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kurokoros · 4 years

Text

liar liar | bakugou katsuki

Rated: M

Words: 9.4K

Pairing: katsuki bakugou x fem!reader

Summary: Of all the things he’s experienced working as a Pro Hero, Bakugou never expected his dick getting too big to ever be a problem, let alone one in his top ten.

Bakugou is hit with a strange quirk. You reap the benefits.

AN: This fic is 50% crack and 50% raunchy smut. I have zero explanations for this. Also big thanks to @lady-bakuhoe for ranting with me once about the fandoms weird level of hatred towards Bakugou, thus inspiring me to write something for him. I’m so sorry it was this.

Warnings: smut, language, oral sex (m receiving), dom/sub undertones, rough sex, degradation, spanking, choking, inappropriate use of quirks

***

Of all the things he’s experienced working as a Pro Hero, Bakugou never expected his dick getting too big to ever be a problem, let alone one in his top ten.

Kirishima glances at him out of the corner of his eye as they step into Bakugou’s office, red eyes narrowing in concern as he sees Bakugou’s gritted teeth and clenched fists. “Are you sure you’re okay, bro?” he asks, a little hesitant.

“I’m fine,” Bakugou practically snarls between his teeth. Fuck. The tingling sensation starts in his gut, heat spreading through his limbs, and he nearly swears aloud as the sensation shifts to his dick, his boxer-briefs getting uncomfortably tighter. Shit, he’s probably up to at least another inch by now. Thank god his pants are baggy.

Unfortunately, Kirishima isn’t so easily convinced. Brows furrowing, he looks Bakugou over slowly, searching for any lasting effects from their earlier scuffle with a few low rank villains. “You’ve been acting kind of… strange,” he settles on after an awkward beat of silence, “since you got hit by that quirk. You know, you probably should have gone to a—”

“I said I’m—” Bakugou cuts himself off as that tingle comes back. “I’ll be fine,” he corrects himself. The tingle goes away, and he almost groans in relief as his dick returns to its normal size. “Drop it, Kirishima.”

Kirishima holds his hands up in front of him, placating his huffy friend. “Okay, okay. I get it.” He backs off, still eyeing Bakugou warily as he pulls his phone from his pocket. He glances at the time. “Look, man, I gotta go. I have a date in twenty, and she’s gonna kill me if I’m late again.” His smile is apologetic, but exhausted.

“Whatever.” Bakugou tosses off one of his gauntlets, letting it clatter against the floor noisily. Breathing slowly through his nose, he peels off his mask as well, setting it down on his desk. It’s fine. Everything is fine. He can handle this. It’s just a really fucking annoying quirk that’ll probably go away on it’s own by the end of the day.

Another tingle stirs in his gut, and then his underwear tightens again.

Fuck. He can’t even lie to himself.

Just as casually as before, Kirishima says, “Yeah, and since I figured you shouldn’t be alone, I called you a babysitter,” as he types out a quick text on his phone. If that wasn’t bad enough, Kirishima calls out your name in a sing-song voice.

Bakugou drops his other gauntlet on his foot and whirls around. “You what?” he hisses, only half because of the pain. The sound of your name definitely doesn’t cause his heart to do something stupid like flutter in his chest. And his pants definitely don’t get snug around his crotch as he blatantly lies to himself. “Kirishima, what the fuck? Why would you call her?”

Taken aback by the outburst, Kirishima puts his phone away and shrugs. “I figured she’d make you feel better.”

“I don’t fucking want her here,” Bakugou tells him. Nothing happens in his pants. Like the bullshit quirk affecting his dick can’t decide if that’s a lie or not. Hell, Bakugou isn’t really sure either. Sure, he likes having you around, even if he’d never admit it. He likes seeing your pretty smile as you come flouncing into his office wearing one of those little skirts that make him want to bend you over his desk and—

He squeezes his eyes shut, banishing the thought before it can go any further and his pants grow any tighter from non-quirk related reasons.

On the other hand, you’re quite possibly the last person he ever wants to see him like this. Too bad the universe seems intent on fucking him over today.

“Nice to see you too, Bakugou.”

The sound of your voice hits him like a lightning strike, still sweet despite the sarcastic inflection of your tone. Bolts of electricity shoot up his spine. In his chest, his heart pounds viciously against his ribs, and Bakugou’s shoulders tense as every one of his senses suddenly becomes a tune to you. Even from across the room, the scent of your perfume tickles at his nose—something floral or fruity that he doesn’t recognize, but it’s heavy and enticing and he tries not to shiver as it wraps around him.

He doesn’t dare turn to look at you as you take a step further into his office, determinedly staring at the wall and hoping you’ll leave with Kirishima. Yeah, un-fucking-likely.

When his silence persists, you roll your eyes and turn to Kirishima instead, the pinched expression on your face relaxing into a pleasant smile when you meet the eyes of the more friendly half of the duo. “Thanks for calling, Kiri,” you say, smoothing out your skirt.

A wide grin is the response you get. “Of course,” Kirishima says, stretching out and linking his fingers behind his head. “Figured he’d listen to you over anyone else.” He ignores the glare Bakugou sends his way, his lips twitching in amusement at the stark silence coming from the explosive blond.

You scoff. “Hardly, but I’ll try.” Casting a glance at Bakugou, you’re a little glad he seems intent on ignoring you, because it gives you the perfect opportunity to give him a slow once-over—for injuries, of course. He looks fine to you, a few superficial scrapes and bruises, but nothing severe enough for Kirishima to call you.

The tension in his shoulders is the first thing you notice. Bakugou is awkwardly hunched over himself in a way that isn’t like him at all. Usually, the Pro Hero exudes confidence that would border on cockiness if he didn’t have the skills to back it up, but right now he just looks... uncomfortable. What little of his face you can see is pinched, but not in annoyance; it’s more like pain, you realize, but then his expression melts into one of relief and you’re left baffled once again.

Before you can think too hard about it, your gaze wanders lower and you’re promptly distracted by his bare arms.

Kirishima clears his throat when you stare at Bakugou’s biceps a little too long.

“What happened anyway?” you ask, turning back to Kirishima. Your face feels warm, and by the way he grins you can tell he notices your faint blush. “You didn’t say much on the phone.”

He sobers a little as you bring the conversation back to the other Hero. The humor bleeds from his eyes, his shoulders drooping. “Yeah, sorry about that,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t have much time. We ran into a couple of villains on patrol. One of them caught Bakubro off guard and he got hit with their quirk. Wouldn’t let anyone check him out after.” He shrugs halfheartedly, looking at you apologetically. “You know how he gets.”

Don’t you ever. You’ve never met someone as stubborn as Bakugou before in your life. He can be a real pain in the ass when he wants, and you can’t blame Kirishima for his best friend being a dumbass.

You prop your hands on your hips, eyes narrowing in on Bakugou again. “How long has he been sulking?” you ask just loud enough for Bakugou to hear you.

Ruby eyes pin you with a heavy glower that would probably make anyone else piss themselves. Bakugou’s lip pulls back in a snarl, his teeth bared, and you ignore the pleasant tingle that shoots down your spine. “I’m not fucking sulking!” he snaps at you, making your eyes roll.

“Sure you aren’t.” Before he can start arguing with you, you turn back to Kirishima. “What do we know about this quirk?”

“Nothing. Cops are questioning the guy now, but he’s not talking.” Kirishima gestures to Bakugou with his thumb. “And Ground Zero here keeps saying he’s fine.”

Across the room, Bakugou grumbles to himself under his breath, noticeably displeased with your lack of attention, but like hell he’s going to say anything about it. Jealousy is a bitter taste in the back of his mouth, and for once he can’t even pretend that’s not what it is as his glare shifts to Kirishima. Fuck, he wants you to look at him again. Pay attention to him.

The honesty is surprising to him, but he keeps his mouth shut and definitely doesn’t pout as you and Kirishima continue to chat like he isn’t even there. When it becomes clear that you aren’t going to end the conversation immediately, Bakugou huffs and turns around, glaring as he leans back against his desk, watching the two of you. His gaze skips right over Kirishima and lands on you, and he swallows back a frustrated groan when he finally gets a good look at you.

Fuck, you look good today. Unable to help himself, he’s absolutely shameless as he stares at your legs, your short skirt and high heels making them look even longer than usual. Bakugou grits his teeth as his mind drifts to those legs wrapping around his hips and yanking him closer. For once, he allows the thought to linger, lost in his own head.

“I see,” you murmur as your conversation with Kirishima comes to a close. With your lips pursed in thought, your gaze shifts back to Bakugou, only to find him already staring right back at you, watching you intently. Your pulse jumps under his piercing gaze, and it takes everything in you to break eye contact with him and smile at Kirishima instead. “I’ll take care of it. Have fun on your date, Kiri.”

Kirishima shoots you a megawatt smile and a thumbs up.“Will do! Good luck with this guy!” He pays no attention to Bakugou’s grumbling as he heads out the door, closing it quietly behind him, leaving you and Bakugou alone together in an office far away from other people.

Yeah, this should be fun.

You twist on your heels so that you’re facing Bakugou directly. Trying for a charming smile, you prop your hands on your hips. He glares at you and crosses his arms over his chest, clearly not planning on cooperating. And boy does it give you an excellent view of his muscled forearms, all tanned skin and silver scars from years of hero work. You wet your lips, suddenly thirsty.

“Okay, Ground Zero,” you start, giddily noticing the way he puffs up at your use of his hero name, “are you going to tell me what’s wrong or do we have to do this the hard way?” Your voice lowers at the end, coming out as a husky whisper.

Bakugou’s throat bobs with a harsh swallow, and he grits his teeth against the pleasant warmth that curls in his chest. “Piss off,” he bites out, a low and dangerous edge to his voice that you easily ignore.

If you hadn’t known him for years, maybe it would be intimidating, but despite his gruff attitude and biting tone, you know he would never lay a hand on you. “Come on, Bakugou,” you try again, taking a step towards him as a small pout forms on your lips. “Please tell me? I just want to help and make you feel better.”

The breathy whine you let out paired with you wanting to make him feel better does absolutely nothing to help the situation going on in his pants.

His gaze slides to the side, avoiding your eyes as he tells you to “Just go home,” because he doesn’t want to see the disappointment there.

But you don’t back down. You can be just as stubborn as him when you want to be, and there’s no way in hell you’re leaving just so he can cling to his manly pride, or whatever it is he’s worried about. Clearly, asking nicely isn’t going to work. Honestly, you’d be more surprised if it did. “Hard way it is.”

Bakugou’s eyes widen, and his head snaps towards you just in time for you to launch yourself at him. It’s a bit difficult, between your skirt and heels, but you catch him off guard, and that helps. He tries to twist away at the last second, leaving you to cling to his back, limbs wrapping around him tightly. A surprised grunt escapes his at your sudden weight on him, but he doesn’t even stumble, letting you curl your body around him in a one-sided hug.

“Get off me, loser,” he growls at you, glaring at you over his shoulder. Despite his irritation, Bakugou makes no move to shake you off. In fact, one of his big hands latches onto your leg when you start to slip, allowing you to shift yourself for a better grip. He lets go of you just as quickly, standing stock still in the middle of the room while glaring at everything that isn’t you.

Your fingers dig into his shoulder where you’re grabbing him. “Not until you tell me what’s wrong!”

This time, he does try to shake you off, and you squeal as your grip starts to slip. “I’m fine!” he snaps at you, only to wince a second later.

Ever the opportunist, you don’t think twice before hooking your leg around him and going for his knees. Bakugou swears as he loses his balance, and somehow you manage to knock him to the floor using a grappling move that he taught you. He ends up rolling in time to land on his back, cushioning your fall aa your knees press against the floor on either side of his hips, straddling him as you pin him with a firm look. Long fingers grasp at your upper thighs, his thumbs grazing the hem of your skirt, and he lets you go just as quickly, as if you’ve burned him

Bakugou looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, but, again, he makes no move to shove you away, though he definitely could.

“Oh, yeah, clearly you’re just fine,” you reply, sarcasm laid on thick. Your hands are pressed against his chest for balance as you regain your bearings, and you can feel the angry breath he takes. Bakugou is warm and solid beneath you, hips pressed snug against yours. It feels way too good, but that’s not what you need to be thinking about at this moment. “Now stop acting like a baby and tell me what’s going on.”

Looking up at you, Bakugou sighs when your fierce look doesn’t relent. He mutters something under his breath that’s too low for you to make out clearly, then grimaces. “It’s nothing,” he tells you again, a harsh edge to his voice.

You pin him with a glare. “You got hit by a strange quirk, Bakugou,” you tell him slowly, contempt dripping from every word. “That’s not nothing.” The crack in your voice on the last word is what makes him drop the sour look on his face. You wince, fingers curling tighter around his shirt, like that might keep you grounded. All the fear you felt when Kirishima called you earlier comes surging back through you, and it feels like a blow to the ribs. You stare at his chest as you continue, the words bubbling up and out before you can stop them. “I know you. You’re too damn prideful to go see a doctor and admit something is wron—and that scares me sometimes, you know? One day you could get really hurt.” Slowly, you force your eyes up, meeting his stare with your own tentative one. “Please, just tell me what’s wrong. For me?”

Bakugou’s expression softens nearly an imperceptible amount. His glare smooths out. “Fuck,” he growls under his breath, trying to ignore the violent tug on his heartstrings that comes with that pleading look in your eyes. He’s always been a sucker for you, and you damn well know it too.

But he’s not going to give in this time.

The tingle that goes straight to his crotch proves him very wrong.

You freeze above him, body locking up as something big and hard presses against your inner thigh. “Katsuki,” you say, forcing yourself not to react aside from the widening of your eyes. “Is that your…”

“Yeah,” he replies, jaw clenched. His tone is nothing short of mocking when he tacks on, “You’re sitting on my cock, sweetheart.”

Well, shit. You blink at him owlishly, mouth opening and closing soundlessly as you try to think of literally anything to say in this situation that isn’t stupid, crass, or a blatant change of subject. It’s surprisingly hard to think with his bulge pressed up against your leg like this, and you blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “Are you turned on right now?” you ask incredulously, jabbing a finger into his chest. “I swear to God, Katsuki, I’m trying to be serious here, and you—”

He cuts you off. “I’m not fucking hard.” A pair of big, rough hands latch onto your thighs to keep you from squirming over his lap. “But if you keep moving around like that, I will be.”

“You liar.” A gasp sticks in your throat as he tightens his grip on your legs. By this point, you’re pretty sure you’re blushing, but honestly, you can’t find it in you to care when you are, in fact, basically sitting on his lap. Besides, Bakugou doesn’t look that much better. “If you were that big while soft, I’m pretty sure I would have noticed by now.”

Well that catches his attention. A smug smile stretches across his face. All teeth. “You spend a lot of time looking at it, angel?” Oh, this time he’s definitely mocking you. The palms of his hands slide up your thighs until his fingertips graze the hem of your skirt where it’s hiked partway up your legs, revealing a few tantalizing inches of your bare skin.

“Oh, no, you aren’t changing the subject,” you snap at him, sitting up a little straighter. “Why the hell is your dick so big, and what the fuck is going on?”

Your questions echo awkwardly through the otherwise silent room. For a tense moment, Bakugou just glares up at you. One of his eyes twitches slightly, his lips turned down in a grimace. You don’t relent, glaring right back at him. Eventually, one of you is going to have to give in, and it’s sure as shit not going to be you this time.

“Fuck.” He squeezes his eyes shut and tilts his head back against the floor. His fingers bite into your thighs when you shift on top of him, leaning a little closer. “It’s that dumbass villain’s quirk,” he sneers, baring his teeth in a snarl as he opens his eyes again. There’s nothing that could possibly prepare you for what he says next. “When I lie my cock gets bigger.”

You almost laugh. Almost. The deathly serious look in his eyes is the only thing that keeps you from bursting into a fit of giggles. And you believe him. You probably wouldn’t if you weren’t currently straddling his lap and sitting on his abnormally large cock. But, yeah. Sure. His dick gets bigger when he lies, and somehow that makes perfect sense.

“What, like some kind of kinky lie detector?” You almost suggest Pinocchio, but you doubt he’d take that well at all.

Predictably, he makes a face at your comparison. “Sure. Whatever.”

Again, neither of you say anything, letting an awkward silence develop between you. While Bakugou just looks all around uncomfortable with the situation, your brow is pinched in thought. Honestly, this quirk seems like some bullshit. You can’t imagine what benefit anyone would get out of making someone’s dick grow when they lie, aside from the exact situation you’re currently in. You almost feel worse for the poor sap stuck with such a bizarre quirk than the Pro Hero currently lying between your legs.

A full body shiver runs through you, and every nerve suddenly becomes highly aware of the man beneath you. Every breath he takes moves his chest beneath your hands, and you can feel the rapid beating of his heart beneath your palm. The tips of his fingers ghost against your thighs, not quite touching you, like he isn’t sure what to do with his hands anymore. And, suddenly, all you can think about are those hands grabbing you by the hips and grinding you down against him.

Unbeknownst to you, similar thoughts are wreaking havoc on Bakugou. From where you’re sitting on top of him, he has a perfect view of your legs and chest, and every time you shift, the movement goes straight to his cock. He almost hisses between his teeth as your thighs tighten around his hips, which only presses the growing bulge in his pants harder against you. His fingers twitch against your legs. It would be so easy for him to roll the two of you over, pin you beneath him, and show you exactly what you do to him. Fuck you senseless until you—

“What are you thinking right now?”

The question is like a hard slap across the face. His eyes snap from the apex of your legs to your face, caught red-handed. There’s no way for him to get out of this one without his dick giving him away or an actual slap across the face. He chooses his traitor dick. “That I want you to get the fuck off me.”

You look entirely unimpressed when his dick moves between your legs, growing larger in seconds. “Liar,” you deadpan. You drum your fingers against his chest, unintentionally matching the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “Tell me the truth and maybe I’ll move.” Nevermind that he could definitely throw you across the room one handed if he really wanted to. Frankly, you’re a little surprised he hasn’t already, given your current situation.

Not that you want to move right now. You’re quite comfortable where you are.

Bakugou’s tongue swipes across his bottom lip. Those ruby eyes drag down your body slowly, shamelessly drinking in the sight of you sitting on top of him. An unexpected lick of run runs along your spine; your breath catches. “You look really fucking sexy right now,” he tells you, and his hands grab your thighs again.

It takes a second for you to register his confession, though you can’t say you’re that surprised. “Huh. Never pegged you as a guy who wanted someone on top.” You can work with that.

His brow furrows. “You know, you’re taking this surprisingly well.”

“I work in quirk registration for the police,” you remind him, shrugging. “This isn’t the weirdest thing I’ve come across.” Honestly, you aren’t even sure it makes the top ten, but you keep that to yourself. You get the feeling he’d take that as some kind of challenge, and you don’t need that kind of stress in your life. “How long has it been like this?”

A shrug. “Shit, I don’t know.” Bakugou shifts beneath you, craning his neck to look at the clock on the wall. “Thirty minutes, maybe. Why?”

“Effects from quirks like this typically only last an hour or two,” you explain. “Maybe twenty-four hours at most, depending on how much training the user has.” Your head cocks to the side as you give him an entirely unsubtle once-over. “It sounds like he didn’t give you and Kirishima much trouble though. I’d put your... little problem at an hour and a half maximum. You should be fine.”

There’s a wicked look in his eyes. “Nothing little about it, babe.” His palms slide up your legs, rucking up your skirt even higher on his way to grab your hips. “Hour left, huh?” A low hum rumbles through his chest. “I can work with that.”

You freeze. “Katsuki, what are you—”

“Look,” he cuts you off with an irritated sigh, “I’ve liked you for a long time, so if you want to fuck right now, that’s fine with me.” Heartbreaking honesty shines in his eyes, only partially masked by a layer of annoyance and boredom, like he doesn’t care either way. The way his fingers dig into your hips tells a different story.

Your eyes widen at his crass confession, your lips parting as you stare down at Bakugou in shock. “Are you…” you hesitate, swallowing down the sudden lump in your throat as your fingers curl against his shirt. “Are you serious?”

Bakugou glares at you, but his faint blush gives him away. “You’re the one sitting on my magic cock, you tell me.”

You sit there for a good minute, just staring at him, mouth opening and closing soundlessly as you try to think of any kind of response. Eventually, you settle on, “That is, by far, the worst declaration of love I’ve ever heard.”

If you thought he was glaring before, it has nothing on the look he levels you with now. “Who fucking said anything about loving you, dumbass?” he snaps, huffing, cheeks turning an even darker shade of pink. “Like hell I do!” He grits his teeth as his dick tingles.

“Yeah, well, your magic cock reveals your deceit,” you mock him. “You’re such an emotionally stunted pain in the ass, Katsuki!”

He opens his mouth—probably to start yelling about something—but you lurch forward and meet his mouth in a fierce kiss before he can say anything. He grunts in surprise and squeeze your hips, but kisses you back eagerly, immediately tilting his chin for a better angle. The hands that were on your hips don’t hesitate to move. One slides up your back to fist in your hair, pulling you closer as the other drops to your ass. A hard grope makes you gasp against his lips, your fingers clenching tighter in the front of his hero suit.

Before things can get too heavy, too fast, you pull back, leaving just an inch of space between your lips. He doesn’t let you go much further. “I like you, too,” you whisper against him. He stiffens as your fingers touch his bare chest where his hero suit doesn’t cover him.

His heart is pounding just as quickly as yours, and he’d never admit it, but he swears your little confession does something funny to his chest. All of it does. The heat of your breath. The gentle weight of your body on top of his. Something about you makes him feel inexplicably soft, and he wants to hate that feeling, but he still can’t lie to himself without his cock growing two sizes. And if he’s going to stuff you full of his cock, he wants it to be all him.

At least at first.

With the hand still tangled in your hair, Bakugou yanks you back down. Your lips mold against his perfectly, the space left between you nonexistent. When he kisses you it’s all teeth and tongue, and your lips part readily beneath his demanding touch. He makes a low sound of approval in the back of his throat, slotting his lips harder against yours. Using the hand cupping the back of your head, he adjusts you above him, tilting your chin until he finds a position he likes.

The dominating way he touches you makes you keen, and your quiet whimper is smothered by his tongue delving into your mouth to taste you. Your legs tremble on either side of his hips as the hand on your ass gropes you again. By now, your skirt is hiked halfway up your waist, and if anyone were to walk in they’d get a perfect view of your ass and the damp spot forming between your thighs.

You arch into his touch at the thought, moaning as his teeth tug at your lip.

By the time you pull away, you both have kiss-swollen lips.

When Bakugou recalls what you called him a moment ago, he chuckles, deep and throaty, and it sends a thrilled shiver up your spine. “I’ll show you a real pain in the ass later, sweetheart,” he promises, squeezing your ass cheek for good measure. The squeeze is followed by a sharp slap, and you lurch forward, a startled squeal slipping out of your mouth.

You glare down at him. Well, you try to. It’s a little hard to pretend to be mad at him when his hand comes up to rub the spot where he smacked you, which only presses your hips closer to his growing bulge. Your tone is dry when you say, “I’m sure you will.” And then, because he’s already propositioned you and has his hand on your ass, you grind yourself against his dick.

“Shit,” he grunts, grabbing your hips. His fingers bite into your skin, twitching like he doesn’t know if he wants to still you or shove you down on his cock. A slow exhale hisses through his teeth. “You tryin’ to be a cock tease?”

The satisfaction that bubbles up in you only feeds the damp heat between your legs. He’s hardly touched you, but you can already feel yourself getting wet just from the thought of him filling you. You brace yourself against him, palms pressed flat against his chest. “You want me to stop?” Purposefully fluttering your eyelashes at him, you slowly work your hand lower, fingers grazing over lean muscle until you stop at his waist, pressing down on his belt.

As your eyes start to follow the path of your hand, Bakugou reaches out and grabs your chin. A warning squeeze makes you mewl expectantly. “Keep talking, baby, and I'll put that mouth to better use.” The pad of his thumb traces your bottom lip. Before he can let go, you tilt your head into his touch, teeth barely grazing his finger as you nip at him. “Such a little brat,” he sneers.

You’re thrown off balance when he sits up. His abdominal muscles flex against your stomach as he crushes you against his chest, and your hands fly to his shoulders, desperate for something to hold onto. Bakugou kisses you again, lips hungry and demanding as they press against yours, and you give him complete control. He tilts your chin, pulls your hair, bites your lips, and every touch makes you feel hazy and warm.

Anticipation churns in your stomach. Your hands slide over his shoulders, looping around his neck. He grunts when your wrist brushes against the side of his neck, and when you card your fingers through his hair and tug, he lets out a sound that goes right to your core.

The hand on your ass gives you another sharp spank. The motion jerks your hips against his, and you grind down against the hard cock rubbing your inner thigh. His fingers knead your ass and the back of your thigh, groping and squeezing and helping your hips along as you rock languidly over his lap. Each roll of your hips has his cock dragging across your damp panties, the head kissing your clit through the layers of your clothes. You shudder, lost in the feeling.

You’re only half aware of him moving, not noticing until the hand that was in your hair slips beneath your shirt to palm your breast. An appreciative squeeze has you arching into him, hips stuttering against his. Bakugou nips at your bottom lip hard enough to make you whimper, and when he pulls away you’re sure it’s swollen and flushed from his treatment.

But he doesn’t leave you for long. You’re barely given a moment to breathe before his mouth is on your jaw, your cheek, your chin. Bakugou trails heated, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, only stopping when he finds a spot that has you lurching against him, a pretty little moan falling from your mouth. He laves attention to that spot, right over your racing pulse. Teeth dig into your sensitive neck, and your breath catches in your throat as he begins to suck, intent on leaving a mark. You don’t stop him as he works a hickey just below your jaw, eyes fluttering shut at the onslaught of sensation.

Before leaving that spot, he drags his tongue across your neck to soothe the bruise he’s left behind.

Desire curls in your chest as a thought comes to mind, and you’re too slow to stop it from spilling out. “I wanna touch you,” you choke out as his mouth trails lower. Bakugou pauses, lips hovering just shy of your throat. The heat of his breath fans your damp skin, sending little pinpricks of electricity all the way to where your hips are grinding against his. You swallow, one hand fisting in the back of his shirt as his thumb brushes against the lacy cup of your bra.

“Already are, baby,” he says, partly muffled by your neck as he ghosts his lips against you. “Grinding against my cock like a little slut. Gonna get yourself off for me just like that?” He’s hiding a smirk. It’s clear what you want by the way your hips roll against his faster, grinding down harder as teasing touches turn desperate, but he wants to hear you say it. He wants you begging for his cock before he fucks you.

He ruts against you, alternating between squeezing your breast and ass.

“Bakugou!” You try to sound reprimanding, but his name comes out as a breathy whine. There’s no way for you to get your hand on him with the way he has you pressed flush against his chest. And he’s definitely not going to make things easy for you.

As if he knows what you’re thinking, the man beneath you laughs. “You want it that bad, you better take it yourself, sweetheart.”

Huffing, you try to put some space between your hips, but his grip is firm. Bakugou swats your ass when you try to move, and you whimper as it forces your hips harder against his. You try a second time, and he pinches your nipple through the flimsy cup of your bra. Your head falls back with a moan, giving him greater access to your throat, and he smirks as he bites down on your soft skin.

Fine. You can play this game, too.

With a sharp grind of your hips, you rub your clit against him just right. Your back arches. Your thighs tense around his hips. “Ground Zero,” comes out as a needy whine against his ear. You feel him tense beneath you, his grip faltering for just a second. That’s all you need.

The momentary distraction is all you need to slide back on his thighs, putting just enough space between your hips to grab his belt and grind the heel of your hand against the massive bulge straining against his pants. Even through his pants you can feel how thick and long he is, and your pussy clenches at the thought of him fucking you senseless.

He grunts as you palm him, squeezing gently as you trace the outline of his cock. His mouth leaves your neck with a wet pop. “Shit,” Bakugou murmurs. Soft strands of his spiky hair tickle the side of your neck as he rests his head against you, reveling in the feel of your light touches.

Your fingers brush against the back of his neck, your palm grinding against him when his hips rock forward. Strong muscles flex beneath your thighs. Bakugou’s throat bobs with a harsh swallow.

Unable to stop yourself, you duck your head, pressing your lips against the side of his neck. It’s hard to find an angle with the bracers around his neck, and your attention turns to the front of his throat instead. Bakugou groans as you kiss him, lovebites and lipstick stains left in the wake of your mouth. He lets you kiss and nip your way down to his collarbone.

Thank god for the low cut of his shirt, you think, biting down on his chest hard enough to leave a mark. At the same time, your fingers grasp at his belt, nearly snapping the buckle in your hurry to get your hand on him. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’re aware of him saying something—calling you needy or naughty, you aren’t sure which—but you don’t care as you finally get your hand in his pants and grab his dick.

“You’re so big,” you murmur, eyes widening. The tips of your fingers don’t touch as you wrap your hand around his cock, stroking him languidly from base to tip. You can’t get a good look at him from your position, but you can feel every ridge and vein of his shaft, and you bite your lip at the sheer girth of him. “Is this from the quirk?” you ask him, swirling your thumb over the tip before dragging your hand back down, giving him a firm squeeze. You lean back a little, wanting to look at him, but Bakugou lurches forward to get his mouth on you again.

He groans against your ear, pressing a harsh kiss against the side of your jaw. “All me, babe,” he tells you, smug. For once, you really can’t blame him for being cocky. “Fuck, that feels good.”

The way your soft hand slides against his shaft wrecks havoc on his brain, and Bakugou presses another heated kiss to your neck to smother a loud moan. He’s already painfully sensitive from having you hump his lap, and your tentative touch only makes him harder. And that damn quirk didn’t help at all. After over a half hour of that bullshit cock tease, he’s just aching to bury himself in your dripping pussy.

Your thumb traces the thick vein on the side of his cock, pressing against it gently before twisting your hand. The sudden change in angle and the way you squeeze him have a low sound tearing from his chest, and then your hand is being yanked out of his pants. Bakugou’s fingers clench around your wrist in a vice grip, and you wince at the mild sting.

“Get up,” he demands, nearly growling. His fingers are digging into your ass hard enough to leave faint bruises, but you don’t care. When you hesitate, he releases you only to slap the back of your thigh. “Now.”

You pussy clenches at the pain that quickly dissolves into pleasure. “What’s wrong, Katsuki,” you can’t help but tease, hoping to get a reaction out of him, “afraid you’ll cum too fast?”

He doesn’t spank you again, though his palm does press against your reddening ass cheek in a way that speaks of a warning. “Don’t make me tell you again, baby.”

It takes another second before you shift off his lap, your legs quivering as you stand. You almost consider ignoring the command. Almost. But it doesn’t take much for you to decide you’d rather see what he has planned for you.

Your thighs rub together as Bakugou rises from the floor in one fluid motion, years of training making him silent, almost catlike. He reaches for you as soon as he’s standing, towering over you, an imposing figure. The scattering of small marks on his throat makes you grin, but the smile is wiped from your face as he grabs your chin roughly between his fingers and forces you to meet his eyes.

Ruby red and blown wide with lust, the look in his sharp gaze makes your breathing hitch. A wet crackling sound leaves your mouth as your lips part for him. His thumb grazes your bottom lip. “Such a dirty fucking mouth,” he growls.

You stumble a little as he starts walking you backwards, not touching you aside from the firm grip he has on your jaw. You go willingly, eyes on his. Excitement has your stomach flipping, a nervous flutter in your belly, and you gasp when your back hits the side of his desk, the cold wood pressing against your skin where he’s tugged at the hem of your shirt.

Bakugou’s thumb delves past your lips, dipping into your wet mouth, and your lips wrap around him greedily. Sucking gently, your teeth press against his skin possessively, tongue laving attention to his thick digit. With his free hand, Bakugou grabs the front of your plain blouse and yanks it open, careful not to rip any of the buttons. You let your shirt fall to the floor, wriggling a little as it sticks around your elbows. He reaches up to palm your breast, humming in approval once he sees your pretty bra.

“Get on your knees, baby,” he tells you, pulling his thumb from your mouth and smearing your spit across your lips, watching them glisten. “I want to see your mouth on my cock.”

You do as you’re told, practically shaking with anticipation as you drop to your knees for him. Now that you’ve gotten a feel for his cock, you’re desperate to have him inside you. Your mouth. Your pussy. It doesn’t matter which. Any thoughts of playing coy or being a brat disappear into the back of your mind as he pins you with a harsh stare. Bakugou pets your hair, threading the soft strands through his fingers to hold you still.

You bite your lip as his free hand drops to his waist, Bakugou shoving his pants and boxers down just low enough for his cock to spring free. The size makes you swallow. He’s bigger than you thought. Thicker. And you remember how your hand couldn’t wrap all the way around him. Your thighs clench, rubbing together as a dull ache builds between your legs.

He doesn’t waste his time. Shifting forward, he palms himself, lazily stroking his cock with his own fingers, just out of your reach. When you try to lean forward, he pulls your hair, forcing you back again. “Such a little slut,” he murmurs, allowing the head of his cock to press against your wet lips, his hips slowly rocking back and forth. Your tongue flicks out to taste him, and he groans. “There you go,” he says, brushing a few stray strands of hair away from your face before he starts pushing his cock into your mouth.

You immediately close your lips around him, bobbing your head forward as much as his tight grip will let you. Bakugou feeds you his cock, sliding into your wet mouth slowly as you start to suck, letting you adjust to just how fucking thick he really is. His girth has your jaw stretched wide, forcing you to breathe slowly through your nose. You glance up at him.

“That’s it, angel,” he groans as you bob your head again, “suck my cock.” His hips rock forward in a shallow thrust; his eyes lock on your lips, stretched obscenely around his length. Wet trails of saliva stick to his cock as you pull back to swirl your tongue around the head.

Whimpering around him, you suck harder, swallowing around him, anything that might pull another filthy moan from his mouth. Your hands grab his thighs for balance, your fingers digging into his legs as you try to pull him closer.

You’re rewarded with a low moan rumbling from his chest. Bakugou’s eyes slip shut for a second, his head tilting back in raw pleasure. “Figures you'd be a perfect little cock sucker,” he says under his breath, almost too low for you to hear him. “I bet you want me to fuck your face, huh, baby?”

You settle for moaning instead of nodding, watching him through your eyelashes as he pants above you.

“Fuck.” A long, hissing exhale escapes through his teeth, and his hand tightens in your hair just a little bit as he watches you work his cock. You look so fucking pretty with your mouth wrapped around him, your lips slick with saliva as you take him deeper into your mouth. There are tears beading at the corners of your eyes. “Fuck,” he says again, “you feel so good.” He grunts. “How long have you been thinkin’ about sucking my cock, babe?”

You flush under his gaze, unable to answer with your mouth full of his dick, but the answer must be clear as day on your face. You don’t know what it is he’s thinking about, but you swear his cock gets bigger in your mouth, that strange quirk making him thicker so that you’re nearly choking on him.

Bakugou holds your head still as he starts to rock his hips; he moves slowly at first, his thrusts shallow and even, but he quickly picks up speed when you whine around his cock. It isn’t long before he’s fucking your mouth, thrusts as rough as you’d expect from someone like him. His cockhead brushes against the back of your throat, his hips stuttering as he holds you like that, your lips pressed nearly against the base of his cock.

Somehow, you manage to keep your eyes on him. You force your throat to relax and swallow around him. His eyes almost roll back at the sensation, but he keeps his ruby gaze locked on you, watching how well you take him. He can only imagine how good you’re going to take his cock, too. He speeds up again, groaning as the pressure in his gut starts to build.

His cock pulls from your mouth with a wet sound, and you cough, sucking in greedy mouthfuls of air. Bakugou drags you off the floor, and your startled gasp is cut off by his hand wrapping around your throat. He doesn’t squeeze, unfortunately, just holds his palm there. The next thing you know, you’re being shoved against the nearest wall, your cheek pressed to the chilly surface as Bakugou all but rips off your skirt, leaving you in just your underwear and shoes.

The fabric pools on the floor in a crumpled heap, and Bakugou kicks it aside in order to spread your legs from behind. You brace your hands against the wall, ass out, and he’s on you in a second.

Teasing is thrown out the window as he finally—finally—touches you. One of his hands reaches around you to grope your chest, palming your breast roughly before shoving the cup of your bra aside to tweak and pinch your nipple. You’re a panting, whining mess by the time he gets his hand between your legs. Two thick fingers drag over the crotch of your panties, and he actually laughs when he feels how wet you are. “Shit, you get that horny just from sucking my cock?”

Blearily, you nod, pressing your pussy closer to his hand. Bakugou shoves your panties to the side, fingers skimming through your wetness before rolling over your clit. You nearly sob at how good it feels to have him touch you. It’s like his hands were meant to please you, big and rough, his calloused fingers providing the perfect amount of friction. Each precise stroke of his fingers feeds the knot in your belly, keeping you right on the edge of coming undone.

“You’re gonna feel so fucking good on my cock,” he tells you removing his fingers from your clit to squeeze your ass. His cock quickly replaces his hand between your thighs, his thick length rubbing against your slick pussy, the head bumping against your clit with every stroke. Bakugou lets go of your breast; his hand slaps against the wall beside your head for balance. “Pretty cunt squeezing around me. That what you want?”

“Please. Oh, please,” you mumble. Anything to get him inside you. It almost hurts how turned on you are right now. From the corner of your eye, you see him reach for the hem of his shirt, about to pull it off. “Don’t!”

Bakugou goes absolutely still at your sharp cry. The only movement is his eyes snapping up to meet yours, flooded with concern as he checks to see if he’s hurting you.

But you whimper, trying to shove yourself back on his cock. “Don’t take it off,” you clarify breathlessly, legs quivering with the effort of holding yourself up.

The concern bleeds from his eyes, and they’re taken over by something dark and hungry instead as he realizes what you mean. He thrusts his cock between your thighs, your slick covering his cock as it drips from you. Your eyes flutter as he pressed against your clit again. “Don’t take what off?” He wants to hear you say it.

And you’re so painfully aroused that the words come spilling out of your mouth before you can stop him. “Your costume,” you choke out around a loud moan. “I want you to fuck me while you’re wearing your costume.” That’s one dirty little fantasy you’ve had for a while, maybe ever since you met him. The thought of him fucking you while he’s still in costume is almost too much, but god do you want it badly.

“That so?” he drawls. His hand drops from his shirt back to your ass cheek, groping you before spreading you from behind. He takes a step back, ignoring your whine, and whistles when he gets a good look at your dripping slit. Bakugou tugs your hips back, forcing your back to arch for him. “What a naughty little slut. You got a thing for heroes, baby?”

Just you, you think, but all you can do is moan his name. “Bakugou.”

You cry out as he slaps your ass. “No, no, no,” he repremends. “That's not what you call me.”

“Katsuki, please,” you manage to whine around a harsh swallow.

He spanks you again. “Come on, angel, you know what to say.” It takes a second for it to click, but when it does you blush. “Fuck, look how wet you are.” He chuckles as he looks at your glistening thighs. Another love tap lands on your reddening ass. “You like it when I spank you?”

“Yes,” you mewl.

He spreads your legs open wider. “Yes, what?”

You take a deep, shuddering breath, cheek pressed against the wall in front of you. “Yes, Ground Zero.” Your tongue runs across your bottom lip. “Sir,” you tack on.

“Good girl.”

There’s no warning as he adjusts himself behind you, cock slamming into you hard enough to steal your breath. There’s no resistance, you're so wet. You pussy clenches around him, your walls sucking him in deeper. That’s all it takes for an orgasm to rip through you, the knot in your belly snapping so fast that all you can do is let out a silent scream as you slump forward against the wall.

Bakugou is equal parts shocked and amused as you try to milk his cock, and he grits his teeth as his dick twitches inside of you, almost pulling him over with you. “Fuck,” he laughs. “You cum just from me filling you up?” You whimper and nod. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight.”

He presses you closer to the wall, and his arm slips beneath your knee, lifting your leg and holding you open. Your thigh burns from the stretch. His cock drags along your walls slowly before, only the tip left inside before he thrusts back into you, reaching deeper.

He picks up a steady pace, slamming into you over and over. You’re already so sensitive from your first orgasm, and little gasps and whines keep falling from your mouth with every brutal thrust as Bakugou finds your sweet spot, hitting it perfectly as he pounds you. He’s thick and hard inside you, even bigger than he was in your mouth, and your eyes widen when you realize he’s doing it on purpose. “How big can you get?” you gasp, moaning as his cock expands inside you, filling you up completely.

“As big as you fucking want me,” he snarls back, fucking you faster, hiking your leg up higher.

All you can do is hold on and take it.

You don’t know how much time passes, the only sounds are your heavy breathing and his harsh panting against your ear. Sweat drips down your back where he’s sliding over you, and his fingers bite into your thigh as he almost loses his grip. “You know whose office is on the other side of this wall?” he asks suddenly. “Answer me, baby!” A particularly harsh thrust follows the demand.

“No, Sir,” you pant.

“Fucking Deku.” He grits his teeth as that now familiar tingle goes right to his cock, but you don’t seem to notice the lie. “You think he’s in there right now? His desk is right on the other side.” You pussy squeezes around him, and Bakugou moans against the side of your neck. “I bet he can hear you in here panting like a whore as I fuck your slutty little cunt.”

Your back arches into him, the revelation reigniting the fire he lit inside you. That knot comes back, just as tight as before, and you tremble as you realize he’s going to make you cum again. “Ground Zero,” you whine.

He lets go of your thigh, but keeps your knee hooked around his elbow. His hand snakes around your hips to rub your clit, and you jerk against him. “He’s got some new intern, too. Some little high school brat.” A high-pitched, needy sound falls from your mouth. “Fuck, you sound so pretty when you moan my name.” He rolls your clit harder between his fingers, and the heat rolling from him is so sweltering that it’s hard to breathe. “Shit, you’re gonna be filling this kid’s fantasies for weeks. He’s probably gettin’ off to you right now.” His cock gets bigger inside you; his hips grind against you harder. “But your pussy’s mine, angel. Got that?”

You nod, delirious.

And, fuck, he just doesn’t stop talking. “You gonna cum?” he asks, fingers moving faster over your clit. “Gonna cum from thinking about Deku and his intern listening to me fuck you?” You shudder and gasp, shoving yourself back on his cock in a weak attempt to match his brutal pace. “That’s it, baby, cum on my fat cock. Let everyone know who’s making you feel so good. I wanna hear you scream so fucking loud that everyone in this goddamn building knows my name.”

Bakugou pinches your clit. Your eyes slam shut, body locking up as he throws you into another powerful climax. “Katsuki!” you shriek, his name ripping from your throat in a raw scream.

This time, he doesn’t hold himself back. A series of harsh thrusts drag out your orgasm until you’re sobbing, a few tears slipping out and rolling down your cheeks. His cock twitches, swelling, and he shoves inside of you as deep as he can go before cumming inside you, his thick seed filling you up and dripping down your thigh.

He doesn’t pull out, leaning his head against your shoulder as you both try and catch your breath. Bliss washes over you as he kisses your neck, mumbling a string of garbled praises against your ear.

You blush when something he said hits you full force, finally able to process it now that he’s not fucking you senseless. “Midoriya,” you gasp, trying to crane your head around to look at him.

Bakugou presses more of his weight against your back, slowly lowering your leg back to the floor. His hands grasp your hips when your legs threaten to collapse beneath you. “Bastards office is on the other wall,” he says, calming you down. “‘Sides, it’s his day off.”

Relief floods through you. “You have absolutely no filter, do you?”

He shrugs, kissing across your cheek. “I don’t see you complainin’.”

You laugh a little breathlessly. “You made me cum twice,” you remind him. “I don’t give a shit what you were saying.” You shift in his embrace, wincing as his cock moves inside you. Fuck, you’re sensitive.

He stills you. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?” he asks. When he sees your obviously confused look, he gives you a shallow thrust, his cock still hard inside you. “Oh, angel, we’ve still got thirty minutes, right? We’re just getting started.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnhabookclub #mha #bnha #bnha smut

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iambilliejeanok · 3 years

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Omg can I plz plz plzzzz get a Dom!Kisame x Sub!Fem!reader? Where the reader and Kisame are constantly bickering back and forth and don’t like each other but one day an argument they have leads into some rough sex? I hope this makes sense. I really enjoy your writing by the way!!

I like this one. I like it alot. 😏thank you anon💜

Warnings: 18+. Unedited. NSFW. Language, slight overstimulation and violence.

“Not today Kisame! I’ve had enough stinky!”, you yelled, irritated beyond belief at the mere sight of the shark boy, let alone the mean words coming out of his fowl mouth. You huffed, crossing your arms and cocking your hip in a way that Kisame admired. He didn’t like that he thought you were very attractive and sought to squash any and every thought he had about you by being mean. “Get yourself together y/n”, he spoke in a very demeaning way, despite the fact that he was clearly aggravating you with his patronizing taunts. “I thought you could handle a little criticism. You’re weak and you ought to train a little more to at least compensate for your failures y/n”. That was it. He reached the boiling point. Why would he say that considering the fact that you were alone, on a mission to capture the four tails. Unlike like you, everyone else had a partner to help them succeed. The four tails was strong, forcing you to back out of the fight before you’d needlessly hurt yourself. Your taijutsu was neat, but you lacked the physical strength to inflict any serious harm, your strength being the ability to absorb chakra and return it to the user in five fold. Also that you were abnormally intelligent, making you a crucial member of the akatsuki as you played a role in managing the group, sometimes helping pick out the right teams for the right tasks. And your main focus was to collect information about the jinchuriki to share with Pein, who would use that information to select an actual team to hunt down the host. Kisame was happy you failed. There was just something about seeing you so miserable that he couldn’t help but take pleasure in. “Are you gonna let him talk to you like that y/n?”, Hidan deviously questioned, successfully riling you up. You literally pounced on him, not caring that you were in the midst of all the other members, taking him down by complete surprise. You both fell to the ground with a loud thud, Kisame completely taking the hit as you landed on top of him. He was rather stunned that you were able to easily take him down. “Yes y/n, get him!” Hidan cheered, enjoying the view of your ass as you hovered above your new opponent, earning himself a glare from Kakuzu. You certainly weren’t tiny. You were packing in all the right places, standing at 5’8, your curvy body showing in all its glory because your clothes burnt off in certain areas after escaping the four tails brutal lava release, making you look all the more fucking sexy to the swordsman, as well as every other member in the room. But even then, he was way too big and bulky for you to manage bringing him down to the ground in a spilt second all by yourself. You brought your fist up, ready to wipe away that smug look on his face with a nice and hard blow, infuriated at how he calmly waited for you to hit. Your fist connected with his cheek, Kisame quickly flipping you over so he was now on top of you, blood dripping out his nose and falling on your cheek as he easily pinned your wrists on either side of your head, his solid, muscly frame dominantly hovering above you. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”, he growled, angered by how you took him down in front of everyone, but also more than happy to fight you, to see what you’re really capable of. You brought your knee up between his legs, a loud grunt leaving his mouth as you landed a hard blow on his crotch. You used the opportunity to head butt him hard before flipping him over so you were right back on top of him. He was obviously holding back, but today you were in the mood to really fight. “Enough!”. You both snapped your heads in the direction of the familiar voice. Pein looked down at both of you, his purple eyes piercing your own, his expression stoic as always. You quickly got off of Kisame, dusting yourself off as you walked off to your room. He really underestimated you, but next time Pein wasn’t around, you would certainly give him a big taste of the strength he didn’t know you had.

The next morning you felt somewhat better, dragging yourself out of bed to start your day with the rest of the miserable human beings in the hideout. You finished up your breakfast, washing only your dishes, drying them and packing them away, growling at anyone who dared to near you with their dirty dishes. You would die before you washed somebody else’s dishes in this hideout. No one was worthy. Except maybe Itachi. You dried your hands off, walking back to your room to meditate, shower and change before you’d go out and train a little. Not because Kisame said so, you reminded yourself, now debating whether or not you should train, so Kisame wouldn’t think you were training because of his rude remark last night. You walked with your eyes glued to the floor, not watching where you were going as you sped walked the rest of the way in deep thought. You bumped into something hard, the impact throwing you off balance, causing you to stumble backwards and land hard on your bottom. “Ow!” , you whined, looking up to see Kisame. He didn’t have his cloak on, just a skin tight black turtle neck shirt with a pair of black pants. Barefoot. The shirt he wore hugged his muscular chest in such a sinful way. His beefy arms flexing as he gazed at you. This might of been the first time you’d seen him without a cloak. He wasn’t just a big shark. He was a tall, muscular, sexy shark. He reached down to grab your arm, pulling you up a little too fast, causing you to stumble once again, but this time, he held you until you were able to stand on your own. You were pretty much gawking at this point, gulping away your arousal as you immediately looked at the ground, embarrassed that he caught you. “Watch where you’re going little girl”, he said, ignoring how cute you looked still dressed in your pijamas. The pink, spaghetti strap shirt hugging your ample bosom, your nipples confidently introducing themselves through the thin cotton material. The shirt ended just beneath your natural waist, revealing your pierced belly button and a whole lot of smooth skin before your navy blue with white polka dots pants took over, a drawstring keeping them around your hips as they draped all the way down to your ankles, folded twice so you wouldn’t step on them. You both stood in the middle of the long passage, awkward silence surrounding the two of you as you shyly checked each other out. “If you were watching where you were going you wouldn’t of let me walk right into you”, you started, trying to distract yourself from the 6’4 hunk of sexiness standing in front of you. Quickly overcoming your shame you looked up at him, clearing your throat as his eyes were glued to your chest for a good few seconds before he lift them up to look at your face. Unlike you he wasn’t embarrassed at all, his eyes continuing their journey down your body as he nonchalantly replied, “Yeah whatever little girl, I don’t have time for this today”. Your eye twitched. “I’m not a little girl”, you spoke, trying to stay as nonchalant as he was. “Is that so?”, he challenged. “Yes. I’m much more than you could ever handle Kisame. But anyways, I’m not going to to stand here and argue with an angry fish, so bye”, you retorted, starting to walk past him and to your room. His large hand found your neck, causing you to stumble as he dragged you back in front of him, pushing you against the wall all in one swift movement. You gasped out as your back hit the wall, knocking a little air out of your restricted windpipe. Kisame eyes met yours, his teeth showing in his devious smile. He didn’t know whether to laugh at your confidence or respond to your smart remarks. Whatever it was he was feeling made his dick twitch. If only you weren’t so damn cute gasping for air in his hold he would’ve ignored you and continued on about his day. But today he reached his limit. He was going to teach you a very good lesson.

He leaned forward to whisper in your ear, “Much more than I could ever handle?”, he questioned. “Are you sure about that little girl?”. At that he let go of you, watching you greedily suck in air before easily picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder. You blushed at how strong he was. “I’m guessing you don’t know how to be gentle”, you remarked, only further triggering his irritation. “For once you’re actually right about me. I do not know how to be gentle and I hope you learn from this”, he responded. You could hear the seriousness in his tone, hoping he meant to do what you thought he was going to do and not actually kill you this morning. Uncertainty travelled through your veins, making you nervous as you tightened your grip on his shirt, trying to keep your balance. His arm sat between your thighs, the grip on your upper thigh just below your ass the only support you had on his shoulder. You were genuinely concerned. Trying to think of a plan to escape or fight back if you needed to. He entered a room, shutting the door behind him. A few steps later he threw you onto his unmade bed. You could smell his musky scent all around you, spiking up your arousal as you sat up on your elbows, looking around you before concluding you were in fact, in his room. You looked up at him, gulping away your nerves as he lifted his shirt over his head. Holy fuck. At this point his sexiness would surely kill you before he got the chance to. You could only watch him in silence, as he crawled onto the bed, slowly making his way to you, like an animal sneaking up on it’s prey, forcing you to lie on your back. He spread your legs open to settle between them. You felt so little beneath him, actually nervous about what was currently taking place. Kisame stopped just above you, sensing your nerves building up. “Where did the cocky girl run off to?”, he chuckled. You felt rather embarrassed that he was right, all your confidence left your body when he threw you onto his bed, suggesting that he was going to fuck you. As aware as you were you couldn’t find any words to retort. A smile appearing on his face, showing his sharp white teeth as he waited for a reaction. “Did you forget how to talk?”, he asked, before planting a small kiss on your soft lips. He pulled away, looking at your face before coming back down to plant another kiss in the crook of your neck. You lifted your chin up to give him more access. His hand rubbed your thigh, slowly coming up to your hips, then your waist, your abdomen and finally your breasts, not ceasing the kisses that slowly turned into sucks and bites, his sharp teeth piercing your skin, making you moan out before his tongue lapped at the blood, soothing the pain he caused you. His big hand squeezed your boob, causing him to groan at the feel of the soft mound. His fingers pinched your nipple hard enough that you squealed. “Answer me y/n”, his tone serious as he continued his attack on your neck. You complied, “Yes I can talk, I’m just a little surprised”. You figured you should be honest about how you felt right now. He ceased his marking, coming up to look at your face. “I hate to admit it but I find myself very attracted to you, annoying as you are. Right now though, I want nothing more than to fuck you, hard and fast”, he confessed, emphasizing his last words with a buck of his hips, grinding into you, smiling at the way you bit your lip, trying to stifle a moan. “I’m sure I can handle you just right”, he continued, deciding to slowly roll his hips into yours, roughly dry humping you. “I’m just not sure if you could keep up”. At that you snapped your eyes open, a small moan escaping your lips as his erection rubbed your lady parts just the right way. “I can keep up Kisame. You’re not all that”, you quickly retorted. Kisame chuckled, watching you slightly squirm beneath him, enjoying the way he rubbed against you.

His lips smashed into yours in a bruising kiss, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, making you squeal in delight. His hands immediately worked on undressing you, quickly pulling your shirt over your head and dragging your pants off along with your underwear. In less than a minute you were bare beneath him, your legs spread out as he pressed kisses onto your inner thighs, slowly nearing your wet and aching heat. You brought a finger to your mouth, bracing yourself for what was to come. Kisame looked up at you, waiting for a thumbs up. You looked back into his eyes, whining as you bucked your hips up. Without further ado he drove right in, greedily lapping up your juices, spreading your lips apart before sucking on your throbbing nub, forcing you into a fit of long, breathy moans. You buried your hand into his hair, the other tugging on one of your nipples as you neared an intense orgasm. His large hands kept your thighs spread apart for him, purple nails digging into them as he ferociously ate you out. His mouth found your clit once again, sucking hard on it, the pleasure almost painful as you screamed out in ecstasy. You legs shook in his hold, juices spilling everywhere as he kept at it, making sure you let it all out before he pulled away from you. He got off of the bed, watching you squirm around in pleasure as he pulled his pants off, his boxers following, revealing his thick, long, glorious member. He crawled right back on the bed, flipping you over so you were on your tummy. “I’m sure you feel just as good as you taste sweet girl”, he teased, watching your fat ass jiggle as he slapped it, hard enough to pull out rough moans from you. He snaked his arm under your chest, wrapping his hand around your neck, your breasts snuggling his forearm. “Kisame!”, you moaned out, desperate to feel him inside of you. “What is it?”, he asked, biting his lip as he rubbed his dick along your slick folds, lubricating it and stimulating you at the same time. “Oooh please!”, you moaned, pushing your ass back against him. “You’re going to be begging me to stop soon little girl. Be patient”, he reprimanded, focusing on lubricating his dick in your juices, making you whine out in sweet frustration. Your legs were tucked underneath his own, your thighs pressed together, waiting for him to fuck you.

After what felt like forever he finally pushed the tip into you, slowly stretching you out. He watched you barely manage to take him, squirming beneath him as he sunk into your tight cunt. He couldn’t hold back a moan of his own, sinking his sharp teeth into the back of your neck as he pushed himself all the way into you, your tight pussy snugly swallowing him in. “Kisame! Fuck!”, you moaned out in pain and pleasure as he lapped up the blood dripping from your new wound. He didn’t give you anytime to adjust to the overwhelming stretch. “Mmm fuck! Here we go baby”. He immediately set to a fast and hard pace, his strong hips pushing you up the bed with every thrust, his hand on your neck keeping you in place as he pounded you into the sheets. You couldn’t speak, struggling to catch your breath as your screams took over. His dick was so big, hitting a spot inside of you that made you wonder if he was actually trying to kill you with pleasure. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, drool falling down your chin as he roughly fucked you. Your whole body was now violently convulsing beneath him and you hadn’t even reached your climax yet. Heavy pants fell from Kisame’s mouth as he brutally fucked you, enjoying the way your tight pussy threatened to milk him dry. “You feel way too fucking good baby. Come now”, he spoke through gritted teeth, the demand in your ear sending you over the edge as you came hard. All you could do was scream as the pleasure brutally consumed you, leaving you a complete mess as your grip on the sheets failed to anchor you through this one. Your walls clenched hard around him and he couldn’t hold back, grunting your name out in your ear as he came after you. It took everything in him to not bite you again as his orgasm ripped right through him. Sparing your skin from any more nasty marks.

His weight on top of you crushed you but also anchored you as you both rode your orgasms out. He calming himself before did, pulling you into him as he rolled onto his back. “That was quite intense. Are you okay?”, he asked, holding you tight against him as he kissed your face. His hands ran along your back, to help sooth you down, your whimpers muffled into his chest as you gradually caught your breath. “Y/n, are you okay? Answer me”, he asked again, slightly worried that he might of been a little too rough. He was sure it wasn’t your first time, considering how well you took him when he sunk into you. Maybe he was way too rough. He panicked, slightly tugging your head back to see your face. “Y/n. Answer me”. “K-Kisame. I’m f-fine”, you tiredly whimpered, snuggling into him to find sleep. He finally breathed out, kissing your forehead in relief. So this was all it took to get you to behave? He was hoping you’d be open to doing this again sometime soon, letting sleep take over as he relaxed onto the bed, feeling very satisfied with how things turned out.

#kisame #kisame x reader #kisame smut #kisame x y/n #kisame hoshigaki #nsft post

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penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories · 4 years

Text

No Matter How Many Skies Have Fallen

A/N: I really have nothing to say for myself at this point.

Sequel chapter to this fic here, if you’d like to catch up.

Thank you to @caffeine-in-an-iv for being my incredible beta and to @maybege for letting me rant to you and giving me so many wonderful ideas when I hit my walls. Also to the Obi-Wan fandom in general: Y’all are some of the kindest, most supportive people I’ve ever encountered on this hell site. Thank you for your support and your content!

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Force Sensitive! Fem! Reader (no Y/N)

Word Count: 11.9K (I lost all control)

Warnings: SMUT!!! Soft Dom! Obi rights, Also, Sub! Obi vibes, Foodplay (but not how you’d think), Inappropriate use of the Force, Voice Kink, Obi-Wan Kenobi’s Hands Appreciation Society, As Usual: Too Many Feelings For Porn, Emotional Competence Kink, Trust Kink, TW: Pregnancy, TW: A character draws blood on themself unknowingly

Title from one of my favorite quotes:

“Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.”

-D.H. Lawrence

What infinite irreverence the galaxy has for Obi-Wan Kenobi.

As if his master and only semblance of a parent wasn’t taken from him when he needed him most.

As if a boy who needed a father wasn’t entrusted to Obi-Wan quickly following, far too young and full of his own loss.

As if he wasn’t thrust onto the pedestal of parenthood when he really only wanted to be a brother.

As if that isn’t what they became anyway, and as if that wasn’t the exact cloud that hung over the atmosphere of your lives ever since you’d arrived on Tatooine.

As if the being whose life signature resided in your abdomen didn’t throw a punch into each of those blooming bruises by its very existence.

Which is why, you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you couldn’t tell him yet.

Normally, it’d be no small feat to keep something of this scale from him. But these days, he’s so focused on having his shields up around you, keeping you from both being hurt by or helping with his torments.

You have to take great care to control your body language, because even when he’s shut off from you in the Force, his keen perceptiveness will pick up on something being off anyway.

The art of a convincing lie is having layers. If he senses your feelings and decides to dig, then only give up one layer, and he’ll stop looking.

In this case, it’s your worry over him. It is true you’re trying to shield him from feeling that, not wanting him to carry the burden of it on top of having to work through his own pain.

But it’s not everything you’re trying to hide from him. So you let a small projection of your fear over his well-being escape, like you’re losing control of your feelings. It’s enough to convince him, and something critical inside you dies at the victory every time.

He deserves your honesty, and you’ve never given him anything less until now.

You hate how well your strategic deceit takes root. Because only part is due to your talent as a liar. The rest comes from how much he trusts you.

You’re not stupid, though. You know it’s only a matter of time before the biological changes in your body betray you.

Obi-Wan said he needed time, and you’re going to give him as long as you possibly can before dropping this anvil on him, hoping the further he gets from it all, the better off he’ll be.

You could kick yourself for not being more careful. You hadn’t missed any dose of your herbal Ho’Din contraceptive. It was one of the few things you shoved in your bag with the mere minutes you had to leave Coruscant for good. It was from a reliable medicinal shop, and there’s no good reason it should have failed in any way.

But here you were anyway.

Of course, there are options that free you from the obligation of carrying the child to term. All are expensive, and Tatooine is sorely lacking in any trustworthy medical facilities. The alternative methods could put your own life in danger as well.

Even if it wasn’t, you’d feel so strange making that kind of decision without Obi-Wan. Not that he wouldn’t support whatever decision you needed to make for yourself if you did, but going behind his back is something you’re not sure his trust could recover from.

And really, far too much has been decided for him in his life.

The worst reason why you can’t bring yourself to move towards any solution that ends the pregnancy now, the reason you abhor, is because somewhere within you, despite the awfulness of the time and place, you want this baby.

You couldn’t give a definitive explanation for yourself, but you did. Undoubtedly

Obi-Wan doesn’t press when you ask to cease your combat training for a time, asking to start learning the new offerings of the Jedi texts instead.

He’s concerned when you tell him, but if he’s suspicious as for your reasoning, he doesn’t show it outwardly, at least.

The way he doesn’t even ask about why, though: It makes you wonder if he had a reason all of his own why he’d rather not fight, even in imitation.

The Jedi writings given to Obi-Wan by Master Yoda are often more cryptic and mystifying than logically applicable without deciphering, which you are at first annoyed by, but then strangely thankful for, as Obi-Wan verbally processes his understandings of it, knowing what he does of the Jedi way, and you adding your thoughts from the stance of fresh eyes.

The conversations distract wonderfully, and you savor any way you still get to connect with him.

You don’t push for the ways he doesn’t allow you to connect with him anymore. The way he won’t let you in his mind. Because now, you too have a reason to not let him in yours.

*******

When it’s time to go into town for supplies again, you make up some feeble excuse which you know Obi-Wan sees through as a lie, and this time, he does pry, eyes soft and concerned. He knows you love going to the markets. You simply explain that you’re tired, which is true enough to satisfy him, leaving you behind with a kiss on your forehead before you watch him saddle up your eopie and ride off.

You sigh, sagging against the closed door once he’s disappeared into the horizon. You do love the markets. They’re the most colorful thing the planet has to offer, textiles and rugs and shiny, hanging things.

But the spices. Fragrant and potent, usually so appetizing and intoxicating, you know would turn your stomach alone. And that doesn’t even account for the strange meats being cooked at different vendors, and Maker help you if anyone was selling raw meat of any sort today. You’ve done your best to keep your nausea at bay, at times even tapping into the Force for centering when the world felt like it was rocking. But you know the market would be too much, too many variables.

It’s not a fast journey, even on the eopie, and you don’t expect Obi-Wan to be back for hours. Which is why when you hear a knock on your door, the tool in your hand clatters to the floor, as does the remnants of your project.

You quickly grab one of the long staffs you and Obi-Wan had only begun to use in your defense training, trying to recall the lessons as adrenaline begins to rush through your veins. Tatooine isn’t known for its pleasant company, and if anyone was going to try to rob your home, now would be as good a time as any.

The knock sounds again, and you shout from the inside, “What do you want?!”

“A peace treaty in the form of baked goods,” comes the feminine voice, one you recognize.

Opening the door, you lower the weapon in your hand as Beru Lars blinks at you.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were…” You step aside, gesturing for her to come in.

She waves a hand, dismissive. “I understand.”

You lead her over to the small living area as you fix two glasses of water from the kitchen.

When you set them down on the table, Beru speaks. “I apologize for the intrusion, if there was another way of contacting you before coming here…”

“It’s absolutely fine, I’m glad to have you.” You smile in what you hope is an assuring way. “Although, I’m surprised at it just being you. Where’s Owen?”

Her eyes flick to the stone floor. “He um… doesn’t exactly know I’m here. He’s out on a business deal today.”

You feel your eyebrows go up at that, waiting for her to continue. But instead, she changes the subject. “Where’s Ben?”

“In town. We needed some things from the market.”

Awkwardness settles in as a conversation topic evades you.

She breaks the beat of quiet. “Here, I brought these for you.”

You take the basket in her hands from her, peeling back the thick woven cloth to reveal a simple form of bread. It looks so appetizing your stomach clenches, and you instantly realize you haven’t had anything since breakfast.

But then the smell hits you, hard and powerful, and stars, it’s just bread, there’s nothing that should do that about bread, but you’re on your feet in a minute, forsaking the basket on the ground as you bolt to the fresher, barely making it in time to the sonic sink before you start heaving.

In a moment, you feel soft hands at the nape of your neck, gently holding back the fabric of your shirt and blowing cool air as you continue to wretch.

By the time everything has settled again, you’ve dealt with the aftertaste in your mouth, and splashed on your face with a precious cup of cool water, hot shame rises in your cheeks at how this must seem to Beru.

You wipe at your face with a rag, half muffling your words when you address her. “I’m so sorry, I’m sure they’re absolutely delicious, It really has nothing to do…”

“How far along are you?”

Your spine straightens instantly, and you let the cloth drop to the floor.

“I… what?”

Now she’s the one to flush. “My apologies, it’s just that it’s known for being a very gentle bread, it’s one my mother used to feed me when my stomach ached. If that smell turned you... I just assumed, and I shouldn’t have.”

Your lips purse as you consider your options. It’d be easy to say nothing, or just to nod.

“Two months,” you hear your own voice answer despite yourself. You’ve never been one for easy anyway.

A surge of emotion wells up in you at even being able to speak it aloud, aloud to another human, and next thing you know, to your absolute horror, you’re crying into your hands as your shoulders crumple in on themselves.

Why now, of all times? In front of Beru Lars? Whom you know accepted Luke with her husband without question because they couldn’t biologically have any children of their own?

“I’m… so… sorry,” You manage to choke out through the sobs, disgusted at your own lack of control.

At some point Beru must join you on the floor, patting her hand soothingly on your back. “Shhh, it’ll be alright. You’ll see. It’s not so bad having a young one around, you and Ben have so much to look forw…”

“He doesn’t know.”

Her hand pausing briefly on your back is the only indication she gives of shock.

“Would he not be happy?”

You take a steadying breath in, trying to calm yourself. “I don’t know,” you whisper, small and almost frightened to let the room hear you say it.

It falls silent again, but it echoes around in your brain, bouncing against your thoughts until you feel the onset of a headache.

After you’re to a numb enough state to enjoy yourself, you and Beru make tea and bring it back to the living area.

She lifts her glass to yours, clinking them. “To secrets kept from men and the mischievous company they bring.”

Your head now throbs with pain, but you smile anyway. “Thank you,” you say to her, and you mean it so very much.

********

The next time Obi-Wan goes into town, you’re feeling well enough to go with him.

You’re not visiting the food portion of the market, after all, so you’re not as much of a risk to set your stomach off. He’s taken to fixing small machinery for trading with the Jawas recently, the extra income helping with the projects around the house.

There’s a trap door that you found within the first day of being there. The staircase carved out of the bedrock beneath the hut leads to a small room that has now served as additional storage and a place for Obi-Wan to work. It’s also quite cool during the day, so if you can stand the smell of the various meats hung to dry, you’ll sit down there with some sort of project, or even reading material if you come upon it.

So today, he’s looking for a few specific tools that will streamline his working.

It doesn’t take long to find a promising stall among the maze of shopkeepers, selling everything from trinkets to weaponry of questionable legality. Obi-Wan finds what he needs easily enough, and it looks like the trip is going to be as efficient as it is successful as you walk through alleyways with him.

At some point, he takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently, projecting an assuring strand of affection toward you. It’s such a small gesture, but you’ll never tire of the feeling of his hand clasped in yours.

You’re almost back to where the eopie, Rooh, as he named her, is stabled when Obi-Wan abruptly slows his pace, dropping into a stall. An alarm goes off in your head when you watch him pick up a frivolous trinket on a table that you know he has no interest in.

You open your mouth to inquire at his actions, but it answers itself once you see him glance out of his peripheral vision to where the holonews plays in the stall adjacent.

Battle footage on what you recognized to be Kashyyk at the presence of the many Wookies plays with the Emperor addressing the viewers in a very two-dimensional, sugar-coated, thinly-concealed threat to any other world that would try to resist occupation.

There’s wreckage and uncensored violence, and you turn your head away.

“May it be known that Lord Vader is quite capable and willing to help those into compliance that require assistance... “

The item in his hands crushes, ceramic tile cracking into his hands, breaking the skin and drawing out drips of red.

But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even seem to register the glass he’s pushing into his own hand. His eyes are wide and he makes a wounded noise from the back of his throat, eyes peeled to the holonews now, not even trying to feign disinterest.

His signature sparks, giving a flash and then a severe cry of anguish, and it hits you then. Pieces of information coming together as you feel Obi-Wan tear apart at seams.

Anakin Skywalker turned to the Dark Side, and Obi-Wan thought him dead. There’s a new Sith Lord now; the correlation and timing can’t be coincidence.

The Toydarian male behind the stall shouts something about paying for it in full, and you quickly hand over the credits with a glare.

You start to pull Obi-Wan’s other hand off the table, but you quickly realize your mistake in that.

The moment it isn’t holding his weight anymore, his knees start to give, and you’ve only a second to react, jamming your body under his arm to keep him upright. His momentum nearly pulls you forward, but you plant your feet and remember at the last second to call on the Force to assist you.

He seems to come to himself enough to walk somewhat as you steer him to the nearest alley away from the vendors.

He braces a hand on the stone wall, but even it isn’t enough as he drops to his knees. He doesn’t even seem to have the will to stand.

Crouching beside him, you place one of your hands on his chest.

“I…. I…” The tremor in his usually so crisp wording and steady voice crushes your chest, making it hard to breathe. “I failed him. I failed him.”

“Obi-Wan,” you start, trying to grasp at anything, everything to comfort him, not even thinking of how you can’t call him that here, even if there’s no one in sight.

If he registers your call, he doesn’t let on, continuing in his whispers to the wall. “He was burning. Burning, but I couldn’t do it. It would have been mercy to kill him, it was my mandate to do it, but I could not...” his voice gives out on the last word, and his shoulders fall forward in a shuddering inhale that transforms into a cut-short sob on its exhale.

“And now…” as the words pour from him, his shields fall, and so do the floodgates on his emotions, and it takes all the training you know to not be washed away in the torrential current of his grief. Does he even know he’s doing it, or has the insurmountable weight of his burden finally overridden his innate control over them?

“I’ve sentenced him to a fate worse than death.” He’s only barely choked out the end of his thought before his shoulders start to shake in earnest and he crumples in on himself as he begins to weep for his brother.

Giving no heed to the odd angle, you throw your arms around him. Trying to get your arms around his body is exactly the embodiment of the feeling of the moment, this anguish you don’t even begin to be enough to cover.

What could you say? What could you do? What would even begin to…

When you press your fingers to his temple, it’s light, a show of how unforced this is, how much he can say no if he needs. Because this isn’t for you. No, it’d be so much easier to not know the exact depth of his pain and rip your chest open with that knowledge. But you’re offering it, meaning it absolutely, desperate for him to take the hand offered to him. “Please let me in. Don’t do this alone. Let me…”

Then he’s pulling you in, not just letting you come in yourself, clinging to you like a person drowning. You remember to steady, to try to keep your own head above the water as wave after surging, overpowering wave of soul-crippling agony like you’ve never felt it engulf you in their surge.

You can’t hold out against it no matter how hard you try, so you refocus from centering yourself to pulling his signature into yours as you wrap your arms tighter around his torso.

And you begin to weep with him.

*********

The suns are drifting low by the time both of you have any intelligible thought, far too late to start the journey back to the hut.

At the inn, as Obi-Wan falls into the beginnings of a restless sleep, a thought emerges, clear and crisp in its awful truth.

You cannot tell him for a long while still.

*******

It’s different now. Because when he wakes in the night, he doesn’t give you falsehoods you see right through. He lets you into the terror and distortional dreams that all reside over one theme.

There’s silence in the first days after. Just silent tears and still embraces and the way time seems to freeze when grief is at its worst.

But then he starts talking. It comes in little pieces, then in larger ones.

The loudest thing his signature screams is guilt.

You tell him how it isn’t his fault, how Anakin is responsible for his own choices, but he just gives you a new reason every time as to why it is his fault, how he could have stopped it.

Because even in what he considers his worst failure, his verbiage is indicative of how it’s not his own image and pride hurting that he’s even considered. All of his thoughts, all of them, are on what Anakin needed that he didn’t give.

At first, it’s just impressions from his mind, unsorted, blurry thoughts and feelings, but it eventually begins to become words.

“After his mother died… I know that he blamed me. How couldn’t he? He told me of his dreams, dreams he knew were foresights, but I dismissed them, multiple times, at that. And the council… advised me against comforting him, but he… I… I did anyway.” His shoulders are forward, body sagging with unsureness that doesn’t fit him right in the slightest. “But it was far too late. I know there was something pivotal about the death of his mother, and I am...” he hesitates, seemingly not because he doesn’t know what to speak, but because he does. “Terrified. Terrified it’s all because I didn’t validate him sooner. If I had not...” His voice breaks off, as he shuts his eyes.

Fear is not something admired by the Jedi, you know. When he speaks of his own emotions, he speaks them like he’s confessing them.

And as he confesses and confesses, you comfort where you can, cry with him when you cannot.

*****

The swells of sorrow ebb and flow in their intense bursts and receding stillness, and despite the moments of not being able to breathe under the weight of it, there are miniscule, almost violating, hysterical intervals where smiles and life spring to the surface, gasping for air.

Or in this case, the inexplicable desire to dance.

You don’t even really know when you start, simply going about cleaning clothing in the sonic washer, and the next, some ridiculous, repetitive tune sweeps you to move your hips and feet, uncoordinated and graceless. The tune itself played from a datachip, scrapped with some pieces Obi-Wan was repurposing to make repairs. You’re not even familiar with the type of music, and it’s hardly the type of music you’d normally choose, but you find that today, it’s an improvement on the quiet that falls upon the house as Obi-Wan works outdoors.

The song swings into a bridge, and you slide across the stone floor, imitating something you saw in a music holo years ago, as you do, your foot catches on the rug you recently added, sending you fumbling for your footing. You eventually catch it before you fall, but as you look up, you decide to lower yourself to the ground anyway at the sight of Obi-Wan, leaning up against the door frame, watching you with an amused expression, the fingers of one hand tracing between his lips and chin.

You sit splayed as tactless and gangly as you danced and let out a short, startled laugh.

“Please, don’t stop on my account. I was quite enjoying myself.”

Maker, could you just hide under the rug you tripped over? “Please tell me you haven’t been standing there long.”

He pushes off his lean on the wall, crossing the room to you. “I won’t tell you lies, my love.”

Shame twists in your gut at his words, chasing the laughter in your throat away. But Obi-Wan extends a hand down, and you take it, letting him draw you to your feet.

He kisses the back of your hand before taking it in his, extending the clasp out to the side of your bodies as his other hand rests hot on the small of your waist.

“But I will join you, if you don’t mind a style change.”

“I don’t know how to dance like this,” you say, factually.

“Then allow me to teach you.” When you look in his eyes, they’re lined with the etches of heartache still, but there’s something else too, brimming to the surface.

“What, to this music?” You give your last, unconvincing protest.

He simply drops his forehead to yours, and the small sounds of the room fade to white as a sweet, moving melody replaces it. It’s not perfectly clear, and it takes a moment to realize that it’s because it’s coming from Obi-Wan’s memory.

The music has a distant, foggy quality, and it has potential to be eerie, but instead, it just lifts you into an ethereal feeling.

He steps, and your feet follow, not as graceful, but he makes it easy for you, the steps hinted out in his thoughts before taking them in actuality.

When you start to feel confident enough in the movements, you look up at him. “Does this mean I can teach you my dances next?”

He laughs, laughs, unabashed and with no emotion harbored under it, and some torn piece of your heart mends at the sound.

“Certainly not.”

You laugh too, even at the thought of him trying. The laugher rolls into a smooth quiet, and you let yourself bask in the feel of his body against yours, the press of his hand on your back as you rest your cheek against him.

Obi-Wan cradles you to him, forsaking the pattern of the dance as he encompasses you in his arms, lowering his lips to your cheek, then your mouth in a blazing kiss.

He takes your hand in his, lifting it above your head. Then you’re guided into a spin, and the room spins double with it as you abandon all endeavors of trying to get the dance correct. Your hand drops protectively to your belly before you can even think better of it, and by the time you know you’re not going to throw up, it’s too late. You already feel Obi-Wan’s unmistakable concern right before he asks, “What’s wrong?” extending an arm out toward you.

His complexion is ashen with worry, and when you don’t respond, you feel him start to reach out to your mind; a spike of panic zaps down your spine, and you’re suddenly not sure you’re not going to throw up after all.

Your shields crash down, not enough time for subtlety, and he retracts both his hand and inquiring tendril of energy as hurt and confusion shape his features.

You can’t do this. You can’t keep up this facade or cover this moment with a lie you know he’ll see through. But you can’t tell him either. After all the weight he’s carrying, the weight of the being that grows in you should be yours alone. You can’t thrust that upon him.

But it’s a delusion that you can keep this from him forever. You’re going to hurt him one way or another, and the weight of your silence and lies multiply every day you insulate him from the truth.

You take in a shuddering breath as dread settles into your bones. You know what you have to do.

Even as you slowly lower your shields, opening your signature, your mind screams at you in opposite directions, ripping you in half, and your hand shoots out to the nearest wall to stabilize yourself. How could you be so sadistic to tell him this? How could you not tell him? After all the trust you have in each other?

But he doesn’t take the invitation. “I will not touch your mind if you are still unsure you want me to,” he says softly but resolutely as he approaches you, but stays an unthreatening distance away, as if approaching a frightened animal.

No, no, no. You won’t have him being the one to sturdy you through this. You need to be strong, be ready, don’t force him to coddle you through the blast to his own chest.

So you dial down your own emotions and switch your absorption to amplifying the still tiny, barely recognizable life you’ve been carefully censoring ever since you heard it yourself.

You want to close your eyes, blockade the pain of both how it impacts him and how it will impact you, but that’s not how you two do things.

Summoning every iota of bravery and resolve running in your veins, you force yourself to look up at him as you watch understanding coat him.

His eyes go wide, and his hands clench and flex at his sides in an erratic, nervous pattern.

You can’t keep your signature open to his mind’s reaction, you just can’t. He’s seen enough, and you can put your shields up again. His face is enough to confront all on its own.

Obi-Wan steps toward you, slowly, dazed in a completely uncharacteristic way. With the way he seems to ever be prepared for the blows life throws at him, you hate how you have to be the harbinger for the second one that’s knocked him off his feet.

When he stops in front of you, he places his hands on either of your shoulders and looks into your eyes, searching for confirmation, and you nod, trying to not let fear seep into your expression.

One of his hands covers his mouth as he takes it in.

And then he’s sinking in front of you, off of his feet indeed, and onto his knees. You want to follow, ready to hold him through the heartache sure to follow, at the second child he didn’t ask for while he still grieves the loss of the first.

But his hands instead take purchase on your stomach, tightening the fabric of your tunic around the barely-visible bump before bunching it up and lifting, just enough so he can tilt his forehead against the skin there.

You can feel him reaching out, not taking him long at all to find what he’s searching for, and curiosity beats self-preservation at the last moment, prompting you to open your mind again, just for you to be able to catch elation coursing through Obi-Wan.

You don’t even bother trying to stifle your confusion as he looks up at you with glassy eyes.

Sinking to your knees to meet him, you take his face in your hands, trying to make sense of it all as he takes your hand in his. “I never... “ when his voice comes out unsteady, he clears his throat and tries again. “I never thought I’d have... That we could… didn’t occur to me that now...stars above, how long have you known?”

You don’t recall when you start crying, but tears are falling freely down your cheeks as you shake your head. “I’m so sorry. I… I would never want to keep something like this from you, Obi-Wan, but I couldn’t tell you, not with everything, not with all you already have…and i’m so sorry.”

“Oh, heavens, no. You should not have to do this alone. Please don’t keep things from me, even if you think it to be for my sake. We can…”

You fix him with a pointed, unamused stare. He exhales as he must notice his hypocrisy.

“Your point is well-put and taken, but the sentiment still stands. We’ll not keep secrets from each other anymore. Do we have an accord?”

Despite it all, you smile at his overly-formal phrasing, something you’d normally have a quip about if it weren’t for the concern still nagging at you.

“Are you not angry then? Or disappointed?” you watch him carefully, praying to any deity listening that he doesn’t concoct some half truth to placate you. His first instinct is always to protect, but you’d never want it at expense of his authenticity.

Bafflement marks his brow at first, then he takes your face in his hands. “Darling, no.” He says your name, gathering every bit of your attention. “I dreamt of you. During the war, when I was away. I did not sleep well, even then, but when I did, I’d sometimes dream of you, holding a child that I knew to be ours. When I woke, I would remember it so vividly, so painfully, because I never thought that was an attainable future for us.”

But that doesn’t need to matter if you… do you want this child?” His eyes are so full of hope, and it was the last thing you expected, but here he is laying it down on the altar of your preference, and maker, are you glad those two things aren’t opposing each other.

Because his hope and yours are one in the same, and once he knows it too, at your whispering, choked, “yes,” he’s clutching you in his arms.

And for the second time in a month, you’re both huddled on the ground in tears. The first, bowing under the mass of catastrophe. Now, at the glowing relief of the sprouting of a dream sown in tears, too tender before to even say aloud.

But now? You’re saying it, back and forth, from him to you as your walls fall, permitting him into your mind as he welcomes you into his, and finally you take true comfort once again in the home you’ve built in each other.

*******

The night after, you lie side by side, hand in hand, on a blanket splayed not far from the hut. The suns have sunken, but the pinks and oranges of their palette still paint the sky where it hasn’t yet turned to midnight cobalt. The light of the lantern gives off a similar hue, dousing everything in your reach in soft, warm hues.

It has taken Obi-Wan some convincing, being so out in the open with everything he had to worry about wasn’t his first choice, but you compromised for a small alcove in the rock formations which surrounded you on two sides. More easily defensible. Not that he needed it, but if he was cautious before, it was borderline unbearable now. With the added danger of the Empire knowing without doubt that he lived. With more than ever to lose.

So, he was in charge of safety, you were in charge of snacks. And if they so happened to be almost entirely comprised of those melons you couldn’t quite get enough of lately? That was no one’s business except yours. You brought a few things you knew Obi-Wan liked too, of course.

What little remains of the miscellaneous spread you push to the edge of the blanket so you can both lie down.

“I dare say it’s almost pleasant out tonight.”

You turn your head to him, a snort ready at him discussing the weather of all things, but it instead forms a cloud in your throat at the sight of him.

His eyes are closed, hair rustling in the slight evening breeze, a tranquil ease over his profile.

The small patches of grey in the part of his beard next to his ears catch the first glints of moonlight in a way the rest of his hair doesn’t, giving them away.

The mellisonant lowness of his voice brings you back to yourself, cheeks heating.

“I can feel you staring, little one.” He opens his eyes, leisurely rolling to his side. “Some say it’s quite impolite.” Slanting over you, he lifts a brow, daring your response.

“And is that a problem?” You look up at him through your eyelashes, feigning innocence.

Obi-Wan’s gaze follows back up to the stars, as he plays right along, pretending to have to think on it. “I suppose it depends.”

“On?”

“On whether or not you allow me to return the impropriety,” he responds with a coy smile, moving back to you, so close now you can feel his exhales on your cheek.

Warmth blooms through you as you answer back, “You can always look, Obi-Wan.” You lift yourself to close the short distance between your face and his, pressing your lips together, which he deepens right away. Using the hand not supporting half his body off of you still, he fans out his fingers across your belly, towing the line between caressing gently and clutching protectively.

You pull your lips back from his as an uninvited slither of insecurity slips into your chest.

He senses it, of course, so you speak before he even needs to ask. “Are you really, truly, certain this is what you want? Now? I don’t want you to just say so because…and we could wait, we have...”

“I am,” he says, adamantly, before you even have a chance to finish. His eyes flash to the side. “I…” He rolls back onto his back, looking straight up as he talks seemingly half to you, half to himself. “There is not much I know for certain these days. Some days… I scarcely can remember who I am anymore.”

He turns his eyes back to you, unwavering. “There are seldom few things I haven’t questioned of late, and my love for you isn’t one of them. And from the moment I’ve known, from the very first instant you let me feel the life within you, my love for them hasn’t been one either.”

Your thoughts split into two, one wanting to lean into it, to take him for his word that’s always true, and the other cautioning you, telling you to keep distant and watch for the surface level honesty he gives that hides the brutal one he safeguards you from.

But you’re not hiding anymore, feelings unconcealed in your energy and on your face, so he leans back into you, grasping your arm in his hand, squaring your shoulders to him. You cringe at yourself when you know he’s heard the impression of you questioning. It’s redundant, but self-doubt always is. “Know, please know, my darling.” Taking your hand in his, he brings it up to his temple with an insistence that you have no desire to counter.

And it’s there. Right there and sparking in its clarity, right at the threshold of his mind as you enter it. How much he means his words, no holds barred, no cleverly crafted glazes to an unly underbelly of reality. His reality was this, how severely he craves starting a family with you. How much he already loves the being within you, how he looks forward to the day he gets to hold them in his arms.

The fear is there too, quiet, but not kept from you. The fear of failing as a father, unsure of assuming any role that resembled a mentor again, all-too-familiar with the ghost that will float over him in every lesson he teaches.

What shocks you there is his faith in you. In how much he’s already learned from you about the impact of open affection, in how you don’t let your feelings lead you, but you let them breathe, not suffocate them. It’s part of how he even can acknowledge his fears to himself and to you without berating himself under the too-simple phrase “fear leads to the dark side.” There’s truth in it, but also inaccuracy.

Because he’s afraid, and yet, there is so much light in the acknowledging of it to himself, and in that very act, it loses much of any power it could have had over him. Oh, how deeply he wishes he could have articulated that understanding to Anakin.

The pain is fresh, but so is his anticipation for the future, swirling together in a potent drink, and his throat bobs with the effort to swallow them down simultaneously.

He knows you’ll help ground him through it, he trusts you, even in his uncertainty in himself.

It breaks your heart but also warms it: the knowledge that he lets you into that place where he keeps the questions of himself, the place only you and the man who’s caused most of this doubt have been permitted.

With a thankful short farewell, you part from his mind as you know exactly what you want to do.

The remains of your snacks still rest on the edge of the blanket, including the shells of the deep purple-pigmented melons. The one draw-back to their delightful taste was how badly they stained your fingers. You had to break them into tiny pieces, plopping them into your mouth without allowing them to touch your lips unless you wanted your mouth to stain too.

But right now? The staining quality was just what you needed.

Although first you needed a blank canvas.

“May I take your tunics off?” you ask, sitting up.

Despite a short twitch of confusion and then interest, Obi-Wan follows, raising himself up into a kneel, slightly lifting his arms in compliance.

The paleness of his skin catches all the light of the lantern, highlighting your view as you slowly slide the fabric up and off, gliding your hands up the line of hair dipping below his navel as it becomes more exposed. It grants you a quiet, steep intake of breath from him and you suddenly give halt momentarily, distracted by the alluring appetite you’ve created.

No, you won’t give in. Not yet. He needs to know this.

You take one of the broken pieces of melon rind in your hand, where little tart bits of the fruit still cling, dribbling pigment, but before your finger makes contact with the taut skin of his chest, you pull back at the realization you might have bitten off more than you can chew.

How do you even begin to describe him? Obi-Wan is so many things at once, so many attributes, and every descriptor that comes to mind falls blatantly short of him.

Then you recall Obi-Wan going through the motions of Alchaka, watching his body fight to maintain the poses at times. Being such a personal practice, you felt honored that he let you see him go through the exercises, and even more honored that he opened up to you about the purpose behind it later. It was an exercise of both physicality and Force use, and the goal was absolute exhaustion. That was the destination. Trying, knowing from the start that he’ll fall short in the end, but doing it all the same. Because there’s so, so much to be said for the trying.

So you do. You bring the messy fingertip to his clavicle, smearing the first word you know to absolutely be true of him, as if starting the premise with a whisper of I know you’re even more than the sum all of these singular praises.

The word “complex” appears in your penmanship on his skin as you drag it to life. You look up to his eyes, and his curiosity is clear there, but also so is the tenderness that is elemental to any time he looks at you. And just like that, you have your next word.

Kind.

And at the way he flushes so lovely for you at that?

Beautiful.

You feel his protest before you see it, the objection in his signature, and you know you’re going to have to switch methods.

Just then, a droplet from where you’ve written the last word on his pectoral falls, down, down, threatening toward the hem of his trousers, but you’re fast, dropping your mouth down and catching it all on your tongue before it can stain the bleached beige of his remaining clothing.

When his stubborn revolt at the affirmation quiets in his mind in exchange for a flash of searing lust, you know exactly how you’re going to continue.

Because Obi-Wan Kenobi, general, warrior, negotiator, Jedi Master, legend, has rarely ever been affirmed as such, and he squirms under the thick blanket of his humility and deprivation anytime someone endeavors.

So you need his mind to be preoccupied enough, guards down low enough, so he can even hear the message get through.

When you place your hands over his waistband, locking eyes in inquiry, stopping when he hesitates, scanning the area around you, vigilant as always. Overly so now.

“We’re alone. And wouldn’t you be able to sense it if we weren’t?”

He looks down at you as he answers. “If I stay mindful enough to do so, yes.”

Good, he’ll be even less prone to fight you if he has some of his mind sensing outward.

You look back up at him with the facial equivalent of asking “well?” to which Obi-Wan sighs in response. “Very well then.”

With your familiarity with ridding him of clothing, it only takes moments before you can finally taste him where you want to, where he’s already hard and swollen for you.

You know you won’t be able to take him as much as you want, a recently-developed overactive gag reflex preventing you. But it just so happens to be convenient tonight, as the resulting taunt should have him right where you want him.

A gentle kiss, right to the head of his cock is all the warning you give him before taking the whole tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around him, pulling a choked hum deep from his throat.

Oh, oh, Maker, have you done a grand miscalculation, because you forgot an entire factor in this equation: the way you have been borderline hysterical in hunger for him.

You’ve kept so much from him, and part of how you’ve even managed is starting to convince yourself of less than fact. Facts like how many times you’ve had to change underthings recently, physical evidence of desire unwilling to comply to your head’s demands. Facts like how you’ve literally had to bite your finger to keep the feelings at bay.

You’d expected changes in your body even before your belly grew, but this was one you hadn’t anticipated. In some ways, it wasn’t that different than usual. You never knew you could want someone with the breadth that you want Obi-Wan.

But this? Of late? It feels like it’s been amplified tenfold.

You’re not keeping any cards close to your chest anymore, but you do have to ignore your own body’s screaming cries as you complete this.

He needs to know.

Nerves still serenading his brain with feedback, you re-wet your finger with the purple juice and write the next words across his abdomen.

Wise.

Perceptive.

He’s caught on to your scheme by now, cued by the all-too appropriate addition of the last word, and he lets you know it, an impression projected, speechless but still unobstructed. He’s still powerless against it. Or rather, letting himself be powerless. Trusting you with the control he has left, trusting you in his vulnerable places. The places where he’s weak.

Strong.

The word spread over his right upper arm, where he’s obviously just that. But may the tint of the word bleed through his skin, may it run through his veins, because that’s how deep and deeper still that his strength runs. It’s in the way he doesn’t flaunt it. It’s in the way he chooses to wield it.

Gentle.

He closes his eyes, flinching at the onslaught of acclamation, and you dip your head down again, wrapping your lips around his cock, letting him slide to where you can take him comfortably, just starting to build a pace as his hips squirm in harmony with his suddenly erratic breaths. Oh, how you’d love to let him deeper, allow his cock past your lips beyond the teasing amount you can take now, but the little writhes his body gives in protest are enough to almost make you okay with how your mouth won’t agree with your ambitions. He says your name, groaned out in bliss as he cups a hand on your cheek.

His barriers are down, so it’s easy to hear when his deprecating thoughts quiet again, and you switch back to coloring him again.

You know the moment you look up at him that it’s a mistake, because he’s flushed, so torn, suspended in the limbo of your give and withdrawal, mouth ever so slightly open, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

You’re only human, so before you draw anything else, you bring your lips to his, which is yet another mistake, because among the many things Obi-Wan is, he is a deep kisser, and as his tongue delves into your mouth, your will power takes a devastating blow.

You pull back, reeling at the reminder of how easily he can take back control, knowing you have to complete this before you let him.

Stars, how you want to let him.

For now, you need that control back, so you take him into your mouth again, filthily wet and not nearly long enough as you quickly pull back, watching in satisfaction as he heaves forward at the loss, correcting himself quickly back into straight posture.

With a smirk, you drag your slippery, pigmented finger across his lower stomach.

Disciplined.

There’s so many more words, so much more he needs to know, and if you covered every inch of his skin in the smallest writing it still wouldn’t be sufficient of all that he is.

Or you could whisper it all through the Force, embed it all in his mind.

But because you’ve been there, know his mind inside and out, you know every time he sees his own skin, all he sees is the red of blood on his hands. The blood of his brother.

And that’s exactly why you’re going to stain it in your own colors. Take back territory and push back the front lines that the army of guilt has taken over on him.

Your Jedi, ever-adorned in unassuming beige, now drips in the color of royalty.

Charming.

Humble.

Confident.

Steadfast.

You’re only left with enough space for one more word, and you want some sort of conclusion to it all, something to summarize the expanse of the man kneeling in front of you.

Nothing can.

But maybe, just maybe, one word encapsulates what he is to you.

Treasure.

This time you do chant it across his thoughts, prompting him to open his eyes and look at you.

Cerulean blue blinks open, slowly, almost painfully and nearly overflowing with emotion.

Thank you, is all he says, unable or unwilling to say it out loud, much too heartfelt and newly-budded for that.

You know his pain has older roots than those tended to in this moment, but you vow to yourself that you’ll never stop trying.

Lowering your mouth around him once again, you don’t tease him anymore, at least not intentionally, even though you still can’t take more than half of him.

“Look at you, you’re…” he hisses in a breath as you swipe your tongue against that vein on the underside of him. “Stunning. You’re doing so well, little one.”

The taste of him compels you as much as his words, seizes you in spice-like addiction, and how interesting it’s going to be explaining that taste craving to him, among your sudden adoration for those damn melons.

“Darling, I’m…”

You feel it in his energy before he says it, already pulling off, replacing your mouth with your hand, dropping your lips down even lower, mouthing at his balls, and the feedback is instant. An outpouring crest of his pleasure blasting outward as he lets out a depraved moan, netting his hands into your hair.

Your hand is wet and so is where he’s spilled on his still flexing and releasing stomach, clear white maring the lettering halfway through “disciplined.” You’d clean it with your tongue if you weren’t sure how your overly sensitive taste buds would react now.

It’s not the first time you’ve had sex since you’ve known you were pregnant, but it’s the first time since he’s known, and it’s the first time you’re not hiding the symptoms. Before, you carefully shied away from anything that might give you away, and between the preoccupation of everything on his own mind he was trying to keep from you and his respect for your boundaries, he never pressed. He had questions in his eyes, but you knew how to carefully reveal partial vulnerabilities to keep him off your trail.

Your chest flares at the memory.

We’re not hiding now.

It’s your chant, your reminder, your comfort. How nothing of this caliber will be kept between you again.

His eyes confirm it, sincere and exact as they fight to break through their dazed slipping.

Never again. His voice in your head is home, so consoling it can and has put you to sleep before.

Right now, it wakes you up in a different light, dowsing you in heat as Obi-Wan takes your hand in his, wiping it on a piece of his discarded clothing before wiping the spend off himself.

Then he’s taking your face in both his hands tilting you up before kissing you soundly.

I love you, he says across the wire that ties your minds, the wire that keeps growing stronger every day. So, so very much.

You say it back, a fact as simple as breathing. You love him.

You want him, borderline need him the way you need your next inhale, you don’t say, but he must hear it anyway, because that cocky little smirk that’s been gone far too long is back.

“Shall we do something about that?”

You’re about to just lift your shift dress up and off in response, but he halts you, grasping your wrists.

“Allow me.”

He pulls you into another sultry kiss, completely neglecting the task of ridding you of clothing.

Or so you think.

There’s buttons all the way down the dress, and you’ve never used them, always wondering at their purpose if it can so easily lift over your head.

At first, you don’t even know he’s doing it until you start to feel the coolness of the night air on your nipples. Opening your eyes, you pull back from him to watch as seemingly in thin air, your buttons undo themselves.

“You needn’t seduce me further. You already know how much I need you,” you gasp, breathless from the kiss.

Obi-Wan just gives a small smile as he drops a hand, dragging it down your side, then down your thigh. “Hm. So impatient. All this from just pleasuring me?”

Maker, he knows! He knows that you are. You always have been, and it’s not as if you weren’t projecting your feelings too.

When he reaches a hand between your thighs, parting them and making a single, tempting stroke through them, his fingers come back glistening.

“I should think you could feel that I am.” You let the tide of your frustration spill over into your connection to his mind.

You know he had to hear you, but he gives no indication that he did.

“Mm. Desire needn’t always be indicatory of impatience,” he punctuates his statement with a hand at the base of your skull, tipping your head back to expose your neck. “I need you to be patient, little one. Let me savor you.” And with that, his mouth makes contact with your neck at the same time his other hand plays with one of your exposed nipples.

You whimper at the attention, quietly pleading with him for more. Among the still slight changes to your body, this has been the most notable one. How sensitive your breasts have become to even the scrape of the fabric of your clothing.

And with the rough pads of his fingers working only one, leaving the other to pang in want...

“Obi-Wan,” it’s a prayer, a request. He doesn’t need his hands to cause sensation, and you’d beg him right now if he asked.

He lets up on your neck, only barely, lips moving against the now throbbing skin. “Answer me first.”

Clearing your throat, you give the most cogent response you can muster. “Depends on if you’re definition of savor is synonymous with torture.”

He locks eyes with you then, gently grasping a breast in each of his hands, dragging his thumbs over the nipples as you moan out your assent.

His chuckle is far too self-satisfied to be becoming of a Jedi, but you’re already too far gone to call him on it.

“Is that what you want, little one? For me to torture you so?”

An affirmative whimper is all the response you can give, and Obi-Wan reacts quickly, taking your chin in his fingers and tilting your eyes up to his again.

“Then you will be patient for me. Because I’m always happy to stop, and we can begin again when you decide to adhere.”

Your brain short circuits on the spot, and all energy is redirected much, much lower. His voice, stars above, his voice when it takes a commanding tone.

It’s intimate, it’s personal, and yet this game is almost inappropriately playful for how sincere the moment is.

But such was being loved by Obi-Wan. Full of dissimilar feelings that shouldn’t fit, but moved together in liquid consistency. Like metaphors that didn’t rhyme but still somehow gave their own life-giving rhythm, not dissimilar to the sound of his heartbeat when you lay your head against his chest at night.

Making quick work of the remaining buttons of your shift and underwear, he beckons you to join him as he lies back down, large, warm hands guiding you to turn around so you’re facing away from him.

You know that the purple stickiness of the fruit will smear from his body to yours like this, but you can’t at all bring yourself to care.

You gasp a sigh of relief as one of his hands finds your breast, brushing a knuckle over the too-sensitive nipple.

“Please.” Your whispered beg sounds pathetic, even to your own ears. But as you arch against him in a frenzied attempt at skin contact, Obi-Wan juts his hips forward, grunting into the exposed column of your neck, and stars, yeah, maybe he didn’t find that so pathetic after all.

“What do you want, darling?” His voice doesn’t divulge any desperation, and for only the hundredth time do you envy his immaculate self-control.

“You know, don’t pretend you don’t.” Leaving any doubt to the wind, you push your chest against his barely-touching hand.

“Specificity can be a virtue; that I also know.”

You change techniques, driving your hips back softly into where he’s hard and insistent against your ass, hoping it compels him.

Then you simply… can’t anymore. You’re frozen, unable to move your lower half at all.

Tangling your desires into a knot and tucking it away, you find the mindfulness to reply. “Yeah, so is mercy.”

“Indeed it is. I shall concede when you do.”

You won’t win a battle of the wills with him. You’re not sure anyone could.

So you bring his hand over to your nipple. “Touch me here.”

You feel his smile without even seeing it as he starts tweaking the bud. “Like this?”

It’s so much sensation, all concentrated on such responsive flesh, that you want to beg for him to switch to touching you between your legs.

You haven’t even finished the thought when you feel his unmistakable metaphysical brush against your thigh.

Extending a tendril of your own energy, you invite him in, and he takes it eagerly, ever as eager if not more to be entwined with your mind as with your body.

He hears it all, the besottment, the arousal, the neediness. The panic that he might drag this out longer, that you’ll have to go a single minute longer without...

“It’s alright. It’s alright.” He sends soothing waves through your connection, and he swaps the positioning of his hand with the curl of power. He turns his hand so that the back of it runs through where you’re aching for him, gathering up your slick on the backs of his knuckles. You have to contort your neck to see what follows when he takes the hand back behind you, and your mouth goes dry when he sucks the knuckles in between his lips.

You want to hear, you want to know what he’s…

He’s welcoming you in, navigating you to the brink of his mental barriers, letting you take that final plunge into the unsuppressed fullness of your bond to each other.

Now it’s your turn to hear it: how his carefully constructed unaffected persona is not at all a match for his naked, wanton need for you.

And under that, the foundation on which that desire is built, not the product of it, is his love, his unyielding, unashamed, iridescent love for you.

It’s all you can do but to pour it back, affirming and soothing and calling his love into action with your own.

You both don’t want anything else except the most complete of entanglement, and that’s exactly what he moves to do, situating your bodies, hiking your top leg in the crook of his arm as you feel the initial breach of his body into yours, and all breath leaves your lungs in an exhilarating evacuation.

His audible gasp is an echo of his emotions, how he thinks he’s prepared for this onslaught of feeling, but how you take him off guard, how his equilibrium threatens to teeter every time.

The web of his consciousness enveloping you, it’s easy to pick out a single thought blaring within him: How much he adores the way you fit together. Your back against his chest, how your breast fits in his hand, how the snug joining of where his cock presses into your body sends you into trembles, how comforting your very presence is to his soul when he lets you in like this.

Tears, without warning, seep out of your eyes as he starts to move against you, slow and deep. You close your eyes, willing the powerful emotion away, but glimmers of light flash out behind our closed lids the moment you do, and how the kriff does he stay composed?

Anchor. Anchor against me.

He stills, letting you have a break from the barrage of pleasure blinding you as you search him out, looking for the cords of his intellect that seemingly both steam downward and beam upward, grounding him.

You find it, and you clasp on tightly.

But the moment he starts moving again, you lose sight of it all over again.

Your heightened hormones make your flesh so susceptible, and the tears start to fall again. Obi-Wan rolls your nipple in between his thumb and index, and he’s so good, and you’re so full, and you can hear his pleasure as your own, adding, doubling everything…

Scorching, electrifying heat speeds through your veins, hitting hard and fast, leaving you astounded and even more sensitive than before.

Obi-Wan’s signature spikes as your climax resounds through him, and you can feel the vibration of the wanton noises he’s making right where his beard scratches against your neck.

But he doesn’t allow it to overtake him, letting it run through him without resistance, making himself pliable but unmovable, keeping himself back from the edge.

You still have much to learn.

Because that control? Gives him the ability to not even stop, not even hesitate once, even at both yours and his own ecstasy flowing through him.

When he starts striking his hips hard into yours, the weight of him inside you dragging exactly in the right place, you start to cry in earnest. Obi-Wan stops for a millisecond, concern radiating off of him, even when he can hear how much you want this so clearly, has access to every little passing thought.

“Don’t stop, I’m fine, I pro…” He does just as asked while moving his hand down to your belly again, a soothing touch to his rough thrusts. Your eyes are blurred with wetness, overwhelmed with him.

He’s listening to it all, applying every micro-feeling of feedback into action against your desperate, post-orgasmic skin, hand switching back and forth from your nipples to loosely clutching your neck, Force energy focused on applying pressure to your clit.

“You’re doing so well, so good for me,” comes the wisp of his sultry tone, lips pressed against your ear.

Since you aren’t even thinking about changing position, you know it’s his own preference that has him withdrawing, guiding you onto your back.

There’s no inhibition this way, not the way there is when you’re on your side, no separation from your bodies being flush when he pushes into you again. You have to anchor in him, both mentally and with your fingernails clawing at his shoulder blades as your body starts into tremors.

He’s keeping the weight of his chest off of you, even though your belly is still barely swollen into distinguishable roundedness, and as much as you miss the contact, you can look into his eyes like this, can see the unfiltered attachment and all the weight of all the emotion he wills his body to not cave under.

But then the tremoring transforms into series of contractions throughout your body, centering through your slick core, and you thrash your head to the side catching a glimpse of Obi-Wan’s fingers clenching into white knuckles, grasping into the exposed sand from the blanket being bunched up.

He projects his thoughts across the tether to you, how thoroughly impacted by the very fact you’re carrying his child, how affected he is by every little thing about you, honored that he’s allowed to touch you like this.

You roll your hips back up into his, and that’s what it takes. His stuttering body is the lightning, and the searing, molten pleasure across your connection is the thunderous repercussion.

It completely overthrows you, and your body bows against him as his high instantly cues yours again.

You can feel him throb inside you at the very moment you do, his turn to experience the secondary sensory white-out of your mate’s climax through the Force, his shuddering shout meeting your breathy whines in the close distance between your mouths.

And he does kiss you then, soundly but with the haze of afterglow slowing it.

“Have you any idea how bewitching you are to me?” He breathes it out, and despite all the ways you’d normally scoff at such words, his eyes tell the story, and you listen to it’s truth.

His eyes hold that constant infiltrating study of you, the one that could be unnerving if his mind, still tethered to yours didn’t hold such amor, heart bleed such fondness that settles in the creases around his eyes.

How interesting it is watching someone as knowledgeable as him having such an inquisitive outlook on life, and being so frequently the object of those investigations.

Did the galaxy know her debt to him? Did she know the sum owed to inflicting the worst of life’s pains on someone who refused to let it build anything except an even gentler man of himself? When does she plan on repaying him? What does she offer in exchange for her cruelty of the hand she’s dealt Obi-Wan Kenobi?

Then the whisper comes, soft but crisp, from somewhere in the threads of existence around you, “Can’t you see? It’s you, child.”

You could argue it. You could scream how it’s not enough, how you’re not enough, how he deserves so much more from some dark insecure place inside you. Or how love shouldn’t be treated as currency in exchange for pain, how the galaxy could still have your fists if that was how it tallied.

But the finality of it settles in your soul, more impressionistic than in solid wording: there is no easy conclusion that ties the suffering of life into purpose, no experience that erases or mends its pain. But love. Love makes the complicated endeavor of trying to find purpose in the madness worthwhile.

Obi-Wan’s hum of agreement resounds in your ears and through to your head. His Force signature feels so familiar, so at home within yours and yours within his, that you’d briefly forgotten he could still hear you.

With all the strength still left in quaking limbs, you wrap your arms around him, and he melts into it.

The compassion of his soul hardly matches his war-ravaged skin, his guilt-ridden memories. Every good thing here came to be with a war waged, refined and not burnt away in fire at his sheer tenacity.

It’s a growing thing, blooming in the desert. The beliefs in both of you. Your love for each other. Your own trust in the Force.

Healing is no short journey, but her two sojourners here are determined.

And if that tender hope can blossom here?

Then maybe, just maybe: Tatooine is exactly the place for a baby after all.

*********

In the valley beyond the hut, a boy jets quickly away in some mechanical contraption he recently motorized, a girl in a similar vehicularized compilation of junk not far behind.

On the cliff’s edge stands Obi-Wan, eyes scanning the landscape intermittently for any sign of threat between longer affectionate looks at the children before him.

He turns, feeling your approach in his keen awareness as you set a hand on his shoulder from behind. His temples are now even thicker with sun-bleached silver, and his eyes wield the lines of laughter around them.

And you? You’re as roped in by his gravitational pull as you’ve always been.

He puts a hand over yours, clasping it to bring you in front of him, where he can still watch the children and encase you in his arms at the same time.

“Slow down, Luke! You’re going too fast!” comes the distressed cry of your daughter, Ahlina, drawing your attention away from admiring Obi-Wan and back to the valley. Her vowels curl in the same way her father’s does, but her more casual phrasing was certainly thanks to you. Luke shouts back at her, “Come on, keep up!” while he races on ahead.

Obi-Wan smiles, seemingly amused at a secret joke.

“They are much too young for this nonsense still,” he speaks, muffled slightly as he hides his lips in your hair.

“Probably,” you reply with an airy laugh.

Not long after, the engine on Luke’s small contraption gives out, jutting him off and tumbling forward into the sand.

“I told you!” Ahlina yells, her own machine coming to a halt not far away from Luke.

When they make it back up the cliff, Obi-Wan couches and opens his arms, and they both come running with smiles. They’re still young enough to be unshy about affection, and Obi-Wan knows to soak it up, closing his eyes in relishment.

Luke is the first to wiggle down, waving before running over to hug your leg, which you happily return, brushing some of the blonde mop of hair from his forehead. You adored the nights that the Lars let him sleep over.

Although the nights that Ahlina slept over at theirs certainly had their allure too.

“Can we have a snack, Daddy?” Ahlina asks, still happy to be hoisted up on one of his arms.

“Hm. Perhaps I can make some of those ahrisa sweet breads again?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Can Mommy make them?”

“Why not mine?”

“Because you always burn them.”

He bops a finger lightly on her nose with a smile. “Cheeky.”

She goes to bop him on his nose in return, but he catches the finger, holding it.

“Give it back!” she screeches through a giggle.

“No, no. I think I’ll keep it now.”

The suns are dipping low as you retreat into the hut, the two children running ahead, racing to gather the ingredients to help you bake the bread. Luke especially was an enthusiastic sous-chef.

You step to follow them, but Obi-Wan grasps your hand. You turn back to him, and he barely gives you a second before he joins his mouth to yours. Sliding a hand into the auburn beard, you open your mouth to him, letting his familiar taste permeate your senses.

He reluctantly breaks after a long moment, and you take his hand in yours. When you turn back to the horizon, the suns are dipping, blanketing the landscape in the most celestial light of the day.

The planet’s eyes aren’t harsh in the way you used to see them. They’re still intense, and frequently unforgiving.

Perhaps they never changed. Maybe only you did.

But as they sink now, you give a silent, partial farewell, knowing they’ll greet you again in the morning.

Because if Dark’s patience is infinite?

So is the promise of the return of the Light.

Tagging upon request: @million-dollar-legs

#obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi x you #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan x you #obi wan x you #obi wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi smut #obi wan smut #obi-wan smut #obi-wan #obi-wan x oc

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grailfinders · 3 years

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Fate and Phantasms #137: Chloe von Einzbern

Today on Fate and Phantasms we’re making yet another servant with absolutely no other media beyond Fate Grand Order, Chloe von Einzbern! Basically, small, vampiric Emiya.

Check out her build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here!

Next up: Another 13-year-old anime character in a bikini. Joy.

Race and Background

Like your sister you’re a homunculus... kinda? Anyway, that means we’re going Custom Origin from Tasha’s giving you +2 Dexterity, a Small build, History proficiency to keep track of those cards, and the Piercer feat. That bumps your dexterity up by another point, you can re-roll a die of piercing damage each turn, and critical hits deal an extra die of damage if you’re using a piercing weapon. Knives pierce, use those.

Since you were your sister (or rather you two were the same person who wasn’t entirely one or the other previously... plurality is weird.) for most of your life, that means you’re also an Inheritor. Survival is the default proficiency, but since you took most of the magic when you left you also get Arcana proficiency.

Ability Scores

In case you couldn’t tell from your racial bonuses, you’re pretty good at Dexterity. You’re fast, and you’re good with knives. After that is Charisma, to help you tease Illya a bit. Also, you’re a kid, kids are cute. Your Wisdom comes next, you can’t tease people if you don’t notice stuff to tease them on. After that is Constitution, you’re the more physical fighter of the family. Your Intelligence isn’t great since you’re a kid, and even though it’s one of our casting modifiers that doesn’t mean we actually need it. Finally, dump Strength. You are child, you have noodle arms.

Class Levels

1. Fighter 1: You specialize with daggers, but we need to be good with every kind of projection you can make, that means we’re a fighter first and foremost. As a fighter, you learn the Thrown Weapon fighting style, letting you toss more daggers in a turn and also deal +2 damage with thrown weapon attacks.

You can also use your bonus action to use your Second Wind to heal yourself. Not super fancy, but not dying’s always nice.

2. Monk 1: First level monks get Unarmored Defense, because... yeah, that doesn’t qualify. This means your AC is now 10 + your dexterity modifier + your wisdom modifier while not stuck in armor. Plate mail isn’t really your thing.

You also learn Martial Arts, giving your monk attacks a base damage of 1d4. You can also use dexterity instead of strength when attacking, in case you find yourself using something larger than a knife. Finally, you can use your bonus action to make an unarmed attack if you make a monk attack with your action. You’re already probably using your bonus action for knife attacks, but switching things up is a good strategy.

3. Fighter 2: Second level fighters get an Action Surge once per short rest, letting you slap an extra action onto a turn. It’s kind of like an extra attack, but not!

4. Fighter 3: Third level fighters get their martial archetype, and if you want to summon weapons there’s no better way to do it than the Eldritch Knight. Thanks to their Weapon Bond (a ritual performed over a short rest) they can summon one of two bonded weapons to their hand as a bonus action, and you can’t be disarmed unless you’re incapacitated. You also learn some Spells, but since they use your intelligence we’ll have to hold off on the big guns for now.

Grab Blade Ward and Shield for some protective weapon summoning, Mage Hand for finer weapon control at a distance, False Life for a tiny bit of vampirism, and Magic Missile for some super accurate dagger tossing.

Also worth noting that your Weapon Bond only lets you project the same two weapons over and over again, but I mean... you already do that.

5. Fighter 4: For your first Ability Score Improvement, bump up your Wisdom for some more AC. Can’t have enough of that stuff.

You also learn the Alarm spell, because it’s one of the few that barely even feels like a spell. Just flavor it as like, a regular alarm system. Bam, done.

6. Fighter 5: Fifth level fighters get an Extra Attack, for more smack when you attack.

7. Fighter 6: You’re cursed to share Illya’s pain, so it makes sense that you should also get Illya’s Tough feat for some extra HP. Probably.

8. Monk 2: Back in monk now, second level monks can use their Ki to dash, disengage, dodge, or attack twice with their bonus action. You have a number of ki points equal to your monk level, and they recharge on short rests.

You also get Unarmored Movement, making yourself a bit more agile as long as you aren’t stuck in some leather.

9. Monk 3: You like stabbing. Kensei monks also like stabbing. It’s a match made in heaven! As a kensei monk you gain Kensei Weapons, two types of weapon (one melee, one ranged) that will be used for other features. I’d highly suggest daggers as your melee, the rest can be whatever you’d like to project later. You can use kensei weapons to make an Agile Parry, adding 2 to your AC when you make an unarmed strike as part of your attack action if you’re holding onto it. You can also make a Kensei’s Shot with your ranged weapons as a bonus action, adding 1d4 damage to the attack. Throwing a knife counts as a ranged attack, so slap as much damage onto it as possible.

You also learn the Way of the Brush, obtaining the power of the gods, Painter’s Supplies proficiency.

Also also, you can Deflect Missiles as a reaction, reducing incoming missile damage, and possibly yeeting it back by spending a ki point if you reduce the damage to 0.

10. Monk 4: Fourth level monks can Slow Fall as a reaction to reduce falling damage. I mean, if you project enough knives downward, it’ll eventually break your fall! Wait...

You also bump up your Charisma with this level’s ASI. It’ll make more sense in a bit.

11. Monk 5: Your extra attack isn’t usable here, but you do get a Stunning Strike, forcing a constitution save when you smack someone by spending a ki point. If they fail (its DC is 8+ your proficiency + your wisdom modifier btw) they’re stunned until the start of your next turn.

Finally, you can burn ki even faster thanks to your Focused Aim, spending 1-3 ki points to add 2 per point to an attack roll for extra accuracy.

12. Monk 6: Ki-Empowered Strikes and Magic Kensei Weapons mean all your monk attacks are magical to avoid resistances. You can also spend ki to make Deft Strikes, adding a martial arts die in damage to a kensei weapon attack once per turn.

13. Warlock 1: Yeah, sorry, this is another 3-class build. We need vampirism, what can I say?

We’ve called the grail a Great Old One before, and I think that can work here too. As part of your pact you learn Pact Magic, spells that you can cast using Charisma and that recharge on short rests.

Your Awakened Mind lets you speak telepathically to creatures within 30′ of you, even if you don’t share a language. I mean you probably have some kind of twin bond with Illya, right? We’re mostly here for the later levels anyway.

For spells: Sword Burst and Eldritch Blast let you summon more flying knives without having to worry about actually making them. You also get Expeditious Retreat for even more speed, and Charm Person to lay on the smarm.

14. Warlock 2: Second level warlocks get Eldritch Invocations, ways to spice up your warlock life. Grab Agonizing Blast for deadlier knives, and Beguiling Influence to beef up your Deception and Persuasion checks for deadlier puppy-dog eyes.

Yeah, we’re not getting improved pact weapon for once. Are we running a fever?

You can also cast Comprehend Languages now to translate your anime. Just make sure to get subs too!

15. Warlock 3: Thanks to the Pact of the Blade, you can now project any weapon you want into existence as an action. The weapon counts as magical, and you always have proficiency with it.

You can also cast Cloud of Daggers to make a cloud... of daggers! They take up a 5 foot cube, and deals damage to creatures who walk into the area or start their turn in it.

16. Warlock 4: Use this ASI to bump up your Charisma for stronger and more accurate spells.

Speaking of being more accurate, the cantrip True Strike lets you get advantage on an attack next turn, but it’s a lot easier just to attack twice. You can also use Misty Step to speed up past the point the eye can see.

17. Warlock 5: Fifth level warlocks get third level spells, meaning we can finally get our hands on Vampiric Touch for an energy draining kiss. You can make a touch attack each turn for up to a minute, dealing necrotic damage and healing half that amount each time you hit.

You also learn the invocation Eldritch Spear to up the range on your magical dagger throws. Just because they’re 100 feet away is no excuse to not attack them.

18. Warlock 6: Our last goolock goodie is the Entropic Ward. Once per short rest you can impose disadvantage on an incoming attack. If that attack misses, you get advantage on one attack against them. Evasion and a critical rate up, that’s dangerously close to an actual skill!

You also learn Counterspell this level. Rule Breaker is a weapon, so you should be able to project it well enough.

19. Monk 7: Finally bouncing back to monk after our long time away for Evasion. Half damage from failed dexterity saves, no damage from successes, you probably know the drill by now. You also get Stillness of Mind, letting you end charms and frigtens as an action.

20. Monk 8: Our capstone level gives us one last ASI, so max out that Dexterity. More AC, more damage, what’s not to love?

Pros:

Thanks to your various damage bonuses, you’ve got some deadly daggers on hand that can deal very consistent damage. You can deal 2d6+1d4+7 piercing damage on a single dagger with few resources spent, meaning you can keep that damage going for the long haul.

Speaking of dragging out a fight, you’re hard to hit thanks to a base AC of 17, the ability to boos that with Agile Parries and Shield to a maximum of 30, and disadvantage thanks to entropic ward. Getting hit: not even once.

Throwing daggers around gives you range, and your 45 feet of movement and teleportation gives you the mobility to abuse that. You’re even harder to hit when you’re constantly out of the enemy’s range.

Cons:

Even if options for making more, throwing weapons are still a pain to use, and require a bonus action or full action to recreate. On top of that, your spell slots and ki points are also pretty limited, reducing your effectiveness in long battles somewhat. Efficiency only goes so far.

Your bonus action is pretty crowded, thanks to regular monk stuff, healing, weapon bonds, and so on. Not necessarily a bad thing, but it does mean you’ll have to prioritize.

Your Low Strength means that the occasional enemy that gets too close can knock you around. Just hope Illya’s around to distract them while you get back up.

#fate grand order #FGO #D&D 5e #Chloe von Einzbern #Fate and Phantasms #Fighter #Monk #Warlock

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0ffgun · 4 years

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Alright so!! I got some requests from people for me to make a post with tips on how I self-study my languages, so here we are! It’s not perfect and everyone studies differently, but I hope some of these tips can help you out.

Personally I study Korean & Thai so this list is aimed at those but a lot of the study tips are pretty general and can be applied to whatever language you’re learning.

I’m an energetic puppy in human form - I simply CANNOT sit still and study for longer than 20 minutes before getting insanely restless and distracted, so I tend to only actually sit down and actively study once a week. If you’re expecting something clever and insightful this is absolutely the opposite of that... I basically trick myself into learning! So here is my silly little guide, let’s go!

General Tips:

★ Get ridiculous with sticky notes. Seriously, do it. If you’re just starting out and don’t know the words for all of those household objects then go ahead and scribble them down on those post its and stick them EVERYWHERE. It might drive your family members/roommates crazy but hey... you’re doing it for a good cause, right?

★ Don’t rely on romanization too much - if your language has its own writing system, focus on that using as much as you can. Romanization seems helpful but in the long run you’ll rely on it too much. It’s better to get familiar with the native writing system asap!

★ Pick out a word/phrase of the day and write it somewhere you’ll see it often. I have a whiteboard in my room that I’ll scribble a few phrases onto and then every time I walk past it, I’ll say them. Or if I’m not gonna be home all day then I write something on my wrist and glance at it throughout the day! This one is the most fun because when people see it they’re like “ooh that looks pretty!” or “ooh does it mean something deep and profound?” when in reality you have the phrase I like cheese written on your arm and it never stops being entertaining. Bonus points if someone native to that language reads it and looks at you like you’re crazy.

★ Say the words in silly voices. It sounds weird but if you’re sitting there repeating words (like the word banana, for example) from an app in a monotone voice you’re definitely less likely to remember it than if you’re yelling out “BANANA!!” in an opera voice or squeaking out “b an a n a” dramatically as you let go of Jack’s hand and let him sink into the ocean.

★ Don’t isolate vocabulary. Learning new words is great, but it’s useless and you’re more likely to forget it if you don’t learn to use it in a sentence.

★ Keep a diary! One of the absolute best ways to practice your writing and improve your skills is to just jot down a few things every now and then. It’ll be rusty and you won’t have much to say at first and will definitely keep needing that dictionary every 2 seconds, but after a few weeks you’ll really notice the difference. Buy pretty pens and stickers to motivate yourself to write in it! It’s also fun to do this around people who can’t speak it as they’ll look at it in awe and you can show off when in actual fact your writing is usually a clumsy scribbled “today I snacks eat and go sleep” but hey what they don’t know can’t hurt and it’s always fun to look like a genius.

★ Talk to your pets in that language. They’re not going to judge you, they actually don’t even care what you say as long as you say it in that entertaining pet voice. I don’t have any friends that speak Korean or Thai so the majority of my speaking practice is hurled at my dog. If you don’t have a pet, then plants or stuffed animals work perfectly too!

★ Listen to language podcasts while you do household chores, heck if you’ve gotta do something boring, might as well yell foreign words while you do it!

★ Change your phone settings to your target language. That way you’re literally forcing yourself to use it, and it becomes second nature and you pick up key words so quickly. Only do it if you know how to get back into your settings and change it back if you have to... or else you’re stuck and lost.

★ Listen to music and sing a lot. Just scream those lyrics! A little off-key screeching never hurt anybody!

★ Get comfortable with numbers. They’re something that is dominant in ALL languages and you’re going to use them on a daily basis. Start with learning how to count to ten and get comfortable with it, and then go higher. Once you’re used to numbers individually, make it harder. I used to get my mum to write out 10 random numbers between 1 to 10,000 in the morning and I would translate them, and then I would do the same for myself in the evening. After a while you get quicker at them and before you know it you don’t have to awkwardly translate them in your head anymore, the numbers are just there ready in your brain.

★ Don’t only watch dramas! Watch more natural stuff too - variety shows, vlogs, instagram lives... anything where people are just chatting like they normally would do. That way you’re subconsciously learning more casual speech patterns and casual language too!

★ Don’t just study at home! Always make sure you have a dictionary handy (like on your phone, for example!) and keep your brain busy while you’re out and about. Buying some groceries? Try to name everything in the fruit and vegetable aisles and if you don’t know the name of something, look it up! You’re more likely to remember vocab this way as your brain has a situation to associate it to.

★ Be mean and make yourself work for things you normally do - check your horoscope on a regular basis? Read it in your new language instead! Want to check out the weather forecast? Do it the hard way.

★ Don’t feel like studying? Not in the mood? Then don’t do it! Instead put on your favourite show in your study language of choice. Not every study session has to be a hard one. Just relax and watch a foreign movie! You have no idea how much your brain picks up without you even noticing, chilling out and watching a drama absolutely counts as studying. Don’t force yourself to study if you’re not feeling it, you’re more likely to learn if you’re having a good time.

Advanced Tips:

★ Get keyboard stickers - if your new language has a different alphabet and you use your laptop to study it a lot then you’re definitely gonna need these! You can buy them SUPER cheap on ebay!

★ Change the language on your Netflix account and get ready to binge watch your faves! If you change your profile language to the one that you’re studying, you’ll notice that a lot of the shows available will now show subtitles in that language too. If you’re pretty advanced then now is probably the time to drop your native subs and start watching with the original subtitles in the original language.. good luck!

★ Play Pokemon. When the latest Pokemon games started coming out with Korean language options I JUMPED at the chance - what better way to study than to just laze around playing video games? This is great for any other kinds of games you can snatch up in your target language too.

★ Read a favourite book in your new language. A common one is Harry Potter! It’s pretty much available in every language at this point and it’s a story you probably already know, which means you never get too lost because you know the plot already.

Resources:

Here are a bunch of apps and things that I use for studying that I find super helpful (and all of these are free!)

Drops (for Thai and Korean - available in both the apple store and the google play store) - I use this app every single day without fail. It’s brilliant for expanding your vocabulary (there are TONS of languages available on there too!) HOWEVER: It only lets you study for 5 minutes and then you have to wait around 9-ish hours before you gain another 5 minutes to work with unless you want to pay for more. But honestly? That’s a good thing. You only need 5 minutes of vocab study before your brain wants to dissolve into mush anyway. I get up, do my morning stuff (usually just involves rolling around and blinking in confusion before grabbing a coffee) and then sit and do 5 minutes of drops, and then by the evening my 5 minutes have replenished and I do it again. Rinse and repeat, and you’ll be learning more words in a week than you even realise!

Duolingo (I use this for Korean, there is currently no Thai option) - This app is fantastic. I don’t recommend it for beginners as it should be used as more of an aid alongside your natural studies, rather than as a study resource itself. This app expects you to already know the basics so I’d dig into this one once you’re starting to get a little comfortable with your language!

Naver Dictionary (for Korean) - I use this every single day! Not only does it help me when I need to find a certain word, it also gives me lists of example sentences which is PERFECT and super helpful when I’m trying to memorize words! And for Thai I use Thai-English Dictionary (I can only find it in the Apple store sadly) and that’s incredibly handy too, I wouldn’t be able to cope without it! I also use this website as a Thai dictionary when I’m not on my iPad!

Talk To Me In Korean (for Korean) - This has been a core element to my Korean studies. They have tons of lessons available on their website, they do regular YouTube videos (usually only 5-10 mins long, perfect for just a mini casual study session!) and they also sell textbooks and do podcasts too. If you learn best from textbooks then these are by far my favourite ones I’ve found, give them a try! They’re not too pricey.

Lingodeer (for Korean) - It’s cute, it’s friendly and it’s helpful!! I learned a bunch of new phrases using this one and it’s perfect for casual study!

Memrise (for Korean) - Fantastic if you’re a beginner! There are tons of languages available on here too. Although, there are only 3 levels in Korean so I got through this one pretty fast.

Eggbun (for Korean) - An app that encourages you to learn using a texting format! I haven’t really used it much but I have friends that have said it’s really useful!

Ling (for Thai and Korean) - This one was pretty good, once again though I wouldn’t use it if you’re a beginner, it’s probably a lot more helpful if you know the basics before you attempt this one! I’ve only used it for Thai but there’s a Korean option you could try checking it out!

Mondly (for Thai and Korean) - This app is cheeky and it wants your money. You get a bunch of free lessons to start with which are GREAT but that’s it. Then it reduces you to one free lesson a day but honestly? Still useful so go ahead and use it. They also have speaking practice available too!

Thai2English (for Thai) - This website is an absolute LIFESAVER!! If I’m ever browsing and come across a sentence that just throws me, I simply copy and paste and this legend of a website just breaks it down for me word for word.

Extra Korean links:

Children’s books in Korean

Learning Korean through fairytales - a textbook used in Korea for children who are learning to read, it’s helpful as a Korean language learner too! You get a little story and then it’ll ask you questions about what you just read.

TOPIK previous exams - these are so good for practice and if you want to get a general idea of what academic level your Korean skills are at.

Learning to type in Hangul - this one was fun and I now type Korean pretty comfortably on my laptop so if you know you’re gonna be typing a lot, I recommend this program!

#the way I learn languages is so weird I am so SORRY #I kinda just implement my language into my daily life and it works perfectly for me... I hope this is helpful to at least ONE person djgsjk #thai resources are sadly not that common but I'll add more if I find them!#language studies

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hertzwritings · 4 years

Text

Woodland

A/N: These quarantine-times have made me unbelievably horny for literally anything – but mostly Negan and Jeffrey Dean Morgan. That man can get it.

Anyway, here’s a one-shot I’ve had floating around my brain for a while – I hope you’ll like it! Remember, feedback feeds the writer!

MASTERLIST

Jeffrey Dean Morgan masterlist

Feedback/taglists/requests

Pairings: Negan x reader

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap your willies before you do the dillies), oral (male receiving), use of daddy, mentions of weapons, language, so much smut, honestly, zombies, slight dom/sub, a smidgen of knifeplay if you look really hard

You quickly took the clip out of your gun, glanced at it and put it back with a satisfying click. You might not survive the night, based on the amount of bullets you had left, but at least you got ASMR’ed by the .45, you currently called your best friend.

The woods around you were silent. Spring was setting in, the days getting lighter and the nights shorter, while the woods started to finally gain some color other than muddy brown – it made you feel lighter, airier somehow. Maybe it was the smell of dew on grass, maybe it was the scent of wildflowers.

You had been sitting in a safe camp for a few hours. Lookout-duty wasn’t the most fun, but someone needed to do it, to keep the area clear and the people safe. It was a few hours less sleep, your life on the line… But whatever, at least you didn’t have to cook.

A branch cracked somewhere behind you. You whipped around, leaves crunching under your boot – you barely moved a muscle, keeping your gun outstretched in case of a small horde coming through. It would surprise you, someone would’ve called you on the walkie, if a horde was moving in your direction, but something could’ve gone wrong. Maybe it was just one. If so, you wouldn’t waste a bullet.

The thing you hated the most about being alone in the woods, was the fact that sounds seemed to travel around you. You never really knew if a broken branch came from behind you, the side, whatever, because sound just traveled differently in the forest.

Which was the reason for you getting caught with a knife on your throat without getting a chance to defend yourself.

“You should really learn to look around you, doll.” Fucking Negan. You sighed and rolled your eyes, shimmying out of his grip, trying to ignore the slight heat going to your center from the feeling of the cold steel against your throat. “You should learn not to sneak up on people, Negan.” He cocked an eyebrow and smiled that fucking smile. He knew what he was doing, that shithead. It wasn’t the first time. You and Negan had a special relationship, that very much started off as pure hatred. What was the saying? Hate and lust is a knife-edge-balance?

“where’s the fun in that?” his voice was like melted chocolate in a cookie. Every part of you wanted to jump his goddamn bones, but you refused to give him the satisfaction. “Now, what are you doing out here… All alone?” he was almost predatory in his tone. You twitched and heat gathered in your core, as he took a step towards you, leaves crunching under his boot. Fucking hell, he was hot.

“What do you think, I’m doing? I’m on guard-duty until sun-down.” He chuckled, warm caramel running through your veins. “What are you doing here?” You asked. You couldn’t help but notice the way he shifted at your tone – it might have been a little sassier than normal but fuck it. He wasn’t on goddamn guard-duty, he was on tomato-duty.

“What do you think, sweetheart? I’m here to fuck you right the hell up. Your alone, we’re far away from people, and I sure as fucking hell am going to use this goddamn perfect situation to my benefit.” He stepped closer to you yet again, your heart hammering a thousand miles a minute. “Unless you’re not ready to take this per-fucking-fect opportunity in your hands…” his hand was on your arm, goosebumps rising where his calloused fingers glided along your exposed skin.

“Fuck you.” You said, acutely aware of the wetness collecting between your legs.

He cocked his eyebrow again and smirked, grapping you by the hair in a move, that went faster than you could react to. An involuntary moan escaped your lips, which caused him to move even closer to you. You could feel his cock straining against his black jeans.

“Knees, Y/N.” his voice was barely above a whisper, but it had all the authority – you could do nothing but obey, what he asked, and you slid to your knees, silently thanking yourself for bringing a blanket to cover the cold, hard ground.

You were in perfect height for him, when you were on your knees. He praised you for it often, being in perfect cock-sucking height, and he used it frequently. Not that you minded at all. Your skin was on fire, molten lava running through your veins, and you tried to create a smidgen of friction between your legs to alleviate the burning sensation of lust and wetness, that had begun to pool.

He didn’t say anything, but simply opened his pants and you took over, pulling them down – his cock sprung out, already hard as anything, dripping slightly with precum. His hand was still in your hair, pulling softly – you moaned again, and his cock twitched in response. “Y/N… Suck my dick. Now.” He gave gruff orders, but you obeyed without question.

You wrapped your lips around the head of him, relishing in the warmth and the familiar taste of Negan, going deeper and deeper, until his head hit the back of your throat, causing a muffled gag to sound in the otherwise silent forest. He moaned and cocked his hips, forcing himself deeper. Your eyes watered, but you loved it – your hands wrapped around his hips, steadying yourself, as he started to fuck your mouth. You could feel every vein, every twitch of his cock in your mouth, spit dripping from your chin… You loved every second of it. He was moaning and swearing, grapping your hair even harder, pulling you a little higher. Your pussy was throbbing with need and you whined against him, silently begging for some sort of release. He stopped his attack on your mouth and glanced at you, half panting, half moaning, and smirked down at you. “You want daddys dick, huh?” you nodded, whimpering again. You didn’t know who you were in his hands, but you were complete putty.

He pushed you – gentler than you had expected – down, so you laid down on your back on the ragged blanket, you had brought, and made very quick work of your jeans. Normally, he’d keep his pace, teasing your breasts as well, but not today. You were both to impatient for that shit.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he moaned as he saw how wet you were. He didn’t waste a second, before plunging two fingers in you, pumping in and out – you moaned loudly, grapping his dick and fondled his balls – eh groaned in pleasure and his fingers curled. You arched your back, the molten lava in your veins gathering in your lower belly, heating the coil of pleasure, building there. He knew you were close. “You wanna fucking cum for me, Y/N?” he whispered, his fingers assaulting every single sense you had. He added a third fucking finger, making your legs twitch and your hand, that was currently trying to give him a handjob, stilled in its movement. He curled his fingers up, hitting that fucking spot. “Fuck, Negan!” You were so close, every nerve in your body burning. “Ask.” His voice was harsh but soft at the same time – almost like he was trying to lure a wounded animal to him. “Fuck, Negan, fuck, can I cum?” he chuckled at your desperate tone. “Cum for me, Y/N.”

And just like that, your body released everything. You back arched, your thighs twitched, and you could feel how much you gushed over his hand. He moaned and his cock in your hand twitched at the sight of you cumming. He didn’t waste a second.

You were still coming down, when he scooted himself down, laid on top of you and without hesitating, he was in you. He bottomed out, stretching you completely, while you mewled and tried desperately tried to claw at anything within reach. “You want me to fuck you, Y/N?” you could feel his control slipping slightly – he was shaking, desperate to move, just as much as you wanted him to. “Fuck, yes.” You breathed your response before quickly stretching your neck – your lips met his in a flurry of emotion and fireworks blasting off all over your body. He groaned against your lips, biting your bottom lip, before drawing out of you, almost fully, before hammering back in. he kissed you like he was a drowning man gasping for air, as his hips rolled and his cock filled you to the brim, gliding against every inch of you. It felt like heaven. You moaned against his lips, his tongue expertly sliding against yours, wrestling for dominance, while he fucked you to oblivion.

You were so close. White hot pleasure ran through your body, enveloping you completely in his heat, in the moment, in feeling his cock hitting your g-spot over and over. Your legs wrapped around his hips on their own, while you kissed him like your life depended on it.

He angled his hips differently and you combusted.

Your lips left his, as you screamed his name – he fucked you harder, forcing your orgasm to keep going, flames licking every inch of you, as your pussy clenched around him.

He haltered, before going harder than ever. Your orgasm slid into another, as he chased his own, growling loudly as the sound of skin against skin and your wetness filled the air around you.

You searched for his lips, kissing every inch of exposed skin you could reach, and as you reached his throat, you bit it harshly.

He was gone. He came with a roar, forcing himself deeply inside you, painting your walls white as your pussy milked him for everything he had.

As you both came down, he rested his forehead on yours, a soft and surprisingly not Negan move. He was shivering (or maybe you were) and kissed you gently, before softly pulling out of you. He grinned at the sight of his cum slowly ebbing out of you, and you squirmed under his gaze.

You quickly got your pants back on, got up and kissed him. He kissed back, surprised by the gesture – you left his lips with a smile.

“What’s your damage, sweetheart?” he murmured, a hand softly in your hair. The familiar growl and snarl from the walkers sounded somewhere behind him. You grabbed your gun and smiled at him.

“My only damage is finding you so goddamn attractive.” He grinned and grabbed his gun, while you cocked your own, standing next to him, shoulder to shoulder.

“I suppose we’ve got some fucking talking to do, when we’re done here, huh?” you grinned at him, just as a walker came out from the thick woods.

#negan #negan smut #negan x reader #negan x you #negan x y/n #negan x reader smut #negan x y/n smut #Jeffrey Dean Morgan #jeffrey dean morgan smut #jeffrey dean morgan x you #smut #the walking dead fanfic #negan fanfiction #negan fanfic #the walking dead smut

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vampiresuns · 4 years

Text

🍋 It Takes Two To Tango | Leon x Anatole

2.5k words, placed after 🍋 Any Way. In which Anatole takes up on Leon’s end of their post-competition agreement, not without making it a little difficult for Leon first.

Leon (he/they) belongs to @apprenticealec who requested “[ dress ] your muse having mine dress up in lingerie.“ + “[ wall ] your muse shoving mine up against a wall.“ from the NFSW Muse Reaction Prompts for Leonana. I went all out because I’m simmering in Leonana brain rot, and to make it up for the wait. Happy fucking monday, Dani, dearest, pun absolutely intended.

Minors DNI. Lemon ahead. CW for dom/sub dynamics, and liberal sprinkling of Leon calling Anatole ‘sir’. Also, for a brief height difference mention.

Leon knew it was a matter of time before Anatole came forward for his part of the deal. Leon had been allowed to have him any way he wanted, and now it was Anatole’s turn. He was also aware of the likelihood of Anatole being difficult about it; he didn’t only expect it, he wanted it even, wished for it. Leon knew whichever way Anatole decided payback was due would find him in compromising positions, true, but in positions where he would be good. Really, really good.

Not ever could Lenon regret letting Anatole take the reins when they were in the bedroom.

As much as Leon knew, whatever their partner was playing at wasn’t what Lee expected in the slightest. At first, they realised he was playing at something, but only the Gods knew at what. It wasn’t like they had stopped having sex (they didn’t) or that he didn’t want to take up on Leon’s end of the bargain. Leon had asked, a week after they had been practising together, Anatole’s reply had been a laugh full of affection and a kiss on Leon’s temple.

“Of course I want to hold it against you, my love.”

“Well then, when?”

That had earned Leon another laugh and another kiss.

Then the torture began. It shouldn’t have surprised Leon that it would turn out this way, yet there they were anyway: surprised and being met with the same reply, over and over. It was a week, two days and 20 hours — not that Leon was counting — of torture, where Leon realised Anatole’s strategy a little too late. During that period of time they had sex practically every day, some days more than once, but Anatole was always careful, almost surprisingly tender, reverend in a way which made Leon weak at his knees and made his heart threat to escape his chest through his throat.

He loved it, he wasn’t going to lie: he loved the slow pace and the praise, and the attention; yet, as he was not going to lie, this wasn’t what he wanted.

It was during the week mark that they realised, when they begged for Anatole to do anything he wanted, and his only reply was one firm: “Patience.”

Lee protested, his mind clicked, and his nostrils flared in irritation. “You fucking bastard.”

“Hm? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

“You said anything I wanted. Never specified for how long.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck me yourself, oh wait, you’re tied to the bed.”

“Then fuck me like you mean it.”

“You don’t think I mean this, then? Should I stop?”

If Leon didn’t like the game so much, if they didn’t like to be completely and utterly drenched in Anatole, if they didn’t enjoy the chase and the power play as much as Nana himself did, he’d yell. He’d yell and play difficult even more, but he knew he would stop touching him, and right now, he did not want Anatole’s hands away from him, he didn’t want his mouth away from him. It was torture, Anatole knew it, and it was working.

The next day they did not have sex, and while Leon knew it was because Anatole flat-out passed out after an eventful day, part of them — the petty one — thought he had a busy day on purpose.

The next day Leon woke up alone, their bed with no Anatole, his body replaced with an ornamented box with a bow, and a seemingly empty bottle. Leon shook it. At the lack of sound coming from its lack of contents, they smiled. They knew what it was: Nana, aware he could not leave notes for Leon if he had to wake up too early for them, left them audible messages in tiny bottles, something he had magically developed only so he could leave notes for them.

The note only said: “Hopefully this stops your complaining. I have a meeting with the Praetorian department, which I don’t expect you to remember. Don’t miss me too much, miss me so much you want to swear at me again a little, instead. Love, your Anatole.”

“PS, yes I just said PS, out loud, to an empty bottle. Good morning, lover.”

The box had a dress, soft to touch, it had sleeves, but it was backless, and had not one, but two slits. Under the dress, there was a lingerie set, silk and lace, from what Leon could touch. Both of them fit them perfectly, embracing their body in a way that could only mean they were bespoke. Of course Anatole would know his measurements, of course he would use such knowledge for evil.

The bad part was now Leon had to wait. He thought one day he’d unmask Anatole for the tormentor he was, obviously a man such as himself you made Leon wait, could not possibly be the good person the public (and Leon) knew he was. Incorrigible. He would have to break Vesuvian’s hearts, but it was for a good cause.

He could hear Camia, Alec and Jamil telling him he was full of shit.

Still Leon waited, finding things to occupy the hours until he heard one of the bookshelves in the morning room next to their bedroom slide, and the familiar echo of Anatole’s steps.

The smile was audible in his tone when he saw Leon. “Red looks good on you.”

“I don’t know what red looks like,” if he sounded more petulant than he intended, he didn’t apologise for it, nor Anatole said anything beyond fighting a laugh.

“How was your day, Lee?”

“Uneventful. I’ve wasted myself waiting. Debated telling Vesuvia how you’re a cruel man who must not love me, since you’re always running off to meetings.”

Anatole barked a laugh. “I will make sure to take you with me the next time we have to reform a wing of the court because a literal demon used to hold that office. I still do not understand how no one realised.”

“Fine, how was your day,” despite Leon’s tone, he made an instinctive grab for Anatole’s hand, lacing their fingers together and kissing his knuckles.

“The usual. Tiring, full of meetings, proud of myself for doing socialisation without mixing languages, or worse, getting too fatigued to go on — but I suppose I have to thank Nadia and my medicines for that—”

“You’re doing that thing where you sell yourself too short, and pretend the things you do are completely ordinary.”

“I’m not pretending, false modesty is not something that afflicts me. I’m not you.”

“Hey!”

“You started it.”

“Doesn’t mean you can continue it.”

Leon could feel the mocking reverence Anatole made. “Of course, your highness. But, as I was saying, it’s going. It will be a hassle, but we’re cautiously optimistic. I am desperately trying to convince Artemisia to join the prosecutors board.”

“I have no clue what that is, but why would Art say no?”

“Because I asked, because she doesn’t feel like it, because she’s not entirely convinced, because she think it’s unfair to start up that high — but, and I know I will lose you here somewhat, Artemis is truly brilliant when it comes to thinking and rethinking justice in a way I don’t think I am, or Nadia is, as intelligent and analytical as we can be. It’s a different drive, and of course, the predominantly legal and jurisprudential education does make a difference. I did not study Law, even if I know my share about law, I studied politics and International Relations.”

“Did you, perhaps, also minor in torturing me?”

“No, that just comes naturally… what are you wearing, by the way? Is that something you just found lying around?”

“You’re too intelligent to play dumb.”

“So are you, and you do it all the time, Leon.”

Leon was going to protest again, but Anatole gently cupped his cheek with his hand. Betraying himself, Leon leaned into it like one does to the fire after a cold day out.

“You are very good at complaining,” his tone had changed completely from familiarity to honey-like, heavy, warm, inviting, too inviting, “you’re lucky I like you.”

“You love me.”

“I do love you.”

Anatole gave him a chaste kiss… and that was it. Leon tried to kiss him again but his index pressed against his lips, making no reaction beyond a controlled breath as Leon sucked on his finger. Anatole removed his finger from Leon’s mouth, kissing his cheek instead.

Leon would not beg. He would plant himself like bricks, he would stand his ground in the same way Anatole did when he was fighting for something he cared about. This was about his dignity, this was about he had already been good, too good, and yet he was still being tortured simply because Anatole was getting off of it. He would pretend that didn’t turn him on like it was nobody’s business. He would pretend to be unbothered, he would not sway, except for maybe a little pout, a little cry.

He would not follow Anatole around, that was not what they were doing. Leon was asserting himself, not following.

He was full of shit. Leon was in the middle of another petty remark, when Anatole’s hands found their ribs, pushing him against the nearest wall, soft enough to hurt, but hard enough to get Leon’s blood to his groin faster than they could count to three. It was always surprising to remember Anatole may not be, physically, the strongest person he knew, but he was stronger than he looked like. Strong enough to manhandle someone a foot taller than him, for example. Leon hitched a breath as his fingers pinned him to place, Anatole’s mouth ghosting over his skin.

“You complain a lot for someone who’s been dotted and pampered all week.”

“That’s not what I want.”

“Then tell me what you want.”

“No.”

“Why not, sweetheart?”

“Because you’ll make me beg for it.”

“Leon, I think you’re already begging.”

For once, Leon couldn’t find anything to say to that.

“I don’t want one crocodile tear, understood?”

If it didn’t feel so good to say it, if Anatole’s hands, which had begun to roam his body, didn’t feel so nice against the fabric of the dress, Leon would’ve hated how quick he said: “Yes, sir.”

“That’s good, sweetheart.”

Anatole took his time, his mouth hot against Leon’s skin; his hands had made their way through the slits of the dress, palming through Leon’s thighs.

“I’m glad both these things fit you, you look so pretty like this — such a shame I’ll have to take them off, at least the dress.” He paused, his hand palming Leon’s sex. “Maybe next time wear it with nothing underneath.”

Anatole took off the dress with a practiced motion that could only mean he had studied how to do this before he gave it to Leon. Bastard, he thought, but didn’t say anything, as Anatole’s mouth and hands made it hard to concentrate. Even if it was Anatole the one dropping to his knees, Leon knew he was not the one in control here, all they could do was lean back against the wall, as Anatole mouthed him through the fabric of the lingerie, moving it enough to release Leon from it’s pressure as he took them in his mouth.

This time Anatole did not go at the excruciatingly slow, tender pace he had the days before. He was all precision and went to the point: the right amount of tongue, the right amount of pressure as he sucked, the right amount of teasing, the right amount of depth. He took one of Leon’s legs, putting it over his shoulder. The next thing Leon felt has one of his slicked fingers gently pressing against his entrance, a circular motion not meant to push in yet, but when he did, his mouth didn’t move away, not even when one finger became two, scissoring inside him, and when two became three.

“You’re going to make me come,” Leon whimpered.

Anatole removed his mouth from him with a wet pop. “Do or don’t, I’m fucking you anyway.”

Leon hissed.

“The only thing that will make me stop is a safeword, are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s my beautiful sweetheart.”

“You did all of this on purpose.”

“And what about it?”

“Bastard,” Leon spit out, it took all of their concentration not to cut their own words with a moan as Anatole pushed a third finger in.

“I only take your complaints as encouragement. If you’re too incoherent to argue, I win by default.”

Objectively speaking, Leon didn’t feel the absence of Anatole’s fingers for long, but everything was too long now. Anatole kissed him, ordering to bend forward a little and face the wall. He kissed the middle of their back before moving away, anticipation pooling in Leon’s stomach. He tried to touch himself, but Anatole caught him.

“That’s mine to touch, sweetheart,” Anatole said as he walked behind Leon, the lubed tip of his strap pushing against his entrance. “Just like you’re mine to fuck tonight, anyway I want.”

Anatole pushed in, but didn’t move yet.

“Anatole, I’ve waited enough.”

“I want to hear you say it, sweetheart. ‘Anyway I want’.”

One beat, two. Anatole still didn’t move his hips.

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Another beat, and Leon gave in. “Anyway you want, sir, just fuck me, please fuck me.”

Anatole wrapped an arm around Leon’s waist, kissing the middle of their back again before he began moving his hips, picking up pace quickly. He fucked Leon just like he had wanted and then some: deep, hard, angling himself to hit just where Leon wanted, alternating paces only to tease Lee a little more. Praise fell easy from his lips, his hands grabbing Leon’s hips, Anatole digging his fingers against their skin. He called them beautiful, he called them needy, he called them terrible, he repeated over and over that Leon was being so good, so eager and ready to get fucked.

“Not so cocky now, are we, sweetheart?”

When Leon tried to reply, he angled himself to hit just right, keeping the angle. Leon managed a “Fuck you” and Anatole laughed, bending over them to kiss their back again.

Leon came on Anatole’s hand, his dick still inside of him, hips still moving. They only moved to the bed when it did become too much, and then Anatole sat on his face, but eventually he went back to fucking him, making sure they came again, and again after that. Leon didn’t want it to be over yet, and he knew Anatole wasn’t likely to end it soon — though his cockiness eventually gave way to the same devotion of before, only being poured all over Leon in a different way, in a way that claimed and took and made him dizzy if he thought about it for too long. For Anatole, with Anatole, he would, however. When it came to him, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋#🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞#the arcana #the arcana lemon #the arcana oc #leon #aelius anatole #my writing #minors dni #lemon #coincidence lovers #there's so much bickering in this one like so much

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britesparc · 4 years

Text

Weekend Top Ten #471

Top Ten Settings for a Stardew Valley Spin-Off

Have you played Stardew Valley? It’s great. It’s this sort of farming sim-cum-RPG where you move into a dilapidated old farm and have to turn it around, selling lots of produce and turning a tidy profit. But as well as tilling soil and milking goats, you also have to mosey on down to the local village, befriend the curious townsfolk, repair the battered old community centre, and eventually settle down and get married. And on top of all that, there’s a really weird Lynchian mystery, with monsters in the mines and wizards and witches and a war between dwarves and some kind of race of shadow-people. It’s bonkers and it’s delightful and it’s incredibly, incredibly dense. It’s like a cross between a casual mobile game and six seasons of a prestige fantasy drama.

However good the game is – and it is very good – I never really got too into it. Possibly because in its structure I see too much of the “just one more turn” ethos of Civilization (time passes in days and you can only save when you go to bed, but every morning new stuff has happened or new crops have grown, so you always want to get up and see); as I’m already in the grips of a crippling addiction to the world’s greatest strategy game, injecting more of the same into my veins is a recipe for disaster. Fortunately, my wife got addicted instead, and since the recent console update, we’ve been able to play together in co-op.

So anyway, the long and the short of it is I’ve been playing it pretty much every night.

Whilst I’ve been playing, I’ve been thinking of ways the game could be expanded. Not necessarily improved, but just sort of… spun off, in wild and exciting new directions. A different flavour of Stardew. New settings, new options, new challenges. Do you remember “total conversions”? When teams of modders or developers would essentially build an entirely new game out of an old game? Happened a lot with the Quake and Half-Life engines back in the day; I think it might even be how Gearbox got started, if I remember rightly. Anyway, how’s about a Stardew Valley total conversion? Something along these lines. It’d be good fun at any rate! So let’s play Stardew Valley…

…on Tatooine: you play a moisture farmer with a small place just outside of a bigger town – maybe someplace a bit smaller and friendlier than the likes of Mos Eisley and Mos Espa. You have to install moisture vaporators, buy droids to maintain them, trade with passing Jawas, and fend off Sandpeople attacks (unless you can learn their language and befriend them, Mando-style). Romance townsfolk! Save up enough for a new speeder! Take your T-15 down Beggar’s Canyon to bullseye womp rats! But seriously, the idea of farming in an entirely inhospitable location, and farming in a way that’s not done at all on Earth (except maybe you can also breed whichever animals make the blue milk), is really interesting.

…in the Wild West: you get to be an old-timey rancher out in the West. Are you growing corn? Are you raising cattle? Build yourself a cozy farmhouse. Get one of those windmills going. Basically, you’re creating the Kent Farm in Smallville. Perhaps this could go a bit more serious and look at the relationship between the settlers, townsfolk, and the indigenous people; maybe you could try to get everyone to get along? Or just make it stereotypical and wildly offensive. Godless meets Little House on the Prairie.

…in the Vampire Apocalypse: basically Stardew Valley by way of I Am Legend. There’s no romance here, you’re the only human. During the day you farm, you gather, you build; at night you hunker down as wave after wave of vampires attack. But just like in the book, there’s a deeper, creepier, much sadder mystery to unfold. I mean, this is probably the best possible adaptation you could make of I Am Legend, especially as presenting in a top-down pixel art style would rob it of any sensationalism.

…with Pokémon: you’re always shoving Pokémon in creepy breeding centres in the games, right? Well what if this was basically a Pokémon farm. You have to build specific enclosures for the different Pokémon, make sure they’re well treated, and also grow sufficient crops and foods to keep them happy. Your ultimate aim is to sell the Pokémon themselves (or their produce, I guess) but you can also sell what you grow. And, of course, you can wander into whichever little village in Kanto or Galar or wherever it is we set the game, and have your usual mild RPG entanglements and romantic sub-plots. Meanwhile Team Rocket are trying to mess up your lovely farm. The dastards!

…at the North Pole: kinda similar to the Tatooine farm, this has you managing a remote outpost in the freezing wilderness. Barely anything can grow outside so you have to construct and maintain habitats to farm indoors, and rear animals, etc. You can trade (or romance!) local indigenous people, befriend penguins, and ride polar bears, which I assume is a totally realistic thing to do. On top of all this there could be other research projects to complete and the opportunity to expand the station itself. If you explore far enough, you find a crashed UFO buried in the ice, but whatever you do, don’t let it anywhere near your dog…

…in Yorkshire: basically not much different to Stardew as it exists now, but it’s set in the UK. I think very specifically a small North Yorkshire village. Think of the comedy accents and regional humour! This is the sort of thing Team 17 could have made a lot of headway with in the nineties. You’d be growing and harvesting typical British crops, dealing with eccentric British townsfolk, encountering Sunday bikers and car boot sales and dancing round the May Pole… the more I think about it, the more it should basically be a Wicker Man game, to be honest.

…in Bedrock: farming great big huge caveman crops! Building big rickety stone houses! Driving cars with your feet! And – of course – rearing dinosaurs. Dinosaurs! Think about it: everything would have to be bigger and chunkier and funnier. Maybe you could invent fire or the wheel, or something. Who owns the rights to Chuck Rock? Because if the Flintstone people aren’t on board, this could be a great way to bring back a classic gaming icon.

…during the War: sorta similar to the Yorkshire Farm game above, but specifically set during WWII. I guess this is a more serious sort of game, but the added complications of rationing and a reduced workforce (I think maybe you’d have to hire land girls or something?), making produce for the army and stuff, would add a lot to the gameplay. Perhaps there could be bombing raids, blackouts, and maybe even enemy spies to deal with. All this combined with older technology could be interesting.

…on Cybertron: a totally different way of farming. Imagine: you’re in charge of an energon farm on one of Cybertron’s moons. You have to harvest energon from the ground and then convert it; there could be different energon ores and different ways of converting them. You could also drill for nucleon or something, or rear turbo-rabbits, sharkticons, and scraplets (but don’t let them get loose!). Meanwhile the war is brewing down on the planet below, and eventually you have to decide if you can remain neutral, or if you have to pick a side.

…in the Shire: on the one hand, it’s a fairly straightforward pastoral game, similar to Stardew as it exists now; plant seeds, grow crops, rear animals, do up your farmhouse. But your farm is in the Shire, you’re a hobbit, and everyone else is a hobbit. Grow pipeweed and learn to blow smoke rings! Expand your hobbit hole by digging further into the hill! Go into the Green Dragon and romance the barmaid! You can go adventuring, befriending wizards like Gandalf or Radagast, making friends with dwarves and maybe even meeting elves and men… but if you do, your hobbit neighbours might think a lot less of you. Man, now I really want this game! It sounds fantastic!

So there we are. Ten possible Stardew spin-offs. This started as a fun exercise and ended with me inventing a game that I want more than any other game that exists. This is crazy. Someone make me my gentle hobbit social RPG… please?!

#top ten #games #gaming #stardew valley #hobbits #transformers #star wars #flintstones

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jocazep · 5 years

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In the Whole Wide Train | Chapter 3

Pairing: Curtis Everett x Reader (Jo, OFC), slight Edgar x Reader

Warnings: Major spoilers for SNOWPIERCER, dystopian society and its countless problems, mentions of forced abortions, language, violence, deaths, slow burn, eventual smut

Synopsis: Having grown up in the Front Sections of the Snowpiercer, you venture down the train when a rare opportunity presents itself, but the excursion quickly changes flavor when you arrive in the Tail Section.

Taglist: Open until further notice!

Series Masterlist

Chapter Three - Coming Clean

Curtis had been having trouble sleeping. The red letter had stopped coming for a while, since the last one that spelled out the name of the security expert locked in the prison section three cars ahead. Like Gilliam said, their fate depended on this person. But how do they get to the prison section? He’s been counting the seconds every time the guards came to dispense protein blocks, and without fail, the three doors would start to close after four seconds. He turned on his narrow bed. Edgar muttered something in his sleep on the bottom bunk, “Leave it, Mum, no leave it...”

Curtis waited for it to stop, but no luck. After a few minutes, he let out a sigh, and sat up. Climbing down the steps, he made for the front of the section, looking for some peace and quiet to clear his head.

“Pssst, you should be sleeping.” Jo’s voice came whispering behind him. Curtis turned to see her leaning out from her bed.

“Right back at you,” He whispered back.

A smile spread on Jo’s face, “Touché. Good night, Curtis.”

“Good night.” He stood there just a moment longer after Jo retreated back to the shadows of her bunk. His own smile taking its sweet time fading.

He had been seeing more and more of Jo lately. Every so often, as he discussed plans for their revolt with Gilliam, Jo would pop in to return a book and borrow a new one. Strangely Curtis didn’t mind, which must be because Gilliam didn’t seem to mind, he reasoned to himself. But someone very much did.

“Why does Jo get to sit in and I can’t?” After about the 8th time of being asked to wait outside, Edgar complained.

“Because she keeps her eyes to herself when she’s in there,” Curtis really didn’t want this argument today, not when he’s still stuck on getting past the doors.

“I can keep my eyes to myself! It’s just my ears that want to listen.”

Curtis couldn’t help but chuckle, “Look, she’s not sitting in for anything, she’s just returning Gilliam’s books. Maybe if you read any, you’d be given in-and-out access too.“ Then he trudged into Gilliam’s quarters for another session.

“I just think I can help out!” Behind him, Edgar made his dissatisfaction known one more time before slumping down to his usual spot opposite Grey.

About half an hour into the session with Gilliam, Curtis was already frustrated enough to pull his own hair out.

“Even if it’s just me on the cart and Grey pushing, we’re cutting it close with just four seconds...“ Curtis ran his hand through his beard, his eyes fixed on the three protein blocks laid out on the table.

“Could Nam perhaps come back to open the gates again and take us the rest of the way.“

“Yeah, if we can get him to cooperate--“ Curtis stops short as a beam of light lit up the desk.

“Don’t mind me,“ Jo stepped in, her hair catching a reddish hue against the light, “I’m just returning Korea.” She waved a ripped out section of a book with a little Earth logo on the top of each page.

Curtis recognized it as the Lonely Planet book he had when he was hitchhiking onto this train back in 2014 at the tender age of 17. The now 33-year-old felt a pan of nostalgia. He had no idea that Gilliam kept it.

Jo took a quick glance at the table, and went to browse the rest of Gilliam’s collection. Curtis wondered what else Gilliam had kept from the early days of the train.

“Still wondering how to get through three doors in four seconds?” Jo’s voice came through quiet but definitive.

Curtis’s mouth fell to the floor. He looked at her with his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he searched for the words.

Meanwhile Jo didn’t need to wait for the question, “Edgar told me.”

Of course. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do with that boy.”

“Oh don’t be so harsh on him. He’s just starved for conversation now that you are always holed up here working. He was also telling me about the bathroom door, it just wouldn’t close during his wash time, and it turned out that a tiny scrap of tin can was lodged near the frame in the rail..”

A lightbulb went off in Curtis’s head, “That’s it!” He all but jumped up, and clasped his hands on both Jo’s arms, “That’s it, I’ve got--” He could have kissed her in that moment, were it not for Edgar running in.

“Health inspection, now.”

And the world turned upside down.

They took all the kids. And lined them up in the front of the train. Measuring them. All eleven of them. Tanya had hidden Timmy inside her skirt, but the woman in the yellow jacket found him, and pulled him up too.

Tanya fought like hell, but when Curtis, Edgar, and Jo had gotten to her, the guards already had her on the ground. The trio acted on pure instinct, and pushed against the guards still beating Tanya.

Amidst the struggle, Curtis saw a guard carrying Timmy up to a woman in a yellow jacket, who measured him for height. He didn’t have much time to understand what this was all for though, for behind him came a sickening sound of metal on flesh--

Jo had pushed one of the guards onto the ground and earned a heavy rifle butt in the back.

“Hey you bastards!” Edgar went for the guard, while Curtis squatted down to check on Jo.

“You okay?”

Jo looked shaken to her core, her eyes red and fighting back tears. She still gave him a quick nod, “Go help Tanya.”

Curtis could never forget the look on Tanya’s face as she watched her son follow the yellow lady out of the Tail Section. Everything moved in slow motion. The father of the other boy taken threw a shoe at the lady, and a mob of guards flooded to subdue him. Tanya was crying for Timmy. The boy looked back as the door to the quarantine section slowly closed behind him.

---

They took Timmy.

For a long while this was the only thought circling in your head. As Curtis pulled you to your feet, as the crowd calmed down after the yellow woman took the two boys away, as you helped Tanya back to her bed, this was all you could think about.

They took Timmy.

Because of you.

A small voice kept saying in your head. The rational part of you reasoned that it was all Wilford’s fault, whatever his intentions were for the children, but the small voice was very insistent. It kept repeating these same words as your fidgeting hands cleaned up Tanya’s wounds from the beating.

“Jo, Jo,” Curtis’s voice came through foggy.

“Yes?” You tore your attention from Tanya’s puffy eye for a moment. She had calmed down from the adrenaline rush some time ago, and was now asleep out of exhaustion.

Curtis’ brows creased as he saw your face, a flicker of concern in his eyes.

Which is when you first realized that you had been crying. Your streaks of tear leaving a sting in your left cheek.

You tilted your head up and blinked your eyes, not wanting to get tears on your hands. Curtis palmed out a small piece of cloth, and handed it to you.

“I can’t.” You signaled your hands, “I’m almost done anyways, it’s okay.”

He squatted down, and reached out to wipe your tears. You flinched at first contact.

“Come here,” his low voice vibrated quietly, “You’re bleeding.”

You held your breath and you watched his hand approach. Through the cloth, Curtis’s touch was surprisingly gentle as he wiped the tears away.

“Is it bad, the cut?”

“Not too bad,” He dabbed the congealed blood off your face, “Did you not feel it?”

You shook your head, “Must be the adrenaline.”

“Speaking of which, what were you thinking, rushing the guards like that?”

“I couldn’t just let them--” You stopped mid-sentence as a pang of guilt hits you in the gut.

“The only way we can stop any of this is getting to the front of the train. Anything else is just a distraction.”

If only that were true. “This is people’s lives we are talking about. It’s Timmy, and Andrew’s boy.” How ironic coming from you, you thought, but it couldn’t be helped.

“You and Edgar, I swear to god, it’s as if you were twins...” Curtis sighed as he stood back up, “Anyway, I just wanted to tell you, Mason is coming down. It’s gonna be ugly. Maybe stay here with Tanya.”

You didn’t listen to Curtis.

When the guards came back with Minister Mason and the Franco Brothers to punish Andrew, Curtis was surprised to see you sitting down next to him.

“He’ll need help when they’re through,” you said. Curtis didn’t argue with that.

You’ve heard about the Freezing in the front before, but seeing it still put a visceral horror inside you. As Andrew’s arm hit the sub-zero air outside, his howls chilled you to your bones.

Then came Mason’s speech, with which you were all too familiar. But this time it sounded more shrill than ever before.

“I belong to the front, and you belong to the tail...”

Andrew had passed out from shock, and the Franco brothers had to physically pull him back to the center of the front. His right arm was frozen hard as a rock.

You stopped looking as the Franco brothers put Andrew’s right arm on the chopping block, for lack of a better word, and pulled up a cast iron hammer.

A small movement in your peripheral vision caught your attention. You look to your right--Curtis had put his left hand between the two of you. No words were needed, a silent moment of understanding passing between you. You put your hand in his, and gave it a little squeeze. You were okay.

You forced your eyes back up. You should watch this.

Slam. Contact. Andrew fell to the ground howling. You squeezed Curtis’s hand a little tighter. He wrapped his fingers around the back of your hand.

Behind you, a clicking of crutches approached. You knew it was Gilliam by the shift in Mason’s countenance. She stood up to greet him.

People shifted to clear a path for Gilliam. The clueless guards raised their guns, but Mason waved them away.

“Put that useless gun down! Put it away!”

As Gilliam walked past, you began to stand up. Curtis was still holding your hand. His eyes searched yours with concern.

“I should go help,” you said. Curtis nodded and let go.

You held eyes with Mason for a moment before walking past her, a slight twitch of her face betraying her recognition of you. You didn’t reciprocate. Taking the blanket from Gilliam’s hook, you wrapped it around Andrew and helped him up.

---

As Jo busied herself with taking care of Andrew, Curtis pitched his solution for getting past the three security gates. Sure the door stop would take a while to build, but with luck they would have enough scraps within the Tail Section to pull it off. And if anyone needed motivation before, Andrew’s punishment this afternoon surely lit a fire in most.

By the time everything was squared away, it was deep into the night. Curtis exited Gilliam’s quarters with Edgar (who was very excited to be finally sitting in on a revolt meeting), and went to check on Tanya.

“Man, that was a genius plan,” Edgar was still a little excited, “How did you think of that?”

“Oh it was something Jo said--” Curtis remembered Jo, and wondered how she was doing, “Hey, Edgar, go on ahead to Tanya’s first. I’m gonna check on Andrew, see how he’s doing.”

Curtis found Andrew curled up on his bunk, what remained of his right arm bandaged neatly with a vaguely familiar, faintly yellow fabric. Andrew was sound asleep, and Jo nowhere to be found.

Painter lowered himself on his little pulley, “She just went to wash up.” He handed a charcoal drawing to Curtis. In it, Jo was ripping off the sleeves of her shirt.

Curtis returned the drawing to Painter, and headed for the washroom.

---

Flickering light escaped through the small crack in the door. Looks like the door is still broken. Curtis could hear the water running inside as you turned on the tap, and then, a quiet yelp.

“Jo, you okay in there?”

A beat before you answered, “Yeah, it’s just the water’s colder than I thought.”

Curtis nodded before he realized you couldn’t see him. He leaned his back against the frame of the door, blocking the slim opening. Another small yelp came through the door. It must be the cut on your face. Then Curtis thought of the rifle hit on your back--that must be bruising now...

The whole train was quiet, except for the sound of water. Curtis shifted as his thoughts turned from the bruise to the cold water running down your naked back. He thought of your arms as you tore off the sleeves of your shirt to bandage Andrew. He swallowed hard. It’s been forever since he’s thought of a woman that way.

Your wash was really short, seeing how the water was scarce.

Between cleaning Tanya and Andrew, there was barely enough soap to wash the soot, blood, and chunks of flesh off your hands and face anyway. The rest you had to make do with what used to be the torso of your torn-up shirt.

Thankfully there was a mirror in the washroom, so you could check yourself for injuries. The rifle butt you caught in the back left a nasty bruise, just beneath your bra strap. That probably won’t go away for weeks. But else than that, you got off pretty lucky.

Compared with Tanya and Andrew. Oh shit, Tanya and Andrew. And their children. The pang of guilt returned. The wretched cries of the two parents echoed in your ears as you looked down at your surveyor’s notebook. It’s time to come clean.

Turning off the water, you reached for the rest of your clothes, only to remember that you left them outside of the cramped space.

You turned to the door, and saw Curtis’s broad shoulders blocking the crack you had left in the door. You felt butterflies in your stomach. Has he been there the whole time? This whole time only a flimsy door stood between you and Curtis?

You licked your lips and called out, “Curtis? Can you hand me my clothes?”

Curtis hadn’t even noticed the pile of clothes until then.

“Yes,” His movement was rigid, him doing his best to keep his field of vision from the door as his hand grabbed the clothes and reached in.

“Thanks,” it was virtually a whisper as you took the clothes.

Then Curtis remembered Painter’s drawing, “Wait.” He took off his coat, his layers of sweaters beneath, and finally his flannel shirt. Dusting it off, he handed it through the crack to you.

“It’s not the cleanest, and missing a couple of buttons, but...”

You stared at the shirt, and Curtis’s arm holding it. Your eyes travel the length of the arm, marveling at the tense muscles before noticing a light scar running across it near the elbow. Is he not wearing anything on the other side? For some reason the thought made your heart beat faster.

“Thanks,” you took the shirt and put it on. The flannel smelled faintly of soot and sweat. And Curtis.

Once you put on your sweater, and wedged the notebook in its usual hiding place, you opened the door fully, “Is everything okay? Tanya? Andrew?”

Curtis turned and took you in. His flannel was much too large a fit, and the missing buttons revealed just a bit of skin around your collarbone. The thin layer of moisture left your skin glistening.

Curtis wanted to tell you a lot of things, but at the moment, all he could muster was to clear his throat and say, “Yeah they’re all fine. I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

You took a deep breath. Here goes. Coming clean.

“Curtis, before...” Before what exactly? You shook your head and pushed on, “I think there’s something you should know.”

Taglist: @emmalbg @ajosieface @torntaltos

#chris evans fanfic #chris evans x reader #curtis everett x reader #snowpiercer #chris evans #chris evans x you #curtis everett #curtis everett fanfic #snowpiercer fanfic

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rigelmejo · 4 years

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i’ve been watching Handsome Siblings on netflix only in chinese to just like. see where i’m at.

and now that i’m on ep 4 it would feel kind of weird to suddenly switch back to english subs ok, for one.

but anyway like general level-wise: i am pretty much at where i can follow a lot of the gist of scenes even if i don’t pause to translate - but then i’m going to be relying on visual context a lot more. which is fine, it means i can go watch a show with no english subs to rely on Ever and at least follow along.

i do notice that if i PAUSE, i can catch the specifics of a lot more scenes. There’s a scene where the two princess sisters are talking to their nephew (who is a spitting image of Jiang Feng), and then after he leaves - discussing telling him to go take a mission to kill Xiao Yu’er, and then when he leaves the two princesses discuss their plan. I paused over and over after EVERY line that episode, because I really wanted to know the specifics of what they were saying. A lot of lines I could read, and there were a lot of one-words-in-a-sentence i had to look up for a more precise understanding. Same with a scene later in the town said-nephew and his girl kickass companions go to - i could follow the gist, but paused after some lines (and looked up a couple words) for more specific details.

I will say that the more characters you learn, the easier life is. Really! The more characters I know, the easier my gist-guess is right, the easier remembering new words (made up of known characters) is, and looking up new words is VASTLY easier because I know their pinyin and can look them up faster than drawing.

If you’re going to do this: I’d still recommend using googletranslate to look up multiple characters you don’t know/phrases, since you can draw and easily get the correct result looked up. I’d recommend pleco if you know the pinyin, or if its a single word (because pleco’s definitions are more thorough and explanatory than googletranslate’s), or if it might be an idiom.

I would recommend that if you like watching stuff on the computer, to get the learn-with-netflix dual subtitle add on, and just click your subtitles for a definition on-the-video-itself instead of needing to open an app like me.

---

I am immensely excited and happy that I can watch a chinese show with no english and follow the gist now. That is a huge amount of progress for me compared with August 2019 when I started (and only knew ‘ni hao/wo hen hao’ and the numbers ;w; ). I am so proud of where I’ve gotten to. I definitely think really focusing on increasing known frequent words helps a lot. (Also, reading a grammar guide - grammar is again becoming understandable, so idk my brain is just acclimating again i guess). I’m going to keep focusing on frequent words, and the 2,000 most common characters, for a while and hopefully eventually this payoff will translate to reading as well.

If you DO happen to want to try watching a chinese show without english and testing yourself/studying, I have some mild recommendations you might take into consideration.

1. If it’s too difficult, do it a little, then come back to it in a few weeks, repeat. This task really only gets enjoyable once you understand enough to be ‘comfortable’ with the remaining ambiguity you still don’t comprehend. That is going to be different for different people. I am comfortable with a pretty high amount of ambiguity/lack of understanding, so I can at least try to watch even stuff-i-barely-grasp at least a little for practice until my brain feels fried. But I’ve been trying this for months... its only NOW that my brain feels relatively okay just watching without pausing, without feeling Completely overwhelmed. And if you do intend to watch without pausing much, you’ll have some degree of not-understanding-everything. Likewise, if you plan to pause the show (and how much you plan to pause it) should be tolerable for you as well. If you have to pause everything, understand everything - do you know enough words to do that in a timely enough manner to get THROUGH an episode? If it takes you a long time, are you willing to intensively focus and look things up that entire time? Basically - what is your tradeoff between you being able to pause and focus intensively on looking things up, versus you being able to watch without pausing and interpret from the words you know/context only. Whatever balance is most enjoyable/bearable for you is when this will start being something that’s easier to do regularly, instead of only occasionally as practice. At least, that’s how it was for me. I’m only finally at a point where I can do this regularly - before I could only do this for maybe 10-20 minute chunks of time occasionally.

2. Pick a genre of show/material you are going to engage in frequently. If you’re ALWAYS watching case-type shows, those words and those scenes will be more familiar to you and easier for you to interpret from context and with less looking things up. If you try this with a wildly different kind of show, you may know MANY less words and many scenes may be harder for you to comprehend the gist of. I watch a TON of case type shows so they’re very easy for me to see and pick up words I’m familiar with, single out the parts that are ‘important explanation’ versus ‘some crowd saying unimportant WOW oh No how Horrible’ type lines. So i can cherry pick important things to pause and look up words for, and guess at what kind of line i’m trying to interpret (i can guess if it’s about a case, an emotional discussion, a simple ‘lets do X’ statement etc - because i’m familiar with the plot type). In a similar vein - an easier show/material to do this with, may well be a show you’ve already watched in your native language/with your native language. For all the same reasons - you will be much more familiar with the context. I could in theory watch Guardian again (which i’ve rewatched... a lot) and I would probably follow the plot very easily. But I like a challenge too much apparently, and I’d rather practice with things I can’t fall-back on my existing knowledge for as much. A show I’ve never seen has much less I can rely on for context, BUT the trade off is I can really clearly test how well i’m comprehending the plot and lines - because they are all completely new to me, so I either comprehend or I clearly do not understand what’s going on/obviously misinterpret. So it’s a very quick way for me to see if I’m achieving anything or not. Whereas if I was watching a show I already saw, I might learn new words noticably, but I wouldn’t be able to tell if I’m getting better at understanding overall plot with no english to rely on (since I already saw it before with english).

3. If you’re like me - maybe pick a show either heavy on action, or heavy on daily life. While I am familiar with case-type shows... I generally think (for me) they’re harder to follow when your existing vocab knowledge isn’t high enough to follow it... They’re big on mysteries, on plots that are actually not what they appear, and surprises. They’re big on ‘strategies’ and I find for myself, strategies are kind of hard to follow when I know less words. In contrast: if you pick a daily-life type show, you’re more likely to either know the words or NEED to know the words at some point because they’ll be useful to you. And the scenes should be relatively easy to comprehend visually even when you don’t know the words. (My caveat being - if you want the language specifically FOR understanding certain genres, by all means go for the topics you’ll actually be using - if you’re gonna read a ton of wuxia, or case-stuff etc, then go for stuff you’ll Actually Use which might well be THEM). For me... my end goal is to be able to read creative fiction, so wuxia settings and fantastical settings and mystery-words and period-words are all things I better get used to. So I haven’t really watched much daily-life stuff (although there are daily-life scenes WITHIN a lot of dramas, and I do think they’re some of the easiest scenes to follow and comprehend).

Now, why might you pick an action-heavy show: easy to comprehend. Especially if you often watch action-oriented stuff already. The first chinese show I watched a whole episode of in only-chinese (it’s first episode, so that’s when i figured out the entire show’s set up) was The Shaw Eleven Lang (I really wanted more of Zhu Yilong’s acting in my life okay?). I DID in fact, manage to follow the plot. Without pausing much, because I was just watching it with dinner. What made it easier to follow was SO MUCH of the dialogue was really straightforward - stuff like ‘i want that sword’ or ‘i hate you’ or ‘lets eat and drink together to celebrate’ or ‘you need to go save/kill x’ or ‘do you think i’m pretty’ etc. So much of the dialogue was NOT schemes/plots/mysteries, it was really straightforward ‘we are doing X, we like Y, we hate Z’. Which for me are the sentence types I find the easiest to understand, and especially found the easiest at that point in time. In addition, because the show has so much action, often the dialogue is accompanied by action scenes that make it pretty freaking CLEAR what their objective is/what they just said. Yes, there are still plenty of unknown words to look up if you want to pause - but it should be obvious enough that you might have a decent guess at what they mean before you look them up (I had to look up words like sword, princess, clan leader, but those were pretty clear even beforehand from the context of the scenes). After I watched the first ep (which i don’t think i could even find english subs for), I watched the second ep with eng subs to see if i’d interpreted the plot correctly so far - i had. It felt pretty motivating to get through 40 minute episodes without much pausing, and know I’d followed along. I think, at least if you’re already an action-show/movie watcher, action series are going to be a relatively approachable thing to try watching in just your target language. (Another positive is a lot of verbs as commands lines, in context, so for me it’s easier to pick up new verbs, and those kind of lines are very easy to pick up in context - also lines like ‘xiao xin’ be careful, bubi, meiguanshi, danxin, ni fangxin, etc - all these short lines that are easy to understand in the context they often come up in).

(Also, do I recommend The Shaw Eleven Lang? Well... I need to go back to watching it but uh... it’s definitely AN EXPERIENCE... with wild fighter-game-tetsuya-nomura-would-be-proud kind of costume designs, wild af scenes so far, and uh as far as i can tell Zhu Yilong’s on point to play a pretty crazy bastard in it... also there’s a LOT of genuinely kickass girls and kickass main women, which i appreciate, i believe also the main women are all 30+ which is refreshing in general in any-show tbh. also just... everyone in the show is kickass... that’s the point... its a lot like to me, if a absolutely Wild fighting game got a budget for a full drama and just went wild on the plot - very fun to watch, very bizarre... not particularly deep but like, did you play Square enix’s The Bouncer on ps2 for a Good Plot or for an absolutely wild bizarre Time? This show is like the game The Bouncer... just freaking Wild conceptually).

And now, I am watching Handsome Siblings, and managing to get through episodes with only a little pausing for when I want to figure out specifics. It is also very action-scene heavy. At least for me, that’s been making it a lot easier to follow the gist of. There’s scenes where robbers attack - and even if I don’t know every line, its easy to figure out the gist of what’s being said. There’s scenes where people fight - again, very easy to follow. The parts I’ve been pausing the most on are the sisters plotting, because I feel that’s probably the most intensive-mystery in this plot so far, and because I want to make sure I interpret the details correctly when they’re mentioning them (since I think they’ll play out more in the plot later). I think the fact this show is Action-Heavy is making it tremendously easier for me to follow then like... me trying to watch Nirvana in Fire would be. The very straightforward action scenes are much easier to follow using visual context, at least for me, compared to dialogue heavy scenes where the vocabulary is not going to be emphazised with visuals nearly as much. (Another bonus of Handsome Siblings, at least so far, is the dialogue heavy scenes ARE accompanied by visual flashbacks to EXPLAIN the dialogue). Another bonus for Handsome Siblings: the writing seems very straightforward and decently paced. You don’t have to wait long for new scenes, for new developments, and that means a lot of dialogue and action is doing something right away and has a lot of context you immediately see result in something else. For me that just makes it... approachable and understandable in the kind of way like... movies like The Mummy were paced, or Indiana Jones, or Independence Day... do you know what I mean? It’s fun to watch even if you couldn’t understand, and the structure makes it quite comprehensible again even if you heard no dialogue at all. So for me, at least, it makes the balance of ‘ease of watching versus patience to look things up slowly’ much easier. Because its ease of watching is pretty high even for scenes where actual words-you-know isn’t high, so you can save looking-things-up for only when you WANT to, not necessarily as something you need to constantly do just to catch the gist.

---

I tried reading again - I tried reading the novel for the Sleuth of Ming Dynasty. It was BRUTAL because I apparently know NO dynasty-royalty-govt related words (which really explains why Men With Swords political scenes I know so few words lol). I got through 10 out of 39 ‘small’ pages on my phone for the first chapter. I think I managed to follow it, the grammar thankfully was really straightforward and I imagine the original author is quite talented. The difficulty was in the very common use of turns of phrase and idioms for so many parts of sentences, which were all new ‘words/phrases’ i’d never seen before.

#handsome siblings #chinese studyblr #rant #nts #watch progress #a lot of this is notes for myself but if anyone finds it useful thats cool #i am just. so happy about the progress #a few months ago watching a show in all chinese was a pipe dream #and in august that would have been completely unimaginable #i really... started in august practically useless

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vegetacide · 5 years

Text

Whump●tober - Stitches

Veg-notables: Annnnndddddddd… here we are again. I just can’t escape this one right it seems. It keeps demanding I give it more attention… So.. I broke the boys a bit more…

@gumnut-logic ::tosses a powdered donut at Nutty… cause she just wants to get icing sugar EVERYWHERE::

Thunderheads! Calling all ThunderHeads! You guys are awesome!

Obligatory whumptober stuff: @whumptober2019 @la-vie-en-whump

Blanket warning: Big brother be pissed...brain ouchie and other not so great things and foul language.

Characters: Virgil/Kayo, and Scott.

Whumptober - TaG’verse

Previous parts can be found -> Part 1 Unconscious | Part 2 Shaky Hands

Also connected to the Coffee series post Insomnia which can be found HERE

11. Stitches

Enjoy…

oOo

Scott slammed the data pad down on his Father’s desk with a bit more force than was really called for and the litany of curse words that followed tinted the air blue.

The pair sitting in the lounge playing Zombie Apocalypse instantly stilled and quieted. Their gaze flickering back and forth between where Scott was sitting and each other.

Erring on the side of caution and a healthy instinct for self-preservation, Alan and Gordon calmly stood without a word between them and fled the room for safer environs. Being in their big brother’s sights when that foul tongue started spewing out invectives was tantamount to throwing your freedom away. The last thing either of them wanted to do was end up scrubbing carbon deposits off of the launch pads…

It had happened before and it hadn’t been a pleasant experience for either of them.

Scott saw the not so subtle fleeing of his younger siblings and dropped his face into his palm with a groan. If they were puppies they would have have had their tails between their legs and their ears flat to their skulls in fear…

That image stuck with him as he once again picked up the inventory report that he had requested Brains put together from Two stores and read over the data again.

He couldn’t decide who he was more pissed off with. Virgil for being an idiot or himself for not paying better attention.

He tended to leave his next closest brother to his own devices as his own attention was usually pivoting back and forth between Alan and Gordon. Trusting Virgil’s judgement when out in the field but maybe he had put a little too much faith in it.

The numbers he was looking at were certainly evidence of that.

Sighing, he dragged a frustrated hand through his graying hair. The last person he expected to be adding to it was Virgil.. They were going to have to have a serious talk once the engineer emerged from his rooms.

Looking at the time on a desktop display, he figured he had a couple hours to mentally prepare himself for that conversation. There was only a slim chance though that by then his temper would have cooled off enough for it. One thing he knew for sure…going head on with Virgil when he was this steamed didn’t usually end well for either of them.

Maybe his younger brothers had the right idea after all.

8-8-8

Several hours later, Virgil roused from the depths of sleep again to find himself all but wrapped around Kayo.

Her head was tucked up tight to his chest, hands loosely clutching at the front of his shirt, her chest rising and falling evenly in a way that indicated deep sleep. Her eyes were a bit puffy and there was colour still high on her cheeks but she was sleeping peacefully.

After her bout of; as she termed it, ‘female hysterics’ she’d settled in to his side and they’d spent a good hour talking.

He could admit that his brain hadn’t been at its greatest and not all of the conversation had been enjoyable but by the end of it exhaustion and the satisfaction that they had taken some very healthy steps in their relationship had chased them both into sleep.

Brushing his lips over her brow and down to the crest of her ear as she stirred against him, he whispered softly that he needed to get up and that she should get some more sleep.

She nodded groggily, gripped his hand a moment and with bleary eyes looked up at him in question.

“I’m okay, I just need food. I won’t be gone long, I promise.”

Satisfied with that, she snuggled into his pillow and was out again within seconds.

Carefully, he pulled his arm out from under her and swiveled around to get out of bed. He took care as he placed his feet on the floor to make sure the room wasn't spinning topsy-turvy before he muscled his way up to full vertical.

Unhooking himself for the IV line as he just couldn’t imagine them getting anymore saline in his body at this point he carefully slide that catheter out from his vein and bandaged it with ease. Years of medical practice coming to the fore with little effort from his sluggish brain.

Mission accomplished, he shuffled over to his closet and dragged on a loose pair of soft cotton sweats. For some reason after a migraine the thought of anything else touching his skin grated on him so he always made sure to have some high grade cotton in his wardrobe for just these occasions.

On bare feet, ‘cause it was just too much effort to bend again to deal with socks, he slipped quietly from the room and headed off towards the main living area and kitchen.

The house was dark and quiet and as he made his way down the long hallway and he absently took note that someone had dropped the storm shutters in the likelihood that he would venture from the black out curtained confines of his rooms. Knowing that the bright light of the sun would most likely melt him on the spot in his post brain hemorrhage stage and he hazard a guess it was Scott’s doing.

His big brother had always been attentive like that, it was part of his mother henning charm. A trait that was well known to all the islands occupants.

The soft hum of the A/C and HVAC units pumped fresh filtered air into the villa and it breezed across the top of his feet as he swung into the elevator and hit up the main floor of the house.

The stairs were just a little too much for him to handle at the moment though he would have much preferred to take them. The shift in gravity as the sleek cube of metal silently dropped down had him bracing a hand on the wall and his stomach gave a little lurch in protest.

God, he really hated the aftermath of one of his episodes. Almost as bad as the migraines themselves… almost.

A soft ding and the elevators opened. It wasn’t until he stepped out and the doors whooshed closed behind him that he noticed he was on the wrong floor. Crap... In the post haze he’d hit the button for the comms and lounge level of their island dwelling.

Turning he glared at the closed metallic panels behind him. It was already heading down to the sub-levels of the island.

Not wanting to wait for the thing to return and possibly run into whoever had called it, he grumbled. He was really not in any state to interact with anyone. Too much effort was required for that.

Eyeing the dimly lit hallway and the head of the stairs he said a soft “Fuck it.” What was one flight of stairs...he could manage it and made his way carefully down the hallway.

At the top, he glanced down the flight to the kitchen area below. Those thirteen steps down could have been the side of a cliff for how far they seemed to drop but he was committed now and he wasn’t going to turn back around. He needed some form sustenance to fill the hole in his gut. Something salty and not too flavourful that would get him started on a full recovery of his depleted reserves.

Grabbing the hand rail, he took one fortifying breath and that’s when Scott came into view at the base of the stairs and Virgil stopped dead in his tracks.

Scott looked up at him with a raised brow and by the look in his eye and the hard set of his lips Virgil knew he was up shits creek without a Thunderbird in sight to save him.

Well, he really shouldn’t be surprised, he mused. He knew this was coming. Taking his hand off the railing, he took a step back and crossed his arms over his broad chest as Scott made his way up the stairs.

Scott passed by him in silence and heading over to their Father’s desk, a cup of coffee in one hand and a glass of water in the other and set them down. The coffee on his side beside the data pads and the other in front of the vacant chair on the other side.

His bright blue gaze flashed up at him sternly and pointedly looked towards the chair before he folded his height in the cushioned leather of the high back that they had all coined ‘The Throne.’

Looks like they were doing this now… Virgil took one last look down to the kitchen, he’d lost his appetite anyways and with as much dignity as he could muster in track pants and a rumbled shirt with his hair sticking up every which way, made his way over.

He didn’t sit though, he wanted to be on his feet for this. For some reason sitting with Scott being that desk in what was their Father’s chair made him feel uneasy and vulnerable.

Scott said nothing, just picked up his coffee and sipped at it as he went back to looking over whatever stock options and financial data he had scrolling over the many pads in front of him.

Virgil’s shoulders tensed and he couldn’t quite hide the wince as a residual wave of vertigo made him titter a bit on his feet.

“Sit down.” Scott said, not bothering to look up. It wasn’t the voice of his brother though, it was the commander of International Rescue front and center and he was pissed.

No wonder there was no trace of Gordon or Alan about or even Brains for that matter. If he remembered what day of the week it was correctly, Grandma was on the mainland for her habitual backgammon game and wasn’t expected back until sometime the following day.

Which made now the perfect time for a dress down from his commanding officer.. Cause that was who was in front of him now. Gone was the caring big brother with his easy smile and semi laid back air, in his place was the military trained officer who brokered no BS from anyone under his command.

Virgil was a dead man..and he thought longingly of the warmth and comfort of his bed. The long, lean limbs of his lover… So should have stayed where he was for another century or two so he would have been more sound of mind to deal with this.

“I’m good standing, thanks.” His voice was rough from disuse and he clenched his teeth, the muscles along his jawline jumping under the stubbly growth that darkened his cheeks.

Scott’s eyes finally came up and there was a flash of fire in their depth. “Fine, do as you like.”

Virgil sighed and rolled his eyes. “Scott, really can we get on with this. I really just want to go back to….”

“You have any idea how worried she is about you?” Scott spoke over him. “How worried we both are?”

Virgil clamped his mouth shut, he was well aware of Kayo’s state at the moment and Scott bloody well knew it.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Scott’s voice grew in volume and he slammed his coffee cup down on the table, dark liquid splashing out and on to the clutter of data pads.

“Saving lives, doing my job. What more do you want from me?” Virgil shot back, his own anger growing as Scott scowled at him.

Scott abruptly sprang from his feet and slammed a pad down on the table by Virgil’s forgotten glass of water.

Virgil spared it the briefest of glances, Two’s inventory catalogue.

“I expect you to know better.” Scott was seething, his shoulders pumping up and down as he breathed in irate displeasure.

Virgil’s eyes narrowed and his fists tightened against his biceps. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“This,” Scott snapped again, “Or didn’t you think I’d notice the drop in the stim-tab quantity on Two?”

Doing another once over of the info displayed on the pad, he caught sight of the discrepancy in the numbers and looked away.

“Do you care to explain this?” The demand was loaded and Scott braced both hands on the desktop, eyes watchful and accusing. “Well…?”

Virgil worked his jaw, teeth grinding together in a way that sent a spike of pain along the side of his skull. He was not having this conversation. He was not going to sit here and be accused and questioned like a junky. What the hell did Scott expect when he’d spent the better part of the last week circumnavigating the planet at least six times and had what amount to a handle of hours actually sleeping between each call out?

Not getting an answer, Scott sighed, “You’re grounded indefinitely, Gordon wi…

“The fuck, Scott?” Virgil’s voice boomed, the top popping off his usual calm and cool. “What the hell do you expect me to do when I spend more time in the air then on the bloody ground here at home.

Four days ago I was air evac’ing a town in Panama, after that digging out a tribe in Peru. Two days ago it was Sherpas in Nepal.. Yesterday.., I don’t even remember where I was yesterday. Was it a Forest fire in BC or a Ski Lodge in Vermont…??

I was tired and in order to keep Two in the air, I used a few stim-tabs. That doesn’t make me a drug addict… what it does make me, is bloody good at my job.”

“Are you using anything else I should know about?” Scott asked indifferently, a cold sharp edge to his voice that cut like honed steal.

“Oh fuck off.”

“Is that a ‘yes’ because I don’t know with you anymore. I thought I could trust you to make the right decisions but I guess I was wrong.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Virgil shouted back, the chair he had been ordered to use was pushed hard against the desk with a slam. Growling he turned to leave, he knew this confrontation was going to be rough but hadn’t expected this bad.

A thread had been pulled somewhere along the line and everything was coming apart at the seams and he just couldn’t deal with this right now.

“I didn’t say you could leave.” His brother snapped. “And you didn’t answer my question. Is there anything else? Or do I have to have Brains run a toxicology panel”

“For Chris sake, no. I’m not using anything else!” He stomped back to the desk, brow twitching with fury, fists balled tight as if ready to punch something. “Is there anything else you want from me or can I go back to bed now?”

Scott fumed, eyes dark and enraged. He seemed to rein himself in a bit because when he spoke next, he voice was quieter. “What I want is for you to know your limits and if it’s not too much to ask, for you to tell me when you’re struggling.”

He folded his tall frame back into his seat again, seemingly spent. “I expected to have to watched Alan and Gordon, but the last thing I expected is that I would have to keep an eye on you as well..”

The words struck a chord in Virgil and the anger evaporated with the disappointed tone in his brother’s voice. He’s brain wasn’t online enough for this shit but he couldn’t get his feet to do the necessary task. Not now he finally took in how tired Scott was from where he was standing in the dimly lit room. A room that had been shielded by storm shutters out of love for a brother and a need to not cause him any more pain.

Shit

Virgil caved in, slumped into the other chair and dragged a hand over his stubbled face trying to scrub the whole affair out of his frazzled brain cells.

They sat in silence for a few moments, the anger and disappointment souring the air with a bitter taste of hurt feelings.

“How long has this been going on?” Scott asked quietly, fingers fiddling with a stylus. He knew Scott could find out the information himself easily by going back over the inventory logs but he was waving a white flag and contrary to what he’d said, trusting Virgil to tell him the truth.

He conceded, it was easier this way and he was just too worn to put up any more of a fight. He dragged in a heavy breath. “Not often, more the last week ‘cause..” He trailed off, leaned forward bracing his elbow on his knees and eyed the floor under his bare feet, “..Ya..numerous times around the planet, way too many time zones to count.”

Scott was silent as he took this news in, long fingers still fiddling with the slender stylus, “When?”

He knew what he was asking and thought long and hard on how best to answer that. “Eight month ago after Four.”

Scott would understand what he wasn’t saying. He didn’t need to elaborate more than that. It had all started just after the Chaos Crew had taken out Thunderbird Four and Gordon right along with it.

“When we found out about Dad,” Scott caught on fast and Virgil gave a single nod by way of confirmation.

“I was having… difficulties…”

Scott’s eyes widened. He remembered he’d found Virgil on several occasions working well into the night on some such project or another. Up to his elbows in grease and propulsion systems. Most of the ‘birds’ engines had been overhauled in short order and Four had been up and running faster than their initial repair reports had forecasted.

“Why didn’t you come to me?” Scott pushed up to his feet and came around the desk, leaning back against it in front of Virgil. His arms crossed over his chest and the concern written all over his face had Virgil looking away again

Virgil just shook his head, shrugged a shoulder. “You had enough on your plate with Gordon and everything else, I didn’t want to add to it.”

“Does Tanusha know?”

He nodded, “She knows.”

“Is this going to be a problem, V?”

Virgil knew the question had to be asked, Scott needed to know if his pilot was compromised or not. If he brother needed to get help in away that Scott couldn’t provide.

He shook his head again. “No, I got it covered. Can I ask a question now?”

A nod to go ahead and Scott crotched down beside him and put a hand on his bobbing knee to still it. Virgil hadn’t even realized he had been doing it. It was a nervous habit that he hadn’t employed in year.

There was a hopeful encouragement in Scott’s voice.. “Ask away?”

His heavy brows furrowed, “How did you know?”

Scott’s lips flashed up in a smile, the first stitch in putting things back together again. The first sign that things could be fixed. “You’re not as good at hiding things as you think you are, kid.”

Virgil snorted at the name.

“Your migraines.” The explanation came. “You’ve been getting them more frequently lately. Lead me to suspect there was something possibly triggering them when I saw your bio-readings yesterday so I went digging..”

“And in the process checked the inventory logs”

“Nail on the head.” Scott said giving his knee a squeeze. “Yesterday’s little escapade through la-la-land also brought something else to light..”

“Ya? What’s that?”

“That I need to make sure your fed and watered more regularly. Any more dehydrated and we could have classified you as a raisin.” Scott straightened. “You always make sure we’re all well rested and fueled but for some reason you neglect yourself. That’s an oversight I intend to rectify.”

His brother’s hand reached out to him in invitation, firm and steady. “Let’s get you something to eat before the Terrible Two sneak in and raid the kitchen dry.”

Virgil took hold of it and was hoisted back to his feet again.

Scott stepped past to lead the way to the kitchen but Virgil’s hand on his sleeve brought him up short.

“Ya?” He asked.

“Don’t tell the guys about this..its my ..I have to deal with it.”

Scott slung an arm over his shoulder and brought him in for the hug he needed. “Just between you and me. No one else will know but you have to promise me.. if you need help, come talk to me. Or if not me someone else, okay?”

Virgil clasped on, nodded his head in agreement and couldn’t stop the shuddered from rolling through him as his emotions got away from him. He really was completely drained

“Scott…” His voice caught in his throat and he couldn’t finish.

“I know, little brother. I’ve got you.”

oOo

Next part can be found HERE

The Master List of prompts can be found HERE

#whumptober2019 #whumptober #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds fanfic #no.11 #stitches #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #kayo kyrano #virgil/kayo #family #ask for help #drug use #you are not alone #the prompt made me do it

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scoutception · 5 years

Text

Ranking the next 5 animes I’ve recently watched

After many distractions on my part, including playing through Steins;Gate, something that has quickly become something I adore like few others, I’ve continued my descent into the world of anime with 5 more series. The stuff I watched was a lot shorter on average than last time, and my attempts to be “objective” and my personal biases align much more closely compared to last time. With that, I’ll begin. 5. Soni-Ani: Super Sonico the Animation

Number of episodes: 12. Language options: subs only. Streaming availability: Crunchyroll. When it comes to visual novels, nitro+ is one of the biggest developers out there, alongside Key. Whereas Key is mainly out to make you really, really sad, nitro+ prefers a different approach. To my understanding, at best, their works are really, really dark, and at worst, they’re going straight for your nightmares, with stuff like Song of Saya and Sweet Pool. So clearly, the best mascot for them is the pink haired, constantly headphoned, and downright adorable Super Sonico. Even if it’s not outright official, it’s pretty jarring. Anyway, with that little rant out of the way, here’s the only thing on this list I actually wouldn’t recommend. Produced by White Fox back in 2014, this anime apparently got slammed pretty hard, and honestly, I have no idea why I even ended up watching this one. Perhaps this’ll be a reminder to be less impulsive in my choices in the future. Soni-Ani focuses on, who else, Super Sonico herself, an energetic and kind, yet clumsy college student who should reasonably be dead from stress and exhaustion. Along with college, she’s an idol, gravure model, helper at her grandmother’s restaurant and guitarist and main singer in the band First Astronomical Velocity with her friends Suzu Fujimi, the witty and manipulative bassist and official leader of the band, and Fuuri Watanuki, the mysterious drummer single mindedly obsessed with food. The series just explores some of the odd, extremely fanservice filled days of her life. It’s ok idea on paper, but in practice it’s just not really anything special or even entertaining for the most part. While I can usually ignore fanservice, it’s downright distractingly prevalent in the earlier episodes, to the point of several episode premises pretty much only catering themselves to it. Even without that, there’s just not much to be found; aside from Suzu and Sonico’s manager, the honestly hilarious Kitamura, who constantly wears a hannya mask and is willing to attack people for attempting to take advantage of Sonico, the characters aren’t anything memorable or entertaining on their own, leaving a lot of episodes feeling dry. They do improve in the second half, featuring episodes like a fairly charming murder mystery spoof, and an episode focusing on Sonico’s cats, of all things, but they’re still not something going out of your way to watch. The voice acting and animation, while at least ok, don’t stick out much either. Overall, again, this is the one thing I’d say to just avoid. There’s tons of other slice of life animes out there that are way better. If nothing else, though, I’m kinda glad I stuck to it just for the surprise cameo by Kurisu Makise’s outfit, considering I was already playing Steins;Gate.

4. Monthly Girls’ Nozaki-kun

Number of episodes: 12. Language options: dub (video release only, apparently) and subs available. Streaming availability: Crunchyroll, Hulu, Netflix. Moving onto stuff I’d actually recommend, here’s a nice little anime adaptation of a gag manga by Izumi Tsubaki, produced by Dogakobo. Chiyo Sakura, a high school student who stands at an impressive 4′9″, confesses her love to the tall and mysterious Umetaro Nozaki, and gets his autograph, of all things, for her troubles. Trying again, Nozaki instead takes her to his apartment... to assist him with his manga. As it turns out, Nozaki is a popular romance manga author, whose interests in life start an end at manga, rendering him utterly oblivious to Chiyo’s feelings. Thusly, Chiyo officially becomes his assistant in order to grow closer to her crush, meeting his other associates along the way. The main thing that must be said is that this is not a serious anime in the slightest, and it’s all just big parody of romance manga more than anything, especially with the characters, like Mikoshiba, who acts like a playboy, but in reality is cripplingly shy, and Kashima, the “prince” of the school who is both actually a girl and an airhead who’s frequently on the nerves of the drama club’s president, Hori. A lot of the humor thrives on miscommunication, and it’s exaggerated enough that it works well. Every character is an idiot, in their own ways, but endearingly so, and each of them stands out, from Chiyo, who mostly plays the straight man but has her moments of over imagination, or the hilariously abrasive Seo. The plots are the right kind of dumb too, like Nozaki and Mikoshiba becoming obsessed over a helper NPC in a dating sim, or Hori gaining an intense hatred for people standing on boxes due to Nozaki’s attempts to fix perspective problems. The jokes can get a bit predictable after a while, especially with Nozaki, but overall it’s a pretty funny time. The voice acting is good, and the animation is charming. Overall, this is definitely a fun watch. If you want a good laugh, or just something that doesn’t take itself too seriously, this is definitely something to check out. 3. Angel Beats!

Number of episodes: 13 (+ some OVAs not on streaming services). Language options: dub and subs available. Streaming availability: Netflix, Crunchyroll, Funimation. As it turned out, visual novels, or at least visual novel developers, became a theme in the things I watched this time around. As mentioned before, Key is one of the biggest VN developers out there, who specialize in making you really sad. From Kanon, to Clannad, to Planetarian, to Little Busters, Key’s made a lot of great stuff, and had some great anime adaptations made, particularly for Kanon and Clannad. Thus, Jun Maeda, co-founder of Key, conceived Angel Beats to originate as an anime, produced by P.A. Works in 2010. Angel Beats focuses on Otonashi, a teenager who wakes up in a strange high school with amnesia, only able to remember his last name. He soon meets a girl named Yuri Nakamura, who informs him that they’re dead, and stuck in a sort of afterlife, seemingly ruled over by a mysterious girl they only know as Angel. In this purgatory, they’re unable to die, as Otonashi finds out first hand at Angel’s hands, and the school is populated by fabricated teachers and students, but the real people stuck there are at risk of being “obliterated” if they act like normal students, ceasing to exist. Unwilling to accept this, Yuri leads class SSS in opposition of Angel and the assumed God that created this world for the cruel fates that everyone stuck in the afterlife met, Otonashi seemingly included. With seemingly no other path to take, Otonashi joins forces with the SSS. The main strength of Angel Beats is its cast of characters. From the pretty mean yet charming Yuri, to the reliable, yet often abused Hinata, to the crazy and energetic Yui, to even some of the side characters, like Shiina, the ninja girl with a crippling weakness for wind up dog toys, or TK, who speaks in gloriously mangled English and dances constantly. The premise as well is honestly fascinating to me, and makes for some very interesting episodes. It’s got some pretty entertaining action scenes, along with some really funny moments, mostly by playing the “nobody can actually die” tidbit for all its worth, with the second episode devoting a good amount of time to slowly killing off the main group in horrible, yet blase fashions. It delivers emotionally too, with the second half in particular having a good deal of touching episodes, especially episode 10. Unfortunately, there’s one giant problem with this anime that brings it down quite a bit: it’s only 13 episodes long. While I’m not a fan of 12 or 13 episode seasons, I can’t say that’s a problem by itself. What is a problem is that they were planning to have double that amount of episodes, causing the storyline to feel very rushed, and leaving nearly every character in the cast that isn’t part of the main group very underdeveloped. While there’s an entire expanded universe of stuff, good luck tracking it all down, and while Key themselves were making a 6 part visual novel of Angel Beats to expand upon it all, something that’s very promising, only the first volume has been released so far, back in 2015, with no word since, very likely because of Jun Maeda’s health issues. Overall, Angel Beats genuinely is a good watch, but it’s kinda depressing, just because of how much potential was cut short thanks to whatever genius decided to cut the episode amount in half. Unless the VN project really gets going again, it’ll probably just remain a bunch of what could have beens. 2. Puella Magi Madoka Magica

Number of episodes: 12. Language options: dub and subs available. Streaming availability: Netflix, Hulu, Crunchyroll, Funimation. Continuing the theme I unintentionally set up, here’s this famous little thing, from the mind of Gen Urobuchi, who, among other things, has worked on several nitro+ visual novels, mostly notably Song of Saya, wrote the apparently horribly depressing Fate/Zero, and was a scriptwriter for Kamen Rider Gaim, which, to my understanding, is one of the darkest Kamen Rider shows out there. Will all this in mind, there’s no real hiding that this isn’t going to be anywhere near as innocent as it tries to appear. Even if you didn’t know that, its reputation probably far exceeds it by now. Madoka Kaname is an average middle school student whose life is thrown into chaos when a mysterious girl named Homura Akemi transfers into her class, whom Madoka later finds attacking a strange creature called Kyubey. After rescuing it, Madoka and her best friend Sayaka are attacked by a strange creature known as a witch, only to be rescued by Mami Tomoe, a “magical girl” given power by Kyubey. Kyubey sees much potential in Madoka, and offers to grant her any wish of her choosing, in exchange for her becoming a magical girl as well and helping fight the witches. Homura, however, is completely determined to keep that from happening. Thus starts a chain of event in the lives of Madoka and Sayaka that, suffice it to say, don’t go very well. Without getting too specific, what starts as a mostly typical, if slightly odd, magical girl show quickly goes to very dark and twisted places, comparative to Neon Genesis Evangelion, though not quite as in depthly depressing with it. Everyone takes a beating in some way, and even with just 12 episodes, it can get a bit much for some people, even when it doesn’t end quite as awfully as you might expect. Still, it’s actually very well done. The characters are complex and flawed, but ultimately sympathetic, the overall plot is fascinating, and it ends in a very fitting way. It’s emotional, and has surprisingly good action. The dub voice work is solid, and the animation by Studio Shaft is as well, especially helped by the abstract designs of the witches themselves. While I’m not quite as passionate about it all as some are, it’s definitely earned its reputation. It’s a great watch, and definitely a big recommendation. 1. Steins;Gate

Number of episodes: 24 (+ 1 OVA). Language options: dub and subs available. Streaming availability: Funimation, Hulu, Crunchyroll. Finishing off my unintentional theme with an actual adaptation of a visual novel, there was no way I wasn’t checking this one out with how utterly passionate the VN made me. This is at least partially a bias placement, but this anime is a very, very good adaptation, and a great way to experience the story without the VN, and a great watch even having gone through it. Rintaro Okabe is a college student on break living in his “laboratory” in Akihabara. A self proclaimed mad scientist, he whittles his days away hanging out with his friends Mayuri Shiina and Itaru Hashida, inventing useless gadgets in a supposed fight against an evil organization. One day, Rintaro and Mayuri go to attend a press conference by Doctor Nakabachi in Radi-Kan, who claims to have invented a time machine, only for it to end horribly for all involved when Rintaro discovers Kurisu Makise, a young neuroscientist who had recently had her thesis published in a major science magazine, murdered by an unknown assailant. Sending an email to Itaru about the incident, Rintaro suddenly finds the world to have changed. According to everyone else, the press conference had been canceled due to a mysterious satellite that crashed into Radi-Kan, and Rintaro later runs into Kurisu, alive and well. Investigating, Rintaro finds that, by complete accident, his modified microwave has become a device capable of sending emails to the past- and that SERN, a French research organization, has been conducting time travel experiments of their own. In his attempts to understand the capabilities of what he’s invented, and his curiosity as to why his memories appear to be out of sync with everyone else’s, Rintaro rushes into a series of experiments that change his life, and those of friends old and new. This is something I could rant about all day, but putting it as succinctly as I can, I’ve never been as fascinated by time travel as Steins;Gate has made me. As fantastic as it, it’s also shown to be unpredictable, limited, and downright unsettling, especially when nobody knows just how time even works. It’s a story about the concept of time travel as much as a story about using it. The story definitely starts a bit slowly, but it’s well worth pushing past. As an adaptation, it doesn’t even need to sacrifice much, with the most that’s lost being some details in a few later arcs that aren’t worth much in the long run anyway. Beyond that, the main strength of the story is the cast of characters. Rintaro, with his rather severe case of chuunibyou, is a unique protagonist to begin with, but the events of the story turn him into an honestly fascinating and downright tragic character, and easily one of my favorite protagonists in a long time. The rest of the cast is just as good, with Kurisu being a great mix of intelligence, ravenous curiosity, and flusterability, with her and Rintaro’s interactions always being entertaining. As well, there’s the always kind, yet ditzy Mayuri, the outgoing, but odd Suzuha Amane, the endearingly gentle Luka Urushibara, and the energetic and wily Faris, just for some examples. The cast is downright loveable and very easy to get attached to. While I prefer the Japanese voice cast overall, the dub isn’t to be overlooked, with Trina Nishimura as Kurisu, Tyson Rinehart as Itaru, Cherami Leigh as Suzuha, Lindsay Seidel as Luka, and especially J. Michael Tatum as Rintaro giving great performances. Visually, White Fox did a great job giving it a distinct look. While the VN had a gorgeous and unique artstyle, it’s not really something that can be translated into animation. Instead, they used a whole lot of washed out colors and saturated lights that, combined with the sparse use of flashy effects and even music, gives a very subtle atmosphere to it all. Even beyond the style, it looks very good on its own, and it’s especially nice not having Rintaro look like a ghoul half the time, like he does in the VN.

Overall, this is very much something worth checking out. I’m beating a dead horse here since Steins;Gate is already wildly popular, but it’s that way for a very good reason. There’s also an extra OVA episode, along with a sequel movie, though both are only available via Funimation. They aren’t quite the best, but they make for entertaining watches worth checking out. And with that, that’s the end to my rambling. With the exception of, again, Super Sonico, everything here is very much worth a watch. I’m sure, once I emerge from the hell of Steins;Gate spinoffs, I’ll get to watching even more stuff. Till then, though. -Scout

#anime #steins;gate #monthly girls' nozaki kun #angel beats #puella magi madoka magica

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