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garoujo · 2 years

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「 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄 | 𝐉𝐔𝐉𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐔 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐍 」

feat : gojo satoru, geto suguru, fushiguro toji, fushiguro megumi, nanami kento, yuuta okkotsu + itadori yuuji

warnings : f. reader, previous breeding, aged!up characters & jujutsu tech sorcerer geto, how they take care of you after sex, softer moments.

note : i’m very deep in some brain rot with jjk men and it shows :,) my limit is normally five but i couldn’t decide who i wanted so !

・✶ ｡ﾟGOJO SATORU

— it’s almost immediate the way satoru melts into you after, his heavy cock softening inside of your still twitching walls and even though he almost collapses on top of you—it still feels intimate when he shoots you a more handsome, pink cheeked smirk, a breathless laugh falling from his lips as he gazes down at you.

“cmeer.” satoru grumbles, his biceps trembling as he falls down onto his side beside you before pulling you against his naked chest, peppering a few open mouthed kisses along your temple when you’re close enough as his slender, warm hands smooth across the dip of your spine. “you feel okay? was i too good?” the snowy haired male hums, teasing, but catching his breath and you feel his arms tighten around you at the question as he blinks down at you, leaning in again to place a few kisses against your pouty lips. “i’m good, ‘toru.” you reply and you watch his lips stretch into a grin at the sound of your voice “i’d say you’re better than just good.” satoru smiles, his hands moving to massage along the faint marks on your waist and you can’t help but melt into the featherlight touches, a stark opposite from the tight grip his hands had on your hips moments ago. “should probably clean up, huh?” you sigh, feeling the stickiness between your thighs and you hear your boyfriend groan before he flops over you slightly, caging you underneath him so he can nuzzle into the crook of your neck—leaving a few ticklish kisses behind with another airy laugh. “yeah, but you’re warm, and don’t you think i deserve a rest after that, sweetheart?” only deciding to get up when he feels like he’s stolen enough kisses from you, shooting you a wink and a smirk when your legs tremble as you stand.

・✶ ｡ﾟGETO SUGURU

— he was always a little clingy after sex and treated you like you were made of glass, wanting nothing more than to curl up into you afterwards to make sure you know how much he appreciates you—he knows he won’t be able to rest until he knows youre looked after. always pulling himself out of bed to clean you up.

“you doing okay?” suguru breathes, sweaty and panting above you as he leans over to place a gentle kiss to your temple, falling down onto the mattress beside you after while he catches his breath. “yeah, suguru—im good.” you murmur in reply, whimpering quietly at the growing stickiness between your legs and the slight discomfort on your face doesn’t get past your boyfriend as his eyes narrow, his body rolling over to the edge of the bed shortly after before he stands—pretty red scratch marks littering the pale skin of his back as he takes the hair tie out of his already messy hair. you blink up at suguru as he grabs his sweatpants, pulling them over his legs before turning to lean over you once more, pecking your lips as his thumb smoothes over your cheek affectionately “let me clean you up, baby.” he hums, shooting you a pink cheeked, lopsided grin before he leaves the room, returning with a wet cloth and your favourite shirt of his as he softly cleans the mess between your thighs, his other hand smoothing over your waist to soothe you when you wriggle in discomfort “almost there, babe—did so good for me.”

・✶ ｡ﾟ FUSHIGURO TOJI

— toji was rough, all blunt lines and sharp thrusts until you’re crumbling beneath him but despite his blunt, prickly exterior he still tried to take care of you the best he could afterwards. always trying his best to make you feel cared for, in his type of way.

you can already feel the aches in your body when toji pulls back from his place caging you against the mattress, calloused palms smoothing along the underside of your thighs when he finally allows them to fall from your chest and rest at your sides. “it hurt?” the dark haired male grunts, eyes flickering towards you and you’re not sure if it’s the fog still clouding your mind or if there’s something softer in his gaze when he looks at you, watching his well trained muscles move under the skin as he stretches, groaning deep at the relief he feels. toji turns to shoot you a lopsided, lazy sort of grin but it reminds you that he’s pretty and present, before he leaves, returning a few moments later with glass of water as he tsks, messily throwing a few pillows against the headboard before he makes a lazy attempt at fluffing them up with a few slaps—helping your sore body to rest against them after as he hands you the glass in his hands with a nod “drink. i’ll start you a shower.” feeling his fingers smooth along your leg soothingly, and you know it’s his own way of wordlessly making you feel better.

・✶ ｡ﾟ FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

— he gets a little scared he’s hurt you in any way so he’s always so attentive after, everything he learned he really learned from you, making sure you’re okay as he pulls you into his arms—his fingers roaming your body affectionately to smooth out any tension.

you shudder when you feel megumi pull out, your walls suddenly feeling empty after the loss of his heavy cock and you blink up at him when his eyebrows pull into a cute frown—framed by his pink cheeks and messy hair. “is it sensitive?” he huffs, his hands smoothing practiced shapes into your skin and you’re thankful for how gentle his touch seemed to always be with you. “you’re not sore right? wasn’t too much?” megumi asks again as his eyes meet yours and you feel your heart bloom at the worry pooling in the azure staring back at you. “i’m fine, ‘gumi. i promise.” “good.” he continues his movements, allowing you to relax before he moves to the edge of the bed and you can’t help but admire the way the muscles of his back move when he stretches, earning you a gentle, blushy smile from over his shoulder after before he turns to place a peck against your lips. “we should probably clean up, you normally have to pee too, right?” megumi hums as he holds you against his chest, grabbing a few comfy clothes for you before he helps you to the bathroom.

・✶ ｡ﾟ NANAMI KENTO

— he always takes aftercare very seriously, there was a lot of strength behind each of his thrusts—his body well trained and brooding, so he knows you can get a little sore after which is why he’s always going to be there to make sure you’re well taken care of. he likes the moments after to bask in you, his heart thudding against his chest.

nanami shoots you a gentle look when you turn around to face him over your shoulder, his body still curled over your back as you stay bent over underneath him—his hips pushed against your ass and there’s a certain comfort in the silence that blankets the room after until he eventually moves. “are you okay? sore anywhere?” nanami grumbles, his hands warm as they smooth up the dip of your spine, kneading at your hips and sides affectionately before he moves to sit against the headboard, guiding you to rest against his broad chest as he intertwines his fingers with your own. “just a little.” you reply and nanami kisses your forehead “i’ll run you a bath when we get cleaned up, i got some of the soak you like.” his gaze is soft and assuring when he speaks, his other hand continuing to dance along your skin in such a way that has you sinking into him with a delighted sigh and a nod, earning you another kiss from the blonde haired male. “you’re so good to me, sweetheart.”

・✶ ｡ﾟYUUTA OKKOTSU

— he’s attentive after losing himself in you. his eyes still a little dazed and his hair messy but you’re still his first priority, even when his muscles are sore and fatigued he still looks at you fondly when he leans over you before getting up, walking over to flick on the bathroom light while shooting you a drowsy smile.

you hear yuuta huff as he rolls off of you, his chest rising with each shakey breath he takes beside you and he turns his head to smile at you when you inch nearer, his arm moving to rest over you—encouraging you to cuddle up closer. “you look so pretty.” he breathes, his cheeks still flushed and his dark hair is mused from your hands and his efforts, his fingers moving to trace their way up the dip of your waist as you blink up at him. “was it okay?” yuuta asks, a slight nervous edge to his voice as he bites on his bottom lip but you watch them stretch into another soft grin when you nod in reply. “was perfect.” he sighs at your words, a content sort of sound before he leans in for you both to share a kiss, a slower kind that has you melting into him, drowsiness heavy in your features when you pull away and yuuta places another against your temple before he stands, making his way over to the bathroom to start the shower. he adjusts it slightly, approaching you again after as he crouches beside the bed with a gentle look “come, let’s clean up, i’ll take care of you.”

・✶ ｡ﾟITADORI YUUJI

— he always got lost in you, putting all of his strength behind each thrust so you’re never surprised when you feel a little achy after—but yuuji was always there. not only feeling a little remorseful but also to help you whenever you needed him. immediately making sure that you’re okay and that he didn’t hurt you.

your mind is still blurry, your thighs trembling against yuuji’s palms as he gently rests them down from their place pressed against your chest—but you still feel the warmth of his hands when they smooth over the aching muscles after, a small pout on his lips as he blinks down at you. “i’m sorry, babe.” yuuji grumbles, his eyes locked on your doughy cunt before he finally pulls out with a hiss, allowing himself a few extra seconds to admire the way his cum drips from between your folds before his gaze finally meets yours. “i’m okay, yuuji.” you reply, your voice still like honey despite the slight raspiness but it makes the pink haired male perk up immediately when he hears it, leaning over you to pepper a few wet kisses across your cheeks and face. “you just feel so good.” yuuji hums again, his tone a little lighter when he smiles at you and you try to sit up before you hiss at the ache between your thighs. “oh no, baby! cmeer—i’ll take care of you, okay?” his words are followed by him climbing off the bed to gather you into his arms, helping you to the bathroom with whispered praises about how good you are to him while he runs you a bath.

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jamilelucato · 2 years

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blue - 001

show: Stranger Things [SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4]

pairing: female reader x peter ballard

summary: growing up in the lab with Dr Brenner for a father wasn't easy, but you had a friend that made things a bit tolerable.

It wasn’t easy being the daughter of Dr Martin Brenner, but you did your best to please him. He was a very systematic man, who wished to control everything and everyone as he saw fit, and you had no problem following orders, except that it was clear your father was setting you up for failure. He never made a secret that he did not like that you were born a female, not a male, and you guessed that was the reason behind all of his impossible requests he kept on making, always wanting more of your brain than it could ever learn.

That was the reason why you grew old in his lab in Hawkins— he expected you to follow him around like a loyal dog, and you were generally making notes on the things you saw in there.

It was no surprise to you when he asked for your presence to see something that had arrived at the lab. “A new subject,” he had called the boy, not as if dad was king and, the boy, his commoner, but as if the boy was a school subject, as it was what your father envisioned the boy to be to you.

“Come on in, daughter,” he said, getting up from where he was sitting. “This is number one.”

You walked in slowly, scared. You were barely ten, but smarter than most teens, but at that moment, you felt like a little dear, scared for his life. You stared at the boy sitting in front of where your father was and you were shocked to find a calm boy. You expected to see someone as scared as you, or even more, but no. Number 001, as your father called him, was serene, and he stared back at you like he could see your very soul.

“Number one, this is my daughter, [y/n] Brenner,” your father made the room so you could sit in the chair he once sat in. “Get familiar with her, as she is to be your future doctor, once she graduates.”

The boy stared back at your father. His head movement was weird as if he was used to having some hair to move when looking up, but there was no hair on top of his head, just his buzzcut.

“I’ll let you two get to know each other, as I’m sure my daughter can enlighten you about who I am,” was the last thing your father said before leaving and locking the door behind.

You gulped, forcing yourself to stop facing the door and look back at the boy.

He looked your age, maybe just a bit older.

“My name is not one,” he said, breaking the silence with a rasping voice.

“I’m sorry?”

He smiled, not showing his teeth. It was as if he found pleasure in seeing you confused.

“My name’s Henry.”

“Was,” you corrected him because that was expected. You knew that even though your father left, he could be watching you two, by the mirror windows or even the cameras. You learned long ago that they were everywhere in the lab. “You’re not Henry anymore.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

Then, the quietness came again. No one uttered a word. You were still nervous, gulping by the second, but the boy just laid back, watching. You didn’t like the silence, it made you overthink.

“You can call me just by [y/n], you know,” you said.

“Not a doctor then?”

“Oh, as much as my Papa likes to brag, I’ll only graduate high school next year. I still have a while before getting hold of my doctored degree.”

“Graduating high school?” that seemed to surprise him.

You couldn’t help but smile. It was a hard life, studying like crazy and not ever getting complimented, but you liked knowing you were a genius. “I am young as I look, but as my father’s daughter, I must be at the top of not just my class, but everyone else’s.”

“Must be exhausting,” he replied, looking away.

He wasn’t expecting you to agree in a whisper. “It is.”

Both of you exchanged a knowing look. Maybe there was not much knowledge of each other, but there was of yourselves. You knew you weren’t gonna have an easy life, and he knew he was destined for one difficult as well. Doomed, was the word, but back then, you didn’t know. You just didn’t know.

“Sorry I’m late, P,” you said, sitting down on the white floor.

Everything was white at that goddam lab, but you were used to it, or at least, it didn’t bother you as much as it did in the beginning.

Your friend Henry, or as you nicknamed him Peter, was the Number 001, and he was already in the room, sitting on the floor at the very same spot you two had found for each other. It was nice being able to just sit on the ground, and not care about getting dirty, as if there was any chance of that happening in the lab. It was simple and it put you two on the same level, which was true even if your papa wouldn’t agree.

Before getting your doctorate, you and Henry were not much of friends, although you supposed you were each other’s closest person in each life. Peter had access to the other kids, the other numbers, but they were just babies, while you spent your life alone, guided solely by Dr Brenner, your father. It was lonely for both of you, and once you had your degree in your hands, you decided to get closer to the boy who was always staring you around when you came down to the lab.

At first, your father did not approve of your specialization in psychology, but once he started filling the lab with children, he realized your diploma was very much in need, and he gave you a room, so you could listen and take notes on each of the kids’ complaints.

And even though number 001 was no longer a kid, he still had a scheduled hour with you, every Tuesday and Thursday.

When he walked in, for his first appointment ever, you were as nervous as he was shocked to see you. You had only turned eighteen, but he was about to be nineteen, and a lot had changed. Yeah, you saw each other grow up, but not as frequently as the hearts would hope, and a lot had changed.

You were one of them now, at least it was how he saw you that very first Tuesday. You were dressed in white, with your hair fixed in a tight ponytail. There were no more pink and yellow dresses. And he had changed too. He looked exhausted, with dark circles under his light blue eyes, and he was way taller than you.

You remembered him being cold, scared to talk. Of course, he did not lose his posture of serenity, as if he was always the most intelligent one in every room he walked in.

Neither of you remembered how or when it all changed, how you two came to agree with sitting on the floor and sharing your lunch (you always brought something tasty from the outside, something the kids would never have access to). Something had happened — maybe a look you shared or a word he spoke, neither of you could point at the thing, but both were very glad it had happened.

Peter looked forward to his appointments with you, for it was the only hour he had to be himself, to feel free. Yes, your room was as white as the rest of the place, but when it was just the two of you behind the closed door, suddenly, it felt coloured. It felt rainbowy.

“It’s okay. It’s not like I’m not used to being alone,” he said, jokingly, and you pushed him with your left hand while he laughed. “You shouldn’t…” he had to pause because he was laughing too hard “... push me like this, Dr; I’m sure your father won’t like it.”

“Papa?” you echoed. It was funny now that you were twenty to call him papa because that was the very nickname Dr Brenner was forcing the kids, the other numbers, to call him. Well, the word was not funny per se, as it was more weird than comic. “Papa can’t see in here,” you said, smiling, “so I just kill you and it won’t matter.”

Peter smiled again, that beautiful smile that always heated your heart. His hair was growing again, out of his buzzcut, as you noticed it happened way faster than with the other kids. It was so unfair, you thought, for he had the most beautiful golden hair. You were thankful the numbers had a schedule for haircuts, and Peter had to wait for the day with the others, instead of being taken to cut it earlier, because then it allowed you moments like that one, where you could see some locks fighting to grow.

You took advantage of his silence to inform some news.

“I’ve been talking to him, you know. I think… I think he will allow it, P. He’ll let you be a worker here, not just…”

“Don’t say patient,” he quickly interrupted you, knowing very well you hated to use ‘subject’ even though it was way better than ‘prisoner’, which he was.

You stared at him, focusing on every detail of his blue eyes.

You didn’t understand what happened to you two, why were you like this… How did you become friends? And is that the ideal word for the two of you?

Unlike most of the other numbers, Number One had a childhood outside the lab. He got to know some customs of American society, customs that used to reveal themselves without him realizing it. You liked those moments—when he referenced some ‘50s song, or even when he opened the door and let you out first. Most of the other kids couldn’t even form a sentence properly—and they were barely aware of some American habits and customs. It was like talking to little Tarzans, rescued from the forest.

“Sometimes... do you sometimes think about your life before?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Stop analyzing me,” he said, pretending to be angry, but he knew very well that the question had been asked by [y/n] and not by Dr [y/n] Brenner. He was avoiding answering you, which probably meant that yes, he often thought about it. When he was Peter, though he was still Peter when he walked into your room. He’d never be Number One there — you would never allow it. “I think of my father.”

You gulped, nervously, just like you used to do when you were a kid.

There wasn’t much you knew about Peter’s life before he met your father, but you knew enough. He killed his parents, or at least he tried to kill his father, but only managed to end his mother and sister. You never knew his motives, for he never talked about it. All the info you had was given by your father, but he didn’t usually care for motives, only for results. So Dr Brenner theorized Peter killed his family because of something traumatic he must’ve been through, and that was enough.

For you, however, the question always remained.

“Your father… he was imprisoned, right?” you asked, trying to play it casually. You had done your research, but in any way did you want to scare him.

Peter looked back at you, your elbows almost touching.

“He was,” he said as if he wanted to say more but just couldn’t.

“Sometimes, I wish my father went to prison,” you let out your guilty truth. You knew what your father did to the kids, you weren’t dumb. But you spent so many years trying to please him, that it was hard to imagine yourself doing anything that could jeopardize your papa. Besides, his research was important, the kids maybe did not receive the best of treatments, for the love Dr Brenner offered was only when the children had reached important achievements but wasn’t that the love he offered you, his very blood daughter?

You watched Peter as he frowned, clearly feeling sorry for you. Although that was one of the rare comments you made about your father that could indicate a bad upbringing, it was only presumed that the boy used by the doctor would assume that the man was not a good father.

“One day,” he said, “we’ll get out of here, huh.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. We’ll get your fancy diploma and my crazy abilities and make a world of our own.”

“I don’t know about a world,” you smiled, leaning your head on his shoulder. “I’m happy with just a house.”

He tilted his head towards yours and the two of you just stayed there, in silence, enjoying each other’s company. There was so much to be said… but there was never the right time. You hoped Peter understood that dreaming of leaving was just that: a dream. You couldn’t escape your papa, and he could even less, as he was not just his whole research base but also his favourite prisoner.

Peter wanted to protect you.

He always wanted to protect you, ever since he met you, the little girl in pigtails, walking in all nervous and looking at him as if you were surprised and scared at the same time. He was not much older than you, but somehow he knew it was his job to be the protector.

He saw through your mind — even though he didn't want to, it was inevitable with a power like his. He saw that you were just the perfect daughter even though your father was far from being the perfect papa you saw him as. He saw a mind as complex and smart as his and he was glad to find in you a twin soul.

Although he saw you grow old, he didn’t see you as often as he hoped, and there were weeks when he grew desperate, thinking Dr Brenner had done some evil against you, but then, all of the sudden, you were crossing the corridors following him around like a puppy, taller and prettier than the last time he saw you, and that was enough. It had to be.

However, three weeks before his nineteenth birthday, a guard came to his room, asking for him to accompany him for Number One had an appointment. Needless to say, Peter was very surprised when, opening the door, he found [y/n], dressed in white this time, just like the other doctors, but at the same time so different. She still had the same energy — a scared little genius. She looked pretty, more like a woman this time than the last, even though she was younger than him.

He was surprised, but he managed to pretend he was careless. What were you doing there, in a room all alone in the lab? He thought by now you’d be free of her father, but he was wrong. Or maybe you didn’t want to be free. Maybe you had become one of them officially.

So he kept his cold distance, scared you were gonna run more tests with him.

But it wasn’t what you did.

In your first appointment, you just sat there and told him about your trajectory, similar to your first conversation when he was eleven years old, except this time you had managed to accomplish all of those things your father had only planned.

He listened to it all because, why wouldn't he? It was you after all. His weak spot. The one that would doom him.

Before he knew it, he was anxious, waiting for your next appointment, and, although again, he remained silent and just listened to you, he noticed that he liked it. He just liked being in your presence.

Something happened then, something shifted, and before he knew it, he was telling you everything, all about the tests and the powers; powers you could not comprehend, but that didn’t stop him from trying to explain and eventually show them to you.

Friends, he supposed. You two were friends. He had never thought of calling someone that before, but perhaps it was fit for the little relationship you two had formed.

And since he defined you as a friend, it was no surprise that one day, Dr Brenner, the Dr Brenner, requested his presence in his office.

“Yes, Papa?” he hated to call the man that, he was bloody twenty-one years old, but if he called Brenner any other thing, he would be a dead man by the morning.

“I have been watching you closely, my boy,” he said, trying to put emotion in his words, but failing miserably. “And I think, as you’ve come of age, you should have a more important job here. Perhaps it’s time you help the other children, huh? Help them achieve their potential maximum, as I’ve done with you. You could be my left hand.”

Peter lowered his head, pretending to be honoured. There was no honour in serving Dr Brenner, but Peter knew it was better being a guard than being a subject. At least someone (the children) would stop looking at him like a child that grew too fast.

“That would be an honour, Papa. I mean, sir, as I suppose should be the one I should call you now,” Peter said, testing the waters. “It wouldn’t be right for the kids to see that Number One is in charge but they aren’t, right?”

Dr Brenner took a second to observe.

“Right. It’d be best if they didn’t know you are Number One. let them think he grew and left for the world. You shall be… I forgot; what was your name from before again, my boy?”

“Peter,” he replied, but soon realised he did it too quickly.

The doctor stared at number One, analysing, pensive towards his easiness of recalling his name. He wasn’t supposed to be remembering that time of freedom, before the lab.

Peter felt like that was his first test in the new position and he had just failed.

“Well, Peter, that shall be you calling from now on. Go to your room, yes? I’ll send someone to take your things to a new area of the building and explain your duties in the new position. But be clear that I’ll still expect you to continue training.”

“Sure. Thank you for the opportunity, sir.” And Peter left, not fast enough, but he did not stay to hear more — he just wanted to leave.

“Who’s that?” he asked you, following the little girl that was accompanying your father as they passed down the hall.

“Eleven,” you said, as that was the number the little girl was designated and you had no idea what her real name was. “She’s been raised here, but isolated. Papa thinks she’s powerful.”

Peter crossed his arms, still following the girl with his eyes.

His hair was longer than the last time you saw him, and you liked it that way. Since he became a guard and helper, Dr Brenner cut him off from his appointments with you, so you were only able to see Peter if by chance you two crossed paths in the halls, like it was happening there.

It was unfortunate that you couldn’t see each other weekly, but you knew he would rather be a guard than be a ‘patient’, as you used to call and he used to hate it.

“Powerful how?”

“She had been through this whole way of birth… I don’t know how to explain it. She’s not a patient of mine,” you said.

“Why?” he questioned, genuinely interested.

“I don’t know. Papa says she’s too young. But I’ve talked to her, during some tests… She indeed seems very powerful. Talented.” You tilted your head, remembering the first time you saw Eleven.

“So she’s his new Number One,” Peter uncrossed his arms, only to smile at you, tossing his blond locks away from his eyes.

“You’re still number one,” unfortunately, you thought, a bit sad.

“Am I still the most talented and powerful person in the lab?”

“Oh,” you decided to provoke him. “I think Eleven wins.”

“How dare you!” he said, but he was laughing, and soon, so was you.

When you noticed the time on your watch, you decided to ask for a favour.

“Just… watch over her, huh? I feel like you’ll see her more than me, as it seems father won’t trust her over my surveillance. Eleven, she feels like she’ll need a friend.”

“You know you’re my only friend,” he said, and his expression was serious. He wasn’t lying.

“And you’re mine.”

He sighed. “I’ll watch over her.”

“Thank you,” you mouthed, soundless before leaving to go back to your job.

Peter watched as you left, reflecting on your plea. He saw in your mind that you cared for Eleven, more than you cared for the other kids. And if your request was for him to watch over the little girl, then he would be his bloody guardian if needed.

“Happy birthday, doc.”

You stared up from your cupcake with a candle on top to see Peter, also known as Number One, in your room. There were rare times when he would come in, especially after he stopped being your patient, so you were surprised with his visit, but mostly, you were concerned because he saw your sad moment with the birthday cupcake.

“Thank you, P,” you said, shrugging and blowing the candle. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to say happy birthday. I know those things matter to you.”

You tilted your head while frowning before replying, jokingly, attempting to distract him from your real reasons. “It stopped mattering when I turned 25.”

“[y/n],” he smiled and walked in, closing the door behind, “you just turned 30. You’re not old.”

You were glad he decided not to mention your father — the real reason behind your sad birthdays. He never remembered, or he was always busy; you wish it didn’t matter, mainly as you grew older, but it still bothered you. Fortunately, you had Peter.

“I don't think I've mentioned it before but I like when you call me Peter,” he said, changing subjects.

“I'd never call you 001.”

“I know, but... you could call me Henry. It's better than the number,” he shrugged. “I like being Peter, the guy that works at the lab and not Henry the cursed son of a troubled man.”

You lowered your head, remaining in silence for you had not what to say after that.

“How’s Eleven?” you asked, because, as it seemed, you cared for the girl and it was a good way to change the subject. It was only natural to ask about her to the person who was spending at least ten hours per day with her.

Peter came closer to your chair, looking down at you with pity. It wasn’t as if Eleven was in danger (not more in danger than all of them) or as if she was a stupid child, but Peter didn't like that you cared that much. It made him care too, and that was unforgivable.

“She’s okay. The other kids don’t like her, but she’s managing,” he said.

You sighed. “Well, I suppose it could be worse.”

“Sure. It’s not as if your father isn’t experimenting on her or something.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Like it isn’t the truth?” he replied, bothered that you didn’t like his sick joke.

“I know what my father does, ok? Do you think I like it?” you shouted, perhaps a bit too louder than needed. “Do you think I have any power against it?”

“No, but I do! I have power!” he yelled back. “Just say the word, [y/n], and we’ll burn this place to the ground.”

By place, you knew he meant your father. Your Papa.

And even though you had enough reasons to agree, you just couldn’t.

You sighed, giving up on the fight.

“I’m sorry,” Peter sighed too, and he placed one of his hands on your chin, forcing you to look back up, to look at him again. You allowed him, mostly because you were tired, but partly because it calmed you down to look at his beautiful blue eyes. “I didn’t come in here to fight. I wanted to give you a gift. For your birthday.”

You stared at him, confused. You could see his hands — there was no package in them.

But Peter’s gift… it didn’t need to be wrapt.

Growing up with parents that loved each other was kinda gross, at least it was what young Peter thought, seeing them touching lips all the time. He didn’t understand the reason behind it, why would they need to kiss at every chance they got?

Then, Peter came to the lab, he became Number One, his mother was dead, and he forgot all about it. He forgot the name of the feeling humans have, the one that curls up their stomachs and makes their hearts beat faster. He forgot it all until he didn’t. Until you showed up. And maybe his heart was racing, maybe he wanted to touch you.

Sometimes, brushing shoulders wasn’t enough.

So he remembered something, something lost in his past and probably unfamiliar to you too, as both had weird upbringings, but he thought it was just perfect. Peter knew he had to give it a try.

He raised his hand from your chin to your cheek and allowed the other to follow. Your eyes widened as you understood what was going on, but you did nothing to stop him. Hell, you had been waiting for that for decades.

You could leave the lab, you had access to movies. Even though there weren’t many kisses in your life — motherless childhood and all (besides the fact that you were always the nerd in school and life) — you desired to be kissed. You waited for that moment when you were fifteen, then at eighteen, then strong as ever when you were twenty (when Peter burst in celebrating being repositioned as a guard and not a simple number).

So you let him and you responded to the kiss. You touched him too, pulling him by his golden hair that you so much admired, and you let your lips open just enough that he could understand the signal. And Peter understood, as he too wanted more — wanted to feel you, taste you, and not just lips and tong, but hands, oh, wandering hands that travelled from your cheekbones to your curves, to pull you close.

If first you were sitting and he had to lean down to reach you, that was in the past minute, because he managed to change your positions with ease, placing you over his lap as he sat on your chair.

“I think…” you started but he kissed you, silencing you.

“Don’t think,” he replied. “If you think, I’ll think.”

“Peter…”

You could feel his smile on your lips.

“Let’s reshape the world, [y/n],” he whispered, kissing your neck, “join me.”

His hands tightened on your back when he noticed you froze. Damn it, he thought.

“We can free all the numbers and we can remake this place, this world, however, we see fit.”

“Why are you saying this to me?” you asked, confused. You thought it was about kissing, but maybe this primitive form of touch awoke something in him. It was two desires combined and you were scared Peter wasn’t gonna forget it.

There was no escaping your father, as much as you liked to dream about it.

You kissed him again. “Forget it, Peter.”

You pulled him closer by the collar of his white shirt.

“Focus on me.”

“It’s all I’ve been focused on, [y/n]. Couldn’t you see? How desperate I am to leave but I stay? Why do you believe I stay?” he kissed you back but this time you pulled away. “Don’t think, [y/n].”

You tried to find his eyes, his calming blue eyes that you loved to stare at. You would see sense there. You would see the real him there.

And you saw the real him there.

Blue. Ice cold blue eyes.

“Peter, let me go,” you said, expecting him to drop his hands from your leg and back.

But he didn’t.

“You just kissed me, Peter, why can’t you enjoy it?”

He shook his head. “How can I? Do you think your father will give us his blessing?”

You closed your eyes.

“And even if he does, do you think he’ll leave us be? Do you think he’ll let my children be?”

You gulped. “You’re overthinking, Peter,” you said, trying to remain calm.

“With whom do you think I’ve to learn it?” his voice was louder and it echoed in the room.

“Let me go,” you asked, but he ignored you, he just kept going with his monologue about the world and freedom. “Let me go, Number One.”

He instantly dropped you. One minute you were on his lap, the other you were on the floor. You got up, adjusting your skirt, trying to get to the door.

“Why did you call me that, Dr Brenner?”

You gulped.

“Why did you have to call me that, Dr Brenner?!”

You finally reached for the door. You had the handle in your fingers. He wasn’t holding you anymore. It was going to be ok.

“Say you’re sorry, please, [y/n],” Peter said, his blue eyes looking deep into yours.

“I’m sorry I called you by your number, ok? It won’t happen again.”

“That’s not the apology I wanted to hear.”

“Peter…”

“I think I loved you, did you know that?” he asked, getting closer, step by step, slowly.

You just knew you were doomed because the goddamn door didn’t open no matter how hard you pulled or pushed.

“Loved?”

“I think you loved me too.”

“I love you too,” you said, in an attempt to save your life, even though it was the truth.

“Tisk tisk,” he made the noise with his tongue. “Loved, dear. Loved.”

He didn’t even raise his hand before it all went dark.

#jamie campbell bower #starnger things #stranger things season 4 #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #peter ballard #peter ballard x reader #number 001 #001 x reader #eleven #jane hopper #mike x will #fanfic #netflix #dr brenner #st fic #st fanfic

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the-faultofdaedalus · 3 years

Text

I had a dream that the king and the queen of a small country had a daughter. They needed a son, a first-born son, so in secret, without telling anyone of their child’s gender, they travelled to the nearby woods that were rumoured to house a witch.

They made a deal with that witch. They wanted a son, and they got one. A son, one made out of clay and wood, flexible enough to grow but sturdy enough to withstand its destined path, enchanted to look like a human child. The witch asked for only one thing, and that was for their daughter.

They left the girl readily.

The witch raised her as her own, and called her Thyme. The princess grew up unknowing of her heritage, grew up calling the witch Mama, and the witch did her very best to earn that title.

She was taught magic, and how to forage in the woods, how to build sturdy wooden structures and how to make the most delicious stews. The girl had a good life, and the witch was pleased.

The girl grew into a woman, and learned more and more powerful magics, grew stronger from hauling wood and stones and animals to cook, grew smarter as the witch taught her more.

She learned to deal with the people in the villages nearby, learned how to brew remedies and medicines and how to treat illness and injury, and learned how to tell when someone was lying.

Every time the pair went into town, the people would remark at just how similar Thyme was to her mother.

(Thyme does not know who and what she is. She does not know that she was born a princess, that she was sold. She only knows that one night after her mother read her a story about princesses and dragons, her mother had asked her if she ever wanted to be a princess.)

((Thyme only knows that she very quickly answered no. She likes being a witch, thank you very much, she likes the power that comes with it and the way that she can look at things and know their true nature.))

The witch starts preparing the ritual early, starts collecting the necessities in the winter so they can be ready by the fall equinox. Her daughter helps, and does not ask what this is for, just knows that it is important.

The witch looks at Thyme, both their hands raised into the air over a complicated array of plants, tended carefully to grow into a circle, and says, sorry.

Thyme wakes up in a clearing she recognizes well. Her mother is not there.

The house she had grown up in is a pile of logs on the ground, destroyed and broken and in disarray, and Thyme is afraid. She calls for her mother, once, twice, and then rolls up her sleeves and begins the trek towards town.

Her home is not here, she has neither her bow nor her knife, and if she means to figure out what happened she needs supplies. People are always in need of a witch, she knows, and her mother taught her long ago the value of a silver tongue.

Except.

She walks out of the woods, and the town is... different. Smaller. The mill she knew so fondly, that she used to climb in with the other children of the village, isn’t there.

There’s no indication it was ever there, and all at once, Thyme realizes what the ritual was for.

It was a time-spell, and now she is in the past. The house is in ruins because her mother has not repaired it yet, the mill is gone because it has not been built yet.

She is here, because...

She does not know.

And now, it is up to her to take care of herself.

She learns the date from the villagers, gets herself a room at the inn and a good hot meal in exchange for looking at the innkeeper’s son, who has been wracked with cough for weeks now, apparently.

His face is one Thyme knows, one that in her days were covered in wrinkles and laugh-lines, and as she goes back out into the woods to collect the herbs she needs to cure the boy, she thinks.

The boy will take the inn over from his father, and he will always welcome Thyme’s mother in with open arms for saving him when he was a child. Either the story had been wrong, or Thyme has already broken things.

Thyme does not know which one she fears more.

She waits in the village for a full turn of the moon for her mother to come. She knows that this is when she should have come in to town. She knows that she should show up here, any day.

The boy’s cough gets better and when it’s gone completely Thyme buys herself a knife at the blacksmith’s and returns to the woods, to the clearing she calls home. Hands on her hips, she surveys the once-cottage, and makes a plan.

The house takes a long time to build. She buys an axe, makes a bow, and sleeps under the stars while the house is very slowly built back up. Walls, roof, floors, and then a fireplace, big and wide enough to fit a cauldron, built from special bluestone she hauls from a nearby hill one lump at a time, all the better to brew inside.

Mama, she thinks wryly, you better be grateful for this.

She hunts for herself, mostly, snares rabbits and shoots down deer, strips them of their skin, treats it and leaves the fur out to dry. They’ll be good blankets, a good winter cloak, someday. She knows what plants she can eat, what plants will be good, and she survives. She builds.

She does not tell the villagers her name, and they know her only as “the witch.”

Thyme eventually stops waiting for her mother. She watches herself in the mirror, and aches at how much they look the same. How much she’s turning out like her mother.

She helps the villagers, occasionally travels further to heal illnesses in other villages, but mostly stays to herself, in the woods, collecting books and herbs and the house grows more and more as she remembers it. Her hair, that used to be so dark, raven’s hair, her mother would say, braiding it back for her before she learned to do it herself, gets shot through with white and goes grey.

There’s wrinkles on her face that didn’t used to be there.

Thyme stops waiting, and becomes the witch of the these woods.

And then.

The King and Queen of these lands show up at her door, and they are holding a baby girl.

Please, they say, We need a son. Give us a son.

And Thyme, who now has a scar on her cheek from a branch whipping at her too fast to avoid, who knows that her mother had had the same scar, looks at the baby, meets her eyes, and knows that they are her eyes.

I’ll give you a son, Thyme tells them, as if through a trance, but the cost will be your daughter.

They agree, as she knew they would, and she makes a boy out of clay and wood and she remembers learning how to make constructs like these with her mother, she breaths life into it and sends it off with the King and Queen and she holds their baby in her arms.

Black hair. Dark eyes. A quiet baby, who looks up at her with a solemness that Thyme’s not entirely sure babies are supposed to have.

Hello, little one, Thyme says, holds out her finger for the baby to grasp, feels her voice crack down the centre like a burnt-out log when the infant holds her finger in her chubby little hand.

She’s a princess. This baby is a princess, and this baby is her, and her mother has never existed. She knows all these things now, but the thing that she knows most strongly is that she will protect this child, and not only because this child is her.

(It is alright to be selfish, Thyme, she remembers her mother telling her, it is alright to take things for yourself. You do not need to give yourself away, remember that.)

She has to build a crib and cradle for the baby, and until it’s finished, until she knows that the birchwood and blanket is as comfortable as it can be, she sleeps with the baby -- with Thyme, her name will be Thyme, and she smiles as she thinks it -- on her chest.

She goes into the village, walking through the woods as baby Thyme looks at the trees and the plants with wide eyes, brings her to a farmer who has raised three girls, knocks at her door, and says, help me.

The witch doesn’t know how to care for a child, and she is going to learn. She must learn.

The farmer helps her gladly, something in her eyes that tells the witch that she misses having children, that however much she loves her girls, grown and adventurous, sun-browned and strong from working the fields with her mother, she misses caring for an infant.

She learns how to make formula out of goat’s milk, how to burp the baby, how to change and wash her. She learns how to tell why the baby might be crying -- even though baby Thyme rarely cries, prefers to watch the world with her big, dark eyes -- and how to fix what might be wrong.

She sits with the farmer as Thyme plays with a doll carved from a cow’s bone, and learns how to thresh wheat.

The farmer never asks where the baby came from, but does remark how alike they look, that Thyme looks just like her mother, and the witch smiles at that.

Thyme seems to grow quickly, learning to crawl, and then to toddle around while hanging off the furniture, and the witch cries at Thyme’s first, unsteady and unsupported steps, even as she builds high shelves into the rafters of her home so that Thyme won’t end up eating things she shouldn’t.

The witch takes Thyme into the village more and more, first in a bag tucked up close against her chest, and when Thyme grows more, holding her hand as she runs through the woods as fast as her little legs will carry her. Every time Thyme runs off to bring back a flower, the witch feels a surge of fondness she refuses to suppress.

The mill is built, and the witch watches as Thyme runs off to play with the other village kids, brave and fearless and so, so curious.

She teaches Thyme her first charm when the girl is eight, and Thyme takes to the craft like she takes to memorizing the names and uses of plants, like she takes to a bow and knife, like she takes to books, exactly as the witch knew she would.

Sometimes, the witch hates the lie she’s made Thyme into. She agonizes over it, over she should tell the girl her true parentage, should spill this secret like a cut bag of wheat, but--

She does not want Thyme to know that she was traded away so easily. She does not want Thyme to know that to her birth parents, she was worthless.

She asks, though. Asks, do you want to be like the girls in the books? a princess? and is warmed to the core when Thyme answers no.

Yes, the witch had known what she had answered. Yes, the witch knows that Thyme loves her life, her studies, the woods, her home.

(Yes, the witch knows that Thyme loves her mother, because the witch loved her mother. She knows this, and still, she asks.)

The witch teaches Thyme how to make constructs, how to animate them, is proud beyond words when on her fifth try, casting over a wood skeleton covered in clay, the shape of a rabbit, the thing shivers to life, and hops over to push it’s nose into Thyme’s outstreached hands, the girl beaming so brightly that the witch thinks the woods might be glowing with it. The rabbit-construct is lumpy, and uneven, it’s movements slow and unnatural, and she has not yet taught Thyme how to cast the illusion spell onto it that will make it look real, and alive, but Thyme looks so happy that the witch nearly, nearly, forgets her guilt at the purpose of this spell.

Thyme grows, first into a teen, skinny and narrow from how she had shot taller like a willow tree, bony and sharp and lean, and into a woman, growing broad from good food and hard work, takes to hiking into the woods for days at a time with only her knife and her bow and a pouch of herbs, returns home with wild hair the witch combs out for her as Thyme tells her of her adventures.

It matters not that the witch knows all of these stories, knows them because she lived them herself, when she was a girl. She listens to her daughter, dragging the comb through her tangled hair, asks about the falls she found, the cliffs, the animals, the herbs, makes sure that Thyme knows that she will be listened to, that she deserves to be listened to. She listens, because she knows that no matter how much Thyme loves going on these adventures, she also loves coming home, and sharing in these simple, cozy moments.

Winter comes. With the cold comes a grief, a guilt, that weighs heavy on the witch’s heart. She begins preparing for the ritual, for the time-spell that will send her daughter backwards and into loneliness and into the position to save herself from what her true parents would force her to become, backwards to learn the truth, backwards to become her.

She knows why she must do this. She has scryed on her construct, the prince, the soon-to-be-king, every moon since she sent him away and took herself in his place. She sees what he has grown into, she sees what the power has done to him, she sees and she knows that she and her daughter would have suffered greatly in that role. She sees him make hard choices.

She sees him go to war.

She sees the illusion she cast over branch and clay bleed. She sees him, bandages around his torso, arm hanging awkwardly by his side, leave the castle, and wade into the lake outside of it’s walls. She sees the clay in the lakebed melt towards him, heal the wounds, make him fit to wield a sword the very next day.

She does not want that. She does not want that for her daughter.

It is alright to be selfish, Thyme, she remembers her mother saying to her, remembers saying to her Thyme, bleeding for others is a gift. It is valued, but it is up to you to give it.

Spring comes. Reedy plants are tended into a circle. Summer comes. Fires are burned over the dirt, ash mixed with soil. Fall comes. The heart of a boar is buried under the circle, placed to rest with gentle words. The witch and her daughter, Thyme and Thyme, stand together, hands raised, looking at each other.

The witch whispers, I’m sorry.

And her daughter disappears.

#my writing #original writing #witches #fairy tale #HOLY SHIT I STARTED WRITING THIS A LONG-ASS TIME AGO #anyways. here's thyme.

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luveline · 2 years

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Jade!!! I’m so in awe of how you write Steve, like you capture his character so well! I was thinking about if the reader had also been dragged into the mess that is saving Hawkins and, as a result, has also unofficially been anointed a baby sitter - Steve would be all heart eyes seeing how well you get on with the kids and just how much you care for them (and how much they care for you)

thank you! Steve and you having a quiet moment between all the hubbub and just loving each other and being proud of each other for how you take care of the kids (word count: 1k) fluff and softie steve 🥺 ST4 EP 4 SPOILERS AHEAD

You try not to be too obvious about what you're doing as you stare across the room at Steve. He's sitting with his back pressed against the chair Dustin's currently slumped in, eyes blinking slowly as he attempts to stay awake.

You're opposite on the sofa between Max and Lucas, Max finally asleep. Her face is pressed into your arm. She might be drooling. You decide that this is more than allowed considering what she's just been though.

Lucas is still awake. Still worried.

"I don't know…" he confesses quietly, almost too quiet to hear despite the room's silence, "what I would have done. If something happened."

If Vecna got her, he doesn't say.

You brush your knuckles against the back of Max's hand as you twist, giving him what you hope is a soft, reassuring smile.

"Nothing happened, and nothing is gonna happen. We're gonna work this out. She's safe, Lucas. I promise," you whisper, putting on an exasperated tone. You're not sure how truthful you're being but you believe vehemently that everyone's gonna be okay. You have to.

You don't know him very well, any of them, only through Steve. They love Steve and seem to like you, and despite a big risk of going too far and overstepping, you really want to reassure Lucas.

These kids are so young, they don't realise how young they are. Growing up is traumatic enough without the constant threat of an evil power, and it shows on all their tired faces that they're stressed beyond words.

Lucas sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, reminding you of Steve. You look to him, find your brown eyed boy watching you with an earnest, fond smile stretched over his lips.

"Steve and I," you say, a little firmer, "we won't let anything happen to Max… or to you."

"I'm a great fucking babysitter," Steve agrees, voice rough with fatigue. "And so is Y/N. That's double the protection, Sinclair."

"Exactly. We've got a basement full of dorks who, including yourself, are smart and brave enough to get through this."

Lucas starts to get that look on his face despite his overall maturity that you recognise as embarrassment; too much heart to heart for a teenage boy right now. You dial it down.

"And to do that you need to sleep. Get some rest, gather your strength. The campaign isn't over," you say. Both Steve and Lucas snort at your cheesy joke.

Lucas settles down and eventually falls asleep after you make a big show of not feeling tired. "I got it," you whisper. "I'll be on Max watch."

Now, with all the babies asleep including the academics who basically saved the day, it's only you and Steve.

"Are you okay?" you whisper.

"Baby, I should be asking you that. I've been through this whole shtick three times already."

"Don't you think that's worse?" You can't imagine how scared he is.

Steve straightens up with an awful groan and sets a dead stare at you that withers your bravery almost too fast. "I'm fine. I am," you say, words riddled with a scratching weakness, like your voice might break. "I'm okay."

Steve gets up. You lift your head as he walks towards you, careful not to make too much noise. His hands are soft and very, very careful as he bends at the waist and takes your face into them, like he's assessing you.

His thumbs aligned at your jaw and his fingers cupping the underside, Steve dips his head towards his chin. "It's okay if you're scared. This is ridiculously terrifying," he says seriously. Then, less so. "Not that I'm scared. Shit's getting kind of old for me, if you know what I mean," he says, rolling his eyes.

You laugh and shake your head, eyes closing. "Don't make me laugh, I don't want to wake up the kids," you whisper.

His bravado softens. "You're good with them," he says, hands smoothing down the column of your throat, over your shoulders and up again, massaging you with a light pressure. "Really good."

"I'm just following your lead," you murmur.

He smirks. "Yeah," he says, leaning in, the heat of his lips fanning over your own, "I must set a good example, 'cos you're amazing."

He kisses you, a soft, chaste peck that eases some of the tension you're holding, his smile pressed to yours.

His fingers flex around your neck.

"Are you really okay?" he asks as he pulls away.

You don't have to think about it.

"I'm good, Steve."

"Yeah, you are."

He leans down to give you a hug, an awkward struggle because of your position and the bodies you're acting as a pillow for. You can only use one arm when you hug him back, the other sandwiched under Max's shoulders, but it's a pretty good hug, all things considered.

"You wanna sleep in my lap?" you joke into his neck.

"Don't tempt me. I miss you," he says. Your arm tightens where you're wrapped behind his neck, crushing his perfect hair.

"I miss you too."

And you do. Taking care of the kids, trying to stop whatever it is that's happening from happening, you'd never not try your hardest but you can't wait for this to be over. To fall asleep next to Steve, and to not worry that it'll be the last time you see him when you close your eyes.

You're on Max watch, but you're on Steve watch too.

Steve pats your face gently, just once, and goes back to play guard dog at Dustin's side, though he lies on his back.

Max mumbles something in her sleep. You turn to her, your heart racing at the idea that she's having a Vecna related nightmare. You're tentative as you rub her jacketed arm, hoping to soothe her through it.

"Poor kids," you murmur.

"They have you and me," Steve says quietly. "They're gonna be fine."

"Go to sleep, Harrington," you say, not bothering to turn to him.

"They're gonna be fine," he repeats, sounding both amused and affectionate at your worrying.

"I know. Now go to sleep, idiot."

"Wake me up when you're tired."

"Yeah, whatever you want."

"Wake me up when you're-" he starts again, in a tone usually reserved for the kids when they aren't listening.

"Alright, Steve. I will," you say, laughing under your breath. "Control freak."

"What did you say?"

"Nothing."

"Yeah. S'what I thought." His scathing tone is dampened by the sleepiness. Your chest fills with warm affection.

#stranger things 4 spoilers #stranger things spoilers #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things #spoilers stranger things #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve and max my beloveds #steve x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x gn!reader #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x reader fanfic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble

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grippingbeskar · 2 years

Text

had you said the words

obi-wan kenobi x fem!reader

word count: 7.5k

warnings: ADULT CONTENT MINORS DNI (oral m and f receiving, general sexual content, obi-wan is a virgin but they don’t actually fuck but yeah) swearing, think that’s it??

a/n: obi wan i love youuUuUuUu. okay in honour of the show coming out i am finally letting go of this lil thing I made. i wrote it months ago but never felt like it was good enough to post but here we are!! im feeling okay about how it turned out so i hope u enjoy and if you didn’t just lie and say you did!!! also this is inspired by that one line from the clone wars u know the one. okay that’s enough goodbye!

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“This is ridiculous! You can’t do this!” You shout to the Jedi council. In front of you is some of the galaxy’s most respected members, the most seasoned generals from the clone wars, and yet not a single one seems to be able to see reason.

“We must. For the good of the Jedi.” Mace Windu says from the corner of the room, not meeting your eye. Your face drops, unable to comprehend their callousness.

“How could you? You know me. I would never jeopardise my career. This is what I’ve done my entire life! I-’

“This isn’t permanent, however the council has made a decision. We cannot afford to have a Jedi falter in their cause - not now, in the middle of a war.” Plo Kloon says, empathy guarded behind the crushing words. So that was that. All this over one decision.

You made one mistake.

One.

During the heat of battle, you lost sight of your focus, lost control, all because of one particular member of the council who sits in front of you now, saying nothing. Obi-Wan cant even look at you, and you dont know if its because of disappointment or if he just doesn’t care as much as you thought he would. Maybe he agrees with them. A sense of anger washed over you and you see him fidget in his chair, locking eyes with you for the first time since the council called session.

“He would have died.” Your voice shakes as you tilt your head towards Obi Wan Kenobi, leaving his gaze to find the rest of the council staring at you. “I saw the situation and reacted. I only did what I had to - to save him.”

“Had to, you did?” Master Yoda croaks from next to Mace, and you shudder a breath under his accusation, but nod.

“Yes.” The council all look at you, well, all except Kenobi, who’s knuckles are going white gripping the side of his chair, and nod. You bow your head, knowing you are fighting a losing battle, and spin to leave the room.

“You are one of the best of us, child. We know you meant no harm, but this is the Jedi way.” Kit calls and you dont get a chance to respond as the doors shutter behind you.

You were heartbroken. All day you had been turning over the events of yesterday in your head, trying to see a way out - another way you could have saved his life without compromising your career. There was none.

It started out as any battle did, the longevity of the Clone wars hardening most Jedi to become seasoned generals. Anakin and Ahsoka took troops around the back to catch the droids from behind, while you and Kenobi engaged the main platoon. It was going well - even perfect, you and Kenobi working seamlessly together, able to read each others minds, know the others thoughts without ever having to look at each other. It had been that way since he found you on Corellia, a teenager with a strong connection to the force and an attitude to boot. He trained you - in spite of everyone who told him you were a lost cause, showed you the ways of the Force and watched you grow into one of the best Jedi in the Republic - you were part of the reason he took a chance on Anakin.

Either way, no matter how well you knew each other, you never could have expected what happened next.

Breaking the droid lines, you breached their hold. This was the main prize, for it contained the systems that held hundreds of documents detailing the battle regiments of the droids entire army, including exact numbers, weaponry and AT-AT deployments. What neither of you knew was that they had one last surprise set up.

As Obi-Wan entered the hold, you could both feel something was off immediately. You told him as much, and said you should wait for Anakin and Ahsoka to arrive so you could go in together and scan for entities. Obi Wan was convinced there was no time, the droids already beginning to regroup outside the hold. He wasn’t wrong, you could feel them caging you in, but he had always taught you to be patient; to clear your mind before rushing into battle. The role reversal threw you off guard as he pushed forward into the hold.

You still felt uneasy, but you didn’t argue and stepped inside with him. It was huge, monotone walls shutting you into a sphere shaped room, two steel doors that shuttering behind you. As Obi-Wan took one more step, you both heard the click at the same time, heads snapping to find each other’s eyes, and you didn’t even think before you reacted.

Obi-Wan turned and threw himself at you before you even got a glimpse of the explosive. Within seconds you knew he would be blown to pieces, but his body would shield the blast from you and the board of computers behind you, which contained the information the entire mission was hinged on. Time stood still. This is what is was to be a Jedi - to sacrifice yourself for the greater good, the bigger cause, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

Obi-Wan looked down at you, and his eyes were so piercing - so satisfied in his decision to die so that you will live, and you felt him through the Force, a warm longing drifting into your heart. You knew what he was saying; all the words you could never speak out loud, the thoughts you were too afraid to have in fear he would reject them. It was his final goodbye - and you couldn’t take it.

You threw out your hand, finding the explosive through the Force and flinging it behind you, right behind the computers main frame. The blast went off a split second later, shattering the entire set up and motherboard. The information would be gone, a shimmering snow of computer parts and wires falling around you. All you could focus on, though, was how Obi-Wans’ hand had come up to cup the side of your face, and how warm his skin was against your cheek, the failure of the mission worth every second of contact.

“You saved me.” He had said, voice a whisper under the still falling pieces of the destructed technology. You just nodded, and he didn’t move from on top of you, reminding you how it would have been the other way around had you acted half a second later, and he would have been dead.

His eyes were filled with an emotion you have seen a few times before, but you don’t know what it is. You only know that when he looks at you like that, your heart beat shoots into your throat, and every feeling you tried to lock away when you became a Jedi fights its way back to the surface.

Once Anakin and Ahsoka arrived, they found you both in amongst the rubble, and it wasn’t until the shock had surpassed that you realised you were both all cut up from the debris. They brought you back to the main base, and you weren’t thinking straight, immediately spilling about how you sustained these injuries. You put Obi-Wans life above the Jedi cause, and even though you knew you would get in trouble for it, you couldn’t hide from the truth.

What you hadn’t expected was Obi-Wans complete silence. He hadn’t spoken to you since you arrived back to base, and you were sure he was just preparing for the council meeting where he would back you, abide by your decision, or at the very least say something. He didn’t. Anakin and Ahsoka tried their best to influence the council, but neither of them held the power to do much. Anakin was still not yet a Master Jedi, and Ahsoka; although she had the attitude of one, was not yet a general.

So now you were marching back to your room, empty halls of the ship seeming colder and colder the further you get from Obi-Wan. You knew what you did betrayed the sacred oath you made the day you put on your Jedi robes. Jedi did not make emotional connections, the order had to be put first, and the good of the galaxy depended on it. You knew you risked countless lives by losing that critical information, and you knew you would be reprimanded.

You didn’t regret it though.

You were always a rule breaker, a little bit of a rebel in regards to the orders strict guidelines on that kind of behaviour - how were you to truly care about the galaxy if you had no one in it to protect? It was human nature to form connections - and practically impossible not to care in the case of Obi-Wan’s life. Did they expect you not to attempt to save him, even when there was a way to do so?

Obi-Wan was one of the many times you broke the rules. You were infatuated with him ever since you met him - he was significantly older than you, yes, although not by so much it would be deemed inappropriate. You were both adults, so it was more your occupations that kept you from admitting your feelings. He found you on Corellia, sacrificed his time and patience to mould you into the perfect fighter, fought for your right to train beside the Jedi even with your training being so late. He stuck up for you your entire life, and it made his silence that much more painful.

You finally trudged through the ship far enough to find your room, and as you go to enter, you feel two familiar figures come up behind you, and a female voice calls your name.

“We were waiting outside, but they made us leave after they called the session.” Ahsoka says, and she reaches out to hold your arm, careful to miss the bandage holding you together.

“It’s fine. Nothing happened we didn’t already know would happen.” You knew they would remove your titles - take away your leadership of your battlement. It was a glorified way of grounding you, sending you to your room as if you were a child.

“What of Obi-Wan? There has to be a way to change their mind. He has to be trying.” Anakin says, shaking his head. Him and his master have always gotten along, and their bond is one that rivals brothers, but you know Anakin takes after you in the attitude department, so as he paces up and down the corridor, you know he’s as pissed as you.

“What of him? He couldn’t even look at me. I don’t think he even blinked the entire session.” You scoff, and even Ahsoka shakes her head, more confused than angry.

“He’s going to have to speak up sometime.” Ahsoka says, and releases your arm.

“He will if I have anything to say about it. Padmè will talk to the council about the diplomatic influence, she’s already speaking to the other generals. We will have you back out there in no time.” Anakin’s eyes are fiery, and you smile at the man who was once a boy, small and unsure now so confident and clear.

“If he wanted to, he would of. Thank you, both of you for your help, but I’m just going to have to ride this one out. There’s nothing I can do about it now.” Both of them look at you with the same sympathetic frown, and you would laugh at how similar they are if you weren’t feeling so defeated.

“For what it’s worth, I would have done the same thing.” Anakin says, and he steps forward. You know he’s talking about Padmè, and you nod, a mutual understanding of the conflicting emotions of the Jedi way. They both turn to leave, and you can hear the hushed conversation of their plan as they round the corner.

You enter your room and fall onto the bed, the air rushing out as soon as your head hits the pillow. The past few days have been entirely exhausting, and you weren’t just thinking about the cuts and bruises that now littered your skin. This little incident has forced you to really own up to your feelings towards Obi-Wan. The way you felt when you were faced with the possibility of him dying tore you to shreds, and the strength of those emotions were impossible to draw up to just an admiration of a friend, or a small crush born of gratitude. You were in love with him, and you had been for a while. You knew it was wrong and you wanted to fight it, fight the feeling you drowned in whenever he was in the room, whenever he smiled at you or pulled you away to talk about battle plans, knowing no one else would understand the way he thinks but you.

It also forced you to think about how he may feel about you. He reacted so quickly, throwing himself on top of you when the explosive dropped, and the look in his eye told you he wouldn’t of regretted dying for you. His Force - the energy you knew so well felt different - like he was reaching into your body and touching everything inside you, giving you no option but to yield to him. The intensity of it - it was nothing you had ever felt before.

It made it hard to breathe, thinking about that. Would he have ever felt the same? He was one of the most accomplished Jedi in the galaxy, surely there was no way he would return those feelings, right?

It was impossible - you and him, for so many reasons, the main one being how you were now banned from fighting, banned from council meetings and practically shunned from the Republic just for presenting the idea that he meant more to you than you let on. One mistake, you said to yourself, but you weren’t entirely sure it was a mistake.

Your eyes began to close, and even with everything in your life being pulled apart, you can’t help but drift off. Your energy is drained, and maybe that’s why after you fall into a deep sleep, you don’t feel Obi-Wan’s presence at your door before he knocks, softly, almost as if he doesn’t want you to hear it.

You know its him as soon as you open your eyes, able to recognise his energy anywhere, but when he says your name, you throw the blanket off and move to open the door.

Dull lights from the hallway don’t show you any emotions on his face. It has to be the middle of the night. His hair is out of place and he looks so unlike himself. He is almost always put together, in his robes and armed with his lightsaber, but he stands in front of you in just a few layers and no weapon to be seen.

“Wh- What are you doing?” He shifts his weight onto the other leg and finally looks at you.

“I needed to see you. The council held me all day. May I?” He motions to behind you. Was he asking to come in to your room, at three in the morning? After what has just happened?

“I don’t know if thats a good idea, considering.” Your voice is small. The truth is that you do want him to come in, more than you’ve wanted anything. To have him in close quarters, all to yourself - it’s what you’ve wanted for years, and you hate that you have to sound even slightly hesitant.

“If you don’t want to see me, I understand. I’ll go.” He steps backwards and your hand shoots forward to grab the wrist of his robe before you can think.

“No! I do.” Damn, you folded fast under those puppy dog eyes he was giving you. You step out, looking left and right. The hallway is completely empty, and you dont have long before the skeleton crew of night guards come back through on their rotation. “Come.”

He moves swiftly past you and closes the door behind him, you going to sit on the edge of your bed. You sigh, trying to get a hold of the swirling array of emotion twisting in your stomach. It felt similar to wanting to puke. On one hand you want to scream at him, demand him to answer for the way he acted, or rather didn’t act in the council meeting.

On the other, you want to take advantage of this time. You have already lost the one thing that kept you from admitting your feelings to him, what more could you lose? You don’t get a chance to decide, because he speaks first, standing in front of you.

“I wanted to apologise. The way that I behaved today - it was cowardly. I should have spoken sooner.” You were nodding, but when he says sooner you look up at him and tilt your head. “When the council dismissed you, I felt the true consequence of my actions. I ordered a reconsideration.”

That makes your eyes widen a little. The thought of the Obi-Wan Kenobi arguing with the entire council on your behalf makes the heat in your cheeks heavier, and you look away, hoping he can’t sense it.

“A reconsideration?” You repeat, and he nods.

“Yes. I was afraid I may of found my bearings too late, but I explained how your actions were only fuelled by your respect for me, and that you would have done the same for any council member had they been in my place. I know how much you respect the order and your superiors, and I told them as much. We have a… unique connection, something other people might not completely comprehend. I explained as best I could.” You blink, trying to take in every word, but you are stuck on the first part. Your actions weren’t fuelled by respect. Your heart acted before your mind did, and he had just lied to the council for you, because he knew it too.

“I find it hard to imagine you had anything to say, considering you stayed so silent during the three hours of my own hearing.” Anger bubbles up your chest at his dismissing statement, and he rubs his hands over his face.

“I apologise. I was - not in the right mind to speak. I was afraid I would only make the situation worse.” His voice shakes slightly as he stops talking.

“So, you lied.”

“I did not lie. You deserve your place, on the battle field and on that council one day. I will not let this incident ruin your career. Not over something like this.” The unsaid words hang in the air, thick as smoke.

Not over me.

“You did lie. You told them I did it out of respect.” You can’t look at him, nerves starting to break up that anger you felt as his voice gets softer. He says your name again, and you take a deep breath, preparing yourself for his response.

“I also told them about what I did. You are not the only one who acted on instinct. I was unprepared; arrogant even. I should have listened to you.” You scoff and shake your head. “Tell me how I can make this right.”

“Look, whats done is done. Thank you for speaking in my favour, but the council has made up their minds.” Defeated, and convinced you weren’t going to hear what you so desperately wanted to hear, you move further away from him on the bed and let your back rest against the wall. He was quiet for a moment, letting you sigh and sink into the wall. Maybe he thought you were going to continue - he seemed to be anticipating something. After a while, though, he starts to fidget and shifts his weight to the other side again.

“I know you have more to say to me. Argue with me; yell at me, if you must. Just speak to me.” He finally speaks. You dont remember ever seeing him this unsteady. You sigh again and find his eyes, already looking at you, pleading.

“You threw yourself at me. You would have died today if I hadn’t thrown that explosive. Do you really expect me to believe you also did that out of respect for the Jedi?” His face doesn’t change, he doesn’t even move. “Because I didn’t. I didn’t think about the Jedi, or the information on those computers. I wasn’t even thinking about myself. I thought of you. I wanted to save you.” The confession sheds a weight of your shoulders you didn’t even know you were carrying, and your mouth is suddenly dry as Obi-Wan continues to stare at you. He goes to speak and his voice cracks, so he swallows hard and tries again.

“I wanted to save you too.” You think you stopped breathing. “If you had gone in first, you would have.... It would have been my fault. I couldn’t bare it; to lose you would destroy everything.” Your eyebrows furrow together and you slide off the bed, standing only a few steps from him.

“Destroy your plan to get me on the council?”

“It would destroy me.” You see it beginning to crack; the fragile glass ceiling that kept your deepest secrets below. You suck in a breath as his voice cracks and he keeps talking somehow. “What you said, about lying to the council. You are right. You know I respect you as a general, and I want all those things I spoke about for you. I want to provide that for you. To think you would lose that because of me - it couldn’t happen.”

It couldn’t happen.

This, the heat swirling in between you in the dimly lit room, it couldn’t happen. It would mean the destruction of both of your lives, and you knew that. You never expected him to say any of this in front of the council, but a small part of you dared to hope he would say it to you.

“I understand.” Your head drops, and you see his hand rise up, and a finger coming underneath your chin. Your breath hitches as he gently brings your face back up to his, the warmth of his skin a welcomed return. This was it. The crossing of the invisible line. It felt so much easier to do now that you were here. You resist the urge to press into his touch.

“I lied to the council, but I am not sure how much longer I can lie to myself.” His eyes search yours for any sign of confusion, or resentment, or anything other than the heavy longing that has been building over years and years of close proximity. However, its you who hesitates this time, although you dont pull away.

“Obi, this - I won’t let you risk your position for this. Mine is already at threat, we can’t - I know what the order means to you. I couldn’t - ”

“Had you said the words, I would have left the Jedi Order.” Your heart flutters and your stomach drops. Left? “I nearly lost you yesterday and I - I don’t know what to do. How can I continue on this path when I feel this way? The one thing that feels right - how can it be viewed as so wrong?” You step towards him this time, wanting to be closer.

“You mean you-”

“When I threw myself over you yesterday, it was because I couldn’t imagine living in this galaxy if you were not by my side. You are the only thing worth more than this. Any of this. I want - truely, I want to serve the republic - the planets, bring aid and peace where I can and protect those who cannot fend for themselves. It is all I’ve wanted my entire life. I never knew I could- that I would want anything else- until I met you.” You bring your hand to cover his own on your face, and he closes his eyes when your hands thread together.

“You won’t have to leave this behind. I swear. I’ll talk to the council, admit it was my fault. We can figure this out, together.” You can’t compute his confession, not yet, not when he’s going down this road of throwing everything he’s worked for out the vat - for you.

“You will do no such thing.” Your face is screwed up with worry and your anxiety of the danger of confessing your feelings is creeping up, but you feel his energy mixing with your own, and he is so calm and steady it makes your hands stop shaking.

“I care for you, too. A little too much, I think.” He smiles for the first time in days, absorbing the heat of your words and letting them sink into his skin. “We- we just need time. We can figure this out. Let this whole thing settle down first.” You nod at your own plan and hold his hand tighter to your face, not wanting the contact to end.

“Whatever you want, I will make sure of it. I will not silence myself again, I swear it.” You smile this time, and his thumb comes to run over your bottom lip. His eyes widen with the contact, as if he’s surprised by his own actions.

“I know why you did now. You didn’t want them to think it was true. Because you already knew how I felt about you, didn’t you?” You smile a little and he mirrors it.

“You were never all that proficient at hiding how you feel. It took everything in me to cover your anger during the session.” You think of how he was so concentrated, looking almost in pain as he watched you in silence. “But yes, I have known of your feelings for a while, although I wasn’t sure if they were aimed at me.” You step forward again, and you can feel his chest against yours, robes brushing your bare arms.

“How long?”

“A few months. My own - affections, however, have been stirring for quite longer, if I am honest with myself.” He almost sounds ashamed, and you want to punch every single council member for making him feel that way.

“If it makes you feel better, I have definitely had a crush on you for longer than that.” He breaths out a laugh, and you feel it on your cheeks.

“Is that so?” You loved this side of him, teasing and lighthearted. It was rarer these days, but it made you feel warm inside that he let you see it.

“Don’t let it go to your head.” You roll your eyes and grin at him, and he closes the distance between you. He doesn’t kiss you, but he’s close enough that if you stuck your chin out just a fraction, your lips would touch. Your legs feel like jelly and you are sure he can feel how nervous you are through the energy you must be putting out, but you never hide it. Not from him. You hear him swallow, and you keep your eyes closed.

Just in case.

“I don’t know what this is.” He says, his honesty making you feel a lot more at ease. Neither of you have any idea how to play this, of what is too far. All you know is how badly you want him to kiss you.

“Neither do I.” He nods and leans his forehead to yours. Now all you would have to do is tilt your head, and you could finally feel him against you how you have wanted to all these years. “We can just- go slow. Okay?”

“Slow.” He says and you can feel him sigh, and then he moves. He tilts his head. You stay deadly still, afraid to scare him off. As much as you both are completely inexperienced, you are pretty sure he has less an idea than you do. You were 19 when he found you, and didn’t become a Jedi until two years after, so you had some time to experiment in that department, but from what you know, Obi-Wan has been dedicated since childhood - something you admire about him.

His breathing picks up and his lips brush against yours. He was right there, all you had to do was move. He makes a small sound in the back of his throat and you cant contain yourself anymore. You move your head to capture his mouth in yours.

The kiss is as perfect as any first kiss you could imagine. It was sweet, no tongue, just slow, simple movements as you both explore the feeling of each other. His free hand comes to your hip on instinct, pressing you harder against him. He clearly wasn’t prepared for his own action again, a moan of surprise vibrating against your lips as your bodies come together. You move both of your arms around his neck, one tangling in his messy hair.

As you start to find a rhythm, the hand on your hip gets tighter, needing you to be closer, to touch more of him. You need it too, and as much as you wanted to rip his clothes off right now, your sense of urgency is dulled by the unknown of if this would ever happen again, so you were going to be as slow and explorative as possible.

You swipe your tongue along his bottom lip, and you feel him jolt a little under the movement. It sends warmth through your entire body to know how affected he is by you, and it only makes you want to give him more. You owed everything to him, your entire life, and you wanted to show him just how much you appreciated him.

He opens up to you and you slide into his mouth, the feeling of him moving against you making you moan. The sound mades him tense, and he gets a little more desperate with his movements, kissing you a little harder and walking to back you up against the bed. You spin and push him back, and his legs give out so he sits on the edge.

He looks up at you, chest heaving. He extends his arms and you take the hint, straddling him and bringing your mouth back to his. Both of his hands stay off your ass, one coming back on your hip, which you think he likes because he can create the tiniest amount of friction between you, the other resting on the small of your back. You keep your arms around his neck and he twists his head a little, inching your hand back up into his hair. You smile a little and oblige him, twisting your fingers through the soft strands.

You start to feel him harden underneath you, but you don’t want to push him. Instead, you just follow the grip on your hip and start to move when he does, grinding against him ever so slightly. He moans instantly, a deep, low sound that vibrates to your bones. You do it again, and he gasps, so you tear your lips away from him to let him breath. His mouth chases yours and you giggle.

“I don’t think I will ever get enough of that.” He murmurs as he kisses your nose. You roll your hips again and his spine straightens, capturing your lips in another kiss. “Or that.”

“So greedy.” He laughs and kisses you again, and you can tell he’s not really sure where to go from here as his grip begins to loosen on your hip. “Have you ever..?”

He shakes his head, and drops his forehead to your chest. You let the tips of your fingers lightly scrape against his scalp and he ‘hmms’ under his breath, enjoying the sensation but also hiding from you.

“Thats okay. We don’t have to do anything. I just want to be with you right now. Whatever that means.” He looks up and kisses you again. You know what this would mean, the final nail in the coffin for him.

Technically, its the emotional connection that the Jedi do not allow. The physical side of things is not forbidden, as long as there is no relationship, although most Jedi observe celibacy as a general rule. You have since you met him, it would have been impossible for you to have one without the other.

The movement of your hips is not the problem for him, though. It’s the fact that you both know there is more here than just a physical attraction. You admitted it. This would be breaking the code.

You only care right now if he does.

“I want- Maker. I want to. This is-“ He talks and cuts himself off by kissing you, never finishing a sentence. You look up and laugh and he just kisses your throat, turning to kiss your neck when you look to the side. You stop laughing when you feel his arms wrap around you tighter and a slight scrape of his teeth against the spot that makes you shiver. He pulls back to look at you, and then does it again, kissing and scraping his teeth, biting experimentally.

You can tell he’s enjoying it, and he spends a while moving himself up and down your neck, finding all the little places that make you gasp and hum.

“Oh, Obi. Shit.” Your head drops to his shoulder and your hips start to move on their own. He keeps kissing your neck, starting to suck and bite in the spot he seems to have deemed his favourite. He moans against your skin, and a small fire in the pit of your stomach sparks and warms your entire body. You pull on his hair again, and his hips buck slightly.

“This is okay?” He says against you and you nod and roll your hips again.

“Yes. Yes.” He continues, and that same shiver goes up your spine.

“You are so soft.” His nose drags along your throat and your mouth drops open.

“Can I- Can I touch you?” You ask desperately and he pulls away from your skin, nudging your head up to find your eyes.

“You want to?” He seems genuinely curious, and you nod. Your hands come to his chest and you slide them up to his shoulders, bringing the two layers of robes off his shoulders slowly, giving him ample time to stop you. He helps to pull them off, and then you bring his hands to your shirt. His eyes widen a little at the thought, but you see him try to regain composure.

“Do you want to?” He grabs the hem of your shirt and fists the material.

“Please.” He breaths out and pulls your shirt over your head slowly, goosebumps appearing where his fingertips brush your skin. When the shirt finally comes off he lets his eyes trail along your now exposed skin, just a small bralette holding you from him. You lean back a little so both of his hands can find your ribs, and they run strong lines up and down your sides.

“So soft.” He repeats and you begin to melt into his lap.

You bring your hands to the hem of his shirt, and he clearly is not as patient as you, his own coming over the top and whipping the shirt over his head. You have seen him without his shirt before, sometimes after training he would tear it off before he disappears into his room and you would get a glimpse of his back, but now you were up close and could look as much as you want.

He was built; bigger than he looks under all those robes, and you run your hands over the hard muscle, wanting to remember the feeling of every inch. He keeps one hand on your rib cage and brings the other to your chin to kiss you again.

“You are beautiful.” He whispers, and your heart sparks at the compliment.

“So are you.” You return and he smiles into the kiss. Your hand finds the hem of his pants, fingertips dancing along the seam and he sucks in a deep breath. “We don’t have to do anything. Tell me if you want to stop, okay?”

“Have you done this? Before.” As much as you want to tell him no if only to make him relax, you can’t lie to him. You nod your head.

“Not for a while. Not since I met you.” This sparks something in his eye, and you would never have picked him for a possessive guy, but it seems he likes the idea of him being the reason you haven’t.

“I have not. I am not sure I know-“

“Anything you do is perfect. Just relax, okay? Let me make you feel good.” He tilts his head as you slide off him, and sits up a little to come with you. You just stop him with your hands on his thighs, and slip your fingers into the waistline of his pants.

You aren’t sure how you manage to be so patient with the way he’s looking at you - eyes wide and bottom lip between his teeth, but you wait. Wait for him to say stop, or to bring you back into his lap and change the direction. He does neither, and you pull ever so slightly, revealing skin you’ve never seen before. You tilt your head up at him and he just nods repeatedly, moving his hips in a silent plea.

“Oh, Maker. What do I d-” With another deep breath, his eyes flutter closed and then back open, trying to figure out if he wants to watch or just feel you. You slide his pants down a little more and you can see how hard he is already. You look up at him again, and he’s staring so intently that you feel he would have said something if he wanted you to stop. His energy is warm around you, like nothing you’ve ever felt and it is full of curiosity and heat. You pull his pants down past his knees.

Sliding in between his legs you bring your face closer to his length, and your breath is hot against his skin. His pants drop to his ankles and he quickly kicks them off.

You start slow, placing a kiss to the inside of his thigh, and his hips jolt in response. You laugh breathlessly, and decide there will be plenty of time to tease him later.

You were going to make this so good for him that he will never be able to think of anything else when he looks at you.

You start at his head, kissing him gently. Then, finding his eyes you lick a long stripe up him from base to tip. He strangles a moan, and his eyes never leave you as you take the tip of him into your mouth and suck gently.

“I-oh maker. Fuck.” You can see the way every part of his body relaxes under your manipulation, and a rush of heat floods your body. Something about Obi-Wan swearing, coming undone because of you makes your own arousal begin to grow, but you try to focus all your energy on him. You stay there for a while, gently sucking and letting your tongue swipe over him, enjoying the little moans he makes every time you do so.

When your sure he’s relaxed, you look up at him again and spit, bringing your hand up to coat his length, making it as wet as you can. His eyes roll back at the image, and every time your hand works him his hips buck to meet you.

You take him into your mouth and hollow your cheeks, letting him fuck your face as much as he wants. He was acting off pure instinct, it’s still slow and a little uncertain but he starts to go a little deeper when he feels you moan around his length, a wordless plea for him to take what he needs. A hand finds your hair, not to push you down but just to hold, a reminder of where he is. The other arm supports his weight as he no longer holds himself up, and you pull off of him after a few strokes, saliva coating your mouth.

“How does it feel?” His eyes are squeezed shut and his abs are flexing so hard he almost looks like he’s in pain. You don’t know why it didn’t occur to you before, but he’s probably also never had an orgasm. It makes you want to work even harder, make him feel even better, so you take him back inside your mouth before he answers.

“So go-ah! So good. Stars- You feel so good. How are you so good?” He’s completely lost in his own pleasure and it makes you feel all tingly in your stomach. You try to keep your eyes on him and work him faster, grip him harder as you push to get him over the edge. You keep pumping him in your hand as your mouth comes off him to catch your breath for a second.

“I can make you feel so much better.” You take him back into your mouth, and the sounds of him inside of you are only muffled by how loud he is, moaning your name and strangled cries every time he hits the back of your throat. Small tears start to form in your eyes but you keep going, every sound he makes only making you feel hotter. You can feel him everywhere - and when you start to take him as deep as you can, he hits the back of your throat once and he shudders.

“Wait! St-stop. Wait.” Immediately you pull off him, and you can see how fucking close he was, the tip of him leaking pre cum and his entire body shaking.

“What’s wrong? Are you ok?” He nods, trying to catch his breath. You wipe your mouth with your thumb, and slip it into your mouth wanting to savour the taste of him.

“Something feels - strange. I don’t know wh-” He’s breathing so hard it takes him a moment to get the words out in a way you understand - but you know. You know exactly what he’s going to say, and save him from his clear embarrassment when you lean up to whisper on his ear.

“Good strange? Or bad?”

“I can’t- good. Overwhelming; I can’t feel a-anything else.” He sounds a little worried, but the pleasure is evident in how he drags out his words. He’s worried because he can’t feel the familiar safety of the Force when his mind goes blank.

“It’s- it’s okay. I promise. Relax, okay? I��m right there with you.” He nods rapidly and even though he’s noticeably a little nervous his body scoots further off the edge, closer to your mouth. You smile and lean in, and he instantly falls right back into his building orgasm.

You work him hard and fast, swirling your tongue and taking him as deep as you can. He gets louder as you get quicker, and you can’t help but moan around him as he thrusts into you with less composure.

“Hol- yes, that’s- right there oh gods-“ His entire body shakes as he cums in your mouth. His orgasm takes all the strength in his body and he falls back, arm giving out as he flops onto the bed. He says your name over and over and it’s like it hits him in waves, you just keep pumping him into your mouth and taking whatever he gives you. His abs are flexing every time you take him into the back of your throat and the slight reaction as he stops moaning your name makes you slow down.

His hand comes over his abdomen and you watch as he begins to come back to his body, the rise and fall of his chest becoming a little more even as you slide him out of your mouth.

“Come here.” He says, his voice so low and thick that you move faster than you thought possible. You come up next to him, and gasp as his hands find your wrists and he pins you against the bed, both of you vertical on the bed and your head perfectly centre on the pillows. He looks over you, completely naked and kisses you deeply, his tongue sliding into your mouth. He was a quick learner. The taste of him is still on your tongue, and the mixture of his mouth makes your head spin.

“Was that okay?” You ask under him and he presses a short kiss to your lips and then laughs.

“You are joking, right? That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever felt.” You blush at the way he looks at you, completely enamoured. “I want to make you feel like that.” You freeze and all the blood in your body rushed to your core. A look of determination you’ve seen from training covers his expression.

“You don’t have to, don’t feel like ob-“

“Let me make you feel good.” He purrs your words from earlier in your ear and your eyes flutter closed as he pulls your pants down your legs. He leaves your underpants on, and shifts so his body is between your legs. He hangs above you, and the way his eyes drop down to your underwear and slowly work their way back up to your face makes you feel hot all over. He stays like that, above you as he does something you can only describe as admiring you.

One of his hands brushes over your stomach, fingers tracing aimless lines along your skin. You try to stay as still as possible, but the way he looks at you, how he runs his hands so so close to the hem of your underwear, and then slide away to explore somewhere else. It isn’t long until your squirming underneath him.

“Please, Obi-Wan.” He blinks a couple times, focusing back on what he was doing.

“Sorry. Your beautiful.” He leans down to press a kiss to your stomach, and then copies what you did to him, moving down your body, kissing your thighs and it making your back arch. “Show me.”

“Wh-what do you want to do?” He looks up at you and, after seeing you smile at him encouragingly, slowly drags your underpants down your legs, making sure his fingertips touch all the exposed skin they can on the way. Then he lays down between your legs, and looks up at you, awaiting instruction. “Fuck. O-okay.”

You open your legs a little more and let your hand tangle in his hair. He leans into that touch, and he ‘hmms’ again as you run your fingertips through it. He kisses your thighs again, and his tongue darts out to lick the skin there a little bit. You realise he’s still waiting.

“Just- anything. Please touch me.”

“Hmm. You never were a good teacher.” Your jaw drops open and you laugh without making a sound, way too distracted with how sexy he looks between your legs.

“Give me your hand.” He does as you ask, and you run his hand down over your stomach. His hands are softer than you thought, and when you bring one of his fingers over your clit, you let out a long moan of his name.

You show him how you would touch yourself, but somehow it feels a hundred times better with his hand. He follows your motions and you let go, fisting the blankets as he copies you. It takes him a moment but he never takes his eyes off you, watching as each time he touches you right your body reacts, and faster than you were prepared for he starts to build a perfect pattern.

“Like this?” He applies more pressure and you arch further off the bed. Of course he would be a fast learner. You feel him move closer, his breath hot on your arousal. You nod frantically and moan in a loud, long release. “What about this?”

“Oh fuck! Yes, just like that!” He flicks his tongue over your clit. You don’t remember a time you’ve been this sensitive so fast, but then again you’ve never had someone as incredible as Obi-Wan Kenobi between your legs. He swirls his tongue in the same pattern he was creating with his fingers and the feeling intensifies, your nerve endings buzzing with pleasure.

“Need more. Wanna feel you.” You break out between gasps and he unfortunately takes his expert mouth off you to answer.

“Okay, darling. Show me, okay?” He brings his hand up again and you quickly bring two of his fingers into your mouth and suck on them. He never takes his eyes of you, the image of you sucking his cock earlier surely running through his mind. You run his hand back down and guide them to your entrance and he slides them into you.

“Move them- oh, shit - up. Just a little.” You prop yourself up on your forearms but your head drops back as he curls his fingers inside you, and you practically sob when he does it again while returning his mouth to your clit.

He starts slow, and you are too enveloped in your own pleasure to give him instructions, but it’s like he reads your body. You both work so in sync with each other on the battle field and in meetings, it makes sense he would be able to give you exactly what you were so desperate for without having to speak. He can feel every time he does in the right way, when his tongue and his fingers sync up, and he chases the form every time.

Once he figures out a pattern that makes you squirm he goes faster. The pace makes your eyes roll in the back of your head thinking about how good he makes you, and only you, feel.

“Right there. Oh m-“ He takes your clit into his mouth and sucks. If you thought he was loud, you were definitely louder as you cry out, begging him not to stop.

“So- stars; so pretty.” He says and you can feel the heat of his words on your wetness. “And so wet. For me?”

“Yes. Always for you.” He groans and goes faster and faster, his entire mouth exploring the taste of you while still hitting that spot that makes you cry out.

“So fucking warm. Thought about this - feel perfect.” The lewdness of his words make your legs begin to shake and you can’t see - can’t feel anything but the earth shattering sensation filling every part of your body.

Pleasure builds faster than ever and you can’t prepare for how hard you cum in his mouth. Everything flashes in sparkles of heat and melts your mind until you can’t think - pulling his hair and riding his face through your pleasure.

Your leg muscles were sore already and you manage to open your eyes to see your thighs have seized up around his head, keeping him in place. He doesn’t seem to mind, and although he has taken his fingers out of you his mouth remains, aimlessly tasting you seemingly for his own enjoyment. He has no idea the effect he’s having on you, and his tongue brushes over your clit occasionally, the overstimulation making your lungs burn.

“Oh Maker. Obi please come here.” You say, and your shakey legs drop open from his head. He looks up at you, and takes a final taste of your pussy before crawling up your body, kissing you.

“You taste sweet.” He whispers into your mouth. There’s something about how dirty the words are mixed with how proper and polite he always is that makes your legs shake for a different reason, and you pull him down next to you, curling your body into his.

“You are amazing.” It’s his turn to blush, and you see a little red come across his cheeks in the dim light of the room.

“Hardly in comparison, my love.” Your heart is slamming in your ears. That was your favourite nickname, you think. He brushes the hair out of your face, a finger tucking it behind your ear so he can see you better.

“Can you stay?” He shouldn’t. You know he shouldn’t, because if anyone sees him leaving tomorrow everything you both said at the council meeting will be worthless.

“Of course I will stay. As long as you want me to.” You smile into his neck as you bury your face there.

“I want you all the time.”

“Then I will stay all the time.” You both smile, enjoying the simplicity of this moment, knowing it will not last.

“We don’t have to talk about it right now, okay?” You can sense his worry - and you are relieved you sense no regret like you were so sure he would feel. His muscles relax under your words and he nods, pulling your back against his chest so you can feel his slowing heart beat. Somehow - as if it was possible, you feel more connected to him that before. Your energies were always intertwined, but now it’s like they were fused. You could still tell who was who, and they could be taken apart, but together they formed something greater - stronger; and you knew he could feel it too.

You both fall asleep soon after, knowing tomorrow will bring forward a thousand new challenges, with a million new consequences.

You don’t care.

The world could burn down around you, and you would happily watch it, as long as you could do so in his arms. There will be nothing they can take, nothing they can say that will diminish how you feel, and no Jedi Order could convince either of you that what you felt for each other was wrong.

If anything, it made you stronger, and maybe one day you could prove it to them.

#obi wan x y/n #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi x you #obi wan fanfiction #obi wan kenobi #obi wan x you #kenobi x reader #general kenobi #star wars fan fiction #star wars fanfiction #obi wan fic #obi-wan x you #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x you #star wars tv #star wars #obi wan series

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wilwheaton · 3 years

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For anyone who genuinely doesn't understand why I feel as strongly as I do about people like Chapelle making transphobic comments that are passed off as jokes, I want to share a story that I hope will help you understand, and contextualize his behavior. When I was sixteen, I played ice hockey almost every night at a local rink. I was a goalie, and they always needed goalies, so I could show up, put on my gear, and just wait for some team to call me onto the ice. It was a lot of fun. One night, I'd played a couple hours of pickup with some really great dudes. They were friendly, they were funny, they enjoyed the game, they treated me like I was part of their team. They welcomed me. After we were finished, we were all in the locker room getting changed into our regular clothes. Before I tell you what happened next, I want to talk specifically about comedy and how much I loved it when I was growing up. I listened to records and watched comedy specials whenever I could. One of the definitive comedy specials for me and my friends was Eddie Murphy's Delirious, from 1983. It had bits that still kill me. The ice cream song, aunt Bunny falling down the stairs, mom throwing the shoe. Really funny stuff. There is also extensive homophobic material that is just fucking appalling and inexcusable. Long stretches of this comedy film are devoted to mocking gay people, using the slur that starts with F over and over and over. Young Wil, who watched this with his suburban white upper middle class friends, in his privileged bubble, thought it was the funniest, edgiest, dirtiest thing he'd ever heard. It KILLED him. And all of it was dehumanizing to gay men. All of it was cruel. All of it was bigoted. All of it was punching down. And I didn't know any better. I accepted the framing, I developed a view of gay men as predatory, somehow less than straight men, absolutely worthy of mockery and contempt. Always good for a joke, though. Let me put this another way: A comedian who I thought was one of the funniest people on the planet totally normalized making a mockery of gay people, and because I was a privileged white kid, raised by privileged white parents, there was nobody around me to challenge that perception. For much of my teen years, I was embarrassingly homophobic, and it all started with that comedy special. Let's go back to that locker room. So I'm talking with these guys, and we're all just laughing and having a good time. We're doing that sports thing where you talk about the great plays, and feel like you're part of something special. And then, without even realizing what I was doing, that awful word came out of my mouth. "Blah blah blah F****t," I said. The room fell silent and that's when I realized every single guy in this room was gay. They were from a team called The Blades (amazing) and I had just ... really fucked up. "Do you have any gay friends?" One of them asked me, gently. "Yes," I said, defensively. Then, I lied, "they say that all the time." I was so embarrassed and horrified. I realized I had basically said the N word, in context, and I didn't know what to do. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to apologize, I wanted to beg forgiveness. But I was a stupid sixteen year-old with pride and ignorance and fear all over myself, so I lied to try and get out of it. "They must not love themselves very much," he said, with quiet disappointment. Nobody said another word to me. I felt terrible. I shoved my gear into my bag and left as quickly as I could. That happened over 30 years ago, and I think about it all the time. I'm mortified and embarrassed and so regretful that I said such a hurtful thing. I said it out of ignorance, but I still said it, and I said it because I believed these men, who were so cool and kind and just like all the other men I played with (I was always the youngest player on the ice) were somehow less than ... I guess everyone. Because that had been normalized for me by culture and comedy. A *huge* part of that normalization was through entertainment that dehumanized gay men in the service of "jokes". And as someone who thought jokes were great, I accepted it. I mean, nobody was making fun of *ME* that way, and I was the Main Character, so... I doubt very much that any of those men would be reading this today, but if so: I am so sorry. I deeply, profoundly, totally regret this. I've spent literally my entire life since this happened making amends and doing my best to be the strongest ally I can be. I want to do everything I can to prevent another kid from believing the same bigotry I believed, because I was ignorant and privileged. So this stuff that Chapelle did? That all these Cishet white men are so keen to defend? I believe them when they say that it's not a big deal. Because it's not a big deal TO CISHET WHITE DUDES. But for a transgender person, those "jokes" normalize hateful, ignorant, bigoted behavior towards them. Those "jokes" contribute to a world where transgender people are constantly under threat of violence, because transgender people have been safely, acceptably, dehumanized. And it's all okay, because they were dehumanized by a Black man. And the disingenuous argument that it's actually racist to hold Chapelle accountable for this? Get the fuck out of here. I love dark humor. I love smart, clever jokes that make us think, that challenge authority, that make powerful people uncomfortable. I don't need a lecture from some dude in wraparound sunglasses and a "git 'er done" tank top about how I don't understand comedy and I need to stick to acting. I don't need a First Amendment lecture from someone who doesn't understand the concept of consequences for exercising speech the government can't legally prohibit. Literally every defense of Chapelle's "jokes" centers white, cishet men and our experience at the expense of people who have to fight with every breath simply to exist in this world. Literally every queer person I know (and I know a LOT) is hurt by Chapelle's actions. When literally every queer person I know says "this is hurtful to me", I'm going to listen to them and support them, and not tell them why they are wrong, as so many cishet white men do. If you're inclined to disregard queer voices, especially as they relate to this specific topic, I encourage you to reflect on your choices and think about who you listen to and why. Too many of my fellow cishet white men are reducing this to some abstract intellectual exercise, which once again centers our experience at the expense of people who are genuinely threatened by the normalization of their "less than" or "outsider" status. Thirty years ago, I centered myself and was appallingly hurtful as a result. I was sixteen and didn't know any better. I still regret it. Frankly, a whole lot of people I blocked should feel the same shame about what they said TODAY that I feel for something I did three decades ago when I was sixteen and didn't know any better. But they don't, and that is why people like me need to keep using our voices to speak up and speak out.

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st4rbwrry · 2 years

Text

sapiosexual. eren yeager.

warnings . . . fem!reader, stoner!eren, jealous!eren, face fucking <69>, oral <f received>, cervix kissing, slapping <titties, face, ass>, hair pulling, finger sucking, overstimulation, degrading, praising, spit play, reader creams, brief daddy kink, eren is feral af, aftercare for us softies.

mocha’s note . . . thank you to that anon who says this song reminds them of eren. i can’t stop playing it now. been on repeat for days.

“yo,” is the first way eren greets you, nodding his head as he brushes past you after you open the back door, sneaking him into your home late in the afternoon, already smelling of weed with his hands stuffed into his black hoodie, the hood over his dark brown hair as he chews his gum. he remembers to take off his shoes so he wouldn’t track mud over the house, grabbing them and hiding them in the closet in case your parents came home early. he’s lightly coated with rain, the mixture of it with his cologne fanning over the area.

“hey,” you softly smile, eren taking one hand out to do your signature handshake, slapping them side by side, sliding your palms together before snapping your fingers.

“what’s good with you?” his gruff voice asks, already walking upstairs to your room.

“nothin’ much, classes been busting my ass,” you shrug, following behind him. you lock your door and find him sitting in his usual spot when the two of you hang out for a smoke sesh. comfortably leaning back in your gaming chair with his thighs spread, his brown hair falling to his shoulders.

“you’re rewatching this shit again?” eren grumbles about the series thats on your screen, nodding and smiling like an idiot, eren referring to the vampire diaries. you’re definitely on your tenth mark.

“i love it, you know this.”

“yeah,” he’s pulling out a honeybun flavored backwood along with his stash of weed, turning to your desk and doing what he usually does.

“you never let me roll,” you whine, eren turning to look you up and down, your black shorts practically swallowing your thighs and ass. his stare lingers before he breaks it away.

“your shit be fat,” he chuckles.

“fat and cute,” you roll your eyes. “it hits faster.”

“doesn’t.”

you take a seat on one of your beanbag chairs, knocking back the rest of your wine you had with dinner an hour ago and happily watching him roll, always intrigued by it. he side eyes you as he runs his tongue along the sheet, telling you to stop and finish enjoying your stupid show to which you throw your plushie at him as a result. you can tell his half buzzed by his body language, sort of sluggish and barely talkative. you switch to youtube and play a bunch of random music videos after he finishes, eren letting you hit first and laughing when you cough. you’re still learning. and you’ve only ever smoked with him like twice so far.

“clear out your throat like i told you. suck in your breath and then inhale it. hold it for ten seconds if you can, then release it.”

you follow his instructions, holding the blunt between your fingers like a cigarette and taking your puff. the elated look in your eyes makes eren happy, tapping under your chin with his hooked finger proudly. you pass it to him, and it continues until it’s nothing but a roach. you always start to feel it when you’re giggling too much. both of you relax and watch tv, eren not talking much which was kind of odd.

“found this polaroid of you at reiner’s,” eren says after a few minutes of silence. the word polaroid instantly made your heart stop, seeing the dark glare in his eyes as he pulls it from his hoodie pocket, giving it another look before showing you.

“why do you have it? jerk off to it or something?” you joke with a small laugh, only thing, he’s not laughing. his face remains straight, as if he’s mad about it. you raise your brow. “you did, didn’t you.”

“if you want the truth, I did,” he’s blunt about it, not unusual of him. it’s eren. “nutted so fuckin’ much, too.”

your cheeks grow hot, playing with the waist bead around your hip nervously. why’s he acting like this? “um, why are you telling me this?”

“why I nutted or why’d I take it?”

you roll your eyes. “both.”

“mhm, I don’t know,” he purses his lips. “saw it, thought you looked fuckin’ sexy, so I took it. the real question is—why did he have it?”

there was no point in lying. he’s your best friend, but reiner’s also your best friend—and his. he knew not to tell eren a fucking crumb of anything that went on between the two of you. eren didn’t take lightly to betrayal. you’ve known him for years, and he’s liked you for some time now. but to be honest, he’s a slut. even if you wanted to be with him you knew it wouldn’t work out because the man simply cannot keep his dick in his pants. he’s been trying to mess with you for some time now, especially after finding out that you make the majority of your bank from streaming on adult websites.

hey, can you drive me to the mall? i need some things for work.

work. you mean plastering your pussy on camera to millions of perverts. he remembers the text so vividly. the day even more memorable as he watches you buy ring lights, expensive ass camcorders and skimpy lingerie. you don’t know this, but he found one of your streams accidentally one night he was scrolling on the hub for the hell of it. you never wanted to tell him your user because you knew his obsession with you is already insane. you made sure to keep your face covered in a hot pink ski mask, but he noticed those lips of yours anywhere, plump like a bratz doll and that voice—that voice of yours he tries so hard to block out of his head.

“we did a video for my channel,” you say it so low he raises his brow and waits for you to say it clearer. you clear your throat, cottonmouth getting to you. “I asked him if he could film with me and we took pictures for the plot or whatever.”

eren spins the chair side to side with his legs, head tilted to the side as he ponders. “you fuck him?”

“I did.”

his jaw clenches instantly, iridescent eyes tinting to a darker shade as he slowly blinks one time. “it’s good you’re honest. I saw the video anyways. looked like you had a good time.”

your eyes bulge. “wait—huh? when?!”

“the butterfly on your ass was a dead giveaway,” he shrugs, completely ignoring you. “plus on the video where you deep throated your dildo, you were wearing the black babydoll I picked out.”

“oh my god, eren!” you gape at him, his bluntness overbearing sometimes. “you weren’t supposed to see that. fuck.”

“don’t worry, reiner didn’t show me, nor did he tell me,” he scoffs, shaking his head. “you really fucked him, y/n, really? my best friend? knowing how I feel about you?”

when he says it like that he makes you feel like the bad person. you swallow. “eren, nothing’s going on between us. it was just sex. didn’t mean anything. I promise it’s not going to taint the three of our relationships.”

he tongues his inner cheek. “both of you really have a lot of fucking nerve.”

and that’s when it’s your turn to get mad. “let’s not act like you ever had the ability to sit the fuck down and stop shoving your dick in anybody you walk by. you say you want me, say you have feelings for me, but then you turn around and fuck with other girls. explain that, because i’m confused.”

“oh, so we’re gonna act like all the times i’ve tried never existed?” eren’s leaning forward in his chair now, brows furrowed. “when I did try to only focus on you, it’s always a let down. you turn me down every time. you play dumb every time I touch you.”

“maybe because I didn’t want to have sex with you for that exact reason,” you fume, not expecting to get so pent up about it. “i know how you are. you think i don’t know you? i know you like the back of my fucking hand, eren. i’m sorry i was afraid to start anything with you in fear of you still fucking other women! it takes a lot to satisfy you. i’ve never seen you settle down and if you tried with me you’d probably fuck up a good thing.”

it’s silent for a while, the only sound being made was the creaking of the floor as he bounces his leg with agitation. he stares blankly at the floor.

“say something,” you ball your fists.

“come here,” eren rasps, taking his hands out his pockets and patting one of his thighs. without another thought, you’re crawling to him, sitting between his legs and glaring up at him with pouty lips, folding your arms around your midsection which plumps up your tits in your yellow tank top. eren bends down in his seat, his hair tickling your forehead he later kisses.

the soft gesture has usually been his form of i’m sorry. only this time he takes it further, softly wrapping his hand around your neck before lifting your head and locking his lips with yours. your eyes falter shut, savoring his taste, plump lips kissing him back as he grips you closer and deepens his kiss, groaning after tasting the cherry lipgloss on your lips. you weren’t expecting your body to grow this hot after a small makeout session, his lips like pillows and his masculine scent succumbing you. his pretty hair in your hand as you tuck the strands behind one of his ears and pick yourself up to kiss him harder, sloppier.

his thick tongue rushes over your own, swallowing your lips in his mouth and groping at your ass his hands snake down to play with. eren removes his mouth, pupils dilated and by now his dick is uncomfortably shielded in his jeans. he reaches down to unbutton his pants, keeping his eyes on you as you keep your hands to yourself momentarily, the sound of his zipper giving you excitement. you’ve seen his dick before, and that’s only because he had a few dick pics in his camera roll, being nosey on his phone. it was nice. but seeing it in person made your mouth water, squeezing your thighs together as he pulls his dick from his briefs, hard as fuck and leaking with so much precum. the head is a pinkish purple, shaft slightly wide with thick veins protruding on the base and sides. he’s circumcised, of course. about eight to nine inches. definitely a gut killer.

“suck my fucking dick,” he whispers gently, nearly wheezes the command, cheeks flushed already just from a few smooches. you watch him with fascination as he angles his head and spits on it himself before saying, “put your hands on it first.”

both of your hands reach for his dick, one resting above the other as you stroke after applying slight pressure, twisting both your hands as he holds your face in his hands, brows knitted. he hisses from your touch, complaining briefly that your hands are cold. you blame the temperature of your room.

“sorry.”

“s’okay, baby. open that pretty mouth f’me,” he sighs, drunkenly observing you as you widen your mouth, eren tracing them with his fingers before sinking them in, lowering his jaw from the warmth, his dick twitching in your hands.

“I like a lot of spit,” eren says, thrusting and twisting his fingers to prep your throat. your eyes water the deeper they sink, until you’re gagging on his fingers and he’s grinning when your saliva starts to pick back up, knowing weed gives you crazy cottonmouth. “sss, that’s it, there we go.”

he holds onto your jaw to ensure your mouth stays open, guiding you down to his aching dick you drool over, widening your jaw to accommodate him as he sits back and lets you work. his emerald eyes are closed, breathing through his nose as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head, stroking altogether with two hands. he spreads his thighs wider, your nose brushing onto his heaving stomach, the hood on his head slipping off since he can’t seem to stop moving.

“fuck, doing so good,” he hums, sucking on his lips as you take him to the back of your throat, eren putting his hand on your head to keep you there for a few seconds, whispering ‘yes, baby. take it all’ until you can’t anymore, lifting your head and panting over the head. he moans when you only suck on the tip, swirling your tongue around and taking his balls into your mouth next, sucking, eren making an inhumane noise before stopping you.

“ard, stop—fuck,” he pulls you off with a breathless laugh. you sit on your knees adorably before him, biting back your smile as you clean your face with your hand. you want to say something smart but you figured now wasn’t the time, his face switching quick as he stands to his full height, reaching his arms behind his back to pull his hoodie over his head, tossing it aside, the black shirt he wears underneath hiking up to give you a peak of his toned torso.

you stand up, the silver necklaces on your neck dangling as you bend slightly to pull down your shorts, bare underneath. you turn so he can see that cute butterfly tattoo on your ass he’s liked since the first time he saw it. holding your hand when you got it, now that he remembers. this same tattoo that reiner had his hands on as he gripped your ass and fucked you hard into this same exact bed he’d given a dirty look the instant he stepped into your room. his anger doesn’t suffice, coming behind you and smacking your ass, watching it jiggle and humming when you gasp.

“lay down, hang your head off the bed.”

your eyes nearly roll back, eren reading you so well as you take your spot on the bed, laying flat on your back, not before arching it on purpose just so he can catch a cute glimpse of your pussy, already wet and waiting for him. eventually, you’d known all along you’d fuck him, and you’re glad he understands your mutual frustration. more him than you. eren notices your act but doesn’t say a word, nonchalant face down packed. you’re on your back now, hanging your head off the edge of the bed like he asked, holding your knees up to your chest.

his skinny legs waltz towards you, veiny hand holding his cock after he shuffles his jeans down to his feet, admiring your body as he taps his dick on your lips. you dart your tongue out occasionally, eyes half-lidded, your high getting to you now along with the blood rushing to your skull.

“nasty fuckin’ whore,” eren grits, inching his body over you and letting his fingers explore your drenched cunt, spanking your clit three times before gently rolling the pads of his fingers over it, your moans unfortunately not foreign to him given his recent exposure to your naughty acts. “you can show reiner this, show millions of people this sweet lil’ pussy, but not me?”

again, you stay quiet, figuring he’s really just mumbling out words of frustration, not giving you a lecture. one thing he will do is give you a warning. show you that he’s perfectly capable to maintaining a relationship. that he can fuck you better than reiner. satisfy you. make you happy. only if you let him try.

“if you can’t breathe just tap my thigh,” the ball in his throat bobs as he swallows, sliding his dick into your mouth until he can see the outline of it in your throat, clutching your neck with one hand as he thrusts his sharp hips, hearing how sloppy you take him, gargling around his cock that hurts your jaw in the best way. he keeps his pace slow just so he can toy with you, slapping the side of your face after petting it and calling you his good girl.

“I like your throat. nasty as fuck. gonna beat your pussy til’ you wanna run. til’ you start scratching me. til’ you start crying and saying you can’t take it. but i’ll make you fuckin’ take it.”

you moan after every promise he makes, and you know he’s not lying by the growl in his tone, by the way he swivels his hips to fuck his cock faster, your hand coming to grip onto the back of his thigh, breathing through your nose and trying your best for him to handle it a little longer. he’s slapping your tits now, tugging your tank so it sits just under them, pinching at your perked nipples. he’s playing with your pussy more, running two fingers between your folds before dipping them into your hole and stretching you out, massaging your walls as you moan and he holds your knee still to keep your legs apart. at one point he slows his thrusts, pulling his dick out after you tap his thigh like he said, catching your breath only to choke once he begins strumming your clit like some sort of instrument. flicking at your clit until you’re crying and moving your hips frantically.

you’re becoming lightheaded, and eren knows your signals by now, studying your body in those filthy videos you make. what you like to do to yourself, how you like things done. how fast you cum. how hard you cum. how you scream, cry, curl your toes or whimper.

“f-fuck, eren. s’too much,” you whimper, clamping your legs shut over his arm, moving your head to the side to watch him. he makes matters worse as he spits over your pussy, thick tongue lolling out to lick, mouth sucking and tasting your juices with his eyes rolling back. dying to be familiar with this taste for the longest.

you squeal in shock as he picks you up by your waist, neck bending as you wrap your arms securely around his thigh, eren burying his face in your cunt, messily eating at it as his spit trails down your ass, sucking and rolling your clit in his mouth like his favorite candy. you scream as he starts fucking his tongue inside you, bobbing his head to dig it deep as possible. you scream when you cum, the elicit noises from him sloppily eating your pussy and moaning against you drives you there, your toes curling and your sounds high pitched, racing in his head.

he sets you back down, swiftly turning you around and spanking your ass as you tremble, biting at your plump lips and sniffling, your head all fuzzy. he turns you so you’re on your stomach, positioning you on your knees as your upper halve weakly lays flat, arms sprawled out. eren pulls the hair tie from his wrist off by his teeth, pulling his hair up into a bun as he dangerously makes eye contact with you. you smile into your shoulder blissfully, knowing he’s going to wreck your shit. tapping his head at your pussy with a wet pat pat a few times, he sinks inside you, your cunt swallowing and clenching him with ease, clit still beating from the previous orgasm.

eren has zero mercy for you, jaw locking as he puts all his weight into his hands that hold down your backside, rolling his waist like the fucking devil he was and fucking you hard, snapping his hips like he’s in heat. not jackhammering, or fucking like a rabbit, no—he’s fucking you. clapping his toned hips against your ass hard while keeping his pace slow.

“yes, daddy! fuck,” the word slips from your mindless brain, whining into your duvet and letting him use you, taking it without complaints. he’s kissing at your cervix, knocking against it like an animal. it hurt so good. you can feel your gut twisting, moaning as he wraps his fist around your hair and tugs your head back, wanting you to be bold about your statement, the pillows muffling you. he likes what you call him a little too much, grinning sadistically and pressing his lips to your ear, telling you to ‘call me daddy again. i like that.’

and you do. you do everything he tells you to. tears leak from your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure and overstimulation, cumming yet again after he tells you your pussy is fuckin’ my dick like she didn’t get enough from reiner. gushing on it like she’s fuckin’ crazy.

“fuckfuckfu—erennn,” by now you’re spent, hugging your pillows close as you dry heave and your eyes flicker white like the damn exorcist. skin clapping picked up when eren feels those butterflies in his stomach, folding your forearms behind your arched back before drilling quicker. your hands shake wildly in his grasp, trying to push him back, too stimulated for another orgasm. but it all felt too good. you’ll never take any other dick but his. he’s your new treat.

“unh, you creamin’ on my shit,” he hisses, smacking your ass as his green eyes focuses on his dick dragging in and out of you, your cum smearing along his dick in a pretty white. “ooh, shit. i’m cumming. lemme cum inside you. i’ll get you a pill. kay baby?”

he doesn’t do it until you agree with streams of yes’s, eren grunting as he spills his cum into you, keeping your ass up to his abdomen as he humps against you, grinding as if he could go any deeper. he’s just in love with how good you grip his dick, visibly seeing it. fuck, you make him a mess. he can’t seem to move, and neither can you, panting above you before smoothing his hands over your backside, smacking your ass once more and gently kissing at your temple, telling you good shit before pulling out. you laugh at him, body flaccid as his heavy steps could be heard, distancing from you.

eren finds a fresh rag and wets it with warm water, coming back to you to clean you up, holding your face in his hands to wipe away your tear stained face, now feeling embarrassed that you got that out of control. eren kisses you once again.

“should’ve filmed that for reiner.”

visual. visual. visual.

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