#navigate my general messiness

[uncanny-tranny]

Healing can look and feel a lot like pain, so it's hard to imagine this being a good sign. However, I think feeling like it's getting worse can be a sign that you're healing and you're making progress.

I've been noticing in myself that I feel a whole lot worse ever since I actually... acknowledged I have a lot of healing to do and that I am unwell. I actually allowed myself to entertain the idea, and it's opened the floodgates to me finding out just how bad it got. I'm grateful in a way that I'm getting worse now because I have the ability to heal.

If it feels like it's gotten worse, maybe it could be because you're making your way out of the storm. It's going to be okay.

#mental health #mental health advocacy #recovery #i think getting worse is a sign that your brain is ready/you feel safe enough to BE worse #it can be more complex than that but this is my general opinion about it #i've noticed a lot more increased symptoms/seemingly new symptoms and while it's hard to discern why that is... #...i guess i just think it's okay to 'let' yourself be/become worse as you make progress toward recovery #because recovery is a process and not a destination #it's learning how to feel safe and secure and learning how to recognize yourself and your boundaries #it's learning how to apply those skills in your life to make it easier to navigate #it's a messy and human process that is so dependent on the individual and their needs and goals

[kaciidubs]

Walking in on Roommate! Chan

❣ Summary: Random hard thought of accidentally walking in on your roommate, Chris, while he's masturbating. ❣  ❣ Word Count: 928 ❣ Warnings: Non!Idol AU, Roommate! Chris, fluff, slice of life, slight humor, slight smut; masturbation and being caught, embarrassing moments turned funny ❣  ❣ Gender Neutral! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: Chan is referred to as Chris and Channie, mention of Jisung, Felix, Jeongin, and Changbin, barely edited ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist ❣ Pt. 2

You should have knocked - you knew your manners, you knew the sanctity of privacy when living with a roommate, but in all honesty this wasn't your fault.

You'd heard him talking over the phone not too long ago, you could hear the sound of laughter and the mention of Jisung's name which meant it wasn't a serious call.

All you needed was the answer to a question; you just wanted to know if he wanted to host another game night at the apartment for your collective friends.

"Hey, Channie, can I ask-"

Pushing the door open, you were met with the sight of your roommate - your funny, silly, hot, attractive roommate - laid back on his bed with his joggers tugged to his knees and his dick in his fist.

Holy Shit.

His head was tossed back against the headboard of his bed, black hair beautifully messy and pretty lips parted with his tongue poking out between them.

Holy shit.

Emphasis lingered on was, as his head snapped up and the eyes that were once closed were now glued to you standing in the open doorway of his room watching him jack off.

Your name flew from his mouth with a shout, the embarrassed shock on his face was evident, but it all seemed to melt away when his breath caught - gaze faltering with fluttered blinks.

"Fuck- Wait- S-Shit-"

It didn't take you long to realize what was happening, and your hands flew to your face to preserve whatever privacy was left for you both.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Oh my god- I'm so sorry!"

Blinded by the almost painful way you squeezed your eyes shut, and the added weight of your hands, you did your best to block out his panted breaths while navigating your way out of the doorway; slamming your shoulder against the frame as you ran back down the hall.

The door was left open but the damage had already been done, shouting another apology as you swung yourself into your room.

"I'm sorry!"

Two hours.

Two hours of hiding away in your room before the incessant growling of your stomach forced you out into the open - if you could just grab a bag of chips, you would be fine, you could go back to pretending whatever you just saw was a trick of your mind.

However, life seemed to enjoy laughing in your face as you ventured into the kitchen to see Chris already standing there, fingers drumming against the countertop.

Noticing your presence, he stood straight, staring at you as if you were an easily frightened animal - worried that if he moved in the slightest way, he'd scare you off.

"Uh, hey."

Swallowing thickly, you nodded, "Hey."

Normal.

All you needed to do was act normal and push away the mental image of your best friend in the throws of pleasure, the way his face looked or the way his shivering breaths played on loop in the back of your mind.

"I ordered takeout-"

"I'm sorry I saw your dick."

Great.

You smacked your forehead with a loud groan, "I didn't mean to just blurt that out! Oh my fucking god, Chris, I'm so, so sorry - this whole thing is so embarrassing."

The burden of your anguish was curbed by the sound of his high squeaks of laughter, prompting you to peek between your fingers to see him leaning against the counter for support.

"I- It's-" Steadying himself with a deep breath, he looked at you with warm eyes, "It's okay, really - it's my fault for not locking the door, you know? Think of it as payback for me accidentally walking in on you in the shower that one time."

You couldn't help the burst of laughter that rose from the memory, "You were half asleep, that's not the same!"

"So what?! I still walked in - I didn't even think about the steam until you screamed, I almost had a heart attack!"

The mental replay of him jumping like a frightened cat made you laugh harder - to this day you were both still surprised that your neighbors didn't call the cops from how loud you screamed.

Soon the once tense atmosphere was warm and comfortable, familiar, and you found yourself settling back into your usual self.

"Really though," smiling softly, you stepped further into the kitchen and leaned against the opposite side of the island, "I'm sorry, I should've knocked, I heard you talking to Ji earlier and thought you were still free."

Chris waved his hand passively, giving you a dimpled smile, "Like i said, don't worry about it - I've experienced worse, trust me." Mirroring your slouched position, he cocked his head to the side, "Did you want to ask me something, though? I heard you say my name before the whole, you know, incident."

Your eyebrows furrowed for a moment before you gasped, "The game night! I wanted to know if we could do another game night with the guys! Felix and Jeongin asked me about it and I told them I'd ask you when you weren't busy."

"Of course, what?! I've been dying to get back at Changbin for his cheap win at Smash!" A knock at the door interrupted him before he could dive into his plan for revenge and he sprung up, "Let me pay for the food then we can set up a date for it, yeah?"

Nodding happily, you watched as he headed for the front door and let out a sigh of relief, happy that your dynamic remained unphased through the minor slip up.

...Right?

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @goblinracha, @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @j-onedrabbles, @happilydeepestwonderland, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @sometimesleeknows, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @instabull

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

#skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #bang chan x reader #bangchan x reader #bangchan fluff #bangchan smut #bang chan fluff #bang chan smut

[ddejavvu]

Betrayal - Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Summary: months into the war and it's not as exhilarating as you'd hoped - not for your battalion, anyway. when the air conditioning in your compound blows, an old friend brings his tech genius of a padawan to fix it for you. while anakin is working, you convince his master to spar for old times' sake, and simple adrenaline gives way to a landslide of long-buried feelings neither of you should have for each other.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni, fem!reader, jedi!reader, reader is a general, sweat kink (? they are really sweaty and i talk about it a lot), oral (m+f receiving), semi-public sex (risk of being caught), sparring, lightsaber use, throatfucking, messy kisses, scratching/marking, lotsa spit, obligatory 'had you said the word' (sorry satine i had to steal his line)

WC: 16.9K / navigation / inbox

A/N: sorry this took me so long to finish! i didn't have time to write for like two months but it's done now and i hope you enjoy it <3 this is set a couple months/a year into the clone wars, but i have chosen to fuck with their ages a little bit. in this, anakin is like 12-14-ish, even though he was older in AOTC when the war began.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Neglecting the option of taking a padawan under your wing is what stuck you on this humid, blazing, hellish planet, and you almost regret it. You’d wanted more freedom in your duties, didn’t want a youngling clinging to your leg begging for help with their rudimentary saber drills, so instead you swapped it for what you thought would be constant battle, exhilarating speeder chases, and the glory of proving yourself. Unbecoming of a Jedi to wish for, yes, but you’ve never claimed to be Council-worthy.

Now your butt is sticking to the chair you’re planted in, overlooking a very empty, very desolate, very boring outpost. It’s so hot that you think you’ve melted into the chair and fused with its fabric. Standing might tear your skin away from your flesh, leaving an imprint of you behind in your seat.

“General,” One of your clone troopers calls, sticking his head through the doorway to your station, “Nothing on my scanners.”

“Nor on mine,” You drawl lazily, “We’re scheduled to be inspected today. Any word from the crew?”

“None.” He laments, “I just hope they bring a droid that can fix the cooler.”

The base you’re stationed to isn’t always this disgusting. The structure is wired with an air conditioning system to keep the inside much cooler than the outside, but after a rather unfortunate incident with a freshly manufactured astromech droid with some crossed wirings, both lay broken and singed in the maintenance bay. Your clones don’t know how to tinker with droids or heating systems, and you’d probably wind up just as ash-covered if you tried.

“Alert me when they land,” You order the trooper, leaning your forehead against the cool metal of the scanner screen before you, “I want to have time to change into an outfit I haven’t soaked through with sweat.”

The scanner grows warm against your flushed skin far too soon. Everything is hot, and sticky, and gross, and you find yourself yearning for the cold showers you used to despise at the temple. Perhaps you yearn for the temple in general, for the familial atmosphere shared among overconfident Padawans and exasperated Masters. You think specifically of Obi-Wan Kenobi, a man you’d trained with, now Master to his apprentice Skywalker.

You haven’t seen the pair in years, but you remember Anakin’s blonde mop of hair, as well as his penchant for chaos. Watching Obi-Wan’s eyes fill with horror at whatever shenanigans his Padawan had gotten into that day was part of what helped you make the decision to decline one yourself, though you hold no distaste for the boy. He was simply young and untrained in the ways of the Jedi, and you were not a patient enough person to gracefully navigate that predicament then. You’re not sure you are now, either.

Even though you know you’re better suited on your own, you wonder if you’d have been more fulfilled with a Padawan learner of your own. Surely anything could be better than this, wasting away- rotting on a planet hot enough to boil your blood if you stepped outside without proper protection.

Your base is secluded and temperature-controlled, even if the contraption that the Republic had fashioned under pressure of time to keep you isolated is rather crude. It’s, in essence, a large dome, seals in place to ensure that vessels can land and takeoff without destroying the temperature control. It’s cooler within the dome than it is outside of it, but the hurriedly-designed system can only do too much, and you greatly depend on the air conditioning to do its job. Now that it’s not, you’re irritated from the heat, and you wish that the inspection team would just hurry up already. The patience you’d had drilled into you from your early years as a Youngling is nowhere to be found under the pressure of a heat wave, and your foot taps impatiently against the floor while you itch for some action.

You think it’s rather pathetic that you yearn for excitement so badly that you’re anxiously awaiting the inspection team. Their job takes barely an hour, a scan of your equipment and a survey of your troops. They’ll walk in and out without so much as a pleasantry, but you long for something new, something more, something exciting.

The call over your comms comes over an hour later, a time in which you remain at your post but begrudge it all the while. “General,” Your trooper barks, voice staticky and rough over the channel, “We’ve got visitors. Inspection team’s here. Initiating landing procedure.”

“Copy that,” You bolt out of your seat, barely remembering to lean over the microphone to reply, “Thank you.”

Finally.

Finally, someone new to talk to, even if they have the same face as everyone else you’ve spoken to on this long, dreary assignment. You’re friendly with your troopers, of course, but that itch for more is back in your brain, igniting you with vigor you don’t normally possess as you rush to greet the inspection team.

However, when you reach the landing bay, and the ship’s hydraulics hiss, clone troopers aren’t the only ones to disembark. Jedi robes make their appearance, shrouding the very man you’d just thought about, as well as the child by his side. 

Obi-Wan wears the years that have passed since you last saw him, but time has treated him well. His hair is longer now, gone is that stiff Padawan buzz. His braid is missing as well, giving way to luscious strawberry blonde strands that he’s slicked back so that they drag against the back and sides of his neck. Longer hair looks good on him, just as it had when he was fifteen and had refused a haircut for months in a typical, if rather tame, display of teenage rebellion. Anakin is also significantly older than you’d kept track of, but he can’t be older than fourteen if his lanky limbs and awkward demeanor are any evidence.

Obi-Wan smiles at you, and you nearly forget to shove down that shameful part of you that wants to take more out of him than he can give you. Even as Padawans you’d always gravitated towards the man opposite you, sneaking out to roam the gardens after hours together or sharing sly glances across mission briefings. But he’s an honorable Jedi Master - a member of the Council itself, so you’ve heard - and you wrestle down your repressed feelings to grin at him.

“General Y/L/N,” He greets with a smile so charming you lament that the Jedi Order interrupted his chances of being a model.

“Master Kenobi,” You greet, but you know he’ll chide you for the honorific if you use it more than once, “I wasn’t aware you’d be on the inspection team.”

“We’re not. Technically.” Obi-Wan admits, arm coming to press against Anakin’s back and nudge him forwards, “We got word that your air conditioning system is out, as well as one of your new astromechs. Anakin here is still an excellent mechanic, I thought we’d come out to offer you some reprieve from the heat.”

Anakin looks embarrassed by the attention that’s fallen upon him, in typical pubescent fashion, and you take pity on the timid teenager, casting your glance back at his Master, “Maker, thank you. We’re melting out here.”

“I can imagine,” Obi-Wan laughs, and you turn again to Anakin who’s anxiously awaiting your orders.

“Anakin, if you could fix our air conditioning, that would be wonderful. Honestly, I’m not even sure I want the droid fixed, it’s what got us into this mess in the first place. But they’re both over there,” You point to the shorted out panels, “And my troopers will offer you any supplies you need, like tools or wiring or refreshments.”

“Thank you.” Anakin nods, hands clasped behind his back obediently even if he looks mortified to be the center of attention once more, “I’ll have things up and running as soon as possible.”

“I’m leaving you here,” Obi-Wan warns the boy, pointing an accusatory finger at him, “I don’t often leave you alone with machinery and tools, Anakin, for reasons we’re both aware of. Promise me you will not do anything reckless?”

“I promise,” Anakin mutters reluctantly, and you avert your eyes so he has some semblance of privacy.

“I mean it, Anakin. This is no time to experiment with your technical prowess. You simply fix their system and you wait for me back on the ship, understand?”

“Master,” Anakin pleads, “I understand.”

“Very well. Get to your duties,” Obi-Wan dismisses the boy, turning to you only after he sees his Padawan crouch by the singed panel.

“He shouldn’t take long. He most likely will try to tinker with the astromech, though.” Obi-Wan smiles sympathetically, “He’s not one to leave a droid unusable.”

“I remember he had a particular talent for mechanics,” You muse, starting off towards the main base intent on leading Obi-Wan to your rec room, “If I recall correctly, he figured out how to inconspicuously rewire his communicator to give you an ‘unavailable’ signal if he didn’t like what you were asking him to do.”

Obi-Wan scoffs as he lets you lead through the doorway, “Yes, my Padawan has always had very selective hearing. I’m sure you don’t mind not having one of your own.”

“That’s one of the reasons I justify my choice,” You chuckle, letting the door shut behind you as you make your way through the halls. The base that the Republic had granted you is spacious, even decked out with training facilities and rec rooms interspersed throughout your rows of quarters, but it’s unbearably hot and you’re tired of being cooped up inside of it.

“This isn’t bad for a base,” Obi-Wan muses, robes swishing behind him as he strides beside you, “But I hope Anakin fixes that cooling system soon.”

“Try being stationed here permanently,” You scoff, tugging at the sweat-soaked neckline of your tunic, “I have long since abandoned my robes.”

“Do you have somewhere I could set this?” Obi-Wan asks, fingers catching the front of his cloak as he slings it off. It falls gracefully from his shoulders, and he holds the garment up as he laments still having to wear the rest of his robes.

“You can leave it in my quarters,” You veer sharply to the right, letting him catch up, “They’re just down this hallway.”

There’s unmarked doors on either side of the corridor, and you’re still impressed that each clone trooper knows where their bed is at night. Your door has a plaque beside its frame that reads ‘General’s Quarters,’ and you’re not confident that you could navigate the halls without it. You type in your access code, and the door slides open with a hiss.

“Just set it on the bed,” You gesture towards your mattress, “If we have some time, I thought,” You reach into the closet, pulling out your seldom-used lightsaber, “We could spar.”

Obi-Wan laughs, discarding his cloak onto your bed as his eyes crinkle happily at the corners, “You’re lacking a bit of excitement here, aren’t you, Y/N? There’s no way you’d duel me willingly after I took you down the last time.”

You’d sparred together since you’d been handed a saber for the first time. Sure, your initial weapons were wooden, then training blades designed to be duller than their more advanced counterparts, before you’d finally been granted allowance to manufacture one of your own. But there were no more dedicated sparring partners than the two of you, and you can tell the man opposite you is fond of the reminder you’ve given him, even if he is trying to tease you.

“You did not take me down,” You gawp, “I mean- yes, I was on the floor, but I wasn’t done! You didn’t win!”

“Mm, yes. I didn’t win because no one did.” Obi-Wan sends you a sly grin, “Anakin interrupted us, don’t you remember? We never got to finish.”

“Then a rematch,” You insist, gesturing towards the open doorway, “Once and for all we’ll prove who the better duelist is.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll win. After all, I can tell you spend every waking moment practicing and making sure you lose none of your fighting abilities,” Obi-Wan’s hand darts out to switch on your holotable, revealing an in-progress game of chess. You’re losing.

“I’ve only been using that as of late,” You snap, defensive, “It’s insufferable to train without proper ventilation. And only when I’m not on duty. I don’t spend all of my time sitting and playing chess.”

“Losing at chess.” Obi-Wan arches an eyebrow, finally stepping out of your quarters so that you can shut it once more, “Come, Y/N, show me to your training grounds.”

The training room is just as hot as everywhere else on the base. You walk through the doors and humid air greets you, something that wrinkles Obi-Wan’s nose and rustles his mustache.

 “God, I hope your Padawan knows what he’s doing,” You groan, rolling up the sleeves of your own tunic but jumping excitedly into action despite the heat. You ignite your saber, slightly embarrassed by the thrill that the weapon gives you as it thrums to life. You haven’t felt this in a long time, at least, not paired with the thrill of battle. It’s significantly less awe-inspiring to ignite a saber against a training droid you know wouldn’t be able to singe your tunics if you stood stock still. Obi-Wan brings his to life as well; blue and green lights bathe your faces.

“I’ll go easy on you.” He smiles infuriatingly, cocking his head slightly to one side, “Ready?”

“Ready.” You jolt right, a fakeout before you dart left instead. He catches on rather quickly, though, and his blade clashes against yours as you aim for his leg.

“Nice start,” Obi-Wan admits, “But you can’t rely on misdirection for your entire fight. You’ll have to overpower me.”

“I could easily overpower you,” You swing left, breaking the contact of your two sabers, then jabbing so that he has to move his foot out of the way to avoid the plasma. He stumbles, barely catching himself against his back foot, but it gives you time enough to bring your blade up and around to nick at his shoulder, a hole now slashed into his tunic.

“Okay,” He stands straight, eyeing the tear in his clothing warily, “I won’t go easy on you.”

“Never underestimate your opponent,” You tease proudly, saber still ignited, “That’s one for me, Obi-Wan.”

“That doesn’t count,” He scoffs, standing at the ready, “I told you I’d go easy on you. Now I’m serious.”

“All I’m hearing is excuses,” You gloat, feet light as you step around him, “You lead this time, Kenobi.”

He does. He swings downwards, and you block your face with your own blade to stop him. He nearly jabs at your gut before you can prevent it, and you feel the heat from his blade as your own comes to block his.

You fling his weapon away with yours, and he lets you. After such a long period of no action (and shamefully little meditation) your abilities with the Force have grown slightly weaker, as have your regulatory skills. You can still sense what he’s going to do when he squares his shoulders, but you’re almost not fast enough to interpret those senses, and you barely make it to block him from swinging his blade in a fiery circle that would clip the edge of your arm.

“You’re rusty,” He taunts, his own Force abilities stronger than ever as his presence seeps through the cracks in your mind. You try to force him out, but it takes effort, and it’s effort you can’t expend elsewhere. It means that you can’t foresee his intent to aim for your face, and his blade hums inches away from your cheek as he holds it there.

You freeze; you’re caught.

We’re even,” You grunt, sweat beading at your forehead, “But we’re not finished.”

“Hang on,” He disengages his saber, letting the apparatus clatter to the ground as he tugs at one of the outer layers of his robes, “I’m going to shed a few things.”

“Stripping will not help your cause.” You tease, “I’m not distracted by sex appeal.”

Clearly, he isn’t expecting your jab, and he lets his mouth fall open as he slings off one of his garments, an incredulous laugh filling his throat.

“Y/N. You’ve obtained a foul mouth somewhere along your career. It certainly wasn’t in the temple.”

“It’s the clones,” You groan, “Try being stationed with a troop of grown men who went through puberty in record time. They’ve got the appetite of an adult with the filter of a teenage boy.”

“They’ve never tried anything with you,” Obi-Wan narrows his eyes questioningly, and you try to avoid looking at the sweat glistening against his tanned neck as he strips to his base layer.

“No, they’re respectful.” You assure him, “Just crass.”

“Yes, well,” Obi-Wan frowns distastefully, “They haven’t had Jedi training. I suppose I’m not surprised.”

He stands there for a moment with only his undershirt covering his chest, then decides that it’s still too warm, tugging at its hem to raise it over his head.

You feel your insides ignite with a fire you haven’t felt in a long time when his bare chest is exposed, skin marred and riddled with coarse, wiry hair. His stomach is flat but not as tight as you remember in your youth, softer now. You can tell there’s an impressive layer of muscle beneath the milky white skin, though, even if it’s not outwardly visible. He uses his tunic to wipe the sweat off of his face so you’re granted a moment to ogle him, your mouth watering as you try to conceal your thoughts. 

“Okay. Enough with this child’s play.” You shake your head, letting Obi-Wan have just enough time to toss aside his tunic before you plant your feet against the mat. Obi-Wan stands at the ready, both of your sabers ignited, “I want a real match. A long one, now that we’re warmed up. Best two out of three, Kenobi. Winner takes all.”

“Winner gets to stand in front of the air conditioning vent when Anakin gets it up and running,” Obi-Wan suggests, sweat trailing down his neck and over his chest. You avert your eyes, lest the fraile state of mind you’re in betrays you.

“Fine.” You shrug, reaching for the hem of your vest. It’s tactical, good for keeping with you on duty, but it’s etching lines of sweat into your back now. You sling it off, letting it land in a heap similar to Obi-Wan’s robes, and exposing the tank top you have on beneath it. “I know just the one I’ll pick. In my room, there’s one just above the bed. Maybe I’ll let it hit my back while I win at holochess.”

“I think the heat might be getting to you,” Obi-Wan cracks, a slight heave to his chest as he tries regulating his breathing. It’s hard when you’re as hot as you are to get enough oxygen, and you’re doing the same. It’s awfully difficult not to indulge in the view of his bare chest rapidly rising and falling, and you feel a tug below your gut as a vision flashes through your mind. It’s of what else could make him pant in such a way, and you can’t afford to entertain the thought, not around him. “I’m not sure which outcome is more delusional; that you’ll win this duel, or that you’ll win at holochess.”

“You’re wasting time,” You croon, charging with your blade poised for battle so that you have no more time to fantasize, “I think you’re scared.”

“Do I feel afraid?” Obi-Wan laughs, blocking your attack with little effort and redoubling to launch one of his own. The clatter of your sabers almost drowns out his words, “Reach out, Y/L/N, all you’ll feel is confidence.”

“I’m not sure I could feel you if I tried,” You lament, chest heaving as you block one of his swings, “Not while my mind is occupied with our duel. I am rusty, you were right.”

“Practice more,” He chides, “Less chess, more meditation.”

“One is a lot more boring than the other!” You groan, barely managing to get your arm up in time to take a shot at his own, “And the less boring one is chess, so that’s really saying something.”

“It may be boring but it is beneficial,” Obi-Wan lectures you, and you wonder if he thinks you’re still a Padawan. You fight with heaving breaths and monumental effort, the heat sucking your energy out through the sweat that drips down your skin. He turns and his back is glistening, which is really not a sight that helps you to stay focused.

“Now I’m starting to see why Anakin tinkered with his communicator,” You call, as Obi-Wan whirls around your left side, “You’re very dull as a Jedi Master!”

You have to throw yourself onto the floor to avoid a swing at your head, your right shoulder aching as you do so. But you scramble away from him, righting yourself and miraculously avoiding the blade of your saber coming into contact with the training mat.

You stumble to your knees, driving the forward momentum you have against Obi-Wan as he tries blocking you. You nearly get a nick out of his pants, but he pushes you backwards with the threat of his blade, and you fall with your back to the mat.

Your stomach drops when a blue blade hums hot and bright near your throat, its tip directed at your jugular. It doesn’t matter that it’s on its training setting; it’s inescapable and daunting when it’s an inch from your skin. You’re done for. 

“I may be dull,” Obi-Wan pants, beard glistening as sweat streams down his neck. His chest heaves as he speaks, bare and open for your eyes, and his pink tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth to dart along his lips, “But I am victorious. Does this remind you a little bit of the last time we fought?”

It does. He’d been standing over you then as he is now, and you’d had to fortify your mind back then not to let slip vulgar thoughts about being on the floor below him. His thighs, meaty with muscle and strong from training, are hidden behind loose pants, but their crotch has tightened slightly, a chub to what should be a relaxed surface.

A pang of arousal shoots down your spine, and suddenly the lightsaber near your throat isn’t the most daunting thing in the room. It’s Obi-Wan.

He swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing as you lay beneath him.

“Your thoughts betray you,” He observes, and you feel his invasive presence in your mind, sucking out the private thoughts coursing through your brain. They’re of panting breaths, heaving chests, wandering hands, and meshing tongues; passionate embraces, intimate attachments. Things no Jedi should fantasize about, not under the code. Things that should bring shame to you, and maybe they do, and maybe you like it.

“Your body betrays you,” You’re able to muster, swallowing the saliva pooling in your mouth as you glance pointedly at his bulge. It’s only grown since you’d last glanced at it; evidently your visions did something to him too.

He sees, or perhaps, feels what you see, freezes, then clicks his saber off. The blade retracts with a hiss and there is a distinct vacuum of sound where its humming once was. He breaks the unnerving silence with a clatter as he tosses it aside, feet still firmly planted on either side of your hips. 

“It’s natural.” He weakly supplies, a poor defense, “It’s adrenaline-fueled, nothing more.”

“Really? So when you duel sith lords, when you chop the heads off of battle droids, you walk away with a stiff dick?” You carefully observe his body language, feet poised like he might bolt if you make any sudden moves. He’s flighty, and you have to make your next moves carefully.”

“Y/N,” He begins, his voice weak, “I wish you wouldn’t use such foul language.”

“Is it the language that bothers you?” You push your elbows against the mat, hoisting yourself up at an obtuse angle to meet his eye better, “Or is it the truth it carries? Obi-Wan, you were right. It’s natural. And it is not something to be ashamed of.”

“It is against the Code,” He reasons, his voice still fighting to sound resolute. He offers no other reasoning, and you know it’s because he has none.

“It’s not.” You insist, “The Code is ancient and rigid. And celibacy is not required, only a level head.”

“That’s the problem,” He chuckles weakly, “I don’t have a level head when it comes to you, Y/N.”

“You seem as though you do.” You press cautiously, careful not to push your luck, “I’ve never felt anything unprofessional about your feelings towards me.”

“That’s because I haven’t been around you in a long time,” He admits, “Not consistently. I was better at controlling it- no, hiding it when we were Padawans. I had to do it every day, it was natural to me. But I am out of practice now, and I have been since you were stationed here. I barely have the ability to hide how I feel about you, Y/N. And- and it is not something the Council would approve of.”

You sit up now, fully straightened. You’re still between his legs, but you’d need to rise to your knees for your face to be level with his bulge. You plan to.

“The Council is not here. Nor can they see us, or hear us, or feel us. They will not know what we do, Obi-Wan.”

“I will know.” He breathes, his voice growing weaker each time he tries raising it against you, “Y/N, I will never forget a thing we do together on this base. If we… If you touch me, I will remember every brush of your skin against mine for eternity. If you- kiss me, I will never be able to put the thought of your lips on mine out of my head. And I would not know how to live without it for the rest of my life.”

Your heart sinks in your stomach like a stone in water. He’s loyal to the Order, he always has been. But you’d been so blinded by isolation, so convinced by your own delusions, that you’d assumed his loyalty to you would be stronger. But it’s not, and you can’t earnestly be angry with him for it.

You swallow what little saliva has accumulated around your tongue to give yourself something to do, then rise to your feet.

“It sounds like you should walk away.” You mutter regretfully. His eyes hold the same feelings, strikingly painful. He nods, almost imperceptibly, but before he can follow your orders, you continue.

“But will you forgive yourself if you do?”

You feel it, his swell of emotions. Every single one is unbridled, yearning, heartache, fondness, want; all of them unleashed from the man whose mind is usually a fortress. They’re washing over you like waves, invading your brain and turning your thoughts their colors. 

“No. I couldn’t,” He admits, “But-” and there’s always a but, “The Council would never forgive me if I didn’t.”

“They won’t know.” You insist, but it’s lost on him, “Obi-Wan, please make a decision. Who is more important, you or the Council?” Then in a more timid, soft voice, as his soft eyes bore into you and beg for mercy, you give him the opposite, “Who is more important… me or the Council?”

He kisses you. There is no warning, no shift in his Force signature, only his hands on your face and his lips on your own. There is strength in his touch, his hands firm where they pull your cheeks ever-so-slightly towards his face as if he’s trying to mash them into his own. His beard is rough and grating against your face, but it’s not unpleasant, especially when it brings with it his lips. His lips, which are much softer than you’d have imagined them, merely frame your own. The kiss is sweet but chaste, and the only indication you have that he wants more is the way that he holds you against him. Otherwise you’d mistake his courtesy for disinterest, and you tilt your head slightly sideways to encourage more enthusiasm from him.

When your lips reconnect he sighs, a breath from his nose that fans over your top lip. He’s letting you lead, letting you dictate whether you want to keep kissing him or whether you’ll suddenly switch positions; it’s like he’s afraid that you’ll rip off a mask and reveal yourself to be Master Windu, scolding him for his reckless passion. But of course you don’t, and you lick gently against the plush of his bottom lip instead.

He hums at the feeling of your tongue against his mouth, but he’s suddenly pushing against your cheeks instead of pulling.

“Are you absolutely sure,” He starts, but can’t seem to resist the temptation to steal another kiss from your spit-slicked lips, “That you- mm, that you want this? Because I cannot-” He breaks off with a weary, pleading, defeated look in his beautiful eyes, “I cannot turn back if we go further. If we proceed… I will not be able to forget what we do. If you’re not interested… please tell me now, so that I may save myself from loving you for an eternity that you do not wish to share with me.”

You scoff, moving in for another kiss at his lips. He doesn’t reciprocate, only pushing you back so that you can respond.

“I just spent five minutes,” You pant, desperate to reconnect your lips, “Bargaining with you to get you to forget about your nerves. And you don’t think I want this?”

You try surging forwards again but he holds you back, eyes still begging for your words.

“Please. I need to hear you say it.” He seems almost self-conscious, worried you’re not interested in him the same way he’s interested in you. But you have been since you can remember, and you’re more than willing to work around the unconventional aspects of your relationship if it means you can have him, even just for today.

“I want you,” You breathe, the exhale hitting his lips, “Please- Obi-Wan, I want you. I want you no matter what the Code says. No matter what the Council says; I want you.”

He looks like he could cry. He is devoted to the Order, far more than you have seen most Jedi, and to hear you choose him over the Code must mean a great deal. He pours passion into the kiss you share, chest filling with oxygen that he gulps just to be able to keep his mouth on yours for longer. He consumes you, fingers pulling at your cheeks and tugging you closer still, like he thinks you might fuse if he tries hard enough.

He groans into your mouth, his tongue more exploratory now that you’ve pledged your devotion to him. He’s not afraid of taking now, of getting his hopes up only to be thrown down, and he swipes the wet muscle in a hot stripe over your own tongue. He rolls it against your lower lip, so wonderful to kiss for someone with such lacking experience.

“No one is coming,” You breathe, exhaling against his mouth as your hands wander to his waistband, “No one- no one can see us.”

“I want you in your quarters.” He protests, grabbing your wrists when your hand sinks to his bulge and ghosts over it. He jolts at the unexpected contact, but holds you back, “I want to lay you down, Y/N, I want to indulge in every part of you. Worship you.”

“I will let you,” You moan, tilting your forehead against his and mouthing at his lips in a sloppy kiss, “You may have me any way you want, Obi-Wan. But here, I- I want to have you. I need to have you now,”

“Impatient,” He notes, sounding suspiciously close to lecturing you. But he lets your wrists go, and you sink to your knees instantly. He hears them hit the training mat, knows they must ache, but he can’t find any part of him available to worry about it, not now that your hands are prying greedily at the waistband of his trousers.

He’s a near stranger to physical pleasure, at least in recent years. He’s a grown man, he has urges, but he also has responsibilities, and the constant pressure of an ambitious (read: reckless) young Padawan under his supervision mixed with a quickly-rising rank within the Jedi Order leave him with little time nor interest to indulge in his barest desires. Your hand gently squeezing his clothed bulge as you wrestle with his pants nearly knocks him off of his feet, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle having your warm mouth envelop it.

Finally you tug loose the drawstring within his pants, and yank them down his thighs. They’re seldom bare, you see from the milky white tone of the skin there, but they are muscled and thick like he does not neglect them.

You can’t help yourself when you lean forwards, tongue already protruding from your mouth to lick a fat, wet stripe around one of his thighs. It’s sturdy beneath your tongue that dips into the crease between his skin and the parts of it that are covered by his briefs. His muscles tense like you’ve struck him with a fatal blow, and an open-mouthed groan escapes his lips.

His skin tastes of the sweat that’s currently moistening every inch of your bodies, salty and tantalizing. There’s no escaping it in the brutal heat, but it makes him all the more sexy, his skin glistening before you even get a chance to smear it in your saliva.

You’re guilty of impatience as he accuses, and you can’t resist mouthing at his covered bulge. He’s half-hard, but when your lips purse around the outline of his cock in his briefs he twitches, and you feel him stiffen against the restraints of his underwear on your tongue. 

His knees give out with no warning, and he barely has the foresight to grab desperately at a bench press behind him for stability. He falls quickly to its surface, perching on the edge of it while you desperately chase his cock. You fit your mouth again over his briefs and drool against the fabric, surely soaking it through with your saliva. His cock, though restrained, is heavy and thick on your tongue, making your mouth water and produce enough drool to soak through his entire ensemble. His hands clutch the bench beneath him with white knuckles, and he grits his teeth to stop himself from shouting as you suck at his clothed cock.

“Oh, Y/N,” He pants, voice strained as you get lost in your task and forget that you need to actually pull his briefs down. He reaches for your head, gently nudging you away with his knuckles against your temple.

“Darling, please, I can’t- I won’t last for very long. Please, have me properly.”

He grips at the waistband of his underwear, tugging them down hurriedly and letting his cock spring free. It’s of decent length, but slightly thicker than average, its base shrouded by a patch of curled hair at his groin. It’s a similar caramel color to the rest of his hair, and his sweat has accumulated particularly within its wiry constraints, leaving him musky. The smell might bother you if it were anyone else, if you were anywhere else, but here and now, on your knees for Obi-Wan in the training room, it’s the most disgustingly tantalizing thing you’ve ever smelled in your entire life.

That’s why you bury your face into it, the hair tickling at your skin. His hips jolt as you inhale deeply near the base of his cock, groaning and letting your tongue fall to drag against just the shaft of his erect dick. He’s painfully hard, embarrassingly seconds to orgasm, and your spit now glistening on his length doesn’t help. Or it helps too much; either way, he’s close to cumming and you haven’t even had a chance to put him in your mouth.

“Darling,” He begs, pushing at your forehead once more, speaking through an eternal shortage of breath, “Please, I- it all feels too good. I can’t take it. I won’t last long.”

“That’s okay,” You pant, your breath falling over his cock as it practically pulses with pleasure, “We’re here for a good time, not a long time.”

“Terrible,” He manages to chuckle weakly, but any further chiding he has planned for your cheekiness is cut short when he stops breathing. He actually forgets how when your wet mouth closes around the head of his cock, your tongue licking flat over its head and covering most of its surface area. It’s so much sensation so fast that Obi-Wan has to clench his hands around the bench not to cum right then and there, and he feels pinpricks of pain over his skin that he realizes are from his fingernails digging against his palms. When you draw your head back off of his cock with a slick sound, then move in again to take more of his length into your mouth, his lungs suddenly remember their function, and heave within his chest.

His groans are filthy and they only pool more slick wetness between your thighs as you kneel for him. You don’t care about the ache in your knees, nor the pain in your neck from the slightly awkward angle you’re indulging in him at. All that matters is his cock, heavy and thick on your tongue, sweat and precum alike flooding your taste buds. 

His restraint is put to the test. He’s a member of the Jedi Council, for Force’s sake, and he should have a little more control over himself than this. But it takes almost all of his energy not to buck his hips forwards and plunge the length of his cock down your throat, and it means that he’s not able to devote as much restraint to delaying his orgasm as he’d like.

He’s twitching in your mouth, and even with your faded Force abilities, mental muscles weakened by disuse, you can feel the tension coursing through his veins, hot and wild. You don’t need to look at his strained, white-knuckled grip on the edge of the bench to know that he’s devoting all of his energy to restraining himself, and you take pride in being able to undo Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi with merely your mouth. You indulge in his painful hardness, tongue smoothly caressing the underside of his length as you bob your head back and forth around him. Each time you draw back you flick your tongue up and over the ruddy, leaking head of his cock, something that makes that fiery tension in his body glow even hotter.

“I’m going to-” He warns you, voice petering out weakly as he tries controlling himself, “I can’t- I can’t help it, I’m going to cum.”

“Cum,” You speak in unison, your word coming out muffled as you speak it against his cock. You smooth your hands up his thighs, feeling his muscles impossibly tight beneath your fingers. You stroke them soothingly, encouraging him to unclench his jaw that’s wired so tightly that you’re sure his teeth are on the verge of cracking, “Cum, Obi-Wan, please.”

Even if you hadn’t asked him so kindly, he’s sure he wouldn’t have been able to withhold any longer. Not with your pretty eyes gazing up at him from between his legs, lashes latticing the tender emotions swirling in your gaze. Your fingers slide calmly, sweetly over the expanse of his thighs, and the mere thought of you digging your nails harshly into them and leaving marks is what elicits the final twitch of his dick on your tongue.

Evidently, you’re more in tune with his thoughts than he’d expected. You’d caught the quick image that had flashed through his mind, now completely unguarded to you, and you curl your fingers quicker than he can comprehend, carving searing marks into his thighs that will show up red for at least a week. Paired with the movement of your fingers, you suck hard at his cock, plunging your face forwards to nestle against the base once more. His tip hits the back of your throat with force and it makes you gag, and Obi-Wan isn’t sure what sensation is more overwhelming: the vivid burning at his thighs, the way the tip of his dick nestles so securely into the warm, wet sleeve of your throat, or the way that you’re breathing in his sweat-marred scent like it’s the purest oxygen you’ve ever had in your lungs. All he knows is that together, they’re his undoing, and he lets out a rugged cry; he can’t control himself any longer when pleasure roars through him with a fury he’s almost frightened of. 

He’s always calm, collected, in control. But now he’s grabbing your face with shaking hands as he pumps warm spurts of cum down your throat, holding your jaw steady so that you can’t back away, not that you want to. He holds you in place while his thighs begin to tremble, your tongue continuously smoothing over the underside of his cock while it twitches in your mouth. He keeps himself fully nestled into the back of your throat while he cums, and if he had energy to be embarrassed about cumming as much as he was, he’d be apologizing. But he can’t, not when you’re swallowing him so eagerly, throat convulsing around the head of his cock and only milking more out of him. There’s obscene groans coming from his mouth, the kind that bring heat to your own core, and you think you could get off to the sound a thousand times over if you recorded him now. They’re deep, throaty, and desperate as he holds your face around his cock, gagging you on his dick as his orgasm takes control of him.

A part of your training that hasn’t left you yet was your extensive disaster training, in which you were taught how to extend the time for which you could hold your breath. That comes in especially handy when Obi-Wan’s hands cradle your jaw, keeping you snugly choking around his dick. You have to fight not to draw back at the strange sensation of your throat being plugged while his cum splatters against the back of it,, and you use all of your strength to keep yourself from panicking at the lack of airflow. You’re only slightly ashamed to admit that you’d willingly die like this, a fucktoy for his cock.

Once his orgasm has worked its way through him he seems to remember you can’t breathe, all of the tension having leaked out of his muscles. He inhales with a start, pushing against your cheeks and tugging his cock out of your mouth, “Oh, Y/N, darling- Y/N, are you-?” 

At the sight of your spit-soaked lips, tongue desperately running over them to collect any of the sweat that had accumulated there from being pressed against his pelvis, he lunges forwards to meet his lips with your own. He can taste the slight savory hint of his own release, your tongues meshing wetly and messily. He’s hunching now, even though you’ve straightened up on your knees, and he feels you clumsily palm at his dick, tucking him back away into his briefs. It makes his lips go slack with a gasp even though he’s just finished, and he’s more than eager to take you by the wrists and help you to your feet. You toss his undershirt at him with careless speed, and he nearly gets lost in its beige expanse from the way that his arms shake as he pulls it over his head.

“My quarters,” Your voice is thick and ragged, still recovering from your prior lack of oxygen, “We can- it’s soundproof, no one will know.”

“Yes,” He breathes, legs shaking slightly as he gathers the rest of the clothes he’d shed while sparring with you, “Um- we can... Anakin still hasn’t gotten the air conditioning running.”

“Uh-uh,” You shake your head, feeling nothing from the vent to your left, “Hurry, let’s go before-”

“General,” The door slides open, and you both startle, much less in tune with the force presences of those around you than you’d like to admit. One of your troopers sticks his head through the door, “The kid needs a multitool.”

You blink once, registering a slight soreness at the back of your throat, “Get him a multitool, then.”

You’re sure he can see your haggard appearance, and all apart from the glossy look of your lips looks like you’ve been sparring. Which you have, technically. You just hope Obi-Wan’s trousers don’t look like they’ve only just been hitched up around his waist again, or his shirt barely pulled down over his chest.

“I lost mine, general,” The trooper admits sheepishly. There was an abundance of the supplies that were offered to you before you’d been shipped out to this battle station, and more had been stocked for a long time in one of the supply closets, but your troopers are bored more often than not, and you shudder to think of all of the times they’ve used them as target practice by standing them on the balcony and opening fire. Apparently, you need to request some more from the next inspection team, as well as impress upon your troops the difference between an abundance of resources and useless clutter begging for a blaster wound.

“I have one in my quarters,” You sigh wearily, “Let’s see to it that we don’t misuse our equipment anymore, soldier.”

“Yes, General,” He nods vigorously, stepping out of your way to offer you the open door.

“Obi-Wan,” You turn apologetically, “We’ll have to continue our sparring match after I retrieve the multitool for your padawan. You’re welcome to follow us, though I’m not sure it’s any cooler out there than it is in here.”

“I’d like to stash my clothes somewhere, if you don’t mind,” Obi-Wan holds up the outer garments he’d shed, “I think it gives you somewhat of an unfair advantage if I’m liable to trip over my own tunics.”

You grant him a good-natured laugh as you pass your trooper in the doorway, and all in all, you think that the two of you have done a fantastic job at pretending his dick wasn’t in your mouth only minutes ago.

Your trooper makes the wise decision to stand outside of your quarters when you enter them, although any initial disappointment you’d felt at his poorly-timed request has well worn off by now. That’s all he’s guilty of, anyways; you find their antics amusing despite their destructive nature. It’s not his fault that you’re canoodling with the Jedi master, so you forgive him his abhorrent timing. You beeline for a locker in your closet, punching in the numeric code and letting the squeaky hinges reveal your small weapons store. It’s a multipurpose space, blasters on a rack that’s affixed to the back, a mount for your saber, and a drawer of various other mechanical supplies down below. You throw it open, and Obi-Wan watches you dig for the multitool where he stands by your bed, his tunics laid on your bedspread.

You realize all too late that one of your other mechanical supplies is in full view of the Jedi master standing behind you, black in color for subtlety but unmistakable in shape. It’s phallic and has a second prong that shoots off of the base to vibrate against your clit, something you only use when you're absolutely certain no one can hear. Besides, the sound could very well be mistaken for one of your troopers shaving their scruff, so you have ample opportunity. You snatch the multitool out of the drawer and slam it shut, making your trooper’s shoulders twitch in a quickly concealed wince. You’re thankful that only Obi-Wan was a temporary witness to your lack of organizational skills.

“Here,” You rush to hand it off, forcefully locking the cabinet and thrusting the tool towards the trooper, “Take it- uh, keep it, I’ll put in a request for more supplies tonight.”

“Thanks, General,” He nods warily at you, and you pity the way he’s taken your context clues and misarranged them to view your behavior as standoffish and exasperated with him, “My apologies again.”

“No worries,” You try not to snap at him, unnerved by the abnormal lack of mental pressure from Obi-Wan behind you. He used to tease you abundantly in your youth, prying at your mental shields and slipping snide remarks through the cracks while you fought to keep a straight face, but now that he’s laid his eyes on possibly the most embarrassing item you own, he’s completely still, completely silent.

“Goodbye.” You shut the door with a hydraulic hiss, and stand facing it until Obi-Wan speaks, pretending to fuss with the control panel.

“It seems you overlooked another multitool in that drawer,” His voice finally reaches over the silence, carefully bundled so that the underlying mirth is something you can only guess at, “Now I wonder if your battalion is really the cause of your foul mouth.”

“Shut up!” You whirl on him with cheeks blazing on opposite sides of your face like Tatooine’s twin suns, “Don’t tease me-”

“I’m not teasing you!” He insists, voice sounding aghast, like it’s out of the question, like he’s offended by the accusation, taking your arms into his grip when you look like you might shove him. His face is split into a smile - not a grin, which is reassuring - but a warm smile, even if there is amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“Yes you are,” You scoff, and you have half a mind to pull away when one of his hands releases your arm and anchors itself against your face instead. It’s warm, rough from wear but impossibly gentle. You fight leaning into it for as long as you can, pride still bruised, but he leans in to press his lips against your forehead in a chaste kiss. 

Typical.

You’d gagged on his dick ten minutes ago, and he’s kissing your forehead.

“Darling,” He hums sympathetically, tucking your face against his chest so snugly that you think it was engineered for the curves and bumps of your skin. You relish the hug he traps you in, the tender hold even though you’re interested in something more carnal, feral, hungry. His voice is strong and soothing as he speaks, and the vibrations thrum through his chest and against your face “You had my cock in your mouth not ten minutes ago. I’m not going to make fun of you for having a toy.”

Oh. Perhaps he hadn’t forgotten.

“Such a foul mouth,” You admonish him, tucking your grin away between the haphazardly-righted folds of his tabard. 

He pinches at your side, fingers greedily prying at the soft flesh of your belly through layers of clothing you wish weren’t between your skin and his, “Yes, well, it’s because I’ve had yours all over me.”

His hand, similarly bold to his mouth, flattens out along the curve of your side, tucking into the space above your hip bones. The other stays in place against your cheek, finger running idly across the underside of your jawline. You don’t know whether the shiver that shudders down your spine is due to the ticklish nature of his touch, or the sensual area he’s chosen, but he feels your spine thrum, and he presses further into you like it was an invitation.

“Darling,” He starts, back to that well-practiced hesitancy, “If you still want to…”

“I do,” You nod, feeling sweat drip down the back of your neck and soak into the fabric of your tank top, “Do you think we have time?”

“Anakin can occupy himself with scrap metal and multitools for hours,” Obi-Wan recollects with a smile on his face that isn’t committed to fondness or resignation. You’re sure he’s proud of his padawan’s abilities, but not of the havoc he wreaks with them.

“Hmm, that might be cutting it close,” You pretend to debate it, gnawing at the inside of your cheek, and he lets out a laugh as warm as the runoff heat from his saber with none of the bite of its blade.

“You’d occupy yourself with me for hours?” He teases, but when you nod, it’s earnest.

“I’d occupy myself with you for the rest of my life, Obi-Wan.”

The breath that he draws in when you begin speaking is the last one he draws for a while. Instead he holds it there, letting it burn and sear at his lungs while he wonders if any words he could produce with it would contain even a fraction of the yearning he feels roll over him in a nauseating wave. Very little has ever made him want the life of a civilian - his home is between the opulent walls of the Jedi temple, but any walls he shared with you would be infinitely more grandiose if only for your place within them.

“Had you said the word,” He elects to speak the truth, even if it isn’t even a chip away at the trove of feelings he keeps locked tightly away in his mind for you, “I would have left the Jedi Order.”

Would have.

You know why he won’t now, and you’re not upset with him for the reasons. You understand them, even if you don’t relate to them.

“But Anakin…”

“I know,” You nod against his chest, fingers taking hold of his undershirt’s fabric edge and fastening there, “You made a promise to your master. And to him. And he needs your help. I wouldn’t ask you to leave.”

“Would you have? When we were younger,” He idly strokes down the length of your spine, arm wrapping comfortably around your waist.

“Maybe…” You admit, “Maybe if I’d known your trip to Naboo would bring about such change. Maybe if I’d known I only had a few years left with you as we were. But I didn’t. So I never asked. And I never will.”

He doesn’t react verbally or physically after your confession, but the silence that ensues isn’t an awkward one. Instead, he maintains his hold on you, and you feel a gentle wave of affection flow from him through the Force. Affection, appreciation, love, which you feel so broadly through the Force, but rarely so devoted to you yourself rather than the galaxy in its entirety. You’re no stranger to the feeling, but it’s different channeled privately between two people than it is as a way of life.

“Let us pretend,” Obi-Wan finally musters, his voice thicker than usual, though if you were not so in tune with him you wouldn’t have perceived it, “For the next few fleeting moments, that we are still young. That we don’t have responsibilities other than those to ourselves, and to each other.”

Though your youth may have escaped you, your mind weary with resignation and Obi-Wan’s eyes darkened with the perpetual exhaustion of adulthood, his touch does not feel tired or incapable. It feels strong, firm, and mindful where it slips from your chin to your waist. His other hand sandwiches you between them, and you’re tilting your chin up to kiss him before he gives any indication that he’ll do the same. But he does, his boldness almost reset from the interruption you’d suffered. Like you need to coax him out of his shell again, like he’s worried you’ve somehow changed your mind.

You take the back of his neck in your hand, finding it slick and tacky with sour-smelling sweat, and pull him down so that his lips smash messily to your own. It’s a move he’s not expecting, and a startled groan escapes his lips as proof. You drink it, sucking it down your throat and pulling him towards the bed with the same backwards momentum. He’s nimble even if he’s unprepared, probably to do with his extensive agility training. You’re more than ready to fall back onto your bed when your calves butt against the frame but he lowers you down gently, with ease, drawing back from your kiss despite your fervent protests to watch you look up at him.

“Obi-Wan,” You beg, your voice weary, “Why are you hesitating?”

“I’m not hesitating,” He answers, and you feel it to be truthful, “I’m admiring you, darling. I’m not unsure, I’m more sure than I’ve ever been in my life.”

“Prove it,” You plead, already pulling at the hem of your tank top. You peel its sweat-soaked binding off of your skin, showcasing the equally stained garment beneath it that keeps your chest closer to your neck than your stomach, “Please, Obi-Wan, take me like you want me. Not like you feel bad for having me.”

“I do not feel bad for having you,” He promises, mouth barely parting from yours to utter the words. His lips are pink-tinted, glistening with spit, probably a mixture of his and yours. He pants slightly, cheeks similarly ruddy, “Perhaps later I will. When I stand in front of the Council and tell them we conducted routine maintenance. When I lie, when I guard my memories of you from them. But I’m not occupied with that now, darling. Only with you, I swear it.”

“Oh, well, that’s good to know,” You hum, kissing an inch lower than his mouth, the apex of his chin that’s marred by the scruff of his beard. It’s prickly and rough beneath your lips, and when you draw back they glisten with transferred sweat, “I’m glad you’re not thinking of Master Yoda while dipping a knee between my thighs.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan ducks his head, advances on pause as he plants his forehead against your shoulder, “That’s awful. Really, truly vile.”

You laugh, and despite his disgusted bravado, so does he. His chest shakes against yours and you relish the sound, hand still planted firmly on the back of his neck. You briefly consider breaking out your rusty Yoda impression, ‘kiss me, you must’, but decide against it, instead choosing to press his head closer to your torso, letting his forehead lay flush and sweaty against your shoulder. It puts the scruff of his beard on the curve of your tits, and you feel it burn your skin as he kisses along it lightly. 

His mouth is soft, and his beard is its abrasive opposite. They trail in tandem along the slope of your breasts, first the soft lips and then the burn of the beard, until he’s lit a fiery trail across your skin to the padded edge of your bra. When his lips meet fabric instead of skin he noses beneath it, surely smelling a morning’s worth of sweat accumulated beneath the weight of your chest. You’re self conscious, for only a flash, then he takes a deep drag of air, inhaling until his chest seems fit to burst.

“I’m sorry,” You find yourself humming, regardless of his clear interest, “I wish a shower would help. Even the cold water doesn’t prevent sweating.”

“I don’t want you to shower,” He muses, pushing his face between your breasts to kiss at the skin between them. He mouths gently, tongue sliding over your skin with little form and too much spit that blends well with your sweat, “Sex is not sterile, darling. Soap and water defeat the purpose.”

You’re not sure whether it’s his insistence on the natural state of your body or the way that his knee gently prods against your center, but whatever it is, your fingers itch and you fling them up to cup the underside of your chest.

“Take it off,” You beg, and Obi-Wan shows no hesitation in complying, his hands sliding beneath your back, rough and weathered from work. They’re gentle as they slide over the clasp of your bra, and you push yourself up onto your elbows on the mattress so that he can maneuver the stretchy fabric easier.

“Does it hook or button?” He nudges his nose against yours to ask, and your stomach flops at the question. Both the fact that he doesn’t have enough experience to know, and the way that he feels comfortable enough admitting that to you by asking so earnestly only make you want him more, and you’re barely able to mumble ‘clasp’ before pressing your lips to his own once more.

“Three,” You add later, against his lips, when he unhooks one and still doesn’t have the garment undone, “There’s three.”

He takes your orders with unfailing patience, a trait you’d admired even in your youth. While you’d been more prone to hotheaded outbursts, he’d take you by the arm and speak for the both of you, usually resulting in far less severe of a punishment than you’d have gotten if you’d spoken your mind. Then the two of you would share sneaky, fleeting glances at each other while scrubbing the floors of the refectory, trying not to laugh loud enough for the Knight unwillingly supervising your punishment to hear.

You’re pulled out of your reverie when he finally unhooks the garment and slips it off of your shoulders, meaning you have to draw back from where you’d tucked your face over his shoulder, giving him a view of his work. As your faces pass each other he offers you the same grin he’d worn all those years ago, his pretty eyes alight with the love you feel seeping from his fingertips. You see a glimpse of the boy he was through the man he’s become, and both are equally endearing to you. The first, because you’d grown with him, like ferns tangled together in sticky, clinging tendrils. The second, because he wears his accomplishments on his face, crows feet at the corners of his eyes from laughing at his padawan’s wayward antics, and frown lines for scowling at the same incidences only moments prior. He’d laughed at you in your youth, and frowned just the same at your more uncouth ideas for adventure, and now those expressions are etched into his face, like layers of makeup no longer dissolvable with remover. He’ll wear them forever, and you want to see him display them even in his old age.

He watches the way that your body moves when he peels the sweat-soaked garment away from your chest. He watches your breasts succumb to gravity’s harsh pull, sloping sideways and downwards rather than maintaining their tight compress towards your chin. He watches them sag, watches them fall to their natural state and declares, “You’re beautiful, darling.”

He takes them in his hands, their mass in his palms as he rolls his thumb over the skin of your nipples. They’d usually pebble in the cold but now they’re pulling taut beneath his touch, and when he brushes his thumb over their peak you stifle a gasp.

“Beautiful,” He repeats, and leans down to meet one with his mouth. He gravitates towards the right one first, and the embrace of his hot mouth against your skin tempts your back to arch. His tongue presses flat against your nipple, then drags up its surface, and his lips kiss over the stripe of saliva he’d left behind.

His beard rubs against your skin and it’s not rawing, not yet, but you know it will be the more he mouths at your breast. He’s licking, sucking, pulling, but never biting, teeth merely grazing your flesh rather than indulging in it. His tongue does that instead, flattening out over your raised flesh and dragging hot, wet stripes over the bud of your perked nipple.

“Obi- Obi-Wan,” You gasp, dragging desperate, heaving breaths into your lungs as your hands fly to his lengthened hair. You’d ruffled it many times when it was short and spiked, but now you’re able to get purchase in the strawberry-blonde locks, curling your fingers around the soft, sweat-darkened strands and pulling. 

You don’t pull hard, but it’s unexpected, and you feel the momentary pinch of Obi-Wan’s teeth around your breast. It floods heat to your already-pulsing core more than you’d have thought possible, considering the sweltering temperatures you’ve been in the whole time, but the soft groan that then ripples through your skin from the depths of his throat only makes you more desperate. All of a sudden the long-suffering heat is tepid by comparison, and you yank at the material of his undershirt so hard you nearly rip the fabric.

“Off,” You pant, “Please, take it- get it off, Obi-Wan.”

In a fluid, crouched movement Obi-Wan tears his undershirt off with one hand at its hem, his muscles flexing as he swings the arm up and over his head. He discards the shirt carelessly beneath him and it droops to the floor, no longer covering the bare skin of his chest that you’d admired earlier.

You have half a mind to do to him what he’s been doing to you, to sink your teeth into the flesh of his chest and suckle on his sweat-soaked skin. But he dips his face back to mouth at your tit once more, so you settle for running your hands greedily, desperately over the layer of soft skin that blocks his muscled chest from view. When he was younger, what seems like an eternity but must only be five years, his build was more defined. You’d gotten plenty of eyefuls of his bare, heaving chest during a particularly intense sparring match, or down by one of the large pools that were definitely supposed to be used more for reflection and tranquility rather than the chaos you’d wreaked upon them. But years of planning someone else’s schedule before his own has meant that he’s softened out around the middle, muscles still prominent when you dig your fingers into his skin, just not starkly visible anymore.

Age does that to a person; pushes them harder than ever before to achieve a less-defined result than they’re used to, but you find that you want to grind down onto the thin layer of pudge he’s accumulated just as much as you’d have wanted to drag yourself over his defined abs. The thought of doing both, either, anything makes you dizzy with desire that you express by scratching your sharpened nails down his skin, feeling his muscles shudder beneath your fingers.

“Darling,” He groans, choking on the word like it’s gagged him, “I- I think we ought to- are you ready?”

You marvel at his sincerity, at the idea that he’s not aware of the throbbing, slick mess that your core has become. You’d been ready twenty minutes ago, sprawled out on the floor beneath him, and you’ve only gotten more eager since then. His concern makes you want him more, and you use your grip on his soft hair to tug him upwards to meet your lips in a kiss. 

“I’m ready,” You breathe, laying the words out in a hazy moan over his tongue, “I’m ready, Obi-Wan, please- please take me.”

A groan melts from his mouth like molten butter, dripping over your tongue and down your throat. He pants, lets you suck his tongue into your mouth in a long, eager drag, then mumbles clumsily, “I want you. I want- I want to have you, darling, I want to take you.” His hips roll experimentally against your own, the tight pressure of his clothed cock digging into your panties as he nearly loses the function in the muscles that are holding him up above you.

He lets out another moan as you drag your hips up to meet his premature thrusts, and this time it’s a weaker sound, more strangled and mottled. It’s satisfying, knowing that you’ve reduced the ever-stoic, prized Jedi negotiator Obi-Wan Kenobi to a heaving mass of sweat and desire. His undershorts are rucked up around his meaty thighs, but he hasn’t yanked them off to free his stiff cock yet, so for a moment, all you do is grind against each other. 

The layers of clothing between you, one covering you and two covering him, provide frustrating boundaries but much-needed friction, and the scrape of his rough undershorts dragging against your thin panties makes your fingers curl into his back once more. You suspect that when he wakes tomorrow, your marks will still be there, and you take pride in knowing that he’ll have a very hard time forgetting you.

“Obi-” You really do intend to say his full name, but your breath leaves your lungs too quickly for it, and you revert back to the nickname he’d loathed as a teenager. Too juvenile, he’d protested greatly at the clipped diminutive, but he leans into it now. He licks the word right off of your tongue, his own plunging past your lips and dragging over your teeth in a messy, imprecise fashion. You get the sense that this is not about sex to him, it’s not about mechanics or equations or the perfect formula. It’s about you, and him, and you and him together. He doesn’t kiss you like a storybook prince because he kisses you like Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan wants to lick the spit out of your mouth and suck on your tongue. Obi-Wan wants to feel, not think, for once in his life, so he does.

“Obi-” You falter again, hands traveling from his muscled back to his hips. Your fingers dip beneath the waistband of his undershorts, then his briefs where they lay against the same stretch of skin, “Off. Off, please- Obi-Wan, off, take ‘em- off.”

He grunts his approval into your mouth, obscene squelching sounds coming from where his spit pools between your teeth and your tongue. He reaches down with a blind, clumsy hand to tug at his waistband, but when it doesn’t provide immediate results, he finds himself getting frustrated. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, not the frustration itself but his inability to control it, and he feels his brow crease in irritation as he reluctantly parts from your mouth to focus on the task at hand. All he needs is a little extra leverage to slide his shorts off of his waist, briefs bunched together, and as soon as they’re out of his way he’s reaching for your own underwear.

You crane your neck downwards to watch him, and the glimmering mess of saliva in your mouth practically doubles in volume at the sight of his red-tipped, rock-hard cock. It’s curved slightly up towards his stomach in its desperation, and there’s precum oozing from its tip, foaming and all too appealing. You want to suck him off again, to really choke yourself on it this time and never draw back for air, but there’s no time when he tugs swiftly at the elastic band of your panties, tearing them easily away from you. They drag beneath your thighs but he merely pulls harder, until they spring free and bunch up around your knees.

“Up,” Obi-Wan taps at your left thigh, and you struggle to bend your knees amidst their relentless trembling. He helps you, strength having stuck with him even when composure has abandoned its post. You get your left thigh up first, exposing your glistening cunt, smeared sticky with your own slick. His breath catches, you feel it stutter to a stop in his chest that you’re groping, and his eyes glimmer in the warm lights above you.

“Darling,” He breathes, taken by the mess of your drooling cunt. He reaches out, touches it carefully, with only the pad of his pointer finger. He ghosts it along the side of your slit, and even the infuriatingly chaste touch is ultra erotic. At the way you writhe beneath a single one of his fingers he brings his thumb up to stroke down your slit, catching wetness on his thumb that his mouth opens to accommodate.

He sucks your release clean off of his thumb, you’re almost certain he scrapes his teeth along his skin just to get it all. 

He leans into his own thumb, chases after it like he’s not the one taking it out of his mouth. He hesitates no further in clamoring backwards on the mattress until his knees hit the floor below, and he thanks the Force that the beds you were given are low enough for him to lean over the edge and bury his face in your cunt.

“Obi-Wan, no!” You plead, fingers tangling in his pretty blonde hair, “You’ll- you said- don’t cum yet, please, I- I want it in me!”

“I will cum in you,” He pledges, voice deep and determined as he nudges his nose against your wet cunt, “My darling, I’ll do whatever you ask. But I need you here, now. Please,” He breathes, his exhale shaky and warm as it heats your cunt, “Please, Darling, I want you here.”

“Have me,” You whimper, squirming your hips from side to side to propel yourself down the mattress. Your cunt bumps messily against his face that he doesn’t bother moving, and you buck your hips once, twice against his nose, riding his face, “Please, have me, Obi-Wan, you can have me.”

Your consent is all it takes. His mouth is open and his tongue is out the second you say the word, licking wet, tantalizingly slow stripes up your slit. He doesn’t breach it, doesn’t delve his tongue into your entrance, he laps at the slick smeared on the outside, as well as the wetness that has thoroughly soaked your thighs. Your skin is tacky with it even when he’s replaced it with his spit, and your cunt throbs at the meticulous approach he’s taken to appreciating every drop you give him. 

It’s too meticulous. 

After another slow, careful, nearly chaste lave of his tongue over the crease between your thigh and your cunt, probably just as soaked with sweat as it is with slick, you retighten your now-loose grip in his hair. You’d let go of the strands when he’d given you what you wanted, but now you want more, and you lead him straight to your core where he’d been lapping at your thighs instead.

“Here,” You beg, pulling his face against your drooling cunt until you’re certain he’s unable to breathe. You feel his nose breach your slit, nudged into your cunt by your insistent tugging on his hair.

“I need you here, inside, please.” You beg, pussy aching with abandon. His slow, careful ministrations had driven you mad, and now you are teetering on the edge of insanity as you nearly howl, “Please!”

His response is white-hot and wet. His tongue prods gently from between his lips as his jaw widens, and he watches your reaction as he fills your cunt with his slick tongue. A gush of your own wetness greets him, and as insistent as he is at meeting your eyes, his own flutter shut at the taste.

“Force,” He breathes, and the exclamation is uncommon from him. The muffled, garbled word sends vibrations straight into your cunt, and after the initial shock of his tongue inside of you, you feel his beard.

It scrapes abrasively against the sensitive, licked-over skin of your inner thighs, and prickles deliciously at the base of your leaking cunt. You feel sharp hairs prod at the curve of your ass, and his mouth moves fluidly, tongue wriggling with surprising prowess through the mess of slick you’ve accumulated in your cunt. It slides wetly along your inner walls that have made way for his tongue, and that will stretch eagerly to accommodate his cock. 

His cock, oh, you’d forgotten the thick weight on your tongue, and your jaw aches with the ghost of it. Your cunt aches, too, and when his nose softly bumps your clit you gasp as your hips jolt upwards. He catches your thighs with Jedi agility, his muscles not straining at all to hold you to the mattress. The casual, easy display of strength makes your thighs quiver, and something inside of you tighten like a knot.

He licks you out like he’s drinking ambrosia, the glistening substance smeared over his face and starting up the bridge of his nose. The noises that he makes are hungry and wild as he licks more, sucks more, takes more. He’d moderated himself at first, lapped the sticky spillings of your wet cunt like he was rationing a meal. Now he feasts, tongue losing focus from inside your pussy and rapidly licking over your clit. His lips suction on and his beard burns tantalizingly at your sloppy cunt. You feel stimulation everywhere, the knot below your belly tightening ever-stronger until you feel the beginnings of a fray. It’s a step you take, an incline that you scramble up, and each pedestal you achieve gives way to a higher one. You let yourself climb, climb, climb, against every pulse of his suctioned lips around your sensitive bundle of nerves, and you breach the clouds as Obi-Wan broadens his sucking mouth to half-latch to your clit, his tongue delving back into your drooling cunt. You leap for the final pedestal and a surge of pleasure hits you, soaking wet like a wave that you ride back down to the surface. 

You tremble, you whimper, you love. Your thighs shake, the muscles in your stomach stuttering as your hips jolt and jerk. Your mouth produces such feeble sounds, whines and moans and ‘Oh, please, yes’s, and ‘Obi-Wan- kriff!’s. Your fingers in his hair latch tight but cling gentle, holding him to you as you lose control of yourself in the Force. All of the love, all of the passion, all of the attachment, all of the terrible-horrible-no-good-very-bad-un-Jedi-like things that you’re not supposed to feel surge through the Force and hit Obi-Wan like Coruscant’s train, knocking the wind out of him, though he never stops sucking at you.

Obi-Wan licks you through your orgasm, tongue pressing tight and hot and wet to the quiver of your cunt, letting it spasm against his mouth. He sucks up every last drop of slick that you’ll give him, greedily mouthing at your cunt long after it’s begun stinging from oversensitivity. You want his mouth off, and his cock in, although that first part sounds like a heinous thing to wish for. His tongue is perfection, slippery and knowing you well enough to hit just the right spots even though it’s never had you before. You only push his mouth away to beg for his cock, but you’re tempted to let him white out your vision and lick at you until he passes out.

“Obi-!” You gasp, pushing instead of pulling at his golden hair, “Obi-Wan, no- no more! Here, up- here, please, and I want you inside of me.”

He lets you unlatch him from your pulsing cunt, rife with the sting of stimulation. You need only a matter of seconds to come down from your high, but they’re seconds you can’t afford to spend on Obi-Wan’s tongue, or the clock won’t ever start. He licks at a smear of slick over your thigh that he’d missed earlier, and his brain seems to register your begging.

“Alright, darling,” He pants, out of breath from the way he’d spent it all in your cunt. His voice is ragged, drowned in slick and thick with want.

He clamors back onto the mattress, all humbly-forged muscles and greed. He hovers over you, and dips down to claim your mouth the way he had your cunt: with broad, sweeping swipes of his tongue. He licks your slick across your tongue, letting you taste yourself on him.

“I’m here,” He soothes, his voice a notch deeper than usual and his words malformed due to the open ring of his mouth. He licks against your tongue once more, sloppy and hot, as his hips grind down against your thigh. He knows you need time but he doesn’t have long, and he grinds against your hip until you’re ready. You feel his stiff cock digging into your flesh, and it sends pulses of energy to your recovering cunt that make it beg to be filled. He’s not composed the way that he normally is, but he’s managing to hold himself together through grunts and groans into your mouth. If you don’t act fast, he’s going to splatter your stomach with cum, which wouldn’t be distasteful by any means, but you’d rather him paint your insides with it.

“You are intoxicating,” Obi-Wan proclaims, speaking directly into your mouth, an addict that can’t wean off of his drug, “I don’t know how I am supposed to pretend like this never happened.”

“Don’t,” You beg breathlessly, “Don’t forget me. Keep quiet around others, and- and when you are alone,” You reach down to take his cock into your hands, heavy and thick and waiting, “When you lay in bed at night, when you touch yourself-” He lets out something teetering on the edge of a whimper as you stroke your hand along his flushed length, an angry red coloring the tip that exposes how much self-control he’s composing, “-touch yourself, and- and think of me. Think of my hands, of my mouth, of my cunt. Think of me, Obi-Wan.”

“I will,” He vows, his voice holding like a frayed rope with one thread remaining, strained and pulling and clinging together, “Please let me have you. Please,” He braces his forehead against yours, his cock throbbing in your palm, “Please darling, let me in. I want to be inside of you, I want to have you, please.”

You’ve never seen him babble before. Not when he’d been seven years old, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked, caught with a stray tooka cat in his robes halfway back to the creche. Not when he’d been fifteen and a warrior, his side split open in a gory mess of blood and flesh and lymph and bone. Not at his old master’s funeral, the light from the pyre’s flames dancing upon his stoic features. Obi-Wan Kenobi is a master at composure, but he is breathless now, sacrificing it to the dewy-warm crease where your neck meets your shoulder, and sucking up your sweat-salty scent in return.

You place your free hand on his back, sticky and flushed beneath your touch, and use it to help guide him into you. Your other hand, still wrapped around his cock, lines it up with your entrance and he needs little coaxing from there. He pushes himself into you slowly, courteously, but loses himself to some deep, primal urge that he’s buried beneath layers of meditation and balance. 

He comes undone.

His muscles surge and his hips buck in what begins as a steady pace, but transforms into a wild rhythm that pins you against the mattress. He lets out a groan into the sweaty juncture of your neck, something that sounds like it could be from a beast and not a man. You feel the scrape of his beard against the seldom-touched skin there and you’re sure it’s growing raw, but you couldn’t care less. He’s not holding your hips up - his hands are plastered to your side and holding you there with a force carefully and pointedly short of bruising - but you angle your pelvis up anyway, allowing him to hit that much deeper inside of you. The tip of his cock never hurts where it connects briefly each thrust with your cervix, but you feel it intimately, every vein and ridge and curve that his body has to offer. 

You’re grateful for the sound-proof walls of the military compound because you realize after a moment that you’re making noise just the same as he is. It’s softer, quieter, but it’s there, the underlying harmony to his leading grunts and groans. 

All the while he is soft and gentle, because what he wants is not sex, it is you. Perhaps if he were a lesser man, he’d squeeze you, or bend you, or break you, all to take you the way he wants. But it is the soul inside of you that he’s after, and he takes great care with the vessel it’s enclosed in. He holds you, but he does not squeeze you. He kisses you, but he does not bite you. He moves with you, not against you. Your hips surge upwards to meet the thrusts of his cock and he latches his mouth to yours desperately, pleadingly. Your breathing is short and staccato through your nose, fanning against his top lip as he mashes it messily to your own, and you’re much easier to bring to a climax the second time around, sensitivity still roiling in your blood from your previous orgasm.

“Obi-Wan,” You beg, the words spilling languidly into his mouth, as you move in tandem, in, out, in, out, forwards, backwards, everything, nothing.

“Obi- I’m gonna- ooh, I’m gonna cum,” You cry, overwhelmed by the consistent drag of his cock against the walls of your soaked cunt. You’re slick again, gushing enough to replenish however much Obi-Wan had licked out of you. It squelches as he drives his dick into your pussy, foamy from the repetitive motions that are only creating it at faster intervals.

“Please- please do,” He moans, his dick twitching inside of you, “Force, I- ah, there’s nothing I want more than to feel that, darling. Please- please cum, please-”

“Kiss me,” You plead, even though he’s never stopped, if the way that his mouth moves against yours can still be considered a kiss. It’s far from any conventional peck on the lips, mostly tongue and drool that seeps down the side of your mouth and into your neck, mixing with the sweat already lingering there from your workout.

He tries kissing you more neatly, his lips tightening and suctioning around your own, but the closer you both get to your impending orgasms, the sloppier his thrusts are, and the more slack his mouth goes, smothering your own instead of truly kissing it while his tongue continues its dogged pursuit of your own. It’s no matter; his spit leaks uncontrollably into your mouth and you relish the taste. You don’t need perfection, you need him.

You can’t help your wandering hand from snaking down to his waist, curving just below his cock to cradle his balls against your palm. They’re heavy and warm as you take them into your hand, and doing so elicits a gasp from the man chasing his release inside of you, his hips stuttering in their pursuit of the wet warmth of your cunt. You squeeze them, not harshly, just a gentle compression, and Obi-Wan melts. A whimper escapes his lips, still slack and pressed to your own, and though his thrusts momentarily slow, they resume at double the pace. He’s rapidly bucking his hips now, barely containing himself enough to lift one hand off of your side and bring it to your chest. He fits his palm over one of your breasts, your stiff, sensitive nipple caving against his palm. You gasp at the prickling sensation and your fingernails momentarily dig into his back, but when his dick twitches once more inside of you, desperate, fit-to-burst, you drag them down his back in searing red lines.

If you hadn’t been able to feel Obi-Wan cum inside of you, you’d have known it was happening from the cry he releases alone. It’s abrupt, like his orgasm catches him off-guard even though he’s been pursuing it. But you can feel it, you can feel his warm cum ooze out of the head of his cock, momentarily stationary as it’s snug against your cervix. You feel it gush from his dick, filling any and all available space in your pulsating cunt before flooding outwards, dripping down your ass and thighs in an obscene display that soaks right into your bedsheets. Obi-Wan rides out his climax at a pace rapid enough to coax your second one out of you, and you welcome the now-familiar sensation of cumming around Obi-Wan. It’s mind-numbing, your ears ring for a faint moment, and your cunt rapidly clenches and unclenches around his cock that’s all too happy to continue occupying the space.

He grunts, moans, and groans as his sloppy thrusts finally slow, and your cunt appreciates the reduced pace. You’re well and truly spent, difficult to achieve for someone who’d gone through endurance training since childhood, and you’re not surprised that Obi-Wan, too, needs a break. He lowers himself to your chest with a slow, shaky exhale, eyes closed and face glistening with sweat just as your own does. 

His beard grates roughly against your skin, shifted with every ragged breath that he draws in. His hair spills over the breast that his mouth isn’t nestled beside, and you stare down at his face, marveling how beautiful his barely-fluttering lashes and heaving chest are.

Before he opens his eyes he angles it towards you, so that the first thing he sees is your flushed, sweaty, open-mouthed expression. He’s in the perfect position to kiss the side of your breast, and it tingles with the phantom sensation of his palm flat against your perked nipple barely minutes before. His beard scrapes your skin like it has since you first kissed him, and you wonder if you’ll ever be able to live happily without the scratch of it against your cheeks, or thighs, for that matter. The skin between your legs is still raw, stinging with the friction of Obi-Wan’s coarse hair against your flesh..

“You look beautiful, darling,” He hums, his voice grated raw from fatigue. His breath fans hot over your chest, but he pushes himself up on his tired biceps to hover over you. His weight against you had been comforting, but his gaze is even more so, and you let him loom over you.

His chest, peppered with auburn curls so fine they glisten in the poor lighting of your quarters, rises and falls deeply in front of you. You have half a mind to bury your face in it; you might if his face wasn’t impossibly more captivating.

His eyes search yours, for what you’re not sure, but you realize that his breathing gets more shallow until his chest stills completely. He only releases his breath when you reach up to thumb gently at his sternum, loosening his lungs again.

“Do you regret it?”

You suppose you didn’t have to ruin the moment so harshly, but you want to know the truth. You want to know if this was worth it, or if you’re going on the list of regrets that Obi-Wan pours over obsessively.

He takes a moment to answer, but you suspect it’s because he’s been caught off guard by your question. He shakes his head, dipping his face down to kiss the swell of your cheek.

“No, I don’t.” He mumbles against the dewy skin of your face, hiding his words there in self-preservation. You kiss the fleeting scruff of his beard as he pulls away, and your eyes find the blue of his instantly.

“You needed convincing at first,” You recall warily, something sinking in your chest now that you’re not puppettered by lust, “Are you certain it was the right thing to do?”

“Not at all,” He admits, “In fact, I think it was wrong of me. But I’ve done it anyways, and I am happy for that.”

“Why wrong?” You ghost your knuckles against his cheek, and he leans into it like he used to do when you’d clean scrapes and cuts he’d acquire while sparring. 

“I am more attached to you now than ever,” He offers simply, but it doesn’t seem like it pains him to confess. He seems lighter now, less embroiled in his own anxiety.  “And I’m not certain I can keep my personal feelings- well, personal. I don’t know that I could think rationally about you. That’s not desirable to the Order, or to the war effort.”

You bite your tongue, teeth digging softly into its muscle.

“All the same,” He continues, “Jedi are not without attachments. Younglings form friendships in the creche, and their minders love them. Padawans love their Masters, and vice versa. Masters engage in relations,” He acknowledges, then his brows tick up and he considers, “Ki Adi Mundi has four wives. Perhaps I’m not the most blasphemous Jedi they’ve ever seen.”

A laugh comes tumbling from your lips before you can stop it, and Obi-Wan’s face softens into a grin of his own.

“Five,” You correct him, “He has five wives.”

“Force, he’s a heretic,” Obi-Wan exclaims, but it’s all for show; he holds no ill opinions of the council member.

“I’m happy for his wives,” You hum, the sound just short of a giggle, “But I prefer your beard over his.”

“Oh, but he’s got a better mustache than me,” Obi-Wan settles on his side facing you, a smile etched permanently into his features as he plays along with the banter you’ve started. He relishes its lighthearted nature compared to the hesitance of moments prior, “Maybe I should grow it out and curl it like his.”

Before you can offer him another round in exchange for a promise to never shape his facial hair around Master Mundi’s, the walls of your compound give a creaky grinding sound, then a rumble, and air whooshes through the vents you’ve come to loathe for their uselessness in the recent past.

“He did it!” You gawk, sitting up excitedly, nearly forgetting that you’re topless, “Oh Force, Anakin’s a wizard! He really is, he’s a mechanical wizard, and I’m going to buy him a speeder for this.”

“Do not,” Obi-Wan groans, sitting up beside you and tugging you easily to fit your back against his chest, “The last thing that boy needs is the ability to go faster.”

“He did it,” You sigh happily, leaning back and pressing your lips to Obi-Wan’s. He reciprocates easily now, unlike before when he’d run himself ragged with doubts.

“That means we’ll be off soon,” Obi-Wan reminds you gently, and you deflate slightly in his hold, “But I don’t think comming each other should be any issue.”

“Every night?” You suggest, kissing at the prickly cleft of his chin.

“That’s- ambitious.” He chuckles, but it’s not meant to tease, “Every night, darling.”

“You can send me dirty videos,” You gush, scrambling to free yourself from Obi-Wan’s hold when he tries locking his fingers onto your sides, nipping sharply at your shoulder.

“I will not!” He insists, voice firm but chest trembling with barely-withheld laughter, “Force, if I pressed the wrong button��”

“Perhaps Master Mundi could share it with one of his wives,” You laugh, scrambling back into your underclothes and heading for the fresher to clean yourself up, “Hurry up and get dressed, Obi-Wan, one of my troopers is probably on their way to tell us the good news!”

Your suspicions are confirmed only moments later, thankfully, after you’ve both had time to right your appearances. You look flushed and sweaty, if anything, but the cool air hasn’t managed to flood the entire compound yet, and you’ve been exercising, so it’s excusable. No one but you two needs to know that exercising didn’t mean sparring for longer than ten minutes.

“Anakin, you’re fantastic,” You call, rushing through the empty hangar where he’s standing near the ramp of the ship, “You’ve saved us all. I’m fairly certain my troops would have resorted to fratricide if we’d had to melt here for any longer.”

The padawan gives you a valiant effort at a polite chuckle, and you press on, “For the record, I told your master I’d get you a speeder for helping us today, but he said no.”

“Y/N,” Obi-Wan starts, exasperated, but catches himself on the use of your first name. Perhaps it feels different now, coming out of his mouth much more measured than it had only twenty minutes prior. He doesn’t speak further.

Anakin’s eyes briefly glint at the fantasy of his own speeder, but he controls himself quickly. He’s a credit to his master, who manages to look convincingly like he hadn’t just broken a very long streak of celibacy. Still, you appreciate that war hasn’t managed to suck the most basic of excitements out of the child, and you reach up to pat his cheek in a gesture distinctly un-Jedi like. 

“Take care of yourself, and don’t let Obi-Wan bore you with a million lectures on economics, or politics, or the two combined.”

Anakin nods, but bites his lower lip to refrain from smirking, saving himself a lecture on sass later on. You hear Obi-Wan exhale huffily behind you, and you turn your attention to him when Anakin retreats onto the ship.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t add to my apprentice’s willfulness,” He grouses, but the corner of his mouth twitches upwards in fondness for you both, “He’s got enough of that on his own.”

“Take care of yourself,” You ignore his teasing, your voice tender and sweet, slightly more than it had been for Anakin, “I know they don’t send you out much, because he’s only fourteen, but- but please take care of yourself, Obi-Wan.”

Perhaps if Anakin hadn’t been lingering on the ramp of the ship, perhaps if there weren’t five clone troopers stationed in the hangar, perhaps if you were the only two people in the world, like it had felt less than an hour ago, Obi-Wan would have kissed you. But he doesn’t, all he does is nod, 

“We will,” He vows, and you nod, satisfied.

“I mean it,” You continue, more threatening than your earlier sentiment, “Comm me.” And you think back to the request you’d made earlier, breathlessly, the words fanning out against his sweaty skin, “And… think of me.”

You know he’s recalling the same moment in time when his cheeks tinge pink.

“I will,” He promises, singular this time, confirming your suspicions that his mind is flashing with visions of your flushed skin beneath his hands, “And please take care of yourself, too, General.”

Something hard and aching tugs at the back of your throat at the honorific, such a far cry from the intimacy you’d shared. But now you are General Y/L/N, and he is Master Kenobi, and that is the way things must be in the presence of others.

“Master Kenobi,” You bow, bending at the waist and noting the soft tug of soreness there.

“General Y/L/N,” Obi-Wan mimics your gesture, hands folded neatly into the sleeves of his robes.

He turns. He pivots on his feet and strides up the ramp of the ship they’d taken, Anakin waiting until he’s passed through the doorway to follow behind him. The door hisses shut, concealing them both, and the mechanical whiz-kid has the engines powered up in no time. You watch their ship take flight and navigate the narrow entrance to your hangar with ease, waiting until they’ve passed each temperature-isolating layer of defense that enshroud your compound and disappear into the planet’s heat-hazy atmosphere to turn away.

“General,” One of your troopers lingers behind you, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” You put on a convincing show, smiling serenely, “I’d just forgotten how much of a challenge sparring with Master Kenobi is. I’m fatigued; I think I’ll retire to my quarters for some rest.”

“General,” He nods, stating your title like a vow of loyalty, standing at attention as the hangar doors finally shut you in. 

You walk the familiar path to your sparse quarters absentmindedly, feeling that same twinge of achiness each time you take a step. Only once your door hisses shut do you release the prim tension in your shoulders, slumping and slouching like you’d just escaped the throes of battle. 

There is a shirt on your bed.

It’s white, though it’s been worn thoroughly, so the color is muddied ever so slightly with the tan tinge of sweat. It’s rumpled, from a hasty removal. It’s laid over your poor excuse for a blanket, cream-colored against the starkly contrasting black fabric. It’s impossible to miss, which means it had to have been placed there deliberately; it wasn’t forgotten.

It’s Obi-Wan’s.

You overcome your momentary stun and pad towards the bed, reaching for the shirt with a hesitant hand. You take it, feel it ever-so-slightly damp with lingering perspiration, and your stomach flips.

It’s Obi-Wan’s; it’s yours.

The shirt winds up snug around your pillow, tucked beneath the Republic-issue linen. It’s invisible to the outside eye, but when your nose is pressed gauchely into the pillowcase you can smell Obi-Wan through it, a mix of natural and artificial scents.

The musk of cologne and the acrid smell of sweat. Composure and lust. What is right and what is wrong.

You and Obi-Wan.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

#obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi smut #obi-wan kenobi fanfiction #obi-wan kenobi imagine #obi-wan kenobi fluff #obi-wan kenobi oneshot #obi-wan kenobi one-shot #obi-wan kenobi one shot #obi-wan kenobi headcanon #obi-wan kenobi headcanons #obi-wan kenobi hcs #obi-wan kenobi hc #obi-wan kenobi fan fiction #obi-wan kenobi fanfic #obi-wan kenobi blurb #obi-wan kenobi drabble #obi-wan kenobi dialogue #obi-wan kenobi x y/n #obi-wan kenobi x you

[chuplayswithfire]

The general concept that OFMD s2 has less queer joy is to me such an interesting perspective, because the first season really did end in a much more tragic and less joyous place, between Lucius's murder (unsuccessful, though we didn't know at the time), Izzy's homophobia winning out, Ed kidnapping Frenchie and Jim, Ed sobbing in the bed nook, and all of us wondering how Stede was going to rescue everyone with a single dinghy and no money.

This season's end, everyone we feared for last season is accounted for and well, Ed and Stede are reunited and building a loveshack, and Izzy finally accepted community before getting to die doing what he loved: spiting some rich bastard.

Season 2 sees the start of new relationships between Jim and Archie and Olu and Zheng - possibly as a future messy polycule, introduces us to the struggling but ultimately loving relationship between Anne Bonny and Mary Read, shows us Ed and Stede in love and navigating the start of openly admitting you have feelings for someone and giving it a go, gives us three characters exploring themselves through drag, gives us Lucius and Pete's engagement and wedding -

But because we also have a death, somehow the queer joy is gone from the show.

The queer joy wasn't gone when Izzy stomped on Ed's hopes and Ed subsequently decided to embody his worst self. It wasn't gone when we had to wonder if we were lying to ourselves about Lucius dying.

But Izzy dies, living the life of a pirate and surrounded by people who care, finally able to be vulnerable in the sense of admitting wrong and fault, and give closure and that's what kills joy?

Maybe I've just lived a life with too much death to understand why a good death would kill joy, but in my book season 2 had so much more joy than season 1, because it came through grief and back into hope and was all the stronger for it.

#ofmd #edward teach #stede bonnet #ofmd s2 spoilers

[pupcuck]

JINGLE BELL COCK !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. p in v, uncle/niece incest, somno

notes. MERRY CHRISTMAS!! this is very messy and rushed i haven’t been able to write properly lately so forgive me for the repetitiveness and clunkiness!! ignore typos as always :3 feedback n rbs always appreciated !!! this is reallyyy sloppy and I’m embarrassed so I may go back and delete and rewrite in a few days time 😭

tumblr has started to remove fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

“Woah,” Leon's knees almost buckle when you barrel into him, “Pumpkin, wow,” He takes you in, settles his hands on your hips, and it might be inappropriate ‘cause your mother glares at him over your shoulder. What did she want him to do? Grab your ass? Could’ve, should’ve, would’ve. Just doesn’t wanna get put on a list of some kind. “You’re so big now.”

“Yeah?” Your cheeks split with a sweet smile, “I missed you, uncle.”

“God, you’re so big I can’t believe it,” He gives you a once over, he’d like to catcall you to show you how he feels, Leon refrains from doing so. “I remember when you were a kid, always sat in my lap ‘n said you wanted to marry me.”

“Awww,” A gloved hand comes to pat his cheek, you take the tip of the fabric between your teeth, taking it off finger by finger, “I can do that again if you’d really like, uncle.” Your nails scratch his scruffy chin, press your finger into the divot he hates so much, then you stare right at it. Don’t look at that, god. Totally messed him over. Shit fucked up his golden ratio.

“What're you lookin’ at, pumpkin?” He shifts from foot to foot, moves his flight bag from one shoulder to the other.

“Just never seen you with a beard,” You shrug, beaming at him once more. Okay, not the chin then, thank fuck. “It’s cute, uncle, makes you look older.” Leon doesn’t know if that’s good or bad, though he feels his spinal disk shrink with each passing second.

You turn on your heels when his sister-in-law, fine as ever, says your name, “We should go before she gets pissy.” You tell him cheekily, taking his hand in yours, and you’re so big now he can’t believe it. A whole lot of tit, hip, and your ass ain’t too shabby either. Leon’s justification is that he’s only a man, can't help himself when he sees a pretty girl, even if said girl is his niece. He’s an honest guy, gotta give his brother props for marrying such a smokeshow, even more credit for knocking her up. ‘Cause she popped out an even hotter girl, younger, brighter, and your tits sit prettier.

Their family stands on crumbling foundations, when he’s around his brother, Leon’s five seconds away from blowing his brains out at any given moment. He doesn’t know why people question his suicidal tendencies, he’s more than willing to show them. Snow crunches under his boots as he navigates the path leading up to the front door. The layer of glossy red paint has chipped away to reveal the mahogany beneath. It’s been that long, huh?

“I’m in college now, I have my licence and everything, uncle, I wanted to visit you in D.C. but I couldn’t get ahold of you,” You chatter to him, tugging at your laces and propping your shoes up on the shelf near the door, make the move to grab his suitcase, but Leon swiftly moves it aside. “I can carry it, I’m a big girl now.”

“No, you’re not,” Leon frowns, to him you’re a baby. An undeveloped prefrontal cortex and a soft spot on the top of your head. Yeah, you got a rack now, sure, he wants to fuck you now - doesn’t change a thing.

“Okay, well did you bring me a present?” You trail after him, and you really are still a baby.

“Yeah, you’re my favourite girl, I bought you lots.” He’s not sure if you’ll like it. Colouring books, dolls, plastic jewellery. He’s a bit of an idiot. Didn’t think about how long it’s been.

“Can I open them now?” You seat yourself next to him on the couch, knee bumping his.

“Later, pumpkin, I promise.”

“I want to transfer to Washington.” Wine trickles over the edge of your cup, Leon soaks it up with a napkin, dabs at your face when a rivulet dribbles down your chin.

His brother’s knocked out in their dad’s old armchair, it’s beyond saving, but he’s cheap. Your mom retired to bed a while back, they argued over something trivial, a cheeseboard or some shit, and with that it leaves the two of you.

“Yeah? You got friends out there or what?”

“No, but you’re there, uncle.” You grin, batting your lashes so pretty he gets without popping a viagra or two. Three. He needs three minimum. “I could come stay with you, right?”

Fuck no, under no circumstance should he be allowed within fifty feet of you. And here Leon is, bumping knees, brushing fingers like you’re lovesick teens on a first date. That’s just not right, is it? He’s a decrepit old man on his way to getting a senior bus pass, and he’s your uncle and all. Can’t really go around popping boners over family members.

“I work too much.” Leon says coolly, sweat dripping from his temple, drumming his fingers against the table. “Hey, you wanna open your presents?”

“Yes!” You nod with wild enthusiasm, like a bobblehead, cute ones you keep on the dashboard. Leon would love to take you home with him, display you on the mantle like a China doll, show you off like some rare artefact. Just can’t, he’d end up doing something awful, peeking in on you showering— or worse he’d start sleepwalking, get into your room- “Go get them then, uncle.”

The paper is pink, the shade you used to adore as a young girl, the colour you’ve since painted over in your room. He got that professionally wrapped, big bow on it and all. Leon’s not good at making things look pretty. It’s easier to assemble a gun than it is to wrap presents. Your name is scrawled on the tag in cursive writing that belongs to none other than Claire, she insisted on doing so, felt inclined after seeing his chicken-scratch.

“It’s for me, you shouldn’t have, uncle!” You snatch it out of his hands, Jesus, had more manners when you were a kid. Once you tear through the paper, you blink down at the plastic princess costume jewellery. Clip-on earrings, fluffy mules that are much too tiny, the whole lot. “Oh, wow, well, it sure is nice.”

“Pumpkin,” Leon starts, “It slipped my mind that you’re a big girl now, I wasn’t thinkin’ and I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” You placate him with your smile, “I’m just glad you’re here.” Cheesy, still makes him swoon.

“We can go shopping ‘fore I go back, I’ll buy you whatever, yeah?”

“I don’t need that,” You shake your head, eyes flitting from his lower half then to his lips. He’s making shit up in his head now. It’s late, Leon should go to sleep, doesn’t wanna start kissing on you and end up in court. “Oh, you’re going already?”

“I’m tired, pumpkin.” My dick is so hard it’s cutting off all blood flow to my brain, my pants are squeezing it so tight I’m gonna contract sepsis and that shit will fall straight off, I don’t want my dick to fall off, pumpkin, hope you can understand my reasoning. Leon hopes you can see the desperation in his eyes, that you can see the sentiment he’s trying to get across.

The bed creaks with his weight, and it’s the same dusty, bed-bug ridden shit his brother’s had for years. He jerks off, blows his load on his stomach, too worn out to clean it up. Falls asleep with his hand down his pants. Then Leon starts having wet dreams like he’s twenty-one again, of your petal lips, of your hands on his dick, your tits, how your thighs look when you sit. Warmth engulfs his cock, and it’s so real, he’s so sure you’re right there, sucking him off like a good girl. You’re cute like a sex doll, and it’s unfair that he has to put on this uncle act. Used to come natural to him when you were a kid, but it’s just different.

Only when Leon lifts his hand does he come into contact with skin, with hair, and a human. At first, he thinks it’s the dog, one of the three. Then he feels small hands parting his thighs further, the familiarity of your smile warming his skin.

“Pumpkin.” Leon rasps, and it’s not quite warning, just a tone that says keep going, but this is fucked up, doesn’t mean I don’t want it though. He thanks you for making the first move.

You pull off with a wet pop, kissing along his Apollo’s belt. “I want to come to D.C. and stay with you,” You say between fervid kisses, “I want to be with you, uncle, you’re handsome and I like you.” Your confession is feverish, he wonders if you realise the weight of your words. Can’t go around telling lonely old men that you like ‘em.

“I’m your uncle, pumpkin.” Leon states simply, ‘cause he’s an adult and he’s collected, but you can keep pumping his dick like that, he really don’t mind.

“No one would know,” You kiss the sticky tip, pre smeared over your lips like lip gloss, tongue poking out to taste him, dipping into his leaky slit. “I could be your girlfriend.” Leon doesn’t even know you, he knows the little girl you once were.

Leon’s too old for that shit. Girlfriend boyfriend talk. “I’m too old to be dating, pumpkin.” He cradles the back of your head with his calloused hand, guides you to base of his shaft, your tongue tracing the vein that runs along the underside of his cock.

“Yeah, but you’re not too old to marry me, are you?” You’re a clever girl, giving him a cheeky smile as you sit up and clamber into his lap.

“What’s gotten into you, pumpkin?” Don’t stop, pumpkin. Same thing. He hopes his dick says enough, standing proud as you lift your hips, wet hole stretching to accommodate his fat tip. Leon can’t see your face, but he shuts his eyes and thinks about it, how your lips would part so pretty, and you’d toss your head back, sweat making your skin all shiny.

“I just really like you, uncle.” One way ticket out of this shitty town, away from his shitry brother, away from your narc bitch of a mom, free food, free housing - Leon understands your motive. Truly, he does, and he can’t find it in himself to give a damn. If you pretend to love then it matters all the same.

“Okay, then sit on it, pumpkin.” Leon urges, firm hands finding purchase on your hips, forcing you down on his cock till you take all of him to the hilt. The head bumps your cervix, and Leon is in love with you. Thank fuck he came back home, thank god, thank Claire for pushing him to the point of booking a flight. “You wanna marry me?”

“I told you, didn’t I? Promised I was gonna marry you when I was a kid.” You press your tits flush to his chest, lips ghosting Leon’s. “I wanna marry you so bad, uncle, you’re all I want.” And Leon can’t help himself, doesn’t mean to let go so early, the coils of heat in his belly turn searing, and he empties himself into you with a groan. The quiet noise of disappointing you let out as his cock softens inside of you is adorable.

“You gotta get used to that if you marry me, I’m old now.” He strokes your head, holds you tight, refuses to let go now that he’s got you.

“I can deal with it, uncle, as long as I get to be your wife.”

#leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

[maythearo]

" Welcome back to Night Raven College's "Ghostly Gossip"! The school's unofficial main online source for the latest news, articles and trending topics circulating around campus! "

" now introducing our second student entry for the blog... 'some guy I found on my grandma's attic'-- huh..? Wait, who wrote that down?? "

Navigation:

R. Rosehearts - T. Clover - C. Diamond - A. Trappola - D. Spade - L. Kingscholar - R. Bucchi - J. Howl - A. Ashengrotto - J. Leech - F. Leech - K. Al Asim - J. Viper - V. Schoenheit - R. Hunt - E. Felmier - I. Shroud - O. Shroud - M. Draconia - L. Vanrouge - S. Zigvolt - Silver

Messy (but progressively getting better) design notes:

Epel was one of those designs that just clicked instantly with me, I had a vision of the basics I wanted all sorted in my head even before I gathered most reference pics. I don't expect this to happen again to a majority of the remaining cast though 😫

Watching those doll restoration/repainting videos while drawing helped me set the general mood I wanted for him, even though the final result doesn't show much of this inspiration, at least in my opinion... I love the makeup and face painting details these artists put on the dolls, but I was afraid too much of that would make his design too heavy-looking combined with the rest of the outfit. If I ever decide to design alternative outfits for this series, I'll try to show off more of this lost aspect there

For the character in itself now, I imagine him in this AU to be more free to do and act however he wants compared to his og universe counterpart. Still being supervised by Vil, but not in the same level as before. Probably the reason why he got all those scratches and cracks on his body, I like to think he's having a little more fun with being a gremlin and running around all he wants lol. And due to that, his skin care routine baisically consists in Elmer's glue, to stick any broken porcelain shards together. Vil is not exactly content about that, but he lets most of it slide at this point 👍

Epel's totally the type of kid who goes around the gardens to casually collect bugs like he's in animal crossing. Like this video I found on reels, which I don't reccomend watching if you have a phobia of spiders/insects/bugs/snakes/frogs/etc cause, you know. But anyway I think MH Epel holds this exact energy and it's- kinda terrifying! In a good way though. come on let this kid be a kid for once. I also think this more playful part of him fits well with the fact that he's a little doll. OH and the fact that og Epel grew up around the elderly back in his hometown kinda makes sense in this universe too, like, he's the type of doll some grandparents would keep in their old house as a family relic or something. Could very much be the beggining of a horror story.

#twst #my art #twisted wonderland #twst fanart #.the ghostly gossip #epel felmier #monster high #twst au #pomefiore

[art]

Creator Spotlight: @velinxi​

Hello! I’m Xiao Tong Kong, better known as “Velinxi.” I’m the creator of the webcomic Countdown to Countdown and have been doing freelance artwork since I was a teenager. I love telling stories with my illustrations! Tumblr was where I first got my start as an artist, specifically a small fandom artist as a hobby… and now I’m somehow here! When I’m not trying my best to stay awake in front of my tablets, I’m usually cooking, gaming, or sleeping. Sometimes all three, in my dreams.

Check out our interview with Velinxi below!

Did you originally have a background in art? If not, how did you start?

Yeah! I’ve basically been on track to become an artist since I was a child. I went to a middle school with an emphasis on arts and a high school specializing in it. I went to SVA briefly for computer arts but dropped out to pursue freelance and webcomics after my first year.

Over the years as an artist, what or who were your biggest inspirations behind your creativity?

My biggest inspirations growing up were Yuumei and Shilin Huang, two titans on DeviantArt back in the day. They still inspire me today, but the list of inspirations has grown exponentially over the years, including artists, movies, entire art movements, etc.

What was your thought process behind the creation of your webcomic, Countdown to Countdown?

Well, Countdown to Countdown started as a passion project back when I was 15, in high school, and pretty depressed. I just wanted to draw whatever story I thought was cool, inspired by my favorite media at the time. There was a very loose beginning and outline, but I was truly just writing as I drew the story. That’s why I had to stop the comic in 2018 and restart from scratch the year after. Now, the story has a set story and a clear outline. It still has similar roots, characters, and themes of neglect, abuse, and escape—but I think the story is a lot easier to follow now. It’s got an artstyle I can actually keep up with in the long run. The origin of why CTC exists also remains the same: I simply wanted to make a story I wanted to read for myself. Which happens to be about two dumb boys with superpowers navigating a hostile world that wants them dead or caged—together.

Have you ever had an art block? If so, how did you overcome it?

Oh, all the time. It’s part of the process. Personally, though—I just have to draw through it. Every month on my Patreon, I have my patrons vote on a theme I have to draw by the end of the month, and I try my best to make it as interesting as possible. I draw quite a few—tens even, of doodles or compositions for each of these themes to try to make something that tells a story while still being aesthetically pleasing and clear. I think pushing myself like this helps with art block, really. I also do remember to take breaks and simply consume other media I like! It gets the inspiration juices flowing.

Advice you would give to an aspiring creator?

If you do one—your first webcomic should be a short, fun, messy thing. It’s not often you can get it right the first time, but you’ll certainly learn a lot through sheer experience. This goes for a lot of things in art, to be honest.

What is a medium that you have always been intrigued by but would never use yourself?

3D Animation. I briefly learned it at SVA, and I think that’s enough of that tech for me. I accept that there are some things that are truly beautiful if done right, and I am too simple and lazy for it.

What is your goal for the rest of this year?

Get Countdown to Countdown book 2 finished! And live HAHA

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

@yuumei-art on Tumblr, still! They’ve been a huge inspiration for digital artists and storytellers online for years. I have no doubt that many digital artists of my generation have been influenced by them, and they’re still here, making beautiful art and stories. It’s a thing to behold.

Thanks for stopping by, Velinxi! If you haven’t seen her Meet the Artist piece, be sure to check it out here. You can also follow her for more amazing art over at her Tumblr, @velinxi!

#creator spotlight #artists on tumblr #velinxi #xiao tong kong #countdown to countdown

[littlejuicebox]

A Midwinter Carol / The OneShot

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x F!Reader/Tav

Story navigation: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Summary/Setting: Fifteen years post BG3 / You turned down Astarion's offer and went your own way after the ending of the game and you've just returned to BG. Astarion sees you again for the first time in 15 years and then has a surprise visitor that changes everything for him.

Rating/Warnings: M+ / Gore and Sexual Scenes / Spoilers for the game / Prob OOC Ascended Astarion

Word Count: 3K

Notes: This is 2/5 "Days of Star-mas!" "A Christmas Carol" but make it BG3 Ascended Astarion, of course!

I'm also entering this into the #BG3HolidayFluffle23 challenge under the prompt "new beginnings."

Click here to see my master list.

-----

Fifteen years. The Vampire Ascendent hadn’t seen you in fifteen years, since you’d rejected his offer to become his loyal consort for the final time.

You two couldn’t reconcile your differences. You’d wanted him to trust you, to believe that your love was stronger than any desire for power, that you could remain a mortal or become a true vampire like him and still remain loyal. You didn’t want to be a spawn. You’d considered his offer a great disrespect, and ultimately, his changed behavior had driven you away.

“You’re nothing like the man I fell in love with anymore. I don’t know who you are.”

Your words had stung, though he’d never admit it.

It had been an awful, messy, seething breakup, to be sure… and the Vampire Lord almost turned you against your will anyway. But at the time, Astarion’s soft spot for you had reigned supreme, and he still thought himself better than Cazador and above such things. So, against his own wishes, he’d let you go.

Last the Vampire Ascendent heard of your movements, you were somewhere along the Sword Coast, playing valiant hero once again. So, when he walked into Duke Ravengard’s Midwinter Gala with some pretty little thing on his arm that he’d picked up for the occasion and would likely drain of blood and dispose of later, he was flabbergasted to see you sitting at the high table. Right. Next. To. Wyll.

Fifteen years and it still felt like the greatest betrayal, as if you’d staked him through the heart in that moment. It took every ounce of The Vampire Lord’s control to not to turn into a cloud of smoke and break The Duke’s neck then and there. Oh, but how desperately he wanted to.

But he couldn’t risk such a spectacle… many of his dealings were hanging tenuously as it was, and creating a power vacuum in the city was just as bad for him as it would be for those against him. No, Wyll helped to maintain the balance… and generally tolerated Astarion with some level of old-ties respect. They had an agreement: the pale elf would keep his business private and primarily drink from criminals, and Wyll would turn a relatively blind eye. So no, as much as he wanted to, Astarion couldn’t afford such a loss of control.

The Vampire Ascendent watched as you walked about the room with Duke Ravengard, hanging on his arm like a prize and chatting with nobles and old contacts. Astarion’s date — what was their name again? — tried more than once to steal his attentions away, but resigned themselves to drinking heavily and dancing with several other guests. The Vampire Ascendant watched you join the dance floor with The Duke and his blood boiled at the sight; he even bent the stem of his golden goblet while witnessing the vile scene.

No. Absolutely not. This wouldn’t do. Astarion had to do something, had to interrupt whatever game this was. How dare you and Wyll disrespect him like this! So, he stood and abruptly crossed the dance floor, the other guests parting like the Red Sea before him in their shock. Lord Ancunin never made his way to the dance floor for anyone.

“May I interrupt and have this next dance?” The Vampire Ascendent’s voice is honeyed and saccharine as the music pauses and the band readies for their next ballad. Everyone around the room is clapping politely. A gentleman’s smile is plastered across the elf’s lips, but it doesn’t meet his eyes, as he extends his pale hand to you.

Wyll bristles and turns to look at you, and there’s a moment of silent communication between two sets of eyes that must know one another quite well, because Astarion cannot read their nearly-imperceptible movements. Finally, the Duke relents and passes your hand to the Vampire Lord.

“No funny business, Astarion. My men and I will be watching your every move.” The Duke warns through a benevolent-appearing smile, a warning hand clasped on the vampire’s tensed back, before locking eyes with you once more and then turning and walking toward the high table.

You smile at Astarion, as if it’s just the two of you back in the center of that clearing, draped in moonlight and barren to one another, all those years ago. “It’s good to see you, my old friend.”

Old friend? Old friend? The words make the Vampire Ascendent’s mouth practically fill with bile as he spins you about the room. He can feel the steady beating of your heart and smell that intoxicating, tempting bouquet of blood brimming beneath your skin that he’d never quite forgotten.

You two catch up, to some small extent, as you tell the Vampire Lord about your journeys along the Sword Coast and he tries to impress you with his growing influence and wealth, but before long the song is over and The Duke is, annoyingly, coming back to retrieve his prize. You smile so sweetly at Astarion before you depart that it almost hurts; no one else looks at him with that level of love and kindness… all he ever sees anymore are eyes filled with fear, mistrust, or hate.

“I hope you’re happy, Astarion. Truly. I’m glad to see you looking so well. Now go find the date you came with… they’re owed a dance, I believe.” You press a chaste kiss to his cheek, sending an electric shock through his numb heart. He almost gives into his urges and bites you right there, in front of everyone, claiming his love and his prize. But again, he lets you go, slipping through his fingers like sand through an hourglass as you meander back toward Wyll and continue the festivities.

Astarion can’t take any more of this. He goes to find his date, rips them away from whatever conversation they were having with whatever noble, and swiftly exits the party. Back at the Palace, the poor little thing is used for mindless sex and then for sustenance and then left to be disposed of by one of the staff with nary a thought. The Vampire Lord couldn’t even remember their name.

——-

A week rolls by, and gods what a terrible week it was. Astarion’s grip had weakened on the city after a few poor calls. In his pride, he’d never admit they were his fault, and instead he quickly blamed his advisors and sent them to the dungeons. Furthermore, the meeting he’d hosted today with several of the Guilds had practically blown up in his face as the Guild Leaders came to blows in the middle of the Great Hall. Mortal creatures could be so… overzealous. The entire ordeal was giving him a massive headache. If the Guild Leaders didn’t come to an agreement soon, he would lose his monopoly on the shipping industry.  

The Vampire Lord settles into his bed, alone, after downing several goblets of wine, but sleep does not come to him. He’s awake, staring at the ceiling, and all he can think about is you. Gods, he thought he’d moved past all this. But as he remembers your face, your nights together, the way your body felt on his… he feels his erection growing. Astarion is about to stick his hand inside his trousers to provide himself with some relief when a familiar, annoying voice travels through the room.

“I’ve been watching you, Astarion.”

Fucking Gale. The fucking God of Ambition. The Vampire Lord shoots up in bed and sees the silvery form of his former campmate standing at the foot of it.

“What in the hells, Gale! A God and still an absolute pervert, I see.”

The God ignores Astarion, moving to sit his ethereal form on the edge of the bed. The Vampire Lord wrinkles his nose and pulls his legs as far away from Gale as he can.

The God sighs, “Astarion, you’ve rejected my help before, and the strides you’ve made within the city are falling… it’s beginning to seem that you are headed down a path you are not going to be able to return from. A few more bad calls and you won’t come back from it. You are wasting your potential because you refuse to become the master of your own ambition rather than a slave to it. I’m beginning to wonder… is this what you truly want? I can see many lifetimes of yours, with many choices you’ve made along the way, and I’m sorry to tell you this lifetime seems to be the most miserable.”

Astarion scoffs. The fact that Gale is the only prior friend that keeps in touch with him, albeit for his own peculiar reasons, is a sad fact that the Vampire Lord refuses to acknowledge. He’d pushed everyone else away years ago. The only other person he ever saw was The Duke at obligatory balls, galas, and political events… and obviously the last time had been less than fulfilling. But loneliness resided deep in the Vampire Lord’s heart, hidden away from even his own acknowledgement, so although Gale had always been his least favorite, the pale elf still engaged in conversation.

“What do you mean by that? That you can see several of my lifetimes? I find it difficult to believe that this is the worst. Surely there is a lifetime in which I’m still under Cazador’s control.”

The God of Ambition considers this, and then turns and looks off into the distance, as if he’s examining something Astarion cannot see. “Hmm. Actually, there is only one lifetime in which that is still ongoing. So yes, that one may be the worst. I stand corrected, this is the second worst. You’re dead in more of them, a spawn in most of them… and your Tav, or some other version of Tav, is in several as a friend or a lover, to both the spawn and ascendant versions of you. You might be surprised to know that in more than one, you and I are coupled… it’s quite interesting.”

Astarion cringes at the thought of being in a relationship with Gale, but chooses to move past the thought and acknowledge the only bit of information he actually cared about, “My Tav is in several of them?”

“Of course. Would you like to see it? Let me take you on a little journey.” Gale holds his hand out the Vampire Lord, and Astarion cannot help but feel the pull of intrigue. Gods… at least this would guarantee a more interesting night than one with his hand spent down his own pants.

The pale elf sighs and extends his hand to the God of Ambition, and just as their fingers brush, he feels himself enveloped in the warmth of the Weave. Light spirals around the two beings and then suddenly, Astarion and Gale are standing outside a tomb. The Vampire Lord hears himself screaming from inside the tomb and feels the panic and shame rising within his own body. This is from his own past, when Cazador locked him up for a year.

“Why the hells have you brought me here, Gale? This isn’t what I asked to see!”

“No… but I thought it might serve as a reminder of where you came from. You seem to have forgotten… and subject others to similar fates and tortures, nowadays.”

Astarion hears the begging and pleading, the scratching on the inside of the tomb, and his gut churns again at the memory. How something that happened years ago, that he’d shoved deep in his mind never to acknowledge again, could still rip such a reaction from an all-powerful Vampire Ascendent, he did not know. The elf felt himself shaking as he was flooded with the emotion of the memory. Had he really turned into an exact replica of his former master? Hadn’t he wanted to be better than Cazador?

“Had enough? Okay, onto the next one.” Gale snaps his fingers, and both beings are pulled through the Weave.

Suddenly they’re standing in The Duke’s parlor room… the vampire had seen the room just a time or two before, during some business negotiation or another. Then he sees you, bursting through the door with one hand on your swollen belly. Gods above and below, were you carrying Wyll’s seed in this one? The thought made his skin crawl and his stomach churn in disgust.

“Hurry, my love! We need to place the presents here for the others.”

Astarion’s eyebrows crinkle as he listens to the voice responding to you from down the hallway, joined in by the giggles of what is clearly a child. “We’re coming, darling. This little imp is just slowing me down a bit!”

And then he sees himself coming through the door with a silver-haired, giggling toddler wrapped around his leg… but it’s not himself. Pink skin, beating heart, a few more years on his face. Mortal… but how?

Mortal Astarion is carrying a bundle of presents that he places on the coffee table in the center of the parlor. The child grins and puts a hand drawn card on top of the small pile of gifts. The card reads: ‘For Uncle Wyll, Auntie Euphemia, and the Ravengard Twins. Love, the Ancunins.”

Astarion feels his pulse thrumming in his ears as the scene plays out. Mortal Astarion envelops you in his arms and plants a kiss on your cheek, before bending down and placing a kiss on your pregnant stomach.

“Let’s go and join the others, shall we? Auntie Shadowheart and Auntie Lae’zel have a gift for you, my little love!” The mortal pale elf cheers, bending down to pick up the drooling toddler.

“Yay, daddy! Go!” The little babe cheers, clapping uncoordinated hands together, causing both this version of you and his mortal self to giggle in adoration. He watches as you take this version of him by the hand and exit the parlor, headed towards a clamor of conversation filled with several familiar voices. The Vampire Lord tries to follow the little family, desperate to see how the scene continues, but he’s ripped from the scene and thrown back into the Weave with Gale.

“I wasn’t finished!” The Ascendent Vampire shouts in frustration, running his hands through curled hair.

Gale simply sighs and shakes his head at Astarion, before settling onto another scene entirely.

In this one, you are a vampire. Not a vampire spawn, a true vampire. Astarion watches as you don your dress, unabashedly taking in the familiar curves of your body before they’re covered up, and then turns to see himself entering through the bedchamber door.

“My treasure, we’ve done it! We’ve secured educational and apprenticeship programs for the orphans from the Guilds as a show of good faith for our support and protection.”

Your vampire self runs to this better version of Ascendant Astarion, enveloping him in a shockingly passionate kiss. It was enough to make even the Vampire Lord’s skin run hot as he imagined what it would feel like to have you on him like that again.

“I’ve just put on my clothes, my love.” You murmur, voice coy, as you slowly drop your shoulder out of the gown and focus on your Astarion. “But perhaps you won’t mind helping me back out of them… I think that announcement is cause for a bit of… celebration.”

The scene quickly devolves into something overwhelmingly hot and heavy. The Vampire Lord feels himself tingle with desire as he watches everything unfold. Just as the other version of Astarion is about to plunge himself into the vampire version of Tav, the Weave swirls around Gale and Astarion once more.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” The Vampire Lord hisses as he glares at The God of Ambition.

“I know… steamy, right?” Gale responds, with a small chuckle. “Onto our final scene… this one is your… unfortunate future, if you continue down your same path, I’m afraid.”

The Vampire Ascendent soon sets his eyes on possibly the most gut-wrenching scene he could ever imagine. There you are, standing before him, holding a stake that’s driven straight through his heart. Blood pools around the wound. He’s trying to reach for you, to touch your face, to choke out something he cannot say. And then he’s gone, slumped on the floor, as you hold him in your arms and let out a bloodcurdling wail.  

The crying goes on forever. Your body is wracking with sobs as you turn the corpse onto its back and throw yourself over it, almost desperate to have his body close to yours. After what feels like an eternity, your trembling hands come to his face, and you plant a surprisingly tender kiss on his lips. Astarion notices, with some level of shock, bleeding wounds along your arms and neck. Some bites, some blade slashes… had he really been the one to do that to you?

“I really loved you, you know, Astarion… I wish it hadn’t come to this. How dare you kill The Duke and throw the city into upheaval! My city! Our city!

There was nothing between Wyll and me. Just two old friends, catching up… I’d wanted to be back home, I’d fled from my city for fifteen years after what happened between us. Wyll offered me a soft place to land and a kind transition back into society.

I was sure everything would be okay after all this time. That we could at least talk. It had been fifteen years! But you didn’t come to speak to me, you ignored my scrolls, and then—why?!”

The sobbing returned, and you were slamming shaking fists into the corpse version of himself over and over and over and over.

The Vampire Lord sucked in a breath and turned back to the God, “I’ve seen enough, Gale! Take me home right now.”

“As you wish.” The God of Ambition murmurs, and with a snap of his fingers, Astarion is back in his bed in the Palace.

“So?” Gale asks, lifting himself from where he is still sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I need to talk to Tav… I need to speak with her. Tomorrow.” The Vampire Lord murmurs, his head still reeling from everything he saw. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. What would he even say to you, after all this time?

“I would agree. It's far past time for you to pursue a new beginning, Astarion." The God responds as the Weave starts to swirl around him in bright flares of azure, “Oh... and Astarion? I know we were once friends, if you could really call us that… but don’t think this little show and tell was for free. I’ll be asking something of you, when the time comes.”

The Vampire Lord nods. Of course. It could never be that simple, could it? And just like that, Gale disappears in a spray of light, and Astarion is left alone once more.

No. It could never be that simple. The only simple truth in Astarion’s life was this: you were and would always be his saving grace.

——-

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#astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x tav #baulders gate 3 #baulders gate astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic idea #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x female tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #astarion x female reader #5daysofstarmas #bg3holidayfluffle23

[musubi-sama]

“Classmates”

You are officially Shoko Ieri’s girlfriend, but why are you being followed and gently threatened by two tall, disgustingly handsome men?

CW: afab!reader x shoko ieri, modern au, mild stalking, the boys being intimidating, toys, cunnilingus, shower sex, lady love, mild plot

AN: This is baby’s first fan fic, my first piece of fiction and self-indulgent prose. The world needs more yuri/sapphic/lady stories and I hope I can do it a modicum of justice. I will probably write out the two flashback references as additional chapters once I figure out what I want to do with them.

WC: 4.9k

Next chapter —

“Let’s continue that little thread from last night after classes today?” she responds before pulling away and heading off to the lecture hall. “I’ll make sure to take ‘extra meticulous’ notes for you!” Your girlfriend puts extra emphasis and holds up sassy airquotes (even gives a little sideways nudge with her hip) because she’s notoriously a poor lecture student and you pay attention almost too much and too well, taking notes furiously from your front and center seat.

You give her a cute giggle and wave as she walks away; you’re heading off to meet with your adviser to discuss a research opportunity. While you walk across the quad into the neighboring dining hall to grab your usual Starbucks order (iced caramel machiatto).

Meanwhile, a pair of tall, offensively handsome men doing what would otherwise be a scene from a spy movie, fold the top half of a newspaper down and watch you and Shoko embrace and go your separate ways.

“Suguru, who the hell was that talking to Sho?” the white-haired, ethereally blue eyed man says a bit too loudly to his dark-haired, enigmatically purple eyed friend. The pair sit on the bench gawking, although the dark haired man winces at the volume of his friend.

“You’re going to give us away, shush, Satoru! I don’t know who she is or what that was about but let’s follow her” Suguru gets up and beckons in your general direction “and see where she goes” Satoru gets up and they both follow you at a safe distance, catching up with you as you are waiting for your order at Starbucks. Satoru perks up and nudges Suguru in the side with a cheeky smile when he hears the barista announce your order. “She can’t be that bad, she’s got a sweet tooth!”

“Let’s see where she goes from here.” Suguru pinches his chin as he watches you from across the cafe. You navigate around a few tables to reach the exit and head off to your meeting. While waiting for the elevator to the fifth floor, you catch a flash of messy-but-styled white hair from around the corner, but chalk it up to sleep deprivation and stress.

You make it to your adviser and he walks you through a few research opportunities, but the drawback is that you will need to take a year between finishing your primary in-classroom education and your clinical rotations. And the one that you like the most is across the country. Great timing, just after you finally get a girlfriend and think you may have your little life settled into a comfortable routine. Maybe you wait a few weeks to discuss this with Shoko. But maybe she would want you to bring it up sooner, it’s not like you haven’t known her for four years already. The responsible partner would talk about it soon. But you’ve never been too keen on bringing up tough subjects in a reasonable or quick manner, opting to mull quietly, by yourself, not wanting to bother other people or respond to negative feedback.

As you’re arguing with yourself, you take the elevator back down the ground floor and head outside to hole up in the library until Shoko is out of the morning’s lectures.

Except you don’t notice the two tall handsome boys following you from the lobby across the quad. They take notice of your internal conflicts written across your face and lack of spatial awareness to surround you and you bump into a dense, immovable statue. Fortunately for you, it’s not an actual statue, but a person, so there is a softness in the knock and a pair of arms quickly wrap around you to make sure you don’t fall. Two sets of arms, actually.

“Ah, Iamsosorry” You attempt to stammer out as you are brought out of your internal arguments. You look up to see long, feathered jet-black hair, reaching past the shoulders, but pulled partially up into a bun. Face framed by bangs hanging on one side. Piercing, focused, concerned violet eyes, and a soft smile. Your first impression is that he is cat-like. He catches you off-guard but you feel safe. As you step back to give him space and continue to your destination, your back bumps into an equally statuesque figure. But he’s the polar opposite when you tilt your head back and look up at him. A shock of white hair, dark round sunglasses, giant smile bearing all his teeth, ocean blue eyes piercing you. It’s unsettling how it feels like he’s reading every thought you’re having right now, in the past, and the future. “Oh, excuse me…” you mumble but it just trails off.

“Oh hello there.” Suguru places his hands on your shoulders to steady you. It feels nice, reassuring, considering you just knocked around some coastal rocks. “My name is Suguru Geto and this is Satoru Gojo. We just happened to see you walking across campus and you seemed distracted. Wouldn’t want you walking into anyone and causing a disturbance. Present company excluded, of course.”

“Yeah, what’s a girl like you doing so distracted?” You’re caught off guard by the brazen question. And confused by the implications. What kind of girl do they think you are?

“Sorry, I really just want to go to the library. I’m meeting my girlfriend soon.” You try to side-step the pair and they move in tandem to block your path. Ah, you start to feel the familiar anxiety of being pestered by someone who can’t understand that ‘no’ is a full and complete statement. What you fail to notice, is the shock that zipped through the boys’ expressions.

“I am sorry for the brashness of my companion” Suguru tilts his head up to give Satoru a piercing stare before his gaze softens again and he looks back at you. You feel as if you’re the only person in the entire world as he looks down. Completely taken by his gaze, feeling his arms re-settle on your forearms for a moment before dropping to his sides, giving you space with the lack of physical touch. “But we saw you with a friend of ours and we were just concerned for her. She always introduces anyone beyond a mere acquaintance to us, and we are only looking out for her best interests.” Satoru uses this opportunity to step around to your front, hands in his pockets. Although he still has a mischievous grin on his face.

“Er, what? I am sure that any one I am friends with surely doesn’t require a white knight or dark stallion to protect her honor.” You attempt to cut the conversation short.

“You’re right. You’re absolutely correct, dear. How about we get to know you over dinner? Our treat for being so forward. Tomorrow, pick you up at 7:00? I know a place that does great bananas foster with homemade caramel” Satoru winks, and you realize you’re still holding your coffee. You’re clutching it now, hoping he didn’t see that you asked for extra caramel drizzle in your coffee today. You’re a people pleaser, so you just quickly agree to the plans. You ask for their LineID and as you’re walking away, you get two messages immediately:

Can’t wait to see you, sweets! Looking forward to dinner and getting to know you.

Finally making it to the library, feeling buzzed, and not from the sugar or caffeine. But you manage to find some shred of focus for the next two hours. Your phone buzzes and you start to pack up your books and laptop. You respond to Shoko’s message that she’s out of class and heading to the dining hall with a quick “Yay, save me a seat!” message even though you know you don’t have to ask.

“How was the Pharmacology lecture?” You ask, while attempting to unhinge your jaw around a particularly ambitious forkful of salad. Your girlfriend just smiles at you over her soup.

“Hm, well you know how engaging Dr. Smith is at his age. I made sure to get an audio recording of the lectures and of course the slide notes include the markups from in-class.”

“Aww, thank you! You’re the best.”

Shoko gives you a fond smile as you both settle back into eating lunch. You continue chatting about classes, you feel confident over your polite dodging of any real answer to how your adviser meeting went “Ah, well, I am waiting for him to email me with some details on a couple research opportunities.” Shoko seems satisfied, or at least doesn’t have any follow up questions to your response. You don’t feel comfortable about lying to your best friend, your girlfriend, but you didn’t really tell her lies. Just, not the whole truth. You’ll tell her, soon. You promised yourself. That was the decision you had settled on right as you bumped into-

“Hey, I wanted to talk to you about something. I have two friends I’ve known since forever and I want to introduce you to them. I have kept you from them until now because they can be somewhat, very, incredibly, protective of me and intrusive to anyone who gets close. But they are good people, even if I have to kick their asses when they pull their little “baby Shoko” stunts.” Shoko puts her hands on yours and looks straight at you, although struggles to keep eye contact when she mentions her friends’ not-so-kind traits.

You consider her question and do not want to respond too quickly or eagerly, but you have wanted to build some new relationships before your life gets too much more hectic with clerkships, graduation, and intern year on the horizon. And if these new friends are already friends with Shoko, then it’s even easier because you would want any new friends to be comfortable with both of you. You may only be newly dating, but you’ve already fallen for Shoko quite hard and want to settle down. Or something like that? You haven’t taken a breath to really figure your brain out.

“Oh, well, why don’t we get drinks and see how things go? I like the idea of making new friends, let’s give it a try!” You try to hold back your over-eagerness, but you let slip big excited eyes and slotting your fingers into Shoko’s hands and squeezing. A small squeal may have also escaped your lips, you’re bad a poker. And Shoko loves it. She gives you a soft smile, leans over to drop a peck on your cheek. The rest of lunch passes with easy conversation. You head off to your afternoon lectures and study sessions together.

After classes finished, you both headed back to Shoko’s apartment. Even before you started dating, you spent most of your free time at her place. It was closer, bigger, quieter, and nicer than your apartment. You grab a pair of beers from the fridge after you finished cleaning up from dinner and walk over to the couch. Shoko turned on Netflix and started the nightly ritual of scrolling new and recently updated shows to see what caught either of your interests before settling on one of the six shows you’re already in the middle of watching. You sit sideways and hand over one of the beers, laying your legs across your girlfriend’s lap. She settles on watching the next episode of your shared guilty pleasure, Doctor X. During the opening credits, your phone buzzes several times with messages on Line.

“Ugh, what is it now? I should’ve left it in the bedroom” you grumble as you lean over to the table and pick up your phone that has now buzzed four times. You see a newly familiar name pop up and scowl.

“What’s wrong, love?” Shoko perks up and looks over to you as you start to read the messages, more coming in while you’re reading.

“I literally ran into a pair of criminally attractive guys. Boys, really. They did that High School-Hollywood thing of boxing me in, making me look up, and then not taking no for an answer. I agreed to get dinner with them tomorrow just so they’d leave me alone and go away.” You flash her the phone with the messages. Her usually subtle expression shifted much more dramatically when she saw who you were talking about.

“Wait. You ran into, literally? Gojo and Geto? Tall, one with white hair sticking up in stupid directions and acting with way too much bravado, the other with big ear gauges and an air of incredible self-confidence? Today? Where? When?” She stops her idle massaging of your legs and turns towards you, taking your phone to read more carefully what they had sent:

Heyyyyyy. Wear something cute? Do you like Mediterranean? :)

“Yyyyeah that matches the pair. Why, do you know them? Have they bothered you on campus before?”

Shoko snickers softly. “You could say that. Remember the pair of friends I wanted you to meet? Looks like they found you first.”

“Oh.” You look down at your hands for a moment and then suddenly you remember what Suguru said to you “we saw you with a friend of ours and we were just concerned for her…” “Oh, wait a second. You’re the friend they were talking about!” And you relay the conversation you had with Suguru and Satoru to Shoko who just shakes her head and sucks her teeth.

“Yeah, those bastards. I told them to wait till this weekend, I had news for them and someone to meet. But they just HAD to get impatient.”

“I will call off dinner! Can I have my phone back, please?” you reach out your hand to begin composing a polite response to the nuisance pair.

“No, don’t. Just have them come over first. And then they can take BOTH of us to dinner.”

As soon as you send off your address, you put your phone down. Shoko’s ministrations on your legs intensifies subtly, but clearly with an agenda. You lean back against the arm of the couch as Shoko slowly massages her hands up your legs, focusing on the softer flesh on the insides of your thighs. You part your legs for her slightly as she gets closer to your clothed core.

The days have been long and you’ve hardly had time for yourself or your relationship since you’ve put official titles on it. You shift yourself so you’re now straddling Shoko. You reach your hands around her neck, threading your hands under her long, wheat-colored brown hair. When you met her, her hair was only touching her shoulders, but now it’s reaching far down her back. Her lips are so soft and inviting, a gentle sheen of spit covering them. Your eyes rake over her face, taking in every facial micromovement. You admire her lone freckle below her eye, something you’ve always found cute.

You lean in, lips parting slightly as her eyes glance up at you, pupils darkening in desire. As your tongues slipped past each other, they danced delicately but with increasing urgency as your lips press harder and Shoko takes a brief opening to nip at your lower lip, drawing out a soft moan from you. Your hands hold her neck tighter, one slipping up through her hair, giving it a light tug. Her hands start sliding back in between your legs, the side of her pinky finger lightly grazing your center which elicits a small grind from you. As your kiss slowly turns more frantic, trading breaks for air with trails of urgency on each others jawline, Shoko reaches under your shirt to gently wrap her hands under your voluminous tits. Still seated in a soft bralette, your nipples begin to harden as her hands slowly squeeze and make their way into the bralette and find your nipples with a soft squeeze.

You drop your hands to your sides and toss your head back at the sharp, but pleasurable sensations and start to roll your hips in Shoko’s lap, looking for some friction and relief for the growing tension. You whimper as the pinching and squeezing intensifies, tilting your head back up and you are met with eyes filled with pure lust. “I told you I wanted to continue from last night” Shoko growls. You just respond with a low moan. Shoko then uses her forearms to slide your shirt up and over your head, taking your bralette with it.

Now, your fully exposed chest and abdomen, your nipples clearly taut in response to the pleasure being shown to them. Shoko then leans down to one, taking it in her mouth with a light suck. Keeping her hand squeezing the other, she lightly bites down, rolling the puckered nipple in her teeth, sliding her slick tongue across. She releases it with a pop, letting it and your breast drop and give a little lewd jiggle. She repeats the process on your other nipple. You are still wantonly grinding your hips in her lap, keening against her touch.

As your body continues to relax, your brain slowly shutting off the noise and entering that cozy, listful, lustful subspace headspace, your hands claw at your girlfriends’ shirt and pull it off of her during a brief moment when her lips aren’t attached to your body. The moment her skin is exposed, you bring yourself vertical and then over, pressing your breasts into hers, enjoying the soft and supple squeezes from your body weight onto Shoko. You reach in to grasp the sides of your shared mass of tits, squeezing and pushing them together.

You are in a daze, skin on fire, as you are drunk from your beer and the lust spreading through your veins. You always knew you were bisexual, although you couldn’t put a fine point on it until you met Shoko while at your lab’s new grad student orientation 3 and a half years ago. You moved across the country for grad school, knowing you’d need to start over again and find new (local) friends. You were taking in the space when you turned around and saw Shoko Ieri walk in the room, immediately disorienting you and a sudden warmth spreading into your center. You couldn’t look her in the eye for the entire first month.

“What do you want to do tonight?” Shoko brings you out of your daze as she wraps her hand around the back of your neck. “Want to start with that new toy I picked up recently?”

“O-oh, yeah, I haven’t tried something like that before!” You start to untangle yourself from Shoko and roll off the couch. You’re chased by Shoko into the bedroom as she reaches out to pinch at your sweatpants-covered ass, you making sure she can still catch you. There’s fun in the chase, but so is there in getting caught. You leap at the bed, spin around and sit on your legs patiently while Shoko disappears into her closet. She returns quickly, now in nothing but a lace thong and brandishing a modest, slightly curved silicone dildo in her hands, twirling her hair with her other hand. You bounce a bit in anticipation, soft tits still jiggling as you stop moving. You move to remove your sweatpants, but are cut off.

“Ah ah ah, hands off. Why are you trying to deny me the fun? I said we are going to continue from yesterday. Which means it’s my turn to return the favor.”

“We don’t need to keep a running tally for equitability sake!” you whine, sticking your lip out in an over-exaggerated pout.

“You’re right, but since this is celebrating us putting some structure and a title to” she waves her hand between the two of you “this, I want to finish what you started. Now, lay back, please.” You settle on the duvet, heart racing, feeling giddy. Last night you off-handedly said ‘I love you’ over dinner at home. It came out of nowhere, but you were just chatting and catching up from the day over a bowl of spaghetti, and it just fell out of your mouth while Shoko nearly choked mid-slurp.

Shoko sets the toy down on the bed and climbs up the bed, caging you in. As she reaches your middle, she sits back on her heels and tugs at your pants. She loved how you always returned to your own apartment or hers and would immediately change into comfortable room wear, shedding the stuffy denim and wired bras for soft cottons and gentle elastics. Pulling your hair back to keep it out of your face, it certainly made easier to grab in the heat of sex and teasing. After she removed your pants and panties, reveling at your exposed frame, Shoko admired your neatly trimmed hair framing your glistening pussy. “Mine.”

Soft kisses with small nibbles sprinkled in begin to chase up the inside of your legs, feet planted on the bed. As the kisses intensify, your knees fall further apart. Your hands come up to your hair as you lace your fingers through to ground yourself. Gently, two fingers spread your folds open and you let out a small gasp. “Mmm I just love to tease your pussy.” One slender finger slides in, your soft walls pulling it in deeper until your girlfriend’s middle finger is sheathed up to the knuckle. She flips her palm upwards and curls the finger inside of you while bringing her thumb to rest on your hardening clitoris. Your hips begin to buck at the movements, moans increasing. Slowly sliding her finger out, pressure still on your clit, Shoko adds a second finger and begins to rub circles with her thumb and thrusting her fingers in and out. She looks up from her ministrations to watch your face go through a million small emotions in pleasure. “That’s it, love. Let me hear you, don’t hold back.” You unwind on her hand, fluttering around her fingers, riding out your high with loud moans and grinding hips.

As you come back down, Shoko reaches over to the toy, aligning the flat, angled tip with your hole, pulling out her fingers. “Ready?” she whispers, but with an edge of gravel on her voice. She also grabs a small remote that you didn’t initially see and reaches up to place it in your hands. “I also got a treat for you. Feel free to press the buttons as you want and see what happens”

Slowly, Shoko presses the toy into your soaked pussy, as the tip disappears in, she turns it on to the lowest vibration setting. You give a sharp inhale as you push your head back further into the pillows. You recollect yourself as the toy makes its way further into you, and bring your hand up to see what this remote is. Just two buttons, marked by a plus and minus sign. You touch the plus button and suddenly a sultry and surprised “Ahhh mmmmm” Shoko whines from between your legs. Her progress to slide in the toy momentarily halted as she adjusted to the vibrating inside of her. She regains composure as she seats the toy fully inside you and rotates it around until you slam your eyes shut and cry out in pure pleasure. “Ah ha, found it. So hot.” Shoko bought a g-spot vibrator and adjusted it till she found the right spot inside of you.

Squirming somewhat, Shoko slowly moves the vibrator around, placing her free hand on your abdomen with pressure against you. Your hips begin to gyrate and roll with increased intensity every time the head of the toy makes contact with the spongy sensitive bundle of nerves inside your walls. “Sho—Shooookoooo ple- FUCK please~” you preen and attempt to stammer out some words. You increase the intensity on the remote.

“Ye-s, l-ove? You’re doing so, so, hnf, well, better than the fantasies I had all day of this- of this mooooment.” Shoko showers you with praise, stuttered by her own building pleasure, knowing exactly what is to come next.

“Ahhh, Sho—Shoko, I’m-com-” You attempt to tell her what you’re feeling as the pressure in your abdomen has reached a fever pitch, ready to incinerate you at the lightest touch. Shoko steadies the vibrator right on the nerves and brings her thumb up to apply pressure to your clit and lowers her body to get closer to your core. “Give it all to me.” At that moment you scream obscenities as your body releases the built-up pressure and you squirt directly into Shoko’s waiting mouth. Helping you ride out your pleasure pushed Shoko over the edge, too, as she rolls her hips along with the waves of her own orgasm. As your body begins to slow it’s movements, she turns off the vibrator and removes it from you. She also reaches down to her own bullet vibrator and removes it, still shaking as you’re too high on your own pleasure to find the remote.

Shoko sits up and wipes your slick from her face, reaching a hand up to you to clean off. “Good girl.” You whimper at the affirmation, pulling on her wrist to bring her up to you, her body draped on yours. When you finish lapping up the wetness on her hand, you twist your head over and your mouths meet in lazy but passionate kissing. Tongues lazily exploring each other, gratitude shared between the two of you.

“Shower?” You nod, slowly rolling yourself over, legs finding the ground albeit a bit shakily. Shoko steps out ahead, sliding into the en suite ahead of you to warm up the shower and grab towels. You stand in front of the mirror admiring your body, re-adjusting your hair and pulling the strays that have fallen out back up. You step in to the shower, bottoms of your feet chilled on the hard tile floor, but skin warmed by the scaldingly hot shower.

“Ahhhh, perfect” You reach out to rest your hands on Shoko’s waist as you both take a moment to relax in the warmth of each other and the water.

“Yeah, you are, love.” You giggle at the admiration. Shoko’s hands come up to gently massage your breasts, lightly pinching your nipples. She closes the gap between you and nudges her leg in between yours, rubbing her thigh against your sensitive folds. You let out a soft moan, feeling sensitive and on-edge already, after just a moment. “I’m not done with you yet.”

You continue to grind on her thigh as she holds pressure against your heat. Your hands slide up to Shoko’s chin, cupping her face and you dive in for a kiss. Your lips are urgent and needy as you moan into her mouth, biting her lips with every wave of building pressure. After several minutes, Shoko breaks the kiss, pulling away and you whine as her leg also pulls back. She begins kissing down the column of your neck, down the center of your clevage, past your navel, sinking to her knees to worship at your altar.

Wordlessly, Shoko nudges your legs further apart, guiding you so you are now leaning against the cold wall of the shower. Placing her hands on the front of your thighs, she slides them up to your folds and with her thumbs, spreads your pussy open, exposing your wet core to the warm shower air. She leans in to take a soft lick, savoring the first taste. You lean back on the wall for support, hands threading through Shoko’s hair.

“God you taste amazing. I can’t get enough of you.” Shoko uses her nose to rub against your oversensitive clit, reaching her tongue inside your sensitive cunt, applying light suction as she goes. Drinking up every drop your body offers, you can feel her moans reaching deep within you. Moving between deep licks inside your pussy to abusing your clit with the tip and flat of her tongue, you can feel the coil again twisting inside of you. With your moans completely unrestrained, you use your grip on her head to keep her pinned against your center.

“Baby, love, god” Shoko praises you at each short breath she takes. You don’t even have a moment to tell her as suddenly the coil snaps and you silently scream as she eagerly accepts the orgasm she pulled from your body. Her hands wrapping around your hips, holding you close as you buck against her touch. Once you have stopped moving so harshly, she stands up and your lips crash together one more time, you licking your wetness off her face, her embracing and holding you.

“I’ve never felt so relaxed with someone, Sho. You’re my best friend, my love, I can’t see a future without you.” Your mouth is moving faster than your brain, letting your admissions tumble out. A common occurrence for you recently. Shoko just smiles and you wash each other clean, taking time to massage tender areas, and scrub the rough ones. After you step out of the shower, you both go through your nightly skin care and pre-bed routines. Passing products between each other, prepping and moving as one practiced unit.

Now laying in bed, you are in the crook of your girlfriends’ arm while you both scroll on your phones. Eventually putting them down and rolling into a more comfortable sleeping position (as cute as cuddling is, you both know that it’s not comfortable for sleeping all night. No one likes numb limbs!). You both drift off to sleep, feeling happy and content with each other.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #shoko smut #shoko ieiri #jjk shoko #shoko x reader #shoko x you #bisexual #jen の writing #jen の stories #“classmates”

[divinehedons]

i won't hurt you.

navigation: masterlist

word count: ~1.9k words

summary: you meet joel in the aftermath of a terrible accident. reeling from the aftermath of the event, there is a looming shadow that complicates your relationship with the southern man you just somehow happened to meet 

warnings: explicit (but not graphic) content–MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! relatively dark(?)-ish joel miller, allusions to smut (not heavily detailed), graphic depictions of injury, some scenes include hospitalization (not in graphic detail), dubious consent, joel miller radiates mansplain / manipulate / malewife energy, men are trash in general wbk

note: oh. my. god. it has been far too long and i’m so so very sorry for just now coming back! i’ve hit a terrible writer’s block alongside very bad mental health and i’m just now recovering :’D thank you so so so much for 800 followers, it’s going to take a while for me to respond to everyone but i’ll be going through them! i love you very very dearly, mwah!

note 2.0: pls pls lower your expectations, 🫣 i am trying to get back into the groove of things!

You remember the screech of tires on frozen asphalt. A flash of headlights. Spinning, spinning, spinning. Your body ignited in pain. Then… darkness.

Darkness that seemed to spread before you for an eternity. Untethered and stuck in limbo, perhaps in another universe, you would call it the most peaceful slumber of your life. The misfortune comes when you wake. Lightning strikes shake you awake from the darkness of your subconsciousness. Electricity trembling in your chest as it shoots through your beaten frame. A light peers through your closed eyes. Brighter, and brighter… bigger and bigger. A ringing in your ears that almost deafens you.

The world shifts around you, and you wake paralyzed, staring at the ceiling in the warm sun that falls on your body lying there. Everything hurts. There is a humming in your head that you cannot seem to shake out of.

The solitude lasts for a beat. Then another. That’s when you see him.

A sleepless, roughened man looking at you with his warm eyes. Through the bleary vision of your own gaze, a shaky breath escapes him. His crinkled eyes looking over your features with a swift once over.

“Oh, Christ, you’re awake.”

And that’s how you met Joel.

–

In the week that followed your complicated recovery, Joel tells you he saw the crash. Tells you the asshole who ran you over was nowhere to be seen. He says most of it with his eyes averted. Yet you hold your gaze.

You will not be weakened by the shame of your misery.

It is two days later when you confess to him; your throat still rasping as the pain in your head boils and toils beneath your skull. You look at him when he arrives, paint-stained shirt providing evidence of a messy day of working. “I don’t want to think about what happened to me anymore, Joel.”

Your tongue grabs at words the way young children do with sticky fruit in the summer. As if language has become foreign to you.

Joel, keys in hand, meets your gaze with a furrowed brow. “Sure, sugar. Whatever you need.”

Maybe your eyes were tricking you, but you could’ve sworn you saw his shoulders relax from some kind of tension leaving his body.

–

Joel doesn’t know what he had gotten himself into. What he does know is that for some reason, he couldn’t bear the idea of staying away from you. You tell him fragments of what little you remember, your concussed consciousness blindly clawing at every last bit of beaten brain matter for some kind of answer. 

You sometimes cry from the effort it takes you to think, but he’s there. The first few times, he held your hand. As the hours bled into days, he held you as you wet his shirt with warm tears. Sometimes, when the nightmares reach him in his own bed a few miles out from the hospital, it feels like you’re bleeding into him.

From the moment he saw you, he had been marked. And no matter how many times he scratched at his own skin, he could never wash away the blood on his hands.

–

He’s the one to take you home to your quiet little apartment, having grown dust in your absence. You apologize, he waves you off. He watches you as you peer out of the window, comprehending a view that had once been so mundane, transformed into some shred of a miracle for you to still be there, witnessing it all. He’s behind you, ten feet away, tilting his head as your hair catches what little sunlight blessed you the day you left the hospital.

He says your name, and you look back at him with a curious smile. “My God,” he followed. “You look just like starlight.” He steps forward, and that’s when you know everything had fallen into place. Without another moment lapsing, he takes your face into his hands, pulling you into a searing kiss.

You apologize so many times. For the hospital smell on your skin. For your trembling knees. For the dizzying sensation of human contact without the involvement of medical processes. For feeling so unclean.

Meanwhile, he apologizes, too. For kissing you. For pulling you to him. For holding you. For carrying you to the forlorn couch grown cold from the absence of human warmth. So many times that there are times that you don’t know what is there to apologize for. You shake your head each and every time.

The tears roll down your cheek just as he pulls away and his eyes immediately soften. You shake your head, pulling him into another kiss as you whine.

There are many things you want to tell him. But you don’t dare tell him this: Sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof that you have been ruined.

“Tell me to stop, honey, and I will,” he murmurs, holding your cheek as you pause between touches. You shake your head immediately. You want many things. You are hungry and untamed. But you do not want him to stop.

You tell him as much. “Joel, don’t you dare stop.”

And he doesn’t. Not when you’re naked and he sees your bruised skin, purple and yellowed in places. He looks to you just as your body tenses. His demeanor softens, kissing along your jaw and your neck with a shaky breath.

“I won’t hurt ya, darlin’.”

He keeps to that promise. Even when your legs are around his waist and he’s caught in your warmth. He says it again and again as you whine into the cool, quiet solitude of your home.

I won’t hurt you, I won’t hurt you.

–

Falling in love with Joel was both so complicated and so simple at once. Whenever you wake beside him, you wake up writhing from the pain of your injuries; sometimes crying from the nightmares that followed every waking moment. You felt marred by shame for putting so much of your perceived burden on his shoulders. He never departs from your side, his strong arms placating you while his lips press against your temple.

It’s all so simple, the way he cares about you. And whether or not you admitted it, you like the feeling of being cared for. Of having someone that cares.

Regardless, you cannot escape the fact that someone did this to you. And whenever the pain shocks your body, everything but rabid rage escapes your body. You curse the stranger, whoever they may be, for that cursed night.

Joel sees glimpses of this. He saw it most that one afternoon when the hospital called, saying you had been taken care of. By who, they didn’t say. Only that the stranger apologized for what happened.

You were on the floor, hands trembling in the fists you held them in. The hospital bill crumpled a few inches away. You do not see him. What you see is all red.

A wail escapes your trembling mouth just as your hands claw at anything they can touch. It is an uncontrollable surge of blinding, mouth-foaming, unbridled rage. He’s there, trying to hold you down before you hurt yourself. Each wail pierces another hole into his aching heart. Each struggle followed by his gentle shushing, trying to assuage you in the crest of your emotion.

“Whoever it was,” you told him then as you sobbed. “They ruined my life.”

“Darlin, darlin’...” He breathes in, cupping your face. “Maybe he’s around and he regrets-”

“No!” You claw at him, just as he holds you tighter against his chest. “If he could find me, then he could say it to my face. He wouldn’t be some coward who left me alone like this after he ruined my life!”

It destroys him. And you can see it in his face. All he can do is hold you as you cry against his chest. All he can do is shut his eyes, letting the waves of grief crest over and over your frame. Letting your sobs tear him open and burn him out.

He tells you nothing lasts forever. That he’ll be there for as close to forever as possible. You shake your head because you know better. He says nothing lasts forever. He doesn’t know he’s just afraid your pain can last longer than he is capable of loving you.

–

Perhaps, to the end of his days, Joel will regret that drunken night. He’ll regret following his bleary gaze through the quiet, sleet-slick roads. He’ll regret the fact that he couldn’t have stopped his truck sooner.

When he steps out into the cold just as he smells the acrid scent of burning tires, he sees your bloodied face in your car. So small. So undeserving. He muttered a string of cusses. The sudden shock of adrenaline washing away the last of his drunkenness. He looks back at his truck, horrifically beaten, his gaze doubling from his last bout of drunkenness.

He bargains that night. Calls up someone high up amongst the police rank to bail him out. He negotiated for ten minutes. Then he hides the truck somewhere off the side of the road for him to come back to and dispose of. And then, only then, did he call for help.

Only then did he reach you in the driver’s seat, blood now caked to your skin as he lay you out amongst the concrete.

You make some sound, and he cusses to himself.

His rough palms cup your cheek, trying to get you to look at him then. But you were too far gone.

He spoke, anyway. Just in case you’ll hear it.

“It’s alright, doll. I won’t hurt you.”

Even now, weeks after he stole your life from you, he holds you and tells you the same thing anyway. The same set of words that manage to calm you down.

He does love you. And it breaks him every day to know he was the one to endanger you.

I won’t hurt you, I won’t hurt you.

#circe writes #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut

[miyamoratsumuu]

♡ 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐝, 𝐰/ 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 ♡

pt. 2 - pt. 3

characters: t.oikawa, k.akaashi, k.kozume, m.atsumu, e.semi

note: implied fem partner for all of them, lowercase intended. pictures used are not mine, all of them are found on pinterest!!:) (not proofread yet!! I'll do that a little later)

navigation . . .

haikyuu masterlist

OIKAWA TORU "you deserve the whole world and more, darling"

look, toru's a sweetheart. he's the type of boyfriend to love taking you out on these romantic, fancy, peaceful dates. whether it be one or the other. sometimes he surprises you with a dinner date at this one restaurant where it takes weeks to get a reservation. other times, it's a quiet walk on the beach on a friday evening with the both of you talking about how your week went. and if you have your own idea of a romantic date, tell him about it. he's definitely all in for it, as long as you have fun as well.

he makes sure you two have fun wherever you go. even when you're in a random store of all places. mirror selfies, wearing accessories that were for sale, making a whole photoshoot out of the display of flowers at the front of the store.

there was this one time you oh-so conveniently found a pair of alien glasses and thought it would suit toru. you made him wear them to take pictures, but he didn't want you to be left out, of course. before you started taking pictures, toru found another pair of sunglasses that were heart shaped, saying "so you only have heart eyes for me, darling" as he handed it to you.

toru always makes sure that his hair looks nice. he doesn't like it when there are strands that are out of place or if it generally just looks really messy. but on the days when he's tired both physically and mentally, he's most likely to be in a state of vulnerability. and it's those moments where he'd like it for you to place your hand on top of his head and play around with his hair. he'll admit that he likes the feeling of your fingers running through his unsurprisingly soft locks. and if you even dare to stop, he'd immediately whine and tell you to continue what you were doing because he was just about to fall asleep.

we all know about his history with plaid pants. he even proposed to get a matching pair of those pants with you. you didn't think it would be a good idea since you couldn't think of a proper outfit you could make out of those, and you doubt you were going to be able to wear them often. instead, your persuaded toru into getting matching plaid pajama pants with you instead. reasoning that it would be way more comfortable, and that you'd be able to wear them almost whenever you want around the house.

I could imagine toru being a sort of morning person. he doesn't wake up super super early though. instead, he gets out of bed at around 6 to 7 or so. most times, you aren't even awake yet while he's already preparing to take a jog around the neighborhood. but on the rare mornings you were awake with him that early, he sometimes doesn't bother to go out on that jog anymore. he would rather spend the entire morning with you, with breakfast and maybe a cup of coffee by your sides.

AKAASHI KEIJI "I'll do my best to be someone that's deserving of you, my love"

every minute you spend with keiji is a time you could let your guard down all at once. because he assures you that he's someone you could trust and lean on no matter what. he convinces you either by words or his actions. whenever he wraps his arms around you, he makes sure to make you feel like you could depend on him to be your shield and safe space when you need a break from the world in general.

when he picks you up for the date he planned for the both of you, keiji is the gentleman that always brings you flowers. and before leaving, he would assist you in placing the bouquet in a vase and putting it somewhere in your house. there's a remembrance of the flowers keiji always gives you in almost every room of your house. there's a vase in the kitchen, two in the living room, and a couple more scattered around every table and shelf.

dates with keiji consists of trips to a variety of cafes, early brunches, museum visits, or spending quiet afternoons at the library. after recieving and paying for your orders at a cafe, the two of you either stay there to finish your food and drinks, enjoying the bustling atmosphere, or leaving to take a stroll wherever your feet take you.

the days where you end up having brunch are the days with the mornings you and keiji preferred to stay in bed for longer than you anticipated. you don't mind though, in fact you didn't think there was anything better than being in your lover's arms for a couple more hours.

you often go to museums to gaze at what you think are the most beautiful things you set your eyes on. although keiji begs to differ. because to him and his eyes, you're the most beautiful thing he could ever catch sight of.

during your visits to the library, he always introduces you to the books he just recently started reading, the ones that were his absolute favorite, and the ones he would like you to read with him. and if you read books as well, that's great! now both of you could geek about your favorite genres, authors, novels, books, and all. and he absolutely enjoys being able to talk to you about the things he loves. but then of course, you're the one keiji loves the most.

there was this one time that he asked you to read a book he liked so he could talk to you about it. you began to read it eventually, of course. but when you reached a certain page, you were suprised to see one of the characters'dialogues highlighted and encircled in pink with hearts scribbled around it."you are perfect for me". keiji was a gentleman. a gentleman that made sure to make you feel as if you were the most special person in the world. and of course, a gentleman that made you feel loved. so so loved.

KENMA KOZUME "you're so special to me, pretty. you have no idea."

you support kenma as much as you can when it comes to the subjects and things that he likes; and he knows that. so ever since you two began dating, he slowly gained more and more confidence to openly share his hobbies and activities of amusement with you. and you wouldn't have it any other way.

during the nights the two of you are together in one of your homes, one of you would always suggest to play a game or watch a movie. you almost always end up doing both, though. when you get bored while watching the movie, you switch to playing mario kart on the tv, and vice versa. because of that, it's often as well that the both of you end up staying way past the time you were supposed to, then you end up sleeping in the next day. (that usually only happens on the weekends though)

when the both of you planned on going a date that involves going outside though, it would always be an enjoyable time. when you and kenma went to the carnival one evening, you made sure you rode at least more than half of the rides that were available. of course, that involved walking around for who knows how long. and that wasn't something kenma would absolutely love to be doing on a sunday evening. at all. but then at the end of the day, he knew that the extra workout and sweat was worth it once he saw how your smile stretched from ear to ear while he was walking you home.

when you dragged him to the mall, he was expecting to be accompanying you on yet another shopping spree of yours. he was already imagining entering various clothing stores and you asking for his opinion on the outfit you wore every time you stepped out of a fitting room. what he wasn't expecting, though, was for you to lead him straight to one of the arcades he often visited himself. while you were buying your tokens, you noticed the look of confusion your lover threw at you. "lev told me they added tons of new games here! I wanted to try them out with you" you explained giddily. and somehow, that made kenma smile, before following you further into the arcade.

it's often that volleyball practice sucked out the small amount of energy kenma had left after a tiring day. and so on the late afternoons you came by the gym to pick him up so the both of you could walk home together and you noticed him looking worn out, you already knew what to do. you convince kenma that either one of you stay over at the other's place for the night, knowing that both of you needed the warmth of comfort of each other's presence to cool off after the long day you had.

ATSUMU MIYA "my whole heart belongs to you and only you, doll"

atsumu is definitely one of the most clingy boyfriends out there. every minute the two of you are together, he always has to be holding your hand. and if he's not, he has the urge to do it. when he's holding your hand, your fingers have to be intertwined too. he claims it's better than doing it any other way. you know this. you know how much better he feels whenever you hold his hand in yours. and so you try to do it as much as possible as well. he's grateful for that, if you didn't know. it makes him feel as if you're fulfilling your promise to always be there for him.

the first time he walked in on you doing skincare, he was intrigued to say the least. sure, he knew about it, and how it helps make you feel and look better, but he never actually got to learning hoe to do it for himself. and so ever since that day, atsumu always joined you when he sees you doing your skincare routine in the evening if he wasn't able to do it with you in the morning. he thought, now, he'd actually look like the better twin. (alright babes whatever helps you sleep at night<3) and on rare nights, he was the one who initiated doing the activity with you.

movie nights are a common occurrence between the two of you. but it's not the movie nights wherein you're laying down in the comfort of your own bed with each other and watching the film on a laptop that was propped up in front of you. nope. atsumu preferred to take you to the actual cinemas. especially those with the 3d experiences of the movies. he loves the thrill and extra excitement, yk.

he also loves to take you to places where the view is absolutely stunning. whether it's a perfect view of the sunset, or the city lights beautifully gleaming from afar. atsumu actually savors these moments with you. the two of you basking in the comfortable silence between the both of you, knowing of how each other's company alone makes you feel a whole lot better.

there was one time atsumu was complaining to you about how osamu and rintaro were teasing him again about his twin being the better one between the two of them. you continued to listen, despite not exactly knowing what to answer to his outbursts. that was until he stopped and looked like he was thinking of something. deeply, that is. he had his index finger tapping on his chin and all. you looked at him, trying to figure out what he was thinking of so deeply that it made him stop his rant. he looked at you then told you to follow him to the kitchen. on the way there, he started explaining what he was planning on doing. "I bet they only keep saying samu's the better twin 'cause he can cook or whatever. I'll prove them wrong! I can cook too, and you'll be ma' witness, babe". and so of course, that was exactly what he did. at the same time making dinner for the both of you along the way. all while you were taking pictures and short clips of him cooking because he " needed the proof to shove it to rintaro and his twin's faces". once he was done, it didn't even taste half bad. it wasn't the best, of course, but he made it with love and effort and that was what's important.

he's the guy to obnoxiously wrap his arms around you whenever it's possible. there was this one time that he was away for a family trip and when you visited their home once he got back, he immediately jumped on you, wrapping both his arms and legs around you once he opened the door and saw you were on the other side. it was a surprise the both of you didn't fall over straight away. but after a few more second of atsumu just staying there unmoving, he eventually fell to his bottom with you on top of him. "I guess you really did fall for me after all, huh angel" you instantly pushed him away when he began cackling. him saying that with a smug smirk on his face made it a whole lot worse. you love him for that, though.

EITA SEMI "just seeing you smile at me like that has me swooning, sweetheart."

like keiji, eita is a gentleman at heart. he's also the type to bring you small gifts to give you on your weekly dates. whether it be flowers, your favorite snack and candy, or a small plush toy. and while he's on his way to pick you up, he takes a picture of himself with the gist he's going to give you, sending it to you saying "I'm on my way, sweets, excited to see you already"

if you know how to play an instrument, then that's great! it only means that you and eita have more interests to share and you could jam together on late afternoons you have nothing better to do. but if you don't, that's fine as well, darling! if you'd like, he would absolutely be willing to teach you how to play guitar. but if you didn't, you'd instead be with eita in the room doing your own thing and being gorgeous while he practices. he doesn't mind, of course. he doesn't feel pressured of any sort. instead, he actually feels more relaxed and comfortable with you there.

I feel like he's the type to have a polaroid camera and love to take pictures on it with you. or, he would print your pictures in the style of a polaroid. he says it adds to that romantic feel of the memories the two of you make together. and that it would be easier to display around the things that he owns, like in his wallet, at the back of his phone, or just stuck to the wall beside his bed. for his favorite pictures of the both of you, he prints out two copies so that he could gift one to you.

when the two of you are on the train together on what you're assuming is going to be a long ride, you end up listening to music together one way or another. both of you always bring your earphones with you, but on the rare occasions only one of you did, you share. opting to play the one of the playlists the both of you made together, or one of the playlists you made for each other.

there was one time where you went to the mall with eita, satori, and wakatoshi. the other third years unfortunately not being available for the day. when you entered a music store and after a while of browsing around, satori called you and eita over. when you got to him, he handed you a record saying you should recreate it but with both of your faces hiding behind it. eita was reluctant at first, thinking that you might look like idiots to people that passed by but you liked the idea. you ended up doing it anyway, with satori taking the picture for you. even wakatoshi admitted that the two of you looked cute together in it.

eita writes songs for you. of course he does. and you love every single one of them. but you especially love the ones you could slow dance to in the evening in the comfort of the kitchen in your home. on a late night while the two of you were making midnight snacks with your playlist playing in the background, one of those songs that you especially loved played. giddily, you grabbed eita's hand, startling him and making him let go of the butter knife he was holding. but once he realized what your intentions were, he smiled and danced along with you to the song. he twirled you around and whispered in your ear once you looked at him in the eyes again. "you're absolutely stunning, love"

#☁️; [headcanons] #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #oikawa x reader #oikawa headcanons #akaashi x reader #akaashi headcanons #kenma x reader #kenma headcanons #atsumu x reader #atsumu headcanons #haikyuu moodboard #pretty setter squad #oikawa drabble #kenma drabble #atsumu drabble #semi eita drabble #akaashi drabble #ACK I LOVE HOW THIS TURNED OUT

[always-andromeda]

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐬 𝐍𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐫, 𝐈 𝐀𝐦 𝐈𝐭𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞

𝐃𝐢𝐧 𝐃𝐣𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⭐︎ 1,119

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⭐︎ The dark never quite appealed to you until Din showed you the delights that could be hidden within it. Tucked away in the shadows of the Razor Crest, his mouth seeks out yours.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⭐︎ I can't even pretend that I came up with the title for this fic. Last semester I read an article by Leah Comeau analyzing Tirukkōvaiyār, an ancient Tamil poem. That line appeared in the poem and it immediately gave me Din vibes. Thank you college education for giving me ideas for my internet smut.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⭐︎ smut (minors, please do not interact), oral (female receiving), Din gets absolute drunk off of pussy lmao, Din using bits of Mando'a (sorry I am a sentimental whore) lots of intimacy and bits of angst here and there, nothing else I can think of!

The dark never quite appealed to you until Din showed you the delights that could be hidden within it. Tucked away in the shadows of the Razor Crest, his mouth seeks out yours. And right away it comes off as an apology. An apology for the secrecy in which your relationship operates.

Working with him was already risky enough. If those who wanted the Mandalorian's head on a pike knew just how much he values you...Din doesn't even want to conceptualize how the danger would only multiply. All he wants is to anchor himself in your being.

He hovers over you, letting messy kisses land wherever he wants them to. Some hit your jaw,  your chin, your cheek. As soon as he catches the corner of your lips, he focuses in with smaller pecks until one finally lands right in the middle of your mouth. There it waits, parted slightly in anticipation. There's a second of silence as his nose bumps against yours and you know right away that it's not an accident. It's affection.

Din doesn't spare another moment before he dives back in. You can hardly keep up with his desperation. Given your deprivation of sight, you have no choice but to feel every landing of his lips on your skin.

Though it’s just light kisses, each one chips away at you with its ravenous energy. In a way, you can't blame him. When was the last time he'd been able to take that helmet off so he could feel the touch of another? When will the next time be? Because for all you both know, he could be killed before next time comes. You push that thought away. Instead, you tell yourself that he's far too intelligent, far too skilled, far too shrewd to let anything bad happen to him. And for a little while, that staves the worries away.

At least it's long enough to focus on his mouth, smothering your abdomen with open mouthed kisses. The smacking sound of them makes your breath catch in your throat as the vibrations get closer and closer to where you need him.

Always the noble giver, Din provides generously. He takes his time running his tongue through the nooks between your thighs and your cunt. Though his navigation between your legs is imperfect, it's still welcome. Whether it's the dark that causes this or his innate urge to savor this moment, you don't know.

Either way, you need it. But you don't have it in you to whine or whisper for him to give you more. Slowly, he tastes you. Lets the musk and sweat of your skin build on his taste buds until he becomes intoxicated from the potency. You let your soft gasps fade into the white noise of the enclosed room.

You don't think you'll ever get over this; trying to picture what his face might look like as he works. This time you feel the prickle of facial hair on your inner thighs, making you twitch. Then there's his nose. You have no clue what it looks like but you're fully convinced that it's perfect based entirely on the way that the bridge of it gently nudges at your clit.

Hand fanning over the expanse of your thigh, he squeezes. A low groan from his throat mixes with the wet sounds of his tongue attempting to drink up every bit of sickly sweet nectar he can.

Starved. Ravenous. And you still can't blame him.

He feels your walls clench and shiver around his tongue and chooses then to retreat. Teasingly, he kisses around your labia. He bides his time before he spreads you out once more, runs his tongue through the folds and finally latches onto the thrumming core that begs for his attention.

By the time your legs begin to shake and you gasp out, "I think I'm close," you swear you detect a hint of disappointment in his tone when he replies, "Already?"

Time must've flown by while he was having his fun because without even meaning to, he'd brought you to the edge and back more times than you could be bothered to keep track of. Part of him longs to do it all over again.

But he doesn't have nearly enough self control to even try to exercise it. You know exactly what he needs. He takes as much as he can get from you, knowing full well that at the end of it he'd need to disappear once more. As long as he held onto his faith, this would have to do. You'd be his breath of fresh air, keeping him going when the way becomes difficult for him to find a point in following.

Besides, you cry out so beautifully already. Your figure squirming, heels digging into his back, you feel almost like one of his bounties, begging for his mercy. But because it's you, he truly feels pity. With his eyes adjusted to the dark, he can barely make out your eyes as they squeeze shut. And he bets that if the light were on, he'd see glimmering trails of tears making their way down the sides of your face. That image motivates him enough to finish the job properly.

In an instant, the quiet and almost claustrophobic atmosphere of the Mandalorian's bunk crumbles away as you're sent into hyperspace. And then you simply float. In the infinite, unending darkness of the room, Din's presence envelopes you as he whispers one word against your skin, over and over again.

Cyar’ika.

It protects you; lets you feel the full weightlessness and peace of pleasure before letting you gently drift back into gravity's grasp. There isn’t just desperation, hunger, or simple affection in this act. There’s love. Trust. All things that you know how difficult it is for the Mandalorian to muster for someone outside the bounds of his creed.

You couldn't be more relieved when he surfaces to hold you in his arms. Amongst all of the chaos that comes with being with him, you wouldn't want it any other way. Not when you feel his head nuzzle into the crook of your neck. You laugh a little weakly when you comb your fingers through his hair and feel how damp it is.

Din hums halfheartedly, wordlessly wondering what was so humorous to you.

You don't bother answering, knowing that he'd probably be out before too long. You burn this feeling into your bones. And you hold each other the way that only two people in the middle of an uncertain galaxy can; with an almost impossible sort of faith. Entangled with you, Din feels just as safe and sure as the beskar he hides beneath.

#˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚ #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal smut #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #din djarin smut

[ambrosiagourmet]

I notice no one has asked yet so for the character thing: laios! Or if you want to go for a less common one: the winged lion

Laios!!!!!!

First impression

Honestly its hard to even limit this within the confines of starting the actual manga. I genuinely think I'd have to say my real first impression of Laios was the "autism be damned, my boy can work a grill" joke that gets passed around a lot 😭

Impression now

Older brother.

Loves his friends and family so much. Let him infodump!!!!! A guy that can character arc so hard he becomes a king because its the only way to deal with the things he can no longer let himself look away from. A guy who wants to eat a good meal. A guy who wants everyone to eat a good meal.

A guy who can be all that and still kind of pettily complain that he doesn't get to hang out with monsters anymore & can mope about it soooo annoyingly. A guy who decided to eat the concept of all-consuming hunger because it was the only way to deal with the problem so he might as well try. A guy who can completely change his life by deciding to share his special interest. A guy who can imitate a dog really well.

Favorite moment

Don't make me choooose... okay I'm gonna do three:

1. Assembling Falin's bones with Marcille

The humor. The patience. The slow realization that, despite how absurd of a task it is, it is actually all possible. The moments of admiration for the way skeletons work, the love of the details, the care of assembling all three skeletons just to make sure they get Falin right. Iconic scene.

2. Killing Falin

"Unable to make myself accept. Unable to make myself resist" lives in my soul now idk what else to say. Life is so vibrant and horrifying and raw and beautiful and to let yourself fully be a part of it you must take up space. You must consume. You must fight. You must take and be taken from. Ourgh

3. Talking Marcille down

I love that he looks so goofy on his way up to her. I love the context of how much he refuses to give up on her leading up to this, and how he refuses to give up on her now. I love how everyone is part of this scene, but he's the first one to cross the threshold. I love how she almost blows him up but can't do it (fun fact: this exact situation/post was how she killed Mithrun a couple of chapters ago. It was close).

I love the way he appeals to her mostly just with messy honesty, and I love the silly three rules callback. It's such a sweet chapter.

Also honorary mention for the final page of the story, which gets me every time.

Idea for a story

I'm actually currently fiddling with a longer story concept dealing with the question of Laios needing an heir. Dungeon Meshi is grounded enough in politics that it genuinely feels like a question that the characters will have to grapple with at some point. At the same time, there's no way that like arranged marriage and even having kids in general are not messy topics for Laios and I don't think anyone involved would want to force him to be miserable.

(I also don't personally like the idea of Falin as his heir ftr, bc I think forcing Falin into that role sucks and I don't think anyone would go for it)

So how DO they deal with the issue? Idk! I might write a long meandering story about it! Maybe! I want to, at least.

Unpopular opinion

Ughhhh I don't realllly want to poke this with a stick but yeah I definitely think my most generic (apparently????) Unpopular Opinion with Laios is just that his relationship with Marcille is meaningful and loving. I personally don't view it as romantic and they mean a lot to me as a platonic-life-partners kind of thing, but I also think that dividing relationships in general into Ships TM and Definitely Not Ships isn't really appealing to me personally. I just care them.

(at the same time I really do worry about trying to write about them and it being taken as romantic despite me very intentionally not framing it as such. idk, navigating this stuff is complicated.)

Favorite relationship

UGHHHH LIKE. It is probably him and Marcille. But it's so hard to rank that against him and Falin. Both relationships mean a lot to me and I love them and I love to think about them.

Because him and Marcille have more on the page interactions to dig into and because I don't see them discussed as much, I do tend to gravitate to Marcille & Laios stuff above all else. But like.... don't make me actually commit to picking.

Favorite headcanon

I can't think of a strong answer for this so I'm going to make one up on the spot: I think he giggled to himself soooo much when he included the winged lion in his king outfit but made it so that it looks like the wolf head is eating it. I think he continues to giggle about it years later. I think he gets dressed in the morning and puts on his cloak and goes "get ate, idiot" as he fastens it around his shoulders.

Oh actually for a more genuine headcanon related to the story thing I mentioned above: I think Laios is really good with kids but would be scared of having any of his own. I think he'd have trouble with the classic "I don't want to mess them up the way my dad messed me up" abused kid struggle.

#ask #ask meme #even though I thought of a more notable headcanon im leaving the winged lion one in there bc I like it

[moraysoiree]

homesick

Just my idea of what it feels like to be far away from home.

characters: Floyd Leech x gn!reader (platonic, could be read as romantic), mentions of Jade and Azul word count: 1134

Ramshackle dorm prefect’s life was in no sense easy. Sitting through classes and thinking how you can’t even put all this knowledge to good use because of your ‘magiclessness’ was, for lack of a better term, pure torture. Thank god the classes ended, finally granting you some freedom to wander off in hopes to lift your spirits by hanging out with one of the strange people that were in abundance here.

To your glee, on the way to the first floor you noticed a familiar figure on a terrace just a flight of stairs below: one of the eel guys was standing there, leaning against the guardrail with slumped shoulders. Given the idleness, figuring his current mood was no big feat. The chance was worth taking, though.

‘FLOOOOYD!!’ you started skipping down excitedly, not even bothering to get to the floor and jumping off the middle right onto the unsuspecting victim. ‘Shrimpie!’ wide-eyed, Floyd still managed to catch the falling anvil and laughed, spinning from the momentum. ‘Ye gonna kill us one day,’ he grumbled. ‘I wish I could kill you that easily,’ you pinched his cheeks, causing the displeased eel to click his teeth in a mock threat. ‘A point. You little fishies, on the other hand…’ he trailed off. Both went on to lean onto the banisters, laziness afloat in the sunny spring air. The mood wasn’t as bad as expected. Or, rather, improved rapidly, for that matter. ‘Sup with the classes,’ you tugged on the lilac ribbon hanging from his forearm. ‘Skipping, huh? What would Azul say?!’ you covered your mouth, appearing to be scandalized. Theatrical jests usually amused him, but not today for some reason. Or was it Azul’s name that got on his nerves? Either way, Floyd wasn’t really in the mood for talking, so the clue was taken and both stared off into the distance silently. And was there a lot to stare at, as college’s balconies had the best view onto the sharp cliffs, mercilessly slicing the rumbling waves into white foam.

Something occurred to you, and you asked, fidgeting with the very same ribbon still: ‘Say, don’t you ever get homesick?’. Floyd tore his eyes off the sea and gave you a thoughtful glance, ‘Mm-hhm… not really. There are a lot of things on land. I think Jade got it worse’. ‘Jade?! How come?’ It was hard to believe that Jade, who navigated human society better than the majority of humans, was, in fact, facing some trouble adapting. ‘S’ not like he doesn’t love it here, too, I mean. But y’know how he goes to wander by himself and chew on his plants or whareva-you-call-it. That’s different from me. Gets melancholic ‘nd all.’ Floyd sighed and stretched, crossing arms behind his head. ‘And you don’t? Like ever’. ‘Don’t think so? Lotta interesting things just keep happening around. This school is kinda special tho. Many fishies to squeeze, and jumping right into my jaws, too,’ he shut his eyes in delight, but his general expression shifted into something more sinister, something ascending from the murky depths, prowling and lurking. ‘Kinda like home. Ya kno’ it’s crazy down there. You can never stop or rest. Unless you wanna be eaten, ‘course. Same here,’ he waved at the Night Raven College’s walls. ‘So your bloodlust is what keeps you going? Should’ve known better,’ you scoffed, and Floyd rolled his eyes. ‘Mean! I like many of your things, like clothes, and phones, and the strange food you have. S’ not like I only care about beatin’ up some krill,’ you eyed his messy uniform doubtfully and pondered whether the eel really liked clothes as much as he claimed to.

‘But you’re like Jade, aren’t you, little Shrimp?’ Floyd snapped you from your thoughts forcefully, and you noticed he was staring at you sharply. ‘You get those sour moods and sigh a lot’. Look who’s talking about moods!? But he was right, although it came as a surprise that such things didn’t escape him. He’d always seemed too caught up in his own emotions. Or was it precisely because of it that Floyd had noticed the way his friend was a bit too quiet on one day and a tad too distant on the other... ‘I love you all, but I didn’t really choose to be here, and I don’t even know if there’s a way to go back. Even if there is, will I survive with people overblotting left and right and making it everyone’s problem?!’ Floyd laughed. ‘Nothing to laugh about in my life’, you sighed. ‘You would be shocked how hard it is to live without the little things, like my favourite songs, or the trinkets I’d collected, or the bakeries I’d always visited’. He was listening silently, letting you get it all off your chest. ‘I had friends back home, too. Will I ever see them again? Do they miss me, I wonder.. Maybe I died in my world and got isekai’d here so there’s not really a place for me to return to at all?!’ Floyd scrunched his face up at your outburst. ‘Now you sound just like Firefly Squid.’ Then, however, his expression became serious. ‘You know, Shrimpie. There are a lot of things in this world that are out of our control. You can have a down-to-the-minute detailed plan, covering the next forty years, but what use will it be if a shark gobbles you up tomorrow? You should value the ‘now’, or ya risking to miss all the fun n’ regret it later,’ his hand ruffled your hair. ‘I get that it ain’t easy for ya to be all gung-ho about it all the time, but that kind of thinking is just a waste. Say what, how ‘bout we go make Crowley get his game up with your homeworld instead? I can squeeze him real tight if ya wanna.’ You thought about it for a solid moment, seriously considering the offer. ‘I’m good. Spare the unfortunate soul, he’s got his plate served to him from people throwing hands last week’. ‘And who’s to thank for that ya think?’ Oh. Of course. ‘What a spectacular friend I have, rushing to avenge me before I even ask!’ The phrase might have been a joke, but you put your genuine gratitude for the so much needed reassurance into it. To that display of emotions, Floyd’s eyes glinted mischievously. ‘So you saying you owe me one?’ You regretted your choice of words instantly. ‘Come ooon, ain’t gonna eat ya, Shrimpie. Not yet, anyway. Speaking of food… What a rad way to repay me, huh?’ ‘Mostro Lounge?’ Floyd groaned. ‘Heell naaah if I see Azul today I’ll punch smn. Hard.’ So it WAS about Azul, in the end. ‘Canteen it is then. Takoyaki?’ ‘Ya know me best, Shrimpie.’

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #floyd leech x reader #floyd x reader #floyd leech #jade leech #azul ashengrotto #octavinelle #a repost & a gender neutral ver of the thingie i wrote like. a year ago #istg i've had that tweels x reader draft molding in my google docs for almost a solid year already sorry if ya had your hopes up😝✌️ #yume brainrot too strong to think about other guys #i WILL try to finish it. no promises tho bye🎠

[whispersosoftly]

In Defense of Hot Dog Fingers

There is something about EEAAO that makes it fundamentally impossible for me to condense into a manner I feel is concise-yet-informative enough to adequately state my opinion. The movie itself is addressing so many different-yet-important facets of the main character (Evelyn)’s life that to describe one requires the description of them all. This movie is a narrative about parenting, queerness, undiagnosed ADHD, broken families, generational trauma, marriage, failed marriage, and deep depression. It talks, in a very genuine manner, the sensation of being an immigrant, of being out of place both at home and afar. It talks of having to deal with the elder generation in a way that is respectful to the old and the new. Like all things in life, it is messy. It is sharp and brilliant and disorganized. And it is queer. 

The Hot Dog Fingers section of EEAAO is one of the most viscerally unnerving portions of fiction I’ve had the pleasure to experience in quite some time. We follow Evelyn’s romance with her IRS agent, Diedre, as they navigate their life together as a lesbian romance in a universe where human beings have hot dogs for fingers. We see a “sex” scene of Evelyn and Diedre ejaculating mustard and ketchup into one another’s mouths. Jamie Lee Curtis (or a body double) play the piano with their toes. It’s a distinct and intentional diversion from the other universes we see Evelyn inhabit, where she is a chef, a singer, a scientist. Here, Evelyn falls in love with a woman. Here, Evelyn has a normal life. Here, Evelyn learns what love means in a way that is alien to both her and the audience. 

The Hot Dog Fingers world is, in many ways, representative of Evelyn’s internalized homophobia and her lack of understanding of her daughter’s romance with her girlfriend, Becky. The concept of lesbianism– of lesbian sex, of lesbian romance, can only exist in Evelyn’s world in the same way that humans could evolve to have hot dogs for fingers. It’s a specific, marked moment in the narrative where Evelyn is forced to learn to recognize that love can be unrecognizable.

It can often be easy for parents or adults to assume that a particular perspective or lived experience is the way that things are done. Many times has ‘my parents did it to me, and I turned out fine’ been cited as an excuse for corporal punishment, for the restriction of privileges, or for the deliberate choice to not acknowledge a minor or younger person’s identity. In this narrative, Evelyn is allowed to experience love from outside her wheelhouse, in a manner that would never have been expected or made available to her. Hot Dog Fingers is the reason why Evelyn is able to approach Joy’s relationships with the confidence and knowledge that her daughter is pursuing her happiness, whatever that happiness may mean for her. 

The second portion of this essay will concern itself with the sections devoted to being a rock. I feel it has an importance to the narrative as a whole as well as to the cohesion of the film itself. I will approach the cohesion of the film first, as I think it will lend itself toward explaining the narrative. 

Some films, most notably to my mind Mad Max: Fury Road, rely on endless, thumping, writhing action. The entire film is set in a broad, open desert. The entire film is a chase sequence. There are no breaks. The rig cannot stop, or the heroes will be caught and likely die. They must reach the place where the mothers sleep. They must reach the end point. They must meet their goal. 

Halfway through the film, the illusion of a green sanctuary is shattered, and for about ten to fifteen minutes, there is stillness. The baking sun sets. The rig moves, but the story can breathe. People talk. There is a moment or five to resolve oneself toward the eventual rising action and climax.

This stillness in narrative allows the viewer a moment of rest. One hundred and twenty minutes of constant action is enough to numb a viewer to the spectacle of it all. Movies like the Fast & Furious franchise or Mission Impossible rely on these spectacles to draw in viewership, but without built in narrative pit stops, it’s just a fireworks display of meaningless lights and fire. 

The rock segments of EEAAO fulfill that narrative pitstop for the viewer. Almost all sound cease. Almost all movement ceases as well. There is no spoken dialogue, only subtitles that display in clear, large block lettering. EEAAO is relentless in the way that it introduces and supplements new visuals, and the two sections of rock are literal anchoring points that allow the viewer and the characters to breathe and to coalesce into their respective identities.

As a person with ADHD, I often find myself in a life that feels loud. Sounds, sights, sensations all clump and pile onto one another in ways that can be at times frustrating or obstructive. The actual, palpable relief I felt at the first rock sequence allowed me to think through all I’d seen and actually process the narrative. The silence was comforting to me. It literally felt like being put under a blanket and allowed to think during a busy day. 

In terms of narrative, this is as close to suicidal ideation as the story toes. Joy wants to stop. Life and everything hurts her! She receives no support from her parents despite being told that they love her. She wants to cease. To be inorganic matter, unable to be hurt. She wants to have a literal, immovable, inviolable distance between herself and her mother. It’s a visual representation of the shattered relationship she has with Evelyn, and of her own measure of despair at ever crossing that gap.

The second use of the rocks is different, because by this point in the narrative, Evelyn can see Joy. Evelyn can see Joy’s pain. Evelyn can see that Joy’s feelings of isolation and of abandonment, while real, are surmountable. Evelyn takes that step and rewrites the world for her daughter. Evelyn looks at all the misunderstanding and trauma heaped onto her by Gong Gong and she says no. I will not do this to my Joy. I will not allow my pain and disappointment to carry on through her. 

It feels as though every portion of EEAAO is a bit like a cotton boll, where I can tease and tug and pull at each individual fluff until my little narrative becomes a pile of interconnected thoughts, sensations, and experiences. Evelyn’s life and the multitudinous ways in which that life can be expressed cannot be covered in just these two scenes, but I feel the importance of those scenes vastly outweigh the jarring nature they may have to the viewer.

Thank you for reading. :)

#everything everywhere all at once #EEAAO #Evelyn #Joy #Analysis #hot dog fingers #hey qara look pls

[glamrock-azbear]

My ✨Ruin✨ Experience (Story Spoilers, be forwarned)

Lobby

God damn Gregory, wasn’t enough to damage to animatronics you had to light the bitch ablaze too?

Ooo, HUD looking fine

Who needs a flashlight? I’ve got light up shoes!

Ah, yes, I remember breaking Chica’s ankles in this lobby…

Gregory kinda sounding sus

Okay, now super sus

Of course I’d have to go the long way around. If I were Gregory, I’d be at Roxy Raceway in half a minute (adjust crocs)

Cassie could’ve died counter: 1

Ladders are a really interesting addition… but the ability to look around concerns me

Vent… Tiny Music Man?

Cassie could’ve died counter: 2

Atrium Kitchen

This kitchen dirty af

Cassie could’ve died counter: 3

Chica there is no need—

Nevermind, she cool… for now

How’d this area get so messy? When the Pizzaplex crumbled there was nothing here

Welcome back to “Kids becoming technicians” Today’s guest: Cassie!

Two hands are better than one (Why didn’t you think of that Gregory?)

Backstage Area

Oh, hey, this looks familar… where’s Monty?

Oh sh—

Cassie could’ve died counter: 4

Found Monty BTW, me and the homies hate Monty now

Monty Golf

Lovely, 5 minutes in the Pizzaplex and not a single pizza, but I’m almost killed four times

I’m definitely down here with Monty, aren’t I?

Map Bot’s been rebranded, Map Bot will be missed 😔

I wish my virtual plushies were real

I refuse to believe an AR mask that should only let you see AR elements would allow someone to phase through objects

Must look super trippy to people observing from a different POV

“Look mom—” (Clips through wall)

Surprising the other animatronics are event still alive given it seems most charging stations have been decimated

Freddy’s probably still in Low Power Mode, unless Gregory jailbroke him

Gregory search history: How to jailbreak Freddy Fazbear

Of course the only surviving thing in all of Monty Golf would be the Monty Golf Arcade Game (I’m not telling you how long I played)

Can I take my chances with the electric door?

Something tells me a rabbit is behind all this…

So can Monty crawl through this area? I hope not, I’m not that fast

LSD jumpscare! Too bad I say “no” to drugs (takes off Vanni Mask)

Oh shit— Monty quiet af

What? I already deactivated the nodes so open up— Oh… I deactivated the Wet Floot Bot… oops

I don’t care that Monty crushed himself with a wood plank, I’m running and not looking back

The Daycare

So is Moon gonna be hunting me? Cause like none of the ending explicitly showed him being destoryed so—

Well there he is

Oh, he’s insane

And he’s Peter Pan

Can I get my free weapon now?

I’m surprised the Generators are still around

You know, if Gregory had a FazWrench, maybe he wouldn’t have to have gotten physical

So Eclipse is real? Check that off the list, now where’s Ballon Boy?

He really loves slamming them doors

One thing I’m grateful for is Moon not being a menace this time around

Theater

Ah shit— the night ticklers

Nu Uh— they give eye contact 💀

I thank the Basement for reminding me that the night ticklers are not to be trifled with

They killed Comedy Bot 😭

Vanny Cameo, she is literally getting more screentime than in SB here lol

Also damn, from another POV she was literally chasing Gregory in broad fluorescent light

Oh sh— he got m— wait it’s and Endo?

WTF happened?

Oh sh— oh it’s a giant Endo… welp, into the throat

Girl being dramatic for what

Bruh I can’t run—

Hm, so the Monty Carts still work… interesting

GASP— LORE!!!

Confirmed, Monty is the Band’s adopted child

Bonnie passed the torch fam— HE PASSED THE TORCH—

Oh yeah… the Pizzaplex is run down…

Monty Golf Catwalks

Cassie could’ve died counter: 5

And I’m back

Another Monty fight up here and Monty finna lose more than his bottom half this time

Navigating this area reminds me of something… (Insert ToTK Fire Temple)

Proof all comic endings were drawn by Gregory

Suddenly: Portal 2

The Pizzaplex is out to get Cassie— I’m convinced

Portals don’t transfer velocity do they?

Oh my—

Don’t rush me, Gregory, I’m doing the best I can (Misses another target)

“I’m sorry little one…” (Deactivates Wet Floor Bot)

Wait, if the Monty Cart I was riding in to get here derailed, then why isn’t this one?

Basement Kitchen

R. I. P. Pizzabot, he didn’t make it to Ruin

Chica’s Bakery

Chica in a silly, goofy mood 🤭

The cupcake does not approve of the vibe

Chica, honey, you’re being a bit too silly now

Ok, someone here is shitting battery acid all over the Pizzaplex and didn’t tell me, not cool dudes…

Cassie knows the drip must stay clean

Fire has done a number on Chica’s awareness

Chica’s Feeding Frenzy!

Server Room

Okay, so, where exactly am I?

Freddy Foreshadowing

So if I could take off the mask right now, what would I see.

How’s LSD Trap gonna be all big and do nothing

Roxy’s Salon

They really said “Feel free to play our arcade games! Just not princess quest…”

Oh shit— wait, so like after Roxy antagonized Gregory in the Afton Battle, she leaves and comes here?

Legit proof that when Roxy said “You have no friends” to Gregory, she meant it

This area is actually much better than its counterpart with all the staff bots

Yeah, “Gregory” saying not to get police or adults involved is sus

Absolutely valid reason to be mad but how would Roxy know Gregory took her eyes, what did she see him do it?

Apology accepted

She’s totally gonna save me later isn’t she

Sewers

Bruh, he’s a real gator now

You know, with how high I’ve seen that demon jump, I would’ve though jumping on a floating piece of debris would be nothing

Wait, so if he was in the water the whole time being a menace, then why did he die now?

Roxy Raceway

Ok but with this place in such a destroyed state, who’s to say I couldn’t just break the floor to the sinkhole?

Roxy!

Roxy no— I thought we were friends! 😭

Als what was that hitbox

Runaway go-kart—

Cassie could’ve died counter: 6

Bonnie Bowl

The Mystery Mix is gone 😫

So… we gonna work with Bonnie? That little show earlier feels like a sign 😏

Oop— Mini Music Man… looks like he’s gonna be here, but I mean I can step on one—

Oh… He joined a gang

And with amazing strategy I lure the gang away— and there’s still one here!

Ok fair, it’s more believable that it takes 3 to take down a child

Gasp— FredBonnie? In my Pizzaplex?!

They were sadistic for giving these robots feelings

Fazer Blast

Vanny’s hideout is wrecked

And they said “No Princess Quest!” again

What are the chances of me getting a FazerBlaster?

0 apparently…

There’s Daddy Deady

Wait— “Prototype?”

Mmm… so… yeah… that thing Freddy said about other Freddys… yeah… yikes

Ok but why tho—?

He got a present inside him

Yes, I tried to claim the present, didn’t work

Uh… wait, so he wasn’t real?

Oh lovely… the Mini Music Man’s back

Bruh, I was already out of the vent, how’d he kill me

Roxy Raceway Sinkhole

The Plushies show the future

That “Save me Cassie” sounding kinda skinwalker-y

Was there always a vent there?

Oh lord

Well to be fair, deactivating her seems to be the only real path, don’t think I can lift a forklift (I’m not forklift certified)

She probably can’t either (Roxy not looking too forklift certified either)

Ok, but, how did Roxy get pinned?

With all the destroyed locations, this area looks the least destroyed now

You know, with how weak the fence seemed, did we really need Monty’s claws?

How is the elevator back?

Holy shit, the legend— Candy Cadet!

Yep, that story checks out for potential skinwalker ending

Afton’s Lair

It be so wild to run into Afton’s corpse corpse here

Wonder if the Blob is still hanging around

Also now being in this side it’s actually strange that there’s working cameras and a flame button on the other side

So you’re telling me villainy is stronger the lower you go

Ooo— the boss fight—

Nevermind, he ded I guess

Haha! Now I’m forklift certified!

Gregory, I didn’t kill you with the Forklift did I?

Yep, definitely a skinwalker

Ooo— called it!

Also, hey, didn’t I deactivate you?

Cave

Yep, Fuck that

Ok but I’m still using the same walkie the fake was contacting me with so who’s to say there aren’t two fakes?

R. I. P. Roxy, hope you get to see Monty again

If I had my crocs in sports mode, I could total dust you

How do I know I can trust you (Goes opposite direction, find dead end) ok fair

Do I really have time for this?

So like where is Gregory contacting me from

Or even how?

Also another level to this place, what?

Oh, guess she just dead then

Oh fuck she’s fucking dead

So you’re telling me Chica and Eclipse are still alive

Y’all can’t do that— Roxy is too?

Wait, where’s Vanes/anny in all this mess?

#five nights at freddy's #fnaf #fnaf security breach #security breach #fnaf sb #five nights at freddy’s security breach #fnaf sb ruin #sb ruin #fnaf ruin #security breach ruin #glamrock animatronics #glamrock freddy #glamrock bonnie #glamrock helpy #gameplay experience #montgomery gator #roxanne wolf #glamrock chica #fnaf gregory #fnaf cassie #daycare attendent #eclipse fnaf