#just really wish it had stuck the landing

[chloe-skywalker]

Nothing Can Happen - Jacaerys Velaryon/Targaryen

Jacaerys x Fem!Stark!Reader

Warnings: GOT

Word count: 988

Summary: Jace fall’s in love with Cregon Stark’s twin sister.

Authors Note: Hope you enjoy ! I wrote this before season 2 even had a release date. Reader is supposed to be Cregon Stark's twin sister.

Masterlist

House Of The Dragon Masterlist

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“Welcome to Winterfell Jacaerys Targaryen.” Y/n greeted as she watched the prince land his dragon and dismount before he approached her.

“Wish it was under different circumstances.” Jacaerys said as he approached who he could only believe was Y/n Stark. Rumors didn’t do her beauty justice he thought.

“Don’t we all?” She agreed but Y/n sadly believed the seven kingdoms may never be at peace. “We know why you are here.”

“My Mother-” he started but Y/n held her hand up to stop his prepared speech.

“Is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. We stand behind your mother. We will fight with your family.” Y/n smiled having already known what kind of speech he was going to give and just save him the time.

“Thank you. It’s appreciated.” Jace felt relieved that he wouldn’t have to convince them or make any deals. If only it was that easy every time.

“Our father swore to Rhaenyra. We will honor that. Honor means something to us here. And she was named heir. Viserys never changed his mind or made a formal change. We won’t stand with the greens.” Y/n stated to him confidently. 

“Again. Appreciated.” he nodded at her.

Jace kept glancing at the direwolf at her side and it made her let out an amused laugh as she noticed. “You can pet her. She won’t hurt you.”

“I-I’m good.” He answered nervously.

“You can ride a dragon but not pet a wolf?” Y/n teased him amused at his reactions.

“I grew up with dragons.” Jace points out.

“I grew up with wolves. But I’d go up and touch your dragon.” Y/n shrugged teasing him more. She had decided it was fun to poke at him, in a friendly respectful way of course.

“Then you are braver than me.” Jace state’s smiling at her. He believed her and he could see in her eyes that she was confident when it came to what she was saying. Jacaerys had also realized in these few short minutes he enjoyed seeing her smile.

“Would you like a tour of Winterfell? My brother would’ve been here but he’s stuck doing some preparation.” Y/n offered with a more relaxed tone with the prince.

“I would love to see Winterfell.” Jace smiled, enjoying how she treated him as if war wasn’t looming.

^     ^     ^

“I’ve noticed you getting all friendly with the Targaryen Boy.” Cregon say’s breaking the silence between him and his sister as they took their direwolves to the creek nearby.

“Just being friendly with an alley.” Y/n tells him not even looking up from the creek as she answered her brother. She didn’t want to see the look she knew would be on his face.

“You like him.” Cregon stated his thoughts on their closeness, after all he knew his sister better than anyone else.

“Cre-”

“It’s fine with me. I like him, he’s a good man.” he interrupted her.

“Nothing will ever happen.” She shook her head glancing at him. She expected a different reaction from him but she shouldn't be surprised he was always supportive of her and wanted her to be happy in life.

“Why won’t you let yourself be happy?” It broke his heart to watch his sister do this to herself. 

“He’s betrothed.” Y/n turned to look at him & before she could get any more emotional she looked away and shook her head. “Nothing will ever happen.” 

“Fuck.” Cregon sighed, something always stood in Y/n’s way and it really angered him sometimes.

“It can’t go anywhere but friendship.” Y/n stated effectively ending the conversation. Turning back to look at her reflection in the creek's water. She did not want to let this affect her, it was never a possibility to begin with so why did she let herself get so attached to begin with.

^     ^     ^

“It has been a pleasure staying here. Thank you for your hospitality.” Jacaerys thanked as he got ready to leave back to Dragonstone.

“It was our pleasure. We’ll be ready when the time comes.” Cregon held his arm out.

“The crown appreciates your loyalty.” Jace shook forearms with Cregon sending their deal. Their loyalty.

“Always.” Cregon smiled before walking far enough away to give the prince and his sister some privacy.

“I’ll miss you.” Jacaerys broke the silence between them first.

“I’ll miss you too, you’ve become a great friend. Prince Jacaerys.” Y/n gives him her best smile she could given the circumstances.

“Y/n-” He tries to speak out, not liking the fact that she called him only a friend.

“Jace. This, us. It can’t go anywhere. You're betrothed, and that’s all there is to it.” Y/n tell’s him what they both know to be true. Even if they wished differently. But they couldn’t stand in the way of their duties.

“I will talk to my mother. I promise.” Jacaerys wanted to keep what they had going, he didn’t mean to fall in love with her on his visit but he did. He admired that she was trying to keep thing’s respectable. Let him go even if it hurts her.

“Don’t promise that. Don’t give out false hope.” Y/n shook her head with tears filling her eyes, but she would not let them fall. At least not till she was alone.

“I promise. I really do.” he did not want her to give up on them, on what they felt growing between the two of them. But even he knew there was a slim chance.

“It was nice meeting you Prince Jacaerys.” Y/n gave the best smile she could muster at him. It was obvious she was trying to distance herself emotionally.

It was clear to Jace that she wouldn’t change her mind without proof they could be together. Jacaerys was determined to talk to his mother about this once he got back. He had to try.

Taglist:

@padawancat97 @maryvibess @misspendragonsworld @gruffle1

@starkleila

[billpottsismygf]

73 Yards

I have slightly mixed feelings on this one, but what it did well it did brilliantly. The episode was beautifully shot with a fantastically creepy atmosphere throughout. The Welsh landscape, the close shots, the out of focus semper distans, the mystery of what was being said. Millie Gibson's performance throughout was stellar and this is the most invested I've felt in her character so far. I did miss Ncuti's presence somewhat, but it says a lot that she was able to carry the episode on her own and I do love when the format gets shaken up occasionally and we get a Doctor-lite episode.

I loved Kate's brief appearance and the way it sold the fact that this was a very serious situation. You think UNIT might be able to help here, but Ruby is once again left alone. The themes of abandonment in this one were incredibly potent and really tie into the themes of the series. Unsurprisingly, one of the most effective and upsetting parts of the episode was Ruby's mum also being affected by the mysterious woman. Her anguished screams for her mum were really quite harrowing, as was that awful comment about her birth mother not wanting her.

It also got far darker than I would expect in a Doctor Who episode. The far-right politician and the threat of nuclear war was plenty, but what was done to Marti was absolutely chilling, as was Ruby's apology for not doing anything. It gets away with it because it's all through implication, but that almost makes it more hard hitting. You don't always need to see the monster in action to know what it's doing. It also reminds me of my much younger self not picking up on the Master beating Lucy Saxon until I was a teenager.

The way time began to speed along was actually quite shocking to begin with - I actually gasped when we saw the 25th birthday cards - and it kept bringing to mind various other episodes where companions have been abandoned either in the real world or another timeline/reality, especially things like The Girl Who Waited, Turn Left, Forest of the Dead, The Lie of the Land, World Enough and Time etc. That things get undone at the end was again a little reminiscent of a few of them, but this is also where we come to my criticisms of the episode, because - while I loved the experience of watching it - the ending feels tacked on in a way that is very unsatisfying.

There were a number of things that just never get explained. For a minor example, why did the Doctor disappear? Disturbing the fairy circle released Mad Jack (I'll come onto him) and also made the Doctor disappear? And also made the TARDIS lock in a way that couldn't be opened with Ruby's key? I'm not as bothered by this as the below, but it feels messy and like an attempt to do a Turn Left without an actual reason for the Doctor to be gone.

A bigger gripe is Ruby being the following lady. That on its own would have been fine, but that combined with other elements just frustrates me. Mainly, if the following lady was Ruby, what is it she says to get people to run away? I don't mind things being left to the imagination - for instance, I quite like that we don't get an explanation for why she has to be 73 yards away; I can infer that that's got something to do with the fairy circle - but it appears that whatever she says specifically makes people think there's something horrifying about Ruby.

What could Old Ruby possibly say to that end and why would she? And why would the same thing make a Prime Minister resign? If we had never found out who she was, I would have been perfectly happy to infer that she was a force of some kind that drives people mad, but it's Ruby! Knowing who she is but not what she does or how or why she does it is the worst way round. I want to know neither or both, or possibly the latter but not the former, but this way round just frustrates me.

On that note, the friend I was watching with pointed out that, as she was dying, elderly Ruby had very short hair and suddenly has long hair when she becomes the semper distans lady. A small detail, perhaps, but one that further muddles the conclusion. Why did her hair change? Where did the coat come from? It's a different actress as well and, even at that distance, you can kind of tell. Did Old Ruby just end up embodying an existing spirit to do with the fairy circle? If so, I would have liked that to be a lot clearer. If not, why does she look so different?

Okay, so, Mad Jack. Who or what is Mad Jack? Is he a spirit of some kind that possesses Roger ap Gwilliam? Was he always Roger ap Gwilliam? Does Roger ap Gwilliam exist without him? If Roger ap Gwilliam does not exist without Mad Jack, how come the Doctor still mentions him? If Roger ap Gwilliam does exist without Mad Jack, what is changed by the Doctor stepping on the fairy circle?

In the version of the timeline we end up on (where the Doctor doesn't step in the fairy circle but Roger ap Gwilliam is still mentioned by him as a dangerous Prime Minister), here are a few possibilities and why they don't work for me:

Does he still become Prime Minister and get taken down another way? Perhaps, but it's not like Turn Left where we know the problems would have been stopped by the Doctor (who's not here). Without Ruby's infiltration and semper distans lady, what stops him? And why was that not able to stop him in the timeline we witnessed?

Is he less dangerous? The second time around of the opening conversation we don't get the line about the brink of nuclear war, though only because Ruby interrupts him to point out the woman, but maybe we can infer that this time he's a dangerous Prime Minister but not that dangerous? That seems quite weak and unclear, though, and seems to disregard the horror of the Marti stuff.

Does the timeline only change after the Doctor's comments about him being a dangerous Prime Minister? He does say that before stepping (or not stepping) in the fairy circle both times. I might be happy to assume that Roger ap Gwilliam never comes to power after that diverging moment has passed, except that things have already changed before the Doctor mentions him because Ruby says she's been to Wales three times. Maybe they've changed a bit but not enough until the moment she stops him from stepping on it, but that is not at all clear.

If it's any of these (or none of them), that's really confusing! It's just so messy and unclear. It would have been a simple fix, too! Keep everything the same and just add in a line as they're walking away at the end along the lines of "thank goodness he never got into power; people never found him that convincing". That would have clarified a) things have changed since a few seconds ago b) that Mad Jack is what allowed him to get to power and c) in this timeline, that won't happen and Ruby won't need to stop him.

Despite all my complaints, I did really love watching this episode. It's just so carelessly wrapped up, as if they didn't think about the implications of the otherwise very well told story. I'll be interested to rewatch it and see if my complaints bother me more or less on second viewing. I really want to love this episode because there were so many fantastic elements, but it just makes all the inconsistencies and loose threads and muddled logic particularly frustrating because they were only another draft or two away from being solved.

Misc small things

No theme tune! I feel robbed! Maybe it was meant to be part of the vibe that we're not in the usual timeline, but come on. It could easily have been slotted in when she left the TARDIS the first time or before she got to the pub!

Other episodes I thought of: Extremis with warning other versions of yourself; The Hungry Earth/Cold Blood with waving at future versions of yourself that disappear when things change; Journey to the Centre of the TARDIS with weird timelines and future selves and things being undone; Last Christmas with the companion becoming elderly; Turn Left for the vibes of "there's something on your back"; Under the Lake/Before the Flood with a silent message, since it looked like the woman was trying to sign things to Ruby; and The Sound of Drums/Last of the Timelords with the triple whammy of the companion having to 1) set off on their own to 2) take down a prime minister and 3) have time reverse.

It's also got a good old bootsrap paradox in it, which doesn't bother me in the way of the above complaints, but for the sake of completionism: How was Ruby warned about the future when that future hasn't happened? Would have loved Twelve to briefly pop his head in and explain it for us.

It's interesting that the snow stopped throughout this version of her life. It also seemed to snow while she was on her way to the pub.

Kate's comment about how "this timeline might be suspended along your event" was interesting and I wonder if it connects with the snow stopping.

For the first time I actually recognised Susan Twist when she appeared, but I'm not sure I would have done without Ruby realising she recognised her. I liked that! It felt very Boom Town and recognising Bad Wolf coming up again.

There was a little cameo from Mrs Flood.

[poppyseed799]

Confession that will get me cancelled: I will sometimes reference super mario logan videos cuz I used to watch some. and they were honestly really funny if you ignored the problematic bits.

[cillianmurphyygf]

i think i'm in love with you

ꕥ luke castellan x afab!reader

warnings: descriptions of wounds + blood, allusions to sex but no actual smut, shitty writing (i havent wrote a fanfic in multiple years), not proofread cuz im way too lazy, (y/n) isn't used at all in this idk i almost like reading fanfic better without it

summary: you wake up in the middle of the night to strange noises. you find luke outside, with a deep wound in his side. you take him to the lake to take care of him. unfortunately for you, luke's in a teasing mood.

word count: 2.7k

You awoke suddenly to strange noises. Soft groans fell through the walls of your cabin. At first, you assumed it to be something you should be careful not to walk in on. But, as your head cleared up more as you fully woke up, it sounded more like someone who was in pain. 

Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you slowly pulled the covers off of your body and stepped into a pair of soft slippers. You carefully weaved through the various beds in the dark towards the door. The groans continued, rendering you more concerned and nervous. You quietly eased the door open, wincing at every squeak it made. You peeked your head outside, searching for the source of the noise.

Through squinted eyes, your attention eventually landed on a certain Hermes boy laid down in the grass. Luke. You quickly shut the door, completely forgetting about keeping quiet, and tip-toe ran across the grass towards the boy. You and Luke had been friends for quite a while. You arrived at camp a month or so after him, and he was the most welcoming one there. While you remained unclaimed in the Hermes cabin for a few months, it didn’t really hurt as much while you were with Luke. He was the perfect distraction and a great friend, although you had begun to wish for something more.

“Luke!” You whisper yelled, causing him to practically jump a foot off the ground. Looking towards the startling voice, he realized it was you. He quickly sat up, his hand placed on his chest as he tried his best to calm his suddenly erratic breathing.

“Oh, thank gods, it’s just you,” he laughed breathlessly, suddenly wincing and placing his hand on his side. His flushed face turned down toward his wound before he threw his head back again, hissing in pain.

“What happened?!” You exclaimed in a panic, running to close the last piece of distance between you both. You quickly fell to your knees next to him, trying to get a good look at whatever was hidden underneath his hand. He attempted to laugh it off but immediately winced and groaned. His hand remained on his side, hiding whatever had happened. “Luke I’ve gotta see..” you tried.

“I’m fine,” he responded, dismissively. He gave you a tightlipped smile in an attempt to reassure you. It did quite the opposite. You reached your hand to pull his away from his side.

“You’re not fine Luke-” His free hand grasped your wrist tightly, preventing you from moving yours any closer to his wound. You stayed silent and unstill, unsure of the situation. In your moment of stillness, your eyes raked over his hand wrapped tightly around yours. The veins in his hand and forearm looked so perfect, especially under the soft moonlight. You wondered what his hand would look like wrapped around your-

“Hey!” Luke snapped his fingers in front of your face, trying to regain your attention.

“Huh?” You responded, clueless and still in a daze, your eyes stuck on his hand around yours. You could have sworn you saw a sly smirk adorn his face from the corner of your eye but you brushed it off. You were tired, you were probably just seeing things. You snapped out of your trance, looking back at his face, confused about everything. “Luke, you’ve gotta let me help you-”

“Princess, I-”

“I have no idea what you did or what happened to you, but I’m worried and you’re being so confusing right now..” You trailed off, avoiding his eyes for a moment. Princess. You hated (loved) when he used that nickname for you. It gave you hope that he could ever feel the same way about you. You heard Luke sigh.

“Okay, I just got in a bit of a fight with an Ares kid.. he pulled a knife on me, got me in the side.. I was clumsy, made a mistake,” he removed his hand from your wrist, prompting you to reconnect your eye contact. “I’m fine and I’ll be more careful next time.” He smiled, trying to dismiss your worries yet again.

“Can you show me?” You asked tentatively. He looked at you and nodded. You noticed that same smirk from earlier, only softer and more hidden. Maybe you hadn’t been imagining things. You watched his hand reach down to the hem of his shirt. Oh shit. You had not thought about that. You internally facepalmed. You were so fucked. His fingers wrapped around the bottom seam of his shirt as he pulled it up about halfway. Your eyes immediately darted to his wound. A seemingly deep gash ran from about the bottom of his ribs to the top of his pelvis. Blood trickled along his already blood covered skin. Oh it looked bad. You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, a nervous habit. 

As you examined the bloody gash, your eyes had other ideas. Your gaze slowly moved on to take in his toned abdomen. He had nice abs, prominent, but not so much like those crazy American bodybuilders. They gave you the creeps. His were just the perfect shape, size, and.. everything about him was perfect. While his side was doused in his own blood, the rest of his abdomen was covered in scattered beads of sweat. He looked good. Like really good. Luke’s sharp intake of breath broke you out of your trance. You quickly cleared your throat, hoping he hadn’t noticed you had been examining the rest of his body instead of his injury. 

“I’d ask if you like what you see but.. I’m in a bit of a predicament currently.” Luke chuckled, referring to the bloody gash. Your face flushed red. Shit, he noticed. You fumbled over your words, trying to form a coherent sentence. He watched you, amused, but still very evidently in pain. You abruptly stood up, offering Luke your hand.

“You got a kit or something I can use?” You asked as you carefully pulled him to his feet. His arm landed to rest over your shoulders. You felt the breath leave your body. He was so close. His body heat radiated heavily onto your already heated body. You hoped he couldn’t feel how hot you are, or how loud and hard your heart was beating. His quiet groan brought you back to your senses.

“Yeah I’ve got a kit hidden in the trees near the beach.” He finally answered. You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Why.. there?” You asked, genuinely confused. Luke looked down at you as if you should have already known.

“For times like these.” He replied, as if it were obvious. You just shrugged and let him slowly lead you to the beach. The trek through the grass proved a lot more difficult than you had expected. Random bumps and holes in the dirt caused you both to almost fall multiple times.

“Here,” Luke spoke and pointed a few feet in front of you. You nodded and slowly lowered him to the ground, leaning him against the tree. Your hands rummaged and dug through the dirt in search of Luke’s medical kit. Your fingernail eventually scratched along a hard, plastic surface. You dug your hands further into the dirt to pull the case out of the ground.

“I got it!” You sighed in relief. Your hands were becoming increasingly tired from all of the digging. You sat next to Luke, opening the latches of the small box. He smiled at you, watching your every move, completely mesmerized by you. You grabbed the small bottle of rubbing alcohol and popped it open. You opened your mouth to speak, looking up at Luke, only to find him already looking back at you. You quickly looked away, your face flushing a deep crimson. You took a deep breath before allowing yourself to actually speak.

“I’m gonna need you to hold your shirt up above the cut, if you’re comfortable.” You looked back up at Luke, nervously waiting for his response. You shouldn’t have been that nervous, you were just tending to his wound, nothing else. But still, the idea of asking him to lift up his shirt and reveal his really nice abdomen embarrassed you a lot.

“Yeah of course.” He replied in a suddenly husky, low voice. It caught you off guard, causing even more heat to rush to your cheeks.. and to the spot between your legs. He grasped the hem of his orange shirt and pulled it up, revealing the wound again.

“Okay.. this is gonna hurt, but I’ve gotta clean it out somehow.” You warned, slowly starting to pour the rubbing alcohol over the cut. Luke nodded in acknowledgement, hissing immediately as the strong liquid hit his skin. You hadn’t really treated all too many wounds in your lifetime, let alone a cut as deep and bloody as this one. You hoped you were doing it right and you weren’t making it worse. Luke’s harsh groans and hisses weren’t aiding your stressed mind. Throughout the few minutes you spent drenching his side in rubbing alcohol, you noticed him drop his shirt a few times, muttering apologies, saying his hands were having trouble keeping it up. You brushed it off each and every time it happened. 

Once you finally deemed it enough rubbing alcohol, you moved away from his abdomen, grabbing the cap of the bottle. Your shaky hands tried closing the bottle but to no avail. You were stressed and embarrassed, and your entire body was shaking way too much. Luke’s warm hands grasped yours.

“Hey,” He whispered, grabbing your attention. You looked up at him. “I’ve got it.” He smiled at you, and carefully took the bottle from your palms to close it himself. You whispered your thanks under your breath, so quiet, you almost couldn’t hear it yourself. You reached back into the medical kit to pull out a cloth and an antiseptic wipe. You placed your hand on Luke’s cheek. Red slowly started to creep up his neck and into his cheeks, unbeknownst to you.

“I’ll be right back, I’m just gonna wet the cloth.” You told him, smiling and standing up. 

“You’re too good to me.” Luke said, in that low voice, again. You turned quickly to hide your blush, making your way to the shore, as quick as you could. You dipped the cloth in the cold water and rung it out. You jogged back to Luke at the tree, dropping back onto your knees next to him. You lightly dabbed the cloth around his cut, trying to pick up and clean up the blood all over him. You did your best to avoid pressing into the actual cut, but failed a few times. Luke tried his best to keep his cool, but you could see how much he was hurting. You felt awful. 

Occasionally, Luke would let the hem of his shirt slip out of his hands, obscuring your cleaning abilities. He would apologize profusely, telling you he had no idea why it kept happening. When you would shrug and go back to cleaning the blood, a smug smile would pull at his lips. You were so clueless.

You continued to clean the excess blood off of Luke’s body. His shirt would drop every couple minutes. He would apologize, and you would get back to work. This went on for a little over ten minutes.

You placed the cloth at your side, actually proud of what you had got done so far. You had managed to clean up the majority of the blood from his cut, and it was looking a lot better now. All that was left for now was to wrap it up and then send him for Ambrosia to finish the healing process. 

As you grabbed the roll of bandage from the box, you watched Luke drop his shirt yet again. He sighed dramatically and threw his hands up in defeat.

“I just can’t keep my shirt up. Guess I’m just gonna have to take the whole thing off.” He sighed and grabbed the hem, pulling it up and over his head. You were practically drooling as you watched. The way his muscles flexed when he ripped his shirt off.. it was so.. hot. You could now see his entire toned abdomen, and his chest. Your face was surely beet red at this point. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. 

You had no idea in your trance, but Luke was watching the way you looked at him, a smug smile adorning his perfect face. He loved the way you reacted to his body. He thought you were the cutest thing. It was fun to see you all flustered like this. Eventually, by some miracle you were able to pull your eyes away from Luke’s body to focus on bandaging him up. You hastily unraveled the thin cloth, trying to ignore the burning feeling of Luke’s eyes on you, watching your every move. 

You leaned over his body, trying to reach to start the wrapping. It turned out to be really difficult, as you could barely reach. You sat back and sat there for a moment, trying to clear your head and figure out your next plan of action.

“I’m not sure how I’m gonna..” You admitted quietly, embarrassed. Luke looked up at you with a very clear and obvious smirk on his face. This worried you. You had no idea what he was planning, and you did not want to make a fool of yourself. 

To your immense surprise, Luke’s hands grabbed onto your hips and lifted you off the ground, making you squeal. He sat you down on his lap, in a straddle position. You were so close. Too close. The embarrassingly warm area between your legs sat right over his. You prayed and prayed he couldn’t feel it. You would never live it down.

“That’ll do it.” Luke smiled and pat your thigh encouragingly, causing you to let out a sharp squeak. You gulped and tried to focus on the bandage again. Your shaky hands brought the edge of the bandage to his back as you wrapped it around his torso, multiple times over. You wrapped it tight, but not too tight as to suffocate Luke.

Although, at that point it wouldn’t have mattered. Luke was completely focused on making you a flustered mess. The intense pain he was in was in the very back of his mind. He could barely feel it at this point. He was having way too much fun with you.

After the most painfully long two minutes of your life, you had finally finished wrapping Luke up. You let out a huge breath you didn’t know you were holding, feeling a weight drop off of your shoulders. You had never felt so stressed and embarrassed in your life. You hoped your work would hold up well and you had done it right.

Luke’s arms wrapped around your torso, pulling you in even closer. His nose brushed against yours as he looked up at you through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Thanks for your help,” he whispered in his gravelly voice. He leaned in even closer. “Means a lot.” He mumbled, almost against your lips. Your heart rate was through the roof. He was so close. So close you could kiss him. You could feel his breath mingling with yours. The warmth between your legs only continued to grow now. Luke chuckled lowly, watching the thoughts flow through your mind.

Luke moved his lips ever closer to yours. Dropping to a deep whisper, he spoke again. “I think.. I’m in love with you..” His lips moved slowly to capture yours. Your eyes widened, before you closed them, easing into his kiss. 

Your lips moved in perfect unison, as if made for eachother. Your hands moved to grip his dark curls. You softly pulled, feeling him moan into your mouth. Luke pulled away, moving his lips to your neck. Nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. He was sure to leave many marks on your delicate skin.

“I-” You were cut off by your own moans as Luke’s hands moved to rest on your breasts while his kisses along your neck became harsher. He slowly pulled away from your neck, keeping his hands on your chest.

“What were you gonna say, baby?”

“I.. love you as well.” You replied, breathless. Luke smirked, crashing his lips into yours again.

[seokgyuu]

You might have a thing for Seokmin’s hands. Seokmin, your best friend. Who you definitely do not see as anything else! Really. Not at all! And he obviously doesn’t see you as anything else either. Like, for real! … Right?

Pairing: Seokmin x Fem!Reader

Genre: Best friends to lovers, Smut (MDNI!).

Requested: yes, thanks sweet anon!!

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Going through my requests right now and this one stuck out because I too love Seokmin’s hands. I mean… look at them!! Thanks for the request lovely anon and sorry that it took literal months for me to finish this (yikes).

tagging: @wongyuseokie, @the-boy-meets-evil, @multi-kpop-fanfics, @onlyseokmins, @dkakapizzaboy, @honeykyeom, @drunk-on-dk, @cheolism, @wooahaeproductions <3 just because i want to, hihi.

Smut Warnings under the cut!

Smut Warnings: masturbation (f), finger sucking, fingering, dirty talk

In your many years on this planet most of these have been spent being best friends with Lee Seokmin. 

At this point you probably knew him better than he knew himself and vice versa. There was nothing the two of you didn’t share, sometimes being mistaken for a couple when in reality all you feel for each other is nothing but platonic admiration. You love each other, but platonically! You sleep in each other's arms most nights, but platonically! Sometimes you wish he would hold you a little tighter and sometimes he wishes he could touch you in places he shouldn’t, but it is all, of course, platonically!

In fact, your relationship is so platonic that you are currently holding your beloved vibrator to your throbbing clit staring at a picture of his hands. His beautiful hands, his long fingers graced by rings you had gifted him because, fuck, did you love seeing him with jewellery you had given him. Especially rings. 

The high you’re craving as much as you feel guilty is nearing and you arch your back, hips chasing the feeling of the vibrations on your bundle of nerves - and when the thought of Seokmin above you with his fingers fucking you open, rings on and all, occupies your mind once more, not leaving any space for a guilty conscience, you finally come undone. You sigh his name over and over, riding out your orgasm and once your vibrator is off and your panties are back in place, you slowly start to realize what you’ve just done. Again. How many times have you told yourself you wouldn’t do this again? How many times have you sworn that Seokmin was your best friend and nothing else? 

Best friends don’t think about the other when they get off. Best friends don’t crave the other’s touch when they aren’t around. Best friends don’t want to get finger-fucked by the other! 

Maybe, you think, you aren’t Seokmin’s best friend after all because all of these points apply to you. With a groan you lock your phone and swing your legs off the bed, still feeling a bit dizzy from your orgasm. Just when you are about to head to the bathroom, you hear knocks on your front door. 

Frowning, you look at the clock hanging on the wall across from you. It’s one o’clock in the morning, who would ever- another knock. More vehemently this time. You blink a few times, not even registering that you’re wearing nothing but one of Seokmin’s shirts and your panties when you open the door. 

Glossy brown eyes look at you, reddened cheeks and lips on the face you think about more than you should. 

“Seokmin?!” 

“You’re- you’re wearing my shirt.”

He is inside your apartment with the door closed behind you in mere seconds. His hands somehow landed on your waist and you are now stuck between him and the cold wall, your eyes big and round looking up at him.

“What are you doing here, what- what’s going on?”

“I kissed someone,” he breathes and you hate that the words make your heart drop, “I kissed this girl when I was at a club with Mingyu and- fuck, I kissed her and I somehow realized that I don’t want to kiss her.”

“Okay, that’s okay, Seok. You stopped kissing her then, right?”

When he shakes his head, you feel another pang of pain inside your chest.

“I kissed her some more, she asked me to go home with her and I was already on my way out, ready to get into the cab and let her take me to her place, but…”

The way he looks at you, the way his fingers dig into your skin. He doesn’t say it, and you don’t want to ask. 

“You’re drunk.” You somehow stumble out, freeing yourself from his grasp and instead walking over to the kitchen, to get your best friend some water.

“I didn’t even drink that much.” You hear the pout before you see it, turning around to face him, your eyes settling on his body leaning against the doorframe. 

“You should still drink some water, Seok, alright?”

He doesn’t try to stop you when you hand him the glass and he even takes two big sips before putting it down.

“Why didn’t you call before you came here?” You ask then, leaning against the kitchen counter. 

“Phone’s dead.” He explains and you sigh, pulling a hand over your face.

“So, you didn’t tell Soonyoung you’re not coming home tonight?”

“I-,” Seokmin starts but then realizes he, in fact, hadn't told his roommate he was going to be gone for the night. 

“Lee Seokmin,” you shake your head at him, “get my phone from my room and text him, I bet he’s dying of worry right now. You know how he is.”

As much as Seokmin wishes it wasn’t true - it is. Soonyoung his (other) best friend and roommate is overbearing as much as he is kind. Pouting once more, he turns around to walk into your bedroom, seeing your phone laying on top of your bed. For a split second he feels guilty - had he woken you up? Gnawing on his bottom lip, he rids himself of his coat and hangs it over your desk chair, also taking off his shoes in the process and putting them next to yours by the closet, before finally grabbing your phone and unlocking it with the code he just so happens to know. 

He stops in his steps. Stares at the screen. Then, he blinks a few times and feels his body react right away. Electricity shoots through him and explanations as of why he is seeing what he’s seeing, explanations that have his stomach flip and his heart triple in speed, that have his imagination go wilder than he’d usually allow himself around you.

“Y/N.”

“Did you not find it?” You call back from the kitchen, getting out a pot to make some late night ramen, only to turn around and look at him and feel your face fall. He is holding your phone up for you to see the screen, his zoomed in hands still on your display. Fuck. 

Coming up with an explanation as of why the fuck his hands are on your screen at almost 2 o’clock in the morning leaves your brain blank. There is only so much you can say that isn’t totally weird - and even then, it still is. 

But something about the way Seokmin is looking at you isn’t even allowing you to open your mouth and stutter out a lame excuse. 

“I want you to be honest with me,” he begins calmly, slowly walking over to you now, “why are my hands zoomed in on your phone screen in the middle of the night, darling?”

The pet name bolts through you and leaves your brain even more blank. Suddenly, you don’t know how to speak, how to think. Yet, Seokmin seems to know that he caught you in something he didn’t even know it was possible to find you in. 

“Y/N, be honest,” he repeats when he is back in front of you, when you’re caged in between him and the kitchen counter, when all that’s between you is the little space he has left, “do you have a thing for my hands?”

Shit. He’s so close now, your phone discarded on the counter next to you and you still don’t remember how to speak. It’s stupid, you know it is, he’s probably just teasing you, just trying to get a reaction out of you before he laughs it off. 

Just that he doesn’t. 

Seokmin doesn’t move, instead he comes closer, one of his insanely pretty hands softly grabbing your chin, turning your head to make you look straight up at him. God, his eyes are sparkling. Everything about him seems to be sparkling. 

“Answer me, love.”

You wish you could, really. But your mouth is dry and your body is burning and all you can focus on is the hand on your face. So, instead of verbally answering you, very slowly, nod. The smug smile that spreads on Seokmin’s face is something no one could have prepared you for. 

“Interesting. Let’s see.” He moves his hand up just slightly, thumb brushing against your lips and you can’t help but drop open your mouth, sucking it right into your wet heat. The moan that escapes him catches both of you by surprise and has you pressing your thighs together. Seokmin doesn’t speak, he just looks at you, letting you suck in his thumb with wide eyes that have his cock twitching wildly in his pants. 

He begins thrusting his thumb into your mouth, saliva building up and beginning to trickle down out of the corners of your lips, his eyes glued on your face. When you begin to swirl your tongue around him, he breathes out a strained sigh, quickly replacing his thumb with is middle and index finger. 

Now it’s you who’s moaning. How many nights had you stayed awake with your fingers inside your cunt, with your vibrator against your clit, with you humping your pillow, imagining exactly this. Sucking on his finger’s as he fucked you senseless with either his other hand or his cock. 

“Fuck, baby, you really do have a thing for my hands,” he mutters, perhaps even more to himself than you and he instructs you to suck on them, his free hand sneaking around you, pressing you against him flat on your ass. 

Nothing has ever been as much of a turn on as this. Seokmin’s fingers in your mouth, his other hand squeezing your ass as he is very obviously rubbing himself against you, his erection visible through his pants and hard to miss against your lower stomach. He doesn’t speak for a while, just enjoying the feeling of having all the power over you, something he had never thought possible, bathing in the knowledge you want him just as much as he wants you. 

When he deems it enough, he pulls his fingers out, thick saliva connecting them to your red lips and he groans at the sight, quickly bringing the fingers down and straight to where you need them the most. He doesn’t wait, doesn’t tease, instead he slips his hand into your folds and feels them, coating the two fingers he just pulled out of your mouth in your juices, reveling in your small noises. 

“Want them inside of you, don’t you, baby girl? Want me to fuck you with them?” 

It’s merely a whisper coming out of his mouth and you whimper, nodding your head yes once more, Seokmin chuckling as he leans forward, his breath hitting your face.

“Need you to use your words, okay?” He says, lips touching your cheek and you swallow hard, hips bucking to meet his fingers.

“I-,” you stutter, “I, f-fuck, Seokmin, please-,”

“Please what, darling?”

“Pl-please p-put them i-inside,” you cry out, your hands gripping the material of his shirt, eyes begging him to do as you asked. 

“God, you’re so desperate, might just make me cum in my pants. Gonna fuck your pretty pussy with my hands while you’re wearing my shirt, fuck,” his voice is breathy against your ear and you’re just about to beg him again, when he finally does what you’ve been dreaming about for years. 

The second he breaches your hole, you already feel like the gates of heaven just opened up for you. His fingers are like the drug you knew you’d get addicted to once you’ve got a taste of them and the second they are fully inside you, you fear nothing will ever come close again. Your body reacts by shaking uncontrollably, your pussy sucking him in as far as possible, Seokmin’s moans in your ear the sweetest sounds you’ve ever heard. As his fingers begin to thrust inside of you, his lips begin to kiss your neck, up to your cheek and finally your lips, both of you sighing in relief when you finally take one step further. Because somehow this is more intimate than his fingers fucking you. 

This could have easily been mistaken as a tipsy Seokmin helping his best friend blowing off steam by finally giving into her desire for him, but the second he kisses you both of you know this is going to be so much more. 

Your arms move to wrap around his neck as you spread your legs further for him, giving him better access and more room to move his hand as he continues his thrusts, your whimpers against his lips skilfully getting caught by his tongue.

“So fucking wet and tight, such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” He mumbles against your mouth and you nod, pulling him closer, lips back on his to begin yet another heated kiss. The two of you make out, one of your legs around his waist as he picks up his speed, thumb finding your clit no problem, causing you to arch your back and pant into the kiss.

“Seok- so- so close!” You cry out and he chuckles again, kissing down your neck, sucking harshly on your skin as he pulls his fingers out only to come back with one more. 

Three fingers fuck you open for more, your moans getting louder, fingers digging into his nape as you chase his fingers with your hips, tears behind your eyes threatening to spill because of how fucking turned on you were. You’re dripping down his fingers, down your thighs, your panties shoved to the side by him, probably cutting into his fingers, but he doesn’t seem to care. 

“Yeah? Are you gonna cum for me, baby? Cum on my fingers? How long have you wanted this, hm? How long have you dreamt of my fingers fucking you until you make them drip in your cum?”

His dirty words are so out of character for your usually so bright and sweet best friend, but they do their job perfectly. Accompanying your whines is your pussy clenching around him repeatedly, throbbing against his fingers and Seokmin really thinks he could shoot his load just from this. 

“Faster, pl-please!” Your hips are moving at rapid speed and Seokmin meets your efforts, thumb pressing down on your clit and letting his fingers quickly pump in and out of your perfect pussy, already feeling your nearing climax around him. 

When he kisses you again, his tongue finding yours, circling it skilfully and sucking it into his mouth, you feel your orgasm rush over you, cum soaking his whole hand as he fucks you through it, your moans landing right in his hot mouth. 

“That’s it, darling, cum on my fingers, soak them in your cum, show me how good I made you feel, fuck.” 

Tears are rolling down your cheeks, tears of pleasure and happiness, tears of desperation as you ride out your orgasm, almost crying more when he pulls his fingers out of you to lick them clean like a starved man. Your head spins at the visual and you let yourself fall against the counter, sure you could probably count the stars floating around your head currently.

“Delicious, so pretty and delicious.” Seokmin hums when his fingers are out of his mouth and he smiles at you like the soft puppy you know he is. 

“Seokmin…,” you don’t even know what to say, still in awe and still recovering from the best orgasm you’ve ever had. He shushes you, both of his hands on your waist, pulling you into his chest.

“Later, love. Now, I need you to ride my cock, how does that sound?”

Smiling at him you think that nothing had ever sounded sweeter.

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Batman had Danny by his leg. More specifically he was hanging Danny upside-down 40 stories in the air via said leg.

Okay. So Danny maaay have stolen some tech from a lab. Okay, a lot of tech. But Batman thought he was a witness or an accomplice! Not the perpetrator themselves! Does he do this to all his witnesses?

Appearently Danny said that last part out loud and his sass was unappreciated, hence Batman letting go. Unfortunately for both of them Danny didn't want to fall and he instinctually stayed there floating perfectly still in mid air.

Danny may be a terrible liar, but he was a phenomenal actor, especially when he's feeling spiteful. Alright, he thought random bullshit GO! Before Batman could comment, our little menace gave Batman a scandalized look, "You're a meta?!"

"No." The bats scowled even harder than before "Your abilities may have manifested just now."

Oh ho ho, Danny wasn't going to let him get away that easy. "My parents would have killed me if I had the meta gene. I know. They checked." That one wasn't exactly a lie. His parents would have seen any superpowers as confirmation that he or Jazz were ghosts and then it was game over and they did check thier DNA for something a lot when they were younger...huh. Thoughts for later than.

"How do you know you haven't gotten mutated by any of the stuff you deal with? Besides if they were my powers then I wouldn't still be hanging upside down."

Bats grunted in acknowledgment and just stared at him for a few seconds, which was uncomfortable. Lucky for him one of the other bats landed near Batman on the rooftop and asked about the situation. Danny didn't hesitate, "Batmans a meta! I'm stuck!"

"I am not"

"Are too!" Danny quipped back. He sounded kinda childish but he didn't particularly care at the moment. More bats came after the second one spilled the beans on some 'com' thing. They mostly mocked Batman and asked if he was okay, which he was but he would like to be let down please.

Eventually someone called 'Red Hood' showed up and was really really mad that Batman had threatened a kid.

There were fireworks after that. The kind that belonged on a soap opera and Danny wished he had popcorn for it. Unfortunately he was stuck disrespecting physics for the time being.

Or was he? The big bad bats attention wasn't on him at the moment now would be a good time to ru-

Danny screamed, genuinely startled at the sudden free fall. He heard multiple people swear and grappling hooks fire. The next thing he knew he was shaking while holding onto someone for dear life. It had been almost a full year since the accident and yet he still lost control of his powers sometimes when distracted.

Luckily Red Hood is super cool.

----

Aka Danny gaslight Batman into thinking he has superpowers he can't control.

Red Hood is mad Bruce threatened a child.

[stargirlrchive]

dad simon doing skin to skin with his premie baby girl because shes in the nicu ☹️

:c he’d be so so scared to hold his little babe !!

tw: mentions of childbirth and preterm labor, fem!reader

but ok like i genuinely think if simon decided to have kids with someone it would be when they are both ‘older’ (and i say that term loosely bc im thinking they’d both be in late 30’s early 40’s) but because of that when getting pregnant there are more complications that could happen. simon would be so careful with you, and your pregnancy.

making sure to take a leave so he can be there for every single appointment and just care for you because above all else he needs you to be healthy.

so when you do go into preterm labor he’s a mess. but he’s pulled himself together enough to get you to the hospital and thankfully once you were admitted everything went smoothly. but it doesn’t stop that ache and fear of now having his baby girl out in the world.

he was so happy, you were both healthy, for the most part, little riley just needs a few weeks to be able to come home.

now came the really scary part. he already knew his baby was gonna seem like the smallest thing in the world, but now? he was scared one wrong move would break one of her weak little bones.

you’re so exhausted as you waddle your way to the nicu, but the second your eyes land on your little girl everything else fades away. and simon wishes he could feel that relief but he’s so fucking terrified.

his eyes are raw from not crying, throat feeling like they shoved sandpaper down it as he sees his girls in front of him, safe.

and before he can try to gently back out of it, the nurse is encouraging skin to skin contact, and you just look so so tired, that he can’t say no. his fingers trembling and feeling uncoordinated as the nurse places his baby on his bare chest.

his little girl instantly falling back asleep and one of his hands is gently resting on her back. he’s biting down on some of his fingers to hold back the sob that had been stuck in his throat for the past 24 hours.

and then you’re both crying, and he’s holding the two of you and he knows he’d do anything to keep this forever.

[elibeeline]

I am stuck in gran canaria because ✨️thunderstorm✨️

[ruershrimo]

f. megumi x reader | summer heat

“i’m bored.” 

“i know,” comes megumi’s exasperated reply.

this year the heat waves of tokyo have encroached on a new high, light spilling in abundance from windows sparse in number like water overflowing from a tiny cup. you wrap your balmy arms around his neck, sweat on his silky smooth skin and bleeding through the fabric of his shirt, nearly bare without his uniform jacket on. 

“I’d blow air onto you, but it would just make you feel hotter,” you say, landing an open-mouthed kiss on his cheek, your hands on your knees. he leans back on the edge of the bed in exhaustion, energy seeped out by the heat like blood sucked by a leech. curse japanese floors and carpets— always built for heat absorption in the winter. what if it was hot— really hot, like now? 

“it’s fine. it’s too hot for anything right now.” 

he has skin like snow— you wonder if, with the scalding summer sun on him, he’s going to end up with tanned skin by the end of september. 

he’s right, though. even with his hand on your back, precariously near to your waist, the two of you aren’t set on doing anything and there isn’t any air conditioning in his room either. so you’re stuck here, faces hot and breath hotter, necks sweaty and bodies sweatier. 

you place your legs over his and your forehead against his collarbone, comfortable and calm, even with the sweltering heat. at this point everything in your mind is swimming through warm waves as you feel more sweat trickle down your cheek. 

“I wish we had summer uniforms.” 

“I’ll go buy a fan next time,” he whispers into your scalp. his breath fans against your head like steam. he moves his hand from the sweat of your back, looping his arm around your neck. “it’s too damn hot, I can’t even think.” 

you nuzzle your nose into the very top of his chest for a moment, before raising your head to peck a spot on the crook of his neck. “feels like an oven.” 

you don’t mind the heat, though. not right now. 

okay so this is horrible and really short but I wrote this earlier today while it was really hot just because it was really hot. there's not much to say; I live in malaysia. (this is going to flop but omg it's been SO HOT lately like. sweating all the time and i know i should expect it but STILL)

again, selamat hari raya!

[tayytayy12]

Off to the races | CS55 x Reader

Summary - When your father sold you off into a loveless marriage with a feared mafia boss, you knew it wouldn’t end well, the two of you hardly ever speaking, but one night when your husband promises he’ll start doing better, you cousins help but believe him.

Warnings - swearing, whatever you’d expect from a Mafia story really

Requested - No - Yes

Type - Written

Not been proofread

You knew from the money that your father told you about the little arrangement he had made with Carlos Sainz, the most feared man in all of Spain, that you’d be unhappy as the result of it. You’re whole life you’d grown up lacking the luxury of having a lot of money, but you had a loving family that were worth everything to you, so you was content, but apparently your father didn’t feel the same.

He done something stupid. Something so incredibly stupid and wrong, he borrowed money from Carlos Sainz, money he knew for a fact that he would never be able to able to repay, so when the man showed up at your family’s home, a gun pointed at your fathers head unless he could offer up some kind of repayment, your father offered you up to the man without a moment of hesitation.

Carlos’ men came and hit you the next day, no matter how much you screamed and begged your mother and father to make them not take you, to let you stay at home with your family, they didn’t listen and you was taken away and married off to Carlos at the next available date.

He didn’t love you, he didn’t care for you, he needed you for one thing and one thing only, an heir. One to take over for him when he wouldn’t work anymore, to keep his family name leading the mafia past his lifetime, that’s all.

You didn’t have fun at the wedding, you never had fun, you woke up, had breakfast, wandered around the halls of your home, and went to bed, you hardly ever saw Carlos, it was rare he even came home at night.

You sighed, flopping onto your back as the moonlight shone through the crack in the curtains, yet another night that sleep seemed like something far out of reach, another night where Carlos wasn’t home and he was out doing god knows what.

You could never sleep alone, back at home you shared a room with your younger sister, your whole life you’d never have to stay in a room all alone, it was too quiet and empty.

“Fuck this.” You muttered as you threw the blanket off of your legs and slipped some shoes and a robe on as you walked out of your bedroom, the two guard that were always near you following a few steps behind, another annoying habit of your husband, having guards follow and track your every move.

You went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, something your other used to do when you was a child and couldn’t sleep, and went to go sit on the back porch of your house, looking out onto the anchors of land that she now partly owned.

You groaned as you heard the door click open from behind you, “Mr.Jackson, I appreciate that you’re just going your job, but it’s a glass door, can’t you just look at me through it instead? It’s bad enough you’re always two feet behind me. No offence.”

“Is that how you talk to all my staff?” You instantly sat up straighter when you heard your husband’s voice instead of the British accent of your assigned bodyguard, you cleared your throat, “Sorry Mr.Sainz, I didn’t know it was you.” You whispered, your eyes still stuck on the land before you.

“No need to be so formal, cariño,” he said as he sat on the seat beside yours, “we are married after all.”

You scoffed and rolled his eyes at his words and muttered a quiet “Barley.” But he still heard you and turned his stare towards you, “and by that you mean?”

You rolled your eyes once again, “I see you four times a month if I’m lucky, Carlos. You’ve never wished me a happy birthday in two years of marriage. You see me as the key to continuing your family name. Nothing more.”

He didn’t know what to say, he was angry, not at you. At himself for letting you ever think the words leaving your mouth were true, “I’m sorry I’ve made you feel this way cariño.”

You shrugged and took a sip of your tea, the warm liquid gliding down your throat, “Don’t be. Our marriage is and always has been a business proposition, nothing more.”

He wanted to say so many things in that moment, how he picked you because from the moment he saw you, your enchanting eyes and sweet as honey laugh, he fell. He could get any woman from anywhere to continue his family’s legacy, but he chose you.

“Trust me, cariño,” he whispered as he moved from his seat and got on his knees in front of you, confusing you greatly as he took the warm mug from your hand and placed it in the ground, “you’re much more than a part of a business deal to me.” He whispered and he placed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, “I’ll do better by you, you’re my wife, my main priority,” he whispered, this side of him was new, so new you was scared to say that you liked it, “tell me what I can do to start making it better.”

You swallowed lightly, having no idea where this Carlos was coming from, “You can actually spend the night with me tonight.” Yous aid in a quite whisper, but he had no protest, he just nodded with a smile as he stood and picked you up, a,ing you help in surprise as your legs wrapped round his waist on instinct.

He carried you to your shared bedroom and placed you down into the bed and he went to change, when he tenured you was asleep against the soft pillows, the tea having worked its magic and your exhaustion catching up to you, he smiled down at your body as he got in bed careful besides your sleeping frame and pulled you into him, he was going to do better. He was going to be better, for you. He was.

—————

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Plan: Simon Ghost Riley x f!wintersoldier!reader

"This has to fabricated."

"It's not-"

"What the fuck is going on?"

"This can't be fucking real, Kate. There's no way."

The room had erupted with anger soon after the perpetrator was revealed to be you. After the initial shock came the denial, the anger that every single one of them felt because of the disturbing information that still displayed on the projector.

No one could believe it. No one wanted to.

"It's someone who looks like her." Price declared as he refused to look at the projector. "She's MIA."

"You really believe that, Cap?" Gaz scoffed and though he seemed like he was trying to keep his cool it was easy to see on his face he was just as distressed as everyone else.

Ghost hadn't said a word since his eyes landed on you. He was stuck frozen in his spot, his hands curled into fists that shook slightly as he burned holes into the screen staring at your image.

It was you. He knew the moment Laswell zoomed in on you. He may have avoided looking at any pictures of you he came across but he could never quite forget your eyes, not when he had spent so many times staring at them when you'd sit by his side or when you were across the room from him.

No matter how hard he tried to forget about you, to selfishly convince himself that you were dead so he didn't have to deal with any of the horrible emotions that still wounded him to this day, you were always in the back of his mind. He could truly never forget you.

But even with the shitty quality of the CCTV he could tell that something was different with you. You stood differently, more rigid than he had ever known you to be. From what he could see of your face, you looked hardened and angry, completely different from the last time he had saw you.

But there was no denying it. You were the one who stole the USB.

"It's her." He managed to say through a clenched jaw.

Ghost felt bile in his throat. He could hardly keep his thoughts straight with the storm of emotions that raged inside him. It was like his entire world was crashing down around him and he naively wished this was some horrible nightmare but it was real, all of it was.

"I cannae believe this." Soap mumbled. "She wouldn't...turn on us would she?"

The room went silent again.

You wouldn't. Ghost knew you wouldn't do anything to harm them or betray them, not with how close you were with them before you disappeared. You were loyal, almost to a fault and to even suggest that you would do something to betray the 141 made his blood boil and yet...you had stolen intel from them. Very valuable intel that could end lives.

You were working with some group, a bad group he knew that much, that was in direct opposition with the 141.

"It doesn't matter if she would or not." Laswell tried to keep a level voice but hidden in her eyes was pain and conflict as well. "She stole the intel and we need to get it back."

None of them missed the way she avoided speaking about what they needed to do to you. It seemed like none of them could fully believe that you betrayed them, that you would work against everything that you stood for.

Ghost denied it. You wouldn't do this willingly. You had to have been blackmailed or threatened. That was the only reason he could justify it.

A pit formed in his stomach and his throated tightened at the thought of you with this group, what that could really mean, but he ignored it. He turned to Price and gave him a firm stare, one that he hoped would get his point across.

"When we get the intel back, we're getting her back too." He said it like there was no debate because there wasn't.

Ghost was bringing you back whether Price or Laswell allowed it or not.

Luckily Price nodded and he spared one last glance at you before he looked at Laswell.

"We need to find out who they are." He said and she gave him a look.

She hesitated before she nodded. There was uncertainty in her eyes but she closed her laptop and looked to them all.

"Get into contact with Nik. I'll ask my contacts if they know anything."

When she left the room fell silent. There was nothing any of them could say to each other that would make the situation better, nothing that would help them believe that this wasn;t real.

You were alive. You had reappeared.

And you were against them.

the tag list is closed!

A/n: i hope this makes sense I struggled a little bit. we'll get into the meat of it later on

Tags: @bucky-lents @theweirdgeninistuff @igotchuuknj @rafaelacallinybbay @yyiikes @paintlavillered @tacticalanklebiter3000

[thecharacterchronicler]

Outline: Coriolanus is starting to lose control over his feelings for you and the way your driver seems to be flirting with you forces him to show him - and you - who you belong to.

Word Count: 4’626

Warnings: Coriolanus Snow should be a warning in itself, jealous/possessive husband, pregnancy (TTC), marriage of convenience, public s*x (kinda), VERY FREAKIN EXPLICIT SMUT.

(( Part 1 - There Will Come A Ruler )) (( Part 2 - Snow Lands On Top ))

Coriolanus had been up for almost 24 hours by the time he arrived at the party, ready to endure a few more hours of small talk, faked smiles and diplomatic handshakes. But at least, for the short few hours of playing games in the circus of Panem’s good society, you’d be by his side and that perspective strangely eased his mind.

He had arrived early, right from his office in town. He always kept a nice suit there, just so he could work until the very last moment before attending an event. Parties, dinners, balls… Those were wrongfully considered leisure time by those who didn’t know any better. In fact, such social gatherings among his peers were his very own version of the Hunger Games’ arena, where one wrong word, one missed opportunity, one hesitation could cost him his career. So, whatever happened, he made a point to never let his guard down. He had been standing by the opulent’s manor doors for a moment now, appearing to be waiting for his wife to arrive but really, he was carefully watching the entrance of every guest, arriving to the manor in an endless round of luxurious cars circling the magnificent fountain in the driveway, some of them having more trouble than others getting out of their cars and climbing the marble stairs that led to the doors, due to being dressed in unpractical but fashionable outfits.

He mentally took notes of who was in attendance, making a list of who he should greet once inside and what topic to address with each one, planning his entire conversations with them ahead so that he could be sure to make a good impression on everyone. If he couldn’t care less about the parties and the guests, at least they usually granted him perfect opportunities to shine and display his own talents, his manners and behavior always impeccable.

Coriolanus Snow liked being in control of the situation. In fact, he needed to be in control of every situation. And he was pretty good at it… Until a familiar car entered the driveway, circled the fountain and stopped at the bottom of the stairs. The young, and rather good looking, driver that he had insisted on hiring opening the door for you.

The moment you stepped out, Coriolanus’s felt his spine straightening and held his head higher. You were looking gorgeous in the dress you had picked for the event, and he instantly felt a sense of pride at the realization that he would be the lucky man to have you by his side. With that, he also loved to see how everyone admired you, how women turned around to look at you, envying you. He could tell they wished they could either be you or be friends with you, anything to have the chance of being close to you. But he felt different at the sight of the men’s hungry eyes wandering down the lines and curves of your body. People could be obsessed about you but they needed to remember that you were his and only his. To hold, to touch, to kiss… To fuck.

He found himself biting hard on the inside of his cheek as he watched you carefully, torn between his desire to observe the way your dress stuck to your body as you walked with just as much hunger as the other men and his determination to keep a close eye on your personal chauffeur, not liking the way he was holding your hand to help you up and the way he wished you a nice night as soon as Coriolanus reached you, to take over in his stead.

Your husband had always been quite possessive of the few valuable things he owned, maybe it was an habit that had formed during the dark days, when he barely had anything to hang on to. However, those days were now long gone and he was wealthy enough to enjoy bragging about his most precious belongings, it just so turned out that you had became one of them too the moment you had signed your name at the bottom of your thick wedding contract.

“Mrs Snow.” He said, when he finally stepped next to you, watching with satisfaction as your driver retreated promptly.

He brought your hand to his arm, wanting to let you lean on him for more stability as you climbed the stairs together, your high heels loudly clicking against the marble.

“Mister Snow.” You replied, briefly smiling back at him. He couldn’t help but glance at you, noticing the details he had never paid attention to before, such as the visible beauty marks on your skin or the few rebellious strands of hair that had escaped from your elegant hairdo… His attention was so focused on you that he almost didn’t hear the Academy’s new dean and his wife greet him on your way inside.

He should be careful, he couldn’t let himself get distracted. What was the matter anyway ? He usually managed to attend these social events without having a single thought about you other than approving of how flawlessly you behaved… Was it because of the dress ? Or of what was hidden underneath its fabric ? Maybe it was because now he knew exactly what you looked like with your clothes off. Actually, now he even knew what you felt like, which was all the more maddening to him.

Of course, he had attempted to cure himself from his unexpected new obsession for you, tried to get you out of his head by pumping himself almost every morning in the shower, shooting his release into his own hand instead of inside your warm and deliciously tight body. But, unfortunately for him, it did very little to help him focus on his daily tasks like he should have, it was just good at reminding him of how your own hand had pumped him a few times too and by noon, he frequently had to lock himself up in his office just to release himself once more, each of his thoughts haunted by your image sitting on top of his desk or down on your knees in front of him, with your mouth wide open.

He walked you passed the doors, a couple of politicians instantly demanding his attention, to be greeted and to engage in meaningless small talk that would hopefully serve his campaign and reputation.

“Coriolanus! We were talking about you earlier today, we simply cannot wait to see what you’re planning for the next Hunger Games!” The oldest lady of the two said, seemingly truly excited about it all. “You gave us such a show last year !”

“I’m hoping to do even better this year… Unfortunately, as close friends as we are, I cannot reveal anything about it yet.” He replied, with a charming smile that made the lady melt for him, as expected.

“I’m sure it’s going to be a sight to see.” The other woman confirmed, a bit more coldly and way less enthusiastic than her partner. “It’s understandable that you lost the first round of the elections, people would rather keep you as head gamemaker for the games rather than see you becoming our new president, you’ve got an immense talent for entertainment.”

“I can assure you, if our people give me their trust to take care of Panem, I will keep a close eye on the Games, I know how beloved they are to our citizens and it is one of my priorities to make them even more spectacular in the years to come.” Coriolanus stated, diplomatically, although the woman’s remark grated on his nerves. He knew he had caused a revolution in the way the Hunger Games were perceived, he made them go from a barely noticeable event to one people looked forward to with such excitement and enthusiasm each year. By now, he was used to receiving praises for his brilliant ideas and his way of managing everything, he really was good at this, but despair seized him at the realization that being too good at his job might cost him his chance to become president.

Once the women left to join another conversation, you passed the luxurious entrance and into the vaste ballroom filled with music and expensive decorations. As etiquette dictated, you both walked straight up to your host for the night; Hilarius Heavensbee, to greet him and thank him for the invitation.

“I heard from Ravensill himself that you were preparing quite the show to entertain us with the next Hunger Games.” Hilarius told your husband, with a hint of jealousy in his tone. “Good for you that you found your calling, you’ve been doing a great job since you mentored that girl with her clown dress, what was her name again ?”

Hilarius stared at him defiantly, as if he was gauging his reaction to the mention of the tribute he had led to victory but he was skilled enough to not show any. Instead, he glanced down at you by his side.

“I’m afraid I don’t even remember.” He said, with a tight smile. His hand pressed on your lower back, an affectionate gesture that he felt compelled to do in order to make his lie believable.

“I guess it’s pretty irrevelant now.” Hilarius shrugged, glancing at you before turning his attention back to his old classmate. “I hope you’ll enjoy yourselves tonight.”

Your husband looked thankful for his polite way of ending the uncomfortable conversation. He led you away as new guests attempted to engage in small talk with Hilarius.

He breathed a sigh of relief once he was able to grab two glasses of sparkling champagne from a waiter passing among the guests. He handed one to you, knowing that you too might need a good dose of liquid courage for the night but instead of seeing the gratefulness he had expected on your face, he noticed your furrowed brows and tensed smile.

“What’s the matter ?” He asked you, realizing you still weren’t taking a sip while he had immediately chugged down half of his drink .

“Nothing, I just realized that drinking in public wouldn’t be ideal considering we’re hoping I’m pregnant.” You explained. “Not that it would be bad for the baby this early on but people would have a lot to say about it regardless so it’s better if I abstain.”

Coriolanus nodded, good at hiding how his heart had missed a beat at the mention of your potential pregnancy. He hadn’t given many thoughts about it until now, finally understanding a few of the implications of being pregnant for nine months would have on your life… Not only would you be unable to drink but such events would probably be a lot more tiring to you, maybe even making you unable to attend with him, not to mention how your belly would eventually get too round for most of your designer dresses and how your whole body would change in order to make you a mother.

He usually wouldn’t have minded any of it, but now, with his newfound interest in you, the perspective of seeing you pregnant was causing a very unwelcomed reaction inside his pants.

“Look, Moira Wingnut is standing by the buffet.” You told him, completely unaware of how his pants were tightening around his rapidly growing erection. “Id like to talk to her. She’s such a gossip, if I unwillingly let slip that we’re trying to conceive, everyone in Panem will know about it by tomorrow.”

He nodded again, as detached as usual even though he couldn’t have been more impressed by your strategic thinking when it came to controlling what the good society of Panem had to say about you, it almost rivaled his own penchant for manipulation.

He watched you as you crossed the room without him, putting your plan in motion as you even made a show of abandoning your still full crystal glass of champagne on the buffet table, for Moira to see and question. Not only were you beautiful, you also were the smartest woman he knew, a kindred spirit, except for the fact that you were incredibly pure, there was no blood on your hands, no mischievous designs in that mind of yours apart from a few ploys to control the rumours spread about you, truly you were something else. And you were his.

Straining against his suddenly very uncomfortable pants, he decided to walk away, finding shelter in the nearest bathroom before anyone could notice the visible bulge between his legs. He locked himself inside, splashing cold water to his face but it was no use. The erections that you caused were almost impossible for him to get rid of with cold water or singing the hymn of Panem in his head, the way grandma’am had taught him. The only way for him to get temporary relief from the intensity of his desire for you was to take care of it himself.

He sighed as he opened his pants. It was his second time today having to do this in order to function, at this point, he questioned if it even was healthy but what other choice did he have ? He needed to get rid of the very visible evidence of his desire for you so that he could get back to the party and mingle with all these boring and acerbic people, in hopes to win enough of them over before the second round of the elections.

He stroked himself a few times, fast enough to get over with it quickly but what really worked for him was to imagine you there with him, taking over for him, and when he reached his peak, he thought about how nice it would have been to fill you up with his cum again. Instead, it all splashed in his hand, a waste of his seed that belonged deep inside you… But would you only be able to keep up with how often he needed relief lately ? It was as if the more often he got to take you, the more his body demanded it.

He cleaned himself up and left the bathroom to join the party as if nothing had happened, stepping back into the crowd.

The food served was passable, and the conversations remained light and superficial. The mingling seemed to last forever and Coriolanus was starting to feel the muscles of his jaw twitching from fake smiling so much.

It’s only what felt like hours later, as the party was coming to an end that your husband was able to see you again, spotting you in the crowd as you were talking with your young chauffeur by the open windows leading to the balcony. What was he even doing here ? If he was planning to take you home early, he should have asked him first.

Coriolanus observed you, not liking the way you smiled at the driver. He wasn’t a politician but his employee, thus making him not anyone important so why did you bother being so charming and friendly with him ?

He served himself a glass of strong liquor and downed it in one gulp. He wasn’t the kind to drink at all usually, preferring to keep his head clear and focused, but somehow he knew he was going to have to be slightly inebriated if he wanted to finish the night without killing this man with his bare hands.

You laughed. Why were you laughing ? And he touched your arm, how dared he ? It was enough to convince Coriolanus to put a stop to this conversation and remind both of you who - and whose - you were.

He crossed the room with hurried steps, only stopping when his arm pressed against your shoulder, his body sticking close to yours like a magnet that had finally found its opposite force.

“Oh, there you are.” You said, smiling at your husband but surprised by how his hand found your lower back again, trailing a bit further down than before and gripping on the fabric of your dress, slightly scrunching it in his fist in an unusual possessive stance. “We were talking about the last Hunger Games, about how that tribute from District 10 fell to her death in the most ridiculous way, do you remember ?”

Coriolanus looked at the driver with his coldest stare. What did he think he was doing, making small talk with you inside the Heavensbees’ manor which he shouldn’t even have stepped in in the first place.

“Of course, sweetheart. Sometimes the tributes don’t need my help to be good entertainers.” He said, through his teeth, before glancing down at you with a soft smile. “I take it that you are ready to go home ?”

“Yes, I called on Marius because I’m feeling pretty tired tonight. But you can stay if you’re not done talking with everyone.” You explained, oblivious to the way Coriolanus was glaring at the driver, a silent death threat in his eyes. If you were leaving the party, than so was he, especially if the alternative meant leaving you alone with this man. Tonight, it didn’t matter to him that he had barely managed to charm his peers and convince them that he could do other things as well as he managed the Games. The only thing that felt important was making sure Marius knew that you weren’t going to find yourself alone with him anymore. Not ever.

“I’m feeling quite exhausted myself so I’ll leave with you.” He felt a twinge of guilt tug at his heart when he saw how surprised you were by his decision, making him realize that he really didn’t bother to come home to you often enough.

Both of you said your goodbyes to your host and some of his guests, followed by Marius who kept his distances. At least he knew his place. Then, once stepping into the cold night, you felt your husband’s hand on your lower back again, holding you against him tight enough so that you wouldn’t require the help that Marius was all too willing to give you.

Coriolanus hoped his warmth was enough to shelter you from the cold breeze that caressed your face, looking at you while you gazed up to the stars in the black night sky.

Marius led both of you to the car, and your husband made a point to open the door himself, allowing the driver to take his seat behind the wheel already as he helped you get in. He watched you as you sat on the leather seat, adjusting your dress to sit comfortably enough and he couldn’t help but smirk with satisfaction, glad he had managed to keep the driver from daringly lay a hand again on what belonged to him.

He sat next to you in the back of the car, signaling that you were ready to go back to your own manor with a simple but elegant gesture of his hand. The car took off in the dark night, silence reigning inside the luxurious vehicle. If you were focused on the landscape quickly changing outside, he couldn’t care less about it, his eyes fixed on you instead. With your attention on your window, he could shamelessly stare at how your dress had moved up your thighs as you sat, how your cleavage gently swayed each time the car drove over a bump in the road. If he would have been the one driving, he probably would have drove straight into them on purpose, just so he could watch this lovely spectacle as often as possible.

Realizing that maybe he wasn’t the only one painfully aware of how desirable you were tonight, he glanced up to the rear view mirror, unmistakably meeting the reflection of Marius’s eyes in them, staring at you a bit too intently for someone supposed to drive a car, and only looking away because he had caught him.

The anger that welled up inside his chest was unpleasant. He had felt it a few times before and it hadn’t ended well. But he couldn’t bare the idea of another man thinking about you. What if Marius pictured you when he pathetically masturbated in his delabrated bedroom ? Wasn’t it a privilege he should have been the only one to have, as your husband ? It made him sick to even think about the possibility that your driver’s friendliness towards you might have originated from more intimate moments shared together. Would you have given yourself to him ? A mere employee that he had hired in hopes that he would be able to protect you and safely drive you around town ? It had sounded like a good idea back then, when he couldn’t have cared less about how you spent your days but now… Now he wanted you locked up in a room that only he would have the key to, just so that he could keep you shielded from the disgusting thoughts other men might have about you… The very same ones he had whenever his blood stopped flowing to his brain and went down to his dick instead.

Coriolanus wasn’t sure if it was because he needed to mark you as his or because imagining the kind of things other men pictured about you made his own imagination run wild but there it was, the familiar tension in his pants, begging for relief. He placed his hand on your bare thigh, gripping more tightly than what he had wanted but the urge to show you, Marius, and everyone that only he could do that pushed him way past his usual boundaries.

You looked up to him with wide eyes, almost imperceptibly wriggling in your seat under his touch. He could tell you were silently imploring him but what for ? To put you out of your misery and fuck you senseless right then and there ? Or to not arouse your desire for him in a moment like this ?

Without anywhere to hide until he could be presentable again, Coriolanus didn’t even bother trying to hide his growing erection from you, actually bringing your attention to it as he stroked the bulge under his pants with his other hand. He wanted you in every way you’d let him take you. Only you could soothe the mad lust he felt for you. But if you minded your driver’s presence too much to help him with it, then he would take care of it himself, again, even if it meant having you - and Marius - as curious spectators.

He left out a heavy sigh when your hand replaced his, stroking him over the stretched fabric of his pants, and then another louder sigh escaped him when you deftly unbuttoned his pants to pull his throbbing cock out. He stared at the way you were touching him, your elegant fingers caressing him just the way he liked until he was rock hard and ready for you.

But he wasn’t sure if you’d be brave enough to let him fuck you in front of an audience, especially not if you had an affair with the audience in question. The way you were blushing on your seat, although you hungrily stared at his swollen member, probably remembering every time he had shoved it inside you, made him believe that he’d have to waste his release in his hand - or yours - again.

He glanced at you when you moved on your seat, taking a big breath for some bravery, before you lifted yourself up and scouted over to his seat until you straddled his legs. He brought your tight dress even further up than what it already was, uncovering your ass so that he could hook two fingers in your panties to pull them aside and give him access to your deliciously wet pussy.

He briefly threw his head back against the headrest of his seat when you slowly impaled yourself on his hard cock, burying your face against his shoulder to silence your sounds and attempt to forget that it wasn’t just the two of you tonight.

Coriolanus closed his eyes as you rolled your hips, adjusting yourself to his size, taking your time to really ease him all the way up inside you. With one hand on your hip and the other on your ass, he helped you move upwards just so you could bring yourself down on him again, sending a wave of intense pleasure through his cock when his length hit deeply inside you.

He kept supporting your movements, eager to make you go faster as you held yourself to his shoulders, still unable to look away from the crook of his neck. Not only did he think the way you were hiding your flushed cheeks against him was adorable but he also enjoyed the look of absolute mortification he saw on Marius’ face as the driver watched you from his mirror, the bumps and uneven speed of the car betraying how unfocused he was on his task now.

If he had had doubts about you having a forbidden affair with your driver, now it was pretty clear to him that you didn’t care. Wether you had already let him fuck you before or not, now all that seemed to matter to you was your husband and finding your own pleasure as you moved on top of him. Coriolanus felt the warmth and the tremble of your moans of pleasure reverberating on his skin. He so loved the sounds you made whenever he brought you close to climax, and knowing the driver could hear you as well as he could watch you, made for an opportunity too perfect to pass on.

You felt his rough hands in your hair, tugging on them to force you to look at him. Your face was flushed and your eyes were shining with the intensity of your pleasure, the loveliest sight to see in Coriolanus’s opinion. He brought his face closer to yours to press a ravenous kiss on your lips and as he moved away, a loud moan escaped your lips, causing him to smile with satisfaction before he glanced at the mirror again, making sure that Marius could hear how good he could make you feel.

He pushed his hips up to meet yours as they slammed down, the violence of your shared thrusts sending you over the edge. Your body trembled, your movements coming to a stop but you fought against the numbness that was about to invade your thoughts as you enjoyed your intense climax, aware that he still needed to cum inside you.

“Fill me up, Mister Snow.” You demanded, with panted breaths.

You wanted him to shoot his load deeply inside you, hell, you were even begging for it. For him to plant his seed inside you, to mark you as his even more than you already were. Not only was it a maddening thought to him but the way you had asked him, like a favor as you struggled to keep yourself focused enough from how tightly your walls were contracting around his cock caused him to reach his own orgasm without a single movement.

The relief he felt as he emptied his pleasure in you was nothing like what he had managed to reach when taking care of himself. His own hands could never replicate how good yours felt. You fitted him better than anyone ever did, like you were made for him to fuck into oblivion.

And as he held you tightly against him, allowing you all the time you needed to get down from your high - and him his - his racing heartbeat pulsating in your ear pressed against his chest, you realized that you had arrived home. And your driver was long gone.

Previously in this series:

[ultralightpoe]

Avoidance - Bucky Barnes

Authors Note: Clearing out drafts and found this puppy, there is a part two but I have to edit it.. Enjoy!

Word count: 3833

Warnings: Angst.

Enjoy!

This was weird, and by weird you mean absolutely outrageous. You honestly had no clue when it started, but you had racked your brain for the past month to try and see where you had gone wrong. Something you might have said or done to make things this way. 

You had to have done something. 

Because a month ago Bucky Barnes had been your best friend on this earth, stuck together at the hip. A month ago your friendship had been forged by steel, you would rarely see one without the other. Dinners and sleepovers and missions together. It was Bucky and Y/n, Y/n and Bucky. 

It had been a friendship that had started off a little rocky, since Bucky had been stuck to Steve’s side, quiet as ever. You had been a bit too much when he came to the compound, excited to welcome him and show him the best the new world has to offer since you yourself had been a victim of Hydra as well. 

You had once been an excited scientist ready to change the world of medicine and instead had come out a mutant that could talk to plants. Years of pain and finally you were meeting someone you might be able to help. 

But Bucky had not enjoyed your help, in fact he didn’t seem to enjoy you at all. When you first met years ago he would all but leave the room whenever you came in. 

At first you felt pathetic, and a little bit annoying, but Bucky finally opened up. He apologized and explained that he was nervous, nervous to be around you and nervous that you would have recognized him. 

Soon after that he came to you for cooking advice and movie nights, you showed him the plants and best healing herbs. You told Bucky everything….. Well almost everything.

You had never told him how you truly felt. How your heartbeat through your chest everytime he looked at you, or the way your lungs seemed to expand for easier air when he spoke to you. Never admit to the heat that filled your body every time you touched him. 

You never admitted to loving him, but that was because you were sure that he would start avoiding you again just like he had when you first met. 

Not that it mattered because he started avoiding you again anyways. 

You think about the day you met him  as you shuffle about your apartment in Stark Tower, barefoot on the cold floors as you try to let the nail polish dry easily and clean up the living room. 

- 

The compound smelled of heavy lemon cleaning solution and you couldn’t decide if you loved or hated the smell, but that didn’t really matter now as you dashed through the halls. Your shoes clapped against the freshly cleaned floors as you did your ebay to fix your lab coat and hair. 

You were supposed to meet Steve and Nat at the quinjet landing pad 30 minutes ago, but had ended up taking a few more patients for the day before Mr. Stark had reminded you to clock out. 

You were leading his new medicinal lead, a program that would offer access to better medicine to the people of the world. And though he loved working in the lab with you he often had to remind you not to overwork yourself. 

You just wish he had reminded you a little sooner today since you were desperate to make a good first impression. And that wasn’t going to happen if you were late. 

“No running in the halls!” Clint calls in a teasing manner which makes you punch his arm as you pass, nearly tripping yourself up since you weren’t paying attention but finally you were hopping up the stairs to the rooftop exit, covered in sweat as you hear the thunderous sound of the quinjet wings starting up again. 

You push the heavy door open and gasp in surprise when Steve and a brunette stranger lean back with wide eyes, the door barely skimming the blonde’s nose. 

“There she is, dangerous as usual.” Nat smiles, coming around to hug you as you shut the door quieter this time. 

“Hey, I’m so sorry I am late-” You start, hugging your best friend before moving to hug Steve who lifts you a little when he hugs back, kissing your hair line before letting you go and backing up so you could see his friend.  “You must be Bucky.”

You move to hug him, realizing your mistake a second too late when he backs up, his fists tightening at his sides while his arctic blue eyes widen like a caged animal, his jaw tenses. He had been prepared for a fight, so you take a step back, even out your lab coat and try to smile. “Sorry, I don’t know why I did that. I’m y/n.”

He nods, the quinjet taking off in the back which makes you and him both flinch, the wind whipping your hair around before Steve is pulling you by your arm as softly as he can to lead you both inside. 

“We were just talking about getting something to eat-” Steve begins when they finally close the door. 

“Oh, we could take him to that diner that you like Stevie. The one that has the old school food-”

“Maybe just us tonight.” Nat interrupts, casting a nervous look to where Bucky stands in the corner, jaw still tense. 

You read the room easily, Nat must know Bucky doesn’t want to be near you right now so you simply nod, giving them one more smile before reaching your hand out to him. “It was great to meet you…..”

He ignores your hand and you have to awkwardly shove it back into your pocket before nodding, taking your leave as Nat mumbles to him in russian. 

- 

When you are sure your apartments are clean enough you leave for your lab shift a little early so that you could stop by Bucks apartment, nervous as can be when you make it there. 

Reaching a hand up to knock lightly and wait, your feet shuffling on the floors as you rub at your eyes from the lack of sleep, trying to keep yourself awake. When the door creaks open the tiniest bit you pull your hands down quickly and try to act cool when you make eye contact with Bucky. 

“Hey Buck.” You smile, doing your best to act happy. He stares for a moment, blue eyes flashing in excitement that gets your hopes up as he opens the door a little wider. 

“Mornin’.” He grunts out, looking back to check the time before turning to you once more. “A bit early isn’t it?”

“Yes. Sorry. I was heading to the lab but I wanted to see if you still wanted to have dinner tonight? I get off at 5 but-”

“I’m a bit busy tonight, sorry Do-Y/n.” He clears his throat, using his flesh fingers to comb his hair back. 

“You sure? It’s pancake night at the diner-”

“Not tonight. I will see you later, Y/n.” He sighs, giving you one last smile before shutting the door softly. 

You stay there a moment, trying to calm your nerves as you hear a small thump on the other side of the door and assume he must have locked it so you simply sigh and walk to the lab where Tony is chugging a large cup of coffee. 

“Morning dork.” He greets, smiling a bit as he nods his head to the box of donuts to the side. “Since you have been down lately.”

You didn’t want to admit to Tony that you had ‘been down’ because you missed Bucky, that would be embarrassing and might clue him in to your crush. So you give him your best smile, and kiss his cheek before moving to your station to begin working. 

But you can’t get Bucky out of your head. All you can think is ‘what did I do? Why is he mad at me? How can I fix this?”

Anxiety claws at your nerves, and you are too far into your thoughts to notice the chaos that your anxiety is ensuing over the lab. That is until you hear both Tony and Bruce curse and jump back, glass shattering. 

Your head snaps back to where they are both trying to regain their footing and find that the small houseplant Pepper had given Bruce for his birthday had grown tenfold. The vines covered most of the lab. 

“Apparently the donuts did not cheer her up.” Bruce sighs, both of them turning to where you are standing with your hands clenched around a beaker and a pen as tight as they would go. 

“I’m so sorry guys-”

“Can you undo it?” Bruce asks gently and you scoff.

“Can you undo damages to buildings when you-”

“I know I know. I’m sorry.” He laughs, waving his hands. “Hulk smashes, poison ivy grows plants-”

“I’m not-”

“She’s not poison ivy.” Tony snaps in your defense and you feel a wave a love for him before he ruins it. “She’s itchy oak.”

“You are so dead!” 

- 

Bucky was screwed. So unbelievably screwed.

This whole plan was tearing him apart, and he didn’t think he could hold out much longer, even smelling your shampoo this morning had him ready to crack. Pull you into his arms and never let you go. 

But he couldn’t, Natasha had told him not to. 

This started the day he met you, the day he fell in love. 

He had been standing on the quinjet with Steve and Nat, trying to pretend as though he wasn’t losing his mind at all the commotion. The sounds of the Quinet queuing up behind them, the wind nipping at his cheeks and neck as he thought of all the spots snipers could be hiding in the buildings by them though Stark Tower stood tall enough no one should be able to shoot him. He just couldn’t help it; he was a soldier. 

Nat seemed to realize his tension, pushing both men forward to the door before it swung open, a hair's breadth from Steve’s face. He hears Nat giggle and the quinjet start up again as his eyes finally land on you. 

There you were, perfection in human form. Sunlight and warmth and…..just everything he could ever want. 

His brain barely registered you moving to hug him before he moved back, tensing and letting the fear control him. 

“Sorry, I don’t know why I did that. I’m Y/n.” You had said and he saw what looked to be nervousness covering your face as his heart lurched. Two seconds in and he was already ruining you. 

All he could think was ‘monster. Monster monster monster.”

It took weeks for Steve to convince him to talk to you. 

And he was so grateful he did. 

- 

The lab was bright, and there was not a speck of dust in sight. And yet, somehow, the room that should have reminded him most of Hydra didn’t feel like it. Rather than a cold brightness it was warm lights from the glass windows and the desks were decorated with plants and photos. Little knick knacks strewn about that showed that the people who worked in here were human, good and warm humans. 

And then his eyes landed on your desk, where you currently concentrated on something he could barely comprehend, a beautiful cactus in a decorated pot on the shelf by you. 

Wiping the sweat on his pants, and taking a deep breath in before he moves up to where you were. 

“You don’t have to water cacti.” He blurts, gasping out when you shout in shock , the back on your head hitting the shelf. 

“What?” You gasp out, rubbing your head. 

“I read…” He takes a second to breathe in. “I read somewhere that you don’t have to water them everyday. They are self-sufficient.”

“Oh! Yeah, they like water every 2 weeks and of course sunlight but….” You trail off, turning to the small cactus that seems to stand taller at your attention. Then you turn back to him with a nervous smile. “What are you doing? Are you feeling ill?”

“Me? No. I was…. I was actually wondering if you would show me that diner you had talked about the day I came-”

“YES!” You blurt, jumping up and taking your lab coat off. “I am starving.”

He spent the next three hours with you at the diner, talking about everything in the new world that he had found. 

- 

Weekly dinners turned into hanging out every day. Which was amazing because Bucky felt like he could truly breathe when he was with you. 

There was no Winter Soldier, there was no Soviet Soldier. There was no World War 2 sniper. With you he was Bucky. 

But he fell in love with you, and he had no clue how to talk to you about that. He was terrified that you would never talk to him again. 

Which lead him to this. 

“Maybe you just need a break.” Nat suggested last month, watching him try to climb off the sparring mat and catch his breath. 

“I do.” He snaps. “I don’t know how you are never out of breath -”

“I meant from y/n.” She corrects. “Just take a breather. You both are so wrapped up in each other that you forget to breathe without each other. Codependency hurts more when it’s forcefully torn rather than willingly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Take a break on your terms. Just a breather Barnes. You are tearing yourself apart.”

“So what do I do? Just not hang out with her? I can’t breathe when I’m not with her-”

“That’s my point..” She sighs. 

- 

“I don’t get it… why are you mad?” Bucky asks, craning his neck to watch you shuffle around behind the couch, snatching the snacks you brought over and climbing over the couch before you are cuddled into his side and near his warmth. 

“I’m mad, Buck, because you just admitted to an actual sin.” You mumble, allowing him to wrap you in the blanket and pull you closer. “How have you not seen it yet? Everyone has. Hunger Games is a national…..”

“National?” He asks, eyebrow lifting as he waits for you to finish your sentence, reaching a hand up to rub his thumb over your cheek, lovingly. 

“Well I don’t want to say treasure because that just feels wrong since it’s a bunch of kids fighting to the death but everyone needs to see it once.” You gush and he can’t help but smile as you snatch the remote and start the movie. “I brought twizzlers so-”

He cuts you off by snatching the twizzlers and moving you both around so your head was laying on his chest and your legs intertwined with his own. “What’s with that guy's beard? And why is the other guy's hair blue?”

“Just you wait……”

- 

“Did I say something to upset him?” You ask Steve, following him around the kitchen like a lost duck while he cooks dinner for the team tonight.  “What did I do Steve?”

“I don’t think you did anything.” He sighs, giving you a pitious glance, before he starts chopping tomatoes. “Buck practically worships the ground you walk on, trust me I would know if you did something wrong.”

“I just don’t underst-” Before you could finish your sentence Steve watches as your phone rings and Yelena’s face pops up. You give him an apologetic glance before leaving the room, and right as you leave one door his best pal comes in another. 

“Need any help?” Bucky asks, with Sam slinking behind him with a bag of chips. 

“No junk food before dinner.” He snaps, snatching the bag and tossing it to the side which makes Sam groan out and move to grab a drink, stopping at the sight of the shriveled plant. 

“Someone get rid of that before Y/n sees it.”  He laughs, making the other two look to it. 

“I watered that plant 30 minutes ago.” Steve gasps, “it was fully alive before she came in-”

“You mean…. You mean to tell me Y/n drained a plant?” Sam asks, casting a side eye to where Bucky stands with a worried look. 

“Is she okay?” He asks, walking up and using his flesh hand to touch at the leaves before he picks up the pot and pulls it close to himself. “I’m gonna get rid of this before she sees what happened to it.”

“You should talk to her, Buck.” Steve sighs. “She’s worried that she did something.” 

- 

The rain beat against the window harshly, thunder rumbling in the distance as the smell of the spearmint candle you lit earlier fills the air. 

Bucky wakes up slowly, exhaustion still filling his body as he swipes a hand to rub his eyes, lifting his head ever so slightly to see what had managed to wake him up. Vision blurry as he surveys the room for threats only to find you curled in on yourself with vines covering your arms. 

Panic claws at him, moving forward to push the hair out of your face and wake you slowly, kissing at your forehead. 

You open your eyes slowly, and he whispers to help ease your anxiety, kissing the corner of your lips as he rubs at your arms. “What’s going on?”

“Bad dream…” You mumble out, shoving your face in his chest. 

“What were you dreaming about?” 

“My cell.” His spine tightens as he remembers what you had to go through. The damp and moldy cell they kept you in, the years of abuse and torture. Of course the rainstorm would draw these memories out. 

“Come here, doll” He whispers, pulling the blanket tighter around you both and keeping a tight hold on you. “Just stay with me, yeah? We’ll be alright together.”

You both fall back asleep, keeping a tight hold on eachother. 

-

Three mornings later you find yourself prepped and ready to go for the mission, nerves racking through your body as you walk to the loading bay of the quinjet. With your duffel bag strewn over one shoulder and your gloves in your hand as you try to smile at Bucky. 

“Hey Buck.” You start, watching everyone else in their suits. “Are you ready for the mission?” 

“As ready as I can be…. Did you sleep last night?” He asks, stepping closer with a worried expression before thinking and stepping back. 

“Not really. I was actually hoping to talk to you before the-”

“Alright Barnes. Are you ready?” Natasha asks, coming up behind him. “We need to talk about-”

“Wait, what?” You interrupt, heart clenching. “Are you…..wait are you guys teaming up this session?” 

You truly didn’t want to seem lame when you asked this, but you were so confused. “Buck, we always pair up.”

Why did you feel like a middle schooler again? 

“Well, sometimes things change. And Nat is down a partner since Clint is with his family.” Bucky blushes, looking between you and Nat as she narrows her eyes. 

Feeling your eyes fill with tears you rush to go into the quinjet, dashing past Steve to find a spot. 

The blonde narrows his eyes and marches to his friend, where Nat is already digging in. “What was that?” 

“What was what?” Bucky asks nervously, eyes casting everywhere else. 

“I told you to take a break, Barnes. Not cut her off.” Nat snaps.

“Why did you tell him to cut her off?” Steve asks, hands on his hips as he glares at the two of them.

“I didn’t say to cut her off. I said to take a break.”

“Why?!” 

“Because he loves her!”

“Still not catching up.” Steve sighs. “Why take a break if he loves her?”

“Because she is never gonna love me back!” His friend snaps, “She controls plants and I’m a monster.”

“You’re not a monster-”

“We’ll talk about this later.” Bucky snaps and storms off. 

- 

The waitress at the old school diner recognized you and Bucky by now, smiling at you both as you walked in with your hands entwined. She nods her head to your normal booth and Bucky leads the way. 

You eat dinner, listening to Bucky talk about his day before the waitress comes by with a sunday. 

“The older couple sent this for you guys.” She smiles. “They said you were an adorable couple.”

Your face goes beet red, blanching out before you rush out. “We’re not a couple.”

Bucky gets embarrassed by this, the blatant rejection. Meanwhile you were worried about the fact that Bucky would realize your crush. 

“D-Did you still want to watch Star Trek tomorrow?” You ask nervously. 

“Actually I have to train with Nat tomorrow.” He sighs, ears going pink as he blushes. 

- 

The rain outside the quinjet was alarming, your nerves were beginning to get the best of you, but you were trying to remain cool as you avoided looking in Bucky’s direction. 

With your leg shaking and Sam prattling off different codes you tried to focus on anything else but the rain, anything, just so long as you didn’t lose your cool right now. 

You were nervous, because of the rain and the fact that you would be the only one without a partner, but most of all you were angry. 

What had you done to Bucky to be cut out this way? 

A five year friendship completely cut off with no explanation as to why. Treated like the scum on a shoe and for what? What had you done and why couldn’t he just talk to you?

“Y/n?” Sam calls, snapping your attention up to him as he peers at you. “You okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” You fake a laugh, hands fisted into your sides as you hear a flash of thunder in the distance, thoughts going back to that moldy and cold cell they had kept you in. You could still feel the vines leaching across your body in an attempt to keep you warm, using all your strength just to grow them. 

“Because Steve has been calling your name for three minutes.” Sam whispers which makes you turn to where Steve is standing with a deeply concerned look. Bucky and  Nat sit together behind him, both of them holding concerned looks of their own. 

Making eye contact with Bucky, watching his blue eyes melt at you, before an angry vile feeling loosens in your chest. You didn’t want any of their pity. 

If he didn’t want to talk to you then so be it. 

So you simply turn away and nod to Steve, turning to the front so you don't have to look at any of them. 

If Barnes wanted to cut you out then so be it. You would cut him out as well.

Part Two

[hxney-lemcn]

Looking Out For You — Giyū Tomioka x gn! hashira! reader

summary: your decision to befriend the reclusive water hashira turns your life around for the better.

tw: anxious and insecure reader, awkward convos, non-descriptive injuries, mentions of getting stitches.

a/n: I finally wrote for Kimetsu no Yaiba, been a fan of this when there was only one season of the show (read the entire manga as it got updated).

wc: 6k

Master List

It was no secret that the water hashira was a loner. He stuck to himself and blended into the background. At first you were neutral towards him, you were similar in a sense. Kept to yourself and tried to blend into the background. The big difference is that not only were you friends with the love hashira, but you had managed to endear yourself towards some of the others. You weren’t sure how you did it, but it was nice to know that they cared. For Giyū Tomioka, it was the complete opposite. 

You could only hear insults towards the man for so long. A part of you related to him, and hearing Kochō be so passive aggressive towards him made you feel unsettled. So you made up your mind, you were going to try and befriend Tomioka. You had been completely alone before, and you had wished for someone to befriend you, so you were sure he was longing for the same. 

You had told Mitsuri of your plan as you both walked towards the Ubuyashiki Estate. You all had been called for a brief. These were rare, but it was nice to see how your fellow hashira’s were, and also a perfect excuse to try and talk to the water hashira. Mitsuri was nearly jumping up and down at the information, an excited grin overtaking her features. 

“That’s so cute!” She squealed, clasping her hands together. “You have to tell me how it goes.”

“I already feel like I’m going to fail,” You said, slightly sweating at the thought. “Last time I tried to make a friend it ended up really awkward because I never know what to say.”

“Hm,” She hummed in thought. “Just try and find a connection.”

You purse your lips, “That’s easier said than done.”

It wasn’t much longer before you found yourself sitting next to the stoic man. Ubuyashiki was going over statistics, how we could improve and how well we’ve been doing. I felt myself getting more anxious by the second. After the meeting I would try and at least say hi, but I was wondering if that was a good idea. Seconds ticked by while you had basically toned out Ubuyashiki’s smooth voice, fingers fidgeting in your lap. Once you were all excused, you hyped yourself up, looking over to the black haired man.

 “Hello!” You said a little too loudly, a nervous smile adorned your lips as  you gained Tomioka’s attention. 

His blank stare watched you for a few seconds before replying, “Excuse me.”

Then he left. 

…just like that. You blinked, mouth dropping in slight awe at just how fast he managed to escape. You had spent so long going over situations and anxious thoughts…only for him to barely acknowledge you. 

You didn’t even realize Mitsuri joined you until she spoke up, “Maybe next time?”

You turned your attention to the green eyed beauty, a pout adorning your lips, “He didn’t even say hi back.”

“Ara ara~” Kochō joined us, an empty smile placed on her lips. “I’m afraid it’s a lost cause.”

Your playful pout had turned into a frown, your feelings towards the insect pillar were mixed. She was blunt, which would be nice at times, but others it could be harsh. “Oh well,” You shrugged. “At least I’ll be able to say I tried.”

You had accidently ran into Tomioka only a few days later. You were walking back to your estate, exhausted after a long mission. It was more tedious than difficult, as the walking had been longer than the fight by far. You couldn’t believe your eyes when they landed on the split patterned haori. Before your anxiety could get the best of you, you approached him.

“Hello!” You waved, this time not shouting. “How are you doing Tomioka-san?”

Once again his stoic features watched you briefly, like he was trying to gauge your intentions, “I’m doing fine.”

Yes! He couldn’t run away like last time, you’ll make sure of it.

“How old are you?” You asked, genuinely curious. He looked both young and old in a sense, and you were curious where you stood compared to your ages.

Another awkward pause as you both stood on the trail, Tomioka finally answered, “Ninteen.”

Your mouth dropped open, unable to hide your surprise, “Nineteen! I thought you were at least twenty-two!” Tamioka only glanced away awkwardly, and you waved your hands around. “Not that it's a bad thing, I’m only twenty! So we’re really close in age. Besides, Tokitō’s fourteen so nineteen isn’t that bad…sorry I’m rambling.”

Your anxiety started to run rampant, this is the most you had spoken to the water pillar and it was really awkward. You both seemed to be in the same boat as he awkwardly nodded, arms crossed as his eyes couldn’t meet yours. An awkward silence encompassed you both and you felt yourself losing your composure.

“I’m sorry,” You apologized again, feeling your face heat up in embarrassment. “I want to befriend you but I’m very bad at talking to others. Mitsuri-chan recommended finding something we both relate to, but I am unsure how to do that.” You weren’t sure if your mind was playing tricks on you, but you swore Tomioka’s eyes widened slightly, head tilting ever so slightly. He almost reminded you of a puppy. 

“We shouldn’t be friends,” Tomioka’s tone spoke with finality. Your brows furrowed, you could understand him saying that, but the sting of rejection overpowered your thoughts. Normally you’d bow as an apology and scurry away to mull over all the points in which you made yourself look like a fool, but your wish to friend him overpowered that.

“Why not?” You asked, a slight frown pulling on your lips. 

Tomioka opened his mouth only to close it, eyebrows furrowing in thought. Finally, he replied, “I don’t want to be friends with you.”

You nodded, the sting of rejection spreading. You felt your face flush in embarrassment as you bowed, “I apologize, I wish you well Tomioka-san.”

You quickly turned around, rushing towards your estate, shame and embarrassment continuing to flood through you. You had quickly written a letter to Mitsuri, venting about how embarrassed you were. You had been sent on another mission shortly after, allowing you to forget about your embarrassing fiasco, at least for a brief moment. You were nearly back to normal, your restless nights finally ceasing as the memory started to fade to the back of your mind. Until it was violently forced back to the forefront.

You had found yourself resting in the same wisteria house as Giyū Tomioka. You both sat in silence, eating your food without acknowledging the other. It felt wrong, like you should say something, but those words he spoke rang in your head, holding you back, ‘I don’t want to be friends with you.’ 

You hate to admit it, but that simple sentence had brung back insecurities you thought you had overcome. You didn’t blame him, not at all. It wasn’t Tomioka’s fault that you had seemed to crumble due to one person's seemingly unapproval of you. You ate with your head bowed, hoping that you weren’t annoying him in any way. Was it the way you looked? The way you talked? Had you rambled too much in your nervousness? Did your mere aura annoy him? If so, you felt even more guilty for making him sit in your presence. 

Tomioka on the other hand hadn’t noticed your inner dilemma. Although he did find you seeming to shrink in on yourself further and further unusual, he wasn’t sure what your normal was. You hadn’t seemed to act like this around the other hashira’s, he only saw glimpses of you. If he were to be honest, he had seen the way you interacted with Mitsuri, so lively and happy. He wished he could experience that side of you, but he knew he had ruined any chance already. ‘I don’t want to be friends with you,’ those words haunted him. It was a lie, he did in fact want to be friends with you, but you were better off without him. He would only manage to drag you down.

“Are you finished?” Tomioka asked. You hadn’t even realized you had stopped eating. Looking up at him for the first time, you stared at him with wide eyes.

“Oh! Uh, yeah,” You stumbled. “Here, I can clean up.” Moving faster than he could protest, you had grabbed the empty bowls and started cleaning, not wanting to be a burden. The lady of the house was surprised when you approached her with the dirty dishes, asking where to set them. When she protested you helping her wash them, you begrudgingly made your way back to your shared room for the night. 

“Thank you,” Tomioka spoke up randomly, causing you to glance at him.

“It’s okay,” You shrugged, prepping your futon to your liking. “I like helping.”

It was harder for you to fall asleep than you’d like to admit. You had been running around for the past few days and it seemed that your mind couldn’t settle just yet. You kept your eyes closed, willing yourself to sleep as your body felt exhausted. 

It was even harder for you to fall asleep as Tomioka had murmured into the night, “I wish we could be friends, but this is for the best.”

Great, now you really weren’t going to fall asleep. 

The sun was just starting to shine through the windows, causing you to slowly wake up. You were surprised that you had awoken earlier than Tomioka. He looked so peaceful, the usual tension in his face had been relaxed. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you went to take care of yourself in the bathroom. Your foggy mind slowly remembered the restless night before, how Tomioka had confessed to wanting to be friends with you when he thought you were asleep. Now that you knew that you weren’t the problem/reason, you were going to try even harder to befriend him.

When you returned to the room, you had half expected the room to be empty, but to your delight, Tomioka was still there, having just woken up.

“Good morning,” You smiled sleepily, still feeling sluggish. You tried to ignore how cute he looked as he rubbed his eyes.

“Good morning,” Tomioka replied back softly. 

“Did you sleep well?” You asked, hoping to keep the conversation going. While talking, you made your way to your satchel, making sure everything was in order.

“Yes,” He replied, the sounds of shuffling cloth coming from behind you. Glancing back, you watched as he was about to leave. “Excuse me,” He alerted, sliding the door open and leaving. At first you thought he was leaving completely like the last time, except you noticed his sword was still in the room. 

‘Good,’ You thought. ‘He should at least eat something before leaving.’

The lady of the house knocked on the door before entering, a bright smile on her face. You both chatted briefly as she set up a zataku table, loading some food on top. Tomioka entered the room not long after, glancing at the food but ignoring it. Swallowing the bite of taiyaki, I spoke up, “You should join me! The food’s really good.”

“I’m not hungry,” Tomioka muttered.

You bit your lip, trying to think of how you could get to know him better, “Not even for just a bite of rice?” His deep blue eyes glanced at me, pausing before he grabbed his sword, then his eyes drifted to the food. “I really can’t eat this all by myself,” You said, hoping that would finally entice him. It seemed your persuasive skills were better than you thought (or his loneliness was finally getting the best of him). 

As you both sat at the table, you found yourself rambling about your mission. The awkwardness between the both of you from before had seemed to vanish (on your end at least) as you talked to fill the silence. How the demon’s you were sent to kill had become more challenging, how the treck left you exhausted, how awkward you were around to kakushi. It got to the point of you rambling about this cute Ezo red fox you saw.

Tomioka may be a bit oblivious at times, but he had noticed this drastic change. Just last night you barely let out a peep, and now you were talking about anything and everything. He didn’t mind, no one has talked with him in such a way since…Sabito. It felt very bittersweet for him. He could only ponder on what caused your change, and he hoped that you hadn’t heard his confession last night. Especially since he found his will to be weaker than he’d like to admit. 

…

Misturi was a very good listener. The way she’d dramatically gasp or watch with bated breath. You knew she was hanging on to every word you spoke. When you had finished filling her in on everything that had happened between both you and Tomioka she squealed. 

“You two are so cute!” She smiled brightly, finishing another bowl of pork cutlet.

“More like we’re both awkward,” You mumbled. Picking at your food (still only on your first portion).

“He said he wanted to be your friend!” She pointed at you with her chopsticks. 

“But I’m not sure how to proceed,” You complained. “Do I just keep talking his ear off about random stuff? I feel like that’ll get annoying quickly.”

“Why don’t you get him something?” She asked, sipping some tea. “Maybe that’ll open him a little.”

“Hmm,” You pondered. What would you even get him? “Maybe.”

So you had continued to think about what a reclusive water hashira may like. It didn’t help that you were in the midst of a market. Vendors resided on either side, showing off their wares to entice customers to view their stalls. You took in the sites, yet nothing really caught your eyes. That was until a vendor who was selling omamori. You were surprised to find someone selling these charms outside of a shrine, so you were a bit weary of the product, but they seemed to be made from genuinely good materials.

You perused the items, there were many different colors and intentions. Finally, you picked out a blue omamori that wishes for happiness. You didn’t really think much of it. You did, in fact, wish Tomioka happiness. The rest of your mission went smoothly, and you sent Tomioka a letter upon your arrival. In the time it took for your crow to come back, you had almost forgotten of the invite. You felt yourself waiting anxiously for the time to come, tidying up your estate even more (much to the kakushi’s dismay), making sure you had enough tea and snacks. 

By the time Tomioka had arrived, you already had two cups of tea and a snack platter set out on your engawa. It was a nice warm and bright sunny day, and you might as well enjoy the scenery of the forest that surrounded your estate. You greeted him with a bright smile, coaxing him to sit down. The both of you savored the tea, sipping in silence. It was nice. Normally you’d feel pressured to say something, like you were failing at keeping the other person entertained, but at the moment you felt peaceful. Sharing a warm cup of tea on a nice day with someone you cared about. 

You watched as the sun rays fell down, barely hitting the forest floor. Rabbits hopping about as insects buzzed around. You quite liked your estate, you were grateful for all that Ubuyashiki has given you. It was in a secluded area not too far from a small village. It gave you a space for yourself, but you were still close enough to society that you weren’t a hermit. You enjoyed nature as well, watching animals was one of your favorite hobbies as you discovered silly little behaviors that they would do. Though as a hashira you found yourself having less and less time to yourself. 

“I have something for you,” You finally spoke up. You both had finished a cup of tea and some of the snacks were gone. You turned your gaze to Tomioka, only to meet his ocean blue eyes. You took the omamori out of your pocket and handed it to the water hashira. He hesitated before finally accepting the gift. You bit your lips, trying to suppress the giant grin that threatened to spread across your lips. A light pink dusted across his cheeks as he stared at it. 

“You didn’t have to,” He replied, eyes still on the gift. “...thank you.”

“No biggie,” You waved it off. “I saw it and thought of you.” You didn’t realize what you said until you had said it. Your eyes widened, and Tomioka’s blush seemed to only intensify. Deciding that ignoring the remark was the best option, you started talking about your last mission and the market you had found that charm in. A giddy feeling overwhelmed you as you watched Tomioka pocket the charm, his gaze looking warmer than usual. 

It was safe to say both you and Tomioka were quite close to each other now. You were someone he enjoyed spending time with and you loved being in his presence. The awkwardness that had initially been a part of your relationship fizzled, a warm atmosphere left in its wake. The two of you would spend time over tea, mostly at your estate, but you were proud to say you’ve spent time at his as well. Sometimes you found yourself going on walks on the trails that littered across your property, and you would point out animals you’d observed and little facts you found out about them over the years. Tomioka thought that if demons hadn’t screwed over the world, you’d have made a wonderful researcher.  

The feeling of something slipping into your pocket had put you on edge. Turning your head swiftly to the side, you stared at Tomioka with wide eyes. He stared at you back, eyes wide and cheeks a light pink. He had been caught. He didn’t know what he was expecting, you were a highly skilled hashira, trained to detect the slightest thing off. Slipping your hand into your pocket, you pulled out an omamori. You felt your face flush as it was not only your favorite color, but it was an anti-evil omamori. 

“Thank you, Tomioka-san,” You thanked with a bright smile. You were so busy trying to figure out how to attach the charm to the hilt of your sword, you almost missed Tomioka’s next words.

“Giyū,” He muttered, head turned away from you. You stared at him slightly in confusion until he clarified, “You can call me Giyū.”

“Thank you, Giyū-san,” You clarified, smiling so wide it felt like your cheeks hurt. “You can call me by my first name as well.” He nodded, still not facing your direction. Tugging gently at his haori, you led him to continue your walk along the trail, the day seeming a lot brighter than before. 

…

“Please Giyū-san,” You pleaded, putting on your best puppy dog eyes.

He tried his hardest to not meet your gaze, feeling his resolve slowly crumbling, “I…am busy that day.”

“Pleeeeease,” You drawled out, hands clasped as you jutted out your bottom lip. “I don’t want to be stuck as a third wheel.” He had accidently met your gaze, and he felt himself fold, how could you look so cute? 

“Fine.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You exclaimed, pulling him into a hug without a second thought, squeezing him tightly to try and express your gratitude. “I love Mitsuri-chan but Iguro-san scares me.” Giyū stood stiff, arms fell limply at his sides. Unsure what to do, he awkwardly patted your back before you pulled away. Your warmth that had seeped into him seemed to vanish and he immediately wished you held him for just a moment longer. 

The dinner had arrived too quickly for his liking. Although he found himself wanting to spend more time with you, and he didn’t mind Kanroji, Iguro had made his distaste of the water hashira clear multiple times. He hasn’t spent time with you in the presence of others, and he was scared that you’d finally come to your senses and sever your ties with him. 

He had arrived at least fifteen minutes early, which was exactly when you arrived as well. Giyū couldn’t help but stare at you in awe as he approached. You stood to the side of the restaurant that you were all to dine in. You wore a simple kimono, but he couldn’t help but find himself astounded. He thought you were ethereal in your uniform and haori, but seeing you in such casual wear had seemed to revise your beauty in another light. 

You, on the other hand, felt blood drain from your face. Giyū had been the next to arrive after you, and he was wearing his uniform. Your brain had become frenzied as you wondered if you had enough time to make it back to your estate and change your clothes. You didn’t want to stand out amongst your friends. 

“Wait, is everyone going to be in their uniform?” You blurted, feeling slightly dizzy at the thought. Giyū, still being stunlocked, seemed oblivious to your turmoil, shrugged. Your shoulders raised as Giyū stood next to you, waiting for the other two to join. Your brain continued to bug you for ten minutes, and only got worse upon notice of their outfits. Both in their uniforms. You felt your face flush in embarrassment, wanting to hide behind the water hashira as Mitsuri and Iguro spotted you both. 

“Hi!” Misturi waved enthusiastically before gasping your name. “Your kimono is so cute!” Unconsciously, you slightly hide yourself behind Giyū, not enjoying all the eyes on you. This is exactly why you didn’t like standing out in a crowd. 

“Thank you,” You muttered, hand grasping gently at Giyū’s haori. Normally, you wouldn’t have such a harsh reaction to being in such a position, but you could feel Iguro’s eyes watching your every move, judging your every decision. But you’d have to endure it, for Mitsuri’s sake. 

Giyū wasn’t faring much better. He hadn’t expected you to become so shy, using him as a shield. It made him feel a bit prideful and protective, you had chosen him even though you had been friends with Kanroji for longer. Though he also felt a bit embarrassed, unsure how to react to such a situation. He had never thought someone he found attractive would look at him, let alone find comfort in him in such a way. 

You all had entered the restaurant, Mitsuri trying not to squeal at the site before her. She had been trying to refrain from mentioning how your relationship with Giyū seemed to be some romantic plot from a novel she’s read. Every detail you shared with her had her blushing in excitement. She had recalled when you told her you didn’t expect to find love in this lifetime. As a demon slayer, you had little freetime, and the fact that you never knew if the day was going to be your last would loom over you until demons were eradicated. So having friends was tough, and a lover even tougher. She couldn’t be more overjoyed by the fact that you had managed to find someone even with the complications. Which led her to this master plan with Obanai, a secret double date (it would be a double date in her heart). A double date where only one person knew of it as such. 

Once you all got in, you found yourself feeling more comfortable. You found yourself in a comfortable conversation with Mitsuri, both your companions silent as they eyed the other up. It was a comical site for anyone who witnessed it. Mitsuri had beat us all in the amount she consumed, a bright smile as she asked for another. The atmosphere was warm in the small restaurant, the night sky shining through the windows. You slightly felt bad for Iguro and Giyū, as they both seemed out of their element, but overall it was a fun night. It almost felt like a date due to the fact Giyū insisted on walking you home. 

It didn’t take long after that night for you to realize your feelings. You were helping two lower ranked demon slayers defeat a demon. At the end of the battle they had checked in on the other, making sure they were both relatively okay before embracing. It had reminded you of how you treated Giyū, and suddenly it all came crashing down on you. You were in love with Giyū Tomioka. The two demon slayers had thanked you, as you weren’t there to help them initially. They were surprised at how kind you were towards them, remarking how they heard all the hashira’s were cold. You quickly waved them off with a slight laugh, explaining how most of you were just trying to get by like the rest of them. 

You had continued to stew on your feelings, unable to think of anything else. Your mind had been so dangerously drifting off, you found yourself injured. Not gravely, thankfully, but enough for you to end up in butterfly manor. 

“It’s rare to find you here,” Kochō commented as she cleaned your wound, causing you to wince. “Is something the matter? Have you finally realized the lack of heart Tomioka has?”

You frowned, unsure if unpacking your feelings to Kochō was the right play. It wasn’t due to Tomioka’s lack of heart, rather how much heart he has. Your eyes drifted to the sword leaned against the wall next to your current bed, the omamori charm dangling tauntingly. 

“No,” You confessed, hands clenching as she cleaned a particularly deep wound. “It’s actually quite the opposite.”

You took slight satisfaction in the surprise Kochō’s eyes held, but her empty smile didn’t waver, “Don’t tell me he’s managed to trick you somehow.”

“No,” You once again simply answered. “It’s all my own doing.” That was true, in a sense. Of course you couldn’t control your own feelings, but it was you who pushed past Giyū’s barriers and managed to sneak your way into his heart, just as he had snuck his way into yours. Though you weren’t sure if he viewed you in such a way, and you didn’t want to push him farther than he could handle. 

Without pause, Kochō took out a suture kit, threading the needle. Your eyes widened in horror. You’ve only needed stitches very few times, and the nausea you felt when a needle was presented never left. Mercifully, Kochō took out a balm and applied it to the skin around your wound. 

Waiting for a few moments to let the balm numb your skin, she spoke up, “Don’t get your hopes too high with him.” It was at that moment that you realized that Kochō was looking out for you…in a passive aggressive way. Although you didn’t exactly like the way she showed this care (by insulting Giyū), you still felt touched that she even cared in the first place. 

“Don’t worry,” You shrugged. “They’re never really high in the first place.” It was that moment she deemed worthy to pierce your skin. 

…

You didn’t need too many stitches thankfully, but even with the numbing the process was excruciating. You were relieved when the bandages were finally applied and Kochō bid you farewell. You were sore all over, waiting for the medicine Kochō made you take to finally kick in. Not only were you sore and tired, but you felt slightly ashamed. You allowed your emotions to overtake you and get injured in battle. You were a hashira, these simple things weren’t meant to let your guard down. 

You had been so absorbed in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed said water hashira entering your room. Kochō hadn’t been too surprised when she saw him stalking down the hall as she exited your room. With your previous conversation, and the bits Kanroji accidentally let slip, she had pieced together that Tomioka wasn’t all she thought he was. It was hard for her to believe that he would care about someone, but now that she witnessed the terror that shone in his blue eyes, he had even managed to surprise her. 

“They’re resting,” Kochō said, a fake smile lifting the corners of her lips. “Visiting hours aren’t open for them yet.”

Giyū didn’t even pause, continuing his trek to your room. It didn’t matter that his crow had told him you were only mildly injured, or the fact that Kochō left your room (a clear indicator that you were fine), he needed to see that you were okay with his own eyes. He had lost so much already, and he surrendered himself of such attachments, not only because he didn’t deserve it, but because he didn’t want to go through that again. You had managed to brighten his days again, he looked forward to waking up, wondering if he’d get to hear you laugh that day. All the good came crashing down the second he heard of your injured state.

You were both demon slayers, hashira at that, so you were bound to face injury. Yet he couldn’t help but blame himself. For what? Even he wasn’t sure, but he felt like it was due to the fact you were close to him. Karma for being the one to always survive. So when he quietly opened the sliding door, a breath of relief passed his lips as he saw you stare out the window. The sun hit your figure, causing a warm glow to light up your features. The usual smile that was on your face had turned into a frown, eyes distant. He wasn’t sure what to do. He had accomplished his mission, he’s seen you with his own eyes and you’re breathing perfectly fine, although the bandages that littered your face tugged at his heartstrings. 

“Oh, hello,” You spoke softly, snapping Giyū out of his thoughts. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, internally berating himself for asking such a stupid question. Of course you aren’t okay, you're sitting in a hospital bed at butterfly manor.

“I’m fine,” You smiled slightly. “Just some small injuries. Honestly all this pampering is a little too much if you ask me.” That was a slight lie on your part. It was clearly not just small injuries, or you wouldn’t have been taken to butterfly manor. You felt bad for the poor kakushi that had to tend to your injuries enough so you wouldn’t bleed out as they carried you all the way here. 

Giyū also seemed to sense your lie, his blue eyes unwavering from their intense stare. His eyes raked your body, trying to pinpoint all the injuries that littered your body. Fortunately for you, most of the injuries were hidden by your clothes and blanket. With a sigh, you patted the bed, gesturing for him to sit and join you. He did so hesitantly, ending up sitting as close to the edge as he could. You felt your mood lighten at the sight, the seriousness from before slowly dissipating. 

“You can sit closer silly,” You chuckled lightly. He scooted just slightly, and you smiled at him. “Okay so maybe I needed some stitches, but that was the worst of it. Really, I’m fine.”

Giyū’s shoulders slumped, finally he seemed to be able to calm down. You were fine, truly. You were still there, still sitting by him, still smiling at him, still laughing. Your breath hitched at how intense his gaze was. You felt your face flush as he stared at you with utter adoration. You felt your own gaze soften, probably matching his own. 

“It was my own fault,” You muttered, hoping to quell his worries further. “I was distracted, but that won’t happen again.” His eyebrows furrowed, the silent question in his eyes being loud enough for you to understand. Scratching your cheek, you looked away to try and hide your embarrassment. Should you just say it? Get it off your chest? Would he be weirded out? 

“I was thinking about you.”

Now you both were avoiding eye contact, flustered more than you’d like to admit. He hadn’t expected that. What exactly were you thinking? Have you been thinking about him often? It left him feeling warm at the thought. For some odd reason, it made him happy. 

The silence between you both grew, and you felt more anxious the longer it lasted. “Not…not  in a weird way,” You defended weakly, fidgeting with your fingers in your lap. Glancing up at him your eyes widened in wonder as a tiny smile pulled on the edges of his lips, red dusting his cheeks and the tips of his ears. If you could capture this moment, you would in a heartbeat. Deciding that now was your chance, you ripped the bandaid off.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

This time Giyū stared at you in disbelief, and you wondered if you did the wrong thing. But he had smiled earlier! The first smile you had ever seen grace his beautiful features. Perhaps you came to the wrong conclusion. Both of you stared at the other, waiting for the other to make a move. Your heart beat faster and faster the longer he stayed frozen. His entire face and neck was engulfed in a violent shade of red, and you were scared you might’ve broken him. 

“You don’t have to love me back or anything,” The words quickly tumbled passed your lips. “And I understand if you don’t want to be friends anymore. That’s a weird thing to confess to your friend.”

That seemed to snap him back, he looked down at his lap, trying to regain composure. He found it harder and harder to remain stoic in your presence. The emotions he repressed would always flow to the forefront when you were around, and although it could be overwhelming at times, he still welcomed the feelings. Not sure how to convey his feelings properly (he surely didn’t trust his mouth to say the right thing), he scooted a little closer to you. You watched with bated breath, unsure where he stood on your feelings (he really didn’t make it easy to read him either).

“I reciprocate your feelings,” He replied, voice wavering just slightly. You blinked, unsure if you heard him correctly. You weren’t sure what you expected, but such a formal response actually made you feel a bit better. Clearly this was new to both of you and you both weren’t sure how to go about this new territory. But that was fine, because you both could traverse it together.

…

Only a few days later, Mitsuri had managed to visit you. Giyū had refused to leave your side, assisting you with the simplest tasks. You felt bad for the girls who brought you your necessities as Giyū would watch their every move, ensuring you got all that you needed. When Mitsuri entered your room, she hadn’t expected to see the water hashira sitting next to you, let alone so close! Her green eyes took in the scenario, Giyū not meeting her gaze as he felt flustered that he was caught. You smiled brightly at the love hashira, welcoming her into the room.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner,” She apologized. 

“It’s okay,” You waved off her concern. “Giyū-kun has been keeping me company.”

Mitsuri couldn’t hold back her squeal, the two of you clearly have grown closer, dare she say you two have a more intimate relationship. Giyū looked even more flustered, head turned away from the both of you. 

“You have to tell me everything!”

[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!

[grllmx]

"Ragatha in Wonderland"

🌻 Them side by side for height difference 🌻

Heya!! Y'all wouldn't mind some info dump, would ya?

But before I share my thoughts and ideas for this au, note that I am making this all for fun and that I am only merging two concepts at once because they sound fun in my head!

-- So without further ado, let's start shall we?

Ragatha in Wonderland is a fun silly lil' au I thought about in my spare time (Though I am aware that I'm not the only person who had similar ideas) buuut! Here's my take on how this concept goes ~

💜🟣🎀- - - - - RAGATHA IN WONDERLAND - - - - -🎀🟣💜

🌻 Wonderland is similar yet different from the Circus. Many possibilities await in this newly found land, but wait... How odd, suddenly everyone and everything is of new variation! Did things really stay the same? Are things different? It's a confusing world that warped and transformed the original digital land into something new. New places to explore, new outfits! New concepts... New people? It seems everything changed. Perhaps even... True death is possible now.

Ragatha - Plays the role as Alice. Confused and bewildered at first but Ragatha progressively adapts to the world and the surroundings around her. Acts like herself for the first portions of the story but as she dwells longer in this 'wonderland' she loses herself, her identity, as if the place was sucking out all of 'her'. She'll meet a lot of familiar faces. She feels comforted, knowing that she isn't alone in this newly found world but little does she know - they are not what she seemed.

Jax - The white rabbit leading Ragatha to wonderland. Jax was the one who dragged her in this, so Ragatha's first instincts was to follow him, hoping he knows where the exit is. Though he often plays tricks, teasing and playing with Ragatha's head whenever given the chance. Maybe he doesn't sound like a reliable shoulder to lean on, but he is Ragatha's key in terms of escaping wonderland.

Gangle - Starring as the mouse and the dormouse. The first person (other than Jax) Ragatha meets in wonderland. Gangle is skittish and has an extreme fear of cats. She does not like hearing or mentioning them, her mouse-like features says so otherwise. Though, in later unfortunate events, Ragatha scares her by mentioning, you guess it, cats. And then flees elsewhere.

Zooble - Following the (possibly tobacco) smoke trails, enters in the wise caterpillar. Meeting for the first time was not fun, in Ragatha's case mostly. Zooble asks Ragatha a lot of questions, typically centering around herself which gradually starts her descend into madness. Zooble's questions hit hard for Ragatha, making her realize a lot of things and learn more about the world. Though one question stuck the most, "who are YOU?"

Caine - The Hatter/Mad hatter. Need I say more? Hehe, anyways... Caine, alongside Bubble, is notably the most mad or insane person living in wonderland. Always yapping about random things (Riddles, jokes, factual statement... you name it) that can either be truth or made up, which Ragatha can't tell the difference of since they are always so surreal and deranged, or in other words, utter nonsense! He is another character that made Ragatha's mental state and mindset deteriorate. (Ragatha wishes to never meet him again)

Pomni - It's Pomni! Though, something is off... Pomni's role is the Cheshire cat. She's willing to help Ragatha escape, even suggesting ideas that felt to be possible, but are things really that easy? No, of course not! She is a red herring, a person filled with mischief that fools and plays with her victims until she deems them boring. Ragatha meets Pomni in the woods right after she ran away from Caine, and just like Jax, Pomni plays with Ragatha's head. But eventually helps her out and leads her to the kingdom's garden.

Kinger - Sometimes, a king is fit to be queen. Kinger is the Queen of Hearts, a short tempered, bossy but childish queen. After first meeting, Ragatha didn't deem Kinger as a threat at first, even playing a simple game of croquet with him. But as she starves and remembers that hunger was present in this land, she secretly ate the queen's well-known 'tarts'. This resulted into the seething rage of Kinger, declaring a court trial in which Ragatha was later proven to be 'guilty'. Hence, "OFF WITH HER HEAD!"

🌻 So, spoiler alert -- Just like in original tales and stories inspired by Alice in Wonderland, this was all in Ragatha's head, a dream! I'm debating to either turn this into a comic or not, because I think it helps further explain my ideas, but who knows? Maybe with the right motivation and energy, I might do it.

Thank you for reading! Have a nice day/night 🌻