin had formed, whatever it may be, but you couldn’t also deny the small ache that had been lingering almost in the wake of where that anger and grief used to gather. 

“It would not be a waste, my young princess,” Obi-Wan said, the title you hadn’t heard in so long, hurting even worse, “You see, it’s not about when you do it; when you teach, make changes, become this unstoppable figure the rest of the senate and council will listen to. It’s not about when but that you just do. Being young won’t make you any more respectable than if you accomplished any of it at my age or even older.”

You couldn’t look away, especially as the kindness and deliberation were seen through his eyes. There was such a care you hadn’t expected from him, not yet, at least not like this. And yet he also had the ability to disappoint you completely as he sighed, the worst admission granting your ears, “But with that being said, I don’t think you will be ready for the trials. I can try my best to teach you everything I know, but I would advise you to wait.

It’s a connection I hope I haven’t mistaken for fondness. I would hope your feelings wouldn’t cloud your judgment or even his. He is the chosen one with a responsibility to end this war.

Jedi shall not know love. 

You hated it. You hated how Obi-Wan could even assume that of you. To love Anakin? It seemed impossible. It had only been months. Some of which were unpleasant. The others, you were still very well trying to wrap your head around. Then most of all to assume you would want to participate in the trials to remain close to him. How could he even think all of that? That when you hadn’t even the ability to confirm if there was a connection that was more than what either of you had been told. 

You had tried, retired to the library so many times. Just hoping you could find anything on the Stars of L’âme. Anything that could explain the story, the myth, the possible scientific evidence to its existence, but to no avail, you came up short-handed because how could the Temple have anything that could even allude to love. It wouldn’t. 

Enough so you were left in your chambers staring up at the ceiling once again, unable to sleep, unable to even shut your mind off long enough to succumb to darkness. It would be far too kind to you then, far too inviting. You needed it based on the dark circles that were starting to appear. It had to have been past midnight, sure to be even two but you couldn’t know for sure as you were completely unable to move or look anywhere else but the paneling of the ceiling. 

That is until a knock sounded on your door. It was soft but loud enough to rip through the silence and your solid gaze. Sitting up slowly, you found yourself unable to move from the confines as if needing to know you weren’t hearing things. A second passed, and then two before the knock sounded again. This time slightly louder. Sliding from the bed, you walked across the room to the front door, unable to deny how cold the floor felt along your bare feet. 

You pulled the door open without so much as another thought, and it opened with a small hiss, the compressions releasing from how they were locked. Dim lights streamed in from the hallway, and you had to blink a couple of times for your eyes to adjust, and as they did, you exhaled, almost expecting it. 

Anakin peered up at the sound of the door, and his smile faltered for a moment at the sight of you. Whatever he was going to say seemed suddenly lost and rather replaced by the way his lips parted with ease, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, no longer meeting your own. It was then that you realized you hadn’t grabbed a robe to pull on over your night dress before answering the door. As if you were too desperate that you had to eliminate the barrier between the two of you. 

It seemed he hadn’t been expecting it either with the way he traced the cream silk with ease, voice lost, even more so as they rose to meet where the dress dipped a little too low upon your chest. It was the first time he had ever seen you in a dress, or something that was less than the robes or training shirts you often wore. Even on nights where the two of you were sat in the windowsill, a long robe, usually one of his old ones covered the rest of you from not only the coldness of the empty hallways but his stare as well. 

Dipping even lower, they traced how the material hugged your waist, sinching slightly to the way it draped off your hips. Your bare legs were smooth, even with the minimal light he had in the hallway. He knew there was no mistaking any of it, though, even the initial dip within the valley of your breasts. 

He appeared in loose pants and a long tunic, no robe, but still dressed as you usually found him, and there was no denying how it always made you feel. Clearing your throat, those blue eyes snapped up to meet yours, and the way a light dust of pink had appeared along the apples of your cheeks. 

“You’re awake,” he surveyed. 

“Yes,” you admitted with ease, knowing there was no point in lying as he would know. 

“You’re awake,” he repeated, eyes tracing the expanse of your neck and the way your hair framed your face, “And you’re not at the window.”

“Anakin,” you protested but he wouldn’t let you get a word in as his moment of stuntedness seemed to fade quickly, “That makes night number three. Looks like you could be avoiding me.”

“I’ve been trying to get some sleep. It’s been days, you know since I’ve had any.” 

He hummed, no longer ashamed in the way his eyes raked your form, unable to really ignore the way his body was so willing to react to yours, “You’ve been awake for at least an hour. Usually, it won’t take you that long to fall asleep if you’re really willing to try, and I waited at least twenty minutes to see if you would before coming to your door.”

He knew that he had you. You knew that he had you. So much so that you signed almost in defeat, arms crossing over your chest without even thinking much of it. “Okay, so what do you want?” 

His eyes flickered down but only for a second, perhaps half of one, before meeting your gaze once more, that charming look about him forming again. He smiled, “I want you to grab a robe. There’s something I’ve been wanting to show you.”

“It’s late,” you surveyed, peeking slightly around him to peer into the dark hallway void of anyone else. 

“And?” he asked, raising a brow as he sarcastically replied, “It’s never stopped you before.”

You huffed loudly then, knowing there was no way for you to convince him to turn, leave your doorway, and retire to his own room for the rest of the night. He was there, and he knew what he wanted, which was for you to follow him out into the dark corridors. To anyone else, it was almost him asking for trouble, but you could never deny someone as painstakingly handsome as him, especially if it meant you got a few extra hours where his attention belonged to you and you alone. 

It was something you come to find you were jealous of and wish to have more of — his eyes, his attention, his looming voice. You wanted it all. 

“Fine,” you mumbled, turning on your heels quickly to walk over to where the robe you had been wearing earlier in the evening while you were getting ready hung up behind another door. It happened to be one of Anakin’s old ones; it was too small to fit him now. 

You took it quickly and slipped it around your shivering frame, and as you turned, you found Anakin poking his head in through the wide-open door, eyes suddenly transfixed on the room as he tried to take it all in. It was a room he had never been in, this place that was yours.

You couldn’t help but smile at the thought. Smile as you followed him out into the dark corridors, knowing then, and always you would probably do whatever he asked of you.

“Where are we going?” you asked, trying to keep up with his long strides, almost inclined to reach out for his hand. 

Anakin looked over at you, smirking lightly, “Why would I tell you? You’ve been ignoring me for a few nights now. It’s more fun watching you squirm.”

“Right, of course, it is.” 

Noticing the small worry line that appeared between your eyebrows, he couldn’t help but laugh down at you, unable to keep from bumping his shoulder into yours, “Relax, will you? It’s nothing serious. I think you’ll like it, actually.”

With that, a silence lingered, setting it between the two of you. You weren’t sure of what else to say, or if there was anything else to say, so you merely followed him as he led you further and further into the temple, away from your chambers and the emptiness that was your bed. There was no comfort to you then with your silent thoughts other than the gentle brush of his fingers along the back of your palm every once in a while as you walked. The first time it happened, surprising you to the point of looking over at him to find him still staring forward as if he hadn’t felt it at all, and maybe he hadn’t. 

It was at least a three-minute walk until his steps had slowed down, making their way through the darkness with you slightly behind. Rounding the corner of an empty hallway in the East Wing of the temple, he continued down it until he stopped about three-quarters of the way until he was in front of a large metal door. It towered over him slightly but not by much. Reaching forward to the keypad, he glanced at you over his shoulder quickly, a small smile of his forming at the sight of you peering up at him in anticipation. 

He chuckled, the sound gracing your ears as he input the code, followed by the pound key, which let out a short-lived beep matching the green light that flashed as the door decompressionized. A small hiss sounded from the steam, and you felt your pulse spike. This room was on higher lockdown than most, you realized. One you hadn’t ever been in, and if you hadn’t ever been, maybe you shouldn’t be. 

If it were any other time, you would have stopped him and asked if you should be doing this, but you couldn’t care. Not when Obi-Wan had accused you of going against the code as well as not being a good enough Jedi to participate in the trials. You were tired of doing what was expected of you over the past six months, not when you felt so much more with Anakin, even if it was as simple as sneaking off at night. 

Stepping past the threshold of the door, you were once again confined into darkness, having quickly lost Anakin as his footsteps echoed further into the vast room. “Anakin?” 

“Just turning on the lights,” he answered smugly as the door closed behind you, locking once the door had snuggly sat within the doorway. 

It was cold, and the first thing you noticed among your bare legs was the floor, surely metal panels underneath your shoes. The room was completely void of any windows, and it wasn’t until you heard the click of a switch before golden light pooled from the ceilings that you knew where Anakin was. As the beams appeared, you blinked for a moment, adjusting to the new soft light; it dimmed slightly but still enough for you to find Anakin just a few feet away by the light switch. 

He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, taking you in as you suddenly began to look around the room. It was larger than you would have expected and dull, with boring walls and cold floors. Dull all but for the many things that seemed coated around the room, some nestled into piles, others left alone. A room you truly had never been in, and you knew then why. It was a room for the children, the younglings, the Jedi who are so young they haven’t even fully comprehended the loss of being separated from their parents. So much so that this room basically served as a fun park while they adjusted to their new environment as well as their training. 

There were beams, large mats, a pit with foam blocks in it, various lightsaber training sticks, and rubber balls — all bright colors seeming to bring life into the faded room.   Then right in the middle, a part of the tiled floor was removed and replaced with a rectangular mesh, almost thin pool. You had never seen something like it before, and you couldn’t help but look over at Anakin in confusion. Confusion of why, out of all of the places in the temple, he had brought you here, a place sanctioned for Jedi that was no more than ten-years-old. 

“It’s for the younglings,” he spoke then, pushing himself off from the wall, his voice echoing slightly in the empty room. “Created to help ease the transition. They are taken away from all that they know; their families, their friends, some young but not young enough to have forgotten. They are still children, even more so, still capable of remembering what having fun was like.” 

Pushing another light switch, another set came on around the mesh fabric, a bright blue that reminded you of the color of your lightsaber — it was neon, glowing, calling you to follow Anakin as he stepped closer to it. “This was my favorite place to be.” 

You listened intently as he then kicked off his shoes, being left in socks, and stepped forward onto the mesh floor. You were holding your breath then as it dipped, almost seeming to absorb his weight, and slingshotting back up to create a small bounce under his feet. 

“And this, well let’s just say it took Master hours to get me to leave.” 

“What is it?” you asked walking close enough to where his shoes were left. 

Moving from the center of the mesh floor, he approached the edge, sticking out a single hand for you to take, “It’s used for the younglings when they are first beginning to learn to levitate, flip, stuff like that.” 

Slipping your own shoes off, you took his hand and stepped forward onto the bendable floor. You stared down, curious of the way it dipped under your weight, bent, feeling as if you were floating in mid-air with no solid ground under your feet. Anakin was laughing, you knew that much, entertained by the kid-like wonder that was appearing across your face. 

With his hand still wrapped around yours, you looked up at him, a brow raised and a small smile forming along your own lips, “Now what?” 

“And now we jump!” 

Before you knew it, he had his other hand wrapped around yours as he jumped up into the air, bringing you with him. Your lips fell open in shock as you came back down, only to bounce back up higher than you would have been able to do on your own. A laugh escaped, it sounding so carefree and natural that Anakin couldn’t help but laugh too. The sound is enough to make your chest flutter. 

You found the more you jumped, the higher you went, enough to create excitement, goosebumps to appear, and this lightness to flush your whole body. One you really hadn’t felt in years, like suddenly all of the weight you had been struggling with, compressing you into someone else entirely, was temporarily gone. All you could feel was the air shifting around you and how inevitably right it all was. How, even after nights of ignoring Anakin, it always would feel right. 

And how perhaps Obi-Wan had been onto something.

It plagued your mind over the next thirty minutes with the two of you spent jumping, Anakin going as far as to do flips and different tricks he had first learned when he was nine and transferred into his training with force and levitation. You could only watch in awe with the most pure smile on your face — the world seeming to be at a standstill for just a little while. 

So much so that by the time hours had passed, the two of you were lying down on the trampoline, letting the fabric leave imprints on the back of your legs and arms. You were tired. He was able to see it in your eyes but neither of you could even fathom leaving yet, not when you both were smiling the way you were at ease finally. 

You were lying on your side, head balancing along the inside of your palm, facing Anakin, fully engaged in the questions he asked about Bakura — about what your favorite place was, how it was able to succeed within the capital, the political tendencies of your people. He found himself asking question after question, completely sucked into getting to know as much as possible, all because it was you. Bakura, even when it was gone, no longer levitating within space, spinning with life upon it, it was still you; in every way. 

“So when you were to become queen, in simpler terms, you would have become a politician?” The question was so innocent, but you felt the grumble around the sole word. Anakin was facing you, his leg bumping yours, his body mirroring yours in the way he leaned his head against his palm, a mere few inches separating you two. 

You knew how he felt about them; politicians, senators, the whole lot. He found the majority of them corrupt, even those who had established the Republic up from the ground. How could he not? He felt politics were void of anything he valued, most of all including compassion. There was no surprise when he began asking questions about your own system, a Monarchy, which in itself was just another way to rule other than the Democracy he had grown up within. 

“A ruler,” you corrected. 

“I find them to be the same. Though we live in a Democracy, we are ruled by politicians; indirectly, they decide how things will run, corroborate what citizens should believe or not believe, and then, with support, are able to put those things into power.” 

“Maybe they are similar, but they are not the same, not really. I would have been a queen, yes, a single ruler, but it would have been more than just a title. I would have made sure of it. There is a council, you know, one like the Jedi Order or the Senate, where the royal family can lean on and have support while making decisions. I would have trusted them to help me lead, and I would have listened to those who wished to be heard and make changes within the council ship and the city,” you explained, the thoughts coming with ease as you imagined what your life surely could have been like had Bakura remained untouched, “I would have made things the way they were supposed to be.” 

He didn’t say anything at first, too lost in the way you looked, that hopeful glint in your eyes diminishing quickly at the reality that set in, the loss of your power, your ability to invoke change. He could only admire you as you talked, passionately wishing to change the world. 

There was a pause before he decided to reply with a light chuckle laced within his words. “That’s something a politician would say.”

“And so what?” you countered, pushing him back lightly enough that he almost fell back onto the trampoline, “What is so wrong with that? It was what I was made to become.  I would have been great at it, you know. Being queen.”

“Is that what you wanted, though?” he asked then, laughter falling away to a serious ask. He was closer now, only a few inches or so apart, close enough you were able to see the different blues that appeared in his eyes and the gentle lines around the corners of his lips. 

“I’m not sure what I wanted then. I wasn’t really ever asked because that’s what I would be made to be.”

He hummed then, eyes flickering down to the annoyed frown that appeared across your lips, somehow mirroring the flash of frustrations that reflected in your eyes. “And what about a king?”

“A king?” you repeated, his question taking you by surprise, to which he nodded, proving that he was indeed serious. You couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the thought, “Yes, well, there would have been a king. I’m sure some Lord or politician you wouldn’t like very much would have been chosen.” 

You expected him to laugh or smile, perhaps smirk at the way you teased him, but he didn’t. His only response was a furrow of his brows. “Chosen? You mean like arranged?”

“Yes.” 

“But your parents—” 

“My parents were an exception,” you said almost solemnly as if you were reliving your previous life, just how much it resembled a sort of prisoner rather than a ruler, “My father was wise, a Jedi, who left the Jedi Council for my mother. He was different, and a kingdom can’t rely on random men to be great rulers. That’s how royal families are destroyed, and cities fall.” 

There was a pause on his end, a slight inhale as his eyes began to swirl with even more questions and uncertainty at the reality of your previous life. He couldn’t help but swing his legs around and sit up, stare never wavering as a certain edge appeared in his voice then, “That day, when I… were you arranged to be married?” 

You shook your head, “No. My mother hadn’t quite found anyone yet. I would imagine him, though, you know, make him up in my head and try to make it seem less awful than it really was.”

“What was he like?”

You laughed suddenly confused by his ask, “What?” 

“The king? Your king?” he clarified, and at that, you couldn’t help but bow your head, a blush forming along the apples of your cheeks, suddenly feeling embarrassed by it. 

“Anakin,” you protested but didn’t get very far as he sent you a narrowed look, his hand flicking at the back of yours with annoyance. “Fine.” 

You took a moment, to inhale, to breathe, and remember to six months before. To when you hadn’t known him, Anakin Skywalker. To when you were just the princess of Bakura, not a Jedi, a woman able to be open to love, but only the love chosen for you. It was enough to have you make up a man, the perfect man, to whom you thought about day and night for almost two years with the hope he would end the torment that would be an arranged marriage. 

“I thought of him as tall with dark curls. Light eyes that could capture my soul, it seemed, and this certain look, a soft smile about him where he seemed to always be in favor of teasing me. He would be strong-willed and willing to hold power, but not so much that he would overshadow what I thought. And also passionate, know what it’s like to feel and accept the fact,” you explained then, unable to face him or look him in the eyes as you couldn’t help but recount just what you had always wanted.

It somehow matched the young Padawan who had gone on to rescue you the day that Bakura was burning and the Jedi before you then. How had that happened? How had it been so perfect, so true, as if the stars themselves had sent him? 

Anakin felt his chest tighten, at each and every word you whispered with uncertainty as if afraid. He knew, though, he could see you were telling the truth, by the mere quiver in your lip to the way you thought carefully with a crinkle in between your brows that this wasn’t something you were saying on the spot but rather what you had always thought and believed. He wanted to take your hand in his or do something to get you to look at him, to acknowledge how it all sounded then. Because he couldn’t deny the similarities, the way it felt as if you had been describing him, recounting each thing about him other than the physicalities. 

A Jedi shall not know love. 

He couldn’t though. He knew he couldn’t.

“And I suppose…” he trailed, pausing to watch the way your eyes flickered up to meet his again, anticipating what he was going to say next. He smirked, unable to stop himself as he said, “He would believe in the politics of a dictatorship. Support the act of one ruler.” 

You stared over at him, watching as his expression shifted, a light filling his irises and the corners of his lips lifting into a smile as a laugh escaped. “You’re making fun of me.”

“No, I’d be much too frightened to tease a princess.” 

At the title, the only title you had wished for him to never call you again, brought about another feeling then, one of what could only be described as warmth. One that had a small blush appearing on your face but also a need to shove him over. He could only laugh though at the sight of your embarrassment, at the way you could fold under his teasing, his touch as he reached forward to take both your wrists in his hands.

Before you could gain your footing, he had pulled you up from where you were sitting, both his arms looping around your lower back, still laughing, head dipped back slightly as he stood upon the trampoline.

“Anakin,” you warned, trying to squirm out of his grip. 

It only tightened then, your feet hanging mid-air as he began to jump up on the trampoline, somehow still able to go just as high with you in his arms as he had been by himself. You were half-laughing but also half-yelling, arms suddenly around his neck as you glanced down to the ground each time you were up in the air. As he got really high one time, he pretended to let you slip from his arms, enough to get a small squeal to escape, only making him laugh harder. 

“Anakin, stop, don’t do that,” you scolded, though the fall would be low, “That's not funny .” 

He didn’t listen, though as the next jump up, he went to do it again, but this time, he had really lost his grip on the back of you. You began to slip enough that your stomach dropped slightly. Noticing this, he tried to take hold of you again but fumbled quickly, and before you had even realized it, Anakin was on his back on the mesh floor with you harshly falling on top of him. 

An exhale was pulled from his chest at the impact, and you felt your torso ache with the collision of his own. He swore under his breath, his laughter falling short, as he grumbled, head relaxing back against the fabric. With one leg wrapped around one of his and the other thrown over his thigh, you leaned over him on your elbows, torso almost flush against his, lower body slightly straddling his. 

“Anakin,” with wide eyes and a nervous lilt in your voice, you couldn’t help but remain unmoving, trying to hold as much of your weight off of him, “Ani, are you alright?” 

His chest tightened, stiffening at the sound of the nickname, one that was all too familiar but just not from you. He relaxed quickly though somehow liking the way it sounded from your tongue. Then he was opening one eye up towards you and then another, trying to hold back his smile as long as he could, but upon noticing the way you were chewing on your lower lip in worry, he couldn’t help but burst out laughing, his facade diminishing quickly. 

At the sound, you knew he was fine, probably had been the whole time, and you couldn’t help but also start laughing but not without punching him lightly in the shoulder. He didn’t seem to care not as his arms came up to rest along your hips, hands along your back, his head a few inches from your own, unable to do anything but listen to the way your laughter sounded. The way it had never sounded like that before ever. He wanted it to last for as long as possible, just as the feeling of you sitting upon his body. He couldn’t help though to suddenly roll, you falling back onto the trampoline bouncing slightly as he hovered over you. 

A breath slipped, a steady, almost whimper as the weight of his body sunk into yours comfortably, his legs parting yours with ease. Your laughter faded, a mere giggle, and then to nothing. He followed, too, until suddenly it was silent, all but the steadiness of your breathing. He was warm, so warm, strong, his body firm against your own that it had a new feeling pooling at the base of your stomach. One you had been ignoring since you had first laid your eyes on him. But it proved difficult then as his blue irises bore down into yours, his lips glistening where he had wet them with his tongue within the blue neon lights of the room. 

Your eyes flickered down to them with ease, but it didn’t last long, not as you both lifted your heads at the sound of the door decompressing at the sound of the correct code being put in. Then it was opening and you both could only lay there as the figure of your Master Obi-Wan appeared. He was reaching for his lightsaber, dressed in robes he always wore to bed, sleep still cascaded in his eyes. A look of confusion that was quickly doused and replaced with a furrow and a frown at the sight before him.

You watched as Anakin lifted one hand from where it initially was pressed alongside your head, a sheepish smile appearing across his lips as he waved. “Hi, Master.”

#anakin skywalker #anakin x reader #star wars anakin #anakin fanfiction #anakin skywalker x reader #Star Wars imagine #star wars fanfiction #anakin series #hayden christensen #hayden christensen x reader #divider by cafekitsune #banner by cafekitsune

[capseycartwright]

read a quote about how being a late bloomer means you’ll never be someone’s first love and obsessed over it until this word vomit happened. enjoy.

i read a poem, recently, about being a late bloomer and coming to terms with having had a wildly different life experience to so many of your peers when it comes to romance. it was validating, to know i am not the only one who only began to have brief brushes with love as my twenties ticked over to very much mid, reassuring to know that i am not the only 28 year old in the world who’s never been in real, big, grown up love, childish crushes and fleeting infatuations and a boy that could have been love, if only i had given it a real chance, my only taste of great romance over before it even had a chance to begin.

it was reassuring, to read familiar words printed neatly on a page and know i am not alone in my experiences. and one line in particular stuck with me -

i will never be someone’s first love.

i had never thought of it in those terms before: and the words feel like they hit with the force of a freight train. i won’t ever be someone’s first love. no one will live those experiences with me for the very first time, the newness and uncertainty a shared experience. it’ll be new for me - but not for them. i won’t ever be the first love you think of fondly - a hazy memory of long gone teenage years spent with a nervous hand tangled in someone else’s - because i am, quite frankly, too old to be someone’s first love. my teenage years were spent quietly, introspectively, and they left no room for love. there’s a quiet sort of grief in that, the more i reflect on it - to know someone out there will be my first love but i won’t ever be someone’s first love.

and then i thought some more, and the hopeless romantic in me had a thought about someone i can be - and that’s a last love. i am nothing if not a product of two people who met as teenagers and have stayed in love ever since - first, last, lifelong kind of love - and i think that’s so much of the reason that the idea of being the person someone loves for the rest of their life appeals to me so much. firsts are beautiful, yes - exciting, and unknown, they are something you hold onto forever, beautiful in their naivety.

but i’ve always preferred lasts.

lasts are the moments that stick with you. i remember my first day at university in a vague, hazy, dreamlike sort of way - but i remember the last day with a sort of absolute certainty that can only be explained by knowing lasts, all my lasts, every last one, are imprinted so entirely and completely on my very being that i could never forget a single detail, every last i have ever lived tangled up in the very soul of who i am.

one day, i will be the person someone waited to love - certainty, and longevity, a partner in life who’s willing to listen and support. that’s the kind of partner i want and want to be in return. and to that person, i won’t be the first - but i will be the last. i’ll be the person they waited for, the person they wondered if they’ve ever meet at all. the person who was worth all the heartbreak that came before. i’ll be the happily ever after and the person they grow old with - aching bones and eyes crinkled by a lifetime of love and laughter as we live the life i have spent my teenage years and so much of my twenties dreaming of.

i will never be someone’s first love -

but i will be someone’s last. and all that love i have never had a chance to give away will be theirs to keep: and what a beautiful thought that is.

#in which i ramble #my writing tag #anyway. nothing like being weird and vulnerable on the internet ti spice up a friday

[feminismisstillahatemovement]

The Tumblr reactions to that “Ring of Power” post I did are so weird: the majority are just “I am glad to be alerted to the inarguable fact that an evil corporation is doing all it can to manipulate the viewing figures and public impression of their objectively shoddy product by creating a false narrative of widespread racism. Thank you for your service.”

But then there’s others that are going all in with the Amazon narrative of an unprecedented epidemic of rabid white nationalism and personally attacking the messenger, for no reason other than my url, adding fantastical lies and some actually wishing for violence upon me - even though this is the first time I have ever entered their field of vision - simply for pointing out what Amazon are doing. There is no caution, reason or thoughtfulness being applied at all: the groupthink makes them entirely bypass the issue at hand and go straight to “boosting” their groundless personal condemnation of me. 

The partisanship of the modern age is maybe the biggest political problem we as a society are facing: if you fall into an icy river and someone offers you a hand to pull you out, you’re not going to refuse them on the basis of the colour of their skin, or because they do or don’t pray to a god, or because they voted for someone different to you, yet in less-immediately-life-threatening situations we see millions of people behave like this every day.

How can we all collectively make people see there are more important things than tribal belonging and in-group preference - like objective truth, reason, ethical treatment of others, beauty, genius, pursuit of excellence, art and love? All humanity benefits from these things, yet the forces that seek to divide us for their own gain routinely convince perhaps even the majority of us that these things have a SIDE, and that hating people you’ve never met that you have been instructed to think are not on “your” SIDE makes you a good person.

As I’ve said before somewhere else, it’s not “worst person you know makes a great point”, it’s "person you don't know and will never meet but have arbitrarily prejudged as 'bad' out of ideological tribalism makes a great point that should make you reflect on how many people you've dismissed out of kneejerk group allegiance might actually be *full* of great points, if you had only taken the time to converse with them as fellow human beings."

The survival of human civilization itself depends on us all being civilized to one another, people: Think before you lash out. Stay human. Try harder. Do better.

#the rings of prime #politics

[fallenrocket]

#HuntForThePirateHome Watch Party

(crossposted from my twitter)

Hunt for the Wilderpeople reflects a common theme in Taika Waititi's work, and in OFMD, about people's perceived worth/capabilities. It's easy to look at someone from the outside and call them a "bad egg" or an idiot/failure.

But with love, affirmation, and understanding, people are so much more than that. It's funny when Paula sums up all of Ricky's delinquency, but it's also so sad that she's pre-decided his kid's entire future, boxing him in before he's even started.

***

I'd forgotten that Oscar Kightley was in this. He was one of my favorite parts of Next Goal Wins!

***

In a weird way, Bella is a bit like Stede after his reunion with Ed. She's thrilled to have Ricky there and eager to lavish him with everything he could want, but she's also cognizant of what he's been through and trying to respect his space.

***

"I'm so happy we found you, buddy. I'm sorry it took so long." 🥹

***

"He's tricky like that, Jesus"--lol, I love it.

***

Taika is so good at setting up little visual things that pay off later in the film, creating a great narrative moment without any dialogue. It's such a gut punch when Ricky pulls back his blankets and the hot water bottle isn't there.

***

I love this movie. Every element is just wonderfully executed. The acting, dialogue, camera work, music choices, even the chapter titles--they all serve to enhance the story the film is telling.

***

"Do you want me to go find help? ...I'd die, wouldn't I?"

Julian Dennison is so great as Ricky. Taika's gift for casting/directing kids is impeccable, he never misses.

***

The most heartbreaking thing about Ricky's story about Amber is that we the audience (and Hec) understand what really happened better than he does. Brilliant scene, gaahhhh!

***

"'Faulkner is Cauc... Caucasian.' Well they got that wrong, 'cause you're obviously white." Love that line!

***

I love Ricky's "he made me do stuff" monologue. It's common to have one character innocently say something that sounds completely wrong to another character, but it's rarely done with such finesse. Nothing Ricky says sounds forced for the sake of the joke.

***

I like Ricky and Hec's conversation about "majestical" vs. "majestic." I relate to that feeling of knowing a word isn't "proper" but using it anyway because it feels closer to what I want to say than the real word.

***

@netflix is a great platform for Hunt for the Wilderpeople. It would pair wonderfully with Our Flag Means Death, another hilarious, heartfelt story with a unique vision whose amazing cast features some talented Polynesian actors! Won't you #AdoptOurCrew?

***

"She wanted to save us poor wretches when no one else wanted us, like rescue dogs"

This is a line that could easily be uncomfortable and patronizing. But we've met Bella, so we know that this is true in the sincerest way possible.

***

Paula is a subtle Miss Trunchbull, change my mind.

***

Oh god, poor Zag--you were a good dog. 😢

***

"I was trying to tell you it was like The Lord of the Rings!"

Ricky Baker has never done a single thing wrong in his life, your honor.

***

"Don't even get me started on the national rugby team! They're not human."

Psycho Sam has entered the chat!

***

Okay, so Frenchie would absolutely believe the same conspiracies as Psycho Sam, but he'd also be like, "Take it easy, man, alright?"

***

It's hard for me to pin down my favorite Taika film, but I think Hunt for the Wilderpeople is his quintessential film. While his onscreen role is small, it's like concentrated Taika Waititi, and it's the one I'd use to introduce people to his work.

***

@netflix, Hunt for the Wilderpeople is about finding a place to belong after you've been rejected

Our Flag Means Death, which is also about belonging, was rejected by its former streamer

You could #AdoptOurCrew and give this diverse, critically-acclaimed show a new home!

#hunt for the pirate home #adopt our crew #save ofmd #fallenrocket #hunt for the wilderpeople #our flag means death #taika waititi #once rejected now accepted #it's about belonging to something

[phoenixkaptain]

On Ao3 as well

It had been a long, long time since she’d seen Marth.

Tiki had grown. She had made new friends and joined forces with new allies. She became a powerful manakete. She was viewed as the voice of a goddess.

And none of that mattered. The moment she saw him again, standing beside the Summoner with his perfect posture and poise, she felt like a child all over again.

He looked the same as he did in her memories. Young, with delicate features and a smile that could warm up the whole kingdom of Nifl. He looked like a pushover, like someone who would let themself be walked all over, but there was strength in his form and a strategic glint in his eyes. Tiki had never been so happy to see a human in her entire life.

“Mar-Mar!” Tiki called.

Immediately, he responded. He turned around, his smile widening at the familiar moniker, then looked honestly taken aback when a full grown woman tackled him in an embrace, lifting him off his feet with the force of her excitement to see him again.

She set him back on the floor, but she didn’t release him. She kept her arms tightly wrapped around him. Her face was buried in the cloth of his cape that draped over his shoulder. It had been years, but Tiki knew that Marth wouldn’t want to see her cry the first time they met again.

“Tiki?” Marth asked, voice a touch uncertain.

“Mar-Mar,” she sniffled.

His arms wrapped around her in return. Tiki felt like the world was finally right again. For so long, there was a light missing, and finally it was back. Marth was here with her. She never wanted to let him go.

“My goodness, you’ve grown,” Marth commented, and his tone was fond and proud.

“It’s been a long time,” she said, muffled, into his shoulder. “A long, long time. How I’ve missed you.”

“Oh, Tiki,” he sighed, his tone just as fond and warm as it had always been.

She pulled away suddenly, narrowing her eyes. Marth blinked, confused.

“You aren’t just Xane, right?” Tiki questioned. “If this is another prank, I don’t think I’ll ever recover.”

“No,” the Summoner cut in. “This really is Prince Marth, Tiki.”

“Thank the heavens,” Tiki said, and immediately hugged him again.

“Has Xane been pretending to be me?” Marth suggested, and his tone was curious instead of accusing because he was far too nice.

“No, he doesn’t dare,” Tiki replied.

Xane had thought about it, once in the time since he’d come to Askr, but he felt so down about the idea of just seeing Marth again, even if only in a reflection, that he never tried.

“I am pleased to see you, Tiki,” Marth said. “It’s wonderful to see how much you’ve grown. I can scarcely believe you’re the same manakete.”

“You sound like a grandparent,” the Summoner commented.

“Do I?” Marth asked. “I apologize.”

“Don’t,” Summoner sighed. “It makes me feel bad.”

“Upsetting Mar-Mar is like kicking a puppy,” Tiki mused.

“It is wonderful that you haven’t outgrown your humour,” Marth laughed.

Tiki pulled away again to smile at him, to see him smile in return. He cupped her face in his hands and looked honestly intrigued by her growth. Tiki couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’ve met so many people,” she told him.

“Wonderful,” he replied cheerfully.

“I’ve never met anyone else like you,” she said.

“I’m sure you merely slept through their lives,” he offered. “There are many people like me. The Summoner was just telling me about some of them. There’s even someone who took up my name, isn’t there?”

“Lucina,” Tiki agreed, warmly.

She looked at Marth for a long time in silence. Marth allowed it, since he had always allowed her to do whatever she wanted. He didn’t even look uncomfortable being stared at. Marth only ever got flustered by words.

“Lucina really does resemble you,” Tiki said, a little bit awed. “The two of you could be twins.”

“She’s my descendant, isn’t she?” Marth asked. “Wouldn’t it be stranger if she didn’t resemble me to some extent?”

“Prince Chrom doesn’t resemble you as strongly,” the Summoner commented, coming over to stand behind Tiki’s shoulder and stare alongside her. “Nor Princess Lissa or Princess Emmeryn.”

“Is that so? Do they look more like Caeda, perhaps?” he suggested, and looked honestly pleased by the idea.

“I think they’d like to meet you,” Tiki said. “They admire you.

“I’ve not done anything worthy of admiration,” he hummed. “But I should like to meet them too. It isn’t everyday one meets their own kin from thousands of years in the future. Will you introduce us, Tiki?”

Tiki smiled. “It really is so nice to have you back, Mar-Mar,” she sighed, tears still drying in her lashes.

His smile turned fond and understanding. Gently, he wrapped her in a hug again, tilting his head to lean against hers. She latched on immediately, clinging to him again.

“I’ve missed you,” she repeated. “I’m sorry.”

“My dearest friend,” he murmured. “It’s alright. It’s not bad to miss those you care for. I’m sure I missed you in return.”

Tiki sniffled. She dug her fingers into handfuls of the fabric of his cape. Clinging, as she had wanted to do ever since she’d seen him lying in bed, old and withered but still smiling as brightly as the sun shines. He patted her back, his touch still as gentle as ever, as though he still felt like he should be careful not to hurt a literal dragon. Tiki’s shoulders shook.

“I’m here now, Tiki,” he promised. “I’m here.”

She breathed in the light fragrance of sun-warmed cloth, the smell of grass and dirt underneath because Marth could never say no when Cain asked him to spar, something similar to old books because Marth loved looking through them. She nuzzled into the crook of his neck, but let her grip relax. He was right. He was here now.

“Next time,” Tiki whispered, her voice cracking. “I’m putting you in my hoard.”

Marth laughed. Tiki snuggled closer, content to sun herself in the warmth of the sound.

He let her hold onto him until she felt content enough to let him go.

#my writing #fe marth #fe tiki #marth and tiki #fire emblem #fire emblem heroes #finally the world is at peace #i posted the comfort to balance the sad #finally

[house-afire]

Topaz, Ruby (pre-Ed/Stede, cosmic horror AU, warning for eye trauma)

Prompt: 100 words of responsible cult leaders

“Well,” Stede said, a bit nervously, “I like to think of myself as a pioneer in the cultic world. Shaking up the established ways of doing things. When you think about it, what does all that ritual human sacrifice really achieve?”

“Fair winds,” said Iz—Iggy, Stede amended with no small amount of venom. “Safe raids that don’t get your entire inept crew fucking slaughtered. Not, say, running your ship aground.”

“That only happened once!”

“Fucking mental,” Ed said, “doing it on your own like that. Cold-shouldering the sea takes balls. Takes vision.”

The word hung in the air between them.

His eyes. Stede couldn’t look away from them. Pete had sworn they were the reddest rubies, that Blackbeard had carved them out himself—“Do you think Blackbeard would really need someone else to cut his eyes out for him? Not in a million years”—and replaced them with gems bewitched for bloodshed. But they were the brightest topaz, the color of fire, of lanterns in shadow plays, of endlessly running sap.

Maybe he had cut them out himself, though. Pete could have been right about that much. Stede didn’t feel like he could ask, not when he still had the pair he was born with, which he was well-aware marked him as something of a disgrace among captains.

“So what do you do,” Ed said, “if you’re not—” He mimed slitting his throat, cutting off a finger, slicing down the length of his arm. “Dropping bodies, having a bit of maim. You getting by on blood?”

Stede had dabbled in some ritual bloodletting, but Jim was the only one who didn’t hiss and howl at the first cut, and really, it felt unfair to have it always be Jim.

“We’ve done a bit of blood,” he hedged. It was technically accurate. Last week, Lucius had cut himself shaving, and he’d sprinkled some of the blood on the mast! That must have done something! “But the crew’s responded best to what the French call la petite mort.”

Ed and Iggy both stared at him blankly. Stede had been thinking of them as such different men that it was disconcerting to have them look at him exactly the same way. It was even stranger to notice for the first time that Iggy’s still-human eyes held a kind of flat reflection of Ed’s topaz light. Was he a familiar? Stede had never met one before.

“The little death,” Stede said, flushing. “The climax of—carnal activities.”

“You’ve been appeasing the sea with orgies,” Iggy said. He sounded as though he were on the verge of committing ritual human sacrifice here and now.

“If you’re calling that a little death, mate, think you might be doing it wrong,” Ed said.

“It’s not me, it’s the French, and—I’m sure we’re all doing it right,” he added, a touch more defensively than he perhaps should have. Fine, it was true that he hadn’t been an active participant in the rituals, but he was endeavoring to maintain a responsible boundary between the crew and its captain. He was just being a good leader. “Do you just stick to human sacrifice, then?”

Ed shook his head. “You try to get by on brute force alone, you burn out in a year. I’ve seen it happen. Well, made it happen. To people who annoyed me.”

Oh. Stede very much hoped he didn’t annoy Ed. He rather believed he didn’t, though. He thought Ed was perhaps the only person he’d ever met who wasn’t somewhat annoyed by him.

“You want to alternate between sacrifices and trades, too,” Ed went on. “Eyes for gems—that’s a classic, obviously.” He tapped one of the topazes, and the clicking noise of his fingernail against the stone made Stede faintly nauseated. “Just make sure you pick the right ones the first time out, because I know a guy who kept swapping his around, and—” He winced. “Nasty.”

“He poked his fingers into his own brain,” Iggy said.

“That’s—vivid,” Stede said.

“Yeah, makes you nuts, jerking your life around like that. Takes an awful lot to make it work, too. Standard is one kill, one amputation, but there’s always a bit of wiggle room. I’ve got a friend who sacrificed her whole crew to make it work and get some nice ghosts to sail around with. She’s a bit of a dick, though.”

(Stede would think of all this again months later, when Ed’s hand tightened around his and he gasped his way back to life, ruby eyes wide open.)

#stede bonnet #edward teach #izzy hands #expansion planned for this one

[chemmerson]

an idea without a title

kakashi x reader

cw: violence, injury, name-calling

also this is not edited

im not even going to tag it pls no one perceive me

He was like a ripple on the water. A passing, fleeting thing that always caught your eye amidst the chaos of the tavern. Only some nights would you see him, hiding behind a mask and a dark hood, but when he would catch you staring, the look in his eyes was enough to hold you down for a moment before you tore your eyes away. The feeling he left you with would linger all night, and when you would dare to look back, to try and place that distinct look in his eyes, he would be gone.

As the weeks went by, it helped you pass the time, to let your imagination linger on him the more he came around. You wondered just what kind of man he was. He sure wasn’t like any man around here—it didn’t seem like he spent all his time at the tavern, drinking morning to morning to forget the reality of things in the village. While others talked and laughed and drank themselves into a stupor, he sat, quietly in the back, watching with a blank yet distinct stare until he would suddenly up and leave.

Some days, you thought he could be an undercover Root soldier with cold and calculating eyes, listening to the village gossip and conversation and reporting any suspicions of treason back to Danzo. Perhaps others thought that too, which is why they steered clear of him. Some found bravery in their drunken state, taunting him with a “What’s your problem? You’re not from around here”. He always returned a blank look until they got bored or until someone dragged them away, whispering whatever rumor about him they could come up with. Many seemed to regard him with skepticism; you could never be too eager to assume someone might be Root.

Deep down, you knew that wasn’t quite right. Every time you approached his table to refill his sake and you met his eyes for a brief moment, you were close enough to know. There was no evil in those dark, midnight eyes.

Other days, you imagined he was a former shinobi, a dangerous assassin who lurked in the shadows as if to try to grasp the rousing and riveting life he had once led. The look in his eyes could be a sadness as he reflected on the loss of his former life, which would make sense why he spent all his time at the tavern will all of the others who mourned their former lives. Lives that lived free. Lives that weren’t under the control of Root.

You made up many stories about him, but every time you met those eyes, daring to look a little longer each time to try and see him—really see him—you knew he was hiding for a reason.

Resistance. The thought would be fleeting as you forced it away from your mind, not even venturing into such an audacious idea. Not here. Not in the heart of the village. Not when there were Root soldiers patrolling every corner, every alley. Even outside of the tavern, their presence was heavy and known.

You were used to it, of course. Everyone was. Which is why everyone hid behind closed doors when they could and ran when they dared. To make some semblance of a routine under a tyrannical government, even if it was just showing up to the tavern every day to forget or mourn or find purpose.

No matter what stories you made up about the mysterious man behind a mask, you knew. He was just like everyone else in that Kami-forsaken tavern. Hiding, running, waiting for something that would never come.

But he was also different, and it made you curious.

He began to show up more often, almost every day. And the more you exchanged glances with him, those glances turned into a sort of a greeting every time he entered the grimy tavern, and then, when one day you had found the courage to smile at him, he barely, just barely tipped his head at you as a greeting. Your cheeks stayed warm the entire evening as you fought down a smile.

One night, after Root soldiers went around posting a new bulletin from Danzo saying that the village would soon be enacting stricter rationing regulations, the tavern was livelier—and tenser—than usual.

“That bastard,” Kou, a regular you had gotten to know quite well, slammed his sake cup on the table so hard it splashed out of the cup. “More rationing when we all know he’s hoarding it all for himself. Makes me sick. Does he even see the children starving in the street?”

You grabbed the towel off your shoulder and began to wipe up his mess as you stood on the other side of the counter. “Of course he does,” you sighed.

“Yeah, well, I’m sick of the same old shit,” Kou had a sharp, bright look in his eye that you know wasn’t just from the alcohol. He spoke in a hushed voice, leaning forward toward you as he sat on his stool. “Aren’t you? Don’t you wish…don’t you wish we could just do something about it? That maybe, maybe if we got enough people—“

The sound of the tavern doors swinging open caught both of your attention, and Kou looked over his shoulder to see who it was.

The man in the mask.

You met his eyes immediately, and your table wiping paused. He regarded you for a moment before giving you that subtle nod he had taken to doing lately and walked his way to his usual spot in the back. A warm feeling bloomed in your chest for a short, nice moment.

Kou grimaced, turning back toward you. “Dammit. Him again.”

You briefly glanced up again to follow him as he walked back, and then looked back to Kou. “What about him?”

“He’s obviously a Root spy,” Kou whispered harshly. “Sent to watch us on us, to catch us saying…whatever. He’s scum.”

You looked down at the table and mindlessly began wiping nothing in particular. “I don’t know…you think Root would do something so obvious?”

“Root loves to taunt, to intimidate, to threaten. Which is why he never says anything. Why he won’t tell anyone his name,” Kou’s voice lowered, and he briefly looked in that direction.

It’s true. You’ve never heard the masked man talk, not even once. When bored drunkards tried to pry his name out of him, he never budged. Which only added to people’s suspicions of him.

“He’s just there to scare us,” Kou continued. "It makes me…”

Kou cursed again and then threw back his sake. He looked around for a moment, then leaned far forward and met your eyes. You took is as a sign to lean forward as well.

“Some of us,” Kou said quietly, his voice blending in with the other ruckus of the bar. “Some of us are getting sick of this shit. There’s…there’s talk. About joining together. About starting some—“

“Kou,” you warned, clutching the towel in your hand with a fierce grip. “That’s enough. I get it.”

Kou gave you a knowing look, then leaned back slightly. “So you’ve heard.”

You spent all your time at the tavern. Of course, you've heard. You heard all the whisperings, words floating through the air like an electric current, sparking and transient. Tired. Root. Form. Fight. Take it back.

You looked down at your knuckles turning white with the grip on your towel. “Not so loud, Kou.”

But Kou had that fire in his eyes and not just because of the alcohol. It was a fierce look. It was a dangerous look.

“I know. I know why you’re scared and I know what they did to you. But I think there’s enough of us to get started and maybe, maybe if our numbers grow we can actually do something and then people like you and us will actually be free—“

“Kou—“

At the other side of the bar, a loud group of voices grew even louder, and you whipped your head up to see. Kou looked as well, and you felt irritation set in.

It was only a matter of time until they got more drunk and more restless and craved violence like it would satisfy them. One of the men in the middle of the mess pushed another, and it was all over.

You huffed out a sigh and whipped your towel over your shoulder, walking out from around the bar counter. It definitely wasn’t the first time you’ve had to break up a stupid fight at the tavern, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Didn’t make it any less irritating.

You squeezed your way through the onlookers that had gathered around the fight. You rolled your eyes as they jumped and swayed around like heathens, cheering for nothing in particular, just the fact that a fight was making them feel something for once.

Finally, you had pushed your way through and spotted Nozaki and some other man you didn’t know the name of. Nozaki was known for instigating things for no reason in particular, and you had talked him down on several occasions so you approached him first.

He pushed the other man back, causing him to stumble profusely. Nozaki was drunk, but the other man was farther gone.

You wrapped your hand around Nozaki’s arm and pulled hard so he would actually notice you. “Nozaki, that’s enough now.”

In his drunken arousal, Nozaki turned with fire in his eyes but they softened only a bit when he noticed it was you. “Hey dollface, I’m just roughing up this bastard—“

“This doesn’t concern you, bitch—“

One moment you were eye to eye with an angry, drunken stranger, and the next you were on the dirty wooden floor, clutching your shoulder and blinking away the stars that exploded in your vision when your head hit a chair.

Above you, chaos ensued.

The yelling erupted, angry voices trying to shout over one another. You couldn’t see Nozaki, but you heard the first punch crunch against the other man’s cheek, and there would be no stopping this kind of fight.

You groaned, tried to sit up but the stars in your vision only persisted. You let your head fall back on the floor, tried to breathe through it and focus on not throwing up.

You should’ve been worried about the soldiers hearing the chaos from outside.

You were laying right in front of the door when it swung open, the door slamming against the wall next to it.

The entire tavern whipped their heads toward the sound and fell completely silent.

Two Root soldiers, both adorning the standard animal masks and black uniform stood above you and slowly looked around the tavern. Then, one of them looked down at you.

You were frozen and so tense you were afraid you would snap in half. You didn’t dare move under the soldier’s gaze, not even as you clutched your shoulder that throbbed in pain.

The one took a step forward, still looking down at you. His mask resembled a fox. The other one, wearing a bear mask, eventually looked too, his head moving back and forth between you and the crowd over in the corner.

You quickly assessed the soldier’s uniforms again. Standard masks, standard uniform, no identifying colors or patches. These were low-ranking guards, nothing more. Yet that didn’t do anything to ease the growing nausea in your stomach as the one in the fox mask slowly crouched down, hovering over you.

“Did you cause all this ruckus? Huh, little lady?” He spoke in a sick, condescending tone. You could hear the disgusting smirk he wore under his cowardly mask. They always picked on the first person in their sights.

You didn’t know what to say. The fear you felt caused a thick, uneasy feeling to rise in your throat that kept you frozen, staring at the guard.

In a swift movement, the Root soldier gathered up your hair in his hand and yanked you up off the ground. You couldn’t help the raspy yelp that escaped you as a new, horrible pain erupted in your head. You kept your eyes squeezed shut to get through the pain, and the fox got in your face.

“Answer me, tavern whore. Or do you need us to teach you a lesson outside?”

The whole bar was dead silent except for the Root soldier and your tense breathing, no one daring to speak up, no one daring to move. It would only make things worse, everyone knew, and this wasn’t your first encounter with Root scum anyway. You were ready to expect whatever torture they could think of, just to exercise their power over the civilians who had none.

You were too busy focusing on breathing through the pain once more you didn’t hear the footsteps approaching or see the arm that darted out in front of you, the hand that wrapped around the Root soldier’s bicep.

Suddenly, you were dropped to the ground again but felt relief from the soldier's grip on your head.

“You think you’re so brave, you piece of shit?”

You opened your eyes to find the man in the mask standing above you in front of the Root guards, his back facing toward you.

Just then, a pair of arms wrapped under your armpits and pulled you back away from the scene that was unfurling.

“You okay?” Kou whispered quietly but harshly in your ear as he sat you up, your back against his chest.

You didn’t answer, and Kou didn’t seem to really care as you both watched what was happening in front of you.

The masked man had dropped his grip from the Root guard, but it had obviously angered him as the guard took a step toward him. The masked man didn’t move, didn’t even flinch back. With his back turned to you and cloak covering his body,  there was no way to read what was going on with him, but he firmly stood his ground. The other guard had his hand on his hip, no doubt ready to pull whatever weapon he had on him.

“You wanna be brave and defy Root authority? Danzo doesn’t stand for insubordinate pieces of shit like you.”

Their taunting tactics were immature. You could tell they were new, still learning how to instill fear into civilians.

If you could see the masked man’s face, you could guess that he wasn’t phased by them in the slightest.

“Well,” the fox guard growled. “You’ll be getting the shit beat out of you enough for both you and the whore.”

The two guards wrapped their hands around the masked man’s collar, dragged him out through the doors, and they were gone.

The tavern moved slowly, quietly as they dissipated and recovered from the scare. Kou sat you up more against him as you both got your bearings. 

“Shit,” Kou breathed out, his hands on your shoulders. “I’m—I’m sorry I didn’t—“

“Kou,” you interrupted, closing your eyes. He had no reason to feel bad. “Don’t. Someone was going to get it. Doesn’t matter who. I wouldn’t have wanted you to.”

Kou huffed out a mirthless laugh. “And there I was, talking about doing something against those scum earlier. I’m a coward.”

“Kou, stop—“

“Except for him.”

You looked at the floor. As the events from just earlier began to set in, your mind began reeling.

The man in the mask had actually stood up against those Root guards. He had taken the beating from you.

For you.

“He’s not Root. He couldn’t have been. And we’ll probably find him dead in the alley next to here in an hour.”

The thought made your stomach churn. Those Root guards were going to beat him senseless, there was no doubt. They beat people for simply walking down the street, or glancing too long or taking a step that was not to their liking. There was no knowing what they did to people who showed provocation.

Kou slowly helped you stand up and walked you back to the kitchen to help get you cleaned up. The tavern slowly cleared after that, people too shaken up to even indulge in their drinks. The afternoon turned into dusk and there were only a few people scattered here and there. You waited until there wasn’t much keeping you occupied, and you quietly slipped out of the back of the tavern.

The orange glow of the setting sun gave you enough light to see and provided enough shadows for you to go undetected by wandering Root soldiers. You slipped by them through a route many used to get home from the tavern if they didn’t want to risk being bothered by night patrols. The soldiers were always worse at night.

You glanced down dead ends and alleyways, searching for a sign of the man. The longer you searched, you began to fear the worst. That they had taken them back to Root Headquarters. To Danzo himself.

You clutched your apron as you continued your search, hoping that you could just find him. Whatever condition he was in. You hoped, prayed to Kami that he was alive.

And then, in a dark, dirty nearby alley with only a flickering light showing you his crumpled body, it was him.

Your heart leapt as you looked both ways before darting down the long alley. You rushed beside him, knelt down and gathered his face in your hands.

When you did, his hood slid off of his head to reveal a mop of moonlight silver hair crusted with blood and dirt. The man’s mask had a rip in the side with a cut bleeding through it. His face was dirty, bloodied and bruised and you could only imagine what the rest of his body looked like. You bit your lip, feeling panic rise at his fragile state.

But then he stirred as you held his face, dark midnight eyes meeting yours through the dim lighting of the alley.

Thank Kami, you thought with a relieved sigh. He’s alive.

He just stared at you as you held his face, and the way he looked at you caught you so off guard. Normally his eyes were blank, void of any emotion with a hardness in his features. But as he looked at you now, his gaze was soft, almost relaxed and…content.

But you forced yourself to shake that off. He needed help, right now.

“Come with me.”

You moved to take his arms, to prompt him to try and sit up. Although his face contorted as he moved, you got him to sit up and and finally stand up. You wrapped your arm around his waist and prompted his arm over your shoulder. You did the best you could to keep him upright and supported as you flitted through the shadows and hidden pathways back to the tavern. His breathing became increasingly labored as you led him, and you were becoming nervous that his state would be too bad for you to handle.

Once you arrived back at the tavern, you quickly hooked a chair in the kitchen under your foot and dragged it close to a table so he could plop down. He did with a stifled groan, his eyes softy closing in what you could only guess was pain. In your heightened nervousness to see just how bad his condition was, you unhooked his cloak for him, letting it and the hood fall down around the chair. 

“Shirt off,” you said quickly, going over to where the kettle sat over the fire. You grabbed it along with a bowl and a clean towel and set it over on the table next to him. You then went over to a drawer full of medicinal herbs and ointments and grabbed whatever you think you could need.

When you turned back to him, he wore a frown on his face as he tried to lift his shirt up. You immediately stepped in and helped him get his arms out, lifting it up over his head.

You stifled a gasp, stomach quivering as you took in his injuries.

The man before you was battered, bruised and bloodied all over. Nasty lacerations littered his body which could only be evidenced by a baton or two. By his shoulder, a deep cut had dried and fresh blood surrounding it.

You quickly got to work.

You cleaned each bloodied wound with warm water, which you know couldn’t have felt good on the accompanying bruises but it had to be done. Once you finished cleaning one, you patted some herbal healing ointment on each one with a gentle touch.

The man stayed completely still the entire time. At moments, you could feel his eyes watching you as you tended to his body but you felt too scrutinized to look back. You focused on his wounds and tried to ignore the feeling in your chest.

You noticed significant bruising leading up the bottom of his neck but disappeared under where his mask pooled around his neck. You eyed it for a moment before slowly reaching your fingertips near the bottom hem of the fabric.

“Um,” you swallowed. “May I…?”

You wanted to be respectful, not knowing why the man wore a mask and not wanting to cross any boundaries. He flicked his dark eyes up to meet yours and your heart leaped into your throat. He said nothing and you couldn’t even tell if his eyes were confirming or denying your request. But you swallowed again and lifted the fabric up.

Just as you suspected, his throat was littered with bruises and angry, raw and red wounds. It made your stomach churn again, and you bit your lip as you grabbed some cooling herbs to soothe the area.

You were careful around such a sensitive area, using gentle and soft touches. This time, his eyes watched you the whole time.

Finally, you met his eyes, a prolonged look that made you pause your work. It was then you noticed your proximity to the man, faces close as you stood practically between his legs as he sat.

So you tried searching for whatever, whoever this man was in his look. That his eyes, the only thing he let visible on his striking face, might give you a clue as to the reason why he took that beating in place of you.

“I…” you started, voice quiet and thin. “I wanted to thank you. For doing that today. I’m…I’m sorry you had to get hurt, though. I didn’t…”

Your fingers barely brushed the skin on his neck as you looked down where you touched him. You sighed quietly and found your words.

“They’re not going to forget you, you know,” you stared at the fabric of his mask. “They…they beat people all the time, but you provoked them. You’re going to be a target now. I would…I would stay out of sight for a while. Don’t come to the tavern as often. It’ll be…it’ll be safer. You’ll be safer.”

The warning was all you could give him to make up for him taking the brunt of Root’s forces for you, as small and meaningless as it was. He could stay hidden for as long as he could, but they would always find him. They always do.

Finally, you let your hands fall from his neck and to your sides. There was no more nursing to be done, so you met his eyes once more. Though he said no words again, it was as if his eyes alone were speaking to you and saying something you yearned to hear.

And then, so faint you thought you might have imagined it, you saw his lips twitch under his mask. In the same moment, he stood up slowly and you watched him wordlessly as he grabbed his cloak from the chair. He pulled it around him as he made his way to the door.

As he rested his hand on the door knob he paused and turned his head just barely over his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said.

His voice washed over you like a wave crashing gently on the shore, low and smooth and real. You wanted it to crash over you again, to consume you fully and drown in its swell. You wanted to know what other words would sound like falling from his lips, what else he would say, and if it warmed you just the same. A ripple on the water with a voice like a wave on the shore.

It was almost enough to make you ask him to stay.

But in one swift movement, he opened the door and slipped outside without another word, leaving you standing alone in the doorway with a single request hanging on your lips.

#my work

[loved2]

Not me live blogging my random awakening don’t read if you don’t like long posts, astrology, or spirituality

Sometimes i get on here and get lost in all the ideas/identities i’d like to embody. Sometimes i get insecure or start comparing myself. I get out of that real quick tho, i am fairly strong in my identity but i just have a need to be MORE at times. I’ve gotten to know myself so well this year so when this happens i know it’s just bc i have this constant desire to be/do everything all at once. These spirals always lead to the most beautiful & enlightening pieces of clarity/synchronicity. Today: i realized the most fulfilling compliment i receive is the one i receive the most & didn’t even notice or took as a compliment. I always get told that my optimistic view on everything has helped people to change their entire perspectives on life & be a bit more encouraged. Everyone i’ve ever met irl & talked to for more than 15 min (with the exception of certain family members of course) has told me that i’ve changed their life/beliefs or made a big impact on it. I also get complimented on the way i teach, give random intuitive messages and my readings but I always play it off and think no, i can’t possibly have done this or this isn’t really true or i’m not THAT rooted and it’s just an offense at my being at this point tbh. Why would you even downplay yourself like that. I guess what i mean to say is, why are we so unkind to ourselves sometimes for no reason. You wouldn’t discourage your bestfriend like that would you? And it’s funny bc today i spent a bit too much time on social media today, which i never do anymore but it was my first “free” day in 6 months and i was just too tired so i forced myself to be free. I went on ig for inspiration for one of my new projects, ended up making a 20 page document containing an more-extreme-plan than before (while i was going to take it easier these few months) dedicated to improving myself even more/trying to take every new thing available to me, bc i’ve improved so much already, & do it all at once. The final thing i wrote was “practice giving love to & trusting myself more” lmao isn’t that ironic? Maybe it’s bc i’m h*gh (after abstaining from it completely for 3 months and decidening to never do it again but felt it was “calling” to me to receive clarity for my launch” but that was the perfect test. Every time i move away from my true purpose/desires the Divine will always reminds me/call me back. This thing got triggered bc as i was fighting myself (creating that extreme list/decided to go another route than what i know i truly want) today i saw a post about one of you guys’ marriages and then a random picture of motherhood on the next reblog from someone else, i gave in lmao. I was trying to convince myself that i want to throw myself into “professional” business even more than “spiritual business” when i know that’s not the case dhsgsh. I saw the family, got emotional bc i desired that so much and wrote this stupid post giving in vebshsbsba. No better feeling than some good clarity, calling you back. LMAO h^gh downloads are so fun i’ve missed this feeling of realizing/reflecting on things coming full circle. I am just a literal lover girl (libra MC) and venus in scorpio. Perfect realization for Cancer being in my 7th house (& also debating/denying that i did not in fact want a cancer 7th house type man but maybe more of a capricorn/aries bc that’s my 1st and 4th house and that’s where my issues are lmao so i am healing that first). Not me self-analyzing on the innernet. Anyway let’s disregard that- Astrology is literally just a tool to help us navigate & you are the one who interprets the energy. The energy always plays out, it never fails. Interpretation may differ but never the true energy/essence. Yes so basically what it all comes down to, i am ready for THE one, more of a cancer 7th house type man and not cap or aries, i am also indeed not such a professional/corporate business career type gal as i was trying to convince myself when i knew i wasn’t and knew my true passions lays in more “deeper” work like i do in my readings/consultations and those are indeed, not just hobbies, but also my “purpose”. Anyway i love being able to help people in this way, this is what i’m supposed to be doing i love being so in tune, being sensitive isn’t so bad after all lmao my libra MC is so fiiting for me my brand mark is literally “The Only Lover Left Alive” as corny as may be, it’s so cheesy i love it. I also just love the color pink a bit too much i am such a venus bitch. And Emerald, god i would die for the color. If i could eat it up and embody it- actually that is what i’ve been doing lately and it’s been working for me. I am so green. Idk what that means but that’s how i feel. Anyway sorry for my high rambling- no this is me embarassed (how do you spell this?) at my attempt to accept my random spurts to need to share my awakenings but nothing else about me personally- oh just about the most intimate/personal thing i possibly think of sharing- oh yes perfect. My scorpio sun would LOVE that, adore even ._.< Anyway, thanks for coming to my jupiters cave session.

#the is pre- my last textpost about the clarity

[juszar2]

A little Deep

A Little Deep - The Worst Thing That Ever Happened to Your Life Could Be a Person....

Seeing weakness in individuals and covering for it, calling it anything else will certainly be a burial that will unearth itself at a critical period. It will be revealed at the first sign of challenge. Strength is not about brute force, often it is most needed in character. However, if the brute force defense is deficient, and any measure of cowardice presents, that will be the test that will show up at some point following. I saw, not standing up for yourself in the face of your own opposition...and in my presence, who then courageously stood for you without a thought, and just as a matter of sheer instinct-gave a glimpse into who you could be. I covered, as I have done often throughout, because I preserve the dignity of others… and I came to see the magnitude of just how I'd erred, and let myself-was even encouraged-to bring other beings along for the ride... I jeopardized everything in doing so. I was always going to rise to the occasion and execute my responsibility excellently, creating what is beautiful... Unbeknownst to me, cowardice could exist alongside a condition of a myriad of other such traits. Cowardice is often present accompanied by a perceptible vulnerability to conniving, treachery, and all of the lowest levels of personhood that one could imagine. It is only necessary to step out of the light and presence of dignity in order to nurture those imbedded traits. Likely, but for the presence of another's dignity, the entire journey of such a person's life could have been a reflection of all of the filth that those traits may now have unmasked. A person might have instead arrived at a destination that mirrors the lowly traits that they have embraced. Very impressionable, susceptible to manipulation and influence. Perversion and depravity malinger in close proximity to cowardice. It is a stew of putrefaction and warped existence. Almost two identities, or dissociative personality disorder. Such a condition produces precarious, impotent and spineless type characters with a warped compass, they are motivated by the lowly. An apathetic, parasitic state of being is what morphs, and because there is comfort and plenty of encouragement in the sadistic, rising to a level of decency becomes arduous. What results is low rent, discount tickets-level of dignity, next to none- and anyone is considered for currency offerings, or opportunity. Self service is the true religion. Lies are the bible for those of this caliber and there is no real God, there is only transactions and calculations. Ever being asked/implored to be with someone even remotely close to this, if accepted could be catastrophic for a person with God's favor, good intentions, a spirit of tenacity of care, comfort and love for those few that I allow in my life. I have come to opine that Satan will introduce such beings into the lives of those who covet decency, are reluctant to erre, and resistant to all things sadistic. The greater your anointing/potential, the more diligent the adversary will be at sabotaging your destiny/legacy. With so much potential, and so many proposals and opportunity-all of which I declined and held very stable... I am hoping that I have not met such a person because the collateral can be costly.

Juszar

[nx-communicato]

Just another day-old cheeseburger in paradigms.

I am not a gambling man. Some are and that’s fine. I don’t gamble because it has never been enticing to me; mainly due to a lifetime observing how my luck usually plays out. Now some will say there’s no such thing as karmic luck, others advise that a man makes his own luck with deliberate decisions and conviction! While this is good advice and should be encouraged, sometimes in life thin9s happens. You should always do what you think is best, but irregardless of desire and despite good intent, in the blink of an eye outside forces may influence how things play out. So what can you do, but play with the hand you’re dealt. It is what it is. But it’s going to be impossible to win or make any money if you don’t know the directions of how to play or even what the game is. Which’s how I feel always. I would like to describe a thought experiment.

Two adults meet for the first time. One had been told as a child that the color of grass is green, and their whole life this was reinforced with everyone in agreement that the color of the grass is green. But the other adult was told in their childhood that the color of grass is blue, and for their entire life it was so. Now they both have been looking at the very same color, but one knew the color was called green and the other knew it to be blue. We all know grass is green and if we had just met someone who said it is blue we would call them crazy (or at the very least, we would just politely think in our heads how wrong they are). But consider that the blue person is having the exact same experience. How would you feel if you were the one all blue looking over the fence at the greener side of thought? Would you continue believing what’s been right in your mind, or change what you think because of what someone else says is wrong? Most people (green or blue) would hold to their understanding especially because it’s been reinforced as common knowledge. But imagine if instead of two meeting randomly, what if one person (let’s just say blue) were to move for whatever reason, and find themself in a community where everyone has an agreement that the color is called green. How would Mr. Blue feel about his understanding of things when everyone is in opposition? What would the community reaction be towards a person whose knowledge was contradictory? There are no right or wrong answers here, just reflecting on viewpoints and how different understandings, beliefs, and perceptions are affected by numbers.

**** I want to clarify that I wrote this with no particular groups in mind and certainly do not want to segregate anyone on their values just because they’re from Kentucky.

I am ιertain that you’re tired of reiteration, and I must admit I too have grown weary of hearing the same. Many scoff and groan over what I do or have done, or how can I keep asking for answers and never solve anything for myself. I know. I’ve seen and heard many things about what I should do from many sources all with their own beliefs about the right way to handle things or what is left still to do… never clearly enough to understand anything. I have learned that there are a lot of ways to look at things differently and that I have disappointed almost all of them. But relentlessly I have tried to find answers when none were offered, and searched for clues high and low. I have in various ways deciphered meaning from cryptograms, and tried to follow along with my best intuition of what was wanted of me. I have blazed forward unafraid into unknown territories and gone against my own preferences (and way outside of comfort zones). I have not backed down but rose to each challenge attempting to understand and succeed when I had no understanding or chance of success. I’ve taken chances, gambled and lost - repeatedly. I will continue to do so as best I can, but I have not the health, stability nor resources to sustain much anymore. I haven’t for some time in fact, which has prevented me from extending too far and by cause made me unable to do everything as was asked though I still endeavor. Constantly under pressures beyond normal scope I have out of necessity not desire and a lack of success not logic continued trying until I found counter-intuitive solutions to problems when no other rational option was to be found. Flexibly accepting, yet I never gave up on my convictions or abandoned hope.

I understand that from a different perspective, another may paint my canvas in a different light. I am okay with that. Seeing is believing after all, but also (as with any truth) identifies equally inverted as believing is seeing, because one cannot perceive a thing unless one believes at least that there is a possibility of its existence. Several times over the last couple years I have discovered things that went beyond what I knew was possible and thereby forced me to alter the framework of my established paradigms. My whole life I’ve heard it broadly reinforced that I think outside-the-box, or perhaps that I look at things differently. My beliefs do not require you to believe in them for me to. Some of them seem to not even require my consent to remain in existence. I’ve discovered how difficult it can be to unbelieve that which you can’t unsee; trying to realign my paradigms to exclude some beliefs I’d seen by accident while thinking outside-the-box… they don’t exist within the scope of the standardized social parameters and I wanted to be more conformative, but they were fairly persistent and evidently resisted my denunciations. Life is dynamic - that which does not change, or adapt to evolve instead only grows weaker, wilts and withers away. In all aspects of Life (be they physically, mentally, etc.) one should embrace any opportunity to expand or evolve. I am more than willing to change (even desperately so in hoping for some things to change), but not frivolously. I have through various sieves of observation established my knowledge of what I consider true or false, and whenever receiving new information I force it through a fairly cynical gauntlet to separate out select elements (like panning for gold) before anything is incorporated or allowed to alter what’s already been established. If I am proven wrong then so be it… I will accept as such and make necessary corrections, but I have great difficulty in just accepting something that goes contradictory just because someone says so - unless it is logically proven at least possible first. I suffer from rigid Newtonian lawful adherence paradoxically by simultaneously being an unstoppable force and the immovable object. I guess that means I’m relentless jugg- or not? The cards have been dealt and everyone’s anted in… if I only knew to hold ‘em or fold ‘em.

#impossibledream #y #sharpen_saw #nothingelsematters

[messiah-girl]

it’s fine

A short story about who were are in the moments before and after we fall in love.

One time, I cut his shower curtain in half because he pissed me off so bad. That’s kind of funny, I think. I got so fucking angry that I went straight for the utility drawer, grabbed the scissors, but rather than jamming them into his windpipe, I meticulously cut the shower curtain in half, horizontally. It hung there, looking helpless, unable to reach the ground, which maybe was a good metaphor for us those days. I still laugh when I think about how stupid it looked.

         You see, in all of my serious relationships I become a weird, menacing caricature of myself, but honestly, it’s always more of a reflection of whoever I’m currently dating than it is of me. You try spending three years in a state of constant emotional fight or flight and tell me how level-headed you manage to keep yourself. This last guy, who’s shower curtain I cut in half, was no exception. He was toxic, but it’d take me all day to let you in on all the horrible things he did, and it’s all old news anyway. I wish him the best, really.

         Still, he clearly was the more toxic of the two of us because the weeks before he met me, I started buying flowers from the Amish people at the fucking farmers market and I would bounce all the way home with a toothy grin on my face and think, this is it!!!! Happiness is as easy as going to the farmers market for flowers, effortless. Once, an old man stopped me and said, “Look at this flower, carrying her flowers.”

       That period of my life, before I’d met him, felt like the embodiment of the word “better,” but in retrospect, it was just a blip, perhaps a week or two only. Maybe you could call me an emotional catfish. There were certainly other instances in that time frame that would have me concluding that it was actually the worst period of my life. You’ll know what I mean if you’re like me -- prescribed a bunch of psych meds you never take, riddled with anxiety, and so impulsive you eagerly ruin your life in small ways all the time.

  Anyway, as I was saying, in late spring the transmission went bad on my car and I couldn’t afford to fix it, so I said fuck it and rode crowded buses for the whole summer, which were always late and my grocery bags always seemed to break while I was onboard. Then the man who I was with before that last guy, the older, accomplished, human embodiment of hot garbage, who started fucking around with me while I was in high school, ghosted me, again. I had been a real adult for a few years by then and was fully awake to what a piece of shit he was, so it didn’t crush my spirit entirely that time. From that moment on, I vowed to never speak to him again, and, now that I think about it, it was the best decision I’ve ever made in my whole life. But at the time, I just felt lonely.

         I became deeply invested in swipe culture, waking up with a stranger’s limbs draped heavily across my torso, their skin sticky against mine, permeating a stench of booze and sweat. The heat that summer broke records, oppressively forcing itself upon everyone who couldn’t afford an air conditioner. So, we’d wake up disgusted, half from the heat, and we’d scurry in different directions with our eyes averted and our ears closed.

         I’d talked about my sexual exploits openly, as if a free woman, and I’m too proud to admit this to anyone else, but I didn’t really enjoy those days. Plus, I ended up getting Chlamydia, which, before you judge me, is the common cold of STDs. I was living this exciting life, meeting new people left and right, but all I’d really wanted more than anything else was intimacy. That desire, wanting to feel close to someone, of all things, is probably the only taboo you will encounter in the world of online dating. Isn’t that something? Any other weird thing is fair game, but intimacy – get out of here.

But, anyway, then I met this guy, the one with the shower curtain. Immediately I labeled him as a “stage five clinger,” which is really indicative of how invested I was in swipe culture. He was kind of clingy, but I did like the attention. It all happened so quickly. I felt this immense tenderness toward him, and every morning, I’d grab his face and tell him, “Drive safe, have a good day,” and he’d come back every night. I’d genuinely hoped he’d have a good day, too, just for the sake of it.

         By the end of the summer, I was waving bon voyage to my apartment in West Philly so I could live with him in his hometown, one of the uppity suburbs north of the city. So, there I was, all of sudden surrounded by people who listen to Phish and take their dogs and cats (I swear to God) to acupuncture – a real phish out of water. I tried to live that life the best I could, but it didn’t work out in the long run. I hate Phish so much now, if someone ever even mentions them, I swear to God, I literally walk out of the room, and somewhere lay two halves of a shower curtain. I know he’d folded them up and shoved them away in some closet because he was a real pack rat.

#short story #flash fiction #female writers #writers and poets #writerscommunity #writerslife #spilled ink #narrative #short fiction #fiction #creative writing #women writers #writing #writblr #writer things

[limen-lime]

is everyone going to be so happy to see the espinosa's?

Hazel’s mother threw her arms around the woman, the embrace of old friends. Hazel had never seen her mother interact with anyone more than an acquaintance, anyone less than a daughter. This strange woman fit somewhere in between, a gray area yet undiscovered.

Iris hadn’t mentioned her before, not like this. So what else might she be hiding?

“Charity, it’s been too long.” Iris pulled away from the hug only to see two smaller replicas of Charity Goode emerge from behind her like the fanning feathers of a peacock. Or perhaps the blades of a pair of shears. “And these must be the twins!”

They were both beautiful, Hazel observed, like twin white roses. But one was full and fresh while the other seemed dried out and pressed between the pages of a book.

“This is my sweet girl, Honesty,” Charity said with sickening sweet Southern twang that drew Hazel up short. She watched Charity place a hand on the golden head of the young woman who looked like a dewy rose.

“Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Espinosa. I’ve heard so much about you!” Honesty twirled one of her twin boxer braids around her fingers, the many beaded bracelets she wore clacking together as she did.

Iris touched the place just under Honesty’s chin, a force of habit. “And likewise. Your mother has talked my ear off about you and your brother.”

“Speaking of,” Charity added and placed her other hand on the shoulder of the second twin, “this is my quiet boy, Zeal.”

Zeal dipped his head at them, every bit a wilted flower. There were gray purple half moons beneath his eyes, but his features were delicate and fair, the gilded frames of a kind and quiet gaze. Meanwhile Honesty looked more like “The Birth of Venus” dressed in blue overalls and a strawberry print t-shirt. Her beauty was obvious, easy, full of life. Zeal would have paled in comparison next to anyone, but next to Honesty, he was little more than a smudgy, blurred reflection.

Iris, appreciator of all persons great and small, took one of Zeal’s hands. “As someone who’s been a good friend of your mother’s for many years, I can understand not being able to get a word in.”

Zeal grinned appreciatively before drifting back into his sister’s shadow.

“Their father is busy with a business call to our branches in California,” Charity explained as she led Iris away by looping their arms together. “But I just can’t imagine what has the Morgan’s held up, bless their hearts. Have you heard about Thalia?”

Iris glanced back over her shoulder to her daughter and gave a look that said, “Chin up, honeybee.”

Hazel tried not to panic at the thought of her mother being beyond reach. She refused to behave like a spoiled toddler with separation anxiety. If only Honesty would stop studying her as if she were pinned to a board beneath a layer of glass.

Tristan gave the twins a small salute. “Honesty, Z. How was summer in Belize?”

Honesty let her gaze snake back and forth between Tristan and Hazel. Then, ignoring Tristan’s ploy at civility entirely, “I see you’ve already met the new girl, hm?” She crouched a bit to be at eye-level with Hazel as both the twins were surprisingly tall. “Aren’t you a curious little creature? Do you speak?”

“Honesty,” Tristan chided as Zeal gave her a cross look.

“What?” she asked, blinking from one face to the next. “Z doesn’t talk, and we keep him around.”

Hazel smiled, her eyes squinted and nose wrinkled. “I’ve moved around enough to know an Arkansas accent when I hear one. Are you the kissing cousins type?” She flicked her gaze to Zeal and back to Honesty. “Or is it more Flowers in the Attic?”

Honesty’s expression wove between surprise and amusement before she settled on a wicked grin as sharp as the edge of a broken bottle. She presented a hand to Hazel. “I like a girl with a backbone. Hazel, right?’

“Your mom must really love you to stick you with a name like Honesty Goode,” Hazel said and shook Honesty’s hand.

The taller girl rolled her June blue eyes. “Family tradition.” She snagged one of Zeal’s long, twig arms and tugged him over. “Will you be joining us for our end-of-summer festivities? You must.”

Zeal widened his eyes, a watery blue like a lake on a cloudy day. Tristan bounced excitedly back into Hazel’s peripheral and clasped his hands together in front of his smile so as not to blind anyone with it. “You must! You must!”

“Um?” Hazel replied because she couldn’t think of anything else to say, despite wanting - somewhat desperately - to appear cool and collected in front of these new and age-appropriate people that her mother would consider potential friends.

“Are you all fawning over the new kid?” A voice snapped the thread of the conversation. “You’re going to smother her.”

Thalia Morgan, dressed in a leather jacket and jeans so ripped they were only barely hanging on, looked absolutely predatory. Today, her many braids were arranged into a bun at the back of her head, pierced through with long, silver needles.

She draped an arm over Honesty’s shoulders and grinned at Hazel. Broken edge of a bottle, meet razor edge of a blade. “You’re the one who demolished Babinski’s motel! What a power move.”

“Oh, yeah,” Hazel dashed a lock of her hair behind her ear. “It wasn’t- I mean, I didn’t exactly...”

Before she could trip over anymore words, Tristan swept in again and steered the conversation towards the previously-mentioned end-of-summer excitement with such fervor that Hazel’s “power move” was quickly forgotten. She would have hugged him so hard she broke bones, but figured that would be unhelpful.

Behind Thalia, two more adults joined Iris and Charity Goode, the Morgan’s if Hazel ventured to guess. They linked their arms, a united front, well-dressed and sleek. The woman’s dress had a low back that allowed a striking view of the slopes of her shoulder blades along with a tattoo of what Hazel thought at first was a clock before she realized she was looking at the spokes of a spinning wheel.

Her gaze wandered from the adults and back to the murals of the town’s history. These people could trace their lineage back two hundred years or more. Their roots sank deep into the earth of Asphodel Meadows, sustained it even. They carried their history with them, on their skin and around their necks.

Hazel had often asked her mother where her own family came from, whether they were a line of casters. If any one of them might hold the secret to Hazel’s mysterious and destructive powers. But Iris never spoke of their extended family beyond the stray aunt or cousin who came knocking in search of miracles and money.

She knew next to nothing about her father’s family.

And now she felt adrift, in this sea of wheels and scissors and needles, a woven tapestry of belonging where Hazel was little more than a loose thread coming more and more undone. All she could think was that, in a few months, maybe a year at most, it wouldn’t matter anyway.

Who needs family connections and history, she thought, when the world itself is going to unravel? Who is genuinely that conceited to throw a fit over not having grandparents to call your own with the apocalypse looming overhead like a sword on a string?

Get it together, Hazel.

“All I’m saying is that I’m not entirely confident,” she heard then. Thalia’s mother squared her shoulders, and the spinning wheel jumped as she continued, “How do we know that you can remain impartial when you and Charity are so... close?”

Iris’s usual smile straightened itself into a thin line as Charity scoffed openly. Honesty and Thalia swung around to get a better look, and they snickered together.

Honesty whispered, “Told you she was going to blow a fuse.”

Thalia glanced back at Hazel over her shoulder. “Just wait until they get their claws into you, darling. Trust me, it’s not going to be pretty.”

Previous and Next

#chapter three #21

[write-ur-wrongs]

The Death of Me

Pairing: Geralt x reader

Word count: almost 4K - big whoops!

A/N: This was totally meant to be a drabble / blurb, but the story got away from me! A huge thanks to the sweet anon who submitted this prompt - I was beyond inspired and chuckled warmly throughout the entire writing process. This baby isn’t proofread so thread lightly!! I sincerely hope y’all enjoy this one :’) 

Prompt:  Heya! I saw your post about wanting to practice writing short stories so I have a small prompt for Geralt! What about: the reader and Geralt have always had a difficult relationship, always running into each other at the most inconvenient moments and hence disliking each other. However, while Geralt is passing through a village the reader comes barging into his room bloody and near death, only getting a chance to say “I didn’t know where else to go” before collapsing. I would be honoured if the idea inspired you :3

____________________________________________________

You’d never considered yourself unlucky but lately life had a funny way of throwing you for a loop, or rather, throwing you to the wolves. One wolf, actually. A damn, irritating, and arrogant white wolf.

At first, it was all business. You’d arrive in a village itching for a contract, only to find that a “legendary witcher” had already come through and taken care of every monster within a two-days ride. Furious, hungry, and broke, you set out determined to get as far as you could and as quickly as possible. Your determination got you far enough that you’d managed a full three months of contract work, but not far enough it seemed.

You’d been on your way to collect payment from your latest contractor when you’d heard the buzz on the street; a witcher had come through asking about work, and had been told to wait and see as someone else (a woman! A human woman!) had already committed to the case. Apparently, he was either incensed or bemused at the idea – the brute was very hard to read, so say the town gossips – but it didn’t matter to you. You beat him to it and now you get to eat. When you finally met with the contractor to collect your coin, you couldn’t help but swell with pride as they thanked you, eyes wide, for taking care of a monster no human ought to be able to handle. You could have sworn your pride had given you wings as you floated out of the inn.

That is, until you heard them mumble under their breath, “Thank Gods that lass was able to handle it! Had it been the witcher, I would have had to pay triple!”

“Thank heavens for cheap labour!” whispered their partner, raising their glass to cheers their big victory.

Suddenly whatever weightlessness you felt transferred onto your coin purse. Biting hard on your cheek you pushed up your chin, determined to remain dignified. But then you saw him.

Impossibly broad chested, rippling muscles evident beneath his leather armour, with golden eyes that reflected back to you with a cruel playful nature that made bile rise in the back of your throat. He held your gaze and raised his own tankard to you as you walked past him. His deep voice rumbled through you as you pushed the door open.

“Cheers to cheap labour,” you heard him say, and swore you could hear the smirk on his full lips.

Groaning furiously, you pushed the door so hard it swung back and slammed shut behind you with such force a flock of birds took off somewhere in town. Undeterred, you stomped off towards your horse and set off at a gallop.

I’m going to make sure I never cross his fucking path ever again, you thought searingly.

You were wrong it turned out, but how were you supposed to know that?

You’d gone years without actually seeing him again, but that didn’t mean you were free of him. You’d alternated winning and losing contracts to each other, and the pressure of beating him to the next one stressed you so fiercely you developed ulcers. That alone would have been enough to push you to murder had you not heard from another witcher that their brother, the great white wolf, was losing sleep trying to keep up with you. Knowledge of this fact spurred you on; after all, if you couldn’t beat him, it’s best to be even, no?

The next time fate brought you two together, though, you could not have been farther from on top. What made matters worse, is that you weren’t even in battle when your paths crossed. Your literal paths just simply… crossed.

You’d been riding east for many days and just as many nights. You were tired, sore, and somehow still soaked to the bone despite the fact that the rain had stopped at least a day ago. You were so tired, your muscles seemed heavy in your limbs, and you had to keep blinking hard to bring the spinning world around you back to its axis. As you rode through an intersection on the trail, the sun peaked out from behind the thick curtain of clouds just long enough to pull you fully into sleep, and right off your still-moving-horse’s saddle.  

You honestly didn’t remember falling asleep, or off the saddle. You also had no memory of the moment another traveler, who was riding towards the intersection on the other trail, leapt off his mare just as you started your descent and caught you before you could split your skull open on one of the many rocks sprinkled throughout the street. You had no memory of the way he’d pulled you off the path, leading both horses behind him as he’d carried you over his shoulder. Zero recollection of him laying you down on a bed grass, tying your horse to a nearby tree, lighting you a campfire, or filling your pack with some bread and meat.

What you did remember, was the arrogant look on his face when you finally woke up. The condescending tone he took as he reminded you that you were ‘only human’ and had to take care of yourself accordingly was also seared into the annals of your memory.

You hated that he’d saved you almost as much as you hated the fact that you’d been asleep around him. Completely vulnerable for God knows how long and he’d been there to witness it all. Whenever the memory of the look on his face or the way he’d crossed his arms and tilted his stupid head as he condescended your humanity came to you, you couldn’t help but cringe even months after the fact.

***

Your saving grace came a full six months after your damned damsel in distress moment on the trail.

Well fed, well worked, and well travelled, you were taking your time enjoying the market in your town of the week. The work you did wasn’t glamourous, but it did allow you the means to afford a few luxuries every now and then. This time, it just so happened that your coin could buy you the sweetest gift of all: revenge.

The market was busy as ever, you could barely hear yourself think over the cacophony of voices and animal bleats bouncing around the square. Had it been anyone else, the conversation would have been lost among the noise around you, but when that voice came rumbling through the mess of shrieks and shouts, you couldn’t help but seek out the source. You didn’t know why you cared or why you were so surprised to find that the voice’s owner was none other than the White Wolf himself.

“You good?” you asked, making sure to tilt your head, hands on your hips, the same way he’d done the last time you’d met.

“Fine.” He practically barked, not even turning his head fully to address you directly.

The merchant, none-too-concerned with your arrival on the scene, continued as if uninterrupted. “I’m sorry Mr. Witcher, sir, but I can’t go any lower. This is the best I can offer.”

“I can’t pay that much,” he grumbled, hands closed into tight fists.

“I’m sorry-”

“Is this enough?” you interjected, knowingly offering forward far too many ducats.

“Y-yes!” breathed the merchant, looking quizzically at Geralt before picking three coins from your open palm, “thank you, madam...”

“Y/N,” you introduced yourself with a warm smile and a nod.

“Y/N!” Geralt hissed, at the same time, reaching out to push away your hand a fraction too late; the vendor was paid, and you’d won this round.

“What is it, Witcher?” you teased, as the vendor took his sword back for repairs, “been on vacation? Why so skint?”

“Been low on work lately,” he replied coolly, cat-like eyes boring into yours, “not as many contracts as there use to be.”

“Well, I’ll be,” you said, cocking your head to the side and pursing your lips in mock contemplation, “I can’t imagine why that’d be the case! Seems I keep running into monsters to kill.”

“Mmhm.” He hummed, narrowing his eyes at you.

Refusing to let him have the last word, you quickly turned on your heels and high-tailed it out of the market, shouting over your shoulder to the blacksmith to give any change back to Geralt before disappearing back into the crowd.

***

Being even should have brought peace between the two of you but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Your last interaction only fanned the flames of your rivalry. As the months turned to years without coming upon each other again, you still found yourself filled with unreasonable anger whenever you saw a mop of white hair cross you on your travels.

And not that you’d know it, but it turned out that Geralt wasn’t faring any better; finding himself frustrated and acting recklessly whenever he’d come upon anything that reminded him of you.

You were both completely obsessed with one another. Thoughts of the other constantly on the mind. Whether in waking or in dreams, you were both equally afflicted by an intense need to outperform, out run, and also, inexplicably, to impress the other.  

*

It was that need to impress each other that led you to accept a contract you should have never even considered taking. You honestly wouldn’t have even considered it had the circumstances been any different but you’d been hearing about this monster for weeks on your travels. Tales of the mighty griffin tearing people to shreds had been circulating far and wide on this side of the Yaruga, and honestly, with every retelling you’d expected to hear that a witcher had handled it, but that never happened. You’d somehow managed to arrive at the village at the source of these stories before him and had an opportunity to literally rob him of this victory.

Granted, you were the only one who’d been attributing him with this win, but that didn’t matter, not to you. The only thing you cared about when accepting this particular contract was the knowledge that by taking it, you were preventing him from having it, and that was more than enough.

The shock on the villagers faces when they saw you accept the contract only added to your already inflated confidence. The sheer size of the griffin’s wingspan humbled you a little, though, and whatever grand illusions of an easy victory you’d carried into the forest were squashed along with a couple rib bones only moments after engaging the beast. In short, you were fucked.

Some might say that coming out of it alive was enough of a win. Those people would be morons, you thought as you stumbled clumsily back towards the lights of the village, clutching your split abdomen with both hands and blinking back blood dripping from your forehead. Every step you took came with the stabbing pain of additional tearing around your wound. You could barely think, your ears were blocked and caked with dried blood and dirt, your tears stung as they fell across the gashes on your cheeks, and every breath in felt like it could be your last. You’d never admit this out loud, but a part of you wished the creature had finished the job.

Perhaps the only saving grace here was that in your condition, you couldn’t hear the villagers as they pointed and gossiped. You didn’t hear the “told you so’s” or the lewd shouts coming from the drunk men as you stumbled into the tavern. You could barely hear the disappointment in the inn owner’s voice as they reprimanded you for accepting a contract, they knew you couldn’t complete. Rolling your eyes, you pushed your way towards the stairs as quickly as possible – which, as it turned out, was not so quick, praying that someone would call you a healer.

“… and to think a witcher arrived only hours after she went off to kill herself! Tsk-tsk!”

You stopped dead in your tracks, drops of blood falling across your brow as you interrupted the momentum you’d been building. “W-what?” you croaked, turning towards them as much as possible to make sure you’d hear them correctly.

“Yeah! And not just any witcher, lass, the Butcher of Blaviken no less! Checked in with us just as you head out. Had you waited half a day you could have saved yourself a world of – ‘ey! Now where’s she off to?”

As you registered this news, something inside you snapped. Before you knew what was happening, you’d made your way upstairs and started pushing your full weight onto every door you passed. The great White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken, was certainly arrogant enough to leave his door unlocked. You might have been wrong about the griffin, but you’d be damned if you were wrong about this.

Fortunate or not, you weren’t wrong about this. As you pushed your shoulder against the last door with whatever strength you had left, the door swung open with very little resistance. The heavy wooden door slammed loudly against the wall at the exact moment that your limp body crashed onto the floor.

“WHAT the fuck!” Geralt howled, leaping off the bed and onto his feet. His wild eyes assessed the situation in an instant, and he bound to you in barely two strides. “What the fuck did you do? What happened?” he asked as he flipped you over, so gently you were sure you’d already passed out and were now dreaming. Or maybe the blood loss was finally catching up to you and you were full-on hallucinating.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you breathed, barely above a whisper, before losing consciousness in his arms.

*

Regaining consciousness was a slow, painful process. You’d come in and out of it a handful of times throughout the night, and flashes of what you’d seen before you lost it were coming to you in an almost dreamlike haze; terrifying images of the furious griffin, its blood-soaked talon shining in the setting sun as it reared back to strike you again, and warmer visions of Geralt, shirtless, running towards you with – could it be? – genuine concern in his eyes.

Now as the rising sun cast its glow across the room, you squinted painfully against the light. Your head felt as though it was full of cotton; heavy, and scratchy, and unnatural on top of your shoulders. Hesitantly, you ran your tongue over your teeth and were equal parts relieved to find them all there and disgusted at the acrid, mineral taste the blood left behind. Blinking slowly, you tried to bring up your hand to rub at your eyes, but stopped short as you felt the large bandage draped across your forehead.

Slowly, you started to register the other bandages, on your arms, your cheek, across your abdomen. Your eyes grew wide as you finally registered the man facing away from you in the far corner of the room. Geralt’s broad strong back was hunched away from you as he rifled through herbs and small glass vials looking for something. Inexplicably, you found yourself disappointed to see he’d put his thick black tunic back on. Horrified by that realization, you literally gagged, startling Geralt and pulling his attention squarely onto you.

His big dumb beautiful face was all hard lines as he looked you over, stern eyes flashing to meet yours before dropping back down to the vial in his hands. You couldn’t help be notice the way the muscles in in jaw rippled and tensed as he sighed. He was oozing disappointment and anger, and that infuriated you.

“Am I dead?” you ask, squinting at him a little theatrically as you squirmed and winced in your bed.

“No.” he practically growled, his body tense as he made his way towards you slowly.

“Oh,” you breathed, bringing your eyes up to his before adding, “this isn’t hell?”

To your immense satisfaction, his stern eyes widened into shock, but then something unrecognizable flashed across his features – wait, was he hurt?

“Why, because I’m here?” he shouted, as if in confirmation of your hunch, and slammed the damp cloth he’d been holding back into the basin.

“No, jackass,” you retorted, pleased that despite the position you were in, you still had some semblance of an upper-hand, “because a griffin fucking fileted me like a fish and some poor drunk is probably downstairs slipping in a pool of my blood right now.”

You’d kind of hoped that he’d laugh, or at least have a comeback geared up for you, but Geralt just stood there staring at you, his mouth in a tight line, nostrils flaring.

Uncomfortable by the intensity of his stare and the silence accompanying it, you decide to continue to poke the bear.

“Come on, what’s with the face, Geralt? Pissed I’m still alive? You know you could have just closed the door over my body, let nature finish the bloody job.”

“Fuck, no! Y/n!” he screamed, startling you out of the attitude you’d put on, “I’m pissed because you’re an impossibly difficult woman hellbent on killing herself! I’m pissed because you don’t seem to fucking care about what happens to you! You can’t keep doing this Y/N! Because one of these days you’re going to get hurt and you’ll be too far away from me and I won’t be able to fucking save you, again! I am pissed because I am losing my mind spending every god-awful day wondering if you’ve gone and gotten yourself killed! Fucking hell, woman! If you didn’t find me – I-if I wasn’t here, with these herbs – Damnit Y/N!”

You just sat there, mouth opening and closing like a fish. You couldn’t believe it. You didn’t know what to say. This man, your nemesis, was in front of you pacing back and forth, breathing heavily, looking like a maniac. His nostrils were flaring more than the monster that almost killed you just yesterday. Part of you wanted to correct him and demand he never address you as ‘woman’ again, but his wild earnest eyes kept you quiet. My god… was he crying?

Before you could say anything, Geralt sighed gruffly, ran his large hand over his face and stormed out, mumbling something about needing to get you more water.

Left alone with your thoughts, you couldn’t stop yourself from spiralling. You’d expected him to be angry – hell, you wanted him to be angry! You’d humiliated yourself twice over, enraging him would ease the blow – but this was… different. He seemed genuinely concerned about you. And what was with his whole speech? He spent every day thinking about you? Worrying about you? There’s no way.

Sure, you thought about him daily, but that was out of spite! You hated the man! Why else would your heart race whenever you thought you spotted him in a crowd? Why else would you actively seek out the most dangerous contracts? What, like you were hoping these contracts would draw him out, and therefore, closer to you? As if!

Your ridiculous inner monologue was interrupted by Geralt’s return. The horrible brute knocked gently on the door before stepping inside, and your heart had the audacity to skip a beat.

Oh, you thought, fuck.

“I need to change the dressing on your wounds,” he grumbled, not meeting your eyes. You nodded wordlessly as he settled onto the chair next to you. You watched him work in silence, praying he would attribute your insane heartrate and flushed skin to a pain response from his work.

“Geralt?” you tried, chewing nervously on your cheek, as was just finished up with the last of your dressing.

“Hm?” he hummed, keeping his eyes cast down as he fussed with the bandage on the gash across your abdomen.

“Thank you… for saving me.”

He finally brought his gaze up to meet yours, but said nothing in return. He merely grunted in acknowledgment. You didn’t know why, but his silence in combination with his inscrutable gaze encouraged you to keep talking.

“I honestly only took this contract because I didn’t want you to have it,” you admitted bashfully.

“What the fuck? No one was taking it because they weren’t paying nearly enough! Hell, and you’re just a human,” he fumed, throwing up air-quotes as he said it, “so what – they offered you a third of nothing?”

Laughing lightly, you shoved him with your elbow, “they offered me three whole ducats!”

“Oh, wow,” he laughed, low and rumbling, “so a big pay day for you, eh?”

“Shut up,” you gasped as pain rippled through you with each peal of laughter, “knowing I could screw you over was payment enough!”

“Well congratulations are in order, you did manage to screw someone over,” he chided.

“Me,” you stated dryly, gesturing widely at your busted up body.

“You,” he echoed with a sigh that seemed to deflate him.

He suddenly looked so small, sitting there next to you. You watched him as clenched and unclenched his jaw, rubbing his large hands up and down his thighs – was he anxious? You mind raced as you felt his eyes travel slowly up your body. You held your breath as he worked up the nerve to finally bring his eyes up to yours.

The moment his eyes landed on yours, something shifted. Whatever had been lodged uncomfortably between the two of you all these years had finally clicked into place. This change, albeit small, was palpable. His eyes dropped to your lips and lingered there. He was looking at you like he’d never seen you before. Like he was afraid he might never see you again.

Without speaking, Geralt inched himself closer to you and reached a tender hand to tuck your hair behind your ears before cradling your face.

“You’re not allowed to die, do you hear me?” he whispered, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb.

You gave him a quick nod and brought your hand up to his, nuzzling into the warmth of his palm before giving his hand a quick kiss.

“I need to hear you say it,” he begged, bringing himself even closer to you.

“I do,” you breathed, trying to sit up to bring your face closer to his. “I’m not going to die, not on your watch, but I’m also not quitting.”

“Y/N –”

“No! If I quit, you’d get lazy. Who’d push you? What would be your driving force?”

“Wow,” he scoffed, looking at you incredulously but fondly, “you’re so fucking arrogant.”

“And yet…” you said, quirking a brow flirtatiously as you pulled him closer by the collar.

“… and yet?” he murmured, letting himself be pulled closer to you. His eyes half-closed and his lips slightly parted.

“You love me.”

“I love you.”

And then he kissed you. His mouth claimed yours urgently but his hands were ever gentle, ghosting over your bandages and caressing your skin with a feather-light tenderness that would have brought you to your knees had you not already been bedridden. Any hesitation or doubt melted away under the heat of his touch as all those years of tension sprung apart catastrophically. The knot you had carried in your stomach unfurled into flittering fireflies, their heat traveling up your stomach to your chest as his hands worked their way into your hair.

You didn’t know when they’d fallen, but you let out a shaky laugh as Geralt kissed away the tears on your cheeks, his thumb swiping at the tears his soft lips failed to catch. Breathing heavily, he rested his forehead against yours; his hands cupping your face as yours captured his.

Gods – this man was going to be the death of you.  

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[lacheri]

Okay so... you might not even take requests but I’ll give this a shot anyway bc I love everything you write. I fucked up at work big time today and I feel tremendously anxious and guilty. Which made me think... Levi scenario with gf reader messing up on the field? I know he’d prob be harsh af at first but maybe... some fluff in the end? ): only if you want ofc.

hi nonnie! sorry for taking a few days to write this! but I hope u like it <3 (sorry to hear about your bad day btw ):)

accidents and apologies

pairing: dom!Levi x sub!fem bodied reader

content: canonverse, impact play, mild choking, penetrative sex, unprotected sex/creampie, oral (f receiving), some humiliation/degrading, reader is clumsy and Levi is mean, minors DNI

wc: 3.2k

Fat tears sat in thick clusters on the brim of your lash line, a hiccupping sob racking your body. You were as good as dead, having possibly made the biggest fuck up of your military career thus far. Titans seemed like ants in comparison, the fly that buzzes by your ear that irritates you to no end. Levi’s odm gear sat in pieces on the floor, and somehow this loomed over you like the Colossal titan, maybe even larger.

The polish container sat forgotten on your captain’s desk, the wipe slipping from your trembling hands. Your bottom lip quivered, your lungs filling with air quickly as you slumped to the floor next to the shattered metal. Your off duty position of being Levi’s assistant was practically over, it had barely even begun. You had begged for this job for weeks now, only a few days into being his helping hand, you reflected on how poorly of a job you’d done.

It wasn’t enough you had gotten Levi’s tea wrong this morning, adding sugar to the steaming mug, thinking he’d like a change in taste. He didn’t, immediately spitting the liquid out, cursing you into guilt on the spot. To try to make it up to the ravenette, while he was on his lunch, you sat at his desk and began to organize his paperwork by date of importance. You felt pride as you finished with the three piles of stacks, putting fresh ink in his pot for his quill. However, Levi was horribly furious to see what your regret had manifested into. How were you supposed to know he liked his documents organized by date of assignment, not what was most important?

This was the cherry on top, Levi leaving for dinner, mentioning that his gear did need some polishing. Surely, you wouldn’t fuck this up, he thought as he closed the door to his office behind him. How wrong the man had been though. Within minutes, your fingers became slippery, losing your grip on the cold metal as watched in horror as it clattered to the floor, breaking on impact. It didn’t make much sense, how could it have broken? Wasn’t the gear meant to outlast a titan’s grip? Especially Levi’s trusty gear, you couldn’t fathom how his gear was now laying in pieces on the floor.

You sucked back your sob as you heard the creek of the door, your heart falling straight down to the pit of your stomach. Of course Levi would be back before you recite your apology a thousand times over in your head. You heard the thud of his boots hit the floor as he walked over, seemingly calm.

“Oi, what are you doing on the floor?” he barked out, you could feel his presence looming from behind you.

You turned your head up, his face blurry from the rush of tears in your eyes, “Sir, I am so sorry.”

His grey eyes flickered in front of you, finally taking notice of his broken gear. His lips twitched in a deep frown as he sucked in air through his nostrils harshly.

“Get up, cadet,” Levi spoked venomously, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

You hurried to your feet clumsily, trying your hardest to quell your cries from your throat. You faced him, head downturned, attempting to steady your racing heart rate and the tremors in your bones. Whatever control you thought you had slipped from your grasp the second your captain’s lips parted.

“Never in my life have I met someone as insolent as you,” the harshness of his words kept your eyes on his boots, fresh teardrops rolling down your cheeks. Levi was not going to speak to the crown of your head though, and his hand gripped your chin to force your eyes up, looking directly into his own. “You’re going to look at me while I talk to you, understood?”

You nodded, but this was not what Levi was searching for, “Your words, cadet.”

“Yes, sir,” it came out of your mouth as a squeak.

“You want to explain to me why my odm gear is broken?”

“It slipped,” you hiccupped, violently shaking under his fierce glare. “I couldn’t catch it in time. Captain, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” he bemused darkly in disbelief. “This is the third time today you’ve fucked something up, and you’re just sorry?”

“I don’t know what else to say,” you were on the verge of hyperventilating as you stuttered your words out.

“Well, now you owe me new gear, and you’re going to personally pay for the expense,” Levi’s hand left your face as he backed away from you, sitting down at his desk.

You looked on in confusion, “Sir, I don’t have any money?”

“Then I guess you’re fired,” Levi tilted his head back as if bored now with the conversation. “You’re relieved of your military duties as well. We can’t afford to have someone as brainless as you in the Scouts.”

“Captain, please,” you raised your voice, arms wrapping around yourself to contain your shaking.

Levi’s eyes darkened, leaning forward to press his elbows on his desk as he leaned his head onto his intertwined fists, “Leave my office, now.”

This couldn’t be happening. You had no home to return to, having left it behind long before you joined the Training Corps. This was your life, your purpose, your friends were here. You finally felt like you had a place in the world here in the Scouts.

“I’ll do whatever I have to!” you begged, not moving a muscle. “Whatever I can do to stay!”

“Are you deaf or just an idiot?” Levi pushed onto his feet, striding over to stand right in your face as he spat. “Leave my fucking office, that’s an order!”

Your bottom lip trembled, and you felt so fucking pathetic but couldn’t stop yourself from one last attempt, “Please, sir. Don’t kick me out, please let me make it up somehow.”

Your brain took a moment to catch up with what had just happened as you were suddenly staring down at the wooden notches of Levi’s desk. He had grabbed your wrists in a fierce swiftness, pushing you face down, his hands now positioned against your spine to keep you in place. His right hand reached around to fumble with your belt, and your heart began to race for other reasons.

“Captain?” you stuttered, feeling him begin to pull off the belts stationed on your thighs.

“You think you can just beg me in that voice, looking like that, and expect me not to lose control?” his voice was thick with anger, but instead of fear, it tickled bouts of arousal in your lower stomach. “Answer me.”

“No?” it came out as a question, you pushed your thighs together as you felt a pulse run through your core as his fingers tickled the exposed skin of your lower stomach. “Sir, I’m confused, what’re doing?”

“Like you have no idea what you do to me,” Levi chuckled without humor. “You begged me to be my assistant even though you knew you weren’t going to be a good one. You think I wouldn’t notice, your little crush on me?”

It was true, so entirely true. Levi had been the object of your affection for such a long time now, taking every opportunity to get as close to the man as possible. If you were being honest with yourself, this fantasy of being bent over his desk was a constant distraction in your mind. He was right, you were shit at cleaning, you were probably the most clumsy person you knew, you really had no qualifications to be Levi’s aide, yet you still asked for the position.

“Then why’d you hire me, Captain?” the bratty words left your lips as it dawned on you, Levi had found you appealing regardless of your lack of qualities.

With a quick motion, your pants and panties were bunched around your knees, Levi’s palm meeting the now exposed skin of your cheek in a caress, “The same reason you’re fucking soaked right now, cadet.”

You stayed in position as Levi brought his other hand to your opposite ass cheek, fingers kneading the fat as he spread you open to his hungry view. He was right, you were dripping. His pointer finger ran down the seam of your ass, laying a soft touch to your hole, watching it flutter in excitement. He couldn’t hold back the smirk on his face, removing his touch entirely.

You whined, pushing your bottom closer to Levi’s hands, desperate for his touch. Your hips were slammed against the edge of his desk, his fingers digging firmly into the back of your thighs, pushing your legs back together. You felt a jarring sting on your backside, yelping in response as you could make out the distinct imprint of each of his fingers.

“You want to show me you’re really sorry?” Levi’s voice was low and raspy as he soothed his palm over the reddened mark he had made. “Tell me after every slap.”

You were able to brace yourself this time as you felt the strike of his hand once more on your opposite cheek, unable to contain your moans at the contact. You squirmed as you felt removal of Levi’s touch leave you, only to bite down on your tongue harshly as he swatted the back of your thighs much harder than he had on your ass.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he spoke ruthlessly as another slap hit your thighs.

“I’m sorry!” you cried, gasping for air from the impact.

“Again,” his hand smacked the fat of your ass again, his other hand smoothing over the harsh red blotches against your thighs in an attempt to soothe the pain.

“‘M sorry!” you were whining, knuckles white from gripping the opposite edge of the desk as you arched your ass up into his hold. Part of you was genuinely shocked over how much you were enjoying this, thoroughly aroused mentally and physically.

Levi couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight in front him. The handprints scattered across your lower half had his cock springing to life, hard and painfully erect. His hands traveled down to your pussy lips, using his thumbs to spread you open. Your hole was drooling, Levi let out a deep groan at the sight. He couldn’t stop himself, he had to have a taste.

You let out a sputtered moan as you felt the tip of your captain’s tongue lick a stripe from your hole to your clit. You pushed your hips further into his touch, thankful he resisted in shoving you back into the edge of the desk this time. His fingers held you open and apart, his taste buds rolling circles into your clit before returning back to your flitting opening, shoving his tongue in your walls. You could feel it fold in half, almost in a cupping motion as he bobbed his head, lapping as much as he could.

“Oh my God,” you whined, thrusting a hand behind you to grasp at his hair. His palms circled to the fronts of your thighs, digging his fingers into the fat as he pulled you somehow closer as he buried his face further into your dripping heat.

You were seeing stars, in between the mix of the pain and pleasure, your brain was completely empty. Levi’s right hand left your left thigh for a moment, coming back with a softer slap, inching his fingers to your center. His pointer finger swirled your clit relentlessly, and your breathing hitched as you were brought to even higher heights than before. His thumb joined not long after, pinching and pulling at your bud as you yelped.

You could feel the beginnings of your impending orgasm as Levi twisted and lapped your walls. The burning churn in your lower stomach became almost unbearable as Levi’s fingers worked faster at your bundle of nerves, full of purpose and intentions. Levi could feel the sudden change, your pussy clenching tighter and tight around his wet muscle. Your arousal was thicker, almost muskier as he inhaled through his nose, and Levi could swear he could drink from your core as if you were the finest of wines.

At the first blinding rush of pleasure, your body preparing itself for the intense promise of release, the ravenette removed all touch. You were gasping for air, your entire body’s nerves tingling uncomfortably. You were aching, desperate for anything.

“Look at you,” the return of Levi’s palm slapping your ass was welcomed with a smile on your face, thankful for any form of touch. “Falling apart that easy?”

You mumbled out a 'sorry', remembering his earlier warning. Apparently this was the word Levi was searching for, spinning you around and attaching his grip to your hips, slamming your sore ass on his desk, shoving his paperwork to the floor. Your eyes widened dramatically, seeing Levi’s cock fully exposed out of the zipper of his trousers. He was thick, his tip red and angry as he moved his fist over his length, a quiet groan leaving his parted lips as he relieved some of his own pent up arousal.

“Open,” he demanded, removing his hand from his dick, extending his palm to your pouty lips. You complied, letting your mouth loll open as Levi’s fingers pressed against your tongue, rolling them around to coat his digits.

He pulled them out with a pop from your lips, returning his now dripping hand to his erection, covering the entire member in your saliva. He gripped the backs of your knees after he deemed himself properly lubed up, dragging you right to edge as he positioned himself.

His grey eyes flickered up, fiery and full of lust, his voice hoarse, “You ready?”

“Yes,” you mewled, your fingers wrapping around the edge of the wood to steady yourself.

Without a moment of hesitation, Levi held your legs up as he slid his fat tip along the slick of your folds. It was so wet, so sloppy, you couldn’t contain the whimper leaving your lips as he pressed into your sopping hole. You could’ve sworn you felt your soul attempt to leave your body as he slid in, resting his tip right against your sweet spot once he was fully sheathed, your eyes rolling back into your skull as the mind blowing pleasure. He hadn’t completed a full thrust before you were begging for more.

“Please, please, more,” you managed out in between gasps, Levi rolling his hips backwards.

“You want more?” he chided, ramming himself so hard, the two of you bounced from the impact. You nodded, unable to voice a single word, drool threatening to escape your lips. His fist left the comfort of your bent knees, coming up to squish your cheeks together, a dribble of spit glistening against your pout, “You’ll answer me when I ask you a question, brat.”

“Yes! More!” you strangled out, muffled from his grip on your face. He let go, placing a very soft pat to your cheekbone, almost as a reward.

“Atta’ girl,” Levi’s gaze turned dark as his eyes traveled from your eyes to the column of your neck. How pretty would you look with his fist wrapped around your throat?

The thought was threateningly persuasive as Levi found himself doing just that, squeezing the sides of your neck as he began to piston his cock between your folds. The sounds of slapping skin and your pussy squelching had you panting loudly, Levi’s fingers pressing harder into the sides of your throat. It felt so good, good wasn’t even the word to describe it. In fact, there weren’t any words in your brain at all, too consumed by the visuals of the ravenette plowing hard into you.

His hand left your throat upon seeing your eyes begin to flutter, his concern for your ability to breathe over taking his lust. Instead, he circled both his arms under your back, bringing you up into a folder position against his chest. He placed open mouth kisses along the curve of your shoulder, licking and sucking at any skin he could reach. Your ankles hooked around his waist, and you couldn’t hold yourself back from slipping a hand to your aching clit.

“Kiss me,” you pleaded into Levi’s neck as your middle finger rubbed hard at your clit, your thick slick coating the pad. You got curious, letting your hand trail further down, exploring the motion of his cock pummeling into you.

“Put your hands on my back, and maybe I will,” he growled out, displeased that he wasn’t the one bringing you total and complete pleasure.

You followed his orders with speed, his head navigated out of the crook of your neck, capturing your lips with a hasty passion. He tasted sweetly sour, the lingerings of your essence resting in the crevices of his lips, but still, you couldn’t get enough of his kiss. When his hand finally left the middle of your spine, and began to travel down to your center, you could feel the bubbles of climax igniting back in your stomach.

“Levi,” you moaned into his mouth as his fingers moved at lightning speed against your nerves, timed nearly perfectly with the pattern of his thunderous thrusts. The desk was squeaking loudly against the floor as he continued to pound into animalistically, moving it slightly with every move.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, gonna’ cum,” you swallowed his words as he somehow sped up his movements, driving you straight to your climax.

You couldn’t even warn him, you barely had time to realize you were cumming yourself. It almost hurt how tightly you had clenched his cock as the pleasure nearly blinded you, unable to hold back swears and moans. Levi kissed you harder, and upon feeling your contractions swallowing him whole, your plush walls pulling his tip right up against your cervix, his hips staggered and his knees buckled.

Levi’s brain went blank as his orgasm was ripped from him, “Fuck, fuck!”

Levi should’ve felt embarrassed at the noises that left his mouth, whimpers and soft moans exiting his throat as he came hard. It was almost too much, the feeling of your wet heat wrapping around his most intimate part, the closeness of your bodies, although still fairly clothed, had his heart hammering in his ears.

When you came down from your highs, all you could was stare at each other in astonishment, breathing heavily into each other’s mouths. He rested his sweaty forehead against yours, fluttering his eyelashes shut as he kissed you gently. You let out a sleepy giggle, your body entirely spent. His hand finally left the sensitive skin of your clit, wrapping your fingers around the back of your head as his kiss deepened.

When he finally slid his softened length out of the depths of your pussy, you were hissing at the fluttering of soreness intruding your pelvis. Levi shot you an apologetic look, kissing your forehead.

“Does this mean I can still be your assistant?” you mumbled, a small smile on your face as Levi reached down to pull his pants up.

His head tilted back as an uncharacteristic laugh bubbled out, flashing you a mischievous smile, “Get yourself cleaned up, and meet me back in my office. I still don’t believe you’re actually sorry.”

LACHERI © 2021: all writing content belongs to LACHERI. I do not allow reposts or translations. this is my only account.

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