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petalsnthorns · 1 year ago

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Come What May

Episode 4/?

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Padawan!Reader (little one)

Warnings: slight angst, mentions of pregnancy and miscarriage, allusions to smut but no actual smut. canon typical violence, robbery?? idek y'all

A/n: I can't believe I edited this in one sitting but here u go now be fed and I'll probably post another one in two months lol

NINE YEARS LATER…

The sand was relentless, as it always was. Such was the life on Tatooine.

The days, though boring and long, brought a sense of peace and security to you. It was comfortable, and you didn’t have to worry about being chased.

Life with Obi was still blissful, though he’d become a different sort of person than he used to be. He was still yours, and one thing that would never change in his life was his unending love and devotion to you. Over all the bad things, you were still there, and if that was so, his life could never be all bad.

He became grumpy easily, but you often teased him, joking about how old he was truly getting. He’d hate when you pointed it out, because he already felt so much older than he had when the war was going on. Many would argue that it aged him, but truth be told, he was perhaps living the youngest days of his life back then.

You, of course, had continued to mature into the beautiful woman he’d always seen before. You looked different, sure… but all the ways you’d changed, he would think were for the better. He loved how normal you seemed. It was always so much more peaceful, living here. It was mundane and often quiet, but it was peaceful, and far less demanding of your former lifestyle. He had always hoped you could live a simple and sweet life, maybe not on this maker-forsaken planet, but having days that were just the same.

The daily routine was easy, and by now implanted in both of your minds. It was second nature, and hard to mess up even if you tried. The mornings were always slow, as the work hours were different from what you’d once known. After dragging each other from the warm confines of bed, there was a shared silence that would fall over you both as you continued to ready yourselves for each job you had. You had the fat end of the stick, getting to work in the city. You were legally dead across the galaxy, and the empire had no warrant for you in any scanner known to the systems. Especially not in the outer rim.

Obi-Wan had taken up the name Ben, the name he remembers from childhood. He doesn’t know if it was his original name, or if it was the name of his father, but it belonged to him somehow, and he felt it was easy to go by.

An hour was spent riding to anchor-head everyday, in order to clock in for your shift, and for him to catch a speeder to whatever work station they needed him at for the day. Lately he’d been harvesting flying Tibidon sand whales for their meat. He never failed to bring back a sliver of what he cut for your Eopie. It was something he did out of habit by now, but it somehow reminded you of a small thing he used to do for you many years ago.

Back in the age of the Jedi, before the clone wars ever began, Obi-Wan Kenobi had two padawans. One was the chosen one, and though he was often found to be a trouble maker, he was still the favorite among the two. The other was a small girl, not yet grown to her full capabilities. She always had a strong appetite, though, and the meals given to her were never enough to satisfy her growing form. Obi-Wan was quick to notice little things like this, and always saved his portion of Ksharra bread for her to eat after everyone was finished. The smile it brought to her was not soon forgotten…

What a sweet memory, and you almost always thought about it when you were watching him interact with the Eopie. He was gentle to all creatures, even after he became a bit hardened and settled into his new role of life.

After the ride home, there were meals that were shared in a comfortable quiet, and then a discussion of the day. It was definitely a more quaint way to live, but you preferred it to the horrid idea of running for years on end. You always told him how thankful you were to be with him, to have him amidst everything. It was he who you remembered the earliest in your life, being there for you, watching out for everything you faced, and helping you through it. He was still doing that, in a way. Though it were not by the force, he gave advice of work topics, different moody customers that would come in during the day, and even just ideas to help the work day seem faster.

It was only after he left for bed, with you watching the stars rise, that you were able to meditate. To revel in the force and to trust in its ways without anyone stopping you. Not to say that Obi-Wan would stop you, but he perhaps would try and convince you it still was not safe. It was you, however, that kept up your daily strength by meditation, and use of the force without his knowledge.

Though he would never know, your strong uses of the force were the thing that helped him sleep through the night, as he often woke up with nightmares, stirring your slumber as well and making you alert to the bad things his mind conjured. It was mostly Anakin, because how could it not be? He was his Master and his best friend, a true brother and ally. He had to have felt some sort of responsibility for what happened to him, all leading up to his death.

You too felt semblances of guilt, but you dealt with it in other ways. For him, these nightmares were often occurrences, and it was due to you that he got any sleep at all.

He would sometimes sit straight up at a moment’s notice, scaring you awake and realizing what had happened. He would breath fast and loud and not be able to slow it down, not even when you wrapped your arms around him from behind, whispering soothing words like he once did for you in your time of nightly terrors. At first, he was lucky to get back to sleep at all… but the more it happened, he found you being near him helped to calm him back to sleep. He’d cut himself off from the force, he had no use of it anymore. He didn’t know it was because of your old developed ability to take away the bad dreams. You always slept soundly beside him, even before you were together. Whenever he was laid next to you, there was not a dream that could plague your mind for the worse.

There was one night when he woke up, calling his old Master’s name. He sometimes dreamt of the way he died. He felt as though it was also his fault, that he could have prevented the Sith Lord Maul from destroying his only father figure.

It was all you could do, to sit with him, and try and calm his mind… but that night was harder. He had begun counting his failures as if they were stars, making them the only thing in the forefront of his mind, and rejecting anything that wasn’t his detrimental thoughts.

You sat with him until sunrise that day, but once the twin suns were over the dunes of everlasting sand, the day went on as normal. The small moments of grief and self loathing were forgotten.

It happened this way, only sometimes.

Something that brought you both peace on the bad days was going out to the hills and crests outside of the moisture farms specifically that being owned by Owen and Beru Lars. It would never be uttered aloud, for these thoughts brought on more episodes of sadness, but watching a small boy grow up in the sandy plains was always bittersweet. Though Luke wasn't a starpilot, or a jedi knight, or a cunning strategist... he reminded you so much of Anakin. You knew Anakin at this age, and all the years after. Even little gestures Luke sometimes made to his aunt and uncle, would send a pang of guilt through your chest. Anakin should be the one watching his son grow up. You all should be retired somewhere nice, like Naboo, with Padme watching over the twins as Anakin and Obi-Wan once again conversed like the brothers they used to be. Bittersweet, watching Luke learn to tend the farm like his uncle, instead of watching him play with his sister whom he knows nothing about.

Obi-Wan would never admit it either, but it was both healing and detrimental to observe Luke from a distance. He was closer to the boy's father than Owen ever was, and much more deserved the title of uncle... but it was not to be. Obi-Wan was a hunted man, and allowing Luke to be close to him could be dangerous.

Obi-Wan would bow his head sometimes after watching the boy, trying to make sense of how everything in his life could have lead to to this, and what could have possibly gone wrong that the galaxy was this bad. He could not even have a relationship with the son of his dearest friend.

Recently, he had delved into something of an addiction for him, something that was a grounding tool to help him realize he wasn’t going insane in these days of mundane work and internal chaos on this maker-forsaken planet. Others might see it as normal, but he had never been so insatiable before now. He craved one thing, constantly… you.

Whether it be through physical intimacy, or even small touches of your skin, he couldn’t get enough, and it was causing him to form strong habits that would not soon falter. You were of course all too happy to indulge him, as for a long time after you first came to these mountains, there was a block between you. The emotional force bond being broken disrupted many things, and that was one of them. You hoped sincerely that this was not just a rut he found himself in, and that it would only last so long. You’d missed the late nights, shared kisses and times of devotion to one another. He was such a gentle and skilled lover, anyone would have killed to know this side of him, but it was you he chose, again and again.

Though one half of the dyad was not felt in the force, he was still the love of your life, and you’d come to know him in a different way these past years. He was not necessarily a new person, but knowing him without the force, and without your constant ability of silent communication, he did become unfamiliar at times.

Still, he was Obi.

Always, he was Obi… even when everyone else used the name Ben, you would never give up the way you’d called upon him since you were but three years old. In public, he was just Ben Kenobi, who worked out in the dunes of Tatooine for a days wage… but in your eyes he was still the great protector of the republic, the General of the 212th legion, and a Master of the Jedi council. Obi-Wan Kenobi.

You were late again.

Not to work.

You didn’t tell Obi of your suspicions, feeling as though there could be a mixed reaction from whatever came of your condition, if you were indeed under the diagnosis you felt you were.

It had been ten years, and you were sure you’d retained internal damage that might prevent this outcome, but of course, the galaxy has seen far more impossible things come to fruition. Anakin’s mother conceived him without a man at all, so with the rate that your husband and yourself were going, it was almost bound to happen.

You left work earlier than usual, and gave an easy excuse to your employer as to why, and he of course was more than happy to oblige. You were a loyal and decent worker, so he never had any reason not to. There was a small clinic in Anchorhead, not as far advanced or technical as the one you were able to go to in Mos Eisley, but good enough that you would find out what you need to know, or what you were certain you already knew.

Being still deeply connected with the force, you were able to tell something was there, just like the first time, although now there was a slight difference that made you question it at first. Obi still had no idea, and how could he? You hadn’t let on to it at all and there wasn’t an ounce of strangeness to your behavior. Throw in the fact that he can no longer sense those kind of things, and you have a completely oblivious husband.

The medical droid who tended to you was outdated, but even with old mechanisms and past due needed upgrades, it deducted your symptoms to a diagnosis rather quickly.

You were eleven weeks pregnant, no doubt about it after some quick testing.

Though you were nervous of what this could mean for you, it was far more of a joy. You never thought this would be possible again, given the circumstances of the last time leaving you with injuries that should have made you completely unable to reproduce.

You were so excited as you went back into work, reeling from the information, and trying to think of ways to tell the father of this child that he was in-fact getting another chance at his dream. It wasn’t how you both had planned. You’d wanted to settle down amongst your friends, on a beautiful planet like Naboo. You had hoped for the freedom of the galaxy to give you the opportunities of a peaceful existence. Instead, you were stuck here, on Tatooine. The ugliest planet in the outer rim and much worse than you remember it from your first visit all those years ago. It was all for a reason, of course. Obi-Wan was a wanted man, in nearly every system there was a bounty on his head, with more than enough hunters out searching for him to bring his body dead or alive to the empire. You, of course, being legally dead and all, could go anywhere you wanted… but without him you saw little point in traveling away.

This child would mend the broken dreams you both had for the future, you were sure of it.

You went back about your work with a gleeful smile adorning your face, being extra friendly to patrons and even giving them a little extra for their buck. You couldn’t help the joy, it was too strong to keep bottled up for later. You were sure, though, it would still remain long into the day, and all the others after.

You’d been cleaning out a glass behind the counter when it happened. A group of robbers from out in Mos Eisley came rushing in, holding everyone at blaster point and shouting for them to get down. You grabbed a knife from the nearby drawer, trying to strategize through the force how to deescalate the situation without hurting anyone. Your skills were just the slightest bit rusty, even though you practiced whenever you got the chance. A knife wasn’t exactly your weapon of choice.

The leader of the group stepped forward to the owner of the bar, and told him to empty the credit holds into his sack, but the owner hesitated, turning your way as if asking what he should do. You started taking quick steps towards him, pushing him out of the line of the blaster before it could go off. You waited for them to start shooting, but instead heard the ignition of a lightsaber. Or at least, it sounded a hell of a lot like one.

You jumped to your feet, watching over the counter as the scene played out. There was a man, around your age, wielding a lightsaber to defeat the robbers. They all went down pretty quickly, except one whom the man didn’t see behind him. You called for him to watch out, but he didn’t have enough time to react, so you raised your hand, focusing all your force energy on throwing the last enemy to the wall before he hit the ground.

He turned to you, eyes wide and saber still ignited.

“Did you just-?” He narrowed his eyes in your direction, and something seemed to click in his head.

Nobody else had seen you do that, but him seeing it was enough.

The bar rang with cheers and clapping in applause for the Jedi, who had saved the people in the establishment from being harmed by the robbery. They all commended him, and you had half a mind to forget it ever happened, just go back to work, but the man was keen on speaking with you. Even after the owner, and your boss, had spent a rather long time thanking him and offering him solace in the place, he wouldn’t be done until he’d had a word.

You were mixing up celebratory drinks for a few patrons when he finally was able to corner you, standing over the bar and keeping his voice down.

“I know who you are,” he said softly, as if trying not to spook you away. Most Jedi were like rare animals nowadays. Almost extinct, and completely vulnerable to sudden attack.

You set the glasses onto a tray and made eye contact with him for a single second, sending a glare his way before you went out to the tables and served the drinks around. He stayed and waited at the bar, and when you came back he sighed out.

“I know this must be hard, but I haven’t seen another Jedi in so long,” he rambled, all under the guise of a whisper, of course. You wouldn’t lie, as much as you feared the empire for everything it has taken from you, it was almost a breath of fresh air to see there were others, who hadn’t been stomped out by their evil yet.

“I was never a Jedi,” you said, but ultimately, you knew, no matter what you said, he knew who you were. As strange as it sounds, being the padawan of a famous Jedi came with some sort of notoriety. “You’ve got the wrong person.”

“I know that it’s you, because you’re supposed to be dead,” he had seen your name on the list of the deceased Jedi, along with his own name on the list of hunted ones.

“I am dead.”

He isn’t sure what he was expecting you to say, maybe that you’d been like him, hiding for the last ten years and hoping that there would come a time when Jedi could arise again. But that wasn’t realistic. As long as the empire held rule over the galaxy, there could never be peace and freedom. Not for your kind, anyway.

“And I’m not coming back,” you added ominously, cleaning out the glasses that had just been set on the counter for you to deal with.

He stayed silent a few moments, but didn’t leave. Even if you didn’t speak to him, you understood why he lingered. The only Jedi you have in your life anymore is Obi-Wan, but he’s cut himself off from the force. There is no familiarity of what was. This man is probably on his own, and has been all this time. He craves the sense of normalcy your presence is probably bringing right now. Perhaps you crave it too, and maybe it’s the reason you don’t shoo him away.

“He’s here too, isn’t he?” He asked after a while.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” you weren’t doing yourself any favors in gaslighting this poor man, but you’d built yourself a wall of protection, and it wasn’t going to come down so easily.

“You were inseparable,” he recalls, and he knows you understand him, and that you’re just being standoff-ish. “I always wished to have that relationship with my Master.”

“Believe me, the relationship was far different from what everyone assumed it to be,” You let out sarcastically, finally being able to let your guard down a bit, but only enough that you could interact with him in a way that wasn’t stingy. You’d keep all current details hidden. He wanted to rehash the past? Fine, you could give him that.

“What it ended up as isn’t any of my business, but from what I could tell, the laws of attachment didn’t exactly apply.”

You huffed out a breath, followed by a drawn out ‘Nope.’

You thoughts shifted a bit, to just how poorly you followed the rules. You’re carrying the man’s child for force’s sake. You were never much one for the laws of attachment.

The man before you had a dumbfounded face on, and you mentally slapped yourself. You hadn’t been guarding your thoughts. You haven’t had to in so long and before you realized you needed you, it all just slipped into the open air.

“I’m sorry,” he uttered, bowing his head as if he’d been the one to provoke you. In actuality, you’d pretty much offered it all up freely for him to take, and you didn’t even know what to do about it.

“Don’t be, it’s my fault… it’s just-“

“Been a long time?” He guessed, and you nodded in agreement. “I understand.”

And now a complete stranger knew some very personal things. Perhaps he wasn’t stranger, though. He knew you, and Obi-Wan, and remembered the order from its glory days. You both had a sense of shared trauma that somehow bonded you without ever speaking a word to each other before.

“How did you recognize me?” You asked him after another bout of silence. You were drying off the dishes, and figured that as long as he was here, you would make the most of it. This clearly wasn’t an everyday occurrence. “I’m almost certain I’ve never met you up close before.”

He smiled, nodding to your hair, swept back into a style you’d become fond of lately. “Never met you, but I’d seen you around. You were rather well known among the order.”

“Guess those are the perks of being his padawan, huh?” You’d echoed your thoughts from earlier, and he chuckled.

“He was the person that everyone wanted to be. Not just a great Jedi, but a good man.”

Of course. You knew that better than anyone. He cared so deeply about everything he set his hand to. He was kind and gentle, though sometimes sarcastic and witty, but that too made him more likable in your eyes.

“He’s not changed in that aspect,” you let him know, and he took it as motive to tease you.

“I knew he’d be here,” he returned, and you looked up and laughed a bit. He’d caught you there. “He’d never left your side.”

You didn’t respond, just let that statement sink in. You guessed that many more Jedi in the order had perceived your relationship for what it really was, but never said anything. Maybe they were rooting for you, or maybe you gave them hope. It was all up for interpretation, but the one thing you could never deny was the realness in it. He’s never left your side, and he never will. Of that, you can be absolutely sure and certain.

When it was time to close up the bar that night, you’d left before the owner, making sure he was alright after the fiasco of the day. You passed your new and unlikely friend the Jedi on the way out as well, giving a simple nod that spoke more than just words. You knew he needed to talk with you, and as much as you will neglect to admit it, you needed to talk to him, too.

You found yourself at the stables before sundown, meeting with Obi by your shared Eopie, ready to go home.

You figured that the bundle of joy news could wait until things were a bit more settled. You didn’t know how the scene of today would go in the long run, or if imperials had been alerted, but you wanted to know about all of that before trying to make future plans for the child you were carrying.

He saw you enter the sectional, and smiled to you with that adoring look in his eye, the one that never faded.

“You won’t believe what happened today.”

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#obi wan kenobi x reader

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petalsnthorns · 1 year ago

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i am absolutely convinced anakin would be so bratty and needy when he’s sick. like he would be TESTING your patience. here's how i imagine anakin being sick going:

"i made you some soup, ani"

"i don't want soup," he pouts and crosses his arms

"you need to eat"

"i don't want to eat."

"fine," you say, walking out the door and taking the soup with you.

fifteen minutes later anakin calls for you and tells you he's hungry.

"here's your soup."

"it's cold!"

"then i guess you should've eaten it when i made it"

he sticks his lip out at you again, giving you no option but to cave and heat up his soup

he'd also just be so sick of being sick

"i feel fine. i need to get back out there and fight."

"you have a fever. you're literally sweating through your robe"

"nuh uh, that's just my manly sweat"

"nice try. get back in bed"

"only if you come back with me"

"no, you're full of germs"

"you're mean"

"anakin, if we both get sick someone will be suspicious. i've already been around the temple too long."

"told you you should've let me stay at your apartment."

"that's even more suspicious"

in terms of him being needy, he'd CONSTANTLY be asking you for things like more water, more blankets because he's cold, more pillows because he's uncomfortable... oh, but you want to know what the real kicker was? when he couldn't find the kriffing remote because it was buried under all of his blankets and pillows.

"anakin skywalker, you are on my last nerve"

"you love me"

"that is up for debate"

"you wound me, sweetheart"

and then despite your best efforts, you wind up coming down with the same infection. how do we think anakin would take care of you?

#anakin skywalker x reader

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petalsnthorns · 1 year ago

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I’ve got my eye on you

Mullet!Padawan!Obi-Wan x Enby!Padawan!Reader

Warnings: Reader being a lil thirsty, Obi-Wan has a mullet 😩, reader’s 🤏 this close to ditching the Jedi Code

Summary: Y/N hasn’t seen Obi-Wan in a while, but when they finally catch a glimpse of him — they almost go feral.

SOMETHING HAD CHANGED IN Y/N, some could say something was unlocked. On the surface, the Jedi may assume Y/N’s discipline and loyalties were being tested, truly. To Y/N’s observant and keen master, it was hormones.

When the master-padawan duo walked the temple’s perimeter and ran into Obi-Wan, the conclusion was insanely evident. At the end of the hallway, he was just a beige blob with Jedi robes that fanned out with powerful strides.

“Who is that?” Y/N asked, faintly gesturing towards the approaching figure.

Their master tilted her head, squinting at the tall apprentice. She chuckled, “Obi-Wan Kenobi, Master Jinn’s padawan. Have you not met?”

Y/N’s brows shot up. Their fellow peer was meters away, but close enough for Y/N to make out the softness in Obi-Wan’s eyes, the metallic lightsaber handle attached to his belt, and his hair.

“Obi-Wan?” They whispered with mild surprise. As the said padawan passed by the pair, Y/N immediately craned their neck, following Obi-Wan’s unfamiliar silhouette.

The master laughed wholeheartedly, affirming their inquisitiveness, “Yes, that is in fact Obi-Wan.”

Y/N was shameless. They stopped dead in the hallway, turning to watch Obi-Wan practically strut until he disappeared down a corridor. The sounds of his heavy boots were long gone, but the ghost of him was still fresh in Y/N’s memory.

There was something so different about him, it was alluring and exciting. Last time Y/N took a good look at Obi-Wan, he was a significantly shorter teen with a scrappy buzz cut. Years ago, he was the annoying, reckless, immature boy that was shunned from being taken in by another Jedi Master.

But this Obi-Wan was refined. He easily towered over Y/N and their master. There was confidence, borderline arrogance, that Y/N could pick out in his relaxed posture. His hair had grown out into a shaggy mullet, his jaw squaring and freckled with moles.

Y/N was amazed. His existence only lived in idle gossip amongst other apprentices, but Y/N had never paid much mind to those. Seeing the change made Y/N believe that maybe… straying from the Jedi Code wasn’t too bad…

“Obi-Wan,” they repeated in an astonished mumble, earning a knowing but exasperated sigh from their master.

"Do not be enamored by his good looks, young one, for that is not the Jedi Way."

"Yeah, I know but..." Y/N bit their cheek, tilting their head as they tried to envision Obi-Wan strolling down the corridor again. "Damn," they uttered to themself.

"Y/N, Y/N, Y/N," their master tutted. She shook her head with mock disappointment, the decorative beads in her hair clinking from the subtle motion. "I taught you better than this," she sighed.

They blinked hard, turning to the Jedi Knight with a huff, "You did not."

Her thin dark brows arched. "Just as I were to suggest talking to Master Jinn..." she mused.

"He has nothing to do with this."

"Well, I was gonna ask him and his apprentice to join us on our next mission, but seeing how you —,”

"I am grateful," Y/N began suddenly. They took a dramatic inhale and continued, "I am grateful that the Council assigned me to you when I was a youngling. I thank Maker everyday for sending you to me."

She stared blankly at them, "Okay, Y/N."

"I would break the Jedi Code for you, Master,” Y/N whispered, pressing a tender hand over their heart and clutching the fabric of their robes. “Just say the word."

In one motion, she pushed past Y/N and slowly increased her stride, forcing her apprentice to follow in tandem. “Haha,” she mumbled. “I’ll see what I can do —,” she cleared her throat loudly, jabbing Y/N’s side harshly. “But no funny business, do you understand? You can admire him from afar, but do not fly too close to the sun."

"Of course, Master,” Y/N nodded, subconsciously rubbing the side of their stomach tartly. They shared a one-sided toothy grin. "Don't wanna melt from his hotness,” they added jokingly.

"May Maker have mercy on you.”

time skip

In his camel-colored uniform, Obi-Wan brushed past his peers congregating around the cafeteria entrance. He froze in thought and in step, scanning the lunch room that bubbled with chatter.

Y/N wanted to be subtle with their fixation. With their rowdy group of friends surrounding them, the location to which Y/N’s eyes fell was easily drowned out.

And then Obi-Wan looked directly at Y/N, and they had glanced away so quickly. Their neck almost snapped.

Kriff. Kriiiifff.

Y/N ducked their head slightly and slouched to an atrocious degree. They awkwardly scooted closer to Prie, who comfortingly patted their back unbeknownst to why they acted so sheepishly.

“Are you gonna eat that?” Ropal pointed his fork at the dried fish on Y/N’s tray, daring to just snatch it from them.

Y/N shook their head, inching the plate towards him. Ropal hummed a meek thanks, stabbing the silver prongs into the meat.

“Hey!” Jape pushed Ropal’s greedy hand away, as he seemed to scoop up half of Y/N’s lunch. “The fish — only the fish, Ropal,” he snapped. “Why’re you always stealing their food?”

“I’m not? Y/N said I could have it.”

“You’re taking all of the rice.”

Y/N was mentally groaning and kicking their feet in anger. Could they just shut up for a second? Y/N was trying to watch a certain apprentice across the lunch room. Jape and Ropal, Ropal especially, had the tendency to jump on the bandwagon regardless of what it was. If Y/N seemed to be spying on someone, then they’d start spying on that person, and it would all go downhill.

Y/N squinted. Obi-Wan was weaving through the crowded maze of tables, muttering apologies as he bumped into chairs and shoulders. Who did he usually sit with? Who was he looking for?

“Y/N?” Prie nudged them. “What’s gotten into you…?” Prie tilted her head, trying to follow Y/N’s precise gaze. She scoffed, “Oh, don’t tell me…”

“Shut up,” Y/N snapped, pushing the side of her face the other direction.

Prie pretended to smile, “You’re kidding.”

“It’s nothing,” Y/N groaned, turning to properly look at their friend. Prie mockingly nodded in agreement, tapping her calloused fingertips against the tabletop. “It’s nothing,” Y/N repeated affirmatively.

“It would be really bad if it wasn’t,” Prie commented. She propped her arm up, leaning her chin into her palm. “And I don’t really believe you,” Prie said in a singsong tone.

Y/N frowned, “Why not?”

“Hey, Y/N.”

Y/N whipped their head around, eyes blooming into large saucers, as their heart began to palpitate. They were face to face with Obi-Wan, a new reinvented Obi-Wan. He was gorgeous.

“Hello there,” Y/N squeaked.

Obi-Wan smiled, sliding into the seat across from them. He crossed his arms, leaning onto the table. “I was looking for you,” he stated.

“You were?” Y/N choked, sitting up straighter. They picked up a utensil, prodding at their food, trying to occupy their awkward hands.

“Of course,” Obi-Wan said, earning a skeptical look from the other members of the group. Prie coughed, waving Jape and Ropal’s attention away from the end of the table. “I overheard our masters talking about an upcoming joint-mission — to Vena, I believe. I just, uh, wanted to let you know.”

“Ah, well, thanks.” Maker, give me strength. Oh my god. Y/N pursed their lips, the best solution to containing the childish urge to giggle.

“Do you want to research together? I think it’d be very beneficial —,”

“Yes!”

Obi-Wan’s bushy brows raised a few centimeters. He chuckled at their enthusiasm, nodding. “Right. I’ll see you after training then,” Obi-Wan says.

“Yeah,” Y/N mumbles, watching him stand and walk away.

#we were robbed #obi wan kenobi x reader

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petalsnthorns · 1 year ago

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The Other Side

Searching for your Stephen, you find another, and he won’t let you go this time.

An entry for Day 4 of the exciting @sintember challenge!

Prompt: The Other Side, ft Sinister Dr Strange of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Dr Strange in the Multiverse of Madness (2022).

Warnings: DUB-CON!, possessive behaviour, developing Stockholm Syndrome. 18+! [And I haven’t watched Dr Strange in so long, please pretend I know what I’m doing.]

You had lost Stephen and America, and you were now left in a crumbling world, a universe broken, with no way to get home. Based on the wrecked state of the world, you thought there wasn’t a Dr Strange here, that he had been defeated and his opponent left ruin. Though he wasn’t your Stephen, the thought still deeply upset you, that Stephen could be defeated, and maybe yours would be.

You push open the door of the Sanctum, you want to call out to him but you know there’s no point. The heavy door falls shut behind you. All the antiques and strange paintings and ornaments that once decorated the foyer have been shattered, some are deteriorating, and a dark mist floats through the cold temple, enveloping you, nearly strangling you, you feel.

Upstairs. You know you have to head to the Window of the Worlds.

You walk to the window, engraved with the Seal of Vishanti. It’s cracked, black lines not belong to the symbol run in all directions across the glass, that has a purple tint, nearly a faint violet glow. You want to touch it, when you hear your name whispered.

You spin, and there stands Stephen. Not your Stephen. This Stephen is… different: he looks older, streaks of grey paint his dark hair, with sunken eyes.

“Stephen!” you call, taking a step forward, “Or, Dr Strange, I need your help, please.”

“You’re here,” he murmurs, slowly walking towards you.

“I- I am,” you sputter, a little confused and off put by his trance-like demeanour, as his curious eyes never leave you, “I lost Stephen—my Stephen—and I need to get back.”

“I am your Stephen.” his voice is so low, so low you wouldn’t have heard it were you even a notch below the level of hyper-awareness he’s activated in you.

He steps into the light, and you gasp and take a step back. Visually, he’s not much different to the average person, but his eyes are dark, a familiar blue you once knew sealed up in an endless black; you can’t read them as he continues to walk towards you. You still.

He stops in front of you, and raises shaky hands to cup your face, his lips parted slightly as his foreign dark gaze analyses every inch of your face. His fingers are cold, ice cold, so cold they burn, like dry ice; you wince at the contact but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“No,” you whisper, “No, I’m not yours, and you’re not my…”

You raise your hands to gently grasp his wrists, and freeze when you see it. His fingertips are darkened, stained with a black so profound, so dangerous in sheer aura that you know what it’s from.

“Stephen?”

He’s been tampering with the Dark Hold, the book of sins so evil you barely know of it, just the name elicits chills; Stephen, your Stephen, barely discussed it, he never did until he found out about the Scarlet Witch’s use, and even still he said very little; you got the feeling that though his knowledge seemed limitless, he knew little here, and very deliberately he kept himself in the dark, because if he knew, he’d indulge.

And indulge he has, this sinister Stephen holding your face gently in his hands, as if these hands haven’t caused unfathomable destruction. You should have known—you knew—that Dr Strange could not be defeated. He wasn’t conquered, never could he be: he conquered.

“That’s me,” he smiles and reassures you. Though his eyes and fingers are stained, that boyish smile you know to be yours is the same as ever.

“What did you do?” is all you can muster in a shaky breath, a tear slipping down your cheek, he watches it fall.

“I did what was necessary, and you…” he strains his voice to prevent himself from choking on his words and he smooths a calloused finger over your skin, wiping away the single tear that had spilt, “You were gone.”

His eyes soften, and, despite the cold of his hands, they’re warm, his eyes, his body too, you notice, noting he’s much closer to you than you realised, and definitely too close for comfort. You don’t even know if you can call him insane, mad with power, and furthermore, you can’t tell what he meant by…

A cold hand snakes over your shoulder and his fingers grasps the back of your neck, pulling you towards him. When he kisses you, you stiffen, but, really, for barely a second, because his lips, they feel so familiar. This man is like your Stephen, you can feel it, but you see a different image; he’s like your Stephen if he had no self control, or even just a little less than he has now.

The thought hits you: you could never deny Stephen. Even if you could, say, by the grace of some higher power, even if you could walk away, Stephen always gets what he wants. There isn’t even a higher power you can turn to: there is no power higher than Stephen.

“You’ve come back to me.”

What can you even say? You’re sure he isn’t delusional, you’re sure he knows you’re not his, and you’re sure he doesn’t care. You nearly resign to your fate, but the thought burns you so hot you hurriedly blurt out,

“What happened to her?”

To you. Did he…?

He doesn’t answer, he stays gazing into your eyes, a sombre-looking but relieved smile on his face, like he’s reconciling the fact that he was wrong; he’s never wrong, but he never thought he would see you again. He simply repeats, “You’ve come back to me.”

“Stephen, no,” you state, firmly, yanking his hands off your face and holding his wrists down between you two. He seems mildly shocked, you’re sure he would have been able to overpower you if he you didn’t catch him slightly off guard. But no, you should know you could never be apart from him, whether you want to or not.

Magic ropes wrap around your wrists, tying a knot and pulling them close together, so tight you wouldn’t be surprised if they sliced your hands off. Stephen’s magic is golden, pure, this man—you don’t even want to call him Stephen—his magic is corrupt; purple, with black shadows swirling the violet pulses emitting from the shapes he draws.

You panic, forcing your head down to look at your bound wrists and then snapping your head back up to him. You open your mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a shrill little squeal as you’re lifted a few centimetres off the ground. The same purple and black vines wrap around your ankles, forcing them together.

You notice this is the first time you’ve been above him, floating just high enough for him to have to raise his chin to study you. You always thought this would give you some kind of dominance (fleeting and artificial as it may be), to be over him, but no, you never stood a fucking chance.

You barely struggle, afraid that if you shift around too much you’ll drop to the ground, so all you can do is be still as he circles you, examining you. Another thing; he doesn’t seem to just look at you, he studies you, like looking for flaws in a sculpture. What happens if he finds them?

“You know,” he finally speaks after several minutes of inspecting you, “All this…” he turns you towards the window. There’s a rift in the sky, with seemingly everything in it, everything in existence, it’s overwhelming, “I did for you, honey.”

He’s lying, he must be; though you can imagine yourself getting a little carried away now and then, in no universe could you ever see a version of yourself prepared to bring about mass destruction, the ends of literally infinite lives, no; you may be imperfect, but the collapse of an entire universe? He’s either lying or being intentionally ambiguous. Maybe he’s not lying, just misleading.

“You didn’t; you did it for her,” you half-lie; while it’s true he could only have done this for a different version of you, you doubt she would have authorised that, but you use her as sort of a scapegoat anyway.

He flicks his fingers and you spin to face him. He lowers you just enough so you’re at eye level, and despite your best efforts, you genuinely can not read his gaze; you can’t find any hint of what he may be feeling, it’s just a void, but it’s not, it’s not a void; you know there’s something there, something you’re missing.

You’re sure he’s going to say something, maybe continue his little game of pretending you’re his, but just as you anticipate the opening of his mouth, you violently spin again, this time towards the door, with a shriek. He walks in front you, and you follow behind, like you’re being pulled by a rope, like a dog on a leash who’s trying to play with something when the owner is fed up and wants to go home.

His bedroom door slams shut behind you and you’re lowered onto bed with a gentleness the human touch could never give, his magic softly laying you like you’re the most precious thing, and based on the look he’s giving you, you damn well might be.

Your soft rest hazes your mind for a moment, but you’re snapped back to the cold of the Sanctum when you feel him hover over you.

“I’ve missed you…” he whispers.

You don’t know when your pants came off, but you feel him run a practiced finger over your clothed slit. Oh, God, he feels exactly like your Stephen; the foreignness of his eyes and slight change in demeanour don’t seem to mean anything when he still feels exactly the same, it’s fucking with your mind.

You love your Stephen, more than anything, and you know this isn’t him. You try to push him off but when he slips a finger inside of you, you can’t help the shudder that vibrates through you.

Can I get Stockholm Syndrome so easy? you wonder to yourself, more berate yourself, as you try desperately to ignore the feeling of his fingers inside of you, moving in and out just the way you like, he knows what you like, he knows your body just the way Stephen does.

Because he is Stephen.

#dark content #this is exactly what i was looking for #he will never be too deranged #sinister strange x reader

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petalsnthorns · 1 year ago

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Sweet Girl (Billie Dean Howard x f!Reader)

Synopsis: Meeting your mother's friend was the best day of your life.

Words: 6.9k

Warnings: Semi-choking, praise kink, smut, age gap, marking, alcohol consumption, swearing

“Hey, mom, I-”

You paused in the doorway. The blonde woman who looked up at you, hands curled around one of your mother’s mugs, steam wafting upwards, was most certainly not your mom. Her pink lips quirked up into a smile, eyes sweeping over your body before settling on your face again.

“You’re not my mom,” you said.

“I’m certainly not,” she replied.

You weren’t sure what else to say. She was still watching you, head tilted to one side, and you felt yourself tremble under her gaze. There was something about it that felt like a caress across your skin.

“Um, is my mom around? Only I’m pretty sure this is still her house. Unless she moved without telling me which I wouldn’t put past her,” you said.

“She’s upstairs,” she replied.

“Right.”

Your weight rocked forward before you fell back. Looking away, you were feeling something growing in your stomach, familiar and warm, making your fingers itch. You shoved your hands into your pockets. Her low chuckle was throaty, your eyes snapping up to her again.

The silk blouse she was wearing was open just one button too far, an enticing shadow making you want to lean forward and run your tongue between the valley of her breasts. She crossed one leg over the other, drawing your attention down to where her skirt fluttered around her calves. A hand tipped in pink acrylics began to drum over the tabletop, slow and deliberate. You felt breathless, standing under her gaze.

“Ah, darling, you’re here. Wonderful. Have you met Billie? You must have,” your mother said, coming down the stairs.

You dragged your eyes away from her guest, Billie, to look over to her. She was smiling at you, looking ready for brunch. In your jeans and t-shirt, you were definitely the most underdressed in the room.

“Why are you dressed like that?” your mother asked, sweeping past you to sit at the table with Billie.

“You asked me to come over. Is everything okay? What’s going on?” you asked.

“Darling, we’re going to brunch,” she replied.

“What? Mom, I have class in twenty minutes. I thought this was an emergency,” you said, your exasperation leaking through.

“Surely you can skip just this once,” your mother said, “you’re always too busy to see me anymore.”

“Mom,” you sighed.

“Billie was so looking forward to meeting you,” she said.

“Come on,” Billie said, leaning towards you, “live a little.”

“Fine,” you said, “fine, but you’re buying my meal. And drinks.”

“Whatever you say, darling,” she said.

Sitting in the back of your mother’s car as she drove, you did your best not to stare at the blonde head in front of you. Her eyes kept finding yours in the rear view mirror, sparkling brown, while she kept up with her conversation with your mother. You felt like a sullen teenager sitting there, silent and annoyed. The guilt churning in your stomach was an irritant, your mother knowing how to push your buttons.

The restaurant you were brought to was fancy, fancier than you would ever go to with your friends. From the way you were being looked at, you knew you weren’t dressed well enough for the place. You sat outside, across from Billie, your mother between the two of you. Your server poured iced water into the glasses before leaving the three of you, your quiet thanks the only one given.

“What are you studying?” Billie asked.

“Media and communication,” you replied, fiddling with your cloth napkin.

“A useless choice,” your mother scoffed, scanning over the menu, “I told her to choose something worthwhile. Like biology or accounting.”

“I want to make documentaries,” you said, ignoring your mother completely.

“Well, that sounds wonderful,” Billie said.

“Don’t indulge her,” your mother said.

“Mom, we’ve talked about this,” you sighed.

“You’re so smart, darling. You could do more with your life than making silly movies about things people don’t care about,” she said, placing her menu down.

You gave a cursory glance over yours, not wanting to answer her. You’d had that very same argument time and time again, there was no point trying again. She had her opinion and there was no changing it in your experience.

“Perhaps I could put you in contact with some documentarians,” Billie said before your mother could go into it again, “or if you’d like work experience my show is always looking for interns.”

“Show?”

“Darling, you know Billie. There’s no point feigning ignorance,” your mother sighed.

“Billie Dean Howard,” she said, extending her hand over the table, “medium to the stars.”

You shook her hand, the brush of her skin over yours bringing heat to your cheeks. She was giving you a small smile, chin tilted down, her eyes sparkling with interest. Your breath caught, tongue darting out to wet your lips. Her gaze dipped down to your lips, making heat bloom in your stomach.

“You know her,” your mother was saying, not noticing of the moment you were having, “I’m sure you’ve seen her show. It’s always on.”

“Mom, I don’t… own a TV,” you said, breaking the moment, turning away from Billie and the gravity you felt begging you to fall into her.

“You don’t?” Billie asked.

You turned to look at her, finding her resting her chin in the palm of her hand. Your breath caught again, the way she was looking at you was like you were the most interesting thing she could imagine. You weren’t used to being looked at that way.

“May I take your orders?”

You startled, not having noticed the waiter approaching. A curse slipped over your lips, Billie’s throaty chuckle only bringing more heat to your cheeks. You muttered your order, passing over the menu.

“And a round of mimosas,” your mother said.

You opened your mouth to argue but then shut it again. Billie caught your eye, giving you an amused smile. Butterflies burst in your stomach. You looked down to your lap, not needing this while also dealing with your mother. Why did your mother have to have such a beautiful friend?

You listened as they talked, staying silent. Billie kept catching your eye across the table, a twist of her lips and wandering gaze making you wonder if this wasn’t some kind of torture. Your mother seemed none the wiser of your crisis, but the blonde was watching you as you did your best not to wonder what her fingers would feel like trailing along your skin as they circled the rim of her mimosa.

You downed yours in your attempt to keep yourself from groaning when her tongue darted out, chasing a drop of orange juice at the corner of her lips.

Your French toast was placed down in front of you, the mimosa replaced without being asked. Digging in, you watched Billie salt her eggs Benedict. Your mother wrinkled her nose at you.

“Darling, at some point you’ll have to raise your palette to something more adult,” she said.

“You know I have a sweet tooth,” you mumbled.

“It’s hard to resist something so sweet, isn’t it, sweet girl?” Billie said and you thought you had to be reading too much into her words.

There was no way she’d blatantly flirt with you in front of your mom. Would she? Maybe she would. You didn’t know her at all.

You wanted to though.

As you went to take a sip from your replenished mimosa, you felt a foot graze along yours. You spluttered, dribbling some of the cocktail down your chin. You wiped it away, ignoring your mother’s admonishment to glare across the table. Billie had her lips pressed together, suppressing laughter as she peered back at you, eyes twinkling.

Her foot was slow to glide up your leg, taking her time as you felt yourself become more unhinged. Swiping up some of the sauce on her plate, her tongue licked along her fingers before she sucked it into her mouth, cheeks hollowing, dark eyes keeping your attention hostage. Your mother was still speaking, but it was on the periphery of your senses, your entire being focused on the feeling of her foot brushing your leg, her tongue flicking over her skin, her eyes boring into yours.

Her small smirk told you she knew exactly what she was doing to you.

“I should go,” you said, abruptly standing.

“So soon?” Billie asked.

“I have class,” you muttered, “I’ll text you later, mom.”

You fled from your brunch, heart racing and skin tingling. Dark eyes haunted you on your trek to college and you found yourself wondering what pink lips would taste like. You were stuck contemplating the entire experience instead of listening to your classes, not willing to admit how much you wanted her.

Later, at home, you watched clips of her show on YouTube, one hand in your underwear, imagining it was hers.

A week later, against your better judgement, you agreed to join your friends at one of the bougie bars that you knew was overpriced but catered to a certain clientele. Growing up with a relatively rich crowd, you still felt out of place, even with your mother’s money. It had always settled around you like an uncomfortable skin. But every now and then, you joined your childhood friends for a night out.

This time you did not come underdressed. Your dress was nice and your hair was styled. You’d even put on some makeup. You had heels on. No one could suggest you hadn’t dressed up for your night out.

The lighting was dim, making the atmosphere feel intimate. It was the kind of place you’d bring a date, if you wanted to show off the way your father tried to buy your love by filling your bank account.

Your friends claimed one of the tables, plush leather seats cushioning your body. A bottle of champagne was bought for the table, starting off your night. You kept relatively quiet, listening to what your friends had been up to, not wanting to admit that you were still pursuing a college education in something not business adjacent. You’d heard every joke under the sun from them when you’d first started. Mostly about how you were going to be a homeless bum by the time you were thirty.

A large group came in somewhere between the third and fourth round of drinks. You kept your head bent, not caring, only concerned for the noise that would come from them. There was a part of you considering going home, not sure you should have said yes to coming out with your friends. You were getting pleasantly buzzed, but you were tired and looking to curl up in bed with your laptop and thoughts of dark eyes and pink nails.

Noticing your drink was empty, you got to your feet, wandering up to the bar. You hoisted yourself into one of the seats, one leg crossing over the other, the hem of your skirt riding up as you lent forward.

“Hello, sweet girl,” a warm voice purred in your ear.

You startled, turning your head to look over your shoulder. Blonde curls resting against her shoulder, lips pulling up into a wicked smile, dark eyes glittering, Billie Dean Howard looked as if she’d stepped right out of your fantasies. You could feel your eyes widening as you watched her take the seat beside you, long fingers tapping on the top of the bar, pink acrylics making a pleasing noise where they connected with wood.

“What are you doing here, sweet girl?” she asked, “I wouldn’t think this was your kind of a place.”

“My friends,” you gestured somewhere behind you, “they uh… this is their kind of place.”

She didn’t even bother glancing at your group. Her eyes had settled on you and you weren’t sure they would be moving any time soon. The barman arrived and she didn’t even bother looking to him, ordering for both you and herself. Your heart fluttered. She oozed confidence, as if there was no doubt in your mind that she was charming you.

She was.

A green cocktail was placed down in front of you, the gin and tonic she’d ordered far simpler than your drink. She waited for you to try it before she sipped from her own drink, humming low in her throat. You shuddered, sweetness bursting on your tongue from the sugar rim on the glass. You licked some away, watching the way her eyes darkened as she watched your tongue drag along the glass.

“Are you enjoying it, sweet girl?” she asked.

You nodded, “thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“Let me spoil you,” she said, hand landing on your leg.

Her thumb brushed the inside of your thigh, your skin almost electrified under her touch. She lent towards you, her nails digging in just enough to feel the sting. Heat coursed through your veins. You found yourself leaning towards her too, not able to stop yourself.

“Would you like to be spoiled, sweet girl?” she asked in almost a whisper.

Your mouth turned dry, knowing you definitely weren’t reading too much into her words now. Her eyes drifted down, lingering on your cleavage, shown to great effect in your dress. Her hand shifted up, just an inch, making you shiver.

“Well?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Yes please,” you breathed.

Any reason to say no was gone from your head. That fact she was friends with your mom didn’t even register. All you could focus on was the heat pooling in your stomach and the brush of her thumb over the vulnerable skin of your inner thigh. Your teeth sunk into your lower lip, her eyes finding it, focusing as she lent forward even closer, breath ghosting over your skin.

“Hey, who’s this?”

An arm was slung around your shoulders, your friend, Rachel, leaning against you. Billie lent back, hand slipping to rest on your knee. You had to press your lips together to keep your whimper inside, not able to live down the thought of your friend hearing you.

“This is Billie, she’s uh… she’s a friend of mom’s,” you replied.

“Wait, shit, I know you. You’re that psychic off the tv,” Rachel said.

“Medium,” she replied, voice much colder than when it had been directed at you.

“You talk to ghosts and shit,” she said, voice loud from right beside your ear.

“I do,” she replied, tilting her chin up, looking down her nose at your friend.

“That’s crazy,” she said, “you actually think you’re talking to ghosts?”

“I am actually talking to ghosts,” she replied, sounding icier than you’d ever heard her.

“Crazy,” she said again, awed by her supposed insanity.

“Well, it was lovely seeing you,” she said to you.

She rose from the stool she’d been sitting in, leaving your heart thumping wildly. She gave you one lingering look before leaving you be with Rachel. Your friend swooped in, stealing her seat, leaning towards you with her forearms resting on the bar.

“Were you trying to go home with her?” she asked.

“What?” you laughed.

“Celebrity fucking. Are you in on it? Because if you are I think Matthew is winning on that front. He got a Kardashian,” she said, “but hey, I get it. You have to start somewhere. Work up to the big guns.”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, indignation beginning to rise.

“Start with some insignificant woman with a show before you move on to the hot ones. She’ll be easy, I bet. Probably a good ego boost to have someone so young pursuing her. I doubt she’s fucked anyone in ages,” she said before clicking to get the barman’s attention.

“I’m gonna…” You didn’t bother finishing your sentence before you walked off, leaving her to order more drinks.

Outside, you found her again, leaning against the wall, cigarette between fingers, smoke curling out of her mouth. You watched her for a moment, letting your eyes linger on the way her lips pursed, the clinging silk blouse, the long fingers brought to her mouth then away again.

“You’re staring,” she said.

“You’re beautiful,” you replied, then immediately worried you’d been too bold.

She turned to look at you, looking less than impressed at your answer. You clasped your hands together behind your back, not wanting her to see you fidgeting. You swallowed past the lump in your throat.

“I’m sorry about her,” you said, “I don’t think you’re crazy.”

“Many do,” she said.

“Billie,” you breathed out, stepping closer to her until the scent of her cigarette wrapped around you, “I don’t. I think there’s plenty out there we can’t explain and who am I to say if ghosts exist. What I do know is that I’ve been thinking about you since we met.”

She softened, turning her body towards you. You reached out, fingers brushing over the back of her hand. She stubbed her cigarette out on the wall, dropping it into the bin just behind you. In one motion, she curled her arm around your waist, pulling you closer until your body brushed against hers.

“And what have you been thinking when you think about me?” she asked.

“About how you taste,” you groaned.

She grasped your chin, acrylics digging in to the skin of your cheeks. She pulled you forward, breath ghosting over your lips. You finally let yourself whimper. Her smile stretched.

“How can I deny you, sweet girl?” she murmured.

Her lips brushed against yours, tantalising, almost teasing, barely there but making your heart pound and your knees grow weak. Your hands slid along her hips, wanting to pull her closer, wanting to feel her body against yours. She drew back, her hand still holding your chin, keeping you from leaning towards her again.

“How was that?” she asked.

You shook your head, trying to dip back in. She held you tight enough to make you whine, refusing to give you what you wanted.

“Use your words, sweet girl,” she said.

“More,” you whined, “I want more.”

The door to the bar opened, the chatter from inside leaking out. She looked over your shoulder at the couple leaving, a blank mask falling over her face. Dragging her eyes back to you, she softened again.

“Let me take you home, sweet girl,” she said, “say I can have you for the rest of the night.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, “you can have me as long as you want.”

“Careful or I might just end up keeping your forever,” she warned.

You were finding it hard to see that as a bad thing.

She called for a car, keeping one hand on your body, thumb stroking over skin until you were a trembling mess. In the back seat of the car, her hand was slow as it slid up your thigh, keeping up a conversation with the driver, practically ignoring you. You were biting down on your lip, trying to keep silent. Her eyes flashed over to you, glittering when she noticed your struggle. Her thumb passed so close to your heat if you’d shifted your hips just an inch, she could have been touching your panty covered core. Even with the material in the way, you were sure she’d be able to feel how wet you were.

The car pulled up outside a nice home, two stories and large enough for a family to live in. Billie held the door open for you to slide out, her hand settling on the small of your back, leading you up the porch. She pushed the door open, waiting for you to step inside.

“Would you like a drink, sweet girl?” she asked, closing the door.

You’d been expecting her to be on you the moment the door was closed, but instead all she did was trail her fingers along your shoulders before leaving you be. You followed behind, disappoint curling in your gut. Your eyes drifted down to her swaying hips, skirt only accentuating her figure.

She flicked on the light in her kitchen, a wide wall of windows staring back. You followed, not sure what else to do. Reaching above her head, she pulled down a wine glass, only one, before turning back towards you. Her eyes swept over you, from head to toe, smile curling up one corner of her lips.

“You didn’t answer,” she said.

“No.” You shook your head, “I think if I have any more you’ll be taking advantage of me.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” she replied.

She poured herself a glass of white wine, pulled straight from her fridge. She took a sip from it, watching you as she did. Her tongue dragged along her lower lip, catching a drop of stray wine. You made a small noise, her smirk only growing.

“Billie,” you whined, your self respect long since gone. All you wanted was her hands on your bare skin, not this waiting game she was forcing you to play.

“Yes, sweet girl?” she asked.

“Please,” you begged, “I need you.”

“Do you?” She raised an eyebrow at you.

“Yes.”

She placed her glass of wine down before taking a step towards you. With strong hands, she lifted you onto the counter, stepped between your parted legs. Her hands were sliding up the skin of your thigh, making you shiver.

“How’s this?” she asked.

“Uh huh,” you replied, beyond words just from her touch.

Her nose skimmed along your jaw, making your breath hitch. Your legs tightened around her, pinning her there as you whimpered. Her lips were soft as they pressed to your skin, head falling back to give her more access. Her tongue flicked out, tasting you with a soft hum. Your fingers clenched around the edge of the marble countertop, breath already ragged.

Her nails scraped along your skin, pushing up underneath your dress. You would have torn it from your body if she asked, uncaring of anything but giving her more access to you. Her teeth scraped along your skin before sinking in just enough for the sting to be pleasurable. Tongue swiping over it, you could feel her smile against your throat at the strangled noise you made. The way she sucked on your pulse point had your head growing fuzzy.

Your hands found their home on her shoulders, fingers curling as you tried to haul her closer. The throbbing between your legs was insistent but ignored by her. You wanted to reel her in, press against her, rub yourself against her like an animal. Her nails were scraping along your skin, drawing patterns on your skin in a way that had you shivering.

“Billie,” you gasped out, “please.”

“Sorry, sweet girl,” she murmured against your skin, “I can’t get enough of your taste.”

Her tongue swirled again, her soft sigh making you burn. Your fingers curled in her hair, tugging until you were leaning towards her, breath ghosting over her skin. She looked up from under eyelashes, coquettish and innocent, undone by the twist of her lips.

You kissed her, no longer just a brush of lips, all innocence gone. You groaned into her mouth, fingers tightening on blonde curls, tongue licking into her mouth. She allowed you, nails digging into your skin as you did your best to taste her, to explore, to delve deeper until you couldn’t remember what it was to not be kissing her. The taste of wine and cigarettes lingered on her tongue, something sweeter and deeper underneath.

You moaned, chasing her taste, wanting to burn it into your brain until nothing else remained. She was forcing your legs further apart, fingers on your inner thighs, stroking closer and closer to your heated core. She chuckled into your mouth when you whined, hips shifting, trying to urge her on.

Desperate lips trailed down your neck again, nipping at skin. Your fingers, still buried in her hair, clenched, pressing her closer, your pleas ignored as she took her time. Her teeth sunk in as her index finger ghosted over your centre. The noise that came from you had your cheeks heating before your embarrassment was washed away by the need for her touch.

Her finger stroked over you again, still over the top of your underwear. She was sucking another bruise onto your skin, her teeth and her tongue only making you desperate for more. Her finger pressed down, finding your clit through your panties. Her name was a strangled noise, back arching towards her.

“You’re so wet, sweet girl,” she said, “god, you’ve soaked right through.”

You whimpered as she continued to circle it, tortuously slow. She pulled back, eyes sweeping over your face, watching you. Her other hand slipped from under your dress, soft as it drifted up your body. You arched into her touch when she found your breast, begging her for more. She ignored you, hand continuing up until fingers rested on your throat, thumb stroking over the point she’d been sucking on before.

“Do you know how pretty you are?” she asked you, those dark eyes smouldering up at you, “you make such lovely noises for me.”

“Billie,” you whimpered, “Billie please.”

“I like when you beg, sweet girl,” she said, “do it again.”

“Please,” you whined.

“Good girl.”

That only made you tremble, heat coursing through you. From her delighted smile, she seemed to realise the effect her words had on you. Her fingers pushed aside your underwear, fingers swiping through your folds. The sound that came from you was high pitched, hips bucking up against her touch.

The hand around your throat tightened, for just a moment, long enough to make fire burn through you. She tugged you forward, kissing you, teeth sinking into your lower lip. You were aching for her, needing her more than you’d needed anyone before.

Fingers were slow to circle your clit, as if testing how far she could push you before she drove you insane. She drew back, watching you as your chest heaved, skin heating, eyes begging her for more. Lips pulled up into a smirk, the older woman slowing her movements until you felt tears prick in your eyes.

“You’re so pretty for me,” she said, “look how responsive you are. Such a good girl.”

“Billie,” you whined.

“I could watch you like this for hours,” she said.

“Please,” you begged, “please, Billie, I need-“

Her thumb ground against your clit, your words breaking off into a strangled moan. Her delight was enough to let you know you would be given no easy release. You tugged on her hair.

“Do you enjoy that, sweet girl?” she asked, so innocent, as if she wasn’t watching you fall apart in front of her.

Her thumb slipped from your clit, leaving you with the slow circling again, tortuous and maddening. You let out a shaky breath, fingers tightening in her blonde curls.

“I bet you taste sweet,” she murmured, “will you let me taste you, sweet girl?”

“Yes,” you babbled, “please. Oh god, please, Billie. I need you.”

Her hand slipped from your throbbing cunt, making you whine in protest. The hand resting around your throat slid down. Both tugged on the hem of your dress, dragging it up your body. You let her pull it from your body, flinging it aside as her eyes roved over your bare skin and lacy lingerie.

“Who did you wear these pretty things for, sweet girl?” she asked, finger running along the lace of your bra, “was there someone you were hoping would see these?”

“No,” you replied, feeling breathless.

“Don’t lie to me, sweet girl,” she warned.

Her dark eyes met yours and you could see it, swimming in her eyes, no matter how she was trying to hide it. The jealousy. The anger. The thought you’d dressed up for anyone but her. A sense of power flooded your body. To have such an effect on her, to make her feel that way, it was mind blowing for you.

“No one but you,” you said, tugging her closer, “I’ve been thinking of no one else since I met you.”

“You say such lovely things,” she said.

Her hands cupped your breasts, thumbs swiping over your nipples. Your breath stuttered and she lent down, lips ghosting along your skin. Her tongue dipped into the divot between your collarbones, stealing both your breath and your sanity. You moaned her name, arching towards her mouth.

Sliding her hands around your ribs, she unhooked your bra. Her lips continued down before wrapping around one nipple. Your mouth fell open around a silent moan. She wasn’t soft, her sharp suck making you tighten your fingers in her hair. Her tongue flicked over it, making you arch into her, asking for more.

Her nails scraped over your skin, down over your ribs, past the dip of your waist, over the curve of your hips. They hooked into your underwear, pulling them off you. Down your legs and flung aside, you did your best to help her, wanting that tongue where your throbbing heat was.

Lips trailed down your body, leaving your nipples behind despite your whimper. She took her time, lingering on every inch of skin she found. Her tongue would smooth over where her teeth scraped, heat following in her wake. You sighed at the first swipe of it through your folds. Your head fell back, fingers tightening in her hair. She hummed, pressing closer, tongue teasing your entrance.

She wrapped her lips around your clit, tongue flicking over it, then again when you moaned her name. It wasn’t going to take much, not from the way she’d been teasing you all night. And not from the way you’d been fantasising about her all week. The reality was much better than you could have imagined.

And in your imagination she’d been spectacular.

You gasped her name when she began to suck on your bundle of nerves, her hands pushing your legs even further apart. Spread out on her kitchen counter, face buried between your legs, feasting on you, it was as if all your dreams were coming true. She moaned, the vibrations rocketing through your body. Her name was a prayer on your lips and felt yourself coming apart. Her dark eyes looked up your body, catching yours and the way she was watching was like you were fulfilling all of her fantasies too.

The flat of her tongue pressed against your clit. You were writhing under her touch, begging her for release. Her fingers tightened on your thighs until you were sure she’d be leaving bruises for you to find the next day. She moaned again and it was enough.

If you were asked about it, you wouldn’t say you screamed her name, fingers tightening in her hair until you were pulling it. But you did. And she looked like the cat that got the cream because of it.

She cleaned you up with her tongue before she lent back, staring up at you, lips smirking. You pulled her up, kissing her with the kind of abandon you hadn’t let yourself have earlier. She chuckled into your mouth until your legs were tightening around her and your hands were sliding down her body and she began to moan.

“I want to touch you,” you murmured into her mouth, “please let me touch you.”

“I really can’t deny you anything,” she replied, pulling back, “perhaps somewhere comfortable though? I don’t bounce back like I once did.”

Her hand slipped into yours, helping you off the counter. Her eyes trailed over your body for a moment, appreciation filling her face as she took her time studying you. You flushed under her gaze, surprised by how much you liked her looking at you. Where usually you didn’t languish in nudity, the way she was staring made you feel powerful, desirable, stupidly sexy.

She led you further into the house, up the stairs, into a plush bedroom. The carpet underfoot was soft and the bed was huge. She sat on the edge of it, pulling you forward until you were stood between her legs. Leaning down, you threaded your fingers through her hair again, tilting her head up and kissing her until you felt her begin to relax.

You climbed onto her lap, knees either side of her hips. She hummed into your mouth, fingers trailing over your skin until the fire within you reignited. You pushed her back, feeling more than hearing the way she laughed against your lips.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whispered, drawing back to look down at her.

Her eyes brightened and there was a faint flush on her cheeks. Your fingers were careful as you began to unbutton her blouse, exposing tantalising inches of skin to your hungry gaze. Your tongue dragged along your bottom lip as you watched the silk slip from her shoulders. She pulled you down into another kiss, hot and insistent.

Your hands were gentle, fingertips trailing along her skin. It was so soft, and it only made you want more of her. With your tongue in her mouth, you reached behind her, unclasping the bra, pulling it from her body. You trailed your lips down, taking your time to worship every inch you came into contact with. Her fingers found their way into your hair, pressing you closer. You slid down her body, needing a better angle if you were to make her moan your name.

Your tongue tasted her skin, swirling over a nipple, smiling when you felt her arch up towards you. She murmured praise, practically a sigh. Your hands reached for her skirt, slow to unzip it and push it over her hips. She kicked it away before your hand ran up the outside of her thigh. You could feel her warmth practically radiating towards you.

“I can’t get enough of you,” you murmured into her skin.

“You feel so good, sweet girl,” she gasped when your lips made contact with her again.

You pushed her panties aside, slow to touch her, wanting to draw it out as long as possible. If you gave in too quickly you’d take too much. You wanted her falling apart, the way you had, until your name was burned on her tongue.

You collected her wetness, running a finger through her folds. Her breathing stuttered, chest heaving against your mouth. You circled her clit, slow as you lent back, watching her face contort in pleasure. Her lips were smiling, eyes fluttering shut. Your hand slipped down again, finger hovering at her entrance. She looked up at you again.

“Can I?” you asked.

“If you don’t, I’ll be sorely disappointed,” she replied, voice husky.

You smiled down at her, spread out beneath you. With strong hand you tore her underwear off, biting down on her pulse point. Your fingers found her entrance again, lingering just a moment before you pushed in, her arousal making it easier than you would have thought. A soft sigh fell through parted lips and her eyelids fluttered shut again.

Slowly pumping in and out of her you waited until her annoyed gaze found you again. You grinned, pressing a second finger in. You curled them and your name was nothing but a filthy moan on her lips.

You stroked her, thumb finding her clit again. She was writing under your touch, hips rocking against your hand, small noises coming from her. Her hands were fisting her comforter and there was a flush over her chest.

You watched her fall apart beneath you. Her internal walls clamped down on your fingers, your name a breathless sigh, fingers tightening, body going still. You eased her through it, drawing it out as long as you could. Her muscles relaxed, looking up at you with a sleepy smile. You removed your hands from between her legs, tongue lapping at your fingers, tasting her on your skin.

Her eyes began to smoulder, looking up at you. With grasping hands she pulled you down, unbalancing you until both your hands landed either side of her head, catching your weight before you crushed her. She drew you down into a kiss, stealing your breath, sending your head reeling all over again.

“You’re a dream, sweet girl,” she murmured against your lips, “I’m never letting you go.”

You kissed her again before rolling off her, sitting on her plush comforter. Her fingers trailed up your bare thigh, making you shiver under her touch.

“Are you tired?” she asked, voice low, like a whisper caressing over your skin.

“No,” you replied.

“Then let me wear you out, sweet girl.”

When you woke in the morning, the bed was empty, still warm under your touch and more comfortable than the twin bed you’d been sleeping in for the last few months. You sat up, stretching your aching body before brushing the sleep from your eyes. The slant of light said it was late morning. Unsurprising, given Billie had kept you up until the early hours of the morning. The scent of coffee was on the air and you smiled, hearing someone moving downside.

You hunted through the room, finding a soft cashmere sweater. Pulling it on, it hit mid thigh, just enough to cover you but not enough to not be tempting to the insatiable woman. On bare feet you padded down the stairs. Rounding the banister, following your nose, you practically skipped into the kitchen.

You stumbled to a halt, finding a familiar face staring back at you, eyes widening in surprise. Billie turned in her seat, lips quirking up into a smile as her eyes swept over your body.

“Mom?”

You felt your face heat up, taking a step back. She was sitting at the kitchen island, the exact island you’d been sitting on, naked, just a few hours before.

“Darling, what are you doing here?” she asked, “did you spend the night here?”

“Uh…” You looked to Billie, not sure how to answer, “yeah I did.”

“I hope you didn’t bother Billie. She was meant to meet me this morning but when she didn’t show up I had to come hunt her down,” she said.

“She was no bother,” Billie replied, smiling at you over the rim of her coffee cup.

“I thought I was interrupting you after a wild night of passion,” your mother laughed, “with all those clothes scattered around your kitchen.”

“I should… go,” you said, not wanting to think about Billie telling your mother about your night with her.

Only your clothes were bundled up on the counter and you had no way of getting them without making it clear Billie’s night of passion had included you.

“You didn’t interrupt them, did you darling?” she asked, a tinkling laugh tacked on to the end.

“Hardly,” Billie replied.

Your mother was smiling at you and you were frozen and Billie was being no help. You stared helplessly back before your mother’s eyes darted to Billie then the pile of clothes then back to you. You held your breath.

“Darling, you didn’t,” she sighed.

“I… It wasn’t…” You didn’t know how to even begin to end those sentences.

“It appears as if we’ve been busted,” Billie said.

She stood from her barstool, sauntering towards you. Looping an arm around your waist, she pulled you into her body, brushing some of your hair behind your ear. It was so tender, nothing like the seduction you’d experienced the night before. Still, you shivered, her touch enough to set you off.

“If you were jealous of me having a friend there were more productive ways of going about getting my attention,” your mother said, interrupting your moment.

“What?” You looked over to her.

“We could have just had a conversation, darling,” she said.

“You think I…” It was hard to wrap your head around, “do you seriously think I slept with Billie to get your attention?”

“What other possible reason could you have?” she asked.

You felt Billie stiffen against you. You curled your arm around her, wanting to shield her from your mother’s accusations. Glaring at her, you hardened.

“Maybe because I wanted to. God, Mom, not everything is about you,” you said.

“Alright, I’ll play along with your little fantasy,” she said, giving you one of those indulgent smiles you remembered from childhood, “but darling, until you choose to grow up and act like an adult, not everyone is going to be so forgiving.”

“I think you should go,” you said, voice hardening.

“Why on earth would I do that, darling?” she asked.

“Because I’m hoping Billie will fuck me over the top of that counter your sitting at and it’ll be a little awkward if you’re still here when she does,” you replied.

Your mother’s face blanched of colour and she was quick to climb to her feet, muttering something about another meeting she had to get to as she hustled out of there. Billie didn’t bother saying anything, only watching her leave as you kept her close to you. The door slammed behind her retreating back.

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” she murmured.

“Do what?” you asked, looking down at her, “I’m free all day and would quite like it if you fucked me on every available surface in this house.”

She kissed you, long and deep, laughing into your mouth. You pulled her closer, your hands finding her hips as you guided her into the kitchen, pressing her against the kitchen island.

“If you do, I’ll return the favour,” you said.

“You don’t have to convince me,” she murmured, “I’d do anything you asked of me, sweet girl.”

And so she did.

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petalsnthorns · 2 years ago

Text

SWEET TOOTH

pairing: mike schmidt x female reader

rating: explicit

word count: 1.1k

summary: mike has a sweet tooth. when he sees you come home from the grocery store with an extra bag you’re trying to hide, your efforts to keep your candy away from him turn dirty.

author’s note: i have no explanation. just a sprinkle of josh hutcherson brain rot that turned into this.

warnings/tag: explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), established relationship, dry humping, desperate mike, sub mike vibes, pet names (including good boy), teasing, play fighting, kissing, mike cumming in his pants, begging.

Mike stumbles out of the bedroom when he hears the door open, the rustle of plastic grocery bags followed by the gentle opening and closing of the kitchen cabinets letting him know you’re back from dropping Abby off at school and running to the store. He didn’t sleep much but it doesn’t matter, not when he’s been missing you for the last couple of nights.

“Hey,” he says, entering the kitchen and sliding his arms around your waist. “What did you get?”

“Just the usual. Some frozen pizzas. Rice. Those burritos you like were on sale, so I got a bunch of those,” you reply. There’s a bag on the counter that’s still full and when he tries to reach for it to help you out, you snatch it away. He raises his eyebrows.

“What’s in the bag?” He asks.

“Nothing.” You step away from him, hiding the bag behind your back. “It’s just…feminine things.”

He doesn’t buy it.

“You mean the same feminine things that are fully stocked in the bathroom right now?”

You shrug. “They were on sale.”

“I don’t think you’re telling the truth,” he teases, taking another step toward you. You back up, but he moves forward. You shift to the side and he follows suit. “Is it candy?”

You stomp your foot petulantly. “Michael Schmidt, you are not stealing my candy this time. You and Abby ate all of my M&Ms last weekend!”

“Sharing is caring!” He tries to reach for you but you duck around him, running for the living room with your bag in hand.

Mike chases after you, following the sound of your laughter and watching as you round the back of the couch, using the piece of furniture to defend yourself. Every time he moves, you shift in the other direction, bag still held behind your back. He moves forward and your eyes narrow.

“Don’t you dare,” you hiss. Like a disobedient cat, he places one foot on the couch cushions, raising his eyebrows at you in defiance. “Michael Schmidt!”

He rushes over the furniture toward you, a shriek that turns into a giggle filling the room as closes in on you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into his chest.

“Gotcha,” he teases. He reaches around to grapple for the bag, struggling grab it as you move it out of his reach. Your ass is snug against his hips and his cock takes notice of the contact, twitching in his sweatpants.

“You got a little problem there, Mike?” You ask, voice teasing. You grind against him and he hisses, eyes fluttering closed. His hands still, settling on your hips.

“F-fuck,” he stutters. You take advantage of his moment of weakness, breaking free from his grasp and rushing across the room. “Hey!”

He charges after you again, grabbing you around the waist again and throwing both of your bodies over the back of the couch, the two of you landing in a heap of limbs on the cushions. You hold the bag of candy up over your head and he reaches over you, success so close he can taste it.

Your hips twitch against the knee he’s got planted on the cushions between your legs and he pauses, glancing down in interest. In his distraction, you shift your weight enough to send him toppling to the ground, landing with a thump and a groan on his back.

He looks up at you, sees the little smirk on your lips, the mischievous glint in your eye, and he knows he’s in trouble. You grind yourself against him and his eyes roll back at the sensation, the friction of your body against his familiar and consuming in the best way.

“What’s the matter, Mike?” You ask, voice teasing. “Thought you wanted my candy?”

“Mm, candy can wait,” he manages to murmur, lifting his hands to slide his palms along your thighs. “I could use some sugar, though.”

You laugh, head thrown back and shoulders shaking. “That was so bad!”

“Made you laugh, though,” he counters. You smile at him, planting your hands on his chest to steady yourself as you lean close, lips ghosting over his.

He kisses you, slow at first, lips moving in a familiar dance. He swipes his tongue against yours, relishing in the heat and taste of you. You wriggle in his lap like you can’t help yourself, can’t sit still, little sighs escaping you as he kisses you senseless. You feel so good on top of him, surrounding him, grounding him to a present where he doesn’t have to worry about work and bills and money and whether he’s doing well enough for Abby.

You break away from him with a slick pop, lips glistening with spit. You move over him again, this time with intent. You drag your clothed pussy over his hard cock, slow and steady, back and forth.

“Mmm, w-why don’t we take this to the — fuck — bedroom?” Mike asks, trying to hold you still. His fingers dig into your hips but that only seems to spur you on. “Come on, lemme make you feel good.”

“Feel plenty good just like this,” you murmur. Mike bites his lip, squeezes his eyes shut, thinks about anything but the friction of your pussy against his cock but all his mind goes to is images of you splayed out in bed, leaking cum and glistening with sweat. He whines, hips bucking up against you.

“Please, f-fuck,” he bites out. “If you d-don’t stop I’m gonna—“

“Gonna what, Mike? Cum in your pants for me?”

Mike groans, long and loud, that knot in his stomach going taut. He can feel himself leaking in his boxers, an embarrassingly sticky mess that you’ve made of him without even touching him.

“Come on,” you encourage, sliding a hand from his chest up to the base of his throat. “Good boys cum when they’re told, baby.”

The slight pressure on his neck, the rocking of your hips, the dark look in your eyes, it’s all too much, too soon, too good. Mike’s hips stutter, warmth flooding him as he cums and cums and cums, cock twitching against you as you slow your movements.

You stop, sitting still on top of him. He’s panting, aching fingers flexing on your thighs as you run a hand through his hair before kissing him, soft pecks of your lips over his face that have him smiling like a dope.

“If this is what I get if I eat your candy then I hope you know it’ll never be safe,” he teases. You smack his chest, standing and grabbing the discarded bag from the floor.

“If you touch my gummy bears, you better get real acquainted with your hand,” you reply.

“Might be worth it for gummy bears.”

A handful of the gummy bears pelt his face and you laugh as he pops one in his mouth. You finish off the bag together before Mike returns the favor.

Over and over and over.

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petalsnthorns · 2 years ago

Text

SAW YOUR END. void stiles

description. it's hard not to give into the Nogistune. he does have the face of your favorite person, after all

includes. DARK CONTENT 18+, SMUT 18+, SLIGHT DUBCON (r wants it but for safe measures), fem! reader, impact play, choking, degradation, stiles is possessed, forced impregnation, baby trapping (kinda), snowballing, reader is secretly in luv with stiles, implied that stiles is present, some angst, title from 'cherry waves' by deftones

wc: 4.5k+

He’s more intimidating up close than you would’ve thought.

You’ve been telling yourself that if faced with the shell of your best friend, you could handle yourself. The Nogistune doesn’t fight. He plots, plans, weakens you with words alone. And you thought this was something you could control. No amount of taunts or insults or manipulation could catch you off guard.

But you somehow forgot that while he would slowly weaken your resolve, he would be wearing the face and body and voice of your best friend. You hadn’t considered that this would make you weak in and of itself, heart already thudding loudly behind your chest when you saw those amber eyes, mouth dry when he spoke your name, hands shaking with the desire to meet him in the middle when he reached out for you.

You find yourself to be more fragile than you thought, lip quivering and eyes welling up when his gaze hardens instead of softens. Your entire body trembling when he starts his slow torture, words perfectly chosen to hit the spots of you that will be most affected.

He’s unpredictable, possibly completely predictable if you’d been thinking with the parts of you that excelled in reason instead of the parts that excelled in emotion.

But his unpredictable nature leaks into his actions, his desires, as his taunts turn from ones to break you down to ones that are designed to have you as putty in his hands. Promises to give you your deepest desires, ones you were previously sure that no one other than yourself and your diary knew. Claims that he could fulfill your wishes if you would just give in.

It all sounds too good to be true, too simple and sweet and perfect. But again, rationale isn’t your strong suit at this point, so you’re standing before him, chest pressed to his, sooner than you realize it.

Heads tilted, lips closing in on the others, tips of noses brushing until they poke at the others cheek as lips finally press together.

Chapped pillows against moisturized, teeth clacking and spit swapping. It’s easy for you to forget that this is a trick, that this is all an elaborate scheme, while he kisses you like he wants it.

The Nogitsune kisses you as if he’s trying to actually devour you. He sucks your saliva up as it pools between your mouths, he licks around your mouth and tongues at your bones, his hands claw at your body to pull you tighter and closer to him until you can feel the muscle tone of Stiles’ body.

The grip he has on your waist –– slightly conservative as he almost refuses to venture down to your lower back –– has you stumbling, leaving your hands with nowhere else to go other than Stiles’ shirt.

Stiles has worn this shirt many times before, the cotton relaxed around his muscles. But in the short time that the Nogistune has been present in it, it’s become distressed, tiny tears in both of the shoulders, the color a little dull from what you can tell.

The tears in the fabric have your hands pressing against Stiles’ bare skin while they fumble along the material. You flinch at the first press, surprised at just how chilled his skin is.

In comparison, you feel like you’re on fire.

Your body burns where he touches you, yet the parts his form doesn’t reach is unbearably cold, similar to his own body. You need him everywhere and nowhere all at once. You want what he can give you and resent the idea simultaneously.

Two wars raging in your mind, knocking around your head until you have a pressure and a fog that demands your attention.

Instead, you focus on reality.

You focus on the bulge that presses against denim to reach you. You focus on the thigh coming between yours. You focus on the damp feeling in your shorts, pressed warmly against your cunt.

Stiles’ thigh presses against your center and you sigh contentedly, eyebrows relaxing from their cinched position as you subtly start to submit in the Nogitsune’s hold. He breathes in when you breathe out, taking in every breath that you let out like you’re feeding them to him. He groans when you groan, echoing you.

You’re lost in his movements, trying to decipher why he does what he does while also trying to enjoy the feeling, creating too much for your head to handle, and suddenly –– without realizing it –– you’re walking backwards, legs bumping into your bed, knees bending and body falling back to thud against the mattress.

The Nogistune doesn’t follow you. Instead, he stands at the edge, looking down at you. His eyes are dark and empty as they stare at your body from head to toe. Suddenly, you’re self conscious about his opinion, your tiny brain convincing you that the opinion of the Nogistune correlates to that of Stiles. You shrink in on yourself, legs glued together at the knee, drawing up to your chest as you attempt to hide.

The Nogistune isn’t having it.

He tuts, the bed dipping at the end under his weight as he kneels. Two rough and large hands find your bare knees and you shiver, both thankful and regretful that you’d decided on your smallest pair of shorts for the night as you’d previously been completely unaware and unable to guess that your night would take a turn like this.

“Don’t hide from me.” It’s an order, one you wouldn’t dream of disobeying, fear of what would happen if you did preventing you from doing so. Either way, he’s spreading your legs open himself as he says it until they’re wide enough to welcome him in.

He takes your forced spread as an invitation from you, shuffling forward until he’s completely situated between your legs. The Nogitsune’s hands press into the pillow beneath you, strong forearms belonging to Stiles caging you in. He stares down at you, analyzing your reaction as he slots one thigh between both of yours, the other resting on the outside of your left leg.

“Pretty little thing like you,” he says, head tilting as his analyzing gaze shifts to one that resembles amazement. Wonder, even.

“Innocent. An angel. Would never hurt a fly.” He’s spitting the words out now as if he doesn’t believe them.

His eyes narrow, glazing over as if he’s not paying attention to you anymore, and then he blinks and you’re the main focus once more. “That’s what he’s telling me. He’s trying to get out, you know. Trying to convince me to stop. He’s begging.” He takes a second, eyes calculating as he watches you for a reaction.

You think you don’t give him one, but there’s one hidden in the minute shifts of your features.

“But you don’t want that, do you?” He comes to a conclusion. “You don’t want me to stop. If you did, you wouldn’t be humping my leg like a bitch in heat.” And you are, your hips having a mind of their own as they push and pull against the material on his legs.

You hadn’t even noticed it was happening, too busy taking in his words as if they’re a form of hypnosis. Maybe they were, because it’s not until he points out your mindless hip movements that you’re fully aware of them, hands clutching at the Nogitsune’s sides as you start to pleasure yourself.

”Want me to please you?” His voice is sickly sweet, a teasing pout on his lips, his eyes faux soft and his thick eyebrows lifted. You know he’s mocking you, it’s evident in his voice and face. But you’re already submitting, wanting just that, and telling him with a sincere nod. “Yeah?” He shouldn’t sound as hot as he does, and you shouldn’t be as horny as you are. But at this point, you’re pushing aside nearly all of your morals, deciding instead to completely give in.

“Yes. Please, Void.”

His face twists into one of surprise at the nickname. “Is that what you all call me? ‘Void’.” You stop, fearing you’d angered the usually cool headed Nogisgune. Until he smiles, slight but enough to be seen, and his hands slide down to your cunt.

“Is that what you’ll call me when I bring you to completion?”

Another nod from you, your hips starting to squirm with impatience. You’re not above begging, as you’ve proven time and time again tonight, but there’s no need.

Void slides his hand down to the waistband of your shorts, separating the elastic from your skin enough to slide his hand beneath the thin layer.

You’re not wearing any panties, something about minimal layers being good for vaginal health. In reality, few layers is best for easy access, proven with the way Void easily slides two fingers through your slit, pushing your lips apart to let you feel the cool air against your center.

Goosebumps raise along your skin, your bedroom suddenly colder than it was before.

“So fucking wet.” His words are nothing but an observation, he’s quite frankly pointing out the obvious. There’s no hidden meanings or underlying intentions woven between the syllables. It’s straightforward.

And that’s probably why you’re so embarrassed about it.

You try to close your legs, shy away from Void, but of course he doesn’t let you.

He uses his free hand to push your knees apart, holding one of them down while his occupied hand flexes as he slides his two fingers down to tease your entrance.

“You can’t hide from me, sweet thing. You know that, don’t you?” This is full of a double meaning. You feel the weight of the words as you start to surrender even more, body weighted into the mattress while Void slides Stiles’ middle finger into your fluttering walls.

There’s barely any reaction, not much of a stretch nor enough stimulation to give you much. So Void adds a second, pushing your walls apart while he inserts.

You hiss, hands instinctively going down to wrap around Void’s wrist. He doesn’t swat your hands away. He lets you wrap your fingers around his wrist, and his eyebrows raise as he waits for you to make a move.

You don’t.

Your hand limply sits curled around a slender wrist, not tight enough to really do anything at all.

Void continues his slow torture, setting a pace for his fingers that leaves so much to the imagination.

What would it be like faster? Could you hear the squelch that way? Do you want it faster? Since that would inevitably bring you to the end at a speed that would easily have you unfulfilled and desiring more.

There’s not much room to think more, however, when Void starts lowering himself, eyes trained on yours while his head steadily moves down.

When he’s above your navel, he presses a kiss right below it, and then his other hand digs into the elastic of your shorts to pull them down. You’re left bare, open, save for Void’s fingers momentarily filling you up.

“Do you taste as good as you look? Hm?” he asks you, voice low and teasing. Completely unaware of the answer, you choose to not answer at all. But Void is determined, pulling his fingers out of you and floating them over to your mouth.

Your lips part easily, without any verbal prompting from him. He slips the digits in, and lets you suck, dark eyes trained on your mouth while you clean the pale skin.

His eyebrows raise to prompt you to answer his question.

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” It’s snarky, but spoken like you’ve said the sweetest, most innocent thing in the world, words almost dainty as they saunter out in a single file line from your lips.

He hums, eyes squinting as his lips raise in something that looks like admiration. “Got a mouth on you.”

And then his hands are holding your thighs open as he slots his face between your legs.

The first lick is slow, his tongue flat as he confidently traces it from just above your asshole to just above your clit.

You gasp, not expecting that wide of a trail, and then you melt.

Void’s fingers presses into your thighs as he situates them over his shoulders, giving him the perfect position to devour.

Which, he does.

You don’t know how you expected a dark spirit with thousands of years of age over you to give head, but any expectation you would have had wouldn’t have been nearly as good as it is.

None of the previous ‘best head you’ve ever had’ exists in this room. In this space. In this moment. No conscious thoughts about the possible repercussions you’ll face from finally having Stiles’ head between your thighs, but in the most unconventional way. Nothing exists outside of Stiles’ mouth on your cunt, Void driving his actions as pleasure that knocks the breath out of you is introduced to your system.

Your eyes stick to the ceiling, or they close, fear that if you look down you’ll either cum too fast and cease the best moment of your life, or you’ll be wracked with guilt when poised with Stiles’ eyes peering up at you.

But of course, Void won��t let you off that easily.

His command to look at him is so strong that you don’t even consider disobeying it. Instead, you stare down at him, eyes finding his like opposite ends of a magnet. You prepare for that guilt to make you physically sick. You prepare to get uncomfortably turned off and recoil in on yourself instead of spreading your legs wider for Void.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, you feel weirdly comforted, back arching further and your hand confidently coming down to thread through Stiles’ waves, the dark hair beginning to stick to his forehead with the physical exertion.

Void pulls Stiles’ lips from your center, rosy-pink glistening before he licks them clean. You notice Stiles’ cheeks are turning a similar color and it’s then that something switches in your head.

Suddenly, you see Stiles instead of the Nogistune. It doesn’t help when you’re sent a smile that feels soft and familiar.

You’re pushed out of your daze by the grate of his voice.

“I bet you’re pretending I’m him, aren’t you?”

He licks up your cunt once more, another long stripe that collects your pooled arousal just before he sucks at your clit.

“Wanna scream his name while I make you cum? Hm?” It’s wrong, but you do.

You nod, the movement small and shy as you wiggle your hips to demand attention. He gives in, pressing his lips back to your sensitive nerve endings. You start to chase your orgasm, grinding your hips against Void’s face as you begin to imagine it’s Stiles between your legs instead. It’s easy to do, especially when his face is shoved in your pussy.

Stiles’ name falls from your lips with a stutter at first, unsure from your tongue as you test it. Void shakes his head. “Say it like you mean it,” he tells you before diving back in.

He bares his teeth and nips on the bud, giving way for the name of the face he wears to push from your chest with more assurance this time.

It’s the same name you moan when Void pushes you over the edge with his mouth alone.

With the post orgasm haze over your mind, bleeding into your body, it’s easier for you to see Stiles more than the Nogitsune.

His face relaxed, the light in your room brightening his dark eyes. His lips pink and swollen and glistening, spreading into a satisfied smile as your breathing starts to level out.

Logic attempts to remind you that no matter how similar they look, this isn’t Stiles. But when Void softens his eyes, his hands shake a little at your side, and his smile lacks cockiness, it’s easier than it should be for you to forget. It’s easy for you to look past the pale skin and purple under eyes and messier-than-it-should-be hair and instead see your best friend. The guy you’ve been pining after since middle school.

“You’re prettier than you know.” Void presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh, close to the junction of your pelvis and limb. The action shoves you back to reality, putting you in that post-orgasmic euphoric haze.

“Too pretty for him.” Another kiss. “Should keep you close to me, shouldn’t I?”

Maybe there’s something else affecting you other than your post-orgasm haze, because the thought starts to sound not so bad. You try to nod, but your body is heavy. You’re tired, but your body wants more.

Shamelessly, you start to grind, a pathetic attempt of receiving friction from perhaps the air, since that’s the only thing you’re getting. You feel drunk, confused, and incredibly horny.

A frustrated groan falls from your lips, Void replying in a chuckle.

“What? You want more?”

You muster your strength to nod, and you can’t see it, but you look like the prettiest fucked out thing.

Hair messy atop your head, lips swollen and slick and pouty, eyes glazed over and it looks like you’ll cry if Void turns down your advances. He briefly considers doing so, just to fuck with you, see what you’re like at your weakest, but he figures there’s another way to get you to that point.

Void’s hand slides up your torso, palm wide and calluses rough against your soft body. He rises as he does so, hand cupping your jaw, face hovering over yours as he brings your attention solely to him. You blink dumbly, waiting for his next move.

“You know I’m gonna need something from you, too, baby, right? And not just those pretty sounds you make when you cum.” You stare at him, feeling like it’s all you've been doing this entire encounter. But there are no words, nothing for you to say to him.

You lick your lips and it takes longer than it should for a response to form in your head, each word appearing one at a time. “What … do you need?”

He kisses the side of your neck and then his hand slides down to rest over the area. You stay still, breath sitting in your chest, unmoving.

He sucks in a breath himself, as if he’s taunting you with how relaxed and unphased he is. Suddenly, you begin to feel like trapped prey.

“I need to hurt you, honey.” He tilts his head, eyes scanning over your body, calculating. “Not a lot, just enough to feed myself.” His grip on your throat seems to get tighter, more secure. “That’s okay, right?”

You’re dumb. So fucking dumb and clueless and desperate.

Because you’re nodding, hand pathetically circling Stiles’ wrist when pressure is applied to the sides of your throat.

“That’s a good girl.” He kisses your forehead, and then your cheek is struck.

You gasp, the sound is an instinct from your body. It forces you to breathe, and the airflow combined with the sting from your cheek feels good. You wonder if they’ll be a mark tomorrow, and the thought excites you instead of worries you.

You don’t consider the lie you’ll have to tell Scott or Lydia. You don’t think about how you’ll potentially feel looking in the mirror in the morning. All you think about is how you want Void to do it again.

Especially when he looks like this while he does it: Veins along his arms and neck turning black as he seemingly takes the pain, not away like Scott can, but as Void takes your pain he adds to it. Multiplies it, even.

It’s not filled with gloom, nor despair, but there’s something heavy that feels vaguely uncomfortable from the lack of attention, like an itch that needs to be scratched.

You need more.

Void seems to sense this.

“On all fours,” he instructs you, hand leaving your neck to allow you to do as told.

There’s the sound of shuffling, not just from you. Metal against metal, fabric against fabric. More shuffling, the added weight against the bed is gone, and then hands are pulling you back towards the edge.

There’s barely any wait, any anticipation, before your walls are forcibly stretched.

You wish you could see it, maybe if you were doing it in missionary, but beggars truly can’t be choosers and you’re perfectly fine with taking what you can get.

Void is at least a few inches deep before you consider the option of protection. You bring it up to him, glancing over your shoulder and your voice wobbling as you say it.

Void tuts as if he’s disappointed, shaking his head.

“You don’t want his babies?” He speaks through a pout, the epitome of condescending. “Don’t want to be the whore with her crush’s seed festering in her womb? ‘Cause I think you do.”

His hand presses flat against the middle of your back, pressing you down into the mattress, leaving you with your ass up.

Void bottoms out completely, a hiss sounding through your teeth as you try to adjust as quickly as you can.

He doesn’t give you much grace, instantly setting a pace that has you gasping, pornographic sounds slipping from between your lips. It’s nearly exactly as you’d imagined it, loud with the squelches of you and Void combining in the purest way possible. But it’s dirty, fast and lacking any neatness or grace.

He fucks you just as you expected from him: Mercilessly, with little to no concern for how you feel.

As if to emphasize this, he spanks you, the clap loud to the point where it seems fake. But the sting left behind on your left ass cheek begs to differ.

It’s not long before his thrusts become erratic, most likely from the build up of the entire ordeal. A lack of rhythm becomes present as he fucks you harder, with more intention behind each aggressive snap of his hips into yours. You’re sent further and further into the mattress as he does so, your lips pressing against your definitely sodden sheets. You attempt to maneuver your head to where he can hear you, a plea for him to cum anywhere but inside of you desperately climbing up your throat.

But it gets stuck behind your mouth. Void’s hand presses into the back of your head, forcing your face into the sheets, and just when you feel as if you can’t breathe, his hand wraps around your throat and he pulls you up, your back against his chest.

His chin sits on your shoulder, his lips brush your earlobe as he speaks.

“Gonna cum in you, yeah? Fill you with little Nogitsune babies. Be a lot better than the little weaklings he would give you. Bet you would look so pretty carrying my kids. Tits all swollen,” his free hand circles around your waist at this point, climbing up to pinch an already sensitive nipple between his pointer and thumb.

You hiss, attempting to recoil away from the clamp. There’s nowhere for you to go, completely closed in by Void in all places. He’s still in you, rock hard and hot and fucking up into your walls with a depth that stings, his tip not too far from your cervix. His body is around you, arms circled around you, hands at your neck and stomach, pressing you back against him.

You couldn’t escape even if you wanted to. And with another orgasm brewing low in your belly, you want the opposite. It’s hard to admit, and it’s not like you will ever admit it, but you have the sudden craving for Void to fill you up.

You whine, pretending to be disinterested by the thought he puts in your head. But Void continues speaking, voice heavy and a little slurred as he continues to take the pain he’s inducing.

“Feel so good around me. It’s like this is how it was supposed to be. You and him. Maybe you two were made for each other.” He chuckles cruelly, almost taunting you with the idea. You have to bite back a sob because that sounds so nice, but it seems impossible after this.

You can’t imagine Stiles ever wanting to be with you after this.

“He wants that, too, you know. But ‘s not gonna happen when I’m here.” He kisses your cheek, and it would be romantic in any other situation.

You can’t even consider the idea of romance when Void’s hand squeezes at your throat and his voice drops a few octaves as he tells you: “You’re mine.”

His hand slides from your tit to between your thighs, two fingers circling your clit rapidly, meant to send you over the edge. You do so a few moments later, satisfied that he hadn't made you beg while your body completely relaxes until you let out a sound that is practically inhuman.

It’s a mix between a growl and a moan and a sob. You sound like a wounded animal. And while Void cums in you, you feel like one too.

He lets you go, allowing you to collapse face first into your bed.

Both of you are still for a moment, Void's heavy body atop of yours as you both lay limply on your mattress. Of course, he moves first, separating from you and letting you lay there in silence.

There’s no tranquility, no comfort, just thick silence.

You’re spent, fucked out as you attempt to catch your breath.

It’s almost impossible to do so when Void lifts your hips a little and then presses his tongue flat against your entrance. You gasp, experiencing too much too soon, and again attempt to thrash away. He holds you still, strong hands holding you up as his lips pucker around your hole. He sucks, and it becomes clear to you that he’s retrieving his own cum from inside of you.

When he’s finished, he flips you over and goes to your mouth, and it’s shameful that you still don’t have to be asked to open. You do it automatically, lips parting as Void presses his to yours. The swap is disgusting, both in taste and texture, but you lose yourself in the messiness of the kiss.

By the time Void pulls away, there’s drool and cum from both of you sliding down your chin. He smiles at the sight, gently tapping your cheek before doing the same with a much harder slap on your abused cunt.

This time, you don’t recoil, or writhe away, or even make a sound. You’re completely submissive, the only indicator of the pain being the way your stomach flexes.

Void grins, satisfied with how he’s made you. You expect more from him. You’re expecting him to tug his dick back up, so you’re sat watching him dumbly as he mechanically redresses.

You don’t move, too tired to do so, just blinking languidly while pale skin is recovered.

Just before Void leaves, he tells you: “I’m not done with you.”

And it’s both a threat and a promise. One you hope he keeps.

#dark content #void stiles x reader #stiles stilinksi x reader

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