#like sure past me can put down the details from this angle when coming up with whatever and now I wanna strangle her

[brainworms-all-night-long]

Heeey anyone remeber this weirdo I made couple of months back? They're in my head again

#prime arcane #why is it so dificult to draw based on your own reference #like sure past me can put down the details from this angle when coming up with whatever and now I wanna strangle her #also abusing the fact my computer can now handle drawing backrounds #probably bit off more than I can chew right of the bat but of well- #also debated whether or not they should have eyeshadow but than decided it would be an overkill #they would simply have too much slay!! #props to you if you know which screenshot redraw this is #arcane #miles nine prower

[purdledooturt]

songs to break your back to (respectfully)

Ignore the title - this is my first attempt at writing smut and I'm just snowballing ideas at the moment for a multi-chapter fic I want to write. There is a bit of context missing to this, but take it as PWP for the time being.

I did write this with old Heisy in mind, but realistically you can probably sub in anyone else - it's not like I go into detail describing him, but he does get mentioned by name every once in a while.

Uh. This is written in second person POV (self-indulgent). There is daddy-kink (which is abandoned midway), and a breeding-kink (which the reader questions themself about). Please practice safe sex, I'm begging you - condoms do prevent more than just pregnancies.

I wrote the entirety of this on my phone, because apparently the Notes app just gets them creative juices flowing. Apologies for any spelling or grammatical errors - I tried really hard to keep my tenses straight. Trying to copy and paste from Word to tumblr is a pain - sorry for any formatting mishaps as well.

I hope this is as hot as the stories that inspired it.

❤

You never quite understood ‘backbreaking’ until you met Karl Heisenberg.

Not until you found yourself laying prone on the bed that you swear is the epicentre of a magnitude 7 earthquake, with his delicious weight on your thighs, pounding into you like there was no tomorrow. You can’t match his pace, no matter how hard you tried. You are nothing but a doll made to be used. He has such a firm grip on your hips you swear you’ll be bruised for weeks, and his breath comes out in pants that made you wetter with every sound. At one point he gathered your hair like reins and force you to arch your back, but his ministrations have made your arms weak and unable to hold you up for long. Mercifully, he let you go, but you committed the action to your memory, to ask him to try again later, in a different position.

You can do nothing but lay there as he fucked noises out of you — your knuckles have cramped closed gripping on the sheets like a lifeline but he refused to let up. You’ve tried to hold your head up but could barely manage, as every thrust knocked you back down again.

Simply put, he was a man starved, and you were all too happy to provide.

He leans down on you, slowing to a roll. He grabs at your hair at the nape of your neck and twists your head sideways as he gives the corner of your mouth a breathy lick, and you moan at the intimacy of it. You try to catch his tongue with yours. “You like that?” He asks, tucking his lips close to your ear in a growl, “your cunt just gave me a little squeeze.”

You try to nod, but he keeps your head still, continuing with his slowed assault of your poor, bruised cunt. What he now lacked in speed he made up for with raw force. “Yes,” you gasp out when he hummed.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, daddy.”

He moans, leaning his head against the back of your right shoulder blade as he gave you a particularly hard thrust to punctuate the erotic sentence he was writing. “Good girl,” you hear him mutter, as he pulls back upright. You feel him spread your ass cheeks to get a better look at where you’re joined. He massages the flesh as he does so, “look how well you take me.”

You look at him over your shoulder, throwing your hair out of the way. All the other guys you’d been with always loved this angle and Karl was not immune. He slows to a halt, raising an eyebrow at you. You muster up your best innocent smile, batting your lashes at him. “Thank you, daddy,” you say, and he rolls his eyes at you with a shake of his head. He gives your ass a slap. The move didn’t have the effect you wanted but you didn’t mind — you love that he called you out on the cheesiness of it. You laugh.

He gasps, pulling out of you roughly. He is crouched over your legs, breathing heavy and giving you an amused and lopsided smile. “Geez, buttercup — warn a guy, won’t you?”

You roll over quickly — surely he hasn’t…? “What’s wrong?”

“Fucking vice grip,” he mutters as he crawls back over you, retaking his position between your legs. You can feel a slight burn in your thighs as you spread your legs wider than you’re used to in order to accommodate him, but the burn only adds to the excitement of it all. You watch him hook one of your legs up with his, in a move that got your brain short circuiting. “When you giggled.”

“Sorry?”

He takes his cock in hand, giving it slow strokes. “Don’t be,” he says, as he holds the base and slaps the head against your clit. You jump at the motion, and he chuckles. God — the sound of his chuckle, in the situation, is somehow hotter than the grunts and pants and dirty talking. You’ve never had so much fun during sex before, often feeling more like there was a role you were meant to play and you were gunning for best performance. “Was good.”

He rubs the head of his cock up and down against your dripping, slick slit, teasing you with a knowing grin that looked a little sharper than what you’re used to. Occasionally the head catches on your entrance and threatens to slip, but he coaxes it out to continue the slow teasing. He’s using your wetness to lubricate himself. You whine and try to wiggle to catch him but he is far too good at anticipating your moves. 

Finally, when he’s had enough, he keeps his eyes on you as he slides back in, slowly and tantalisingly. You moan as you are filled again, and your walls are stretched around his thick cock. As he bottoms out in you with a low groan, your eyes flutter close and your head tilts back. Your legs jerk — your knees dig as best as they could to his sides, and your ankles try to find each other behind him. Your left hand finds his thigh, nails digging in to the bulk of his muscle, not to push him but to anchor yourself before you float away. “So big,” you gasp out, as your lower back lifts off the bed, and he takes the opportunity to slide his arm underneath to support you, providing you with a lovely, lovely angle. With his other arm, he supports himself, leaning over you.

Given his height, he is bent over you, caging you. The idea excites you, and makes you feel oddly safe. Protected. You’ll unpack what this means later. He presses his forehead against yours. “Only the best for my baby girl.”

Your eyes flutter back open and you giggle once again, and he groans at the action but stays in you. Your right hand finds his cheek, and you cup it with a gentle smile as you give him an Eskimo kiss. You take the moment to catch his lips in a quick, cheeky kiss, which he smiles into, returning the gesture with his own light kiss back. It was a quick, tender moment, like the eye of a storm passing over and enveloping you in a peaceful silence. Slowly, he rolls his hips and the dance begins again, but this time you are more familiar with the steps as you push back. For such a well built man, Karl is so fluid, and you were enamoured with the way he moves, looking down between your bodies and watching him undulate.

Your hands travel to the base of his ribcage, sliding over his wide chest, scratching upwards before you wrap your arms around his neck. Your breaths mingle as you keep your foreheads connected, staring deep into each other’s eyes. His pupils are blown wide, and your eyes flicker between his steely greys. It hardly registers in your head that he is asking you if you’re liking it, and your mind is blank as you agree, your voice disembodied and far away: Yes. Yes. Keep going, please. Harder, please, please, please —

He’s slowly building up to his brutal pace again, and like a roller coaster your core tightens in anticipation of the heights you’re about to be taken to. He slams into you, over and over, until the room is filled with the obscene noises of your slick union and the sound of skin slapping against skin, mingled with your panting and the punctuated gasps he thrusts out of you. He breaks eye contact when he nudges your head to the side to start whispering praises in your ear — oh, how tight you are. How well you take him. How your cunt was made for his cock, and how he was going to absolutely ruin you. You feel the familiar ache in your lower belly — you’re close. So, so close. And you can’t get enough of him, grasping at what you can with clawing hands and desperate legs. Like a mantra you plead, fervently praying to the shrine you built in your mind for this man you met while on this whirlwind holiday.

The angle at which he holds you has you seeing stars soon enough — he continually hits a spot that makes you spasm, and he grins proudly. “That good?” He asks, as you come down from the soundless scream from your climax. He hardly slowed to accomodate you and let you ride out your release.

"Oh, yeah,” you reply mindlessly, voice hoarse, and as revenge for his cockiness you let out a breathless giggle, followed by a kegel.

“Little bitch,” he swears, but there is no venom at all. He sounds so amused, so enamoured. Like he was having so much fun, too.

You poke your tongue out at him, scrunching your nose in the process. You were feeling carefree and playful in his presence. The arm that was supporting your back slides out from under you, and he uses his hand to grasp your face roughly, his thumb on your cheek and the rest of his hand wrapped across your neck and around your jaw, locking you in place. He takes the opportunity to lick your from your chin to your lips. You stick your tongue out again, less playful now and more desperate. He sucks on your tongue to punish you. He pulls away but you remain connected with a thin trail of saliva. His hips never slow. Oh God — everything he does is hot.

He’s made you cum at least four times since the night started and as much as you enjoy the treatment you were hitting your limit. You notice his pace stutter — he was close, and chasing the high he’s put you on four times tonight. He starts roughly pawing and kneading at your tit. You cover his hand with one of you own, squeezing along. Your other hand takes care of what he couldn’t. You try to encourage him.

“Karl—“

“Where do you want me?” He asks, sounding breathless and strained, and in a moment of sheer stupidity and fuckdrunk horniness, you gawk at him.

“Inside. Oh, god — inside.”

He groans, his head buried now in the crook of your neck. The hand that was massaging you is now on the bed, and he has now enveloped you. His lips are at your collarbone, leaving ghost kisses with his breath. He alternates between biting what he can reach and muttering “oh, baby” and “please” over and over.

“Fuck,” he pushes himself up slightly and catches your ear again, licking the shell of it. He growls, the timbre of his voice sending a shock down your spine all the way to your tailbone. “You horny little bitch. I’m going to fucking fill you until you’re dripping. I’m going to fucking breed you.”

You moan. ‘Do I have a breeding kink?’, you wonder. Who fucking knows. Who fucking cares? Your mind is blank, and you damn the consequences, begging senselessly.

He moans and stills to a jittery stop after a final hard push, and you can feel the heat of his release inside you. He pauses, his breathing intense. “Fuck. Holy fuck.”

"Holy shit,” was your reply, and he is catching his breath as he pulls out of you. You shift to lean on your elbows, keeping him in your sight as he gets up. He stands at the foot of the bed, taking deep breaths to fill his lungs not unlike an athlete who has just finished their event, and you do the same, involuntarily trying to match his breathing. You watch as he steps away, disappearing into the ensuite. You can feel his spend start dripping towards your ass, and without the added weight of him on your pelvis you take stock of the state of your body more clearly, and you swear you’ve broken something, somehow. As his figure reappears, you declare, “I’m going to keep you.”

He laughs as he approaches with a small towel. He begins to wipe your thighs with the damp cloth with a gentleness that was the stark opposite of the assault he’d mounted against your body previously. God — he helps with clean up too? Heaven help you. “Are you?” He croons.

“Are you kidding?” You ask, as you sit upright with weak, shaky arms and take the towel from him with a smile and a bright ‘thank you’, taking over the wiping. You watch as he wanders over to the kitchenette, still fully nude, now to grab two glasses of water. You could marry him for this alone. “Where have you been all my fucking life?”

He gulps down his drink. “Romania.”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

“That good, huh?” He asks, with a wolfish grin, as he passes you a glass of water and he sits at the bed again with his back to you.  He leans with his elbows on his knees.

You shuffle towards him on your knees, making the bed springs complain. He tilts his head towards you. With your free hand, you brush his hair behind one ear, parting the curtain which hid his face from view. You place your chin on his shoulder and beam. “That good. I think you’ve pulverised my pelvis but give me a few hours and I can go again.”

He throws his head back in a rakish laugh, and you find yourself wishing you could bottle the sound. He’s rearranged your insides, surely — you’ve never felt so many butterflies in your stomach before. You wrap your left arm around his waist, sliding over to the edge of the bed to sit to his right. You spill a bit of water as you move.

“God, I could use a smoke right now.”

“I have never once smoked in my life,” you reveal, unsure of why you couldn’t seem to stop your mouth from running, “but I could also use a smoke right now, too.”

He wraps his arm around your shoulders, and the two of you are oddly tender and soft in the afterglow. You knew of happy drunks — you didn’t realise something similar could apply to this. You were feeling… cuddly. Your cheeks hurt from beaming. “Have I reset your programming? You’re doing wonders to my damn ego, buttercup.”

You take a sip of the water and let silence fall over you. Suddenly the weight of exhaustion bears down on your shoulders, heavy and cloying. You yawn.

“Go wash up,” he says, giving you a slight shove with the arm still wrapped around you. “Don’t want you getting an infection.”

Romantic — not. But very caring. Karl Heisenberg was ticking the boxes swiftly and convincingly, getting closer and closer to your idea of perfection. A voice in your head chastises you for the irrationality of your thoughts, chastises you for hearing wedding bells after three fun-filled days and one passionate night together. Sure, it was out of character, but then again you’d never had anyone fuck your brains out like he just did. “Yes, yes,” you bat his concerns away with a wave of your hand. You try to stand but find your legs stiff and uncooperative. You’re like a newborn foal.

“You sure you only need a few hours to recover?”

You flip him off as you hobble to the ensuite, and he lets out another laugh, flopping on to the bed as he does so. You turn your attention back to your own care, and wash up as you normally do.

You hobble towards your suitcase to look for new underwear. You’ll forgo the sleep shirt tonight, wanting to feel your partner’s skin.

You look up to find him watching you, pillows propped up behind him as he leaned against the headboard. There is something missing in the picture — a cigar. He strikes you as a cigar person. “You need help?”

“No; thank you though,” you say, as you pull your underwear on. You wander back to the bed and take the free spot, sliding into the covers.

“Do you need me to get you anything for the, uh…” he’s at a loss for words for once. Your eyebrows rise as you try to decode what he’s trying to say. “Well, I’m not really keen on little Karls running around, despite what I said.”

“All good,” you say, as you reach to the inside of your left forearm, feeling around for the familiar stick that is your birth control implant. You pinch the ends of it to make it stick out, and he observes it closer. “Birth control.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

You pull the covers up to your chin. You turn to lay on your side to watch him. He brushes your hair back.

“How long is a few hours?” He teases. You slap his hand away, and with an exaggerated huff you turn away from him, and the pettiness of it all makes him laugh. It makes you laugh too, unable to maintain the facade. “Goodnight, doll.”

“Goodnight. Don’t disappear on me or I’ll hunt you down.”

You fall asleep to the sound of his laughter.

#pwp #karl heisenberg x reader #it's about time i tag this filth #it should be hidden enough now uwu #purdle-writes #karl heisenberg

[heartstringsduet]

oh michelle sweet woodruff for the flower prompt 👀

When suddenly, you can type 1k+ in an hour no sweat but you can't step into your WIPs. Thanks for prompting me dear Tessa. Also, woodruff is pretty famous in Germany to flavor drinks and jelly.

Sweet Woodruff. Humility “Promise me you won’t laugh, but…"

If you asked people what Carlos Reyes was known for, they’d say cooking (only TK would answer “loving me”). It wasn’t a rarity for TK to bring homemade lunch and to have only half of it left because Marjan wanted to “test its spice level”, “Mateo wanted to see “if it tastes like my Tia’s cooking” and Paul tasted to see if his version of the dish was better than Carlos’. Once TK started coming home with a grumbling stomach and a sour mood, Carlos started packed extra. They called it the 126 portion. Half for TK, half for everyone else.

So when the bakery Captain Vega had ordered cakes for Evie and Izzy’s birthdays cancelled last minute, and the stress filled the rig like it was mixed into the air, TK suggested, “Carlos is off today. He could make the cakes.”

Cap looked at him briefly from the passenger seat, her arms still wound tightly around her chest. “Really? Is he a good baker?”

“He’s an amazing cook.”

“A cook does not make a baker though,” Cap mused.

“If his baking is half as good as his cooking, the girls will be in heaven,” Nancy said from the back of the rig, making TK beam in pride and nod.

“I don’t want to just put this on him-”

“Let me ask him!” TK offered. “I’m sure he’ll love to make something for the girls. And we all know they’re a little in love with him still, so getting their crush to bake them the birthday cake? Two birds, one stone.”

“Two cakes, one dreamboat of a baker,” Nancy chimed in.

Carlos agreed, reluctantly. TK could hear hesitancy in his tone and his pauses. It didn’t help that once he said yes, Cap listed her girls’ dietary restrictions and wishes with Carlos on the speaker. One raspberry chocolate cake - gluten free - no sprinkles but lots and lots of crushed candy on top and cut into the shape of a heart ; one classic birthday cake but with an ombre effect on the outside of the three layers. Even TK gulped at the detailed instructions and he had never baked a single cake before.

“I realize what a tall order this is- just- never mind Carlos,” Cap interrupted herself, “Just get a normal and a chocolate gluten free cake mix and call it a day. Those were just the wishes we gave to the catering but - they’ll love anything you make. I'm sure of it.”

“No,” Carlos told her. “No, of course they’ll get the cakes they wished for. It’s their birthday.”

It’s past midnight when TK comes home, weary bones carrying him up to his apartment but the smell of baked goods resuscitate him. He can almost taste the vanilla sprinkles batter on his tongue, feel the raspberry buttercream on his hands, the still warm dough of the pieces of cake Carlos had to cut away for the heart form. 

Still in shift, TK had texted Carlos ‘DO NOT wash away the batters and creams from the bowls. DO NOT’

Carlos hadn’t replied. But as he steps in, TK’s mouth falls open.  The kitchen is in a state he’s never seen it before. He didn’t know they had this many bowls to begin with. This many utensils, even this much counter space to put everything on. It’s a wonder the sugar container hasn’t fallen over yet.

Carlos doesn’t even seem to hear him come in. When TK walks closer, the tense form of his husband gets added to by a frown, sweat on his brows, as Carlos leans down and raises a trembling hand holding a cake lifter toward the edge of something TK can’t see from this angle.

He waits until Carlos releases an unhappy sound and straightens back up to say, “Hey babe. Are you okay? How are the cakes looking?”

When Carlos turns to him, full bodied, there is a gleam of something that can only be called madness in his eyes. “The cakes?”

“Yes…the cakes?” TK tries for humor “Unless you’re building a bomb over there?” 

He walks over and attempts to enter the kitchen space but Carlos suddenly steps into his way. “No. Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” TK asks, dread slowly sinking in at how truly distressed his husband seems. “What is going on?”

“The cakes aren’t done yet. I- I tried. I searched for a recipe, finally found the perfect one, gluten free, one naked cake. I got all the ingredients. I stuck to the recipe. I swear I did! But the batter was too runny and then I kept it in too long so the top burned and then i had to start again but I over whipped the buttercream and when I finally got the cake layers done they were still too hot so the new batch buttercream ran and I had to go back to the store and get new ingredients to-”

TK takes Carlos face in both hands, just like Carlos would when TK spiraled. “Hey, hey, breathe baby, breathe.”

Air whizzes out, high and sharp but Carlos seems to relax the more free breaths he takes. TK never lets go of his face. He swipes a thumb over the flour dusted cheek until Carlos’ skin regains its normal color.

“Now, are you still working on both cakes?”

Carlos shakes his head, then winces. “One is done but-”

“Come on, show me? I’m sure it’ll be tasty. It’ll be beautiful.”

Carlos looks down at the ground. “They’re really not.”

“Shh. You’re just too hard on yourself.”

Carlos closes his eyes with a sigh. He kisses TK’s wrists, then he leads him into the kitchen. The chaos is even worse in the center of it.

“Promise me you won’t laugh,” Carlos asks, blocking the cake with his body.

Before TK has a chance to reassure him, Carlos has turned back around with a plate in his hand. The cake on it looks a bit uneven, crumbs are mixed into the chocolate buttercream outside and Carlos has overdone it with the colorful candy topping. If TK squints, and truly, mostly because he knows it’s supposed to be, he can guess the uneven arches on top make it heart-shaped. 

He is still smitten with his husband; not a day goes by he’s not in awe of something mundane Carlos does. Just today he marveled at how quickly and accurately Carlos flossed.

The cake isn’t picture perfect, isn’t what he knows Carlos had envisioned. TK still wants an exact copy of it for Valentines. 

“Babe, Izzy will freak out. It’s beautiful.”

“It’s not perfect.”

“Carlos, you tried to save their birthday, you made the cakes they wished for. They’ll better be over the moon for them, or I will eat all of it myself in revenge.” 

TK goes over to the chunks of chocolate cake that lay discarded on the crowded counter. He takes it and dips it into the pink cream in the bowl next to it. It’s sweet, rich and delicious. “I love it.” He walks over, gives Carlos a kiss. Carlos tastes like birthday cake batter. “They’ll love it. I’m sure they will.”

Carlos finally seems to relax, a tightrope cut through until tension leaves exhaustion. Even tired he manages a small smile. “The last time you had too much cake you spent a few painful hours in the bathroom. So maybe don’t try again?”

TK huffs. “That was one time. And I’m sure the cake was expired or something.”

“Uhuh.”

“Come on. You want me to help with the other cake or not?”

“Please. But again, promise not to laugh because this one looks worse.”

It does look worse. TK smiles a bit, but then they both make sure that the second cake looks at least decent enough to save Carlos’ reputation. The 126 will ask for a Carlos Cake for each of their birthdays.

#michelle writes #flowers in the window #tarlos #tarlos fic #tarlos drabble #tarlos fluff #why do these always end up so LONG #I vow to make the next one short

[scorchedhearth]

for the drabbles can i request kyle drawing/painting jason

you sure can! this was fun :>

get your own drabble

This is wildly underwhelming. Given, Jason’s interactions with art have been few and far between, his knowledge comes mostly from movies and books which isn’t the most reliable source, yes. To say he wasn’t prepared would be one way to put it. Still. This is underwhelming and now he has to temper down his expectations.

Because posing for Kyle is nothing like he imagined. He may have kept himself from saying ‘Draw me like one of your french girls.’ out loud but he thought about it anyway, who wouldn’t have when asked to model? But whatever he imagined didn’t include Kyle making him keep a position that cramped at least two muscles at a time for twenty minutes before moving him into another one that he finds interesting enough and starting the clock again, over and over. Quick studies he told him, just to warm up before starting on a real piece.

So now Jason is in Kyle’s living room turned studio, naked and sitting down on a sheet spread over a few boxes with his limbs twisted in a way that provides excellent shadows and contrasts Kyle told him. He believes him, elbows aren’t meant to lay like that on knees, the strain in his joint attests to that. And sure he could leave, he could stand up and go do something more exciting, easy as that. But the soft smile Kyle made when he sat down behind his easel with his pencils and charcoal made something tug in Jason’s chest.

It had been weeks since he could draw, even longer since he managed to sneak studies and real-life drawing, Lantern duties keeping him busy along with the League and Earth troubles. The happy thrum in his fingers and satisfied hums he sighs every so often are too good for Jason to rip them out of his hands. So he sits as he’s told, listens to the city noises and lead scrapping paper as Kyle is lost in his own head.

When he’s not making him face away, Jason seizes the opportunity to study him in return. They’ve been growing closer and closer these past few months, and Jason does his fair share of staring of course but Kyle always catches up to it and shoot him a smile or a wink, breaking the spell of watching unseen. But here, with Kyle lost in his piece, too busy focusing on working the right shade or getting an angle perfectly, he doesn’t register Jason’s gaze. That leaves him to drink in the sight, the lines of his face, the swoop of dark hair right above his eyes, the muscles straining in his forearms with each flick of his wrist, the tapping of his foot when he’s getting frustrated on a particular spot. It’s nice, to take his time in studying him for once.

It’s interesting to see Kyle treating him like a model and not the friend slash somewhat boyfriend they’ve become. He doesn’t look at him with his usual mirth and spark of life, instead his gaze is highly analytical, looking at flesh and skin and the way light plays over those, thinking over the mechanics and how-to of his body instead of the esthetics. It does something to his head, to have Kyle’s gaze glance over him and take him as nothing but a sum of details to decipher and sketch. He doesn’t touch him either as Jason had expected, he only instructs him from afar, shows him what he wants him to do with various limbs and body parts, how to ruffle his hair in a more interesting way. But he keeps his distance, looking at him from his easel positioned a few feet away from him, detailing his body as he might with any other subject.

He likes it, somehow. It’s another side of Kyle he doesn’t get to see. That not many people get to see, really, because as open as he is about his career and work, Kyle is rather guarded about his process. He doodles when out and will show off from time to time a more complex drawing but any more serious pieces are created behind closed doors. Be it his commercial work or more personal ones, he will shutter himself away and come out days and weeks later with the final piece to show. Jason tries not to think too hard about what it means that he’s part of the tight circle of people who Kyle allowed near him as he works.

His eyes catch the clock sitting on the table nearby and Jason allows the hand another run full circle before he speaks up.

“Time’s up.” His voice sounds incredibly loud in the quiet of his studio.

“Uh?” Kyle’s head shoots up, a frown between his eyebrow.

“I said, time’s up. Pens down, you’re done.”

“Right.” Kyle looks at his easel, then Jason, then back at it and before he can fidget with it anymore Jason stands up and take away his scene, gets his knees under himself and slowly unrolls his spine, stretching his sore shoulders.

“You’re done. You told me twenty minutes no more.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Kyle huffs and set his charcoal down, wiping his fingers on a rag sitting next to his stool. He tilts his head to the right, then left, and sighs. “Think I’m done with those for now. I wanna move on to paint.” He glances at Jason who’s busy pulling on his arm to work out a crank. “You alright with that?”

“Sure.” He shrugs. “Give me ten, I need a break, and then we can do whatever you want.” He doesn’t forget to grin at the slight pink that brushes Kyle’s cheek at the innuendo.

“Shut up.” He tries to grunt but it comes out amused so Jason considers it a scored point for him. “Want anything to drink?” He asks as he picks up the robe from the nearby chair and hands it to Jason. “I think I need a break too, my wrist’s getting tight.”

“Lead the way,” Jason gestures toward the kitchen and follows Kyle, eager to share a conversation with him instead of only standing around looking hot and handsome. He says so out loud and Kyle’s laugh is almost worth the shot at his ego.

#asks #anon #dc #jaykyle #yes modeling isn’t supposed to be uncomfortable but jason was being a dick and a show-off #so kyle took advantage of that and got some nice drawing out of it #*myfic #jason todd #kyle rayner

[choerrypuffs]

i wish you would write a fic in which it continues off from hey angle and yn absentmindedly calls jaemin donghyuck 😌 or maybe she digs the egg instructions out from the trash and puts it back on her fridge but one day she notices it’s gone and jaemin apologizes and says he threw it away because he ripped it accidentally or something and will reprint it for you or teach you how to make eggs 🤧 we love angst in this household

i am honored that the goddess of writing herself has visited my humble blog and bestowed upon me the honor to write some drabbles for her 🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️

please note that this is an alternate ending to my haechan fic oh my angel! read it here 💕

matches burn after the other, pages turn and stick to each other, wages earned and lessons learned, but i’m right where you left me.

It was a moment of weakness. 

They were just dumb printed wikiHow instructions on how to fry a sunny side up egg. 

It was just a dumb plate of eggs and bacon that looked like a smiley face. 

Donghyuck was just a dumb celestial being that barreled his way into your life for a couple days before disappearing and leaving an absolute trail of destruction in his wake. 

Yet you’re kneeling, opening the lid to your trash can, and fishing out that dumb piece of paper. 

Just another piece of him that you can’t seem to make yourself let go. 

The instructions are crumpled since you had angrily ripped them off your fridge and balled them up before tossing them in your trash, so you carefully smooth out the paper on your thigh.

He used my expensive color ink too.

And against your better judgment, you hang the instructions back on your fridge—hoping that they’ll repair the jagged, sharp, and uneven chasm that Donghyuck left behind in your life.

When in reality, all it really does is serve as a painful reminder of what felt like him sharpening every feather on his wings and using them to hollow out your heart. 

.

.

.

You notice it immediately when you walk into the kitchen, as if there was an infinite black hole in the middle of your fridge. 

The instructions, which had been on your fridge for the past week, are gone. Everything suddenly looks so out of place; the magnets float around on the door aimlessly, deprived of their centerpiece. 

Na Jaemin, your best friend and not-yet-boyfriend, is cooking. When he glances up and sees you, he beams so brightly that it almost makes you forget about everything else. 

But it isn’t so bright that it outshines the glow of Donghyuck’s wings. 

“Morning!” Jaemin says cheerfully, ever the morning person. “I made breakfast. Don’t forget we have early rehearsal in an hour.”

That’s right. You’re a ballerina, a trait that used to define you as a person before Donghyuck. Nowadays, you just go through the motions as if you were one of those porcelain ballerinas in a music box. 

You muster up a smile for Jaemin before sitting down at the table. He sets down a plate of eggs, scrambled and no bacon, in front of you. 

You’re not sure if you want to laugh or scream or cry. It’s like God, or maybe even Donghyuck himself, is playing a sick joke. As if he hasn’t dealt such a cruel blow to you already. 

“By the way,” you start, trying to keep your voice from trembling. “Do you know what happened to those instructions that I had up on the fridge?” 

Jaemin pauses, trying to remember, because it’s something seemingly so insignificant that even he, who pays attention to every little detail when it comes to you, can’t recall off the top of his head. 

But it’s not insignificant to you, and you hate Donghyuck for it. You hate him because hate is the only emotion that is stronger than love.

“Oh, right,” he finally answers, “I opened the fridge door this morning, and it just fell off, so I just threw it away since it was all wrinkled and it had some kind of stain on it. Sorry, I didn’t know you needed them. I haven’t taken the trash out yet, I can get it for you.” 

Jaemin looks so guilty that you start to feel guilty yourself. 

“I don’t need them,” you lie, “not anymore.” 

“Are you sure?” he asks—because he’s kind. Jaemin is kind and caring and sweet, and you know he’ll be good to you for the rest of your life. 

So why, why do you keep thinking of him?

“Yes,” you choke out. 

“What were they for anyways?” 

“Sunny side up eggs.”

“You could’ve just asked me,” Jaemin laughs, and it’s a wonderful laugh—like a warm spring breeze. 

But you long for snowfall on Christmas.

send me a summary of a fic you wish i would write!

#jaemin being cat's punching bag for multiple asks straight #using song lyrics even though it's not part of the prompt bc it helps me write #ask #answered #luvdsc #mutuals #ask game #oh my angel

[outismm]

I saw your reblog, please talk about Huck before you explode I'm worried about you /lh

ANON YOU BROUGHT WHATS COMING UPON YOURSELF-

When I tell you this is gonna be an essay this is gonna be a THESIS. I would defend this man in a court of my peers. I have been thinking so hard about this little man for the past few months this is gonna be SO LONG SMDNSMD

OH ALSO. tumblr likes to fuck with formatting so. some of the images might be out of wack. mwa that's all

Okay this is gonna be split,, btwn Gay Thoughts and pointing out Character Design Choices/Scene Details/Cool Shit bc. That is the joy of media :)

AAA <333 GOD I COULD TALK FOR AGES ABOUT HOW GOOD OF A CHOICE IT WAS TO. HAVE BOTH VANDER AND HUCK INTRODUCED TOGETHER.

Vander is humungalogongus, Huck is Tiny, putting them together just emphasizes both of those qualities in such a delightful way aaa <33

GOD AND THE MUG. THE MUG WAS SUCH A SMALL GOOD CHOICE.

Vanders hand wraps around that tankard like it owe's him money smmnmdsnd whereas Huck would probably need to use two hands to do the same.

I just. It's such a great use of contrasting character designs!!

AND THE TWO SITTING TOGETHER !!! LOOK AT THAT BEAUTIFUL CONTRAST!!!

Like sure Vander is big, but next to Huck,, he is BIG big. Absolute giant, I love how it helps boost those Protective Vibes he's meant to have!!! <333

AND THE SAME THING WORKS PRESTO-REVERSO FOR HUCK. He looks so insanely small compared to him, and joint with how he curls into himself, all of it just makes him look so. fragile.

It's such a fantastic way of getting across the Vibes of the characters in a nonverbal way. giving the animators my bank info as we speak.

there. is no analysis here this image. this shot is just so funny MNSDMSNDS

He is Experiencing so intensely. Help Him.

Um. Well. See.

h

No comment your honor.

NO BUT,,,, he shivers here!! It's such a small detail it's basically impossible to actually see unless you slow down the footage!!

they didn't need to make him. Literally Shudder In Fear but they DID and I LOVE them for that. It's not even smth most ppl are gonna see, it's like 3 frames at most, but they DID.

AGAIN, SMOOCHING ALL THE ANIMATORS WITH TONGUE.

OH AND HIS EYES!!

I brought this up somewhere else but. Big Eyes + Small Pupils That Can't Sit Still adds so much more,, stress and tension to everything he does. I'm sorry the design details have me by the throat what can I say.

THEY GIVE HIM SO MANY. BEHAVIORS. The drumming of his fingers is my favorite - it pops up three times that I've noticed.

The bar, before Vander hands him his drink.

The table, when he's getting upset about the deal going south.

The counter of the Apothecary's dispensary in ep.6

ITS SUCH. A MINUTE DETAIL BUT IT ADDS SO MUCH PERSONALITY.

Like even outside of his tinger-tapping - the way his eyes can't sit still, his very jittery uneven movements, his eyebrows are almost always Bunched Up in that worried expression, that nervous laugh like UGHHHH <333

ITS THE LITTLE THINGS YKNOW? <333

His lanky frame and frantic gestures have entranced me

There's so many good details post-timeskip I gotta talk about MSNDSM

I. GRMGKRKGR. The way they re-introduce Huck makes my brain start bounding off my skull

First he's fully covered by the cloak, he looks relatively normal

then he falls backwards, revealing that he's completely emaciated, far past his previous thinness.

THEN we get the close-up shot to show the tumor, giving us a glimpse into just how damaging shimmer has been on his body - his hood even falls off to give us a full look.

I JUST. GOD. The escalation. Those small moments of Tension-Release are scattered all throughout Arcane and they all give me such massive brainworms.

LIKE EVEN FOR PPL WHO MIGHT NOT REMEMBER HIM,, ITS JUST SUCH A GOOD WAY OF REVEALING THOSE DETAILS.

and for the people who DO remember him it adds that little layer of,,,, Youch

AND THAT ANGLE. GOD. It really feels like we're looking down at him from the barrel of Cait's gun. The cinematography in this show is always so pretty.

(this is also the moment where we can see the escalation of his habits!!)

His eyes are more jumpy, his hands are more expressive, that nervous laugh he has is escalated to the point that it. sounding like he's gonna burst into tears. ('I- I owed her old man my life. Probably more.. than that - I guess' ..... Bill Lobley did such an amazing job w/ his voice aaa)

My absolute favorite detail they added was post-timeskip Huck's,, self-soothing behaviors?

He holds his own hand, he leans against his arm - at one point he tries to rub his forehead before flinching back, forgetting his tumor is there AAAA </33333

It's so clear he isn't accustomed to contact, which makes Cait's hug feel so much more cathartic </3

HE JUST <33333. They really emphasize how vulnerable he is. His constant fear and his desperation to not be afraid is such a key part of his character.

Like he says himself that one of the main reasons he turned to shimmer was to finally, finally make other people the ones who are afraid I JUST. AAA. I FUCKING LOVE THIS GUY YALL IDK WHAT TO SAY.

SIGH,,,,, TUMBLR'S IMAGE LIMIT IS BULLYING ME SO. one last little detail before I wrap up.

HE SMILES WHEN THE APOTHECARY SLAMS DOWN THE VIAL

HE. SMILES WHEN. THE APOTHECARY. AAAA <3333

ROSES HEARTS SPARKLES WHOEVER THOUGHT OF THAT IS GETTING PUT IN MY WILL

He's!! genuinely happy that Vi is gonna get help!! It's so clear that the choice he made to turn in Vi wasn't one he made easily.

If there's any last thing to say it's just. The crew did such a good job adding all that depth. Huck gets 5 mins total on-screen and they still took the time to flesh him out.

TLDR. Mwa I need season 2 stat

SHUFFLES FEET... ANON TYSM THIS WAS SO FUN. Anybody who made it this far and read through everything,, I'm making us friendship bracelets and cookies ilysm.

#my poor moots looking at his : who let outis out of his cage #FUN FACT. I TRIED WRITING THIS AND THEN TUMBLR GLITCHED AND KILLED IT. DEAD IN THE WATER I WAS SO DESTROYED SMDNSMD. #huck #huck arcane #arcane #arcane analysis #vander #briefly sdnss #*RINGS A MASSIVE BELL* SUMMONING ALL HUCK SIMPS TO MY LOCATION I LIVE AT [REDACTED] [REDACTED] GET OVER HERE N O W #PL E A SE I CANT BE THE. ONLY ONE WHO'S GOT EYES ON THIS MAN. hes so milquetoast. fragile in nature and deserved a good life </3 #SMDNSMD GOD. IVE MISSED WRITING OBSCENELY LONG THINGS ABOUT MY BLORBOS #outis screams #GOD THERES SO MANY MORE DETAILS I COULD TALK ABOUT BUT #SDSMNDS THERES A PHOTO LIMIT SO ITS HARD #off the top of my head.. #he has a slight overbite. i couldnt find anywhere to put that but. heart eyes. what a delightful detail. #also his smile is super unique?? his lips are also VERY expressive smdnsd its such a cute detail #they really go all in on that. Kicked Puppy Vibe. they purposefully make him so. small and fragile. #ive heard some theories about him being An Important Character (tm) but. I don't know enough about League to input thoughts #all i hope is that we get <333 more of him. any little glimpses next season will be cherishes dmsnds #I MIGHT DO MORE STUFF LIKE THIS IDK. arcane has so many beautiful details it literally has me by the throat #scopophobia #possibly for that one bit #sighs dreamily....... that bit in ep one when he gulps nervously. sir just say youre a bottom and be done with it MSNDSMDNAD #making a mental note to write or draw smth about this man soon. legally i must msndmsndsd #OH BEFORE I GO. LMK IF ANYTHING IS UNINTELLIGABLE #I LITERALLY WROTE THIS AT 4 AM SMDNSMD AND MY BRAIN IS KINDA GOING SQUARESHAPED. SO. YEAH JUST LMK IF SMTH NEEDS CLARITY #*gripping leg* why do i always get so shy posting things. somebody sedate me #OK GOODNIGHT LOVE Y'ALL FOR INDULGING ME SMDNSMD

[qwertystop]

Broader Balance Implications of Time-Rending Morganite

So, there's been a new Yu-Gi-Oh card announced in the OCG (the Japanese version of the game), "Time-Rending Morganite", and... well, I'm only a casual player, I can't judge on this from a balance perspective, but from a game-design angle, this card is huge.

Apply these effects for the rest of this Duel. ● You cannot activate monster effects in the hand. ● Draw 2 cards instead of 1 for your normal draw during your Draw Phase. ● You can conduct up to 2 Normal Summons/Sets each turn, not just 1. You can banish this card from your GY and discard 1 "Time-Rending Morganite"; this turn, your opponent cannot activate monster effects when you Normal Summon a monster.

(image and translation per Yugipedia, 2023-01-07)

This card reads to me as indicative of two or three things, from a broader game-design perspective. Details under the cut, but TLDR:

It looks like Konami wants the game to slow down, or at least they want to make slower strategies viable. This card tries to make "I'll hold them off and slowly charge up/wear them down" work in a game where comboing through nearly half your deck for a one-turn kill on your first or second turn is routine, and they might actually have pulled it off.

They've found an entirely novel way to do this without either A: banning huge swathes of the game (all the big combos, which are a large part of the game's appeal for many players) or B: restricting this slow strategy to one very specific archetype of cards (the usual way they've introduced new playstyles in the past).

That new tool could also be used to support many other cards and styles of play, where the cards present a fantasy but cannot make it work within the constraints of the game rules and of physical cardstock.

I read Time-Rending Morganite as an effort by Konami to bring back an older style of play, when games took more than three turns and doing things on your opponent's turn was mostly the domain of Traps.

First off: It rewards slower strategies. It makes slow strategies stronger, not by making the wall itself harder to break, but by giving the player who successfully does hold their opponent off more resources to use the longer they keep their wall up. The reward from playing TRM scales geometrically: Every new turn, you get another extra card and summon. This directly counteracts the problem that every card you spend on blocking your opponent from beating you is a resource *not* spent on getting yourself closer to victory; "I haven't lost yet" isn't the same as "I'll win soon", but TRM makes "I'm buying time to build up strength" possible by giving you more cards to work with, so you can trade one-for-one every turn and still come out ahead. TRM "pays" for this by preventing the player from using monster effects in hand – that's hand traps, sure, but it's also monsters that Special Summon themselves from the hand, or discard themselves to search other things out of your deck. Those are some of the biggest ways the game got to be as fast as it is: the ability to rapidly turn your whole hand into disrupting your opponent's board, building your own board, and pulling more stuff that you can also immediately use.

Second: It lets you opt into this new-old paradigm while also, to a limited extent, forcing your opponent to do the same. If you play three copies of it, you can stop your opponent from using Quick monster effects to mess with you – hand traps but also on-board negates and such. That only holds for two turns, but if your opponent is playing a current-meta-style deck with lots of hand traps and on-board negator monsters, two turns is huge.

Third: It shows Konami is willing to bring out some pretty big guns to do this. They're not banning all hand-traps and self-specialers, they're not putting out a new Master Rule revision with only two specials per turn, but they are saying "here's a card that, when you play it, for the rest of the game you're on new rules". It's not quite unprecedented, but before this, "for the rest of this Duel" effects were things like Sales Ban or Sekka's Light, large permanent restrictions for high-impact one-off effects. Players can opt in to playing on a modified ruleset, in a way that's not locking that ruleset into a specific archetype designed around it (like Flower Cardians or other entirely-different-game archetypes).

Fourth: This is a new tool that they can continue to use. They could make a series of cards like it, other "Morganite" spells (if you need an archetype name) that have you make other permanent changes to your rules for the rest of the game, to give boosts to other strategies that don't have enough raw card-advantage power to work in the current meta. This one does this for the old classic slower game with less mid-turn interference where the Normal Summon was crucial. Just to spitball a few others (note that these are probably wildly imbalanced, and definitely not written in strict PSCT-compliant phrasing; the point is to get the general idea across):

Fusion toolboxes like Elemental Heroes, too reliant on getting specific combinations and unable to justify Extra Deck space for hyperspecific niches: You can no longer summon non-Fusion monsters from your Extra Deck, but as many times as you like each turn, you can Fusion Summon a Fusion Monster from your Extra Deck or GY (no forcing you to choose between having enough copies of one thing and having enough variety, don't think of this as a separate card, it's the combination of several other cards but unfortunately we have to print it on something) that names a specific monster for at least one material, and names a monster or archetype for all of their materials (i.e. no generic materials), using materials from the hand and/or field (i.e. infinite Polymerizations, except without breaking when-you-play-a-spell triggers). Once per turn you can use one material from your deck for the Fusion Summon of such a non-generic Fusion Monster. When a Fusion Monster summoned through either of these effects leaves the field return it to the Extra Deck.

All the different upgrade-ish monsters, where the concept is clearly "the monster you already have gets better in these specific circumstances", but the implementation is limited by the need to print that somewhere, so the better version is a separate card that takes up space in your deck but is useless if you draw it (for example, "Lv" and "Assault Mode" monsters): Once per turn, search your deck for a a monster that cannot be Normal Summoned and can only be Special Summoned by a specific procedure that it describes, and add it to your hand. Once per turn, if you draw such a monster, you may reveal it, search your deck for a monster that is specifically named by its effect or that specifically names it, and add that to your hand.

#yugioh #game design #infodump #long post #wild rambling #honestly this is nearly an essay

[hjorthoover2]

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[frogtanii]

warm.

it’s too warm, was your first waking thought as you sluggishly waded through the mound of blankets that encompassed you to get a breath of fresh air (you assumed bokuto and kuroo were the culprits for your warm and fuzzy hellhole). your eyes first fell on the television playing the credits to the second or third pirates of the caribbean movie on mute, the remote haphazardly thrown somewhere to your left as though the person who did so left in a hurry.

speaking of people, there was no one left in the room as you slowly joined the land of the living. a part of you suspected everyone had gone to bed but atsumu or akaashi would’ve woken you up if that had been the case.

belatedly, you recognized voices coming from the front door and your still sleep-addled brain lit up. oh! you thought. food must be here! untangling yourself from the blankets proved to be an exhausting feat because by the time you were done, your body was covered in a sheen of sweat underneath oikawa’s sweats and sakusa’s hoodie.

ugh, gross.

you began to make your way towards the door, the blood rushing through your head preventing you from hearing the details of conversation but knowing atsumu, he was just haggling for a lower price even though you told him repeatedly, that isn’t how pizza places work tsum.

as you drew nearer to the commotion, you started to pick up on the heavy tension in the air, leaving you extremely uncomfortable. you had no idea what the cause of it was but you did know it was making most of the boys upset, who, by the way, hadn’t noticed you creeping around just yet.

a feminine voice rang out from outside the doorway and though you were still attempting to gain your hearing, the sound sent chills down your spine. it sounded saccharine, sweet, familiar, and oh so evil.

even with a head full of cotton, you figured now wouldn’t be the best time to reveal yourself, what with the clear discomfort permeating the atmosphere, but your big fat mouth apparently had other plans.

“‘tsum, just let the poor pizza lady go,” you muttered, the beginnings of a headache making itself known at the back of your skull. you were a little too caught up with the dwarf banging at your head with a sledgehammer to notice the shock that everyone in the room turned to look at you with.

a gentle hand grasped at your forearm, whispering something into your ear before attempting to pull you back to the living room, but that same familiar voice from the door kept you planted where you stood.

“oh, the princess finally makes herself known,” meiko sneered, her face finally coming into focus, striking you with pang of fear straight through your heart. “funny, i thought i left you speechless the last time we... ‘talked’.”

“ya shut yer fuckin mouth,” atsumu lunged at her but was stopped by sakusa’s arm around his waist, successfully holding him in place. meiko just giggled, taking a step into the house, her heels clicking as she glided across the hardwood floors.

in the back of your head, you noted that meiko looked unusually beautiful, her makeup flawlessly done and her outfit complementing it perfectly, almost reminiscent of how she used to be before... well, just “before”.

you watched the boys unconsciously angle themselves as a protective wall around you, the person holding your arm (who you now realized was koushi) pulling you in tighter until your back was resting against his chest.

a part of you couldn’t help but feel a little suffocated but the other, more self preserving, bit felt irrationally safe and protected around these boys. it was nice... or it would’ve been if meiko wasn’t taking herself on a tour around the house as though she hadn’t been living there for almost the past year.

“you all can tone down on the guard dog act. i’m not here to fight,” she said as she pretended to wipe dust off the island. “you’re not?” bokuto’s skeptical voice rose up from behind you, one of his hands finding yours underneath the massive sleeves of your (sakusa’s) hoodie.

meiko shook her head with an empty smile, her perfectly painted red lips stretching unnaturally wide. “no, of course not! i’ve just come here to collect.”

the boys collectively tensed around you, akaashi whispering for kenma to go find yachi and quickly. as he slipped away, you made eye contact with sakusa who gave you an imperceptible nod that you assumed meant one thing — keep her talking.

“collect what?” you asked, your voice coming out weaker than you wanted, but you hoped she didn’t notice. she cocked her head as her eyes snapped to you as if she’d forgotten you were there, but judging by her growing smirk, you knew that wasn’t the case.

“my boys of course!” meiko clapped gleefully, clicking her way over toward kuroo to run her hand over his bicep, laughing when he jolted away from her touch. “they’ve always been mine, you know that don’t you?”

it felt like a cold bucket of water had been dropped over your head. you felt frozen again, the same feeling of dread creeping up your spine as it did when meiko attacked you. in turn, you barely noticed kenma’s return who whispered something to sakusa — an action that didn’t go unnoticed by meiko.

“what’re my boys talking about? are you plotting against me?” she pouted, scooting closer to the pair. kenma visibly paled and moved to hide himself behind sakusa’s broad shoulders. “we aren’t doing anything, meiko.”

wrong answer.

“oh, we both know that isn’t the case kiyoomi. i’m not a fucking idiot.” meiko’s voice filled with venom before moving even closer still. you felt your heart beating rapidly in your chest, your hand gripping bokuto’s even tighter.

what if she brought some kind of weapon to the house? what if she hurt you? what if she hurt them?

before you could think, you were standing in front of the group, the boys calling out your name as meiko’s face lit up. “so the precious little princess wants to take a stand! let me have it then, huh? let me see what all the craze is about!”

despite the fear thudding in your chest, you stood tall, glaring at her with your head held high. “the boys are not yours, meiko,” you declared, her mouth instantly opening in protest but you refused to let her speak.

“they aren’t possessions or objects you can own and treat like shit. they are people, real living, breathing people and they aren’t mine either. they have full reign to do what they want, when they want, to make their own choices and decisions. and you know what? they didn’t choose you or me. they chose themselves and their happiness over any bullshit you or i could try and sell them. so please, for the love of god, get your shit together, put it in a box and take it to fucking therapy.”

by the end of your impromptu speech, your chest was heaving but you felt good. really good. adrenaline was rushing through your veins and you felt powerful. out the corner of your eye, you noticed osamu and daichi standing at the bottom of the stairs with something akin to awe on their faces.

yeah bitches. take it all in.

unfortunately, while you were basking in the feeling of badassery, you completely missed meiko’s eyes lighting up with pure, unadulterated,

rage.

you faintly heard someone call your name before you were taken to the ground by meiko leaping at you like an animal. the two of you scrambled about on the hardwood, her hands yanking at your clothes and leaving scratches on your skin but you were sure as hell giving her a run for her money.

you finally managed to get on top of her, pinning her arms to the ground but that wasn’t before you gained a hard elbow to the side and a bruise to your face. meiko thrashed and shook in your hold but you were not wavering, trying to keep her entirely still for...

well, for what exactly?

almost as though they were on cue, you heard the sound of police sirens wailing in the distance, growing louder as they drew closer to the house. underneath you, meiko’s eyes widened before she began fighting even harder than she’d done before, her erratic movements making it much more difficult to keep your hold on her.

luckily, you had extremely muscular men at your disposal, one of which (osamu — even though he was a dick, he was still incredibly muscular dick) held down meiko’s arms as the lapd stormed the building.

the police officers easily retracted meiko from your arms and cuffed her, taking her to the back of the cop car, despite her loud and insistent threats on you and everyone you love.

very disney villain-esque.

a kind looking officer helped you to your feet and walked you out to the porch where he began to ask you and the boys a few questions. you answered them honestly and you were genuinely proud of how well you were handling the whole situation when—

“bubs, you’re shaking.” sure enough, when you looked down at your hands, you were twitching uncontrollably, the reality of the events that just occurred finally sinking in.

you were just attacked. again.

you and your friends were threatened.

meiko was sitting in the back of a fucking cop car.

“what the fuck,” you whispered, eyes staring unblinking at your palms. the same officer mentioned something about shock, prompting all the boys to gather around you; atsumu pulled you in between him and sakusa, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, kenma and bokuto took hold of your quivering hands, sugawara and oikawa sat off to the side watching you with blatant concern, and kuroo and akaashi spoke to the officer in hushed tones.

the man nodded and shook their hands before shooting you a pitying smile and heading back to the car where meiko was waiting.

“it’s over angel, ‘s over,” atsumu muttered into your hair, pressing kisses to your forehead in between each phrase. you leaned into his touch but you refused to take your eyes off meiko who was watching the whole scene from the backseat, her eyes wide with anger, hurt, and confusion.

you didn’t bother dwelling on it, instead focusing on evening out your breathing and looking at the car drive over the horizon. you heard yachi’s soft voice calling everyone inside, atsumu lifting you up to your feet and walking with you, never once taking his hands off of you.

still, his words echoed in your head, even as yachi spoke of the end of the hyper house, even as the boys brought you to your room, and even as they all automatically cuddled around you in an attempt to get you to sleep.

it’s over. it’s all finally over.

you couldn’t keep the grin off your face if you tried.

℗ poker face

it’s over

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - OK THE TITLE IS MISLEADING THE STORY IS NOT OVER YET SKENSM (there are 2 more official story chapters before all the endings :3) also m not the biggest fan of this chapter?? so i’d love to hear what y’all think <33 don’t forget to feed me!!

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @katsulovee • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @jooleuuh • @loubells • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saiKishaircLip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp • @keiarma • @shrimpypenis

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq smau #haikyuu x reader smau #haikyuu smau #haikyuu #hq x reader smau #haikyuu angst #hq angst #haikyuu fluff #hq fluff #atsumu x reader #osamu x reader #kenma x reader #kuroo x reader #bokuto x reader #akaashi x reader #daichi x reader #sugawara x reader #oikawa x reader #iwaizumi x reader #sakusa x reader #tw toxicity #tw toxic behavior #tw toxic people #tw toxic relationship #haikyuu social media au #hq social media au #℗ poker face

[mrs-march-ahs]

Kai Impregnating You As a Punishment

Summary- When Kai finds out you’re planning to avoid pregnancy behind his back, he acts immediately to make sure his plan for a new and better future isn’t ruined.

Warnings- Dub-con (I think), breeding/impregnating, car sex, unprotected sex, sexual punishment, daddy kink, arousal from crying, Kai Anderson. Words- 1.6k

This was a left over idea from Kai Week that I had planned based on a request, and I wanted to do it! Returning to car sex, fun! :D

Enjoy<3

--

“What is it Y/N?”, Kai forcefully asks.

“No honestly nothing”. You try your best to lie, but Kai always knew when you were nervous or worried. He also knew when you were keeping secrets from him, which is why right now you were completely screwed. Kai often looks through your belongings and does regular pinky power meetings to ensure that he knows absolutely everything about you. You know how some people say a little mystery is good in a relationship? He was certainly not one of those people.

With you now moved into Kai’s parent’s house with him and Winter, there is no place for you to hide your belongings. Not that you need to, usually. But sometimes when you get him a gift or have something to hide temporarily, you put it in your car, knowing he wont think to search it. But what you were hiding was no gift, but a stab in the chest.

He started being suspicious right away, when he walked past your car to get to his and your heart started pounding. He must’ve heard your heart almost escaping your chest and he instantly knew there was a reason you’d prefer to drive in his car instead of yours.

Kai sits in the passenger seat of your car, letting you drive for once, and stares at you as you start up the car, pretending nothing’s happening.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on or am I going to have to force it out of you?”

You look at Kai and shake your head timidly, but try to look and sound confident.

“No honestly I’m not hiding anything”

You mentally slap yourself the second those words come out of your mouth, revealing drips of information to Kai, knowing he’ll keep going after the truth no matter the cost. You look in front of you and put your foot on the acceleration for just a second, before Kai snaps at you to stop.

“Stop. Get in the back”. He unbuckles his seatbelt and puts his foot to the side, ready to climb in the back, but stops when he looks at you frozen.

“Kai’s there’s nothin-”

“Now Y/N”, he yells, making you flinch, and hops into the back middle seat. You quickly unbuckle your own seatbelt and follow him, wanting to sit by his side but instead being immediately bend in half over his lap. Kai grabs your face forcefully.

“Since you’re having so much trouble being honest with me”. Kai pulls your jaw down.

“I’ll help you spit it out”. With that warning said, Kai shoves two fingers deep in your mouth, making your lips wrap around the cold metal ring on his middle finger. After one quick thrust to the back of your throat, he takes his fingers out when you gag and keeps them on your chin.

“Are we gonna speak yet?”. You take a few deep breaths, taken back by his sudden, and new, actions.

“Kai everything’s fi-”

Not even letting you finish your words, he plunges his fingers back in your mouth, or throat, rather, and keeps them there for a few seconds. Your eyes begin to water as you accept your fate, knowing that Kai has a thousand different ways to get things out of you, and you must accept whatever punishment you get for making decisions behind his back.

“When I take my fingers out, you’re gonna tell me”. You cry out in response and he pulls his fingers out, holding your face and twisting it to look at him. He raises his eyebrow at you, making you speak.

“Glove compartment”, you manage to choke out, still slightly shaken from the brutal throat invasion. Kai pushes you off his lap, making you squish on the floor of the car, not daring to get up on the seat if Kai doesn’t want it. He stands up and leans towards the front of the car, opening the glove compartment and shoving out all documents in there onto the floor and seat, without a single care in the world. He rummages through your things, noticing your driving license and car documents, nothing too suspicious, before looking at a small green pharmacy prescription. He takes it and plops back down in the middle seat, reading it closely. Your stomach churns and your previous tears return as you’re torn between looking away from Kai, scared to make eye contact, and not wanting to peel your eyes off him to know his reaction. After a few seconds of angry reading, he rips the paper up and throws it around like confetti. Without even an angry word, he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls you up on the back seats, laying you down. He climbs over you, and watches your tears fall closely, completely captivated and aroused at the sight of you in distress.

“Oh, so you don’t want to get pregnant?”, he barks in your face, enjoying the way you flinch every time. “You don’t want to make a Messiah? And contribute to the fucking cause? You want to be useless?!”, he yells. You’re left under him, whimpering at his harsh words and shaking your head manically, hoping to make your situation better in any way you can. Even if it meant you had to agree with him.

Kai clenches his jaw and takes a deep breath before speaking again, calmer this time.

“Have you taken any contraceptives yet?”. You immediately shake your head no, and try to blink all of your tears away. Kai whips his belt open and unzips his pants.

“I just got a prescription to buy them… I hadn’t even got them yet”, you whimper out quietly, not sure whether more details will make him calmer or even angrier. He lowers his pants before grabbing your legs and pulling you closer to him, and undoing yours silently and ripping them off. Crying always awoke something inside of Kai, but this was different, like a mixture of a punishment for you and a treat for him.

He leaned down and moved your head to the side, attaching himself to your neck and sucking on it harshly. Although the rough side of Kai scared you beyond words, his tough love still made you feel special, and him sucking hickeys on your neck, no matter how unaffectionately, made you feel like he was marking you as his. Therefore, he must’ve cared about you, even if he chose to show it in an unusual way.

He puts his arms on either side of your head, towering over you, making you feel both intimidated and protected by him, before sliding your underwear to the side. He pushes himself against your crotch and groans in your neck.

“This… this is really special”. He groans, as he lines up with you, putting his tip inside of you without warning.

“Daddy’s never done this with anybody”. A rush of arousal runs through your body as a strong reaction to the new nickname. Kai wasn’t new to nicknames, Sir, Divine Ruler, even Master. But he never called himself daddy, and he could feel the affect it had on you immediately, as he slid in you with ease. Although he pushes in slowly, the charade of softness and love quickly fades away as he slithers his cold hand under your shirt and grabs your boob, kneading it and squeezing it in his hand.

You gasp at the action, making Kai smile and kiss you, just once. He continues to talk to you with his lewd words as he begins to thrust. You submit yourself completely to him, wrapping your legs around his waist, and your arms around his chest, bringing him as close as possible to you so you can feel his warmth. He gracefully accepts your invite and puts his chest to yours, still with a tight grasp on your boob, rubbing your nipple with his thumb.

“Daddy’s gonna massage them so much when they’re all full of milk”, he whispers in your ear. You open your eyes and look at Kai with a blank expression, expecting an explanation to the weird statement, but he doesn’t provide one. Instead, he looks at you with a smirk and speeds up, keeping up the pace of the thrust and the roughness of his touch on you equal. Involuntarily you gulp, accepting the very appropriate punishment.

“God, I haven’t masturbated in- oh fuck… - in days… this is perfect”, he speeds up his thrusts, and closes his eyes, no longer caring about watching you tear up or orgasm. His sole focus shifts to fucking you as deep as possible, and ensuring he can empty as much of his balls as possible, filling you up to the brim. To guarantee your Messiah.

The new pace makes you clench, and panting and gasping as he fucks you restlessly, going deeper than ever before. He pulls your legs up higher and folds you in half, so he can fit his whole cock in, hitting your cervix with every single thrust. Just as the grip on your legs gets tighter and his moans get louder, you’re overcome with pleasure, your first orgasm coming over you and completely distracting you from how uncomfortable of a position you are in. The feeling of you clenching and cumming around him brings Kai over the edge, settling in the first load of the night deep inside of you.

Kai groans as he cums and rests with his cock deep in you, and you wrap your arms back around him and try to pull him closer for a quick kiss before he pulls out. But instead, after a few stationary seconds, he puts his leg on the ground and thrusts again, at a different angle. You whimper at the sensitivity and as does Kai, but he doesn’t hault and instead looks down at you cockily.

“I hope you’re not tired yet, there’s many more where that came from”

--

taglist, dm or comment to be added or taken away, it’s no issue to me:)

@milly-louise  @amourtentiaa  @kitwalker02  @tatestripedsweater  @therenlover  @maria-akira         @tatesimper  @thxc0untessesgl0ve  @mossybank  @ahsxual  @mxlti-fand0m-imaginess  @mrs-march-ahs-biggest-fan  @kitwalkerangel  @kitisagoldenretrieverboy @darlingkitt  @blackbat2020  @elaineygrace  @kaiandersonskoolaid  @undeadcortez @whiiiiplaaaaash

#american horror story #ahs #american horror story cult #ahs cult #ahs smut #american horror story smut #kai anderson #kai anderson x #kai anderson x reader #kai anderson fanfiction #kai anderson imagine #kai anderson smut #evan peters #evan peters character

[venenatd]

last meal; jean kirstein x reader

summary: you and jean are in a relationship, and finally get some private time for a cute picnic date the day before he goes on the mission to marley. it’s v cute but also ur both horny!

content: smut / nsfw 18+. minors dni. (public/outdoors sex, dracylphilya, size kink, fingering, thigh riding, use of “good girl/baby”, praise kink, female bodied reader, unprotected sex, creampie) some fluff for good measure.

i am new to this pls let me know if i should add anything!!

word count: 3.3k words of unedited content

a/n: i saw a cottage core inspired jean post and this idea immediately popped into my head. i also kept thinking back to the sunset blush scene and it felt destined lmao. i thought it was gonna be shorter but i guess i get carried away lol. pls feel free to send me requests or ideas or give any advice on what you liked!! thanku!<3

Everything is painted with gold. The sun hanging low in the sky, despite the late hour, still warms your skin. You and Jean walk away from the Scout Headquarters, warmth of the evening allowing you to roam without coats. 

He’s in a tight cream shirt, braces holding up darker toned pants. A simple hat sits on his head, shading his eyes from the setting sun. You, a simple sage dress, loose and flowing around your legs. The long grass tickles your flesh, and the two of you laugh as you try running through the field, lifting your limbs stupidly high to jump over the pasture. 

Jean snorts at you, watching you flap around. The orange hue of dusk makes your hair shine, your skin glow beautifully. And as you look up at him, a wide and goofy smile spreading across your face, he can see all the flecks and details of varying colours in your eyes. And it takes his breath away. 

It was the last night before the end. He’s not sure of what, but it feels like the next chapter is to be finished when he closes his eyes tonight. Tomorrow he goes to Marley. Hange ordered all of their team to go relax for the final day at home. “We’ve gone over the plans enough, we know every angle! Go! Shoo!”

Hange was right. Going in and getting Eren home. It was engrained in Jeans brain. The scouts knew everything they were going to before they arrived. So tonight, it’s all about you.

You, with your skirt floating around you as you weave between trees, making your way to the clearing the two of you know so well. It’s where he first admitted feelings, where you first kissed. The others don’t know (or so you both think), and until he’s safe from his last mission, you’re not sure the two of you will ever reveal your affiliation. 

Pulling a blanket from the picnic basket you’ve brought with you, Jean lays it down on the ground. There’s a wide pond in front of you both, some ducks still paddling about. A thin haze floats over the water, the last of the summer heat still encouraging dragonflies and water skippers out. 

The light snacks you’d managed to sneak out from your job in the kitchen were delicious. You’d whipped up some light pastries and desserts from leftover ingredients. Even some strawberries and grapes. Whilst everything was miniscule from lack of provisions, it tasted good enough. 

Dipping the sweet red fruit from the cream and sugar and between your lips, Jean is in heaven. Your hair being pushed by the wind away from your face, the rosiness on your cheeks. The world may end tomorrow, but tonight he’s got all he needs.

His hands reach over, noticing the drip of cream collecting on the corner of your lips. Swiping his thumb along your cheek, he notes “you’ve got a lil..”

Jean looks at you, his eyes locking on yours, still gently cupping your face in his hands. Warm pupils flick down. His brows scrunch together for a moment, before he moves forward. His other hand comes up to your face, and he is so gentle when he kisses you. It’s as if he may break you if he goes too far.

The soft plush of his lips on yours, slowly pulling you in is intoxicating. He leans back on his forearms, pulling you over him, not letting you leave his mouth. You knock into his hat, it flopping off behind him as you lower your chest over his.

A hand reaches to his chestnut hair. It’s grown long over the last few years. You play with tendrils, the two of you lazily kissing. It’s soft and easy. You’re breathing into one another your chest resting on his as you move a leg to intertwine with his. 

Shifting yourself slightly, you rest directly above his thigh. Jeans hand comes to the back of your neck, making sure you don’t split the contact he so desperately needs. Your nails slide softly against his scalp, twisting into his hair with more want. 

The man, your man, underneath you curls forward, leg lifting and chest pushing up into you. Your crotch bumps against his thigh. A delightful little gasp erupts from you. If Jean wasn’t tongue deep in your mouth he could have even missed it. But he is, and he didn’t. 

He’s tempted to see how far he can take this, maybe make another first here. You’ve had sex, and plenty of it. Although for the most part it’s been rushed, the nature of your jobs only allowing for quickies. You both lived in shared rooms, and the lack of privacy was definitely a roadblock in his attempts to please you.

This clearing, in the outside meadows by headquarters, is maybe an ironic place for the privacy you both so need. Putting any doubt out of his mind, Jean lifts his muscular thigh, achieving another gasp into his mouth from you. You grind against it slowly, tentatively.

“No need to be shy, baby girl” he smiles into the kiss.

Cheeks rosy, you roll your hips along his leg. Jeans body rises further, leaning back casually on one hand, the other gripping the flesh between your waist and hip. He breaks the kiss that has been going on so long, wanting to take in all the ways your face displays pleasure. 

Your eyebrows knit together slightly. Your lips are wet with saliva, slightly parted as you give off little mewls each time your clothed cunt is brushed along his cotton pants. 

There’s a sweet and tender feeling building in your lower stomach. You can feel how wet you’re getting, the slow and methodical undulations generating a heat between your thighs. 

“Jean, plea-”

“You want more?” he’s quick to answer. Your head jumps and up and down, past the point of playing shy. 

His long fingers meet with your jaw once more, lightly skimming your features. He’s noting it all down in his head. Maybe he’ll even make a drawing of you. You pause in your ministrations, and a low tutting comes from the man. “No, no. Keep riding. Get yourself ready.” 

A delicious smile emerges on your face, and you bear down on his thigh. You take your hands on each leg, gripping onto the thickly built muscle underneath the cloth. A couple of fingers miss their mark, and you can feel how hard Jean is getting. Eyes flash between his crotch and his face, and he can sense how eager you are to please him. 

His touch moves from your jaw down, one finger slowly running along the centre of your throat. Jeans hand dips, slowly dragging his fingernails across each collar bone, down to the valley of your chest. Your breath hitches, and he moves away again. You shift your hand in response, moving it towards the joint between his thigh and pelvis, allowing your fingers to brush his clothed balls.

Wherever his fingers move leaves a tingling in their wake. They push towards your shoulder, teasing the fabric from each one. Your dress pools a little, allowing him to make his way back, this time taking your breast in his hand. Thumb brushes against your puffy buds, and a finger meets it to squeeze lightly.

Jean fully lifts off the blanket, sat up straight. He makes quick work of your dress, pulling it down and pushing it up. He grabs at your legs, going between light caresses and tight grasps, not knowing which to settle with. Finally he finds purchase in your ass, guiding you back and forth over his thigh.

You moan into his mouth, fully succumbing to the wetness surely dampening through your panties, the feeling of his fingers twisting and teasing your pert nipples. He raises his fingers from your chest, using his thumb on your lower lip to apply gentle pressure. 

Breaking the trail of saliva that connects you both, he pushes an index finger between your lips. You’re all too eager to suck on it, eyes looking dutifully at him. He inhales sharply between his teeth. His cock is so hard, so desperate to fuck into you. Jean wants it to be slow and beautiful, but he simply needs to have you. He wants you close to him before he leaves and doesn’t know if he’ll come back. And close means being inside you, hearing you in your purest form. 

The dusky pink settling on his cheeks could be the sun, low in the sky, filling the meadow with rich hues. 

Your moans could not be interpreted so wholesomely.

Fingers wet with your spit, he moves his hand between your legs, under the skirt. Pushing your panties to the side he lets you ride his palm for a moment. Teasing yourself, teasing your clit on his strong hand. He goes deeper, fingers sliding through your folds. He slips through your folds, resting at your entrance, before allowing your hips to rise and him to push knuckle deep inside you.

You reddened lips form a perfect ‘o’, and the bliss on your face is one he will remember forever. His thumb moves to your clit. Still on top of him, Jean watches you fuck yourself on his fingers. He kisses your neck, your chest. Taking your nipples and sucking, biting, nibbling. 

Your walls are closing in on him, before gently relaxing and he can tell you’re close. 

“Don’t be shy” Jean reissues his earlier statement. But now it’s far huskier, far more commanding. “I want to hear you, y/n. I want to hear you cum.” 

You’re watching his face, the words - orders - tumble from his lips. They make you flutter around his fingers. You murmur out tiny please’s. 

“What did I say? Louder, y/n.”

You moan against his neck, “please.”

Jean pulls your hair, making you extend your neck, forcing you to look up to the hues of pink and orange. “Louder.”

You’re so close. “Jean, p- please!” 

“Good girl.”

With that he’s flicking his thumb over your clit, fucking his fingers up into your cunt. The sounds of liquid and wetness only add to the noises of you cumming. Pussy clenching around his fingers, hips giving way and as your legs start to burn and shake. Jean holds you up, working you through your orgasm. He wants nothing more than to watch you fall apart, moaning his name. And then whining curses as you become oversensitive. Yet your gummy walls still suck him in, begging for more.

Leaving your tight walls, he brings the fingers to his lips. You taste tarte and sweet. Better than strawberries any day.

Your breaths are heavy as he twists the two of you, resting you with your back on the blanket. You are radiant. A green halo of grass above you, the dusting of pink on your cheeks, your lips kiss-swollen.

Jean pushes your skirt up, eyes trained on yours as you rest on your elbows. Your eyes follow his movements. How his tongue wets his lips before he drags them on your inner thigh. How his fingers dig in to pull you closer towards him. 

He pulls off your sodden panties, kissing into your hips, your belly. Jean is slow and deliberate. As much as he wants to be deep within you, he’s never had the chance to enjoy you this slowly before. 

He rises, kissing your breasts as they spill from the top of your dress. His tongue paints saliva on your lips before slipping between them. The kiss is intense. It’s deep and sloppy and so needy. 

Your hand reaches to his shoulders, thumb slipping underneath his braces pulling them off. Hands slip under his shirt, and he quickly helps you pull it off. His muscles are firm and taught, the amount of work his body has been through over the years evident underneath your fingers. You trail fingertips over stripes of knotted flesh, kissing each mark and scar after your hands move onto the next one. 

“You’re beautiful, Jean”

Jeans cheeks go rosy and he smiles so bashfully that it breaks you apart. The lopsided grin makes you pull him back into you, teeth bumping together as you giggle into the kiss. 

He unbuttons his pants, pushing them far enough down his thighs to allow more friction as he grinds into you. Jean is noticeably straining his underwear, his member long and hard. You move your hand down to cup him, squeezing gently through the cotton. You tug on his cock, leaving him stuttering into your mouth. Holding him just tightly enough, he ruts his hips into your hand, little sighs escaping his mouth into your hair. 

Tucking your hand under the fabric, you pull out his dick. It makes your hand look smaller, Jean’s member long and hard. The pink tip is slick with precum, and your thumb brushes his head slightly, earning a little hiss. 

You go from light little touches to harsher ones. Fingers brushing against the veins on his length, before you wrap around him again. He’s whining in your ear, “you like playing with my cock? Seeing what you do to me?” 

With hooded eyelids you look at his contorting face and whisper “yes, yes. I want to please you, I want to make you feel good.” 

“Such a good girl for me.”

Taking his member, you push the tip against the heat between your legs. Teasing your clit with his head, he looks down to watch you work. Precum lightly sheens over your folds, and fuck, Jean can’t wait to add to it. 

“I w-want you so bad Jean.” 

“You have all of me.” 

You hold him against your entrance, the tip of him just resting at your little hole. Pulling him in a little, he pushes against the first tight ring. It’s always intense letting Jean fuck you, making you so full. You rock your hips up, letting him slip out a little, before grinding back down. It pulls him into you so sensually. He moans unashamedly as you control the pleasure you both receive. 

Repeating the action, you lift again, pushing him out, and again tightening your stomach muscles to curl and bring him deeper inside you. His golden eyes are trained on where you’re conjoined. 

He’s halfway inside you, stretching your tight walls so much already. Jean sits back, moving his tongue around inside his mouth before letting a ball of spit fall where his cock rests inside of you. Spreading it on his length, he helps you the rest of the way. Letting your eyes widen and gasp of surprise (how are you always surprised by the feeling?) as he fully sheaths himself inside you. 

“God, you’re so tight,” he holds himself above you, head falling back as he inhales slowly.

Jean allows you a moment to breath, before he pulls back out, quickly snapping his hips back to yours. Moans tumble out of your mouth as he fucks into you. Lashes fluttering and your tits bouncing in rhythm, you are a sight for the sorest of eyes.

“You’re so pretty for me, all splayed out on my cock.” 

He pushes your legs apart, watching his length disappear inside you. Watching how one hand twists your own nipple, the other feebly trying to grab onto his wrist. He’s splitting you apart on his dick, the feeling of being so fucking full taking over. You were already sensitive from your last orgasm, but he builds another, the tightening in your core unmistakable. 

“J- Jean,” you hiccup, so overwhelmed by him. “You’re s- so big” 

“You’re taking me so well, y/n.” 

He lowers himself against your chest, bringing his knees upwards and closer to your ass. You curl up around him, holding your legs further up. Jean quickly renegotiates the position, pulling your legs around him whilst you hold under your knees. You can feel him so deep inside you this way, pulled into a ball underneath him. Jean wants to be impossibly close, and this new angle is punishing on your pussy. He can feel how wet you are between you, how much you enjoy the intensity of his cock working in and out. 

His forehead presses against yours, his hand snaking between you two. From his new angle, he can hit that sweet spot inside you so easily. His length sweeps against it, and hits into your furthest wall. He lets out curses as he feels your cunt tighten each time, mixing with the moans and mewls from you. You lock eyes with him, big doe eyes pricking. 

“Pl- please, I’m so close, Jean.”

Fat tears roll over your cheek, trailing to your temple. Everything feels too much. Him inside of you, the wet squelching between you. His strong fingers rubbing over your clit again and again. You let out a sob, followed by a moan. It’s a combination of knowing this is the last night, feeling how fucking intense his cock is inside you, hearing how much Jean needs you. He kisses your cheeks, tasting the salt, not faltering as he continues to pummel into you. 

“You’re doing so good, baby.”

His balls slap against your skin. 

“You can do it.” 

His teeth bite at the flesh of your breast, pull at your nipples.

“I want to hear you.”

His fingers play and roll with your clit, feeling the way you tighten around his cock.

“Please cum for me, y/n.”

Your back arches off the blanket, the night sky soaking up the moans. The lewd noises in between you both are all consuming, the slap of slick and wetness only adding to your full body sensation. 

His fingers keep moving on your clit, and Jean grunts each time your pussy spasms around his cock. He keeps pace, fucking you raw and with need. He loves to see your delicate face scrunched up, eyes rolling back and mouth unable to close. 

And with the tightening of your walls around him, Jean’s close. “Where do you want me?” 

“I want,” you inhale sharply, as his cock drives back into you, “you inside me- I- I need you Jean. Please.”

“You’re so good, baby, you’re so good.” He’s getting quicker, making you writhe beneath him in your overstimulated state. “I’ll give you what you want, okay? I’m going to cum inside your pretty pussy.” 

Jeans fingers are going to bruise you. He's holding onto you so tight, never wanting to let you go. It’ll be something to remember him by. Movements are starting to stammer, the sweat evident by the sheen forming across his shoulders and face. You tuck a tendril of his honey hair behind his ear. “I love you”, you whisper amongst the moans. And with that he pushes deep enough to make you cry out, feeling the hot ropes of cum painting your walls. 

Your man rests inside you for a moment, gathering his breath as he leaves languid kisses against your breasts, your jaw, your lips. He pulls out, seeing his cum drip from your pussy. Using his fingers he pushes the white around your folds, earning a sharp his when he brushes past your clit. Finally, he brings his fingers to your lips, and you put out a delicate tongue. 

Cleaning him with your mouth, he sits back, sighing softly. How can you be this good? And you like him? Jean thinks he is the luckiest man on earth. He adjusts your dress for comfortability, before dipping next to you. Your heads are lightly touching, your hair intertwined with his. Staring up at the sky as the last colour leaves it in its inkiness, he holds you close. He presses his final kiss on your forehead. 

“I love you too.” 

#jean kirsten x reader #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirsten smut #jean kirschtien #jean kirschtein smut #aot x reader #aot smut #attack on titan #attack on titan smut #jean smut #snk x reader #snk smut

[modx-reborn]

The first prefromance

Something I spoke of in a discord I'm in.

So here have Simpbur and CamGirl/Camboy reader doing a show with them after working his way into their close circle.

(Yes this plays off of the two cam asks I have gotten recently)

Also please know that real cam girls/boys aren't actually going to do this, this is purely fictional in its makeup.

SMUT UNDERCUT! MINOR DNI!

"That's it j-just like that, all the way like you should be taking me. S-shouldn't be here fucking my hand w-when I could be fucking you, such a pretty thing so good for me, but such a slut t-to let others watch you like this..."

That was the last thing he had said to you on your last private call, since then he had wormed his way further and further into your shows and even into a bit of your personal life, or well your on-screen personal life, as he had the phone number you kept aside for work, from your days as a more in-person performer.

And boy did he ever make use of the number, sending you little messages and photos whenever the thought struck him, peppering you in small doses of affection and savouring the way you called him sometimes when you skipped a stream, offering him to listen to you get off instead letting him hear when you spoke about the toy he had sent you. Sometimes even getting him to call and ask for you to listen to him, getting you to mutter things to him and work him that little bit closer to his end.

But now what you're calling for may just break your dear simp, having had all the fun you could with the silicon imitation he had made for you, that now your mind was thinking about how he would feel rather than the toy. 'S-shouldn't be here fucking my hand w-when I could be fucking you' his own words playing on repeat in your head after you close down your last stream, sending little thank yous to the top donators before moving to the call ping that was coming through.

It was him. Perfect.

"Ahh, there he is, my pretty top boy Simpbur!"

"That was quite the s-show, but what did you mean by you're w-working on something big with someone else?"

"Well, that's good that you asked my dear. You are always so good for me, sending those little messages and all those donations, I was thinking you may want to help me with the next stream..."

"Y-you want me to-"

"Mmhmm, didn't you say yourself that it should be you fucking me, or was it that you should be here in me rather than fucking your hand?"

It's easy to finish your sentence with a tilt of your head, tapping one of your fingers against your bottom lip as if you were actually trying to remember when truly you were just teasing the curly-haired boy staring at you wide-eyed through your screen.

"I. Yes. I-I mean I would love to if you want me to..."

With his agreement the rest of the call was spent hashing out the rough details and leaving him open to suggest what he wanted to do for the show, leaving him with a wink and a reminder to 'Keep it simple' before you logged out and started to pack up and clean down the space you had been working in.

There would be a few weeks between your last show and the next one, having all the platforms you used teasing the next stream with images of the silicone toy being front and centre in all the images, a tease for all your viewers but a reminder for your dear simpbur that he would be more real in your world in a few days. Even when he made up his mind on what he wanted it was still so very hard for him to not scroll back through the recorded calls and streams, take himself in hand and work through the building need.

But he managed to keep his hands off, having worked himself up even before the actual day of the stream.

When you call him, he picks up on the first ring as always chipper and shaky in the same breath as he says your stage name.

"There's my good boy! You ready for tomorrow? Your first time in the red light after all, just want to make sure you're still down and want to do this."

"I-I am. I'm good and... and ready for tomorrow."

With a laugh and a quick goodbye, you hang up, heading off to the regular place you booked for longer shows needing to set up lights and the cams now, otherwise you would likely not have time when your co-star finally made his way to you. And how right you were, the moment the time for the stream rolled around he was there at your door, hands fiddling with the bottom of his button-up, mask and beanie on as if you hadn't seen his face a million times before.

Welcoming him in is easy, but getting him to calm down just enough to have him read back what the two of you had planned took slightly longer. You had him keep his mask and beanie on, using them as a way to keep him from having his real-world life ruined from doing this one little show with you, the suggestion also seems to put some of his nerves to rest.

When the cameras do start rolling, the stream on a start-up timer for switching on to a live stage, your chat on a large screen hanging over your laptop that was actually hosting the show, messages flying past as people are lured in at the promise of a different kind of show and the tagline mentioning a guest star. When the cam starts showing the room you're seated on Simpburs lap, thighs spread wide over his with his hands holding you close while you do your intro, his masked face pressed into your shoulder as he mutters something under his breath.

Your form rocking back into him once you're were done, slipping a hand under his beanie and tangling in his curls, making him groan just loud enough that one of the many mics would be able to hear him, laughing and cooing at him as you reach down with your free hand to wrap around his cock, slowly running your fingers across the heated flesh.

"You'll be good for me won't you? So pretty and brave being here on cam with me, getting a treat that so many would die for..."

His voice falters when you shift your grip, tugging on his hair just as you start to actually move your hand to jerk him off, slipping your hand out of his hair you reach for a little remote, making the camera zoom in as you close your thighs around him, burying his cock between your thighs. Cooing at him once again as his hands are braced on your hips, using this to bounce you on him, head tilted back and panting as he fucks your thighs.

The exposed skin of his neck calling for you to leave a few marks across, a little gift for him to remember this day by, or well more than the stream recording of course, pink and purple marks blooming across his neck as he changes the pace moving you more and more until you can feel him throbbing between your thighs.

"Oh, sweet thing you're cumming already? Are my thighs that good? Can't even hold on for the main performance, or are you that eager for more that you would cum now and still keep going? Hmm, what is it, pretty boy?"

The only answer you receive is a deep groan and the warm feeling of his cum seeping from between your thighs, spreading your legs to show off the mess to your cam, letting everyone who was watching see the mess that he had made. Reading your chat gave you a wonderful idea, they wanted more and you wanted to see just how far you could push your dear simp till he broke and lived up to his wants to actually fuck you.

Flicking across the remote once again the camera angle changes, showing a side view of the bed perfect for what you were planning to do, the angle giving your audience the best show as you move off his lap and kneel on the floor. Holding his cock with one hand as you lean forward to lick a stripe up his shaft, cleaning his mess off with your mouth, taking him fully once most of him was clean looking up at him through your lashes once you have taken him into your throat.

Watching how his eyes go wide, hands shaking when they reach for your head, his eyes flicking up to the chat screen reading over some of the words telling him to fuck your face, to make you cry and drool all over him, and other wanting to be where he was, whining over text that they should have been the one there with you. The majority calling for him to do something, building a need to move in him, slowly he is moving his hips, still sensitive after having cum not moments before but the feeling of your mouth wrapped around him was spurring him on.

Before long his hips are moving properly, holding your head steady as he fucks your mouth watching how you look up at him every time he pushes into your throat, tears building and falling with how harsh some of his thrusts are, but the image just makes him groan. Throwing his head back once again as he works himself back up, trying to hold out and enjoy this feeling for a little while longer, only you had other plans pulling away panting as you take in the way he looks.

Flicking your hands cross the remote once again to switch cameras for the final time settling on one that would let your audience watch how good your dear simp was for you, let them watch how full he makes you feel and how pretty he looks when he cums, when he finally gets what he wanted.

"You ready pretty boy, ready to finally get what you want? What you told me about on all your calls? Take you all the way like I should be taking you?"

"P-please, fuck just please le-let me fuck you..."

In his rush to reach for you, his beanie had come off, brown curls falling out in a mess that you tried to cover again only to have your hands smacked away in favour of him pulling you up onto the bed with him. Throwing your thighs over his own reaching for the bottle of lube you had left waiting to be used, coating his fingers before pressing them into you working you open with one hand as the other is pressed to your shoulder keeping you from moving away from his probing fingers.

"G-God look at you, do-don't even need to work my way up to two fingers, already so r-ready for them... Ready for me."

To quick are his fingers gone replaced by the head of his cock, easing his way in as he moans, hands grabbing your hips to steady himself as he finally gets to feel what it's like to be buried in you just like his toy replica had been so many times before. There is little time between him being fully hilted in you and him starting to move, his hands moving from your hips to under your thighs ignoring the sticky cum still staining them, pushing them back and using the new angle to fuck into you as hard as he liked.

Wanting to have you drooling into the mattress and calling his name, making you remember him and him alone so that if you ever did another show like this, it would be his number you called. That if he did this good enough, fucked you good enough that it wouldn't be on camera the next time he got to fuck you, it would be at your home in your bed, him calling your real name not this stage name you work under.

He comes back from his thoughts when your voice cuts through them, high pitched and whining for him to let you cum, for him to keep going to let you have what you had given him earlier, to feel him cum in you this time.

"F-fuck you w-want me to cum in you? P-paint your inside with me..."

The chat if either of you could see it was still it was running a mile a minute, calling for him to do it, to cum and let them see how it will drip out of you. Others call for him to deny you, keep you begging for your release while he took his own, but neither of you could see those words and so your ends draw near.

"T-that's it, god feels so. So good around me, j-just like I thought you would..."

The rough pace he set becomes almost brutal when he cums, there will be bruises in the shape of his hands come the next few days but that thought paired with the sight of your dear simp losing himself in you was what tipped you over.

The end of the stream was much like the beginning, albeit with a mess of brown curls keeping the camera from seeing how the mask had been pulled down and soft kisses were being placed along your shoulders, the moment you had given the final thanks and turned off all the gear the hands that were wrapped around your waist were pulling you back onto the bed, keeping you as close as possible.

After all the pressure of performing for people falls away, it's easy to give comfort to the man curled around you, wanting him to be comfortable with what you had just done. Once again tangling your hands in his hair only this time to give comfort rather than tease, cooing soft praise until the grip around you eases slightly.

"You did so well, such a good boy for me..."

#c: simpbur #dsmp smut #mcyt smut #k: praise #k: exhibitionism #k: teasing #k: face fucking #k: overstim #k: thigh fucking #cw: sex work #mxad

[glowingbadger]

May I request something about Kaeya taking reader’s first time? Words cannot express how down bad I am for this man

So valid, Friend Anon- Kaeya is my #1 Genshin boy for a reason~

Kaeya x AFAB Reader's first time

NSFW 18+

Kaeya had been out of the city for the greater part of the week- "for work," he'd said, and you knew better than to press for details. Still, this was the longest you'd gone without seeing each other since he'd asked you to be his, and you'd constantly found your mind pulled back towards him. Not only worrying for his safety, though of course, that was an ever-present concern, but thinking about... well, everything about him that you missed.

Perhaps that's why, the moment you receive word to come meet him at his quarters, you make your way immediately to him and absolutely melt into his arms, leaning into his touch like a kitten. You feel his lips curl into his usual smirk as he kisses you, murmuring into the barest space between you,

"My, it feels rather nice to have been missed so much."

Instead of a reply, you tug him back to your lips by the front of his clothing, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. He laughs through his nose, but holds you close in turn. His tongue flits across your lower lip briefly, and your pulse races as need builds urgently in your lower body. You sigh against him, and Kaeya breaks from you, only to pull you by the hand towards his bed. The direct heat of his gaze makes it entirely clear what he has in mind.

Laying among plush blankets, Kaeya prowls up over you, and before long, he's filled your senses. His tongue drags warm along your neck, leading to a tender spot just below your jaw where he bites down. All the while, his hands trace an indulgent path along the curves of your body before settling at your hips, and he pulls you firmly against him. A subtle mixture of cologne and liquor sets your head spinning like a contact high, and it's all you can do to whimper out his name. Then, you feel a hard pressure between your thighs. Kaeya's hips sway sensually against you, grinding his clothed erection along your heat and waking nerves you never realized could be so sensitive. You gasp softly, your fists clench in his hair and clothing.

"Is this alright, darling?" he murmurs against your ear, the evident lust in his voice barely tamed, "I just thought, since we've clearly missed one another... it might be nice to celebrate our reunion."

"Kaeya, I..." your shy gaze meets his at last, "I've never..."

If you didn't know him so well, you may not even notice how his eyebrows quirk upward in surprise. His eye flickers down your body, then back up to your face. He brings a hand to your cheek gently, as though handling fine glass.

"Well now, isn't that something," he muses softly, "Would you like for me to be your first, Y/N?"

You chew at your bottom lip, just a bit nervous, but moreso excited. You nod, and take a breath.

"Yes, Kaeya- I... I want you."

"Then I'll be gentle," he says, and he's at least half sincere.

Clothing comes off in stages, and Kaeya explores your body at his leisure. Each inch of skin he gains is another pleasurable sensation for you to discover. His skillful tongue flicks at your nipples, his teeth nip down the center of your stomach, and at last, dexterous fingers slide between your thighs. Your breath catches, but his lips nuzzle into the crook of your neck as he whispers,

"Relax now, I'll make you feel so good you'll forget to be nervous."

It seems like posturing at first, but then, his fingertips press between the puffy lips of your pussy, and it's like electricity through your nerves. Slickened by your arousal, his fingers immediately find your clit and rub it gently but steadily. Your body arches up from the bed, only to meet Kaeya's hard body as he leans against you and kisses you deeply. His mouth receives your breathless moans as his touch becomes firmer and your thighs tremble around his hand. When you feel like your tender clit simply can't take any more, his fingers trail downward. Two digits gently press at your opening, only entering you the slightest bit as you adjust to the new intrusion.

"Mmm, you're so tight, Y/N," he coos softly, only barely parting from your lips. His fingers pulse rhythmically inside of you, pushing deeper slowly and steadily, while his hand maintains a consistent pressure against the nerves of your clit. Then without warning, his fingers curl upward at some indescribable spot, a weakness you hadn't known, and you gasp and cling to him. "This is only two fingers, you know," he goes on with that teasing lilt in his voice, "Are you sure you'll be able to take my cock?"

"Kaeya-!" you cry out as he strokes your inner walls more firmly, his pace picking up as he doubles down on that sweet spot. Then, your legs tense inward, your head tilts back on his pillow, and you feel your climax rush up through your core.

He pulls from you gently, then brings his fingers to his lips. Trailing his tongue along the digits, he savors the taste of your juices with a wolfish grin. As you work to collect yourself and steady your pounding heart, Kaeya kneels over you and draws your thighs around his hips. For the first time, you're given an angle to view his body in full. Your face warms as you size him up- he's all tight and toned muscle, a few stray scars from battles past- and then, your gaze travels downward. His manhood stands long and hard, the head flushed dark and the shaft decorated with bulging veins. Maybe he was right to tease you about fitting him inside.

When he says your name now, however, it's free of his usual flirtatious affect. His eye levels on you, and he says,

"Remember- just relax, and tell me if it hurts."

You nod without a word. Then, you feel the tell-tale heat of his tip pressing between your folds. Warm and wet from your prior climax, they easily part around him, until you feel the slight sting of his cock slowly pushing into your hole. When you look up at his expression though, his gaze is fixed squarely at the point where your bodies join. He watches his length gradually sinking into you until he's half-sheathed, then glances up to your face. You breath in and give him a weak smile, and he returns an unusually genuine smile in return.

"Gods, you're beautiful like this," his hand caresses down your inner thigh as his cock continues to drive deeper into you, "Look at you, taking me like you were made for me," he breathes out a low groan, "you feel wonderful, Y/N."

"You feel... big..." you murmur out, shifting a bit beneath him and doing your best to keep your legs spread for him. Kaeya chuckles, then hooks an arm under your knee and lifts your leg up as he leans over you. Deep blue hair spills over his shoulder and yours, spreading across the pillow and surrounding you in his scent. At this new angle, he's finally inside of you to the hilt, and his hips begin to rock steadily against you. You so warm at your core, and so wonderfully, incredibly full. At last, your lover seems to be falling into your shared pleasure as well. His breath is heavy, his hands grip at your hips more firmly, and he seems to be putting all of his focus into steadying his pace.

You feel yourself clenching and squeezing around him, and hear him moan out your name in reply. There's something so strangely beautiful about him now. His expression is oddly earnest, perhaps even vulnerable. Your heart thuds heavily against your chest. Kaeya thrusts deep inside of you, grinding the tip of his cock against that same wonderful spot that drove you to climax not long ago. Once more, you feel that delicious tension winding inside, and you whisper his name.

At the sound, something snaps inside of him. Kaeya kisses you, hard and passionate, pressing you down against the sheets. You feel the full length of his cock twitch, swelling against your gripping pussy with a surge of pain and pleasure. Whimpering into his kiss, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and hold him to you as you feel your second climax of the evening wash through you, somehow more powerful than the first. With the rush of this release, you slacken against the bed, breathing out his name with worship in your heart and voice.

And not long after, you feel his body tense. Kaeya's hips snap towards you, shoving his length deep into you once, then again. Then, his breath catches, and he pulls out from your soaked pussy. With a shock of sudden heat, he spills his cum across your thighs and stomach. There's so much more than you'd imagined. His cock throbs with each pulse of his release that pours out onto your skin, until at long last, he breathes out and meets your adoring eyes. Panting, he raises a hand to brush stray hair from your face with a charming, slanted smile.

With a last heavy exhale, Kaeya falls onto the bed beside you. He takes a moment before looking you up and down, then he chuckles and says,

"As delectable as you look covered in me, I think we ought to clean you up." You give a weak laugh and nod, though you may need a little longer to catch your breath. Kaeya takes your hand in his and draws it to his lips.

"The afterglow looks wonderful on you, darling."

#i don't even know if this is good lol #kaeya #genshin impact #kaeya x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin impact imagines #genshin smut #x reader #kaeya smut

[allegra-writes]

"The Game"

Tom Holland x Reader

NSFW

Warnings: Smut, daddy kink.

Golf is boring. You wanna play something else...

"Swinging on the front porch, swinging on the floor.

Swinging where we want, cause there ain't nobody home..."

Cherry Pie - Warrant

He should have known it was a trap. He should have known it from the very first minute. This was punishment, plain and simple punishment. Unusually cruel punishment. He didn't even know why he was so surprised, in fact, he should have seen it coming a mile away. After all, you were about as subtle as a train wreck. And that was exactly how you had hitted him. 

You had always despised golf, said it was snobbish and boring. But he always invited you to tag along just in case, because sharing one of his favorite activities with his favorite girl? That sounded almost like paradise to him. That was probably the reason why that morning, when you had jumped at the chance to join him at the country club, he hadn't suspected a thing.

Oh, how naive he was. How trusting of him. Because now, he had to play 18 while trying to conceal a throbbing, almost painful erection, watching you prance around wearing that. It was ridiculous. It was silly. It was cliche.

It was driving him completely insane.

Your little ensemble was straight out of some soft-porn movie set, he was sure of it: Keds, knee high socks… and a criminally short pleated skirt, especially designed to torture him. You guys weren't even half way through, and he was already about to snap, with his arms enveloping you, hands over yours on the handle of the club, as you bended over just a little, ass pressing against his pelvis just enough to tease him, to remind him how good it felt being buried to the hilt inside your tight, tight heat, the slapping sounds of skin against skin combining with your moans...

One of his hands let go of the club, subconsciously wrapping itself over your hip bone, when you moved, twisting, hips getting away from his. 

"Oh my god! I can't believe it, did you see that?" You turned around to face him, eyes alight with joy at having hit the ball for the first time in your life. 

And for a second, he felt bad. He was probably reading too much into it, chances were you didn't even know what you were doing to him. You were innocent in all that, it wasn't your fault not knowing just how damn irresistible you were, how hard you made him just by standing close to him…

Until he noticed the outline of your nipples under your white t-shirt, made almost see through under the bright sunlight. His eyes squinted in suspicion.

"Are you wearing any underwear?" He blurted out, cheeks immediately turning red, looking around to make sure no one had heard him. But there was no one around, not many people playing on a wednesday morning. In fact, you had the whole course pretty much for your selves.

His cock twitched inside his pants, but he shook himself, squashing the thought before it could take full shape.

You seemed to ignore him, as your face fell.

"I… don't think I was supposed to shoot it that way, though" 

Tom's eyes followed yours, but try as he might, he couldn't find the white dot he was looking for.

"Where the hell did it go?"

"I think it landed behind those bushes" You pointed to the far away patch of hydrangeas on the other side of the field. He couldn't help the snort that left his mouth,

"Yeah, that's not even close to where it should be!"

"Hey! Don't laugh at me"

"I mean, at least we know you have a strong swing" He let out between laughs

You rolled your eyes,

"Be gentle with me, this is my first time" 

The laughter died in his throat like you knew it would, as the innuendo hit him, eyes darkening as they roved over your body once again. You had to know what you were doing... 

You turned around so he couldn't see your smirk, as you started walking in big strides in the direction of the bushes, leaving him to struggle to follow you, carrying the bag full of clubs. 

It wasn't a bad sight, he had to admit, watching you walk ahead of him, your skirt bouncing with your movements, hips swaying gently from side to side. And it was even better as you reached the tall plants, parting the branches trying to see past them, bending over once again, your short skirt riding up your thighs, higher, and higher. He gulped, what little blood was left in his brain rushing south, as he saw the cleft where the round globes of your ass met your legs. You climbed on your tiptoes, and he choked on a groan: just a little bit more and the answer to whether you had or not any underwear on would be right before his eyes, literally…

"Found it!" You called out, victorious, falling to your heels again, walking around the lilac flowers, disappearing from sight, heedless to his disappointment. 

He knew it was a bad idea, as he trailed after you, like in a trance. But there you were, waiting for him behind the tall wall of bushes hiding you both from sight from every angle, mischievous glint in your eye.

The ball was nowhere to be found, and he finally understood.

Your stomach made a flip as Tom tugged at his glove with his teeth, discarding it on the green grass, his whole demeanor changing before your eyes, jaw squaring, eyes hardening, movements slow and measured as he circled you like a tiger stalking his prey. 

"You dirty little liar" He accused, watching the corners of your mouth twitch, trying to hide your satisfied smile, but it was useless: you looked every bit like the cat that got the cream. Well, he knew of another thing that looked great dripping down your chin…

"You think you're real clever, don't you? Really sneaky, teasing me all morning with this little outfit," He let his now naked hand trace your nipples, already hard under the fabric of your tee, making goosebumps erupt on your skin. He was right, you hadn't bothered with a bra, "making me hard with your little touches and smart mouthed comments…"

"Golf is boring" You shrugged, "I wanna play something else" 

He stepped back, away from you, leaving you feeling cold without his heat, despite the bright sunshine. 

"Too bad, baby girl, I'm done with games" His eyes were steel as he commanded, "Show me"

"Show you what?" You looked at him through your eyelashes, you knew how much he liked it when you played coy. But this time, he had told you the truth, the games were over.

"You know bloody well what" His south London accent was always heavy when his patience was wearing thin, "lift that little skirt and show me what's mine" 

You obeyed, and this time, he did groan, the wet patch on the simple white cotton of your thong almost better than his fantasies of your bare skin. 

He fell to his knees on the grass. God, he was so whipped! His plan had been to have you kneeling in front of him, choking on his cock as he fucked your mouth so deep and hard that tears would stream down your face. He would release himself down your throat, leaving you begging for his softening cock, his fingers, his tongue, his freaking golf club, anything to fill your empty little cunt. But of course all of that flew out the window the second he actually saw that pretty pussy through your panties, made almost transparent with your desire for him, the fabric clinging to every curve, every little detail clear for him to admire.

"Come here, baby girl" His tone was much softer as he spoke, "let daddy have a little taste" 

You did as you were told, never stopping to hold your skirt up high for him. Tom nuzzled the cotton, breathing you in before hooking one finger on the damp fabric, tugging gently to the side to reveal your most secret spot to him. He let his tongue poke out, placing kitten licks against your clit, eyes rising to meet your face. Your own were closed already, little frown between your eyebrows, as if the tiny shocks of pleasure coursing through your body confused you. So expressive. So responsive. 

How could he ever stay mad at you when you were so fucking perfect? It only took one taste of you to melt whatever was left of his anger, as he marveled of the angel whining so prettily above him, delicate fingers digging into his shoulders to support herself as her legs shook for him. It never failed to amaze him, to blow his mind. It had always been like that, he had put you up on a pedestal long before you had started dating. 

But now, he wanted to lay you down, and spread you open under the sun. 

He tsked at your huff as his tongue left you.

"No, baby, you don't get to complain today. You've been a very bad girl, so now," He helped you down onto your back on the grass, making quick work of your panties. Taking a hold of your ankles, he hooked them over his shoulders, aligning himself with your dripping center, "you're going to take my cock like a good girl" 

With that, he let his head breach you, entering you slowly, so slowly. Savoring every second, sliding in inch by inch, making you feel every millimeter of his thick, thick length as he buried it into your sweet pussy, stretching you to the limits of pleasure. He had you fold almost in half, as his pelvis finally met yours. You sighed, you had thought he would burst through your ovaries before he was completely seated inside you.

"Can you feel me, babygirl? Feel how deep I am?" 

You nodded, unable to form words. He relented, only a couple of inches, before surging back in. 

"Feel me stretching your tight little cunt? Fuck, it feels so snug…"

He drew back again, snapping back against you harder, making you cry out,

"Yes!"

"Only I can fill you like this" He breathed, in and out again, and again. And again, establishing a harsh rhythm, "This pussy belongs to me…" 

"Yes, daddy" You sobbed, obediently. By now you knew exactly what he wanted to hear. He tugged at your t-shirt, sneaking his hand under it, massaging your breast. 

"These pretty tits are mine…"

It was hard to concentrate with him railing you into the ground, fast, brutal. Making sure the base of his cock dragged against your clit just right with every thrust.

"Yours, daddy" You managed, somehow, earning yourself a smile. If wolves could really smile at lambs before gobbling them right up...

He leaned forwards, bracing himself on one arm, the other travelling from your chest, to your neck. To your jaw. His tumb caressed your lower lip, and you opened up to him. Two of his fingers slid inside your mouth, pressing down on your tongue, you sucked them eagerly, hollowing your cheeks just the way he liked. 

"My princess… so pretty with your mouth full" Tom praised, hips never stopping, plunging his cock into you as far as it would go, over and over again, "wanna fuck your beautiful face… but this pussy… feels too good"

You sobbed around his fingers.

"So good… won't let me go… a slave" His thrusts were becoming messy. Erratic. Tom took his fingers out of your mouth to flick your clit with them.

"No, Tommy! Too much…" You cried, pushing at his hand, overstimulated. But he wouldn't budge. 

"Don't care. You're gonna take it" He growled, but sweetly kissed away your tears. He needed you to come, fast. Because there was no way he was lasting much longer, and you knew what to say if you really wanted him to stop anyway. 

"Fuck… yeah, just like that" he could feel you tensing around him. You were almost there, and he was right behind you, "so good… gonna come, baby girl. Gonna come inside you…" 

You shook your head, too delirious to express it with words, but he knew. You didn't like feeling dirty, didn't like the smell. But he fucking loved it. 

"Oh yeah… gonna fill you up… and you're not getting those panties back" His smirk was devilish, filthy. And you were sure that, even without his cock jackhammering into you, you could have come from that look alone. "Gonna see myself dripping down your thighs as you walk…"

His movements were downright sloppy now, as his words edged himself as much as they were edging you.

"Gonna have you sit in the car just like that… ruin your fucking little skirt… OH, FUCK" 

You felt his cock swell, pumping his seed inside your loins. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from screaming, as his climax unleashed your own. Still, he kept moving,

"Gonna put your mouth around me while I drive…" There was no way the morning was ending without him having your mouth.

"Tom…" You could feel him begin to soften inside you, but he still wouldn't stop.

"Shhh, baby girl. Wanna make a mess…"

The end.

Buy me a coffee

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland fanfiction #peter parker #arvin russel #spiderman #the devil all the time

[phoenixyfriend]

Auntie ‘Soka and Little Leia (and Rex)

The counterpart to Uncle Ben and Little Luke (Original Post, Chrono)

Listen. You all knew this was coming.

This got... very long and detailed and I’m going to have to clean it up and post to AO3. As in, this was supposed to be 2-3k and is literally ten times that long. It crossed 25k. And the initial section actually glosses over a bunch, actual fic-style writing starts at “That, of course, is when things get interesting.”

Warnings: discussion of various canon traumas (most relating to being child soldiers), general PTSD, several scenes featuring dissociation or panic attacks upon being triggered, and canon-typical violence.

Rated T, gen.

I still want there to be de-aging nonsense involved so Ahsoka is physically a late teenager despite having a solid two decades of field experience behind her (we’re pulling her from Malachor).

Leia, much like Luke, is now six. She just came from being a rebellion general. She is not happy about being a child. She was already short, this is just mean.  She’s a human espresso.

UNLIKE BEN, Ahsoka is not happy about this turn of events. Being seventeen-ish is not helpful in the outer rim. She’s a female togruta, young and healthy, and in the Outer Rim, caring for a small human child. Sure, she has her lightsabers and plenty of combat experience, and she can keep them safe, but she’s just one person, and a major target for those looking to make some quick cash. It doesn’t matter how good she is; she needs sleep at some point.

It makes my heart happy to treat Ahsoka and Rex as two halves of the same black ops specialist so you know what, he’s there too! He’s physically like... 10-12 in natborn, maybe. They’re not sure, because clones age weird. He’s moderately more useful than Leia (who is very competent but also physically six, and short for that age), but he’s still... very small.

Reminder that none of them have been born yet.

Ahsoka has a harder time explaining WHY she has children with her, since she's barely more than a kid herself, and clearly unrelated by species. She sometimes just says “Oh, my adoptive brother’s kids” since it’s kind of the truth for Leia and she’s not touching the actual truth about Rex with a ten foot pole.

Ahsoka definitely knows about Leia being a Skywalker, or at least has suspicions that Bail never outright confirmed but was conspicuously quiet about. She does tell Leia about it, but it’s not like that means anything, right? Just, you know, your dad was my teacher! I don’t have to tell you he became Va--oh shit, you already knew that part. Well, fuck. What do you mean he had a son? OH SHIT, PADME HAD TWINS.

Alt take for explaining why she’s got kids: She’s my foundling, I know her name as my child (Leia shut up!!!)

(Ahsoka can fake Mandalore. Sometimes.)

That said, there is... significantly less gambling and significantly more theft to get to Coruscant.

As previously stated, Ahsoka is a black ops kinda gal, and more importantly, she looks like a fairly attractive young woman in the Outer Rim, with two children in good health. She’s a target, and also not the kind of person one generally gambles with. If she does gamble, people get upset when she doesn’t lose, in ways they don’t get upset about Ben doing the same, because she’s, again, a cute teenage girl. It’s exhausting.

As things go, she largely ends up stealing from people who deserve it and/or smuggling herself and her charges into someone else’s ship. They’re small, they can hide. Sometimes she can get them all passage by working as a mechanic, she’s good at that.

Once they’ve got a handle on when they are, they have to decide on Names. None of them have been born yet, so technically they could use their own names without anyone Knowing. Rex and Leia might not even be born, depending on how successful they are at, you know, stopping the war and everything. Ahsoka, though, she’s going be born in two years, and there’s no reason to prevent it, so... she doesn’t want to steal baby-her’s name. That would be mean.

Leia is already calling her “Auntie ‘Soka” when she can for reasons like “selling the bit” and “manipulating adults” and “making us both feel better after we had a mutual breakdown about Anakin being Vader.” Ergo, she decides that whatever new name she picks better include that in some way, and decides on “Sokari” because it sounds pretty.

Overall, they don’t... they don’t actually make it very far before there’s an Incident. Again, teenager with small children. They spend a lot of time hiding out in space ports looking for an opportunity.

That, of course, is when things get interesting.

Specifically, Ahsoka spots a Mandalorian.

She doesn’t recognize the armor. She does recognize the sigil, and thinks ‘well, they’re more likely to help than some,’ because from what she’s heard, the Haat Mando’ade are Decent People Overall. Her view is a little biased, mostly on account of the sheer level of grudge she has against Kyr’tsad. It’s fine! The True Mandalorians have the same grudge, right? And Mandalorians like kids and Ahsoka hasn’t slept in five days and it’s fine. It’s fine! IT’S FINE.

“Oh shit,” Rex whispers, before she can suggest anything. “Oh fuck.”

“Stop cursing,” Leia hisses, elbowing him. “People are going to notice.”

“That’s the Prime,” Rex panics, mostly quiet. Ahsoka’s heart drops, because fuck is right. “That’s Fett.”

Leia isn’t impressed. Ahsoka just angles herself between Fett and Rex and hopes that he doesn’t see them. That’s just asking for trouble.

Unfortunately, Ahsoka is in fact running on none sleep with left trauma, and doesn’t notice Fett walking up and dropping into a seat across from them until he’s actually done so, removing his helmet to glare a little more efficiently.

“Wanna explain why your kid has my face?”

Ahsoka later tells herself that he’s killed Jedi and that’s why he can sneak up on her, and that she can be forgiven some slip-ups with the exhaustion being what it is, and that she’s obviously going to be dealing with some emotional instability in light of the sudden return of teenage hormones and new forms of anxiety that are markedly different from those she was dealing with a few weeks ago.

What Ahsoka wants to say is “that’s kind of a long story,” or “maybe he’s a cousin,” or “kriff off, I don’t know you,” or maybe even “he’s a clone.”

What Ahsoka actually does is burst into tears, which is embarrassing for her, for Fett, for the kids, and for the entire rest of the bar.

It really is the straw that broke the eopie’s back. Even when she was actually this age, she didn’t exactly cry much. Objectively, Fett quasi-aggressively asking a valid question shouldn’t send her into a panic. She’s been through torture and worse. She shouldn’t be crying.

But she is, sobbing her eyes out with no control, and he’s just sitting across from her and looking uncomfortable while Rex wraps his little arms--oh Force he’s so small--around her, and both ‘children’ glare at Fett.

“So, I’m going to take it she didn’t kidnap you from a loving family or do something illicit with a blood sample,” Fett says, after it becomes obvious that Ahsoka’s not going to be ready to talk any time soon.

“She didn’t,” Rex says stiffly, with just the right emphasis for Fett to catch what’s implied. Ahsoka just keeps her head down, eyes pressed against the heels of her palms, trying to get her body to stop rebelling against her.

Fett’s eyes dart to Leia, who folds her arms and draws herself up, every bit the unimpressed princess. “My father claimed her as a sister, so she’s my Auntie ‘Soka.”

The man dithers a bit, the conversation clearly not going where he’d expected. “Right,” he says. “You--you’re all kids. I thought she was a little older, at least, but I didn’t have a good look at her face before.”

She is older, but actually admitting that is only going to make this worse, both for her pride and for her chances of making it out alive.

“Where are you staying?”

“What?” Leia bites out.

“You’re kids, you’re alone, and you’re clearly not okay if you were trying to hide the one with my face as blatantly as you did, and then... whatever this is, when I confronted you,” Fett explains. Ahsoka lifts her head to glare at him, but it’s probably not doing much with the way her eyes are rimmed with red and still wet. “Don’t give me that look, ad’ika, your kids looked as confused and horrified by that as the bartender did. They obviously didn’t think it was normal either.”

Well, kriff you too, Ahsoka thinks.

“And what do you mean by ‘blatantly,’ here?” Leia challenges. It’s adorable, but Ahsoka watched this tiny girl shoot a man last week, and wonders when people are going to start taking that seriously.

“There’s a lot of people in this galaxy, and I don’t exactly have the clearest memory of what I looked like at that age,” Fett says, slow and careful like he thinks they’re dumb. Ahsoka decides to chalk it up as being because Leia’s visibly six. “I would have thought it was just a coincidence if you hadn’t put in effort to hide him.”

Leia huffs, and Rex glares harder. Fett just sighs, like they’re all going to give him grey hairs.

“You can explain whatever the hell’s going on,” Fett says. “I’ll let you stay on my ship, there’s a spare bunk and you’re small.”

“For free?” Rex demands.

“A night on a bunk in exchange for information,” Fett clarifies. “We can negotiate from there.”

Ahsoka takes a few moments, notes that both of the others are waiting on her for the decision, and cringes. She doesn’t feel steady enough to carry that. She has to anyway.

“Rex?” she asks, voice rasping after the breakdown of the past few minutes.

“Yeah?”

“How much?”

He looks up at her, eyes calculating, and grimaces. “We don’t want Order 66. A warning is better, even if we... share information.”

She nods, and turns to Leia. “Any premonitions, princess?”

Leia glowers, cute and furious. “No.”

“No, don’t tell, or no, you aren’t getting any vibes about sharing info one way or the other?”

“The latter,” Leia clarifies, huffy to the last.

“Right,” Ahsoka says, and then just... hesitates. “Fett...”

“You’ve got conditions,” he guesses.

She bares her teeth in what could have, through a squint and perhaps a few drinks, been called an apologetic smile. “Just one, really.”

“Yeah?”

“No hurting, killing, or turning us in for bounties,” she says. “Any of us.”

“You’re children, I wouldn’t.”

She blinks at him, slow and careful. She hesitates. She reaches down, out of sight, sees him stiffen.

She unclips her sabers from her belt and puts them on the table.

His eyes are fixed on the weapons the second they enter his line of sight, and don’t move as he clearly realizes why she made the condition she did.

“I left years ago, because I couldn’t stay without it ruining me,” she says. Still slow. Still careful. She’s so tired. “But if I want to keep Leia safe, I have to get back to Coruscant.”

His eyes finally lift from the sabers, expression blank. “Just her?”

“Rex doesn’t have the same monsters coming after him,” she says. “If it were just me and him, I’d worry less. Leia’s a different kind of target.”

“You’re putting a lot of faith on the table by telling me that,” Fett says, voice flat and toneless. “Considering my occupation.”

“She’s a child,” Ahsoka says, feeling heavy and boneless. “Even with what I was and will be, even with what money you would get from the right buyer, you wouldn’t.”

“There are other risks.”

“There are.”

They stare at each other for too long, probably, and then Fett jerks as Rex kicks him under the table. The boys glare for a moment, and then Rex says, “If she weren’t good, I’d still be a slave to those who grew me.”

Fett blinks, and then nearly growls the word, “What?”

“She freed me,” Rex reiterates. “While I was trying to shoot her.”

Ahsoka lifts a hand and puts it on his far shoulder, pulling him into her side. She doesn’t meet Fett’s eyes again, because part of her is back on Mandalore, dodging her own soldiers and crying out as her family dies across the galaxy.

Fett breathes in. Breathes out. He puts a hand to his head, visibly frustrated. “Fine. A good Jedi kid, and two smaller kids, one of which is apparently in some way mine.”

Rex makes a face, which is fair, but also not helping.

“To the ship,” Ahsoka says, putting her sabers back on her belt and sliding out of the seat. “I’m... I’m Sokari.”

“You already know my name.”

“I do.”

---------------------------

Fett watches her like she’s a predator, which has the benefit of being accurate and slightly flattering. She lets other two take care of most of talking, and then Fett tells her to sleep first, and talk in the morning.

“You’re dead on your feet, jetii,” he snorts. “And that crying jag didn’t do you any favors. Sleep.”

So she does, and Fett doesn’t even wake her. He just lets her sleep. He watches her in the way of a guard. She sees him when she gets up to use the ‘fresher in the middle of the night, but he doesn’t even comment when she collapses right back into the mediocre cot she’s borrowed for the cycle.

Rex and Leia are safe, her hindbrain tells her, even in the depths of sleep. Her mind curls around theirs in the Force, and she trusts that they are here. They are not happy, but they are alive and unharmed, and that has to be enough.

When she stumbles her way to true wakefulness, groggy and loose-limbed, Fett greets her with caf.

“The kids wouldn’t let me near you,” he tells her.

“They’re good,” she says, cupping her hands around the mug. She feels wobbly, in every sense. Her body, her mind, her emotions, her connection to the Force. Nothing is on-kilter right now. “Did they tell you anything?”

“They waited for you,” he says. “But the little miss needed a nap of her own. They’re down in the other bunk.”

“I didn’t notice,” she admits. She should have. She’s Fulcrum. She’s a veteran of the Clone Wars. She’s... she’s supposed to be better than this.

“How long?” he asks, and then when she squints up at him, he clarifies. “How long did you fight?”

“My last fight--”

“No, whatever war you came out of,” he says. Her chest twists cold. “I don’t know if the Jedi sent you into it or if you waded in yourself once you left, but you move like a soldier.”

“I was,” she confirms. “But... but I don’t want to talk about the details. Not until the other two are here.”

He frowns at her. “Is there anything you can talk about?”

She shrugs and looks away, trying to take solace in the warmth of the caff she holds above the table, as if it can hide her, guard her, from the disgraced Mand’alor across the table.

“Jedi?”

“I’m not officially a Jedi,” she says, voice quiet. “Not anymore.”

“Then what do I call you?” he asks. “We’re not exactly close enough for names.”

“Torrent,” she says. “It’s not--I can’t claim my family name anymore. But I can claim Torrent, so I will. And if you want a title, I was a commander.”

“Bit young for that.”

“I got the rank when I was fourteen,” she says, and watches his face do something complicated and unpleasant. “Don’t. I know your own culture puts children on the field that young.”

“Not in command.”

She shrugs. “Yeah, well... the soldiers were technically younger. Adults, but...”

Ahsoka can see the way he casts about to figure out what species grows at that rate. He guesses a few, and she shoots all of it down.

She won’t tell him. Not until Rex is awake.

This part of the story is his.

--------------------------

When Leia tries to sit alone, a foot away on the bench like a proper adult, Ahsoka refuses to let it happen. She pulls the younger girl to her side and quells protests with a glance. It’s a decent skill, but she’s not sure how long it’s going to work on her niece-in-spirit.

“Your body needs the chemical release of skinship,” she says, and Leia glares at her. “I spent way too much time with the boys to not know about this. Deal.”

Rex sits close enough to knock their knees together under the table, and his warmth is the old comfort she needs.

“Do you want the story you’ll believe, or the truth?” Ahsoka asks.

“What’s the difference?”

“One of them involves something so impossible that even most Jedi wouldn’t believe it,” she tells him.

Fett folds his arms and leans forward to rest them on the table, challenging but oddly open. “Try me.”

“Time travel.”

He blinks, just once, fully controlled. “That’s a tough one.”

“There were only three Jedi left alive when I died,” she says. “Or... whatever it is that happened to me. I think I died. All I know is that one moment, I was thirty-two and dying, and the next, I was... seventeen again, and had these two with me. All of us younger than we were. None of us have even been born yet.”

She refuses to look him in the eye. “They both outlived me by... six years, maybe. Got caught up while traveling instead of dying. Leia was twenty-two. Rex was thirty-five. I’m not technically the oldest anymore. I mean, physically I am, but that doesn’t mean anything, and it’s not exactly doing us any good, and--”

Rex bumps his shoulder to her arm. “I dunno, Commander. I’ve spent a long time looking older than I should. Nice to look younger for once.”

She shoots him a small, pained grin. “Could be worse, yeah.”

“Let’s say I believe you.”

Her attention snaps back to Fett, who’s looking damnably blank, and is showing even less in the Force.

He waits a second for her to relax back into her seat.

“Let’s say I believe you,” he repeats. “How’s ‘Rex’ connected to me? What’s so special about Leia there? And what war did you fight in that has you acting like a veteran?”

“Three years in the clone wars,” she whispers, glancing to Rex and forcing herself to not go for her sabers to defend against an attack that her paranoia says is coming and the Force says is not. “Then almost all the Jedi were wiped out at once, and I spent a year... drifting. Then black ops for the next fifteen.”

“Black ops,” he repeats, still damnably flat.

“There was a Sith Empire,” she says, and she can hear her own tone growing somehow emptier. “Glassing planets. Enslaving entire species. Committing genocides all over. Of course, there was a rebellion, and of course I joined it. I was one of the only people left with Jedi training. For all that I’d left the Order, I still had a duty to the universe.”

His eyes flit to Leia, who shrugs and tries to look prim. “I was adopted and raised by one of the founders of the rebellion, a movement built on the desire to instate freedom and democracy in a galaxy that had lost even the pretense.”

“That why you’re special?”

Leia smiles, thin and patronizing. It doesn’t fit on her little face. “I’m special because my biological father was one of the most powerful Force users in history, and his Fall to the dark side and choice to become a Sith is why the Emperor’s rise was nearly uncontested. I do not like power, but it’s in my veins and I can’t change that. Force users are... a lucrative trade, and I’m still the size of a child, so I can’t fight back. I’ll be safer in the Jedi Temple, even if I don’t want to be a Jedi.”

Fett looks to Ahsoka, makes to ask a question, and then shakes his head. Not the time, maybe.

“So, that’s all... very complicated and I don’t know how much of it I believe, but it doesn’t explain...” he trails off, and sighs. “My kid, or whatever you are. I heard you mention clones.”

Rex grins. It is not a kind expression.

“Let me tell you about Kamino.”

---------------------------

Ahsoka has no idea if Fett believes them. Either he thinks they’re telling the truth, or he thinks their delusional kids. Whatever the case, he offers to take them closer to the Core. Ahsoka quietly offers to take a look at his engine in return, and then pretends not to notice when Fett awkwardly drifts to and away from Rex.

“They put chips in our brains to make us kill the Jedi we respected, cared for, even loved. I tried to shoot ‘Soka, Fett. She was seventeen and risked her life to get that chip out of my head while I was trying to kill her. I have never hated myself more than when I woke up and realized what I’d almost done, and I was one of the few that were able to fight it. I heard the stories of dozens of brothers who woke with their chips having degraded and chose to eat their blaster rather than live with the guilt of the orders they’d followed without question because of a thrice-damned Sith slave chip in their head.”

“So no, I won’t call you father or acknowledge you as clan until you do something to prove you’re worth it, shared blood or not.”

What Ahsoka does get out of the arrangement, for all that Fett’s route mostly takes them on a meandering path that isn’t faster than their previous system, is sleep. She gets to rest. She gets to trust that Fett won’t kill Rex, out of guilt for something he hasn’t done, that he won’t kill Leia out of a worry that she’s just a delusional child, a real child, that he won’t kill ‘Sokari’ because it would ruin any chance of gaining Rex’s favor, ever.

She’s not safe, won’t believe she can be until she’s in the Temple and Sidious is dead dead dead, but she’s safer than she’s been in a long time.

Every night, Ahsoka wakes up and stumbles to the little galley, deaths and torture sparkling behind her eyes with the energy of a thousand lost Jedi, ten thousand mourned brothers and sisters.

She is not the only one of their little group to be a survivor of a near-total genocide, but Rex could not feel his brothers die in the Force, even if his nightmares featured what they heard of suicide missions by the emperor’s favored shock troopers, and Leia had... Alderaan had more off-world survivors than there had been Jedi at all.

It’s not worth comparing their pain. It’s stupid to even think it. Part of her can’t help but do it anyway.

“Caf?”

She feels a lek twitch in response to the voice of the only other person on board who can reach the top shelf. “I probably shouldn’t.”

“Whiskey?”

“That’s a definitely shouldn’t.”

“Hoth chocolate?”

“...please.”

She doesn’t lift her head from her arms until the mug clicks down in front of her, ceramic on plastisteel.

“Do I ask what it was this time?”

She shrugs. “It’s hard to explain to non-sensitives.”

“Try me anyway.”

Ahsoka twists the Hoth chocolate in her hands, takes a sip as she thinks. “The Force isn’t just one thing. It’s... energy and philosophy and spirit, a sense of being that ties the entire universe together. Sentient and inanimate and living and dead, empty space and lush forests and stifled cities. For those of us who are sensitive to it, it’s possible to feel the life of everyone around you, theoretically possible to feel entire systems. If you have a Force bond, like a master and padawan, that can stretch across planets, even systems if one or both are particularly powerful.

“So just... just imagine, for a moment, what it’s like to feel the screaming of all those Jedi in the Force as their trusted men shot them down.

“Some of them were close enough that I could feel them die,” she manages. “I... it’s horrible. It’s horrific. It’s not something I can ever forget, and I want to. I want to forget what that moment was like. Not that it happened, but...”

She can feel the tears. Fuck..

“You want to dull the edges.”

“Don’t we all?” she asks, scrubbing the back of her hand across her eyes. “Leia lost her entire planet, billions of people, and she was forced to watch. Rex... Force, I can barely imagine, and I was there for most of it.”

Fett watches her, measuring. “From what he said, they were as much your brothers as his, by the end.”

“No,” she immediately denies. “They could have been, maybe, but the ones I was closest to died earlier, and then I left, and by the time the Empire rose, all but a handful were... no. Rex, I will claim as a brother in all the ways that matter, but I don’t get to do that with the rest. I don’t have the right.”

“You’re hard on yourself.”

“Fate of the galaxy, my good bitch. Guess who’s got it on her shoulders.”

He snorts at her, and nods at the mug. “Drink your Hoth chocolate. We’re landing in eight hours, and you’ve got kids to look out for.”

---------------------------

There’s a twitch in the Force when they land, something pulling at her in a way she barely feels. She’s had her shields up so fully for so long that it’s natural to hide away what she is to the point where she can hardly tell what anyone else is, either. It takes more than a moment to remember how to let herself spread out across the world.

“Auntie ‘Soka? Why’d you stop?”

She doesn’t have an answer to Leia’s prodding question. “I don’t know.”

It’s almost familiar. Old and half-forgotten, not the same as what she remembers, but--

“This way,” she says, and wanders off into the crowd. Leia and Rex follow without question. Fett curses and rushes through the rest of his transaction with the docking attendant. The sound of him jogging after them is almost funny, with the armor, but she can’t focus on that.

Ahsoka slips between people with the ease of a career built on such a habit, children trailing like ducklings. She knows this feeling, she knows this person, what is she missi--

“Oh,” she breathes, going stock still. She knows that face. She knows those braids. She even knows the presence.

Younger than Ahsoka had ever seen her, but unmistakably Master Billaba.

“Torrent, what the hell?” Fett demands, finally catching up. “You can’t just run off like that!”

“It’s Depa,” she says, eyes still fixed on the woman parsing through a datapad with an irritated vendor. She has a padawan braid. It doesn’t feel like Master Windu is on-planet, so this might be a solo mission, a... oh. Senior Padawan, Knight Elect. This is the kind of mission taken to test if she’s ready to be promoted.

Ahsoka feels light-headed.

Fett waits for her to elaborate, but she can’t. This was Kanan’s master. This was a member of the High Council. This was a woman who died and--

“You need to sit down,” Fett says, not a touch gruff. He puts a hand on her shoulder and guides her off the main walkway. “I’m... going to talk to the woman in the Jedi robes. You three just stay there and don’t get kidnapped.”

Ahsoka nods, feeling like she’s not quite inhabiting her own body.

It’s Depa.

Her eyes track Fett without conscious control, and her montrals pick up the sound.

Depa looks up when the armor comes close enough, free hand tensed in a way that says she’s preventing herself from reaching for a saber in reaction to the heavily-armored individual standing several feet away.

“Mando,” the woman says. “May I help you?”

“Are you Depa?”

Depa doesn’t do anything so dramatic as gape or step back, but she does blink rapidly for a moment. She then folds her hands down in front of her, drawing her spine up ramrod straight. “I am Jedi Padawan Depa Billaba, yes. May I ask why it is that you need to know?”

Ahsoka imagines Fett grimacing, or rolling his eyes, or maybe dithering. She can’t tell from this angle, and he has a helmet on besides. It turns his awkward silences into judgmental ones.

“I’ve had some Jedi kids on my ship, hitching a ride,” he says at length. “One of them recognized you and then just... froze.”

“You have our younglings in your care,” Depa says, carefully not accusatory, but close enough to be a warning.

“Not quite,” he says. “The one that actually came from the temple is seventeen. One of ‘em isn’t Force Sensitive, and the last one is but hasn’t been to Coruscant before. They’re trying to get the little one to the Temple for her own safety.”

Depa considers that, and then passes the datapad to the vendor. “Lead on.”

It’s surprisingly simple, really. Fett did all the talking.

And then Depa is standing right in front of her.

“Like I said,” Fett sighs. “She froze up.”

“Hello,” Depa says, hands laced together inside her sleeves. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Ahsoka shakes her head. “I know of you. I’ve seen you spar. You’ve never spoken to me.”

All true. A little misleading, but it’s fine, it’s all fine.

Depa waits a moment, and then says, “You seem to have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“Sokari T-Torrent,” she manages. The words feel clunky in her mouth, the sound abrasive for all that it’s just her own voice, no different from usual. A little shaky, maybe. She can feel a cool breeze on her upper arms. Shouldn’t she have armor? She should have armor. “It... it’s been a long time since I’ve seen another Jedi. I’m having a hard time believing you’re real.”

“I see,” Depa says. “Perhaps we should take this somewhere more private? You seem a little unsteady.”

Ahsoka lets herself be led back to the ship, in the company of Mand’alor Jango Fett, Jedi Padawan Depa Billaba, Princess-General Leia Organa, and good old Captain Rex.

It’s like the start of a sick joke.

---------------------------

Fett and Depa talk where she can hear, but they rarely address her directly. Both seem to realize that she’s not particularly useful right now. Leia and Rex are pressing up against her at the little table in the galley, and Ahsoka lets them.

This is real. She can feel Depa in the Force, recognizes her energy even if it’s not quite what it will-was-could-have-been. This is happening.

It’s a textbook Traumatic Stress Response case, one of them says.

Fett has his helmet off. Ahsoka’s sure that’s wrong for some reason. She thinks he might already be on wanted lists. Should she worry about Depa trying to arrest him?

Depa asks about Rex at one point. Fett tells her that someone cloned him without his knowing, but the kid is more comfortable with Ahsoka so they’re still working on what that means for him.

It’s more or less true. Rex squeezes her hand the one time someone suggests separating them. She’s not letting that happen unless Rex wants to leave for whatever reason. They’ve worked apart before. They can do it again.

“Auntie Soka? You’re shivering.”

Is she?

Leia cuddles in closer, and Ahsoka runs a hand over her hair. It’s an absentminded motion, and for all that she knows Leia’s hair is fine as silk, it feels like plastic in the moment.

“I don’t think I’m okay,” Ahsoka announces. The words hang in the air like lead balloons, and she can feel Depa staring at her. “I haven’t been for a very long time.”

“Yeah, we noticed,” Fett says. “Do you need to lay down, Torrent?”

Does she?

“No,” she says. “I... I don’t know what I need.”

“The spicy drink,” Rex tells them. “It’s grounding.”

Right. That.

Fett goes to grab it, and Depa continues to watch.

“How long ago did you leave your master?” Depa asks. “Or... did he die?”

Ahsoka closes her eyes and shakes her head. She can feel the shivers now, tremors in her biceps and a shudder she can’t control in the height of her ribcage. Her teeth grind together, jaw like stone.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Depa assures her. “I’m... going to recommend you see a mind healer on Coruscant.”

That was a forgone conclusion.

A cup clinks onto the table. Fett’s back. “Drink.”

She does.

Depa and Fett continue discussing it as “the adults” at the table. She’s older than both of them. Rex is older than all of them. Ahsoka follows about half of what they say. She agrees with most of it. Rex bullies his way into speaking when she doesn’t, without her even asking, because he knows her mind as well as she does. Fett rolls with it. Depa lets him.

She’s going to reach out to the Temple and see about getting them a ride back to Imperial Center Coruscant.

Fett makes Soka go to bed, taking Leia with her.

---------------------------

She feels more like a person come morning.

Depa’s sitting at the table, datapad in her hands and caff on the table in front of her.

“Good morning,” Ahsoka says, rough and croaking, and Depa’s eyes flick up to meet hers. She nods a shallow hello.

“Feeling better?”

“Much,” Ahsoka says, and goes about gathering a breakfast. There’s definitely some dried meat in here. She can get something fresh when they stop by the market later.

“I was hoping to speak with you about your options,” Depa tells her, once she’s sat at the table. “Fett and your friend Rex took care of most of the negotiation, and I feel like I have an idea of what would work best for you.”

Ahsoka nods slowly. “Okay.”

“There is a Master-Padawan pair a few planets away,” Depa says. “The Council informed me when I spoke with them about you and your wards. They’d be headed back to the Temple in a few days anyway, and the Council has agreed to extend an offer to Fett to handle the transportation. The presence of a Jedi Master on board will allow for him to get in and out of the Core unmolested, and we’d like for you and yours to have a Jedi escort, given what happened yesterday afternoon.”

Her complete spiral into nonbeing?

“I understand,” she says instead. “I suppose Fett agreed because he’s still trying to get Rex to like him?”

Depa shrugs. “That part isn’t my business.”

Of course it isn’t.

“Rex can stay with me for a while, right?” Ahsoka finally asks. “I know it’s not exactly protocol, but I’m...”

“In need of a support system until you’ve seen a mind healer, and against all odds, the child is part of it,” Depa summarizes. “Yes, I recognized as much. I think the Council will be able to allow some leeway there. I don’t know if he’ll enjoy it, given that all the others his age are Initiates, but we can adjust as necessary. On that note... Do you know Leia’s midichlorian count?”

“No,” Ahsoka says, and hesitantly adds, “But her biological father was my Jedi Master, and I’m told his count broke records even as a child. Given what Leia’s shown so far... it’s why I’ve been in a hurry to get her to the Temple.”

Depa frowns at her, clearly working through the implications of a Jedi having a daughter and still teaching... and then visibly dismisses the situation, eyes closing to breathe in the steam of her caff.

Biological father certainly implies a child that was raised by her mother or adopted out so the Jedi father could remain in their chosen career without a conflict of interest or duty.

She’ll tell the council the truth, or... at least Master Koon. Master Kenobi is still a padawan, but she can tell Master Koon.

She already told Jango Fett, of all people.

“Padawan Torrent?”

Her head snaps up. She hasn’t been a padawan in over fifteen years. It’s weird to hear. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I asked if you wanted some time to think it over before I presented the offer to Fett,” Depa says.

Ahsoka gets the distinct feeling that Depa is planning a report to the Council that has ‘needs a mind healer’ underlined at least three times.

“No, I’m--I’m fine. That sounds like a good plan.”

“I’ll speak with him, then. Would you like to come with?”

"No, thank you.”

---------------------------

Fett agrees. Ahsoka’s pretty sure it’s all to do with Rex and maybe Leia. It’s probably nothing to do with ‘Sokari.’ She’s a Jedi, an adult in mind and in body, or at least close enough to count. She’s a damn sight more ‘enemy’ to Fett than the other two are. Not as much as Depa, maybe, but Fett’s been playing nice with her for Leia’s sake.

He plays nice with Ahsoka for Rex’s. That’s all.

They’re only a few planets over from the meeting point, and they have a few days to hang around before the escort meets them. Depa hadn’t given them a name--apparently it could have compromised the opsec for the Jedi team--but Ahsoka’s pretty sure she’ll be able to identify almost anyone. She gets the feeling that the Force is going to send her a familiar face, just as it did Master Padawan Billaba.

Ahsoka lets herself feel the world around her. It’s dark and dreary, in the sense that the beaten-down port is full of petty crimes and less petty horrors, but it’s still lighter than most of the Empire had been. She sneaks away from the ship at night, ignoring Fett at her back, and performs a bit of vigilante justice while she can. She’ll be banned from doing so as soon as she’s reinstated as a Jedi, probably, but for now... for now, she can look at the drug cartels and ‘they’re not slaves, really’ workers and do something to help.

She doesn’t use her sabers. She doesn’t need to. It’s been a long time since she has, for small fry like these.

“What are you doing?” Fett asks her, landing heavily behind her back.

“Chip removal,” she says, hand pressed to the slave’s leg. Her eyes are closed, but she can hear him shifting. “Let me concentrate, I don’t have a meddroid for this.”

He’s silent until she finishes, and waits until the people she’s helped are on their way to the planet’s freedom routes. He doesn’t ask what she did with the owners.

“You’ve done this before.”

“Regularly,” she confirms. “You?”

He doesn’t answer that, just ambles over to the the chains and stares down at them.

“Fett?”

“You go through this like it’s as easy as breathing,” he says. “It’s... impressive.”

“I guess?” she hesitates to continue. “I’m... I don’t think of it that way. This is the easy stuff. A time-waster that helps people. If I wanted to help for real, I’d been going after Jabba or Sidious or--”

“How old were you?” he asks, turning on his heel to face her dead-on. The vocoder of his helmet pulls the emotion from his voice. “When did this... these missions, the slavery battles, when did that start for you?”

“Fourteen,” she says. She’s not entirely sure, really, what counted as a mission for ending slavery and what counted as just a part of war, but she can round down. “Maybe fifteen. It’s a bit of a blur.”

“And you just kept doing it.”

“Of course,” she says. “If I have the time and the energy, if I need to do something and there’s nothing official on my hands, why not?”

He doesn’t answer her.

---------------------------

Rex greets them before she does.

Ahsoka, in her defense, is asleep at the time. It’s a restless sleep, but it’s enough that she doesn’t sense the nearing Force signatures until they’re almost at the ship.

She recognizes one of them.

“Auntie ‘Soka?” Leia questions, when she lurches to her feet and starts pulling on her boots with all the energy of a zombie. “Where are you going?”

“Jedi,” Ahsoka grunts. “Here.”

“I see.”

Leia dresses to follow her, in a little coat that’ll withstand the chill of the outside air, and Ahsoka makes it to the cargo hold just in time to hear Rex saying, “I’m not shaking your hand until you put your gloves on, Vos.”

She laughs to herself, breathless with the knowledge of what she’s about to find. She jumps the railing of the upper walkway, drops down just in front of the Master-Padawan team, and keeps her back to Fett and Rex. “Hello, there.”

One human, one Kiffar. She knows the latter.

“Would you be Sokari Torrent?” the Master asks.

“I am,” she says, with a slight bow. She can tell there’s a bit of judgement for how she’s dressed, but they’re covering it well. A Shadow and his trainee know the value of armor better than most Jedi bother with. “I’m afraid Padawan Billaba didn’t inform me of your names before we met.”

“And yet your friend knew my padawan,” the Master says.

“By reputation,” she says, as smoothly as she can. “I’ve encountered Quinlan Vos before, though I doubt he remembers--”

“I’d remember someone like you,” Quinlan interrupts, with a grin she’s sure is meant to be charming and rogueish.

He’s... very young for her, and not her type. Mostly, she wants to pat him on the head, but that probably wouldn’t go over very well. She still looks like she’s younger than him.

“Anyway,” she says, turning back to the master, “I’m afraid I still don’t know who you are, Master.”

“I am Tholme,” he says, with the bow that a Master gives a Padawan. She feels a little slighted, but it’s fine. She looks the right age, it’s fine.

It’s not like they know.

“It’s nice to meet you, Master Tholme,” she says. “My charges are Rex Torrent, the young man behind me, and currently coming down the ladder is Leia Antilles. I’m sure you’re aware of Jango Fett.”

“The Mand’alor,” Quinlan volunteers, and Ahsoka can almost hear Fett’s teeth grinding.

“Don’t call me that,” he says. She’s sure he’s got a hand drifting for his blaster.

“There isn’t a whole lot of room on the ship,” she says before the men can get into whatever weird contest she’s sure someone might start. Her bet’s on Fett. “But Leia and Rex are small enough to share with me, so I’m sure we can make it work.”

“There’s spare rolls for anyone comfortable with sleeping in the hold,” Fett grunts. “Or on the floor in the passenger room.”

“Well, I guess I could ask for a little help fi--”

“Vos,” Ahsoka snaps, letting her voice take on the kind of ‘obey me or get fresher duty’ irritation that she’d perfected back when the rebellion still had her managing people, before they’d realized she was more use in the field. “Do not.”

There’s a moment’s pause, and Tholme looks unimpressed with that raised eyebrow, but the kind of unimpressed that’s split between his own padawan and the stranger before him.

“Um,” Quinlan says. “I just--”

“No,” she cuts him off. “No flirting.”

It’s weird and uncomfortable and she’d have maybe been okay with it if she was actually the seventeen-or-eighteen-ish(?) that she looked, but she’s not. She’s in her thirties and Vos is... what, twenty? Twenty-one? No.

He stares at her, and she wonders momentarily if she’d gone too far in the direction of judging his intentions in the Force and preempted actual flirtations.

“I’m sorry?” He offers, looking confused, but ashamed. “I, uh, I’ll keep that in mind.”

She definitely preempted the actual flirtation.

Fuck.

Ahsoka closes her eyes and breathes in. Breathes out. Opens her eyes. “Right. That was... I’m not sure how much Padawan Billaba told you about me.”

“Enough,” Tholme says. He moves forward and puts a hand on Quinlan’s shoulder. Ahsoka has no idea if it’s to comfort him or hold him back. “I didn’t share most of it with my padawan, but I have a general understanding of what’s going on.”

Quinlan darts a look at his teacher, but Ahsoka doesn’t acknowledge it. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

“Thank you for your understanding,” she says, and bows, and stiffly turns away to walk to the galley.

---------------------------

Leia squirms into the bench seat, shoving her way under Ahsoka’s arm like a particularly wriggly tooka.

“What was that?” Leia demands, the authority of a rebellion general rather useless in the squeaky voice of a child.

“What was what?”

“The whole thing with Padawan Vos,” Leia says. “You blew up at him before he even did anything.”

That’s pretty true.

“I felt the flirtation coming before it happened and reacted inappropriately because I panicked. I’m significantly older than him, but I can’t tell him that, so it’s just awkward and uncomfortable and... I’m not okay, Princess. I haven’t been for a long time.”

“Yeah, we can tell.”

“Leia.”

“What? I need therapy too! Captain Rex needs therapy! I’m pretty sure Fett needs therapy! You, Fulcrum, you really need therapy. None of us are okay.” She huffs, wiggling impossibly closer. “I don’t like it, but it’s true.”

“I know,” Ahsoka groans. “I just... I just need to hold out until the Temple.”

“Will you be able to hold it together if you see someone you actually care about?” Leia demands. “What are you going to do when you see Kenobi?”

“Stop.”

“I’m serious, you--”

“Leia, that’s enough,” she snaps. “I was fighting that war before you were even born, and I’ve dealt with the consequences since. I know the risks and I’ll thank you to remember who taught you to control your own mind.”

Leia stiffens, sucking in a sharp breath. “That was uncalled for.”

“You’re not the child you appear to be,” Ahsoka reminds her, not a little sharply. “You want to dish it out, be ready to take it. What will you do when we see Bail Organa? When we see the toddler that is Anakin Skywalker?”

“I get it.”

“I’m not sure you do,” Ahsoka mutters. She isn’t surprised when Leia ducks out of the embrace and leaves the galley. She lets the girl go, guilt warring with the memory of how Master Kenobi had more than once spoken that way to Anakin at the height of the war. The fact that she’s an adult in the body of a child isn’t an excuse for poking at Ahsoka’s open wounds. It was cruel and unnecessary, and unbecoming of a... not a Jedi. A princess. A politician.

She rests her head on her arms and zones out. She should meditate, but that seems like... too much effort.

She can feel Vos and Tholme setting up in the room they’ve been assigned. Neither seems particularly angry. Most likely, Tholme’s given the absolute shortest explanation of ‘child soldier, dead master, highly traumatized and emotionally unstable’ to Vos to smooth over the incident in the cargo hold. Rex is with Leia; he’s agitated, but less so than Leia herself. Fett’s annoyed, in the cockpit, but he seems annoyed as often as not. There’s a shudder at lift-off, and a few minutes later, they’re in hyperspace, headed for the Core.

Fett finds her, falls into the other bench in full armor, and drops his elbows onto the table. The helmet clunks down a moment later.

She doesn’t lift her head. “What do you want?”

“Do I need to keep Vos away from you?”

“What?”

“Vos. He made you uncomfortable. Was that him being someone that hurt you in the future, or just the interaction being awkward?”

She lifts her head. She stares at him. “What?”

He leans back and crosses his arms. “Do you need me to tell Vos to stay the hell away from you?”

She’s gaping. “You realize I’m thirty-two, right? I can handle my own battles.”

“You’re also traumatized as hell and everyone can see it,” Fett argues back. “If Vos himself is a trigger, I can handle it.”

“He’s not,” she tells him. This is strange. Fett’s being strange. “He was actually a friend of my grandmaster’s. I’m just uncomfortable with the flirting because I’m a lot older than he realizes, and I can’t tell him that.”

He nods sharply, and then looks away. The silence sits.

“Thanks for asking?” Ahsoka says, well aware of how her confusion over the offer turns it into a question. “I mean, thank you for... caring.”

I guess, she finishes in the privacy of her own head. Or at least pretending to.

Fett makes a face, still not facing her. He eyes the galley instead. She can guess where his thoughts are going. The galley is... not very big, especially with six people on board instead of one, but she’s sure they’ve stocked up enough. On the off chance they do go through more than expected, because of how many growing bodies are in residence, they can stop off and buy more. They have those resources now.

Jango never does ask what she did with the slavers.

“Who’s going to cry if I spice things properly?” he asks.

“Probably Leia,” she says immediately. “Vos will try to power through it even though he’s going to be overwhelmed. No idea about Tholme, but I think he’ll keep a straight face whether he likes it or not. Rex and I are fine, ‘hot’ was pretty much the only flavor of seasoning the GAR had.”

“GAR?”

“Grand Army of the Republic.”

He finally looks at her.

“You already knew I was a child soldier, Fett; don’t act surprised.”

“That doesn’t mean I like hearing about it.”

“I was fourteen. That’s old enough by Mando standards, Fett. Just think back, when did you get on the battlefield?”

“I take your point,” he says, lip curling unpleasantly. “It just hits different now that I’m old enough to look back and think of how damned young fourteen really is.”

Ahsoka shrugs. “Yeah, well--”

“You said the clones were ten.”

There’s the rub, isn’t it?

Of course it was about the clones.

“...closer to seven, by the end. Kamino was just making speedies at that point. Triple growth on the average instead of double, but averages in that case meant they’d been growing at double rates for six years and then got forced through four growth cycles in a single year to beef up the army when we kept losing men.” She looks down at the table, picking at a scratch in the plastipaint with her nail. “Rex and the rest of the ones from the beginning were basically twenty in mind and body, even if they’d only been decanted ten years earlier. The speedies... I always wondered. They’d gone from functionally twelve to functionally twenty in a year. That’s not... even in Kamino, that can’t have been normal. They didn’t act like adults, not the way the originals did.”

Fett rubs at his face, groaning. He swears under his breath in three different languages.

She pities him, if only because he hasn’t actually done any of this yet. He’s paying for the crimes of a man he likely won’t ever become.

She kicks him under the table. “Wanna make tiingilar and see how long it takes Vos to start crying while he insists it’s fine?”

---------------------------

Dinner is when the questions start. Some are relatively easy. Others, not so much.

“My Master was Leia’s biological father,” is an easy truth to share. “She inherited his power, so I need to get her to the temple for her own safety, because home no longer is.”

“Yes, her adoptive parents were unfortunately killed rather recently. We’d prefer not to talk about it.”

“Rex is with me. Where he goes, I go, and vice versa.”

That one gets her an odd look.

“I thought...” Quinlan trails off, gesturing between Rex and Fett.

Fett keeps his face impassive, but his discomfort and guilt leak into the Force. “I didn’t know Rex existed until I ran into these three in a spaceport cantina a few weeks ago.”

Quinlan blinks at him, looks at Rex again, and then turns back to Fett with a grin that might have been described as ‘saucy’ if he were less smug about it. “Wild oats, huh?”

“Are you shitting me right now,” Leia whispers, and Ahsoka elbows her.

“That was inappropriate, padawan.”

Quinlan’s grin fades as Fett just continues to eye him.

“Um, so--”

“How old is the kid?” Fett interrupts.

Darting eyes answer him, as Quinlan tries to gauge Rex. “Ten? Maybe twelve?”

“And how old am I?”

“...early thirties?”

“I’m twenty-seven.”

Quinlan’s grin fades further as he does the math.

“I’d have been between fifteen and seventeen when he was born,” Fett says, tone flat. “Between fourteen and sixteen at conception. I know damn well I wasn’t doing anything that could have resulted in a kid at that age.”

Quinlan rallies. “So, brothers?”

Tholme sighs loudly, hand over his eyes.

“I’m a clone,” Rex says, and Ahsoka can feel the amusement he gets out of Quinlan’s confused shock. They’d both had plenty of respect for Master Vos, but Padawan Vos was nothing but trouble. “Harvested genetic material, grown in a tube, inconsistent aging meaning I don’t even know how old I am for sure.”

“I broke him out,” Ahsoka adds, which is half true.

“There was a chip in my head,” Rex adds, with a bright smile. Quinlan’s discomfort grows. “She got it out. Also, lots of brothers. None of them are... around anymore. The creators were trying to make an army.”

Vos and Tholme have no response. Fett looks like he’s been carved out of stone. Leia’s just ignoring them and picking at her food.

Ahsoka lifts a hand and, without looking, Rex high-fives her.

---------------------------

“Drop your elbow.”

Ahsoka tries to cover her smile at the dirty look that Leia shoots Fett. Fett remains unimpressed by the glare of royalty, just gestures for the girl to do as he said.

“I know how to fight,” Leia grumbles. “I took lessons. I was good at them.”

“And I’m better,” Fett says, leaving no room for argument. “You want the Torrents to take over?”

The Torrents. Rex and Soka. She likes being referred to that way. Like they’re a team that never got split up.

Force, she wished they’d never gotten split up.

“Again,” Fett orders, and Leia moves through the Mandalorian kata with ill grace in her emotions and all grace in her sweeping limbs.

Well, as much grace as an undersized six-year-old can, at any rate.

“Think he’ll ask me to spar her again?” Rex asks, dropping down into the seat next to Ahsoka and passing her a drink.

“Maybe,” she acknowledges. “I think he’s wondering if it’s worth asking Vos to spar with her, so she gets more experience with size differences.”

“Hm?”

“She flinched at his face again,” she tells him. “The whole... thing with Boba, I guess. She still won’t tell me why Fett triggers her sometimes, but he’s not pressing her to spar with him, and there’s only so much she can get out of fighting me. Asking Tholme would be presumptuous, but Vos is just a padawan. I think it’d work out.”

“And you?”

She looks at him, already feeling a cresting wave of bullshit she doesn’t want to deal with. “What about me?”

“Are you going to spar with the Jedi?”

She should. She hasn’t sparred with a saber since she got tossed back into a body only half-familiar to her. She’s let Leia borrow the shorter one to learn some basic blocking moves, Shii-Cho and then, with hesitance, the first Soresu form. Another time, she loaned it to Rex to practice some attacks; they both know that the next time he picks up her saber in battle, having lost his weapons or she her grip, it will be neither the first or last time he wields a sword of light. None of that, however, is... sparring.

None of that is against someone who knows what they’re doing.

How long has it been since she sparred with anyone other than Kanan and Ezra?

How long has it been since she sparred without the looming specter of Darth Vader in the back of her mind, without fear of the Inquisitors, without the knowledge that any saber held by someone other than her two friends would be red as blood and twice as drenched.

Would she be able to hold back as she fought?

“I should,” she acknowledges, eyes on where Fett is nudging Leia’s feet into position for some kind of leveraging flip. She’s so small. “It would probably be a good idea to spar against a master at some point.”

“Do you think you can?” Rex asks.

“I never knew him,” she says. “And he isn’t Dark. It should be fine.”

Rex nods, taking her word for it. They watch as Leia stumbles on a final move, and Fett gestures for her to sit down and get a drink.

“That man is a terror,” she informs them.

(She’d once described him as a slave-driver. She had not made that mistake twice.)

“Least it’s not Kamino!” Rex tells her cheerfully. When Leia refuses to look impressed, he laughs at her.

Ahsoka has a half-second’s warning before heavy boots thud to the ground next to her. “What’s Kamino?”

“Hello, Vos, it’s nice to see you too,” she drawls. “I’m good, thanks for asking, and yourself?”

The boy-not-quite-man rolls his eyes. “Hi, Torrents; hi, tiny one.”

Leia glares at him next.

“So, Kamino?”

“Planet by Rishi,” Rex says.

“Why were you there?”

“They specialize in cloning.”

Ahsoka covers her mouth as the conversation drops into the same awkward gap that always happens when Quinlan stumbles into a subject he didn’t know to avoid.

“Like... you were made there, or you were researching how it works for your own--”

Ahsoka slaps a hand over his mouth. “Now’s a great time to stop talking.”

He licks her palm.

She bares her teeth and arches her fingers just enough to press nails into his cheek.

He bites at her palm, and she yanks her hand away.

“You’re all children,” Leia accuses, conveniently forgetting that Ahsoka and Rex are both over a decade older than her.

“I can throw you the length of a swimming pool,” Ahsoka tells her. “One of the fancy competition-ready ones that would make a Tatooinian cry. You are absolutely the child here.”

“Using the Force is cheating, sir,” Rex informs her.

“Only if there’s a competition,” Ahsoka shoots back. “And proving that a certain princess is a small child is not a competition. It’s a declarative fact.”

“I’m going to rip open the seams on all your tops except the ugliest one,” Leia decides.

“Try me,” Ahsoka challenges. “Adi’ka.”

A low, rough cough interrupts them. “Are you done?”

Fett has his arms crossed, and an eyebrow raised. He knows they’re all adults here, and is entirely unamused. As the silence drags, the eyebrow climbs a little higher.

“Done with what?” Quinlan finally asks, thereby volunteering himself to spar in hand-to-hand with Jango Fett, as one does.

“Poor, poor Vos,” Rex laughs, watching as Fett barks out orders at Quinlan every five seconds to fix his footwork, to stop dropping his guard, to stop wasting energy on flips instead of just dodging the easy way.

“Throw him!” Ahsoka calls. To her delight, Fett obliges.

The thing is, Quinlan isn’t bad at brawling. He’s got training, endurance, skill. The man knows what he’s doing, objectively. He’s just not a match for Fett, and is used enough to relying on his saber that his hand-to-hand skills are rusty. They are perhaps less rusty than those Jedi who don’t take questionable jobs in the Mid-Outer Rim, and Ahsoka’s got a suspicion that Vos regularly gets into bar fights in his downtime, but none of that is enough for him to actually do more than survive against Fett without his saber.

Even the saber wouldn’t help, if Fett had his armor.

“Whose idea was this?”

Ahsoka cranes her head back and smiles. “Hello, Master Tholme. Vos... volunteered.”

“Did he know he was volunteering?”

“No comment.”

Tholme snorts, crossing his arms and eyeing the spar in front of him. “I thought Fett hated Jedi. Giving us a ride for the sake of you three is one thing, but why is he teaching my padawan?”

Ahsoka shrugs. “Constructive bullying?”

There’s a small twitch of a smile, quickly gone. “He said something wrong, I’m guessing?”

“There was no way he could have known,” she dismisses. “We’re just, like, ninety-percent tragic backstories.”

“You’d think the Force would warn him,” Rex notes.

“That’s not how the Force works,” Leia chides.

“No, no, he’s right,” Ahsoka corrects. “The Force does sometimes step in to stop a person from saying something stupid. However, Padawan Vos is at an age where people think they are very rational while being more irrational than they likely ever will be again.”

“Do I want to ask what you were doing at that age?” Tholme asks.

“Running bla...” she trails off, then whips around to gape at him.

He smiles, bland and unassuming. “Does Fett know?”

“Know... what?” Ahsoka asks.

“That you’re significantly older than you look,” he says, voice just low enough that the sparring duo can’t hear him. “All three of you.”

Ahsoka turns back to the spar, only catching Tholme out of the corner of her eye. “He knows.”

“Mm. Were you planning on telling the Council?”

“Yes.” That part was never in question. “How did you figure it out?”

“I am a good investigator,” he says. “And you rely a little too heavily on your physical forms to obfuscate. Were it just one of you, that wouldn’t be a problem, but the pattern repeated across three is a little easier to discern.”

“I hoped the whole ‘child soldiers’ thing would be a bigger distraction,” Ahsoka mutters. She glances at Leia and Rex. Both of them are used to being in charge to some degree, giving orders and making contingency plans, but in this... in this, Ahsoka is in charge. They’d decided that at the very start. It didn’t matter that Rex had lived longer and had more experience, or that Leia had held the highest Rebellion rank of the three of them. Ahsoka had been agreed as leader, and they were relying on her.

They’re waiting on her orders. Stiff and unhappy, in Leia’s case, but they trust her.

“Will you be telling Vos?” She asks.

“No,” Tholme says. “Your secrets remain your own unless they endanger us, and I’ve a feeling they won’t be.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Rex jokes, smile not reaching his eyes. “I’ve been working with this family for too long to trust that trouble won’t find them around the next corner.”

“This family?” Tholme repeats.

“Sokari was telling the truth about her master being Leia’s biological father,” Rex says. He shrugs. “I worked with him, with his wife, with both of his kids, with his master and his padawan. All of them, to a one, are trouble magnets.”

“Ah, but that’s not the secret that’s putting us in danger,” Tholme points out. “Simply existence as a Jedi.”

Rex shrugs. “Fair enough. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, though.”

Ahsoka lurches to her feet, turning with a smile and dancing backward into the the stretch of empty cargo hold they used for such things. “A spar, Master Tholme?”

He looks past her, to Quinlan, and raises a brow. “Would you not prefer to spar with someone a little closer to your level first?”

She barks out a laugh. “Master Tholme, I’m afraid I’ve spent more of my life fighting to survive than having normal friendly spars. My style is more lethal than the average, and you’ve already seen what war’s done to my mind. I ask to spar with you because, if I lose control, if I slip in time or react on an instinct that isn’t appropriate, I trust that you’ll be more able to stop me than a senior padawan.”

He smiles. “Yes, I gathered as much. Still, better to ask. Shall we wait for them to finish up?”

Ahsoka shrugs, turns, and yells. “Clear the deck!”

Rex snorts behind her, and lowly mutters, “Sir, yes, sir.”

She smirks at him over her shoulder. “At ease, Captain.”

“That’s ‘Commander’ to you, I got promoted,” he sniffs, chin held high.

Heavy steps herald Fett’s arrival at their little group. “The hells are you doing?”

“I’m going to have a spar with a Jedi Master, and I want you and Vos to not get stabbed.”

“I’m not that easy to injure in an actual fight, let alone by accident,” Fett grouses. He looks up and over at Vos, who is already significantly taller, if a fair shot less built. “This one, on the other hand...”

“Hey!”

Ahsoka laughs and backs into the center of the cargo hold, drawing her sabers. “Don’t worry, Vos, I won’t play dirty. You’ll probably get your master back in one piece.”

He wrinkles his nose at her. “Getting a bit ahead of yourself there, aren’t you? He’s a Jedi Master and former Watchman. You’re... what, eighteen?”

Ahsoka raises a brow and activates her sabers, tapping the blades together and watching as more than one person winces. “Wanna bet on how long I last?”

“No,” he says immediately, stepping back to join Rex on the bench. “You’ve already blindsided me enough. I’m not dumb enough to fall for whatever you’ve got up your sleeve.”

“I don’t have sleeves.”

“Armwarmers-slash-greaves, then.”

“Greaves go on the legs, these are vambraces.”

He throws his hands up in the air. “I’m just going to stop talking now!”

“Good plan,” Leia snarks, and then literally hisses when Rex ruffles her hair.

Tholme lights his saber and sinks into an opening stance.

Ahsoka mirrors him.

---------------------------

She wins, but barely. She's had a few weeks to practice her forms, has sparred hands-only with Rex and Fett, but this is her first real try at using her sabers against a person, instead of a blaster or thin air, since she arrived in the past. She’s only mostly adjusted to her body.

But Tholme is a healer and a watchman, not a duelist. Ahsoka held her own against Ventress, against Grievous, against Maul when she was this age. Still adjusting to her body or not, her lineage is one of battle, and it bled true.

“You’re terrifying,” Quinlan tells her after they’re done, smiling like the sun as he hands her a towel. “Please never turn that on me.”

She laughs at him. “Would you believe that I’m out of practice?”

“Out of practice with what?” he asks, horrified and fascinated. “Fighting Sith Lords?”

“Among other things,” she says, and smirks when he chokes on his drink. “Multiple darkside users who claimed to be Sith, at least. One being a full Lord, one that was disowned by his master, and one that was apprenticed to a Banite apprentice, so she wasn’t technically allowed to be a Darth because of the rule of two.”

Tholme meets her eyes past Quinlan’s shoulder, head tilted and eyes half-shut in consideration. He’s taking her seriously. He knows what she’s not saying.

“How...” Quinlan trails off and shakes his head. “You know what, no. Asking you people questions never ends well.”

“Good plan,” Ahsoka says, clapping a hand down on his shoulder. “Also, you need to spar with Fett more. Your footwork is shit.”

“It is not,” Quinlan gripes. “You’re all just scary good at this stuff.”

“You mean surviving?” Leia pipes up, and smiles innocently when Quinlan turns to pout at her.

“You’re getting bullied by a six-year-old,” Rex informs him.

“Yeah,” Quinlan sighs. “I know.”

Ahsoka laughs, and it’s fine. It’s all fine. For a week, everything is honestly great. She trains, she laughs, she works through the nightmares.

Then fucking Denon happens.

---------------------------

Denon is a city-planet on the intersection of two major hyperlanes. It’s the kind of place where they stop for two things:

Fuel.

Paperwork.

Technically, there’s a whole mess of paperwork they have to fill out to continue along this specific hyperlane, since they aren’t official Republic ships, and don’t have the licenses to just pass along like ships that are pre-registered to the Trade Federation or the like. They could sneak past--literally all of them know smuggler’s routes--but it’s honestly less of a pain to do things legally. They have a Jedi Master. They have cash. Some of that cash wasn’t quite legally acquired, but nobody needs to know that.

It’s supposed to be a pit stop. That’s all.

It’s just a pit stop.

But no, the galaxy isn’t that kind and Ahsoka’s luck is currently being compounded with a Skywalker, two Fetts, and Vos, which means that of course they run into trouble. Of course they do. There was never any other option, was there?

“Motherfucker,” Ahsoka snaps, lifting her head up and slamming her drink on the table.

The glass is empty. That’s good. They’re in a restaurant right now, a little splurging after weeks with only each others’ company, and spilling the sugary child-friendly juice with that move would have drawn way too much attention from the servers.

“Language,” Tholme says, voice idly unconcerned.

“Sir?” Rex asks, kicking Ahsoka under the table. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wr--that jackass,” she hisses, getting to her feet. “Rex, grab a blaster, I’ve got shebs to kick.”

“Okay,” Rex says, grabbing one out of Fett’s holster and scooting out of the booth before anyone can tell him not to. “Whose?”

“I didn’t even know that he was... osik, I don’t have jurisdiction,” she realizes. “I don’t have any record of wrongdoing. I can’t arrest him since we don’t have evidence of criminal wrongdoing...”

“Are you two going to explain what’s going on?” Vos asks. “Or sit down, maybe?”

Ahsoka makes her decision. She eyes the window--the restaurant in question is a little dingy, but it’s also several dozen stories in the air. “Rex, remember the thing we did on Geonosis that you hated?”

He pauses, and then sighs heavily. “Yes, sir. I remember the... yeeting.”

Hah. That slang doesn’t even exist yet.

“Great. With me!”

It’s a good thing the windows are forcefields instead of transparisteel. A bit of a twist to the energy and they’re gone.

She only hears a little screaming before the wind tears all noises away while they plummet.

They land lightly--of course--and Ahsoka wraps them both in a don’t notice me aura. Nobody even notices that they’ve just come from above. It’s great that she can just Do These Things again, and get brushed off as Weird Jedi Shit, instead of worrying about the Empire. She’s missed being able to jump out of windows without fear.

Rex follows her as she starts running through the city. They don’t have comms, and he’s still so small, which means he can’t keep up with her even if she runs at normal speeds without Force enhancement.

“Should you carry me?” he asks, before she can figure out if it’s worth suggesting. She did it a few times before they joined up with Jango.

“It’s not... urgent, I think,” she says. She hesitates to speak, even as she keeps jogging with Rex at her heels. “Honestly, I’m trying to figure out if there’s anything I can ding him for so we can attack him. It’s all well and good that I can beat him right now, but all the crimes I know about haven’t happened yet, so it wouldn’t be legal...”

“Commander?”

“Hm?”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

She scrolls the conversation back mentally, considers, and says, “Oh.”

“Who’s getting steamrolled?”

“Uh, Maul’s here,” Ahsoka admits.

“Ah,” Rex says. He makes a face. “I understand the desire to jump out a window, now. I don’t agree with it, but I understand.”

Ahsoka laughs. “I mean, I just... every time I’ve seen him for almost twenty years, it’s been like... on sight, you know? We’ve never not attacked each other, except when I needed him to cause problems on Mandalore. But I always knew I was in the right, then.”

“So... what do we arrest him for?” Rex prompts.

“Um... carrying a lightsaber without a license?” she hazards. “We’ll need Tholme there. Hopefully I can just shout at him and he’ll attack me, but I think he only went full nutjob after Master Kenobi cut his legs off. He might be too controlled to try to kill me just for yelling at him.”

“...do we have to stalk him?” Rex asks, sounding like he’d most likely sigh if he weren’t mid-run.

She scoops him up and swings him around onto her back before she answers. “I think we have to stalk him, Rex’ika.”

“Don’t call me that.”

---------------------------

Maul is... exceptionally sneaky, actually. Either that, or he hasn’t done anything wrong yet. Ahsoka’s betting on the former, because she’s seen this particular skocha kung take over a planet before anyone realized he was the most dangerous person around.

Or maybe he’s just not committing crimes, and is in fact just here to buy groceries.

He’s examining a papaya.

She fantasizes about jumping across the market and greeting him with a heel to the cheekbone.

“Are you imagining a flying kick, Sir?”

“Yeah...”

“He’s examining a papaya, Sir.”

“I know...”

“Does he know we’re here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? Do you think I should go hit him?”

“No.”

“Should I hit on him?”

“No, Sir. I would not advise that.”

“He’s looking at the neloms.”

“I can see that.”

“Why does he have to be so bo--did he just fucking bite a nelom?”

“It appears so, Sir.”

“Like... like rind and all. Just bit the little fucker.”

“Seems it.”

A scuff of metal. “What the fuck are you two doing?”

Ahsoka tips her head around to peer through the grate. “We’re spying, Fett, what does it look like we’re doing?”

Rex cranes his head. “We’re hanging upside-down from a fire escape to get a look at a suspected Sith Apprentice that is currently shopping for various fruits, Mand’alor.”

Ahsoka waves. “Hi, Master Tholme.”

“Sokari,” the master greets. “This seems a very conspicuous way to spy.”

She shrugs as well as she can from this angle. “Yes, but you see, this way’s more fun.”

“Is it now.”

Rex shifted. “He’s on the move!”

“To kill someone?!”

“No, to the deli meats.”

“Kriff.”

---------------------------

Apparently, Tholme and Fett had told Quinlan to take care of Leia, as Leia had wanted to finish her juice and refused to get involved in the Torrents’ nonsense. According to her, if they couldn’t be bothered to explain the nonsense, they didn’t need her.

This was true and accurate.

Quinlan shows up while they’re still stalking Maul, having moved to a low rooftop for a decent vantage point with less likelihood of being spotted. He’s giving Leia an eopie-back ride, and the pout on her face at needing it is adorable. She pouts harder when she sees them.

“Are you even trying to hide?” Leia scoffs.

“Not really,” Ahsoka admits. She’s got Fett’s binoculars out. “I’m not sure he’s caught wind of the fact that we’re here yet.”

“Or he has and he’s just biding his time to escape while we’re distracted,” Tholme points out.

“Meh,” Ahsoka says, avidly devouring the visual that is a teenage Maul glaring at leafy vegetables. “I just want him to do something so I have an excuse to beat his ass.”

“Do I get to know who?” Quinlan asks, setting Leia down on the roof. “Or are we going to keep being completely unwilling to share information?”

“Baby Sith Lord,” Ahsoka says. “He’s fifteen. A child.”

“A baby,” Rex agrees.

“You’re... that’s... ugh,” Quinlan groans as loudly and as dramatically as he dares, flopping down to the rooftop. “Master Tholme, please tell me this isn’t a real Sith.”

“He’s Dark,” Tholme confirms. “Sith is... up for debate until we have evidence.”

“He’s a bitch is what he is,” Ahsoka mutters. She observes the teenager in question stop to poke at some pink tomatoes. “E chu ta, break the law, already!”

“Does he have a lightsaber?” Quinlan asks. “If he has a lightsaber and no Jedi ID or specialty license, we can probably arrest him.”

“Auntie Soka doesn’t have a license or ID,” Leia points out.

“She’s got a Jedi escort,” Tholme says. “And if our supposed Sith is polite and plays nice, we can probably escort him to the Temple as well.”

Rex snorts derisively.

“Do you know why he’s on Denon?” Fett asks.

“No clue,” Ahsoka admits. “Evil reasons, probably.”

“You’re useless,” Leia tells her.

“Thanks, princess, how’s that attempt to open the jam jar by yourself coming?”

Leia says something very inappropriate for a princess, for a child, and for a lady. It’s fairly appropriate for a soldier, which is admittedly what she’s been for a few years now. Ahsoka sticks her tongue out at the girl like the mature operative she is.

“I wish we could still get him to lose his osik by just showing up and insulting him,” Rex mutters, low enough that Quinlan probably can’t hear.

“I wanna punch him in the face,” Ahsoka confesses. “I want him to try to punch me in the face, and fail.”

“Don’t bully the baby Sith,” Rex admonishes.

“He’s a Sith.”

“He’s fifteen, it’s tacky.”

“But it’s Maul.”

“I know, but you’re tw--significantly older than him.”

“But... but it’s the motherfucker himself.”

“...you can bully him a little, but only because he’s a Sith.”

Fett steals the binoculars. “You can borrow them again when you stop acting like children.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Rex says, dry as Ryloth. “I’m ten.”

“Pretty tall for your age,” Ahsoka mutters, and then giggles.

“Don’t steal my jokes,” Rex says. He elbows her, hard.

“You know,” Quinlan says, slow and tired. “Master Tholme and I are trained investigators.”

Ahsoka and Rex look at each other, and then up at him.

“Okay?”

“...do you want me to find actual evidence of this guy doing something criminal?”

“Oh, yes please.”

---------------------------

Quinlan, as it turns out, is not overselling his skills. He does catch Maul doing something illegal later that day. It’s a little more ‘stealing corporate secrets in the dead of night’ and less ‘torturing people for kicks,’ but it’s still enough to legally arrest him. Quinlan attempts to do so.

Quinlan does not succeed, and is forced to jump out a window to avoid getting cut in half. Maul follows, steals a passing speeder by throwing out the driver, and takes off. Someone--looks like Tholme--drops back to save the driver, but the rest of them give chase. Ahsoka gleefully takes point on that, of course. She’s the best pilot.

(Rex looks bored, but someone is likely to puke by the end of the night. She hopes it’s not Leia, who insisted on coming for some fucking reason.)

“How the kriff is a teenager that good?!” Quinlan yells, clinging to the edge of the speeder to avoid getting tipped out as Ahsoka swerves around a corner with a wild laugh.

“He’s a Sith!” Leia shouts over the wind. “What do you think?”

Quinlan is not impressed by the claim of Sith.

Ahsoka screeches as she drifts across four lanes of traffic and into an alleyway to pursue Maul. He’s pretty good at dodging cross-building walkways, but she’s better. She bares her teeth, hissing, and tries to pick a plan.

“Vos, how’s your aim with Force throws?” She calls to the backseat.

“Uh, decent?”

“Great! Fett’s the projectile!”

Vos takes a second longer to process that than Jango does.

“I’m wh--”

He cuts off, screaming, and is flung forward by Quinlan to crash headfirst into a teenage Sith.

“Take the wheel!” Ahsoka commands, not waiting to see who follows the order, because Fett and Maul are both getting to their feet, the other speeder is about to crash, and she’s not sure who’s going to win that fight.

She jumps from the speeder they’ve been violently dragging around Denon, and lands feet-first on Maul’s... shoulder.

Hm.

That definitely dislocated something.

“You should wear armor!” she chirps at him, drawing both sabers and grinning as he whirls to face her, eyes wide with hate.

He’s utterly silent.

That’s disturbing. Expected, but disturbing.

“Did you just throw me?” Fett demands, higher pitched than she’d normally expect.

“No, Vos threw you.”

“Because you told him to!”

“Yeah, it’s a good strategy!”

“It is not!”

“Why not? Throwing people was standard practice in the GAR.”

She can’t see his face, but she’s pretty sure he’s about ready to strangle her.

Ahsoka cannot, at that point, continue snarking with the father of her best friend, because there’s a red lightsaber coming for her throat, and she should probably worry about that. Maul’s very good at killing people and she’d like to avoid becoming part of that statistic.

As she is quickly reminded, he is... fifteen. And shorter than she’s used to. And already injured.

It’s really, really easy to take him out, actually.

At some point, the other speeder was safely recovered before it caused property damage, and their own is landing a few meters away with Vos and the kids.

“You have Force-negating cuffs, right?” Ahsoka asks.

“No, Master Tholme has them.”

“Oh,” she says, and grimaces. “I guess I’ll just... keep sitting on him then.”

Maul snarls, and she raps him on the skull. “Stop that, it’s uncivilized.”

Rex snorts.

Jango makes a noise that is incredibly frustrated with the lot of them, and turns on Rex. “Was she telling the truth?”

“About?”

“Throwing people being standard practice for the GAR.”

Rex’s face goes pained. “It was in the five-oh-first. And a few others.”

“What’s the GAR?” Quinlan asks.

“None of your damn business,” Fett snaps.

Quinlan throws his hands up in the air again. “Come on! I just proved I know what I’m doing!”

“And their tragic backstory is none of your business, prudii!”

Quinlan blinks at him, and then glances at Ahsoka. “Um.”

“He called you a shadow since your training, um, seems to be pointing in that direction,” she says as carefully as she can. “We were theorizing.”

“Wh... you actually paid attention?” Quinlan asks, looking horribly confused. “I thought I was just annoying you.”

Ahsoka laughs at him. “Oh, Vos... I’ve been running black ops for... much longer than most would guess. Trust me, I know another spy when I see them.”

She smiles as kindly as she can, because she hadn’t actually meant to make him feel left out or unwanted or... well, she’d been pretty patronizing, especially for someone seemingly younger than him. The smile does not work. Quinlan just looks kind of horrified about how young she just implied she started spy work.

Granted, she’d been sixteen for Zygerria...

Deciding to ignore him for a bit, she shifts on Maul’s back and pats him on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Baby Sith. We’re going to get you lots of nice therapy. Mind healers, no Sith tortures, all that fun stuff. Maybe some plushies.”

“You’re also getting therapy, right?” Quinlan asks. “Please say you are. I’m required for the specifics of my training and if anything you’ve said is true, I feel like you really need it and I’m scared of what’ll happen if you don’t.”

Ahsoka laughs, knowing exactly how empty it sounds. “Oh hell, if I didn’t get therapy, I imagine Kix would rise from the grave to force me into it.”

The name means nothing to anyone except Rex, and... ah, yeah, she told Fett about Kix a few weeks ago.

“No more throwing me without warning,” Fett grumbles, dropping to sit on the ground next to her. “Especially not at baby Sith Lords.”

“I am not a child!” Maul spits.

“He speaks!” Ahsoka cheers. “Aw, I knew you could do it.”

“’Soka, I told you not to bully him,” Rex complains. “It’s tacky. You’re being tacky.”

“I’m allowed to be tacky,” Ahsoka declares. “I’ve died twice, that’s, like, permission from the universe.”

“You’ve died twice?” Quinlan asks, back in ‘fascinated horror’ territory. “Wait, no, I shouldn’t ask--”

“Too late! The first time was on a planet that doesn’t exist and my Master lost his mind, killed a god, and used the good favor of another god to have me brought back to life at her expense. Not in that order.”

“I--what? No, that’s--what?”

Ahsoka smiles brightly. “You asked.”

Tholme finally shows up with the cuffs.

---------------------------

“You should eat something.”

He glares at her.

“Baby Sith Lords need to eat.”

He keeps glaring at her.

“Maul, you’ll never get big and strong and ready to kill if you don’t eat your vegetables.”

He bares his teeth.

“No, I don’t eat my veggies, but I’m a Togruta, so if I eat too many vegetables I throw up.”

Rex kicks her thigh, right on the faulds. “What did I say about bullying the Sith Lord?”

“Not to.”

“And what are you doing?”

“Making him eat his vegetables.”

“Soka.”

“Rex’ika.”

He kicks at her again. “Get up, we’re swapping out the watch.”

“But I wanted to hang out with my favorite little criminal mastermind.”

Rex drops to the floor and presses his forehead to her shoulder. “How the hell is being around this guy the first thing to make you cheer up in weeks?”

“I’m allowed to be mean to him.”

“He’s going to bite you.”

“I’ll bite back.”

Rex jabs a finger into her ribs, and she squeaks. “Go get something to eat, Commander.”

“Fine,” she huffs, rolling to her feet and moseying along to the galley. She walks in on Tholme and Fett having an argument about the ways in which Jedi and Mandalorians differ. Quinlan’s on the side, watching with wide eyes, and little Leia’s drinking a juice box at his side, tucked up under his arm and occasionally saying things to fan the flames. Ahsoka assumes she’s enjoying herself.

She opens the cooling unit, looks over the contents, and pulls out a raw leg of eopie mutton. She leans against the counter, bites into the chilled-but-not-frozen meat, and uses the back of one hand to wipe the blood off her chin. The ‘real adults’ don’t notice.

“I’m like ninety percent sure you’re doing this to mess with me but also...” Quinlan trails off, staring at her with horror. “Why?”

“A girl’s gotta eat.”

“Yeah, but all the obligate carnivores I know are like... generally holding to basic rules of courtesy when it comes to not grossing people out,” Quinlan says. “Like, I don’t chew with my mouth open. You don’t... eat in the most intimidating--did you just crack the bone with your teeth?!”

Ahsoka smirks at him, using her free hand to take away the shard of bone so she can suck out the marrow without eating the bones themselves. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this isn’t polite society. We’re in a galley on a bounty hunter’s ship, and I’ve been living on the run or in an army for most of my life. Table manners are optional.”

“No, they’re not,” Leia orders. “Fett, it’s your ship, tell her to--”

“--and another thing!” Fett snaps at Tholme, clearly paying less than no attention to the food argument.

Ahsoka keeps on eating, trying to catch wind of where the discussion’s at. Mostly, it seems to be at ‘talking past each other.’ Neither of them seems to have fully grasped more than the absolute most basic parts of the other culture, and that’s only enough to insult each other, not actually have a constructive conversation. She’d have expected more out of Tholme, at least. He’s not exactly young.

“Hey, quick question,” she says, in a moment where both of them have paused for breath and the opportunity to seethe. “Fett, when’s the last time you worked with a Jedi, or any member of a Force-based religion, before I popped into your life?”

His nose scrunches up as he makes a face.

“And Tholme, when’s the last time you worked with anyone from the Mandalorian system?”

Tholme’s reaction isn’t any more gracious than Fett’s.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she says. “Vos, were either of them actually interested in that conversation, or just looking for an excuse to yell?”

“Now listen here, jetiika--”

“Fett,” she snaps. “I am not a child.”

“And neither am I,” he growls right back. “This is my ship, and I damn well don’t need you treating me like a misbehaving youngling. You’ve got a problem, you bring it to my face, not get all smug about people’s tempers blowing over.”

Well, then.

She smiles thinly. “Of course.”

He stands with his arms crossed, in full armor save for the helmet. She puts aside the eopie meat and wipes her hands, smiling until she can put her hands on her hips and let it drop to a challenge.

“You know, I’m just--I’m just gonna go,” Quinlan mutters, pulling Leia out with him, the girl hanging from under one of his arms. “This, uh, this looks like a problem for... you folks. Um. Yeah.”

He sidles out.

Tholme doesn’t.

Fett rubs at the bridge of his nose, and then gestures at the table. “Sit.”

“I’d prefer not to.”

He drops his hand and glares at her. “We have another week on this ship together. We are going to have this conversation. Sit.”

She sits, right on the warm spot left behind by Quinlan and Leia. She crosses her arms, lifts a brow, and waits.

Fett takes the seat across from her. Tholme leans against the counter.

“We all know you’re older than you look,” Fett says. “I heard Tholme mention it, I know that much has been shared. You’re acting like an actual teenager, and I’ve... I’ve put up with a lot. I am trying to keep things civil, particularly with you. I’ve tried to be friendly. You’ve been fucked up since we met, fine, everyone’s got trauma. The thing where you’ve started talking shit to our faces for what seems like your own amusement? That has to stop. You’re older than me, Torrent. Fucking act like it.”

She blinks at him, slow and not exactly happy, and turns to Tholme.

The man shrugs. “I was planning to put up with it until we arrived to the temple and handed you over to some mind healers. Fett doesn’t have that kind of time.”

There’s a curdle in her stomach, defensive and angry and guilty.

“You’ve been... a bitch,” Fett finally says. “You know that. I’m not going to mince words. You’ve been holier-than-thou and rude and condescending, and aiming that at Antilles is one thing, when you’ve apparently known her since she was a toddler and taught her things. Aiming at the rest of us isn’t going to fly. We’re all adults trying to share a space. Stop acting like... just like you have been.”

There is no defense to be made that they aren’t both already aware of.

She closes her eyes and tries to strangle the burst of irrational rage.

Their accusations aren’t unfounded.

They deserve an apology.

She is in the wrong.

She’s felt freer than she had in years, and in that freedom allowed herself too much rein, let herself lace her words with barbed wires and poison instead of sparks and spices, comments that were cruel instead of just joking. Too familiar. Too comfortable.

“My behavior’s been inappropriate,” she finally says, the words clumsy and too big in her mouth. “You’re right about that. I’m sorry, and I’ll endeavor to keep a tighter rein on my less pleasant behaviors in the future.”

At least she only lashes out with words. It could be worse.

She opens her eyes, fixes her gaze on the wall behind Fett, wrestles her expression into stiff neutrality. “Am I dismissed?”

“...uh, no, not after that,” Fett says, sounding just a little horrified. “What the hell was that?”

Tholme hisses out a breath. “Let her go.”

“No, this needs to be discussed, that’s not a healthy rea--”

“Fett, let her go,” Tholme insists, low and heavy.

Fett looks between the two for a moment, seems to come to a realization he doesn’t like, and then gestures almost violently towards the door. “Fine. Go.”

She walks out, doesn’t sprint. She’s stiff. She’s controlled. She’s the one that fucked up, so it’s fine if she doesn’t feel great right now. Getting called out on one’s own failings as a person isn’t something to get upset about if the failings are real. The feelings are real and normal, but this was her fault, and so it’s up to her to fix it, and she can’t let them know it hurt her, because this was her mistake.

She goes to the cargo hold.

---------------------------

Ahsoka works out her frustrations on Fett’s punching bag. She does not augment herself with the Force, just uses raw strength and technique, ignoring the tears that press at her eyes.

She’s fine.

It’s not weird. It’s not odd. It’s not strange to not notice she’s been kind of a bitch since her mood came up with the whole Depa thing, and then Maul. She’s been mean, mostly to Vos and Fett, and nobody’s confronted her about it until now. They let her have room for her trauma, and she hadn’t reined it in. She’s just gotten worse.

‘Snippy’ she’d always been, but age apparently hadn’t fucking tempered it.

“Um.”

She catches the punching bag, breathing heavily and covered in sweat. She hasn’t worked out all the twitchy, nervous energy yet.

“Vos,” she greets, once she’s caught herself enough that her voice won’t waver. He’s on the other side of the bag, but she knows his voice. “Do you need something?”

“You’re kind of... projecting,” he tells her, drifting to where she can actually see him. “Not self-loathing, but, um, recrimination? You just don’t feel very good and I was hoping to help”

Why in all the Sith hells does he have to be nice.

“I got called out on my behavior and wasn’t ready to face the fact that I’d kriffed up,” she tells him. “I’ll be fine. And I’m... sorry. I haven’t been fair to you and was using you as an easy target for some of my ruder comments.”

“I mean, I kind of figured,” he admits, coming closer. “I’ve been tutored by Shadows before, and a lot of them act like you. I just assumed it was more of that.”

“I still shouldn’t have let myself run loose like that,” she says. “I’m... it wasn’t appropriate. I shouldn’t have let it happen.”

He shrugs, not meeting her eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” she says. “Not with... not with you. Or anyone other than Rex and a mind healer, really. Most of it is...”

She trails off, distantly noticing that her eyes are tearing up enough to blur her vision, and her nails are digging into the bag in a way Fett won’t appreciate.

There’s so much that beat her down, never quite breaking her, that she doesn’t even know what made her act the way she does.

“Want to spar?”

She looks over at him, wonders what he sees that makes him want to fight her when she’s visibly unstable.

He smiles, kind and easy, and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s genuine in intent, if not in energy. He wants to help. “You all keep saying I could work on my hand-to-hand. Just take off the armor so I don’t break a finger, maybe.”

“You’re serious.”

“No, I’m Quinlan.”

She’s going to wipe the floor with this boy. “You sure you wanna fight me?”

“You won’t be able to meditate until you do,” he says. He’s right, damn him. “The other option is that I go get your... vod, I think? I go get Rex and you two can talk it out since you trust him with more. I don’t want to do that, though, he’s still a kid.”

She eyes him, lips pressed together and mind awhirl with emotions and thoughts she’d tried to beat out of her head and into the bag. “Ever fought someone without the Force?”

“...yes?”

“Was it cuffs?”

“Oh, you meant me not having the Force,” he realizes. “Er, no. Is... is that something you’ve done a lot?”

She smiles at him. “You’re planning on Shadow work. That means getting captured and stripped of everything you are at some point, Force included. Unfortunately, the cuffs are in use on a very annoying Dathomirian right now, so we’ll have to make do with you shielding like your mind’s a Kessel Spice Mine.”

“...do I want to know how often you’ve been captured?”

“No, you don’t.”

When he comes at her, it’s easy to dodge. It’s easy to tap him on target points, little pokes that show she could take him out, but isn’t going to until he’s learned something. He stays grinning throughout, letting her take the lead, and he treats her like... like a knight. Like a teacher. He’s stepped back and gone from trying to impress her as a fellow padawan, to proving himself to a full knight.

She’s not sure when that change happened, or why or how, but it makes things much smoother. She wants to think that it would have even if she hadn’t gotten a wakeup call from Fett.

So she treats him the way she treated Ezra, for the year she’d spent traveling with Kanan. She treats him as a student that’s willing to learn, good but not yet great, competent but not yet ready to survive. She draws him into the kind of chest-heaving exhaustion that tells a fighter just how much energy they waste.

(Ahsoka may have had her own style, but her grandmaster had been the pinnacle of a Soresu user. She’d spent years on the frontlines of a war. She knew the worth of conserving energy, and she’d teach it to any who stepped in to challenge her.)

“Who taught you to fight like this?” He asks, when they’ve taken a handful of moments to circle each other. His steps are heavy, sure, planted. Her own are light and ready.

“Soldiers,” she says. It’s true enough.

“Not your Master?” he asks, just as he tries to kick for her upper arm. It’s a safe question. For anyone else, it would be a safe question.

But for Ahsoka, it’s another chink in the armor, after a maelstrom of emotion, a storm of self-loathing, a dervish of instability.

She doesn’t break right away.

She spirals. She fights Quinlan, but doesn’t quite see him. Her strikes get sloppy, her feet stumble. She can’t make herself meet Quinlan’s eyes, not when the scrape of his heel against the metal sounds like the rasp of a breathing machine. Her shields get fuzzy, she knows, and she leaks what she feels into the air, making it sour and thick. She doesn’t notice, because all she can see, all she can--all she can hear and feel and--

She drops to her knees and grabs at her head, trying to stop it.

“Sokari?”

She breathes. In and out, harsh and jagged but natural in a way that the damned respirator wasn’t.

Her master her teacher her brother the traitor the hound the executioner

Her face is hot. Something prickles. It might be tears.

She tries to say something, tries to say a name or a request, tries to make anything come out of her mouth that isn’t the broken wail of a woman who hasn’t let herself think about how she died.

She feels herself pulled into someone’s arms, and she can’t quite tell who, but they’re bigger than she is, and feel warm and worried. They care. They don’t understand, they’re scared, but they care.

Her hands shake, clutched to her chest and she can’t breathe she can’t make herself take in enough air to do a Force-damned thing the empire is going to feel her her shields are down and broken and her emotions are spilling and the empire is going to find HER ANAKIN IS GOING TO FIND HER AND--

“COMMANDER!”

Rex.

Rex is here.

Her breath is coming so fast that she’s hiccupping more than she’s actually inhaling. She feels small hands in gloves on either side of her face, and then her forehead presses to something warm.

Rex. A Keldabe kiss. Her brother, her partner, her other half. He’s here. He’s calm. If he’s calm, then things are fine.

“What happened?” Light voice, high voice, small and distant. Leia. Little Leia little princess Leia she’s in danger she’s in trouble Anakin will--

“Commander.”

No. Here and now. She needs to focus on here and now. Her throat feels cold. She breathes too fast, still. She can’t stop it.

“I don’t know.” That’s Vos. He was... they were doing something. He was here. Talking to her. “We were sparring, and she just--”

Right, sparring.

“I don’t know if I said something?” He offers, voice pitching up, unsure and worried. Is he the one holding her? He’s the one holding her. That’s embarrassing.

“Commander?” Rex prompts. “Commander, can you open your eyes?”

She tries. She can’t. She shakes her head.

“Soka?” he asks, voice quiet. “Where are you?”

“F-F-Fett,” she manages. It’s enough.

“And where were you?”

His voice is so soft. So worried. She held him the same way after Mandalore, after Order 66, after all his brothers, all her friends...

“Soka.”

Her mind is spinning, and suddenly all she can hear is Anakin Skywalker is dead. I destroyed him.

Her breath hitches, and she wails.

“Commander,” Rex tries again, but her head is a vortex of Then you will die and Perhaps this child and not the Jedi way.

Our long awaited meeting.

I destroyed him.

Then you will die.

She can’t breathe she can’t breathe she can only see that yellow eye that’s too familiar but belongs to a stranger can only hear a voice that shouldn’t exist can only mourn and break and--

“Soka?”

“Malachor,” she manages. “I--h-he--I died.”

“What did you say?” someone asks. A vod. It’s the right voice, almost, rough and business-like, not accusing anyone yet, and... and... no. No. Not one of her boys. It’s Fett.

“Um, right at the end? I asked her who taught her to fight like this,” Quinlan says, nervous. “And she said it was soldiers. And I joked, I asked that it wasn’t her Master, and she didn’t answer that. A couple minutes later, she just started...”

“Oh, Soka,” Rex whispers, pulling her closer. “Commander, just breathe with me.”

“H-h-he, he just--R-Rex, he j-just--and I c-c-couldn’t--”

“I know,” her captain whispers. “I know, just breathe with me.”

“He k-k-k-killed me,” she sobs, falling out of the Keldabe and into too-small arms. “I l-loved--he was my broth-ther and--and he just--he killed me, he didn’t even stop.”

“I know,” Rex whispers. “Soka, I know.”

Of course he does.

---------------------------

“It was just bad timing,” Rex says, once they’re in the room she’s been sharing with her little family, curled up under a blanket and watching the floor like it has all the secrets to how she lost her world three times over.

“Is there anything we need to keep in mind?” Fett asks, gruff and uncomfortable. She wonders if he’s angry that she took his necessary confrontation and turned it into this mess.

“Don’t bring up her Jedi Master,” Rex says, and pulls her in when she shivers. Her eyes squeeze shut before she can stop them, tears beading up again. “Just... don’t. It’s too soon.”

“He’s--”

“He Fell,” Ahsoka interrupts. “I thought he died, but he became a Sith. And fifteen years later, we ran into each other, and I refused to join him in the Dark, so he tried to kill me.”

Fett swears, low and muffled. She thinks he has a hand over his mouth.

Quin and Leia aren’t there. She thinks they’re keeping an eye on their Baby Sith prisoner. That’s good.

“Soka,” Rex whispers, and she buries her face in his shoulder. She’s too old to be this kind of mess. She’s thirty-two. She’s Fulcrum. She’s...

She’s in need of a lot of therapy.

“We can avoid the subject unless you bring it up,” Tholme promises. “Definitely until the Temple. Is there anything else we shouldn’t talk about?”

Ahsoka can practically feel Rex’s deadpan look. “Sir, we’re a trio of child soldiers ripped from everything we know. Every other sentence is a risk. We’re just... working our way through.”

There’s a knock at the door. Oh. Quin and Leia.

“Just figured we’d drop this off before we went down to visit Mr. Grumpy-Face,” Quinlan whispers. He still thinks Leia’s a child. He’s trying to make things less terrible for her. That’s nice. “We decided he’ll be less angry if he tries Hoth chocolate, and made some for everyone.”

They definitely made it for Ahsoka herself, and Maul was an afterthought. Still. It’s sweet.

“Commander?” Rex prompts, jostling her a little to try and get her to sit up.

“Gimme a sec,” she manages. It takes longer than it should to push herself away from him, to accept the mug that Leia gives her, too-serious worry in the furrow of her brow and the twist of her soul.

She doesn’t look six. She doesn’t even look twenty-two. This girl was always too old for her skin, forced to grow up in the hostile fear of the Empire.

“Thank you, Princess.”

She sips.

She can barely taste it beyond the ashes she imagines coating her tongue.

I destroyed him, her memory echoes. His slightest hesitation before he made the final move, it haunts her. She almost reached him. If only she’d tried harder, yelled louder, been better...

She shivers.

“Do you need help falling asleep?” Tholme asks. “I’m a regular healer, not a mind healer, but...”

She probably should.

She takes another sip of her drink, willing herself to taste it. It’s good. She likes it. She knows she does.

“Can you make it dreamless?” she whispers.

“It doesn’t always work, but I can try,” he tells her.

She nods. “When I finish the chocolate.”

“Of course.”

---------------------------

Everyone’s careful around her for days. The whole decision to be nicer doesn’t mean anything when she’s walking about in a daze of too few emotions, drained of everything she could feel in favor of a grey cloud of fluff in everything she does.

She does forms. Single saber and Jar’kai. Ataru and Djem so and Soresu. Reverse grip, regular grip, partial reverse on either side.

Again. Again. Again.

She loses herself in the motions, not meditating so much as just empty.

Rex worries. Fett worries. Vos worries.

Leia and Tholme keep their shields locked up tight, and she doesn’t know how they feel. She thinks Leia might be judging her. She think Tholme might be pitying.

Maul simply hates. It’s an old and familiar sensation to walk into, and she takes unthinking comfort in his rage. She’s silent instead of snippy, when she plays the role of guard, and they stare at each other in silence. His eyes burn, and she wonders how much he’s heard of her nightmares.

“You need to talk,” Rex tells her, when he finds her with a cold cup of caff, eyes fixed somewhere beyond it all. She lifts her head. “Soka.”

She just stares at him.

He sighs and pulls her into a hug. “Commander, please.”

She can’t.

Ahsoka stares at the wall behind him, resting her chin on his head. Her neck itches under the lek at the back of her head, a little tingle of a feeling that she can’t bring herself to do anything about. The pale light of the galley is sharp against the chipped paint of the metal that surrounds them. It hurts her eyes to look, but it’s not the deep and dark lit only by red--

Then you will die, her memory growls.

She flinches.

“Breathe,” Rex tells her, too-small hands clinging at her back. “Just breathe, ‘Soka.”

She curls in tighter and tries to just breathe.

---------------------------

“Tell me something good.”

Ahsoka blinks. She looks at Leia. She doesn’t have the energy to parse that.

Leia chances a look at Rex, who isn’t leaving Ahsoka’s side any more than he has to, and Fett on the other side. Tholme’s asleep and Quin’s on Baby Sith duty. It’s just people who know, right now.

The little girl across the table, the child senator, the spy, purses her lips and huffs in irritation. “You knew my biological father before he became one of the worst people in the galaxy. Both of you did. Tell me something good about him.”

Good things.

About Anakin.

“You fought a war as a Jedi,” Leia prompts. “Surely you must have done some good things with him, or at least thought you were.”

Did they?

Every mission ended in tragedy or was just a ploy of Palpatine’s. Every saved life was just...

Wait.

“He built Threepio,” she finally says. “Your father wi--I mean, Bail wiped Threepio’s memory after the Empire rose, for your safety, but Anakin was the one who built him.”

Leia sits up, eyes brighter. “I didn’t know that. I... was Artoo involved? Did he build R2D2, or...”

“No,” Rex says, “But Artoo was his favorite astromech, and they always pushed each other into stupid stunts. We risked a hell of a lot to save that droid, more than once, and I didn’t find out until you started working with the Rebellion full-time, but Artoo and Threepio were the witnesses for your bio-parents’ wedding.”

Leia gapes at him. So does Ahsoka. (Fett doesn’t know enough to care.)

Rex grins, and if it looks a little forced, that’s fine. “He had a holo recording. I was one of the few people left that knew about the marriage that might have wanted to see, so Artoo offered. It was... sweet.”

He waits, probably for Ahsoka to add something herself, but she has nothing.

“I think that’s when they swapped droids, since Threepio was more useful to a politician and Artoo did his best work when we set him loose on the enemy.”

“He never changed,” Leia muses. “Did he always swear that much?”

“Yes,” Ahsoka answers, as Rex laughs. “Always. All the binary I learned started with the best swears.”

She tries to think of another good memory, something else that Leia might appreciate. Her mind ticks back to saving Stinky, which is just a terrible option, because that mission started with Hutts and ended with the Battle of Teth. That massive loss of life, all for the son of the creature that had put Leia in chains.

She wonders if she has anything in her memory that doesn’t end in blood and graves.

“Soka.” Rex.

“Hm?”

“Remember that time Fives and Echo got lost in the undercity their first time on leave, and we had to get the General to help us find them?”

She does.

He’s right, that’s a good story.

“Okay, so what you have to understand,” Ahsoka says, already digging the faint details out and dusting them off, “is that these boys were ARC troopers, top-notch, terrifyingly competent once they got through specialty training, and loyal as hell. Echo had memorized the reg manuals front to back, and Fives was... well, Fives ended up being the only person to figure out the chips before they went into action. Point is, the Domino twins were good... eventually. Just like everyone else, though, they started out shiny.”

---------------------------

“Tholme’s hiding something.”

Ahsoka wonders if Leia will just leave if she ignores her enough. Probably not. This was the girl that got kicked out of boarding school for leading a sit-in at age seven. She’s got patience.

“His job requires him to hide a lot of things,” Ahsoka says instead. “Not as many as Vos will have to, eventually, but a lot.”

“He’s hiding something from us,” Leia insists, visibly frustrated that Ahsoka isn’t as upset about this as she is. “Something important.”

The way she says ‘important’ is clumsy and impacted by the missing baby tooth. She can’t say the r. It comes out as ‘im-poh-ten,’ which is adorable, and if Ahsoka comments on it, she’s probably going to get punched by a six-year-old.

“The Force doesn’t care,” Ahsoka says. “I trust his intentions, if not him as a person.”

“If you don’t trust him, then why trust his intentions?”

“Leia, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I trust one and a half people in the galaxy,” Ahsoka points out. “Me not trusting a person isn’t a sign of anything except my paranoia. The only person I trust fully and without reservation is Rex. Even you, I only mostly trust, because my brain starts screaming if I think too hard. That’s why you’re the half.”

“Okay, whatever, paranoia aside,” Leia barrels on, “He should tell us. Whatever it is that he’s hiding, we deserve to know. We’re not children that he can just hide things from for our own good.”

Ahsoka presses her lips together. “Leia. Princess. I know you’re used to holding all the cards--”

“This isn’t about me being a control freak!”

“It is, though,” Ahsoka soothes, and smiles. “Your mother--the bio one--was the same way. You spent years as one of the leaders of the Rebellion, so obviously you’re used to having all the information, and people reporting to you... but Tholme is a Jedi Master. He reports to the Council and the Republic. Do you know how many people I kept secrets from while I was a padawan? We’re an unknown, Leia. They have no proof that we’re on their side, especially since we’re traveling with Fett.”

Leia crosses her arms and glares as hard as she can.

“I’m not going to bother him,” Ahsoka says. “I’ve already had, like, five unrelated mental breakdowns. I’m putting this on hold until we get to the Temple and I can trust that there’s a healer on hand to sedate me or something.”

“You... want to be sedated?”

“Leia, this... really should be obvious, but a Force-Sensitive losing their osik the way I have been isn’t actually safe. I know I broke a weapons rack last week.” Ahsoka gestures vaguely. “If the Jedi Master isn’t telling me something for reasons that might relate to my clear and obvious mental instability, I’m going to assume he’s got a point.”

“So he should tell me or Rex.”

“We’ll be on Coruscant in four days,” Ahsoka soothes. “Just... let it be. They won’t hurt us.”

“You don’t know that.”

Ahsoka shrugs. “I don’t have to. The Force leads me in all things, including this.”

Leia isn’t impressed by that, but Leia isn’t impressed by much in the first place.

She strides off in a fit that is, perhaps, more influenced by her six-year-old emotional control than she’d like to admit. Ahsoka lets her. It’s not worth the argument.

It’s only a few minutes later that Fett strides in, takes the seat Leia was just in, and asks, “What would it take for you to teach me how to use a jetii’kad?”

She blinks at him. “You want to learn how to use a lightsaber?”

“Yes.”

“...why?”

“Viszla.”

“I see.”

She does.

Ahsoka taps her fingers against the table, eyeing him with the kind of interest she copied from Master Kenobi, years ago. Fett doesn’t fidget, but she thinks he might want to. He just looks back, waiting for her judgement.

“You’ll need to justify it,” she finally says. “It’s a significant difference from what you actually did, so I need to know your reasoning for doing it, and your plans for once it’s done.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s step one,” she corrects. She tilts her head, considering. “My standards for you aren’t built in a vacuum, and you know that. Explain to me what you plan to do and how you plan to do it, and if I approve...”

“You’ll help me achieve it.”

“Maybe,” she allows. “A lot of that depends on Rex.”

“I expected as much,” Fett says. “He is... an admittedly large part of the reason.”

“He would be,” she says. She gives the silence a few more seconds to sit awkwardly between them, and then stands up. “I’d guess you’ve been brainstorming already. Do you have it written down or is it mostly just in your head so far?”

“I’m still... debating options, so to speak.”

She grins, and the shape of the predator’s smile, the baring of teeth... that almost makes him step back. She can see it in the twitch of his muscles. Smart man.

“Follow me,” she says, and doesn’t wait for him to stand. She strides out with tooka-light steps, hears the heavy beskar tread behind her, and goes to the cargo hold. Fett’s confusion grows tangibly behind her, especially when she tosses him a wooden quarterstaff. She picks up the other and spins it in one hand.

“You’re going to fight me,” she tells him, stretching and letting the staff help with the process. “And while we fight, you’re going to tell me what your plans for Mandalore are.”

He mimics her, but there’s a frown on his face. “And why staffs?”

“You and I, we’ve only sparred bare-handed,” she says. “I need a feel for how you fight with a weapon anyway. These are a good start.”

“Not the beskad?”

She grins, and the twitch is back. “No. That can wait. We start with the staffs.”

He takes a stance, and she mirrors him. She lets him strike first with a weapon, but she’s the one that asks all the questions.

(He is the only one on the ship that can fight her one-on-one right now, and he can win. Still, she makes him work for every inch, and what she doesn’t win in bruises, she wins in words.)

(Fett might yet be a proper Mand’alor, but Ahsoka learned war from her brothers, negotiation at the knee of a general and in the shadow of a prince, and government at the side of duchesses and queens.)

(If he wants her help uniting his people, he needs to prove that he can hold them together once she’s gone.)

---------------------------

Ahsoka’s interrogation of Jango’s plans is thorough, and she’s not the only one involved. She brings Leia in, and has her join in on the grilling. She maybe laughs as the twenty-seven-year-old survivor of Galidraan, the Mand’alor, a man who has killed Master Jedi with his bare hands, gets lectured on various government structures by a tiny girl that's missing several teeth and needs to sit on books to see the table properly.

Still, Leia knows this better than any of the rest of them do. The girl might have grown up heir to a monarchy, but she got a classical education and was drilled on democracy and all associated forms of government. Where Ahsoka knows military protocol and law enforcement, intersystem relations and defensive measures, Leia knows agricultural subsidies and welfare programs, infrastructure and education.

Ahsoka may know how to find out if someone’s breaking a zoning law, but Leia knows why it exists in the first place.

“And I grew up in a cult,” Rex says, when an argument on that topic breaks out. Everyone that hasn’t heard the joke-that-isn’t-a-joke stares at him. “The Jedi grew up in a religious meritocracy; Leia grew up in a monarchy; and I grew up in a cult.”

Ahsoka elbows him. He’s not wrong, but still.

Unfortunately, Ahsoka is about forty-seven percent sure that Leia will put her foot in her mouth when it comes to Mandalorian culture, blunt as the girl is. That prefrontal cortex isn’t anywhere near as developed as it should be, either, so impulse control for the princess isn’t great. Ahsoka refuses to let Leia and Fett talk about ways to mend the breaks between tradition and the pacifism of the New Mandalorians without either Rex or Ahsoka herself as a mediating presence. Tholme sits in a few times, but while he knows that Leia isn’t really six--though not about the time-travel, yet--Quinlan doesn’t.

They admittedly end up doing this while he’s on Maul-sitting duty.

“It’s like he doesn’t even care about making nice with the people that, at this point, make up the majority of his people!” Leia grumbles one night, as Ahsoka kicks over a step stool so the girl can brush her teeth. “He may not like the New Mandalorians, but from what I understand, it’s still early enough to prevent the majority of the cultural bleaching you brought up. If he stays this stubborn--”

“Leia,” Ahsoka says, and the girl’s mouth snaps shut. “I’m aware of your reasons for not trusting his intentions. But if I may say? Chill.”

“He’s not even trying!”

“He’s trying a hell of a lot harder than he did in the original timeline,” Ahsoka reminds her. “Brush your teeth.”

“I’m not a--”

“Teeth.”

It’s a little worrying, how the child’s brain affects Leia, but... well. That’ll pass in time, hopefully. Until then, Ahsoka gets to be the aunt she should have been. This includes tucking Leia in, which the girl grumbles about despite the fond waves of comfort that enter the Force around her. Ahsoka doesn’t call her out on it, just brushes back wisps of hair to plant a kiss on Leia’s forehead, and then does the same once Rex stumbles in, grumbling about the limitations of a cadet’s body, but far more ready to follow the protocol that is bedtime.

Rex doesn’t pretend to not like getting tucked in, for all that he’s sharing with a grumbly, already-asleep princess. He smiles up at Ahsoka, lets her hug him, and pretends they can be a normal family for five seconds.

Quinlan’s making a late night snack for himself in the galley. Tholme is guarding the Baby Sith. Fett...

Ahsoka goes to the cockpit, takes the copilot’s seat, and watches hyperspace pass them by.

It takes long minutes before either of them say anything.

“Do Jedi believe in souls?”

His shields are up, locked up tighter than the innermost chambers of the Imperial Palace. She has no idea where he’s taking this question. She has to cast about for an answer.

“That depends on how you define a soul,” she finally says. “Leia told me about Force Ghosts. A Jedi Master who underwent the right meditations and training could pass into the Force upon their death without losing their sense of self. They could remain themselves, to an extent, and interact with force-sensitive individuals. I don’t know if they could last that way indefinitely, but depending on your definition, I could argue those ghosts were evidence of a form of soul.”

“So you believe that the dead pass into the Force, but that what passes could be a soul. Something must exist for a sense of self to disappear at death in a way that impacts the Force as you understand it, and many would use the word ‘soul’ for that something.”

“Mm,” Ahsoka considers it. “I’d say that’s pretty accurate. You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“What about those not yet born?”

Her fingers feel cold, and she finds herself no longer able to watch the passage of hyperspace as passively as she had, and her eyes catch on streaks and motes of what is not dust, her vision unable to keep any more still than her heart.

“Oh,” she hears herself say. “The clones.”

It’s a long time before he answers, but the walls come down. He carries a confused sort of grief with him, guilty and a mite resentful. His questions have been building for longer than she’d thought. His voice is rough. “I’ve taken plenty of lives, but I’ve never known the name of someone I erased from existence before they were even born.”

“The stories we told Leia about the brothers.”

There’s a grunt of agreement from Fett, so those dots at least connect.

“I take it my answer wasn’t helpful,” she manages to say.

“Will they still exist?” Fett asks. “Will they be born elsewhere? Or is... is a soul something that only comes into existence after the body does?”

“I have no idea,” Ahsoka admits. “I want... I want to think that I’d be able to find them eventually, to recognize them, if their souls are still born into this world elsewhere.”

“And if your Sith finds someone else to build his army out of?”

Ahsoka looks at him, sharp and pointed. “You wouldn’t.”

“They’ll be doing it anyway, if their plans are as ironclad as you say.”

“You’re already associating with Jedi,” Ahsoka says, fighting the urge to break his nose. “They wouldn’t approach you, not now. They can’t leverage your anger against you. They won’t know everything, but they’ll know that you have friends among the Jedi.”

“You think they can’t come up with better lies?”

He has a point. He has more than one point and she hate hate hates it.

A Jedi does not hate.

I am no Jedi.

“You’re going to have to convince me,” she says. “Especially if you want to somehow balance this with the darksaber thing. I won’t teach you how to fight with it if you’re not planning to retake Mandalore.”

“That’s how they’d sell it,” he says. “Retaking Mandalore. An army ostensibly for the Jedi, and ultimately...”

“You’d build an army of slaves.”

“No, I’d be the inside man for when they build that army anyway.”

She holds his gaze. She looks away first.

“Torrent?”

“I’m thinking.”

He lets her.

“I’ll need to talk to Rex. Probably Leia.”

“Understandable.”

“I don’t like this.”

“I’m only just considering it. It’s an idea, not a plan.”

“That’s the only reason I haven’t ripped your throat out with my teeth.”

“Hyperbole doesn’t suit you.”

She glares at him, and leaves, her mind chopping up and laying out every possible angle on Fett volunteering to do the exact same thing as last time, but somehow worse.

Great. Just what she needed.

---------------------------

Ahsoka isn’t there for the shouting match between Rex and Fett, but she doesn’t have to be. She can hear it form clear across the ship, and Rex comes to her afterwars. He’s been crying, which isn’t as surprising as it could be. These bodies are still prone to such things, and will be for years. She doesn’t comment.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

“We need to take out Sidious before he starts anything on Kamino.”

“Agreed,” she says. “It’ll be hard, though.”

“I don’t care.”

“What did Fett say?”

“That if it wasn’t going to be my brothers, it would be someone else’s. Either we stopped the cloning from happening at all, or we mitigated damage by being there.”

“I don’t think Sidious is going to tap him for it,” Ahsoka admits. “Not unless you’re willing to stage that kind of fight publicly enough for Fett to claim the Jedi poisoned you, family, against him. It could work, but it’s a gamble.”

He knows all of this.

“I miss them,” he says, and she cards her fingers though the curls he’s managed to grow in the past weeks. “I just... even at the end, I had Wolffe. I knew Boba was out there; I wouldn’t be surprised if the beskar let him survive a Sarlacc. I had brothers. Not as many as I used to, but there was always someone. I miss them all, so much it hurts.”

“It wouldn’t be them,” she reminds him. She pulls him closer, puts her cheek to his head. “It would be the same process, the same faces, the same training, even, but the boys themselves...”

He clings to her and shudders.

“Rex?”

“I can’t force them to grow up the way I did. I want them back. Sidious is going to make the army no matter what. Someone’s going to suffer, and I don’t want it to be my brothers, but they won’t exist otherwise, and...”

“And it’s an impossible choice,” she summarizes. “And it sucks.”

“It’s sucks Gungan balls, ‘Soka.”

She laughs, and feels him smile against her shoulder. Good. He needs to smile more.

“He’s still trying to get me to like him,” Rex says. "He’s still making an effort, and he never did that for anyone except Boba, and it’s weird. I don’t know what to do with any of that.”

“Gain a brother,” Ahsoka whispers, and she feels him jerk against her. “If that’s what you want.”

“He’s not vod.”

“Same blood as all the rest, and you’re older than him, so he’s not really in a position to be a parent to you like he was to Boba,” she says carefully. “You don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to, but... I think he’s trying. I think this means a lot to him, and that he isn’t any more sure of what to do than you are. You don’t have to forgive him for what he did in the future, you don’t have to accept when he reaches out, you don’t have to ever talk to him again after we reach Coruscant if you don’t want, but I think... I think it’s worth at least considering what you have to gain. I think it’s worth looking at what he’s trying to give you.”

Rex huffs. “Why couldn’t he just be the shabuir I knew in training?”

“Something happened between now and then?” she offers. “I don’t know. I never met him in the original timeline. I just know the guy that keeps trying to get on my good side so you’ll like him.”

He outright scoffs. “Soka, that’s not the only reason he’s trying to get on your good side.”

“...I’m a former Jedi who talks trash to his face,” she says slowly. “And I cried on him. There is no reason for him to be nice to me, other than you.”

“He thinks you’re cool and a good person and wants you to be his friend.”

“Bantha poodoo.”

Rex grins in a way that goes straight to smirking. “Soka, I’m not joking. Jango Fett wants you to be his friend.”

“Kriffing why?” she asks, more than a little horrified. “I’m a mess, look like I’m ten years younger than him, have gleefully kicked his ass in front of an audience; I even told Vos to throw him at a baby Sith Lord. Putting up with me is one thing, but I’m... I’m only barely not a Jedi. I’m a historical enemy of Mandalore, and part of the community he hates more than anything, and--”

“And his reaction to you kicking his ass was pure Mando,” Rex says. “In that he now thinks you’re a badass, and thus worth being friends with.”

“I can’t believe that. I physically cannot.”

“Soka, just accept it. The Mand’alor wants to be friends with you.” He scratches at his scalp. “I mean, he met you while you were protecting what appeared to be children, and it’s apparently still early enough for him to care about that.”

She leans back in her seat, eyes on the wall ahead of her and back against the cool metal of the other side. Rex falls back with her. She wonders if Rex changed the subject so they didn’t have to talk about deciding how many of his brothers get to exist, and whether or not he can swallow the bitterness of his history to have a connection with at least one member of his blood. She doesn’t ask. If he wants to change the subject, that’s his right.

“I don’t... no.” She denies it as well as she can, and then the implications dig a little deeper. “Is this me accidentally signing up to be the Jedi Order’s official liaison to the Mand’alor?”

“I mean, this point in time... they’ve got Kenobi for the Duchess, yeah?” Rex shrugs. “Good relations with the system are probably a good thing, and you’ve got a stronger connection than Tholme and Vos.”

“Ugh,” she says. She rubs a hand against her head, and then lurches to her feet. “Fine! Fine. If it’ll get him to retake Mandalore before the Sith decide to bribe him with an army he doesn’t get to keep, I’ll teach him how to fight for the kriffin’ Darksaber.”

“That’s what makes the decision for you?”

“Well something had to!”

They only get one lesson in before Coruscant, but the lesson lasts a full day, and Ahsoka’s got his comm number. Fett’s a quick learner anyway, and Tholme was there to give pointers where Ahsoka couldn’t.

He won’t measure up to a Jedi in saber-to-saber combat, but he doesn’t need to. He just needs to learn enough to turn all those skills with a beskad to something that works with a jetii’kad.

(The balance of a saber is wrong to those used to a physical weapon. The inertia doesn’t work the way anyone expects. There’s no need to worry about damaging the blade.)

(Fett is good. Ahsoka is better. And, bless his heart, he knows it.)

(She will mold him into the shape of someone who not only can, but should rule a system with a history like that, and he damn well knows that too.)

---------------------------

“Dropping out of hyperspace in T-minus twenty seconds.”

The Slave I is not, in fact, a Venator-class starship, or anything else near the size and smoothness of the ships that Ahsoka grew up on. This is a bounty hunter’s vessel, and the drop to real space jolts like nothing else. Ahsoka’s in the copilot seat for the return, but Tholme’s going to swap with her as soon as they’ve got confirmation that there were no problems with exiting hyperspace, and nobody’s shooting at them.

“We’re not going to get shot at,” Tholme had assured her.

“I always get shot at,” she’d told him.

“I have our clearance,” he reminded her, seeming more amused than frustrated. “There’s no need to worry about getting shot at.”

“I also always get shot at,” Jango had thrown in.

“Okay,” Tholme had allowed, after several minutes of his trust in the Temple warring against Ahsoka and Jango’s learned paranoia. The looks Quinlan had darted around the room when Leia and Rex also claimed ‘chronic getting-shot-at disease’ had been a treat. The paranoia of a Watchman and a future Shadow was great, but the paranoia of three revolutionaries and a galaxy-wide criminal was greater. “You can take us in close enough to get in radio contact, but the second we have to ask for clearance and a vector, I’m in the seat.”

She’d agreed, of course. She was paranoid, not inexperienced.

“We’re much less likely to get shot down by ground control if you tell them we’re with you,” she’d said, to his hilariously apparent metaphysical exhaustion. “Obviously.”

“Good enough,” he’d sighed.

What that means is mostly just that Ahsoka gets to watch the distant star at the center of Coruscant’s system grow rapidly brighter. She can pick out the constellations she’d grown up with, the stars the creche had projected on the ceiling every night, the ones that she may not have seen from the surface, but had greeted her and then sent her on her way every time she left on yet another campaign that lost her men their lives for a Sith Lord's wretched plans. These were the shapes and stories she’d never seen again as Fulcrum, a woman so hunted that to come within a dozen subsectors of the planet was to court her death.

For sixteen years, she hadn’t ventured closer than Alderaan, save for a single trip to Chandrila.

And now, maybe twenty minutes away at this speed, was the Temple. It was home.

A home that didn’t know her, that had sentenced her to death, that had hosted the rampage of her former master... but home nonetheless.

“Stable?” Fett grunts.

“Thrusters are good,” she confirms.

“I meant you.”

Ah. “I’m... fine. As good as I could be, anyway.”

She hesitates, but manages to speak before he does. “You?”

“I’m not the one walking into an entire building of triggers.”

“Only because you’re not entering it,” she says. “It’s the home of your ancestral enemies who, bad info or no, killed off a whole lot of your friends.”

“I get to leave,” he says. “You don’t.”

She plans to needle him a bit more, maybe on something a little less based in both their traumas. She needs to talk, if only to fill up the silence and keep herself from reaching out to all the lights in the Force. It’ll be too much, she knows.

Tholme enters the cockpit. “Change of plans.”

“Better be a good reason,” Jango says, voice flat.

“Leia’s crying.”

Ahsoka’s unbuckling herself before she can process the words fully. “What?”

Leia doesn’t cry for no reason. Her emotional control is as difficult as the body makes it, but she doesn’t just cry. There’s always a cause.

“I don’t know. Rex said to get you,” Tholme explains. “She was saying a name. He seemed to recognize it.”

Not good not good not good. If Leia was feeling the Emper--No. She cuts the thought off there. No catastrophizing. Information first.

“What name.”

“Luke. Mean anything to--and she’s gone.”

Ahsoka ignores him, just sprints to where she knows the ‘young ones’ are. They’re all in Maul’s room, because nobody wants to be alone with him now, but it’s the worst time to leave him without supervision. It’s not the worst option; he mostly refuses to talk, still.

This holds true, because he definitely isn’t talking when she bursts in. He’s sitting on the bench, in a corner, hugging his knees and watching Quinlan try to calm Leia down.

“Captain, sitrep.”

“Vos and Tholme attempted to show Leia how to reach out to feel the Temple from a distance. They felt that it would be a good use of the time, and an interesting exercise at this distance. She attempted to do so, struggled for several minutes, and then reacted with shock. She has repeated the name ‘Luke’ several times since then, and we’ve been unable to fully calm her down. I asked Tholme to get you, as you are the only Force-Sensitive on board that understands the situation in full.”

“Understood.” She nods to him, and then goes to nudge at Quinlan. “Vos, move.”

“Torre--”

“You can sit behind her, hold her in your lap like you did when we had lunch the other day, but I need to get in her face.” She waits for him to comply, and then drops to her knees and takes Leia’s hands in her own. She radiates calm and assurance, even though she knows Quinlan’s probably been doing the same since this started. She dips her head enough to get in the girl’s line of sight, waits for her to meet eyes.

“Princess,” she says, and meets Leia’s eyes. “What did you feel?”

“Luke.”

From this distance... they’ve got half the system to go, at least, and Leia’s training shouldn’t reach that far for anything more than the fact that the Temple is there. Ahsoka could feel unshielded individuals from here, if she focused, but she’s also been doing this much, much longer. The twins theory holds more water than ever.

“Can you show me?” Ahsoka asks, instead of asking for more clarification. She squeezes Leia’s hands and smiles. “In the Force?”

Leia nods, and closes her eyes. It’s not the first time they’ve done this, but it’s the first time in a while that Leia’s needed Ahsoka to guide her through.

Luke’s light, for all that it’s unfamiliar to Ahsoka, is brilliant among the rest of the signatures in Coruscant. Like Anakin and Leia, he’s a star in his own right, but he’s brighter. He doesn’t have Anakin’s bitterness or Leia’s righteous anger, just... light. Ahsoka had asked Leia to show her instead of looking for herself because she’d expected to not recognize the boy, but she needn’t have. He’s unmistakable.

He’s so bright that she almost misses the other signature that she does recognize. She shies away, knowing that it would be there, but... but it’s almost twinned with another nearby. Not identical, but different in a way that comes with age, with trauma, with... death.

Leia hadn’t arrived alone, after all.

Why would Luke?

Her eyes snap open, her hand coming up not-quite-fast enough to clap over her mouth as she gasps. She feels a shudder, one that starts in her shoulders and reaches deep into her ribcage, finds a home in her chest and doesn’t stop.

“Oh fuck,” Quinlan whispers. “Torrent? Um, Sokari?”

Rex steps closer. “Commander?”

“That shabuir faked his death again,” she manages. “Three times, Rex!”

He blinks at her. “...I know way too many people who fit that description, Soka.”

“Master Ke--” she cuts herself off. He might have changed his name, just like she had. There’s already an Obi-Wan here. Rex seems to be figuring it out, but she needs to give him another hint.

“He pulled a Hardeen,” she stresses, and Rex’s eyes snap shut with a tired groan.

“Who?” Leia asks, her own tumult of emotion paused in the wake of Ahsoka’s shock. There’s a hope and relief to her, and Ahsoka belatedly realizes that her main worry had been that she’d misidentified what was going on, that she’d given herself a false hope. Ahsoka’s internal reaction, her approval and awe at Luke’s presence, had trickled over enough to give Leia the reassurance she’d needed.

Unintentional as it was, Ahsoka was glad that she’d succeeded in helping her charge.

“Er...” she trails off. “I don’t know what name he’s going by, right now. We’ve spent so long in hiding...”

“The man Luke knew as Crazy Old Ben,” Rex says, and Leia’s eyes light up.

“Oh,” she breathes. “General O--no, names. The High General, then.”

“Yeah,” Ahsoka says, not a little soft. “Yeah, I guess death didn’t stop him any more than it stopped me.”

“I could have told you that,” Leia says, smiling far too widely. She squirms where she still sits on Quinlan’s lap. “He was... he taught you, right?”

“As much my master as the official one,” Ahsoka says. She glances as Quinlan, feels Maul’s gaze on the back of her head. “Your f... my official master was very young when I was assigned to him. He wasn’t ready to teach, wasn’t even ready to be a knight, entirely, so my training was split between him and his master.”

Quinlan pops in at that moment, “Your grandmaster was military, too?”

We all were, she thinks. Even you, in your own way.

“I landed in their care mid-battle,” she says carefully. “It was a complicated situation.”

He nods, and she vaguely notes that he’s got his arms wrapped around Leia, and his chin tucked on top of her head. She isn’t sure if Leia’s noticed, but Quinlan’s picked up ‘baby’-sitting duty so often recently that she’s fairly certain he’s all but declared her ‘little-sister shaped.’ It doesn’t matter that Leia’s older--she’s still taking the juice boxes and gummy snacks that Quinlan shoves at her every single snacktime.

“Do you think...” Rex trails off, something uncomfortable twisting in the Force, even though his face keeps it mostly hidden. “My brothers. If the General survived and... and made it back...”

“I didn’t feel any,” Ahsoka says, because she knows she’d have noticed if it was anyone she’d met, and likely any clone at all. They all felt different in the Force, but they all held a spark that made her know it was one of them. “I’m sorry, Rex’ika.”

“A long shot,” he says, that dash of hope shriveling up. He must see something in her face, because there’s a curl of warmth in him, even if his smile is brittle. “It’s fine, really. I have you, ‘Soka.”

Rex and Ahsoka. Two halves of one whole.

She can’t wait to hear the lectures on attachment, the way people who haven’t seen her wars try to criticize her for clinging to any chance at still having a will to live. She can’t wait to see them justify telling her that it’s selfish to hold her sanity in her hands and refuse to let the grief take it away. She can’t wait to stare someone down for asking her to ‘learn to let go’ after she’s lost her family, her life, her universe three times over.

Most of the Jedi are more sensible than that, are reasonable enough to see those shades of grey and how to approach rules in the spirit they are meant instead of the rigid letter, but there will be some.

There will be more than enough telling her she is wrong to hold her oldest, closest, best friend as dear as she can.

Attachment, they’ll say.

What they’ll mean is ‘codepedence.’

They won’t be entirely wrong.

She reaches out for him, lets him fall into her side and stay there, closes her eyes and reaches out for the man she’d long called father, when they’d still been in each other’s lives.

This time, past the deafening flare of surprise-love-hope of the little star next to him, she can feel him reach back.

---------------------------

The second the ship has landed, even before Tholme and Fett are done with the checks, Ahsoka’s waiting at the exit. She strains her hearing so she’ll know the second the system will let her open the massive door of the cargo hold.

Leia clings to her side, and the boys stand to her back.

Quinlan’s stressed enough that she can feel it like a cloud. She is very much not trying to feel that stress. Quinlan’s stress levels, back where he’s got Maul so he can keep an eye on Ahsoka and the Baby Sith at the same time, are so low on her priorities list that it’s a a little sad.

It doesn’t take long for her to be able to punch the button and open the damn door.

It opens slowly. She bounces on her toes, because there’s a beacon of light and a steady, familiar glow on the other side, and she’s so, so close. She can’t see through the crack yet, because it’s day in this part of Coruscant, and the sunlight is blinding against the dark of the hold. So close. She’s so close.

“The hell’s wrong with you?”

Fett? Fett. He’s already here to get off? This door’s slow.

She doesn’t answer him, because the door is finally open enough to let her out, and she leaps through the gap.

She lands on a pourstone floor, feels pebbles and grit compress under her boots, frantically looks around as her eyes adjust to light and--

The High General, the Negotiator, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, looking just as he did when she first met him, if a little less armored and a little more fed. The hair, the beard, the crinkle in the corner of his eyes. His spirit is a little older, his smile a little more strained, his posture a little more tired, but it’s him.

He spreads his arms, low enough that she could have dismissed it if she’d cared less for hugs, except she’s almost as small as she was when they met.

And every other hug she’d given back then had been, functionally, her being a living missile aiming her montrals for someone’s organs.

She’s a little more aware of how to avoid stabbing her friends in the intestine now.

“Master!”

She sprints for him, collides and sobs, feels him stumble back and then sink to his knees on the too-hard floor, and can feel the tears pouring out of her already. Her breath hitches, and she wails like a child, and that last part of her that couldn’t even grasp at safety shreds itself. His arms are tight around her, warm and strong and Master Kenobi don’t you dare leave again.

It doesn’t matter that Sidious is out there, that the Republic’s been building towards war for a century, that even now someone’s kicking up the Trade Federation. Her dad is here.

“I’ve missed you too, my dear,” he says, pressing a kiss to the side of her head, the bristles of his beard scratching along the skin of her forehead. Off to the side, the binary suns that are Luke and Leia grow brighter in proximity, so bright she can barely bear it.

(“Fett, why the kriff are you reaching for your blaster?!”)

(“Torrent said her master tried to kill her.”)

(“Different guy, that was a different guy, put the blaster away.”)

(“You could have just warned me.”)

(“I didn’t expect you to go for a shot on sight!”)

(”Calm down, Jetiika, if I was going to shoot on sight, we’d already be in a firefight.”)

She ignores everything.

“If you fake your death one more time, I swear I’m going to kill you myself.”

He tries to pull away to talk to her more directly. She does not let him. He apparently resigns himself to this, because he just adjusts how he’s sitting and pulls her in closer.

“In my defense, I was far from the only one presumed dead that took advantage of that status, by the end,” he says, letting her slump into his lap and cry herself dry. “I’m proud of you. You know that, I hope.”

She nods against his chest, smearing tears and snot across the linen and wool. She doesn’t care that they’ll need a thorough washing. She can have her public breakdown and it’s fine because Master Kenobi is here.

He doesn’t even know what she’s spent the past fifteen years doing. Luke wouldn’t have known. He doesn’t know she’s thirty-two and broken, beyond a shadow and cut down by her own master. There’s so much he doesn’t know but the Force rings with the truth of it: he’s proud of her anyway.

“I’m going by Ben, now,” he mutters against her montral. “There’s already an Obi-Wan here, after all. Still, I remain a Kenobi.”

She can’t make the words come out of her mouth. She’s overwhelmed, so much so that speech is a mite bit beyond her.

Sokari Torrent, she presses along the frayed bond that’s knitting itself back to life with every breath they take. Leia was already calling me Auntie Soka, and Rex and I both took Torrent, for...

“For the men you lost,” he mutters. “Yes, that’s fitting.”

He smells like sapir tea and a spiced beard oil.

There’s a whirl of activity about her, greetings and ‘a Sith apprentice?’ and introductions. She distantly notes when Fett almost shoots Dooku before Rex shuts that down and advises the Master to leave the area before things spiral out of control. She feels Ben stand, and she stands with him, clings to his side like a child and trusts that whatever happens, whatever needs to happen, he’ll take care of it until she can stand on her own two feet without swaying.

Rex grabs her free hand, and she feels herself settle back into her skin, bit by bit.

She’s back at the Temple. The twins are safe. Her grandmaster is here. She has her other half.

They can save the galaxy this time.

She’s alive she’s home she’s okay.

She’s okay.

Everything’s going to be okay.

#Ahsoka Tano #Captain Rex #Leia Organa #Jango Fett #rex and ahsoka #Quinlan Vos #Tholme #Depa Billaba #Obi Wan Kenobi #Ben Kenobi #Maul #Darth Maul #time travel #de aging #ptsd #trauma #child soldiers #Phoenix Files #Uncle Ben and Little Luke #Auntie Soka and Little Leia #disaster lineage

[hyogonokitsune]

blush -- suna rintarou x reader

here’s some soft suna smut, go fetch!

edit: here’s pt 2 and pt 3

virginity loss, slight praise kink, oral (f receiving), whoops! rintarou has feelings

4700 words

--

You were not quite sure how you all ended up on this topic, but it didn’t surprise you one bit that Atsumu was the one to bring it up.

“So how old were ya when ya lost it?” he asked with a grin on his face.

Suna glanced up at the sky as he thought about his answer. “Fourteen, I guess.”  

“Ugh, man! You beat me!” Atsumu groaned in annoyance. “I was fifteen.” It was slight, but you caught Suna giving him a self-satisfied smirk. Atsumu turned to his brother next. “What about you, ‘Samu? I don’t think I ever asked.”

“Pfft, like hell I’d ever tell you,” was the only response he gave.

The four of you were walking through Inarizaki’s dark campus together after the team’s evening practice. It was early autumn, and although the days were still warm, the temperature at night was beginning to dip lower and lower. You shivered as a crisp breeze blew past, digging your hands further into your jacket pockets.

“What about you, y/n?” Atsumu asked, peering down at you. “How old were ya?”

You had hoped he’d forgotten about you, but now that he had directly asked you could feel your cheeks reddening slightly. “I, uh, I haven’t done it yet,” you answered sheepishly.

“What, seriously?! You’re a virgin?” Atsumu’s eyes widened in surprise, but they quickly squinched shut when Osamu smacked him on the back of the head.

“Yell it a bit louder, why don’t ya? I don’t think everyone on campus heard you, dumbass.”

“Ouch, sorry,” Atsumu muttered in apology, but your blush had already deepened. “I’m just a little shocked to learn that our precious manager is a virgin.”

“It’s not really that big of a deal, honestly,” Suna said, his voice low. It was a little unusual to hear him defend anyone, but you were grateful for it all the same.

“Ya know, y/n, if ya ever wanna lose your virginity, I’d be happy to help out,” Atsumu said, giving you a salacious smirk. You rolled your eyes at his offer, a small laugh escaping from your lips as you flicked him on the side of his head.

The path split then, and Suna turned left to continue on by himself to the campus dorms. He waved goodnight to the three of you, and you noticed that his eyes lingered on you for half a second too long before he turned away.

 --

 Click, click, click

Your thumb pressed repeatedly on the end of your pen as you stared hard at the words in front of you.

“Hey, knock it off.” You looked up at the sound of Suna’s voice, his irritation plain on his face. “It’s annoying.”

The two of you were sitting on the floor of his room, Suna propped up against his bed and you leaning against the opposite wall. Loose sheets of paper and an open textbook were on the floor between you as you both studied for an exam the next day.

“Sorry, I didn’t even realize I was doing it,” you muttered, turning your attention back to Suna’s notebook on your lap. You were reading through it, checking that there wasn’t anything he had written down that you had missed in class. In truth, you were finding it hard to concentrate on the notes, as something else was nagging at your thoughts. You hadn’t been able to shake the conversation you’d had the other night, and despite Atsumu’s suggestion, he wasn’t the one you had been thinking about since then.

You had heard rumors around campus, and stories from some of the girls in your classes. At first it had made you a little uncomfortable to know such personal details about someone you had to see every day, especially since he wasn’t aware that you knew, but over time you gradually got used to it, and you were beginning to wonder about what it might be like to experience that firsthand. You were sure that it wouldn’t get out. After all, those rumors that you had heard had come from the girls themselves, never him; if you didn’t tell anyone, no one would ever have to know about it. Besides, after two and a half years spent on the same team, you two had grown rather close. There were few people that you could trust more than him, and, in your opinion at least, that was the most important factor influencing your decision.

You just had to think of a way to tell him.

Suna’s low voice cut through the silence in the room. “Maaan, I’m beat. What time is it?” he asked, stretching his arms over his head.

You glanced at your watch, sighing a bit when you saw how late it was. “Half past ten.”

“Fuck.” He rubbed at his eyes. “I think we’ve crammed as much as we possibly can for tonight.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” you replied as you stood up. The two of you started tidying up his room, and you gathered your books and pens into your bag.

“You want me to walk you to the bus stop?”

“No, I’ll be alright.”

“’Kay.”

You had your hand on the doorknob, ready to leave, but you found yourself unable to turn it.

“Suna?”

“Hmm?” he hummed, and when he turned to look at you, you felt an unexpected surge of confidence well up inside. If you didn’t tell him now, you didn’t think you’d ever be able to.

Dropping your hand from the doorknob, you angled your shoulders to face him head on, willing yourself to look him in the eye. “I want you to take my virginity.”

There was a slight widening of his eyes, almost imperceptible, but you caught it before his face fell back into its usual indifferent mask. There was a moment or two of silence, and you tried to keep yourself from panicking; maybe he was just trying to gauge how serious you were.

Eventually he spoke, the corner of his lip quirking up into a cheeky grin. “You sure you don’t want Atsumu to be the one?”

You couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling. “I think I’d rather die, if I’m being honest.”

Suna laughed then, short but genuine, and you felt the tension ease from your shoulders. “I’ll do it, if that’s really what you want.”

You gave him a quick nod, hand reaching towards the door again.

“Come back here tomorrow.”

 --

 You knocked twice on Suna’s door and it opened almost immediately. He must have just recently gotten out of the shower because his hair was still damp, a droplet of water clinging to a lock of hair next to his cheek as he stared down at you.

“I was half-expecting you not to show up,” he said, a slight smile on his lips.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you asked as you squeezed past him to step into the room; he offered no response.

You dropped your bag and blazer onto his desk chair, and when you turned around Suna had moved into the center of the room, within arm’s reach.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” There was an uncharacteristic note of concern in his voice that made your heart melt.

You gave a slight nod, a small smile on your face. “I’m sure.”

Those two words were all he needed.

Suna closed the gap between you in one step. His left hand came to rest on your waist, his right moving up to cup your cheek as he leaned down to place his lips on yours. His kiss was unexpectedly soft, and you couldn’t stop a tiny gasp from escaping you in surprise. This wasn’t a Suna that you were familiar with; this was a Suna that was unbelievably tender with his touch, but you could feel a more passionate side simmering just beneath the surface by the way that his fingers ever so slowly applied pressure to your waist.

Unconsciously, your hands moved first to his shoulders, then to the back of his head, where your fingers buried themselves in his damp hair. Your touch encouraged him to draw you in closer, his arm snaking around your waist to press you against his body. His kisses were becoming firmer now, deeper, more urgent, his tongue slipping past your lips to brush against yours.

A feeling of warmth was in your chest now, spreading down throughout your body, and with it came a sudden feeling of uncertainty. Suna broke away from you and stepped back to sit on the edge of his bed, and the sight of him there suddenly stole away all the confidence you had felt earlier.

“Come here,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. The sound of it made your legs feel weak, but you forced yourself to step towards him. His hands moved to your hips, intending to pull you closer, but you put your palms on his shoulders to brace yourself.

“Wait a minute,” you said, a little breathless.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just…” Your voice trailed off and you swallowed hard. “I’m just a little nervous.”

You were embarrassed to admit it, but to your surprise Suna smiled, and the gentleness on his face was reassuring. “Yeah, I think it’s normal to be a little nervous.” One of his hands left your hip to move to your elbow. His fingers dragged lightly down your forearm and wrapped around your wrist, so that he could lift your hand and press it against his chest. “I’m a little nervous, too.” You could feel his heart against your palm, beating a little faster and harder than normal. The proof of his own anxiety made all of your apprehensions disappear, and you leaned down to kiss him. Before he could deepen it, you broke away again.

“Suna?”

“Hmm?”

“Could we turn the light off?”

“Of course,” he grinned, leaning over to switch off the lamp on his bedside table.

The room became dark, but the sun had only recently dipped below the horizon and your eyes quickly adjusted to the cold blue light coming in through the window. Suna’s body was outlined against the bed, his features hazy in the dim lighting, but his eyes were clear as he gazed up at you, imploring you to come closer.

He guided you down onto his lap, one of his hands on each of your thighs to place them at his sides. His kisses were needier now, almost hungry in the way that his mouth moved against yours. His hands slid up to rest on your hips once more, and when he slowly tugged them closer, dragging you over his hardening cock, you couldn’t stop the moan that bubbled up from your chest. You could feel him grinning against your lips, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed, not when the feeling of his body under your hands was causing that heat to grow in your core.

“Does that feel good, baby?” Suna asked, his voice breathy and low. A blush crept up your face at his words, the tone of them so much more intimate than anything you’d heard before. You grinded against him again, causing him to moan lightly into your mouth.

Your hands slid down to press against his chest, fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt. He paused kissing you just long enough to take his shirt off, tossing it onto the floor before grabbing your waist and drawing you in even closer. Tentatively, you brought your hands back to his chest. The heat of his skin, the pounding of his heart, his heavy breaths emboldened you, prompting you to explore more of his body. Your fingers traveled lightly over his chest, across his collarbones, onto his shoulders, across the back of his neck, down to his shoulder blades; every place you touched gave way to growing desire.

Suna’s hands wandered up your stomach and over your breasts to undo the buttons of your blouse, but he couldn’t undo them fast enough for you; you suddenly couldn’t stand another moment with the fabric between you, you needed to feel your skin pressed up against his now. Your fingers moved to the bottom of your blouse and quickly worked their way upwards, meeting his in the middle before tearing the shirt from your body.

His eyes roamed over you and he whispered something that you couldn’t quite hear. Before you could say anything, his head moved to your neck, pressing hot kisses into your skin, down the column of your throat and over your collarbones. The top of his head tickled under your chin, making you giggle; his lips left your shoulder with a wet sound as he turned his face up to look at you, but you dug your nails into his arms and whimpered at the loss of his touch.

“Please don’t stop,” you breathed.

Suna gripped you tightly around your waist to lift you off of him and shift you so you were lying down on the bed, his body leaning over you. Pulling one of your legs up so that he could position himself between them, he resumed kissing your neck, his warm breath tickling your ear. His hands worked their way down your sides, a trail of goosebumps left in their wake, to come to rest at the waistband of your skirt. He lifted his head to kiss you on the lips briefly before carefully tugging your skirt down over your hips and off your legs. His eyes lingered on your purple lace panties, moved up to your matching bra, and finally to meet your own gaze.

“These are cute,” he said with a smirk, one finger lifting up the band of your panties and letting it snap against your skin.

“Shut up,” you groaned, covering your blushing face with your arm.

“Did you match these just for me?” he teased.

“I said shut up, Rintarou!”

You heard a sharp intake of breath, and lowered your arm to see that the look on his face had shifted into completely unconstrained desire. He kissed you then, tongue forcing its way into your mouth, greedily swallowing your moans. You could feel yourself getting wetter as he pressed his cock in-between your legs; the sensation was becoming almost too much to bear.

Suna pulled away suddenly, and a thin strand of saliva briefly connected your mouths, glinting in the low light. “Hey, do you want me to wear a condom?” he asked, rubbing his thumb slowly over your bottom lip.

“Oh!” You were lying in his bed half naked, and his tongue had just been in your mouth, but for some reason that question made you feel shy all of a sudden. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I’m, uh… I’m on the pill,” you told him, feeling your cheeks heat up again. He only nodded once before leaning in to kiss you again.

One of his hands slowly slid up your side to your breast, his thumb rubbing over your nipple through the fabric of your bra. When he broke the kiss to move his lips to your neck, you leaned forward slightly to unhook your bra, tossing it on the floor with the rest of your clothes. Suna sucked in a breath at the sight of you, gazing at you almost reverently before placing his lips back on your throat, letting his hand blindly fondle your breast. Moving slowly, he made his way down your throat and over your collarbones, planting sloppy kisses every few inches, until his tongue was swirling small circles around your nipple, feeling it grow harder at his touch. At the same time, his other hand was pressing into your hip, fingers digging insistently into the soft flesh. That hand now started moving down over the outside of your thigh, pausing almost at the knee before running back up along the inside.

You gasped when he touched your clothed pussy for the first time, his fingers brushing against your clit through the fabric. You would have felt embarrassed at the wetness you felt seeping through your panties, but the feeling of having him touch you in so many places was too good for you to care. He was rubbing circles around your clit, causing a knot to form deep in your stomach. You reached with both hands into his hair, gripping the back of his head tightly as a pitiful whimper escaped you.

“Oh, Rintarou…”

“What is it, baby?” He leaned forward to plant a kiss on your cheek, his hand still working slowly between your legs. “What do you need?”

Another pitiful sound left your mouth and your nails dug into his shoulders. He sat up straight, his free hand coming to rest on your leg as his other continued to draw soft moans out of you.

A new feeling had settled in your chest, a need that you had never experienced before. It wasn’t enough to have him simply touch you; you needed to feel him inside of you.

“Rin, please,” you practically begged him, reaching towards the waistband of his sweatpants.

He gently pushed your hands away, a low chuckle rising in his throat. “You’re not ready yet, baby,” he told you in a soft voice. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Groaning, you fell back into the pillow, your breath coming out harder as he started kissing the inside of your thigh, slowly, painfully slowly, moving closer to where the heat was pooling between your legs. Both of his hands now hooked under your thighs to rest on top of your hip bones, pinning you in place. He kept his eyes on your face as his tongue ran almost lazily over your panties.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, head tilting back and eyes squeezing shut.

“You’re already so wet,” he murmured, and you could hear the smile in his voice. He was still licking you agonizingly slowly, relishing the way you squirmed around him. “Do you want me to taste you, baby?”

“Mm hmm,” you answered, a little too quickly in your eagerness to have him touch more of you. He moved one of his hands to hook a finger under your panties, pulling them to the side to reveal your glistening pussy.

His mouth was on your bare clit now, and the sensation was overwhelming. It was different from all the times you had pleasured yourself; this was warm and wet and achingly soft, and it was causing the coil in your stomach to rapidly tighten. He hummed lightly, the vibrations running over your clit and causing you to practically scream. When he lifted his face away from you, you nearly cried. He slid your panties down your legs and tossed them on the floor, leaving you completely bare before him.

Suna leaned back down, tongue running up and down your folds, swirling around your clit, kissing all over your pussy. Every single contact made your back arch, made your hands grip the sheets a little more tightly. He traced a finger along the edge of your pussy, gathering up the wetness before slowly pressing it into you. You clenched around him as his finger curled up to press into the soft spot within you, the spot that made your breath catch in your throat. You opened your eyes to look down at him; his mouth and finger were still at work on your pussy, but his gaze was trained on your face, sage-colored eyes glinting in the dark.

The coil in your stomach finally snapped, your orgasm falling over you in waves of intense pleasure. Your toes curled, legs tensed up around his head, hands reached down to wind into his soft hair.

“Rin-Rintarou!”

Suna kept his face pressed into your pussy, sucking gently on your clit as you came around his finger. The overstimulation was becoming too much, and your breath was coming out in labored sobs.

“Rin, p-please, stop!”

Immediately, he pulled away, crawling over your body to kiss you hard on the mouth. “I like the way you taste, cutie,” he sighed into your ear, nuzzling at your neck. “And I love the way you moan for me.”

You were panting, still coming down from your high. Suna’s hand came up to caress your face, thumb rubbing gently over your cheekbones. He waited for your breathing to even out before sitting up to remove his pants. You couldn’t help but stare at the way his cock looked; you had no reference point, but you were pretty sure he was above average.

He lazily stroked his cock with one hand as he shifted your legs with the other, positioning himself close to your entrance. He dragged the head over your pussy, coating it with the wetness there.

Suna was looking straight at you again. “Are you ready?” he asked, his voice breathless.

“Yes,” you told him. He leaned down to plant one more kiss on your lips, before slowly pressing his cock into you.

All the time he spent pleasuring you already ensured that you were relaxed enough to take him, but even so, he went slow. He sank in a few inches before pausing, allowing you to adjust to his size as he peppered your face with kisses, before giving you some more. It took a full minute before he completely joined his hips to yours, a soft groan escaping his lips.

“Are you okay, baby?” he asked, his voice impossibly soft.

“Yeah.” You gave him a small smile, hands running up the backs of his arms to rest on his shoulder blades. It felt so incredibly good to finally have him inside you, to fill you up completely. There had been a slight pressure when he first entered you, but that was subsiding now, and you could fully enjoy the way his cock stretched you out.

Suna pulled his hips away from you, his cock dragging slowly along your sensitive walls. The loss of him drew a soft whimper out of you, turning into a moan when he pushed back in. His pace was unhurried at first, but with each breathy sigh you made he increased his speed, pulling out a little further each time.

“Rin, oh, oh…”

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he moaned, lips capturing yours in a wet kiss. “You feel so good, baby.”

He bent down to take one of your nipples into his mouth, rolling it between his teeth with just enough pressure to make your spine arch, fingers gripping his shoulders tightly to let him know that you wanted more.

“Rin, I-I… oh god-”

He straightened back up so he could look into your face, his thumb and forefinger continuing to play with your nipple. “Does that feel good?” he asked in a low voice. You nodded, eyes squeezed tight against the pleasure, and another soft whimper left your throat. “You’re taking my cock so well, baby,” he murmured; you could feel the knot in your stomach tighten at his praise. “Do you want more?”

“Yes, please, please…”

He quickened his pace even more, hips snapping into yours hard enough now to apply deliciously pleasant friction to your clit. You couldn’t have stopped the sounds leaving your mouth even if you wanted to; every thrust of his cock made you come undone a little more. The pleasure radiated throughout your entire body, making you feel slightly lightheaded.

Suna placed both hands on the backs of your knees and lifted them, pressing your legs towards your chest. The new angle of your hips allowed his cock to press into that spot inside you that made your breath burn in your lungs. The feeling was unbelievable; you had never felt pleasure like this before.

Your eyes snapped open. Suna was staring down, watching his cock sink repeatedly into your dripping wet pussy. When your hand gave his shoulder a small squeeze he looked up, eyes locking with yours. His face was etched with determination, all of his efforts going towards making you feel good. His cheeks were flushed pink, and his eyes contained something that you couldn’t quite place.

“Are you gonna cum for me, princess?” His voice was husky, gaze burning with desire.

“Yes, Rin, please don’t stop,” you breathed out between gasps.

He kept his pace consistent, hitting that sweet spot over and over and over again. Your nails were digging into his back, leaving tiny crescent-shaped indentations in his skin. The knot in your stomach was tightening, tightening, tightening—

“Rintarou!” you cried out as the second orgasm overtook you, breath catching in your chest. Your legs trembled under Suna’s hands as he kept fucking you through it, groaning as your pussy clenched around him.

He could feel himself getting closer. He slowed his pace, leaning over to press hard kisses into your neck as you came down from your high. When your breathing started to even out, his lips moved up over your jaw and to your mouth. You kissed him greedily, hands moving to entwine themselves in his hair.

“Where do you want me to cum?” he asked, voice slightly hoarse. He was still moving against you, cock pumping slowly in and out of your pussy.

“Ah… oh,” was all you could manage to squeak out.

“Hmm?” He nuzzled his nose against your neck, warm breath tickling your skin. “Where, baby?”

“Inside… I want you to cum inside me,” you whispered.

With a groan, Suna started thrusting into you harder again. The wetness between your legs was audible with each stroke of his cock, and the sound of it only made him come closer to the edge. The sensation against your clit was pushing you into overstimulation, tears springing up in the corners of your eyes from the sheer pleasure. You reached down with one hand to grasp at his thigh, nails digging into the muscles working to join him to you, desperately trying to pull him closer, closer.

“God, I’m so close…” he murmured, face held so near to yours that your noses bumped each time he pounded into you.

“Oh, you feel so good,” you moaned.

“Can you say my name, baby?” His voice was hardly above a whisper.

“Rin,” you sighed, and his hips snapped into you almost urgently. “Please cum, Rin, I want you to cum for me…”

He buried his face in your neck, groaning deeply as he came. “Fuck.” You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, hot cum spurting deep into your pussy.

He was still for a moment, breathing hard against your skin, before slowly pulling out and rolling over to lie beside you. You felt some of his cum drip out of you, blushing at the sensation. The two of you were silent for a while, your panting breaths the only sounds in the room.

“How was that?” Suna asked eventually, turning onto his side to face you. You suddenly found yourself unable to look at him, pressing your face instead into the crook of his neck and humming contentedly. He chuckled softly and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer to him. “I wasn’t too rough with you, was I?” he asked, an uncharacteristic note of concern in his voice.

“Not at all,” you told him. “I liked it.”

You fell silent again. With your body pressed up against his, you could feel the beat of his heart, slowly steadying from its rapid pace. His skin was so warm, and you didn’t even mind the slight sheen of sweat covering both your bodies. You took a breath, inhaling his scent; you couldn’t describe what he smelled like, you just knew that he smelled good.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but you must have been lying there for at least a quarter hour. You lifted your head to look at him and saw that his eyes were closed. Did he fall asleep?

“Rin?” you asked tentatively.

“Hmm?” His response was a low rumble in his chest; you could feel the vibrations against your palm. His eyes were still closed.

“Why were you nervous before?” You wriggled in his arms a bit, trying to get a better view of his face. “I mean, it wasn’t your first time.”

He opened his eyes, only to glance at you briefly before turning his head to look up at the ceiling. “It was my first time with you,” he mumbled, so soft you almost didn’t catch it.

With your hand still on his chest you could feel when his heart started beating faster. Peering at his face in the dark, you could have sworn you saw Suna Rintarou blush.

--

➣ masterlist

#sorry this is almost 5000 words sfbsgbgsk i got carried away #suna just makes me feel 🥺🤧🥵🥵 #suna rintarou #suna rintarou smut #suna smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #suna x reader #suna rintarou x reader #suna #niakasi writing