#call of duty cold war smut

[ma1dmer]

Call of Duty - Russell Adler NSFW

AMERICAAAA RAAAAAAH 🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex): he sits back, lights up a cigarette and brings you close to him, he needs a second to come back down, usually doesn't talk much right after, but he likes to listen as he trails his hand up and down the small of your back, blowing the smoke away from your face and offering you the cigarette, sometimes watching you talk makes him want to go for a second round

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): he is a chest guy, he loves the feel of cupping your chest when you ride him, playing with your nipples or putting his mouth around them, he's really into feminization as well, you are his pretty little thing no matter what, and him playing with your chest enforces that, loves sexy bralettes, low cut tops and matching sets especially

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically): he loves the mess, everytime you get embarrassed he assures you that's exactly what his goal was, to have you ruining his sheets, whether thats by squirting or cumming, he also really loves pulling out right as he's cumming inside of you, just to watch it leak out of you, but that part is only reserved if you two have been together for a long time

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): he has a few darker fantasies that he doesn't quite know how to bring up to you, he'll jokingly pepper them in during his dirty talk or when he pins you down, pointing out how easy that is for him, or when you leave your window open, or when you are drinking a bit too much, just a hint to something darker, maybe he's making you warm up to the idea, testing the waters to see if you'd like something like that, he'd never bring it up himself, especially if you are in an actual relationship, but he'd do enough to plant the idea in your mind make you want to at least explore these ideas

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?): of course he has experience, he has an ex wife, he's had his fair share of one night stands, and it's a real shame that he can backup all his claims, because he does get quite cocky

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying): reverse and normal cowgirl, enjoys letting you set the pace, his hands always on your chest unless you get tired at which point he'll pull you down chest to chest and thrust up inside you, fast and rough, knocking the wind straight out of you

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.): his favourite thing to get to you is acting as if you two are strangers just meeting each other when you are out at a bar, he hits you up with the cheesiest swoon worthy one liners, he buys you a drink, asks your name and everything, its stupid and god damn him it works every time he does it

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.): mostly keeps things trimmed unless he knows you two are meeting up for the night, then he has no issue cleaning it up entirely, he always smells very strongly of after shave, tastes like it too when you mouth at his neck

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect): he can flirt like nobody else, but being romantic, it isn't so easy for him, everytime you think he's doing something romantic, he's suddenly pulling away from you, both metaphorically and literally, mentally and physically, one second he's kissing you telling you he missed you breathlessly, the next he's spun you around to face the wall, not wanting to look at your face

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon): when he was by himself he had no qualms about handling himself, when he needed to fall asleep quickly or when he was too tired or lazy to pick someone else up, but once he has you, he likes to hold himself off, always tells you that he's doing it for you, how pent up he is and how difficult it was thinking of you while he was away

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks): impact play, cnc, feminization, voyeurism etc

L = Location (favorite places to do the do): your place, his place, any room, it does not matter, if you can't decide, a hotel room is a good copromise, he also enjoys the odd domesticity of a kitchen as well, coming up behind you when you are making breakfast for the both you

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going): he has a very sensitive neck, kiss the side of his neck while talking to him, drag your teeth down his collarbones and watch him melt

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): there isn't a lot he'd be opposed to with the right motivation some would say, he is easy to convince, just give him some time to think things over

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.): don't get him wrong he loves tasting you, but nothing beats the image of you on your knees, he is a head pusher, he swears he doesn't do it on purpose, hes probably lying, the feeling of your throat around his cock is secondary to the sounds you make when you are caught off guard

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.): the foreplay is long and by the time he is ready to push himself inside you it really doesn't matter, the act itself is kind of detached he's mostly chasing his own pleasure and by then you don't really mind, already boneless and sore

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.): he loves them, loves the idea of them more than the mess dealing with them brings, messy hair, cum on his clothes etc etc, but he really doesn't mind squeezing you in while doing paperwork to destress or have you in the stalls of some run down bar on one of your dates

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.): you'll have to tell him what you want, most of the time he's willing to indulge you, he'll think through what you asked of him when he's gone and come back with a plan the next time he visits

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?): one or two solid rounds, the foreplay lasts longer than then act itself

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?): really really likes the idea of them, he won't bring them up by himself, but if you tell him you own some, he'll ask you to tell him how you use them exactly, do you think of him, he'll jokingly ask you if he should be intimidated as his fingers climb their way up and inside your thighs, in the end after he's thought about it a bit or a lot, he'll ask you to bring them out next time

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): he loves fingering you, half the fun is shoving his fingers inside of you, feeling around for that spot that makes you twitch beneath him or on his lap, he is extremely skilled with his hands and he loves proving it over and over, he is also absolutely a pussy slapper, has you spread out on his lap, back against his chest, thighs kept apart by his own legs, he starts off gently, and then he gets quite mean with it, until he can feel your wetness on his entire palm and you are clawing at his forearm

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.): he groans and grunts, his voice deep and gravely when he feels you around him, he curses and dirty talks like its his job

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character): loves kissing, you are the bravest soldier if what you have with him is casual, he makes it so difficult to not think he's in love with you with the way he kisses, always chasing your mouth, holding your face between his hands, breathing against your lips, telling you you drive him insane as he pulls your hand to his cock

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes): he has a nice cock, a grower, straight with a pretty pink head, it fills up his fist nicely when he holds it for you

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?): he only lets himself think of you on his down time, when he is doing paperwork, when he's resting at night in his room lonely in his bed, when he can light a cigarette, palm himself through his pants and wonder when he can drop in to see you again

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): he takes his time, almost as if stalling, waiting for you to go to sleep first, he'll let you talk, then he'll wander around the room aimlessly, go smoke, go to the bathroom, if you are not asleep by the time he comes back he might start another round, if you are he finally joins you, hugging you from behind and holding you the entire night

[mariariley]

Russell Adler x reader

✪ relationship headcanons ✪

2nd person

female reader

NSFW warning

Word count: 1.1k

masterlist || have a request/ask? Here are the rules <3

He prefers keeping it professional so he would never date a woman that works with him

In his free time he tends to approach a stunning woman he sees sitting alone at a bar. He's respectful and would only aim for single girls (even though he can definitely steal bitches-)

He would make cheeky jokes about his ex-wife, spontaneously letting you know he's single as well

He prefers his girl loyal and respectful because that's all he is. He also doesn’t like envious women

His way of flirting is very casual. He can "rizz you up" without even trying, make your cheeks glow bright red with a single sentence

He's quite experienced and definitely knows what he's doing. He doesn't mind age gaps as long as they're legal

I would say he's quite picky actually. He goes for the looks, elegant or unique, independent, anything that can tell him that you're sticking out in a way

He's very good at reading people so with merely a small talk he can tell if you're worth his time or no, if you're, how he likes saying, "just a pretty face"

As your partner he's very old school and passionate

Doesn’t mind if you’re just a housewife, that’s kinda his jam anyway

He likes using nicknames such as “doll face”, “sweetie” and the classic American husband one: “honey”

He would strictly keep you out of his work, not keeping you informed at all. He would claim the only thing you should know is if he's alive or not

On longer, more serious missions you two could end up out of contact for weeks just because his job requires so (which might cause arguments just like with his ex-wife)

He loves when he comes home after a hard day and you greet him with warm dinner. He would always reward you for that

He likes buying you stuff, nothing too expensive but still not affordable for everyone. He just loves spoiling you

Perhaps he would think about marriage a bit too quickly. He's a divorced (traditional) middle aged man after all, he would love to put a ring on you to mark a new fresh start and leave everything he has with his ex-wife behind

He isn't crazy about having children but wouldn't mind becoming a family man. Nevertheless, it is not that easy considering his job so the agreement on forming a family might take time (only if you want kids that is. If not, no forcing)

In bed he likes taking it slowly. He's very passionate and likes making it hot and intense

Taking his sweet sweet time, showing you all experience he's got, somewhat edging you the whole time would always make you arch your back and grab onto his hair in heavy overstimulation every time

He likes oral, prefers rather giving than receiving. It’s crazy what his tongue can do

Loves women’s breasts. Doesn’t matter what size, he just loves them in general, his favorite part to kiss (and collarbone and shoulders)

He prefers missionary so he can kiss you all over and have a proper look at you. He always whispers how good and tight you feel around him or: "You're taking it so well, sweetie", "That's my sweet girl"

He also likes the spooning position where he gets to hold your leg up

He especially loves doing the "exhausting" cowgirl when he's already drained your battery with a heated session of rough thrusts. He'd just lay back, smoke his cigarette and enjoy the view of your legs trembling while struggling to ride his girthy cock

"Come on, honey, just a little longer" he'd encourage you with a sly smile on his face

He loves when you moan his name or just Adler. Considering that's what they call him at work, it would really get him going, making him feel dominant

When you'd moan his last name he would grab a fistful of your hair, grope you tighter and go rougher, perhaps leave a couple of hickeys on your neck, breasts and collarbone

Sometimes he likes bending you over his office desk and make you take it from behind as he'd, as usual, smoke a cigar while giving you backshots

He would grab your chin or hair, making you look at him over his shoulder. He loves seeing your uncontrollable expressions of pleasure while hitting your g-spot over and over again, telling you how beautiful you look

He never pulls out. If you're having unprotected sex, he loves looking at his hot sperm leaking out of your gapping, pulsing pussy (excuse my language)

He would make sure you're clean and comfortable after, always keeping your limp body in his arms while smoking yet another for complete pleasure. That cigarette after sex is like a cherry on top for him

Speaking of being clean, he's a king of hygiene. His hair is always shiny and soft, his clothes always fresh out the closet and, of course, an expensive cologne is a must

He has very strong body and facial hair so his beard grows back quickly. When he's at home he always takes care of it, every third or fourth night a soothing smell of aftershave fills your nostrils

It's difficult for him to be 100% precise considering his deep facial scars so sometimes he cuts himself by accident. He loves when you take care of the small cuts

Speaking of which, you're the only one he allows to touch his scar. He loves when you kiss it and admire it

He's a fan of beauty marks, especially if you have any on your face. He will kiss all of them, maybe even count them for fun

He loves playing with your hair, brushing it, braiding it, anything really. He thinks women's most beautiful (physical) features are their hair and smile (also loves when women wear strong lipsticks, red is his favorite color)

If you wear glasses, expect him to buy you bunch of expensive frames. Glasses are his passion, he would even buy you sunglasses to match his

Big fan of jewelry, especially necklaces and earrings. On a mission in another country, when he'd walk past a jewelry shop, he would always stop and take a look

He's a nightmare for every jewelry shop because he is picky and he will make the employees turn the whole thing upside down, trying to find a perfect piece for you

"Honey, I'm home! And I brought you something~" would be the well known greet whenever he comes home from a long mission

He might be a reserved man but that isn't stopping him from putting his job aside just for a little while and treat you with honesty and passion

In fact, he fears something will happen to you if anyone finds out you're his s/o. He's secretly very paranoid he's putting you in danger by just having you in his life

Dividers by @firefly-graphics 🥀

[rascal-xo]

I heard your requests are open~

I'm always a sucker for angsty hostage reader fics. Maybe one of the 141 are clearing a warehouse, and come across hostage!reader. He takes them back to the base for their injuries and they start to get close

Hopefully this is enough to go off of, I really like your writing

Special Affairs | Task Force 141 x GN!Reader

Chapter Summary: You’ve found yourself in a sticky situation and end up crossing paths with none other than the infamous 141 soldiers.

Warnings: Violence, weapons, language, reads like an action fic ‼️

Word Count: a lot. (i’m too lazy to check lol)

A/N: I decided to let my creativity run wild and took some inspiration from the Cold War campaign (my fav). I hope you enjoy and ty for the request!!

|NOT CANONICALLY ACCURATE| |OVERLAPPING OF TIMELINES| PART 2 HERE

When you were recruited for the CIA, It was only a matter of time you’d find yourself in this situation. Your training had prepared you for the unexpected, but nothing could have quite prepared you for the events that unfolded during this covert mission.

As a highly skilled agent, you were sent deep undercover to gather intel on a notorious terrorist organization. You had infiltrated their ranks and gained their trust, positioning yourself to uncover their plans from within.

But during one of the critical moments, a sudden turn of events led to chaos.

As tensions escalated, shots rang out, triggering a full-blown firefight and you were caught in the crossfire, you fought valiantly, taking down several hostiles. You were outnumbered and one of the enemy operatives managed to sneak up behind you, immobilizing you with a well-placed blow to the head.

When you regained consciousness, you found yourself disoriented and restrained in a dimly lit underground bunker. Your head throbbed with pain as you struggled against the ropes binding your wrists.

Hours turned into days as you remained imprisoned, your captors using various failed forms of psychological torture to extract information.

Unbeknownst to Captain Price, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz, their mission had brought them closer to the underground facility where you were held captive.

Their objective aligned with yours - to dismantle the terrorist organization from within.

As the four of them navigated the corridors, they encountered heavy resistance. The sound of gunfire echoed through the compound, alerting your captors to the presence of intruders. “Was zum Teufel?!” (What the hell?!”)

The two armed soldiers in your room snapped up from their seats and readied their rifles to fire back if the door opened.

Just as the enemy closed in on your location, the sound of a door being kicked open reverberated through the bunker.

Price, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz burst into the room, their weapons blazing. Their entrance sent your captors into disarray, allowing you to break free from your restraints.

Without wasting another moment you grabbed a gun on the nearby table, just as The Captain’s weapon pointed away from the now dead guards and to you, “Don’t Shoot!” You exclaimed.

“Who are you?” Ghost barked, not lowering his gun yet.

“I’m CIA.” Price motioned for everyone to lower their weapons and you walked closer to the group.

You nodded to them, “Clandestine Special Officer, Y/N Y/L/N.”

“What’re you doing down here, Lass?” Soap chimed in, looking at you intently.

“Came here on the job you’ve been sent to finish.” You looked at your shoulder which was still freshly wounded, and then looked around the room for your jacket. You finally caught eye on it laying on the floor and quickly went to put it on.

“Wait, you cant go on like this, you’re broken.” Gaz points out, motioning to your shoulder. You could feel the black and blue forming around your eyes and the cut stinging on your lip as well. ‘So much for covert’ you thought to yourself.

“I’m fine, but I know East Berlin won’t be if we don’t get moving.” You answer.

Captain Price exchanged a glance with Soap before nodding in agreement. "They’re right. We need to finish this mission, and it seems like we've got ourselves an unexpected ally," he said, his voice steady and commanding. “Gonna get that arm checked out once we’re back, got it?”

You nod and collect the rest of your scattered gear, before heading out of the bunker and to the main facility. “So what’s the motherfucker got down here that needs to be guarded like this?” Gaz asks, as you take down maps and manifestos from the enemy conference room which is now empty.

“Missiles.” They all pause and turn to you in shock. “American missiles.”

“Steamin bloody Jesus.” Soap mutters.

“In the 50’s, Operation Greenlight put nuclear devices within every major European city as the ultimate ‘fuck you’ to a Soviet invasion of Europe. But an upgraded American Precision Strike system when online 2 weeks ago, sent up red flags all over but they were disguised at that time.”

“Perseus.” Price’s voice had anger lining it. “When does the system become active?”

“We have 24 hours at best. Launch was already delayed a few days from what I understand.”

The group exchanged concerned glances. "We need to move fast and take out the missile launch site before it's too late," Captain Price said, his voice urgent.

You nodded in agreement, knowing that time was of the essence. "I have intel on the location of the launch site, but it's heavily guarded," you said, pulling out a map and pointing to a spot. "We need a solid plan of attack."

You joined Captain Price and Soap as they made their way towards the launch site, keeping your eyes peeled for any enemy forces. Gaz and Ghost went around the south entrance.

Finally, you reached the launch site and saw the missile silos looming in the distance. The group split up, with Captain Price and Soap taking the left flank and you taking the right.

As you made your way towards the silos, you encountered heavy resistance. Enemy soldiers were everywhere, firing at you from all directions. You returned fire, taking out as many as you could.

When you reached the site, you quickly accessed the control panel, determined to disable the launch sequence. With deftness born from your CIA training, you navigated the complex system, neutralizing the imminent threat.

“Bravo Six to Actual- do you copy?” Price spoke.

“This is actual, what’s your report?” Laswell’s voice coming from the comms.

“We’ve got the threat. They were active missiles.”

The tension in the room dissipated as the launch sequence halted. A collective sigh of relief passed through the team.

“Gonna call in the evac, Y/N you with us?” Soap asked, coming to the group. Going back with the 141 didn’t seem like such a bad idea now that you had worked with them. The CIA could use the extra knowledge first hand.

“Hope you’ll save me a seat.” You smiled.

———

After the mission, you and the rest of the team returned to a secure base in London. You found yourself sitting at the counter at a pub.

You watched from across the bar as Soap scored a bullseye with the dart, earning a triumphant cheer from Gaz. Ghost simply nodded in approval, his focus seemingly undisturbed.

“Adler it’s Y/N. Everything’s been handled but I’m in London for the time being.” You sent the voicemail and set your phone down.

Captain Price walked over, a slight smile playing on his lips. He took a seat beside you, signaling the bartender for a drink.

"CIA, huh?" Price remarked, his voice carrying a hint of warmth. "So what’s next for you, darling?”

"There’s always something that needs to be dealt with. But It feels good to have a moment to breathe," you replied, taking a sip from your drink. The cool liquid provided a soothing sensation as it slid down your throat.

You looked up to meet his gaze. You had known of captain for quite some time now. There wasn’t a file at Langley you hadn’t been assigned to go through, his of course was more seasoned than others.

Price's piercing blue eyes met yours, and for a moment, the weight of the world seemed to fade away. His expression held a mix of admiration and camaraderie, a silent acknowledgment.

He leaned back in his seat, his expression now uncertain. “Laswell never mentioned you or anything about this mission being active.”

“Well neither did Shepard, and we all know you have a Shepard problem.” You moved your glass in a circular motion slightly, watching the golden liquid rise and fall.

“We’ll always have that problem, darling.” He scoffed, downing the rest of his scotch.

“Well since i’m here now, consider that problem handled.” You said, suddenly deciding that you and the 141 weren’t quiet done being a team yet…

————————————————————————————

A/N: I highkey enjoy writing action/double meaning story fics. LMK what y’all think :))

[ineylesian]

$TING — GRAVES & ADLER

KINKTOBER PROMPTS | Interrogation

AO3 | MASTERLIST | KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

DEBRIEF | Graves’ and Adler’s means of getting information out of you.

WARNINGS | smut, finger fucking, light choking, use of aphrodisiac, depiction of an unhealthy relationship, fem! reader.

NOTE | this is me holding back from writing Graves & Adler smut where they just bully the reader,, thinking about it but i have self control… included adler for the small handful of people who love him as much as i do 🫶

ADVISORY | NSFW CONTENT BELOW.

GRAVES, FOXY & ADAMANT.

“Didn’t expect to see you out here, sugar.”

His figure is barely visible, carolina hues basking in feverish light. You nearly wince at his tone, all too familiar— memories rush back and you scowl his way.

“Didn’t expect you to chase a paycheck.” You fire back, hands rubbing against thick cord. “You’ve changed.”

Graves steps forward, swallowing the light, staring you down like he’s picked up the scent of prey on the wind. Dust swirls through the air as he bends over, face stopping mere inches from yours. His tongue pokes at the hollow of his cheek, eyebrows knit together, watching.

Something in him still doesn’t understand it. Traces of his life he’s desperately chased whole, right where he wants you. However, something’s different this time. When he looks in your eyes, he can only see the enemy staring back.

It pushes him to no end. Control slips away from his hands and just as he thinks he’s getting somewhere, the chair you sit on hits the floor loudly and you’re pinned against the wall. He sees you smile and his grip tightens, closing around your throat in an attempt to kill the remains of you that float amidst his head.

You keep looking at him, and his resolutions fall against the floor he stands on. The gleam in your eyes reflects off of years passed, and he senses the approach you take before you speak.

“You’re Shepherd’s bitch, Graves.”

Playing dirty, as always.

“I’m no one’s bitch. But you…?” The reply pools off of his lips, cool and relaxed, running a hand down your neck. “Still miss me, Mrs. Graves?”

He smirks, lightly jingling your dog tags.

“You got yourself caught.”

You scoff, shifting against the wall. Graves’ thigh pushes against your pelvis, keeping you in place.

“Wouldn’t have been any fun if you never got what you were looking for.”

His head tilts to the side, eyeing you carefully.

“Are you saying I wouldn’t have been able to find you?”

You lean forward, lips brushing against his. Danger flicks between your gazes, but he doesn’t push away.

“I’m telling you.”

Graves’ lips are rough, as is the grip that holds you against concrete. You writhe in his grasp, moving so your arms can hook around his neck. Gunpowder kisses your tongue, the scent of war tickling your nose as he kisses you. Light stubble scratches your skin, opposed to the clean shave you feel in your dreams.

You allow him to strip you of your belt, canines pressing against the inner flesh of your mouth when he tugs at your fly. A smile creeps along his face, pulling away from your lips to study your face. You’re nearly the same as he remembers, so dangerous, yet holding the same dumbstruck look in your eyes whenever he touches you.

“Ever thought of renewing your vows?”

Rough, padded fingers circle around your clit as he tugs his other gloves off. The noise that comes out of you is caught between a laugh and a moan. Graves smirks at the sound, breath pooling against your neck as he replaces his gloved hand with his bare one.

“Maybe.” You shrug, groaning at the sudden intrusion of his fingers against your cervix. “What’s my price?”

Graves’ fingers rub your walls, and you start to burn up. You direct your gaze to his face, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as his dick considers your question. Sweat gathers at your temple, and you bite down on your hand when he adds another finger.

It feels like it did 10 years ago. You and your husband, holed up in a shitty base in a shitty town fucking like it’s your last day on earth. You reminisce on those days often, back when Graves was still a marine and had a ring sitting on his finger. Back when Shepherd was off his radar, before he took you off of his too.

He looks slightly older; scar lighter on his skin and faint wrinkles crawling against the corners of his eyes. The way he fucks you is still the same, impatient and needy, just how you like it.

Before you know it, your abdomen feels likes it’s twisting into knots and you cry out from the pleasure. A low groan pushes its way out of his throat, canines fastened to his lower lip as his fingers pump in and out of your pussy.

“Another round, maybe?” He grunts out, mindlessly pushing his erection against your naval. “That’s cheap, ain’t it darlin’?”

ADLER, DECEITFUL & COY.

“Package came in from labs, thought you’d wanna see it.”

You round the corner of the hall, seeing Adler perched up against the island in your kitchen. A small, plastic bag sits on the side nearing you, adorned with a CIA label.

“Huh.” You hum, pinching the seal between your fingers. “You know what it’s for?”

Adler shrugs, and you tilt your head in acknowledgment.

“Only one way to find out.”

You can feel Adler’s gaze on you, watching through a pair of clear lensed aviators. He’s leaning against the edge of the counter, seemingly over interested in the contents of the bag. A light crackle emanates from the bag as you open it, and you’re hit with a puff of a silver toned dust.

“Jesus.” You cough, subconsciously dropping the bag to wave a hand through the air. “What the Hell is this, Russ?”

Adler stays quiet, perched up against the wall with his hands folded between his chest. His lack of response tells you all that you need to know, and you scoff.

Then the worry sets in.

You feel a subtle heat crawling up your arms, seemingly moving its way up to your face through your veins. Within seconds, your entire body behinds to tingle. Your body feels hot, almost like you’re covered in layers that are glued to your skin.

The world is loud, nerves burning against your spinal cord as confusion races through your mind. You run your hands through your hair, feeling a distinct sensation pool in your abdomen; it takes root, leaking down to your naval.

Through the rushes of blood in your head, you can hear Adler’s shoes click against the floor. The sound makes your stomach churn with need, and you look at him, standing just a few inches away.

“Adler..” You call, reaching out for him. “Something’s— wrong. Help me..”

You sway, losing balance and falling forward. Adler breaks your fall, holding you against the ridge of his turtleneck. You cling onto him as if you’ll die if you let go, eyes opening only when you feel yourself being set down on the couch.

Adler kneels in front of you, catching the hand that paws at his waist. He runs a hand along your face, lips quirking at the balm encasing his fingers. You reach out again, and he makes no motion to stop you.

“Didn’t see this as an interrogation drug.” He mumbles, allowing you to tug at his zipper. “Fuckin’ freaks.”

Your mind is completely lost to him, focused only on the hem of his jeans. An animalistic desire scalds your nerves, and you whine as he pushes you against the edge of the couch.

“It burns, Russ.” You groan, bucking your hips up as he moves to unbutton your jeans. “I need you…”

“You’ll be okay, sweetheart.”

His hands smooth over your pussy, fingers dragging over your clit, adding a teasing flick as he thinks. You lock your legs around his back, attempting to force him into you as your hands palm his dick. Adler clicks his tongue, slowly pushing one of his fingers into you, deciding to test the waters.

“What did you dream about last night?”

“You.” Your voice comes out strangled, practically squeezing his cock in desperation. “I always do.”

His eyebrows raise in interest, finding this drug more useful than dozens he’s used in the past. Shame it had to be tested on you, though. Or.. maybe he was enjoying this a little more than it seemed.

Adler lets you pull him forward, fingers pulling out of your pussy as you sloppily stuff yourself with his cock. He bites down on his cheek as you rut against his hips, searching for friction.

“Tell me,” He continues, placing a hand behind your back to guide you as he lays down. “What am I doing in your dreams?”

“You’re.. ugh— you’re fucking me, Russ.” You moan, dragging yourself down on his cock. “The real you never has time for me— anymore.”

He tilts his head at your confession, reaching over to the coffee table for a pack of cigarettes.

“We’ll see to that.”

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

[yanderestarangel]

Yandere Adler Russell ☆

Tw: Yandere themes.

Yandere Adler Russell! Who will spoil you with gifts and sweet words like "My good boy.","You are so good to me...","I want you here so bad baby please I need you." Yandere Adler Russell! Who will protect you from the whole world by placing you as a beautiful and rare sculpture in his farmhouse away from everyone and everyone, no one will even know about you, he can't take that risk of trying to take your sweet treasure.

Yandere Adler Russell ! Who just wants you to behave and know your place, you just have to not try to run away, Adler won't ever, ever hit you. On the contrary he lets you hit him if your frustrated or angry he understands but will never lift a finger at you but nothing stops him from doing worse darling things.

Yandere Adler Russell ! Who buys everything you want, you just have to ask lovingly and make the pout that only you know, if you do, it's yours.

Yandere Adler Russell ! Who loves when you call him "Daddy", "My Lord", "Owner", "My darling." He'll never make you call him that, but if you do, he'll practically melt in your hands right then and there.

Bonus: If you call him that in sex he'll come right away.

Yandere Adler Russell ! Who fucks you all over the house, making you ride him with all the power in your hips, (Like I said, he won't force you into anything, but this man is so charming and seductive, you'll bend to him.) He loves to see you on top of him, fuck in the sunset it's practically routine for you two, he doesn't have as much breath because of the cigarette but it sure lasts practically 2 rounds in a row. He also loves to fuck you from behind, shoving it in your hole while holding your waist tightly burying you even more, definitely

Yandere Adler Russell ! He'll mark you completely, hickeys, spankings and bruises will be routine on your skin, he'll take good care of you afterward, telling you how much he loves you and showering you with compliments as he takes your shivering body to the bathroom.

Yandere Adler Russell ! That he will never let you escape, he knows that deep down you still want your freedom but you can't let the only spark in your life go away just like that. He will gently talk to you and ask you not to do anything stupid or rash and that everything he did and does is to keep you safe with him by your side.

Yandere Adler Russell ! That if you really want to try to run away, in a lot of pain it will chase you all over the forest at night, finding you in a matter of seconds and taking you by the wrist, trying not to squeeze so hard, it will also be the only time you will scream at you. He'll apologize when you get home, bandage your wrist and kiss away your tears, saying it was impossible for you to leave his side.

Yandere Adler Russell ! That if you really manage to escape (luckily) you'll go into despair and call all your contacts, did you really forget? He's America's fucking monster, you won't find shelter or employment, your face will be in multiple intelligences and you won't be able to escape, if you're still lucky, and find some friend to give you shelter you're plotting a death horrendous for him, Adler will do nothing to you but torture his friend to death in the worst possible ways.

Yandere Adler Russell ! Who surrounded his friend's house with several armed men and cars everywhere, he would talk on the intercom for you to leave if you didn't want your friend to die or for him to hand you over and take your freedom, he didn't call Russell crazy, soon you saw someone come in and lock you up, taking your friend dragged away still alive. You would wake up being carried by Russell, blood all over him, with a cigarette in his lips soon waking you up, he would happily explain that your friend endured 13 hours of torture alive and that it was your fault for being so naughty. You couldn't do anything, if you tried again more people would suffer, deciding to just accept their fate at Russell Adler's side, until the end of their days.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

A/n: All Call Of Duty fics.

Key:

-💋:Smut

Russel Adler:

::Fics::

✨: A welcomed Mistake.

✨: A welcomed Mistake || Pt2 ||-💋

✨: Would you like to put the star on the very top of the tree?

Ronald Daniels:

✨: tall buff characters that are actually gentle giants

Joseph Turner:

✨: Be The One You Need-💋

William Pierson:

✨:Just being a dad

Alejandro Vargas:

::Fics::

✨: Too Cold

✨:Cabin Sex-💋

✨:Five Times Kissed

✨: Jealousy.

✨:Not Jealous-💋

✨:You ride my face,or you don’t get off-💋

✨: Short + Tall

✨:Snow ball fight

✨:You look good in that suite- 💋

✨:I would die for her

✨:Secret Santa- 💋

✨:

✨:

:Headcanons:

💕:Alejandro as a protective girl dad and his daughter wanting to be in the Mexican special forces.

💕: Alejandro as a father.

💕: Being over Stimulated.

💕:Kisses under the mistletoe with the 141 boy’s

💕: How would the COD boys react to Y/N having nipple piercings?

💕:

💕:

Simon “Ghost” Riley:

::Fics::

✨: Rosy Cheeks

✨:Alone

✨:Wrapped in a soft blanket.

✨:Helping with a sickness.

✨: Did you spike the eggnog again?

✨:I’m not sick.

✨:I’ll be better than my father.

✨: Bedroom Cuddles.

✨: The turkey’s not the only thing getting stuffed today -💋

✨: Christmas shenanigans under the tree- 💋

✨:Off Limits.

✨:

✨:

:Headcanons:

💕: chase me through the woods and if you catch me you can have me -💋

💕:Being over Stimulated.-💋

💕:First Christmas with the 141 boys.

💕:Kisses under the mistletoe with the 141 boy’s

💕:

Rodolfo Parra:

::Fics::

✨: Leaves

✨: dance of the sugar plum fairy

✨:I’ll take care of you.

✨:

✨:

✨:

:Headcanons:

💕:Kisses under the mistletoe with the 141 boy’s

💕: How would the COD boys react to Y/N having nipple piercings?

💕:

💕:

💕:

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish:

::Fics::

✨: Flannel Season

✨: The best kind of hugs

✨:Breasts are my favorite things to nibble on-💋

✨:141 x reader where they cheat? And the reader moves on and they regret it?

✨: It’s time for hand turkey’s everyone.” “FUCK YES!!”

✨:

✨:

:Headcanons:

💕: Being over Stimulated. 💋

💕:First Christmas with the 141 boys.

💕:Kisses under the mistletoe with the 141 boy’s

💕:Johnny with a breeding Kink.

💕:

💕:

💕:

Philip Graves:

::Fics::

✨: Saved From a Shitty Date

✨:Thanksgiving Dinner-💋

✨:Hero

✨:141 x reader where they cheat? And the reader moves on and they regret it?

✨:Very Naughty- 💋

✨: Gonna be a dad

✨:

✨:

✨:

:Headcanons:

💕:Kisses under the mistletoe with the 141 boy’s

💕:

💕:

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

::Fics::

✨: You’re safe

✨:141 x reader where they cheat? And the reader moves on and they regret it?

✨:

✨:

✨:

:Headcanons:

💕:First Christmas with the 141 boys.

💕:Kisses under the mistletoe with the 141 boy’s

💕:

💕:

John Price

::Fics::

✨: hanging up the Christmas lights

✨: Risky Business 

✨:Warmth bath.

✨: He’s a silver fox.

✨:

✨:

✨:

:Headcanons:

💕:First Christmas with the 141 boys.

💕:Kisses under the mistletoe with the 141 boy’s

💕: How would the COD boys react to Y/N having nipple piercings?

💕:

💕:

Alex Keller

::Fics::

✨: Walking in the dark to see festive light displays

✨:Injured Confession.

✨:

:Headcanons:

💕:

💕:

König

::Fics::

✨: Helping with a sickness.

✨:Doctor! Doctor

✨:König where it’s his s/o’s birthday?

✨:

✨:

:Headcanons:

💕: chase me through the woods and if you catch me you can have me- 💋

💕:As a father.

💕: König with have a praise kink and size kink.- 💋

💕: How would the COD boys react to Y/N having nipple piercings?

💕:

[montcumbry-gaytor]

Can you do a Dom/Frank woods x Sub/male reader, where both of them are having their first time and woods being to rough with his lover.( Or you can do whatever place they can have fuck at thats my opinion) also love your amazing work and its talented. Woods needs all the love.

Come out and play

FEM ALLIGNED DNI || MLM/NBLM TARGET READERS

A/N : Had me kicking my feet tysm for the compliment 🫶🫶 and yes I 100% agree Frank deserves a whole lot of love and I geniunely think he's so silly 🫶🫶

CW : Slightly OOC Frank, First Time Sex, Mentions of Hallucinations and Night terrors.

You and Frank had been together for.. a while, now.

He had been a stable of your mental health when you were struggling, the night terrors, the hallucinations, odd memories of things you thought never happened.

You struggled with it far too often, and when you did, Frank was there to help you through it, albeit not in the most professional way.

Though you both cared for eachother you both never..

Had sex.

You assumed you never had time for it, considering your line of work, it was kind of understandable, but the longer you and Frank dated the more the want festered in you.

"Bell, You have that report ready?"

Adler asked, looming over you, He always radiated such a powerful energy, almost wary of you, but it always seemed to soften around you, it felt like.. Pity.

Though you never minded it much.

"Bell?"

"Oh- Sorry- I'm.. not having a good thought process right now, can't get focused."

You admitted, holding your face in your hands, huffing out a breath of frustration.

"That's okay, Bell, Just have it in my office before Friday, alright?"

"Got it.. sorry."

Adler hummed, patting your shoulder before walking off, seemingly to chat with Park, who sat at her desk, feet propped up against it.

Startled out of your thoughts, You whipped around, Your shock melting away as frank stood behind you, hands planted on your shoulders.

"You good?"

He asked gruffly, Thick brows upturned with concern, icey blue eyes piercing into yours, he could see your frustration, even though your face was hidden through the Balaclava you wore.

"Yeah- Yeah.. I'm okay, Just lost in thought, Thanks Frankie."

You said, your eyes creased as you smiled, watching his ears tint a shade of red that you would only see on him.

"Do you want to head to the hotel for the night? You've been here for a while."

"Yeah, We can go, I have something to talk to you about anyways."

You sighed, Grabbing your bag from beside your chair, stuffing your unfinished report into it, amongst other things that sat at your desk.

"Okay."

Frank said, sounding lightly concerned, though it could only be something you would pick up in his gravely voice.

Time passed, you and Frank had slipped out shortly after saying bye to Adler, Not that it was necessarily required, but Adler himself told you he felt it was necessary to know you were gone, You never understood why.

The drive to the hotel was quiet, Accompanied by the rain pattering on Frank's windshield.

Lights on the street lined your path, until the small hotel crammed between a convenience store and a Bar made it's way into your view.

"Bell? —Bell?"

"Oh- Huh?"

You hummed, shaking yourself from your thoughts once more.

"We're here."

He said, Prompting you to hop out of the vehicle, shutting the door and letting Frank lock it behind you, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

"Thanks for the ride, Frankie."

You hummed, bumping your hip into his teasingly.

You made your way inside, Being quiet as you navigated the halls, Making sure not to wake any sleeping residents of the hotel, Due to your line of work, It was easy,

Using the keycard to unlock your hotel room, Frank held the door open, letting you enter before slipping in himself, locking the door behind him.

"So, you had something to say?"

"I want to have sex with you, Frank."

Silence carried your words, though you kept your stare, the air in the room felt thick as his adams apple bobbed, a sigh slipping from his lips.

"I can understand if you wouldn't want to, but.. I love you, and i want to do more than just.. kiss you, It sounds silly.."

"—Bell, Listen, I want to too I just.."

He trailed off, Clearing his throat.

"I've never had sex with a man, before."

"Oh.."

It was quiet again, Frank looked away sheepishly, Running a large hand over his neck.

"Well, I haven't either, So it could be a first for the both of us."

You said, Stepping closer to his anxious frame.

"I mean, Yeah.. but I don't want to hurt you, Bell, I don't want to get carried away and make you hate it."

"—Then.. let me take lead."

You stood in front of him, taking his hands in yours and placing them firmly on your hips, running your hands up to curl around his neck, playing with his hairline.

"I can take my own pace, and you wouldn't have to worry.."

You hummed, your gaze never leaving his.

"A-Alright.."

He said, Defeated by your persuasion, pressing his forehead into yours.

"Can I kiss you?"

"-You know you don't have to ask."

"I know."

You hummed, Pulling your balaclava off your head and dropping it to the ground, Your lips connecting with his, Your tongue slipping into his mouth to search for his.

Small groans tangled in with your gasps of air, rolling your hips in hope of any friction, much to your delight, Franks leg slipped between yours, Providing relief.

"Fuck.. Frankie.."

You whined, Running a hand through his dark black hair, tugging lightly in your wake, The mess of each others limbs stumbling backward onto the bed.

You pulled Frank's jacket off quickly, both of you kicking off your shoes into the floor, never taking your hands off one another.

Swiftly, you flipped each others positions, hands caging on either side of Frank's shoulders, Heavy breaths escaping your kiss bruised lips.

You struggled to pull off your coat, fumbling with it in a hurry, you shucked it off, kicking the cargo pants you wore with them.

Frank bit his lip as he watched you strip your boxers off and toss them away from you, crawling between his legs.

"You don't fucking understand how much I've wanted to do this.."

You sighed, Unbuckling his belt before tugging his pants down, tossing them into the floor with the rest of the inevitable pile.

His erection pressed through his briefs, twitching in anticipation, Frank sighing your name under shaky breaths.

"Patience, Frank, You of all people should know that."

You hummed, kissing the inside of his thigh teasingly, watching him shudder, slipping your fingers beneath his briefs and pulling them off, his cock springing out, tip grazing over his stomach.

"Fuck.. you're big."

You said, running the pad of your index finger over his length, tracing the veins before pressing your lips to his tip, hearing him groan at the sensation.

Warily, you wrapped your lips around him, hollowing your cheeks as your tongue ran across the bottom, slowly taking him in until his tip reached the back of your throat.

You could hear him struggle to keep his moans in, You could feel and see his muscles tense and constrict as you began to bob your head, working what you couldn't fit in your mouth with your hand.

"Fuck... You're doing amazing- ah—shit.."

He cursed under his breath, running a calloused hands through your hair as he struggled to keep his composure, Pressing the crown of his head into the pillows.

Pulling your mouth off, you slipped your fingers from your free hand into your mouth, jerking frank off as you wet them, pulling them out after you were satisfied, your mouth returning to suck Frank.

You slid your hand behind your back, slipping your fingers to prod into your hole, slipping in with ease thanks to your saliva, and.. other things you would never admit.

You let out groans that vibrated in your throat as you curled your fingers into yourself, forcing yourself to breath through your nose to keep you from choking as frank rutted into you.

Satisfied with your work, you pulled off, Frank's helpless groan made you smirk, You slid your slick fingers out of yourself.

"You're sure you want to do this?"

You asked, holding Frank's hands in yours once more, bringing your hips over Franks as you looked at him, his stare showing just how much he cared.

Cared about you.

"Absolutely."

He hummed, placing a hand on your hip, thumb stroking at your scarred skin, Slowly, you guided yourself onto his cock, your breath hitching as he reached places you didn't know existed.

"Ooh.. fuck.."

You grunted, rolling your hips against Frank's, your mouth hung open as you struggled to catch your breath.

"God- shit.."

Frank groaned, his grip on your hip tightening, with hesitance, you slowly began to rock your hips at a pace, rolling them as you slid down, making you feel fuller than the last time.

You both struggled to keep your voices down, Frank's free hand sliding up your chest, pulling your shirt over your pecs to cup and play with them, though struggling to keep the shirt up, you took the hint and bit the hem of your shirt, keeping it up as he fucked into you.

"God- Baby you feel so fucking good— ah.."

He groaned, his nails digging into your skin, sure to leave bruises in his wake, His cock twitching inside of you, you could tell he was close, because you were too.

"Fuck- Frank.. I'm gonna cum- please~ "

You whined, chest heaving as you teetered closer to your release, letting airy moans whisp past your teeth as you bit into your shirt, your body halting as you came to your end, Shockwaves running to each of your limbs and your body heat finally hit you.

It didn't take long for Frank to meet his release aswell, pulling out of you and cumming over his stomach, the both of you panting as you came off your highs.

"Holy shit... That felt amazing.."

Frank sighed, rubbing circles into your bruised hips, a grin still on his lips as you leaned in to kiss him once more.

"We gotta do that again sometime."

"Hell yeah."

A/N : this is slightly OOC but I really couldn't find any other way to write it, I hope this was acceptable and I hope y'all enjoyed!!

[sonyanightmare]

Y'all, I need yours opinion on an official multi-mix Fandom story I been working on and off for a long while now (still working and editing as I thinkg of the story instead of side ones within it lol cuz only known for making short stories), I want to share the timeline and some bits of it and see if anyone would be actually interested in reading the whole chapters (splitting into Parts) Fiction

🖤🤔🤷🏽‍♀️

[charcoalgrayswriting]

Found 18+ MDNI

Adler/Bell

No Warnings

Read on AO3 HERE!

Words: 4668

Summary: Adler finds Bell in hiding, and they talk. Takes place a few years after Solovetsky.

“Bell,” it wasn’t just the call of her old name that had her snapping her head up from the vegetable garden. No, it was the voice that called for her. With shaking hands, she turned face to face with her old hander, Russel fucking Adler. 

There he stood, infamous sunglasses still perched on his nose, his hands tucked safely into his leather jacket. Her stomach turned uncomfortably, the artificial trust and warring with her fear of him. 

“Adler,” her hands still shook as she tried to hold them still at her sides, the face she saw in her nightmares approached her, slowly, as if she were a wild animal that needed calming. Maybe she was. Her chest heaved as she stepped back, just now remembering to breathe, eyes darting wildly around to find any way to escape him, escape the false feeling of safety he made her feel. 

It was like seeing him again washed all of the training from her mind, leaving only panic in its wake, the phantom feeling of a needle in her eye and restraints against her wrists. 

Turning her head away from him, she tensed her body to run. She had become lax, the paranoia of the CIA finding and killing her had left after two years of living out in the middle of nowhere and she no longer carried a gun on her everywhere she went at home. How stupid. If she survived this she would not make that same mistake again. 

“No, wait,” he lunged for her just as she took a step back, catching her shaking arm in a firm, but gentle, grip. He pulled her close, so that her chest was to his back, twisting her arm in between their bodies. 

. “I’m not here to hurt you.” he whispered, nose bumping against her hair as he forced her to turn towards her house, prompting her to lead him into her sanctuary. And how she wished that were true and not just a ploy to get her to trust him. Some part of her did still trust him, and she hated it. She had fought so hard for her peace, and now he came back to shatter it. 

Enraged, she struggled, but she was out of practice. His other arm wrapped around her waist, and when she tried to flip him off of her, he slid a leg between hers and swept both of her feet out from underneath hers. Now the only thing supporting her, Adler leaned his head in close as she scrambled to stand on her own, his arm the only thing keeping her from hitting the ground. 

“Are you going to behave or not,” he breathed, allowing her to get her feet back underneath herself before nudging her towards the house again. Surprisingly, he was gentle with her. Or at least as gentle as he could be, restraining her as she fought against him with all her might. 

Defeated and nauseous as her lab grown emotions warred with her natural ones, she led him up the gravel path to her little cabin. It was nice and homey, perfect for one person trying to hide. She found herself wishing that she could fight him, but she was out of practice, if not out of shape. And she sincerely doubted that he had let himself grow lax the way she had, could feel the experience in the way he held her tight to him. 

Opening the door, she took in the small home as he urged her towards her sofa, past the oak table where she had stashed one of her hidden guns. Attempting to lunge for it was pointless, but she tried it anyway. She had to. 

Breaking Adlers grip on her was all muscle memory, though not entirely hers, and shocked the both of them before she was moving. Lurching towards the table, she made it two steps towards it before Adler had her restrained, one arm pinning hers to her sides wrapped around her to pin back against his chest. The other hand came up to rest gently on her neck, flexing in warning as he cut off her air for a few seconds. 

Not enough to actually hurt her, but enough to leave her gasping when he relaxed his hand. Dispassionately, he watched as her chest heaved, her mouth parted as she took in huge gulps of the cabin's warm air. 

She could feel her blood racing against his fingers as he simply held her, his thumb brushing her carotid artery as she stood stock still, not moving a muscle. Save for the trembling of her fucking hands. Damn him, apparently he still used the same cologne and smoked the same cigarettes, their combined scents made her feel safe, even as his hand was lethally wrapped around her neck. 

“Relax Bell, I don’t want to kill you.” Adler grumbled, breath ghosting her ear, and she had to concede to him that if he was sent to kill her, he would have probably done it by now and not bothered approaching her like this. 

“That’s not my name anymore,” she snapped without thinking before clamping her mouth shut with an audible click. 

He huffed a small laugh, and she felt a flash of pride before she tamped it down, “Oh? What are you going by these days?” He marched her to the sofa again, sitting her down beside him, slowly unwinding his arms from around her. It did not escape her attention that he made her sit the furthest away from the door, and she shuffled as far away from him as the sofa would allow. 

“Nadia.” she definitely raised her chin. Her defiance made him smile. So different, yet still the same. 

“So you did remember your name, I had wondered.” he muttered, his head tilted to the side. 

“Yes, well, without you and Park there to inject me with drugs, my mind became mine again.” a small white lie, she had not remembered everything, only had vague flashes of memories that felt less real than her fake memories, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Why are you even here?” she snapped, patience worn thin by fear. “You already failed to kill me once, and apparently you aren’t going to try again,” Nadia made a face as she rolled her eyes, telling him without words exactly how little she believed him. 

He didn’t respond to her anger, simply reached into his jacket and pulled out a file. It was thin, almost flat for how much information was probably inside. 

“We’ve been tracking someone we assume to be a defected Perseus cryptographer.” Nadia took the folder gently before snatching it away from him, like if she lingered too close he would hurt her again. Probably.  

Sighing through her nose she asked, “And what does this have to do with me?” she flipped through the dossier, fighting back a laugh. How clueless they still were. 

“We knew that a Russian had defected here, one who had been in Perseus’s… employ.” what a kind way to say that Nadia had been drafted into this stupid war against her will. First for the Russians and Perseus, and then for the Americans and Adler. She couldn’t fucking win. “The agency tracked rumors of an ex-Perseus agent to these parts, and thought you may’ve known the cryptographer. We didn’t know it was you though,” she gave him a look, scoffing at his heavy-handed attempt to gently pry the information from her. 

“Well,” she smirked up at him, her eyes alight with a challenging glare, “You’ve already found the cryptographer.” he looked at her, confusion on his face and she couldn’t help but revel in it. So few times did she remember Adler being confused. Not even in her false memories. 

“But we don’t know who–” he cut himself off, looking at her in a new light. Nadia wasn’t anything impressive at the minute, hadn’t been impressive in quite a while. A plain gray t-shirt and some dirt stained blue jeans over her muddy work boots painted the perfect picture of a fit but unassuming country girl, save for the scars that ran up and down her arms, but she could cover them with a jacket or sweater when she went into town. 

She only remembered gaining half of the scars. 

“It’s you,” he stated, locking eyes with her, and damn it after all this time he could still read her, and she was still in the dark. 

“I do what I can, when I can. But I will never be back in the field. The only time I pick up my gun now is to hunt for game.” Nadia smiled, harsh and sarcastic as she watched Adler sit back, still surprised. 

“We thought you were dead.” She heard the words he didn’t say, I thought you were dead. Her heart gave a pang at the false trust and… other emotions they had forcefully instilled in her. 

“Yes, well, you shot me in the chest like an idiot instead of shooting me in the head.” She shrugged as she rolled her eyes. “Didn’t even stick around to confirm the kill.” 

Adler shrugged, “Guess it’s a good thing I did. You’ve been very helpful to us with those decryptions of yours.”

Smiling, Nadia opted not to tell him that it was her who created those codes. That she had been one of Perseus’s best and that was why she rose so quickly through the ranks, despite her reluctance. “I guess so.” After all, she had to keep some of her cards to herself, right?

“It would be in your best interest to consider joining the CIA, you know the procedure and all of our taglines, so I won’t bore you with it.” 

“Why? Not just gonna inject me with more drugs and tell me we’ve got a job to do?” she snapped, leaning away from him as he scooted closer.

“No, that has been proven to be too unreliable.” he chuckled, looking at her pointedly, extending a hand, palm up. “We have other measures of making people cooperate, now, that are far more effective.” and Nadia heard the threat for what it was.

“Oh? Well, I guess I’ll never know” she sighed, handing the folder back to him. “I can continue my work here. All I need is a radio, a pencil, and paper. I have all that.” she gestured towards her desk where the radio sat, surrounded by mounds of paper. 

“I want to take you back to Langley with me.” Nadia’s eyes snapped back to Adler as he sat the file on the coffee table, a snort leaving her before she could stop it. Realizing he was serious, she grew angry again. 

“Kiss my ass.” she laughed, shaking her head, “My corpse wouldn’t let you take me back there.” 

“Yeah, figures you wouldn’t wanna go back,” he muttered. “You don’t get a choice though. We can’t protect you all the way out here.” he gestured around her house, small and in a remote part of Nebraska. 

“I’ve done fine so far.” Nadia insisted angrily gesturing. 

“So far, no one knows you exist.” he countered, beginning to show anger as well. 

“And it will stay that way!”

“Not for long, it’s only a matter of time before the Russians find you.” 

“Well then do your damn job and keep them from finding me!” she yelled at him, throwing her hands up in the air. 

“That’s why I want to take you back with me dammit!” he shouted back, and for a second, she was taken back to one of her memories, of him standing over her yelling at her to tell her about Perseus. Flinching, she shakes herself. 

“No, I will be staying here! You don’t get to walk in here and demand things of me! Not after everything I’ve done and everything I continue to do!”

“Nadia,” his voice was calm and even, face smoothing out, and she knew what was coming next. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way but either way, you will be coming with me, back to Langley. How we get there is entirely up to you.”

She stayed silent, glaring at him as he smirked at her. It made her want to hit and kiss him in equal measure. 

For a few minutes the pair sat in silence, Adler allowing her to get used to the idea of leaving. No matter how much she wanted to stall, they both knew that she would be going back with him. He was preset to win. 

Nadia felt the sting of tears in her eyes, and blinked rapidly as she looked around at her cabin, at the life she had built for herself. She knew, eventually, that if the CIA had found her, Perseus would find her. And she didn’t know how he would react to seeing her alive after all she did to harm the cause. 

Well, it’s as they say. The devil you know. 

“Okay,” she whispered, voice small and defeated as she slumped, running a dirt-streaked hand through her sweat-dried hair. 

“Good girl,” her head whipped up, pupils dilated as she remembered the last time he called her that, the sound of their breaths mingling and the feel of him inside of her making her back arch and toes curl as he played her body like a fiddle. 

“Don’t do that,” Nadia whispered, voice rough. 

“Don’t do what?” grinning, he slid closer to her, touching their thighs together, wrapping one arm behind her on the sofa. 

“You know what.” she snapped defensively, attempting to move further away from him, and running out of sofa. 

Adler watched her shrink in on herself with a frown. “You always enjoyed our time together.”

“That was before,” rasped Nadia, not making eye contact, even when he took both of her hands in his, forcefully uncurling her fingers from the meat of her palms. She hadn’t even noticed that she was digging them into it. 

“We had so much fun together. Don’t wanna relive it? For old times sake?” It was Nadia’s turn to laugh at him. “You’re not that sentimental. Try again.” 

Sighing, Adler stared at her, contemplating before he answered, “Ah, you know me too well.” 

“I do, I have your memories, and have had a lot of time to analyze them. So tell me the truth.” 

“Well,” he almost seemed embarrassed as he continued, scratching at his cheek. “It is very rare in our line of work to find a woman who knows what you do, and still chooses to sleep with you.” with a smirk he looked her up and down, lingering on her breasts. 

A nice sentiment, but she didn’t believe him for a second. “It’s a conflict of interest.” Nadia stated, voice flat, even as she could feel her body reacting to his words, the blush rising on her traitorous cheeks. 

He snorted. “You didn’t care before.”

“Well that might have something to do with the fact that I didn’t know you brainwashed me.” 

“Yeah I imagine that would put a fucking dampener on things.” Still, he didn’t let go of her, just continued to stare at her. 

“What if I say no?” she questioned, looking up at him warily. 

“Then I let go and we forget this ever happened. Rape doesn’t do it for me,” he stated, completely unphased. 

They sat there like that, for an undetermined amount of time. Adler just held her close in a gentle grasp, something Nadia could easily break if she wished. 

“Okay,” she whispered, slowly leaning into his chest, tucking her head under his chin as she relaxed, boneless, against him. She knew this was just a manipulative ploy to win her back, and was under no illusions that he cared. Not like last time, when she had thought they were two old friends comforting each other. 

“Just like that?” he muttered amused, letting go of one of her hands to card his fingers through her hair, sliding his hand down to cup her chin, tilting her face towards him with a gentle grip. 

“It’s very hard to find someone to fuck that won’t ask questions about my scars,” Nadia muttered, the real reason why she agreed to this. If there was one thing Adler was good at, it was sex, and she planned to take full advantage. 

“Oh?” he frowned again, the other hand trailing down her bare scarred arm before it settled on her hip. 

“On men, scars are sexy, mysterious.” she gestured towards his face, watching as the conflict passed over it, “On women?” she scoffed before continuing bitterly. “Well most men, at least civilians, find it intimidating at best, and a major turnoff at worst. The best I could hope for was a quick, unsatisfying fuck in an alleyway.” 

Smirking salaciously down at her Adler responded, “Guess I just have to fix that,” and before Nadia could counter, his mouth was on hers. Their kiss was not soft and gentle, but a clashing of teeth and tongues as they both fought for control of it. Sneakily moving his hands down her back, he kneaded at the tense muscles he found there and she moaned into their kiss, momentarily caught off guard. 

But Nadia’s hands were moving too, one wrapping around his neck to play with his annoyingly perfect hair, the other sliding up his back and untucking his white button down from his jeans to trace the sensitive scars she found there. 

His hands tracing her waist, Adler gripped her tight before he lifted her off the sofa and into his arms. Yelping into the kiss, she wrapped her legs around his middle, her hands scrambling to wrap around his shoulders, tangling into his light hair. 

Neither one broke the kiss as Adler carried her towards her bedroom, not stopping to ask for instructions, both groaning as he licked into her mouth. 

Nadia broke the kiss with a scowl,“How do you know where my bedroom is?” she panted out as she began to lay hickeys along his neck, just above where she knew his collar covered, the hand in his hair knocking his infamous shades off and somewhere onto the floor. 

Laughing, Adler groaned, “Found your house’s blueprints,” and didn’t even pause his confident stride, despite his sudden loss of his sunglasses, kicking her door open before he gently laid her back on the plush bed, letting her legs dangle over the edge. 

Standing, he gazed down at her, pupils blown and cock already beginning to harden in his jeans. Nadia just stared up at him, feeling herself getting wet as she took in the sight of his messy hair and rumpled polo shirt. Such a contrast from how he appeared in most of her memories. 

“Look at you,” towering over her, he made quick work of her old belt, tossing it somewhere in her room before popping the button on her dirt-stained blue jeans. “Last chance to stop me,” Adler smirked down at her, licking his lips. 

She tracked the movement of his tongue with her dark eyes, and smirked. “Give it your best shot, old man.”

“I’m only three fucking years older than you,” he grumbled, kneeling to take off her boots and socks before Adler slid her jeans off, leaving her in just her panties and top. 

“Beautiful,” he whispered, sliding her top over her head, groaning at the sight of her nearly naked, trailing his fingers along her collarbones before pulling her bra off. It shouldn’t be such a major turn on, him being fully clothed with her naked in front of him. 

“Bet you– shit!” she gasped, unable to snark him as he touched her through her underwear, rubbing slow circles over her clit, feeling the uncomfortable dampness of her underwear growing. 

“What was that?” he laughed, pulling her panties off and tossing them in the same direction as her shirt and pants, not entirely unaffected as he panted slightly, “You didn’t get to finish.” he moved back between her legs, his left hand coming up to hold her hip still. 

Returning his hand to her cunt, Adler moved his callused middle finger against her folds, pressing in slowly, teasing her. 

With a moan, Nadia fisted her hands in her quilt, attempting to shift her hips against Adlers skilled hand, but he held her down. 

“It must have been a long time for you to be reacting like this,” murmuring, Adler circled her clit with his thumb while adding his ring finger. 

“Please don’t fuck with me right now.” she grunted, wrenching her eyes open and making eye contact with him. 

“My pleasure,” and crooked his fingers expertly, finding that spot inside of her that so few men knew about, much less were able to find. 

“Fuck!” she shouted, pleasure racing through her as Nadia clenched down on his fingers, arching her back. 

“There we go,” he whispered, leaning in close to her, pressing a kiss to the old wound on her chest from where he shot her. “Just like that.” she watched him look up at her, smirking as he licked the old scar. 

She laid there, gasping for breath as Adler continued to expertly finger her, stretching her slow and thorough, just like he had back then. With a whine, she grabbed his messy hair, pulling him up towards her. 

“Needy are you?” he smirked as she pulled him in for a kiss, fingers not faltering inside her for a second. 

“Please,” she gasped, Russian accent thickening as he inserted a third finger, kissing down her neck, leaving behind inconveniently placed hickeys, just like she had. 

“Please what?” he mocked, allowing her to draw his shirt over his head, flinging it in the opposite direction of her clothes. 

Nadia panted as she drifted closer to her orgasm, his hand an iron brand inside of her and on her hip, “Please just fuck me you absolute jackass!” 

Chuckling, Adler crooked his fingers, and suddenly she was crying out as she saw stars behind her eyes. “Well since you asked so nicely,” focusing on her pleasure, he massaged her clit with his thumb, thrusting his fingers in and out, smirking as she clenched down on him.

Reduced to nothing more than the lewd noises she was making, Nadia grabbed his hair again, getting a rare breathy moan from Adler, who allowed her to pull him up and into a steaming kiss. Her other hand clawed down his back, leaving red welts in her wake. 

His fingers picked up the pace, and the pleasure that had been building inside of her snapped. Crying out, her back bowed off the bed, mouth slack with pleasure as her hands fisted against Adler’s body, leaving red lines and pulling at his hair. 

“Fuck,” she breathed into his mouth as he fingered her through the aftershocks of her orgasm. 

She whined when Adler pulled his fingers out from inside of her and stood back, but she wouldn’t be left empty for long. Using the hand that was covered in her juices, he slicked up his cock, smirking down at her. 

“Gonna just stand there?” Nadia mocked, still panting like she had run a marathon. 

Not bothering to respond, Adler just laughed, wrapping her legs around his waist before shoving his hands under her back. He lifted her up, ignoring her shriek, and tossed her further up the bed. 

Laughing, he knelt between her legs, lining up his cock with her entrance. For a moment, he stayed like that, just staring down at her, his thick head brushing up against her clit. It sent small shocks through her tired body, and he smirked. 

Before she could tell him to hurry up, Adler was pushing inside of her. The acidic words died on her tongue. All that left her was a breathy whine as she clawed at him again, the heels of her feet digging into his lower back, urging him deeper. He wasn’t fairing much better. 

A low groan was ripped from his throat as Adler fully sheathed himself inside her, bending over her body as he stilled. 

“You feel just as good as I remember,” he muttered into Nadia’s ear. Before her mind could catch up with her mouth and demand answers, he was leaning back and slamming into her again. 

Soon, any thoughts she had disappeared in favor of the pleasure again building inside of her. One of his hands found her clit, the other molded itself to her waist, pulling her into him. 

Soon the room was filled with the rhythmic slapping of skin against skin, and their moans, pulled from the depths of their chests. 

Nadia could feel that coil of pleasure tightening in her stomach, and she clenched down on Adler’s cock as he hit that pleasurable spot inside of her. Chasing his own pleasure, he sped up. 

Finally, with one last thrust, he came deep inside of her. The feeling of his warm cum flooding her had Nadia’s back arching in her second orgasm. Panting, Adler fucked them through the aftershocks. 

She laid there, gasping for breath as she came back down from her post orgasmic high. Slowly, Adler slid his cock out from inside of her, rolling onto his side. He threw an arm over Nadia’s stomach and pulled her in close, tucking her head under his chin. 

Blushing, she felt a mixture of his cum and her fluids leak out of her cunt, groaning as he swept a finger through it, licking it off like it was a special treat.  

“Go grab a towel you fucking perv.” she grumbled, closing her eyes as Nadia’s muscles continued to shake, this time not from fear, but from ecstasy. 

Adler groaned, “You’re so goddamn bossy,” he complained, but complied, padding towards her bathroom in search of a towel to clean them up. While he was away, Nadia felt herself growing tired, and her eyelids fluttered shut. 

So tired apparently, that she didn’t hear Adler come back, only registered he was in the same room as her when the bed dipped, startling her back awake. Eyes flying open, Nadia looked up at him, holding her pale green washcloth in his hand, his expression uncharacteristically gentle. 

Nadia didn’t trust it, and she squinted up at him as he began to clean her, slowly wiping down her legs and stomach. Well, essentially massaging her, running one of his rugged hands over her damp skin to check for any leftover residue. 

Once he had finished, Nadia felt him shuffle her around, and realized he was pulling the sheets of her bed back so that she could nap in them. 

Eyes listing closed as he tugged the covers over her, she felt him grab one of her hands in his, beginning to wipe it down with the cloth. Slowly and thoroughly, he cleaned her palm, the soft fibers of the washcloth wiping away any residual stickiness. Adler paid attention to every single finger, before he dropped the hand and repeated the same process on the next one. 

Halfway asleep, Nadia cracked an eyelid to look at him, looking at the conflicted expression on his face as he set the washcloth to the side. Grumbling, she lifted one of her arms, an invitation to him to come join her under the covers. 

Adler made a quiet happy noise, before shuffling into bed in front of her, wasting no time in situating her head under his chin. Both of his arms encircled her and pulled Nadia in closer to his chest. 

Humming, Nadia breathed deeply snuggling into him, ignoring the way her common sense was screaming in the back of her mind. But she was so comfortable and warm, lounging in Adler's arms as he held her close to his chest. 

Was it smart? No. Was it safe? Absolutely not. 

But she liked it, and even though she knew better, Nadia couldn’t stop herself from falling asleep next to him. 

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[thefanfictioncorner-blog]

Read now! (11)

[d4adf4iry]

I kinda wanna write a cod fanfic but who should I do??

[ddejavvu]

Betrayal - Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

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

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

WC: 16.9K / navigation / inbox

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You freeze; you’re caught.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But will you forgive yourself if you do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Typical.

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

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

Oh. Perhaps he hadn’t forgotten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Would have.

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

“But Anakin…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s too meticulous. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He comes undone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you regret it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is a shirt on your bed.

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

It’s Obi-Wan’s.

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

It’s Obi-Wan’s; it’s yours.

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

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

You and Obi-Wan.

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

[rascal-xo]

I ❤️ ALEJANDRO

pretty please send in alejandro request i’m begging you

(angst, smut, fluff ANYTHING)

[erinkeifer]

ℕ𝕠𝕥 𝕞𝕪 𝕔𝕠𝕕𝕖 - ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕀𝕀

[Anakin Skywalker x Padawan!Fem Reader]

Masterlist | Wattpad | AO3 Not My Code Masterlist

Summary: After last night, during which you got to know your Master from a completely different perspective, you can't seem to gather yourself. You should start this day as usual, but how is it possible when you'll have to look into his eyes for the first time after everything, and tonight you both agreed to finish your work?

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI | smut | v unprotected (and pretty much painful) sex | kissing | cursing | choking | dom!Anakin | sub!Reader | blood | mentions of injuries | Anakin is taking reader's virginity

Word Count: 4,3k

You woke up with a terrible headache, and the beam of the illuminated Coruscant seeping through the partially opened curtain only worsened the situation. You had only fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning, restlessly pacing around your room for most of the night. Despite Anakin's request for you to rest and recover, you just couldn't. Rubbing your eyes, you stumbled to the edge of the bed and sat down, gazing at your torn-to-shreds jumpsuit still lying on the floor. A shiver ran down your spine at the thought of Anakin's hands tearing it apart earlier, but you knew you had to snap back to reality as quickly as possible. Keep your emotions in check... Oh, how much you despised those words. Everything was fine until you glanced at the clock. The council meeting. Yes, you were supposed to attend a council meeting that day, and suddenly your heart raced for a reason far from your ideal scenario. "Fuck," you muttered to yourself under your breath, kicking the shreds of fabric under the bed and rushing towards the wardrobe. As quickly as you could, you donned the black and brown robes and slipped into black, slightly snug pants with matching, tall boots that still bore the memories of the Clone Wars. The thought of having to look your Master in the eyes for the first time after everything that had happened in that room was eating you up inside. Before leaving your quarters, you managed to quickly steady your breath and run your fingers through your long, wavy hair - you rarely let it down for council meetings, but this time it seemed like the most comfortable option. Stepping into the hall, a million scenarios raced through your mind, and none of them felt right. You had no idea how to act, but there was no time for planning – the council meeting room was just around the corner. It was too late. As your hand touched the cold doorknob, you felt the doors opening, and you stepped back to make way for anyone exiting the room. "Well, gentlemen, I believe everything is clear and straightforward for now," resonated Obi-Wan's voice, who was holding the door for Master Windu and Anakin. However, before you could catch a glimpse of your Master, Chancellor Palpatine's voice requested him to stay in the room, and the doors closed behind the two Masters. "Ma'am" both Masters bowed as their gaze discreetly pinpointed your silhouette peeking out from behind the door. "Masters," you reciprocated with a bow, your hands resting behind your back. "For today, that will be all. Taking advantage of your presence, I'd like to congratulate and express my gratitude for your swift actions yesterday. General Skywalker has briefed us thoroughly. We owe a lot to your rapid response." said Windu, alternating his gaze between you and Obi-Wan. 'Congratulations... to me?' you thought at that moment, wondering what Anakin had conveyed to the council. "Well, I believe it's as clear as day that any threat to the Order must be neutralized," you replied with a smile, striving to maintain an appropriate mood and conceal your doubts. "And may it continue that way. Now, I must apologize, but my duties call," Windu responded with a smile, then nodded in farewell and headed in the opposite direction of the corridor. You and Obi-Wan stood in silence for a moment, waiting for Windu to disappear from your view. Then you spoke up first, not entirely sure what reaction to expect from Obi-Wan. "General... I wanted to deeply apologize for..." "You don't need to apologize for anything. As you heard, you're justified," Obi-Wan interrupted, directing an empathetic gaze in your direction. You smiled softly and felt a moment of relief, but you sensed that a certain kind of tension still hung over you.

"You see... Whether I like it or not, Anakin has inherited from me the gift of turning a blind eye to certain matters, but it doesn't mean that I would have acted the same way today." Obi-Wan continued, and you had the impression he was scrutinizing you. He still gestured as if he had something on the tip of his tongue, so you didn't have the courage to interject. "Whatever it was, you're lucky your Master is covering for you." Obi-Wan finished in a much more serious tone, and a nervous shiver ran through your entire body. "But I..." You began to respond nervously, but Obi-Wan didn't let you finish, as if he knew your explanation wouldn't change anything. "May the Force be with you." he said, looking at you with an uncertain and somewhat sad smile, then stepped into the elevator whose doors had just opened. It was a moment when you felt like you had disappointed your own father - and although you often played rebellious in front of Kenobi, in a way, you always cared not to lose his favor. Simultaneously with the sound of the departing elevator, you heard the doors opening. Just the sight of Anakin's robes emerging from the threshold sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn't imagine what you would feel when you had to look him in the eyes. You could immediately get the impression that Anakin hadn't had much rest last night - he had slight dark circles under his eyes, and his hair wasn't as neatly arranged as it usually was during council meetings - but you could say that every imperfection added a charm to him, which you had always romanticized.

"Master." you bowed before him, avoiding his gaze, which quickly landed on you after leaving the room. Anakin reciprocated your gesture, closing the door behind him and walking past you, signaling for you to follow. You took a few steps away from the meeting place and stopped in a secluded spot to avoid feeling observed.

"I presume Windu and Obi-Wan conveyed to you what's most important." Anakin spoke first, not hesitating to scan your eyes that were evading his.

"Well... you could call it that, but..." you began to respond, trying not to reveal your unease in your voice.

"But?" Skywalker interjected, sensing your hesitation.

"I suspect that Obi-Wan wasn't... Enthusiastic about me. I don't know what he found out, but I have a bad feeling about it." you finished, nervously glancing around. Anakin didn't immediately respond to your words. He held you in silence until you made eye contact with him, but that moment didn't come. "You won't look at me, will you?" he stated, closely observing your demeanor. With great reluctance, you decided to meet his gaze after hearing those words, and your heart pounded so strongly that you couldn't bring yourself to say anything. Those eyes... Those damned eyes.

"Better," Anakin replied in a warm tone, gazing into your eyes intensely as if trying to see through them. He also noticed the tiredness in your eyes, and without the need for asking, he could tell that you had a rough night. The tension between both of you increased as the memory of last night intensified in your minds simultaneously, and neither of you could hold it back. Suddenly, Anakin scrutinized you in a very similar way as Obi-Wan did, triggering a flurry of questions in your mind. Shortly after that, he reached for the collar peeking out from your robes and pulled it up, covering your neck.

"You should be more careful as well," as he uttered his last word, you felt one of his fingers gently touch the pulsating bruise on your neck, and perhaps you began to understand what Obi-Wan had in the back of his mind. Fuck... You wanted to start speaking, but your voice got stuck in your throat when both of you heard approaching footsteps, and you quickly distanced yourselves from each other.

"General, everyone is ready. We can start moving slowly." Rex said as he passed through the corridor in full gear.

"Sure thing, Captain, I'll be right there." Anakin replied, smiling at his saluting companion. As soon as Rex disappeared from your view, your gazes returned to each other, and you had already forgotten what you wanted to say earlier.

"What do you have for today? Maybe I could help?" you asked, trying to ease the tension in your mind.

"Aggressive Negotiations." he replied with a smirk, which you quickly reciprocated. "We'll manage, but assistance might come in handy on-site. I'll leave the younglings in your care. I know you like that." Anakin replied with a touch of irony, and you sighed, knowing that you couldn't demand discipline from others to the same extent as your Master.

"It will go by quickly, and you can catch some sleep before our crew returns." he added as he began to move in the direction Rex had gone.

"Sure, sure..." you replied with a hint of doubt while Anakin still maintained eye contact with you. Then, he nodded and continued ahead.

"Master...?" you managed to call out, and Anakin turned towards you.

"Same place, same time." he answered your unspoken question, smiling slightly. You felt butterflies in your stomach upon hearing the same words that came from his lips last night. You responded with a nod and a smile, and he went where he was needed. Damn, this is going to be a long day.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

As you rightly suspected, training with the younglings completely drained your energy, and the influx of other minor duties that had cropped up in the meantime made it dark outside by the time you returned to your quarters. Bantering with the young students had allowed you to unwind a bit, even though you had to admit that the flood of thoughts prevented you from fully engaging in Anakin's training routines.

"Since Master Skywalker is not with us today, can we have a more relaxed day?"

"But Master Skywalker always lets us play! Please, please!" The carefree voices of the younglings resonated in your head, and you couldn't help but smile as you recalled their little fibs about Anakin giving in. You had always known that when it came to training, your Master was very meticulous, even radical, and there was no room for 'fun' in his methods. Your previous training sessions with him sometimes felt like a drill - you would crash to the ground with a thud while he looked down on you, and it seemed like he wanted more. The holds and maneuvers he taught you were not of a light nature; sometimes it seemed like he was fighting seriously and waiting for your petite body to yield to the force of his strength. When you closed the door behind you into your room, you felt something inside you crack. You had been accumulating emotions all day regarding what was about to happen very soon, and you could feel yourself gradually losing your composure. You quickly abandoned everything you had in your hands and took nervous steps toward the bathroom, not knowing what to do with yourself. You leaned your hands against the porcelain sink and gazed at your tired face in the mirror's reflection. Your long hair was matted, but in this light, its curls seemed tidy and well-defined. However, you quickly tied it up in a messy bun and, wanting to freshen up efficiently, stripped off your clothes, shoes, and stepped into the shower. You had always been fond of warmth, but this time, the cold water stream refreshed you so much that you had no intention of adjusting its temperature. Not wanting to waste time, you washed your hair, face, and body one after the other, feeling not only the water running off you but also a sense of relief and comfort, which you needed now more than ever. Once you had dried your body, leaving your hair to air dry, you scanned your face in the mirror again and decided to add something special to your appearance. In the drawer of your vanity, you had a few cosmetics that were supposed to wait until your Knighting Ceremony, but the circumstances of today seemed much more fitting to finally unpack them. You laid out lipsticks in two shades, several nude eyeshadows, and mascara, which usually delicately enhanced your beauty. You didn't hesitate much in choosing the appropriate shade for your lips – you adorned them with a satin-finish ruby red lipstick. As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you began to regret not practicing this sooner. Next came the eyeshadows, which you applied with a feather-light brush stroke, creating a 'cat-eye' effect that accentuated itself with the mascara on your lashes. You may be a Padawan, you may be a Jedi Knight, but above all, you are a woman – and you feel that now more than ever. You didn't opt for experimenting with your clothing – you didn't even have the opportunity to do so. Instead, you slipped into a simple, charming nightgown with silk accents and delicate shoulder straps. In the subtle light of Coruscant's night, it shimmered with a silvery-lilac hue. Before settling comfortably in bed, you spritzed a cloud of your favorite rose-musk perfume around you and glanced at the nighttime cityscape, looking for Skywalker's crew, who should theoretically already be in place. You wanted to occupy your time somehow, so you watched the night trails of speeders, occasionally attempting to jot down notes in your notebook. However, your hands were trembling so much that your pencil wouldn't find balance. Despite the signs pointing to a sleepless night, each minute passed slowly, and you eventually succumbed to the exhaustion, collapsing helplessly onto the pillow. The contours of the nocturnal Coruscant blurred increasingly in your eyes, and as soon as the moonlight disappeared behind the towering buildings, you felt everything around you fading away. You fell asleep.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------- You had no idea how much time had passed until you heard the soft click of the door to your room. Seeing that your weariness had conquered you, Anakin initially tried to enter quietly, but he quickly reverted to his natural posture as your figure gradually rose from the bed. Despite the catnap, your makeup still looked flawless, and the glow from the city's neon lights further adorned your face as Anakin fixed his gaze on you. "Master..." you whispered, nervously fiddling with your still slightly damp hair, and you would have been ready to get out of bed if he hadn't interrupted you just in time. "Stay there." he said with a certain gentleness in his voice, walking with his hands behind his back along the vast windows of your quarters. Soon, his mechanical hand discreetly started drawing the curtains just enough to let in the light, and you watched his every move with vigilance. "Just in case." Anakin murmured, making sure that only two pairs of eyes would have access to the inside of this room. As per his request, you didn't move from your spot and watched as he approached you with slow steps, eventually sitting down next to you on the edge of the bed. Anakin explored your eyes as if he wanted to decipher something entirely new from them, and his hand landed on your increasingly blushing cheek, which he caressed with a tenderness you had never felt before. "I've never... I've never seen you like this." he whispered, this time pausing his gaze on your full, red lips. "Do you think it's... okay?" you asked shyly, feeling your heart steadily quicken as you heard his deep voice. "You're asking me if it's... okay?" he continued, but you didn't answer, feeling his touch becoming more and more fervent, while his other free hand rested on your chest to lay you down completely. "It's more... More than okay." he murmured, leaving messy kisses on your jawline. "You smell... so beautiful... You look so beautiful... You always have." he whispered in a hoarse voice, almost breathless from the number of kisses that were approaching your collarbones. The hand that had rested on your cheek now gripped your breast firmly through the thin fabric, and your heart began to pound like a hammer, which didn't escape Anakin's attention. "Nervous?" he asked softly, not removing his lips from your skin. "Just... just keep going." you replied in a whisper, finding no words at the moment to describe the pleasure you were feeling. At this moment, his fingers began to gently slide the straps of your dress down, and as you slightly lifted your shoulders, the lightweight fabric slipped down, fully exposing your bust. You no longer had the instinct to cover yourself, knowing he had already seen your breasts, but the tension grew as his hands moved downward. His fingers were spread at your lower abdomen, and he intended to kiss your breasts just as you signaled for him to position his head closer to your face. Buying more time before Anakin reached your most sensitive areas, you began to place kisses on his face. You instantly felt that he had freshened up after his mission before he arrived at your quarters—your nose caught the scent of his aftershave and woody cologne, which were his absolute signature.

You felt a metallic taste of blood under your tongue, and when the light from above reached his face, you noticed fresh but minor cuts on it. As soon as you identified them, you began to kiss them tenderly. When you instinctively grabbed his robe, his gaze responded to your unspoken question, allowing you to continue your move. With sorrow, you realized that your Master's injuries didn't end with minor abrasions. There were a few shallow but sizable slash wounds on his chest, which looked like the result of being cut by multiple blades in a single stroke.

"Who did this to you?" you whispered with a concerned voice, gently touching his chest with your fingertips.

"Don't worry about it." he replied, his hand on your face, sensing a trace of concern in your eyes.

Seeing that you hesitated for a moment with your movements, Anakin shifted his focus to you, and with a sudden move, he began to lower your dress from your hips, at the same time discarding his own clothes to remain topless. The moment you were completely naked under him electrified you, and not just you. Anakin leaned forward, positioning himself between your thighs, which clenched as if you were resisting him. The emotions in the room did not escape his attention, so before doing anything impulsive, he began comforting you, his hands caressing your thighs.

"Spread them for me," he commanded with a husky voice, sending shivers down your spine. Anakin positioned his knee between your legs, waiting for your slower response as he adjusted himself for your comfort. With each passing moment, you gathered the courage to part your thighs. His face displayed an intense desire, and his movements became more determined as he unfastened his belt.

Now he had revealed everything to you, and although an incredible excitement surged within you, a trace of doubt crept in as he removed his pants and boxers. You questioned whether you could handle this even more than you had yesterday. Anakin observed every single one of your reactions with precision. He watched as your chest rose and fell in rapid breaths, and his gaze remained locked onto your eyes while he pleasured himself. "Wider," he suddenly commanded, and you obediently spread your legs even further as his gaze remained fixed on your intimate areas. The tension that buzzed between both of you was indescribable; you felt an incredible sensation in your abdomen, as if something animalistic were awakening within Anakin. He had no intention of delaying any further and lifted one of your legs, positioning himself at your entrance, but you impulsively held his arms, signaling him to wait. "Anakin... I never..." you began nervously, but he didn't let you finish. His dilated pupils silently scanned your face, and after a moment of silence, his lips collided with yours in a passionate, lingering kiss that nearly took your breath away. Somehow, he knew. He guessed it perfectly, observing your every move and reaction, every twitch at his touch, and every signal he could sense from you. Finally, as his face withdrew, you felt his touch at your entrance, and you clenched your eyes shut, anticipating as if he might hurt you. "Look at me," he whispered, holding one hand against your thigh as you tried to adjust. There was no warning when half of his length entered you with a thrust. Anakin hissed through his teeth just as you cried out in pain. "F... Fuck!" he growled as he felt you tightly gripping him, and tears welled up in the corners of your eyes. "It... It burns..." you whimpered as he leaned in, and you felt his deep breaths against your cheek. "H-hold on. You'll feel it... soon," he whispered, keeping his lips close to your ear. You gritted your teeth as he stood still, a burning sensation growing inside you. Anakin kissed the corners of your mouth, tracing a path where your tears of pleasure streamed. The intense moment flipped on its head when his hand suddenly covered your mouth, anticipating your scream as he thrust completely into you. More tears streamed down your face, and he smiled slightly, seeing how you struggled. "It will be as I promised." he whispered again in your ear and unveiled your face while placing his hand on your waist. With the first thrusts, your moans mingled with sobs, but both of you knew you wanted more. Gradually, you relaxed, and the pain began to intertwine with a pleasure that defied description. You gripped his shoulders tightly, watching your hips collide, and Anakin had no intention of maintaining a steady pace. His heavy breaths and deep moans drove you to ecstasy, and when you could no longer find the strength to scream, you clung to his arms with wild abandon. "Eyes on me." Anakin commanded in a breathless voice, wanting to witness every inch of your excitement. You obeyed, and then his strength and pace quickened, driving you to madness. Anakin growled as your nails dug into his arms, and you didn't even manage to stifle your reflex. The pain you inflicted on him was quickly returned to you as he accelerated and thrust into you with merciless force. But in the midst of it all, you finally began to feel what Anakin had promised you earlier—the perfect ecstasy. "A-Ani..." you mumbled, unable to control your choice of words, and realizing how you had just addressed him, your voice suddenly caught in your throat.

Anakin slowed his thrusts, and tension built up over you. His mechanical hand landed on your throat without warning, and from that moment on, his movements lacked any hint of empathy. He groaned and panted as he watched you gasp for air, his hand pressing onto your throat more forcefully. You felt like you were on the edge. "Master, I'm..." you managed to say, initially intending to apologize, but you had to change that quickly. "Master, I'm cumming..." you continued with a sobbing voice as your eyes rolled back, and a prolonged wave of pleasure surged through your entire body. You choked on your own moans as he continued to fuck you relentlessly, making you feel everything with doubled intensity. His hand around your throat suddenly loosened but began trembling and rested on the bed beside you as he reached his climax. Anakin started panting heavily over you, and through the haze of your own peak, you could hear his intermittent moans as his warm fluids filled your insides. Shivers ran down your entire body, and he collapsed onto your chest, still panting heavily. Chaotic heartbeats coursed through both of you, and your bodies were wet and trembling. Anakin was still inside as he tried to steady his breath on your chest, and you, feeling how heated he was, leaned down to tenderly kiss his forehead. For the next few minutes, the room was filled only with the sounds of your deep breaths, and it was probably one of the most intimate moments of that night. Your hands were still trembling, and there was blood under your nails as you ran your fingers through Anakin's damp, matted hair. as he lay on top of you with closed eyes. You had to admit that, for the first time in your life, you saw him in such a vulnerable and, in his own way, innocent state.

It took him a few more minutes to roll off of you and lay down beside you, so he could wrap his arms around you and gaze deeply into your eyes. "With each time... it will feel even better... And it won't hurt as much." he whispered with an evident sense of exhaustion yet fulfillment in his voice. You nodded, feeling him gently caress the outer side of your thigh.

"Don't leave the Order... At least not for a while longer." he continued, taking you by surprise with his words. "I talked about us... We've agreed that when you become a Knight, we'll still work together. Just like me and Ob..." He didn't have a chance to finish as you passionately kissed him on the lips. "What does that mean?" he inquired, sensing the reasoning behind your reaction.

"I won't," you whispered, almost immediately seeing a sense of relief in his eyes. For You. you added in your thoughts, and even though for some reason, you preferred not to say it out loud, you knew he probably knows what keeps you in the Order. Well... He knows it perfectly.

[sofasoap]

Sofasoap's Call of Duty Fic Rec

Always wanted to make a list of my very subjective CoD fic rec list, and also I promised my good buddy @groguspicklejar ( famous author of Beloved series) a list of fic recs, let me list some of my beautiful mutual's and some amazing writers and artists so they can go binge read.

Edit : I'll keep adding artist/writers on as I go. When my brain cells is functioning.

@saltofmercury -Let's start off with the mother of my Mini MacTavish. The one who made me fell in love and hit the nail in the coffin for CoD fandom.

If you are into König, her " Break-in" series is a must read. check out her Soap fics too :) Masterlist

@floral-force - My bestie! delicious Simon/Ghost fics.

American Hospitality is my favourite. Or honeypot is guarantee making you crave for more :)

Check out their Mando fics too :)

@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world - You want slow burn? check out lovely Bear's "The Roommate Series". Wonderful progression of relationship between Simon and his room mate. Your Friendly Neighbor Soap and Shy reader, OH SO CUTE.

@deadbranch - Spy and Cold war style fics? You are in the right place. The killing moon and Dying sun series. Gut wrenching.

or check out the light hearted None Taken ( personal favourite!), threesome fics? Goth style Reader? Check out their MASTERLIST for full list of goodies.

@brewed-pangolin The president of "Soap Squad" club.

Fireside Whiskey - personal favourite. Soft and thoughtful Soap is just heaven. Kati's page is full of wonderful Soap deliciousness. check it out if you want some Soap fun.

@writeforfandoms  - Jen jen jen jen jen. Multifandom talent. AU Prodigy. But let's focus on the CoD here, Puppy Love - Price and puppy? can't go wrong with that. Born for Greatness and Howlin' For You Shifter!AU is my latest obsession here.

@random-thot-generator - Kris, The princess of Thotland and Thotlandia. Their latest work: A Patient Man - had me all hot and bothered. Sweet sweet Rudy. OH how can you be so sexy.

@jynxmirage, Jynx!!!! the one I blame for falling into Top Gun fandom. but that's not the point :P

Communication is Key - my current obsession :) Soft caring Price, oh give me this Captain price any day...

@as-is-above-so-below  - Oh Gezez, Simon X OC ( Freya ) fic The Captain is utterly brilliant. Angst, suspension, Thirst, smut... you name it, you get it.

@roosterr - my Fellow Nikolai fanatic, check out her "guardian angel"

series, action action action and of course, love story :)

@siilvan - another one of my fellow Nikolai fanatic, Aqua Regia

series , Nikolai the flirt, sexy flirt , complete with smut * smirk *

@homicidal-slvt - How can I forget the spark to my Lastochka series?

and one of my biggest supporter.

Check out their creative CoD Headcanons and full list of CoD works that will guarantee satisfaction.

@nrdmssgs - to round off my Nikolai fanatic club , and also brilliant artist, A heart full of pity series is one of my latest obsession featuring good old Nikolai.

@captainpriceslover - my crack fic inspo buddy ( miss you a lot!!!). the one gifted me ideas of Soap dispensers lol.

aiaigasa (相合傘) - featuring our TF141 sweet boy, Gaz, had my heart melting.

@starstruckmiraclekitty  - You want H/C and scenarios? * falling out of the bag * here is the place to go. :)

@random0lover - you want soft fluffy Soap? Hot Chocolate & Hoodies, you want angsty type of story? Open Wounds and War Paint

you get all with Kat!!!

@lethalchiralium , how can I forget Keri! ( I knew I forgot someone.. argh )

@namedlunagoddess - another 3Drender goddess. OH CHECK OUT HER Sowa Team fic if you are into Gromsko, its HOT SMUTTY DELICIOUS FIC.

The Happiness series, don’t let the title fool ya (well it does bring you happiness reading such talented writing) this story is like washing machine, throws your emotions all over the place, let you grip onto your chair, wanting more.

@mistydeyes so many awesome stories to choose from! My current favourite is "choose your flowers, carefully" Good old Gaz x reader story, and one of my favourite trope - childhood to lovers 🥺 please go check it out!

Now , Some brilliant artists:

@shkretart - This utterly utterly talented person, Price and Nikolai and Simon, will have your nose bleeding within 0.1 seconds.

@ave661 - out of this world 3Drenders always have my eyes popping out of the socket.

@nrdmssgs - mentioned once, should mention again, beautiful art :)

@wombywoo - TF141 boys in their dress uniform? YES PLEASE.

@loneghostwolf oh, another wonderful 3D render artist that bless us with wonderful food of the CoD boys

@hffhifjou - You want rugby boys? You get rugby boys :) and football. and all sort of deliciousness :)

@lululandd  - FROGGY CoD boys!!!!!!!! and wonderful fics too, please check THEM OUT MASTERLIST

I am sorry If I miss out anyone. after 13+ hours at work I am exhausted.

[1-800-cr33py]

Forelsket

(n) the euphoria experience when you first fall in love 

Okay so its not the best, Benadryl making life hard rn TvT

Word count: 3400

TW: It’s HABIT cmon nw, dubcon, he kinda breaks in????? Dom/sub undertones but never stated outright, breeding kind kinda, my bad writing while im sick.

Haven’t wrote smut for a while so this will probably be re-written when Im in my right mind

The taste of you was heavy on his tongue, so much so that every word, every breath was you, and only you. 

Balance. That's what the universe needs, enforced. A never-ending balance that no one, not ever the strongest or oldest of Entities challenged. Where there was light, there shall be dark and vice versa. Habit hated it. He hated seeing people heal, he hated seeing a familiar iridescent form from the corner of his eye. It was a never ending cycle; Habit would bring some undeserved wrath to some poor mortal unfortunate enough to have caught his eye, or maybe it was his hatred for the Slender Man that that pushed him, but nonetheless he’d drag out some unnecessary,torturous game that only he finds entertaining, and there you’d be. When Habit was created, born of hate and trickery; you were also brought forth. A being of an oh so tender light that even he could only stare in a curious awe. You were his balance, always there to counteract whatever damage he’d done. Habit hated you for a while, avoiding you for the longest, trying to reverse whatever you did; and for a while those feelings were mutual. You, still young and naive, believed that this was some kind of sick punishment that you’d somehow earned yourself in the brief moments you’d met the creators. Fos, your creator, a being of an eternal, cold light, caressed your cheek and sent you on your way, giving you favored blessings and best wishes. You were a favorite, a purer being that they’d created to serve as a buffer; sometimes you’d wish you weren’t. Habits, well habits made you sick. He’d toy with mortals like he was a creator himself,a god. And you’d mess with him back all the same, pulling his horn like appendages, calling him out on his name; a constant back and forth you'd both soon tire of.

“ You think you’re so much better than I, don’t you, pretty? “ his voice, rough and condescending, questioned, his many eyes all gazing down at you. 

“ Of course I do, mutt. I am better. ‘ You hated this man, if he even was one. It didn’t matter how many times you changed your form, he’d always make it his mission to make you feel small, weak. You couldn’t take much more after the Dark Ages, too much suffering and not enough time to fix it. You, and your brethren failed for many, many years. Fos, in all their luminal glory, felt pity upon you all, and gave most of you the sanctuary you needed to regain the lost energy and strength you’d lost during the seemingly endless wars and revolutions. It had been 798 years to be exact, and many things changed since that day. Ligo Fos, as your kind had come to be called, were ridded of your old appearances, no matter the differencing in forms. The small, branch like ‘horns’ fell, and your skin became soft, many ranges of colors that still felt limiting. 

‘ We must cater to the mortals, my dear children. ‘ Fos's voice was caring, yet stern. The Creator willed it, so as dutiful servants you must obey, lest you want to be repurposed. It would be alright. 

Time skip

Ligos Fos, elusive creatures known to heal the sick and punish the guilty. Beings of a light so bright that only artists can gaze upon. All these titles boosted your ego. Mortals viewed anything they didn’t understand as a higher being. They viewed your blessings as some mystical power that was your own. Laughable. 

As the sun rose and fell, you spent your days following your hellish counterpart. Trailing behind him wherever he went, fixing his wrongs. It was the late 90s when he caught on. Habit would flick his eyes to your hidden location and smile a cruel,twisted smirk that had only gotten worse than you remember it. Habit had changed, he wasn't a twiggy, short thing made of the darkest ink anymore. He’d grown into what mortals called a ‘man’. He’d taken on a vessel of sorts. A human man, barely reaching 19 summers at this point. You had to admit, he would be attractive once he grew into his looks. This ‘highschool’ and ‘college’ would be stressful, and human hormones would fluctuate often. Habit, or Evan, as he’d been calling himself nowadays, was almost dog-like, always chasing down something he shouldn’t, getting overly excited, etc. etc. His antics were cute to you, making you forget that this wasn’t this Evan person, whoever he was. This was Habit, your Habit. The same creature that mocked you, pulled at your cheeks until they were sore, muddied your outerwear. You felt pity for whoever Evan was, because you knew well enough that he was gone, his body nothing more than a husk for Habit to use and bend until it broke. For three years you did this, slowly getting closer and closer to the thing you’d been made with. Forced a bond in which you didn’t know how to work with or use in any way. 

For the longest it was awkward to say the least. Habit wanted nothing more than to make your life a living hell, doing the most trivial things to irk your nerves for the sake of it. 

“ Your cheeks puff up when you get upset, pretty. Did I upset the pretty dove? Ruffle your feathers? “ he, Evan, all but cackled his rough hands cupping your jaw. You were sure you hated him, but even you, in all your prideful ways, had to admit he was attractive. You scoffed at his statement, retreating out the door, your feet stomping angrily. He’d never let you live this down. Habit would call you brattish, daring you to object and ‘prove his point’; yet some part of you wanted that. A part of you that thought about the young man in facetious ways. Ways that would leave a damp spot in your panties. You suppressed these urges for the longest. Fos found it funny when you consulted them, thinking you were defective, broken. One had to admit, you’ve always been a theatrical type. Fos explained you were mature now, one of the first of their creations to fully mature actually; something that had you preening for a while. Fos sent you back to the mortal realm, with no instructions other than to get used to these urges, for they wouldn’t end now that they’ve started. And stars above they weren't wrong about that one bit. During the early months of spring you suffered. Your lower abdomen ached and your fingers didn’t provide you the relief you needed. After you found out about toys, they only satisfied you for about a year in total. By now, your ‘heats’ had begun to hurt progressively more. 

  ➞break

Habit knew something felt wrong. He felt something gnawing at the pit of his stomach, or a nagging voice in the back of the endless void he called a mind. Then it clicked for him. It was the turning of the seasons. Spring was approaching and he’d forgotten about it.. Habit mentally cursed himself. Quickly bringing the phone to cancel any and all plans or work he may have had the next week and a half. Sure his pockets would hurt for a while but he’d manage. After the first few days he began to feel the effects of his upcoming rut, and something told him it would be bad. His urge to nest and hoard was already something when he wasn’t being pumped full of unwanted hormones, but now? Now he’d be growling at air if he felt his space was being threatened. He’d spend his days shirtless, a pair of sweatpants hung loosely around his waist; a thin layer of sweat covered his body as he fanned himself. Habit’s house was on the verge of freezing, yet he still panted like a dog. What made it so much worse was that his cock ached, the tip a hot red now from past abuse and Habit still wasn’t satisfied. By now he was pushing 21 summers, well the vessel was anyways;  many of the entities Habit had familiarized himself with in the past now sired many cherub faced cambions, hell, a good many knocked up the Ligos they’d been balanced with when they were created alongside. One acquaintance spoke of how pretty her Ligos looked underneath her. Habit’s mind slowly drifted towards the idea of you, and how you’d look beneath his, whining and begging for him to fuck his cum back into your soaked hole, or maybe you’d beg him to stop, tell him you hated him and that he was lucky to even be this close to you in the first place. Habit laughed at the last thought, his cock twitched as he palmed himself through his pants. He’d have you. He needed to have the pleasure of seeing such an elusive, prideful creature reduced to a whimpering, blubbering mess below him, your voice cracking and begging for him to slow down, begging him to breed you. The mere thought of shooting his cum down your sopping hole made a guttural groan leave his throat as he continued to palm himself through his sweatpants. He ached for you, longed for you.

       -with you-

The empty feeling in your stomach was enough to make you whine. As much as you adored your Creator, they did little to help ease the tightness. Your hand was buried between your thighs, fingers soaked with your cum, and yet it still wasn’t enough. You needed something more than just your fingers and toys; you’d brought yourself to orgasm after fucking orgasm and yet you still felt wrong. Your body was slick with sweat at this point, the scent of sex heavy in the air around you. As you bit on the now clipped fingernail, listening to the rain outside the small glass window, sometimes you’d like to think that your savior would waltz out of the treeline to solve all your problems; you’d laugh at the childish thoughts then. Now you wish they would. You continued your daydreaming, oblivious to the creaking floorboards. You smelt him before you saw him. He smelt like teakwood and fire; he smelt like home, safety. 

‘ Habit. ‘ your voice croaked, hoarse from the screaming and whining you’ve done. Habit laughed, his voice gravelly as he continued. 

‘ So this is what my little starlight does in her freetime? Stuffing her cunt like whore? ‘ 

Habit laughed as he kicked himself off the doorframe to stalk closer to your now shaking body. You weren’t scared, but the anticipation, the adrenaline. You could taste it, it was addicting, for once in your life you allowed yourself to become addicted to it. Dark eyes raked across your body, taking note of how your nightwear clung to your sweat covered skin. You looked absolutely delectable like this, and you didn’t even know. Habit was an impatient being already, but what little patience he had left was thinning, the last string so close to popping before he allowed those urges he’d taken so long to suppress. The scent of sex made Habit lick his lips as he crawled atop you, muscles tense as his hands pulled at your sheets. Habit trailed open mouthed kissed down your neck and throat, leaving a trail of bites in his wake, hickeys would be a pain in the ass to cover tomorrow, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care about the past resentment you had for this man, you didn’t care about the past teasing, arguments. Anything. All that mattered right now was him. 

Then he stopped, and gods above you wanted to tear his throat out. 

“ Tell me to stop dove. “ Habit’s voice was hushed, raspy even. He wanted you to tell him to stop, tell him to go fuck himself, find some cheap whore he could dispose of after he was done with them. He wanted you to tell him to go to hell, you weren’t like him, but yet here you were, shoving your head to the side, begging him not to stop. Your thighs pushed apart to fit his body against yours. To Habit, you didn’t want him to stop, no you wanted him to ruin you for anyone else, to leave an imprint of himself on your soul. A guttural growl left Habit’s throat as he bit down on your throat, a hand moving to grip your jaw. 

“ I told you to do something starlight, " the man spoke through gritted teeth, a cruel smile etching its way onto his face. Your eyes locked with his, dark eyes a flurry of emotions. Lust. Need. Somethings else you couldn’t name. To think you’re relearning each other after so long apart, and yet he still remembered which parts made you weak. A smile etched itself on your features just when you settled your hand against Habit’s that still lay resting on your jaw. When you turned your head to gently kiss his palm. 

“ If I wanted you to stop, I would've made you a while ago, Habit. '' your voice was muffled in his palm. “ And right now, I want you to ruin me. “ Habit’s eyes darkened at your words, pulling your hips closer to his, you almost whined at the feeling of his cock through the material of his pants. Habit’s lips were heavy against yours as he dragged his hands down your body, pawing at any exposed flesh he could feel, your soft nightwear being pushed out of the way for his preying hands to feel for more. You felt whole. His touch was electric, leaving sparks wherever his hands found sanctuary. Habit liked toying with his prey, feeding off their fear, their tears; and you were no exception. He’d tease, he’d edge if that's what it took for you to break before him. How long would you last? How long before you were fucked dumb? To braindead to speak coherent sentences? He’d find out. He’d find out if it took him all night and the next day. Habit’s hand slowly found itself between your thighs, the damp spot in your panties making him chuckle. His lips found your throat once again as his fingers traced your slit, gathering up your slick on his fingers before pushing them into your soaked hole. A breathy whine leaving you lips, eyes closing as your head lolled back into your pillow. Habit’s pace was slow, his fingers curling deliciously at that spot that made you want to scream. He wanted you to beg, to put your pride aside and ask him for your release that you craved so desperately. Maybe he’d be nice, maybe he’d set aside his usual cruelty and sadistic want and just give you what you wanted for once! 

“ Fat chance, pretty! Tell me what I want and then you can cum.” Habit was a bastard, he wouldn’t give anybody anything for free, what made you any different. And you gave in. You begged, borderline screamed pleas for him to just let you come undone, the familiar tightness in your stomach threatening to pop; but he didn’t allow it. Habit pried his fingers from your cunt and brought them to his lip. The sight was erotic, taboo. Watching him lick your slick off his fingers made your thighs close, or at least attempt to. Habit groaned and threw his head back, eyes closed as the corners of his mouth made a lopsided grin. “ Gods you taste better than I imagine dove. “ he voiced his praise, your cheeks felt hot as you averted your eyes. “ Please…” a weak plea left your lips. It was almost laughable to Habit, you were throwing a tantrum all because he wouldn’t let you get off? Cute, but he’d be nice just this once. His cock was painfully hard at this point, the tip a burning red as he pulled his pants down just enough to free his member. Your mouth practically watered at the sight, but there’d be another time you’d get to suck him dry. Your panties had long since been discarded, the fabric laying in tattered shreds on your floor somewhere alongside the promise to buy you more. You squirmed, trying to find any friction you could but Habit’s firm hands kept you still, his fingers sure to leave bruises with his grip on your hips. “ No no pretty, tell me what you want. “ he chided, a sadistic grin on his face. His hair clung to his forehead, a sheen of sweat coating his body as his muscles tensed. He was holding back, waiting for those words to fall out of your mouth, and gods was it worth the wait. “ Please gods! Please just fuck me Habit! Use me! I don’t care just let me cum-” your sentence was cut short as Habit thrusted his cock into you without so much as a warning, tears pricking your eyes from the sudan intrusion. Something between a growl and groan left the man’s throat. Your warmth sucked him in. Habit gave you a brief moment to adjust before his pace was quickened, his grip on your hips bruising as your back arched. His intent was to breed you, mark your insides as his. You were his. His to hold, his to kiss, his to breed. The thought of you round with his children made his cock twitch. You’d be such a good mother, such a doting mate. Your sweet sounds filled his ears, urging him on. Habit was running on pure instinct at that moment, no words were spoken between you two, because they didn’t need to be. A hand left your hip to press on your stomach, a toothy smile on his face as he leaned down to kiss away the stray tears that fell from your eyes. You looked so pretty, all fucked out, dazed, and all from his cock. “ Aw is my little dove all fucked out? To dumb on cock to speak now? “ Habit cackled as he left soft slaps to your cheek, and all you could do was nod. Your brain long fried as he fucked his cock into you. Gargled pleas left your lips, yet you didn’t know what you were begging for at this point. For him to stop? Fuck you harder? He didn’t care, all Habit cared about was fucking you full of his kids. Habit groaned as your cunt squeezed his cock, a rough smack landed on your thigh making you jump. His dark eyes met yours as he hissed out a threat “ You better not fucking cum yet. Not until I say so. “. He left no room for objection, so all you could do was whine and take it, cunt fluttering around his cock as he mixed degrading words with his filthy praises. A high-pitched whine left your throat as you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, digging your nails into his flesh and burying your face into his shoulder; your pleas falling on deaf ears. You begged, cried, pleaded for Habit to just let you cum, that you’d do anything. Habit’s voice was hoarse as he laughed, a grunt heaved from his throat. 

Your vision turned white as you came. It took a few moments to come back to your senses and even then they were fried. Everything felt fuzzy almost, hazy. Habit, panting and showering you with sloppy kisses and half-formed praises lay on top of you. His weight was nice, you felt protected and warm. “ You’ll be such a good little mate won’t you? “ he grinned, wiping the stray hairs from your forehead before planting a kiss on it. “ Such a good mother too? Maybe I’ll just keep you plugged so it takes? You’d like that wouldn’t you pretty? You want to make me happy don’t you? Yeah, you do. “ His voice was background noise to you at this point, but his words made you smile. You felt whole, full. No longer longing for something you couldn’t have or couldn’t reach. Habit hummed as he stroked your face, watching you doze every now and then. You’d keep him happy enough for now. And busy.

 “ Oh don’t think I’m done yet, starlight, I’m just gracious enough to give you a break! Say thank you, why don’t you? “