#the desolate council

[kottkrig]

Finally got off my butt and finished my vision for the whole Blorbo Council

Sorry the text is small you'd have to go full view to read probably!

#world of warcraft #undead #forsaken #the desolate council #dark ranger velonara #calia menethil #lilian voss #master apothecary faranell #deathstalker commander belmont #kottart #*OC-ifies your faves* they're mine now

[mothervvoid]

1/1ch | 1.9k wc

For people and kingdom.

#wow fanfic #wow fanfiction #warcraft fanfiction #the desolate council #calia menethil #deathstalker commander belmont

[wolf-of-stormwind]

i think a cool alternative to removing calia's title would be giving the rest of the desolate council unique titles, like giving Velonara the title "The Shadowed Arrow" or something like that. honestly her title isnt even that bad, i just really want them all to be equal.

but derek's HAS to go, like i cannot see a SINGLE reason for him to have it. i can see "champion of the desolate council" if they started having him do a bunch of stuff protecting them with or something

#world of warcraft #forsaken #the forsaken #the desolate council #dark ranger velonara #calia menethil #derek proudmoore #tbh they should just give him SOMETHING to make him a character #tbh i actually really like calia and her potential but some of her writing is euch #i also think WE should get the champion of the desolate council if we're horde/forsaken from like a wuest like baines #especially if we're horde/forskane

[6-2-aestheticsofhate]

guy whos making connections.

#hes sooo fucking desolation #im not sure how i can translate the light being ripped from him by the council into my tma au. #because like. you cant unbecome an avatar? #i do think the light itself leaving is instead after being beat by v1 he chooses to stop feeding because he realized how many he'd hurt in #the desolation and cult of the lightless flames name

[trainwrecksys]

#idea I had in class lol #they’re going to a fancy event #or maybe presenting their ideas to the council #mphfpc #art #fanart #library of souls #myron bentham #the desolations of devils acre #caul bentham

[thelearnedsoldiertoo]

A pair of excellent headshot sketches from @lesleylycan of my two Dark Ranger girls Lyra and Nixxie!

Lyra, the one trying to remember how smiling works on the bottom, was a Kaldorei member of Alliance Special Forces raised during the Battle of Darkshore just before the Burning of Teldrassil, and has no memory of her life before the Forsaken; Nixxie, the rakish-looking redhead, was one of the original Rangers raised alongside Sylvanas during the invasion of Quel'Thalas, and has been loyal to the Forsaken and her sisters in the Dark Rangers(and their leader in the Dark Lady) since their founding.

Nixxie's vibe, for the record, is "Jolly War Criminal"; Lyra's is "The cutest most innocent and wholesome baby undead ever how the fuck is a Dark Ranger that heart-meltingly sweet"--virtually everyone who has ever interacted with her has had "must protecc", instincts triggered immediately lmfao

I love them both and I adore how they turned out!!! Tysm!!!

#my ocs #warcraft #wow ocs #sin'dorei #kaldorei #dark ranger #forsaken #lyra left after the formation of the desolate council but it's still all she remembers #i love them #elfs!

[sekhithefops]

You think after everything she did they'd have a new catchphrase now. >w>

#warcraft #warcraft roleplay #warcraft fanfiction #warcraft memes #world of warcraft #forsaken #undead #mage #worgen #trust in the desolate council perhaps?

[dcwnthercbbithcle]

TAG DUMP FOR OPHELIA / 8713-B

⚕️ 𝐀𝐄𝐒 & 𝐕𝐈𝐒. || THINGS THAT ARE BEAUTIFUL ARE TRANSIENT

⚕️ 𝐃𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌. || GLIMPSES OF HOPE IN TRYING TIMES

⚕️ 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒. || IT'S JUST A BURNING MEMORY

⚕️ 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒 & 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒. || MY HEART WILL STOP IN JOY

⚕️ 𝐈𝐂. || STILL FEEL AS THOUGH I AM ME

⚕️ 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. || QUIET INTERNAL REBELLIONS

⚕️ 𝗔𝗡𝗦𝗪𝗘𝗥𝗘𝗗. || I KNOW YOU ARE BUT WHAT AM I?

⚕️ 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄. || DENIAL UNRAVELLING

⚕️ 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐓. || THE TIME WILL NEVER COME BACK

⚕️ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐓. 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒. || IN EACH OTHER'S EYES

⚕️ 𝐅𝐀𝐌. 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒. || THE LOVES OF MY ENTIRE LIFE

⚕️ 𝐑𝐎𝐌. 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒. || ILLUMINATE MY HEART MY DARLING

⚕️ 𝟏𝟎𝟔 / 𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄. (𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋-𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄) || MY SWEETEST NIGHTMARE [...] A MAN SO CRUEL YET BENEATH THE SURFACE LURKS SOMETHING MORE... HUMAN

⚕️ 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐋. (𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐒𝐓-𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐒) || POOR BOY; TRADING A CELL FOR SHACKLES [...] MAY HIS CREATIVITY OVERCOME THE GHOSTS OF HIS PAST

⚕️ 𝐎𝟓-𝟒. ❛ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅 ❜ (𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐒𝐓-𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐒) || FORLORN FATHER AND EARNEST HUSBAND [...] A MAN WITH SIMILAR LOVES TO MY OWN

⚕️ 𝐎𝟓-𝟏𝟎. ❛ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑 ❜ (𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐒𝐓-𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐒) || PERHAPS THERE MAY BE HOPE FOR THE COUNCIL AFTERALL [...] HIS GENEROSITY WON'T BE FORGOTTEN

⚕️ 𝐎𝟓-𝟏𝟏. ❛ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 ❜ (𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐒𝐓-𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐒) || A MAN AFTER MY OWN INTERESTS [...] FATHER OF SITE 230

⚕️ 𝟏𝟎𝟔-𝐀 / 𝐏𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐘. (𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑-𝐎𝐅-𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐘). || A SWEET FLOWER GROWING IN A DESOLATE; LIFELESS CONCRETE DYSTOPIA [...] MAY YOUR BRIGHTNESS NEVER FADE

⚕️ 𝟎𝟗𝟔 / 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐄. (𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇-𝐀𝐍𝐃-𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐒). || I'D NEVER SEEN ANYONE SO UNHAPPY; I WANT VERY MUCH FOR YOU TO BE HAPPY

⚕️ 𝟎𝟕𝟔 / 𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐌 (𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋-𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃) || A TRAGEDY PAINTED IN BLOOD AND SHAME; LETHALITY AND SERENITY HAND IN HAND [...] YOU ARE SO MUCH MORE THAN THEY SAID

⚕️ 𝐒𝐂𝐏 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄. || A GILDED CAGE IS STILL A CAGE

⚕️ 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐁𝐎𝐘 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄. || WITH HUMANITY [...] TOWARDS PEACE

⚕️ 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄. || ONE NEED NOT BE A CHAMBER TO BE HAUNTED

⚕️ 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄. || PORCELAIN; IVORY; STEEL

#⚕️ 𝐀𝐄𝐒 & 𝐕𝐈𝐒. || THINGS THAT ARE BEAUTIFUL ARE TRANSIENT #⚕️ 𝐃𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌. || GLIMPSES OF HOPE IN TRYING TIMES #⚕️ 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒. || IT'S JUST A BURNING MEMORY #⚕️ 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒 & 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒. || MY HEART WILL STOP IN JOY #⚕️ 𝐈𝐂. || STILL FEEL AS THOUGH I AM ME #⚕️ 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. || QUIET INTERNAL REBELLIONS #⚕️ 𝗔𝗡𝗦𝗪𝗘𝗥𝗘𝗗. || I KNOW YOU ARE BUT WHAT AM I? #⚕️ 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄. || DENIAL UNRAVELLING #⚕️ 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐓. || THE TIME WILL NEVER COME BACK #⚕️ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐓. 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒. || IN EACH OTHER'S EYES #⚕️ 𝐅𝐀𝐌. 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒. || THE LOVES OF MY ENTIRE LIFE #⚕️ 𝐑𝐎𝐌. 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒. || ILLUMINATE MY HEART MY DARLING #⚕️ 𝟏𝟎𝟔 / 𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄. (𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋-𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄) || MY SWEETEST NIGHTMARE [...] A MAN SO CRUEL YET BENEATH THE SURFACE LURKS SOMETHING MORE... HUMAN #⚕️ 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐋. (𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐒𝐓-𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐒) || POOR BOY; TRADING A CELL FOR SHACKLES [...] MAY HIS CREATIVITY OVERCOME THE GHOSTS OF HIS PAST #⚕️ 𝐎𝟓-𝟒. ❛ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅 ❜ (𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐒𝐓-𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐒) || FORLORN FATHER AND EARNEST HUSBAND [...] A MAN WITH SIMILAR LOVES TO MY OWN #⚕️ 𝐎𝟓-𝟏𝟎. ❛ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑 ❜ (𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐒𝐓-𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐒) || PERHAPS THERE MAY BE HOPE FOR THE COUNCIL AFTERALL [...] HIS GENEROSITY WON'T BE FORGOTTEN #⚕️ 𝐎𝟓-𝟏𝟏. ❛ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 ❜ (𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐒𝐓-𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐒) || A MAN AFTER MY OWN INTERESTS [...] FATHER OF SITE 230 #⚕️ 𝟏𝟎𝟔-𝐀 / 𝐏𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐘. (𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑-𝐎𝐅-𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐘). || A SWEET FLOWER GROWING IN A DESOLATE; LIFELESS CONCRETE DYSTOPIA [...] MAY YOUR BRIGHTNESS NEVER #⚕️ 𝟎𝟗𝟔 / 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐄. (𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇-𝐀𝐍𝐃-𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐒). || I'D NEVER SEEN ANYONE SO UNHAPPY; I WANT VERY MUCH FOR YOU TO BE HAPPY #⚕️ 𝟎𝟕𝟔 / 𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐌 (𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋-𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃) || A TRAGEDY PAINTED IN BLOOD AND SHAME; LETHALITY AND SERENITY HAND IN HAND [...] YOU ARE SO MUCH #⚕️ 𝐒𝐂𝐏 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄. || A GILDED CAGE IS STILL A CAGE #⚕️ 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐁𝐎𝐘 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄. || WITH HUMANITY [...] TOWARDS PEACE #⚕️ 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄. || ONE NEED NOT BE A CHAMBER TO BE HAUNTED #⚕️ 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄. || PORCELAIN; IVORY; STEEL

[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

[merakiui]

Oh man the TWST boys as slashers with a final girl reader…the possibilities are endless!

Jade and Floyd as a Ghostface duo who terrorize you and your group of friends, while hiding in plain sight. You think you managed to finally incapacitate the tweels, but out of nowhere another Ghostface shows up and kills your last reminding friend. He unmasks himself and it’s Azul, the student council President

Or Epel…whose farm you and your friends take refuge at after your van runs out of gas. His family takes pride in their prize apple orchard, and they find your friends’ obnoxious and boisterous airs to be annoying. But not you. Epel thinks you’re so sweet and gentle. You don’t make fun of his accent and don’t laugh at his stature like on of your stupid friends did. Epel thinks you’d be a perfect little farm wife, while your friends would serve as the perfect fertilizer for the orchard, a recipe that has been passed down through the family for ages.

Or…that strange horned man that shows up in your dreams. You have no idea who he is, how you were able to conjure him up in your imagination, but it seems he shows up every night to simply relish in your company and dance with you in the foggy dreamscape. Your friends dream of Malleus too…right before the dreams turn into nightmares, and the brutal death they experience in the dream somehow kills them in real life.

GHOSTFACE AZUL.......... AND HE'S THE STUDENT COUNCIL PRESIDENT????????? WAAAAAAAA anon, this thought will be plaguing my mind FOREVER. AAAAAAA and maybe it's a school you go to that is full of the wealthy (so essentially NRC without the magic), so it absolutely rocks the student body when students start going missing and turning up dead in brutally efficient ways. How is it possible??? The affluent neighborhood is known to be safe. No one would ever suspect perfect Student Council President Azul Ashengrotto, who only ever has everyone's best interests in mind. >_< thinking about Zuzu killing out of revenge. He's got a list of all of the people who bullied him and you're on it, but as your friends start to die one by one he sees you soften (mostly out of fear) and suddenly you're not that same bully who tormented him all throughout his childhood. He's starting to get attached. orz

Slasher Epel... uwuuwaaaa it's too perfect. OTL Epel killing all of your friends and forcing you to be his farm wifey!!!!!!! You don't want to end up like your friends, used as fertilizer or chopped up and fed to the pigs. >_< learning to be a good wife for him by starting a family with him and slowly being conditioned into the domestic life. <3

And the Malleus idea!!!! :O *chef's kiss* he is a horror beyond comprehension, but to you he's just the soft, horned sweetheart who visits your dreams to waltz and chat with you. It seems as if anyone who gives you a hard time turns up dead, and your dreams keep getting sweeter and sweeter. You'll stay in the dream and never want to wake up, won't you? After all, isn't a life spent in bliss with your new horned friend far better than the scary reality that awaits you outside of your dreams? :) in choosing Malleus, you never wake up again.

May I offer slasher Cater in return? orz orz orz the duality of bright, bubbly uni student Cater versus the scary, silent slasher who's coming after you and your friends during your spring break trip to a beach house on some desolate strip of shore. >:D

#twisted chit chat #ghostface azul...... 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 #those lines from scream's opening: 'why do you wanna know my name?' 'because i want to know who i'm looking at' #THAT WITH AZUL AAAAAAAA I AM SO ILL ABOUT HIM

[buryustogether]

mary on a cross

part 1 part 2 part 3

lycan/werewolf!heisenberg x f!reader

summary: for decades, the beast has provided for and protected your village. when he suddenly stops, however, the council decides a virgin sacrifice is in order to appease him.

warnings/tags: heavy religious talk/themes, sexual assault (checking virginity), sacrifice, mentions of blood and cannibalism, bondage, swearing, mentions of starvation and violence

author’s note: i wrote this at 3am based on a dream so be kind.

inspired by mary on a cross by ghost

‘ you go down just like holy mary ’

It was the village priest who asked if your virginity was still intact.

But the question was not unfounded.

You could not fathom as to why your ancestors had chosen this spot to settle down. It was a clearing near the bottom of a ravine, surrounded on the north and south by impassable mountains. The forest occupied the other directions, too thick and dense to travel through and cling to the hope you would make it back with all of your fingers and toes intact. Game was scarce, and luxuries such as spice and cloth even more so. It was desolate, and miserable.

You could not fathom as to why they had chosen this spot.

The legends told of the struggle they faced after first establishing your little village. They found no animals to hunt, and the fish they managed to capture from the small creek running along the perimeter were smaller than their dinner plates. Some starved. Others began to turn upon one another.

Then there came the beast.

They said no one laid eyes on him until after the first of the elk arrived at the town square, freshly slaughtered and with enough meat for everyone. It had appeared from seemingly thin air, with only a pair of deep-imprinted footsteps in the snow to suggest it had not wandered in and died on its own. They praised God for the gift. Then the next day, a pair of deer were delivered.

This went on for, they told, a week before someone spied their so-called savior. They spotted him in the nighttime, when he had come to gift them another elk, this one bigger than the last. He held the form of a man and wore clothes far warmer than theirs, shielded from the cold in ways they could not yet comprehend. But then he’d turned to the light, his eyes glinting, and they’d realized it was not a man in the slightest. His eyes were an otherworldly golden, his bared teeth jagged as blades. Long, black claws sprouted from his fingers and his grey hair curtained his face like a destroyed portrait.

The villagers began to offer payment for his deeds. They tried to leave him money, but it went untouched. A beast would have no use for their currency. They left him the word of God, and they found the Bible ripped to shreds. Then one, so the legends went, left upon his offering pedestal a pair of leather gloves.

They were gone the following morning, and he never took another thing.

And, as the elders have taught, the beast provided for the village for years, decades. He brought them food when they were close to starving - how he knew, they could not understand - and protected it from threats. He became their new god. There was no one that did not benefit from his protection, and he never failed to deliver.

Until last week.

Your eighteenth birthday had passed a number of days before, and your family had used up the rest of the sugar making your favorite tarts for your special occasion. Now, you wished you had savored them just a bit more.

The beast did not come on the first day of the week, nor the second or third. The villagers had grown lazy, used to being provided for, and there were no extra provisions hidden away for an unthinkable occasion such as this. Bellies began to grumble, and moods dropped like insects. The beast did not come the fourth, fifth, six, nor seventh day.

People panicked.

Some believed the end had come, and their loved ones were forced to stop them from ending themselves.

The council held a meeting, one each and every one of the villagers was required to attend. You found yourself sitting in one of the back most pews with your parents, head held low as the women did and hands crossed dutifully over your lap. You only looked up when the priest, backed by the council, cleared his throat from his pulpit and the worried chatter ceased.

The priest cleared his throat, seeming to be searching for the right words as dozens upon dozens of eyes bored into him. People needed this reassurance, promises that the beast, their god, had not abandoned them.

At last, he spoke. “These are trying times, as I’m sure everyone here knows and feels within their homes.” There passed around a number of murmured agreements. “The council and I have been meeting, searching for solutions to this problem.” He took a breath and closed his eyes; everyone waited. “We have come to the conclusion that, somehow, in some way, we have angered the beast. He has turned away from us in a test, and we must show him that we are still worth saving. We must offer him desirable, and valuable, in order to win back his affections.”

The village people burst into a storm of murmurs and whispers. Was it true? Had they truly angered him?

“What do you suggest we offer him, then?” demanded a man near the front. “We haven’t anything desirable, nor valuable. The beast provides us with everything we value.”

The priest held up a hand to silence him, as if this was precisely what he expected to come of his announcement. The council whispered behind him. You felt your stomach roiling as you glanced to your parents. Just what did you all have to give a deity such as the beast? If your village had something he wanted, it was beyond you why he had not taken it by now.

Perhaps he was too kind a god to steal from his followers.

The priest went on, his voice booming and powerful enough to shake the earth atop its core. “What we will give the beast is no object, nor anything we can see or touch.” There came a pause, long and haunting. “The Bible commands a virgin must be sacrificed in order to appease an angered god.”

The church may as well have imploded upon itself. Mothers gasped and clutched their children to their breasts. Young girls looked to their parents and tugged on their sleeves, demanding to know what had just been said.

You felt your heart drop to your stomach as your head snapped around to take everything in. Your pulse quickened and you fisted your skirts, then hurried to drop your head again. Perhaps if he didn’t see you, his eyes would flit right over you.

It wasn’t much of a secret you were still a virgin, what with how none of the young men in the village had successfully caught your eye. That - and you just simply weren’t ready. It was as easy as so.

Now, you were wishing you had just gone and got it over with in the hay bales in the back of the stables like every other girl your age.

“Now, everyone, calm yourselves.” The priest’s soothing tone swept again over the crowd, and they focused their attention back to his tall figure upon the raised platform. “The council has already decided upon a soul to offer the beast. Before we call out their name, we must remember this is for the greater good of the village, and our people. If we do not offer the beast a peace offering, we will freeze and starve. Is this really what we want?”

No, it was not what they wanted.

Your mouth went dry and you tried to keep your breathing even as a council member handed the priest a small piece of paper, and he read it silently first. Then -

“Y/N.”

Your world came to a halt. The clocks stopped ticking. The creek outside stopped murmuring and whispering. You lifted your head to find every pair of eyes in the church upon you, including your parents’, your friends’, your neighbors’.

This couldn’t happen. You weren’t going to be sacrificed to a beast, to a god. You just wouldn’t. You still had so much to live for.

So you did the only thing you could think to do.

You ran.

Your feet carried you in a flurry of motion down the aisle and through the doors, down the steps and into the icy street.

You only made it a few more yards before one of the men grabbed you and hauled you back.

Reality became a twisted, mocking version of itself from then on. You forced yourself to disappear from your consciousness as they restrained you to keep you from running, chained you to a bench in the back of the church so that the elders of the council could spread your legs and ensure you were a virgin. You felt your face heat and tears roll down your cheeks as your legs involuntarily kicked and flailed, their touches upon your most intimate parts a violation of your soul.

You could not tell when that stage ended, and another began. They dressed you in the finest skirts and silks, painted your face and made your hair. If there had been a mirror present, and the circumstances had been far, far different, you were sure you would have enjoyed gazing at your reflection. Thought you looked pretty, even.

But the circumstances were not different.

The circumstances found you deep, deep in the woods, chained to an offering pedestal, and kneeling with your arms above you.

Waiting to be found by the beast.

Your tears had dried and your panic and fear turned to rage. Your parents and friends had only stood by and allowed everything that happened to you be done, too concerned with their own selfish needs to bother protesting. They had only said their goodbyes and sent you away, intent on feasting what the beast brought them in return for your beauty, your body, your virginity… your blood.

You didn’t know quite what to expect - if the beast even did find you. If he was even alive. If he even wanted what you had to offer. Perhaps he would uphold his honorable reputation, explain his absence and anger with the villagers, set you free to take the message to the others. Or perhaps he would ravish you, thrilled with the sacrifice, then clap those fabled rows of razor teeth into your neck and lick up the waterfalls of blood that would spew from your throat.

Or perhaps you would die of the cold first, and you wouldn’t have to be alive to endure any of it.

The crack of a twig in the wood snagged your attention. You lifted your head, previously hung to stare at the snow beneath you, and searched the dense forest around you. Another snap; from your left, this time. A third, to your right. Rustling. Dead ahead.

“Well, well, well. Don’t you look like Mary on a cross.”

You heard his voice before you saw him. It was deep and drawling, tipped with some foreign tongue you could not place. He accentuated his words, as if he would shame himself for stumbling even once, as if he craved the attention his sentences alone brought him.

The lone figure of a man stepped into your view from the wood, and you were unable to keep your lips from parting and your breath from hitching. He was tall, taller than your father when he stood to his full height, and he wore clothing unlike you had ever seen before. A shirt unbuttoned against the freezing temperatures, shiny boots to stamp in the snow. A thin coat that wagged at his calves and a hat atop his grey hair. A pair of leather gloves. And shaded specs perched on his nose, not for reading or seeing, but purely for fashion.

You could not deny, in that moment, that he was the most attractive man you had ever seen.

The beast approached you slowly, like an apex predator stalking its prey, and kept his hands in his pockets as he did so. You wondered if, beneath those gloves, his fingers extended into claws, like in the legends. You wondered if his teeth were as jagged as they said, if his eyes were gold like molten copper behind those shades.

He stopped before you, a feet away, and crouched down on his haunches so that he could be at your level. It seemed he found your thundering pulse and wide eyes humorous, because he answered two of your thoughts at once; he grinned wide, showing off perfectly normal human teeth, and pushed his shades further down his nose to reveal hazel eyes, nearly bordering on silver. Everything about him screamed ordinary, but you knew he was anything but.

“What have we here?” he asked, leaning in closer. You flinched and turned your head away, straining against the chains around your wrists. He stopped at your reaction and tilted his head rather curiously. “You can ease up, there, princess. I’m not going to hurt you.” He flashed you another blinding grin. “Yet.”

A shiver climbed up your spine, and it was not from the cold.

The beast hummed as he stood and examined the chains holding you to the offering pedestal. “What are you doing all the way out here?” he asked. He gave the linked metal a testing yank. “And why the hell are you in a position like this?” He gave a self-indulgent chuckle. “If you wanted a ride with the big bad beast, you only needed to ask.”

“I didn’t do this myself,” you snapped, the first thing you’d spoken since his arrival. You felt your blood turn to ice as he glanced over at your outburst. You swallowed your fear and took a shuddering breath; you were sure your lips weds turning blue by now. “The village believes you’re angry with them. With us. That you’ve abandoned us and a… a sacrifice was required to appease you.”

Another chuckle came from the beast’s throat, this one a bit more amused than the last. “Oh, fuck. I swear, you humans get more and more loony with that religious stuff every decade. Let me guess.” He circled the pedestal and came to a stop on your other side, then slid a leather-clad hand to cup your face and make you look up at him. His fingers were not sharp; instead, they were warm. “You’ve never gotten your skirt lifted - am I right?”

He laughed when you jerked your head away and refused to look at him.

“Well, I’ll give you this,” he said, then grabbed one of the chains with a powerful grip, “you’re one hell of a volunteer.” Like it was made of nothing but twine, he ripped the chain clean from the pedestal and dropped it to the ground. Your arm screamed in relief and you almost did, too. He moved on to the other chain. “And I hate to burst your little sacrilegious bubble, but I didn’t ‘abandon’ you people. Ever heard of taking a nap? Forgive me for sleeping in a little.”

You didn’t quite know how to respond to his words as he let the other chain down, and you were able to undo the clasps around your wrists. Sleeping? He had been sleeping, hibernating, even, and your people thought the world was ending?

How stupid they all sounded.

But you stuck to one bit of his dialogue - the piece that angered you the most. “I didn’t volunteer,” you said roughly as you rubbed your raw, tender wrists. He stopped from where he was now inspecting the heavy chains, gaze sliding to your hunched form. “They… they forced me to do this. They made sure I was still a virgin, and, and dragged me out here -“

“What’s your name?”

His simple request startled you from the rant you were preparing. You suddenly felt small beneath his intense gaze, and you found yourself huddling your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around your legs. “Y/N,” you whispered.

The beast dropped the chains, whatever interest he had in them now gone, and stalked closer. You cowered slightly, tilting your head away. He crouched, waited a moment, then reached out like he had before and took the point of your chin under his thumb. Gently, but still forcefully, he dragged your head back around so that you were looking right at him. With his other hand, he pulled his shades off, and you were able to gaze directly into those silvery eyes of his. You swore you could have seen stars dancing within the irises.

“Hate to be the one to tell you this, sweetheart,” he rumbled, his tone slightly different than it had been before, “but I’m going to kill those people for putting their hands on a pretty little thing like you.” He must have felt your breath hitch, because he tilted his head and brushed a thumb over your bottom lip; you were unable to stop the feeling of powerful heat that went straight to your core between your thighs. “Innocence is a treasure not many poor souls on this damned earth have any more; and who is man to take it from another for his own self preservation?”

He pulled away, and you let out the breath you were unaware you had been holding. The beast offered you a hand, and, your own still shaking slightly, you accepted. He hauled you to your feet and said, “Name’s Heisenberg. You can call me Karl; but only when it’s just you and I, pretty girl.”

Warily, you glanced over your shoulder, back toward the village. “You… you’re not going to -“

“Oh, no,” he said, then cupped your face and brought you close to his own. You found yourself leaning into his warm, warm touch. “Those pricks don’t deserve you; not after what they’ve done. Besides, I’d like to wait them out… see how long it takes for them to turn on one another when the cupboards empty out and there’s no one to bring them food.”

Blinking rapidly, you murmured low, “Why have you been…”

“Feeding you?” The beast - Heisenberg - said. You nodded. “Call me old fashioned, but I like the idea of helping people.” He slid his shades back on, and his enchanting gaze disappeared. “But only the ones who deserve it.” He took a few steps back to where he’d come from, then glanced back. “Coming?” he asked. A sick, twisted kind of smile blossomed across his lips. “Or, would you like to pay your dear people a visit? Have a little fun - the way they had theirs with you?”

You thought about your answer.

Then matched his sadistic grin.

Heisenberg gave a low laugh and swept back toward you, bringing his lips inches from yours. You did not shy away this time. “Oh, I think I’m going to like you.”

#karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenburg x reader #re8 karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x female reader #heisenberg x reader #heisenberg #resident evil heisenberg #resident evil vii #resident evil village #resident evil 8

[kottkrig]

I'm normal about them

#world of warcraft #undead #forsaken #the desolate council #dark ranger velonara #lilian voss #master apothecary faranell #calia menethil #deathstalker commander belmont #kottart

[mothervvoid]

1/1ch | 2.5k wc

Notes from Lilian on the Forsaken, post-council formation.

#wow fic #wow fanfiction #the desolate council #wow forsaken

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♰ ɄⱠ₮Ɽ₳ Ø₦Ɇ ♰

♰ Pairing: vampire!hyunjin x vampire!chubby!reader

♰ Genre: horror/angst

♰ Summary: A new drug's turning vampire's feral and when Hyunjin uncovers a plot to pin it all on you, he's determined to make your enemies pay even if he puts himself in danger in the process.

♰ Word Count: 2.3kish

♰ Warnings: mentioned drug use (it's synthetic blood), blood, burning alive, mentions of violence, strong language, stabbing, vampires obviously, low key psychotic love, pet names (baby, honey).

♰ A/N: I created this to have two parts. This one is more action-oriented and the second will be more romantic. I'm just trying to do my part to give us chubby badass vampire babes whose men love them enough to commit murder, ya know?

The underground club scene can grow quite boring for a vampire. Your first few blood raves make you feel more alive than you ever did when you actually had a pulse. But the ones that follow? They become so mundane and predictable that not even the introduction of human drugs can save them from losing their luster.

Enter a new drug, Ultra, synthetic blood by vampires for vampires. Guaranteed to fuck you up. One dose opens your eyes to a world far beyond your own. It mutates your cells. Alters your brain chemistry. Turns you into a brand new beast. The power you gain is addictive and the things you’ll do to hold onto it, the sins you'll commit, you don’t even want to imagine.

But you must imagine them. You are the one who created Ultra, or so they say, and some incredibly powerful people are looking to give you a taste of your own poison. Tell me, are you prepared to die? Again?

Distorted metal music ricochets off of the stone walls of the club with the force of a dozen automatic rifles firing all at once. The occasional rapid flashing of strobe lights illuminates the darkness, giving the few hundred bloodsuckers on the dance floor the closest thing to a sunrise that they can tolerate. Everyone dances except for one weasel of a man. A dealer slinking through the crowd in his worn leather jacket handing off vials of Ultra to this person and the next.

“I won’t have to do this for long,” he tells his friend at the bar when he stops to grab a drink. This friend, a fellow scumbag, grins as he knocks back a shot, completely unphased by the recent carnage caused by the shit his companion has been peddling. “The council says once I do this they can get rid of her and make room for me.” “Make room for you? Tell me you don’t really think those rich fucks would ever let us into their secret society”

The dealer nods to the bartender to give him his usual, “See, that’s your problem. You think too small. That’s why you’ll never get anywhere.” His friend only rolls his eyes, turning to check his surroundings before he leans in to offer some advice. “I’d be quieter about this if I were you. If she finds out you’re trying to set her up she’ll sick her dog on you then you won’t get anywhere either.” “Fuck her” the dealer spits, finishing off his drink, “She can sick her dog on me. I’ll just have to put him down.”

Agitated, he slams his glass down on the bar, nearly shattering it. “I’m supposed to be afraid of her?” he mutters, shoving the other man aside to turn down a winding hallway that leads to the back door. He stops in front of the door to dig for a cigarette, wincing at the brightness of the few working lights that dangle from the ceiling of the desolate hallway. The air shifts, growing colder around him, but he’s much too busy fidgeting with his lighter to notice the change. Too lost in the ecstasy of that first drag to notice the shadow along the wall closing in on him. “I don’t even know why they have to do all of this. Should just kill her. She’s just some stupid b—”  

An ice pick pierces his neck from behind, taking every twist and turn between his muscles before emerging on the other side. The cigarette falls from his lips, extinguished by the tiny pool of blood forming in vivid red on the concrete floor. “Just some what?” Hyunjin questions, rolling the ice pick between the man’s vertebrae. The sound of metal splitting bone is music to Hyunjin’s ears. “Speak! What were you going to call her?” The man opens his mouth but no answers tumble out. Only blood and desperate gasps for air. Tears begin to form in his eyes as the reality of his helplessness sets in.

Hyunjin leans over the man’s shoulder, his large hand reaching around to cover his mouth. “I should’ve known you’d have nothing interesting to say” he sighs, almost sounding disappointed, “You’re just some stupid bitch.” The ice pick slips out smooth as butter, finding a new home in the man’s left lung followed by his right. Hyunjin moves in a blur of darkness, leaving the man spinning in circles trying to predict where the next attack will come from.

Blood pours from a dozen different holes scattered across his body. He reaches out to grab the collar of Hyunjin’s expertly pressed suit only to pull back a fistful of nothing. The coldness, he feels it now as he drops to his knees, his vision darkening. One final stab, inches from his heart, is all he feels before the bulbs in the ceiling pop leaving him in the dark. 

“Oh, Jinnie, look! Here you are!” you sing from the comfort of a rose infused bubble bath. You ease down further into the steamy water, the rose petals dancing at the surface cloaking your naked body. “Pisces,” you begin to read off from the astrology book you’ve been flipping through, “As Jupiter aligns with Neptune in your house of love, you mustn’t shy away from sharing your true feelings with your partner—” Hyunjin kneels beside you, tilting your book back to view the title. He cracks a smile, “A Girl’s Guide to Astrology 2023. After a hundred years, you still believe in that stuff?” “Mmm, maybe” you shrug, running your black manicured nails through his slicked back hair.

Resting his head on the edge of the tub, Hyunjin closes his eyes and lets you massage his scalp. He could stay like this for hours, having you read to him by candlelight as your fingers melt away all that plagues him. “What are your true feelings? You seem troubled.” “No trouble, my love.” Tossing the book to the floor, you raise his head to look at you. It never fails, even after a century together, that looking into his eyes makes you want to melt. Beyond the beauty of his features lies a softness reserved only for moments like this. For moments with you. A softness that most men of your kind lacked even before they turned.

“You’re lying to me, Jinnie. What’s wrong?” One brush of your thumb across his cheek is all it takes to break his defenses. “You know that Ultra stuff that has everyone turning feral?” You nod, not daring to ask if he’d taken it. He’d never touch something like that. Not your Jinnie. Not when he’s seen firsthand what it does. It’d be hypocritical to say that neither of you lusts for violence. But violence directed towards people who don’t deserve it? Tearing the limbs from innocent lovers in the park? Slaughtering whole families? There’s no pride in that. “I caught the guy who’s been dealing it. He’s upstairs. I think—” Hyunjin pauses, bracing for your reaction, “I think the council plans to say that you made it.”

Your iris pulses an electric red, your heart pumping a pure searing hatred through your veins. The council. Five decrepit bastards who rule their own sectors of the city under the guise of keeping the peace between vampires and humans when in reality it’s all about the money. That’s all it’s ever been about. They’re criminals, the same as any mafia you’ve ever known, and you worked your ass off for your seat among them. They could never quite accept that a woman infringed upon their little boys' club. They would’ve put a stake through your heart a long time ago if it weren’t against their own bullshit rules. 

Rule #1: We never kill our own. The Consequence: Death. 

Ultra doesn’t just make vampires kill humans. It makes them kill each other. And finally, when their bodies can’t mutate anymore, it kills the host too. If they can pin this on you then you’re dead. You, every vampire under your protection, and Hyunjin—

Not him. Never him. 

You rip through the halls of your sprawling mansion, hearing Hyunjin’s voice as if it were far away at the end of a long tunnel. “Cover up at least, honey” he insists, throwing a flowy silk robe around your wet body. You slip your arms in, not missing a beat as you grab a blade from the wall on your way to the third floor. You can hear shallow breathing as if it were your own. The stench of whisky and blood floods your senses the closer you get, nearly making you nauseous. Kicking the door into your spare bedroom, you come upon the man plotting your death.

He’s chained to the bed, his clothes tattered where wounds from the ice pick have slowly begun to heal. You descend upon him, your blade pressed to his throat, fangs bared. “Tell me everything” you demand, realizing at once that you’ve seen him before. Nowhere in particular. Here and there. In places you never thought much of. Had his appearances there really been a coincidence? No, there was a reason. He’s been watching you all this time. How didn’t you see it? “No” he refuses, licking the dried blood from his bottom lip, “Kill me and you’ll burn for it. You both know that!”

You gasp, sitting up on top of him, “Oh no, baby, did you hear that?” Hyunjin leans against the wooden bedpost, his reappearance startling the man. “I heard. Kill him and we’ll burn” Hyunjin dramatically cowers in fear, “I’m so scared. We better be careful, huh?” “Mmhmm” you agree, inching the blade away from the man’s neck and burying it in the mattress beside his head. “Jinnie, how long do you think until sunrise?” Hyunjin makes his way to the window, peeking out at the breathtaking landscape that surrounds your home.

It’s early enough in the morning for the sky to still cling to hues of dark blue as the sun creeps up along the horizon. “Half an hour maybe.” “Would you be a dear and open the curtains? It’s so dark in here.” The man’s eyes dart back and forth, watching your smile grow more devious with each curtain Hyunjin ties open. “Wait, you can’t—” the man panics, struggling against his chains. “I know. I know. We can’t kill you!” you groan, climbing off of him, “But we’re gonna. I mean, thanks to you they’ll probably try to kill me anyway, and since you won’t answer any questions you’re useless.”

Hyunjin takes you by the hand, escorting you to the door. “You go to bed. I’ve got it from here” he whispers, kissing you on the forehead. You cross your arms defiantly, refusing to move an inch. “No, we’ll finish this together like we do everything else.” Hyunjin’s arms come around your waist, pressing your plush body to his. “I always take care of you, don't I?” he asks, his hands tracing your figure. “Always.” “Then go and wait for me, okay? This won’t take long.” You glance over at the man on the bed, your mind racing with all the things you could do to him. All horrors he’d very much deserve.

“Fine but hurry. You've been gone all night. I’ve missed you.” Your lips meet, sparking something that sets your body ablaze in a different way. One that has you tugging at the buttons on his shirt as your tongue teases the sharp points of his fangs. You don’t want to break away and neither does he. Once Hyunjin has his hands on you everything around him loses its importance. The only thing his body longs for—needs as if his survival depends upon it—is you. But he manages to turn you loose for your own safety, locking the door when you leave to be extra safe.

Without another word, he circles the room slowly closing each curtain he opened only moments ago. “What happened? Change of heart?” the man taunts, trying and failing to get a rise out of him. Hyunjin grabs the vintage French parlor chair positioned by the window and drags it to the darkest corner of the room. He sits in silence, his face void of emotion, his eyes unblinking. Hyunjin’s focus is no longer on his prisoner but on the evolution of the light that breaks through the curtains.

Minute after agonizing minute passes until the fear of the unknown forces the man to ramble off everything he can think of. Insults, confessions, pleas for mercy. None of it gets the slightest reaction until the faintest sunbeam casts its light on the carpet. Hyunjin rises, locking eyes with the man for the first time as he approaches the sunbeam. “My wife always said we all have special abilities. Things that make us unique,” he says, rolling up his left sleeve. “I didn’t believe her at first but then one day I got caught in the sun.”

Hyunjin shoves his forearm into the sunlight, his bare skin exposed to what should be eating through him like acid. “Nothing, see? It takes a while for me to burn but you—I have a feeling you’ll strike up like a match.” “No, please! You don’t understand!” Hyunjin smirks, twirling over to the window, “You don’t understand. You told my baby she’d burn. You first!” Hyunjin tears open the curtain nearest to the bed, letting the sun shine in at full power. “What a beautiful morning” he hums, sliding the others open to the tune of screams that would wake the dead.

The man on the bed is burning, his skin bubbling like he’s being deep fried. In a sense he is. The heat from the sun is cooking him. He feels every pop. Every sizzle. Tiny fires ignite, charring his skin. Hyunjin watches on, the steam rising from his own skin barely a tickle. He won’t leave this room before he’s seen him burnt to a crisp, reduced to nothing more than a charred corpse for him to deliver to the council as a warning of sorts.

Threaten what he loves and this is only a taste of the fate that awaits them.

#stray kids x reader #hyunjin x reader #stray kids x female reader #hyunjin x female reader #stray kids x chubby reader #stray kids x you #plus size reader #hyunjin x you #stray kids au #stray kids angst #hyunjin angst

[lovelykhaleesiii]

I love Egg/chubby Aegon. I feel that it is so attractive. 😭 But hey, this morning at university I came up with a TOTALLY DISTURBING AND GROSS idea. I would love for you to accept this request and write to my tough, horny, BIG DICK Aegon together with a young wife (Helaena lives happily in the country with a man who loves her) redhead and "fragile" high on Dornish herbs begging her husband totally horrified at the idea of ​​sharing a bed with her husband's brother in the face of his lord's infertility. ‼️I LOVE HOW YOU WRITE.

I'm so sorry for my English, it's horrible.

we are the same, chubby Egg is god-tier to me 😫🥵 getting flustered just thinking of him!!

apologies this took me forever to respond to, I appreciate you sending in the request (& your English is fine) 💖 hope you enjoy x

Splendid Husband, Obedient Wife.

PAIRING: chubby!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Reader x Aemond Targaryen.

WORDS: 3,864.

WARNINGS: mentions of infertility, oral (female) receiving, p in v sexual intercourse, swearing, hint of cheating (?), mentions of alcohol abuse, NSFW.

A/N - gosh I hope you really like this, I got sooo carried away in the fic so apologies it turned out long, but I found my way back!!! idk why but since having a mini hiatus, I feel a little nervous writing, but here we are!! enjoy lovely x

These past few, joyous months had been memorable yet fleeting. Betrothed to the Prince himself, Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, neither of you could've imagined how overly satisfied you would have been with each other upon meeting. Aegon was breath-taken by you the moment he caught you lonesomely wandering through the stony, ancient castle corridors, meeting you hours before the scheduled feast. You were taken aback by your husband to be, having heard viper-quick whispers, his notorious reputation preceding him, initially made you doubtful the union would survive prior to having met the man. Although, Aegon had quashed such vile allegations with much determination.

He was tender when it came matters relating to you, not wishing to cause unnecessary haste and spectacle, he was surprisingly quite grounded. If he could avoid conflict, he would, you both rarely got into arguments since he always listened to your opinions, always probing and advocating for your to speak and voice your concerns or judgements. His persona quite charming and meek with you, exterior wise, he did impose more of an oppposing effect, which also could've explained why you remained so guarded during the initial acquaintance stage. He seemed rather ruggard and rough, his Targaryen blonde hair remained short and unkempt, unlike his younger brothers. The Prince over the years had also developed a larger frame, despite having kept up with regular combat training, his gluttonous appetite to feast and drink was far more impressive, than any other young man in court. If you were being frank, it was actually appealing to you: it made him look brute, convincing you he was a force not to be reckoned with, and it seemed many shared this mutual belief, for no one dared to openly spare with Aegon in the training yard nor during council meetings.

He was rather a splendid husband, and an even more seasoned lover.

He did confess, during his youth and prior to meeting you, he did spend most of his lonely nights in the carnal company of whores and prostitutes. Hearing widespread rumours, even before your betrothal, of the Prince having sired bastards with these unknown women, you'd never come to see of any 'proof' for Aegon did not relish in speaking nor rekindling of such desolate memories.

"I was in a terrible place, my dearest. And I know, that is no valid excuse for how I acted nor carried myself, and yet I somehow ended up so lucky... With you."

He was not proud of such dark endeavours, upon thorough reflection and now being a married man devoted to his wife, Aegon was regretful of his youthful decisions. Although, during such a dark time in his life, he did not think it possible for someone to love him. To genuinely love him, without any political agenda nor catch to the arrangement. And despite, your betrothal being arranged between two highborn houses, undeniably, your love naturally blossomed like a lily in the spring.

However, unsurprisingly, people often spoke quietly, amongst themselves, yet harshly of your union. Always eager to stir the pot, and with time having passed since the exquisite marriage ceremony, the target was you.

"It has been three long months, Aegon, and your wife is still not yet with child." His discerning mother provoked: Alicent conditioned from a young age, believed this to be a serious concern that she'd often expressed amongst you three in private.

Since the viscous rumours began to spread like sprouts of weed amongst the court, Alicent had been even more persistent with her eldest son to conceive an heir with you. And although, the sex with Aegon was far from scarce, you had not yet fallen pregnant, which eventually made you anxious, as to whether your body was capable to breed. The question that poisoned your mind, was whether the culprit of infertility was Aegon, himself, or you…

“And how are we to figure this out, Aegon? For all I know, I may be the rotten spouse, useless in performing her wifely duties. They’ll have you marry another, more vibrant, more fertile lady, as you toss me aside out of sight and mind,” You tensely spat, carefully seating yourself down by the foot of the king-sized bed, your mind anxiously pondering over your dreaded future. You had an awful habit of picking and biting your nails, and Aegon had grown familiar with this, a blatant sign of distress.

Hastily he knelt before you, his large, rough hands gripped over yours, to stop you from picking at yourself, his touch halting your haste train of thought.

“We shall figure this out, my dearest. Trust… I will find a solution. You need not to worry of what others think, nor would I ever think to discard you in such a way. You are mine, as I am yours. I am bound to you till the end of time.”

A faint, half-hearted smile beams against your tender face, as you focus and cup Aegon’s portly, familiar face. To think of the possibility, that you might be the reason hindering Aegon from having children of his own, pains your heart achingly and yet, through the adversity, he remains still unfalteringly by your side. The fears settle for now, as a warm calm washes over your body, tears that had initially swelled in your eyes from sadness, now shed with the relief of joy, as you plant a soft kiss on Aegon’s forehead. You have faith in your husband, as he remains devoted to you. You trust that Aegon’s determined nature, he will find a way to give you a child, whether the Gods deemed it natural or not…

****

“Aegon, dearest, you cannot be serious? I truly hope you realise, what you are asking of me!” You frustratingly shout, as Aegon storms towards you in a haste, his hands gesturing for you to quieten down, as he takes a quick glance towards the main door, before focusing his attention solely on you.

“Y/N, you and I both know this is the only way we could ever really know if either I am the problem or there may be something hindering you from carrying. It’s either this or I sleep with another woman. And I swore even before our marriage, I would never even think to look at another... And besides, if you happen to fall with child, the resemblance would be uncanny! No one would ever know besides us three, and it shall remain that way, right brother?-”

Instinctively, both Aegon and yourself gradually turned to face Aemond, who remained silently and comfortably seated on the opposing end of the room, near the active fireplace. He seemed distracted in his own deep thoughts, as his gaze lingered across the dancing orange flames, the shadows and light perfectly outlining the sharp details and silhouette of his face. Aegon called for him again, managing to snap the younger back to reality facing your direction. A stoic look remained donned across his handsome face, although his eye remained fixated on you.

"Yes. Of course. Not a living should shall hear of such... Treason," Aemond teasingly uttered, a sly smirk appearing on his face, as he playfully fiddled with some sort of stone in his long fingers. His eye turned from Aegon, to you before resuming the direction of the flames once more. He seemed unphased and yet he did not disagree to such an unlawful scheme.

Why that was, you could not say with certainty. Perhaps this could be something he could hold over Aegon's head, which only infuriated you more. Potentially passing his bastard son as Aegon's rightful heir... It was dangerous, although the only viable option. The pressure of the realm, the tiresome burden of the expectations felt all too real these past few weeks, and this option was the only source of relief.

"And what if I do not fall pregnant, then what, Aegon? You would have no use of me, I would mean nothing to you. You have sired bastards before with unknown women, why not yet with me-"

"Don't say that-" One hand immediately stretched out reaching over towards yours that dangled hopelessly by your side, and his other reaching over towards your flustered cheek, his thumb grazing over your soft skin.

His height, although not as tall as his youngest, still towered over your polite frame. The distance now closed, you could examine the heartache struck across his face, as his glistening, lilac eyes lingered over you.

"Don't you ever speak those words again. You mean everything to me. With or without a child, Y/N, I shall love you always. You are mine. Mayhaps I have had a few children, although that was when I was young and futile, perhaps the drinking has rendered me impotent..."

You remain defeated in silence, engraining Aegon's sincere words into the core of your troubled mind, although feel another lingering gaze peering towards you. Hesitantly you turn ever so slightly towards Aemond direction, only to notice he'd been observing you both intently the entire time, his head slightly tilted in your direction, you'd caught him watching from his peripheral vision. You couldn't help but notice a sorrowful hint across his face, the smirk that had once eagerly occupied his lips, now disappeared, remaining pursed, before his eye dropped towards the view of the stony, cold floor.

"Y-You promise you'll stay with me," Your voice softly broke, as you choked against your words. Hot tears began to swell in your eyes, for you felt the guilt of betrayal fester in the pit of your stomach. Aegon would argue that this be a lesson for his past transgressions, and yet he did not disprove nor fight... He accepted what needed to be done.

"I promise, baby. It'll just be like how we always do it, okay?" His hand that cupped your face, now gently gripped your chin, as his thumb traced over your bottom lip. His sweet, upturned smile gleaming on his face, as he stroked away the few tears that managed to stream down.

"You may prepare yourself however you need to brother, I'll get her ready."

****

Aegon stayed true to his word, he mindfully eased you into the act. Wanting to warm your body up for the hopeful conception, undressing you, soothing you into the mindset to fuck.

"Such a good, good girl for me, so obedient."

He breathlessly whispered, in between each passionate kiss. His larger frame hovered atop of yours sprawled against the wide, soft bed. His trousers remained on, however his chest bare, his fleshy tummy pressed against your own, weighing you down as one hand glid gently across the sides of thigh, whilst the other supported your neck, shoving your face deeper into his as you kissed. Aegon being slightly heavier, he often succumbed to his weight, pinning himself down even more against your smaller body, and in this precise moment, you could feel his throbbing cock hardening against your exposed cunt.

"Hmm, Aegon-" You carelessly moan, the heat of your breath leaving a small, fade of moisture against his plump skin, as his lips escape yours.

He begins to leave a soft, wet trail of kisses down your neck line, making his way slowly towards the cleavage of your breasts, causing your body to eagerly shudder against his suckling motion. Hitting your sensitive spot, a small giggle escaped your lips, and moments after, you could feel Aegon's smile appearing against your skin in response.

"That's it baby, be the good girl that I know you are for me-"

As he repositioned his body further down, aligning his face towards the entrance of your now moist cunt, your gaze from the ceiling, as you opened your lustful eyes, down towards Aegon, you momentarily glimpsed as he gestured for his brother to join, tilting towards your direction.

Aemond now stripped naked, his body far more slimmer and lean than his older brother, you easily noticed the trace and outline of his prominent muscles. Although you greatly favoured Aegon's body and layer of fat that molded against his muscles, you could not deny that Aemond was a handsome figure also. It seemed the image of the Targaryens, regardless of shape nor size, were created authentically and yet so perfectly, by the favour of the Gods.

Laying himself cautiously down by your side, as though not to tease the risk of startling you, your unphased focus remained reciprocated towards each other, and yet there was no hesitation on Aemond's part, as his hand reaching over towards your face, as his long fingers gently seeped their way into the strands of your hair.

"Do not fret, Y/N. I am only here to perform my duty to the realm-"

And without a second to spare, Aemond's defined lips plummeted down against yours, where Aegon's once met. You felt that dreadful feeling beginning to entice in the depths of your stomach, an uneasy feeling churning as his tongue managed to peak its way through the gap of your mouth. Although, the sudden, reassuring squeeze of Aegon's hand in yours, as he looked up towards you, a small, warm smile reappearing on his face, your felt yourself beginning to give into the kiss.

"My sweet, sweet girl," Aegon's familiar, deep voice proclaimed, before his face began to comfortably nestle between your inner thighs. His mouth now agape at your entrance, his warm, wet tongue now began to lap at your wet folds, licking up the wetness that began to seep through, shoving himself deeper and deeper as he ate you out.

"Hmm", a low growl escaped your beloved husband's ravenous mouth, as Aegon's hands each snaked around your soft thighs, firmly pulling your legs further and further apart, in an attempt to widen the space to accomodate for his broad frame. Although he also felt the primal urge to widen your entrance more, as he delved his thick tongue deeper into your cunt, burying his face into the sensitive crevice of your wet entrance. He was known for his large appetite and that never stopped with feasts, he was always starving for your sweet, delicate taste.

As Aegon remained occupied below, Aemond found himself beginning to gain confidence and familiarity up top. Remaining by your side, slightly higher above you, his lean arms now snaked around your waist, in a poor and slight attempt to turn your body more towards him, as his lips remained encased against yours. Although, with Aegon's weight below, pinning you down from turning completely, your upper body remained slightly tilted towards him, one of his hands supporting your back from beneath as to not strain you, whilst the other began to firmly massage the swollen cup of your breast.

"A-Aemond-" You pleasantly whisper, uncertain of whether you wished for the moment to cease nor continue, you could not say. Aegon's tongue encircling your clit, whilst Aemond massaged the sweet spots of your tender breast, you lost the power of your own consciousness, helpless against the actions of the Targaryen brothers.

"Say it, Princess. Say my name, just like that-"

"Aemond" You moaned again, obedient to the younger brother's stern words, that he growled against your ear, it naturally sent a thrill of shivers coursing down your spine. Instinctively, a visceral reaction to the electrifying licking of Aegon's tongue between your inner folds, often grazing over your clit, your hips thrust forward, as your back arched, craving for more.

The oozing remnants of your cum that escaped Aegon's eager, ravenous mouth, would drip through the gaps and crevices down your inner thighs. Traces smothering against Aegon's plump cheeks form the jerky movements the sprung between you two.

"Okay brother, she's ready when you are-" And without a minute to spare, as though the brothers miraculously communicated telepathically, they jumped into action. Aegon breathless, stood himself up from the bed, leaving his younger brother to finish his mess. He attended to himself, hastily wiping his mouth clean with his hand, licking your sweet aftertaste from his fingers, as though he'd just devoured a succulent roast, savouring the moment, as he seated himself by the vacant seat near the dim fireplace. Aemond on the other hand, now positioned himself swiftly over you, his tip hovering over your entrance, before easing himself in. You'd closely noticed he was not as thick as his brother, as you easily took his mass between your folds, he did not stretch you out as his eldest brother would, however his cock was long and veiny, able to bury himself deeper into you.

"Are you okay?" He uttered, his eye fleeting over your tender, flustered face. You hadn't realised the precise moment he'd removed the notorious black, leather eye patch, as now a sapphire gem glistened back at you, in replacement of his lost eye.

"Y-Yes, I'm okay."

Slowly, ever so carefully, Aemond began to pace his thrusts, adjusting to your walls naturally clenching around his cock, you were unaware of whether Aemond had previously laid with a woman or not, although he seemed knowledgable enough to know what was required of him and how it needed to be done...

"Fuck-" He lowly moaned, as he shut his eyes instinctively, gradually beginning to fasten his pace. Aegon was often sloppy and slow when it came to fucking you, occasionally when he was close to his climax did he manage to gather some speed, although being a larger man, his endurance was easily exhausted, and he required periods of rest. Otherwise, he much preferred you working for it.

Aemond on the other hand, was eager to gain momentum himself, rather him putting in the effort. His body began to weight itself down against the forces of gravity, shoving and readjusting himself between your legs. Your arms had instinctively wrapped around Aemond's back, clinging to his muscular shoulders, for steadiness. You took his readjusting as a sign to bend them further up, bringing your knees up forward, as many woman had advised you in private councils, this to be an effective method to successfully take a man's seed.

You ashamedly couldn't bring yourself to turn to face Aegon, uncertain if he watched on closely as his younger brother fucked himself inside his own wife, or if he dared not burn the image into his memory. Regardless, it was happening, and if he wanted to he could've stopped it in a heartbeat, although no protest came from his end.

"Ugh, fuck-" Aemond repeatedly uttered, his breathing more shallow and fast, his head now resting against the side of your head, his grip on your hip and the other behind the crook of your sweaty neck tightened naturally. You mustered all the possible strength and will power you could, to not moan in response to Aemond's penetration, your lips pressed and pursed tightly, against the feeling of his cock throbbing intensely from within, occasionally managing to hit your sweet spot. His long, platinum hair had been he'd tied back into a low ponytail, as to keep it away from irritating your face, although your fingers found their way towards the back of his scalp, eagerly tugging at its roots.

"I'm so fucking close-" He panted, before groaning audibly, you were certain Aegon heard... Almost a bashful look struck across his chiseled, sweaty face, as he failed to maintain eye contact with you, turning to look up towards the head of the bed. It made you blush to think that you were causing such a visceral, feral reaction from the younger Prince.

The feeling of his warm load coating your insides, caused a much anticipated exhale of breath to escape your moist mouth, leaving your chest to heave in exhaustion, as your tits jiggled with each breath. Aemond's remained inside for a few minutes, making sure you took all of his seed well enough, he took the moment to compose his breathing too, as his hands stretched out on each side, cowering over you.

"The deed is done, brother-" Aemond breathlessly, uttered, as now he removed himself from within you, standing himself up off the bed, whilst Aegon returned to your side.

Hastily, he grabbed a set of fluffed pillows, from the head of the bed, positioning them just below your hips and bottom, causing your lower body to incline.

"Stay like this baby, it will help let the seed travel through you." He'd also managed to gather a blanket for you, as he covered your naked self, seating himself by your side, as he prepared a wet cloth to wipe over your forehead.

Still slightly breathless, you couldn't help though feel the hot tears begin to swell and fall from your eyes, as you examined what you had assumed was a dejected look on Aegon's face. You felt immensely guilty, and had wished he had not witnessed what he'd witnessed.

"I-I'm so sorry Aegon, how could you ever look at me the same."

His brows furrowed in haste, saddened once more by your words, he edged himself closer towards you, shushing you easily like a babe.

"Don't you ever think that, Y/N. This was my plan, my decision. I need to know if I am truly the problem, and if so what is to be done. This had to happen baby, do not think otherwise... Be thankful, Aemond was a willing candidate, he will not speak a word of this rest assured."

You stifle your cries, as Aegon parallel wipes away your fallen tears, and the strands of mottled hair. Aemond in the meantime, remains quiet and reserved, occupied with redressing himself, perhaps he too, feels ashamed.

"You promise to stop the drinking, no more ale, or wine or beer. And that you'll see the maester for some cure or remedy?" You persist, as you reach to grab Aegon's hand in yours.

"I promise I will," Aegon utters, leaning down towards you as he plants a soft kiss on your warm forehead, exchanging soft smiles with one another.

You turn to face Aemond with a thankful look, although he immediately cowers his gaze towards the floor.

"Perhaps I should leave-" Aemond awkwardly suggests, his focus fleeting from his brother to you, only to return back towards the ground, the faint sounds of his feet shuffling anxiously.

"Aemond-" You stretch out a hand over towards the mattress, and hesitantly Aemond returns the favour, holding your hand in his.

"I, well- We both do genuinely appreciate you for doing this. I understand it's an unimaginable thing to ask of someone, especially the secrecy that is to come with it, but rest assured... If the Gods do bless me with a child, I shall be honoured for you to remain present in the babe's life."

Aemond slowly nods his head in agreement to your words, a shy smile forming over his handsome, young face as your grip of him tightens reassuringly.

"The honour was mine, that you both entrusted me with this responsibility. I would wish for nothing more than that, thank you, Y/N. Although, I trust you both shall make dutiful, happy parents, by the efforts you both have gone to... The babe shall be blessed with a loving family, indeed."

#aegon ii targaryen #tom glynn carney #TGC #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen #chubby!Aegon ii #chubby!aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen smut #aemond targaryen smut #aegon ii targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen imagines #aegon ii targaryen imagine #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon ii targaryen fanfic requests #aegon ii targaryen fanfiction #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon x y/n #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond x reader x aegon #aemond x fem!reader x aegon #aemond x y/n x aegon #aemond targaryen angst #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #hotd imagines

[vaethryn]

loved how three of the desolate council members are from the uncrowned

#i dont really have new art to post so here are some deaders #world of warcraft #forsaken #love those terrible sewer guys #lilian voss #deathstalker commander belmont #master apothecary faranell #my art