#COOL PERSON IN INBOX ALERT

[sunsetsandsunshine]

DUDE IS IT JUST ME OR ARE YOU LITERALLY ME?

HNGFGSHSH WAIT OMG RLLY 😳🥹💕✨⁉️

[misfiterators]

why are you dying in my inbox :c

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Honey Girl. Chapter Two.

Chapter One. Chapter Three. Chapter Four. Chapter Five. Chapter Six. Chapter Seven. Chapter Eight. Chapter Nine. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

Pairing - Dad's Best Friend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Chapter Synopsis - You and Bucky try to navigate what it means to be soulmates - and how difficult it is to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings - smut. cursing.

Word Count - 4k

Author's Note - part two!! thank you SO much for all of the love on part one - it has made me immensely happy. you're all the sweetest and i'm so grateful. i'm going on vacation in a few days, so i'm taking a hiatus for a few weeks as i won't have cell service. so, consider this my parting gift to you <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3 please, send me your thoughts, predictions, desires!! I will get excited with you!!

Masterlist. Inbox.

Sunlight streams through the billowing white curtains, rousing you slowly. The gentle breeze cools the room, salt sticking to the air. Warmth is seeping into the glass of the windows, encouraging you to kick your sheets to the foot of your bed, limbs stretching and rolling.

You wake, and for a moment, you feel perfectly at peace. You feel light, tranquil, relaxed. You flex your neck from side to side, yawning as you do it. You notice that the sun is already up, beaming into your bedroom. It's going to be a very warm day, you think. I better pack sunblock.

You glance to where your bag is thrown haphazardly on the floor, contents spilling everywhere. It's unlike you, to not put something away properly. You take pride in being a tidy person. You must have been exhausted when you got home last night.

That's when it hits you.

Bucky.

The events of yesterday coming crashing down around you like a tidal wave. Hearts racing, hands interlacing, lips melding. Bodies tangling, breaths matching, knees buckling. Two souls, tied together forever.

Your Tethering.

To Bucky. Your Dad's best friend Bucky.

His absence is suddenly all you can think about. He's not here, and you feel like half of your heart is missing. You ache. There's a discomfort that you know can only be cured by the presence of your soulmate.

You're deep in thought when your phone rings, startling you. It's Bucky.

"Mornin' sugar," he drawls. The low tone of his voice is like molten honey, gorgeous and golden.

"Good morning, Buck."

You hear him exhale at the sound of your voice.

"I know we said we'd meet at ten, but can we make it earlier?" he asks. Then, quieter, "Feel like I can't breathe without you."

He murmurs the last part, as if it's a secret. Something sacred.

"Of course, Buck. I can be ready by nine?"

"Thanks, sweet girl. I'll pick you up?"

"Perfect. See you then."

"See you then."

It's almost painful to hang up the phone. It's like there's a gravitational force in The Universe, willing you against it. You ignore it defiantly and press the red button, swinging your legs over the side of the bed.

There's something in your gut telling you that this might just be the first day of the rest of your life. You certainly can't go back to the way things were. You're not sure if you want to.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Bucky arrives at 8:45.

You're in the bathroom with the door closed, so you don't hear him pull up. You feel it. Like a magnetism, alerting you to his whereabouts. You breathe a little easier immediately, knowing he's outside.

You grab your bag and the picnic and pull on your shoes, eager to see him. You feel like a teenager again, giddy with anticipation. Apart from, this isn't your average first date. No, this is your last first date ever. This is a first date with the man you're bound to spend the rest of your life with. No pressure, you tell yourself. One step at a time.

Your heart kicks up in double time, thundering against your ribcage. You inhale deeply, cracking your knuckles. You can do this. It's just Bucky.

You bound down your stairs, practically running to his truck. Bucky's leaning against the passenger door, the wind ruffling his hair, sunlight reflecting off his steely blue eyes. He's wearing shorts and a white button up, which is blowing gently in the breeze. His sleeves are pushed up his forearms, exposing his gorgeous tanned skin. He has several shirt buttons undone, accentuating his broad chest, sunglasses tucked into the breast pocket. He looks so handsome. So classically elegant. Like he belongs in an old movie - a perfect leading man.

He eyes you carefully, gauging your reaction. You can tell he doesn't want to overstep, worried about pushing you too far too fast. You walk over and run your fingers across his exposed chest gently, tracing a path up his neck until you're caressing his cheek. His stubble tickles your fingertips, causing a smile to curl at the corners of your mouth. You finally meet his gaze, and all your stress is forgotten. You feel peaceful again.

"Hi," you whisper.

"Hi, pretty girl," he murmurs back, hands finding your waist. "You alright?"

"I'm okay. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," he grins. "So, how do you feel about a day of sailing? You, me, and the ocean, baby."

"I think that sounds perfect."

He opens the car door for you, helping you up and into the passenger seat. He climbs in, clicking on his seat belt and starting the engine. Before he pulls away, he turns and looks at you, holding your stare for a moment. Bucky reaches for you, lacing your fingers together, resting your intertwined hands on your thigh. He begins to drive away, taking you towards the ocean. Towards your future.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You know nothing about sailing.

Luckily, you don't need to. Bucky's quite content to keep you sitting pretty on the top deck while he does all of the work, pulling and tying and knotting. The crisp white sails billow in the wind, the ocean waves providing a steady, constant soundtrack. Birds fly overhead, sunshine beaming down, the wood underneath you warm and smooth. It's paradise.

You're soaking up the sun rays when you hear a click. You sit up to see Bucky holding his film camera, pointed right at you.

"Creep," you tease.

"Just want to have something to look back on. Our first day as soulmates. It's an occasion, you know," he grins.

He moves across the boat to sit next to you, thigh pressed up against yours. He's so close you can taste the spearmint on his breath. You tangle a hand in his hair, caressing the back of his head.

"I brought you a few new things to try," you tell him. "Some recipes I'm testing. I want your honest opinion. No sugar coating. Promise?"

"I promise," he winks, holding up a scouts honour. "I wouldn't lie to you, honey."

You reach over and grab your picnic basket, unwrapping various beeswax packages and laying them out in front of you.

"Okay - we have white chocolate and pistachio muffins, raspberry and lemon macarons, earl grey and lavender cookies and carrot and cinnamon cake."

You glance over at Bucky, expecting him to be deciding what to try first. Instead, you find him watching you carefully, gentle smile etched across his face.

"What?" you laugh.

"Nothing," he beams. "I just... I love it when you start talking about food. You're passionate. You light up."

"Don't make it weird," you joke, slightly taken aback by his honesty. He did promise not to sugar coat.

He reaches for a macaron, eager to try one after you mentioned them yesterday. He pops one in his mouth, and lets out a groan that can only be described as pornographic.

"Fuck," he moans. "This might be the best thing I've ever eaten."

"You promised you wouldn't lie," you laugh.

"I'm not," he chuckles, placing his hand over his heart. "I swear to you. These things should be used as medicine. They'd cure anything."

"Shut up," you tease bashfully, bumping your shoulder into his.

He tries the other sweets one by one, complimenting you immensely. He's so specific in the way he commends your baking. He comments on certain flavours, and textures, and the way everything melts on his tongue. He really takes the time to think about what he says. It's so intimate.

"You're gonna do this for a living, right?" he asks, turning to face you.

"I hope so," you confess. "It's all I want to do. Going to culinary school was a huge risk, but I did it. It was difficult, but they were also the best four years of my life. I just learned so much. I want to put it all into practice."

"I think you should. It'd be such a waste if you didn't. You're so talented, sugar."

"Thanks, Buck," you grin. "I just don't know where to start."

He thinks for a moment.

"If you could do anything, anything in the world - what would you do?"

He's looking at you so intensely, you almost want to shy away. His steel blue eyes are boring into you, reading your mind, figuring out your soul.

"I'd... I'd open a bakery of my own. I want a lot that overlooks the ocean. With big windows."

Bucky smiles gently, adoration written across his face.

"I'd be your most loyal customer," he vows. "Oh, I have a better idea - I'll be your quality control. I'll taste test everything before you sell it. You know, just in case."

"Just in case," you laugh. "Right."

"It's a tough job, but someone's got to do it," he winks.

The sound of your laughter is like dopamine to Bucky. It fires off neurons in his brain, receptors buzzing and alight. He almost feels drunk off the sound, floating above ground.

You relax into him, laying down and resting your head in his lap. He's warm, and soft, and so comfortable. You could lie here forever.

He runs his fingers through your hair gently, playing with the strands. The repetitive rocking of the boat lulls you into an easy sleep, the sunlight wrapping around you, taking the place of a blanket. Bucky watches you drift off, unable to wipe the smile off his face.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

A particularly strong gust of wind wakes you, rousing you from sleep. Your fingers are interlinked with Bucky's, head still resting on his strong thighs.

"How long was I out?" you ask, looking up at him.

"Like, twenty minutes? You looked peaceful, thought I'd let you rest."

"Sorry, Buck," you chuckle.

"Hey, don't apologise. I'll take it as a compliment. You know, they say you only sleep around the people you feel safe with."

"They say a lot of fuckin' things," you laugh, repeating his words from yesterday.

"I do, though," you say after a moment. "Feel safe with you. It's not just the soulmate thing. I always have."

Bucky leans down to press his forehead to yours, closing his eyes. He pulls away and kisses the spot where you were just connected.

"We should talk about us," you murmur, sitting up to face him.

"Uh oh. Are you breaking up with me?" Bucky jokes, nudging your knee with his.

"Yeah, right," you scoff. "As if you'd be so lucky. You're stuck with me, I'm afraid."

"I'll survive," he winks. "But we should. Talk about us."

You look at each other for a moment, carefully. You notice that the ocean is reflecting in Bucky's eyes, waves gleaming and blue.

"I don't know where to start," you whisper.

"Maybe start at the beginning," he suggests, reaching out to rest his palm on your thigh, fingertips rubbing comforting circles into your skin.

"I... I think - I think we should do exactly that. Start at the beginning."

He nods at you reassuringly, urging you to continue.

"I want to start slow. Really slow. I know we already know each other, but this... this is different. We don't know each other like this."

"Like soulmates," he agrees. "It's a whole other level. A league of its own."

"Exactly. I know we're Tethered, but, I think we should treat this like a normal relationship. We should date, and just... take this step by step."

"One step at a time," he confirms. "Prepare yourself, honey. I'm about to date the hell outta you."

"Someone save me," you laugh, throwing your head back. "All those poor girls that have come before me - they had to put up with this?"

He laughs with you, the sound rumbling in his chest.

"Trust me, sugar, you're different."

Bucky leans forward and slots his lips to yours, hands going to your waist to pull you closer.

Kissing your soulmate is unlike any other feeling. It's complete serenity. Two bodies, designed by The Universe to fit together perfectly.

Your fingers thread through Bucky's hair as you move to sit in his lap, straddling him. You grind your hips forward, illiciting a groan from the both of you.

Bucky slips his tongue into your mouth, tasting the sugar there. He can't get enough. You're so sweet and soft underneath his hands, underneath his tongue. He wants more.

He tips you backwards, so you're lying flat on the deck. Bucky moves to kneel in between your legs, prying them open gently. He kisses his way from your ankle to your knee, occasionally nipping at your flesh. He likes the idea of there being a mark on you that he left. He feels more protective of you than he ever has of anyone. The feeling vibrates through his bones, fires up his nerve endings. He needs to feel every inch of your skin as soon as possible, or he's convinced he'll burst into flames.

He smooths his hands up your thighs, fingers catching in the waistband of your shorts. He shimmies them down your legs, and inhales sharply at the sight before him. You're laid out on the deck of his boat like a goddess, the white shirt adorning your body matching the white lace underwear underneath. The sun rays are beating down, illuminating you, making you glow from the inside out. Bucky can't breathe, looking at you. He feels like all of the oxygen has been stolen from his lungs, replaced with pure desire.

You're breathless, panting, chest heaving. You're shaking with anticipation, willing him to do something. Anything.

"Bucky," you whine. "Please."

He's never heard a prettier sound. It's like angel song, the way you say his name.

"Patience, sweets. I thought we were taking it slow."

"Asshole," you laugh, poking him in the chest with your toe. "You're a hypocrite."

"Am I?" he smirks, running his fingertips across the inside of your thighs.

"Yes. You can't kiss me like that and then tell me to have patience."

"My apologies, ma'am."

He leans over and kisses you again, biting your bottom lip as he pulls away. Bucky slips your underwear down your legs and tucks them into the pocket of his shorts, ignoring your scoff as you watch him do it.

"Come here, pretty baby," he murmurs, tugging at your hips to pull you closer to him.

He nudges your core with his nose, inhaling deeply. It's filthy, the action, but it makes you ache with want. He licks into the crease of your thigh next, tasting the salt on your skin. Your hand flies to his hair, tugging the chocolate strands. You whine again, and Bucky commits the sound to memory.

He surprises you by sucking your clit gently, causing your hips to buck up towards his mouth. He splays one hand across your stomach, holding you down. He uses his other hand to insert a finger into you, groaning at your warmth. He crooks it up, and you keen.

"I know, baby, I know," he coos, adding a second finger.

You're not sure if it's because of the glaring sunlight or because of Bucky, but there's a thin sheen of sweat coating your skin, dripping down your temple. You're burning from the inside out, white hot heat running through your veins.

He thrusts both fingers in and out of you steadily, curling them on the up stroke. You throw your head back, hips wriggling and writhing.

"Where you going, pretty girl?" he drawls. "Come here - that's it."

He pulls you back to him, fingers never stopping. He looks up at you, and notices that you've thrown a hand over your face, shielding yourself.

"Don't go shy on me now," he practically purrs, smiling when you move your arm away. "Most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Fuck," you moan, suddenly glad you're in the middle of the ocean. The sounds you're letting out are filthy.

"I know, pretty baby. I know."

His fingers push you closer and closer to the edge, speeding up slightly. You're whining, keening, hips bucking up into him. You can't stay still. You feel like you're on fire, red hot electricity running through you. It's never been like this with anyone before. It never will be again.

"You're close, honey, I can feel it. You're almost there," he drawls. "Atta girl. Come on, baby. You got it. Good girl."

His low, honeyed words throw you into your climax, back arching off the sun warmed wood. Bucky talks you through it, encouraging and praising you in hushed murmurs. You see stars, bright white patterns flashing behind your eyelids. The world goes quiet for a moment, and all you feel is peace.

Bucky brings you back to reality by rubbing soothing circles into the bare skin of your thigh, still muttering softly. He lets you catch your breath before leaning over and kissing you gently.

"You okay, sugar?"

You smile at him in a daze, still floating on air.

"I'm good, Buck. Very good, actually."

He laughs at your response, moving your hair away from your face. You sit up to look at him, admiring him carefully.

"You're so pretty," you whisper. "I mean, I've always known it. But now, it's so... blinding. You're the most beautiful person in the world."

He's not sure how to process your words. He's never felt so loved, so safe, so appreciated before. It's overwhelming. He doesn't know what to say - so instead, he kisses you hard.

"You're the sweetest girl in the world, you know that right?" he whispers against your lips.

He moves to sit behind you, so your back is resting against his chest. You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. He smells like warmth, and salt, and home.

"I don't think we should tell my parents," you say lowly, afraid to ruin the moment. "Not yet, anyway."

"I agree," he reassures. "I think we should figure this out first. Figure us out."

You lean up and peck his lips gently, pulling away to trace your fingertips over the contours of his face.

"It's gonna take a while to figure this out, isn't it?"

"That's the thing, sweet girl. We have all the time in the world."

You relax back into his arms, letting his steady heartbeat lull you into complete tranquility.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You spend all day on the boat with Bucky, soaking up the sun. Your shirts are billowing in the wind, hair blowing in every direction. The ocean rocks you both in routine motion, gentle and calming.

He teaches you the basics of sailing, sitting knee to knee with you while you repeatedly tie knots into pieces of rope. He stands behind you comfortingly as you pull and tug at the rigging, supporting you only when you ask for help.

The two of you sit tangled together on the deck, enjoying your picnic. You take a moment to rub sunblock into Bucky's shoulders, ignoring the heat that rises in your chest when he groans in delight. He's irresistible. This is more than just lust. This is a magnetism, an almost animalistic connection. It's quite literally written in the stars.

The both of you are clearly reluctant to go home. You sit in Bucky's truck outside your apartment for hours, talking about nothing and everything. You don't invite him upstairs. You know that if you do, you'll jump his bones instantly. You've both agreed to take this slow. You have to start being strict with yourselves, or you'll just keep ending up in bed.

Eventually, your stomach rumbles, making Bucky chuckle.

"You should go. Eat something."

"I know. I just... I like being with you."

He leans over the centre console to press a kiss to your lips, revelling in the way you taste like the ocean breeze.

"There's no one else in the world I'd rather be with," he murmurs against your mouth.

You pull away and take a deep breath, preparing to leave Bucky for tonight.

"Thank you, for today. It's been perfect."

"Perfect day for a perfect girl," he winks, making you both laugh.

"One step at a time."

"All the time in the world," he echoes.

"Goodnight, Buck," you whisper, moving in closer to press your forehead to his.

"Goodnight, honey girl," he whispers back, pecking your lips quickly.

He jumps out of the drivers side to help you down from the truck, holding your hand carefully. You smile at the déjà vu. He does too.

You look back at him once more before closing your front door. He's already looking at you, his eyes never once leaving your frame, smile never leaving his face.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You're curled up on the couch when your phone rings, startling you from your peace. You look at the caller ID in confusion.

"Stella? Hey - you okay?"

"Hey, you. Long time no see, huh?"

"It's been a while," you laugh. "I didn't expect a call from you."

"I'm sorry we haven't talked in so long. I've been super busy - I'm opening my own café! It has a bookshop inside it too - oh it's gorgeous, you wouldn't even believe it."

"That sounds amazing, Stella. I'm so happy for you, wow."

"I'm actually calling because I have something to ask you."

"Ask away, Stell."

"I have a sort of... proposition for you. An offer, if you will."

"You're really building the anticipation here," you chuckle.

"Sorry, sorry! So, I'm gonna need a Head Baker. I can't do it, because I'll be manager, and I'm the owner which is a tough job in itself. Opening a café is fucking difficult, you know!" she laughs, before continuing. "You'd have complete creative control - you'd design your own bakes, everything would be completely down to you. There's quite literally only one person in this world that I'd want to do this job, and it's you."

You almost can't believe what she's telling you. It sounds perfect. It sounds like a dream.

"Stella - are you sure? This is a huge deal. You want me?"

"I only want you. I can't picture working alongside anyone else. We made such a good team in culinary school, and we always said we'd find each other in the future."

"I... I don't even know what to say."

"Say yes!" she encourages, giggling down the phone.

"Yes!" you echo, giddy with joy. "God, Stella, yes!"

You're smiling from ear to ear, unable to wipe the grin off your face. Your dream job has been presented to you on a silver platter. You'd be stupid not to take it.

"I mean - when do I start? What should I wear? Do you want a set menu, or can I change it up all the time? Vegan options? Gluten free?"

"I can send you all of the boring stuff in an email - contracts, salary information, all that shit. You can quite literally do whatever the fuck you want, girl. I trust you completely. I trust your culinary skills even more."

"Oh my god, I'm so excited. Thank you, Stella. Seriously. This is just amazing."

"I can't wait to have you here with me again!"

You process for a moment, trying to make sense of what she just said.

"Wait... what? Where?"

"In California. The café is here, in California!"

You can't hear her next words due to the ringing in your ears. Your chest tightens, your hands ball into fists, your breathing becomes ragged.

There's a million thoughts racing through your mind, and you can't quite get a firm grasp on any of them.

Bucky would never leave this place. This is his home. I can't ask him to abandon his life here - I wouldn't want to. We've been soulmates for two days. What about his job? His friends? Would I leave everything behind and move across the country for him? I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I can't have my cake and eat it too. He'd give everything up for me in a heartbeat - I can't let him. It's not fair.

You're suddenly intensely aware - you have to make a choice.

Bucky or your dreams.

Tag List -

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tag list continued here <3

[ddejavvu]

Betrayal - Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

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

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

WC: 16.9K / navigation / inbox

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You freeze; you’re caught.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But will you forgive yourself if you do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Typical.

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

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

Oh. Perhaps he hadn’t forgotten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Would have.

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

“But Anakin…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s too meticulous. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He comes undone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you regret it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is a shirt on your bed.

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

It’s Obi-Wan’s.

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

It’s Obi-Wan’s; it’s yours.

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

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

You and Obi-Wan.

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

[syoddeye]

the introductions

ceo!price x reader / ~2.9k words

Next installment in the 141 Group miniverse. Some more familiar faces in this one.

CW: power imbalance, alcohol (mentioned), bad apologies

You wondered if you did or said something wrong. After allowing John to politely bully you into drinks, whatever mild flirtation that sprung up over cocktails seemed to fizzle by the following day. In the two weeks since, you overturned and analyzed every detail you could remember.

Mr. Price, or John, as he insisted then, stubbornly kept the conversation one-sided. It was difficult to pinpoint where things went wrong. You did not think you were a scandalous person, far from it. You supplied answers to your CEO's questions. You divulged the 'correct' amount of information: where you grew up, your parents and family, your education, and your middling career before The 141 Group. Curiously, you don't recall him asking about your personal life.

However, somewhere between describing university life and first jobs, his hand found your knee. The memory's sharp. The candlelight reflected in his eye as his features took on a roguish quality, his confident smile unwavering, even when you stuttered mid-sentence. It simply sat there, palm calloused more than an executive's hand ought to be, a gold ring cool against warming skin, but he escalated no further.

Not for the first time, you wondered if it had been a test, one you failed.

You'd thought to tell Kyle, but as nothing happened and Mr. Price moved on, you decided against it. No need to rock the boat. And Jordan wouldn't hear a whisper of it, either. Her strength was not secret-keeping. So, you moped privately and threw yourself into work as usual. Mid-quarter reviews approached swiftly, with no time for fantasies.

Then, one Friday afternoon, you find someone sitting at your desk after picking up Kyle's lunch from the lobby. No, on your desk. Flipping through last month's Vogue with an amused look is one of Mr. Price's bodyguards. A set of dark eyes flick up when you continue past nonchalantly to drop the bag of Mediterranean on the corner of Kyle's desk. Your mind races as to what's happening, but you remain composed and address the visitor.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm here to pick you up for Mr. Price's 2:00 PM."

"Pardon me?" 

"He messaged you." 

Brows furrowing, you stoop down to pick up your phone. A notification on the lock screen alerts you to one new DM, sent while you were downstairs.

johnprice - invisible > Borrowing you for an appointment. Bring your things, we won't be returning to the office.

You bristle. It's irritating on multiple fronts. Two weeks of nothing, now Mr. Price comes out of nowhere to claim the rest of the day? Friday afternoons are for teeing up Monday, setting the foundation for the week ahead. Kyle needs you.

"Miss? If you would," The guard gestures to your personal effects.

With a huff, you power down your laptop and quickly tidy. You button your long coat with one hand and scrawl out a note to Kyle with the other.

"That won't be necessary," The guard informs you. "Mr. Garrick is apprised."

Oh goody, you crumple the note, He's going to blow up my texts about this.

You follow the guard to the elevators, ignoring the several heads that turn when you pass. You give Jordan seven minutes before she also floods your inbox.

The ride down is awkward. On multiple floors, the doors open only for the soul on the other side to clock the guard and insist on taking the next car.

"Where are my manners," You murmur after the third stop, look to your intimidating companion, and hold out a hand. "You know my name, but I don't know yours."

"Farah," She answers and clasps your hand in a shake.

"Pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise."

Eventually, the elevator reaches the garage. The doors open and reveal a familiar car, and the taller guard stands at the ready. He smiles boyishly beneath a mustache as you approach.

"Miss."

"Hi…?"

"Alex, ma'am." 

Alex opens the car door, and the low intonations of Mr. Price trickle out. He does not look up from a padfolio on his lap, turning a page with one hand and holding his phone with the other.

You climb in, give Alex a tight smile when he shuts the door, and watch him confer with Farah. She motions with her chin to a sleek, black motorcycle parked in a nearby spot. Alex rubs the back of his neck, Farah pats his shoulder, and you look away as the man turns back to the car. He takes the passenger seat.

The moment the door closes, John presses a button. A glass privacy screen rolls up, gradually darkening until it's opaque, and separates the front and the back of the car. 

You act unbothered. Act.

The car departs the office's garage and joins afternoon traffic. John's volume level rises a fraction. He settles back against his seat, eyes cast out the window. Still not on you.

"If there's anythin' else, I want to know. As thorough as you can be in the next 48 hours."

You scroll socials on your phone, strain to listen, but you cannot hear whoever's on the other end of the call.

"Right, no, she's with me now."

Do not look over.

Mr. Price shifts in his seat. "Black skirt, off white blouse, green coat."

Wait. Is he–?

In your periphery, Mr. Price leans over the empty seat, and you flinch when a hand appears beside your head. It stops short, and you turn to meet eyes. His hand gestures to your hair, and you guess after a second he wants you to hold it back from your ear.

"Gold."

He is. 

As if discussing the weather, Price is describing the details of your outfit to some unknown person. Evidently finished, he leans back.

The low simmer rises to a boil.

"Anythin' that happens in the next twenty, text it. I've got to run. Mhm. Tomorrow." Finally, the call ends. 

Rationally, Mr. Price is not someone you should not get snippy with, so you try to sound more curious than angry. "Sir, may I ask what I'm doing here?"

He withdraws a pen from a pocket, and scratches something out on the top page. "Extra set of hands," The phrase seems to trigger another thought, and he looks at your hands clutching your phone. He indicates with the pen to extend one.

You do, despite your annoyance.

"When did you get those done last?"

You glance at the simple sage-colored manicure. It's accumulated only one chip. "Two weeks ago?"

"Hmm." He hums. "Try not to draw attention to your hands, and see to those this weekend."

Maybe the chip on the nail is noticeable, but Mr. Price is about to notice the chip on your shoulder. "Mr. Price. Please," You grit your teeth. "What am I doing here?"

"I require an assistant today, and Kyle graciously loaned you to me."

'Loaned', you do not like the sound of that. "Respectfully, that is how I ended up in this car, sir. If I'm to help you, I need to know what you need from me and how it's connected to my…appearance."

"Notes," He says too quickly. "Your notes from the proposal meeting were impressive. The conversation I'm about to have will require my full participation, so you are here, in this car, to accompany me and record what I might miss."

You fume silently. He could have said that from the start. Suddenly, it feels silly to be upset over two weeks of silence. Mr. Price is clearly a man whose attentions only come when he needs a person for something, like a tool. Why you fooled yourself into thinking otherwise, you don't know.

The car eventually stops in front of a building of Portland stone and judging by the foot traffic, it's drinks all over again: more rubbing elbows with people whose net worth could eat yours several times over while you're woefully underdressed.

The restaurant is one that's on every 'best in the city' list, with multiple stars and dollar signs. Tufted, emerald green banquettes, polished oak throughout, filtered natural light through ivory lace curtains. Even past the lunch hour, it's busy. The hostess, scarcely younger than you, greets Alex and then beckons down a side hall.

Dutifully, you follow behind Mr. Price, clutching your off-brand bag to your chest. Hiding it, like you could pass as a regular patron.

A small private room, furnished and staged with a table for two, awaits. 

"Bring another chair and a side table for the lady," Price instructs, pointing toward the room's corner. When the hostess sends for the furnishings, you pluck up the courage to ask.

“You want me to sit behind you, sir?”

“Can’t have you distracting me.”

It shuts you up quick. The chair and table arrive and are arranged carefully under Mr. Price's watchful eye. You sit when he glances pointedly at the Picardy. You withdraw your laptop, with which he takes issue next. You are made to exchange it for your legal pad. Something about the restaurant being too nice a place for the clicking of a keyboard. With nothing in your lap to balance the writing surface, you cross your legs at the knee and scrawl out the date, time, and location.

John orders for you - Earl Grey and a small sampling of accompanying bites. He orders for himself and his ‘guest’, who’s yet to arrive. 

You sneak a few morsels, nerves oddly creeping up on you. Between the utter lack of information and Mr. Price's exacting behavior, you humor if he’s meeting a member of the royal family or a celebrity. Busying yourself with a flowery doodle in the margins, you attempt to relax.

A booming voice tinged with an American accent from out in the hall lifts your head. Price’s too. You watch the CEO check his watch, adjust a cuff link, and stand as a handsome blond man appears in the doorway. 

You hastily pop to your feet.

“Alex, good t’see you again,” the stranger drawls. Southern definitely, Texan maybe? The gentleman shakes the bodyguard’s hand, head turning slowly into the room. He spots Price first, you second. 

His eyes are like John’s - blue, a flintier shade. Self-possessed with a horizontal scar over a cheekbone and a toothy grin. Confident. So much for having a singular type.

“John, how the hell are ya?” The man’s gaze shifts to Mr. Price. He extends a hand, flashing another thick silver watch band. 

“Graves. Trust your travels were smooth?”

“As butter. Kind of you to ask. Say, who’s this little lady you’re hiding back here?”

Mr. Price does not turn to introduce you; he merely retracts his hand from the shake. “Assistant.”

It smarts, but Graves steps closer and reaches out. Instantly, you’re soothed. You take his hand and give your name in a tone so shy you hardly recognize your own voice.

The American repeats it, tongue running over his teeth like he’s savoring the last bite of dessert. “Pleasure to meet you, darlin'. My name is Phillip Graves.”

Oh! You know this name from the big meeting notes. He’s the—

“President of Shadow Company, at your service.”

“If you’re done chattin' up my assistant, I’m hoping we can discuss the details of the contract.” 

Phillip releases your hand with a wink and joins Price at the table. The men sit, and so do you.

You are not sure when the business portion of the meeting begins, but being you, you start taking notes anyway. 

Phillip Graves. Confirmed Texan. Employs lots of sport metaphors. Sprinkles the word fuck into conversation when he gets excited. Obviously an appreciator of nice suits, like Price, but clearly of an American cut. His is a dark blue, most likely to bring out his eyes, which are on you.

Hmm. Phillip keeps looking at you. Whenever John speaks, his eyes stray. You pretend not to notice, save for one or two times you catch him, and he flashes that smirk again. 

He is a handsome distraction. Not enough to completely knock you off course, luckily. Not when the CEO expects another set of immaculate notes. You sip your tea to break the spell and refocus.

By the time the meeting winds down, you’re out of tea, and a stack of notes sits on your lap. Your hand cramps a little. However, you have a handle on things now - how important Project Intercontinental is to the 141 Group.

When the men stand to shake hands once more, you do, too. 

Phillip nods at you, eyes dropping subtly down you while Mr Price briefly looks at his phone. “Looking forward to working together, John. Glad we’ll be seein’ more of each other, workin’ close.”

You suspect you should not heat at that, so you act like your discount purse is very interesting.

“Likewise, Graves.”

When Phillip leaves, Mr Price doesn’t move, not until Farah ducks her head in and nods.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he rumbles, voice harsh through gritted teeth as he gathers paperwork Graves left for him.

He must be referring to making you sit behind him again. It was rather awkward. “It’s fine, sir. I heard everything well enough.”

“That's not what I mean. Wait a tick, need to make a call."

Things packed away, you examine the fineries of the space. It'll probably be the last time you're in a private room of a multiple-star restaurant for the foreseeable future. You half-listen to Price's phone call.

"That so?" He asks, pausing. "I see. Well, your idea worked. Man's got a weakness…Yes, behind me. Saw his eyes keep moving over my left shoulder."

You freeze, fingers pinching the pearly lace of a window dressing. 

"Mhm. Add it to the file. I want multiple methods of putting him on the back foot and keeping him there if need be," Mr. Price sounds closer, and sure enough, he stops at the edge of your vision. He rocks on his heels once, staring through the window.

Openly, you gawk at him. The nerve. Man in charge or not, the audacity is astounding. 

If he notices the building anger beside him, he does not say a word. In fact, his hand lifts and toys with the delicate trim as well. 

It's childish, but you move away and retrieve your coat. You know how to get back to the office. He can't get upset with you if you intend to return to work. However, before you finish closing the fasteners of the coat, Mr. Price ends the call. 

"I've got to run. Let's discuss this later."

You turn to grab your bag, only to see a large hand draped over it on the chair. "Don't recognize this brand."

He's not even looking at you. He examines the bag's strap, where it's worn thin from years of riding on your shoulder. The strap you snatch up and haul into place.

"Yes, well, forgot my Moynat at home," You snipe, forcing a thin smile.

Mr. Price simply stares at you, mouth a line framed by his beard. Then his nose twitches, mustache following. "You're upset."

Biting the flesh of your cheek, you shake your head. "No, sir."

His head tilts in a half-nod, a brow lifting, and he steps closer. "Mhm. A good assistant you may be, a poor liar, you are not."

The proximity does something. Without the dark of the copy room after hours or a drink in hand, you're vulnerable. But not cowed. "You used me. As bait." 

"Not bait," He corrects in a lowered tone. "I admit, your presence and placement was predetermined but not malicious. Needed to see something."

You frown. "If I was Phillip's type?"

His eyes narrow slightly. "If he's easily distracted."

It's a shock to hear this man, a man who's been featured in various business publications a dozen times over, admit to such a scheme. Even if he doesn't come right out and say it. You lick your bottom lip and huff. 

"Right. I'll have the notes typed up and delivered to your desk as soon as possible." Turning away to escape, you adjust your bag, and a hand takes your elbow.

"Let me make it up to you," He squeezes gently and steps closer again. "Kyle is not expecting you back, and the working day is almost done."

Your head turns and tilts up; he's right over your shoulder. He's got to know what he's doing, looking at you like this, gaze somehow soft yet stern. It's another invitation that leans more toward command, more instruction than a suggestion. The worst part is that you really would not mind a repeat of two weeks ago. You found the attention of a powerful man more intoxicating than any cocktail.

The hand on your elbow releases. He knows he's got you, smug man.

"Fine," You acquiesce, then push it a little. "It'll take more than a drink, though."

His eyes crinkle as he grins. "I've something better in mind."

After thanking the hostess, he leads the way back to the car. Once inside, he takes another couple of calls, and that damn hand finds your knee again. You should pull away or push it off, but you don't, not when his middle and ring fingers rub small circles on the inside of the joint. 

You retreat to the relative neutrality of your mobile's screen. 

When the car stops a short time later, you nearly drop the device in your lap. Outside, the Moynat brick and mortar sits, waiting.

His hand squeezes. "Will this do?"

[seelestia]

who are a few mutuals that you appreciate alot? mutual appreciation day 🥰❤️😊🤩💐✨

OOOO FUNFUNFUN!!! thank u so much for sending this in and for essentially spreading positivity, nonnie. this is appreciated ♡ also, instead of strictly moots, i decided to extend my appreciation to everyone! moots, anons, friends and readers alike ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

some odeliaesqué sappy appreciation under the cut:

@yvnaology - one of my fav facts abt yona was that she's one of the first moots i ever had on tumblr!!! and she's a lyney kisser and a fellow aventurine kisser (#taste). also she's so silly (/aff) and easy to talk to! like u'll feel at ease around her. she deserves good great and awesome things in life, so make sure to water ur yona daily with love <3

@solarisfortuneia - mika wished me congrats when i reached 1k and i still remember it till this day <3 she's friendly in a shy/modest way and suchsuchsuch a good writer! e.g. i cry over this every day actually. mika also has her silly moments sometimes too. someone save her /j

@floraldresvi - simply the sweetest & most supportive moot EVER! vivi is full of love and she's good at giving some of that love to others <3 her selfships are like bottles of serotonin to me. 100% would drop anything and everything in my hands to support her!!! and ik she'd do the same for me <3 mwah mwah 💐💐

@monicahar - the moot who comes online once in a while and drops absolute meals when she does. ate, left no crumbs 🔥🔥 also SUPER FUNNY!!! and unhinged, i'm concerned but amused at the same time. i hope she's having a nice break!! thank u for ur past & future services ma'am. we love u 🤭🤭

@milk-violet - MIREI !!! sunshine personified but also vv precious. i'm the leader of # protecc mirei squad (real). best person to have ever appeared in my notifs and i lovelovelove when her username pops up. take care & good luck with school! IK U CAN DO IT. remember what i said: slay before ur slayed 🗣️

@xianyoon - the butterfly moot 🦋 !!! both socially and aesthetically hehe. sosooso sweet & kind. has creative projects and executes them well at that too. i personally crown her as genshinblr's best hostess™! also, send her a moodboard and she'll cherish u forever - that's one of her love languages <3 ++ her pretty & aesthetic rb's are such a good refresh for my dash. love her for it!!

@hermosacolibri - the name, 'starlight' fits them sm bcs i feel like if we were to take a peek into their mind, stars will burst out!!! /pos (<- unique complimenting skills ik pardon me). their ideas are brilliant and i can tell they put their all into pursuing their vision <3 it's truly an honor to be a witness & reader. if u want to check them out, they write over at @/starlightlacrimosazpsff !!! ★

@wolfhookk - aaaaa ri !!!! booping her x1000 rn bcs i cannot believe boop trend ended when she came online. the discrimination 😔 /j i'll always remember ri as my first ever moot on here like first, 1st, #1!!! i forever thank her for swooping into my inbox back then and she's welcome to do that even now any time she likes <3

@kaiserkisser - skylia is the true angst consumer, the realest of it!! even in different fandoms LOL. she's nice (and gremlin-ish) when u get to know her more and she reciprocates energy really well! i'll never forget the disaster of boops in my notifs /lh

@callilouv - COOL MUTUAL ALERT !!!! cool art & cool interests. truly, picasso w/ the finger and fandoms!! idk if cal still draws with his finger dhjahshsj but still vv mega cool!

@manager-of-the-pudding-bank - the grandpas & old men kisser where art thou 💔 /j loqua has that awkward & silly rizz!!! idk if she still does wax stamps but i still think it's really cool. bcs qua's just cool in general !!! hehe

@calxlu - aaaaa vi!!! the one who enables my rambles and selfships shhshsh i am so thankful <3 rambler 🤝 rambler is the best. i love talking to her and it's super reassuring to know that it's mutual! even if i take some time but i always look forward to seeing her replies in my inbox. it's like we're penpals across the screen talking abt irl stuff and our f/o's ꒰✿´ ꒳ ` ꒱♡

& honorable mention: @/zhongrin. rin does not interact with minors anymore (which i respect and so should everyone!), so we count as former moots. but !!! i still think she's an amazing person regardless <3 (note: her blog is equally as great but plsplspls be mindful of her rules beforehand.)

brainrot anon - A REAL ONE!!! always there when i come back from the grave each time. i get reminded of them whenever i look at my inbox, it's an instinct atp. their brainrots are so fun & random (but that's a charm in itself /pos) !!! tbh i love elaborating them all so never stop sending the brainworms in <3 feel free to treat my inbox as a drop-off for ur thoughts LMAO /gen. come by again soon!

michiki anon - MY COUSINNNMNMN!!! i still love and miss when they'd come into my inbox to chat. it was so nice getting to know someone in a casual way <3 i hope ur doing well wherever u are, michikinon! i'm doing well these days and i hope u are too 🤍

rix anon - their series still has me FLOOOORED. i still think it deserves a proper platform than just thru my lil ol inbox. it deserves more recognition :( but just the fact that i got to help share their writing alone is an honor of its own!!! i hope ur doing well too, rix anon <3

++ everyone who has left a nice feedback / said anything nice in my notifs or my inbox!! even a simple 'cute' or 'this is good' or even just leaving a note means sososo much to me. i'm just a measly guy in my own little corner on this site, really - so thank u thank u thank u all !!! 🫂

[bbuggs]

do you have any thoughts you're willing to share abt the mutant kiri thing? 👀👉👈

sorry this took forever for me to reply I was either too tired to write anything or I straight up forget this ask is in my inbox

ANYWAY

very much loving the idea that some people are born with all their mutant features and others gain them as they age and sometimes its a complete surprise to the person - especially when they start gaining their mutant features in their late teens/early adulthood which is what happens to Kiri.

When he's born he's got those big ol red cat eyes (and yes, they do go all big and round and dark when he's happy/excited but I digress) but other than that he's just a regular ol baby. Then of course he gets his adult teeth which are sharp but other than that he's a regular ol kid.

Skip forward to 15/16 and Kiri starts noticing his nails are growing weirdly and thicker (spoiler alert: claws), plus some of his teeth are starting to grow longer than the others (another spoiler: FANGS)

Then when he's like 18/19 he starts noticing these little bumps growing along the length of his spine, and ends up with very cool and awesome armoured spines from the base of his neck to his lower back (dino boy 😎)

Anyway I just love the idea of Kiri getting to his late teens and suddenly he's got all these mutant features that he had no idea were coming because no one in his family look anything like he does now and he's STRESSING 😭😭 he gets tooth aches from his fangs growing in and he gets grumpy and sulky -- bakugou go comfort your poor bf

[celestial119]

Perfect Cell x Time Patroller Reader (Female, fluff)

Stretched Thin

Warnings: passing out (from exhaustion) uhhh nothing else just fluff!

AN- Hey Tumblr it’s been a week or two apologies but been busy trying to move out which still isn’t done yet. Anyway I took my time with this and it’s really sweet. Remember requests are still open so DM me or drop an inbox, or just say hey. Anyway enjoy this one <3!

Your time at the time patroller academy was challenging for a young saiyan but you persevered with each challenge and all the training. Now also being one of the supreme Kai’s most prized time patrollers too but you never let that go to your head. passing through the ranks brought new opportunities with different mentors and power levels too. You did anything to help and being such a selfless and motivated student made a lot of teachers enthusiastic to work with you.

Although it often did stretch you thin, being exhausted constantly yet you always rose to a challenge. This term at the academy when you received your mentor sign up sheet you noticed the mentors only available for students with higher ranks were actually available for you this time around. Being the saiyan you are you began shaking with excitement and pretty much within the hour you had already handed your form back in with your mentor choice.

You had chosen perfect cell as you’d heard from your superior time patrollers that he was intense and had barely any if not no students during term. When you heard how much of a gruelling mentor he was you were practically bouncing with excitement. Personally he was so cool to you and you kinda figured he was gonna be one of the hard working teachers anyway, yet you went into your first class under him with a huge smile and bubbling enthusiasm, your new mentor wasn’t very amused.

~~~~~~~~~

It was one of those weeks again, one where you were thinly stretched. Between overtime on missions with the supreme Kai, studying and the definitive over training from your master you were absolutely exhausted. You’d barely got a couple of hours of sleep when the sound of your communicator pierced the silence and blaring an emergency alert notification through the dark silence of your small apartment. Groaning and flipping over in bed you squinted at the screen as your eyes adjusted to the screen. Reading the alert for the rifts in time (Y/N) shot out of bed quickly changing into her gear and grabbing her gear before heading out the door.

Quite an amount of hours later (Y/N) was trudging into her apartment absolutely exhausted from the rips in time which took an excruciating amount of time to set right, working from barely the break of dawn until some time after midday. She wanted to pass out and sleep for the rest of the week but right now she needed food. Setting some instant ramen on the stove to bring to a boil, (Y/N) worked diligently chopping some leftover veggies from the fridge. Humming a nostalgic tune and preparing her meal was interrupted by a blaring alarm from her communicator.

Whining and mumbling about what on earth could’ve happened now she grabbed the device into her hand and immediately her blood ran cold. The daily alarm she set for her training with master cell. Rushing to turn off the stove and put the chopped vegetables away again she quickly changed into a new set of uniform and headed out quickly.

Landing shakily at the wastelands that were her training grounds she bowed to her teacher. Cell scowled.

“I never in a million years expected you to be late. I expect you to work extra hard today.”

“Yes master cell. Apologies for being late it’s been a rou-“

“Ah ah ah I don’t want to hear your excuses dear. Now warm up and we’ll get to work.”

Cheeks now lightly dusted in pink (Y/N) began stretching. Pondering over the changes with your master pupil relationship with cell too. You were his only pupil and have been for a little while but just having all those one on ones made a huge difference to your power and cell of course loved seeing you improve and began to get more comfortable around you. He even started to give you little rewards for hard training sessions like little sweets. You’d never heard of Cell doing this for any of his pupils before but I guess they never lasted that long. A hand a top your head interrupted your thoughts.

“Come on now my favourite pupil it’s time to get started.”

“Master I’m your only pupil.”

“Still my favourite now battle stance my dear.”

He totally flirts like this on purpose, you thought. It was gonna make you pass out. Or maybe your forgotten hunger might do that.

~~~~~~~~~

The hours ran away from you both and Cell was still pushing you to keep going, except you were growing weak from hunger. You were barely hanging on and every punch getting weaker but you pushed on. Once again being kicked down to the dirt you groaned limbs like lead, not wanting to move.

“Is that all you’ve got? Come on I know you can hit me.”

He always knew how to push your buttons just right. Gripping the dirt and powering up for another frenzy of attacks you launched towards cell throwing a punch that was unfortunately caught in his fist. Vision going hazy you threw a kick but once again it was caught and blocked by cell.

“Come on dear just a little longer. I’m not dismissing you until you land a hit.”

With that he threw you back into the dirt. Once again limbs too heavy for your strength you tried to push yourself up, the world now spinning you whined feeling overwhelmingly nauseous. Cell knelt down tipping your chin up using a finger tip, smirking his usual arrogant expression.

“You are nowhere near your limit I know you can do more than that.”

“Master, I-I’m sorry. I failed you.”

Cells eyes widened at that, quickly grabbing your head before it smashed into the dirt below, gently shifting your body into his arms cell gently stroked some hair out of your eyes. He shifted to stand holding you bridal style in his arms as he set off towards Conton city and your apartment. You shifted in his arms eyes opening weakly to meet the shining magenta that were full of worry. Reaching a hand up to Cells chest you lightly stroked the smooth surface of cells skin up to his shoulder.

“…cell…..”

With that you were out again, fully limp in his arms.

~~~~~~~~~~

Groggily you began to come around. This place was warm and soft but also so familiar. Whining and half opening her eyes (Y/N) realised that she was in her bed in her apartment with a blanket draped over her. Becoming more aware now she also realised that she was in the base layers of her Saiyan armour and the outer shell of her torso piece was lying on its side on the floor. (Y/N) shot upright in a panic remembering about her training and how she’d passed out, the speed greeting her with a thumping migraine. Trying her best to pull herself upright and out of bed took a while but eventually she was making her way towards her ajar door.

Pushing her way through her apartment (Y/N) immediately got drawn to a gorgeous smell coming from the kitchen. Leaning on ever surface she got closer and then picked up on the sounds of cooking.

Once you eventually made it to the threshold of the kitchen the smell began to assault your senses becoming woozy once again. Over the stove stood Cell cooking away until he picked up on the shuffling behind him. Twisting his body the android came face to face with (Y/N) who looked like she was about to pass out again. Knees convulsing against the unnaturally heavy body weight she began to slump to the floor when Cell caught her waist.

“You should be resting my dear. Don’t worry I’ll take care of you until you feel better.”

(Y/N) began frantically blinking in confusion.

“No master, this was my mistake I should take care of myself.”

“Absolutely not my dear I am gonna help you. Also you don’t need to use the honorific this isn’t training.”

“But master I-“

The android tuts you gently before scooping you into his arms again and heading towards your couch. Skin now igniting in searing heat you tried to protest and wiggle your way free. Cell tutted you again before gently laying you onto the couch, above you Cells magenta eyes were gently gazing back.

“Listen to my my dear. Your training is important but please don’t ever do this again, you worried me for a while there.”

Averting your eyes and fiddling with the hem of the knitted blanket draped over the couch you began to feel overwhelmingly warm again as your master continued on tilting your head back to face him once again pink irises shining now.

“Over the course of your training you’ve improved so much you are a student I can be proud of yet caring for you has increased substantially on my part.”

(Y/N) grasped the hand that was now gently holding her chin and leaned into it slightly. She smiled sweetly up at the android and leaned up slowly due to still being lightheaded and gently kissed Cells cheek with her lips. Cell smiled back genuinely happy, eyes creasing at the edges.

“I’m going to finish the food I was making for you my dear, don’t move from that spot.”

[tickling-giggles]

Sorry if this a little over kill but can you do Lee!karma, with prompts

6,8,12,13,14 from prompt list B?

the ler can be anyone

thx!

You aren’t hardcore

A/N: your good anon, I’ve probably got way worse in my inbox.😭😭

6: “You’re laugh is so cute!”

8: “You’re awfully cocky for someone who’s so ticklish.”

12: “That was quite a reaction.”

13: “Why are you interrogating me?”

14: “What are we, five years old now?”

———————————————————————-

“Where’s karma?” Korosensei asked Irina who had a confused look on her face. “He’s not in the classroom that’s where I last seen him”.

“Hmmm that’s weird” korosensei shrugged off as he immediately went to go look outside to check if he’s outside i one of his spots, as he made it outside he saw Karasuma chilling under a tree typing on his laptop. “Karasuma wh—“ korosensei was cut off. “Don’t worry about it he’s right behind that tree and I just know”

“Weird” was all korosensei could think, walking over to the tree that he was told karma was behind. “Karma?”

“Oh hey teach” karma greeted sounding…off. “Woah is something wrong? you sound different” korosensei acknowledged. “Nah just thinking” karma half heartedly admitted. “Thinking about…?”

“Just thinking about asano and how I wanna just rub something in his face to the point he’s upset or embarrassed” karma continued his sentence. “Very deep thoughts not too surprised but if you want to do that you have to critique yourself academically and Assassin wise”

“What you tryna say teach?”

“Sure you can be cocky but that won’t really get you far” korosensei teased as green stripes appeared on his face, poking karma’s side. Receiving a yelp and a blush look from the red head.

“That was quite a reaction” Korosensei alerted karma that he knows. “Wh-what are you talking about” karma sputtered. “I do have to say karma didn’t really peg you as a ticklish person” Korosensei grinned.

“What the hell are you talking about”

“Also karma you know I know that’s not really what’s wrong with you it must be something recent it can’t be asano the amount of times you or your classmates got under his skin” korosensei explained.

“Why are you interrogating me? I already told you what’s wrong” karma’s face slowly began heating up. “I’m not all I asked was what was wrong that’s all” korosensei poked at his side.

“Stahap that” karma giggled gripping onto every tentacle that tried tickling him. “Wow Karma *sniff* can’t believe you’re wrestling me you’re own teacher” korosensei ‘cried’.

“Well whehen my teacher is trYIHing to thihiCkle me then yes Ihi WIHILL stAhap JEHerk” Karma’s voice squeaking as he slowly began losing his grip. “What aHAre whEEhe FihIve yeEEAHArs Ohold now”

“Well I’m certainly not but~…. If you are implying that I act like one then how dare you karma” korosensei dramatically acted, karma muffled his laughter which was the least he could do. “Oooooooh so it’s like THAT huh?” That’s cool y’know Nagisa told me about your ticklish spots so it doesn’t even matter that your trying to hold it in”karma’s eyes widen to the words that came out of his teacher’s mouth.

“YohOu dOhoN’t kNohOw ShiIHUEt OHOCTOpUhus” karma attempted to hush his laughter. “You’re awfully cocky for someone who’s so ticklish” korosensei continued to tease him.

“Dohon’t doho that” karma accidentally said outloud. Korosensei was just poking around until he hit karma’s neck.

“NAAAAHAHAHAHA NOHOHO THEHEHEHEREEE” karma squealed so adorable

“You’re laugh is so cuteee!” Korosensei cooed blushing at his squeal and laughter.

“NOHOHO IHIHIHITS NAHAHAHAT STAHAHAP IHIHIT”

“YOHOHOU STUHUPID OCTOHOHO YAHAHAHAHA” karma jumped an octave as korosensei wiggled under his arms as well lmao poor karma😭😭.

“This is SOO adorable”

“MEHERCHEHEHE MERCEHEHE I YEHEHEILD STAHAHAP” Karma pleaded.

“Okay okay don’t wanna kill you before I explode the earth” korosensei chuckled as he stopped.

“Ohoho ihehe am sohoo getting yohou back” karma giggled out.

“Yeah yeah if you can catch me in mock 20” korosensei snickered handing karma a bottle of water.

[suncursedhealer]

Welcome! <3

Hello, I'm Frosty, Fae/They/She pronouns, Aromantic, Asexual, Agender, with ADHD and possible Autism, and this is my writing blog (note, it is a side blog so replies will come from This Blog)

This is a remake of This Blog, which only has a few posts so you can read the entire thing in like 2 min. I'll do a Master List in another (linked) post so that way this doesn't get too long (It's going to be long enough as is) Under the cut there are, blog rules, notices, TWs, and links to important posts.

Thank you for being here <3

First things first, rules.

1.) No Harassment Its not cool or funny, accidents and ignorance happen, but if you are intentionally harassing someone here I will block.

2.) Shipping, Ichika is an adult so she will not be shipped with any minors. I also won't ship her with canon characters (although there is a past relationship.) I ask to not be asked frequently about her relationship status. She is a Single Pringle who Does Not Wish to Mingle. (she's not AroAce though, so attraction does happen)

3.) NSFW, I don't write it, and I would appreciate that asks and replies stay SFW, although I don't mind spicy or implied NSFW.

Not Rules But PLEASE pay attention

a.) Trigger Warnings! There are some themes in this story that can be triggering to others. I intend to tag All my posts with the following, "TW:[trigger]" so please use caution when viewing. If something should be tagged and isn't, please alert me in my inbox. (this includes if you want something tagged that isn't already tagged) A list of Major/General TWs will be listed below.

b.) Swearing I am personally not comfortable swearing or writing it, but I'm not going to ask others to not do so, just make everyone aware that there will not be swearing in my writing.

c.) Spoilers This blog is currently "set" early in her story, as such there will be things that are phrased weirdly to avoid spoilers. eventually I plan on making a post that has the summary of her entire story (broken up by chapter and part) though that would have the entire story and all kinds of spoilers. (Also, when posts that are "set" further in the story come out, please refrain from posting details of later posts in the notes where it would spoil the story.)

General/Major TWs (These consist of frequent TWs and ones that are potentially extremely distressing. These TWs are for the story and while not everything will be on the blog itself, the story will be linked.)

i.) Canon Typical Gore

ii.) Canon Typical Violence

iii.) Mentions of (Past) Abuse

iv.) Mentions of (Past) Rape/Non-con

v.) Mentions of (Past) Kidnapping

vi.) Non-Descriptive Abuse

vii.) Non Descriptive Rape/Non-con (like 90% implied, the other 10% is kissing)

viii.) Kidnapping

Links to Important Posts! (WIP list, not everything is linked)

Story Master List

In Character Introduction

Out of Character Introduction

General Summary (Spoiler Free)

In Depth Summary (Spoilers)

[destinygoldenstar]

Golden Analyzes 2001 Nominees “Jimmy Neutron: Boy Genius”

*Have Not Seen Prior*

So, we have an… interesting choice for our first movie on the list. From my understanding, this is part of a TV show. I don’t know if the movie is connected to the show or not. I would hope not so I can just judge this alone.

Me and my GF are both going into this completely blind. Neither of us have seen the show. I have not seen the show. I’ve heard about Jimmy Neutron, but I’ve seen zero episodes and I’ve seen zero scenes from the show.

The only things I know about the show are that it’s about a boy that’s Einstein levels of genius, and he’s voiced by a woman. (Debi Derryberry) That’s a weird fact to know about a show I’ve never seen, but that’s a fact I know.

I want to be pleasantly surprised though since this is a nomination. I’m expecting the other two to be better, but this one I want to be surprised by.

My one hope is that it’s not tied to the show. Like ‘you need to have seen the show to understand it’. That’ll NOT be helpful.

Reaction Quotes:

(Bold is my GF’s words)

*Reading the synopsis of the movie* “Just in parenthesis ‘okay, it’s the kitchen toaster, but it works!’ 😂 Oh this is gonna be wild. ‘Is picked up by an alien species-‘they must really love toast’-in the dark of night the aliens fly their war ships IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-‘ I’m not gonna read the rest.”

“Oh that’s rough.” “Why are their heads so big?” “I was looking at the scenery and the lighting of the sky and going ‘this actually looks pretty good’” “But then you see the people and it’s… yeah…”

“They should be dead. How are you breathing?!” “Where is their oxygen supposed to be?! There’s no protection!” “‘This is a story about a super genius’ Dies in the first minutes of the movie. Movies over. Goodbye.”

”Where’s the thermosphere at? The heat shield. There’s supposed to be a heat barrier in the atmosphere.” (I spend half the movie nerding out about astrology facts like this)

“I was more so worried why his nose is so big.” “You can tell the boy carried a lot of his moms genes.”

“This is the real reason why they’re angry. ‘We don’t care that you went to space and could’ve died! YOU BROKE OUR CAR WITH THE CHIMNEY!’”

*’We’ve repeatedly told you not to talk to strangers’* “Social media in a nutshell. This movie was ahead of its time. Just replace aliens with ‘person on the Internet’. And it makes exactly as much sense.”

“I would never want to eat that gum ball. Why is it glowing?”

”So the dinosaurs had a reverse patriarchy.”

“The next day: ‘Attention Students, we’ve come to inform you that your teacher has been found dead this morning. Cause of death: Caterpillar.’”

“That is the worlds most useless invention.”

“Everyone’s totally cool with this child jet packing around. A kid who should probably not be in elementary school and be in a lab.”

“Your social media inbox. ‘Aw, no one liked my post recently.’”

“Who needs to use money when you can make your own jewelry? This is what this kid casually does in his spare time.”

(At the time I didn’t get he was trying to bribe his mom)

“Chicken! The aliens are CHICKENS.”

(To be fair, I was half right)

“HI. DO YOU LIKE TOAST?!”

*’Apologize to your parents : They love you’ ‘Next.’* 😂😂 “‘Apologize to your parents’ NOPE.’” “…” “You’ve done that.” “…maybe…”

“‘Unwrapping your gifted child’?!?! OH MY- that’s wrong. That’s so wrong. That’s not what gifted child means. Oh my god that’s so dated…”

“Okay, NO.” “That was lucky.” “He should’ve been caught immediately.”

“That was his life dream.” “Just touching a llama. Love that kid. He’s such a wet cat.”

“Look at the name of the ride. ‘Bat Outta Heck’. Cause it’s a kids movie. You can’t say hell. I’m pretty sure heck and hell don’t even mean the same thing.”

(Unprofessional cuss user alert)

“Is the message of the movie ‘Listen to your parents or they’ll get abducted by aliens?”

“‘Dear Son/Daughter’. They couldn’t tell what gender Jimmy is. Jimmy is non-binary confirmed??”

“And there’s just a few kids crying on the street curb missing their parents. Bet. Bet right now.”

(I wasn’t that far off)

“There are no survivors, Sheen.”

“That’s not how weight gain works.”

“Does Sheen not have a mom? Really looks like it by that letter.”

(Only Sheen’s dad shows up later. But we haven’t seen the show, so… maybe? Someone inform me.)

“‘WERE GONNA DESTROY YOU!! WERE GONNA BURN YOUR HOUSE DOW-‘ ‘I know how to get your parents back’ ‘Okay’.”

*‘We blow up… but just a little bit’* 😂😂 “You’ll only blow up a LITTLE bit. You’ll probably DIE. But you know, you only die a LITTLE BIT.”

“Now we know these kids are from America. Cause they’re playing ‘Kids in America’ as the insert song.”

“I studied astrology actually. I know that’s not how meteor showers work.” *Goes on a five minute rant about how meteor showers work* “…realistically. They’d die in one hit.”

“They would not be able to make fires.” “Cause you need oxygen.” “Yes. And they wouldn’t be able to breathe because-“ *ASTROLOGY NERD ALERT*

(I won’t torture you guys with the knowledge I spilled during the reaction)

“Unless you’re queer. Then you won’t 🏳️‍🌈”

(Queer Jimmy and Carl?)

“That planet is not even close to the size of Pluto. How is gravity not making them float into nothingness? How gravity on planets work is-“

*ASTROLOGY NERD ALERT*

”You yourself said they were mind controlled! ‘Oh, they’re mind controlled and therefore probably loyal to the bad guys. LETS TRY AND TALK TO THEM!’ Stupid…”

“I think that’s just Sheen being Sheen. As in, He’s Stupid.”

*Adults doing the chicken dance* “What the hell are we watching right now?” “The movie’s gone off the rails.” *Sheen makes his comment* 😂😂 “Okay I take it back. For that line alone, Sheen won some points from me.”

“It IS a chicken! I was right!” “That doesn’t even look like a chicken”

“You would not realistically be able to go even NEAR a star like that. Realistically you’d die instantly because-“ *ASTROLOGY NERD ALERT*

(SHUT UP PAST ANALYZGOLDEN)

“That was the tipping point for him.” “You kidnap everyone’s parents? Sure. Try to kill them? Fine. But poke fun at my size OH BOY-“ “It reminds me of a vine I saw.”

(This is that vine)

“Carl’s mother’s face SCREAMS ‘I want a divorce’”

“You can’t ground me! I put a label on it! It’s your fault you can’t read!”

Review:

It was fine.

By the end of the movie, neither me nor my GF had anything to say. Which says quite a bit.

But we were both alright sitting through it so that’s good.

For a TV movie, I was at least glad that I was able to follow along with the story perfectly fine. I feel like the movie well establishes who Jimmy is, what the conflict of the movie is, what the world is like (as unrealistic as it is), and all that jazz.

As for if it made me interested in checking out the show?? No. Not really. But I think it just has to do with ‘this is a kids movie. And I am a grown woman in her 20s.’

Because, yeah, this movie gives a lot of ‘boy power’ energy. And is rather sexist at some points. BUT I am not going to call it point deduction for it because this came out in 2001, and it’s kid-centric and kids are sexist as hell-sorry-HECK. I remember as a Kindergartner I was a mansogynistic piece of garbage. So really this movie is just being realistic for a kids mindset and I can’t really dock points for it.

More than the other two nominees, I feel like this movie is textbook ‘This is a kids movie’.

With the other two, while they are also targeting kids, they have themes and a level of script depth that they are classified as ‘for all ages’.

This one, it’s very obvious they are targeting children and trying to appeal to children.

And well, being a nominee, I think it succeeded at that. But again, as an adult, I can’t really say if it succeeded or not.

I will say though, as a kids movie with a very surface level kids movie message, it is a good one that gets the point across really well.

Really, I can’t complain about teaching kids not to associate with strangers because that is so right.

Also it’s social media in a nutshell.

I also appreciate that the parent characters are NOT painted in a negative light in the end.

Not only were they right, but they’re also very loving parents who clearly care about their kid. Also shows that while Jimmy would, in our world, be in colleges at his age, he is still a child who doesn’t know every moral that’s needed.

He’s also a sweet and humble kid despite his mistakes throughout the movie. Going in I thought that the movie was gonna be about a kid that’s so smart he’s arrogant about it and thinks he’s better than the others. But that was absolutely not the case as he shows massive respect towards his friends.

Like when he compliments Carl’s frog drawing while he’s over here drawing blueprints for a rocket ship. That’s such a small thing but it’s so wholesome and makes Jimmy a likeable lead that works for this story.

Even if he IS the reason everything goes wrong and the movies knows it and addresses it.

This kid doomed the human race because he recklessly tried to contact aliens.

Like… yeah. That was his mistake.

It’s at least satisfying to see a mistake from the protagonist acknowledged, punished accordingly, and they come out better by fixing their mistake. (*cough cough*)

And despite me saying before that the movie had some casual sexism thrown around, I do at the very least appreciate that the major girl character was NOT a mean girl archetype. She’s more so a snarky ally and redeems herself in the dungeon scene by being the voice of reason.

Is redemption even the right word? Probably not. I think it’s more so she shows that she’s not as awful and gross as the boys make her out to be.

The two boys in Jimmy’s friend group are more so ‘there’. (They probably do more in the show) But I can’t say they’re useless to the plot. Carl is a figure to talk to when it’s needed, and Sheen gets the ship to save everyone at the end. It gives them a purpose and I appreciate that over if they were fully just standing there.

Also I’m 90% convinced all three of these kids are on the neurodivergent spectrum.

The cool kid character (Nick, I think that’s his name) was pretty insignificant though. I get his archetype. I get he drives the plot to get the kids to want to go to the amusement park, but the posters were enough to do that I think. And then he cowers at the sight of the chicken alien at the end. So…

And the villains are villains and are there to be villains. They do their job and there’s not much else to them as characters. The main alien eats a fluffy pet creature to establish the evils.

And I will give the movie this for someone who’s basing this off one viewing. They really got me with the chicken foreshadowing.

I caught the chicken spaceships. My GF caught the aliens helmets being eggs. Neither of us caught the name ‘Poultra’. And yet we DID NOT predict that the main overlord was a chicken somehow.

Even if it ends up doing nothing. Even if it’s an ugly character design.

Yeah most of the character designs of this movie are… not great. But I also acknowledge that this could both be a stylistic choice and a date thing. This came out in 2001. So… yeah, not only is the character design rough, but the animations are also ROUGH.

Some of these designs gave me Diary of a Whimpy Kid vibes. Everyone that isn’t Jimmy and his mom just does not look right to my subjective brain cells.

The backgrounds actually look very decent at the time, as does the smoke at the beginning. It’s surprisingly well done.

But then you get some of the liquid animations… I said out loud that this gave me Foodfight animation vibes. Ew.

I’ve seen a movie worse than Foodfight though, so…

But even at that, I can’t deny that the movie is creative with the stuff these kids come up with.

I mean, they use amusement park rides as spaceships! That’s cool!

Even if it’s unrealistic. Half of the movie reaction was me nerding out to my GF about astrology facts I knew.

Astrology was always the one science subject in school I always aced and always knew everything about and studied in my spare time about.

The other thing is the movie’s use of insert songs. The only one I remembered distinctly was Kids In America cause it established that these kids were, indeed, Americans. But otherwise it was fine. I didn’t hate it.

Shrek may or may not does it better though.

I think my biggest problem with the movie is the pacing. It goes by really quick sometimes and it becomes very jarring to me. The movie is 80 minutes, but I honestly feel like it could’ve been 10 or 15 minutes longer.

It’s especially bad in the second half of the movie after the parents get abducted and it took me out of the movie a bit because of it.

For how much they establish the kids not wanting their parents around, they react positively of them disappearing and we get a whole montage of them living out their child-like dreams without rules… then immediately at the end of that montage everyone suddenly misses their kids and we only see a change in perspective after a news report. (Which was somehow built in the span of a day?)

I felt like that was way too quick for these kids to change their minds on the matter for how much the movie established they wanted this. I would’ve had like, maybe five more minutes or Jimmy realizing on his own accord that he misses his parents. Same for the other kids.

Same thing with the angry mob that shows up at his yard. It looks like it’s gonna be a massive blowout scene of Jimmy struggling to explain the situation to a bunch of angry sugar high children. But then it jump cuts to him explaining the situation and all the kids are instantly better. How did he deal with the fury of the mob?

I also feel like the alien kingdom sneak in was very rushed. They take no time going straight to finding the mind controlled parents and getting locked up. There’s next to no time to establish this alien society as a result. I feel like I know nothing about these aliens and their world aside from ‘they love chickens and worship a chicken’.

That and the final chicken alien fight was very rushed. You have CHILDREN overpowering adult aliens (I think they’re adults), I’m gonna need a bit more of an explanation than brain power to make this seem believable.

So that’s why I really feel like the movie could’ve been about 15 minutes longer. By the second half of the movie, as cool as it was to see them go to space, I was also checking the time bar to see how much longer the movie was.

For two non-Jimmy Neutron fans, both me and my GF decided that this was a fairly solid kids movie that we were not the target audience for. It’s competently made. It’s a good kid power movie with a good message for kids.

But I’m not in a hurry to watch this twice or check out the show after watching it.

I feel like it’s not fair to compare this movie to Monsters Inc and Shrek, both far more ‘all age’ oriented movies than this one. But both of those movies also do a lot of what this movie does and better. So I don’t think anyone is gonna argue with me saying this is the weakest of the three nominations by… not a small margin.

But does that mean it didn’t deserve a nomination? Eh…? I’ll have to look at what was submitted that year, but maybe this movie did deserve it. Really, movies like this should be proud of getting recognized and nominated. Regardless if in an Internet reviewer’s opinion it deserved it or not.

Anyway, that’s it for this movie. We’re doing these movies in alphabetical order, so Monsters Inc. is the next one on our list. Look forward to it.

[illiterateari]

Haywire because of me?? 🥺😇 I’m usually quite a shy/reserved person, despite my last ask, so I’m not sure I’m ready to like the post or fully reveal myself.. but I am 28 (she/they) and have been lurking while I try to work up the courage to interact with you over the last couple weeks. I’m not sure what it was that finally made me go for it.. though I do apologize for starting our interaction with something sexual. I’d every intention of being a bit more smooth when I finally messaged you, but then I was thinking with my clit and it is clearly desperate for your attention.

Regardless of age, there’s something about your posts that tells me you’d use me in ways I’ve only ever dreamt of and it makes my head fucking spin. You’re right about me knowing my place, but I do reeeaally enjoy being put back in it and I’m open to being reminded where I belong in a variety of ways.

Something interesting? My attention is yours..

Hello again! I’m quite shy in person too so fair enough I get that, also thanks for the pronouns :) .

eight years cool cool cool, that’s impressive cause I think i’ve only had this particular blog for like a month and a half. it’s alright haha it is a nsfw blog, I was taken back a little initially cause when I saw it fully it was around 8AM and it was sitting in my inbox but impressive detail nonetheless.

Duly noted :) yeah the something interesting in question requires you to message me or at least alert me of your presence, in due time though.

[wintsong]

Google chrome apps

#GOOGLE CHROME APPS PASSWORD#

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It shows you what extensions you have operating on Google Chrome and gives you the option to hide some of the icons to keep your browser better organized. Try this tool to organize all of your extensions so they don't take up half of your browser's screen. We couldn't give you 50+ different extensions to try out without also suggesting Extensions Manager. If you use Trello for project management, team collaboration, your content calendar, or just a personal to-do list, this extension lets you easily add links as cards to your Trello boards. This saves you time and headaches and increases the security of your personal data. You only have to remember one password: your LastPass password.

#GOOGLE CHROME APPS PASSWORD#

LastPass is a password manager that autofills in passwords for all of the accounts you save with this extension. It also has neat features like the Require Challenge: Once you set time limits on sites, if you want to go back and change your settings, you have to complete a challenge (think: retyping a piece of text without typos or answering questions). It's highly customizable - you could set your time limit to 20 minutes on Twitter and only five minutes on Facebook, for example. StayFocusd lets you budget your time on specific websites so you can eliminate distractions when you need to buckle down and work. Once you get the contacts, you can sync them to your CRM - including HubSpot - or connect with the prospects right away. This is a fast and easy way to find and verify anyone’s email address - both one by one or in bulk using LinkedIn Sales Navigator. Reply's Chrome extension helps you research and engage with your potential prospects on LinkedIn. What's neat about the Chrome extension is that you can see your to-do list, or your team's shared lists, and add tasks to it without having to open a separate tab, app, or device. Todoist is a project management tool that lets you create highly organized and visually appealing to-do lists across all of your devices. The email thread can then be logged continuously into the CRM throughout the entire correspondence. Users can send emails and receive alerts when their message is delivered, opened, and clicked on. This saves employees time in their day-to-day workflow and retains valuable information about customers.Īnother cool feature that HubSpot Sales provides is the tracking and logging of emails. Instead of having to navigate back and forth between the two products, this extension allows you to transfer contact information from your email directly into your CRM. HubSpot's Sales tool connects your email inbox with your CRM. No matter where you click online, it's easy to be pulled into a black hole of distraction and low productivity.Ĭheck out the extensions below to remedy this problem and be your most productive self.

#GOOGLE CHROME APPS TV#

Perhaps you get absorbed in updates on social media, or maybe you click through Wikipedia trying to determine what exactly Gina Rodriguez's first TV role was (it was on Law & Order). How many times have you sat down to work and been pulled into a pit of procrastination? For all of the greatness that the internet affords - cute animal videos, GIFs, and interesting blogs - one of its biggest downsides is how distracting it can be.

[pigeonfur86]

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[frogs-in3-hills]

Good day Sully! Hope you are doing well :D

Have a toad wearing a flower as a hat :DDD He is sending you good vibes !

dude i love him ToT taking him into my hands giving him a little kiss on the nose and dedicating a museum to him <3

thank u mochi you are the coolest, and i am doing quite well actually! hope you’re having an awesome day, good vibes definitely received ^.^

[princessselene126]

Can u bring kai head canons like how he is,what he does as a friend,emperor,husband,father and all that like I am badly in love with him,I am seriously not kidding I need to read more of him to feel his presence u know and I have no Kai in my life not even as a friend,Am I sounding desperate? Idc ,it's a bad case of fictophilia I'm sorry I sound mental....but help

I, too, am hopelessly in love with Kai, and I cannot even begin to express how fucking valid you are. You get all the headcanons, my friend. Come to my inbox literally whenever you want to talk about Kai or want hcs for him. Also sorry it took me a little bit to get to this, I have life shit going on.

I can also talk about Jacin all damn day... the snarky and dry humor bois hold a soft spot in my heart

In Friendships

He's that friend who messages people out of the blue to check up on them. Like it's been a week since he's heard anything from Cress and that's not normal. Five seconds later he's sending her a reeeeeeeally long text asking if she's okay.

He created a gc with the rest of the crew (excluding Thorne) where they just send random pictures of Thorne doing weird shit.

Is the only person other than Winter and Cinder who has gotten Jacin to genuinely laugh. Spoiler alert, it's because he had the sassiest comeback when President Vargas was being a dick.

Because he's rich--literal emperor--he'll randomly buy gifts for his friends and really anyone he cares about. The other day he bought Winter a really cool sewing kit where all the needles were glittery (but wouldn't get glitter on whatever she's making). And it doesn't even have to be expensive things. He noticed that Scarlet complains about losing hairbands and makes a habit of sending her a pack once a month. Little things like that. He's a giver.

Despite the fact that he likes buying his friends presents, his love language is actually quality time. It's very hard for him to be able to carve out time for others, but that's what he does to show his friends and family he cares about them.

As the Emperor

Goes down as the most beloved emperor in the history of the Eastern Commonwealth. Yall can fight me on this. Because just in canon he's helped to end an international war and plague. NOT TO MENTION the fact that he tried to do this single-handedly (before being kidnapped by Cinder and joining them) by marrying Levana. Did he want to marry her? No! Nor did his people want him to, but he put the good of the nation above his own wants and needs when he was only 18 fucking years old! I could go on and on about this, but I'll stop with this point now...

now post canon Kai? A fucking god, okay?? Let's be honest, Cinder opened his eyes to a lot of problems he didn't know existed before. Kai passes bill after bill after bill reforming cyborg rights.

Hearing about stuff Cinder experienced also got him invested in making sure that foster kids, wards, etc were being better-taken care of. Passes laws protecting children in those situations, doing his best to make sure they're not taken advantage of, abused, used for labor, and so on.

Kai frequently goes out in disguise with Cinder so that they can get a sense of public opinion. It's one thing to read reports and statistics, it's another thing to see those experiences, to witness the needs of his people with his own eyes. As more and more people are getting BSBs implanted, more people notice him on the streets. In New Beijing there becomes this unwritten rule that if you see the emperor and empress wandering around without security and/or in "disguise," you're supposed to pretend that you don't know who they are.

When it comes to his public persona, he's viewed as extremely charismatic I mean, come on, he's prince charming and kind. He's sort of like Obama. No matter where you are on the political spectrum, citizens can admire him because of how well spoken he is.

However, it's well known that he will not stand for bigotry, racism, etc. If someone behaves that way in front of him--whether they're a dignitary, diplomat, reporter, or citizen--he will either shut them down or put them in their place (like I had him do in part 2 of WotE). People know not to fuck with him.

As a Husband

He's also the best husband ever, let's be real here. He's patient and kind, but also willing to have harder conversations when the time calls for it.

We all know how the proposal scene went, but this got me wondering... how long do we think he's been holding onto that ring? SOSN happens about 2 years post Winter, and, knowing what a romantic Kai is, he's probably been holding onto that ring for a good year. He was just patiently waiting for 1) Cinder to be ready 2) her to abdicate and 3) Luna to be well enough off that Cinder didn't have to be there constantly supervising the transition into a republic.

Anyway, onto how he actually is as a husband...

When he can't find Cinder in their suite, the first place he looks for her is the palace garage. Nine times out of 10, that's where she is. If she isn't there, she's either out in the gardens or in her office. Sometimes he'll just stand there and quietly watch her work for a little while. She knows he's there, but never says anything.

Though they're both busy with royal duties, Kai makes a point to carve out at least one night a week where they can just spend time together without any distractions, whether it's sneaking out to roam the city, have dinner together on the balcony, watch a movie on a big sheet hung up between trees in the gardens, etc etc. Unless there's a national emergency that needs immediate attention, no one, not even Iko, is allowed to disturb them for those few hours.

He makes a point to kiss Cinder's metal limbs all the time. Every chance he gets.

He sits on Cinder's lap while they read over documents/laws/bills together. You can fight me on this too. I will die on this hill.

As a Father (In my second gen universe Kaider has two kids so I'm sort of going off that for these hcs)

The most doting father. Will spoil his children rotten while also making sure to raise them to be the best possible versions of themselves.

He and Cinder always tuck their kids into bed. It doesn't matter if they're in the middle of a ball or an important dinner party. They will both drop everything to read a story and then tuck their kids into bed. Even when he's halfway around the world for something, he'll wake up at three am to call Cinder so they can tuck the kids in together.

Kai will take his kids out on father-child dates all the time when they get old enough (around 5-6). Sometimes these father-child dates are with both of the kids and sometimes it's only with one. If it's with one, he makes sure that the other child has alone time with him sometime soon too. As the kids get older and busier, it's harder and harder to do, but it's a tradition that still continues when they're adults. It's only a couple times a year, but he and his children make the time for it.

When they're teens... they have snark wars. Who can politely say the best insult. Cinder is the judge. Winner gets to pick what they watch for family movie night. Kai wins almost every time for the first year, but the first time one of them beats him, he cries tears of joy and hugs them so tight they can barely breathe. "My baby is all grown up! I don't have anything left to teach you." "Dad... I'm fourteen and the heir to the throne. You have a lot to teach me still."