#so focused on the fact that it could’ve been worse and he never even actually touched me or got that close to me save a few times

[journal-from-the-heart]

i think, for trauma survivors, especially those who were emotionally abused, invalidated, or gaslit, it is really important not to underestimate the significance of speaking bluntly about what happened to you. Forcing yourself not to beat around the bush, not to downplay what you went through with your words. say what happened, without any caveats, without any “but it could’ve been worse”, “but i might just be being overdramatic”, “but it wasn’t really THAT bad,” and so forth. sit with the discomfort until you can begin to let yourself realize that it WAS that bad, you WERENT being overdramatic, and even if it could’ve been worse you still didn’t deserve it. It’s almost like a form of reclamation, taking back your memories, taking back your life, even the difficult or gross parts, and refusing to let anyone change the narrative or tell you how you should feel anymore, even yourself. and it hurts and it’s scary and it feels weird and awkward and sometimes you want to convince yourself you’re lying, but i think sitting in those weird feelings and letting yourself admit that you really did go through trauma puts the power back in your hands to process things and be compassionate to yourself while you heal

[whateveriwant]

could i request sumn real quick..

TF141 with a s/o who does archery, with those Japanese longbows (they’re called yumis, i think😭) ??

This was completely foreign to me so I hope I at least kinda did it justice 😭

Gaz

When you first told him about your hobby of choice, admittedly, he was unfamiliar with it

Archery as a whole was nothing new to him, but knowledge about your discipline in particular had entirely evaded him up until now

However, after learning more about it from you as well as researching on his own, he's now become your biggest cheerleader, literally and figuratively cheering you on from the sidelines

Whether you do it just for recreation or you do it for competition, he's always there to support you with 110% enthusiasm

He's like a proud dad whenever he gets to watch you in your element, always pulling out his phone to record you so he can show off to his mates later

Major cheeseball that he is, he's even gotten custom decals on his car to brag of your accomplishments, so that everyone can know about you and your unique skill

Soap

His interest was immediately piqued when you first brought up your incredibly specialized sport

You see, he used to do a little archery himself back in secondary school, and (not to brag) but he was actually pretty good at it

Of course, that confession gets your interest piqued, so you invite him to take some shots with your bow, which he readily accepts

He's positively preening as he nocks an arrow, confidence oozing from him as he takes aim… only to turn a shade of red just shy of tomato as he misses his shot by about 10 feet

He tries again and again, somehow getting worse with each shot, the frustration and embarrassment coming from him clearly palpable

Though you try to encourage him to keep going (after all, no one’s good at anything their first try), eventually, he timidly hands the bow back, saying he thinks he’s better off just leaving it to you

Price

He's a very physically active man himself, so learning that you're involved in a martial art was a major turn on for him

And him being in the military and thus heavily trained in all sorts of weaponry, the fact that it's a weapons-focused discipline was doubly appealing to him

From the first moment you brought your hobby up, he was practically begging to watch you shoot

It didn't matter if you had all the bells and whistles ready or not; hell, you could’ve been dressed in a flour sack aiming at tin cans in his backyard and he’d have still been over the moon

Wanting some privacy though, he took you to a range where you could show off your skills without distraction or disruption

And when he saw you take that first shot, hitting your target dead center, he would never tell you, but his pants got a little tighter after that

Ghost

While he finds what you do very intriguing, he wishes there was a more “real life” application to your sport

He knows how dismissive that might sound, but just think about it. In an emergency, are you going to whip out your two meter long bow to defend yourself? Exactly.

Ideally, he'd like to teach you how to use a gun. And you'll agree to let him… only if you can teach him how to use a bow

You might have some lighthearted bickering where he stubbornly insists that a gun is much more useful when it comes to personal protection

But well wouldn't you know it when one night he's awoken by the sound of someone trying to break into your flat, and what object should his fingers find in the dark? Yeah, I think you know

To you, your bow seemed like a perfectly good weapon when he used it to whack the would-be thief over the head…

Yeesh, now that earned you the side-eye of the century. But alright, he eventually conceded, maybe it does have its merits

[sunnystrollblog]

Ok so I know we've been focusing on the reactions to Branch's "death" in the borrower au but I'd like to bring up the changes this would have on the first two movies. Like, do you know how world shattering this would be to Poppy? She grew up on the Mantra of "no troll left behind" only to discover that a whole lot of trolls got left behind way before they even left the tree in the first place. Also does she remember Branch? If so does that mean she remembers Viva? Would Poppy have a moment after her coronation where she stops and thinks "wait, if Branch and the Borrower Trolls survived directly under the Bergens noses what about the trolls that got caught in the tunnel collapse?" I mean if Poppy was able to get back into Bergen Town via the tunnels she obviously knows there's more than one path through those things. Would there be search parties. I want there to be search parties. Viva and the Putt-Putts deserve to know they weren't just forgotten altogether. Though it does pose the question, would the Borrowers want to live in Pop Village afterwards? It's pretty out in the open which I don't think a group that has been living in the walls of a castle would be very comfortable with.

And all this is without even mentioning World Tour. At least this time Poppy has Branch helping her settle into the whole being a leader thing and Barb is going to learn very quickly that some of these trolls are a lot more prepared to throw down than she expected them to be. Which, fair enough, she can respect that.

Anyway, yeah I love this au

Ok first thank you I’m so glad you enjoyed this au also I love this question so much!! So poppy does remember viva in fact some of her earliest memories were of viva and branch considering that they were the ones who were around her way more than any other troll ever was even king Peppy. Another big change in borrowers!au is that poppy is a toddler when it happens not a baby.

And the escape is way more heartbreaking than in the first movie. While running through the tunnels viva carrying her young sister see some trolls are falling behind viva seeing this happen hands poppy over to her father and goes back to help these trolls. And just before viva can get the others to catch up to the main group the cave collapses and she watches her sister disappear behind a wall of dirt. poppy looking back and seeing her sister isn’t behind them anymore cries for her father to go back and that viva’s still in there but his face drops with sorrow and his pace comes to a stumble but he hardens his face and he carries on and pushes until their out. When king peppy carries poppy out of tunnels screaming and kicking without viva well it’s not just sad it’s absolutely devastating not just to poppy but to the entire tribe.

poppy’s entire world view is shattered and it’s even worse because she actually sees her sister get separated from her. She believed that her father was the best and greatest king of their time and that he’d never leave anyone behind let alone his own daughter and so she carries this resentment with her shoving it down believing that her father isn’t to blame that he’s their king and wants the best for their people and even he isn’t infallible though she can’t shake the thought that he could’ve done more. creek would definitely help her through this process as I’d imagine that they’d bond over losing people they care most about and sorta have this camaraderie with each other even if they don’t really interact much. But after meeting the borrower trolls and finding branch again she gains some hope that somewhere her sister is alive.

And yes I’d image barb being kinda surprised by these way more tactical and brutal pop trolls and she’d be even more surprised by how a rock troll ended up in pop village at all(creek 👀)

[twin-scars]

I love how Stancy fans really only have one thing against Jonathan and that’s the whole picture incident. That’s been discussed enough but do they seriously forget that:

Steve was constantly pushing himself physically on Nancy, she would try to break away when he got too into it, especially in public;

Climbed into her bedroom window and pushed her boundaries to get physical even though all she wanted to do was study;

Nancy changed herself to fit in with Steve and his friends, and Barb felt she wasn’t being true to herself and feared once Nancy got popular she’d leave her behind;

Allowed his friends to call her a slut and spray paint it on a public building;

Jumped to conclusions on Jonathan being in her bedroom and physically intimidated her into ‘confessing’ because he was so jealous and mad;

physically pushed Jonathan (later punching him) and insulted his family by using slurs, basically referring to his family as trash;

Ran off from the cops instead of facing the consequences of his actions like Jonathan;

Ignored all of Nancy’s worries and fears over Barb’s death, insisting that they just pretend like everything is normal;

Kind of ignored all of Nancy’s thoughts and wants in general and focused only on himself. Like the whole six kids in a Winnebago thing.

Whereas Jonathan (with the photo) straight up said I shouldn’t have taken that. I’m sorry. He looks directly at her when he apologizes. The picture stayed in Nancy’s possession from that point on. Never mind the fact that the whole scene is merely a plot device to get Jonathan and Nancy together, because they were supposed to end up together. Steve was originally fated to die, which is why they made him an asshole. No one misses an asshole character dying.

And Jonathan Byers:

After the incident where he pulls her from the Upside Down, he takes her home and comforts her. While she showers, sets up a bed on the floor, and even states where he got the blanket so she knows what he touched. Asks her if she feels better, then offers to go home if she wants him to leave. Joins her in bed (after she asks, he never assumes), but stays clothed, above the blankets, keeping distance between them, and tries to reassure her that they’re safe. Then asks her if she wants the lights on or off. Her comfort and safety is what matters to him;

Never once did he downplay Barb’s disappearance. He totally could’ve said, ‘I have it worse, my brother’s been missing for days and my whole family is falling apart’ but he doesn’t. Instead he listens to her and they talk about how they can get Will and Barb back;

Literally bought weapons and destroyed his house to help her kill the demogorgon (he wanted to kill it too, but I think even if he didn’t he would’ve done it for Nancy);

Straight up lied about Steve asking him to take her home after the Halloween party. He asks her to cut herself some slack, because she probably said stuff she didn’t mean, and continued to defend Steve to her without once mentioning his feelings. This is huge, as Jonathan doesn’t like Steve, but he’s putting Nancy’s feelings ahead of his own;

Drives her to Murray’s and rents a hotel room with two beds;

Even though he kisses her first, when she stops him and pulls away, he stops and doesn’t move until she does.

I don’t think I need to go on at this point lol

I don’t get the Jonathan hate. I really don’t. Jonathan is amazing and I will defend him to the death. Nancy and Jonathan have a lot in common and actually listen to each other, whereas I don’t know what the fuck kept her and Steve together.

I forget where I was going with this post lol

[church-of-lilith]

Honestly what does give me a little comfort in kind of a messed up way is the fact that us sapphics aren't exactly alone-they pretty much screwed over EVERY minority lmao: Nate's storyline wasn't really explored and mostly centered around his relationship with Jade, Keeley could have had a whole fish out of water storyline like Ted about winning over her coworkers but instead the focused on her relationship drama, completely wasted Edwin and Shandy's potential for cheap laughs, gave a half assed attempt at writing Sam's storyline only to call him literally getting hate crimed a "big whoop" and never address it again, never actually giving Dani a storyline, like the list goes on and on XD its honestly kind of impressive how they managed to lowkey tear down their entire legacy Omg if you can edit your reddit post you should also mention how the only other sapphic character on the entire show is that creepy dog breeder..

This is so true. It feels like they dropped the ball for every single minority character and the longer you think about it the worse it gets.

Let’s talk Nate for a second because his whole storyline really baffles me. They had him coaching at Westham, and then they had him quit (or was he fired?) from Westham OFF SCREEN? And then suddenly an episode later he’s back as the assistant kitman for Richmond? I’ll never understand why these writers were so dead set on him coming back to Richmond, all so he could just fade into the background. And while I do believe the whole kit man decision was a temporary one, and that going forward they made him a coach again, I don’t like the implication that he worked through his issues this whole season to just end up back where he was. There’s no reason Nate couldn’t have gone off and gotten another coaching job at another team! He’s still the Wonder Kid, clearly has mad skills and credibility, you can’t tell me there isn’t a team who would have wanted him! I understand he had to return to Richmond briefly to have closure and make his apologies, but then he could’ve gone off to coach elsewhere and continued to spread the Lasso Way and change the lives of other people! We didn’t need him at Richmond when basically all the work has already been done. I wish they would’ve given me any indication that he’d really been impacted by this whole arc he went through & then gone off to be the change he wanted to see in the world.

Keeley’s whole storyline being about Jack & the business was such a waste of Juno Temple’s amazing acting, and an underutilization of the fan favorite character we know and love. Most everything about her seemed so off this season? And as you pointed out, she really didn’t even become Miss Independent until the very end when Rebecca took over financing and she was able to make decisions about her own business finally. I would’ve much rather they had Rebecca funding it from the start (or at least earlier in the season) so we could have seen her adventures and misadventures through running her own company that didn’t have anything to do with her messy, exploitative relationship with Jack.

The way I feel about them trying to tackle racism with Sam’s storyline is the same way I feel about them trying to tackle homophobia with Colin’s. If you’re gonna half ass it, don’t do it at all. And they certainly didn’t put half the amount of time and effort they needed to into thinking up how to properly handle Sam’s storyline. We went through the whole hate crime that was never addressed again. And then we had this big problem with Edwin in the final episodes where he was like “I’m going to destroy your entire life and you’ll never make money with the restaurant and you’ll never play for the National team.” And then that was just NEVER addressed again?? Not even a throwaway line about Rebecca taking care of it or something?? He was suddenly playing on the Team and the only explanation we were given from Brendan during the AMA was that it was due to ‘national outcry’ like give me a break. Not to mention we never saw Simi again and so we never got to see if she and Sam ended up together. We were sort of just left to infer that everything worked out for Sam, and that just doesn’t work for me.

Poor Dani Rojas was doomed to be nothing more than a joke from the very start. He deserved more, but at the same time I’m almost glad they didn’t give him more because the storylines this season were awful.

So yeah, feels like all of the minorities on the show lost. I don’t know how the writers managed to do this in so little time, but you’re right it is really impressive.

[forabeatofadrum]

Ljubim te (13/24)

Notes:

Me, yesterday: *making a big deal about the fact that I don’t have time to write and that it might take some time for the next chapter to come out*

Me, today: [in the tone of anyway here’s Wonderwall] anyway here’s the next chapter.

AO3 | S&C  

–  

PAT

Blaine closes his front door behind him and he slides down against it. Once he’s on the ground, he closes his eyes and he hides his head between his legs.

He couldn’t get out of Kurt’s room fast enough. He’s high on… well, it seems to be adrenaline. He was so focused on getting away that the entire bus trip to his place feels like it happened within a second. But now that he’s in the comfort of his own temporary home, time finally slows down again and he takes a deep breath.

What just happened?

Blaine knows what happened, though. He kissed Kurt. He totally, wholeheartedly kissed Kurt. Kurt, another guy. And Blaine did it because he wanted to. He wanted to know what Kurt’s lips feel like. He wanted to grab Kurt by the neck and pull him closer. He wanted it all and fuck, he still wants it.

Blaine wants Kurt.

Blaine leans his head against the door. This doesn’t make sense. He shouldn’t want this, but even though Blaine bolted out of Kurt’s room, a part of him wants to go back and kiss him more. He remembers the feeling of Kurt’s lips against his. He remembers how soft the hairs on the back of Kurt’s head are. He remembers the way Kurt kissed him back.

“Argh!” Blaine screams out.

He puts his head in his hands and he tries not to think about it, but he can’t. He wants Kurt. He does.

But he can’t.

Because he’s straight and he has a girlfriend, but not only that, but Blaine’s been low-key homophobic about the idea of Kurt and Sunil being together. And Blaine knows that Kurt is also planning on going to London to visit his ex, which pisses Blaine off too.

Wait.

Or maybe it’s not the fact that Kurt’s into men. Maybe it’s the fact that Kurt’s not into Blaine.

Blaine feels the panic rise.

He should be happy to realise that he is not homophobic, but the alternative feels somehow worse, which is a shitty thing to think, but everything about this is shitty and weird and just wrong. Everything about this is plain wrong. Blaine isn’t gay, or bi, or all the others words he’s learnt about when he saw a flyer at the queer organisation at Yale. It’s not like Blaine can really remember the flyer, because the moment he saw it, he put it away. He couldn’t deal with it for some reason.

Blaine likes girls. He’s only ever liked girls. Not only that, but he’s in a quite accepting area. He even has gay colleagues back home! If Blaine were gay, he would’ve known, right? Fuck, Blaine did theatre in high school and college. He can’t do theatre and not realise he’s gay, right?

He went to an all-boys boarding school, for God's sake. He knew gay people back then. Two of his high school friends are a couple. Not only that, but he knows guys messed around with each other in the dorms. If Blaine had wanted that, then he could've easily done that! He did notice all the attractive guys in his classes, but that was jealousy, right?

Sure, he can count the amount of girls he’s kissed in his life on one hand, and okay, he never really liked kissing them-

But he has a girlfriend!

Well, you never liked kissing her either, a voice in his head says and Blaine feels like he’s spiralling even more, because it’s true. Kissing Quinn is fine, just fine. There isn’t really anything to it. He likes it because he likes having someone close to him, but it’s not the epic romantic feeling from the movies.

Maybe that’s it! Maybe Blaine just wanted to kiss Kurt because it’s been too long since he kissed anyone.

But deep down, Blaine knows he’s kidding himself. How else can he explain the way he couldn’t stop looking at Kurt during the movie? How else can he explain that he just wanted to be closer to him? How else can he explain the fact that this was the first kiss that actually made him feel something? This wasn’t the same as kissing Quinn, or any other girl in college.

Blaine can’t really describe it, but it just made sense. It felt good. It’s as if his mind went Oh, there you are. This was the big thing he’s been looking for forever.

He’s finally found it.

And now he feels awful.

--

Quinn calls that night, as usual. The calls have decreased, since she spends most of her time with Denise, but she still calls.

Blaine turns off his phone.

--

When Blaine powers on his phone the next day, he sees that he’s gotten a missed call from Kurt as well. Maybe he should just stop answering his phone all together. He’s not ready for this.

Blaine’s slept terribly, but he still puts some effort into looking alright. He has to go back to work. He has to see Tadeja.

Maybe that’s the distraction he needs.

Blaine might not be the best at his job, but he knows how to run a business. That’s what he’s studied for and that’s why he came here. That’s what’s expected of him, and that is what he knows.

--

Things only get worse from here on. For the next three days, Blaine goes to work and ignores everything else. He doesn’t go outside for the fear of running into Kurt, which is ridiculous, but Ljubljana is a small city and he’s gotten to know it with Kurt by his side, so everything reminds him of him.

He’s stopped answering his phone. It’s a good thing that he also has a work phone, so that he can keep up to date with what’s going on with his company. Work gives him a purpose. Work keeps his mind away from what Blaine’s started referring to as The Incident. After all, that is what it was. It was just an incident.

It’s not that he can fully stop thinking about Kurt, though, no matter how he tries. Every now and then, when he’s alone with his thoughts, he remembers how it felt to kiss him, and every time he remembers it, it sends him into a spiral of confusion and guilt.

--

Of course, Blaine’s isolation cannot last.

Five days after The Incident, Blaine finds Tadeja waiting outside his office.

“Dober dan,” Blaine says with a smile, but the smile fades when he sees the serious look on Tadeja’s face.

“A certain Quinn Fabray called the office. Apparently her boyfriend hasn’t been responding to her texts and calls in days.”

“Ah.”

“As your associate, I advise you to call her back. Now.”

And Tadeja, bold as ever, shoves a phone into his hands. Quinn is on the other side of the line. Seeing no way out, Blaine goes into his office. Tadeja gives him a supportive pat on the back as he passes her, and Blaine wonders what Quinn’s told her.

Once he’s in the office, it’s time to face the music.

“Quinn?” he asks.

“Oh my God,” Quinn lets out a relieved sigh. She sounds on the verge of tears and Blaine feels an absolute pit in his stomach. “Finally.”

“Quinn, isn’t it in the middle of the night in LA?” Blaine tries to keep his voice calm. He knows he’s messed up.

“You haven’t texted! You haven’t called! I was worried sick!” Quinn yells. Blaine has to move the phone away from his ear. “I am literally about to travel to the other side of the world and them my boyfriend fucking ghosts me! What happened?”

“I… I’m sorry, Quinn. I really am.”

“Blaine, talk to me.”

Blaine tries. He needs to confess, because she’s right. It’s mid-April. She’ll be here in a few days. He needs to tell her that he cheated on her.

Oh fuck.

He cheated on her. With a man.

“Quinn, I-I… I can’t.”

It’s silent for a while.

“Who hurt you?”

That snaps Blaine out of his thoughts. Quinn’s tone’s shifted and now she’s ready to drop-kick anyone, but Blaine also feels even more guilty. His super supportive girlfriend is here to comfort him.

“Look. Quinn. I can’t tell you. I’m sorry, but I promise it won’t happen again.”

“Are you still expecting me?”

“Of course.”

Quinn is silent again. It feels like the silence goes on forever, but eventually she sighs.

“Okay. Okay. If you don’t want to talk, I will not force you. Just know that when you do want to tell me, I’m here for you.”

Blaine wipes away his tears. He didn’t even realise he started crying. Quinn is so loving and that makes all of this worse. But maybe this is what he needs. He needs to be reminded that Quinn is the girl for him.

“I miss you,” he croaks out, “I can’t wait to have you here.”

After all, once Quinn is here, everything will make sense again. Everything will go back to normal.

--

End notes: What is the saying? Denial is a river in Egypt? Oh Blaine.

But hi, yes, unexpected chapter. This was as unexpected for me as for you, but just to be clear, I cannot promise that the next chapter will be soon. It might be tomorrow. It might be next month. I am super busy with my thesis, so update schedule who? I don’t know her!

Regardless, thank you for sticking around.

[chidoroki]

182 Days of TPN - Day 92

Chapter 92: “Fire Away”

I love how everyone is genuinely impressed (and maybe a bit scared) by Adam’s strength. Also, I know this may not be the best time to wonder about this with all the chaos of the battle going on, but did Emma or Ray never actually hear him mutter Norman’s number? Even when back at the shelter? Granted, the duo were out searching for the Seven Walls majority of the time, but still. Not even one of the other GF kids managed to catch him saying the number out loud? Eh whatever, I dunno why this thought is suddenly coming to me now of all times.

Who is the real beast here, the demon flying through the air or the young mad lad who managed to punch him all the way up there? The kids are totally speechless and ya can’t blame them. Seeing Leuvis get tossed around like a rag doll is quite the sight.

Even Leuvis is overwhelmed by Adam. Poor Palvus could’ve easily avoided this flight if the little guy just let go. Kinda funny how Violet had no idea where Adam came from or when he appeared at GP yet Leuvis figured it in just a couple minutes. Yeah Violet doesn’t know about Lambda (at least I don’t think Emma shared that specific info from the pen with everyone else yet, instead focusing on the battle preparations) but Leuvis can barely see with his blurry vision and that was enough for him to piece it together somehow. Hell, it might not even be due to Adam’s crazy strength or the Lambd mark on his chest, but the fact he’s muttering Norman’s number? And perhaps Leuvis think this is Norman instead? I dunno, I’m having many odd, pointless thoughts so far.. ain’t that fun.

Leuvis must’ve ate a cat at some point since he still managed to land on his feet after taking countless shots midair.

You know it’s a problem when you find the villains relatable.

Ah, here’s the panel of Ray reloading. And Leuvis saying “my dear” is definitely something I don’t remember?? Oh my, this dude could be such a gentleman in literally any other kind of scenario ahhaha.

A fair attempt I suppose but y’all already know how much he is relying on sound now ever since the first flash bomb! That’s how Leuvis managed to take out Pepe! Even Palvus learned from the first mistake and is shielding his own eyes!

Yuugo’s jaw-dropping shot causing some damage outside the panel.

Leuvis is so darn clever bro. All he’s doing is dodging to buy some time before his sight and wounds regenerate and yet he’s still causing the kids to slip up and remain cautious.

How he can still manage to send Adam flying into the building with so much force when he can barely see and with his arm completely busted?? Leuvis is incredible and I really should’ve kept this psycho in my top ten like I originally planned.

Favorite panel/moment:

Okay, all things considered with how beat up Leuvis currently is, it’s insane that he moved fast enough and dealt such a fatal strike to his prime target. On the flip side however, this hurts SO MUCH! AAHH our poor girl!! I was beyond speechless upon reaching this moment for the first time because I had literally no idea how Emma could recover from this. To make matters worse, I distinctly remember when I read these past few chapters one morning and said to myself, “eh, I’ll read one more before I start work,” and lo and behold, this just so happened to be the moment I had to leave off on! Probably the worst kind of cliffhanger.. I was filled with anxiety and my mind was literally racing all day until my lunch break where I could finally see if this precious girl was gonna be okay.

As terrifying and worrisome as this moment is, it’s still one I was looking forward to the most had season two been animated correctly. The shock value alone of seeing the main character be impaled would’ve definitely made all viewers, whether mange reader or anime-only, freak out (myself included. especially if they blasted her “63194” theme here!) Also, would’ve loved to hear all the panic in Ray’s scream.

[64ko]

I watched it from start to end so this will not be a spoiler free post but.

things I liked:

the music. Of course. The music was genuinely the highlight of this, ESPECIALLY during the final fight because the game music playing was so exciting to hear. I love the game, so. Easy point. I also liked the song Sex Bob-Omb sang and Black Sheep returned even for a moment. I really wish we actually had Envy singing, but I always have YouTube for that.

The fight scenes were fun, especially Gideon and Matthew’s fight. I also really loved the movie-genre changing scenes with Ramona and Roxie. I also adored the “vs” game screens that came up and seeing Scott DIE was such a shock I couldn’t believe it. I also really enjoyed the additions to Matthew’s ability which leads me to…

The focus on the exes. The comic, obviously, didn’t delve that much into them but the anime focuses almost exclusively on them. I actually really liked the additions to them, such as Matthew’s powers or how they grew as people during the epilogue. I loved seeing more flashbacks with them, ESPECIALLY with Roxie and Lucas Lee. Seeing Ramona up and leaving Roxie and showing they had a GENUINELY good relationship before she ran, seeing her care about Lucas Lee before leaving him. It did a lot to establish the exes not just as evil for evil’s sake, but made them feel more like characters. I do have some mixed feelings about Todd, however.

I loved Roxie’s episode and the focus on Ramona realizing she hurt people and needing to own up to it. I love that she understood her hand in her past mistakes and owned up to them. Roxie’s arc was literally one of the top episodes for me. I also love that Roxie wasn’t delegated to being a “sexy phase”. Ramona and Roxie loved each other and Ramona doesn’t deny it. She didn’t have a “sexy phase”, Ramona is bisexual.

They didn’t put Knives and Kim together. They played music but Knives never did more than that. They didn’t even have her kissing Scott in this which is nice. Despite the fact Scott Pilgrim was dating a high schooler. I really loved the friendship that developed between Knives and Stephen AND the ending of her in the band. I really liked that due to the fact I’ve always had some… mixed feeling about Stephen at the end of the comic, LOL. It’s fun seeing Sex Bob-Omb play.

And as for the things I. Didn’t like.

They took SCOTT out of SCOTT PILGRIM. They literally took the MAIN CHARACTER out of his own media! It was a completely different story than what I was expecting which could’ve been fine, but… it really felt as if so much was taken out by the sheer fact Scott wasn’t even in the Scott Pilgrim anime except to set up this weird whodunit mystery AU. Focusing on the side characters should NEVER come at the expense of the main character and they literally took the MAIN CHARACTER out!

The “twist Villain” being Scott. Why. All of Scott’s character growth gets washed down the drain for some paltry attempt at a NegaScott future villain “fight yourself” ending. It’s lame. It’s bad. It takes away every moment of growth Scott has during the comic. You’re really telling me Scott ends up right back where he started at? Really? Some overgrown man child that never learned from his past? Which is literally what he does in the comics? And he’s even worse than when Envy broke up with him? Like… that seems so ridiculous. All the growth Scott goes through was for nothing. Scott literally accepts his flaws, which is HOW he beats NegaScott, and is why he ends up beating Gideon at the end. Having Scott never grow from that, especially THIRTEEN years later is… it really sucks. Scott isn’t a saint, but the best part about Scott is that he’s a normal guy that was able to grow. And the anime took that away from him with their twist ending.

wallace. I adore Wallace so much. He’s my second favorite character, tied with Ramona. I adore him. But I also adore his relationship with Scott. Wallace is his FRIEND and I will say that Wallace is Scott’s best friend. Wallace actually cares about Scott in the comics and the anime made Wallace act like he was some leech that he hated. He couldn’t wait to get Scott out of his life and that! Really sucks! Especially because Wallace wanted to be friends with Scott first!!

I know this was never supposed to be a faithful adaptation and I DID enjoy the anime, but I feel as if, specifically, the villain being Scott was genuinely a bad choice. It undermines Scott and everything that happened in the first comic. It really makes it seem as if Scott didn’t learn or grow. And that sucks because Scott is not a good person - none of them are! But they all grow throughout the course of the comic! And that’s the point!… and then to basically say that didn’t matter, Scott is still an asshole that would rather become a douche than fight for his relationship is… a choice. I liked the anime, just not the villain, LOL

[wheelsup]

kissing lessons

summary: one of your classic movie nights with spencer turns into a learning opportunity

A/N: this is really fluffy, but the whole story centers around kissing. use your own judgement! i’d say it’s at worst 16+

category: spencer reid x gn!reader, fluff (with a bit of spice)  best friends to lovers (sorta)

warnings: just kissing, a brief implication at the end

word count: 3k

Occasionally, the team will spend an extra night in their hotel before heading home from a case. Be it due to poor weather conditions, or the fact that your case wrapped in the dead of night, the reasons for flying don’t ever matter. Because the majority of the times when you have to stay that extra night, you and Spencer have sleepovers.

The routine is pretty much the same. You’ll stock up on gas station snacks – sour peach rings for Spencer, salted microwave popcorn for you – and reconvene in one of your hotel rooms. Preferably, whichever of you got the better deal that week – a bigger tv, a room further away from the ice machine. And you’d rent the cheapest movie available on-demand, the options spanning from low-budget sci-fi to poorly written rom-coms. That night, the viewing fell under the latter category.

Spencer perched at the foot of your bed with both feet tucked under his legs, criss-cross style, while you laid against the headboard to watch. Every now and then, you tossed out your commentary and he’d ignore it. He always says you’re too critical of movies and you’re of the belief that he’s too forgiving.

“I don’t think they should end up together,” you mumbled, words slurring around your mouthful of popcorn. You pulled a face right as the movie approached the romantic climax, after spending the past ninety minutes actively rooting against the couple. Spencer ignored you, pretending to be engrossed in the movie to spite your disparagement of it. “They both suck.”

You groaned, slumped further against the pillows, and shoved your sock-clad toes under Spencer’s left thigh in a call for attention. He jumped at the intrusion, but ultimately, your efforts were futile.

And then the big kiss commenced, and your booing finally piqued his interest. “Gross! I feel bad for people who kiss like that.”

A small bell went off in his head and he took a curious glance at you over his shoulder.

“What do you mean?” he asked. He stopped chewing and the piece of candy in his mouth pushed out his cheek, giving him an adorably innocent look. His brows scrunched in the middle and his nose had a tiny crinkle in it, utterly confused.

You scoffed and matched his expression. “Are you serious?” You jerked your head in the direction of the television and Spencer whipped his head back, squinting. He couldn’t figure out what you were pointing out, what it was that was so obviously wrong to you. “Spencer, he’s swallowing her chin!”

Oh. He hadn’t noticed.

Feeling dumb, he muttered, “I thought that’s how you’re supposed to kiss…” It wasn’t the deepest confession to admit to you that he lacked some knowledge when it came to kissing, but he still refused to look at you as he said it.

“Spencer, please tell me you haven’t been kissing people like that.” You narrowed your eyes at the back of his head, sitting up straighter in bed. He shrugged and lowered his head, focusing on his snack as his fingers dug into the packet of gummy rings in his lap.

He popped another piece into his mouth, pretending to be occupied with eating so as to avoid your prying. “I dunno.”

It didn’t occur to you until that moment that Spencer might have learned everything he knows about kissing – among other things – solely through watching movies. How else could he look at that and think it’s normal? And you’re left wondering if he’s ever even practiced it with another living human. He clearly didn’t want to talk about it, but unfortunately, that only heightened your interest. You had to know.

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?” You kept your voice low, your tone implying that you were ready to exchange this secret with him. You wouldn’t judge him if he admitted he hadn’t.

He scoffed loudly, and though you couldn’t see his face, you’re positive he rolled his eyes too. “Yeah, of course.” Then quietly, he added on, “But it was only like… for four seconds.”

You nodded thoughtfully, considering how this new piece of information adjusted your existing view of Spencer. For some reason, you couldn’t tell if you actually expected him to be experienced or not.

He didn’t exactly scream that he’d… gotten around, for lack of better words, but you’re still surprised to learn that he’s barely done it at all. You supposed he was objectively cute, that maybe you could see it if he weren’t your best friend. And yeah, he’s a little awkward, but he’s smart and kind, so he has three great things going for him, and you’re surprised more people haven’t swooped him up yet.

Your lips curled down in thought, brows raised in curiosity. “And was it good?” It was a genuine enough question, because you’ve never really thought about Spencer Reid and kissing in the same sentence before. As it turned out, there was a lot of missing information relating to those two things.

“I don’t know! I didn’t get, like, a feedback form,” he grunted, angling his shoulder even further away from you. If you could’ve seen him, you’d notice his face boiling and turning red with heat. All this inquiring made him think harder about his … talents … than he’s ever had to before, and he’s not a fan.

You were prepared to do some more digging when the slump in his back made you feel a tinge of guilt. It was your fault he looked so defeated. You pressed too hard, disregarding his boundaries just because you wanted to know more. And now, he was wondering if there was something wrong with him, because you wouldn’t leave it alone.

He barely noticed as you swung your feet from under his thigh and rocked onto your knees, leaning forward to nudge his shoulder with your palm. It hauled his attention out of his thoughts and back into the room. You wanted to apologize, but instead you settled with “I’m sure you’re fine, Spence.”

He nodded unconvincingly. By the glow of the screen, you could see he was still gnawing on the inside of his cheek, focusing his eyes as he played with a loose hangnail on one of his fingers. It made you feel even worse. “Are you actually worried about it?” you asked, laden with concern.

“What if I am bad at it?” He whispered, like saying it too loud would make it true. “And that’s why it’s only happened once?”

A large exhale puffed out of your nose as you weighed your options.

You could go back to your original plan and apologize for setting him down this path of doubt. But that wouldn’t do anything to stop him from worrying, anyway. You could tell him there’s no correlation between the way he kisses and how frequently it’s happened; that you’re sure the reason isn’t because he’s bad. But you don’t know that for sure.

So, fuck it, you thought, grabbing a fistful of his pajama shirt and tugging him closer to you roughly, pressing your lips onto his.

This way, you’d at least have an informed opinion to be able to tell him if he was good or bad.

His lips were softer than you expected – not that you’d thought about them often, they’re just impossibly softer than they look – and invitingly warm. But they were completely stiff.

You could tell he was trying to kiss you back by the way his mouth ferociously moved over yours. He was trying to be a passionate, engaged partner, but he forgot about the aspect of tenderness.

His lips felt like two solid objects just sliding around on your face. They didn’t move in any sort of accordance with yours. There was no push and pull, your lips didn’t mesh perfectly together to form a solitary unit as they moved in unison.

It felt more like his lips were your opponent, putting up an attack and defense play against the actions of your own.

You pulled away, resisting a giggle at his bewildered face. “You’re not so terrible,” you swipe the corner of your mouth, smudged with Spencer’s flavored chapstick, “But it could use some work.”

He was at a loss for words, mouth gaping open as his eyes darted around the room and all over you. Maybe he’d find an explanation for what just happened carved into the walls somewhere or written across your forehead.

What happened was that you kissed him. And he was a little bit bad. Simple as that.

“I-I wasn’t ready!” he stammered, chucking up his hands defensively. He’d process the fact that he’d just made out with his best friend at a later time, right now the bigger concern was the slight cringed look on your face. He sulked and folded his arms.“What was so bad about it?”

“Well,” you scratched the back of your ear, trying to gauge if he’d react well to getting some advice, “my first tip would be to relax your lips.”

“Okay, I can do that.”

“And don’t think too hard. You should react to what’s happening in the moment, not worrying about what your next move is gonna be.” You could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to envision what that would play out like in a real situation. “You wanna try again?” you offered, figuring he’d learn much faster if he was more hands-on about it.

He nodded, and you leaned in close, waiting for him to go for it. His heart quickened under the pressure of performance, eyes screwing shut as he closed the gap. His mouth smashed into yours as he dove in hard. It was toeing on the side of too harsh, but you let that one slide in hopes it was just a byproduct of his nerves.

You had to tap his knee to remind him to relax, and he loosened some of the tension he had in his lips. He slotted his between yours, allowing them to be pliable to your movements and remembering to react, not plan.

He moved his mouth leisurely against yours, trying to match your pressure and pacing. They actually started moving in time with yours at some point. The kiss took on a shape of its own as he started getting out of his head, letting himself enjoy the kiss for what it was in that exact moment.

It was already better than before. Leaps and bounds better. But then he tried to deepen it, building on its intensity but adding more… something into it. You couldn’t even tell what it was he was trying to do.

“Okay, second tip…” you inhaled sharply, pushing him off of you with a palm against his chest. Whatever it was, it needed to stop. “You kinda do this thing like… where you’re blowing air into my mouth?” You scrunched your nose, punctuating your dislike. “That feels weird. Don’t do that. If anything, do the opposite.”

“I’m supposed to suck the air out of your mouth?” His face contorted, voice already slightly exasperated. He barely understood what the air thing was that you claimed he did. He didn’t realize in the process of trying to add pressure to the kiss, he was just forcibly blowing against your mouth.

“Not literally, no.” You laughed a little, rubbing your palm in a comforting pattern on his chest.”But you can use your lips to suck on mine, or my tongue… just nothing involving the exchange of breath. We’re not in CPR training.”

He eased up a little with your joke, adjusting to your advice he gave it another try. After a few moments, he latched onto your bottom lip with his own, sucking it softly into his mouth. “Yeah, like that,” you mumbled against him, voice pitching high in encouragement. He sucked on it with a little more greed, holding it for a second, then eased up, varying the pressure of his movements just like you did before.

You made a mental note to praise him for that at a later time, deciding to instead part your lips to see if he’d venture into further experimentation.

He caught on quickly. He parted them further, prodding his tongue against them as you opened to allow him entry. Just as you started to really enjoy it, he ran his tongue over the inside of your mouth, moving it fast and roughly like he was a washing machine.

“Stop,” you grimaced, tearing away quickly. You had to swipe your hand over your mouth to get rid of the excess saliva that really shouldn’t have been an issue in the first place, given how brief the frenching was. “Your tongue is way too aggressive.”

Overwhelmed, he tilted his head to the ceiling and let out a frustrated grunt, slapping his hands down to the top of his thighs.

There were too many factors to worry about. He had no idea how you looked at him with a straight face and told him not to think too much when there were a million things he needed to remember all at once; he needed to vary his moves to keep it interesting, but make sure he’s not ruining the flow by changing things up too much, and to be gentle but not timid.

All of this was second nature to you, but it was brand new to Spencer. Could you really blame him for not getting the hang of it right away? You decided to stop your list of critiques short for this round to spare him. He’d get there eventually, but not if he felt discouraged too soon.

“I don’t see why people like it in the first place,” he huffed, his head returning to it’s normal posture. In Spencer’s eyes, there truly wasn’t any appeal to kissing with tongue; it looked sloppy and unnecessary, and as you’d just confirmed, it actually was.

You thought about his statement for a second. There’s a certain allure to it, and you didn’t know how to describe it to him. So instead you cupped his cheeks in both your palms and slid your mouth over his again. As his jaw slacked its tension, you slowly pushed your tongue past his lips and gently pressed it against his own before swirling them together.

You sighed softly into his mouth, running your fingers through his hair and tugging carefully at the ends. He made a small noise against you, something like a whimper, and you swallowed the vibrations of it. As you retreated, you captured his bottom lip between your teeth and gave it a light, teasing tug. You soothed it again with your lips before releasing it, a proud giggle forming in your chest as Spencer chased after your lips as you broke apart.

“That’s why.” You smirked at the dazed look on his face. His eyelids remained closed longer than necessary, still feeling the ghost of your mouth on his and a tingle where your fingers were in his hair.

“Oh.” His voice came out meek as he slowly came back to reality, brows wrinkling up his forehead as he opened his eyes.

He put both his palms down on the mattress, one laying flat on either side of you, and dove forward to resume the kiss right where you left it. A surprised squeak left you as his mouth collided with yours with an insatiable hunger. You brought one hand back to his hair, and he was a goner.

He unfolded his legs from under himself and shuffled onto his knees, following his hands until he practically crawled into your lap. Each of his legs hooked onto either side of your thighs as he hovered over your lap, leaning his body entirely into yours.

The physics of it didn’t hold up; he’s taller than you are, and his chest was too heavy for you to carry. The balance was off center and it sent you tumbling back onto the mattress, bringing him down with you until his chest laid on yours.

It was the perfect force – the weight of him on top of you. He tasted like peach candy and sour sugar, and you found yourself craving more of it.

You shuffled higher up the mattress, giving him space to stretch out his body as he followed yours. One of his hands found your waist, gripping tightly, while he placed the other on the mattress beside your head, using it to steady himself. Sliding your legs out from under him, you wrapped them on the outside of his hips, using them to pull him closer down to you.

It only broke off in moments when both of you absolutely needed to get air, gasping as you pulled apart for brief reprieve before colliding again. He followed every word of your advice, getting better with each passing second until he exceeded expectations by leaps and bounds.

Your fingers weaved through his hair, passionately tugging the wavy strands to angle him against you and igniting his nerves under your touch. A soft moan leaves him and you’re encouraged to tighten your grip on them. His hips bucked reactively at the sensation, and he quickly pulled back, a slight embarrassment creeping up his cheeks. He got too carried away.

You took in his flushed face and swollen, kiss-bruised lips. They’d turned a shade of red brighter than you’ve ever seen them, and it was all you could do not to dive for them again as his tongue sweeped over them, soothing the burning heat you’d left on them.

Before he could apologize for his eagerness, you nudged your nose against his, your smile skimming against his lips. “So what else don’t you know how to do?”

☆

☆

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[moxfirefly]

I’m in a certain mood and I’ve had this simmering in the back of my head for a bit now so idk, enjoy? Shoutout to @raphaelsrightarm for inspiring me with their wonderful piece involving the purple boy himself as well.

Moments after a near death experience

Rated Explicit (18+ only)

TW: Blood, Violence, NSFW themes

He takes you up through the fire escape, it’s autopilot to be honest, because there’s still a slight ringing in his ears and you haven’t stopped shaking since he picked you up.

He forces the window open (he’ll fix it later) and gently pushes you in through it. You climb in and can’t seem to move when you stay on the floor, there’s blood caked onto your forearms, wounds aren’t even that bad.

Nothing truly compares to the damage Donatello is sporting.

His gear and bostaff clatter onto the hardwood floor and it’s the first time that he exhales since this whole ordeal. Bruises and cuts protest and there’s a trickle of blood trying to make its way into his eyeball. It dawns on him that his glasses didn’t make it when he feels that he’s squinted slightly more than usual. His bruised hands reach for you and he hauls you up onto your feet.

“Ar-Are you okay?” He feels the inside of his cheek, bitten down and cut from accidentally chomping down during a punch. You’re still shaking, it dissipates at the sound of his voice, Donnie’s words bring you back to right now and he’s running his hand across your face and sweaty hair.

He’s touching you.

Donnie blinks. All things considered, if that gang attack had gone differently, that wouldn’t be the case.

You’re warm, he’s touching you, you’re eyes find his own, he’s touching you.

There isn’t much hesitation, he’s leaning down enough to crash his lips to yours, it stings and hurts but he doesn’t care...

Because he’s touching you.

So much could’ve gone bad, so much could’ve gone worse but the mere contact of his lips to yours reminds him that all this isn’t for naught. He’s so focused on kissing you, molding his lips, pecking the corners of your mouth, your chin, your jaw.

You find yourself back in this moment, the texture of his hands grounding you and urging you. He’s here, he’s here with you and he’s kissing life into you quite literally so. You hold the back of his neck, nails digging into his scales, there’s blood there but it’s not his for there isn’t a wound. Feeling him engulf you in a hug, he picks you up and holds you against him. He’s been kissing you desperately, unsatisfied that he can’t keep his lips on you at all times. When Donnie feels your thighs clutching against his waist, when he feels your hands yank his mask off and try to unclip his suspenders; he becomes frantic.

A frantic need to feel just more than your life on his lips, but to feel everything of you surrounding him. He’s kicking off his boots, not caring that his ankle protest this hard movement, he leans back enough to help you tear at your shirt and cast elsewhere with his own belongings. He squats down with you and his strength never seizes to amaze you. You pull the blanket off the couch just as Donnie gives a firm shove to the coffee table. It’s a makeshift nest, just so your back doesn’t connect with the hard floor.

There’s more desperate kissing. More ‘I love you’s’ scattered against one another’s battered flesh. Donnie isn’t soft about it, he catches your wince when he rips down your jeans, sees bruises at your knee caps that he’ll kiss and heal himself but right now he want to consume you.

And you want him to consume you.

You’re breathing hard and fast and grabbing at him as he tries to push down his pants. His lips find a path from your navel to your neck, you smell of sweat and copper and something so very you that it guts him.

Because he gets to smell that, smell you, be wrapped up in all of you. Your eyes are watery from the stress of wanting him, nails digging in your haste to pull him closer. He rips your bra down the middle, casting the fabric to the side and rubs his face against the mounds, he exhales shakily. You feel those perfect hands cup your breasts, knead into the soft flesh and a moan filled with so much need uttered against your left breast it makes you arch up. Donnie sucks wantonly at your nipples, each one getting the proper amount of dedication, he feels the texture against his lips and tongue and the very fact that he gets to makes him unbearably hard.

Your hands find the edges of his shell, you scratch and rub and caress until he’s churring with a mouthful of your tit. “-in me please, please” Your mouth is dry, legs spread for him as you try to push his face away from your breast and towards your mouth again. With another unceremonious yank your underwear joins the rest of the clothes in the disarray of the living room. You’re lucky you’re wet because Donnie just thrusts in without warning, he feels heat and wetness and that choked gasp of a sound you make whenever he enters you. His hands nestle into you hair, fingertips at your scalp as he cradles your head. A whine escapes him on that secondary thrust, hard enough to make you grab onto him, any part of his. His arms, his sides, his thighs.

Just anything.

He’s so much bigger than you, sometimes all you can see or feel are those hard plates that make up his plastron, the texture feels so familiar in a time like this, against your cheek, lips to them and fingers working through. Donnie isn’t satisfied with how he holds you, he wants more, wants to inhale you and keep you inside of him forever. He settles for burying his face in the crook of your neck, hands gripping your rear when you lift your legs to better accommodate him. He rocks into you with slow but harsh thrust, his own thoughts to consume, conquer and copulate.

You wrap an arm around the back of his neck, the other onto his shell, you let him drive into you with every pent of need, greedily taking that energy for your own desire. Donnie stretches you so good, he fills you up almost maddening so, so deeply it could almost hurt but nothing compares to it. Tonight could’ve gone so differently, instead you’ve got him buried inside of you fucking away the fear of loss.

“Fuckin’...” He groans with a harsh thrust. “Love you!” His fingers dig into the plush skin of your rear, he’s rubbing against your clit so perfectly in this position. Feeling your walls give him a tight squeeze, he picks up the pace for the first time since he started and you’ve forgotten how to breath all over again. “Iloveyousomuch!” You moan out in a jumbled heap, you crane your neck, wheezing from the heat and feel of your approaching orgasm. Both your moans rise, yours consistent, his with every drive of his hips.

It’s desperate, dizzying, it hits you both at the same time without warning but the moment you tighten so stiffly and Donnie buries himself so much he’s glued to your navel, it’s chaos. You cry out, actual tears forming from the intensity and Donnie is so lost in how you milk him for every drop he continues to give small rough stutters to empty himself fully. There’s an awful cramp in your calf and toes, and every bruise from tonight throbs painfully but your insides are so warm with him, your pussy is full with him. Donnie’s sharp intake of breath makes him cough, as he trembles against you, he’s honest to god shaking much like he had during his first time with you.

You’re so overwhelmed you press your face to his shoulder and bite down, trying to suppress more tears.

But Donnie can feel it, and he’s telling you ‘it’s ok it’s ok it’s ok’ and let’s you sob against him. He holds you and kisses your cheeks and promises you...

That it’s going to be alright.

[aetherdecember]

New Bruno Superstition Head Canon

So when Bruno’s talking about his room behind the wall being kitchen adjacent (and seemed pretty pleased about that) and consider this tidbit from reddit...

With this description from Disney’s wiki...

I’m now going to head canon that his room has always been the furthest away from the kitchen (it only got worse as he became withdrawn) and was never allowed in the kitchen EVER. Poor guy never even got a chance to learn to cook, no wonder he didn’t leave Casita, he would’ve starved on his own. And his skills at sneaking food? He’s always had ‘em. With everyone shooing him away from the kitchen, he mastered arepa thievery for snacks.

Can I also point out how hilariously ironic it would be if out of all the superstitions he believes, if this one was the one that he decided was stupid? The fact that he’s never had a vision of food being ruined by his presence is his entire argument. He actually doesn’t particularly care if he’s allowed in the kitchen, but Pepa (who also has green eyes) especially hates the superstition. She feels like she’s missing out on bonding time with Julieta and Mama (Alma/Abuela) and she’s kind of right, but no matter how they try to force their way in or present their arguments, they’re not allowed.

It’s one of the first divisions of the triplets. Before their gifts, it wasn’t noticeable. They were too small to really be of help, so Alma would let them play while preparing dinner. But once they received their gifts, suddenly Bruno and Pepa couldn’t be with Julieta all the time. So while Julieta’s learning how to cook, and healing people, and becoming the responsible, mature one, the other two are off causing chaos and having fun with their gifts because what is Alma going to do? Bring the other two into the kitchen while Julieta is cooking so she can lecture them as well? Or micromanage one while the other storms the kitchen? Bruno might remain obedient, for a while, but the moment Pepa signals that she’s hungry and wants a snack NOW he’ll gladly raid the kitchen.

It’s all fun a games until he scares Julieta (she jumped when she turned around and there he was) causing her to ruin the freshly cooked food which leads to them frantically cleaning it up, ignoring what’s currently cooking, only for that to burn as well. Things might have been fine, if there hadn’t been an accident in town, leading to a death that could’ve easily been prevented by Julieta’s gift.

Thus begins the rumors of Bruno being bad luck.

Pepa is spared, as she’s usually kept busy regulating weather patterns for the crops, but everyone is suddenly remembering all the times Bruno had a bad vision. It doesn’t matter that the two were partners in crime for breaching the kitchen, outside the family it looks like Bruno deliberately forced the bad luck of his eye color on Julieta’s cooking.

He doesn’t argue it.

Inside though he still doesn’t believe the superstition, he’d already seen that death weeks before, everything in the kitchen had been a coincidence. But he does accept the guilt. He accepts he’s bad luck. Visions grow darker, focusing on deaths, injuries, disappointments, failures. Each another confirmation weighing him down. But when a migraine screams through his skull, or his eyes burn from seeing too much, he has no problem marching into the kitchen at anytime to get some food. (Julieta has learned to anticipate his approach and shove an arepa into his hand before he can actually enter the kitchen. She’s been raised knowing that her siblings are considered bad luck against her gift, and while she refuses to admit one way or another what she believes about it, she can’t risk having either of them in there because the townsfolk WILL reject her food if they know either entered the kitchen)

When Camilo is born with green eyes, Pepa is delighted by her new partner in crime. For the next few years, there’s a resurgence of efforts. Even Bruno participates. Between the three of them (and Mirabel also believing she’s part of their posse), Julieta is ready to tear her hair out with the number of times they’ve jeopardized her cooking. Not to mention how often Alma nearly catches them. Agustin does his best, but he’s only useful in wrangling Camilo. Bruno’s too wiry, and Pepa has no issue with zapping him out of her way.

Then Bruno’s gone. He’s gone and Pepa loses all interest in being in the kitchen. There’s no point. She’d only wanted all of them to be together. For the triplets to never have any barriers between them. But Bruno’s gone and there’s a void and she can’t, she can’t, she can’t - It had been their game, but without him there’s no point, so she stops. She stops and avoids the kitchen. She can’t talk about Bruno.

They don’t talk about Bruno. And Camilo forgets the game.

Behind the walls, Bruno’s new room is kitchen adjacent. It’s kitchen adjacent and he sneaks as many arepas as he can carry. He can be in and out before anyone could stop him. Not even Julieta would be able to prevent him from entering because one step and he’s there! But they can’t see him. He can’t let them see him, so he hides. He enters when no one else is there. He takes only what he needs to survive because no one thought that maybe the two green eyed triplets should know how to cook. (It’s partly why he never left, he can’t fend for himself without the most basic life skills.)

Then Mirabel is there, and Casita is falling, and they’re all fleeing. Maybe all that bad luck from their green eyes finally accumulated? But no one thinks about that because they’re too busy searching for Mirabel. When he finds her with Abuela, he doesn’t think twice about confronting Mama. He brought this upon them. He’ll take the blame for it. Except there’s no blame to take. Abuela embraces him, kisses his cheek, and together with Mirabel leads him home.

Months later, it starts again without warning.

It’s been slow going adapting to having Bruno back, but when Julieta turns around with a fresh pan of empanadas to find Bruno standing there, munching on one, all the years of putting up with her triplets staging invasions into her kitchen rises within her, and she shrieks with a vengeance none have heard from her since. Gleefully, Pepa bounces back into their game, the two indoctrinating Camilo to their ways. (Mirabel doesn’t try to participate, accustomed to her mother’s preference for green eyed hooligans to stay out, but too amused to help her parents in their futile defense.)

Though small, the game becomes Bruno’s first step to really, truly coming home.

He may have green eyes and he may be bad luck, but he knows there’s no bad luck associated with his green eyes being in the kitchen.

[vendettaparker]

What a Dumbass [P.P]

Summary: Peter’s mistake leads to you being injured. 

Pairing: Peter Parker x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: Swearing, like a substantial amount, suggestive content kinda, gun shot wound, and flustered!Peter 

a/n: I really liked writing this. I couldn’t stop laughing at some of the dialogue. and the mistake peter made to cause the whole set-up of the story is so funny to me. like i can legit see him making this mistake. also, i’m gonna make a permanent tag list, so please send me an ask or message me if you want to be on it! <3

        ─── ･ ｡��☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

     Peter Benjamin Parker is a fucking dumbass. All the time mostly. Most of the time his dumbassery leads to a lot of annoyed avengers, a lot of clean up, and a lot of spilled secrets. Hence why like three people who definitely shouldn’t know he is Spider-man do. But every once in while his idiocy can lead to an unexpected happily ever after, at least until he fucks something up again. 

     This particular fuck up has yet to be determined as a happy accident or your new 13th reason. It all started when that spider bitch decided it’d be a good idea to watch some explicit content on his laptop. Now, this wasn’t particularly an unknown activity for him to partake in, since we all know about his little impromptu purchase in Germany, but unbeknownst to this dork, his aunt was in the next room over working on a tear in his suit. And to make matters worse, he accidentally just so happened to purchase a subscription using said aunt’s credit card that was pre-setup in his laptop. 

     Now May is a very understanding woman. Very sex-positive, very loving, and inclusive; the whole shebang really. So when she happened to catch this idiot doing what he most certainly shouldn’t have been doing, she wasn’t mad, just thoroughly disturbed. Then she got the notification about the purchase. That was a bit more taboo in her eyes. So Peter was grounded from patrolling for a week and his laptop privileges were revoked for two weeks. That was fucking merciful compared to what this whole fuck up put you through. 

     At the school that following Monday, Peter spent the whole first, second, fourth, and lunch period trying to convince you to take over patrol for a week. Sure, you could definitely handle it, not to pat yourself on the back or anything, but you were significantly stronger than Peter, so it shouldn’t have been that big of a deal. But you just really didn’t want to. Peter had his ‘Peter Tingle’ to help him find danger, while you’d actually have to look. It just seemed harder for you to do than it would be for him. 

     “Why are you even grounded?” You sighed after Peter's 3rd time bringing up the possibility of you patrolling for him at lunch. 

     “He got caught watching and buying p—” Ned started laughing.

     “Ned! Shut up!” Peter yelled, slapping his hand over his friend's mouth. 

     “How has your identity not been leaked yet, Jesus Christ.” You mumbled, giggling. You flipped through your chemistry textbook, writing notes to prepare for Friday’s quiz. 

     “Yeah, and how come you didn’t know May was home?” Ned pushed Peter’s hand away. “Where was your ‘Peter Tingle’ then?” 

     “She’s not a threat, dude. But shit, I really wish my tingle detected her.” Peter groaned, a deep blush covering his features. “Please (Y/N). I really, really don’t wanna leave Queens without any protection for a week. I’ll try to convince May to let me go out on the weekend, so really it’s only five days.” 

     “I guess I could help you out, but you owe me. I should really spend this time studying for my chemistry test. Iron bitch is gonna have my head on a spike if I fail another chem test.” You said, highlighting more notes. 

     “Okay! Delmar’s for a week, anytime, anywhere.” Peter said putting his hand out for you to shake. 

     “Make it a month, I know my worth.” 

     Peter hesitated, but eventually gave in, “Fine, but you better do a good job.” 

        ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

     So now you were stuck patrolling from 8:30 to 11:00 every night. It wasn't bad per se, and nothing too eventful happened. You stopped a small convenience store robbery, gave a few kids some tips at the skatepark, ran some errands for an old lady, and saved a cat from a tree. Thursday night was the real kicker though. Your night had barely started and you accidentally got in the middle of a drug deal between some smaller mob and a real messed-up junkie. This should’ve been an easy takedown, only six people in total that needed to be taken out, but like was mentioned before, you don’t have Peter’s goddamn, stupid fucking tingle. So after taking all six of the perps out you started to walk away after alerting the police. Unfortunately, one of those assclowns had come to, and grabbed the gun a few feet away from him and shot it towards you. The bullet went through your thigh and out the other side. Screaming in shock and pain, you used your own throwing knives and knocked the gun out of the mobster’s hand, then you proceeded to knock him out again with a few good punches to his noggin, maybe a few more, just for good measure. But this wound would need to be cleaned and stitched up. And if you went back to the Tower, Steve and Tony would give you an earful about “watching your surroundings” and “being more careful”. So in a moment of pure adrenaline and desperation, you texted Peter. 

You: are you home

Spider-Dork: Yeah, why?

You: i’ll be there in 5 

Spider-Dork: What? Why? Is everything ok?

Spider-Dork: Hello??? (Y/N)????

(Y/N) declined (3) calls 

Spider-Dork: Answer my calls idiot. 

     Peter’s texting and constant calling was cut short from a crash in his room. 

     “(Y/N)? Is that you?” Peter called from the couch in the living room. 

     “Yeah, can I borrow a t-shirt?” You called, fumbling around accidentally knocking over another lamp. “Oops, sorry!”

     “Uh, yeah sure. In the closet!” Peter called back pausing his show, prepared to make his way over to you. 

     “And some sweats?” You called back, blood dripping all over Peter’s hardwood floor. 

     Peter got up to make his way to his room. “Yeah, second drawer on the left side.” He said as he made his way to his bedroom. Knowing you were in there, most likely changing, he knocked. “You decent?” 

     “Nope, not really. I need a pair of your boxers too, though.” You called through the door, now seeing that the blood splattered on your underwear as well. “Also, bring the first aid kit when you come in.” 

     ‘What? Why?” Peter said in a more stressed tone, pushing his way into the room, completely ignoring the fact that you were very much not decent. “Holy shit.” He said seeing you out of your suit, in your bra and underwear, blood dripping down your right leg, pooling onto the floor. Your hand, red and bloody, pressed onto what he only assumed was the wound and blood seeping through your fingers. 

     “Bring a mop too.” 

     Peter ran out of the room to grab the first aid kit, plus some extra bandages and a cleaning solution. When he came back in he found you in the same state, standing in the middle of the room, eyebrows furrowed in pain, clutching your right thigh. 

     “What the hell happened?” He gasped, motioning for you to sit on his bed. You hesitated, not wanting to mess up his sheets. He seemed to notice your thought process quickly adding, “I have to wash my sheets anyway.” 

     “Gross.” You mumbled, scrunching up your face in disgust and finally settling down on his bed. 

     “Move your hand and tell me what happened,” Peter said kneeling on the floor next to the bed, positioned right at your hips. You removed your hand, bloody instantly seeping onto the bed. Peter winced looking at the hole in your leg, quickly grabbing the peroxide and dumping heaps of it onto your leg, much to your distaste. 

     “I got shot.” You stated as he cleaned the blood around the hole with alcohol pads.

     “Well, no shit. I mean by who and how?” 

     “Mobster. Sneaky bitch got me while I was walking away.” You winced as Peter inspected the wound further. 

     “I need to stitch this up. Did it go all the way through?” He said lifting your leg to look underneath for an exit wound. 

     “Yeah.” Peter found the exit wound and held your leg up with one hand, pouring peroxide on the back of your thigh with the other. 

     “You have to be more careful, (Y/N)! This looks really nasty.” Peter scolded, setting your leg back down and prepping the needle and sutures. “What if this was in your chest? Or—or if you didn’t get here in time? You could’ve bled out!” 

     “Well sorry that I don’t have your stupid tingle to help me out when I’m being fucking shot at!” You yelped, gripping the bedsheets. 

     “You don’t need spidey sense, you need fucking common sense,” Peter mumbled, stitching his first suture.

     “What the fuck did you just say?” You looked at him incredulously. 

     “I— uh, nothing.” Peter huffed, focusing back on stitching you up.

     “This is your all your fault, to begin with!” You accused, shifting uncomfortably, due to the needle constantly being stuck into your leg. “You’re the one that begged me to go on patrol for you! You’re the dumb bitch that got caught watc—” 

     “Ok! Shut up! For God’s sake, you’re never gonna let me live that down.” Peter groaned, finishing up the last stitch. “Flip over.” He commanded, pushing at the side of your waist to help with the movement. 

     “Well, it was fucking dumb. Don’t you check to make sure nobody’s home? God, we all know you’re a vocal bitch too.” You said, fully situated on your stomach. 

     “What the fuck is that suppose to mean!?” He gasped, prepping another needle. 

     “You’re a sensitive boy.” You shrugged, wincing when Peter started his next stitch. 

     “I-I am not sensitive! I’m emotionally and physically staunch!” He defended, going in for another stitch. 

     You just raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Sure, whatever you say, babe.” You winked at him, blowing an exaggerated kiss. 

     “You're a jerk,” Peter mumbled, finishing up his stitching job. “A jerk with a fucked up leg.” 

     You hummed, quite amused. Peter got up and started to collect his medical supplies. He shuffled out of the room to put everything away. When he returned you were trying to get up and walk, wincing at every slight movement. 

     “Here, let me just—” Peter lifted you up, bridal style. A small yelp coming from you when a sharp pain shot through your leg. “Sorry.”

     “It’s fine. Can you help me get dressed?” You said as he walked you over to his desk and set you down in his desk chair. 

     “Sure.” Peter blushed, painfully aware of your lack of clothes. He picked out some clothes from his closet and drawers. He helped you into them, wallowing in the uncomfortable silence, taking in each whimper and wince from you whenever he brushed against your thigh. 

     “Fuck, I’m so sorry.” He sighed after you were all dressed. “This is my fault.” 

     You looked at his distraught face, feeling bad for initially blaming him for the events of tonight. “No, Pete. It’s fine. I should’ve made sure all of the guys were knocked out.” You put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.

     “No, I should’ve been more careful when I was watching that stuff. I have my spidey sense, I would’ve been able to avoid getting shot. It’s not your fault that you didn’t get bit by a radioactive spider.”

     “Pete, really, I’ll be better by next week anyway. It’s fine.” 

     Peter shook his head, sighing. “I just feel so bad, I shouldn’t have forced patrolling on you.” You hugged him and rubbed his back soothingly. “It’s my fault you got hurt.” 

     “Peter stop. It’s just an unfortunate accident.” You mumbled, hugging him closer. “It could’ve happened to anyone.”

     “But it didn’t happen to just anyone (Y/N), it happened to you. And I caused it. I-I don't know what I’d do if something ever happened to you. What if it was worse?”

     You sighed, pulling away from Peter and cupping his face, seeing the regret and shame pooling in his eyes. Without much thought, you pulled him closer, slowly connecting your lips in a sweet kiss. Truly getting lost in the feeling of his lips against yours, the feeling of perfection. 

     Peter’s eyes widened in shock for a moment, before he was kissing you back, reveling in the feeling he’s been dreaming about for months. You finally pulled away to catch your breath. Peter flushed at your actions, unable to stop the wide smile crossing his features. 

     “Sorry,” You mumbled sheepishly, “just needed to shut you up for a second.”

     “Maybe I should talk more, just to see what happens,” Peter smirked, pulling you in for another shorter, but just as sweet, kiss. 

     You hummed against his lips. “I really like you. Even when you're a dumbass.” You sighed against his lips.

     “The feeling is mutual.” 

     “Rude. I’m not a dumbass.” You gasped in faux offense. 

     “You’re the one with a bullet wound.” he deadpanned 

     “You’re the one who got caught watchin—”

     “(Y/N)!”

[shokami]

wc ; 1k in total

featuring ; kuroo, kenma, akaashi, and bokuto

synopsis ; being in a poly relationship with four people was never an easy task, but things get worse when the squish of peace goes missing. poly! headcanons and drabble.

you started dating kuroo first, that’s how this all ended up happening.

next thing you knew, you ended up developing feelings for kenma, which you really thought was going to be an awkward conversation. turns out they were actually pretty ecstatic to be in a poly relationship with you.

as for how bokuto and akaashi ended up being a part of your relationship? well, you like to refer to that as a happy accident.

kuroo was very attached to a select few people, and it happened to be the four of you— so it was no surprise that you all hung out grouped together all of the time.

before you knew it, you were all basically acting like you were dating. akaashi would show up with lunch, or groceries, or with a moody bokuto at 2 A.M because ‘kuroo and kenma didn’t share you’.

you even got into the habit of showing up to every single one of MSBY’s games, and cheered him on from the front row.

it even got to the point where you were showing up at akaashi’s office to make sure he had lunch, or a late dinner.

don’t get it twisted though, you still paid special attention to kuroo and kenma too.

speaking of them, you indirectly hinted at the fact that you felt like you were all in a giant relationship together… to which kuroo awkwardly laughed and made a joke about it.

little did you know he had been thinking the same thing, and discussed it with kenma whether or not they should ask.

they never got the chance to because a few days later, bokuto and akaashi were leaving when akaashi kissed you, and kuroo accidentally dropped an ‘i love you’ to bokuto. this basically initiated the spider-man meme.

you had all gotten so comfortable being that close with one another, that things just formed on their own without anyone realizing at first.

that night led to a long conversation on whether or not the five of you could have a sensible relationship together.

spoiler warning: you did, and you guys were so disgustingly cute together.

it was a perfect balance. kuroo and bokuto were the loud duo, and you joked about how they gave the rest of you ‘scary dog privileges’.

then there was kenma and akaashi, who were the more silent and comforting, yet somehow still chaotic in their own ways—

you on the other hand, managed to be the mix that sat in the inbetween. your energy changed depending who you were around, and if it was all of them… it took your entire mental capacity to control them.

a lot of boundaries were in place, and everyone got days to be alone and take a break, and even days with specific partners for days out. it was the best way for no one to become overwhelmed, and it kept arguments and fights to a bare minimum.

your relationship is so healthy, and loving that it makes everyone else curious on how it works

you never have an answer, but it’s okay because not everyone needs to know

let it be known that in your house there is a singular reversible octopus squishy.

you and kenma are definitely the ones who use it the most, and bokuto is a close second.

akaashi used it once when he was tired and grumpy, and that gained him a lot of space from everyone and extra cuddles from you.

kuroo however, has never used it but he is in charge of keeping track of where it is and who has it. everyone calls him the mood watcher, he’s like your personal mood ring.

“TETSUROU,” you and bokuto ran into the living room out of breath, a look of terror on your faces. “Where is Mr. Octopus squishy?!”

Kuroo looked up from his spot on the couch, Akaashi sat beside him looking unbothered and focused as he wrote, “Yn, you don’t have it? I thought you were the last one with it.”

“YOU LOST MR. OCTOPUS?!” Bokuto whisper yelled, finally causing Akaashi to look up at the two of you.

“Kenma is setting up for a stream, and he is in a big bad mood— we need the octopus ASAP.” you calmly explained, pushing Bokuto in the opposite direction to look around the house.

The octopus squishy was seen as a sacred item in your house, and was always needed to express moods and the vibe of the room. You had vividly remembered giving it back to Kuroo last week, and you had no idea where he could’ve misplaced it. The damned octopus was vital for Kenma’s moods, and if you couldn’t find it… then you’d never know when the area was safe.

A bit dramatic, but it was a process that worked.

Both Kuroo and Akaashi began to look for the octopus with you two, and you knew everyone would get lectured for losing the squish of peace.

After about twenty minutes of looking, Kuroo found him tucked away in one of the many blankets around the house, “Okay, now who’s going to get it to him?”

You all fell silent, glancing at each other as the task presented itself. Kenma was the worst one out of everyone when it came to his bad moods, and none of you wanted to face his wrath.

“Kou I think you’re up—“

“HUH?? TETSUROU YOU LOST IT, YOU DO IT.”

“YEAH BUT YOU’RE FASTER, AREN’T YOU?”

Trying your best to refrain from laughing at the two arguing, you knew Bokuto would be the one to do it simply for the ego boost. “Okay take Mr. Octopus, you got this babe!”

Standing outside of Kenma’s streaming room, Bokuto took several deep breaths and prepared himself to run in and right back out.

“Speed. Speed. I am speed.”

You started giggling behind Kuroo, while he hyped himself up. Akaashi looked as if he was losing the remainder of his brain cells, listening to Bokuto recite quotes from the movie, Cars.

“Ok, Lightning Mcqueen…”

© All rights reserved by SHOKAMI. Do not modify, repost on any platforms, plagiarize, or claim as your own.

[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.

[crescentsteel]

When in Brazil - Heat

pairing: Hinata x f!reader x Oikawa genre: SMUT wc: 12.1k (I don’t have excuses anymore. Bear with me pls) warnings: threesome, double penetration (all holes involved byee), anal, oral (giving and receiving), degradation, fingering, creampie, unprotected sex, spanking, dumbification, squirting

[a/n]

For maximum experience, you have to read the series chronologically for context.

Can you believe it? This took me more than a month to finalize because the Oikawa-Hinata dynamic is fucking hard to polish.

I'm staying away from writing smut after this (don't quote me on this).

I need to bathe with holy water after this.

Enjoy, I guess?

Here’s the AO3 link in case tumblr is being shit and crashes on you. 

MASTERLIST

The day is almost over, yet it feels like the minutes are ticking by too slowly. You just want to go home. You’re in the diner but all you can think about is throwing yourself onto your mattress and sleeping off the weariness brought by the surge of customers on a Friday night. To make things worse, Shoyo is not doing deliveries today so you have to close the diner all on your own.

You release a burdened sigh before you plaster a rehearsed smile on your already exhausted face. When you are able to recollect yourself, you go back to the array of customers waiting to be attended to.

Amongst the seated crowd is an all too familiar tangerine that stood out effortlessly. He’s never been in your diner as a customer, so seeing him as such is a nice change.

He’s with someone and is so engrossed with their lively conversation that he doesn’t notice you at all. Despite that, it’s still nice to see him. You always see him working so hard that it’s comforting to watch him hanging out and having fun with others.

You’re probably staring because his eyes suddenly dart to you.

Of course, Shoyo being the sunshine that he is, he gives you a warm smile and a friendly wave that you take as your signal to come over to their table.

“Fancy seeing you as a customer, Shoyo,” you say just as affectionately as his smile is. “You brought a friend too,” you add as you turn your head to greet his company.

Once your eyes land on his friend, you feel the strain in your facial muscles as you try to maintain the smile you’re wearing.

It’s the fucking tourist!

“Ms. Local!” he yells out with familiarity and delight dancing in his surprised eyes.

“You know each other?” Shoyo asks.

You and the tourist speak at the same time.

“No.” “Yes.”

Shoyo looks back and forth at you and the tourist with apparent confusion.

“He must be mistaken.” Despite the panic that’s starting to rise in your chest, you’re able to maintain a calm facade. “I don’t know him,” you add confidently because it’s the truth. You don’t know him aside from two facts you got from his last time: he’s a volleyball player from Argentina and he’s a hot scum of a tourist.

You give the tourist the most hospitable smile you can muster, hoping that he’s actually decent enough to get the drift.

He looks at you from head to toe before an amused grin forms on his lips. He rests his elbow on the table and lazily places his cheek on his palm. “She’s right, Shorty pie. I was mistaken. I actually don’t know her too,” the tourist says as he regards you meaningfully.

Shorty pie? Did he just address Shoyo as shorty pie? How snotty! Shoyo is not that short.

“Y/n, this is the great king, I mean, Oikawa-san, I mean uhhhh,” Shoyo turns the tourist and says something in Japanese. You try to get cues as to what they’re talking about but the language is incredibly different. You might’ve found it rude but it was Shoyo who did it. You can’t imagine him saying anything bad about you.

The tourist faces you with a wide smile. “You can call me Tooru, Ms. Local,” he introduces himself.

“Her name is Y/n, Oikawa-san,” Shoyo kindly corrects Tooru, not a drop of suspicion present in his tone.

“Right! Y/n it is.” He continues staring at you with a very smug look on his face that makes you want to kick him out of the diner. But even if you were the owner, you can’t do it without letting Shoyo know why.

You distract yourself and turn your full attention to Shoyo. “So, what’re you boys getting?” you ask cordially.

“Let me ask him, y/n. It’s his treat.” Shoyo faces his annoying company. You softly tap your feet on the floor and refuse to get back to Tooru, hoping that it’ll still be Shoyo who’s going to order for the both of them.

“Y/n, hallooo.”

It’s taking everything in you not to roll your eyes and exhibit a grouchy behavior unacceptable towards a customer. Goddamn it, you can’t even sigh to calm yourself down.

You force yourself to face him and let out a high-pitched “Yes?” paired with a feigned smile.

He chuckles uninhibitedly before he answers. “Actually, I don’t know what to order. I just wanted you to look at me,” he admits without any trace of shame.

You try to laugh your irritation away but it comes out awkward and loud that some of the customers near their table turn their eyes at you.

You clear your throat to shake off the embarrassment. “Since you’re undecided, Sir. We’ll get you our three best sellers which will take no more than 20 minutes to prepare. I’ll be back when it’s ready,” you say all at once. You don’t wait for their response as you turn around and hurry back to the kitchen.

You tell the cook their order and excuse yourself to go to the restroom.

As soon as you close the door, you cover your face with both hands and pour a regret-filled squeal onto your palms.

You certainly have been complaining about life being dull and repetitive. But this is too much of a mayhem for you to handle!

Out of all the strangers you could’ve possibly slept with, it had to be someone Shoyo knows. Fuck! What if the tourist, what’s his name again? You were too busy panicking that you didn’t even catch his name when he said it. It was something like Tori? Taurus? Tooru!

Tooru, the scumbag tourist.

His name is not really that important though. What’s more pressing is the possibility that he might tell Shoyo.

You really like your lively and good-natured friend. You don’t want him to think you’re a lady of loose morals for sleeping around.

Loud knocks on the door pull you back to the reality that you need to get back out there. You can’t stay in the restroom room wishing you can turn back time, even though you do. You wish you just stayed home the night you crossed paths with the tourist.

You take a deep breath and step out.

“What took you so long? Orders are piling up in the kitchen,” your fellow waiter reprimands you.

“Sorry,” you apologize before hurrying to the kitchen. You take the cooked meals and get them to their respective tables.

When the tourist and Shoyo’s order comes in, you collect yourself for a quick second prior to heading back to where they are. Despite dreading each step you take towards them, you manage to get there with an amicable smile.

“Here you go,” you announce as you put down their plates.

Even when you try your best to ignore the tourist by focusing all your attention on Shoyo, you can feel his avid stare boring onto your face. You’re just glad he’s not talking at all, so you don’t have a reason to face him.

“Thanks, y/n!” Shoyo says appreciatively which eases your discomfort a bit from having Tooru ogle at you.

“Anytime,” you respond just as kindly and head back to the kitchen. A huge wave of relief hits you when you’re finally away from their table.

Oikawa follows the sight of your back as you leave. What were the chances he would see you again? You gave him nada after your sexy encounter that night, not even a name. So you both parted ways still as strangers. What’s even more amusing is the fact that you’re friends with Shorty.

The world just couldn’t get any smaller - seeing Shoyo out of pure coincidence on the beach. Then finding you here when you didn’t want to be found.

He turns his attention back at his former opponent and finds Shoyo’s gaze at you as well. The glimmer of fondness is blatant on his eyes as they linger on your back.

“Shoyo,” Oikawa calls out.

The short volleyball player instantly flicks his eyes back to Oikawa, oblivious that he was just gawking at you.

“Do you like her?” Oikawa asks, straight to the point.

A faint blush pops out of his tanned cheeks as his eyes go wide, an instant giveaway that Oikawa hit the bull’s eye.

Shoyo breaks into a flustered smile while he rubs the back of his neck from embarrassment. “Yeah. She’s a good friend,” he states, his eyes shining with less than innocent admiration as he looks back at the direction you disappeared in.

Holy shit. Holy Shit. You fucked Shorty too!

Upon the realization, a chuckle escapes his mouth before he can thwart it. No wonder you came up with that spot on guess before. You got the story from someone who did the same.

A small world indeed.

Shoyo is probably the good fuck you were talking about that night. Looking at the former middle blocker, he certainly didn’t think that Shoyo would have enough experience in the bedroom to be considered a “good fuck.”

Interesting.

“Why don’t you invite her to watch us play tomorrow?” he suggests.

Shoyo’s face brightens up with excitement from his suggestion. “Yeah! I think she’ll want to. I told her that I play volleyball and stuff.”

He leans back on his chair as he grins from Shoyo’s response.

“Should be fun, right?” he asks with hidden deviousness.

—

When Shoyo asked you to watch their game, your understanding by ‘their’ is him and another local he regularly plays with. Not him and the freaking tourist!

If you had known, you would have politely declined.

Now, you’re sitting there on the sands of Copacabana with nothing but foreboding as you watch them start the game with two other players.

You know close to nothing about volleyball. You only came out of curiosity because Shoyo talks about it like it’s his life. Maybe it is. He did come all the way from Japan to a foreign country all on his own.

And so did Tooru.

You’re just starting to wonder if he loves the sport just as much Shoyo does, but you don’t wonder for too long. He gives you the answer with the way he plays.

Knowing that you’ll be watching two grown men playing, you expected them to be show-offs impressing the girl they invited to watch. However, they don’t even spare you a glance after they get a point in.

You don’t take offense in it though. Instead, you find yourself growing envious of them. Their personalities are so different but the look of passion and determination is burning similarly not just on their faces, but on their whole being.

Tooru is still a tricky scum in your eyes. But when he’s playing, he looks larger than life and brimming with pride and dignity. His cocky smirk is still there, but it’s more of an affirmation to himself and Shoyo that they’re doing hell of a good teamwork.

Shoyo, on the other hand, is all smiles and easy going everytime you talk to him. He still is inside the sandy court, but he’s intensely focused and totally lost in the game that sometimes, very briefly, he almost seems scary.

It’s so strange. One second they’re totally immersed and serious, then on the next they’re suddenly grinning and laughing even if they didn’t score a point.

You’d think they were teammates before from how they seem to communicate without really saying anything. But if they were then, Shoyo would have undoubtedly told you about him.

When the game ends, the two of them share victorious smiles. Why wouldn’t they? They did snatch the game. They’re so earnest and driven that you can’t help but be in awe, despite the one of them being real shady.

They both head towards your direction, Shoyo almost running towards you while Tooru striding slowly with pride.

Your attention inevitably goes to the orange ball of energy first. “Were you watching, y/n?” he asks while trying to catch his breath. He must’ve been really absorbed in the game that he didn’t notice you arrive earlier.

“You did great, Shoyo!” you sincerely applaud him as the tourist catches up to where you are.

“You too, uhh, Tooru,” you commend him awkwardly. Until now, you’ve only called him ‘tourist,’ so saying his actual name feels weird.

“I didn’t expect you’d let me toss to you, Oikawa-san,” Shoyo says with the thrill of the game still oozing from him.

“Would be a waste if we don’t try something totally new when the opportunity is there,” Tooru responds just as high-spiritedly, but you feel off about how he calls Shoyo.

“Why do you let him call you such names?” you ask Shoyo even when the tourist is right beside him.

Shoyo just laughs it off, obviously not minding the rude nicknames. “It’s actually comforting, y/n. It reminds me of home,” he says with a nostalgic smile that makes you feel bad about his situation. He misses home so much that even rude nicknames are welcome because it brings him closer to it.

“Should I call you ‘Shorty’ too?” you sincerely ask but he only grimaces. Meanwhile, Tooru laughs to his heart’s content.

“Sorry! I thought you’d like it.”

“Not from you, y/n,” Shoyo sulks a little, but buries the misunderstanding immediately. “Anyways, should I walk you home tonight?”

You appreciate the thought. It has been a while since you had the pleasure of his company.

“Yea, please do.”

“Can I come?” the tourist butts in, reminding you that he’s also there.

“Aren’t your teammates waiting for you?” you ask, subtly shooing him away. You saw the two men he was talking to earlier. Judging from the language they spoke, which was undoubtedly Spanish, and their athletic build, you concluded they were his teammates.

“Nope. I asked them to go ahead,” he shrugs and flashes you that too-charming smile he has.

“Oh, why?” you ask amicably to hide your distrust of him.

“It’s my last night here and I thought, why not make friends with a local?”

You don’t buy it, but it would seem strange to Shoyo if you blatantly refuse Tooru. In Shoyo’s eyes, you and Tooru haven’t met before. It would be suspicious for you to be so wary of him when he’s been ‘nice’ when Shoyo’s around.

So you agree. You won’t see him anymore after tonight anyways. A walk home won’t do any harm.

When you reach your place, only then it dawns on you that if you invite Shoyo inside, you’d have to offer the same invitation to the tourist out of common courtesy.  You really want to let Shoyo in, but if they come in pairs, you’d rather invite your friend another night.

Your turn around and what awaits you is Shoyo’s hopeful, hazel orbs.

Meu Deus, how can you refuse him when he’s looking at you like that?

--

You go to the kitchen to grab one glass of water for each of the two men in your living room.

You tell yourself that everything’s all good and harmless when you invited them in. If it was Tooru only, it would’ve been a different story. You wouldn’t have even allowed him to walk you home.

But since Shoyo is there, you feel somewhat safe. The tourist might be douchey but surely he won’t do anything with your tangerine friend around. They won’t stay long anyways, so it should be fine.

You close your fridge when you hear Shoyo’s familiar footsteps.

“Y/n?” He stops briefly on his tracks when you turn to him.

“Yeah?” you respond before he continues making his way to you. “What’s wrong?”

He’s only a step away when his profile reveals a somber expression he’s never shown you before. “Did you really do it with Oikawa-san?”

You feel the rapid increase of your heartbeat from his question. Did Tooru tell him about it while you were in the kitchen? To think that you were starting to believe that the tourist is not as bad as you thought since he’s been amenable the whole night. He proves you wrong before you actually believe that idea.

Now you have no choice but to admit it to Shoyo because you don’t have the heart to lie to him.

“It’s okay, y/n. He told me he tricked you into it,” he tells you with a sad yet understanding look on his face.

“Are you… disappointed at me?” you ask guiltily.

He shakes his head instantly. “No, but...” He averts his eyes downwards, dejection clear and evident on them. “We’re not going to do it anymore, aren’t we?” His tone drops woefully with his assumption.

Oh goodness, he’s so adorable. It’s like one of his favorite things was taken away from him. You would’ve dragged him in your room right now to prove him wrong if it isn’t for your other visitor in the living room.

Instead, you grab his hand and pull him closer to you as you lean back on the counter. You cup his chin to raise his gaze back to you.

“I missed you,” you tell him rather than directly answering his question. You move your hand from his chin to his cheek before you claim his lips. Like an automatic response, he envelops his hands around your waist.

He really is the sun, not only bringing rays of joy to you, but also heats you up all the way to sinful madness.

His hands drop down your behind and gropes them to draw you towards his body, letting you know how excited he’s getting just from kissing and holding you.

You still haven’t had your fill of his lips when he lets go of yours. “Did you feel good with him, y/n?” he asks, centimeters away from your mouth.

You pull back slightly from surprise. “Why are you asking that?” You try to decipher what he’s thinking but you can only see his need for you as you stare at him.

“I want to know how to make you feel better,” he says as an ounce of insecurity bares itself for you to see. You drape your hand from his neck down to his chest, caressing the broadness of it. “You already know how to make me feel good, Shoyo,” you say as you offer him a gentle smile.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he persists.

You sigh when you realize that he’s not going to let this go unless you answer him. “I don’t like him, but yeaa... it felt good,” you look away as soon as you admit it. You don’t know how he’ll react, but you know that wouldn’t be able to take it if he looks at you with disappointment or disgust.

To your surprise, he pulls you close again and rests his cheek against yours. He asks something too softly -- something you wouldn’t hear had he not been standing so close. “Can I watch him do it?”

You flinch away from his hold with eyes wide from the appalling question. “What?!”

Shoyo becomes alarmed at your reaction and completely releases you. “But if you don’t want to, it’s fine!”

He waves hands mid-air, panicking at how aghast you are from what he said. “We just thought it would feel good for you. Ahhhh.” He rubs his face with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, y/n. I’m getting way ahead of myself,” he apologizes with a regretful look.

Tooru must have told him prior to tonight. If they talked about you to that extent, the little time they had in your living room wouldn’t have been enough. Shoyo knew even while they were playing and he didn’t treat you differently.

Meanwhile, that tourist was acting all goody-goody because he’d already told your friend that you two fucked. You only become more annoyed when you realize that the idea couldn’t have possibly come from your adored friend.

You squint at Shoyo as you ask him. “He put you up to this, didn’t he?”

Shoyo looks up, genuinely unsure how to answer you. “Uhh. He said I could learn a thing or two from him.”

You laugh dryly from the lack of words that could describe your vexation towards Tooru. The audacity of that fucking tourist! How dare he think that he’s any better than Shoyo. How dare he make Shoyo believe that he’s the lesser sex partner.

“Y/n?” Shoyo must have noticed your silent fury because he looks concerned when he returns his gaze to you.

You give him a too-sweet grin despite the exasperation boiling in your chest. “You know what? He can join, but he’ll be the one watching.”

You drag Shoyo back to the living room, ignoring him as he utters words of disbelief that you’re too mad to understand.

When you meet Tooru’s gaze, he gives you a knowing smile which you return with a resentful one.

“Shoyo, can you go to my bedroom first? We’ll be there soon,” you say while you keep your eyes trained on Tooru.

“Can’t I know what you’re going to talk about?” Shoyo sounds almost sulking, but you don’t deter. You turn to him with a pout of your own.

“I promise we’ll be there soon, mkay?” You stroke his hand which you’re still holding.

Shoyo nods and obediently heads inside your room.

You march to Tooru and yank his collar. Despite being surprised by your action, he looks pleased with your aggressiveness.

“Congratulations, Tourist. You successfully earned yourself a threesome,” you spit out, but he only smiles with satisfaction as you just consented to what he’s probably going for. “Now listen to me and listen well. You will be the one doing the watching. You will remain seated while you watch Shoyo fuck me. You don’t get to join unless I let you. Do whatever you want - jack off, drool, have a seizure, I don’t give a shit. But if you make yourself cum, you don’t get to touch me. Got that?”

He only blinks at your litany of rules, but you trust him to be smart enough to get that in one go. Quickly enough, he lets out a short whistle as he reiterates your rules in just one sentence.  

“Basically, no touching and no cumming from me, right?” he states with a pleased grin that makes you want to punch his pretty face.

But you have better plans, so you let him go and join Shoyo in the bedroom. You don’t have to tell Tooru to follow. He stands up on his own and heads for the bedroom a few steps behind you.

When you get in your room, you find Shoyo sitting at the edge of your bed. He looks so worried, looking at his feet while fiddling with his hands. You feel bad that you kind left him out in the dark because you’re too pissed at the tourist’s presumptuousness.

You sit beside Shoyo and grab his hand. He eyes you fretfully, obviously addled at what’s going to happen next. Rather than explaining, you cup his cheek and moor your mouth to his. You straddle him while your other hand clutches his hair. His palms immediately get underneath your shirt, skimming the bare skin of your sides while your lips ravage one another.

Shoyo suddenly pulls back, his confusion now mixed with lust as he looks up at you. “What about Oikawa-san?” he huffs.

“Don’t mind him,” you mutter on his lips as you descend on them once again.

Shoyo doesn’t ask further, discarding his qualms earlier and heeding your instruction like the good guy he is. He rids you of the top you’re wearing, his palm immediately covering the softness of your clad breast while his mouth seeks the weak spot on your neck. When he does find it, you reward him by pressing your groin against his.

You can’t help but laugh a little at how his arousal is already poking beneath his shorts. “You’re already hard, Shoyo.”

He doesn’t respond and proceeds to unclasp your bra that’s preventing him from feeling your bare breasts.

Like he always does, he takes a moment to revel at your half nakedness like it’s the first time he’s seeing you as such. And like every time he does it, he never fails to make you feel like you a marvel to look at.

“So pretty,” he murmurs to himself.

He plants fervid kisses on your chest until his mouth captures a perk bud. The action causes you to grind on his lap, attending to the ache that’s settling in your groin.

You itch to roam your hands on his body and groans with disappointment that it isn’t his skin you’re touching. He hears it and does you a favor by quickly discarding his muscle tee.

“Shoyo,” you whisper with brewing desire as your hands travel from his neck down to his chest.

“Yes?” he asks, completely bewitched even when you’re only half naked.

“I really missed you.”

You feel his erection grow even more while his face shines with adulation from your statement. He grips both cheeks of your ass and takes it upon himself to roll your hips again on his bulge.

“I missed you too, y/n,” he says before resuming what his mouth was doing earlier: devotedly twirling his tongue around one hardened bud while his fingers fiddle with the other. With already several visits from him after work hours, he’s well familiar with how you want to be had.

He demonstrates so by gently tugging your nipples with his teeth and fingers, making you cry out from the slight pang that heightened your craving for more.

You’re reminded that someone else is in the room when your wooden chair creaks audibly for you to hear. Shoyo is doing such a great job of taking you to a scandalous place far away from your mundane room that you almost forget that Tooru is there.

You take one quick look at the pretty guy sitting on your chair. He’s doing as he’s told and is watching intently, particularly at where Shoyo’s mouth is.

As much as you want to totally lose yourself in the sensation of Shoyo’s hands and mouth, you have to show Tooru what he missed on that one night of encounter.

You clutch Shoyo’s hair to pull him away from your body, earning yourself a baffled Shoyo when you get off his lap. You just smile reassuringly at him as you get on your knees. You try to lug his shorts down but fails as he remains seated, totally beguiled at the sight of you kneeling down for him.

You look up to him doe-eyed as you ask him, “Won’t you help me a little here, Shoyo?”

He snaps out of his daze from your question. “Ah! Yes, yes. Sorry.” He does the work for you and hurriedly pulls his shorts and undergarments down.

You squirm on your knees at the sight of his swollen cock. It’s been a while since you did it with him that you find yourself more than eager to have him inside you again; whether in your mouth or somewhere further down, you can’t decide.

Once again, the tourist distracts you when he lets out a whistle. “Damn. Who knew?”

You can’t help but agree with him. When you first saw Shoyo’s size, you were shocked as well. He, however, doesn’t get what Tooru is talking about. He eyes Tooru worriedly as he asks confusedly, “What?”

Tooru doesn’t answer Shoyo and just grins at him, so he turns to you instead. “What’s he talking about, y/n?”

You respond by gripping the base of his cock and taking him slowly in your mouth. You hear him hiss as his hand grabs the back of your head.

“Ahhh. So warm.”

You look at him and find him with lips parted and eyes shut as he relishes the way you gradually swallow his size.

Once your lips reach the hilt of his shaft, you drag your lips back up and release his cock. Instead of sucking it again, you tease him by flicking your tongue on his tip, twirling the hot, moist muscle around it whenever you feel like it.

Shoyo clutches your hair, oblivious to the strength he put behind it as he unknowingly forces you to meet his pleading eyes.

“Suck it again please,” he asks nicely despite his tight grip on your hair.

You smile tenderly at him, tracing the length of his cock with your tongue before engulfing it once again with your mouth. As you descend on him, you lock eyes with Tooru, making sure that he’s watching how devoutly you’re tending to Shoyo’s desires.

Satisfaction kicks in when you notice the undeniable bulge on his shorts as he keeps his eyes on you and Shoyo. This is supposed to be a show for him, but you feel yourself getting wetter from Shoyo’s whines and how Tooru is starting to palm his erection above the fabric of his shorts.

Shoyo takes hold of your attention again when he starts thrusting against your mouth, causing you to whimper on his dick. You squeeze his thighs to signal him to slow down. He stops completely, letting you withdraw away so you can breathe.

He opens his eyes and trails his hand from the back of your head to your cheek. “Sorry, y/n. It’s starting to feel really good,” he explains apologetically.

You offer him a delicate smile right before you descend your mouth on the whole of his cock in one swift motion, the tip of his cock tickling the back of your throat.

“ Ah! ” He throws his head back from the sudden movement.

“Shit,” you hear the man seated across the foot of the bed curse. You turn your eyes on him and witness how he frees his bulge from his shorts. He fists it slowly, matching the bob of your head on Shoyo’s dick. You quicken your pace and his hand mirrors it as well.

You unzip your shorts, unable to help yourself.  Without bothering to remove them, you slip your hands in and touch the moistness of your slit. You moan at Shoyo’s cock as you feel the pads of your fingers on your slick arousal.

“Stop touching yourself, y/n. I’ll do it with my mouth later. Make me feel good first.” Uncontained desire is swimming on Shoyo’s orbs as he stares at you while his mouth pants  with need.

You pull out your hand and plant it on the side of his thigh as you suck faster, hoping that he’ll cum soon so his tongue can replace what your fingers were doing.

Your pussy is throbbing so hard from how he’s learning so well. He pulled the same card you did the first time you sucked him off and it’s turning you on even more that you have to clench your thighs together just so you can ease your arousal a little bit.

“Let me do it,” you hear Tooru’s breathy suggestion. You’re not surprised that he noticed. After all, watching is all he’s allowed to do.

Shoyo gently pulls your head back as he asks, “Do you want him to?”

With his dick still stuffed in your mouth, you shake your head to answer ‘no.’ You want to alleviate the delicious tension between your legs, but you want Tooru to remain where he’s seated for a while more.

“I can do it well, y/n. I’ll trace my tongue on your cunt the way my fingers did on that beach. Let me taste you. I’ll get you even wetter with my mouth.”

You grip Shoyo’s thighs as you moan on his dick from Tooru’s lewd words. You didn’t want him to touch you yet, but the visceral imagery he provided you is making your lubricious needs unbearable.

You look at Tooru as you tell him with a wavering voice, “Come here.”

“Finally,” he says as he tucks his rigid member back in his shorts and rushes to where you are.

Shoyo helps you stand up and positions your back against the headboard of your bed. Meanwhile, you feel Oikawa’s hands grasp the seams of your shorts.

You’ve already unzipped it earlier so all he needs to do is pull it down, which he easily does as you lift your hips up for him.

“Please don’t forget I’m here, y/n,” Shoyo reminds you with a sullen tone.

Oikawa spreads your legs while you weakly grab Shoyo’s dick. You pump him a few times before taking him again in your mouth. At the same time, Tooru gives your already moist slit a well drawn out lick.

Your groan vibrates on Shoyo’s cock as your thighs involuntarily press together. Strong hands placed on both thighs prevent them from doing so as Tooru swirls his tongue on your throbbing clit.

The delicious strokes of his tongue lapping up your juices are incredibly distracting, making you a drooling mess on Shoyo’s cock. You grip his shaft to regain some control as you start quickening the bob of your head, your fingers hitting your lips as you take him fast and deep.

Tooru distracts you even further when he roughly pushes two fingers in without any warning.  “Oh my, would you look at that?” He laughs right between your legs. “My two fingers easily got in,” he says and starts languidly pulling them in and out of you.

You want to say something but Shoyo beats you to it. “Please don’t stop, y/n. I’m about to-uugghh .”

He starts taking shallow breaths while he keeps his hazy eyes on you. “Can I cum in your… in your mouth?” he asks as he starts staggering his hips faster than the bob of your head.

You give him a small nod, trying your very best to continue sucking him even though Tooru’s fingers are sending you to another kind of delirium.

Shoyo’s moans permeate the air as his orgasm erupts in your right in your mouth. “ Ahh, ahhhh, y/n, am cumming ,” he says before his hand goes to the back of your head and shoves his length at your throat, forcing you to swallow the entirety of his load.

“Holy shit,” you hear Tooru say as he stills his fingers inside you.

Shoyo eases his grip on your hair as he releases a satisfied huff. Your jaw feels relief as you remove your mouth off his member.

He takes his seat at the bed as he steadies himself again.

“I didn’t think you’d be one to swallow.” You turn to Tooru and see him no longer situated in front of your crotch.

He stands up and takes off all his clothes without any shame. You stare at his glorious nakedness, acknowledging that the last time’s encounter did not allow you any of the view he’s currently gracing you with.

His face isn’t the only pretty thing about him, it’s everything. And you can tell he knows it with how proud his strides are as he makes his way beside you.

Your dazed eyes follow him as he rests his back on the headboard.

“This is when you sit on my cock, y/n,” he says with that fraudulent smile of his. He’s so damn infuriating, yet, you can’t deny that you want to do exactly as he said. His tongue on your dripping pussy did nothing but fan the flickers of arousal in your stomach, so even if you still despise him, you don’t mind being fucked by him. You already know he’s not going to disappoint anyway.

You climb on top of him with an irritated expression and a soaked cunt that coats the tip of his member. “Please stop talking. Don’t make me hate myself for being horny over you,” you state almost resignedly. Levity spreads across his gorgeous face as a laugh starts to rumble from his throat.

“You’re so funny, y/n! I knew I made the right choice to fuck you that night,” he says with mirthful smile. You ignore him completely, tuning out his fatuousness as you align your entrance to his cock that’s been poking at you.

You anchor yourself with one hand on his shoulder while your other seizes his member for you to descend on.

“Oh no no no~” He grips your hips and stops you. “Why are you in a hurry? We have all night, don’t we?” He asks as he trails his fingers on the sides of your hip, effectively heightening your wanton desire to be stuffed by him.

You shake your head ferociously as you remember how intense he teased you and edged you on the beach. “None of that teasing crap anymore,” you say as an infuriated plea.

“Hmmm, “ he hums as he thinks about your belligerent request. “Kiss me first,” he says in a light tone but you hear the smidge of authority behind it. You gladly oblige as you hurriedly reach for his mouth.

Replicating what he did with his fingers, he fastens his grasp on your hips and rams you down on his cock. Your moan falls on his mouth mixed with his own. He pulls away from your lips, a string of translucent liquid connecting his to yours.

“Ahh, Ms. Local. You look so hot with that lewd expression on your face,” he says, his eyes hazy with his own dark, sinful yet alluring desires. “Since you wanted to be fucked so bad, why don’t you move for us?” he asks before he goes for that exact spot on your neck that makes you weak.

You start grinding against him, taking your time to revel at the feeling of his cock rubbing against your dewy insides. He startles your slow rhythm when you feel the sharp sting of his palm on one ass cheek.

You yelp out from the sudden pang burning on your skin. “Seriously, y/n? That’s really all you got?” he taunts while his hand on the other cheek caresses it, a soft warning that the same slap is about to hit it too.

Fuck. What even gave you the idea that you can take charge of this asshole? You kinda feel stupid now from your naivety and from how he’s making you lose yourself from the painful delight he just inflicted on you.

“Oikawa-san! Why are you hitting her?” Shoyo voices out his concern which makes Tooru’s hand still from its circular caresses over it.

Tooru weaves his head to the side to look at Shoyo while you slouch and rest your head on Tooru’s shoulders.

“You don��t?” he asks inquisitively to the other naked man on your bed.

“Why would I do that? I don’t want to hurt her,” Shoyo responds out of genuine concern that it makes your heart melt despite being impaled with the cock of another guy.

Tooru chuckles at his innocence before inviting him, “Sit beside us and watch, Shoyo.”

You feel the shift of the cushion beside you, indicating that Shoyo had followed Tooru’s suggestion.

“Ready to show your precious Shoyo how perverted you are?” Tooru whispers to you, delivering a wet stripe on your ear.

You struggle to hide your face on his shoulders as you answer him with a quivering “no.” The spank that follows is harder than the previous one, forcing you to throw your head back as you wobble from the pain.

“See, Shoyo-kun?” Tooru turns to your friend, treating you like an educational material for him to learn from. Meanwhile, the tangerine remains silent and eyes you with awe from discovering this side of you that even you weren’t aware of.

Your mouth gapes open while you try to think of something to explain yourself to Shoyo as you meet his gaze. Tooru makes use of the opportunity and sticks in his fingers inside your mouth.

You turn your attention to Tooru, a bunch of incoherent words coming from how he’s violating your wet cavern with his digits. Your plan to defend yourself to Shoyo is discarded when Tooru moves your hips against him with just one hand.

You go with the rhythm he’s setting while he thrusts his fingers inside your mouth.

“Hhhrrrmmm ,” you moan disorderly on his slender digits, making its owner chuckle with grisly amusement.

“She likes it,” Shoyo comments like he’s figured out what Tooru was talking about.

“Damn right she does.” Tooru presses his pads firmly on your tongue, coercing you to open your mouth wider. Then he trails his digits down, leaving your tongue lolling out of your mouth while his drenched fingers turn their attention to one nipple. To reinforce his point further, he pinches it, eliciting a pained groan from you as you shut your eyes.

“Wanna try for yourself, Shoyo-kun?” Tooru asks as he lays his grip back on your butt.

With your eyes closed, you don’t see how he reacts. You just feel him settle himself kneeling behind you and a different set of thicker fingers replace Tooru’s.

“Like this?” You can tell that it’s not you Shoyo’s talking to with how he’s obstructing your mouth from forming anything comprehensible. You feel the other set of digits find their way on your tits, making use of the slick that Tooru gathered from your mouth and fiddle with it.

“Do you feel good like this, y/n?”

You shudder from the feel of Shoyo’s lips on your ears. As always, he never fails to ask for validation if he’s making you feel good enough. At the same time, Tooru starts picking up the pace of how he’s rolling your hips against him, rendering you unable to respond to Shoyo’s question.

You can only interchange moans and whines from the different sources of pleasure swiftly leading you to grasp the edges of your climax.

Shoyo continues adoring you with his fingers at work and his mouth trailing zealous kisses from the back of your ear to the column of your neck. You feel his cock raging once again as it rubs on your ass while Tooru guides your pelvis to grind on him.

“Shoyoeeehhmmmm .”

He removes his fingers off your mouth and plays with your other nipple that’s been craving for attention. His tongue takes the place of his fingers as he slides it inside your mouth while he kneads your supple mounds. He starts grinding on your back as well, taking whatever pleasure he can get from the friction.

“Don’t forget I’m here too,” Tooru harshly reminds you of his presence when he puts a thumb over your clit and rubs the bud in brutal circles.

You tear your mouth away from Shoyo’s to cry out from the added stimulation that builds on to the pile of pleasure that’s about to explode.

Then, Tooru cuts all those coming from him, lets go of your hips and takes his thumb off your clit.

Even though Shoyo’s doing a great job of making feel good, it only intensifies your need for a release, not provide it.

“Why did you stop?” you mewl with the vehement need for him to make you cum.

“We’ve played this game before, can’t you tell?” he taunts aggravatingly because you remember it too well - how he made a complete mess out of you in public just to make you beg for him. You try to defy him by gyrating on your own, but the firmness of his hands lets you stay in place.

You groan with defeat. “Do you want me to beg again?”

He nods agreeably. “Beg for Shoyo to fuck you instead.”

You're taken aback by his request. You’ve never actually begged Shoyo the way you pleaded for Tooru because Shoyo always makes sure he gives you the pleasure you seek by asking nicely.

“Y/n, you don’t have to,” your friend counters his old rival’s order. Tooru slams a palm on your ass again before pushing his thumb on your clit. “Beg for him or this will go on for a while,” he warns.

You lean your head back on Shoyo’s shoulder as you look at him with lustful urgency. “Shoyo, please fuck me,” you beg with frustration. “Let me get a condom,” Shoyo says, and although you appreciate the thought, you halt him before he can leave the bed.

“I need you now. I need your cock inside me. Make me cum with it. Please …”

You feel his arousal pulsate at your back from your plea. Tooru lets go of his hold on you while Shoyo pulls you away to get you on top of him instead. Shoyo’s girth is thicker than the tourist’s so when he prods your entrance, you hiss at the additional stretch he’s giving you.

“You okay?” Shoyo utters caringly as he sweeps the strands of hair stuck on your face. You give him a frail nod as your pussy tries to accommodate his girth. When he bottoms out, you don’t give yourself time to adjust and hastily chase for the gratification Tooru denied you of.

Shoyo grabs you to lie right on his chest as you bounce rigorously on his cock.

“Shooyooooo, haaaa . I’m gonna--”

A spank lands on one butt cheek - a rough, sharp hit that instigates tears to prickle on the corner of your eyes from the sting, the very same hit that topples you over the edge of ecstasy. When your body begins thrashing on top of him, he continues moving for you, letting you ride the apex of your orgasm to its maximum.

“Y/n, uughhh, you’re clenching on me. Can I keep moving?”

He asks while rocking your hips to keep them moving. You want to tell him to wait for a good while, give you a minute for a break, but you’re too breathless to speak.

Tooru answers for you though. “Yes, Shoyo-kun. Keep moving, just move a bit slower.”

Damn. Will he ever say anything that you actually agree on? You’re just thankful that at least he made Shoyo slow down. He grabs your waist and hoists you up from Shoyo’s chest. “How’s it feel to be spanked by your dear friend, y/n?”

You’re a bit spent from your orgasm, but he’s overbearing that you just had to say something. “You’re a scumbag,” you puff angrily.

“I know,” he smiles sweetly before capturing your mouth while he leads your hand to his stiff member. He covers your hand with his and basically uses it to jack himself off.

“You could’ve had this taken care of earlier,” you whisper. He could’ve just continued fucking you until he got off, but for some reason, he made you do it with Shoyo.

“I have other things in mind.”

You’re about to ask what but Shoyo suddenly hits a spot that makes you grab onto Tooru for support. “Fuuuck,” you moan while looking at Shoyo helplessly. You just came, but his slow plunges are quickly reviving your crude desires.

He lets his hands mendear all over your body, worshipping every nook, every curve he can lay his hands on given how he’s lying beneath you. Tooru lets you go to let you fall back onto Shoyo’s embrace.

Shoyo stops moving you and does the work himself, plunging his thick cock inside you faster - a familiar feeling that always gets you reeling from his intensity.

What isn’t familiar is the prodding of something on an opening that’s never been touched. You harshly snap your gaze to Tooru to check what the hell he’s doing this time. When your eyes make contact with each other, he waves at you while his other hand rests on your ass.

“This will be awesome, I swear,” he assures you with no hint of sincerity. You see him spit on your ass before inserting one finger in your rear.

It’s totally new to you, a strange sensation to be penetrated in that particular entrance. But Shoyo’s thrusts are too good of a distraction that it weirdly adds to the sensation he’s providing.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re feeling good,” Shoyo says with his stare boring on your face.

Goddamn. One who reveres you and one who toys with you, how will this night end for you? Your thoughts get all frenzied up when you feel him add another finger in.

“It feels weird, Tooru! One is enough,” you tell him even with your attention all on Shoyo and the complete adoration he has on his face.

“Okiee,” Tooru says amiably, then inserts a third digit in your tightening hole. “There, one more just like you said,” he announces proudly as he slowly drives three fingers inside your ass.

Your breathing starts to get uneven from the foreign feeling. “Shoyo, I feel weird,” you turn to him.

“Should I ask him to stop?” he asks as he cups your face with sympathy.

“Yeaah aaaaaaaaahhhhhh, ohh shit.”  A different kind of pleasure assaults you when Tooru starts pumping his digits unforgivingly.

Shoyo interprets your moan as discomfort as he tells Tooru to stop. “I think she’s in pain, Oikawa-san.”

Tooru acknowledges Shoyo’s statement and stops. “Don’t move too, Shorty.” Shoyo immediately complies but asks, “Why?”

You get the answer when something bigger and thicker than his fingers penetrate your back entrance.

Oikawa winces at the first two inches he sinks in you. You’re so fucking tight that he can surmise it’s your first time to be taken in this hole. Shit, it’s already clamping on him despite not being even halfway in.

He nudges further, managing to shove in almost his whole length but that’s when you get alarmed. “Tooru, no more, please,” you plead with discomfort gleaming clearly on your features.

“Shoyo, move again.” He ignores you, but if you still don’t relax after this, he’ll pull out. Fuck. Shorty better does the trick. He’s been waiting for this. That’s why he’s been holding back and letting you and Shoyo have all the fun.

Fortunately, you do loosen up as Shoyo starts to rock himself inside you again. “I-I’m.. haaa,” you whine with pleasure more than pain.

Hell yeah. It would’ve been a waste if he doesn’t get to experience your ass. He was tempted to play with it that night on the beach, but the location did not permit him to do all the things he wanted to do to you, including this.

But no matter, he has the chance now, even better, Shorty pie is here to help him soothe you.

His hands wander on your chest, groping their softness before they travel down to the sides of your waist, then to your hips. Then, he rams his remaining length inside your tight gummy walls.

He can almost hear your throat scratch from the loud scream that came from it. “What did you do, Oikawa-san?!”

Tooru wipes a sweat from his forehead as he answers. “Relax, I just stuck my cock in her butt that’s all.”

“What?! No wonder she’s feeling weird. Why did you even do that?”

He grins at Shoyo’s lack of experience for these things, and also at you who seem to think that Shoyo knows how to make you feel good. To be fair, Shorty is very well familiar with your body and knows how you want to be held and to be fucked.

But nothing more than that. Shoyo obviously did not push for anything more than what you told and showed him.

Lucky for both of you, he’s there to expand your horizons.

“Yes, Shoyo. You can fuck someone in the ass,” he enlightens the ginger as he starts shoving his cock in and out to tend to his own needs.

“How does it feel, y/n?” he asks you. You turn your head back to him with that hateful yet intoxicated look in your eyes and he already knows that your ass will be for him to wreck tonight.

“I d-don’t like- mmmm -it,” you protest with a frail voice, but Tooru doesn’t bother to stop. Rather, he speeds up.

It’s definitely strange for you, being stuffed by two men whose thrusts are distinct from the other. You’d hear and feel the slap of skin to skin contact when Shoyo buries himself inside you, but when he pulls back it’s followed by Tooru fully sinking himself in your ass.

It’s absurd and absolutely lecherous, yet it feels fucking incredible. They’re stretching both holes while you can do nothing but grasp at Shoyo’s chest as you hear their groans and mewls taint your room.

“Do you really not like it?” Shoyo whispers for only you to hear.

The genuine care in his eyes makes you tell him the truth. “It feels,” you bite your lip when Tooru’s moans become louder as he pounds your ass faster. “G-good, Shoyo. Feels s-so good,” you somehow manage to finish speaking despite your head starting to get clouded from frenzy.

Hinata’s never felt anything like this before either. He can feel Oikawa inside you with that flimsy muscle that separates your two holes. Your little pussy feels more snug against him, swallowing his dick tighter for him to revel on.

But the look on your face tells him that this feels way more intense for you than for him. Your pupils are blown out, your cheeks are flushed, and you’re almost drooling at his chest while you claw on him. It’s so sexy -- the sexiest expression he’s ever seen from you. He can cum just from this, but he can’t help but wonder.

“Oikawa-san. I want to see,” he stops moving altogether when he tells the setter.

You widen your eyes at him. You probably don’t like his idea, but he can only apologize for his curiosity is getting the best of him.

He pulls out from you and watches Oikawa grab you to rest on his chest. Oikawa leans against your headboard and spreads your legs to indulge Hinata the view he requested.

“Here you go, Shorty-pie. I’ll slow down for you,” Oikawa says.

Hinata’s attention is all on your ass being spread out by Oikawa’s dick. It’s so obscene. He never imagined you could be fucked there. If he knew, he would have tried it himself.

“Shoyo, don’t look at me,” you plead.

His eyes shoot up to your embarrassed face, not understanding why. You look fantastic like this: sprawled out for him to see everything. our rear being defiled, your pussy dripping and gaping at nothing, your body glistening with sweat, and that erotic expression you have.

“Uhhhh, ” you shut your eyes when Oikawa starts toying with both your boobs as he continues thrusting at you.

“Don’t be so stingy, y/n. Shoyo wants to see you like this,” then he turns to Hinata. “Isn’t she so slutty, Shoyo-kun?”

“I’m not-”

A slap on your clit stops you from finishing your sentence. Your cunt starts clenching on its own from the sting. “Fuck, y/n. Even your ass is throbbing from that. You really like being hurt, don’t you?”

He says all that while his middle finger rubs circles on your hard nub. God, your mind is in ruin from this slow, venereal torture Tooru is subjecting you to.

“I d-don’t,” you pant heavily from the heavy ache in the pit of your stomach.

Another slap hits your cunt, ripping a shrill whine from you, followed by a slew of whimpers when his fingers fondle with your clit again. “What’s that again?” Oikawa hums on your neck.

“I’m a slut! I’m a slutty girl, so please. Please don’t stop again,” you admit defeatedly, overwhelmed by the intense craving to be fucked properly.

“See, Shoyo-kun? Your good friend over here is a pervert who has a talent for begging.”

You look at Shoyo, ready for the scandalized and disgusted look on his face. But what you see is mesmerized hunger with his eyes on your body.

“I want to fuck her ass too, Oikawa-san.”

Tooru takes out his dick as Shoyo requested. “Go ahead, Shorty.”

Shoyo grips your knees and pushes them back a little before he probes your entrance. Oikawa tilts your face to his and engages you with a messy kiss where he darts his tongue inside your mouth right off the bat.

Then he puts his hands back to work, one on your tit and the other on your pussy, distracting you from the pain of Shoyo’s size penetrating your other entrance.

“It’s so big,” you whimper on Tooru’s mouth, which makes him stop all his ministrations and retreat a bit. “Geez, y/n. Are you trying to insult me?”

“N-no, it’s just uughhh.” You feel the whole of Shoyo’s length inside your rear end.

“Does it feel good, y/n?” he asks even though he’s already moving in and out of you with less sympathy than he used to have as he doesn’t let you adjust to him. And when you’re finally used to his girth, he pulls out completely and hammers it inside your sopping pussy.

He thrusts a few times then gets back to your ass again. He does this several times, the pleasure barely setting in on one hole, then proceeds to fucking the other before it feels too good for you.

“Shit, Shoyo. That’s fucking hot. Our y/n here loves it. Look at her.” Just as he’s ogling at you, you watch him as well. He’s completely lost in it, his eyes trained on where your bodies are connected, not aware that he’s driving you mad with the way he’s abusing two holes interchangeably.

“Shoyo…”

“What?” His voice is gruff as his alternating thrusts are getting faster, making you squirm on Oikawa’s chest for you can’t decide what you want to tell him. You don’t know if you want Shoyo to fuck your cunt or your rear.

You’d hate to admit it, especially with Tooru holding you captive in his hold, but you want both caverns stuffed to the brim.

“Can you choose one? I want to fuck her too, Shorty,” Tooru’s voice is laced with need which wasn’t there earlier. Finally, you agree with him on something. It pops off Shoyo’s enthralled selfish state of gratifying his pleasure alone.

“My bad,” Shoyo mutters before slotting his cock deep inside your pussy, choosing it for him to ravage on, which leaves your behind for Tooru.

When you get what you’ve been craving for, it’s mind-shattering. You’ve been edged non-stop that the feeling of being pummeled by Tooru’s and Shoyo’s cock shatters any slew of dignity and shame you had. Your head is filled with nothing but their dicks battering your insides with an uncoordinated, wild rhythm.

“Yesssss ahhh. ”

Tooru’s chest vibrates from his low laughter as he asks, “Does my cock feel good in this hole of yours?”

Shoyo spreads your cheeks apart, increasing the effect of Tooru’s words as he glides in easier and faster from Shoyo’s action.

“Yes! Please, keep fucking my ass, Tooru. Oh god, fuck. Shoyo, you’re hitting so deep, I - haaaa. ” Oikawa starts sucking a sensitive spot on your shoulder while Shoyo leans down inches from your mouth.

“Can you stick your tongue out, y/n?”

You don’t ask anymore, you just do it. You poke your tongue out as Shoyo requested. He does the same to play with yours, his moist, warm muscle clashing and colliding over yours.

Shoyo is different from usual and so are you. You feel so perverted, but you’re relishing every second, every thrust by both dicks.

“‘ m genna cuuhhmmm,” you slur.

Shoyo retrieves his tongue, leaving yours hanging out of your mouth. “I can’t believe you’re this slutty, y/n.”

You lose it. Shoyo’s crude words make you convulse on top of Tooru as your orgasm comes crashing down on you. You didn’t expect such treatment from Shoyo. You also didn’t expect you’d cum because of it.

You try to arch your back but Tooru is quick to grab one wrist while his arm snakes around your waist to prevent you from doing so. You’re left with no choice but to stay a whimpering, writhing mess in between two men who continue to slide in and out of you while you reel from your second climax.

With your one free hand, you wearily reach for Shoyo’s wrist. “Let me rest.” Your body is beginning to feel overwhelmed from the consuming pleasure they’re assaulting you with.

“Ehhh? That’s boring. Wanna try something fun, Shoyo?” You don’t miss the naughty suggestive tone of Tooru, but you’re too out of it to react.

Shoyo disregards your frail request and nods eagerly at the man behind you. With Shoyo’s approval, Tooru slips his cock out of your ass and pushes it into your pussy that’s already occupied by Shoyo.

“GAAAAAAAAAHH!!”  You struggle again to break free from Tooru’s embrace but combined with your fatigue and his strength, it turns out futile. The stretch is atrocious. It’s like you’re being split open to no end.

“Too tight,” Shoyo bites his lip with distress.

“Spit on her cunt,” Tooru quickly provides a solution which Shoyo does without thinking twice, gathering drool in his mouth then barbarically spitting on your pussy.

“I can’t do this. I’m going to break,” you voice out to no one, hoping that one of them takes mercy on you.

Tooru growls right on your ear. “Now won’t that be interesting?”

Then he rams his dick inside you, successfully joining Shoyo’s.

Another scream rips out of you as the two of them try to fit inside your already wrecked cunt. It hurts. You feel the burn of being outstretched together with discomfort of overstimulation. Even then, the moans that come out from you are of carnal thrill and elation.

It hurts, but in the best ways possible.

Your toes are curling from the lack of grip on reality while your hands tremble as they sought for anything to hold on to. One is shaking as it grips on Tooru’s forearm while the other is quivering at nothing in mid air.

Finally, Shoyo takes notice of you. You don’t care how you look right now, but you’re just glad that he’s looking your way again.

He hooks your calves to his shoulders, freeing both of his hands to hold yours. He intertwines them with his, allowing you to ground yourself on him that way.

Tooru’s thrusts become erratic as hands find purchase on your tits to paw. “Fuck, I can’t take it anymore. I’m gonna-uughhhh -cum.”

Your response is one driven by vulgar desires. “Cum inside me, Tooru. Pleasee,” you tell him as you look him in the eyes.

“Fuck yes! ”

The slap of his skin against yours gets louder and faster while his high-pitched whines fill your ear. “Yeaaah, cumming, Ms. Local. Shiiiit.” He stills completely while you feel spurts of warm liquid fill you up.

His hot breath fans your neck as he comes down from his climax, but he doesn’t budge and remains inside you. You wiggle above him, trying to get his cock to slip out, but he only fastens his grasp on your waist.

“Trust me, y/n. I’m doing this for you. Without my cock, this cunt of yours will loosen up. You and Shoyo-kun will take even longer to cum with how stretched and wet you already are.”

Shoyo, on the other hand, pummels inside you even faster from the lubrication Tooru gave. “You feel so amazing, y/n. Hmmmmppp. So tight, so sexy, so haaaa.” His fingers are almost crushing your hand, but you only feel the pleasure of being drilled with his dick.

Tooru’s hand flies to your sex and frantically plays with your clit again. But this time, the effect is even more immense as he consistently rubs it with his calloused pads in rapid up and down strokes. His other fingers add another stimulation for you, tweaking one perk nipple - pinching and pulling at his leisure.

Your whole body is on fire. You feel so dirty with sweat, drool, and cum all mixed and squelching from your slit. You feel it - the impending orgasm that feels different from the rest. Your head’s all fuzzy while your vision is getting blurry for some reason.

When a hiccup escapes your mouth, you figure out why - you’re sobbing. Tears are welling in your eyes from the overstimulation. “Too muuuuchhh, is tooo muaaa-aaaahhh.”

“Almost there, y/n. Just a bit more,” Shoyo says with eyes closed and clenched jaw as he continues roughing up your already sore pussy.

Shoyo starts thrusting a bit upwards, hitting a spot that’s doing something inexplicable to your senses. “Something — oh god, something’s uuuhhh, noooo.”

You hear a deafening wail from you as clear liquid gushes out from your sex while you thrash uncontrollably. “Holy shit, she squirted.” Tooru’s voice seems distant with how you’re still teetering from the violent orgasm that exploded from you.

“What was th- shit! I’m cumming. I’ll cum inside you too, y/n. You’ll let me, riiight?”

His hips rut viciously onto yours, prolonging the intensity of your own release. His mewls get louder and louder paired with your cries until he delivers one sharp thrust that unloads his seed inside you.

You feel so full with two dicks still inside you with both their cum dripping down your pussy. Tooru is the first to pull out while Shoyo is puffing with his hands still tightly clutched onto yours.

A massive weight looms on your chest, extending all over your body now that the euphoric yet salacious fog in your head is slowly being stripped off. Your vision is clearing out, the light bulb on your ceiling suddenly seeming too bright for you. The tenderness of certain body parts are getting noticeable. The sweat and saliva on your skin suddenly feels too sticky, too filthy, too disgusting.

You’re not even aware you’re trembling once again.

Oikawa, being the one holding, immediately takes notice. “Y/n?”

Your response to him is a whimper. “Shit. Let go of her. Now,” he says with urgency.

Shoyo opens his eyes and is alarmed when he sees you in a rattled distress. He softly draws you away from Oikawa and cradles you himself.

Oikawa stands up and goes to your drawers. Hinata doesn’t know why but doesn’t mind and turns his attention to you instead.

“Y/n?” He caresses your shoulder down to your arms, trying to ease whatever it is that’s bothering you. You hang onto his bicep but it slides down from the dampness of his skin. His concern grows when you let out a soft sob.

He holds your hand delicately, brushing his thumb against it. He tries to get you to look at him but you persistently shun your face away. “Please look at me. I’m so sorry. Was I too rough?”

You swing your head side to side, refuting his assumption. “I feel nasty and gross,” you sniffle. “But you’re not. You were so beautiful and sexy and amazing,” he says truthfully as he remembers how ravishing you were laid out for him.

You finally look at him, the most vulnerable he’s ever seen you.

“Really?”

He nods earnestly before planting a tender kiss on your forehead.

Oikawa comes back to bed with fresh towels at hand. He wipes the clammy fluids on your body, patting the warm cloth on your arms, thighs, and torso which alleviates further your malaise. Then, he wraps a new one around you and lifts you up to a sitting position.

“You’re far from being disgusting, y/n,” Oikawa whispers on the back of your head. He carefully lays his hand on your shoulder, testing if his touch triggers any unpleasant reaction from you. He skims it towards your neck and cups it. With no resistance put up, he places a chaste kiss on your nape.

“You were incredible,” he hums on your skin. “Let’s take a shower? Get you cleaned up, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you murmur weakly. Oikawa looks at Hinata and signals him to carry you since you’re more comfortable with him.

You sigh once the warm trickles of liquid hit your skin. It’s calming, soothing the distraught uproar in your thoughts and nerves.

A hand rakes up the wet strands of your hair and lathers your soap on your back. On your front, a familiar set of lips kisses you while water streams down on both of you. It feels like a hazy, tranquil dream. You just hear the cascading of water, echo of footsteps in the wet tiles, and a couple of sighs.

Next thing you now, you’re snuggled up in bed with someone drying your hair. You open your heavy lids and catch sight of a topless Tooru seated next to you as he tucks you with a blanket that smells like your drawers.

The bed is no longer drenched and everything feels crisp and fresh, lulling you deeper to rest.

“Stay with her until the morning, Shoyo.” It’s Tooru’s voice.

“You’re leaving?” Shoyo questions him as he stops patting the towel on your hair..

“Nah. She doesn’t like me. She’ll probably scream or hit my face first thing in the morning.” He’s about to get up when you muster whatever energy’s left of you to grab his wrist.

He regards you with care as he takes hold of the hand you’re tugging him with. “Yes?”

“Stay.”

He smiles with affection, a novel sight he’s shown you only now. He joins you in bed, filling the empty space on your left side. You close your eyes again, relishing the soft caresses and gentle pecks on your body as you peacefully drift off to sleep.

--

You wake up with the warmth of another body radiating onto yours. A heavy arm is draped across your waist and your cheek is nestled to a chest that rises and falls in a calming tempo that makes you want to drift back to your slumber.

But curiosity gets you. You slowly open your lids and are met with rays of sunlight glazing the orange strands of hair of the man next to you.

‘Sunshine on sunshine,’ you thought.

It’s a stirring sight to behold, but you have to wonder. He’s never stayed until morning. What happened last night that made him do so?

You scuff around, getting ready to sit up when you feel a heavy ache from your abdomen all the way down to your legs.

Wha- oh.

Oh.

That happened.

After your mind refreshes itself and replays some key scenes from last night, you glance back at Shoyo with no ounce of regret from what happened. You give him a soft peck on his chest and carefully shuffle out of the bed, making sure you don’t wake him up.

Up on your feet, you walk to your dining room and find what you’re looking for - the other accomplice of last night’s feat.

He’s seated comfortably at your table with a hot cup of coffee. “Buenos dias, señora,” he greets in his own dazzling way.

“I thought you were leaving,” you state with no trace of hostility as you trudge to the kitchen from how tender your lower body is.

“I clearly heard you asked me to stay,” he ripostes.

You get your own cup of coffee and join him in the dining area. “I did, didn’t I?” you ask with a soft whimsical grin ghosting across your lips.

“Mmhmm,” he sips from his mug leisurely then asks, “Any regretS?”

You meet his mellow eyes with your own. “Weirdly, none.”

The smiles that spread on your faces mirror each other, humored and satiated. Last night was definitely an experience - a mind-blowing one, and you’re extremely thankful that the aftermath of it was extremely catered for you as well.

The remaining contents of his coffee were spent in comfortable silence. “I think this is when I say thanks for the sex and coffee, then leave.”

Your reaction should be of animosity. This is the part you detested, when you’re treated like a part of the Rio de Janeiro local tour. But for some reason, you found the current situation funny.

“I believe it is indeed that moment,” you agree congenially.

“See you when I see you, Ms. Local,” he gives you a wink and gets up. The smile you had doesn’t go away as you bring your cup to your lips.

You hear your door open and a sudden need to tell him a parting message bursts on your chest.

“Hey, Tourist,” you break the stillness of your apartment as you call him out and turn around on your seat to face him.

“Hmm?” He regards you quaintly with his hand still on the doorknob.

It is long overdue and inappropriate in various sorts of ways, but you say it anyways.

“Welcome to Brazil.”

masterlist of other stuff I wrote

Taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem @akaashisslave @tsumurai  @babythotshq @loving-unicorns106 @flairlust @crescenttooru @yashuaaa @liberhoe @richkookie @hqbeesun @megatron-1199​ @kawaiiisis​

[wish-that-i-was-buckys-girl]

Hi! How are you!? Hope you're good 😁 Could I request a BuckyxFem!Reader oneshot? ❤️

A mission goes wrong. The reader and Bucky are trapped in a cell surrounded by several HYDRA agents. One of them says the keywords to activate the Winter Soldier just at the moment when Steve and Tony appear to help them, they fight against Bucky trying to make him the same again until a scream takes him out of that personality: the reader is wounded, wanting to protect him from another HYDRA agent getting in the way of the bullet. Bucky becomes him again and takes the reader in his arms to return to the quinjet.

Maybe lots of angst and fluffy ending with them confessing eachothers love at the hq?

Thank you so much!!!!!!! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

A/N: Hi guys! Wow it’s great to be back and free from college stress. I received this request two months ago, and again I am so sorry it took this long for me to make it, but writing academic papers had absolutely kicked my ass this past semester. This ask obviously takes place where Bucky has not been to Wakanda yet to get his trigger words removed. I hope you guys enjoy! I am a little rusty, and not sure if I should write from the first person perspective or third person perspective for Y/N fanfictions so let me know what you guys prefer. Happy Summer!

Pairings: Bucky x female!Reader

Warnings: Talks of blood, gun violence. Other than that I don’t think there is anything else.

Word Count: 2.5k

You’re My Endgame

The floor was cold. It’s not like you haven’t endured worse, but the concrete you had been resting your head on was less than inviting. Your body was rigid due to the freezing temperatures and the uncomfortable position you curled your body into. The HYDRA facility you had been captured at was in Lithuania, Bucky promised he knew it like the back of his hand. Things had changed since his work and internal torment as the Winter Soldier, something he wasn’t expecting due to lack of funds on their part. Unfortunately, no one could’ve predicted there were spies in SHIELD funneling crazy amounts of money into new buildings and updating new HYDRA facilities and weapons.

You decided to sit up and stretch your limbs. It had felt like weeks you were being held hostage, but in actuality it was only a day at most. The HYDRA agents kept you and Bucky busy with periodic torture. You’ve been kicked, punched, beaten into the ground even but neither of you talked. Bucky was more familiar with these torture treatments than anyone, but he focused all of his attention on you.

He was the first real friend you had made at the Avengers’ campus. He had trauma, you had trauma, one of the best bonding factors you had both concluded. He listened to stories of your abusive childhood, being trained by your father as his own personal assassin, and he would share whatever he was comfortable telling you. You never poked and prodded. You knew you were more open than most when it came to over sharing experiences. Talking helped some people, others not so much.

You stood up and shook out your arms and legs. Once you stopped, you assessed the bruises on each body part, counting how many had accumulated over the canvas that was your skin. 48 in total. A new record.

You looked over at Bucky to see he was lying in a similar position to you, close enough that you were in arms reach but not too close that you were uncomfortable with his touch. You were both exhausted from the continuous torture, touching was not in anyone’s best interest at this point in time.

He groaned softly, beginning to stretch his limbs out as well. Trying to turn a horrible situation into a lighter occasion (as if that were possible), you cracked a joke in Bucky’s direction.

“Good morning sunshine, I see you decided to join me for our delicious gourmet breakfast” you gestured to nothing behind you on the concrete floor.

Bucky cracked a smile “Good thing I didn’t miss it, I’m starving” he joked back. You understood each other’s humor and personality so well.

“How’re you feeling Buck? I know they did a number on you after me” you looked down at him somberly.

He shook his head “Don’t worry about me. Show me your arms and legs. I wanna see how much they hurt you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Buck I’m fine. I can hold my own just the same as you. We are trained for these situations.”

Bucky rolled his eyes back at you. “Did I ask if you were trained? No. In fact I didn’t ask you anything at all. Show me your goddamn body Y/N”

You didn’t want to stress him out anymore, so you just knelt down in front of him and started showing him your arms. He hovered over them, careful not to touch your delicate flesh. His phase was full of confusion, anger, and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. He shook his head, not even wanting to see your legs if this is what your arms looked like. He didn’t want to upset himself even more, which would in turn make you upset.

“Lay back down Y/N. You need to rest, even if it is on concrete. We can’t have your pretty self looking like that when we get back to the compound now can we?” Bucky replied, trying to lighten the mood once again. It was worth a shot.

Bucky always told you you were pretty, never really thinking anything of it. Steve or Natasha was his endgame, and you respected that. You were best friends and best friends always complimented each other like that. You definitely didn’t need to make your relationship more complicated, even if you were desperately in love with him. You would keep those feelings locked down in the deepest crevices of your brain, unwilling to share with anyone.

You smiled towards Bucky, getting ready to sit back down when you heard the door to the basement unlock. You both winced at the sound, turning to look at each other with dread in your eyes. 

Please dear god no more. We can’t take anymore. 

You wanted to keep Bucky safe from HYDRA’s wrath, and he wanted to do the same for you. Given the circumstances however, it was near impossible. Bucky felt helpless that he couldn’t properly protect you against their torture, only adding to his mental torment. He was in pure agony, and hearing that door again made him want to scream out to a higher power he didn’t believe in. 

“Rise and shine dirtbags, we have a new surprise for you today” the first HYDRA agent said with a small smirk on his face. 

You had no idea what they had in store for you today, always expecting the worst. You definitely were not prepared for what they were planning to do to you today.

“You, girl, have you ever met those they call the Winter Soldier?” the second HYDRA agent asked.

You had no idea what he was talking about, honestly thinking he was talking about Bucky. You knew he had been called the Winter Soldier in the past, but Bucky never shared much of his trauma. You didn’t know to the full extent what he was capable of, he never wanted you to know what he was capable of. In response, you nodded with a confused look on your face.

Bucky, however, knew exactly what he was talking about. His heart felt like it had dropped to his stomach, unable to prepare for what was about to happen. He started shaking his head furiously, begging softly. “Please, please don’t do this. I’ll do anything, just please don’t do this. Not with her.” You could see the pain in his eyes.

A third HYDRA agent strutted into the room, just as smug as the other two. He was holding a red book with a black star on it. You thought it was just a log of what torture they had performed on you, but it was much more sinister based off of Bucky backing up into the far corner of the room with absolute dread in his eyes. That’s when the third HYDRA agent started to speak.

“Longing, rusted, seventeen.” Your confusion only grew as the HYDRA agent spoke these words, but your confusion slowly faded as concern took over. You looked over to Bucky who was squinting his eyes as he hugged his rigid body. He was whispering “No, no god please no, please stop.”

You walked over to him gently, crouching. “Bucky? Bucky what’s wrong..”

The second HYDRA agent took the book from the third, continuing reciting the words “Daybreak, furnace, nine.” Everyone’s smile grew wider except yours and Bucky’s. He was starting to shake from fear and anger, knowing what was about to happen. Bucky screamed at you, something he had never done before in his life. “Y/N, get away from me. Just stay away!” 

You were a strong woman, never faltering during a mission, especially in times of crisis, but you felt like curling up into a ball and crying. You were worried, disoriented, and even worse, you couldn't do a damn thing about it. The words kept flowing from the HYDRA agents’ mouths. 

“Benign, homecoming, one” the HYDRA agents spouted in unison. Bucky was screaming in pain. You couldn't bear to look at him, tears streaming down your face as you heard his agony. This was far worse than any torture inflicted on you yet. 

Then, the final word was spoken. 

“Freight Car”

Bucky’s eyes shot wide open. His rigid body remained the same, only beginning to stand instead of hugging himself in the fetal position. That’s when he spoke.

“готов подчиниться”

You understood the meaning, but didn't understand what your best friend had become. That’s when an explosion behind the three HYDRA agents erupted, causing everyone to become disoriented. 

Debris had been blown everywhere, dust clouding your vision and settling all around you. You didn’t see Bucky, you didn’t see the HYDRA agents. All you could see was a glow. It came from beyond where the explosion came from. You began squinting, trying to identify what was heading in your direction. That’s when you began to see flashes of the one and only “Hot Rod” red, along with the Star Spangled Man with a Plan. Although you wanted to smile at your rescue, your thoughts were all encompassed by Bucky. You hadn't known what happened to him, only knowing he was in extreme pain, now missing. You yelled out to Tony and Steve. 

“Over here!! I’m over here. Do you guys see Bucky??”

That’s when you heard a shift in the rubble, only a few short feet from where you were lying. A metal arm had popped out of the ground, reminiscent of the scene in the Evil Dead. 

Thank God. At least I know where he is. 

You worked slowly over to where he had appeared out of the ground. You began removing the stones off of his body with vigor. You could finally see his face and somewhat of his body, calling out his name. 

“Bucky? Bucky tell me if you’re hurt. Bucky please talk to me. You’re scaring me”

His expression remained blank, awaiting orders from whoever was willing to give them first. 

That’s when you heard the faint commands of a fallen HYDRA agent, determined to finish his job. 

“Attack”

Bucky’s reaction was immediate. He grabbed your throat with force, causing you to claw at his metal arm with what little energy you had left. Gasping and kicking your feet as he held you in the air, you tried calling out to him. This was your best friend, surely he had to recognize you. That’s when Steve threw his shield directly at Bucky’s legs, causing him to loosen his grip on your neck.

You fell to the ground coughing, your body begging for air as you inhaled so sharply you thought your chest would explode. Your coughing didn’t stop for a few seconds, only being brought back from reality when you heard the clash of vibranium on vibranium. You looked up to see Steve and Bucky fighting, Steve screaming “Buck! Buck it’s us!”

Bucky replied with angry grunts, not understanding anything but his commands. While Steve and Bucky fought, Tony was busy securing the area, taking out other HYDRA agents who had flooded the scene. You didn’t know what to do, but you knew Bucky was your top priority. You called out to him several times, hoping he would realize it was you. Your cries fell on deaf ears, however, as he continued to fight Steve with all of his might. 

You quickly glanced at everything going on, that’s when you noticed a HYDRA agent Tony had missed while fending them off. He was holding a loaded pistol, directly in Steve and Bucky’s direction. Before you could truly process what was going on, you heard the gunshot go off. At this point you weren’t too far away from them, sprinting in their direction to protect them from the bullet. You launched yourself in their direction, screaming in pain as your body was pushed to it’s limits already in pain. As you fell to the ground, you barely noticed the bullet had entered your right shoulder. Figuring the pain was from landing on sharp stones, you groaned loudly. 

As soon as you screamed, Bucky was ripped from his Winter Soldier persona and back into reality. However, Steve didn't see his realization, landing a punch straight to Bucky’s jaw, sending him staggering back. Both Steve and Bucky turned their attention to you, lying on the ground and bleeding everywhere. Bucky, who couldn’t care less about the fact that he just got punched in the face, moved over to your body with haste.

He looked down at you softly, covered in dirt and blood. His heart wretched in his chest, knowing all of this could’ve been avoided if he just double checked the layouts of the base before invading the building for their mission. “Y/N? Y/N sweetheart talk to me please” he said as he picked your head up gently to lay in his lap. You coughed up a little spittle of blood as you turned to look at him with tenderness in your eyes.

“Bucky? Is, is it you?”

He smiled down at you, with tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“Yes sweetheart, it’s me. Just hang in there for me okay? We’re gonna get you to the quinjet. It’s gonna be okay.” You could hear the cracks in his voice as he spoke to you, but couldn't focus on it for too long. Both your vision and your hearing were starting to waver, going in and out as the chaos ensued around you. 

The last words you remembered hearing before everything went back was Bucky’s voice. 

“Don’t leave me now sweet girl, I need you. Please don’t go, you’re it for me.”

He continued talking, but lost consciousness as he spoke. Everything was dark.

_______________________________________________________________________

You woke up, looking at an absolutely blinding light. You squinted as you opened your eyes, not fully able to open them completely thanks to the mini sun above your head. 

You began to move your limbs, realizing that someone was holding your left hand. You looked over to see Bucky, sitting with you in the quinjet infirmary, his head hung low and gentle sobs escaping his mouth. 

You spoke up softly, unable to speak at a normal tone. 

“Bucky?” 

Bucky picked up his head, eyes puffy and red from the crying, not expecting you to be awake so soon after how much blood you had lost. 

“Y/N? Oh god, oh sweetheart” he stood up and kissed your forehead, not wanting to move your body by embracing you with a hug.

You smiled up at him as he hovered above your face, taking in your beauty.

He spoke with a quiver in his voice. 

“I, I thought I’d lost you. All because I was a fucking idiot who couldn't do my job before the mission, Y/N I am so sorry, I don’t, I never wanted you to see me that way. I’m so stupid, I’m-” you stopped Bucky from continuing his pity party by raising your left hand to his lips, shushing him with one finger. 

You gently removed your hand and lifted your head slightly to meet his lips with yours. You both closed your eyes as your lips met, savoring how delicious you both tasted, even post mission. You deepened the kiss slightly, angling your head so you both had more access to each other’s mouths. You held the kiss for what seemed like forever, finally decided to pull away softly. 

Staring into his beautiful ocean blue eyes, smiling up at him while holding the back of his head, you spoke softly “You are Bucky Barnes, and you’re my endgame.”