#quick draw is basically snap-on in reverse

[rafecameronssl4t]

Hey could u write a dad rafe fic based on this tiktok?

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMrvx2fmu/

Basically just fluff and their baby being really attached to her dad!

Daddy's girl || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: I SAW THIS TIKTOKBEFOREE AHH

MASTERLIST (dad!rafe au masterlist)

"Don't see why I couldn't have driven," Rafe grumbles, glancing at you with a playful frown. You chuckle, your hand rubbing soothing circles on his back as the two of you, along with Mabel and Sarah, make your way to Sarah's car.

"Your sister really wanted to," you remind him gently, earning a resigned huff as he opens the car door. With the utmost care, Rafe lifts Mabel into her car seat, his movements tender and deliberate. You slide into the passenger seat, casting a fond glance at Rafe as he secures himself in the backseat beside Mabel.

"Sarah, you better be driving carefully," Rafe starts, his tone a mix of brotherly concern and protective father. As he clicks in his seatbelt, Sarah rolls her eyes, already reversing out of the driveway with practiced ease. "Rafe, I'm a perfectly good driver, thank you very much," she retorts, her confidence evident and you can't help but stifle a laugh.

After a leisurely brunch at the café, Mabel was visibly exhausted, her little eyes fluttering as Rafe carried her back to the car. She melted into his arms, her head resting against his shoulder, and he carefully placed her in her car seat, her tiny hands clutching at him even as she drifted off. The drive home took almost twice as long due to the heavy traffic, the car inching along the streets of Kildare .

As Mabel slept soundly, Rafe gently stroked her cheek, his gaze soft as he admired the features that mirrored both yours and his. His hand came to rest beside her face in the car seat, and instinctively, Mabel snuggled up to it, a peaceful sigh escaping her lips. From the passenger seat, you glanced into the rear-view mirror, your heart swelling at the sight, a soft smile on your lips.

"Babe, look," Rafe murmured, drawing your attention. He carefully lifted his hand away from Mabel's face, and almost instantly, her peaceful expression faltered. A tiny whimper escaped her before it grew into a full cry, her little hands reaching out for the warmth she had lost.

"Aww," you cooed, touched by the sight as Rafe quickly placed his hand back where it was. Mabel immediately quieted, nestling against his hand once more, a contented sigh replacing her cries. "She's too cute," Sarah chimed in from the driver’s seat, pouting her lips in exaggerated affection. You couldn't resist snapping a quick photo, capturing the sweet moment.

[novankenn]

Shadows in the Dark

(Master Chapter List)

(782 Words) Pyrrha walked the slowly emptying streets of Vale. It had been 10 years since that fateful night. 10 years since her father had been murdered, and she was initiated into a world of fell creatures that hunted the night. Headmaster Ozpin had saved her, and went well beyond to help her shattered family.

Over the subsequent years, her instincts became razor honed. Her skills without peer. She was on patrol this night, as the Deputy Headmistress had garnered information, troubling information. While Pyrrha's mother slept in their apartment at Beacon, Pyrrha was on the prowl. It was strange to be working with Ozpin and Glynda, but for different reasons. But then again, her whole life went into the realm of strange that night 10 years ago.

Ozpin knew more than he would let on. Doling out information in small packets, and only when absolutely necessary. Glynda... well, Glynda was an entirely different beast. She was a vampire, an elder vampire, but domesticated? That couldn't be the right term, but it was the only way Pyrrha could describe her. Pyrrha didn't know any of her story, aside from the fact that Glynda was loyal to Ozpin and lived off synthetic blood. But she was still a creature of the night, regardless of how friendly and accommodating she was to Pyrrha and her mother.

Pushing those distracting thoughts aside, Pyrrha continued her walk. The hood of her black hoodie hiding her features, as she roamed, using her innate abilities to try and locate the problems. The crash and clatter of garbage cans being knocked about, had her instantly alert. Her sharp emerald eyes scanned the shadows, her hands poised to grab her weapons. It was late enough now, that the streets were basically deserted. Human and faunus instincts telling the residents that the dead of night was not the time to be out wandering around.

The crack of a whip, snapping through the air, had her draw her tools of the trade. In the distance, she saw a form tumbling into the street. She wasted no time and sprinted forward, Akuno and Milo in hand. She closed rapidly, and with the building turmoil in her gut, she knew what she was closing on. Pyrrha bore down on the rising beast, only to have to veer off as a second and third figure came tumbling out of the trash choked side street.

"Alright, you bastards." the one in a cloak cussed as he regained his feet, while drawing an arming sword from under his garment. "Let's get this over with."

The hissing and snarls from the other two figures told Pyrrha all she needed to know. They were ferals. While all vampires were beasts, ferals were not much better than grimm, but she was puzzled how two such creatures could be in her city. The city she and Professor Goodwitch kept a very close eye on.

With her shield chambered, she slammed into the feral, behind the cloaked figure, bowling it over. Sticking with her training, she kept her focus on her target. The quick glance she had of the cloaked man, told her, he was at least competent enough to defend himself, besides he was armed.

Ducking under a lunge, she lashed out with Milo in xiphos form, opening a gash across the feral's gut, before reversing the direction of her swing and bringing the scalpel sharp blade into and through the beast's exposed neck, decapitating it. The body instantly became ash, that swirled about her feet. With her target dealt with she turned to assist with the second feral. The pained screech told her she might not have to assist after all.

"When you get back to what ever steaming underworld shithole you came from" the man snarled, his voice dripping with rage, "You tell them there are still Arcs up here!"

Arc. That name made Pyrrha freeze. Professor Goodwitch in particular had spent a fair number of weeks going into great detail of that family with Pyrrha. She turned just enough to watch as the Arc ripped his sword free of the feral's chest before also, as Pyrrha had looping off it's head with a single stroke. Seeing the threats were dealt with, Pyrrha bolted. There was an Arc in Vale, Ozpin and Glynda needed to know.

He watched her vanish into the shadows from over his shoulder. He considered giving chase, but he was tired. It had been a long trip, and running into these things had soured his mood even more. Whoever it was obviously trained, which meant the rumours of a Slayer being in Vale were likely true, which in turn meant the one he was looking for was almost certainly here as well.

(Not sure if I'm mudding things up with adding Jaune and Castelvania, but I did, so let me know... I can rewrite if needed.)

[dravidious]

You're more amazing than the letter A

what about the letter B!!!

[no-droids]

Dove

Part 2 of 2 of The Locked Door Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.7K i apologize for NOTHING

Warnings: DUBCON ELEMENTS, SMUUUUUUT, religion kink, virgin kink, authority kink, degradation kink, praise kink, age gap, ohhhhh the list goes on y’all been here long enough

A/N: I have nothing to say for myself this time im sorry

***

Obi-Wan feels like he’s going to be sick.

Dinner in the grand hall was difficult enough, forking down mouthfuls of expensive food he’s sure was absolutely marvelous, if he could’ve tasted it.  The s’Ziscari clearly splurged on the celebrations—expensive food, expensive decor, expensive everything, down to the silk napkin he studied and fiddled with under the table as he awkwardly waited for you to finish your plate.

He felt uncomfortable, absolutely.  He’s felt uncomfortable ever since he shuffled into this blasted, Maker forsaken robe not long after he left your quarters earlier.

Not black, no.  Not like yours.  Not like what appears to be an overwhelmingly vast majority of the people he’s encountered so far this dreadful evening.

No, his robes are blue.

A strong, eye-catching royal blue, covering his body in waves of fabric—softer than anything he’s ever worn before and leaving him feeling incredibly exposed.  The far more practical robes he traded for these atrocious garments are made of a thick, scratchy wool, a testament to the Jedi’s philosophical rejection of fine or expensive materials.  And, against all logic—to somehow make matters even worse, the sash tying this uncomfortable piece of attire closed has no place to clip his saber, unlike the leather belt he usually wears.  As a consequence, he’s left simply carrying it around by his side.

Granted, for some unknown reason, his robes are still far thicker and longer and more protective than the… stars, the ultra-thin black silk wrapped around your body, but Obi-Wan is so self-conscious about his appearance that he’s not even allowing himself to look at you.  Obviously that doesn’t stop him from refusing to leave your side the entire night, and he finds himself rather grateful that only a very few number of s’Ziscari are fluent in Basic, if only to provide him with a valid excuse to socially detach.

Of the very few people he’s noticed wearing robes resembling his, they’re all far younger than him—much closer to your age than Obi-Wan’s, and stars, everything about this celebration is unbelievably unnerving to him—including, if not most of all, your response to it.  One of the reasons he knows the food was grand, apart from the immaculate plating and lavish dinnerware of course, is because you momentarily excused yourself from the seat next to him to dish yourself out a second helping.

Even now, even in the skybox seats of this distressingly packed arena, Obi-Wan struggles to keep down what little food he could eat while you stand tall next to him and seem completely unbothered by the situation—and by the Maker, it bothers him.  He isn’t used to this.  He’s used to you being the emotionally turbulent one, the one whom he has to pacify, and it twists his stomach with the way the roles have suddenly found themselves reversed.

“I think the blue looks nice, by the way,” you lean sideways to mention casually to him, and he knows.  He knows you’re just jesting, just trying to lighten the mood, but he feels the bile rising up his throat at the fact that you even commented on it aloud.  “Fitting.  Matches your saber.  Your face, though.”  The smallest hint of a smile tugs at your cheeks.  “It’s beginning to match the color of mine.”

“Thank you for that, young one; your sense of humor is positively delightful,” Obi-Wan gripes, clutching the metal hilt tightly in front of him with both hands while he gazes out at the stadium before him, bustling with black hooded figures and a rare flash of blue.  It does not escape his notice that in complete contrast, your arms are loosely meeting behind your back, your saber dangling in one hand while the other lazily holds your wrist.  Your body is… open.  Draped in garments somehow equally as opaque as they are revealing, presented to the wide panoramic view of the audience and stage with no qualms whatsoever.

“Wonder who I got it from,” you ponder with a tilt of your head, and… fair point.  “How long is this thing supposed to last anyways?”

“Stars—‘this thing’ can’t get over with soon enough,” Obi-Wan grumbles, his eyes anxiously flicking down at the empty stage in the center of the audience.  He’s struggling with butterflies and nausea like he himself is meant to have a starring role in this debauchery.  “They’ll have… acts.  Plural.”

“Heavens,” you sigh under your breath, and oh yes.  He agrees.

He’s also painfully aware that he should be using this free time to continue contemplating his decision about… matters concerning later this evening with you, but he’s already feeling massively overwhelmed as it is.  Right now, it’s all he can do to just breathe and attempt to face one trial at a time.

But then, as if the Maker is feeling just particularly malicious this evening, Obi-Wan’s stomach drops when something quiet flashes in the Force and the roar of the enormous crowd instantly falls to dead silence.  The ominous sign rockets through him and while a Jedi should not know fear, this might be the closest he’s ever felt to truly terrified.

“Ooh, dramatic,” you whisper, but regardless of your laissez-faire attitude, his heart is positively pounding as he watches the figures of robed Force sensitives slowly file out onto the stage, and everything inside him lurches at the realization that—

They’re all wearing blue.  Every single one of them is clothed in fabric that matches his current attire, the one that made him feel like a blot on the landscape the entire dinner and subsequent mass pilgrimage to the arena.  A bright splash of color in the midst of an almost inescapably giant ring of black.

You’ve stopped talking.  Truly, he has no idea if that’s a good or bad thing, not right now.  The Force sensitives join hands and create a ring in the center of the stage while every single person in the arena sits in perfect silence, and Obi-Wan feels dizzy.  He’s not getting enough air right now, but he doesn’t even want to breathe too loudly and somehow draw even more attention to himself.

Two of the blue robes break off from their fellow acolytes and meet in the middle of the circle, and to simply avoid having a heart attack, Obi-Wan very purposefully chooses to ignore—like he’s done multiple times this evening—the subtle flicker of curiosity he experiences at the significance of the color blue and what it symbolizes to the s’Ziscari.  He can’t even bear to watch the way the two of them slowly lean in and allow their lips to touch from under their hoods.

Maker, if he turned his saber on and stabbed himself with it, could he convince you it was an accident?  Probably not—no, definitely not, what a stupid thought to have—

“How does she wipe?”  He hears your voice whisper, and Obi-Wan’s facial expression immediately screws up in confusion.

He turns to you, his tone equally hushed but the bewilderment sharpening his consonants.  “How does who what—?”

Only—you’re not even looking at the scene unfolding in front of you.  Your expression is just as confused as his is, but instead of looking down, your chin is lifted and you’re staring directly across the arena at the viewing booth opposite to yours.  He still has no idea what you’re talking about though, not until he follows your line of sight and sees the way s’Zerthia has her jaw propped up in her hands on her throne, looking bored as usual, and how the length of her newly manicured fingernails curves halfway up her scalp from this angle.

“That’s dangerous,” you remark quietly.  “They’re like talons.  Gaudy little weapons she always has attached to her that she decorates, makes them seem less vicious than they actually are.  I see them.  I certainly don’t envy whoever she picks tonight to—”

You cut yourself off with a bit lip smile and turn your face away from him, and Obi-Wan is almost mystified by how casual you’re able to be about this. 

“Whomever she picks to…?”  He trails off with a sigh.  “Do I… Do I want to know?”

“Never mind,” you tell him quickly, lifting your chin once more while still clearly trying not to laugh.  You’re trying not to laugh, while… while that is happening in the center of the audience.  “It was, uh… tasteless.”

He blinks, wondering what that could possibly mean.  Everything about this is tasteless, the entire thing is just an absolute nightmare coming to life.

Though, after a moment of silence, Obi-Wan soon realizes he much prefers it when you fill the void.

“Members of the Royal Court take turns doing it for her,” he eventually replies, decidedly looking anywhere but where the man is slipping the blue robe from the woman’s body.  It takes you a second to register to what exactly he’s referring, but when you finally do, you snort.  It’s too loud.  A few heads closest to your isolated seats turn as Obi-Wan very quickly thrusts his elbow into your ribs.  “Quit being disrespectful,” he hisses under his breath.

“You just—!”  You quickly clamp your mouth shut and face forward again, trying not to smile in an appalled sort of way.  But then—“Oh,” you blurt, not loud enough for anyone else to hear in this open setting but still loud enough for him to glance around and be slightly anxious about it.  “Oh.  Wow.  I wasn’t… expecting…”

Obi-Wan’s eyes automatically flick down to the couple, only just long enough to catch a quick glimpse of stark nudity in the center of the arena before his gaze immediately bounces back up again and focuses on the incredibly interesting steel beam currently propping up the Queen’s viewing box, clearing his throat.  “I… did warn you.”

“Well, yeah, I expected them to…”  Your hushed voice trails off and you stay quiet for too long, too long to imply you’re still formulating an end to your thought.  You’re distracted by something, but then you appear to snap back to your senses and immediately clear your throat.  “I just wasn’t expecting… the, uh.  The… positioning.”

He says nothing in response.  It… it doesn’t give him great comfort, wondering how you could possibly know enough about this type of profanity to have expected a different sort of positioning.  The stark contrast between the color of his ceremonial robes and yours still remains completely unspoken, but it quietly pulls at the back of his mind nonetheless.

“What about it?”  Obi-Wan immediately hears himself prompt and oh, no, this is completely inappropriate.  Not only should he not be encouraging this kind of talk with you, but he also shouldn’t feel so… so negative, not about something so personal to you and something that’s certainly none of his business.  Regardless, he… still has this buried, unexplainable desire to know the truth about it.  Regardless of the indirect way he’s attempting to go about it, he wants to know the truth about whether or not you broke your oath, and while he recognizes it’s completely improper of him, the urge is still strong enough to manifest itself using his vocal cords.

“Oh, I don’t know, it’s just…  It’s…”  He doesn’t even have a visual reference for what you’re attempting to find the words to describe.  He doesn’t want to.  He just wants to know what you think about it.  “…Bold,” you finally settle on.

Bold.  It’s bold.  Perhaps Obi-Wan wouldn’t be analyzing your verbal responses so closely if he had something more interesting to look at besides the general coliseum-like structure of the large outdoor stadium, but there’s a certain horizon he just won’t let his eyes dip below right now and unfortunately for him, being so high up above the crowd, the upper hemisphere of his visual field remains relatively dull.

“Who would've thought,” he eventually sighs, blinking up at the star-splattered sky now and attempting to see if he can use the Force to break off a piece of a satellite and have it impale him in a tragic accident.  “Considering the s’Ziscari are such a conservative bunch.”

His eyes soon wander back to s’Zerthia, and—Obi-Wan startles to find her staring directly at him with a thin eyebrow dangerously quirked.  She motions two long fingers in a V shape at her eyes and then points down towards the stage, her expression expectant and waiting.

Obi-Wan’s teeth hurt at how hard he clenches them together, his jaw flexing but the thick blanket of his beard doing well to conceal it.  She’s playing with him, he realizes; he can see the hidden smile on her lips all the way from here.

Maker, maybe she’s right.  Maybe he’s—maybe he’s being ridiculous about this.  This is fine.  This is fine.  His stomach feels like it’s all his food might come up at any second, but he’ll do it, he’ll look.  He can at least just look, right?

His gaze slowly begins lowering, trying to take in just a few things at a time so as not to overstimulate himself.  Thousands of s’Ziscari lining the seats of the arena, almost every single one of them dressed in black.  Lower still—the platform leading up to the stage.  A perimeter of blue figures now sitting down in a circle and then, at its center, a… a naked man and woman.

Obi-Wan’s heart pounds as he struggles to comprehend the sight, never having laid eyes on a nude woman before.  She’s on her elbows and knees, forehead lowered and resting against the floor, and the man kneels behind her, one hand holding her hips and the other wrapping around his—

Stars, Obi-Wan wants to end it all.  Right here.  His aim will be true.

But then… oh, no, he’s an idiot.  He’s a complete dullard, because he forgot.  Consumed by his own sheer anxiety and unease, Obi-Wan stupidly forgot an extremely crucial detail of the incredibly little he’s been told about the Sh’inzith.

—the projecting.

All at once, he’s nearly knocked over by the strength of the two Force sensitives at the center of the arena as they deliberately cast their minds out across the entire audience, presenting every sensation and fleeting thought they’re experiencing in all its intensity.  Obi-Wan immediately works to reinforce his mental shields as soon as he feels the shockwave about to hit, but there’s thousands of Force sensitives present—all of them congregated into one relatively small area, all of them tuning into the same two signatures and then suddenly… amplifying them back until it’s impossible for him to shut out.

“Oh, uh—” he just manages to hear you mutter through the whirlwind, just the slightest hint of panic in your voice peaking through the symphony of whispered thoughts and pulsing sensations coming from the stage, “—that isn’t good—”

Obi-Wan abruptly stumbles backwards and gasps at the awful, wretched feeling of something brunt pressing up hard against somewhere elusive, somewhere he’s never felt before towards the lower part of his body, and his mind fights viciously against it as he feels you spin around and reach out for his rapidly retreating figure.

“Wait, no—it’s okay, M-Master, it’s okay, it’s—” your voice cuts off and your hands suddenly fist into the robes at his chest, your forehead dropping to his shoulder against the sharp sting just continuing to push and push and push, “—i-it’s okay, it’s oka—”

He trips over his feet in the chaos and falls back on complete instinct and you’re so tightly attached to him that you’re yanked forwards with the momentum, the two of you plunging to the ground in a clumsy heap of grunts and tangled limbs.  Obi-Wan immediately starts crawling backwards across the floor underneath you, still trying to escape the horrible, inescapable sensation digging into a part of his body that doesn’t seem to exist, but it’s like you’re of the same mind—you’re scrambling forwards in the same direction trying to get away from the same thing, frantically attempting to calm him and simultaneously deal with the agony yourself, and then suddenly—

Oh—oh, Maker—

Suddenly something gives and surges in, and then Obi-Wan gasps—his elbows buckling under him and as the both of you drop down onto the floor because stars, it’s nearly blinding with impression.  Not only the aching, hard fullness stretching sharp and deep somewhere in his lower abdomen—but now a new sensation.  A tight, wet silk he feels swallowing him between his legs, concentrated on a part of his body that… does exist, a body part that’s currently pressed up right between your spread thighs.

“Fuck,” you moan hot against his throat, trying to find somewhere to brace yourself next to his shoulders and push yourself up off him, and he tries—Maker, he tries so hard not to, but his hands shoot out to grab your hips before he even knows what he’s doing and then he’s dragging his lower body up into yours on instinct alone, clamping his eyes shut and groaning out a desperate sound he’s never heard himself make before as his head drops against the floor.

It’s staggering.  It hurts.  He can't even hear your muffled noises anymore, not over the roaring encompassing his mind and body.  All he knows is that your hips quickly jerk back and grind down into his in response, sending Obi-Wan reeling while you bury your twisted cry of pleasure and pain into his neck.

The sound of it breaks through everything else.

Obi-Wan’s hands shake violently as they suddenly release you and then frantically shove at your shoulders, trying to push you off without hurting you.  He can’t think, he can’t see, he needs to leave—

“Get away,” he rasps desperately up at the sky, blinking his eyes wide but somehow not seeing anything in front of him but blackness.  “St-stars, get away from me—”

Suddenly you’re flipping off his body and onto your back next to him, too quick for it to be a mechanical movement alone, and he doesn’t even have the space in his mind nor the processing capacity to figure out if he Force pushed you off him or if it was you who did it to yourself.  He just clambers to his feet and stumbles away in a terrified, graceless retreat, bent in half, limping and gasping and fighting for every step he takes.

***

Your Master was right to leave as soon as possible, you think.  You were wrong to linger here for just a second to try and gain your bearings, because the more you work to grasp and attempt to organize them, the more mindless and disorienting they become.

You eventually have to heave over and drag yourself after him.

The further away you get from the arena, the easier it becomes to block the projection, but Maker, it’s exhausting.  You’re resigned to start out with a crawl—one of those Jedi Core crawls you haven’t had to do since the Academy but this one exponentially slower, forehead dropped down and eyes closed, just focusing on alternating shifting your elbows and your knees forwards and dedicating the rest of your mental energy to just isolating your mind from the debilitating assault.

Consulars don’t usually see much of war—you tend to do absolutely everything in your power to avoid it.  It’s the Guardians who experience the horrors of combat most often, who deal with ambushes and onslaughts from enemies of the Republic.  But Maker above, every merciless thrust into that poor little virgin at the center of the arena is like a blaster shooting directly at you, but then couple it with the thousands of reflections and ricochets in robes lining the bleachers?  You’re in the trenches of a deadly battle you had no idea was even about to break out and you have no weapon of defense besides retreat.

When you finally get far enough away to be able to push yourself upright as much as possible and continue staggering back to the palace on two feet, you have no concept for how long it’s been.  You can still feel the projection vibrating and clawing sharply at the edges of your consciousness, but at least the majority of your thoughts are your own now, and it gradually becomes easier and easier to focus and speed up to a clumsy run.

Though, no matter how successful you eventually are at muffling the vibrant sensations and thoughts of the two Force sensitives behind you—when they cum, you stumble down to your knees again and have to bite the back of your fist to keep from screaming.

Maker, it takes you a minute to recover.  You don’t even cum, you just feel it—the burst of energy from the Force in every direction, the violent explosion from the stadium that feels like it should fracture the ground beneath you.

You’re able to get up after a moment, if only because they decide to take mercy and finally cut off the projection.  You know that it’s a temporary relief, that they’ll likely be at this all night, but you hope the palace will be far enough away from the arena to block out the sensations completely.  You wonder if Master Kenobi felt that through the Force or whether he was too determined to block it out that he was able to simply ignore the nuclear missile that just detonated less than a few miles away from him.

You force yourself forwards and you want to hurry, you do—but strangely, in your wild state of exhaustion, stark reality is almost as debilitating as swimming through that endless madness was.  It’s quiet around you but the noise of still air pulses deafeningly in your eardrums after breaking free from such a thick mental filter separating you from your surroundings.  You still have your lightsaber clutched in your hand, Maker rejoice, and your thin robes are skewed awkwardly across your body, but you eventually find your way to the doors of the palace.

Though, trying to navigate the empty halls back to your Master’s chambers takes you longer than it should.  His signature is cloaked spectacularly, concealed to a mere speck you wouldn’t even know was there if you weren’t so closely acquainted with it for more than a decade.  You follow the flickering pixel of blue light through the obstacle ridden darkness, adjusting the front of your robes with one trembling hand while you wipe your brow with the other, closing your eyes and doing your best to take deep breaths.  He’ll be spiraling right now.  He’ll need a boulder to cling to in this tsunami, solid ground to stand on while the stars are falling out of the sky.

You… find him in your quarters instead.

The door is open and his handsome profile is to you, the thick fabric stretching over his broad shoulders now an agreeable light cream, familiar and telling of his intentions.  His hands are moving.  Setting something down on your bed—your robes, you soon realize.  He’s laying out your Jedi robes neatly for you across the fur blanketing the large mattress.

Master Kenobi begins speaking as soon as you step foot into the room, the tone of his voice very clearly impatient after having waited for you for so long.

“Change out of those ridiculous garments,” he tells you hastily, neatly laying out your leather belt across your dark tunic without even turning his head to look at you properly.  “We must leave.  Quickly.  Also—tell me you didn’t forget your saber at the arena, because if so, I’m afraid it’s lost to us forever now.  Ilum is only three days from here, perhaps we can stop there on the way back to Coruscant to find you another kyber cryst—”

You drop the hilt of your lightsaber on the floor and step forward, cautiously reaching out for his figure as he continues to ramble.  “Master, I—”

Your hand is thrown to the side with a subtle flick of his wrist and you instantly jerk to an abrupt halt, holding your palms out in front of you and keeping completely still while he spins around, his jaw slack and staring at you wide-eyed.  He takes a few steps away from you in shock.

“I’m sorry—” he immediately gasps, reaching out towards you even though the rest of his body is still desperately evading yours.  “Stars, I’m so sorry—that was just… That was excruciating, young one.  Why would anyone ever willingly—?”

“It—it doesn’t always—” you cut yourself off just in time, clamping your jaw shut before you can finish your sentence.

“We must leave,” he says once more as he turns back to your mattress, not appearing to hear you at all and shaking his head, far too frantic to sound like he’s just reminding you alone.  “We can’t do that.  I can’t do that—”

“It doesn’t always have to be—”  Maker, what is wrong with you?  Your heart kicks up in your chest and somehow stutters to a halt at the same time.  It’s the lingering effects of the assault your mind just experienced coupled with your desperate urge to console him that’s making you so utterly careless, you realize, it’s making your tongue loose.

“Stars, what do you mean?”  Master Kenobi finally snaps, and your blood runs ice cold.  “How do you know that?”

It takes the sum of all your years of training to keep the raging hurricane of emotion from showing in any capacity.  You feel like he’s holding his saber to your neck with how dangerously little you’re even allowing yourself to breathe right now, how utterly and completely still you’re holding yourself in front of him.

Lie, a little voice in your mind supplies quietly, the little voice you keep locked inside an impenetrable box of everything you are but have never been allowed to confront, haven’t been allowed to openly think just in case someone is listening too closely.  Lie.  Lie, right now.  Your silence is giving you away.

Only—you can’t.  You shouldn’t.  It’s not fair to keep this from him, not when you’re asking him to do something so structurally compromising to his belief system.  If… if you tell him the truth, perhaps he won’t judge you too harshly.  Perhaps he’ll feel… reassured, knowing he’s certainly not the first Jedi to break a sacred vow when he felt times were desperate enough.

Besides.  This might be the only secret that could potentially get you kicked out of the Order, but… it still isn’t your worst one.

“Because.”  The word is out of your mouth before you can rethink it, barely above a whisper.  “I… know.”

He doesn’t respond, and no.

No, you were wrong.  You were wrong to tell him the truth, and the look on his face immediately shoots panic through your whole body.

He doesn’t look reassured.

He looks… alienated.

“‘It doesn’t always?’”  Your Master eventually repeats back to you, and fuck—the implication is instantly clear.  The implication is made so clear from the sharpness in his tone, the hard edge to it as he rounds out the vowels in the last word that makes your heart twist and throb in your ribcage.  He might as well have just asked you how many times you must’ve violated your code of honor to know the difference.

“It’s not.”  You clear your throat and flick your gaze up to the ceiling, feeling like he’s using the Force to squeeze your chest in on itself.  “That was the absolute worst possible sensation that can be felt during… It’s—it’s not like that.  It won’t… be like that.  Not.”  Are there tears coming to your eyes?  “Not… with me.”

Utter quiet.  So quiet that if you really concentrate, you can hear the distant sounds of the arena continuing on with the Ritual without you.  You bite hard at your lip and wait for him to say something, anything.  Yell at you, tell you how disgusted he is, banish you from the Order.

Instead, Master Kenobi quite suddenly… deflates.  He sighs—not a heavy, exhausted one, but a soft one.  A quiet, accepting sort of sound.

He slowly lowers himself to the edge of the mattress and closes his eyes, running both hands through his hair, and it’s just enough to give you pause.  You glance over at him, trying not to let tears fall beyond the plateau of your lower lids with the frantic downward movement of your eyes, and you’re only just barely successful at it.

“It’s alright,” he says gently.  “It’s… it’s alright, young one.  I… suppose I am in no place to judge.  Quite… quite literally,” he murmurs, gesturing to the space around him with a lazy wave of his hand.  Maker, his figure is too watery and unfocused to make out his facial expressions, but you don’t want to blink to clear your vision just in case a sudden downpour escapes.  “It’s none of my business and I shouldn’t have asked.  You’re… not my Padawan anymore.  I should have no reason to… even care at all, really.”

There’s something that feels… major in that, something monumental yet incredibly well hidden, but you’re still too full of blind panic to interpret it further.  Your breathing is shaky and you wonder, quite stupidly and not for the first time in your life, if it’s somehow possible to use the Force to evaporate the water in your eyes before it turns into tears.

“I am certain it took place in your younger years, a long time ago,” he continues calmly when you don’t immediately say anything.  “You did always have a… a rather unconventional relationship with the rules.” 

Your only response is a quick jerk of a nod.  Yes.

“Yes,” you immediately agree, hoping your tone sounds convincing enough through the lingering tremors.  “It was… a long time ago.  I’ve changed, since then.  Grown up in many ways.”

It’s his turn to nod, and you manage to calm down just slightly.  You’re still breathing too hard and you’re a bit too braced, too much of a stance to truly feel like relief, but your heart rate is beginning to settle back into a somewhat acceptable rhythm.

Master Kenobi looks over at you, and he says absolutely nothing about the traces of water still glistening along your eyelashes.  He just smiles softly and pats the space next to him.

You cautiously make your way over to him after a moment, feeling more unsure now than you’ve felt this entire mission.  You leave at least a half a foot of space separating the two of you once you carefully sit yourself down on the mattress, and you can’t even look in his general direction.  You just focus on the long, draping sleeves of your black robe as you look down at your hands and wait for him to speak first.

“Sometimes,” he eventually sighs.  “Sometimes I… feel like you’re the person I know best in the entire galaxy, you know.  I’ve… I’ve known you far longer than I ever knew my own Master, young one.  I picked you out of thousands, and I’d do it thousands of times again.  Sometimes—especially since the day of your accolade and subsequent absence, I feel like I can know exactly what you’re thinking, even from across an entire star system.  And yet somehow, you… always surprise me.  Even after all these years, I am just.  Consistently surprised by you.”

You don’t know how to take that.  You just sit there in a guilty silence, still unable to turn your head or offer any sort of response.

“I chose you as a Padawan because you surprised me, you know,” he reminds you quietly.  “I had certain expectations for you, and you did not meet those expectations.  Instead, you presented an alternative I’d never before considered, an alternative that forced me to reevaluate you—and by extension, myself—far beyond what I had previously.  That is not a bad thing.  It has never been a bad thing.  As is made blatantly obvious by the fact that I’m the one currently standing in the way of saving lives, and you’re…not.”

Maker, this is thin ice.  You don’t know what to say that’ll express hesitant agreement with his sentiment without making it sound like you’re not apologetic for breaking your oath.  You’re… well, you’re not, not really.  His response itself is causing you to feel far more turmoil than any legitimate regret for your actions.

“It was—” On instinct, you almost say it was a mistake regardless of the conflicts you’re just so happening to encounter on this mission, but something stops you.  You suddenly remember your place here, your goal.  To save the galaxy from the Separatists’ reign.  And, by extension… sleep with your Master.  You can’t call it a mistake if you’re going to ultimately try to convince him to do the same thing.  So instead, you scramble to finish your sentence with a different thought, knowing his full attention is pinned to you right now.  “…A long time ago,” is all your exhausted mind is able to come up with.

“Yes,” he gives you a small, companionable smile.  “It’s alright.  Your prior lapse—or, well… lapses in judgement… will forever be safe with me.”

And still, you don’t feel relief.  Not when Master Kenobi very quickly appears to look uncertain.

“I… apologize,” he offers after a moment, “if.  If I ever made you feel like… like you could not confide in me about any struggles or… or urges you may have been experienc—”

“Maker,” you suddenly interrupt with a frantic wave of your hands, everything cringing inside you, “Maker, we don’t have to do this.  None of it, it’s okay.  Know what?  Let’s just go home—screw the galaxy, I don’t care, just stop talking.”

He snaps his eyes over to you, a sudden bark of laughter escaping him before the rest of his face even seems to register something was funny.

It evolves.  Eventually he’s covering his face and stifling ridiculous little snorts behind his hands, trying to apologize in between the chuckles but laughing even harder.  It’s almost like… just a form of pure stress relief for him.  So far beyond traumatized that it’s revealing itself in a slightly hysterical way, even if what you said wasn’t hysterical at all.

“Now you have a mere glimpse into what my experience has been like today,” he finally tells you with a sparkling grin once he composes himself, lifting his chin as he looks at you and scratching his beard with a quiet flicking sound.  “Shall I keep going?  If this mission has taught me anything, it’s that no matter what, things can always get worse.”

“They don’t have to.”  You say it without thinking, the gentle reprieve caused by his laughter flowing through you in waves and making you throw caution to the wind.  The four words serve to shut him up quite quickly however, even though it was the opposite of your intent, and your smile drops.  Maker, just freely conversing with him about these things is navigating a minefield for his mental state.

“You… you say that, and yet even—” Master Kenobi eventually responds, cutting himself off with a cough.  “Even the things I’ve heard are meant to feel… pleasant, were just.”  He shakes his head and blinks his crystal blue eyes over at you.  “By all accounts.  Agony.”

“I know,” you nod.  “I know.  Projecting that specific situation was… sadistic of them.  A distortion of the truth.  Probably rooted in deep tradition, but also a great scare tactic if I ever saw one, playing with us by presenting the absolute worst of it before anything else.  It won’t hurt.  At all.  I promise.  In fact—I-I can make it feel—”

Maker, you don’t even finish your sentence, but you must think the general idea loud enough for him to understand.  You don’t actually have a specific word in mind—good, great, amazing, euphoric?—and yet, something quiet settles over you two at the silent implication, the mere whisper of the possibility of you pleasuring him.

And him… allowing it.

“Master, I—”

“Don’t,” he quickly tells you.  “Don’t call—You don’t have to… call me that.  Just for right now, it’s.  I don’t—” he takes a breath that sounds shakier than it looks, and then he paints an easy, fake smile on his face following the exhale.  You recognize that smile anywhere, though.  While you’ve never seen him wear it before, it’s the smile that politicians make when they’re about to present a lesser truth to you, a smile shown to you in negotiations all the time that signifies something… hidden.  He’s hiding something, something important, and you have no idea what it could possibly be.  “I don’t feel like I even deserve to be called that right now, young one.  Perhaps you should be the Master, and I the learner.”

“Ah yes, the circle is now complete,” you can’t help but jest in return, wanting to keep the tone light even though the subject matter is heavy.  “Is now when we trade lightsabers?”

“Indeed,” he smiles, this time more sincere, and… you can’t pinpoint when exactly it happened, but it appears you’re physically closer to each other now than you were when you first sat down.

“Do they, uh… actually expect us to…”  You clear your throat and wave a hand around, “…Project the entire time like that?”

Master Kenobi quickly shakes his head.  “No.  s’Zer—Queen s’Zerthia informed me that.  Ah.  For us, projection will only be necessary during the… well, she called it the ‘closing ceremonies.’”

Your eyebrows shoot up and you nod.  “I… see.”

It’s like you can physically feel his body start to break out into a cold sweat next to you at the sudden… realness of it all, the realization that it has to be getting late.  Close to midnight, if you’re not already pushing it.  It’s come time to make a final decision, you both know it.  You want to console him, offer him some kind of solace or reprieve, but stars, you just don’t know how, not when you’re this much of a mess about this, too, but for entirely different reasons.  You don’t have a single clue how to make him feel better about any of this.

“I just,” you rush before you lose the nerve, “I want you to know that—e-even if you feel like you’re somehow alone in this, you’re not.  Okay?  I’m… I’m really nervous, too.  I don’t… I don’t actually know what to do at all right now.  I don’t know whether to respect your apprehension or tell you it’s unfounded.  I don’t know if I should remind you what’s at stake here or whether I should avoid mentioning it at all costs.  I have no idea what position I should take, but I’ll—I’ll take whichever one you want me to.”

And it’s odd, because when you first launched into your confession, Master Kenobi gradually began to look more and more relieved, but at a certain point, something just goes horribly wrong.  You don’t know what you said, but whatever it was, it seems to rocket through your Master and suddenly his breathing stutters.

For a moment, you think he’s going to reach back, yank your neatly folded Jedi robes up from the mattress and push the dark fabric into your hands.  Tell you he’ll meet you at the docking bay posthaste, tell you not to linger, tell you that the mission was a failure.  But then—

“Before,” he suddenly says, the word almost startling you with how abrupt it comes out sounding.  Almost like he wasn’t quite expecting himself to say it either.  “Earlier today, you asked… you asked if there was anything you could do to… make this easier.”

“Yes,” you prompt immediately.  He won’t look at you, and for some reason your heart begins beating faster and the inside of your thighs are getting warm.

“I… I’m not sure I’ll be able to go through with this,” he admits with a whisper, his voice sounding so quietly reluctant, like he doesn’t want to say the words aloud but is forcing himself to.  “But… the Council put you in charge of negotiations.”

Your eyebrows furrow, trying to understand his implication.  What does that have to do with anything?  Is he saying that you’re supposed to be in charge, and therefore he’s defaulting to you?  “I’m not sure I—”

“The Galactic Republic…”  Master Kenobi enunciates very, very pointedly, still unable to look at you, “…put you in charge of negotiations.”

Specifying—or in this case, generalizing—doesn’t help much.  “I’m still not—”

“Maker, for—for the good of the Republic, young one,” he presses under his breath and finally flicks his gaze up to meet yours, sounding urgent and torn in equal parts.  “Negotiate.”

Stars, negotiate with who?  With—with him?  For the good of the…?  Is he asking you to somehow reason with him beyond what you’ve attempted to do already, or persuade him to do what’s right for—?

Maker—Master Kenobi is asking you to seduce him.

Shock paints your expression blank and his eyes instantly evade yours once more.  You have to sit there for just a second and double-check that you’re not dreaming.  None of this seems real.  All of it seems like an incredibly elaborate illusion of the Force, ever since you first laid eyes on him at the start of this mission.  You know you missed him but stars, did you truly miss him this terribly?  Your longing must rival something fierce to unconsciously conjure this wild of a scenario.  Is he actually here right now?  Have you been speaking to a ghost?  Are you actually here right now?  Are you going to wake up any second and remember he’s thousands of lightyears away and has been for years, risking his life on the front lines of galactic war while you’re left to play politics and negotiate treaties behind the scenes?

These thoughts aren’t safe to have in normal interactions with him, but nothing about this situation is normal, and while you know Master Kenobi has years of experience reading your signature, he most likely won’t be able to gauge the specific details of your thoughts when you can sense how intensely he’s focused on guarding his own chaotic mind from you.

So you let yourself think.  If only for a second, you sit next to him and allow yourself to just… think about him.  About how much you care for him, how desperately you ache for him—you let all these improper longings finally have their moment with you.  You let yourself confront it, crack the lid of the hidden box tucked away behind your consciousness and brave it, because if there was ever a moment to do so, it’s right now.

Your heart starts slamming up against your ribcage and your hands feel like they’re tingling.  He wants you to convince him to have sex with you.  He’s asking you to corrupt him.  He wants you to negotiate the galaxy’s survival with the last man standing in the way of its prosperity—a good man with strong, immovable morals, a man who understands the consequences that follow integrity around and won’t be easy to tempt.

“This was a bad idea,” suddenly comes Master Kenobi’s voice, quickly backpedaling after too long of a silence.  “I shouldn’t have said that.  Forget I said that, we should just g—”

“Would you like to meditate?”  You immediately ask him on a complete whim, shuffling back towards the middle of the mattress for the second time today.  You’re careful to make sure he doesn’t see you carelessly flick your neat robes to the floor with the Force, clearing the top of the large mattress.  “Let’s meditate.”

“Stars,” he breathes, shyly his head turning to follow you, “I’d love nothing more, but there truly just isn’t any time—”

You find it easier than you thought it’d be to pull a playful face at him, crossing your legs and straightening your spine.  “Please, you’re a Guardian.  You blue sabers practically invented battle meditation, did you not?”

He looks skeptical for a moment, as he has a valid right to be.  “Is this a battle?”  He eventually asks over his shoulder.

You say nothing in response to that, instead using the Force with a flex of your finger to tug at the loose cream fabric of his robe at his elbow.  “Come on, it’ll do us good.”

He looks conflicted for a second, but then ultimately decides to humor you.  “Alright,” Master Kenobi finally agrees, turning around and crawling towards you on the mattress, and you’re just quick enough to stamp down a flicker of arousal at the mere sight of it.  “It won’t hurt.”

“Of course it won’t,” you agree with just a bit too much air in your voice, but he doesn’t seem to notice it.  He just seats himself directly in front of you, facing you, crossing his legs close enough to yours that your knees barely touch, and—

—Maker, he’s lovely.

You purposefully let yourself think it as his eyes slowly fall closed and he takes a deep breath, beginning to tame the wild tempest of his mind.  You let the word flitter around your thoughts without instantly repressing it like you always do, and just the mere act of allowing yourself to acknowledge the truth is freeing.  He’s lovely.  He’s lovely.  You could scream it.

Your eyes trail down the lines of his ever softening, tranquil expression, not even bothering to pretend to meditate for his benefit this time.  Your gaze roams shamelessly across his face, the way his hair is combed back away from it.  The sandy, masculine beard leading down to the thick column of his throat, the broad lines of his shoulders draped in pale fabric, the way his chest slowly moves as he breathes.  Lovely.  Lovely.

And then you go… lower.

His abdomen is stretched long with how upright he’s sitting, his flawless meditation posture.  His thighs are spread wide in this position, pants stretched tight into an elusive drum over his crotch and preventing you from truly seeing anything—but stars is it a thrill even just letting yourself look. 

Especially knowing that the more his mind works to compose itself, the easier it’ll be for him to hear you.

You keep thinking, growing bolder the more you’re left alone with this box wide open.  You think about how lithe and strong his body is, how it would feel under your hands.  You think about all the different things you want to show him, all the… the mind shattering pleasure you can give him if he’ll allow y—

Master Kenobi says your name without opening his eyes.

It doesn’t sound the way you expect, though you don’t really know what you expected it to sound like.  A sharp, frustrated bark?  An exasperated, pleading attempt to get you to stop?

No—none of those.  It’s a quiet, low growl of a sound, and the clear warning in it absolutely burns a hole through you like he picked up his lightsaber and used it instead.

You take practiced breaths, trying to calm yourself down.  Stars, he just said your name, he’s said it so many times before, and yet hearing it in his mouth with that tone in this context feels like he just strapped rockets to your ankles and told you to stay put.  You’re impatient.  You’re turning yourself on, working yourself up, trying to get to where you can actually make a move on him after dedicating so many years to desperately repressing the longing to do so.  Once he told you to negotiate this deal with him, however, it’s as if every ounce of the impeccable self control you’ve practiced so spectacularly throughout most of your life slowly started to unravel.

Reaching out tentatively so as not to startle him, you wrap both of your palms around the bend of his knees and squeeze gently.  Master Kenobi displays no physical signs of—well, anything really, keeping his body completely rigid under your hands with no noticeable alterations in his breathing pattern.  Biting your lip, you begin to slowly rotate your thumbs, making sure to keep your movements slow and perfectly symmetrical.  Complete relaxation is your ultimate goal here—coaxing your Master into a serene state where physical contact is desired, not obligatory.  He's so uncomfortable with the concept of intimacy in and of itself though, from the way his eyebrows start to furrow and his spine begins gradually tilting back and away from you, it's almost as if your ministrations are dampening rather than fueling.

“Relax,” you murmur, and stars, even though you make it sound quiet and gentle, it’s like the melodic lull of your voice appears to startle him more than if you’d just spoken normally.  Maker—it’s counterintuitive; how are you supposed to turn someone on when the mere state of being turned on turns them off?  “Relax with me, it’s okay—”

“But I just can't, young one,” he suddenly implores, his voice pressed up tight in his throat, his cerulean eyes popping open in frustration and something else—an honest, heartfelt emotion that's strikingly less familiar to you, even after years spent by his side: deep, hot, stomach-wrenching guilt.  You watch your Master’s palms run the length of his thighs; back and forth, back and forth—almost like a nervous tick, you think—and it’s oddly endearing, if not increasingly concerning.  “I just can't, this is all so wrong.  Don't you understand?  E-Even if the Council did provide a—well, a rather admittedly ineluctable blessing for this downright ludicrous endeavor, i-it’s… I don't…”  He takes a deep breath, and visually, it looks like he's attempting to collect his thoughts and composure, but you know your Master all too well.  You know what he's really doing, and at this point, it's almost… frustrating.

“What are you so afraid of?”  You clutch his knees and whisper quietly, interrupting him before he can verbalize whatever perfectly logical reason he's trying to formulate as to why you both should leave the planet immediately, what he's going to say to the Council if they ever inquire as to why negotiations ultimately failed.  He jerks his head up sharply to look at you.

“The Jedi fear nothing,” is his automatic response, though his previously intense gaze strays slightly from yours after a second of too much eye contact.  “Fear is the path to the Dark Side, you know this.”

“And yet you are afraid,” you remark calmly, studying the way he’s turned his face away from you completely now, how you can still see his jaw clench under the thick beard with his profile shown to you like this.  “I—I’m trying to understand, Master, but I—I don’t.  Even if this mission were half as important as it is, your loyalty to the Order would follow you right into an early grave.  But this?”  You remove a palm from his knee to gesture between the two of you, the mattress beneath the both of you, “fulfilling this mission and these terms to save the entire galaxy is too ‘downright ludicrous’ for the Great Negotiator?  I don’t believe it.  Tell me what you’re really afraid of.”

Only, he’s suddenly moving—away from you.  Turning and planting his palms to fur, beginning to climb to the edge of the bed and sweep his legs around under him, and your voice has an unintentional edge to it when you address his back.

“Do you know how many lives over I owe you?”  You ask, and he jerks to an abrupt halt, feet just shy of stepping on the floor.  “Do you have any idea the stockpile of mortal gratitude you’ve amassed from me?  How many times you’ve risked your death to save me from mine over the years—can you count them?  I have.  I know my debt to you, I know the weight of my life piled on top of itself over and over again.  I remember each and every one of them like they happened yesterday, and not once did you hesitate even slightly, let alone the way you’ve hesitated today.”

”And?”  Master Kenobi quite suddenly snaps over his shoulder as he grips the edge of the mattress, sounding sharp but not necessarily directed towards you.  “What is your point?”

“My point is that if you’d so readily trade your death time and time again to prevent that of even one other person, let alone a difficult Padawan who caused the Order nothing but grief for years, then what is it that makes the deaths of trillions—” you nearly say preferable to bedding me before you realize how incredibly harsh that would sound, but something about the way he seems to tense his shoulders and curl inwards implies he was following the general cadence of your agitated signature more than the specific content of your words.

He says absolutely nothing, but he doesn’t move to drop his feet to the floor, either.  If only you could punch a proverbial hole through his practically indestructible mental barriers, you'd see the real reason he's so flustered, why he's purposely attempting to deceive you.  Unfortunately for you though, they feel like they're made of triple-reinforced beskar, a countermeasure gradually increasing in strength the more you try to probe.

But then—all at once, something clicks.  Something… fundamental.  An understanding. 

Your Master is a gifted negotiator, yes.  But more than that.

He wields a blue saber.  Not a green one.

He’s a Guardian.  A warrior.  He fights.  It’s something that has never truly been part of your nature, no matter how much you struggled with it over the years—but it is a part of his, no matter how exceptionally he’s been able to mask it for even longer.

So, all at once, you stop pushing.  Your signature abruptly pulls away from him, gives him room to breathe and simply hovers within your own personal space, unassuming and careful not to disturb him.  You see your Master lift his chin and straighten his spine slightly, immediately noticing your absence and the constant pressure you’d been applying, and you honestly can’t tell if he relaxes or tenses up even more because of it.

Finally, when you feel like it’s been long enough, you slowly reach out and gently place your hand on his arm.  This time, there’s no underlying motivation attached, no inherent desire for him to fulfill any sort of obligation.  Just a warm, companionable gesture to reinforce the simple knowledge that you’re both in this together, for better or worse.

Please tell me, Obi-Wan, you quietly whisper to him through the Force, allowing your tone and energy to transfer through your open palm and into his troubled spirit as softly and gently as you possibly can—a caress more than anything even close to a sentence or inquiry.  Your usage of his first name is entirely unprecedented however, and your Master sucks in a sharp breath in response.

I don't… But then the subconscious, half-formed thought fades away almost as quickly as it’s offered to you from behind the solid, unyielding fortress of his mind.  “W-what are you doing?”

You bite your lip, wondering how honest you should be with him right now.  Though, you suppose, if you truly want him to confide in you, you should at least meet him halfway.

“You’re the locked door,” you finally settle on.  “This is me knocking.”

Obi-Wan turns around and blinks at you, looking for all the stars in this galaxy like that was quite possibly the last thing he expected you to say.  You can see the frantic thoughts pass through his eyes almost as if the clear blue was completely transparent, likely remembering all the times you’ve leaned on him for guidance, listened intently and learned from his wisdom and experience.  And now you’re a fully grown woman patiently offering him your ear, wondering if you’ve earned enough of his trust for him to do the same.

“I’m afraid I’ll form an attachment to you.”  The words tumble from his mouth even though his body all but whips away from you in the process.  “It’s unreasonable for the Council to expect this from me.  From us.  I’m afraid our relationship will forever be tarnished from this, that neither of us will ever be able to go back to the way things were before.  I’m afraid that regardless of whatever decision I make, I won’t be able to carry the guilt on my conscience and continue to call myself a Jedi and Guardian of the Republic.  But mostly, I just—I-I—”

Your heart is pounding as Obi-Wan buries his face into his hands and his muffled voice groans raggedly, “—I’m afraid I’ll like it.  I’m afraid I’ll want it again, and again.  I’m afraid it’ll follow me back to Coruscant, that I’ll save the galaxy but spend the rest of my days aching for something I’ll never be able to keep, and that’s petrifying.  Desire, passion, selfishness, possession; all of them lead to Darkness, and I can—I can feel it right now.  Your soul is so gentle, so peaceful, and yet you… you inspire such Darkness in me, dove.”

Maker, you’re trying so hard.  So hard to keep your legs from clenching together at the utter desperation in his tone, how his breathing has picked up now that the words have ripped themselves out of his throat, like the whole thing was physical agony even just to say.  You have to take a second.  You’ve been so patient this entire time, but stars—this one makes you need a moment.  You’re so glad his eyes are clamped shut behind his fingers right now because yours lose focus trying to mask the absolutely debilitating wave of arousal that sinks down hot through your stomach.

Even when you regain the ability to speak, the ability to form a safe and proper response to the bombshell he just dropped on you completely evades you.

You purposefully don't say that you're already helplessly attached to him, that the colors of the galaxy somehow lost their brilliance the day you graduated to Knight, the day you left his side.  You don't say that you want this so badly you can feel it in your neck, that it would probably break you in half if he said no to this now.  Though it's the honest-to-Maker truth, you know discovering this information will only cause your Master to further distance himself from you, and somehow that thought alone is a million times worse than being denied the opportunity to be this close to him.  Even… even if what you end up sharing is more emotional than physical.

So you take a deep breath to center yourself, and choose your words very carefully.

“A compromise, then.”

Obi-Wan suddenly raises his head, turning around to look at you and blinking twice.  “A what?”

“You told me to negotiate.  What do we do as negotiators, hm?”  You raise an eyebrow, giving him a gentle smile and trying not to curl your fingers into the fur underneath you with how hard it is to conceal your burning arousal.  Do it for him.  Do it for your Master, you’re in l—you… care about him, and you care about the things he cares about, even if doing so feels like it’ll rip you apart.  “We compromise.  Yes?  So, let’s find one.”

He shakes his head.  “I don’t see h—”

“If you were to…”  You cut him off and look down, trying to find the most delicate way to phrase this.  “If you were to… find other means to bring yourself to completion, would you be able to convince anyone listening that I was the one doing it?”

Obi-Wan doesn’t even blink this time.  He just stares at you, holding himself like a statue in front of you.  Finally, he seems to find himself.  “I… I don’t—I don’t know if I can.”

“You’re stronger in the Force than anyone on this planet, Master,” you encourage softly, placing a hand back on his arm and squeezing this time.  “I’ve felt it.”

“N-No,” he practically hiccups.  “No, I mean I-I… I don’t know if… if I can.”

Your eyebrows narrow, a mixture of confusion and concern coloring your expression.  “If you can…?”

He looks back at you almost desperately, his eyes practically begging you to figure it out so he doesn’t have to say it.  Finally, Obi-Wan sighs, seeming to collapse in on himself with its intensity.  “I—I’ve never… purposefully reached completion before,” he admits.  “I’m—I’m not sure how to.”

Your eyes widen, wanting to kick yourself for making assumptions.  Of course.  Of course he’d follow his oath to its strictest interpretation, why would you ever think otherwise?  “Oh, y-yes, of course not,” you stutter, sounding incredibly stupid and perfectly mirroring the embarrassed flush also painting your Master’s cheeks, “I didn’t mean to imply—”

“It’s alright,” he holds up a hand.  “We simply… view such things differently.  So long as you do not pass judgment, then neither shall I.”

You nod and look down at your hands, wondering how else you can attempt to tackle this predicament.  “What if I…”  You blink slowly, almost wanting to keep your eyes closed in case he’s offended by the idea but figuring you should have them open to read his responses.  “What if I… don’t touch you?”

Now he just looks confused.  “I’m sorry?”

You blush and clear your throat, obviously phrasing this wrong.  “If you can modify the context of your projection, then I can… get you there.  Without touching you.”

“How could you accomplish such a thing without tou—” Obi-Wan immediately cuts himself off when you lift your hand and close your eyes.

His thigh.  The right one—you focus on it.  There.  Right above the bend of his knee folding over the edge of the mattress, you concentrate all the energy from your fingertips and reach out, connecting the two together.  And then you take a deep breath and begin to draw your attention slowly upwards.

Your Master’s breath catches in his throat as you use the Force to delicately trail further up his leg, not laying a single hand on him as his muscles start to visibly tighten and quiver.

“Young one, I—”  His breathing stutters when you keep your hand raised but let your head tilt and drop down towards your shoulder with your energy, slinking down the inside of his thigh like water and getting dangerously close to his— “Stars, hang on—”

You blink your eyes open at him and continue concentrating right there, letting your focus melt warm and thick along the muscle and squeeze it—

“Maker—”  Obi-Wan gasps and drops his head back, his legs nearly spasming apart.  “Maker, hang on, I…”

“Do you…” You breathe tightly, flicking your eyes down to the way he’s fisting the fur under his hands and subconsciously flexing his hips up just the slightest bit.  Even though the Force, his body feels good.  Strong, sturdy, and braced tight under your attention.  “Do you want me to keep doing this?  I can… go higher.”

“You can…?  The—the Force isn’t—” Obi-Wan groans, his eyes clamping shut, “—isn’t meant to be used in such… in such… If I’m to break my oath, young one, it needn’t be so… so blasphemous—”

Trying to conceal the hot sparks of arousal deep in your stomach, you simply allow your metaphysical hand to continue resting right at the juncture of his hip and thigh, waiting for a real answer.  You bite your lip and wait for him to tell you to either cut it out or to keep going.  He doesn’t even have to say it out loud if he doesn’t want to—he can just slide it under the impassable door still separating him from you, the door you’re eventually going to get him to unlock himself.

His back is to you, so you can only see a bit of his face from this angle, but you can hear him loud and clear when he opens his mouth and whispers to you, barely louder than a breath.  “Go higher.”

Adrenaline rockets through your veins and slowly, your fingers curl in thin air while your gentle energy wraps itself around his cock.

Both of Obi-Wan’s hands instantly fly up to his face and he releases a tight, longing whimper into his palms, and you feel almost as desperate as he sounds.  You can sense the ghost of his thickness in your hand, and the way he’s already throbbing for it is like pure spice to you.

You can’t stop your crossed legs from shuffling and rotating your body to face his hunched spine more directly, just taking a second and allowing him to adjust to the sensation of you just holding him between his legs like this.  Your fingers rest gently along his pulsing skin while he hides from you, and if only to get a little bit more of a reaction for your own sake, your thumb just barely angles to delicately brush up under his frenulum.  

Obi-Wan shudders and makes a choking noise behind his palms, and oh good Maker, you really want to see his face.  You know it’ll probably never happen unless you take your own initiative, but you also don’t want to overstep and snap him out of this blissful reverie.  Still, something compels you to be so gentle about it that he hopefully won’t even notice. 

You start to slowly work the length of him and squeeze his cock a bit more firmly, but a tendril of your energy slowly slithers upwards, so quiet and full of caution that it hardly even counts.  Very carefully, you start to flatten the lifeforce from your other palm over his stomach and trail it up, gradually urging him to stretch his slouched figure upright and then eventually start to tip backwards, never once letting your focus on his throbbing erection falter.

Your courageous efforts bestow prosperous rewards.  Obi-Wan’s hands drag down the length of his face and he makes it almost too easy to keep pressing him back—back back back until his muscles give up what little fight they were putting up against it and his shoulders are dropping down to the mattress, his head falling into your lap.

“There we go,” you whisper under your breath, just loud enough to softly encourage him if he’s listening but avoiding a break in his focus if he’s not.  “That’s not so bad.”

“It isn’t,” Obi-Wan gasps up at you, his eyes tightly closed but his jaw slack and his handsome features screwed up in rapture.  “Oh, no, it’s… it’s really… rea—good.”

You bite your lip and your cunt flexes hard between your legs without your permission, feeling so empty.  If you’re being honest, only touching him through the Force causes your hand to become increasingly bold, also feeling too empty.  Obi-Wan’s head rolls to the side and he pants hot air against the thin black fabric covering your thighs as you tighten your hold around him just slightly and start to move up and down his cock in earnest.

“Fuck,” he whispers, the dirty word and rasp in his voice contrasting brilliantly with the proper Coruscanti accent and the crisp enunciation behind it.  “Fuck, this feels so good, I—”

His fingers grab at the fur covering the mattress top and pull at it, his adam’s apple bobbing sharp along the arching column of his throat as he groans and twists his head around in your lap.  He confesses it like it’s so wrong, but it can’t be wrong when he fits so perfectly in your hand?  How can this be wrong when it’s the only pleasure you can possibly give him that’s anywhere near close enough to match the way you feel when he’s around?  Even then, it’s but a fraction.

Your gaze flickers briefly from his face to check your progress with his body, and—stars, there’s a startling wet spot staining the front of his pale trousers, his cock tenting up shameless and needy for you to ache and throb just as desperately for in return.  Fuck, he deserves this, he deserves more—

“I can—I can make it better—” you can’t help but gasp, your eyebrows slanting upwards with need.  “Oh fuck, I can make it so much better than this for you, Obi-Wan—”

“You…?”  He blinks his stormy eyes open and sounds like he’s about to explode.  “This can be—” he chokes out, “—better?”

You can’t stop yourself.  Your pussy is clamped up so tight between your legs and Maker, you want to reward him for being so good to you, give him true adoration instead of phantom touches.  You don’t think before you’re moving out from under him and slinking down onto the floor, slipping in between his spread thighs.  You use the Force with a bend of your finger to tug his pants down just enough, just enough to let the swollen tip of his cock peak through the waistband, and then your head is dropping into his lap as you let it slide into your hot mouth.

Obi-Wan lifts his head and snarls at you—and something across the room shatters as you widen your throat for him and slowly sink down his length, curling your finger to stretch his hemline further as you go.  His fingers aren’t gentle when they fist into your hair and neither is the way he immediately twists it sideways, feeling like he’s trying to pull you off and shove you down on him at the same time.

You’re stuck between going as slow as you physically can to drag this out and giving him the best oral you’ve ever given to make him dream about this for the rest of his life.  You want him to want this as badly as you have for so many years.  You want him to fall into this Darkness with you, to crave you and what you can give to him so much that he’ll never want to leave you again.

So you make it wet.  You make it soft and slow and wet, switching between sucking gently at the tip and swirling your tongue around it, and then inching his length down your throat and swallowing around the thick girth of it once you can’t fit anymore in your mouth.  Obi-Wan is just an absolute mess about it—he can’t sit still, he’s tugging uselessly on your hair, whimpering out his bliss into the quiet room while you close your eyes and ignore his squirming, just taking your sweet time enjoying him and the way he feels.

He tastes exquisite.  Maybe it’s just because all your broken, stupid brain can think right now is slightly varying forms of my Master’s cock is in my mouth and it’s fucking leaking while you slowly nurse from it with your tongue, but stars—he tastes exquisite.

He’s swollen.  Throbbing.  Aching for you.  Releasing precum from the tip like his body is producing way too much of it after decades of neglect and just needs to get it all out at once.  Shifting and writhing underneath you but managing to never move his hips or cock a single inch away from the soft attention you’re giving him.  You can feel his smooth skin pulse against your tongue as you continue your lazy pleasuring, finally giving him what you’ve both been denied for so long and steadily swallowing down the spoils of your endeavors.

“—Wait, wait, Maker—stop,” you faintly hear gasped from above you not long after you even begin, and it takes the sum of all your efforts to unlodge his throbbing cock from your throat and pull away from him.

“I’m sorry,” you exhale automatically, trying not to slur your words as a bit of drool slides down your chin.  “I’m s’sorry, Obi, I should’ve asked before I—”

“Something’s… n-not right,” Obi-Wan interrupts you and lifts himself up to his elbows, his abdominal muscles heaving and a wild, frenzied look in his startlingly bright eyes.  “My stomach was—I-I felt—”

Heat blooms through you along with a realization, and your eyelids begin to droop slightly at just how sexy it is—the fact that this man, this fully grown, red-blooded, warrior of a man is currently teetering on the precipice of his very first ever orgasm, and you’re the only one with the power to give it to him.

You shuffle backwards slightly, grabbing hold of his thighs and squeezing to get his attention.  “Hey.  It’s okay, relax.”

Obi-Wan nods his head vigorously down at you, the exact opposite of relaxed.

“Listen to me,” you urge quietly, trying to ignore the sight of his thick, swollen cock twitching restlessly against his abdomen, precum still steadily dribbling at the tip.  Is your mouth watering?  “This is it.  You’ll need to start projecting when you’re ready.  It’ll be tricky, but not impossible.  You’ll just have to imagine you’re inside me when it happens.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head vigorously from side to side, vehemently opposed.

“No, I don’t—” He croaks, “—I don’t know what it’s like, I won’t be able to—”

“Doesn’t my mouth feel similar at least?”  You ask, looking down at his cock once more.

“I-I—” Obi-Wan sputters, “I don’t know, young one—you tell me!”

Okay, well.  He… makes a valid point.

You settle back on your knees even further, gazing at your Master thoughtfully.  His chest continues to rise and fall with heavy breaths, a thin sheen of sweat coating his temples and a mild flush high in his cheeks, but his eyes have regained a bit of their focus.  “You can just try to imagine the, uh,” you try, your cunt nearly convulsing with burning need at the mere sight of him, “the same positioning and sensation from… earlier?”

“Alright, I can…”  Obi-Wan nods, though his hands are shaking.  “I’ll do the best I…”

You can’t help but lean forward to press a soft, encouraging kiss to his thigh, and he jerks under your touch.  You try it again, receiving the same result, and it makes you pause for just a minute longer.

“I’m nervous,” he blurts unceremoniously after a moment of stillness, as if you hadn’t noticed.  “Oh stars, I’m nervous, I—”

“Obi-Wan,” you let your voice lull, your hands squeezing gently around the bend of his knees once more.  “Calm down.  Clear your mind.”

He hiccups and you wait.  You wait with your mouth a few inches away from his cock, waiting for his breathing to slow and for him to follow your lead.

Can you hear me?  You murmur through the Force, and he quickly whimpers and nods.  Focus your thoughts.

You gently kiss at his tensing thighs once again, and he doesn’t flinch away from you this time.  His breathing slows into a calmer, steadier rhythm, letting you trail your lips gently along the curve of his leg.

Will you let me try something?  You ask after a moment, opening your mouth just the slightest bit to brush your tongue out and taste his skin.

“Y-Yes,” Obi-Wan says quietly, his breath stuttering through the word.

And—perhaps you shouldn’t have, but you give him something; a suggestion, more than anything else.  You give him a… visual.  A reference to guide his mind through the Force.

You, still in your black robe, slowly standing up from between his legs.  Widening your stance to straddle his lap, pull you robes up just enough, and then adjust your hips just slightly over the head of his cock.

Obi-Wan inhales sharply at the vision, his eyes clamping tightly shut against it in vain.  He can close his eyes, turn away, hide his face all he wants—he can’t escape the way your body looks as it slowly begins to sink down on his.

At the exact same time, you lower your mouth around his cock once more, and you try to make it as close to the sensation as possible.  You don’t even move your tongue, you simply lift your soft palate and close your lips around his girth, beginning to carefully bob up and down along his length in time to the image you’re conjuring of you riding him.

Only, you already feel his balls tightening up and his body starting to go rigid with tension once again, and you can sense him still wanting to resist his approaching orgasm.  It’s okay, Master, you encourage quietly through the vision, it’s okay, just let it come easy.

“I—I’m not—” he shakes his head back and forth against the bed frantically, his breathing getting shallower and almost immediately picking back up to where it was before you stopped.  “I d-don’t want—”

Stop fighting, you tell him, continuing to mimic the sensation of him thrusting into your aching, neglected cunt with slow and steady movements of your throat.  Don’t run from it, let it take you.

He grits your name tightly in response and subconsciously begins to rock his hips up to match your unhurried pace, his ragged breathing gasping out into the quiet room and gradually increasing in volume and desperation the longer he stubbornly tries to hold out against it.

You know not strong enough to use the Force to coax it out of him.  You can’t alter your technique and break the illusion, either.  So you have to resort to desperate measures.

There’s enough remaining wherewithal to your mind that prevents you from permanently damaging his clothing when you tear his robes open with the Force and allow the metaphysical image of yourself to rip them apart with your hands.  Obi-Wan gasps when both versions of you reach up his bare torso at the same time and dig your nails into his chest.

Master—you demand, taking his cock down your throat as far as you can go and then clawing hard down his stomach—cum.

And thank everything good and right in the universe that he remembers at the very last second to start projecting, because being this close to someone as strong in the Force as Obi-Wan when he finally succumbs to his first taste of the Dark Side is just a fucking atomic missile straight to your nervous system.

It’s all you can do to just remember to keep swallowing.

The projection he casts out through the shockwave is utterly flawless—brilliantly composed, looking and feeling so authentic and overwhelming even from this distance that there should be no issue at all convincing any s’Ziscari in the wide vicinity who are tuning in right now.

Except—then you hear it.  Through the roaring pleasure of his thoughts, a flicker of his subconscious he’s unable to mask through the mind blowing bliss.

Is she…? Maker above, she’s drinking it—

A ragged groan tears through the silence of the room, his cock pulsing spectacularly on your tongue.  He just keeps cumming, and cumming, and so you just have to keep swallowing, and swallowing.  You suppose you should’ve expected this from a fully grown man who lived a life of celibacy, but what would typically be a rather short moment with anyone else subsequently goes on long enough to where Obi-Wan is actually able to lazily raise his head up from the mattress and simply watch you continue to swallow his load, dazed and reverent in his stare, glassy blue eyes trained on the hypnotic movements your jaw and throat make around him.  The remaining traces of whatever visual he attempted to maintain immediately flicker out of existence, replaced instead by the sight of your mouth around his cock, diligently taking down each rope of cum he gives you.

When he finally stops throbbing, you reluctantly let his cock fall from your mouth and slowly stand up as the botched projection fizzles out completely.  His gaze eventually follows the movement like he’s on a five second delay.

“So, uh…”  Your voice is hoarse.  “We… need to have sex.”

“Alright,” he agrees dreamily, his eyes lazily dragging down your body.  “Alright, we can have… I… Wait, what?”

“You, uh.  I know it wasn’t intentional, but you might’ve, uh…”  You  shuffle awkwardly from side to side, wondering why you’ve chosen now of all moments to become shy with him.  You’re literally still savoring the taste of his release in your mouth.  “You might’ve accidentally projected a very specific thought towards the end there and let everyone know that we weren’t actually doing what we’re technically supposed to be doing.”

“What did… what did I think?”  The question would likely be nonsense in literally any other situation, but you understand.  And truthfully, for the life of you, you can’t find it within yourself to feel even a little bit mad about it, not when it means you can continue doing this together.  You can’t even conjure up a single shred of disappointment in his failure, it’d just be a lie.

“Doesn’t matter,” you assure him, your heart continuing to pound.  You know you should make your next move now while he’s still so loopy, the post-orgasm bliss causing his signature to vibrate with pulsing endorphins as he blinks up at you slowly from the bed.  “Though we won’t be able to do it for a little bit, just uh.  Just for general… anatomical reasons.  But that should’ve at least counted for… initiating the Ritual, so I don’t think we have to worry about time anymore.”

Obi-Wan just stares at you, his Force signature feeling more serene and spaced out than you’ve ever sensed before.  Oh Maker, how you wish you felt the same.  You swallow thickly, still tasting his hard orgasm on your tongue, and then try not to clamp your thighs together with how embarrassingly turned on you are.  Anyone with any experience whatsoever would know exactly what you’re going through with just a mere glance—you’re biting your lip with your entire body is subtly crumpled in towards your swollen, neglected pussy—and your Master has been watching you struggle through it this entire time.

“Are you alright?”  He asks dumbly, finally managing to at least push himself upright, still completely unaware or unconcerned at his softening cock on full display for you and your starving libido.  “You’re… shaking.”

“I—won’t die,” is the only serious assurance you can make to both him and yourself right now that’ll ease your suffering the smallest bit.  The last thing you want right now is to come on too strong and snap him back to his senses, bringing everything back to square one.  “Just, uh… r-really worked—worked up.  Trying to just.  C-Cool it?”

Your fingers flex at your sides because no matter what you try, you just can’t stop thinking about his.  They’re right there.  They’re so close, so strong and thick and—

“Aren’t you…”  He trails off, letting his head tilt and then drop to his shoulder with a combination of confusion and exhaustion.  “Aren’t you going to…?”

“To what?”  You prompt shortly, your hands suddenly clenching into fists to deal with another violent wave of arousal at how unbelievably drunk he still looks.  Maker, you did that.  That’s all you.

“s’Zerthia said all—” Obi-Wan murmurs, blinking long lashes lazily up at you, “—all Jedi must… participate.”

Fuck. Just hearing him provide you an excuse to give into the boiling arousal causes you to suddenly break out into a sweat.  You don’t know if he wants you to get yourself off or if he’s indirectly implying he wants to help, but you’re so far beyond desperate that you jump at the chance as soon as he so much as hints at the opportunity.

Very slowly, you move forward and lift one trembling knee to brace next to his thigh on the mattress, and then carefully swing your other leg over his lap, lowering yourself into a straddle in the same exact position he attempted to project earlier.  You’re so unbelievably cautious about his cock, making sure you don’t accidentally touch it and jolt him awake.  Instead of your newfound proximity scaring him away like you feared though, he stays so… docile.  Still so relaxed from his very first orgasm that he even rests his large palms over the thin fabric covering your thighs, letting the loose silk drape and fold over his hands as he drags them up and down.

His eyes follow your trembling fingers as you work at the knot tying the material around your body, your cunt throbbing between your legs at how he’s just… staring.  His eyelids are dipped slightly, breathing so calm and slouched under you, pliant and waiting.

The thin fabric slowly parts only enough to reveal the valley between your bare chest to him, and you watch his eyes fall down the thin strip of skin and catch on the dark line of your panties riding low on your hips.  Maker, you can’t help but remember his terror at even glimpsing the two acolytes taking off their robes earlier—the way his eyes bounced around and how his cheeks lost whatever color they had left to them as soon as he finally made himself look.  Now, though.  Now he can’t seem to drag his eyes away from the soft flesh of your tummy, the way your nipples are still covered by the thin fabric of your slightly parted robe but are impossible to miss while your breasts subtly move with your breathing.

You gently call one of his wrists to your hand with the Force and Obi-Wan is either mentally or physically too weak to resist your will.  He allows you to catch his hand and slowly lead it downwards with both of your smaller ones to the part of your body that’s longed for his attention for years, though now it’s absolutely weeping for it.

You don’t want to scare him.  You don’t want to scare him.  Oh Maker, you need him to be brave for you right now, or at least just continue to be stupefied.  You can work with stupefied, but you cannot work with panic, especially when you feel your own wanting to rise up the more you drag this out.

When the tips of his fingers brush against the waistband of your panties, Obi-Wan’s hand pushes under it without your guidance.

You’re throbbing.  It’s been years in the making.  Unable to stop the way your thighs contract and you lift your hips against his palm as it steadily curves down the slope of your soft curls, the sight of the finish line so within reach makes you reckless and too quick.  You can’t help it.  When he gets hesitant and eventually slows down to a halt right above your slit, you don’t even think before you’re suddenly giving his wrist an abrupt shove with the Force, pulling his hand down before he’s ready and forcing his middle finger deep through the soaking cleft of your pussy.

Your shameless moan of his name comes out sounding so grateful—you pour everything you have into it and sag into Obi-Wan’s chest at the feeling, but he startles and all but rips his hand out of your underwear before you can stop him.  He was a hair’s breadth from touching your clit and the denial of it—the sudden turnaround from your goal is just so massively overwhelming that tears suddenly spring to your eyes.

You can just barely make out the sight of him staring down at his trembling hand between the two of you, your slick shining wet and hot along the length of his finger. 

“Stars,” he rasps, blinking his wide, sapphire gaze up to yours—and then he quite suddenly looks alarmed.  “Did I—Did I hurt you?”  Obi-Wan gasps, his energy beginning to outright seize with distress while you blink rapidly and try not to crumble on his lap.

“No—I’m sorry, it’s just—I’m just… oh, fuck, I n-need it,” you stammer.  “Oh fuck, I need it Master, I’m so sorry—I’m trying to be calm but—”

“What is it, little dove?”  He urges, reaching his hand up to your face and flicking his eyes back and forth between yours, sounding almost as panicked as you do from your desperation.  “What do you need?”

“Oh stars, Obi-Wan, I need you to just—” You can’t fit anything into words, a tear finally making its way down your cheek when you clamp your eyes shut in frustration.  You just need him to understand, to give you what you’ve been craving for so long—but when you blink your eyes back open, his troubled expression has suddenly resolved itself.

Your Master’s hands immediately grab tight to your hips and twist you around, easily tossing you back up onto the mattress.  The jostle of bouncing back into the soft fur startles you, but not nearly as much as when he climbs over your body and braces an elbow next to your head, gently placing the tips of his fingers to your temple.

He pushes carefully but firmly against your natural mental barriers, flexing the energy shields inwards gently enough to not hurt you but with enough force to let you know he’s entirely capable of breaking through should you refuse to let him in.

So you do.  You let him in without a single thought, never mind a second one.  Obi-Wan gasps as your shields all but collapse for him that easily, and then he’s finally breaching the surface of your thoughts.

“Oh—Maker above, little one,” he grits almost immediately, his forehead dropping to your shoulder and his other hand wrapping tight around your arm as he struggles to acclimate to the blinding distress you’re experiencing.  “Collect—” he groans as your cunt clamps down at the rasp of his broken voice, “—collect yourself.  I can’t—can’t think—”

Oh, no, it’s too much.  It’s way too much, even just having him inside your head without being able to read him in return—it’s too much for you.  You start hyperventilating and instead of wanting him out, you just want to drown out the sensation of everything else.  The endlessly pulsing, aching throb between your legs that you’ve been dealing with for so long, the way you can feel his cock dragging against your tummy from this angle and how much you already want it in your mouth again, the way your nipples are so hard right now that even this soft fabric feels so rough and sharp against—

Your robe suddenly rips itself off your chest, and you whimper up at the ceiling as you dig your fingers into thick fur and writhe under him, almost completely naked and just desperate for him to do something, to at least just use his hands or his mouth to make you feel bet—

Obi-Wan’s head drops and his blazing mouth opens hot around your nipple, his tongue rolling soft and slick up under the hard bud.

You choke out the first part of his name and you barely even have a flicker of a thought—a brief flash of a rabid, baser desire you’re not even able to consciously recognize before you feel his jaw opening and his teeth closing gently around it, biting down just hard enough to make you spasm bright and urgent between your legs.  “Oh, fuck—”

As soon as you feel the pleasure and twisting ache spark deep in your core, Obi-Wan flutters his eyes shut and wedges his hand back into your panties, humming low in his throat when your legs jerk apart for him.

This time, your clit is the very first thing he touches.

He zeroes in on it.  The tip of his finger starts to rub it exactly how you’d do it to yourself, exactly the right angle and speed and pressure that your body suddenly feels massively overheated and dizzy from it.  It blindsides you.  It makes sense he’d be able to do this, after all, but for some reason, the whole thing just absolutely blindsides you.

“Maker,” you whimper at the ceiling, soft and pitched high in your throat, eyes rolling back when Obi-Wan gently bites down on your nipple again and continues to work to relieve you even as every muscle in your body feels like it’s tightening up.

“Stars—�� he whispers when he pulls away, “This—this feels incredible, Padawan.”

You moan and roll your hips against his hand, on cloud nine at just how he’s slowly allowing himself to become filthier with you, to lower himself in all his righteous beliefs and descend into delicious sin with you, and—

—wait, did he just…?

Your cunt clamps down hard with realization as he continues massaging your clit better than you’ve ever even done it yourself.  Maker, it shouldn’t turn you on so much but it does, hearing that word in this context.  Padawan.  Padawan, holding her legs open while her Master explores her pussy.  Padawan, moaning desperately as her orgasm buzzes deep down inside with a rising, threatening resonance.  Padawan, Padawan, Padawan—

“Oh, you liked that,” Obi-Wan remarks tightly, taking a second to tug on your clit.  You nearly start to cry again, your insides pulling up and going rigid at the sensation.  “I heard it, little one.  You like it when I call you that?”

“Oh I like it when you do f-fucking anything,” you choke out helplessly, your words starting to slur together.  “Oh fuck, you’re so amazing, you’re so good at everything, you’re the best Jedi in the whole entire galaxy Master, you’re so much better th—”

“My, you’re agreeable like this, aren’t you?”  Obi-Wan grits, his touches growing stronger and quicker and rocketing you straight to the edge of madness.  “Shall I take that to heart, my darling little Padawan?  Or did you say such flattering things to the oth—”

“Wait!”  You suddenly exclaim, desperately trying to push his hands away.  “Oh, nonononono—wait, wait, wait, I—I-I’m about to cum—I need to—”

His hand yanks itself out of your underwear once more and you take giant, gasping breaths and try to compose yourself at least somewhat, but then your Master is quickly scrambling down your body and using the Force to rip your panties down your hips—

“Obi-Wan, wait—” you choke out, “that isn’t—you don’t… h-have to…”

He looks up at you, dark brows furrowed in confusion.

“I’ll be able to—y-you don’t—”  You have to take a few gasping breaths and remember how to speak Basic.  “I used my mouth on you before because I… I wanted to.  If—If you don’t want to do that, you don’t have to.  It’s not… oh fucking stars above, it’s not n-necessary.”

“Are you telling me this because you don’t want me to?”  He immediately asks, though you both already clearly know the answer to that considering how exposed your wild thoughts are to him right now.

“Ah, no I, uh… I just.”  You try to clear the thickness from your throat and you feel your body tremble while you focus as much effort as possible into trying to explain.  “I just want to be sure I’m not taking advantage of you, that’s all, I—I want you to know the truth about these things.  It’s not… necessary, b-but.”

“But.”  He repeats the word meaningfully as he glances back down at your weeping cunt, nodding slowly to himself.

And then your Master leans in, flutters his eyes shut, and slides his warm tongue deep into the seam of your pussy with absolutely no hesitation whatsoever.

“Obi—Wan—!?”  You gasp, somewhere between a squeak and a squeal, your entire upper body launching upwards around his head as your clit is immediately enveloped into a slick, dexterous furnace.

Hold still, you hear his voice warn through the Force, sounding so much closer than you’ve ever heard him before.  Whether that can be attributed to the fact that the command came directly from wherever he is inside your head or whether it’s simply because his tongue is now tracing gentle circles around your clit as you whimper pitifully into the quiet of the dimly lit room, you’re not sure.  All you know is that his mouth feels like velvet between your legs and his beard is scraping across your thighs and your fingers have buried themselves in his hair without your conscious permission.

Hold still, young one, he urges once more, but you just close your eyes and moan shamelessly at it this time, opening your legs wider for him.  His voice, it’s… it’s maddening like this, coming directly from your own thoughts.  Deep, precise, somehow sounding so true, so much clearer and full-bodied without your pesky ears in the way.  Your hips are subconsciously rolling slowly against the lower half of his face when Obi-Wan apparently decides he’s had enough.

An invisible energy wraps around each of your individual limbs and snaps them against the mattress without any warning.  You whimper high in your throat, arms and legs held so firmly against the bed with the Force that your internal struggles aren’t able to be translated outwardly; he doesn’t allow your body a single centimeter to move under him, no matter how hard you fight it.  Which means you have to lay there and just take the way Obi-Wan’s hot mouth continues to lick and kiss at your clit slowly, taking all the time in the universe to properly explore you between the legs he’s forced apart.

“Obi—” you croak breathlessly at the ceiling, feeling a familiar heat start to burn hot and tight through your core, “Obi, I—I have to p-project—before I—ah!—before you—before you ma-make me cu—ugh, f-fuck—I have t-to—”

Then project, he encourages simply, gently fluttering his tongue over your clit.  You gasp and he hums, murmuring through the Force once more to you.  We’re not hiding anymore.  They’ll all know I’m using my mouth on you like this.  It’s alright.  Let them know.

You realize you’re going to cum the second you hear your Master’s voice say the words using my mouth on you like this while he slowly sucks on your clit, and you barely have enough wherewithal to gulp in a giant breath and begin projecting your signature as far across the palace and surrounding city as physically possible before your body shatters hot into searing euphoria under him.

Obi-Wan groans deep in his throat and holds you perfectly still under him as you cum with a ragged, hoarse wail of his name, giant waves of white hot bliss beginning to radiate through the Force from you with spectacular power.  The contractions are so much more pronounced when it’s one of the only sets of muscles in your body he’s granted permission to move.  It’s like everything is concentrated and multiplied there because of it.  You can feel each individual spasm your floor muscles make as they convulse against his tongue, how each blazing shot of ecstasy that shatters through your body wrings more and more wetness from your cunt into your Master’s mouth.

Never.  Ever ever ever.  Has anyone done something so mind blowingly sexy to you.  Nobody.  Ever.  He’s a virgin, you frantically remember as Obi-Wan purrs softly into the folds of your pussy while it cums all over him.

Your thoughts, young one, you can just barely make out his voice remind you gently, just as gently as he sucks on your clit through the aftershocks, somehow sounding even more aroused than he did before.

After allowing your projection to flicker out of existence with a putter, you’re completely dazed.  Incapable of moving regardless of the way he keeps you pinned with the Force long after he pulls away, slowly moves back up your body and waits while you work to regain your bearings.  You don’t even want to open your eyes right now, knowing he’s looking down at your peaceful expression while you work to catch your breath.  You’re too stupid with pleasure you almost don’t even process the soft touch of something against your lips.

You’re lovely.

The thought is so quiet you don’t even recognize it isn’t your own.  Not until he keeps pressing his lips to yours so sweetly, not knowing to do anything else when your mind is too fractured with ecstasy to unconsciously act as his compass like before.  Everything is innocent and gentle and not reminiscent of the fact that the robes you’re both wearing are wide open and your mouths tasted of each other even before he kissed you.

Instead of melting into the soft touches, though, they just start to burn you alive, the thick fog of your orgasm clearing more and more with each gentle press of his lips and your need for him steadily growing.  He’s kissing you.  Master Kenobi is kissing you for a few precious, heart stopping seconds at a time before pulling away, pausing to look at your face each time to make sure your eyes are still closed, before leaning down and carefully pressing his lips to yours again.

The only part you can’t stand is that he won’t even let you move your jaw to kiss him back.

Kiss me, Obi-Wan, you urge desperately through the Force, not wanting to interrupt to speak.

“I am, little one,” he replies between kisses, and the sincerity in his tone tells you he’s not purposefully teasing you.  No, this is him kissing you, genuinely, the only way he knows how to.

Let me— you start to struggle in earnest against his hold on you, —please, let me—

The warm breath from his nose puffs softly against your cheek with a quiet little sound from far back in his throat, and then you suddenly gain the ability to move from the neck up.

You immediately part his lips with yours and Obi-Wan pulls back just the slightest bit in response, but your neck lifts up to compensate as you lick deep into his warm mouth.  He gasps at the foreign sensation and loses his concentration for a split second, enough for you to break free of it completely.  Your hands quickly fly up to cradle his face as soon as they can move and your fingers hook around the thick beard blanketing his sharp jawline, urging him back down into you.

Your legs come up to wrap around his lower back and he sags against your strong will with a needy groan, dropping down closer and obediently keeping his mouth open for you to taste.  As soon as he presses his body into yours, his cock strains and drags against your lower stomach, already throbbing hot and leaking precum along the soft hills of your skin.

Maker, you want it but somehow you… you don’t.  You just want to savor tonight as long as you physically can, keep holding him and kissing him like this for another few hours at least before you try to take his cock, but he’s unintentionally grinding it against you while his tongue shyly dances with yours, needy and already raring to go in his own timid way.

Do you want it, Master?  You finally murmur to him, running your fingers through his hair and gently biting his bottom lip, scooting your hips up to let him rub himself against something better than your tummy.  You feel… ready.

The only response you get from him is a shuddering, helpless moan into your mouth and you hold him tighter to you, grinding your still sensitive cunt up against his cock while he pulls hard at the soft fur next to your head.  Your feel your soaking pussy lips part around the solid curve of his length and gradually coat the underside of him in slick with every gentle circle and roll your hips make, and Obi-Wan finally pulls away from your mouth to drop his forehead to your neck.

“Yes, I—” he moans into you skin, “Oh stars, I want it.”

With a gentle wave of your hand, you use the Force to drop his hips down to the proper angle and tilt the head of his cock to line him up perfectly.

And now this is the part you don’t want to rush.  This is when you take Obi-Wan Kenobi’s virginity.  You’ll savor just being able to remember this for the rest of your fucking life.  You’ll see him in Council meetings years from now and be reminded that you’re the only person in the galaxy to know the thickness of him as he rests heavy up against your entrance, the way his voice presses deliciously tight in his throat as he gasps out into the quiet room.  You’re the only one who will know that sound, that sound is yours, that sound belongs to—

“Padawan,” he grits, hips stuttering into you while you wrap your arms around his shoulders, “your thoughts—”

You groan up at the ceiling and your pussy tightens at the reminder that he can still hear you, but your body is just too bold and desperate for it.  Your thoughts begin to flare bright, growing more possessive by the second, and you can’t even wait for him this time.  Every single muscle in Obi-Wan’s body goes rigid when you tighten your grip around him and roll your hips up into his cock, letting it break you open nice and slow.

It stretches you wide with a deliciously sharp fullness and pleasure rips through you as Obi-Wan instinctively tries to lift off you and away from it, but you’re clinging too tightly to him.  Your whole body hovers off the mattress to stay with him. 

“You said—” he gasps, “—it wouldn’t h-hurt—oh—”

“It doesn’t,” you groan, continuing to tighten your legs and hoist yourself up, lifting your hips to take his cock deeper inside you.  “Oh, Maker, it feels so fucking good, Obi—feel it—”

His elbows shake where they’re locked and braced against the mattress but he drops his head and holds strong like this while you work your muscles to take him as far as you can from this shameful angle.  Your body feels like it’s on fire while you desperately cling to him and the length of your robe brushes against the mattress while you just keep trying to get him deeper inside you—

Suddenly something grabs hard at your hips and tries shoves you downwards and off his cock, but you want it too badly.  You summon the hidden strength of your energy and then channel it into your legs where they’re hooked around the curve of his lower back.

Obi-Wan chokes at the unexpected resistance and his elbows buckle, dropping you both down to his forearms with a jolt, but you’re too busy mentally clashing with each other for it.  The result is… well, it’s maddening.

Every time your pussy is able to swallow him more than halfway, you pull back and let his energy shove you down his length—but then dig back in right before you drop completely and use the Force to bend your legs and fight the uphill battle to his cock once more.  Your Master gasps, beads of sweat gathering at his temples while you fight him with every ragged breath in your body to keep fucking him.

Except—he’s the fighter.  And you should’ve known.

You’re no match for the sudden blast of energy from him, easily hinging your legs apart from around his back and then ripping you down off his cock with a wet sound, bouncing back down into the mattress once more.

In order to stop the desperate tears of defeat from coming to your eyes, you immediately clamp them shut and twist your face away from Obi-Wan’s, but he makes a low growl and uses the same ferocious royal blue energy to keep your knees pinned open and wide against the bed. 

And then drops his hips and rocks back into you, giving you those last few precious inches of his thickness you weren’t able to get at before.  It hits sharp nirvana up inside you with his thighs pressed tight to your hips like this.  His name rips itself from your throat while Obi-Wan clenches his jaw and starts to lose himself in the pleasure, holding you down into the bed with the Force while he allows your desperation to guide him to the perfect angle and speed to sate you. 

He’s so gifted, so strong in the Force, he’s able to use your mind as his anchor and give you pleasure beyond anything you’ve ever experienced.  And in return, you want to do the same to him.  You want to read his thoughts, instantly be able to give him everything he never knew he needed—

“You do,” your Master chokes out, “darling, you already—”

Everything inside you surges up at the admission, aching that much harder to hear him, to hear everything the way he can hear you.  The tips of your fingers find his temple, slick with sweat, and you press just hard enough to tell him your intent.

“Let me in,” you whisper, wicked arousal swirling tight in your lower muscles as they start to bear down on his cock.

“I—I can’t—” Obi-Wan gasps breathlessly, “I can’t—”

“Open—open the door, Master,” you beg, “please, open th—”

“Fuck,” he cuts you off, his voice rising in pitch while his his hips snap just a little harder against yours and his rhythm falters, “—It’s too good, Padaw—I’m going t-to—stars, are you—are you r-ready?”

Some terrifying, swirling darkness manifests itself deep in your thoughts.  It rises up, part of the desperate, hidden subconscious that you’re typically capable of stifling.  No, it says, don’t let this be over.  Not yet.  You don’t want to go to sleep alone, wake up and remember you’ll never have this again.  You need there to be a next time, and a time after it.

You try your hardest to push the longing downwards when you recognize it, but your Master is too quick, too talented to deceive when he’s this close to you.  He easily plucks it from your mind and expands it, enlarges the chaotic string of thoughts until you feel them pulsing at the edges of your consciousness.

And then Obi-Wan sees it all, immediately playing out in your memories as you helplessly watch on.  Every desire you buried for him unearthed, every whimper you stifled with the back of your hand when you touched yourself at night and thought of him amplified.  The years of repression, the blind hope that simply ignoring it would make it go away.  How hard you worked to deaden the burst of affection that radiated through the Force when you finally saw him after two years apart.  The circumstances behind the night you lost your virginity—not a long time ago, as he suggested before, but only just last year.  So desperate in your loneliness and longing for his presence that you began routinely sneaking around and fucking other Knights—Guardians with blue sabers whose souls were just marginally close enough to Obi-Wan’s, and you thought of him the whole time.  Every time.

But, perhaps, worst of all.  The… fantasies.

He sees himself dropping to his knees and congratulating you for passing your trials by burying his tongue inside your warmth and telling you how proud of you he is.  He sees you opening his trousers and slowly licking his cock while he meditates, trying to get him to break his concentration.  He watches the two of you fucking in every conceivable position, how incredibly ready you always are to take him when he needs it.  Most importantly, he recognizes your inherent, blazing desire to drag this out as long as physically possible, to permanently brand every moment in your memory to get you through his impending absence.

And then… then Obi-Wan does something unexpected.  Something incredibly uncharacteristic.

You watch as he morphs the fantasies right before your eyes.  He's still on his knees with his head between your legs, but now he’s telling you how proud he is of you for negotiating the mysterious, confidential deal that ended the Clone Wars.  You’re licking his cock as the ship autopilots itself through the week-long journey back to Coruscant from s’Ziscari, letting him slowly cum in your mouth as he sprawls lazily in the captain’s chair.  He’s taking you against the wall of your quarters after a mindless and dull Council meeting; you’re riding him quietly in his bed after lights-out at the temple; he’s rubbing your clit while he sits behind you and advises you on matters concerning your own Padawan you’ll be choosing sometime soon, two fingers deep and squeezing a bared nipple when he whispers in your ear how much he absolutely adores you.

Thoughts that aren’t your own begin to fill the empty spaces of your mind, a lovely pale blue tenor to harmonize gorgeously with the soft green alto of your own consciousness.  The resulting color of your combined energies fills your soul with Light, a stunning turquoise of a color you’ve never loved more, one you wish you could live in for the rest of your life.

For every debased thought of yours he sees, he shows you one even more revealing.  The way he used to dream of you at night, especially after a close battle where many Jedi and Clones fell, and then he’d wake up in a cold sweat with an erection pulsing feverish and so terribly shameful between his legs.  How he tried to shove a pillow down there once to somehow relieve himself of the aching hardness, and then had to rip it away and launch it across the room with the Force when he realized he’d been dragging himself against it and thinking of you.

“I’m gonna—cum—” your voice scrapes across your throat, and you can already sense him throwing his beautiful consciousness out like a net.  You match him with what little mental strength you have remaining, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and your ankles around his lower back and pulling him down into you.

Obi-Wan’s energy keeps swirling a brilliant aquamarine with yours, presenting his every subconscious thought to you, one right after another, so quick you can barely keep up.  How he’ll always be with you, no matter what.  How the Maker himself won’t be able to drag him away from you now.  How quiet jealousy still tugs at his heart just thinking about the fact that you broke your oath—before you both could do it together.

Everything swells up inside you and you scream when it finally crashes over, your blended signatures sealing themselves together permanently and then detonating in a debilitating shockwave that ripples the air around you.  You’re blinded and deafened by its vivid energy, powerful and dazzling every shade between blue and green and Light and Dark, all balanced perfectly together.

You lay there in the gentle afterglow afterwards and feel your pussy still clamping tight to him, pulsing in random intervals while Obi-Wan slouches into you and every muscle in his body trembles with the comedown.  Everything is right.  Everything in you sparkles.

“Stars, Obi,” you start chuckling up at the ceiling, the sheer joy overwhelming you and bringing tears to your eyes.  “Stars, did we just—”

“We just won the Clone Wars, my dear,” he slurs into the crook of your neck while his cock still throbs inside you, and you can feel the exhaustion creeping up his spine, every single thought in his mind completely dead at the moment.

“How long do you… do you think it’ll take before it’s over?”  You ask quietly, brushing your fingers through his hair.  Obi-Wan groans and buries his face deeper into your neck.

“Few months, maybe.  Time for s’Ziscari…”

He stays like that for just a second, and you press your nose to him and breathe him in, marveling at how utterly gorgeous his signature is right now.  Clear blue with the lightest touch of teal, rippling like quiet water in a crystal calm riverbed.

Lovely.

You keep softly playing with the hair at his nape, and then quickly wrap your arms around him when he goes to try to brace his forearms next to your shoulders and lift up just the slightest bit.

“Wait, don’t—it’s—”  You bite your lip and feel him sink back down into your body without another word, clearly having only attempted it for appearances.  “This is good, let’s just… stay for a second.” 

He doesn’t respond, he doesn’t even move, and—a few months, you think.  A few months of his absence, of wondering where he is but never being able to ask.  It burdens your heart, but you understand it’s necessary.

The Council may… grant me a position with a more permanent location after this mission, he responds quietly to your dip in the Force after a moment, too tired to even talk anymore and exhaustion weaving his every thought.  On Coruscant.

Your heart pangs with sudden hope, and you know he can feel it.  “They would do that?”

I could ask to oversee the s’Ziscari’s assimilation into our ranks, he offers alongside a stifled yawn into your collarbone.

He’d… request that?  To be closer to you?  But why?

He doesn’t hesitate before offering the words to you simply, not even considering them before they’re the only thought in his mind.  Because I care for you more than there are stars in the sky.  I always have.

Lovely.

No, no, not even, that’s just.  Love.  By itself.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan murmurs softly into your neck, and your soul feels like it grows wings.

You both lay there in silence for a long time after that, and it takes you even longer to realize he hasn’t succumbed to sleep yet, even as the aching fatigue weighs heavy on his back.  He’s resisting it, keeping his eyes purposefully open against your neck while yours are blissfully shut.

“Master,” you eventually whisper up at the ceiling, and his cock twitches inside you.  Oh stars, you’ll have to remember that.  “Go to sleep.”

I have one more confession.  The thoughts are slurred and distorted, barely conscious as he desperately tries to outlast the sleep trying to pull him under.  I didn’t even want to mention it before because I didn’t know how this was all going to go, but…  He blinks slowly against your neck even as his eyes droop, only just a few seconds from passing out with exertion.  The Sh’inzith lasts six days, dove.

Your eyes pop open in shock just as his finally fall shut, and Obi-Wan stops fighting.

[banrionceallach]

Reverse AU Crowley/Harry Omens Short

This will only make sense if you’ve read both my main fic and my scraps on AO3. Posting it anyway.

Raphael is still here.

He is still here and he keeps smiling at Aziraphale all the time.

Aziraphale keeps smiling back.

Crowley hates it.

He is not jealous, he tells himself, as he watches Raphael sit on a couch in the back of the bookshop. Raphael is currently pouring over an arcane text that Aziraphale thinks might solve the ‘angel from an alternate universe’ problem.

Crowley has known Aziraphale for six thousand years. He has argued and dined with and gotten drunk with the angel innumerable times. They’re best friends. Aziraphale walked into hell for him and sassed Michael into the bargain. He knows Aziraphale loves him. They are raising (another) child together, for Someone’s sake.  Some alternate universe angel is not going to change that.

Even if he is basically a better version of Crowley.

Stupid angelic tosser. With his stupid round pupils and his stupid white wings and his stupid long braided hair that Aziraphale spent a whole minute complimenting after lunch.

( It is just possible that Crowley is trying to grow his hair out as quickly and discreetly as possible.)

Currently Crowley is alone with the Archangel Bloody Raphael, because the aforementioned child that Crowley and his angel are raising together had a sleepover with the former antichrist and Aziraphale has gone to Tadfield to pick him up and also consult the local witch on their Alternate Universe Angel problem. Normally picking up Harry from a friend’s house is something Crowley does in the Bentley, but today the knowledge that that would have left Aziraphale alone with Raphael for over an hour had made him strongly suggest that Aziraphale should go, and use the opportunity to consult the witch.

Crowley really hopes Book Girl has something. He doesn’t know how much more of the archangel’s presence he can take without jumping across the room and trying to claw his stupid perfect eyes out.

He notices the other red-head has put down his book and is looking at him with narrowed eyes.

“What are you looking at?” he demands.

Raphael shrugs innocently. “I was just surprised you didn’t go to Tadfield instead of Aziraphale.” He waves a hand at the piles of esoteric text cluttered around the room. “It would have been more efficient for you to bring Anathema here while we continued to research, wouldn’t it?”

“Leaving Aziraphale alone with you?” Crowley snaps, with rather more honesty than he prefers. “Not likely!”

Raphael arches a fine auburn eyebrow. “Are you always this possessive?” he asks and damn him, there is actual genuine concern in his tone. Who is he to be concerned about Aziraphale? He has his own version, yes? That he should be wanting to get back to? A tiny part of Crowley still doubts that. He can’t imagine a demon Aziraphale, can’t imagine Aziraphale Falling.

It hurts to think about.

“Possessive?” Crowley sputters, wrenching his mind away from the possibility of a horrified spiral into guilt. “I am not!”

And the thing is, he isn’t. Not usually. But of course, it occurs to him, it’s been rather easy to not be possessive when he can be safe in the knowledge that no one else on the planet has a hope of competing for Aziraphale’s affection. Not humans, not other demons, definitely not other angels.

Except now, there is another angel. An angel who never fell, still bathing in Her favour. With Crowley’s face. And, key point, without the more demonic attributes caused by the Fall.

He is polite and gentle and exudes a puppy-like bouncy enthusiasm and he keeps smiling at Aziraphale and Crowley hates everything about him.

“Really?”

“Really,” Crowley snaps back, baring his fangs. “I am concerned for his safety. For all I know, this could still be some trick by Above and Below to attack us. You could be in on it.”

“You really are very suspicious, aren’t you?” Raphael says, grinning like Crowley has just said something amusing.

“Demon,” Crowley snaps. “Goes with the job description. Suspicious, sly, evil demon.” He notes with satisfaction that his blunt reference to his status makes Raphael go pale and twitch slightly. Good.

“You’re not that demonic,” Raphael says softly after a moment, giving him a considering look. “I think Azirafell is worse. Better, I mean. At demoning.”

This is too much.

Crowley snarls and surges to his feet. “I,” he hisses, “am the Serpent in the Garden. The Fall of Man? Humanity exiled from Eden never to return? That was me. For six-thousand years I was Hell’s favourite demon. Don’t go thinking I am soft!”

Of course, it’s at this moment that Harry runs into the room, having just got back from Tadfield. “Dad! Dad! Is it true?”

Crowley draws his fangs back in so fast there’s an almost audible click. “Is what true?”

Harry is about to reply when he spots Raphael. Raphael stares at him, wide-eyed. Harry stares back, fascinated.

“Wow,” the nearly-thirteen-year-old breathes. “You really do look just like Dad! Weird!” Then Harry frowns. “Why don’t you have the cool eyes, though?”

Crowley flips from cursing Harry’s sense of timing to grinning widely. He and his angel have the Best Son. Objectively. It is fact.

Raphael makes a strangled noise. “Dad?” he manages to wheeze, still staring at Harry.

They had not mentioned Harry up until now as a precaution. Just in case Raphael was part of a plot against them. Watching Raphael almost choke in shock, Crowley is extra glad they’d not mentioned the young wizard.

He still has to squash the urge to snap ‘yes, this is our son’ in his most smug tone of voice. Crowley loves Harry and is not under any circumstances going to use him to score against the annoying stupid archangel who will be punted back to his own universe as soon as possible.

So instead he just waves, wiggling his fingers insouciantly at the Archangel. “That’s me.”

(It’s also Aziraphale, as well as James Potter, sadly deceased. People who start talking to Harry when he mentions his father soon learn to be alert for context clues.)

Raphael coughs, clearing his throat. “You’ve . . . adopted a child?” he says weakly.

“That’s right,” beams Aziraphale, who has just walked into the room behind Harry.

“Stole,” Crowley corrects. “We stole him. Evil, remember.”

“More like rescued,” says Harry, the little traitor. Raphael gives him a watery smile.

It turns out that (to Crowley’s great relief) Aziraphale has brought back a way to get Raphael home. Unfortunately, the ritual to do it takes hours to set up.

Raphael spends most of that time trying not to stare at Harry. He doesn’t really succeed.

Eventually, since they are now guaranteed to be archangel-free very soon, Crowley grudgingly explains how Harry came to be living with them.

Raphael is appalled.

“What do you mean, this headmaster knew and just left him with those people for ten years?” he hisses, his golden eyes narrow with outrage.

“He’d convinced himself that the blood ward was the only resort,” Aziraphale explains.

“Bullshit,” snaps Raphael and for a second Crowley almost likes him.

“Quite,” Aziraphale says. “We were less than happy with the state of affairs ourselves.”

“No kidding,” the archangel mutters.  Right,” he says decisively. “Is that circle ready to get me home? I need to take a quick trip to Surrey. Just to check on something.”

It is possible, Crowley thinks, as Raphael steps into the circle and disappears in a flash, that the archangel will find that there is no alternate Harry. Or perhaps there’s no alternate Voldemort. Or Dumbledore. Who knows?

***

Harry Potter, aged almost thirteen, ran from Number 4 Privet Drive, his suitcase and his owl’s travelling cage thumping beside him. His could feel his heart jumping in his chest. He had never been so angry in his life. Why had he listened to Aunt Marge? Why hadn’t he done the smart thing and excused himself to the loo when she’d started to talk?

What was he going to do now?

A noise and sudden light, caught his attention. It was a car, approaching fast. When it reached Harry, it skidded to a stop. He backed away, fumbling for his wand.

Then the passenger’s window rolled down, and a man’s head emerged. “Hello,” the man said in a cheerful voice. “Harry, isn’t it?”

Harry gasped and backed away further.

“Look,” said the man, “I don’t normally get involved in these things, but my friend here” – he waved vaguely towards the driver, a man with long waves of red hair- “seems to think you need help.” The man squinted at Harry. “And from the looks of it, he’s right.”

An enraged roar, familiar to Harry, echoed out of the night.

Uncle Vernon, furious and getting closer.

“Alright,” said the driver, speaking for the first time, “that’s enough of that.”

Harry heard the sound of clicking fingers and suddenly found himself in the car’s back seat with Hedwig’s cage next to him. His seatbelt had already fastened itself. The big black dog, which he’d almost tripped over earlier, was sitting on the car floor and looking extremely puzzled.

“Really dear,” said the man in the passenger seat to the driver as the car sped off, Vernon Dursley’s furious shouts receding into the distance “Did you have to bring the dog too?”

“Yep. He’s a good dog.”

Harry swallowed and finally managed to speak. “People will come looking for me,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

The man in the passenger seat smiled at him. “Well I do hope so, my boy.” He nodded towards his friend. “Raf here is quite keen to give Albus Dumbledore a piece of his mind.”

[livvywrites]

What kind of magic systems does the world of Metanoia have?

an excellent question!!! forgive me while i ramble a bit (or a lot!)

—

so first, a little on where magic comes from, & how it’s used. (& i do apologize if this is something you’ve read before!)

eldora’s creation myth says that the planet grew from a seed—or, rather, that a seed was planted in the ether, and from that seed grew the World Tree, embodied by the nymph, Vitala, the goddess of Life. in her roots nestled the core of the world, and over these roots which grew the surface—forest, desert, swamp, ocean.

the core of the world is Eldora’s heart, and the heart is the source of all magic.

the magic of it travels up, through rock, caves, dirt, & soil to emerge at points known as wellsprings. these are treated as sacred places, often with temples built near them to whichever god it seems to represent in its manifestation. wellspring spots are varied. there are large crystals, pulsing with ethereal light; lush gardens with glowing flowers that bloom nowhere else, and all year round; standing stones that seem to hum, electricity snapping in the air; etc.

the spot of the World Tree is the most powerful wellspring.

there are also places where magic returns to the core, & is filtered back down to be cleansed, revitalized. these places are also called wellsprings, and are considered just as sacred—though people do not often set up near them, as these are “dead zones”, where magic can be used by few. they are still visited by pilgrims, or by those hoping to slow the effects of magical illnesses, curses, etc.

as such, magic flows through the very air of eldora. it’s in the soil; the plants; the animals; the food… and the people. everyone can use magic on eldora, though most are limited to what they can pull from the air. this is usually small quick spells.

enchantments, which are a stable of eldoran life, and often have functions similar to electricity for us, also run off of this power. (and too many enchantments, or too powerful of one, can cause the same effect as a reverse wellspring—creating a dead zone through which magic is hard to use).

there are also people who are born with their own internal supply of mana. no one is really sure why this is (including me), only that it can happen randomly—and is more likely to happen if one or both parents do have mana. these people are usually referred to as “mages” in general terms—though others pick up classes/jobs that have different titles.

these people are still able to cast in a dead zone, & can fuel an enchantment with their own internal power, though this can be draining, fast. they can also cast more powerful spells.

(this is getting long so! under the cut it goes)

—

now a look at spells! i’m still working on exactly how this works. some stuff i have pinned down, but.

so, first. casting spells. there are three main things that go into casting one—intelligence, willpower, and mana. intelligence has to do with how well you understand the spell—it’s components, what it does, what it means to cast it. willpower is a measure of intent, how determined you are to cast the spell. it is also a measure of how well you understand yourself and your capabilities. mana is the well of magic you have to draw upon. this well can fluctuate in childhood, but by adulthood (whatever that means for a particular race) it will have evened out.

intelligence & willpower can be increased. mana can’t be—unless you’re a Slaeyr, and that comes with a steep price.

spells are made up of runes. runes… i think of them a bit like coding. it’s a language, of sorts, with a specific syntax that wouldn’t necessarily make sense to hold a conversation in. it informs the magic of what to do with it.

of course, mages can cast spells without knowing runes—by focusing their intent and shaping the spell from that. but runes provide a… shape. a structure. something for the mind to focus on & thus better will the spell into existence.

there is no particular runic alphabet. runes are single symbols that mean entire words, which can be strung into sentences (or code lines*, to continue the above analogy) to create spells. sentences can grow fairly long for more complicated and varied spells. most spells hinge off of at least one rune, and complex spells can contain many. usually, spells contain anywhere from 3-7 runes.

enchantments always contain at least five runes, but often more, as an “anchored” spell needs more guidance.

mages do not have to speak the names of runes out loud to cast the spell—only to remember them, imagine the shape of them. some, however, do find that speaking the names aloud helps, and so they do. (in complex spells, though, this can get tedious, so some mages will invent a verbal shorthand.)

—

from here… um. i feel like i should know what to talk about next, but!! i don’t? like i’m sure there’s different schools of thought as to how magic should be cast between different associations, but… ah. i don’t know what those are.

i guess i can talk about the different like… jobs / specialties in magic users? tho i also feel like this has gotten fairly long!!

anyway. thank you very much for letting ramble at you, anon!!! i hope you enjoyed :D

*disclaimer: all i really know about coding is like… basic css & html. you know, the stuff to edit already in use tumblr themes? xD i keep meaning to pick more up but. you know. so i really can’t take the analogy too far.

[theevangelion]

Keira: Dom Cat/Sub Kara Sneak Peek

For Kendrene: Mistress Cat/Sub Kara. Kara has some special duties as Cat's personal assistant, including being fucked by her boss in the office after hours. Bonus points for involving Cat's very steep heels in the process.

*OR*

Cat Grant gives her Bambi-legged personal assistant an intensive course on how to walk in high heels.

“Oh! Keira while you’re here!” Miss Grant halted the personal assistant escaping in search of her lunch hour. “I need you to run and grab coffee before you take your break.”

“It’s Kara.”

“Excuse me?” Miss Grant glanced over the top of her glasses from the photographs spread out on her desk.

“It’s Kara, not—”

“Did I ask for your name?” Miss Grant didn’t so much as blink. “Keira, I can only assume you got out of bed on the wrong side this morning—presumably in the dark too if those last season bargain basement shoes are anything to go by—which you wear with all the grace and elegance of a reversing garbage truck without any wheels on, by the way.” Miss Grant turned her attention back to the grainy photographs of a popular athlete kissing a woman who was not his wife. “I’ll take a danish too.” She shooed with her fingers.

Taken aback, Kara realised that she now simply had a new name until Cat Grant decided otherwise. There was nothing to say—nothing she could say—other than blither foolish apologies for misspeaking. Kara had been warned about Cat’s quick, no survivors taken attitude. The several ex-personal assistants in the Facebook support group had made it abundantly clear.

But, Kara hadn’t found the advertisement for this role on Indeed or LinkedIn. She found it through quite a different website altogether.

“Coffee, Keira.” Miss Grant pointed a manicured finger to the door. “Why are you still here?”

“Sorry! Yes! Coffee, Miss Grant. Almond milk?” Kara became determined to get it right for fear of the alternative.

“Of course I want almond milk, Keira,” the petite woman scoffed, “I’m not a fucking barefoot savage.”

***

“She’s looking to finish strong but the ankles are weak. Her coach and team will be disappointed with her performance today. Wibble wobble, will she make it?” Miss Grant chided behind Kara all the way through the office as though walking in these particular heels were an Olympic gymnastics floor final. “Oh! She nearly tripped but she stuck the landing!” Miss Grant burst enthusiastically as they made it through the door into her executive office. “Goodness, Keira. It’s like watching a horse try to gallop in roller skates inside a pressurised vacuum chamber.”

“I can wear flats instead of heels if you prefer, Miss Grant?” Kara suggested with blushing cheeks, leaning over slightly as she placed the coffee and rival daily newspapers on Cat’s desk for morning appraisal.

“Keira.” Slender hips pressed against Kara’s bent bottom, then lips craned and pressed against the back of her reddened ear. It made Kara’s heartbeat stop and her brain empty outward. “I’m offended you would suggest such a thing. Firstly, I’m offended on behalf of high heels. Secondly, I’m offended you would think about stripping me of the small joy that comes with mercilessly mocking you.” Kara swallowed hard and felt her boss gently tuck her wavy hair behind her ear. “You don’t want to offend me, do you Kara?” Cat whispered.

“You said my name.”

“Excuse me?”

“You—” Kara stopped and inhaled, shaking her head at her own foolishness. “Nothing, sorry. Of course I don’t want to offend you, Miss Grant. I… I like working here. I just want you to make sure you like me working here as much as I like working here.”

“You sound like bad Roald Dahl fanfiction when you speak off the tongue. I don’t like it.” Cat pulled back, but she gently slipped her slender fingers along Kara’s shoulder as she moved away—almost taking the venom out of her own statement. “Still, a woman without confidence is like a bisexual person without a Harry Potter inspired tattoo, Keira. Incomprehensible,” Cat snided, stepping around her desk with clasped hands at her waist. “I’ll teach you how to appreciate heels. Be here at six this evening.”

“After work?” Kara gulped and fiddled with her glasses.

“Will that be a problem?”

“No Ma’am.” She shook her head.

***

Kara was a pretty thing. Annoying, but pretty. There were few things that Cat enjoyed less than a young woman falling all over herself like a wounded deer in the wake of a cutting word from her quick tongue. But, Kara had seemingly made herself immune to the humiliation in recent weeks.

Cat would try, of course, nasty little remarks here and there to make the girl wither crimson. But Kara would just smile the most radiant smile and say a blushing thank you, apparently grateful for the attention and constructive feedback.

Truth be told, it warmed Cat.

But that didn’t stop it being any less infuriating.

Cat had placed the job advertisement on the fetish website for two reasons: to draw in the type of submissive natured assistant who would prove long standing—because having to re-explain the basics of how she wanted things done around the office every few months after the latest one quit was more headache than it was worth. Cat also placed the advert on the fetish website because it was a very, very fun and convenient way to bring her most private fantasies to life.

Cat enjoyed the thought of humiliating a girl to tears, parading her naked, spanking her over her knee, doing all sorts of rude and cruel things to her. There were the overtly sexual things too—the thought of taking her personal assistant to business dinners with electrified toys in all sorts of sensitive places. A tear-stained porcelain face buried underneath her hiked skirt licking her stresses away—waiting for the chief’s permission to gasp for a much needed breath.

Why keep it a filthy, private fantasy when she could find someone as equally perverted as herself? Better yet, why keep it a filthy perverted fantasy when she could find a little fool who would do these things without the good business acumen to demand a premium salary rate.

Kara made above market average of course, if only from the benevolence of Cat’s tender heart. The girl didn’t have enough between her ears to think to demand it, though Cat supposed that was rather a good thing for longevity's sake.

Cat never abided demanding types very well.

“Panties off too.” Cat didn’t glance away from her laptop screen despite wanting to stare. “I don’t care if you cry yourself blue in the face. Take them off or put the rest of your clothes on and march yourself down to the unemployment line.”

“I’m not crying,” Kara whispered softly as though confused by the statement. “I wasn’t wearing panties to begin with, Miss Grant.”

At that Cat snapped her stare across with witheringly cold precision. Kara stood there completely bare with her hands clasped behind her spine. From stood beneath the lighting directly above her, her skin was a gorgeous shade of bone white, her muscles taut and slender, which gave her the impression of being much taller than she actually was. Cat thought she looked beautiful, and she wanted to give the compliment where it was due, though she would never miss the opportunity for a quip.

“What happens when you assume, Keira?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Grant.” Wrong footed, Kara startled like a wide-eyed deer.

Much better, Cat thought.

Kara continued, “I just. I just like to be prepared for you, Miss Grant. I like to anticipate what might be required of me—”

“And what were you anticipating when you decided to forgo panties this morning?” Cat rose from her chair with a cool, indiscernible expression. “What? You had some infantile, school girl fantasy that perhaps I might use your dripping little hole as balm?” Cat blinked and pushed the smallest of smirks. “Of course, I suppose today wasn’t the first day the air from the subway vents tickled you in private places?” She clipped around her desk with poise.

YOU CAN READ ALL FOUR CHAPTERS OF THE COMPLETE STORY HERE!

[eevee-eclair]

Horrid Hesitance

Written by EeveeEclair

TW: hypnosis? Is that how I should put it? (Take a look at this post for context), a bad day, (tell me if I missed one)

Random side note: BOOM!! I'M BACK FROM THE DEAD!! I’ll be writing all week for this and hopefully I’ll finish this one! (I will NOT be doing NSFW this week, so don’t ask)

Important side note: The Thing is basically the Janus hypnosis headcanon, but with kissing and it’s a thing only Remus can do.

~~~

Logan walked around the Mindscape, looking for his boyfriend, Remus. As much as he hated to admit he had feelings, he was feeling quite ‘down in the dumps’ as one might say. Between Roman pressing the ‘Ignorant’ button and Deceit, better known as Janus, impersonating him, he was in dire need of some comfort.

He found Remus in his room, drawing on the wall. He cringed a little at the gorrey scene he was drawing. He stood in the doorway, hesitant to disturb him. He looked so at ease and happy, he’d hate to ruin it.

Remus felt a shiver go down his spine. He giggled. “Some people say that when you feel a shiver down your spine, someone walks over your future burial spot!” He said to himself.

Then he blinked, remembering something Logan told him once. “Or… Someone is watching you,” he mumbled. Remus slowly turned around, smiling when he saw Logan. “Starlight! What are you doing here?”

Logan tensed up when Remus saw him. “Hello, Remus,” he said, blushing a little at the nickname. “I-I just wanted to…” he trailed off. Should he lie? No, Remus had lived with Janus for many years, he could tell when someone lied.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “To..?” He repeated, standing up and walking to Logan. “What is it, baby?” He asked.

Logan sighed. “It’s nothing, Cephy. Go back to drawing,” he said, giving him a fake smile. “I was just checking on you.”

Remus pouted. “You’re lying, L. What’s wrong?” He asked again, taking Logan’s hands in his. “You can tell me,” he added.

Logan shook his head. “It’s nothing,” he denied quickly.

“Don’t make me do The Thing,” Remus threatened.

Logan’s eyes grew wide. “You wouldn’t,” he countered.

Remus nodded. “I would if it got me my answer. You can either answer truthfully, or face my wrath!” He joked, though he was deadly serious.

Logan stepped back, but Remus grabbed his arm with pleading eyes. “Remus, don’t do it,” he begged.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

Logan shook his head and tried to pull away. “I can’t, you’ll hate me,” he said.

Remus frowned and pulled him closer. “I could never hate you,” he told him. “Last chance, tell me or I’ll do The Thing.”

Logan swallowed and hung his head. “Just do it. It’ll make it easier to tell you,” he mumbled, ashamed.

Remus gave him a small smile. “Logan, it can’t be that bad. And if it is, it’s not like I’ll stop loving you,” he said, trying to reassure him.

Logan looked up at him. “I know, it’s just embarrassing.”

“Then I’ll make it quick, okay?” Remus said, leaning forward.

Logan nodded, preparing for the worst as Remus leaned forward and kissed him. He whined when he pulled back, but he couldn’t help it! The Thing was starting to take hold and he was losing his grip on lying.

Logan blinked. “Kiss me again,” he said.

Remus laughed. “Maybe later, Lolo. Right now, you have something to tell me,” he said, smirking. “What’s wrong?” He asked, knowing this time he would get an answer.

Logan didn’t fight The Thing, he just let the truth tumble out. “I’ve been having a bad day and I was hoping for you to comfort me, but I was too afraid to ask.”

Remus frowned. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Of course I’ll comfort you,” he told him, dragging him to the bed. He snapped his fingers and Logan was now in his favorite Space PJs. He leaned down and kissed him, reversing his ‘spell’.

Logan shook his head, removing the fog. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, holding on to Remus tight.

“For what?” Remus asked, running a hand through Logan’s hair. “There’s nothing wrong with having a bad day.”

Logan sighed. “For not just saying it. You were right, it wasn’t that hard,” he confessed.

Remus kissed his head. “It’s okay, I forgive you. Now, pick a movie and tell me what snacks you want, I’ve got a boyfriend to cuddle,” he winked.

Logan smiled. “Could we watch Doctor Who? And I don’t care what snacks.”

Remus nodded and snapped his fingers, turning on the chosen show and summoning some gummy worms. “Bone Apple Tea!” He said, handing Logan a worm.

Logan laughed a little. “Thanks, Cephy,” he mumbled, taking the offered worm.

Remus started rubbing his back, throwing gummies into his mouth. “Anytime, sweetheart. Anytime.”

( @intrulogicalweek2020 )

[justimajin]

It’s a Reverse Basket ◍ Part 20

⇝ Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

⇝ Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Angst

↳ Basketball AU, Crossdressing AU

⇝ Words: 4.6k

⇝ Summary: Basketball is your everything; your passion for it running deep and wanting nothing more then to play the sport. Problem is, the sport isn’t offered competitively to girls and with that, all your hopes immediately fizzle away… …but who ever said that was going to stop you?

⇝ Warnings: pg13; time for things to get intenseee

gif credit.

⇝ Previous Parts: Moodboard Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19

⇝ Last Update: Tuesday, July 28

“You’re being too slow.” A deep voice immediately warns. The bright orange ball in your hands topples over and bounces onto the ground, rolling far from you. With a sigh, you chase after it and position the ball on the palm of your hand once again, cautiously side-eyeing the bench. 

Yoongi attentively watches as you bring the ball up to your fingertips, hurriedly squatting at it with your free hand. It revolves perfectly for a spiky moment and you glance at Yoongi with pure amazement. 

The moment however, is short-lived. Once your attention deviates back to the spinning ball in your hands, it slips out of your hold and falls onto the ground again. Yoongi still holds an impressed smile, reaching down to snag the ball. He effortlessly raises it onto his palm, letting it spin as if he was just merely breathing.

You gaze in awe when it doesn’t waver at all like how yours did, the bubble of wonder only popping once Namjoon enters the room. Yoongi ends up casting the basketball away in a hurry, acting like he hadn’t spent the past twenty minutes of dire practice time teaching you a simple trick.

The sudden shift is understandable, especially when your entire team's stiff forms begin to flood into the gym and Namjoon appears significantly tenser.

You’re nearing the end of nationals, and soon you’ll be facing off with the last team in hopes to win this year’s title.

One by one, everyone in your team forms a line-up similar to day one. Taehyung yawns beside you and Jungkook mimics the same expression Namjoon dons. You catch sight of Hoseok and Jimin, waving back at them as the latter briefly smiles in your direction. 

But seeing them only heightens your senses, face paling as one lone thought suddenly sparks up in your mind.  

What would they think if they knew about your secret?

***

The last day of nationals has arrived.

 After being called in, your team – which consists of your two roommates, Hoseok and your Captain  – is swarmed by a stream of lights and the voices of cheering coming in from the bleachers. Your jersey shines underneath the spotlight and you head towards your side of the court, anxiously waiting for the team that you’ll be facing off with. The lateral doors to the gym open and the answer you wanted is presented right in front of you. 

Your body numbs with horror, the ground underneath you nearly shattering. With wide transfixed eyes, you can only watch from afar as the team continues to pool out of the doors, the reality sinking further in.

Because right in front of you, stands the team you had once desperately tried to become a part of.

Your old high school’s competitive team.

Sucking in a harsh breath, you attempt to shake away the terror that fills you by the minute. The referee strides in when the court is completely full of players, a basketball in his hands.

He states the basic instructions you’ve heard countless times during these games, informing everyone of the crucial fact that you initially assumed you were prepared for.

Winner of this game will be the victor of this year’s league.

Your throat grows parched, but your hands twist into tightened fists as determination spikes within you. This is something you’ve been dreaming of for so long and you can’t let this sudden new flood of feelings overtake any of that.

You force yourself into focus as the referee picks up his whistle, mind remaining alert. There’s a plethora of shrieks in the silence gym and your entire team instantly disperses.

Yoongi steals the ball much to your relief and Hoseok immediately emerges onto his radar among all the players. He jumps to retrieve the ball, heading straight for the basket. When his path becomes blocked though, he swirls around – eyes catching onto your racing form.

The ball meets your shaken hands, agilely dribbling it alongside your quick feet. A head full of black fluffy locks hurriedly outstretches his arms, your eyes flickering.

He’s covered in a flash, a member of the other team suddenly coming forth and cutting off your space. Your brows contort, attempting to assess the situation for a better way out – but that’s when your eyes fall upon the member’s face.

You still, breath hitching in your throat. You’re not the only one having a reaction, because the person blocking your path is completely stunned as well. 

A basketball abruptly shoots out, nearly hitting you after your conversation with the coach.

“Oops!” A boy rushes over, his eyes wide but far from innocent, “That was my bad! Maybe if you were on the team you would have been able to catch it.”

The comment is followed by an accompaniment of snickers from behind him, and he slips the ball away from his hands towards you again with a conniving smile.

You merely blink as the ball slips through your hands, the boy sprinting across the court with it to reach his other members. Snapping too late into the action, the buzzer rings and the team is rewarded with a point.

A hand suddenly wraps tightly around your arm, spinning you around. Your fearful eyes find Yoongi’s confused one’s right away. He’s sweating profusely, but his eyes are flickering all over you, utterly puzzled with your abrupt daze in the middle of such an important game.

It’s only when he notices you trembling that he lets go, yet the fear doesn’t leave as you quietly trudge back to your position. Yoongi does so as well when the referee ushers him to, but he can’t stop himself from sending concerned glances at you. Gritting his teeth, he’s forced to acknowledge the situation is out of his hands when he has to stand opposite from the other Captain on the court.

The whistle blows and the other team gets a chance at the ball this time. Your entire team disperses in efforts of deterring them and grasping any opportunity from a slip up. The strategy seems to work with Jungkook taking control of the ball, his sight briefly swinging to your side. You stretch out your arms, prepared to grasp onto it.

The ball falls out of your hands.

A loud cry rips out of your throat when you make contact with the court, your arm skidding harshly against the ground.

“Y/N!”

The rough  impact makes your mind spin, vision turning impaired. The sound of faint snickers is all you can pick up on, not until there’s two strong arms lifting you up.

You’re plopped down onto the bench with a wince, “Is it bad?” Namjoon’s voice picks up, crouching down to view the injury.

“He’s bleeding.” Yoongi states, sounding out of breath. You open your eyes at that, your sight getting cutting off by his hand. “Don’t look, it’s–…it’s pretty bad.”

You nod, trusting him on the matter. Within minutes, the echoes of heels hitting against the floor greet your ears, a familiar voice joining the two of them.

“Move over.” Soyoung orders and you feel Yoongi shift. There’s a drawn-out silence that spikes up the beats of your heart, a sigh passing by the doctor’s lips.

“The injuries are deep. He needs to be taken to the infirmary.”

“Lead the way.” Yoongi responds, lifting you once again. You scramble to keep a tight grip on him, voice wavering.

“I-I can walk Yoongi, i-it’s okay….”

“No.” You feel him deeply exhale, “You can’t.”

You frown, but that’s when a sharp pain in your leg shoots up and elicits a hiss from you. Yoongi rushes behind Soyoung, his eyes growing skeptical when he notices the other team huddled and observing you leaving with twisted smiles.

***

Once you reach the infirmary, Soyoung snaps into action and begins taking out bottles of ointment. Long white strips are tied around your right arm and leg, the sight of skin torn and bright pink flesh being visible making you grimace. Yoongi and Namjoon remain on standby next to your bed, darting a glance between each other.

“I don’t understand…” Namjoon whispers, “Y/N’s injuries shouldn’t have been this bad.”

“They shouldn’t have been....” Yoongi grits, arms crossed. A light knock rattles against the door, Namjoon’s eyes perking up.

“Is Y/N okay?” Jimin questions, the room slowly being flooded with a few members of your team. Because Yoongi and Namjoon had abruptly left with you, the game was put on halt and the members were left confused with the sudden change of events. They had been granted limited time to visit you but seeing your injuries on full display pulls them back into uncertainty.

Taehyung and Hoseok poke their heads out next, stuck in disbelief from your condition. Jungkook faces Namjoon, astounded as well.

“What happened?”

“He was pushed.” Yoongi spits out before Namjoon can answer, his eyes flaring.

“By the other team?” Taehyung immediately questions, and Yoongi nods, “But why?”

“I think they were targeting Y/N from the start.” Hoseok interjects. “I don’t know why but I’ve been getting a bad vibe from them.” 

There’s a collective hum in the room and you tighten your hold on the bed sheets, eyes fluctuating. Another knock resounds on the door, drawing out your attention.

It’s him.

Your eyes grow wide from the smirk he holds, “Is your player alright?”

You have to lunge forward to grab onto Yoongi’s jersey, his blood boiling from the sole question. He throws a stunned look at you, but you merely shake your head in response.

“Yes, he’s recovering.” Namjoon steps up, “Thank you for the consideration, but why are you here?”

He smiles, stating a proposition no one was prepared for, “Because I want you to forfeit the game to our team.”

“What?” Hoseok immediately shrieks, stomping over and grabbing onto his collar, “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming in here and telling us what to do after hurting Y/N!”

“Hoseok!” Namjoon tries to push him away, but he doesn’t budge.

“Really? You’re protecting Y/N.” A scornful laugh bubbles out of his lips, only to further add into Hoseok’s rage, “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

It takes both Taehyung and Namjoon to yank Hoseok off, who scowls at him.

“What are you even talking about?!”

You unconsciously tighten your fists, “Should I tell them Y/N? Or do you want to do the honours?”

All eyes are suddenly on you, forming a bright spotlight.

When your silence simply grows, Taehyung intervenes. “Just leave us alone. We’re not going to forfeit this game.”

He wickedly laughs, “If you guys don’t agree, I’m going to tell the referee about Y/N’s little secret over here and your team will be disqualified.”

“What?” Jungkook interjects, his eyes darting over to you, “What secret, Y/N?”

His laughter only grows, “Poor Y/N’s been hiding it from every single one of you! This entire time, you’ve been playing with a girl on your team!”

The room is laced in a dense silence, only the manic laughter of your former school mate’s voice resonating. It snaps the cord of control Yoongi had been holding, sending the boy reeling outside the door.

“You better make a decision fast! Lose with some dignity or I’ll take that away from you too!” You don’t hear much after that once Yoongi emerges from the door frame with heavy pants. There’s silence once again, the air lingering with unsaid questions.

Taehyung is the first to speak up.

“You’re a girl…?” He says it like he’s still questioning the idea, not fully convinced.

“That guy was just messing around. There’s no way that’s possible.” Jungkook brings up, clearly irritated.

Taehyung hums in agreement, but your voice cuts through. 

“I…need to tell you all something...”

“Y/N.”

You glance over at Yoongi, who begs you with his eyes to stop. Although you acknowledge that Yoongi is normally right, you don’t think you have it in you anymore to keep lying to the people you love like this.

Taking in a deep breath, your eyes flutter close. When they open, you address all the confused looks staring back at you.

“What he said, was true. I’m a girl.” Your words are firm with resolute, sparking wide eyed looks.

Jungkook intervenes, “But that’s impossible how–“

“I changed my identity when I entered this school. I hid that I was a girl the entire time I was here.”

You continue as shock reigns through everyone and gesture towards the door, “He was a part of the boy’s competitive team from my old school. He knew me as a girl, so I think he wants to use that as a way for us to give up on the game.”

A shaky breath leaves you, “I-I’m sorry.”

You pause, waiting for the pregnant silence to be over. Surely enough, someone does.

“There was no history of your previous schools.” Namjoon states as a fact, a finger on his lips, “I assumed you had come from another state so that’s why the documents hadn’t transferred over, but it was actually because you couldn’t have records with being female to come here.”

You nod, “I had to request for a record with a new identity to be made instead.”

Namjoon hums, appearing to understand you more than anything. You appreciate it, however, you can’t say you had prepared yourself for the worse.

“You lied to us…” Taehyung whispers, a grimace running through you, “T-This whole time...”

“We were your friends….we stayed in the same dorm...” Jungkook adds on, distraught in his voice, “We spent so much time together, but you never thought to tell us once?”

“I-I….”

“I don’t even know what to say.” It’s the first time you’ve seen Jungkook so shaken, turning away from you.

“Guys please.” You beg, “I’m still the same person.”

Your eyes move over to Hoseok and Jimin, who appear conflicted with the new information. Hoseok sighs and shakes his head, pacing to the door frame before heading out. The action sends a pang of pain through you, like you had just been faced with rejection.

Taehyung and Jungkook soon follow through with Hoseok, leaving the room’s premises completely. Catching sight of Taehyung’s broken expression elicits a hoard of apologies from within you, but it’s too late when they all disappear.

Sobs shake through your body, curling in onto yourself. A hand reaches out, tapping against your arm.

Your eyes are wet when Jimin gazes at you in dismay, planting himself down onto the side of the bed. His appearance puzzles you, the confusion being lifted once a soft smile graces his lips.

“Jimin…?” You sniffle, “Y-You stayed?”

His eyes crinkle, “I guess I’m not entirely shocked? I kind of found out unintentionally…”

A deep blush covers his cheeks as he nervously scratches his neck, a small smile spurring from you at the memory.  

“Thank you for staying.” You whisper and Jimin brightens up from the notion. Yoongi watches the two of you from afar, before turning to Namjoon.

“What are the stats?”

“Two and zero. They’re one point from winning.” Namjoon sighs, “We’re going to need a miracle to win this Yoongi.”

“C-Can we win…?” You whisper, warily glancing between them. It’s clear that either way, this game is not going to end well for your side.

Yoongi doesn’t respond, lost in thought. After a moment, something finally sparks in his eyes. 

“Do you want to keep playing this game?”

You blink, “I can’t Yoongi, I–“

“Answer me.” He leans forward, inches away from you, “Do you want to play this game?”

“I-I…” You falter at his deep gaze in his eyes, “I…do.”

 “Then you need to get back in there.” He turns to Namjoon, “What did Soyoung say about her injuries? Will they impact her if she returns?”

Namjoon shakes his head, “She should be fine as long as she keeps her arm and leg covered. I can also inform the referee about the situation.”

“Good, let me know what he says.” Yoongi mutters, but your hand reaches out and clasps onto his arm.

“But you can’t bring me back, the members are upset and if my secret’s out then–“

“Y/N.” Yoongi softly whispers, gently holding your hand, “You came into this school dressed up as a boy to fulfill your dream. Are you really going to let some guy from your old school ruin that for you?”

You press your lips together at that, “Don’t worry about anything. Leave it all up to me.” He reassures, “Just focus on the game.”

“He’s right.” Namjoon says, smiling from behind.

“We need you Y/N.” Jimin pitches in, a huge grin forming on your lips.

“Alright.” You say firmly, staring back in Yoongi’s eyes, “Get me back into the game.”

***

If you thought heading into this game the first time was hard, you couldn’t have been even more wrong.

It takes every fiber within you to walk confidently into that gym, surrounding yourself with members that barely want to take a peek in your direction. Taking a couple of steadying breaths, you observe Namjoon and Yoongi conversing with the referee until he nods, letting Yoongi jog back to his position on the court. From the looks of it, everything seems okay.

Once the whistle blows, you click right back in. Yoongi pushes himself to capture the ball, tossing it over to Jungkook who soars by while dribbling. He glances around and his stare notices you right away, but with a grunt he opts out to pass to Taehyung instead.

Although you understand you’re not on the greatest patch with one another, passing to Taehyung morphs into a downfall when the ball slips out of his hands and falls onto the ground. The whistle is blown and the referee declares the round won’t be included because of the ball’s uncontrolled contact with the ground.

With a sigh, you resume back to your positions and attempt to give another shot. This time, the other team snatches up the ball and you race over to block a shot, but Hoseok ends up getting to the basketball faster instead. You stretch out your arms for him to pass over to you in an open spot, but the struggle in doing so causes you to stagger on your feet and for a wave of pain to spike up in your leg. 

Hoseok ends up spending too long in finding another opening and the timer for the round buzzes. 

A tick leaves Namjoon and he signals the referee for a time out. He’s given three minutes and that’s all he truly needs to scold his team.

“Teamwork – that’s the one thing we have emphasized countless times during practice.” He huffs, being met with down casted gazes, “Come on guys!”

“We have a game to play.” Yoongi states, his arms crossed, “I know there are some differences between us, but that’s not what we need to focus on right now.”

You’re appreciative that Yoongi didn’t bring up what transpired in the infirmary, but it takes one glance around to tell you that it isn’t as simple as doing so. Namjoon’s rant spurs a couple of ‘hms’ and ‘okays’, the team nonchalantly disbanding. 

Getting back onto the court, your eyes are solely glued to the way the timer is rapidly ticking down.

Taking a different approach, you instantly dart over to Yoongi’s side once the ball is under his wing. He notices your brisk sprinting in an instant, letting out a grunt as he luckily tosses the ball to your side.

You let all thoughts loose right when the firm ball meets your delicate fingertips, a rush of energy drumming through your veins. But it’s cut off short as you suddenly become surrounded, face to face with the very person causing chaos for your team.

His hands are wide like he knows you’re going to pass to him, throwing in the rag for this game and granting them the gracious opportunity of skyrocketing to victory. You’re almost tempted to, knowing that either way, your team will be faced with dire consequences because of your sole mistake.

“Y/N!”

You snap out of your daze at Taehyung racing to a free spot near you, his arms waving. “Over here!”

Blinking for a moment, you don’t even hesitate. Taehyung spins around and passes the ball onto Jungkook, who trudges through the field of players.

The last person that receives the basketball is Yoongi, taking the final shot with one hand.

The buzzer rings; your team having scored their first point.

You quickly glimpse at Taehyung when getting back into position, observing his clenched fists and determined gaze. A smile loops on your lips, waiting for the next signal.

Yoongi goes for the same strategy again, acknowledging that you’re the person who manages to get to him the fastest. You dribble around, avoiding everyone until two hands halt you.

“This wasn’t part of the deal!” He aggressively whispers.

You ignore that, remembering Yoongi’s words of solely focusing on the game. Hoseok sprints behind you, narrowing his eyes.

“Back off.” He barks, and you whirl around to hand him the ball. He dashes to Jungkook, who manages to get another point for your team, the score officially being tied.

You heave with relief, dragging your sore and exhausted body back to the court. You glance at the other team, huddled and whispering into each other’s ears. You can’t help but notice the way they look at you, something that feels unsettling.

The referee declares the last game and blows his whistle. The opposing captain whisks the ball away this time, your entire team dashing around him.

Jungkook dramatically speeds up, appearing more determined than ever. He snags the ball, passing over to Taehyung.

Taehyung rushes to break away from the hoard of players around him, failing to do so when the ball is knocked out of his hands. You hastily grab onto it, warily glancing near you when all the players slowly crease forward.

You furrow your brows when it almost feels like you’re being caged in, but then you realize they’re using their forms to tower over you.

When you hear a round of snickers, you know the entire team knows more about you than you had hoped. You become even more alarmed when they cover your backside, no opportunity in allowing you to escape.

Jungkook paces through all of them, his eyes wide when you're constantly averting your gaze for an opening. He meets your eyes and signals for you to pass it along, relief on your features from his immediate appearance.

Jungkook practically glides across the ground to get away from the sudden crowd of players, willing himself to pass the ball over to Hoseok. Although sweating like a madman, Hoseok manages to find some room and give Yoongi the ball.

Yoongi races to the hoop, the timer on the scoreboard rapidly ticking down. He’s close and if he makes the shot now, he can surely bring his entire team to victory.

He halts his steps. 

You anxiously rush over, wondering why he was simply dribbling underneath the basket when you barely have time left. But that’s when Yoongi spots you and hands you the ball instead, handing you the opportunity to make the final shot of the season.

You waste no time in doing so, grinding your teeth harshly and letting the ball sink in. You wait a moment, the silence being replaced with the loud sound of the buzzer.

Your eardrums almost split with the high-pitched voices screaming in the gym, prepared to sink down onto the ground with a thud. Your team doesn’t allow for that though.

Before the haze of winning takes you over, you’re being squished into a huge team hug. As per usual, you’re a little watchful at all the grabbing hands, but that thought disappears once Yoongi and Namjoon join in as well. You don’t realize you’re crying until the team parts, everyone smiling at you.

“You did it Y/N!” Hoseok shouts.

“WE WON!!” Taehyung chimes in.

You smile, but then another voice cuts in.

“Bangtan Sondeyeon has cheated to win this game!” A particularly loud voice declares, blinded by fury, “One of their members is A GIRL!!”

You notice the claims have peeked the referee’s interest, his hands gesturing for your team to come over. You bite down on your lip, hands fumbling until Namjoon steps forward, giving you a small smile.

“What seems to be the problem?”

“Her!” He points directly at you, “She’s the girl on their team!”

“What are you talking about?” Namjoon questions, facing the referee, “That is certainly not the case, all of Y/N’s previous records state that he’s male.”

The referee nods, “She’s a girl! I’m telling you!!”

“Do you have any proof?” Namjoon ponders, a cunning glint in his eyes. “For something as trivial as this, you would need proof, no?”

“I-I…” He huffs, clearing not prepared to admit defeat. His next words have your eyes enlarging, fear spreading through them. 

“Strip him then.” He grins, “If he’s really male, then he should look like one right?”

You take a shaky breath, but you’re soon being pushed behind a head of red hair.

“That would be considered harassment.” Yoongi states, the look in his eyes making you want to shrivel away. He glares at the referee, “If this is a serious claim, then I believe an investigation can be done.”

“We’ll have to do an investigation. A background check and previous records need to be looked into, but for now, “ He raises a brow at how much the boy next to him is heaving, “Bangtan Sondeyeon has officially won this year’s league.”

“This is not fair! It’s all her fault and they should be disqu–“

“I suggest if you don’t want your own team looking bad, you agree to this investigation. Otherwise it seems more to me that your claims are false.”

He quiets down at that, the referee smiling at Namjoon and Yoongi with a congratulations. He leisurely walks away as the other team leaves with scowls on their faces, but your team barely pays attention.

“Thank you.” You sincerely whisper to Namjoon and Yoongi, facing your other members, “And thank you for helping me through the game. I’m really sorry I lied to all of you….”

Your gaze falls onto the ground. Taehyung, Hoseok and Jungkook exchange glances with each other, before Taehyung pulls you into a hug.

“We’re sorry for getting angry with you. It’s like you said, you’re still Y/N.”

Jungkook smiles, “Which means you’re still a part of Bangtan too.”

Tears slip down from your eyes from that. “But you have a lot of explaining to do!” Hoseok pipes up, “Especially with how you managed to live with us without slipping up the secret!”

“Actually….” You avert your eyes, “There was one person who knew about my identity this whole time….”

“What? Who?!” Hoseok proclaims. Yoongi quickly ushers you all to move to the side, a frown on his face.

“Let’s just get going now, what’s done is done.”

All three of them whip around to stare at Yoongi in shock, but the former casually pushes them to keep moving, biting down the smile that threatens to overtake his lips.

[currentfandomkick]

Miraculous Team and Batboys-Akuma Attack

okay, giving the update spamming a break.

--

Marinette flew through the city, sensing where the corrupted butterfly’s power landed. She swung into a home with a broken window—likely where the akuma fled.

She froze when she saw scraps of bread, cheese, snacks and other food items scattered in the area. It didn’t make any sense—where was the akuma?

Queen Bee made it next, landing beside her. “What do you think happened?”

Marinette frowned, looking around. This was ground zero, someone’s house, and no one was left…

“I’m not sure…” Marinette opened her yo-yo’s comm while Queen Bee left to check the area. “Chat, are you there?”

“Of course m’lady. Any akuma sightings on your end?”

“No, and no one to ask what happened… do you think this is another Collector or Pixelator?”

“Maybe? Any clues?”

“Just a lot of scraps and a broken window.”

“Ladybug! We have a witness!” Queen Bee yelled as she landed. “They said some kid was turning people into food with some wand.”

Marinette froze as she processed that. It wasn’t the first time hunger transformed an akuma—they had one that ate everything in sight called Kirby before. He was… an interesting akuma, and wasn’t in a good place. He was in a better home now, and they needed the Bee and Horse to finish him. Queen Bee and Pegasus was needed big time then, and she was glad they had one permanently now but…

“Hold on,” Marinette turned back to Chat on her yo-yo. “Chat? Call the Guardian, we’ll need Monkey, Fox and Pegasus for this one—Tiger on standby.”

“You got it m’lady, Chat out!”

With the call ended, Marinette put together what happened to the victims and swore.

“Queenie, patrol now, stick to the rooftops and don’t draw attention. Contact me and Chat when you find them, and do not engage. I need you to not get hit for this plan to work.”

Queen Bee nodded, quick to leave.

Marinette took to the rooftop as she waited for either Queen Bee or Chat to contact her. She wasn’t expecting Wonder Woman and Batman’s sons to make contact first.

“What the hell is going on!” Red Robin sounded… panicked?

“Ladybug, are you certain you are not in need of further assistance?” Wonder Woman asked, eyes moving about nervously.

“Let me guess, someone got hit by the beam and ended up food?”

“I know I say I’m a snack, but I don’t want to literally be a snack,” Nightwing panicked while looking behind him. “Red Hood got hit before I could stop him.”

Was it bad she wanted it to be Robin that got hit? “I’ll fix it with the Cure after my team handles this. I’m waiting for the three I sent for to get back to me, and Bee to give me their current location—unless the akuma is still there?”

“Long gone,” Red Robin confirmed. “It was headed toward one of the restaurants by the Paris Grande Hotel that helps.”

“Of course—I swear Hawkmoth just picks landmarks and tourist locations for fun at this point. He’s clearly never lived here otherwise.”

“What!”

“Nothing, my team has it under control. Keep your team out of our battles—we have magic protections, you don’t.”

“But!”

“I apologize Ladybug, I did not think—”

Marinette pinched her brow as another call came in.

“Wonder Woman, while the thought is appreciated, I have to go now.”

She ended the call, to see Queen Bee’s icon. “They’re by the Tower”

“Of course. Forward to Chat, I’m on my way. We’ll be having some old friends join.”

“Our friends or the batbrats.”

“Our friends.”

Queen Bee hummed as she cut out, probably to catch Chat and the others up.

Marinette made it there without being seen. It felt wrong but there have been worse battles before. She landed by Queen Bee with ease, and waited for Pegasus to bring the group over.

The akuma was a small child from what she could see, and held tight to… that wasn’t a wand. That was a switch. She felt a bit sick at what it meant, and suddenly felt less horrified for the first victims.

“As requested,” Chat gestured to the portal. “One Renard Rogue.”

Nathaniel stepped out, a bit twitchy but otherwise ready. She was glad she picked him for this—he proved with Evillustrator he could work well with magic.  As a civilian he is the right type of creative to keep someone distracted with a story or something flashy. (Alya was more...hands on, Nathaniel kept his distance, which... is better for a fox).Just what they’d need for the akuma.

“One Monkey.”

Kim came out with a nervous grin—they both knew he was good but that he needed to really have good aim for when his weapon hit.

“Our Pegasus will be joining us shortly, as he and the Guardian are talking Tigresse from bolting here and running in head first… again.”

Marinette wished Alya would stop that, on some level. On the other, its why she and Roaar get along so well. Bravery goes hand-in-hand with impulsivity.

“Okay, now if I’m right about this, the akuma should be hard to get unless we follow the plan.” She waited for everyone’s attention.

“I want Renard to distract first and foremost with Chat protecting him. Monkey, when I give the signal, hit them with Uproar. While they’re distracted I need Queen Bee to hit them with Venom, if it’s a tricky shot we need Pegaus to get her close. If that fails, Tigress is released onto the scene and we all know that should throw the kid and Hawkmoth off their game. Chat and I will use our powers if all else fails but…”

Marinette glanced over at the child.

“I’d rather be able to find out what happened and help them with the police and CPS after this.”

The group nodded while Nathaniel began to play.

Pegasus raised an eyebrow when he made it. “What’d I miss?”

“You’re on standby on location. If things get hairy, either drop Queen Bee off next to the akuma, or get Tigresse here.”

Pegasus nodded, making sure to have a clear vantage point.

Marinette didn’t check what the mirage was, only waiting for the child to go to the location Renard crafted.

Once the child was no longer throwing our beams, Kim used Uproar. A simple ball this time—to both his and Marinette’s relief. Kim pitched it quick as the Illusion disintegrated.

“No fair!” The child screamed when their powers were shooting off at random. Things weren’t turning as they should, left in some strange in between state.

Marinette nodded at Queen Bee and Pegasus.

“Voyage.”

Queen Bee murmured “Venom,” Before running into the portal. She hit the kid quick.

Marinette and Chat came down then, looking over the frozen child.

“Its okay,” Marinette soothed as she looked them over. They were scared and Hawkmoth was--god she hates that man. He’s hurting them.

“Here M’lady,” Chat handed her the switch with a leery eye.

Marinette snapped the switch and the corrupted butterfly escaped. “No more evildoing for you little akuma!” she snapped it up in her yo-yo before releasing a white butterfly. “Bye-bye little butterfly.”

Marinette gestured for Chat to keep the kid busy while she summoned her Lucky Charm and used the Cure. She made sure to catch the reverse ladybugs and catch them in her yo-yo. No need to let people remember their traumatic death.

“Chaton, I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Understood M’lady, I’ll keep our little buddy company.”

Marinette nodded, quick to grab the miraculous boxes guarded by Queen Bee, ever faithful to Ladybug and the rules for remaining a permanent holder—no looking into the temporary holders, but collect the miraculous for her and Chat when they couldn’t.

“Roaar should still be the Guardian. You can meet him when he says you’re ready, until then, I’ll take these guys home. Thank you for watching them.”

“Hmpf, as if I’d ever betray your trust.” Queen Bee softened then. “Thank you again for giving me another chance.”

Marinette eased up. “You earned your second chance as a civilian with what you’ve done for your classmates, like protecting a certain model from a liar. That was enough for me with the fact that you’ve always been a good hero in the mask. I’m glad you’ve grown outside of it, just don’t backslide.”

Queen Bee nodded while her miraculous beeped. “Gotta go, Can you cover patrol for me and Chat tonight?”

“I—Yes! You can count on me!”

Marinette smiled at that. “Great, bug out!”

Marinette swung to a safe place to de-transform and put the miraculous boxes in her backpack. While Tikki ate, Marinette made her way to Fu’s.

“Do you think those boys will calm down now?”

“Mmh, they should. If not…”

Marinette knew that meant the kwami would take matters into their own hands. And she didn’t like the idea of the Justice League attacking in retaliation.

Once the miraculous were back with Fu, Marinette transformed to deal with whatever nonsense the Justice League had in store for her.

“…he’s not a hot dog anymore.” Nightwing said

“Yep.” Marinette did her best not to look too insulted.

“Ladybug, if I may—“

“I am not answering questions when I have a victim to look after. The child was likely being starved and beaten for god knows what, and I need to ensure their permanent removal from their current household and placement into a safe location. Battles are off limits for non-magic users here—every meta and professional fighter in the city knows this. I see you didn’t check the basic legal work with civilian aides here.”

That seemed to get Nightwing to sit up a bit straighter. “We’re heroes too.”

Wonder Woman interrupted for her. “This is Order business, all non-members are civilians in your teachings, yes?”

Marinette glared as she nodded. “Unless you’re powered by a tiny god, stay out of the battles. We have enough people getting akumatized in their sleep from nightmares, I’d rather not add any Leaguers—as I said many times before you were sent.”

That caused Nightwing to wince. “We were not informed of any of this. My apologies—I’ll inform my brothers and try to keep them out of your hair.”

“See that you do,” Wayzz added over her shoulder. “I am not above letting my siblings wreck havoc to make a point.”

“Wayzz,” Marinette warned. “I can handle this, please keep Roaar from breaking out again and giving people the idea that they should join future battles. Again.”

Wayzz flew off.

Marinette rubbed her forehead. “I need to go. I have police to handle, a child to remove from monsters, and I can’t do my homework or essays or any of my other civilian life things until all that is handled.”

Nightwing signed off. Wonder Woman was concerned, Marinette could feel it.

“Yes Wonder Woman?”

“I did not mean to add to your stress.”

“I know.” It didn’t mean she didn’t.

“Perhaps I could have one of the bats help with tending to victims for you, to give you some more free time to tend to your civilian side.” That would be nice but…

“Unless they’re familiar with healthy coping mechanisms for traumatized children, I’m going to have to turn you down.”

“Are we counting vigilantism as a healthy coping mechanism?”

Marinette raised an eyebrow. That was too much to unpack at the moment.

“I will send Nightwing to help speak with the child—he is good with children, and has been in such situations himself.”

Marinette took a deep breath. “He can cover the 11 to 6 watch, by then the kid should have a place to stay.”

Wonder Woman smiled at her.

Marinette relayed the message to Chat before speaking to the police and explaining what she saw. Marinette and Chat kept the child far away from the others in the house, and far from hearing whatever ‘justifications’ they had.

The pair didn’t think about leaving until the child was fast asleep, sure to wake up again later. They knew another city’s hero would be there then to help them out.

Nightwing approached them slowly.

“If you even think about—“

“I won’t.”

Marinette eyed the hero.

“I promise, just, how are they holding up?”

“They go by Syd. Somehow they got it in their head that making mistakes means no meals. Pretty sure dyslexic and they’ve been failing spelling tests.”

Nightwing winced. “Any allergies or…”

Chat raised an eyebrow. “None.”

“Good. I’ll be back.”

Chat petted the kid’s hair while leaning against Marinette. “M’lady?”

“Yes Chaton?” Marinette waited for him to continue.

“I… is…”

She waited for him to find his words.

“Is it okay for Father to…”

“To…”

“…restrict access to food at home.”

Marinette stilled a bit. She knew it wasn’t good with Gabriel but…

“May I ask how?”

“No more than 900 calories a day.”

“Chaton.”

Chat winced, waiting for something. “I am going to kick your father’s ass.”

Nightwing paused at the door, not that Marinette knew he was there.

“No one, and I mean no one, should have that---that’s abuse chaton, especially if what you said about not being allowed to see anyone outside of a list your father approved of, or that you have to make appointments to talk to him weeks in advance. I just… That man is toast.”

“I, it’s not that bad m’lady…”

“Chat, I am getting you out of there, okay? I know who your civilian side is. I just need a plan.”

Nightwing knocked before entering.

“Here, I figured light veggie pizza, fries and a hot chocolate should help. I know they need to take it slow, but this should work for small bit for the night. You two get some rest, okay?”

Nightwing sent a text to the others: Chat in bad home. Bug is working on something—might get magic siblings if B finds out and Wonder Woman doesn’t beat him to punch.

--

That’s all i got for this installment. 

Next Time: I’m thinking about (for damian’s POV) having Damian be watching Marinette do her routine, and freezing when he hears her ‘blackmail’ someone over the phone as “He’s not staying there if i have anything to say, and if it makes you feel better, you’re stealing the face of his brand, you know, if basic decency isn’t enough” (to felix, probably) and decides Marinette is a dangerous person to watch out for, and better to keep an eye on as she’s probably doing something wreckless.

followed by Batboys having a meeting about their role after Damian gets back, with Nightwing updating them on the fact that the kids didn’t even want them there in the first place, and it sounds like the JL is twisting their arm on this more than they thought, the combat ban, and you know, the fact that one of the heroes is in an abusive situation, so. They need a Plot to keep the kid holding destruction somewhere safe without letting out their identities, and giving the miraculous team breathing room.

And quick poll: Nightwing meets Marinette when she’s almost mugged on a delivery before Dick meets her,OR  Dick meets her at a gymnastics place where she’s helping a ten year old Manon with stretches before going off to practice a routine on bars with an instructor that knews the Flying Graysons and invited Dick over to show him the place, OR Dick meets Marinette while getting Tim’s order and almost dies when he finds out Marinette calls him ‘zombie’ before sending Damian a message that his classmate is his new favorite person, and may be his sister soon if Dick and Tim have anything to say about it.

Jason meets her a little later as Gina (his favorite traveling biker granny who adopted him) needs to Appear first, and i like her crashing in at random, berating Jason for taking forever to call her back and then demanding he meet his brother/uncle and his family Right Now Or So Help Her and him being too scared to argue.

Sound Good? 

@worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @littleredrobinhoodlum @northernbluetongue @kceedraws @pirats-pizzacanninibles @theatreandcomicfreak @daminett4life @catthhay @weird-pale-blonde-person @amayakans @chocolatecatstheron @tired-butterfly @multplelifes @yin-390 @area51qt

[smolbeandrabbles]

Still - Director Keller x OC (Captain Marvel)

Out Of Nowhere Girl (For Reference):  Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Author’s Note: I wrote this as soon as I got out of the theatre when I saw Endgame... As the eventual ending to ‘Out Of Nowhere Girl’... Anyway, basically I spent so long talking about these two to @mendelskrull​ and this fic was basically finished anyway, that I decided to put it out! 😁

UGH. I love them. They must be my second OTP after Lorennic... Now they need a name...

I also realise that he’s referred to as Keller for the majority of this story... 🤔 We’ll just roll with that. 

Keller’s astronomy ring is like this.

Disclaimer: We’re going to pretend that timelines don’t exist. / MCU characters/plots/events not mine / lyrics not mine

Premise: When Thanos snaps away half the universe, Maliyah loses everything. It’s a long and difficult 5 years, but now the battle is won...

Words: 1830

Warnings: N/A. I mean we talk about stuff that happened in Infinity War and Endgame, so, a little bit of angst.

_____

Remember when I told you you were mine, all mine I couldn't get you, baby, off my mind Me and you we were the real thing You didn't know but I had butterflies 'Cause I knew then, leaning in Baby I was never looking back again Every day changes but it doesn't change The way you make me smile when you say my name And when you laugh, it makes me laugh And when you cry, it makes me cry Yeah like it did back then When we were just beginning And girl it always will I want you, I need you, still And I don't care how many times that story is told Cover to cover, it never gets old Like a fairy tale, gets better and better Boy meets girl and spends forever together Yeah and, oh my God You are my whole world And we're spinnin' When you look my way  Everything stops And time stands still

---

The Snap

Maliyah had barely been able to face Keller’s family.

His parents had lost their only son, and their grand-daughter. His sister had lost her best friend, and her niece. Maliyah had tried to make sure they hadn’t lost her too. Turning up on their doorstep two days after their worlds had been utterly devastated, it was nothing more than constant hugging and crying. She should have been there for them before then, but for those first few days she was in too much pain – it was beyond unbearable. The bond between their DNA was very suddenly ripped apart, the brightly lit patterns that used to cross her body were now solid black lines. She’d told him once that was never something she wanted to happen; and now Maliyah had failed to protect him, so these marks of shame were his. Maliyah wanted to stay with what family she had left on Earth, but there was so much to help Carol take care of around the Universe – that was before adding on trying to settle whatever was left of the Xandarian’s. Her home destroyed by Thanos even before he’d done the unthinkable. Maliyah was their Supernova – it was her duty to help them rebuild what they could. It kept her preoccupied, a fact for which she was glad. There was so much pain that those two names bought her she wasn’t able to return to Keller’s family easily. Maliyah knew she shouldn’t, but she wanted to face this alone. There were many memorials around the world to the victims of what Earth was calling ‘the Blip’, but this one was her favourite. If that was even the right way to talk about it. Maliyah touched his name gently, but her lip quivered and pretty soon she found herself with her forehead pressed against the letters and her tears wetting the stone. Why? Why had they taken him from her? Why had they taken their daughter? This wasn’t right. Maliyah’s name should be on this, not theirs. She knew she didn’t deserve to live on, not instead of them. Talia was nothing but innocent, and Keller, he’d pretty much single handily raised her. He was a good man - a better husband and father than Maliyah would ever be mother. And yet she lived... She had never deserved anything less in all her life.

She remembered her final conversation with him. Thanos had taken her home from her, Xandar was no more. And he was coming for Earth for the infinity stones, and then god knows what would happen if he succeeded. “You’ll get him. Maliyah. You’ll stop him.” “What if I can’t? Even with help, what if it just doesn’t happen? What if he wins? With those stones-” “If. IF he gets them, Mali... then you can reverse it. I know you can. I know you will. But it’s a big if.” And that smile he’d give her, of assurance. Keller was always so sure. “And I know it won’t come to that.” But it had, and it had taken her family away from her. Maliyah had watched too many turn to dust with shock on that initial battlefield before pain shot through her. At first she thought that she was dying too, but Maliyah hadn’t been that lucky; curled up in pain and screaming as her body warned her that he was in trouble. Just like that Keller was gone, wiped away so unnaturally that her body still didn’t know how to react. Panic for her daughter had eventually spurred her to the house – still too young to be able to fend for herself alone. Maliyah had found nothing but an empty home. And all she’d felt was empty ever since. It had been hard to walk around with the silence hanging the way it was. Uncomfortably loud. The only real indications that anyone had just disappeared was the computer system was still on, pages of notes with a word half written… drawings and crayons on the floor – too peculiar to look like two people had just left in a hurry. Keller’s astronomy ring sat on his desk in open position – that wasn’t insignificant. He knew what was happening, he’d have left it for her. Maliyah picked it up delicately, closing it back to a single gold band: an unusual choice of wedding ring. She’d worn it on a chain around her neck ever since. It had been 5 years, and some had simply accepted and moved on. Maliyah was one of the few that couldn’t – he’d told her not to give up, and she never would no matter how long it took. She refused to believe that Keller was gone forever. And with the help of the assembled team, constantly in contact over video link, she would get him back; everything would be as it should. Maliyah could afford to wait for eternity…. But his family couldn’t. They needed closure and answers: she vowed to help them.

 *** The Aftermath.

Maliyah and Carol arrived on the battlefield together, Earth bound shooting stars. They were used to teaming up by now – and with the Universe corrected, there was only one thing left to do. Win the battle and the war. She knew before the battle was even won: the energy and serenity that suddenly flowed through her could only have one source. How, despite him being a few thousand miles away, Keller’s colours ignited over her skin as she fought. Time to show them what a real Supernova could do… The funeral of Tony Stark was a quiet affair, even if it was well attended. She stood respectfully back, nearer to Carol and Nick than the rest of the group. They were probably her closest friends here, standing slightly forward for Peter Quill – he’d been missing for the past five years too. Maliyah had too much to catch up on. There was a lot of quiet contemplation between the groups. A lot of where to next. For Maliyah there was only ever one answer to that question. Before she jetted off to the stars, or helped anyone with anything. “Maliyah... won’t you stay??” She shook her head at Nick with a small smile, “What’s left of the S.H.I.E.L.D organisation could really use you...!” Carol scoffed, arms folded, “No! She needs to come with me!” She gave Maliyah a soft wink, “What do you say? Marvel and Supernova saving the universe?” Maliyah couldn’t help but laugh, “If you wait for me Carol, I’ll take you up on that... but right now I’ve got somewhere else to be...” “... Right. Of course, Maliyah Keller has somewhere else to be!” She turned from Carol’s big smile and grinned across to Nick Fury with a nod, knowing how perfectly he understood, “You’re damn right!”

***

Flying halfway across America was not what was sending Maliyah crazy. Her palms were sweaty and her heart was beating so fast as she landed herself softly in front of the country home. Surrounded by acres and acres of land, it was in the middle of nowhere for so many reasons... It reminded her so much of his parents.

The breeze tousled her hair as it played through the trees. It had been 5 long years - or short - but it felt to her like a lifetime. Every time she read those two names on the mural she broke down in tears. It only served to shatter her heart into more pieces. But all that was reversed now... The door opened, and Maliyah didn’t think her heart had the ability to beat as quick as it did. She couldn’t breathe. He was standing in a three-piece suit. Sans jacket. Sleeves rolled up, he placed both hands in his pockets. The sun hit his face, his hair, his eyes; that gorgeous blue she hadn’t seen in 5 lifetimes... and he smiled taking the two steps down to the driveway, she illuminated in blue and white - brighter than she ever had before. His emotion hit her full force and she could feel herself start to cry. She wanted so badly to sprint to him, but he engulfed her. Her senses were overwhelmed by Keller. Something they had yearned for for 5 years.

It didn’t matter, because Jonathan sprinted to her, and suddenly she was in his arms. She couldn’t grab enough of him close to her; and he couldn’t either. “You did it, you did it... I knew you would.” Keller’s voice was soft as he held her to him, breathing her in as much as she was him. He’d woken up in the same place he’d watched their daughter disappear into thin air. The same place he’d done exactly the same thing - but years after... he’d known life without Maliyah for maybe a month. She had been without him far longer. She laughed through her tears, “I think my input was minimal!” He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. Her colours burning a new level of bright. “We’re back. Because of you.” There was nothing she could say back, it was hardly true but Keller wasn’t about to let her argue with him – she knew that, pushing up on her toes to press her forehead against his, Maliyah slipped the chain from her neck, taking his hand to reunite him with the ring. “I knew you’d have taken it with you.” “I needed you.” “You didn’t give up. Not that I expected you to, Supernova.” Keller pulled her back to him, capturing her lips. “MOMMY!!” Maliyah left Keller’s arms, kiss cut short, to see her daughter now sprinting down the same steps. “Tali!” She ran, skidding to her knees. She was still 6; still her baby. Maliyah had missed to much already, she was glad she wouldn’t miss anything else. She placed her head gently against her daughters, Keller watched with a smile as they both lit up in the same amalgamation of purples, pinks and soft blues. There was a communication there he would never understand, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know what it meant.

Maliyah stood, gathering Talia in her arms, and Keller wandered to them, taking them both in his own arms. His girls were both okay. And they were both here. Talia wrapped her arms tightly around Maliyah’s neck and entwined her tiny fingers with his. Keller kissed her again. A real kiss, one she savoured with her eyes closed; gentle, nice and slow. “Stay...” He breathed it. “This time, please stay.” She knew Jonathan wanted nothing more than for her to be here. For them to finally be a family. For Maliyah it had been 11 years: for 6 she’d been unprepared to be a mother, for the last 5 she hadn’t had a choice.  Those five years put the three of them into real perspective. She smiled; as if she really had a choice? “I’ll stay.” Maliyah took his hand, “I’m going to stay.”

---

Thank you for reading! 😅

[randomfandomfamily]

Made a post a while back about Little Cato’s lack of laughter (basically nonexistent, it’s actually really sad) and I spotted this in the comments:

So yeah.

Guess what I did.

Gary stood and slammed his hands down on the table. “Oh my crap!”

Avocato nearly choked. “What the hell, man?!” He put his cup down and glared up at his friend. “Warn a dude before you do that.”

“Yeah,” Ash said bitterly, her shirt soaked from the glass of water Fox had pretty much thrown when Gary startled him. “Some warning would have been nice.”

Mooncake floated around Gary’s head. “Chookity-pok.”

“Sorry about that,” Gary apologized, “But I just remembered something incredible.”

Quinn leaned forward. “What is it, Gary?”

“The two best jokes I have ever heard in my life,” Gary said seriously.

Sheryl perked up from the corner of the room. “Are they the ones your father used to tell?” Gary’s grin must have been answer enough, because Sheryl settled back against the wall. “Well then, let’s see if you tell them as well as he did, eh?”

Gary sat back down in his chair and cleared his throat. “Okay. Everyone ready?”

Fox bounced in his seat excitedly. “Oh man, I love jokes!” He frowned. “As long as they’re not rascist.” He narrowed his eyes. “It’s not racist, is it?”

“Nope. Not racist,” Gary reassured him. “So, the joke starts with three construction workers, and-”

“Why construction workers?” Ash asked.

“Because bricks,” Gary answered. “They have this big pile of bricks. And they get super bored, right? So they try to see who can throw one of these bricks up the highest. Problem is, the sun’s super bright, and they can’t see whose went the highest.

“But one of the guys gets an idea. The ground all around them is super muddy, so if they throw up in the bricks and land in the mud-”

“Then whoever’s sank deeper won!” Fox exclaimed.

Gary snapped and pointed at Fox. “Bingo. So the first guy throws up his brick. When it comes down it sinks about a foot into the mud.

“The second says, ‘Pfft, I can top that easy!’ and throws up his brick. And when it comes down it sinks three feet into the mud.

“Now this third guy is real confident. He grabs a brick and says, ‘Oh, yeah? Watch this!’ and he throws up his brick.”

Ash paused the slow process of wringing out her hair. “And?”

“And it doesn’t come back down.”

Everyone glanced at each other, smiles tentatively spreading across their faces. Mooncake landed on the table and gazed up at Gary in confusion. “Pok?”

Avocato hummed. “I’m with Mooncake. I’m not sure that was really much of a joke, Gary.”

Gary fought back a devious smile. “Alright, alright, that’s fair. But wait ‘till you hear this next one.

“A woman and her pet parrot-”

“What’s a parrot?” Fox asked.

Quinn patted Gary’s hand. “Not everyone here knows Earthen species of birds, Gary.”

“Oh right. Okay, so a parrot is a super smart bird that can mimic sound. You can even teach them to talk.”

“Whoa…” Fox said. “And she had one for a pet?”

“Right,” Gary confirmed, “And this lady wanted to take her parrot to see her mom. Because her mom loved parrots. There was just one problem: she was going to have to take a plane, and she couldn’t afford any that would allow her to have a pet on board.”

Ash raised an eyebrow. “Plane?”

“Um…” Gary thought for a moment. “Planes help people get from place to place by flying, but like, inside the atmosphere. Basically, planes are just domesticated spaceships. But anyway, back to the story.

“The only plane she can afford is one that has a bunch of rules. No outside food, no smoking, and worst of all, no pets.

“But she thinks for a while and she decides ‘I could get away with this’. So she sneaks the bird onto the plane by hiding it in her shirt. Everything’s great for a while, the bird is quiet and no one suspects a thing.

“Then the co-pilots comes through, he’s smoking a cigar and greeting people and making sure everyone’s doing okay.”

Fox scowled. “But I thought one of the rules was-”

Sheryl had moved away from the wall and closer to the table. She reached out a hand and patted Fox’s shoulder. “Wait for it, love.”

Gary and Sheryl shared a quick knowing glance before he continued the joke. “So the co-pilot comes through and stops next to her seat. He asks her how her flight’s going and she says everything’s going great.

“Just then, the parrot starts making noise, squawking and talking and just making quiet bird noise in general. The co-pilot gets mad and demands she remove the parrot from her shirt.

“She does, but the guy immediately snatches her bird away.”

“No!” Fox gasped.

“Yes,” Gary said, “And of course she gets mad. She stands up and tells the guy to give her the bird back but he says ‘No, pets aren’t allowed’ so she snatches the cigar out of his mouth and say ‘Cigars aren’t allowed either’.”

“Now the guy is really mad, and he opens up a window, saying ‘You can’t have pets on this plane!’ then he chucks the bird out the window. So the lady retaliates by opening another and window and saying ‘Well you can’t have cigars on this plane!’ and throws it out.

“Now they’re both angry, but they’re also drawing a lot of attention. The co-pilot decides to go back to the cockpit, and he’s all mad and huffy and grumbling to himself.

“But then!” Everyone freezes. “He hears a sound. Something is tapping on the window. He looks out and he sees the lady’s parrot.”

Fox pumped his fist. “Yes! Parrot lives.”

“Chookity!”

“Yep! Parrot lives!” Gary grinned. “And guess what the parrot had in its beak.”

Avocato spoke up. “The cigar?”

“No,” Gary said, “The brick.”

The room went dead silent for about ten seconds. Then a chorus of realization and laughter rang filled the room.

“The brick-”

“Oh my god!”

“Your father told it better, love.”

“You’re biased, Mom.”

“But- but the brick!”

Then another sound rose above the idle chatter and explosive laughter. At first Gary thought maybe they had an intruder on board, because he definitely didn’t recognize the voice he was hearing.

But then he spotted it. The source of the sound.

Little Cato.

Laughing.

Gary tried to remember the last time he had heard Little Cato laugh. And it wasn’t so much that he couldn’t remember, it had just… never happened.

He put his hand on top of Quinn’s head. “Wha-” He turned her so that she was looking at the younger Ventrexian. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Ash caught sight of them staring and glanced around to find what had caught their attention. As soon as she saw the foreign sight of Little Cato’s laughing, she elbowed her brother. He looked annoyed until she pointed.

Little Cato didn’t seem to notice or care that everyone else had gone quiet. He smacked the table, hunched over in his seat and wheezing as he laughed. It sounded like it should have been loud, but it was too raspy to be as hearty as it could have been, almost like Little Cato’s vocal chords were unused to having a laugh pass through them.

Avocato frowned up at Gary. “What?”

Gary shushed him as Little Cato started to come down from his laughing high. “Dad, oh my gosh, that was the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.” He jumped up. “I gotta go write that down! I’ll be right back!”

As soon as Little Cato disappeared out of the room, Gary grabbed Quinn by the shoulders. “Holy crap! Did you hear that?!”

Quinn smiled. “Yes, Gary, I heard it.”

“He laughed!” Gary exclaimed. “Oh my crap, he laughed!” 

Fox blinked. “I’m his roommate. I ain’t never heard that before.”

Ash tucked her hair behind her ear. “You know, I never really thought about the fact that Little Cato never laughs. He should do that more often.”

“Strange,” Sherly said thoughtfully, “Sounded like the kid hasn’t laughed in years.”

Avocato stood up. “What the hell are you guys getting so worked up over? He just laughed.”

“Chookity-pok!”

“He’s right!” Gary said. “A very uncommon occurrence! I’ve known him for months now, and I’ve never heard that!”

Avocato blinked. “What do you mean? He’s the happiest kid I know, he laughs all the time.”

“Maybe he used to,” Fox said, “Not anymore.”

“You guys are serious?” Avocato asked. “But… he’s-”

Quinn put her hand on Little Cato’s arm. “Optimistic.”

“Not to mention upbeat,” Sheryl added. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone more excited about a reverse robbery.”

Avocato looked bemused. “A what?”

“Look, ya kid’s not happy, mate,” Sheryl said bluntly, “He’s optimistic and upbeat, but that’s not the same as happy.”

Gary shot her a look. “Mom.”

Sheryl shrugged. “What? I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking.”

“So the whole time I’ve been dead,” Avocato said slowly, “He’s just been… not happy?”

“To be fair, before he was with us, he was with the Lord Commander,” Gary reminded him, “I can’t imagine he’s laughed too much in the past three years. I mean, do you even remember the last time you heard him laugh?”

Avocato hesitated. “I…” He concentrated on the table. “He…” The Ventrexian ended up putting his face in his hands. “When I said I wanted to catch up on what’s been going on with my son, this is not what I had in mind.”

“Pok-pok-pok,” Mooncake interjected. “Chookity-pok.”

Gary smiled. “You’re right, Mooncake. No point in dwelling on the past.” He gave Avocato a friendly punch to the shoulder. “From now on, we make it our personal mission to make sure Little Cato laughs more. Deal?”

“I’m in,” Quinn said.

Ash raised her hand. “Me too. Except I don’t think I’m gonna be very good at it.”

“I’m his roommate,” Fox offered, “I could probably find something that’ll make him laugh.”

Avocato looked around at them. “Looks like my friend made some pretty good friends while I was gone, huh?”

“The best,” Gary agreed. “Now quick, before Little Cato gets back, does anyone know any more jokes?”

[tanza-the-trickster]

Starfire Valstrax

Sooooo, firstly, a quick little note. I normally HATE fanmade monsters, so, I imagine it's rather surprising that I came up with one myself. So, this is actually an idea that's been cooking for, about one and a half years. I poured that year and a half's worth of creativity into this post, along with some more ideas just from brainstorming as I made this post. I've finally developed this idea to the point where I am perfectly comfortable with sharing it. So, I sincerely hope you enjoy, and I will gladly accept CONSTRUCTIVE criticism. Hell, I'm so confident in this, that I'll even allow other people to make OCs of it, so long as they credit me or this post. That's all!

Physiology

A Starefire Valstrax’s wings have visible scarring, and the individual jets that make up each wings are able to move independently, to some degree, due to the destruction of the membrane that connected the jets. This causes a superficial resemblance to the wings of a shara ishvalda. There's generally scarring on the chest as well, namely around the vents, and, typically, their back is missing some fins, and the tail fins are tattered as well.

A Starfire Valstrax’s physical appearance has been heavily changed due to an excess of dragon energy. Scales are darker in color, similar to that of an enraged ordinary valstrax. Wings have a gradient transition to bright red tips, and the eyes are black with red pupils. The blood glows bright red, and makes blood vessels visible through the flesh, containing concentrated amounts of dragon energy.

Monster Sizes

Average Size

3,253.65 cm

Small Crown 2856.87 cm

Silver Crown 3555.2 cm

Gold Crown 3745.66 cm

Behavior

Like mundane valstrax, Starfire Valstrax are highly aggressive to most other creatures. However, these deviants are NOT immediately hostile towards humans. They often hold a curiosity for humans, typically stalking and observing some of the more experienced hunters out in the field. They attack MOST large monsters on sight, with brutal ferocity until they flee, or die.  A majority of them also have an odd habit for collecting things. Why this is, exactly, it unknown, although they seem to possess a preference to man-made objects.

Human Interactions

Negative Human Interactions

Despite being severely wounded by hunters in the past, this deviant is not immediately hostile to them. As a result of their near-death experiences with humans, most actually hold great respect for the smaller species, and are wise enough to know not to attack them on sight. However, they immediately go on the offensive if they feel “challenged’ in any way, especially by hunters.

Examples of being challenged would be a hunter calmly approaching with their weapon drawn, or drawing their weapon while facing them, but this usually only applies to those who are fully armored, and not wearing some goofy mask. It will simply ignore an attempted “challenge” if it deems the human improperly equipped for a serious fight. In addition, they turn hostile to ANY gunner that takes aim, or anyone with a barrel bomb. They usually allow a challenger at least a few seconds to back down before the fight actually ensues.

In combat with a human, they are RELENTLESS, but, they can show mercy, should a challenger concede, typically by dropping one’s weapon and assuming any position that conveys surrender. However, surrendering will leave you at the valstrax’s whim, resulting in anything from being left alone, to enslavement, to death, and even “confiscation” of weapons and/or armor! In the latter cases, the individual usually has a treasure hoard, of sorts, in their nest. They don’t actually seem to have any real use for stolen items, oddly enough, although they have been known to lob them at aggressors who encroach upon their nest.

Positive Human Interactions Despite their aggression in combat, under normal circumstances, most are completely docile, and rare few are even friendly towards humans! Of course, this doesn’t mean people should come up to one and try to hug it. It probably wouldn’t kill you, but it definitely wouldn’t appreciate it. They have been known to snap at especially persistent individuals, sometimes in very fatal ways. Some may even aid lost or injured humans, especially children, with shelter, or transportation to the nearest base-camp! Just, don’t expect them to let you ride on their back… They see such an act as demeaning, especially if done without permission. The usually carry strangers in their talons, or, more frequently for children, by grabbing the collar of one’s shirt, hood of their jacket, or other similar garments, in their teeth.

A select few Starfire Valstrax actually choose to live near human settlements, should their curiosity be piqued, or a human friend lives there. All of the individuals observed doing this typically lurk around the edges of a city or village, simply watching. Even fewer of this group may even willingly enter a settlement, and leave if a weapon is raised at them, as opposed to fighting. These ones exhibit the most tame behavior seen in a valstrax, seemingly even willing to tolerate the antics of human children! It’s still not recommended to let your child near one such individual. It’s still a wild animal, no matter how friendly it may act.

Befriending

It IS possible to befriend a Starfire Valstrax, and it’s surprisingly easy, so long as one remains respectful of the dragon and its wishes. Aiding one in fighting another monster is a surefire way to get considerable respect rather easily, but such an opportunity is rare, and usually dangerous. The best way to get one’s attention is to approach from the front, hands raised, and fully visible, or, better yet, some kind of offering. Food usually suffices. Make sure to observe its face carefully as you approach. You know you’re too close if its stare goes from disinterest, or curiosity, to caution, or discomfort. Always pay attention to its face, and DO NOT be the one to break eye contact. Once close enough, hold out an empty hand, or your offering, and wait for it to inspect your hand and/or accept whatever you have offered. It may allow you to pet it, or it may simply leave. Do not be disheartened if the latter occurs! Consistency is key! Return to the same spot daily, or weekly, a pattern that the dragon can follow, if it happens to enjoy your company.

Of course, Starfire Valstrax generally treat friends differently than they do most humans. This may simply involve being invited or carried to their nest, to spend time with them, or it may involve being treated like their child, to some extent. One of the more thoroughly studied individuals, a gold crown sized female, who has been nicknamed “Peril” by a human who befriended her, typically falls into the latter category. She seems to enjoy carrying her friend around by the collar, and pinning the human in her front talons to “groom” him. Said friend wishes to remain anonymous, as to retain his dignity. If you wish to learn more about Peril specifically, keep an eye out for the behavioral study on her, that will be coming soon, hopefully.

Abilities

The lack of wing membrane actually makes a Starfire Valstrax’s wings even more flexible than an ordinary valstrax, with each “finger” capable of semi-independent movement. They can hold themselves up on their hindlegs for up to a minute, but can go for hours if they use their wings to brace themselves up. Front talons are highly dexterous, capable of grabbing objects in a manner similar to humans. They can reverse the airflow of their wings, so that the air goes into the wings, and dragon energy comes out of the chest instead. They have proven to be capable of learning some basic knowledge of the English language, although their throat’s anatomy prevents them from speaking it. When enraged, any attacks that normally inflict dragonblight, will inflict extreme dragonblight instead.

Changed Attacks

Obviously, it shares many of the same attacks as valstrax, but starfire valstrax attacks far more aggressively, and gives less time between attacks. Many attacks that it shares with ordinary valstrax are improved in some way, which is detailed below.

Around the World This attack can be executed as normally, but, if the target moves too much, it will briefly pause during its descent, adjusting its angle, and then finishing the attack.

Wing Jab After jabbing twice with its wings, it can perform an additional spin, following the initial one. When enraged, it will perform yet another spin.

Wing Pound When one of the wings is driven into the ground, a second pound may be immediately executed, with either wing.

Wing Slam When the wing is slammed flat to the ground, it may follow up with a second slam. When enraged, this attack will be finished with a final slam, using both wings, similar to shagaru magala’s attack.

Wing Swipe The wing is swung in a wide arc, as usual, but rarely, the wing won’t be emitting dragon energy. If a hunter is hit by the wing when it isn’t emitting dragon energy, they will be pinned. In this pin, the wings are driven into the ground around the hunter, and the jets begin to fire off dragon energy at point blank as they charge up. The pin inflicts dragon blight, and lasts for roughly ten seconds, finishing with a blast of dragon energy, and the hunter being thrown behind the valstrax in a backflip.

New Attacks

In addition to the modifications to pre existing attacks, Starfire Valstrax has a whole new arsenal of attacks. These attacks, just like the modifications to the old attacks, are listed below.

Reverse Blast This attack is used when there are hunters near its chest, belly, and front legs. The air flow reverses so the wings take in air, and after a second, a burst of dragon energy comes out of the chest vents, launching any hunters within the blast radius, and inflicting dragonblight.

Wing Vacuum Similarly to the previous attack, this attack involves a reversal of the air flow. This attack is used when hunters are too far away, and pulls them towards the monster. This can be followed up with unique paw swipe, that will pin and hunter too close. The hunter is grabbed in one of its front talons, and then simply thrown at another hunter. If there are no other hunters, they are thrown in a random direction.

Wing Scrape This is another attack used when a hunter is below the monster. One of the wings is turned around to scrape the ground below it, much like one of shara’s attacks.

Focused Blast Another attack borrowed from shara, the wings are curved around to face in front of the monster, and shoot out a concentrated beam of dragon energy. This attack lasts for about three seconds after the initial blast. There is also a sweeping version of this attack, indicated by the wings meeting off center from the body.

Chew Toy This is an exceedingly rare attack, occurring about as frequently as zinogre’s pin attack, and executed in a similar manner. It is only used when the valstrax’s recharging has been interrupted at least once, and it is not enraged. The valstrax “barks” a few times, before shooting itself at the target with its wings, talons outstretched. If this attack lands, the hunter will be pinned, and picked up in its talons. The valstrax seemingly inspects the hunter for a second, before opening its mouth wide, and biting down around the hunter’s waist, inflicting MASSIVE damage. After this, the hunter is simply held in the monster’s mouth, taking continuous damage while it resumes attacking other hunters. This attack will continue until the hunter escapes, or faints. In the latter scenario, the valstrax actually swallows the hunter, and then immediately becomes enraged. The hunter is still returned to base camp by the felyne cart, although HOW they are returned to base camp is unknown. (This attack was inspired by Monster Hunter Frontier, and suggested by a friend.)

Habitat

Much like a mundane valstrax, Starfire Valstrax can live just about anywhere. However, unlike valstrax, these deviants are generally not nomadic, establishing a nest in any location that they are particularly fond of. Their territories stretch out over dozens of miles, on account of their high flight speed.

Trivia

- The back, chest, head, wings, and front paws can be broken, and the tail severed. - This is not a real monster. I created this from scratch over the course of a year. - The ordinary valstrax theme plays while fighting them, as opposed to the (awful) deviant theme. - ANYONE IS FREE TO USE THIS MONSTER FOR THEIR OC, AS LONG AS THEY CREDIT ME! - This monster is capable of inflicting the Frontier-Exclusive ailment known as Extreme Dragonblight, making a hunter unable to heal, and causing potions to cause damage equal to what they would normally heal.

[pastel-bullet-101]

Part 6

He burst into the room with the bright smile never leaving his face. Everybody was in awe but that was short lived when All Might made an announcement about having everyone change and to make their way to the training grounds. So we all began to head to change. "Hes so cool I still cant believe hes going to be our teacher!" That was the gist of everyone's conversations. "What do you think about All Might teaching us?" I snap out of my thoughts to Tsu looking at me expectantly. "Oh umm..." I didn't really know how to answer I mean I never even seen him on TV all my knowledge came from Tomura and I think hes a little biased. "I don't really know. I dont know much about him." This made Midoriya speak up. "How do you not know about All Might?!" This startled me a bit. "Well I wasn't allowed to watch much TV and I never really went outside much so umm..." Midoriya then began to talk my ear off as we made our way to the changing rooms

I quickly zip up my jacket and make my way out the changing area. Trying to process all the information Midoriya gave me on All Might. Though I dont think knowing the time it takes for All Might to grow hair back is very valuable. I quickly started to head out seeing Tsu waiting for me. "Sorry I didnt mean to keep you waiting."

"Its alright ribbit." We both then headed out.

We were both welcomed by a giant replica of a city and two boxes by the number one hero. His booming voice then began. "WELCOME TO YOUR NEXT MINI EXAM!" Another exam? So soon well then again this is the top hero school. As he explained what we would be doing I felt myself getting a mini headache from his loud voice. Yet this is the perfect chance to see every ones quirk and get a better understanding of them. But something didnt seem right if we were going to have teams of two that would leave one extra person. Are they gonna give an extra member? No that wouldnt be fair. "AND YOU!" I suddenly felt a lot of eyes on me and the end of All Might's finger pointing at me. This cause my anxiety to go into overdrive. I should've listened now I dont know why on earth he was pointing towards me. "Y-yes?" He then came over and patted my head. "OH STOP LOOKING SO FEARFUL GIRLY. YOU HAVE JUST BEEN EXCUSED FROM THIS EXAM. BUT YOU ARE TO MEET UP WITH MR. AIZAWA. HE HAS A SEPARATE LESSON FOR YOU!" Oh gosh was he going to give me another test like last time or is this just a way to get equal groups and I didnt get the luck of the draw? "O-oh yes sir."

"HE HAS ASKED YOU TO MEET HIM BACK IN THE HOMEROOM!" I give a quick wave to Tsu and be gang walking back. I guess I'm not gonna see their quirks. I dont understand why I couldn't have been told earlier so I didnt have to walk all the way back but I dont think I'll verbally complain. I arrived at the class door and slowly creak it open. It's dark. "Hello? Mr. Aizawa?" I was about to turn on the light but was stopped by a scarf like thing that was between my hand and the switch. It slowly retracted and I look over to see no other than Mr. Aizawa. "Oh hello? Didnt know we chill in the dark nowadays but hey I'm not judging." I let out a forced laugh. He didnt seem amused. "Alright look your quirk insnt ideal for most situations. " gee thanks.

"Without proper training." My ears slightly perk up at this. He then walks over to me. "How well are you trained on hand to hand combat?" I was trained a bit by Tomura but something tells me that doesn't count. "I know some basics but other than that not much." I felt his eyes on me. They made me feel real uncomfortable. "Alright follow me." He then began to leave the room. I took a pause but quickly followed suit of him. I caught up and walked slightly behind him. He was very relaxed slouching with his hands in his pockets. I wanted to strike up some conversation but decided against it because I'd rather an awkward silence then a forced awkward conversation. We soon approached a room that looked to be a type of gym. He then walked over and grabbed two wooden crates and placed the edges of a peice of wood on the crates. He then stood on the peice of wood. "Alright." He then jumped off of it onto the floor. He then looked at me. And directed me towards a wall that had a ruler thing against the wall. He then grabbed a nearby clipboard. "I want you to jump as high as you can." I gave him a quick nod. I still dont exactly understand what's happening but I'm hoping this all will make sense. Eventually. I jump as high as I can and he just nods and writes down what I'm guessing the height of my jump. He then brings me back to the plank of wood.

"Stand on there." I was confused but decided against asking questions. I go to stand on the said plank and he helps me up and keeps me steady while I catch my balance. "So this is what your gonna do. You are going to jump as high as you can again but when you land dont shatter the wood." I tried to hold it in but I visibly showed pure confusion. "Dont worry if you do shatter it just revert it back. And if you think you can't or run out of time just grab a new one from the workshop. But I'll advise against that considering its halfway across campus." It took me a good few seconds to process what he just told me is this a punishment or something? Did I do something wrong. "I recommend you hurry up and get started because until I see you master this you'll be excused from participating in the other exams." He then began to make his way to the door. What. I tried to hold back my tounge but I spoke before I could even think. I Step off the plank and rushed behind him. "Wait!" He whips his head around. At this point I already regretted opening my mouth but I was already to far in might as well start asking some questions. "Um with all due respect is this necessary? I mean I just dont understand is this a punishment for something?" The look in his eyes makes me immediately regret everything I said. "I can assure you this is more than neccessary I've said it already but your quirk is not suited for a hero course there are to many things that could go wrong. This is an exercise in control if you are in a battle you need to keep damages to an absolute minimum so what if you have to recover from an attack and when you are forced to land you need to know how to stop yourself from shattering surrounding areas. Not to mention you need to learn how to reverse your effects without having to take about 10 minutes to do it. I can assure you this isn't a punishment. A punishment would be putting you into a battle with one of your fellow student and having to decide whether to give up or possibly end up permanently hurting them. So please if you would rather go back to the normal classes you can but expect no help from me."

[phantomchick]

My wip list

Writing out my list of works in progress in the hopes that it becomes more manageable and easier to decide which to work on after I do.

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Call Me  Fandom: dc comics / batfandom Summary: Jason calls Bruce for help after being assaulted, they deal with the aftermath both in the revenge way and the hurt/comfort way. Amount of work necessary to complete: ??? It’s a two parter fic so only one chapter left to go, however serious writer’s block to work through on this second part so who actually knows.

I tell myself that I don't need Anyone (But the truth is no one needs Me)   Fandom: dc comics / batfandom Summary: The scene in UTRH where Bruce throws a Batarang into Jason’s throat is bullshit especially because there’s never any consequences for it, that’s not just bullshit, it’s batshit! And I refuse to accept it. A What if Jason didn’t disappear into the night after the events of UTRH to arrange for his next villain appearance, fix it fic. Amount of work necessary to complete: Likely going to be one of my longest fics yet, a multi chapter whopper!  Which means a lot of work, both in research and in writing.  I need to read up on ALL of the modern captain atom comics, a bunch of the crisis event chemo Bludhaven comics and maybe a couple of other ancillary comics of that era too, before I even get to writing the nitty gritty of the fic. We’re doing this canon and we’re doing it right! A fixing-everything motivated fic putting the canon divergence back into fandom.

The Many Curses of The Wayne Name / Of Curses and Covenants Fandom: dc comics/batfandom Summary: So much of a work in progress the official title’s still not completely decided! A fic delving into the relationship between the Wayne Family and the Zatara family, told through a series of curses various generations of the Waynes have been afflicted with over the years, some of these curses the Zataras were able to remove and some they couldn’t. Currently intend to have it end with Zatanna and her nephew Zach coming to dinner with Bruce and his kids. Amount of work necessary to complete:  I already have an index of curses and which Waynes in the chronology get cursed where, ready to build with. But the series itself is still more a couple of lines and potential scenarios than any actual fic. Not sure how many stories I’ll end up telling here so unsure of how much work it’ll be to complete, likely a lot to get it off the ground though.

The Monster In The Man Fandom: Merlin, (bbc) Merlin, Summary: A continuation to CaffeinatedFlumadiddle's fic The Monster in the Mirror that ended on a horror-esque cliffhanger - written because my brain couldn’t handle the cliffhanger and had to extrapolate with a part two. Intended as a gift fic to that author. Basically the spell from an enchanted mirror has escaped and possessed Merlin, and is attempting to use Merlin’s worst fears against him until he kills Arthur. Can Arthur who has only just found out about Merlin’s magic save Merlin from what’s inside him? Amount of work necessary to complete:  Currently at a little over 5000 words but likely to need at least another 5000 to both get to the main action and resolve things.

Those Winter Sundays  Fandom: Marvel, Avengers, Iron Man Summary: Snapshots of Tony working hard for the avengers and no one noticing. Amount of work necessary to complete:  Unknown as currently more of a wip idea than a wip itself, likely going to be a oneshot containing a bunch of ficlets.

Truth is Treason in the Empire of Lies Fandom: Marvel, Avengers, Thor Summary: Thor tells the story of his banishment and return to Asgard ending with Loki falling into the Void and the Avengers have some questions, questions Thor had not thought of, remarks on things that Thor doesn't know how to explain.  He goes to Loki's cell and asks him some things becoming more and more angry despite having no one he can punch. Gets drunk and criticises Sif and The Warriors Three. Focus on Loki still being underage by Aesir standards during Thor 1. “For while the Treason I detest, the Traitor I love still.” Amount of work necessary to complete:  Either a oneshot or a two chapter fic. Need to be careful to ‘show not tell’ considering the plot I’m going with is gonna have a lot of talking about things that have already happened.

A Trinity of Head Wounds Fandom: DC Comics, Justice League Summary: Friendship fic, angst and hurt/comfort Clark yells at a concussed Bruce for being reckless and because Bruce is concussed he ends up accidentally making the slightly addled Bruce cry. When Clark notices he shuts his mouth so fast he could've crunched titanium between his teeth. Diana walks in, sees Bruce in tears and PUNCHES CLARK ACROSS THE ROOM WITHOUT HESITATION. After that there’s a lot hurt/comfort on all sides and Clark opens up about his anxiety over Bruce’s mortality and Diana bleeds on Bruce’s shoulder. Amount of work necessary to complete: It’s a oneshot but it’s one of those difficult ones where you’ve got to get everything just right or the emotional intent gets totally lost so a big ??? for this one too.

Separation  Fandom: DC Comics, UTRH Summary: Split personality disorderRed Hood and Jason Todd, alternatively, Red Hood is a demon/parasite latched on to Jay. Amount of work necessary to complete: A lot considering it’s currently just an idea.

A Stark in The Stars Fandom: Marvel, Avengers, Iron Man Summary: Tony’s survived the universe wide disaster known as the snap or the decimation and has even survived carrying out it’s reversal, but he’d much rather help Thor, Carol and the Guardians sort out intergalactic repair efforts than face the damage Steve has accidentally done to time itself back on Earth. He keeps forgetting the differences between what happened in the fake timeline and the original one the longer he’s on Earth and though he knows Stephen Strange is doing all he can to fix it, he also knows that the changes for him are a lot more confusing and disconcerting than they are for the others (Save for poor Sharon Carter).  Pepper understands better than anyone and actually packed his bag for him (with Morgan’s help) when he tried to explain what he was feeling. Maybe the little settlement on that mineral loaded planet he keeps visiting on behalf of the dwarves can help him find what he needs to get past this. Amount of work necessary to complete: This is a slower more thoughtful work about learning how to live when you never thought you’d survive and the sense of alienation you can get as a veteran returning to a world that isn’t the way you expected it to be when you got home. As such, it’s very introspective, so I want to take my time with it but realistically it’s likely to be a series of vignettes from both Tony’s perspective and the perspective of the people he encounters out in his travels through the galaxies. Max 5 chapters.

Another Time, Another Place Fandom: dc comics / Batfandom Summary: Martha and Thomas Wayne are sent 20 years into the future only to see a young man they've never met standing in their drawing room. He claims to be their grandson. I just love the idea of Jason being left in the house with Damian and Duke with Bruce, Tim and Dick gone and he's the eldest so he's gotta look after the situation Amount of work necessary to complete: However long it takes me to get past the writer’s block for the ending - I have most of a plot outline ready to write based on, except for how I’m going to resolve things. A oneshot with the possibility of an epilogue chapter to follow.

Vicki Finds A Bat Fandom: dc comics / Batfandom Summary: Vicki Vale sees Jason Todd sitting in a wafflehouse. Chaos ensues. Amount of work necessary to complete:  Currently a little over 2000 words, probably gonna need an extra 2000 before it’s done.

You Don't Know Anything  Fandom: dc comics / Batfandom Summary: Gift fic for paradise_runaway. One where the other Bat boys find out the circumstances of Jason's death and resurrection and their reaction. Amount of work necessary to complete: Started and restarted multiple times, can’t decide which route to take with it. It’s just a oneshot so once I get some inspiration to hit for it, it’ll probably be done pretty quick.

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[sunshinelikesstarwars]

Day 6: Secrets

This one features a favorite theory of mine—and the consequences of keeping secrets.

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Anakin had seen Obi-Wan mad before. Of course he had. They were both stubborn and were about as different as people could be, so there had been arguments and fights and anger (even if Obi-Wan always calmed down first, since he was better at releasing his emotions to the Force).

The scene playing out before him, though, was beyond anything he’d seen before.

Obi-Wan stood rigid, his eyes locked on a teen that had just burst into the room. The kid hadn’t been expecting anyone to be there, judging by the rather impressive shade of red he was turning. The Duchess of Mandalore introduced him as her nephew, Korkie.

If Anakin hadn’t known Obi-Wan so well, he probably wouldn’t have noticed how absolutely still he was. The teen, meanwhile, was happy, bowing in welcome and apology with a smile as bright as a star, then coming right up to Obi-Wan.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” Korkie said to Obi-Wan while rocking forward a bit on his toes. “My aunt told me so many stories about your year on the run when I was little. It’s a little strange to meet you now, actually.” The kid blushed a bit and laughed a little awkwardly.

Ah. Hero worship. Maybe Obi-Wan had sensed that and was just uncomfortable with it. His Master hated getting attention, after all, even if he deserved it.

Anakin, satisfied with that explanation, shot a quick glance around the room, taking in the few scattered clones that had come with them and Ahsoka standing near some of them. All accounted for.

Obi-Wan smiled and bowed back to the teen. “And your aunt has nothing but good things to say about you, Korkie. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

But Anakin could feel the emotion (anger?) building in Obi-Wan, which was in itself a feat. Obi-Wan’s shields were basically impregnable, and the only emotions he let through were the ones he wanted others to see. This, though, this bubbling rage, was not in any way normal.

Anakin tried to feel out the other people in the room. Was one of them a traitor or criminal or something? Obi-Wan had dealt with those before, quite calmly, too, but this was Satine’s world. And if Obi-Wan felt even a little bit like Anakin himself felt for Padme, he probably wasn’t thinking all that clearly when it came to Satine’s safety, and that could lead to all sorts of horrible things for all parties involved.

He supposed this was a role reversal of sorts.

He did not like it.

Ahsoka sent a mental poke across their training bond. He glanced over to see her wide blue eyes. She must be feeling Obi-Wan’s anger as well.

He was growing seriously concerned. He knew his Master; they were friends, brothers, almost, and he could often feel just a few more emotions than Obi-Wan wanted him to. If Anakin’s own padawan was feeling it, though, then this had officially progressed beyond anything he knew how to deal with.

He let out a breath. They needed to fall back, regroup, and find out what was going on. He shrugged in a somewhat exaggerated way to get the troops’ attention, then scratched the back of his neck. Retreat. He added in a rub under his nose as well. With Obi-Wan.

He saw one group of troops turn to leave. They’d be smart about it, of course. No need to draw everyone’s attention. Anakin himself made his way to Obi-Wan, running through the list of excuses he could use to get them out of there.

“The council commed. We have to see what they want.”

“There’s a bit of a situation with the troops. Nothing serious, of course, but we do need Obi-Wan, since he’s the only responsible adult between the two of us.”

“We’ve suddenly and inexplicably been called off-world after arriving here only an hour ago and after all the trouble it took to get us here without making anyone too mad. Ain’t that just the way?”

Well. Maybe some excuses were better than others. He’d use the council one.

As he came up to Obi-Wan’s side, he saw Korkie leaving though a side door with a sheepish little wave. A few other members of Satine’s council seemed to be readying to leave as well. Maybe no excuse was needed after all. They could just leave. Oh, thank goodness.

And then Obi-Wan opened his mouth.

“Duchess, I have to say, I’m surprised I haven’t met your nephew before.”

Um. That was a weird emphasis. Was Obi-Wan seriously questioning the legitimacy of her dead brother’s child? He caught Rex’s eye and gestured for him to come over. This might take the both of them.

Satine’s face paled a bit, which Anakin also found weird. Was there a reason to question the legitimacy of her dead brother’s child? Did that even matter in elected monarchy/duchy things? “Well, I thought for sure you had. He’s a wonderful young man, don’t you think? All of Mandalore is so proud of him.” She started to inch away. “I really must be—”

“It’s strange, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a picture of him. Anywhere. Rather odd, considering the family he belongs to. Rather odd, considering how much you’ve told me about him.” Obi-Wan had folded his arms behind his back and turned to look at the stained glass windows lining the hall. “Rather odd, since we’ve been in touch for the past fifteen years.” The last bit was said with the fiercest side-eye Anakin had ever seen. There might have even been an involuntary eye twitch in there.

Why in the name of everything good was Obi-Wan this upset about not meeting her nephew before? Or maybe this wasn’t about Korkie at all? Were they arguing about their relationship? Why would that come up while talking about Korkie? He felt like he was missing something important.

He sighed and looked around. He saw Ahsoka was coming as well now, doing her best to hurry and look casual at the same time. Anakin cleared his throat. “Well, Obi-Wan, I—”

“Were you planning on introducing us at some point, Satine? Any point? Or should I wait a bit longer?” The members of the council that were leaving had stopped, quieting down to try to listen to the rather dramatic conversation. Obi-Wan stepped closer and lowered his voice so that Anakin could barely hear it, almost hissing. “Nine months, maybe? That should be enough to arrange a meeting, at the very least. Certainly enough time to let me know.”

This was like watching a bantha barrel though a shack. You couldn’t stop it. You could only watch in horror as everything was smashed to pieces. Also, that was a really specific number of months. Again, he felt like he was missing something. It was just so hard to focus with all of Obi-Wan’s emotions rushing around him like a hurricane.

His backup arrived. Anakin looked at Ahsoka and jerked his head towards Satine. No time for subtlety. They needed to disarm this situation, quickly.

“Duchess,” Ahsoka said, turning to the woman with a big grin. She threaded her arm through the taller woman’s and starting to pull her towards the nearest door while Anakin tried to put an arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulders and direct him out of the room. Satine continued glaring at Obi-Wan, who continued glaring back. “You know, I still haven’t seen—”

Satine yanked her arm away—with surprising strength, if the shock on Ahsoka’s face was anything to go by. “I was under the impression you were rather busy and wouldn’t have cared either way,” she snapped at Obi-Wan, folding her arms in front of her. “After all, you seemed eager enough to leave the first time. I wouldn’t want you to get caught up in something that didn’t really matter to you.”

The room was suddenly very quiet.

Obi-Wan was standing stock still again and Anakin couldn’t budge him, however hard he tried. The older man’s emotions were just a big, nebulous, incomprehensible blob now. He blinked once, twice, then said, slowly, “Wouldn’t...have...cared…?” He refocused on Satine’s face, but his expression remained blank.

This was almost worse than the turmoil of only a minute ago. Just a fog, a haze.

Finally, Obi-Wan took in a shuddering breath. He squared his shoulders. He stood up straight. He looked every bit a soldier about to march into battle.

Then Obi-Wan smiled. In his normal, easy tone of voice, he said, “Of course. I understand completely.” Then he bowed. “Forgive me, Duchess. I lost my temper. It won’t happen again.” And as he turned on his heel and strode out of the room, Anakin saw a tear slide down his cheek.

The Duchess took one step back, her eyes somehow burning with indignation and on the brink of tears at the same time, before she, too, turned and left.

Anakin almost gasped at the sudden absence of riotous emotion. He staggered over to a pillar and leaned his shoulder against it, ignoring the chatter of the remaining council members and troopers. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, grimacing at the headache that was starting to form. And as he stood there, his mind clearing, he was able to think through the most out-of-character fight he’d ever witnessed. In particular, one phrase stood out:

Nine months.

Such a specific number. Why nine? What was so special about nine standard months?

And then it all made sense, and he felt his knees go weak. He had a vague impression that Ahsoka had shouted and tried to catch him on his way down to the ground, but he was a bit too busy having an epiphany to register it.

Nine months was the length of a human pregnancy.

Satine was Korkie’s mother, not his aunt.

Obi-Wan had a kid.

Korkie was Obi-Wan’s kid.

They did look a bit alike, now that Anakin was thinking about it. Same chin. Same shade of blue eyes. Even that goofy, shy smile of a boy meeting his hero was familiar. And his hair was red and blonde together—Obi-Wan and Satine.

And Obi-Wan hadn’t known.

Oh, how in the world was he going to fix this mess?