#so i feel i have a responsibility to share ^^

[nanamisgirly]

Am I, not a good dad? ྀི

“I want mama!” your son screams, tears filling up his eyes—the same color as Nanami’s.

And speaking of Nanami…he feels helpless.

The boy won’t stop crying, won’t stop calling for you. His little face is red and scrunched up, his cheeks wet, chest heaving with each shaky breath. You’d told him you’d be gone for a few hours—explained it gently, with a kiss to his forehead and a promise that Papa would take care of everything. But none of it seemed to matter.

You’re gone and his world feels like it’s ended.

“Please, baby…Mum will be back any time soon.” Nanami spares a glance at the clock, in thirty minutes you’d be here. “Should we finish your meal in the meantime, mh?” He tries, voice tight, panic folding over his usual calm.

But your son only screams louder, fists pounding the highchair tray, tears flowing freely.

It’s been hours, and Nanami has come to the conclusion that : he doesn’t want me.

He stares at his son’s red, tear-slicked face. There’s no hatred in it, just unfiltered, helpless longing.

“I want Mamaaaaaa!!” Nanami flinches. Exactly, the toddler is longing for you.

The little boy’s small chest rises and falls in erratic sobs, hiccupping on the edge of breathlessness.

Nanami exhales slowly through his nose. You can do this, he tells himself. You’re his father. You can do this.

So, he tries.

He pulls out the little wooden train you carved together one weekend. Places it on the floor. “Do you want to show Papa how fast it goes again?” he asks, voice as gentle as possible.

No response.

He tries the animal book—the one with flaps and texture that always make him giggle. “Tell Papa where’s the lion. Can you find the lion for me?”

Nothing.

Just a heartbreaking, hoarse little “Mama…”

Nanami even tries to put on the cartoon with the talking blue bear. The one your son usually dances to.

As nothing seems to work, Kento feels his heart breaking inch by inch. He picks him up despite the flailing little arms, holds him against his chest, firm but not tight, like you’ve teached him.

His son won’t stop. Not even a little. The screams turn into an open-mouthed wail, the kind that turns cheeks purple and voices raw for hours. 

Nanami’s hands tremble slightly. He sits down on the floor with the boy in his lap, gently cradling him, head bowed. He’s never felt this powerless.

Not during cursed missions, not under pressure—but here, in his own home, with his child breaking apart in his arms… He feels not enough.

Not soft enough. Not warm enough. Not you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the crown of his son’s head. “I’m trying. Papa’s trying so hard.”                 

And that’s when the front door creaks open. “I’m home!”

And just like that, your son’s head snaps up from where he’s been sobbing into Nanami’s lap. Your husband doesn’t even have the time to rise to his feet that the boy is squirming violently in his arms, “mama! Mama! MAMA!!” Nanami lets him go without resistance. He stands slowly as your son flings himself into your arms when you appear in the doorway.

Concern is written all over your face. “I’m here, baby. I’m here…”  you look up and see Nanami standing a few feet away, shoulders sagging, eyes tired behind his glasses.

“he’s been crying for hours,” he says softly. “didn’t want anything from me. Wouldn’t eat. Wouldn’t play.”

You nod as your rubs your son’s back. “I’m sorry. He’s just been going through this clingy phase.” 

“I know.” Nanami offers a tired smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “it’s okay.”

Later, after dinner and a bath your son is finally asleep, curled on your side of the shared bed, clutching one of your shirts tightly, your sent comforting him.

Nanami stands in the doorway, arms crosses, watching the soft rise and fall of your kid. You come up behind him, circling his waist with your arms, letting your cheek rest on his strong back.

One of his hands intertwin with yours. “He wouldn’t even let me hold him,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I’ve never felt that…useless before.”

“Kento…”

“I know he’s still small. I know it’s not personal. But…” he pauses, swallowing hard. “I tried everything. Toys, books, food, music. He didn’t want any of it. It felt like…like…I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t…probably am, not a good dad.”

Your heart twists at the words. “Can you please turn to face me, love?”

He lets out a deep exhale, like the breath hurts to let go, and turns. When his eyes meet yours, you feel like the weight of the whole world just collapsed onto your chest. 

Nanami is silently crying.

His eyes are rimmed red, and cheeks drenched wet.

You gently cup his jaw. “You were more than enough Kento. You held him even when he didn’t want to be held. You didn’t get angry. You didn’t walk away. You didn’t even raise your voice once. That’s not just ‘enough’. That’s what a good dad does. That’s love.”

He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch as more tears gather in his long blonde lashes. “I just…” his voice breaks. “I just wanted to be what he needed.”

Nanami wraps his arms around you tighter, letting his forehead drop to your shoulder. He breathes into your neck, letting your sent comforting him­—just like his son does.

“I don’t mind not being the favorite,” he murmurs after a while, his voice quiet and raw. “But I hope, one day, he’ll reach for me too.”

You press a kiss the top of his head, pulling him impossibly closer to you. “He will. And when he does…he won’t want to let go.”

(request)

[borkunlimited]

This brings me back when my friends and I were going over old newspapers clippings of our University paper dated from all the way back to 1920s.

The language was in Spanish then but good thing my friends can speak and understand so who would have thought we will stumble upon a fanfic written in their version of a Feature section?

It was an interesting read. Everyone tried their best to translate it and we all wonder what happened to the writer who has such command with words.

(We have a feeling he enlisted to become a soldier as his work was published pre-WW2.)

I supposed what I am getting at is sometimes as writers there are instances we want a response when we throw our ideas out here, to be able to talk about these ideas to someone and there's nothing wrong with that. It is very fun to have someone to share the world you carefully built and it takes courage to put it out there so I understand the feeling all too well when no one seemed to read it (It is no one's fault as well. The internet is very vast and there is so much things going on that we can only do so much even if we want to give more.)

I hope I am not stepping on anyone's toes as I am not good with words but I try my best as someone who enjoys reading and writing niche topics.

To you who is reading this, I hope this inspires you to continue writing, even if sometimes it feels like it is a shot in the dark.

Don't be pressured to write something you may not enjoy writing.

Always remember that it takes some time but what matters is you put it out here and someone out there has already picked it up, enjoying what you have written.

[classjezter]

I have a question about carriage?

If carriage taken to full term is deemed a feat of celebration, what about when a bot miscarries?, what happens to a bot that loses their sparkling. Is there a mourning period or some form of ritual for the carrier?

Dark topic, but good question, answer below cut.

TW: Miscarriage

Losing a sparkling is one of the most devastating experiences a Cybertronian can endure, especially for the carrier. Because the sparkling isn’t just life forming within them. It’s a part of them. It’s a part of their own spark, their own being, that is now lost. It’s like a part of themselves dies as well, a piece once so bright and alive, that is gone just like that. It’s not just grief. It’s the kind of loss that changes you.

There’s also the physical recovery. The carrier’s systems have to reabsorb or shut down processes that had been redirected toward supporting the sparkling. Some may suffer temporary damage to their forge or spark chamber depending on how far along they were.

For sires or bonded partners, the grief is different but still devastating. While they didn’t carry the sparkling, they likely interacted with its EM field, felt its responses, and planned a future around its presence. Losing that potential creation, and watching their conjunx suffer, often leaves them feeling helpless or hollow.

Culturally, some communities treat it with reverence, performing rites to honor the lost spark and mark the significance of its brief existence. Others may see it as a private sorrow, not to be shared unless the carrier chooses to.

Some carriers try again. Some don’t. But they never forget the life that was lost.

[jinusajas]

06/26/25; 10:45am

jinu saja x fem.reader

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

{ baby, i’d give up anything to travel inside your mind | baby, i fall in love again come every summertime | my daddy taught me to choose 'em wisely, but you don't have to try | ‘cause, baby, i fall in love every summertime }

thinking about spending a hot summer morning lazing around in bed with jinu. the air conditioning would be on at full blast as your limbs remained tangled with jinu’s as evident from your escapades the night before.

his hands would gently trail down the length of your body, pressing your bare back closer to his naked chest while peppering butterfly kisses across your skin. you would lazily smile in your sleep, not quite waking up as you allowed your demon lover to explore the expanse of your body.

his touches start out innocent enough-

with him placing a lingering kiss at the back of your neck-

hands caressing at your skin, almost reverently, before moving to the front of your chest. goosebumps would erupt in the wake of his lingering touches, and your breathing would hitch when he manages to cup at your sensitive sex. the palm of his hand would explore the slight dampness of your heat before tracing at your outer lips.

upon feeling his fingertips entering your slick walls, your eyes flutter open, pressing yourself even further into his chest while allowing jinu to continue his ministrations on you. upon feeling your honeyed arousal staining at his fingertips, he would let out a pleased grunt of your name-

spreading your legs even further for him when he removes his digits from you before slotting his cock between the fat of your thighs. letting out a soft keen when he manages to stroke himself back to full hardness with the help of your center, you braced yourself against the pillows as he slowly sheathes himself within your walls.

he groaned, the sound low in his throat as your slick folds parted around the swollen head of his cock, drawing him in inch by torturous inch. your scorching heat engulfed him like a velvet vice, threatening to push him over the edge instantly. hiding his face within the back of your shoulder, he sets a brutal pace, driving into you over and over again-

using so much force that it makes the headboard of your bed bounce in tune to his movements.

the sensation of his cock constantly pushing into you, impaling you over and over again, was almost too much to bear as you cried out to him. your moans echo throughout the room as jinu lets out a low hiss in response, feeling his balls tighten with the need to shoot his seed within your depths.

with just a few more desperate thrusts, jinu pushes his cock deeper inside of you, feeling your walls fluttering around him as you milked his dick for all he was worth, spilling your juices all over his cock just as he fills you to the brim with his seed.

entirely spent by the end of it, jinu removes his softening cock out of your heat, pressing a lingering kiss against your temple before bringing your body closer to his chest. and when the pleasure still lingered even as your eyes became heavy with sleep-

you found yourself dreaming of children that had his eyes and shared your smile, giggling while running through a field of flowers.

end notes: it’s not funny how deeply in love i am with jinu

(;﹏;)

i wrote this in 30 minutes, so it’s nothing too special, but still i wanted to thank you readers for helping me get to 3.5k+ followers 🥹 ♡ there will be more jinu (and saja boys!) stories to come !

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[timwhore]

coming out of my hiatus to post about the dating furniture game haha, timothy is my darling sweet heart, i had to write about him

— Timothy Timepiece x GN ! Reader ( no description of the reader's genitalia )

— NSFW, pretty vanilla ( handjob ), reader is called master, Timothy get called good boy / kitty, reader is 'you', pwp, also for the sake of my conscience betty is just a bed in this because otherwise the implication makes my head hurt, this can be considered ooc (but as Timothy doesn't have that much content i can't help it)

After a long day of running around and talking with various ginjikas of your furniture and helping them resolves some of their issues, you have only one thing in your mind - being with your lovely cat clock.

You run up to your bedroom, who is now, you suppose your shared bedroom ?

You see him polishing his pocket watch, you hesitate between coming behind him and spook him, and decide against it, even though he very much love you and is less stuck up around you, it better to not do that while he's so deep in it.

So you just slowly approach him and warp your hands around his waist and put your head on his shoulder, 'Hi'.

Timothy give a good look at his pocket watch before putting it down, 'Hello darling', he response with a smile creeping up on his face. He continues, 'How was your day ?'.

You sigh as you nuzzle your face in his neck, 'Tiring, had to help Mateo find Davi in the house but while doing so I run into Sinclair and he started going on about weird stuff but I couldn't just tell him that I didn't care so, but ah in the end I found it, so everything is fine ...'.

He let out a small chuckle and pat your head, 'You had quite the day dear, I assume you just want to wind down now right.', he phrased it like a question but it was in fact just a statement. Because of course you just wanted to wind down.

Timothy slithered out of your hold, took your hand in his and dragged you to the edge of the bed, before pushing you onto it. He laid next to you on his side, he brushed a hair strand out of your face with a smirk on his face. He then put his hand on your cheek and gave you a peek on the lips.

'Timothy, don't tease me please' you said lightly. He smiled at you, 'I'm not teasing you ~ but you are tired right ?'.

A put made it's way on your face, which caused Timothy to laugh a little bit before going and kissing you again - for real this time.

It quickly turn into a full on make-out session, where in the midst of it, you ended up with Timothy sitting on your lap, and you could feel the bulge that was constrained by his pants, against your thigh.

Your hand sneaked it's way to it, and you gave it a few rubs before Timothy let out a pathetic whimper. His hips fluttering against your hand and him looking at you, with a look that was begging for more.

'Hmm, do you want something ? Good boy says what they want ~' You teased him.

Timothy grumbled before giving in, 'Master, please touch me more ..' he muttered.

You of course obliged his request, you went ahead and unbuttoned his pant and freed his cock from the restrain of his boxer. You gave it a few strokes which made moans spills from Timothy lips. His fluffy ears flattened and his check were red. He was quite sensitive to your touch.

After a few more minutes of your ministrations, you could see and hear that Timothy was close, the way his ears twitched, his hips moved, how laboured his breath was, his moans and begging composed mostly of 'master', 'please', 'more'.

You started to slow down, which caused him to whimper and look at you as if you betrayed him or told him his favorite pocket watch was one minute late.

'Master, nyah don't stop please ... You're torturing me' he whined.

You smiled devilishly before going back to stroking his cock, this time faster than before. This caught him by surprise and he was just rendered speechless.

'Be a good kitty and take it' you said teasingly. But as you said it, Timothy reached his peak, a few strands of cum were coating you hand.

Timothy whined, before letting his body slumping over yours, he leaned to the side and grabbed a tissus from your bedside table. Still coming down from his orgasm he helped you clean your hand.

Once that was down, he cuddled into you, his tail warping around you. He quickly started nodding off, nuzzling his head in your neck and babbling half asleep a 'thank you nyah'.

[artisticmedley]

I don't really have an answer (honestly this is something i likely give a better answer to if i had a few live convos with you) (not a request just statement of fact) (i guess really i should be suggesting you ask any trusted people that know you in-dirtspace, if at all possible)

But i just want to like. Share that once i had a friend and she said something that was a little all-or-notting, and i gave an alternate perspective, and her response was a frustrated-sounding "why do you have to argue everything all the time?" And i was quietly like ".. i don't see it as arguing" and she corrected herself, i forget the phrasing now, but basically something about being contrary or always giving a different opinion or something.

So while to me that's just... having a conversation, sharing perspectives and information, i think to her, giving a differing view / more information that wasn't entirely in line with her perspective was viewed as, well, what you've said above.

So some of it may be that you're just saying something not in full agreement with what they've said (particularly the more authoritarian ones) and they get upsetti spaghetni about it.

I also want to point out:

Does everybody see me this way, and is it only people who are already short-tempered who are willing to say it?

These are two different statements, i think. Likely the people who are short-tempered are more likely to notice some behaviour in the first place, because they are much more prone to being frustrated by harmless things that others mightn't notice or care about at all. And then due to short temper, they're more likely to snap at you about it too. But that doesn't mean everyone feels annoyed about the behaviour.

Some of it may also be a pure perception thing on their part: for whatever reason (maybe while you were still practicing conversation and not so good at it?), they may have decided you were argumentative and so to them, that is Just How You Are and so they see this all the time in you, even when it's blatantly not present. Any sort of frustration ttey experience while conversing with you (may or may not be prompted by something you did!) They blame on you being argumentative - i'm suddenly reminded of this recent article on game design / playtesting where the devs were like "people are correct about how they feel about aspects of the game, but not the cause/solution to it."

It might also be some stupid subtle annoying way of speaking / body language that they are picking up on and reacting poorly to.

Question that I suspect is autism related

I have, on more than one occasion over multiple decades, been told that I “need to have the last word” and that I “have a response for everything”.

Additionally and in a similar vein, I’ve been told that “everything is an argument with you” and I “always have to say something”.

When I was a little kid I was bad at conversations. People said stuff I had no opinion on or didn’t need follow-up and so I wouldn’t answer and they’d get bored. And eventually through trial and error I figured out that if someone said something to me, all I had to do was say something related back, and the interaction could go on as long as it needed to.

But then as a teen- and now as an adult- a number of people (mostly people I’ve found to be very delicate and particular about things in a sort of need-to-be-in-control authoritarian way) have expressed the identical observation about how I naturally try to converse, and I’m not sure what to do about it.

And the thing is, I have a sibling that talks like this too. We bicker all the time. He changes his own opinions seemingly at a whim for the purpose of being contrary, and it’s impossible to make a statement or observation out loud without him contradicting it, and even when he is demonstrably, factually wrong about something, he will dig his heels into the dirt and defend his stance to the grave.

And like. I hear myself responding, or adding on to people’s comments, but I don’t hear the ‘arguing’ they describe, or the contrarian habits of my sibling. Even when I’m paying attention and being bery careful not to follow up too much or speak too often or disagree or correct something that isn’t important, I get called out for “picking a fight”. They say something, I answer, they reply, I continue, then seemingly out of nowhere they snap. I think everything’s fine until suddenly it isn’t.

And so I guess my question is, how can you tell if you’re a contrary sort of person? How can you tell when to respond or follow up on a person’s statement and how do you know when to leave it in silence? Does everybody see me this way, and is it only people who are already short-tempered who are willing to say it?

I honestly don’t really have that much to say, and half the time I don’t even really want to talk at all, but I’ve been told countless times that I “just seem to like the sound of your own voice” and have to just be “tuned out after a while”. So if it isn’t necessary and I don’t even want to, why am I doing it?

Is there a reason I’m like this? Why is my sibling like this? How do I stop talking when there’s nothing to say, and how can I tell the difference between a conversation and an argument before the other person visibly snaps?

I’m a full grown adult

[xandezsims]

L&D Trans Sim Tagging: EA Made an Oopsie

Xan here. Remember how I never got into Fullbody outfits, in the original Trans Sim tutorial? Well, I am honor-bound to get into it a little. Why? Because I made a discovery, and it's...not great.

TL;DR: The Part Flags for most of Life & Death are messed up. Trans Sims are wearing the wrong meshes and it cannot be avoided; EA has to fix it.

If this concerns you, please upvote the report, and spread the word. They have ignored the Sims community about gender-related glitches in the past. Help us make them fix this, so we don't have to.

In-depth explanation about the problem below.

I was stoked to see we got clothes for both frames in the newer packs. Finally, Sims can wear whatever gender clothing they want! That's the goal, right? But, recent testing made me wonder how they handle opposite-frames. I thought I could learn something to help with inclusive tagging. So, I stuck Carmen in a dress from L&D, and:

It passes from the front, but...her chest. That's the opposite gender distortion. The one caused by putting a AM (masc frame) mesh on any AF (female) Sim, trans or not. I've definitely talked about this.

I went and cloned both meshes to check the tags, and sure enough:

Quick tagging lesson: toggling Restrict Opposite Frame means Carmen can't wear the AF one. She has to wear the AM frame dress, because as a trans Sim, her frame is AM. (Literally, the Opposite Frame of her gender.) But because she has breasts, she inherits the chest distortion all female Sims get wearing a man's top. The same applies for Erik, her counterpart (AM w/AF frame).

With a sinking feeling, I went back to the game and tried...everything.

I ran out of space, there are more. Trans-men are the same. I got halfway through the AM catalog and ran out of willpower. I'm betting almost every item made for both frames in this pack is tagged wrong. It's locked by frame, instead of gender. With pants, that's not a problem--but tops, dresses and suits will all be swapped.

So, now we know Fullbody meshes work similarly to tops. They need to be locked by Gender. And it's really just that tag. To test, I went back to my cloned dresses, and fixed it with two clicks:

This means all women regardless of frame can use the AF, and all men can use the AM. And here's the result: AF dress on AF Sim, AM dress on AM Sim. They literally swapped dresses.

So, easily fixed! That's 2 files out of...all of them. (sigh) I filed a Bug Report, linked above. Hopefully the amount of evidence I provided will get an actual response. That, or they'll think I'm an arrogant prat for telling them how their game works. But, I didn't break it.

Moral of the Story: this is a great example of what not to do if you make cc, or if you retag what you download. Remember, if you want to limit who can wear a mesh:

"Restrict Opposite Gender" for Tops and Fullbody; this makes sure all AF and AM Sims wear their meshes, and don't end up with chest lumps.

"Restrict Opposite Gender" for AF Bottoms; Trans-AM Sims break in half. Don't Restrict AM Bottoms at all. They fit everyone.

Or, Don't Restrict Anything, if you want all options. Note: distortions will happen. Mark your gender filters. They help a lot.

Earrings, Hats, Makeup, Gloves, Socks, Tights work for everyone

Necklaces and Nails are "Restrict Opposite Frame"; Trans Sims can't wear these from their own gender. They don't fit.

If you got this far, thank you for sticking it out. My innocent question turned into a tagging lesson (again). But, if it helps anyone in the future, I'll be glad. At least now we know there's a problem.

Please boost the Bug Report, share if you found it useful, and thanks for reading. I'm on the soap box again re: trans inclusion, but it's still Pride and I can't not stand up for my people. The more we know, the better we can do on our side.

Finally, tagging some folks who might want to know, if they don't already (feel free to ignore): @sejianismodding @the-crypt-o-club @yooniesim @whyhellosims @thefoxburyinstitute @sims4tutorials @mmfinds @gncc

[linoskitty]

Until You Fall Asleep

idol!bangchan x f!reader

word count: 0,7k

genre: fluff/comfort

warnings: some people might not like the petname "Babygirl"

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Bang Chan was on his way home after a long day at the studio, finally he could come back to his beautiful girlfriend that he missed all day. When he finally entered their shared home, the smell of something being cooked filler his nostrils. He peeked into the kitchen and there he saw his angel working on something delicious by the stove. The idol sneaked up the you, wrapping his arms around your waist. "Hi babygirl" he murmured into your neck "What'cha making there?" You continued stirring the food not looking up from the pan. "Just some Kimchi Bokkeumbap." (i'm obsessed it's SO good🙏) You responded trying to sound normal but your voice cracking a little.

Chan ofc being the observant person he is, noticed the way your voice missed it's usual cheerful tone. He turned you around and looked into your tired eyes. "Oh Angel what happened?" He gently asked, pressing little kisses on your forehead. You burried your face into his chest before murmuring, "Idk Channie nothing really happened i just feel so lazy today, i don't even wanna smile."

Bangchan hummed at your response, "How about you take a relaxing bath while i finish cooking and when you get back we can have a lazy evening, hm? Sounds good Babygirl?" He asked running his hands up and down your back. You pulled away suddenly, "Nonono baby, you just came back from work, YOU go take a bath and I finish cooking." Your boyfriend pouted at your words, "Pleasee Angel, let me take care of you tonight, pleaseee." He looked at you with begging eyes, a move you couldn't resist. You rolled your eyes "Ugh fine fine i'll go wash up." Chan kissed your cheek before he took over the pan and continued adding more ingredients and stiring food.

Meanwhile, you entered the bathroom grabbing some bath salts and oils to make it more relaxing, you You turned on the water and while you waited, you put on some cozy songs. When you exited the bathroom the smell of Kimchi Bokkeumbap instntly filled the air. The idol pulled your chair back in a fancy way. Both of you sat down and started eating. "So? Wanna tell me a bit more bout your day, Babygirl?" He asked between bites. You looked up at him smiling before answering, "Not really Channie, nothing happened today, but i wanna hear about your day." "Hmm well you know, the usual day at the studio, we're working on a few new songs with Hannie and Binnie, ordered food, we decided to leave early today tho cause we were all really tired." He desribed his day.

You finish eating while sharing random things that happened recently. Bangchan put the dirty dishes in the sink before picking you up and walking to the bathroom with you in his arms to set you down on the marbel counter. "Mkay so we have your cozy pj's" He started while helping you change into them, "And now we're gonna do your skin care okay sweetheart?" He kissed your cheek. You nodded already getting sleepy. "Babygirl don't fall asleep on me yet", he reacted with a chuckle.

First he removed all your makeup before using a gentle tonic, then he put your moisturiser and night serum on. "Now that my Angel is all done, let's get her into bed, shall we?" Chan picked you up again and made his way to your bedroom and tucked you into bed. Before you had a chance to pull him beside, he got up and was about to walk out but you grabbed his hand making him look at you.

"Channieee don't leave please." You whined drowsily, "Baby i need to wash the dishes" he insisted. "We can do that tommorow please, you know it's hard for me to sleep without you." You looked up at him with puppy eyes and Chan melted at the spot, he sighed "Okay I guess i can make an exeption for my love." He finally got under the covers with you and wrapped you in his arms with your head on his chest. "Now my beautiful Babygirl can fall asleep peacefully." You hummed in approval before drifting into slumber.

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Hi again kittens!!! A huge thank you to the person who requested this, i hope i did a good job on this and y'all enjoy this short ff

~Kitty

[virahaus]

Something something, Anakin and Obi-Wan not agreeing in their role in each other life.

Anakin wanting/needing/referring to Obi-Wan as his father ("you are the closest thing I have to a father") yet also unconsciously realising Obi-Wan doesn't quite fit in that image (Anakin seeing Qui-Gon and, regrettably, Palpatine as father figures also). It also implies that Anakin craves a more authoritative figure in his life and he'd like for Obi-Wan to fill that space. And this also ties with Anakin trying to keep secrets from Obi-Wan, being afraid of not measuring up to him if he showed his mistakes.

Obi-Wan stubbornly trying to fit Anakin into a brotherly bond, so seeing himself as less imposing (different from father) and more equal and yet he only tries to do so after Anakin's knighting. He tried to fit Anakin into a brotherly figure as soon as Anakin was set from knighthood, so he'd still be his responsibility in a way but less arbitrary than before. In a way this idea was detrimental to their time as master and padawan, since Anakin craved a much more involved and guiding presence than the brotherly and pedantic way Obi-Wan sometimes lectured/ignored/gave him a pass.

Those two search for different things in each other and yet.... They agree only in one specific way to describe their bond which I think is far more significant:

They are partners. They are the team.

They see each other as their missing part, never whole if parted. And they both feel this. Anakin was upset about Obi-Wan going alone to fight Grevious and he literally wished he could run away with him. Obi-Wan on his solo mission missing Anakin so much he almost talks to the air since he's so accustomed to sharing jokes with him.

They try to fit their bond into platonic, friendly, or familiar ties and yet they always come up short in understanding each other's needs. Only when they act as each other's partners, then it's when they finally are in harmony and happy.

All of this to say, if they got married instead of anidala there might have been way less fuckery going around.

[starpeachjelly]

Kindred Spirits ₊˚⊹⋆

prologue part 3

part 1 / part 2

synopsis: Four years have passed since the chronorift catastrophe, since you've regained the memories of your past life, since you crossed paths with her. You two are close, and you think Caleb might not like that.

warnings: none.

word count: 1.9k

authors note: my biggest fear is mischaracterization, but i hope i did good for young caleb.

Every time she has a problem she comes to seek you out. It doesn't matter if it's a tricky problem on her homework, or a full blown fight with her friend. No matter the issue you're always the first person she comes to. You try your best to convince her to go to Caleb instead, knowing how much he appreciates it when she seeks him out for help. Sometimes she listens to you, most of the time she doesn't.

You know Caleb doesn't like this. You can tell based on the way he looks at you.

He's always polite in front of her. He smiles and talks with you casually when she's in the mix, treating you like a friend. But the moment she's no longer there something in his behaviour shifts. It's not noticeable to anyone else, but you can always tell the difference.

It's the way his eyes darken. You remember how fans used to point out the way his gaze could change so quickly. Puppy eyes that are able to turn into something so serious and dark in a matter of seconds. You used to think it was something that only started after he becomes cornel. Yet he's only fourteen and able to send shivers down your spine with how coldly he looks at you. Even when you don't look at him you can always feel it.

Music plays from your headphones as you breeze through your homework. You miss the music you used to listen to in your past life, but you've managed to find some songs in this world you enjoy too. It's a peaceful evening, but that moment of peace fades when you feel your heart tighten. The urge to cry overwhelms you, causing you to put down your pen and move away from the pages scattered across your desk. You'd think this was coming out of nowhere, but after four years you know better.

She's in a fight with Caleb.

You always get this feeling when she's arguing with him. No matter how big or small the issue is.

Right on cue your phone starts to blow up. Dozens of messages from her pop up on your screen telling you about how much of a "meanie" he is, how he never listens to her, and a bunch of other complaints. You sigh, put your phone in your pocket, and head over to Josephine's house to comfort her. Every time they argue you're always there to help her. You know that it's another thing you do that Caleb doesn't like. But with your shared connection you feel a sense of responsibility to be there for her no matter what.

Most of the time their fights are just misunderstandings or petty arguments. Things that usually resolve themselves after a couple hours of her ranting, and him buying her her favourite snacks. This time things are different.

Hours have passed. Deep purples and oranges have faded into navy blue. The sun has set fully, leaving the sky decorated with a full moon and countless stars. It's a shame such a lovely night is filled with such anger and sadness.

You've lost track of how long you've been sitting on her bed. Gently running your fingers through her hair with her curled up next to you while she rants about him. Yet despite all the ramblings she still hasn't told you what exactly it is he's done to upset her so much.

The tightness in your chest has yet to subside, an indicator that she's still as troubled as she was when this all started. You care for her, you really do. You can feel her pain like it's your own. But you need this to be resolved soon because you don't know how much more patience you have left in you. Listening to teenage drama when you're no longer a teenager yourself is like a special kind of torture.

So, in a desperate attempt to put an end to this you decide to talk to Caleb yourself, even though you know you're probably the last person he wants to see right now.

Three knocks on his bedroom door. Shuffling can immediately be heard from the other side. He peeks his out from the crack, looking like a kicked puppy. Big shiny purple eyes, brows knit together, and a small pout on his chapped lips. You can feel your heart twist at the sight. He's so cute and tiny, it's hard to believe what he'll turn into in a few years.

"What happened?" you ask.

He looks away. A red blush starts to dust across the tips of his ears. Immediately you understand that whatever they're fighting about has something to do with you.

It most likely had something to do with what happened earlier today; when she had asked you to win her some plushies while you were all at the arcade. He had tried to get her attention by winning some himself, but as appreciative as she was she clearly had a preference for the ones you had won. You'd gifted him one too in hopes of cheering him up, but you're not sure if it helped or made things worse.

"I was just messin' with her."

The look on your face must be filled with skepticism because the moment he looks at you he sighs, rubs his neck, and goes back to avoiding your gaze.

"I may have taken it a step too far–"

He staggers back as you take a step forward to look into his room. As expected, right on his bed, is one of the plushies you had won her. (And to your surprise so it the one you had gifted him.) The red on his ears immediately spreads to his cheeks.

You understand his jealousy, his protectiveness towards her. After everything they've gone through, to have someone else, someone he thinks is oblivious to what they've gone through, show up into their lives and start taking over the role he had played for years. Who wouldn't be upset with that?

If you didn't have this shared connection with her you would leave this situation for them to resolve on their own. But you can't stand this ache in your heart anymore.

"I'm sorry." You say, not just for unintentionally stealing her attention, but for becoming part of their story. For changing it no matter your attempts not to.

His eyes widen, clearly caught off guard by your apology. He stares at you, not saying a single word. So you continue. "I'll never be able to replace you, not that i want to. But even though i'm part of her life, you're still very important to her."

He's still quiet. Still staring at you with that surprised expression. Hopefully your words have finally helped him understand you're not trying to take his place, and that you'd never be able to. Whatever unexplainable bond you have with her doesn't change what they've gone through, even if she doesn't remember.

"But, you should give her the plushie back." You offer him a small smile before leaving, not wanting to push your luck.

The next morning a sudden thunk against your bedroom window startles you from whatever it is you're looking at on your phone. Another thunk comes two seconds later. You get up off your bed to see what's happening. Caleb stares up at you from your back yard.

Glass panes groan softly as you open them, peaking your head out the window.

"Can I come up?" he asks.

His words catch you off guard.

"Please," he adds when you don't answer.

It's barely 8 am on a sunday. You're not even dressed, still wearing your comfiest pajamas. "Caleb–"

"I'm comin' up."

Your eyes widen as you watch him start to climb the downspout that runs next to your bedroom window.

"Caleb!" You whisper shout, not wanting to alarm your parents, but if he hears you he doesn't seem to care.

Floor boards creak as he steps into your room, swinging himself in from the ledge of the window. He stands in front of you, fully dressed in non sleepwear. You're not sure what to do or say, too caught off guard by what you just witnessed.

"I wanted to say sorry."

His words are even more of a surprise than him climbing through your window. It must be written on your face, because he immediately explains his unexpected apology.

"For how i've been treatin' you."

"It's fine–"

He cuts you off. "It's not."

An awkward silence hangs between the two of you. A strong gust of wind shakes the trees outside, wafting in the scent of asiatic apples into your room. He's not saying anything, but you can see a vulnerability in his eyes that you've never seen before. Not even when he looks at her.

"It's okay. I know." you say.

You have a feeling that he wants to explain why he's so protective of her. But you already know everything.

His expression shifts into something you can't quite place your finger on. The vulnerability in his eyes is still present, but there's something else there. Something akin to realization.

He clears his throat and pulls something out of his pocket. In hand is a tiny charm with three apples on it. One red, one yellow, one green. All stacked up one atop the other. "It doesn't make up for how i've been actin' like a big jerk all these years. But I thought it could be like a peace offering or somethin'."

You don't pick up the charm, examining the polymer clay apples in his palm before looking back up at him. His eyes are no longer on you, instead you find them glued to his feet. He looks nervous, and a little bit embarrassed. It's odd seeing him like this, usually he always appears so confident.

You could accept the peace offering, put an end to his nervousness. But you find yourself wanting to mess with him first. After all, he deserves it for all those unnecessary chilling glares. You tap your index finger against your chin and hum in faux contemplation. It's hard not to laugh as he immediately starts to shift awkwardly.

"I'll accept this peace offering, if you promise to make me some of your famous braised chicken wings."

His head snaps up to look at you. His eyes are wide, as if stunned you're actually forgiving him despite his jealousy and past behaviour. But you do, because you understand. You know.

"Yeah. I promise." The way his gaze softens, and the smile on his face warms your heart.

After that night things between you change. When it's just the two of you he no longer ignores you. Awkward silences have changed into jokes and laughter, lighthearted banter. Icy stares melt into something more gentle. Now he looks at you the same way he looks at her, like someone he wants to protect. It's a heartwarming change. One you unfortunately don't get to experience for long.

Your mother gets a promotion that requires your family to move to the newly built city of sky haven. You try to tell yourself that this is a good thing. Living in skyhaven means you won't be nearby, you won't be able to affect the story anymore. Despite your logical reasoning, a part of you doesn't want to leave. You don't want to leave her. And with you and Caleb finally becoming friends, you don't want to leave him either. But you know this is for the best.

Things will finally return to normal.

tag list: @moonchildjae00 @elegantdeerlady @hon3yydew @chocochip-gaia @solmanel1 @wooasecret @peachystea @seung185 @mcdepressed290 @whimsiecat @shadowypeachsweets @animegamerfox @gabywho @ryuukuran-blog @insidious-innocence @hiqhkey @chiikasevennn @ehneh @mangooes @sleepydang @fictionalpeoplemmmhmm @dynastyofyearning

a/n: thank you all so much for your support and comments <3 they mean the world to me 🥺💕

[justabeewithapen]

Hi! So as I’m writing the fanfic for your TV AU, can you explain Tenna’s roles between the Light World and the Dark World in detail? Like, what happens when class is in session and when it’s out of session? I want it to be as accurate as possible lol 🌈🎨🎭

This is going to be a wall of text so take this doodle as a little treat ehehehe!

Starting with the Lightworld! As the new classroom TV (they didn’t have an old one but he still takes this responsibility very seriously!!) his main use is on Fridays when the kids get to watch a bit of a movie or documentary or episode of a show (all educational of course) at the end of class. He also gets use on days when they have tests planned or if it is too rainy/cold outside to hold recess. When he was first moved into the classroom he was only brought into the room when it was one of those special TV Time occasions, but now, he practically lives in the corner on his TV Cart.

The reason he gets to hang around the classroom even when it isn’t TV Time is because the kids in Toriel’s classroom have sort of adopted him as a class pet! Now, these are younger kids, they didn’t need an excuse to love a TV (anything to not do class work, even if Toriel often gives them worksheets to fill out during TV Time) but Susie’s been putting in WORK! She made sure these little kids knew his name and how “very cool” he was, spinning them tales of “Mr. Tenna’s adventures” with a few very inserts of other Darkners (especially Lancer). Is she just mostly stealing plots from movies she has seen? Oh 100%, but she promised him an audience that would care about him again, and by goodness she is going to deliver!!

Him and his TV stand tend to live in the corner of Toriel’s classroom when not in use, though he does still spend time in the extra classroom for storage or the storage closet (aka Castle Town). Susie and/or Kris are known to move him there after school gets out for hanging out purposes. Sometimes in Toriel’s classroom he gets used, but not even as a TV! During those rainy/cold days him and his TV stand make for a perfect support in a blanket fort, or a base for a block tower on his shelves. Sometimes he even gets to visit the older kid classroom (usually after big projects or tests) and he gets to see his stars again…

While outside of the dark world he isn’t *technically* sentient, but he is still aware and watching from his side even if that side only exists when he is in the dark world. Speaking of!

Castle town/his perspective on things!!

While not actually able to interact with the class, he takes his role as a TV Teacher very very seriously! During times when he is playing a show or movie he is always commentating and quipping on the action and “fun facts” related to what is being watched, even though the kids can’t hear him. He always makes sure his outfit is properly thematic for the lesson that day, as (once again even if they can’t interact with him) he wants to give these kids his very best! When not being actively watched by the kids, he’s still watching them. Obviously he still has… way too many unaddressed anxieties relating to Toriel, but he enjoys hearing her teach and is frequently taking notes in the same way the kids are! Occasionally, if Toriel isn’t reading or grading something important, she’ll turn on the cable and idly listen while getting work done. (He has complicated feelings about this but it’s generally a positive!)

When back in Castletown he is spending his time preparing boards, quizzes, and physical challenges relating to the stuff that happened in class that day, all of which he is incredibly enthusiastic about sharing with the Fun Gang. Is most of it below their grade level, yeah, but he’s really trying! He also goes out of his way to try and be helpful around Castletown, volunteering for building projects or clean up or mini games however he is needed (he very desperately wants to feel needed).

Hopefully all of this makes sense and I am happy to clarify any points that don’t!! My head is still pretty foggy so I’m sure I said something screwy that needs a bit more context XD

[mapoeggplant]

skip to loafer chapter 72 analysis // spoilers

“who shall be the one to mend this lonely soul?”: the counterpoint and similarities between the dreamer and the desolate and how to move forward even with the feeling that there is nowhere to belong.

when i opened comic days, i confess that kanechika was the last person i was expecting to see. so much so that, thanks to this confusion, i first thought that the chapter would take a completely opposite direction to what i was expecting, which was the school play. but i soon understood what sensei was trying to do and the overlap she chose for this very important moment.

it’s not new for sensei to intersperse two stories into one in order to develop one character or the other (or both) a little more. this mix of elements brings more life and support to the narrative, since the character is able to open up more when faced with something that is opposite or complementary to them. and here i believe that sensei decided to combine the two forms and gave kanechika the role of being the opposite and, at the same time, the complement to shima.

kanechika has always had a huge passion for cinema and theater. this has been evident since the first time he showed his homemade movies to his insistence that shima join the theater club. but, something that hasn't been explored in depth yet is the loneliness that comes with this passion. not everyone around you will always grow up having the same interests as you or feeling them to the same intensity. sometimes, especially for a child, it’s much easier to ignore the “different boy” than to try to understand what this cinema that he likes so much is all about.

but, even though he felt alone and couldn't really fit in with people his own age, something inside kanechika encouraged him to keep going, to try, until he found people who shared his passion or came face to face with something he had brought to life, understanding that everything he had gone through had led him there. seeing shima blossom on stage not only brought him a sense of pride for the kouhai he held in such high regard, but also the idea that he was indeed on the right path and that there were people in the world who were able to listen to what he had to say and who were able to consume his art. 

this insistence on what he loved, even if it hurted you, is the opposite of shima. the realization that your tastes, desires and dreams are valid and that you have the right to feel them would be the complement. 

shima finally took the stage dressed as the monster he had always believed himself to be. and this becomes even more vivid considering the moments in the play that sensei thought were important to highlight, such as the monster's understanding of his loneliness, the forced isolation imposed on him and the understanding that the person closest to you, such as the one who raised you, will not always be responsible for curing the persistent pain of not belonging.

while kanechika sees his passion for theater shine with his own eyes, shima stands against the world. even though it is not him himself standing on stage, it is not his words but those of the monster, shima finally stands up to face everything that he swore was much greater than he could handle.

and, in contrast to everything, we have his own victor frankenstein waiting on the other side, with teary eyes and the fear of trying, once again, to connect with the monster. a mother drowning in the open wound sees, for the first time, her son blossom and live for himself, live for his ideals and passions, face his fears and move forward. her creation that she herself could not fix, the soul so sad.

however, next to her, there is someone who has the courage to say out loud what she so desperately wants: yuki does have the right to try one more time, to be honest with her son and listen to him with all her heart, to try not to rebuild something that is broken, but to forgive what cannot be undone and start over something that they can both build together, side by side, mother and son. she sees the child she raised forcing himself to be an adult from a very young age, giving him the chance to be young for the first time, to try to take control of what hurt him so much. why not try again, in a new play this time?

for the first time in years, they look into each other's eyes, completely raw, ready to face this new unknown. for the first time, she allows herself to praise her son, something she was so afraid of doing, with a great fear of putting an enormous pressure on his shoulders once again. and he allows himself to accept the hand that his mother extends, letting himself dive into this vulnerability that the monster gave him. not only that, but he also now shows a new interest in this family that was given to him, an enormous desire to belong, to be the older brother that his little brother admires so much, to be able to be someone who has frank conversations with his stepfather. shima and yuki are, for the first time, experiencing what could be a complete family. 

and in the midst of so many new beginnings, endings, goodbyes and new days to be lived, there is that one girl, who still waits for him in the same hallway, emanating the same light that welcomes him so much. letting himself be carried away by the feeling and embracing mitsumi once and for all is another step that shima takes in his favor, another step that he allows himself to take to finally be able to walk side by side with this person that he admires so much and finds so special. falling apart in her arms, not so that she can pick him up and rebuild him, but so that he can show her every little piece of himself.

the monster found not only someone who could mend his oh so lonely soul, but someone who would give him the strength to fight alone and for himself. mitsumi isn’t the saviour nor needs to be saved: she’s the light that guides him to find his own path and our courage. it was she who showed him how beautiful it is to be true to yourself and now that he has finally embodied this monster that haunts him so much, he can give himself the chance to walk side by side with her towards a new future.

how beautiful it is to be able to read such an incredible story about taking a chance on yourself and loving without regrets. we’re once again being able to experience another beautiful chapter and for that i’m so grateful.

before we go, can we also appreciate kanechika's shirt when he was a kid? he once wore a shirt with monsters on it only to later see a monster on stage. what a comeback, huh?

thank you so much for reading and sorry for any gramatical mistakes 💛! please support sensei if you can! we will be on break next month thanks to the release of vol 12. excited to see what comes next!!!!!

[daydreamgoddess14]

The Reading Rooms

Previous weeks Masterlist

Always remember to heed the warnings posted by the individual authors. What I'm happy to read may not be what you're happy to read, so I take no responsibility if you find something you're not into.

And finally, Tumblr is a community. Reblog, gush like you've never gushed before - I promise you, the authors below will love it, and love you for it! We write because we love to, but we share our work because we love the community of it. If you read something you like, let the world know! 💕

The List

Another busy week! Handed in my assignment - nothing like the last minute, right?! Posted TWO new chapters of Strategic Interests and a spicy one-shot - I'll Do That Thing based on a gif I couldn't stop watching (you can blame @sunday-bug for that one!) which completely blew up. Fun! I'm currently working on Strategic Interests chapter 7, For Your Consideration - January Part 2 AND another spicy one-shot. Apparently it's a new thing where I write sex acts I've never written before. Why not, it's good to try new things! 🤭

I also read some amazing stuff this week, and thanks to @azriona, I discovered how to properly use the queue so I can stop clogging up ya dash when I'm on a reblogging spree!

Bucky Barnes

It's been a Bucky week.

The Celibacy Challenge by @sunday-bug was so much fun, I too would have to nope out of every room and I would cave SO fast 😅

I'm SURE I'm behind on reblogs for Declassified but Chapter 12 landed just as I needed something to read before bed last night and it was AMAZINGGGG!!! My love for Kelsey is only challenged by my need to shake her right now, @dreamwritesimagines!

Sergent's magic mouth by @buckyseternaldoll. Please. Anything. I'll give anything. Also by Elle,

I love it when @societyfolklore blesses us with a short and sweet bit of filth. So good to us 🙌

@navybrat817 said the words 'Bucky is hot and fucks like a God' and we all nodded with our entire bodies - Back It Up

@buckysleftbicep wrote a dad's best friend Bucky fic and... good god, it's so hot - daddy's best friend. As was little black dress, clearly I am feral this week. I feel like I'm gonna look back on these lists and go, whooooh yeah that was a horny week, y'know?

In fact, I'm sticking with Lily here, I realised I accidentally reblogged a reblog - so sorry, love. Swipe Right was so, so quietly beautiful 😭

@whitedarkmoonflower gave us the gorgeous Good morning and I would like to incorporate that and also Sweet Surrender into my morning routine please and thank you.

Saturdays with Bucky would be a dream. ngl. Loved this @buckybarnes82!

The Desperate to Devoted series by @buckets-and-trees was amazing!!

I will always rescue you by @firelilyfox was super sweet and lovely!

Happy Father's Day by @wildflowersandvibranium - this was the most adorable Father's Day everrrrr!!! Bucky is SUCH a girl dad, you cannot convince me otherwise!

The Suit Problem by @salty-tang - this was so hot and yessss, I can definitely see him ripping through those suits!! I've added the masterpost to my reading list AND it's so good to see another Congresswoman fic! 🙌

She Looks Nothing Like Me @writing-for-marvel - as a curvy girlie, I really felt this one! So, so lovely 🥹🥹

@buckybarnesfic BBF wrote their first fic!! About a stuffed dick!! Go read it, you will NOT be disappointed!!

A smutty talk you through it by @crowsofdarkness - no notes, just me begging, actually.

Ok, I've been neglecting my longreads - the 8/9/10/11k(+) fics that are all sitting in my drafts begging to be read. I've also just rescued a bunch of fics out of my likes so I can get to those for next week!

Phew! LFG!

[mswyrr]

1x08 has some beautiful and devastating character work for Mensah, in the writing and Noma's performance, which all leads up to her yelling at Ratthi and I want to go into that.

First of all, I read this moment as her sincerely (if also in the awareness that it's a bit silly) using the affectionate endearment Ratthi has come up with -- after finding out about the transponder, she's relieved that Murderbot has come through yet again. And NO, it's deeply unfair for her to later think of this bonding behavior as treating it like a "pet" -- that's a teammate with a team nickname! That's Ratthi literally doing *the same thing* he did when he started affectionately calling Gurathin "Gugu"! He's sweet and a bit oblivious but deeply caring and not treating Murderbot any differently as a bot than he'd treat a similar human person.

And then during the surgery, when she cannot help Gurathin, Murderbot steps up -- she's moved and also doubtful (she knows it so well by now! lol)

And then, well -- Gurathin finally found the pressure point to hit with her, the one piece of evidence that would make her feel she cannot continue advocating for Murderbot to remain part of the team. Gurathin is deeply in love with her, subconsciously jealous, and consciously convinced that Murderbot has to be driven away for the safety of Mensah and her people. (This is incredibly stupid and more likely to get them killed than Murderbot hanging around... but emotions don't actually make sense!) And he found it. This whole time, with Murderbot killing Leebeebee, with Gurathin's prior accusations and the team's doubts -- nothing shook Mensah's confidence in the bond she felt with Murderbot and the mutual trust they've shared. But this revelation does.

This is evident in the way she asks: it's not true? And Murderbot cannot tell her what she needs to hear.

Her expressions in light of it not being able to reassure her are heartbreaking

And then they really hit us in the feels -- they do a reversal of the scene from last episode, where she said that it would help if Murderbot put its helmet down so the group could see it as a person who is trying to help -- "because that's how I see you."

And here... she no longer fully believes in it and trusts her own judgment and sees it that way, she doubts that vision due to the evidence Gurathin just provided (intentionally hammering on her buttons -- her guilt and responsibility as a leader -- just as hard as he can, believing that it's right... but it was also cruel).

After Gurathin says his "maybe you're just defective" and always just moments away from killing line, Murderbot focuses on Mensah, hoping for the support she's provided -- seeking her judgment of it -- and it cannot find the acceptance it came to trust would be there. This time *Mensah* looks away. It puts the helmet back up because the person who invited it to put it down and be "part of the team"--whose trust and care it has bonded so deeply with-- isn't issuing that same invitation. It leaves because of *her* reaction.

It's a moment of heartbreak for both of them. But Mensah's leadership responsibilities mean everything to her. If it could truly go off on them at any moment--not in theory, because it is a being with free will, and all beings with free will could technically go of on each other at any time, but because it has a "defect"? She feels she has to put her people first -- she feels foolish and like she took risks she shouldn't have because she was following that deep sense of connection, trusting her feelings.

Even with all that, she's still torn -- and, *SHE* is the first one to say "We can't let it leave." While looking so desperately sad and aching.

But over the course of this conversation she firms her resolve of what she feels she has to do to care for her team. You can watch this happen in her body language and her face (Noma is such a talent!!)

And then Gurathin uses the effective tool he's found and drives it right into her heart again:

Not only can we see the shift in her expression and body language, but then she finalizes her forced resolve by literally *closing the door on it*. She's closing the door on her own heart and the parts of it that have bonded with this strange, moving, kind, dangerous being.

It is out of this emotional place--where Ratthi is actually speaking those parts of her heart--that she lashes out. Not because Ratthi did anything wrong! She's a complex human being, not a perfect Mom, not unable to be worked on and for someone to find a weak spot and crack it right open, as Gurathin did. With the best of intentions. Because everyone here is under tremendous stress -- and nobody has to be a villain for people to wrong and wound each other deeply.

She's yelling at herself more than Ratthi. She's yelling at the part of her heart that she sees in him in that moment (and that the writing invites us to see, beginning with the "Seccy" parallel early on) and that she's trying desperately to close the door on and keep it hammered shut even though it hurts terribly. It's excellent writing (the writers have a really nuanced grasp of psychology and the characters!) and acting on Noma's part. And I'm SO EXCITED to see where this goes in the final two episodes!

[lush-escape]

The Vigilante's Guide to Grief

pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader wc: 1.3k a/n: sorry for the slow update - work was crazy. being a stand in hotel housekeeper is no joke. i cleaned up a LEECH. if you or anyone you know leaves their hotel room looking like a pig sty? your mom's a hoe. also I messed up on the last chapter's title - ignore that, I fixed it. prev: shock next: anger

Stage two: Denial

Hey,

It's Friday the 13th. We should be watching scary movies right now like we do every year. The classics. Halloween, scary movie, Friday the 13 obviously. A new final destination came out. You always loved watching those stupid movies, making fun of everyone's stupid choices. Christy (the stupid therapist who's not that stupid) told me it can be “healing” to keep traditions like that alive. I think it's dumb. No one will ever have commentary like you do. No one else in the family can handle horror movies like you do. It wouldn't be the same. Besides - that was our thing. You and me. Ever since we were kids.

Jason can feel those heavy emotions weighing down on his chest. For a second it's harder to breathe. He takes a second to breathe, to let his mind relax. And then his phone dings. And then again. And again.

With a sigh he picks it up. An influx of messages from the Batfam group chat. Playful warnings to stay safe this Friday the 13th.

“Jay!” You let out an excited little laugh as you curl up into your favorite corner of the couch with a blanket draped over your lap. “Hurry up, you're wasting valuable movie time.”

Jay chuckles lowly from the kitchen of your shared apartment, “‘m almost done in here, baby. Start the movie - I'll be there in a second.” He's in the kitchen getting together snacks on a tray. Popcorn, your favorite candy, cookies.

“No way, I'm not starting it without you. I've been waiting all week for this.” You look over the back of the couch and catch sight of him with his back turned to you. Big, hulking Jason looking soft as ever in your top cramped kitchen getting sweets and snacks. You let out a small sigh, your smile turning soft. There's a warmth that spreads from your chest to your stomach as it hits you just how much you do love him.

“Stop it.” He finally speaks up with a tone of amusement. He knows you so well he doesn't even have to look at you to know you're staring.

“No.” You tease him back, your smile growing more playful. “I can't help it, you're too hot to ignore.”

And even though you can't see his face you know he's blushing.

“Shut up,” You hear him mutter, bashful. “Don't say stupid shit like that.”

You laugh at him, “What? It's true.” Your voice is more loving, adoring, and it makes Jason falter for a split second.

“Whatever, you're crazy.” He teases with a shake of his head before he's in the living room with you.

“Yeah, crazy in love.” You exaggerate batting your eyelashes before popping a piece of popcorn into your mouth.

“God, you're obnoxious.” Jason smirks with a roll of his eyes as he's sitting next to you. He props his feet onto the coffee table in front of the two of you and slings his arm over the back of the couch. A silent invitation for you to cuddle into him which you happily accept.

With your head on Jason's chest and your arm around his stomach he pushes play on the remote and pulls you even closer to him.

“Ready to watch some people die?” He asks and you snort a laugh in response.

part of me hates that they don't get it.

Jason is sidetracking now, putting his every thought down.

They haven't lost anyone like I have. I know they lost you too. They all loved you love you. But they don't get it. Normal things like today? It's just another Friday to them. To me it's one of the days I can't even turn on the tv or look at my phone without thinking of you even more than I already do. It's fucking hard baby. So fucking hard

Jason stops to blink away a tear, “Dammit…” he can hear himself sniffle and he hates it. He clears his throat and continues writing.

Some days I don't want to believe you're gone…

The manor was eerily silent that day. An official two weeks after your death, one after your funeral service. It was a small gathering; the Wayne's, the Kent's, Roy and Lian and your best friend. Your parents didn't show up, blaming Jason and the Wayne family for your “mysterious” death.

Jason doesn't like to think about it. So he doesn't.

As Jason walks through the manor he already knows where everyone is, where to avoid. Duke is on patrol, Damian is doing homework in the library, Tim and B are in the cave working a case, Dick is in Blüdhaven, Steph and Cass are training in the gym.

Except Dick wasn't in Blüdhaven. Jason rounds the corner to the kitchen to find him sitting at the island staring at a cup in front of him.

Jason doesn't greet Dick, not verbally anyway, just gives a grunt of acknowledgement. Dick looks up and he can see how tired Jason is. It makes his heart ache for his little brother. There's stubble on his face, the bags under his eyes are deep and purple.

“Hey,” Dick speaks up. His voice is quiet, a little tired. A sign that he's struggling just a bit. He watches Jason pull a beer from the fridge and he sighs. For once in his life he's <I>nervous</I>. He knows Jason stopped drinking a long time ago for you. It started as a bet that turned into a habit. He's scared to bring it up but there's something nagging at him in his brain to do so.

“Thought you stopped…” Dick mumbles. He sees Jason stiffen.

“Whaddya mean?” Jason asks, he's refusing to look at Dick as he takes a long swig.

Dick hesitates, “The bet… you both-”

“Look,” Jason forces a laugh, it doesn't even sound like him, “what she doesn't know won't hurt her. Just don't say anything and I won't get in trouble.” He jokes.

There's silence. It's heavy and tense and awkward and Dick audibly swallows. He stammers for a second. While still dealing with his own grief he was having to handle Jason's as well. He felt a pit open in his stomach.

“Jay…” Dick's voice is so soft and so tender that it makes Jason turn to face him. And when he does finally turn around Dick can see how hard he's fighting to hold it together.

“What?” Jason asks in a shaky voice.

“She.. there's no one…” Dick doesn't know how to navigate this. “She's not coming back, Jay…” the words came out thick and choked one.

Jason shakes his head and forces on another smile, it doesn't even look human at this point.

“You've always been pretty funny, y'know that.” Another drink of beer. “‘course she's coming back. She just- she's just.. not,” Jason clears his throat “, not here right now. It's fine. She'll be back soon.”

Dick wonders how long Jason's been feeling like this, how long he's been in denial or if it's a new thing he's going through. But part of him is afraid to call Jason out on it, to burst his little bubble of happiness in the midst of his despair. And honestly? A small part of him also wants to believe that you're gone, that you'll be back soon from some little trip or something.

“Oh… yeah, okay. I won't say anything, Jay.” Dick is almost whispering now as he chokes on the lump in his throat.

The part of Jason's brain that knows this is just a defense mechanism is relieved.

“Thanks, Dickie.” He claps Dick on the shoulder as he walks by.

But I know you are. I hate it. I hate accepting it. This

Jason pauses his writing before finally sighing in defeat.

this isn't how it was supposed to be.

taglist: @vellichor01 @thy-crimson-king @theendofthematerialgworl @tinasdcstuff @4rachn3 @cecebookworm

[jetii]

Man or Commander

Pairing: Wolffe x fem!Reader / Wolffe x Doctor!Reader

Words: 17,082

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! established relationship, fluff, it's like 50/50 pwp, protective!Wolffe, smut, oral (f recieving), fingering, unprotected sex, pinv, dirty talk, so much of that, praise kink in a big way, size kink, veryyy soft dom!Wolffe, Wolffe is a cuddly drunk

Summary: After your first date in months with Wolffe is ruined, you want to make the most of your night together. All Wolffe wants is you.

A/N: This was born from @cyaretra and I discussing Wolffe's guilty pleasures of red wine, trash reality tv, and fast food. RIP Wolffe you would love space in-n-out.

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“How much further?”

You and Wolffe share a look over your shoulder as he hoists Boost further in his arms, Sinker dangling from yours like a wet bag of laundry. Comet trudges behind, looking for all the galaxy like he just got kicked in the face.

He had, by Wolffe's own account.

“If you don’t stop whining, I’ll leave you all here in the street,” Wolffe grumbles back, and you can tell he’s only half-joking.

Boost and Sinker, to their credit, shut up.

Comet, who has always been the most perceptive of the bunch, says nothing and tries his hardest to keep pace, limping on what you guess is a sprained ankle. The rest of him looks like a bruise, with various shades of reds, purples, and blues covering most of his exposed skin. He had been the first of them to get tossed around in the scuffle, the others jumping into the fray a little too late for him to not take the worst beating.

You try not to think about what might have happened if they hadn't intervened.

The streets of Coruscant are never truly empty, not even during the day, but they are at least quieter in the early morning hours. Which means that when a small squadron of clones, one of whom is being carried, appears from around the corner, people notice.

People stare.

You feel a wave of secondhand embarrassment for the four of them. You can practically hear Wolffe's internal cursing, and he makes sure you know he isn’t happy by the way he grabs your arm and pulls you close to him.

The four of you are going to look quite the sight once you reach the barracks.

Not a bad sight, mind, just a bit... rough.

Wolffe and you share the burden of Boost and Sinker, but it’s mostly him carrying both. You simply hang on, your free hand grasping one of theirs so they don't fall from their commander's arms.

Comet is still trailing behind, and Wolffe shoots him glances, trying to gauge whether or not he is going to pass out before you make it back. He doesn't say anything, though, and neither do you. Comet must take as some sort of dismissal, because he starts trying to make conversation.

"You know, sir, you should really get us some medals for this," he starts, and Wolffe looks up to the sky, asking some unseen deity why it hates him so.

You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing, but a giggle still escapes, and it makes Wolffe glance at you. You offer him a small smile, and his lips twitch slightly in return.

Comet keeps talking. "It was a hard-won battle, sir. We had them outnumbered. I bet there were twenty of 'em, at least."

"There were six," you say, turning back to him, and he shrugs, which you guess is as good a response as any.

"They were pretty big, though. They were probably part-Wookiee. Did you see the size of them? Huge."

You look at Wolffe again, who looks ready to drop Boost and Sinker in order to throttle his soldier. You can't help the laughter that bubbles out of your mouth.

Comet looks pleased with himself, and you think the pain of the fight is starting to make him delirious.

Wolffe glares at the two of you. "I hate both of you."

”Me?” you ask. "I didn't do anything!"

He doesn't answer, which is his usual response when you’re right.

You turn and continue making your way down the street. The neon signs and blinking lights of the seedy district fade into the darkness of the night as you walk, the sound of music and raucous laughter fading with them. The city is still busy, but it’s a different crowd, and they seem to be a bit more interested in getting home than making their way to the next club.

Not that there are many places open at this hour. It is, after all, one in the morning.

You and Wolffe share a sigh as another person pushes past, nearly knocking you over.

You've had about enough of this city. You were ready to go home the moment the sun went down, and now, it‘s all you can think about. You barely had time to look at your bed when you dropped off your bag this afternoon, and you want nothing more than to curl up in it, Wolffe at your side, and sleep for about a week.

That was the original plan, after all.

It's been months since you've had a day together, and you have been looking forward to it. A few drinks. A nice dinner. A walk through the city. An evening spent catching up on all the episodes of that awful holo-series the two of you have gotten hooked on. And then, you and Wolffe could crawl into bed and stay there for as long as possible.

It's what the two of you have been planning for weeks, and now, thanks to your over-zealous, over-protective, and frankly, ridiculous boyfriend and his brothers, you'll be lucky if you make it home before sunrise.

You can't bring yourself to be mad at them though. If they hadn't stepped in when they did, you and Wolffe would be the ones needing to be carried.

They saved the day, and you can't be mad at them for it.

But you are going to complain.

A lot.

"Why is there a fight every time we come here?" you ask. "Every time. We can't even get through one night without someone saying or doing something that causes a riot."

"Because Boost can't keep his mouth shut," Wolffe grunts, and the clone in his arms groans, which you think is an attempt to defend himself.

"You've got to stop picking fights with the locals," you add, turning to Comet, who’s looking worse and worse the closer you get to the barracks. "And I swear, if one more person calls me a 'trooper's whore'..."

"I will rip their spine out," Wolffe growls, and you and the others stare at him. He's a little bloodthirsty tonight, and you have a feeling it has to do with the way he'd been pulled from your embrace in order to break up the fight.

"That's a little graphic, don't you think?" you say, and he glares.

"They deserved it."

"Of course they did, honey," you placate, knowing it's easier to agree than to argue. He knows you're humoring him, but he lets it go.

A few more blocks, and the lights of the barracks come into view. There’s a single floodlight above the entrance, a few windows on the first floor still lit, but the compound itself is quiet. You’re the only ones walking the streets, and as you make your way through the gate, the silence settles around you. It’s a welcome change.

You step into the building and walk to the lifts. Wolffe presses the call button, and the doors to one open with a soft ding. You all shuffle in, and as soon as the doors are closed, you let out a collective groan.

Sinker snorts and lifts his head, his face contorted in pain. There’s a cut on his forehead, and a black eye mars the left side of his face. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

Wolffe shifts, trying to keep his hold on Boost while also giving Sinker a little shake.

That seems to do the trick. Sinker clears his throat and speaks, his voice hoarse. "I'm sorry, Commander. I really didn't mean to cause any trouble."

Wolffe shakes his head.

"You didn't. Those shabuir did,” he says. Boost grumbles, and Wolffe jostles him a little harder than Sinker. "Shut it. You're lucky I didn’t let Fox throw your shebs in the drunk tank. And I'm only not doing it because she," he nods to you, "won't let me."

Boost grumbles again.

"What was that?"

"Thank you, Commander," Boost mumbles, and Wolffe sighs, letting his head fall back against the wall.

"I'm not mad," he continues, and you and Comet share a look, knowing what’s coming next, "but I am disappointed."

There's a chorus of groans and winces, and you have to cover your mouth with your hand to keep from laughing.

The lift slows to a stop, and the doors open. You and Wolffe shuffle out, the boys in tow, and turn towards the infirmary. The halls are still and empty save for a few droids who patrol the floors, and your footsteps echo in the silence.

You pass the first ward, then the second, until finally, you arrive at the third. You enter, and the lights flicker on as you move into the main room, heading for your equipment.

"Let's get the droid. I'll take Comet," you say, nodding at Wolffe, and the two of you deposit your passengers on the nearest cots. The medic droid, sitting idle since you left, stands up and powers on, the little light on its head flashing red.

"How may I help?"

"Run a diagnostic on Boost, would you?” you ask as you thumb through bacta patches. “I'm pretty sure he has a concussion."

"Yes, Doctor."

You come to stand beside Wolffe as the droid scans Sinker, and he wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you against him. You lean in and rest your head on his chest, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"I'm sorry our evening was ruined," he says softly.

You hum and smile. "It wasn't a complete disaster."

"We didn't get to eat. Or talk. Or..."

You lift your head, and place a finger against his lips, shushing him. "No, we didn't. But we got a few things instead. For one, you got to prove to everyone that you can still take on three men twice your size."

"They were drunk," he points out, and you roll your eyes.

"And we got to spend some time together."

"Barely. Then they got jumped,” he says, motioning to the men, who are now all staring at the two of you. You give them a pointed look, and they avert their gazes, but not before muttering a few apologies.

"We also have the rest of the day, and tomorrow,” you add, raising your eyebrows suggestively, “to do whatever we want. With no interruptions."

"Is that a promise?" he asks, his lips pulling up into a smirk. He leans over you, his mouth inches from yours, and your breath catches.

"Absolutely."

"Oh, gross," Boost groans, and Wolffe pulls away from you, his glare returning.

"If the next words out of your mouth aren't a 'thank you' or an 'I'm sorry,' I'm going to make you wish you'd never been decanted."

"Thank you," Boost mumbles, and the other two chime in. Then, the droid speaks.

"Doctor, I have completed my diagnosis," it says, and you and Wolffe move towards Boost. "Trooper Boost has sustained several contusions and minor abrasions, including a sprained wrist, and a laceration requiring five stitches. He will also need an anti-inflammatory and analgesic."

"Shab," Boost lets his head fall back and groans, and Sinker rolls his eyes.

"I told you. Didn't I tell you? Didn't I say that would happen?"

"Yes, Sinker, we get it," Comet interjects.

"Did I not?"

"Yes, Sinker. You did."

You tune out the bickering as you move to help the droid with Boost and Sinker, then move on to Comet. By the time you’re finished, his ankle is wrapped and the bruises and scrapes have been covered. He still looks like he got hit by a speeder, but at least he isn’t bleeding.

The droid makes a note of the injuries and gives you the report, which you quickly read over before setting it aside.

"Alright. All three of you," you start, pointing a finger at each of them, "will stay here for the night. No strenuous activity, no training, no lifting or pushing for a minimum of one week."

There’s a round of protests, but you hold up your hand, cutting them off. "No. You all will do as I say, or you will spend the rest of the war in the infirmary scrubbing bedpans. Are we clear?"

"Yes, doc," they all grumble, and you smile, satisfied.

"Good. Now, try and get some sleep. If you need anything, just ask the droid. Don’t call me.”

Wolffe, who’s been standing silently behind you, steps up and crosses his arms. "Do what she says. I'll be back in the afternoon, and if I find out any of you left this room..."

He lets his words hang, and the three clones nod vigorously, promising to stay put.

"Good."

"Thank you for defending my honor. But next time, please try not to get yourself beaten up in the process,” you say, squeezing Comet’s arm.

He nods and smiles, his grin crooked thanks to the split lip. "You got it, doc."

You pull away and reach for the datapad, signing off on the treatment plan before handing the pad back to the droid.

"Notify me if any of their conditions worsen," you say, and the droid's head flaps in understanding.

"Of course, Doctor."

Wolffe steps up and places a hand at the small of your back, giving his men a parting nod.

"Behave yourselves," he warns.

You step away, and the three clones give their goodbyes, calling their apologies and promises of good behavior as you and Wolffe leave the infirmary. The door hisses shut behind you, and you turn, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Wolffe back to the lifts.

The corridors are still and quiet, the silence broken only by the occasional beep from a passing droid. The lights are dim, the shadows stretching long across the durasteel floor, and you can feel the fatigue of the night begin to creep in. Your body is tired and aching from the adrenaline crash, but the thought of getting to curl up in your bed with Wolffe is enough to keep you moving.

You stop at the lift, and the doors slide open, the both of you stepping inside. As the doors close and the lift begins its descent, Wolffe turns and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into his embrace. You sigh and tuck yourself against his side, his warmth seeping through the fabric of his off-duty uniform.

"They shouldn’t have done that," he says, his voice low.

"They did it because they care," you answer, running your hand over his back.

"They're idiots."

"They're sweet," you correct. "I know they got a little carried away, but I think they're going to have plenty of time to reflect on that."

"You're too nice,” Wolffe replies as he leans down and nuzzles your temple.

"And you're too protective," you point out, smiling.

"You're worth protecting."

He presses his lips to your hair, and you close your eyes, savoring the rare display of affection. He’s not as sober as he appears, you realize, the faintest trace of alcohol still on his breath. He’s always more hands-on when he drinks.

Not that you mind.

You turn and kiss his cheek.

"And you're just mad because your brothers stole your thunder," you tease, giving him a grin.

"Damn straight," he says, leaning down to nip at your earlobe, and he smirks as you let out a squeak.

You slap his chest and turn to face him, his smirk widening at the flush on your cheeks. The lift slows to a stop, and the doors open, but neither of you make any move to exit. The idea of making the long journey back to your apartment is as unappealing as sneaking out of Wolffe’s quarters at the crack of dawn, and you can’t bring yourself to tear away from his embrace.

He tilts his head and nips at your jaw, his lips dragging along your skin. You sigh and run your fingers through his hair, gently scratching his scalp, and he lets out a pleased groan, his mouth traveling up to press a soft kiss against your cheek.

"You're staying," he says, the warmth of his breath ghosting across your ear, and you shiver.

It's not a question, but you pretend to think it over anyway, humming softly as you continue to play with his hair. Wolffe’s eyes narrow at your act, and his foot moves to stop the door from closing on his floor, his gaze never leaving yours.

"You're staying," he repeats, his voice taking on a commanding edge.

You give him a sly smile and shake your head.

“I need to eat and shower, and I’m not using GAR-issued soap,” you say, wrinkling your nose. “My body is not a weapon, and I refuse to treat it like one."

Wolffe huffs and removes his foot from the door, letting it slide shut. He punches the button for the ground floor with more force than necessary, and the lift jolts, slowly continuing its descent.

“I suppose that means we’re going back to your place then," he says, his tone dripping with resignation.

"Unless you have a private collection of luxury soaps I don’t know about, then yes. I'm sorry to say we are," you answer, grinning, and you slip out of his embrace as the lift comes to a stop.

You step into the hall and turn, watching as Wolffe slowly follows, a pout firmly on his face.

"You know, a good boyfriend would keep an extra bottle of shampoo for his girlfriend in his shower,” you tease as he comes to stand beside you.

"If she's such a high maintenance woman, maybe she shouldn't be dating a soldier," he retorts, giving you a pointed look.

“Oh, well if that's how you feel..."

You trail off and start walking towards the exit, but Wolffe catches your hand and pulls you back, tugging you into his arms. You collide with his chest, letting out a soft 'oof' before looking up and meeting his gaze.

His eyes are soft, and the hint of a smile plays at the corner of his lips.

"Come on, cyare, we both know I'm the only man for the job," he murmurs, leaning down to brush his lips against your temple.

You laugh softly and wrap your arms around his waist, holding him tight.

"Yeah, you're definitely the only one who can handle me," you say, and Wolffe’s eyes turn dark.

"Mmm, that I am," he rumbles, and he nuzzles your neck, his stubble scratching your skin.

You shiver, and Wolffe pulls back, looking down at you. He brushes a few stray hairs from your face and tilts your chin up, placing a gentle kiss on your lips. It's brief, barely a whisper, but it still makes you smile.

"Let's go home. We can finish our conversation there."

He drops his hand from your face, and you turn, looping your arm through his as the two of you begin to walk. It doesn't take long to reach the lot where your speeder is parked. The streets are empty, and the air is cool and fresh, the sky dark and dotted with stars. It's a pleasant night, and if it weren't for the events that transpired over the last few hours, you'd say it was perfect.

You shoot Wolffe a grin and hop into the driver’s seat, revving the engine. Wolffe rolls his eyes, but a small smile plays on his lips as he gets in and straps himself in, his hand coming to rest on your knee. He squeezes once, nodding, and you take off, heading home.

It's quiet as you fly over the city, the buildings nothing but blurs of color below you. You're not in any rush, and you fly leisurely, taking your time as you navigate the city streets. Wolffe's thumb moves in a gentle circle over your knee, his eyes fixed on the view outside the window.

You can't help but glance over at him every so often. It’s rare to see him like this, relaxed and unguarded. His head rests against the back of the seat, and he watches the city move by, the neon lights dancing across his features.

You know how much this break has meant to him. How hard it’s been, waiting for a day, an hour, even a minute where the two of you could be alone together. He's done well to hide it, but now, without the threat of prying eyes, his mask falls. He looks tired, and sad, and there's an edge of relief to his features, his eyes softening the closer you get to your apartment. You wonder how much sleep he's actually gotten over the last few months.

Not much, by the look of him.

The man doesn't know when to stop. Or when to say no.

It's part of the reason you fell for him. He's always trying to protect his men, his friends, his family. He puts others before himself, and you love him for it. You'd never ask him to change, but you do wish he'd take a little more time for himself.

Wolffe's eyes drift over, and they catch yours.

"What are you looking at?" he asks, his brows drawn together.

You shake your head and look away, back out the windshield.

"Nothing,” you reply. “Just wondering when the last time was that you slept."

He snorts and looks back out the window.

"That's an easy one. I can't remember,” he answers, and you frown.

"That's exactly what I was afraid of."

He chuckles as he turns his attention back outside, and you let out a sigh, shaking your head. He's impossible.

"Well, then I'm making sure you sleep tonight," you state with finality, a plan beginning to form in your mind.

Wolffe raises his brow and glances over.

"Oh, are you now?"

You nod, your gaze fixed on the street in front of you. The turn to your apartment complex is coming up, but instead of turning left, you fly straight past it. Wolffe’s thumb stops moving on your knee, and you bite back a smile as you continue on, heading towards the city center. He doesn’t say anything, but he sits up straighter, his gaze narrowing as he watches the cityscape pass.

"Yes. It's the doctor's orders," you say, giving him a sidelong glance.

Wolffe lets out a hum and sits back, his thumb starting its gentle movements again.

"Alright, then," he concedes. "Where are we going?"

"To get some food. I'm starving, and I can't sleep on an empty stomach," you reply, and Wolffe grunts.

"So we're stopping for a snack? We have food at home," he points out, and you shake your head.

"No, we're going to the best restaurant in the city."

"What restaurant is open at two in the morning?"

You look over, grinning, and Wolffe gives you a flat stare.

"Wolffe, my love, it's Coruscant. There's always something open."

Wolffe doesn't respond, but he does squeeze your knee, his thumb resuming its movement, and a shiver runs through you. He knows just how to work you, and even though the two of you are dead tired and the adrenaline has faded, it doesn't mean he isn't going to try and get his way.

But you have your ways, too.

You reach over and place a hand on top of his. He laces his fingers with yours and brings your hand to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

"Wolffe," you warn, but it's a weak attempt.

"Cyare," he answers, a knowing smirk on his lips. It’s barely there, a twitch of his mouth and a crinkle in the corner of his eyes, but it's there, and you know it's not going anywhere anytime soon. Not when the two of you finally have the chance to spend the night alone together and not under the watchful eye of his men. Or worse, Master Plo.

"Sorry, Commander,” you tease, your eyes flicking over to meet his. He raises a brow, and you grin. "Food first. Then we can talk."

"You drive a hard bargain, Doctor," he replies, but he doesn't sound bothered in the least.

"That's why you love me."

"Hmm, that's not the only reason," he murmurs. You give his hand a squeeze, and he brings it to his mouth again, placing a kiss against the inside of your wrist.

"I'm sure there are many. You'll have to tell me later," you say, feeling a blush spread across your cheeks.

"Count on it."

You turn another corner and drift down into a district lit with neon signs and glowing advertisements. It's busier here than the other places you've passed through tonight, and the sidewalks are filled with people. You’re forced to stop the speeder as a large group crosses the street, their laughter and loud conversations reaching you in the safety of the vehicle, and the two of you watch, waiting for them to pass.

“What are you planning?” Wolffe asks as he makes eye contact with two men who step too close to the speeder. They catch sight of him and immediately stop, backing away. He smirks.

"To surprise you," you answer, and he huffs.

"I don't like surprises," he replies, his eyes drifting over the crowd.

"Yes, you do," you say with a disbelieving laugh. You can name a few surprises he’s enjoyed in the time you’ve known him, and not all of them were of the sexual variety. Just most. "You just hate the idea that there might be a variable outside your control."

"I've got enough of those to deal with already," he grumbles, and you squeeze his hand.

"You're off duty. Just enjoy the evening."

He huffs, but you can see the corner of his mouth pull up, the dimple on his cheek becoming more pronounced.

"I'll admit, I've enjoyed some of the surprises you've come up with,” he says, giving you a sidelong glance.

A blush spreads over your cheeks, and Wolffe lets out a low chuckle. You shake your head and try to hide your smile.

"You're terrible," you murmur as you shift the speeder into gear.

"Maybe, but at least I'm honest," he replies, giving your thigh a squeeze.

"That's something I can't argue with."

The crowd clears, and you take off, zipping between the other speeders on the road. You turn and head towards the parking area, and the moment the speeder is secured, Wolffe is out of the vehicle and around to your side, opening the door and helping you out.

“What a gentleman," you tease, and Wolffe huffs, shutting the door and pulling you close.

"Don't go telling anyone. I have a reputation to uphold," he murmurs, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss against the corner of your mouth.

"I wouldn't dream of it," you whisper, tilting your head and catching his lips in a gentle kiss. He lets out a soft groan and his arms tighten, pulling you closer, his mouth opening slightly, his tongue darting out to swipe against your lower lip. You pull away, and Wolffe chases your lips, capturing them in a soft, brief kiss.

You chuckle and rest your hands against his chest, pushing him away. He goes with a slight stumble, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, his thumbs rubbing in gentle circles.

"Come on. I'm hungry, and you're drunk."

"Am not," he mutters, but the way his eyes flick back down to your lips says otherwise.

"Oh, you're not, huh? That's not why you're so affectionate right now?"

"No,” he grumbles, his lips pulled down into a pout. You snort a laugh, and he rolls his eyes, his expression relaxing. He leans forward and presses his forehead against yours. "All right, fine, maybe I'm a little drunk. But not so drunk that I can't keep up with you."

"We'll see about that," you say, pulling back. You let your hands linger for a moment before taking a step back and turning, making your way towards the restaurant.

The door chimes as the two of you step inside, and you’re immediately faced with a line of patrons snaking up to the counter and staff bustling back and forth. Wolffe makes a face as he scans the room.

"What is this place?” he asks, and you can hear the slight judgment in his tone.

“This is a restaurant, Wolffe," you reply, trying to hold back a grin. "I figured the best way to cure a hangover is with some greasy food. And you’ve never had a burger, so I figured we could fix that tonight."

"A what?"

You roll your eyes and take his hand, tugging him into the line. He lets you drag him along, and as soon as you find a spot, you turn and explain. Your hands run over his chest, and his come up, his fingers curling around your wrists, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin on the inside.

“It’s like a nerf steak, but better. It's a mix of ground meats, and there's this bread called a bun, and you put all these other toppings and stuff on it,” you say as you bounce up on your toes, bringing your face close to his. “It's good, trust me. You'll love it."

"So you're telling me this thing," he starts, gesturing with his head towards the board where all the food options are listed, "has all the same nutrients as a nerf steak, but the texture is completely different, and the flavor is...better?"

“Pretty much," you answer, giving him a wide grin.

Wolffe doesn't look convinced, eyeing the board with barely veiled skepticism. A laugh escapes you, and his gaze snaps down to you, his eyes narrowing.

"What?"

"Nothing, you just look so confused right now. I've never seen that look on your face before," you reply, grinning.

"I don't think I've ever been this confused in my life," he states, turning his attention back to the menu. His brow furrows. "What the kriff is a 'tater tot'?"

A loud laugh escapes you, and the sound draws a few eyes. You cover your mouth, trying to quiet yourself, and Wolffe shoots you a glare, his cheeks turning pink.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, but it's just so funny seeing you like this," you explain, and his face softens. He reaches out and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his side.

"Well, I'm glad one of us is enjoying themselves."

"Oh, come on, you're having fun,” you murmur, poking him in the ribs. He jerks, and his glare returns, but his arm doesn't move. You laugh and wrap an arm around his middle, patting his stomach. "Don't worry. I'm going to order for us, and you're going to eat what I get. And then we're going to go back to my place, and I'm going to tuck you in."

Wolffe snorts, but the smile on his lips and the way he relaxes in your arms says it all.

"Oh, is that all?" he hums, and you can feel his hand sliding up and down your back.

"Mhm," you tease, running your hand up his chest, your fingers playing with the buttons on his fatigues. "That's it."

"Just tucking me in, huh?"

"Yup. Nothing else," you say, giving him a smile that is anything but innocent.

Wolffe's eyes narrow, and his fingers tighten against your hip, the pressure firm and steady. He's considering his next move, and judging by the look on his face, he's already made up his mind.

You take a step back and reach up, adjusting his collar, smoothing it out. You take your time, letting your hands run over his shoulders and chest, feeling the planes of his muscles. He holds still, watching you with dark eyes. You lean in, and he holds his breath, waiting for your next move.

You pat his shoulder, giving him a small smile.

"Well, maybe if you’re really good, I'll read to you," you tease, giving him a wink before turning to look at the menu, standing on your toes to see over the crowd.

Wolffe huffs behind you, and his hand comes up, wrapping around your waist.

"You're mean," he whispers in your ear, his breath tickling your skin.

"Mean? How so?"

"You're being mean to the man who just got out of a drunken brawl in your honor," he murmurs, and his hand tightens around your waist, his fingers pressing into your flesh.

"Well, when you put it like that," you begin, turning and looking up at him. You tilt your head and give him a sweet smile. "Would the man who got into a drunken brawl in my honor care for a milkshake?"

Wolffe looks down at you and sighs, shaking his head. His lips turn up in the corner.

"I suppose he wouldn't be opposed to the idea."

"Good, because I'm getting you a jorganfruit one," you answer as you fall back on the soles of your feet.

"Is it good?"

"So good," you say, nodding enthusiastically. His mouth twitches into a smile, and his arm slides up, wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you close.

"Then I guess I can't say no," he replies, and he presses a soft kiss to the side of your head.

You sigh and lean into him, his warmth surrounding you. Your head falls against his shoulder, and his arm tightens around your waist, holding you close.

It's the first time in weeks the two of you have been able to just exist, and you take a moment to relish the feeling of his body pressed against yours, the warmth of his breath on your hair. You can feel the eyes of the patrons on you, a few even openly staring, watching as if they're trying to solve some great mystery. It's not often they see a clone officer around here, especially one as decorated as Wolffe.

You're sure it's not every day they see one with his arms wrapped around a woman, holding her close, his eyes filled with nothing but warmth, either.

You can't blame them. The two of you are quite a sight, and while you know Wolffe's presence tends to make people nervous, you hope they can see him the way you do.

Strong, but soft.

Fierce, but tender.

Warm, and protective.

You tilt your head and look up, finding his eyes fixed on the crowd. He's scanning the room, his gaze roaming over the patrons, assessing the threats. It's a force of habit, and one that you're sure he'll never shake, no matter how many times you remind him that he's allowed to relax. Not that you can blame him. Tonight was a perfect example of the dangers of the world, and while you are grateful for the protectiveness he and his brothers show, you hope he knows that he can be vulnerable, too.

You reach up and place your hand against his cheek, gently guiding his gaze back down to you. You offer a soft smile, and you watch as the furrow in his brow fades, his features relaxing as his attention settles on you.

The line moves, and before long, you’re placing your order. Wolffe stands behind your shoulder, watching the man behind the counter as he takes your order with an unflinching intensity that you've grown accustomed to over the last year. He doesn't move, and he doesn't blink, not until the man hands you a cup and the receipt.

"Enjoy your food," the man says, shooting Wolffe a wary look.

Wolffe nods, but his eyes stay fixed on the man, watching as he turns and moves into the kitchen.

"Wolffe," you whisper, elbowing him.

He huffs, and a hand moves to rub at his side.

"What?"

"You were being rude."

"Was not," he mutters, his brows drawing together.

You raise an eyebrow, and his frown deepens.

"Fine, maybe I was," he says, turning his attention to the packed seating area. He scans the room again, his eyes moving from table to table, studying the occupants. They're mostly couples, a few groups of friends, but the place is busy, and Wolffe's unease seems to grow.

"See anything interesting?" you ask, bumping him with your hip.

"No," he replies as his eyes come back to rest on you. He leans down, brushing his lips against your cheek. "Just making sure no one gets any ideas."

You laugh and shake your head.

"No one is going to bother me, Wolffe."

"After the day we’ve had, I'm not taking any chances,” he grumbles, and you turn, stepping closer and looping your arms around his waist. He doesn't hesitate to pull you into his embrace, and the two of you stand there, watching as the food is prepared and the people come and go.

When your number is finally called, Wolffe's arm stays locked around your waist, his grip tight and sure as he guides the two of you towards the exit.

The walk back to the speeder is uneventful, but the air is cool, and the sky is clear, the stars shining bright overhead. You lean into his side, and he turns, pressing his lips to your hair, holding you close as the two of you walk back.

The streets are still busy, and the sidewalks are lined with people, the sounds of conversation and laughter floating around you. You can see the neon signs of the restaurants and bars that line the streets, the bright colors and flashing lights a sharp contrast to the calm night.

The two of you come to a stop outside the speeder, and Wolffe moves to open the door for you, but you skirt around him, snatching the bag of food from his hand. You hop onto the hood of the speeder and turn, grinning as he glares at you.

"Really?"

"I'm hungry," you say, shrugging and opening the bag.

He huffs, his lips pulling into a frown.

"And you expect me to sit here and eat on top of the speeder?"

"I don’t expect you to do anything. I'm going to sit here and eat my food," you state, and you take a bite of a fry, making a show of letting out a pleased moan.

Wolffe watches, and the longer he does, the more you can see the cracks forming. He glances around the parking lot, his gaze shifting from one car to another, his eyes flicking over every darkened corner and shadow. When he's satisfied no one is watching, he walks over, his steps heavy. He steps between your legs until his thighs are pressed against the hood, and he leans forward, his hands coming to rest on either side of your hips.

You swallow and look up at him, and he raises a brow. His face is impassive, but his eyes are alight with humor. You take another bite and grin, and his expression softens, the corner of his mouth turning up in the barest hint of a smile.

"Well, are you going to share, or not?" he asks, tilting his head.

"Hmm, I suppose I could," you begin, and you reach into the bag and pull out a fry, bringing it up to his lips. "Open."

Wolffe hesitates for a moment before leaning in, his mouth parting. You push the fry in, and his lips close, his teeth sinking into the potato. You try not to stare as he chews, his mouth moving slowly. He's not trying to be sexy, but the way his jaw moves, the way his lips press together, has you entranced, and a shiver runs through you, heat pooling low in your stomach.

He swallows, and his tongue darts out, licking his lips.

"Good?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

"Decent," he answers, his gaze fixed on your lips.

"Just decent?"

"Mhm. I could do without the grease."

"That's half the point,” you say, laughing softly.

“You’re a doctor, shouldn’t you be telling me not to eat garbage food like this?"

"No. I'm the Chief Medical Officer, not your mother. You can eat what you want," you retort, and you pull out a burger. You carefully unwrap it and offer it to Wolffe. "Eat this."

Wolffe stares at the burger in your hand, his expression flat.

"Why are you looking at it like it's poisoned?"

"Because it might be."

"Oh Force," you mutter, and you pick up a fry and shove it into his mouth. "Eat. Both. Or so help me, I will drag your sorry ass back to the infirmary and have the droids hook you up to a nutrient drip."

He gives you a look, but he takes the burger from your hand and bites down, chewing slowly. His expression softens, his eyes widening, and his eyebrows lift as he takes another bite.

"You're right," he says, swallowing. "It's good."

"I told you. I always know best."

"You're impossible," he mutters around his food.

"And yet you're still here."

"Where else would I be?" he asks, giving you a sidelong glance.

You can see the affection in his eye, the way his cheeks turn pink, and the smile that threatens to break out. He tries to hide it, but his walls have always been easy for you to see through, and you know him better than anyone.

"Oh, I don't know, off chasing after a new woman," you tease, and his expression turns sour.

"Don't be stupid," he grumbles, taking another bite.

"Well, why wouldn't you?"

"Because I have a beautiful, intelligent, infuriating woman who loves me right in front of me. And I love her," he states, the last words coming out a little softer than the others.

You blink, and he blushes, turning away.

"So that's why I'm here," he finishes. He reaches for another fry, popping it into his mouth.

A grin spreads across your face despite your best efforts to stop it, your cheeks warming. Wolffe never talks about his feelings. Not in the way most people do. He's a man of few words, and when he does open up, it's never as flowery or sweet as his brothers. But the things he says, the small moments when he lets his guard down and tells you the things he wants, or how he feels, are so much more meaningful.

He's told you he loves you before, but it's not something the two of you say often. You know it, and you think it, every moment you're together. The fact that the two of you even have the chance to have moments like these, where you can just be yourselves and not the faces people expect, is enough.

"I love you too," you say, your smile widening. Wolffe meets your gaze, his eyes soft.

"I know," he murmurs.

"Good. Because I'm going to tell everyone you said that."

"Don't you dare.”

You give him a shrug, and he scowls, taking another bite of his burger. You chuckle and reach for another fry, popping it in your mouth and chewing, looking out over the lot. It's a nice night, and you take a moment to enjoy the feeling of the breeze on your skin, the coolness a stark contrast to the warmth of the man between your legs.

You can't help the smile that spreads across your lips as you watch Wolffe, his cheeks stuffed with food. He's enjoying himself, and while he'd never admit it, the food is helping him sober up. His cheeks are less flushed, and his eyes are brighter, less hazy.

He'll sleep well tonight.

Wolffe catches your eye and smirks, and you smile back. The two of you finish your meal in comfortable silence, the occasional laugh or comment passing between the two of you. By the time the food is gone, the lot is all but empty, the streets quiet and still.

"That was good," he admits, crumpling the wrappers and tossing them into the bag.

"You know, that's what I said about the nerf steak, and the dumplings, and the soup, and the fish, and—"

Wolffe huffs and places his hands on either side of your hips, leaning down and nuzzling your neck. You squirm, trying to push him away, but he's stronger than you, and all it does is bring him closer.

"Alright, alright, I get it, you've got good taste,” he murmurs, and you giggle as he nips at your jaw. "Now, are we going home or not?"

You shiver, and a smirk pulls at his mouth, pressed against your skin. He knows exactly what he's doing, and you don't know whether you want to slap him or kiss him.

You opt for the latter.

You slide your fingers through his hair, the dark strands silky under your touch. He lets out a quiet groan and tilts his head, his hands moving to grip your hips. His lips are warm and insistent, and the faint taste of jorganfruit lingers on his tongue as it runs over your bottom lip. You let him, and he kisses you slowly, his hands running over your back, pulling you closer until there's not a sliver of space left between the two of you.

The two of you make out in the parking lot for longer than you should, your mouths moving lazily, your bodies flush against each other. Neither of you can bring yourselves to care that anyone could walk up and see the Commander of the 104th kissing his medical officer like a lovesick teenager, and neither can you bring yourselves to stop.

If anything, you think Wolffe is enjoying the display a bit too much. His kisses become bolder, more consuming, and his hands wander, running up and down your sides and over your ass. He presses until your back is flat against the hood of the speeder, and his thigh bullies its way between your legs, nudging the apex of your thighs. He doesn't do anything more, doesn't grind or move against you, but his intention is clear.

You pull back, and Wolffe makes a sound of protest, leaning forward and chasing your lips. You laugh and place a hand against his chest, gently pushing him back.

"Wolffe," you say, trying to put as much authority into your voice as possible. It's not easy when you can feel the warmth of his thigh between your legs, his breath hot against your mouth.

He doesn't move.

"Wolffe," you repeat, your voice dropping into a whine.

He doesn't answer. Instead, he tilts his head, pressing a series of slow, lingering kisses against your neck. They start behind your ear, his lips dragging over your throat, stubble scratching your sensitive skin. He's gentle, his touch almost reverent, and you let out a soft moan, arching into him.

He takes advantage of your distraction to move his thigh, pressing it snugly against your center. Your head falls back, and your hands curl around his arms, squeezing. You can feel the muscle flex beneath your fingertips, his strength evident even under the layers of clothing.

Wolffe presses another kiss to your skin, his teeth grazing your throat, and you know that if he doesn't stop, the two of you are going to end up doing something in the middle of a parking lot that will  have you seeing Fox for the second time tonight.

"Wolffe," you breathe, and this time, it's more of a gasp than a command.

"Cyare," he rumbles as he pulls back, his eyes dark and filled with something you know very well.

"Take me home."

His eyes narrow, and his hands tighten around your waist. He's not going to take no for an answer.

"Or we can stay here, and I can bend you over the hood," he murmurs, and your face grows hot.

"Wolffe!"

He chuckles, the sound low and gravelly, and his hands run over your back, smoothing out the wrinkles in your clothes.

"Just saying," he says, giving you a teasing smile. You push him away with a hand on his chest, and he goes willingly, backing away from the hood and offering you his hand.

"You're terrible," you chide as you take it, sliding off the hood and straight into his embrace.

"Maybe," he murmurs, and his hands settle low on your waist, holding tight. "But you like it."

You roll your eyes, but you can't deny the fact that you very much do like it, and the fact that the man holding you is the only person you've ever felt like this with. He's the one who can bring you to the edge of your control with just a few touches, a few words, a kiss.

He's the one who makes you feel wanted, and desired, and loved.

He's the one who holds your heart, and the knowledge of that makes your head spin, a dizzying mix of arousal and affection washing over you.

"Let's go home," he whispers, and the look in his eyes says everything.

He's thinking the same thing, and his control is waning, the tension between the two of you thick and heavy.

You nod, and Wolffe wastes no time. He guides you around the front of the speeder, opening the door and helping you inside. He takes the bag from you and tosses it into a nearby can before sliding into the passenger seat. You turn to ask if he's ready, but the question dies on your lips, replaced by a squeak as he pulls you into a kiss, his hands cupping your face, his fingers tangled in your hair.

It's brief, his lips brushing yours once, twice, before he's pulling away, leaving you breathless and wanting.

"Thank you for dinner," he whispers against your lips.

"You're welcome," you reply, breathless and smiling.

"But if we don't leave now, I'm going to fuck you in the backseat, and then we're really going to be in trouble," he growls, and you shiver, heat pooling between your thighs. He pulls back and gives you a look that says he means business, and you bite back a whine as he settles back into his seat, fastening the harness.

"Let's go," he orders.

You're quick to obey, starting the engine and taking off. The ride back is silent, but the tension between the two of you is tangible. It's heavy and demanding, and all you can think about is the man sitting beside you, the way his mouth feels, and his hands, and how good it's going to feel when he finally has you alone.

Wolffe’s hand, heavy and warm, comes to rest on your thigh.

You swallow and press your foot down a little harder.

The city drifts by, and it isn't long before you're flying down a street lined with artificial trees, their branches reaching towards the sky. A few blocks down, and you're turning, entering the parking area below your building.

You park and kill the engine, and the two of you sit in silence for a moment. The lights from the streetlamps filter through the windshield, casting the interior in a soft glow. You take a deep breath, and Wolffe turns, his eyes catching yours.

“Are you ready to go inside, cyare, or do you want to do this here instead?" he asks, his voice low and gravelly.

A blush spreads across your cheeks, but you can't find the words to respond. Instead, you unbuckle your seatbelt, and his mouth twists up in the corner, a smirk spreading across his lips.

"Alright then, let's go," he murmurs, and his hand slips from your thigh.

He's out of the speeder and around the front, opening the door before you can even reach for the handle. He helps you out, his hand steady and warm as he pulls you into his arms. He closes the door behind you, and then he's walking, leading you towards the lobby.

You follow him inside, and the man at the front desk does a double take, his eyes wide as they land on the pair of you. You offer him a small wave, and he waves back, his face slack with surprise.

"Evening,” Wolffe greets, low and gruff. His hand finds the small of your back, gently guiding you to the lift.

“Have a good night,” you call over your shoulder as the two of you pass.

"You too, Doctor," the man answers, his gaze still fixed on Wolffe.

You press the button for the lift, and it comes to a stop, the doors sliding open. Wolffe wastes no time in ushering you inside and hitting the button for your floor. He stands close, his hand still pressed firmly against the small of your back.

The doors slide shut, and Wolffe steps in front of you, his eyes intense as they meet yours. His hand moves, sliding over the curve of your ass, cupping and squeezing. You let out a surprised squeak, and he huffs, a smirk twisting his lips.

"What? You thought I'd be able to wait until we got upstairs?" he murmurs as his head dips, his lips hovering a hair's breadth away from yours.

"I thought you were going to try," you whisper, trying to hold back a shiver.

"Mm, no. Not tonight.”

You can feel the warmth of his breath on your lips, the closeness making your head spin. His hands move over your body, and his eyes roam over your features, his gaze heated. He looks hungry, his desire clear in the way his eyes linger on your lips as you reach out, your hands moving to the buttons of his uniform.

"I think I can agree with that," you murmur, undoing the first button. Your thumb runs over the small patch of skin bared at the hollow of his throat.

Wolffe grunts, his eyes fluttering shut. You can feel the shudder that runs through him, and his hands come up, his fingers wrapping around your wrists. He doesn't push them away, though, instead, holding them loosely as you undo another button, then another.

You take your time, savoring the feeling of his skin beneath your fingertips. You know he's struggling, the need for control warring with the urge to give in. He doesn't often let himself lose control, always focused on the task at hand, but tonight, he's off duty, and the man between the lines of command and the soldier has shown his face.

And he's desperate.

The lift dings, and the doors slide open, the sudden noise startling the two of you. Wolffe's grip tightens as he lets out a frustrated sigh.

"Fucking hell," he mutters, turning and guiding you into the hall.

You chuckle, and his hand squeezes your hip, his expression darkening.

"You think this is funny, huh?" he growls, his voice dropping an octave.

You bite your lip, but the grin spreads across your face, the smile bright and full. Wolffe's eyes narrow, and a hand moves, sliding over the curve of your ass. A yelp escapes you as his fingers dig into your flesh, the sensation shooting straight between your legs.

"Oh, it's funny," he mutters, shaking his head.

He pushes you forward, his hand guiding the two of you towards your door. It's only a few steps, but it feels like a mile, his touch firm, the promise of what's to come clear in the way his grip tightens the closer the two of you get. You can feel his presence looking behind you as you unlock the door, your hands shaky and fumbling.

He doesn't say anything, but the heat in his eyes is unmistakable, his desire evident. He's going to make you pay for that smile, and while a small part of you is nervous, the rest is excited, eager to see how he's going to get his revenge.

You open the door, and before you can even step inside, his arm is looping around your waist, lifting you off the floor and into his arms. He steps into the entryway and kicks the door closed, the slam echoing in the otherwise empty apartment.

"You're a fucking tease," he grumbles, kicking off his boots.

"Me? A tease?" you ask, incredulous. You squirm in his arms, and his grip tightens. "Who was the one who couldn't keep his hands to himself the entire night? Or the one who tried to seduce me in the parking lot?"

"You're one to talk. If you weren't such a damn menace, we would have been in here hours ago,” Wolffe counters, his grip tightening around your waist. He steps around his discarded boots and carries you into the kitchen, flicking one of the cabinet lights on with his shoulder. You kick off your heels as you go.

"You know, I think I remember you being the one to pin me to the hood of the speeder,” you point out, and you raise a brow, giving him a look.

Wolffe sets you down on the edge of the counter and places his hands on either side of your hips, leaning close. You lean back, and his hands slide over your thighs, gripping and pulling until his hips are pressed between your knees.

"Well, I'm not sorry,” he says as he dips his head, nuzzling your neck. “It was the best part of my night."

"It was?"

"Mhm."

"Better than the fight?"

"Much better," he answers, his breath hot against your skin. His teeth graze the spot just behind your ear, and you shiver. Your legs wrap around his hips, and your hands find his shoulders, curling around the fabric of his uniform.

"That's high praise, coming from the Commander," you tease, tilting your head and allowing him more access.

Wolffe chuckles and presses a kiss to the hollow beneath your ear.

"Mm, well, the Commander likes a good fight, but the man prefers spending his time like this," he murmurs, his hands moving up, sliding under the hem of your shirt.

His fingers trail along your sides, running over your skin in lazy circles, the touch firm. You can feel him everywhere, the warmth of his hands, his lips, the way his hips press against yours. The outline of his cock, hard and insistent, brushes the inside of your thigh, and you shudder, pulling him closer.

"Like this, huh?"

"Mhm."

"And just what does the man have in mind?" you ask, biting back a moan as his hands dip lower, running over the curve of your ass. He squeezes before continuing on, fingertips dancing over the tops of your thighs until they settle between them, his thumbs rubbing firm circles into your skin.

He lets out a thoughtful hum, the sound rumbling in his chest, his breath hot against your skin. It takes all your self-control to keep still, but the anticipation is delicious, the knowledge that he's going to do whatever he wants, and you're going to let him, a heady rush.

Wolffe pulls back, his gaze roaming over your face. Even his clouded cybernetic eye can't hide the lust, the way his eyes have darkened, the black almost completely consuming the brown of his iris. His cheeks are flushed as he studies you, and his lips are red and slightly swollen from where he's been biting them, trying to hold back the noises he wants to make.

"What does the man have in mind? Let me see," he murmurs, his fingers curling around the fabric. He pops the button of your pants and pats your thigh, and you obey, lifting yourself so he can tug the clothing down your legs. He drops them to the floor, his gaze returning to yours.

"Well?" you ask, a smile playing on your lips.

Wolffe doesn't answer. Instead, he reaches out and cups your sex, the fabric of your underwear a thin barrier between the heat of his palm and your aching core. His touch is gentle, barely there, and yet the pressure is enough to send a spark through you, your skin prickling. You swallow, and his lips turn up, the hint of a smile spreading across his features.

"Let's see," he begins, his finger tracing a line over the damp fabric, drawing a gasp from your throat. "First, I'm going to undress you."

His hands move, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of your underwear, fingertips sliding over the smooth expanse of your skin. He pulls the fabric down slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He watches as you shift and shiver, his expression calm, the only sign that he's not unaffected the slight tremble in his hands.

"Then, I'm going to taste you, get you ready for my cock," he continues, his voice rough.

His touch is slow, methodical, the drag of his knuckles and fingertips torturous. Your underwear slides down, and you let out a small whine, the fabric bunching around your thighs.

"And when you're all nice and wet, and you're begging for me, I'm going to fill you up, and fuck you, nice and slow," he growls, his hands running over your legs, sliding your underwear down and tossing them to the floor.

Your face grows hot, the blush spreading across your cheeks and down your neck, the heat creeping down until it settles low in your stomach. Wolffe's eyes track the movement, and he finds the hem of your shirt, pulling the fabric up and over your head, his hands immediately cupping your breasts over your bra.

"What do you think about that, cyare?" he asks, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, the fabric rough against your sensitive flesh.

You bite back a moan, and his brows raise, expectant. You know what he wants, and you can't bring yourself to deny him, not when his hands are already on your body, his fingers working the clasp of your bra.

"Yes, please," you whimper, reaching up and sliding your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

"See? That wasn't so hard," he says, his lips twitching. He unclasps the garment, and it falls open, the fabric sliding down and joining the rest of your clothes on the floor.

You're left bare before him, exposed, and Wolffe takes a moment to drink in the sight. His hands come up, his fingers tracing the curve of your neck, the slope of your shoulder. They run over the swell of your breast, his touch feather-light, the contrast between the cool air and the warmth of his skin raising goosebumps. He continues down, over the plane of your stomach, the ridges of your ribs, until he comes to rest against the flare of your hip.

"Perfect," he breathes, his gaze returning to yours.

His mouth is mere inches from yours, his breath ghosting over your lips. He doesn't move, and neither do you, the two of you locked in an intense stare. You're waiting, wanting, and it's a battle of wills to see who will give in first.

You lose.

Your head tilts forward, and Wolffe is there, meeting you halfway. His mouth closes over yours, the kiss gentle, tender, nothing like the rough, demanding way his hands grip your hips, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh.

It's the opposite of the words that tumble from his lips, the things he says, the filthy promises whispered between heated kisses. But it’s so him, the juxtaposition of the gentle and the rough, the soft and the demanding.

It's everything, and it's all you want, all you need.

Wolffe groans as your lips part, his tongue darting out, tasting the sweetness of your mouth. It's slow, his pace measured as he licks his way inside, his movements controlled and steady.

"You have too many clothes on," you murmur against his lips, and Wolffe huffs, pulling back.

"I guess I do," he says, his eyes roaming over your body, lingering on the curves and dips.

His gaze is so heated that it's nearly palpable, the intensity bringing a blush to your skin. He steps back and takes a deep breath, and you squirm as he stares, taking in the sight of you perched on the counter, spread out like an offering.

He reaches for his uniform, popping the buttons, his movements slow. The fabric parts, revealing the tight white undershirt, the thin material straining over the broad planes of his chest, dark hair peeking out from the collar.

You bite your lip, watching as he shrugs off the outer layer, his eyes fixed on you. The fabric slides down his arms, his muscles flexing as he works. His movements are fluid, easy, but each one is deliberate, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Wolffe," you groan, biting back a frustrated noise.

"What?" he asks, his tone innocent.

He drops his shirt to the floor, his fingers hooking into the fabric of his undershirt. He peels it up, slowly, his eyes shining with amusement as he exposes his toned stomach, the planes of his chest, and finally, the broad expanse of his shoulders.

"Are you in a hurry, cyare?"

"A little," you admit, the words coming out breathy.

Wolffe grins and steps closer, his hands finding your knees. He pushes them apart with ease, his palms sliding over your skin, his touch firm.

"I guess I can't blame you," he begins, his gaze drifting down to where your thighs have parted. "I mean, look at you."

"Wolffe, come on," you mutter, trying to close your legs.

His hands move, holding you in place. You don't stand a chance against his strength, the muscle of his arms rippling as he pushes you back, his palms running over your inner thighs.

"Shhh, let me enjoy the view," he chides, his eyes moving over your exposed skin.

You can feel his gaze like a physical touch, his eyes drinking in the sight of you, naked and bare before him. His hands run over your thighs, and then his thumbs are dipping into the apex, spreading you open.

"Look at how pretty you are," he rumbles as he brings his thumb up, running the pad gently over your clit, his touch barely there.

A whimper escapes, the contact not nearly enough to satisfy. You want more, but he doesn't give it, his thumb moving lower, dipping into the heat of your entrance. You shiver, and Wolffe makes a pleased noise, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

"And I haven't even done anything yet," he teases, his thumb pressing into the sensitive flesh, circling your opening.

"Please, Wolffe," you whine, and his brows raise, the corner of his mouth turning up.

"Oh, I like the sound of that," he murmurs, his eyes darkening. "Please, what?"

You glare, and Wolffe smirks, his gaze dropping back to the apex of your thighs. He presses his thumb in further, his knuckle catching against the edge, and the contact sends a shiver down your spine. You bite your lip and squirm, heat coiling low in your stomach.

"Please, what? Use your words," he murmurs, his tone dripping with saccharine sweetness.

"Stop teasing," you hiss, trying to press down against his hand.

Wolffe's lips pull into a frown, and his grip tightens around your hips. He yanks you towards the edge, his hands keeping you from sliding off, and you cry out, a spike of arousal shooting through you at the rough treatment.

”Try again," he says, his tone dropping an octave.

You take a shaky breath and glare, and Wolffe's expression grows darker, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your hips. He's waiting, his eyes fixed on yours, the weight of his gaze heavy and expectant.

"Please, just...I want—"

"You want, what?"

"I want your mouth," you breathe, heat rushing to your face.

Wolffe hums, his thumbs rubbing circles against the inside of your thighs. The gesture is meant to be soothing, but it does nothing to quell the ache that has settled between your legs. He watches, waiting, and when he's satisfied with the desperation that's seeped into your expression, his lips curl up into a smirk.

"Good girl."

The praise sends a wave of warmth through you, and the blush spreads, creeping down your neck, the heat settling against your chest. Wolffe lets out a pleased rumble and leans forward, nuzzling your neck.

"That's what I wanted to hear," he murmurs, and then his mouth is on you, trailing slow, lingering kisses down the column of your throat. He pauses and sucks the sensitive skin between his teeth, biting and nibbling until a mark blooms beneath his lips.

He continues down, his mouth moving over the swell of your breast, his tongue flicking out, licking a path between the mounds. He pays the same attention to each one, his lips closing over your nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh.

A moan escapes, the sound loud in the silence of the apartment. Wolffe huffs a laugh and presses a kiss against your sternum, his hand sliding over your waist, his fingers dancing across your stomach.

"Let me hear you," he says as his lips drift lower, his tongue trailing over the line of your ribcage, his stubble scraping your skin.

He kneels, and the sight alone is almost enough to send you spiraling. Wolffe is the very picture of devotion, his hands warm and reverent as they run over your skin, his mouth gentle and sure as it moves over the soft expanse of your stomach. He presses a kiss just above the line of your hip, and you can feel the way his lips curl up, his eyes fixed on you.

"So beautiful," he breathes, his voice muffled against your skin.

His words are sweet, but the hand that grips your thigh, pushing it back, is anything but. It's demanding and firm, a wordless order to spread your legs. You obey, and the grin on his face is wicked, his eyes flashing.

"There we go, just like that," he murmurs as he leans in, his nose brushing against the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh. 

His lips trail higher, his mouth warm and wet as he sucks the tender skin between his teeth. You can't help but squirm, the sharp sting of his teeth followed by the soothing sweep of his tongue sending a rush through you. When he sucks another mark onto the opposite side, you let out a whine, your hips bucking against his grasp.

"Don't move," he growls, his voice low and dangerous.

You still, the commanding tone enough to make you freeze. You've seen the way Wolffe can get when he's in the mood, and while it's fun to tease him, to rile him up, there’s something about the way he’s looking at you that says tonight isn't the time.

Tonight, he's not going to let you get away with a single thing.

"Yes, Commander," you whisper, and the sound that escapes him is sinful.

"That's my girl," he rumbles. His tongue darts out, sliding over the skin. "I knew you'd listen."

He gives you a few more languid kisses, his mouth moving slowly, deliberately, working his way up until his lips are brushing the apex of your thigh. Finally, the first kiss lands, a soft brush against your clit, the touch feather-light and barely there. You bite back a groan, your head falling back, but you keep still.

"Good girl," he praises, and you can feel the smirk against your skin as he presses another kiss, his lips dragging over the sensitive bud.

The feeling sends a spark of heat through you, the praise mixing with the gentle drag of his lips. He knows exactly what you like, but he seems in no hurry to give it to you. Instead, he's content to tease, his tongue darting out, giving a few long, lazy licks before retreating.

He repeats the process, his tongue moving over you in slow, methodical strokes. He laps at your entrance, lapping up the wetness that's gathered, the taste of you filling his senses.

It's not enough.

Not nearly enough.

Wolffe pulls back and blows a stream of air against your heated skin, the coolness making you squirm.

"Wolffe," you whine. “Please."

"Shhh," he says, and his thumb comes up, rubbing small, gentle circles over your clit. "Let me taste you. I told you to stay still, didn't I?"

You don't answer, and he leans in, nipping at the soft flesh. You let out a squeak, the sound turning into a moan as he sucks on the spot, soothing the sting with his tongue.

"Cyare," he begins, and his voice is stern, his grip tight.

"I know," you mutter, forcing yourself to relax.

"That's better," Wolffe says as his hands move, trailing over the inside of your thighs. His touch is firm, his fingers tracing the path his lips just took, his palms spreading your thighs wider.

He doesn't keep you waiting long.

Wolffe's tongue drags a path from your entrance to the tip of your clit, the feeling so intense that you nearly miss the way his thumb hooks against the hood, exposing the sensitive bundle of nerves. The next lick is followed by the gentle pressure of his lips closing over the bud, his tongue swirling. It flicks over your clit, once, twice, before dipping lower, the tip sliding inside your entrance.

"Oh," you gasp, your hand flying to his head, tangling in the soft strands.

"Mm, so wet," Wolffe groans, and his tongue slips deeper, the muscle pressing against the silken walls.

He works you open, his tongue curling and twisting, fucking in and out, the wet sounds echoing in the room. You can't help the noises that spill from your lips, the moans and whines mingling with the sound of Wolffe's mouth as he devours you, his hands keeping your hips firmly pinned against the counter.

You're lost in the sensations, the feeling of his tongue, the pressure, the heat of his mouth, the way he groans as his head moves, his eyes fixed on you. Your fingers curl, tugging at his hair, and the vibration of his answering groan has your head falling back, the breath stuttering in your chest. Arousal pools heavily between your thighs, oozing over his tongue. He laps it up, his pace quickening, his nose brushing against your clit.

He fucks you on his tongue until you're dripping, and then he pulls back, his breathing harsh. The sound is obscene, the wet, sucking noise enough to make your face flush hot. You watch as his lips part, his tongue snaking out, licking up the mess you've made. He doesn't miss a single drop, his movements measured and thorough, his eyes fixed on yours.

"You're perfect," he murmurs, fingers tightening their hold.

You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out, the compliment taking you by surprise. You're still getting used to his more open displays of affection, the things he says when the two of you are alone. The Wolffe that the world sees is nothing like the man who kneels before you, the soft, gentle side that he saves just for you.

You reach out, and Wolffe's lips curl into a smile, his cheeks pink and warm under your palm. He leans into your touch, his eyes closing as your thumb brushes over the scarred ridge under his eye. The moment is tender, a stark contrast to the things he's said, the way his hands have moved, his grip firm.

He looks at peace, and the sight has your heart melting, a warmth spreading through you, pooling low in your stomach. Wolffe's eyes blink open, and the warmth turns into heat, the flames stoked by the hunger that's crept into his gaze.

He wants, and you want him to have.

"Wolffe," you begin, but the rest of the words are lost as his mouth closes over your clit.

He sucks the swollen bud between his lips, the pressure firm and steady. He's relentless, the flat of his tongue stroking the length, the tip flicking and swirling. You’re overwhelmed by the intensity, and there’s no time to brace yourself before two fingers slide home to the hilt and curl.

"Oh, fuck," you gasp, arching into him.

A satisfied grunt rumbles through his chest, the vibrations going straight to the apex of your thighs. The suddenness of the intrusion, coupled with the heat of his mouth, the drag of his tongue, is enough to send a hot wave of pleasure through you, and your toes curl, the first tingles of an orgasm building in the base of your spine.

"More," you beg, tugging at his hair.

Wolffe lets out a soft noise, something between a groan and a growl, and his hand moves, slipping from your hip and sliding under your ass. His fingers dig into the plump flesh, the touch firm. Your back arches, and he pushes you forward, tilting your hips.

You have no choice but to lean back on your elbows, his strength too much for you to fight. Your head falls back, your neck strained to look at him, but the new angle leaves you spread wide open, his lips sucking eagerly.

"Oh, fuck, yes, just like that," you whimper as the pressure builds, the sensation coiling low in your core and spreading along your thighs.

He's merciless, his tongue and fingers moving with purpose, and his hands guide your movements, pushing and pulling you, your body pliant beneath his touch. He's completely in control, the position allowing him to do whatever he wants, and the realization sends a fresh wave of arousal through you, a gush of wetness dripping down his fingers.

Wolffe doesn't seem to mind, his nose buried against your skin, his tongue working. The sounds that fill the air are obscene, the slick, wet noises mixing with the filthy moans and groans that fall from his lips.

"You're so good, Wolffe, so good," you praise, a strangled moan escaping as he presses his fingers in deep. He curls, rubbing them over the spongy tissue, his mouth closing over your clit.

Your words seem to spur him on, his movements growing bolder. His grip on your ass tightens, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. He's relentless, his tongue and fingers working in tandem, his rhythm unwavering.

The coil in the pit of your stomach grows tighter, the familiar pressure building until it threatens to break. Your legs come up, wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him close, and Wolffe obliges, his hand leaving your ass to press his arm over your hips, pinning you in place.

You let out a choked noise at the show of strength, the muscles of his arm flexing as he holds you down. Your mouth opens, but the only sound that escapes is a series of short, breathless gasps. The fire spreads, burning through you until you're a quivering mess. It's too much, the combination of his mouth and his fingers and the way he looks between your thighs, his eyes dark and filled with something akin to adoration.

It's the thought that breaks the dam.

His lips wrap around the bud of your clit, and the first flick of his tongue has you toppling over the edge, the pleasure bursting through you. Your head falls back, your eyes screwing shut, and a long, drawn-out moan leaves your lips. You can feel yourself gush around his fingers, and Wolffe groans, his fingers picking up speed. Your thighs clamp around his head, and your nails dig into his scalp, and you hold on, a choked sob escaping as your body writhes beneath him.

Wolffe doesn't slow. He fucks you through the waves, his mouth working, his fingers rubbing against your walls, drawing the pleasure out and coaxing another, smaller orgasm from you. It crashes over you in a burst of sparks behind your eyelids, shooting down to your fingers and making your toes curl.

It's only when your hips jerk away from his mouth, oversensitive, that he finally relents, pulling back with a wet pop.

"Fuck, cyare," he breathes, and his voice is hoarse, his breathing ragged. "So beautiful."

"Wolffe," you croak, unable to formulate a proper sentence. Your head spins, and you have to force yourself to breathe, to relax, your heart racing. The release has left you feeling drained, and all you can do is lay there, gasping and whimpering as Wolffe's tongue gently cleans the mess you've made.

He pulls away, a wicked smirk playing on his lips, his chin glistening with your release. He looks proud and a little smug, but the effect is ruined by the dazed look in his eyes, the way he leans into the hand that cups his cheek. You watch, transfixed, as he stands, gently maneuvering you until you’re sitting up, your back resting against the cupboards.

“Good girl, take a breath," he whispers, running his hands over your legs, gently massaging the tense muscles.

You obey, taking a deep, shuddering breath. The oxygen clears the fog, and when you finally open your eyes, it's to the sight of Wolffe, his hands undoing the belt at his waist. 

"I need to be inside you," he says, the words a low, raspy growl, barely audible underneath the sound of the metal buckle clinking against the counter.

The noise has you swallowing, your mouth dry. You watch as he slides the leather out and sets it down, the thud of the metal buckle against the countertop making you jump. His eyes dart to the offending item, and a smirk pulls at his lips.

"Nervous?"

You shake your head, and his expression softens.

"Good. No need to be, not with me," he says, and the belt is forgotten, his hands returning to his pants.

"I'm not," you whisper, and your eyes move over his chest, taking in the dark hair and the smattering of scars, the dips and ridges of his muscles, the broad expanse of his shoulders, and the way his arms flex as he pushes the fabric down his hips.

"I know, cyare," he says, his expression gentle. He's watching you closely, his hands coming up, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No," you reply, the word coming out breathless. Your eyes are locked on the damp spot that's darkened the grey fabric, the bulge of his cock straining against the material.

"Then what do you want?"

"I want to see you."

Wolffe's breath catches, his eyes widening slightly.

"Okay then," he murmurs, his voice low.

His thumbs hook into the elastic band, and he pushes the fabric down, the hard line of his cock finally free. It's heavy, hanging between his legs, the tip flushed a deep red. The sight has your mouth watering, and your eyes follow the thick, pulsing vein that runs the length, the bead of pre-cum that has gathered at the tip, slowly dripping down.

"Like what you see?" he teases, reaching down and wrapping his fingers around his length.

"Always," you breathe.

You watch as he gives himself a few long, slow strokes, his fist closing around the head. The motion brings a bead of precome to the tip, and he spreads it down the shaft, the movement slow and deliberate.

"Are you sure you're not nervous?" he asks, his voice soft.

"A little," you admit, the words coming out shaky.

You know exactly how thick his cock is, but the sight of him standing between your thighs, the head level with your stomach, always takes your breath away.

"Shhh, I've got you," he says, stepping closer. "I'm gonna make you feel so good."

You nod, and Wolffe's hand leaves his cock, his fingers curling around your ankle. He lifts your leg, guiding it up and over his shoulder, his lips pressing a soft kiss against the inside of your knee. He reaches out and runs a knuckle down the length of your sex, the contact gentle and teasing.

"So beautiful," he murmurs.

His other hand moves to his cock, lining himself up. The head bumps against the inside of your thigh, and you gasp, the wet heat searing against your skin. It leaves a trail of precome, and the sight has your heart rate picking up, the anticipation coursing through you.

"That's my girl," he whispers, his hand sliding up, fingers brushing the swollen bud.

Your hips jerk, and the tip of his cock catches against your entrance, the slick head nudging at the opening. It's enough to make him grunt, the muscles in his neck straining, his hand squeezing the base of his cock.

"I'm gonna put it in, cyare, and I want you to stay nice and still, okay?"

"Okay," you agree, your hands gripping the edge of the counter.

He gives a few experimental thrusts, the head sliding against the wet heat, spreading your slick along his shaft. He pushes in, the first inch, and the stretch is immediate.

"Fuck," he hisses, and his hand drops, his thumb moving to press against the hood of your clit, rubbing gentle circles. "Just relax, sweetheart, take a deep breath."

You do as he says, sucking in a deep breath and forcing yourself to relax. The pain fades, replaced by the intense stretch, the pressure of his cock. He's not even halfway inside, and already you feel so full, the feeling almost overwhelming. It feels like it's been years since the last time he had you like this, his body pressed against yours, and it takes all your willpower to remain still, to keep from fucking yourself onto his cock.

"There you go," he says, and his tone is gentle, his expression soft. "Just like that."

He rocks his hips, the head sliding in and out. Each thrust is easier than the last, the silken walls loosening and allowing him deeper. Wolffe’s eyes flutter, his mouth falling open, his fingers moving against your clit. He's lost in the sensation, the tight, wet heat of your pussy clenching around his cock, and you can't help but stare, watching the way his brows draw together, a sheen of sweat already forming on his forehead.

"Fuck," he mutters, his voice strained. He grinds deeper as if trying to get as close as possible, the action drawing a whimper from your lips, and he stops. "You okay?"

You can only nod, tears prickling in the corners of your eyes as his tip kisses the end of you. It's too much, the stretch, the heavy weight of his cock, and yet it's not enough. You need him deeper, his skin against yours, his weight bearing down on you, pinning you beneath him.

"Words, cyare. I need words."

"Please," you gasp, trying to rock your hips.

He shakes his head and squeezes your hips, keeping you still. His jaw is clenched, and his eyes are shut tight, his brows drawn together in concentration. You can feel him pulse inside you, the throbbing a steady beat, his cock twitching with each squeeze of your walls.

"Wolffe, please, fuck me," you beg, a desperate whine escaping.

Wolffe's eyes open, and his gaze finds yours, his expression softening.

"There she is," he murmurs, the corner of his mouth turning up. "That's what I like to hear."

He presses a kiss to your ankle, and he doesn't take his eyes off yours as he pulls out, his length dragging against your walls. It's torturously slow, his movements measured and precise, and he keeps his pace, his hands gripping the soft flesh of your thighs, his palms hot.

"Such a pretty girl," he says, the words strained. He thrusts into you, a slow, steady roll of his hips. "So good for me, letting me take my time, letting me enjoy the way you feel."

"You feel so good, Wolffe," you moan, arching into him.

"Oh, I know," he grunts. "I can feel it."

His thrusts are steady, each one hitting the same spot, his pace never wavering. He keeps his movements slow, his eyes never leaving yours. He's watching you, gauging your reactions, taking note of every sound, every facial expression.

You've been intimate before, but tonight feels different, and you realize that Wolffe isn't in a hurry, not anymore. He's taking his time, enjoying the feeling of being buried inside you, of watching your reactions. The lines around his eyes and the creases in his forehead have smoothed out, his jaw no longer clenched tight. The tension has melted from his shoulders, replaced by something that looks suspiciously like contentment.

"Is this okay?" he asks, his voice low.

You can only nod, unable to speak, your mind a foggy haze.

"That's good, that's so good," he murmurs, and his lips turn up, his expression soft. "I like having you like this, all to myself."

You whine, and his smile grows, the tips of his canines flashing in the dim light. He's beautiful like this, his head bowed, his dark hair hanging in his face, a reverent, awestruck look in his eyes.

"Do you like this, too?" he asks, the words punctuated by a firm thrust, his hands gripping your thighs.

"Yes," you gasp, a moan slipping out as he hits a spot deep inside you, sending sparks down your spine.

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"Good, because I think we should do it more often," he murmurs, leaning in.

"Yeah?"

"Mmhm," he breathes, and his nose brushes yours, his lips a breath away.

He's so close, the heat radiating off his skin. You can taste the sweetness of your release on his lips, and you want to lean forward and claim them, but he's just out of reach, and all you can do is stare.

"You're a tease," you whisper.

"I think I can live with that."

His eyes move, roaming over the exposed expanse of your body, and they linger on the place where his cock is buried, the skin stretched and glistening. He bites his lip, his hands gripping the soft flesh of your thighs, and his pace quickens, his hips snapping against yours.

The feeling has your toes curling, and you try to reach down, to stroke the bud of nerves that is aching for contact.

"No, no. Not yet," he chides, his hand grabbing yours and pulling it away. He brings your wrist up, pressing a kiss to the tender skin. "I'll get you there. Be patient."

You pout, and Wolffe smiles, a crooked, mischievous grin. He lets go of your hand, his palm coming to rest on your stomach. His thumb finds the spot, rubbing circles over the sensitive flesh, his gaze never leaving yours.

"It's not fair," you mumble, trying not to squirm.

"Mhm, tell me about it."

He presses down, his finger rubbing the spot in lazy circles, the pressure intense.

"How does it feel, cyare? To have my cock buried inside you, nice and deep?"

"Feels good," you breathe, arching into his touch.

"Does it?" he asks, and his eyes flicker down, watching as he pulls out. He pauses, the head caught against your entrance, the tip shiny with your arousal.

He stays there, the two of you joined by the very tip, his length coated in a mixture of fluids. The sight is obscene, the slick mess dripping from his cock and down his balls, the fluid coating the tops of his thighs.

"Look how messy you are," he breathes, his eyes wide.

"All for you," you murmur, and his eyes snap to yours, his lips parting.

"Fuck," Wolffe mutters.

He guides your leg off his shoulder, hooking his arms underneath both of your knees. He spreads you open, and the sight of his cock sliding in, the thick length disappearing into the mess, makes you groan, a fresh gush of wetness slipping from your entrance.

"Wolffe, please, I want more," you beg, trying to press closer.

“More, she says," he huffs a laugh, and his fingers dig into your legs, the pressure almost bruising.

"Yes," you moan, nodding.

"Then you're going to get more."

The words barely have time to register before his cock is slamming home, his hips pressing flush against yours.

You cry out, your back arching, and he wastes no time in setting a rough, unforgiving pace. His grip tightens around your legs, and he bends, leaning over your body, his hands planted on either side of your hips.

The angle allows him to drive deeper, and you can feel his pelvis grinding against your clit, the roughness of his pubic hair scratching against the sensitive skin. You try to move, to meet him halfway, but the position, coupled with his strength, leaves you immobile. All you can do is lie there and take it, his cock splitting you open.

"Oh, fuck," he grunts, his pace never slowing. His eyes are fixed on yours, the dark brown and grey shining with pleasure. "I could stay like this forever, just buried in that sweet cunt."

"Yes, yes," you cry, the words tumbling from your lips.

"Do you want that? Do you want me to fuck you all night, keep you full?"

"Please," you beg, arching into him.

"Fuck," Wolffe groans, his eyes falling closed. His pace picks up, his movements growing frantic, and he leans forward, his hands wrapping around the tops of your thighs. He uses his hold as leverage, tugging you towards him, the motion causing your head to knock against the cupboard.

"Sorry," he pants, and he reaches out, his hand cupping the back of your head, the gesture almost tender. "Fuck, I'm sorry."

"Don't be, please, just—"

"I've got you," he whispers, and his lips press against the side of your neck. "I've got you, sweetheart."

"Please, Wolffe, I'm so close," you plead, your nails digging into the skin of his forearms.

"I know," he growls, and his hips snap, the feeling making you gasp. "I'm right behind you."

His lips find the juncture of your neck and shoulder, his teeth scraping against the skin. He bites down, the pain sharp, and a cry escapes as he sucks, hard. The delicate capillaries underneath your skin break, a purple-red splotch blooming in the wake of his mouth.

"Oh, fuck," you gasp, his mark sending a fresh wave of arousal through you.

"Mm, there's my girl," he grunts. "I'm not going to last, sweetheart. You're going to have to come for me, okay?"

You nod, unable to form the words, and you reach down, your fingers finding the apex of your thighs He's pressed so close that your hand brushes the coarse hair covering his pelvis, the tips grazing the base of his cock.

"Come on. Let go," he urges, his breath hot against your neck.

Your fingers brush over the sensitive nub, and you're sent over the edge, your climax hitting so hard that the room begins to spin. You're barely aware of his voice, urging you on, praising you as your walls flutter and pulse around his cock.

"That's it, let me feel it," Wolffe groans, his pace growing sloppy, his hips jerking erratically. "Fuck, I'm gonna come."

You can feel the way his length pulses, his cock throbbing as his release builds, and then he's following after you, a long, low moan rumbling in his chest. He pushes in deep and grinds his pelvis against your clit, his movements frantic as his orgasm washes over him.

You're vaguely aware of his body jerking, his hips moving erratically, and then his release is flooding you, the warm liquid painting your walls. He fills you up, his seed leaking out and dripping onto the counter, the mess smearing over the smooth surface.

"Oh, shit," he hisses, his arms trembling. He sags, his forehead dropping against your shoulder, his breathing heavy.

You can feel the sweat-slick skin, his chest rising and falling, the movement uneven. He's shaking, his body trembling as his arms finally give out, and the weight of his upper body presses down on top of you.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Wolffe replies, his voice muffled. "Just...just give me a minute."

"Wolffe?"

He doesn't answer, and you reach up, your hand threading through his hair. It's damp, the locks plastered to his scalp, and you run your fingers over the soft strands, trying to soothe him.

"I'm fine," he says, his voice quiet.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he replies, and his body shudders, his limbs growing heavy. You hear him inhale sharply through his nose, and then his arms are sliding under your back, wrapping around you. He's clinging to you, his embrace almost too tight, and you can feel the way his heart is racing, the rapid-fire beat thudding in his chest.

"Wolffe," you whisper, and his head shifts, his chin resting on your shoulder.

"It's okay, cyare. I'm alright, I promise."

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he says, his voice soft. "I'm just..."

He trails off, his face turning, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to the spot where his teeth had been moments before. You shiver, the feeling making your walls clench, and Wolffe lets out a shaky breath, his hands gripping tighter.

"It's just...tonight was a lot," he murmurs, his mouth moving against your skin.

"Yeah," you agree as you run your fingers through his hair.

"It was intense, and I needed...well, I don't know what I needed, but this helped. Being with you, having you here, it helps," he says, his tone quiet. He pulls back, eyes glassy, his gaze searching.

"I'm glad," you say, swallowing.

"I love you," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the curve of your neck.

"I love you, too," you reply, a smile pulling at your lips.

Wolffe falls silent, his eyes closing, and you can feel his muscles relax, his body sagging. The exhaustion is finally catching up with him, the adrenaline of the fight, followed by the intense release, leaving him drained. He's spent, and the realization has a fondness blooming in the pit of your stomach.

He's always so tough, and it's rare that he lets his guard down, even when the two of you are together. It's not the first time he's shown you his softer side, but tonight seems different. Tonight, it's the most vulnerable you've ever seen him, and you can't help but admire him, the way his face has gone slack, his brows no longer drawn, his eyes no longer filled with pain.

"You're tired," you say, running a hand through his hair and pushing the damp locks from his face. "Let's get cleaned up, and then we can go to bed."

"I don't want to move," he mutters, burying his face against your neck.

"Wolffe, come on. Up," you coax, your hands running over his shoulders. You drag your nails down the back of his neck, and he shivers, his arms tightening around you.

"No. 'M comfortable," he mumbles, his mouth pressing against the soft skin below your ear. His lips drag over the shell, and he sighs, his breath hot against your skin.

“There’s no way that’s true,” you tease, and you pinch his side, making him jump.

"Hey!"

"Up, please. My ass is falling asleep."

"Fine," he huffs. He cracks his eye open and gives you a pointed look, and then he's shifting, pulling out, the mess of fluids following.

"Fuck, that's a lot," he murmurs, his hand reaching between your legs.

You shiver, the feeling of his fingers slipping against your slickened skin almost too much.

"Stop it, Wolffe," you chide, and you're rewarded with a grin, the look in his eye mischievous.

"Alright, alright," he relents, pulling his hand away. "Can't blame a man for wanting to play a little."

"You can play all you want in the morning," yo say, giving his arm a gentle squeeze.

"I'll remember that."

"You better," you retort, and he chuckles, the sound making you smile.

Wolffe finally straightens, his back cracking as he stretches. He rolls his neck, and a pained groan escapes, his face twisting into a grimace. You wince, and he lets out a tired laugh, his lips curling into a half-smile.

"I'm getting old."

"No, you're not," you argue, sitting up.

"I am. I can feel it. Next thing I know, I'll be one of those old men, complaining about my back," he says, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

"Well, if you'd stop being such an idiot and letting people throw you through tables, maybe it wouldn't be an issue," you mutter as he approaches with a damp washcloth, the fabric warm and smelling faintly of soap.

"Ah, you can't blame me. I had a good reason."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah," he says, and the look in his eyes is soft. He reaches out, running his thumb over the apple of your cheek. "I had a feeling I was going to get a nice reward for my efforts."

"Oh, did you now?"

"I did," he replies as he works, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "And I think I'll get a few more in the morning."

"I bet you do," you say, unable to hide the smile that's threatening to spill over.

"Now, hold still. Let me get this cleaned up."

You nod, and Wolffe's eyes move, his gaze drifting over your body. He takes his time, wiping away the mess that's coated the tops of your thighs, and his touch is gentle as he cleans between your legs, his motions measured and precise. When he's finished, he throws the cloth in the hamper down the hall and returns, scooping you into his arms.

"I'm not completely useless, you know," you say, wrapping an arm around his neck.

"Oh, I'm very aware of that," he replies, his lips twitching. "But I want to carry you."

"Alright, then," you murmur, unable to deny the warmth that spreads through you at the gesture.

Wolffe carries you through the apartment and down the hall, his steps slow and steady. The lights are dim, and the darkness is peaceful, the sounds of the city outside muted. It's late, and you know the two of you should get some sleep, but the thought is drowned out by the comfort that comes with being pressed against him, his arms strong and secure around you.

"Think we still have time for an episode of Love Island?" you ask as he nudges the bedroom door open.

Wolffe chuckles, the sound low and soft, and you smile, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

"Yeah, cyare. I think we do."

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