#—if there aren't extenuating circumstances | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

split-spectrum · 3 months

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Water and Rock

Chapter 13

Pairings: Obi Wan/FemReader

Warnings/Tags: explicit content (i.e. SMUT), dubcon, rough sex, oral sex, cum play

Description: There are only so many excuses a master and padawan can make to kiss under "extenuating circumstances" before circumstances stop arising and start being created. You are an expert at your craft - a Jedi knight in service as a spy for the Republic. When your former master Obi Wan joins you on a mission, it's clear things aren't the same as they once were. The trials you face together may break your bond, or turn it into something else entirely.

☆☆☆

Thirty-Eighth Hour

You've felt his lips on yours before.

But this? This is a kiss.

The knee he'd pressed between your thighs earlier slips down as he bends over you on the chaise, mouth insistent and hands still hesitant. It's at once familiar and new. You've been here before, and yet, you haven't.

His lips on your lips in fear; in doubt - His tongue on your tongue in domination; in greed - His mouth on your skin in debauchery; in madness - You've been to all these places before, but never in the certainty you feel now.

His mouth is on your mouth in raw desire; in unfiltered passion. In total admission of the sin between you.

You tilt your chin to feel more of his beard. You sigh, the bristly sensation making the back of your neck tingle. There's a thrumming inside your chest that has you nearly shaking in anticipation.

He licks sharply into your mouth, then swallows your tongue when you offer it to him, sucking you down whole, like a delicacy he's been denied for too long. Sighing when he releases, you spread your palm further along his jaw, the tips of your fingers meeting the softness of his hair. Then you pull back to pause for a moment and so does he, your eyes bouncing over every detail of his elegant, refined face and falling still on his blushing lips.

You need a moment to convince yourself that this is real. That he is real. Then you crush your mouth back over his, dragging your tongue across his bottom lip, thrilled at how plush and swollen you find it. Though your eyes are closed, you're tracing the image of him in your mind as your lips and fingers drink him in.

You kiss him until your breath turns ragged and your mouth is nearly numb. You kiss him until there's nothing left in your mind but his taste. And when he's kissed you for too long to go on without feeling more of him, you begin to curl your hands around the nape of his neck, peeling gently at the tan fabric of his outer layer. His hands have been decidedly unmoving from either side of you; one above your head and one beside your shoulder. He uses them now, to push up and away from you.

He plants one leg firmly back on the floor, his other knee resting at your side as he keeps his body crouched over yours, but just out of reach.

"This is reckless," he breathes, holding your gaze. It isn't quite a warning. It's almost as if he's asking permission - asking for you to acknowledge the gravity of what you're doing. He lets the statement hang, waiting for your reply.

You sit up, pulling your legs closed and placing your palm back where it had been on his cheek. Smoothing your fingers down his beard, you hold him by the chin and lean in for another kiss. He returns it - sweet and soft and lovely. Then you pull back to look at him again. "Do you want to stop?"

You hate the question, and you hate the silence that follows. He swallows, then brushes his lips over yours, still unanswering.

You wrap your fingertips lightly around either side of his neck, smoothing your hands between the fabric of his clothing and his skin. He kisses you slowly, languidly, as you lift the collar of his robe. You break away to suck at the exposed skin of his neck and you feel his shoulders drop.

His hands are still motionless, and daring to reach out in the Force, you sense his hesitation. Despite the finality of his earlier comment, it seems he still needs convincing. But that's not asking more than you're willing to give.

For months, while he'd been accepting and allowing the thoughts and memories to pass, you'd been drowning in them, fighting to control your thoughts and losing every time. And now? Your battle is finally over. You're more than prepared to help him ease the tension within. He's at the precipice, and you're only so eager to pull him fully into the darkness with you. One of your hands is still wrapped around his neck, holding him as you suck softly at his skin. The other hand moves down to his clothed stomach.

You pull your mouth away while your hand slides to his belt and wait for him to respond, but he doesn't. You watch his chest rise and fall in the dim light. His long lashes are pressed closed, his stomach pulled in tightly.

You press another kiss to his mouth, then murmur against his lips, "I won't stop until you tell me to stop."

You gently unclasp his belt and take it off, and he opens his eyes to follow your movements. When your hand drifts lower to rest at his hip, he sucks air. You feel a small ripple in the Force when you touch his stomach, and it's only then that you realize you haven't felt his presence this entire time.

Even now, he's holding back.

Your aura, on the other hand, must be flooding through him with all the subtlety of a hurricane, and you make no effort to quell it. It doesn't matter. None of it matters, because this will end. When the storm lifts, you'll be gone from one another's lives, and he'll have ruined you. And you want him to feel just what he's done to you before it's all over.

So you know he can feel the way you're burning when your hand moves lower. You reach below his tunic to spread your palm between his legs, and you feel him, hard and warm and heavy beneath the fabric.

He blinks, long and slow. His sharp blue eyes are hidden beneath a pinched brow. Then his lashes flick up through the shadows, and he brings his gaze back to you.

"You have no idea- no idea, how I've wanted this."

His words barrel through you like a blaster bolt, your arousal growing almost painful, and you stroke your hand over him, winning a breathy sigh as his shoulders cave toward you.

Slowly pulling off his tunic and then his undershirt, you luxuriate in the feeling of letting your eyes fall exactly where they want to. No more hiding. No more pretending you don't want to see.

The shadows play in the ridges of his muscled frame, firelight licking at his taut stomach, at his rigid shoulders, at his well-carved arms. Arms of a swordsman. The swordsman. He draws one arm up to card his fingers through his hair, absently straightening it as he looks down, entranced by your soft touches. You hook your thumbs around the fabric at his waist. He stands still for you as you tug down.

His cock hangs heavy between his legs, drooling a slow river of his own slick mess. He's in your hand at once, pulsing as you give him a gentle squeeze. His jaw goes slack, eyes rolling back as he inhales indelicately through his nose. You lean forward, not even bothering to push his pants the rest of the way down, all your concentration centered on the thickness of him in your hand.

Part of you had believed you must have exaggerated the memory. But he's not just big. He's... intimidating. You had been sore the next day after your experience on Oba Diah, but he hadn't been gentle. Seeing him again with no drugs to cloud your vision, you realize you're going to struggle to take him, gently or otherwise.

And that thought shoots straight to your core, sending you off the edge of the chaise, dropping to your knees before him as you lightly trace your fingertips up and down his shaft, bottom lip popping open to fit around him. You drag your palm over his skin only a few times, ready to envelop his leaking tip in your greedy mouth before he nearly doubles over, pulling you back up by the arm.

"Ah-" he chokes out, half gasping. "No, young one, please."

He's seated you back on the chaise, one palm at your cheek as he lowers you. Your eyes meet, electricity tearing though you at his use of the entirely inappropriate title. You watch his cheeks flush, guilt spreading beautifully over his features. Then he collects himself, his hands coming to rest on the tops of your thighs. "That would end things far too soon, I'm afraid." His eyes dance over your body. "Allow me to take my time, won't you? Let me have you the..." He goes silent for a moment, hesitating. Then the fire returns to his eyes. "...the way I'd imagined."

Your body responds to him with a desperate, wanton kiss before you can manage a word in reply.

He leans forward and wraps his free hand behind your head, kissing you back so deeply you give up on attempting a response. Then his hand moves from behind your head, his fingers trailing down your body, gripping you through your clothes and starting to tug at the soft fabric. When his thumb brushes your skin, you whine into his mouth. Fuck, you need him to touch you so, so badly.

His movements are achingly slow, yet things seem to be building so fast you can hardly keep up. He pulls your shirt up, fingers flattening on the small strip of your stomach, teasing at your waist. He peels your mouth open with another devastating kiss as your mind scrambles to commit every detail to memory.

When he spreads his body back over yours, he loosens your waistband, pulling your pants off of your hips. His fingers find you wet and aching. He closes his eyes, breath soft at your ear.

He rumbles your name as he sinks his fingers into your warmth, and you nearly choke on a sob. His tone is one of pure astonishment. He sounds dazed, almost scandalized at the state he's found you in. And the constant wild pulses of need that you're brazenly sending him through the Force can't be helping.

One of your hands wraps around his wrist to feel him as he dips a digit inside. You break your lips apart from his; gasping, eyelids fluttering. You make a curse out of his name.

He rocks his finger inside you, your wetness smearing over his knuckles. Your inner thighs are soon soaked where he brushes his hand with each pump of his wrist. You loose a whimper.

"Oh, stars above," he sighs in return, sounding helpless. "If we are stopping, you must tell me now."

All your lust-addled brain can register is the word 'stop'. Panting and blinking up at him, you give him another whine, forcing words out. "I can't- No. I-" You gather yourself. "Not unless you say. If you feel you're making a mistake, just- just tell me. We'll stop."

At that, the hint of a grin takes shape beneath his beard. "This is undoubtedly a mistake," he tells you, pulling his hand from between your legs and freeing your lower half entirely. "But one I am terribly eager to make."

His arms sweep up, then, to remove your shirt and underclothes. You're bare before him, throbbing; drunk on the sight of him. He presses in, leaning you back over the cushioned surface and nudging your legs apart with his knee.

There are no more words, no more soft kisses, no more longing looks. He slides his cock through the growing wetness between your legs. You brush your hands desperately at the back of his hair, rubbing a thumb through his golden locks, urging him along, and at last, he breaks you open, every bit of pain drenched in immeasurable pleasure as the ache between your legs is replaced with a full, rippling bliss. Waves of tingling, delirious relief flood your body.

You let a moan escape as he pulls back, coating the thickness of his head in your dripping arousal and pushing in deeper. The stretch of your muscles around him is every bit as sweet as it is painful, and as he begins a slow, steady build of rocking into you, the sharpness of the pain quickly starts to melt into a deep, burning pleasure.

Your eyes are closed so tightly you're starting to feel heated pressure beneath your eyelids. It doesn't matter. Your only focus is on feeling him. Feeling every inch he drives deeper and deeper on every thrust. Letting the pleasure consume you.

When he finally buries himself in full, your eyes tear open to look at him. No longer the picture of boyish charm, he's absolutely obscene in his beauty. His long lashes are hanging low over his darkened gaze, his hair is a mess and his lips are parted in the silent gasps of his movement. He leans down to kiss you and you meet his lips with carnal fervor. His hand cradles your jaw, his thumb at the corner of your mouth. His hips are grinding you into the furniture's edge with a maddeningly steady rhythm, and he slips his thumb inside your mouth to fuck into you from two directions at once. You suck it gratefully; adoringly.

Keeping his thumb between your mouths, he continues to kiss you brokenly, a moan clambering up his throat and penetrating the hot air between your tongues. The sound is so filthy that your breath hitches. Your back arches without your command, and the head of his cock hits a spot so deep that you whine pathetically, your cunt tightening around him.

"Stars- you feel so-" Obi Wan trails off, his voice shattered.

You blink to get a better look at his expression in the darkness, hoping it matches his voice, but it's then that you realize the room is pitch black, and you're not even certain how long it's been like this. The fire, neglected for too long, has finally gone out.

Obi Wan seems to notice at the same time. He slows his thrusts until he's easing in and out of you, dragging your sanity to its limit. He runs a thumb along the top of your thigh, seemingly in hesitation. Then it occurs to you.

No, no, no, don't stop...

"It's fine," you assure him. "Everything's frozen already. I don't mind the dark."

He gives you a few more agonizingly slow pumps, pulsing deliciously inside you before he stops, whispering, "Only a moment, I promise."

He slides out of you, holding your hips steady until he leaves you empty and barely able to suppress a keening moan at his absence. You let a frustrated breath leave your nose in protest. He kisses your stomach, pulling away.

You hear him moving across the room, then his figure illuminates in the corner when he lights a candle. He brings it closer, setting it on a nearby table. "I mind the dark, if it means I can't see you."

His gaze drags slowly up your body, and you absolutely cannot take any more. You stand up, covering his mouth with your own and curling one leg around him, pulling him into you. He rewards you with a deep groan, wrapping his arms around you and lowering you to the floor covered in soft blankets. You'd moved them to the side when you'd cleared the room, creating a ring of bedding next to the furniture. As he spreads you over it, his hands glide over your skin, lightly palming your breasts before he grips your waist and slides back into you effortlessly, as if he'd never left.

"Ohh, yes..." you sigh into his neck when he brings his body close to yours. "Fuck, don't ever stop again. Please, Obi Wan-"

"Hmm," he hums his pleasure right into your ear. "I don't intend to."

You tilt your head back, unleashing a gushing stream of euphoria into the Force as he sucks at your neck, finding his rhythm and beginning to pound into you.

As the pitch of your moans grows higher, Obi Wan meets every movement of your hips, never breaking the intensity of his pace. You watch the angelic softness leave his eyes as they grow heavy and finally close. He's hitting you so deep, and it's just so... right.

Yes, that's the feeling. The word that's been on the edge of your mind all along. Right. This is all so right.

"Feel... so good... so perfect..."

The sound of him losing himself, of his gentle praise - it's all too much. You moan, twisting your fists into the blankets, and give in to the rising flame within you. "Oh, shit... I'm going to- You're going to make me-"

"Fuck," Obi Wan grits, driving you into the floor harder and harder with each breath. His arms cradle you on either side, caging you in as he obliterates any remaining shreds of self-control you'd thought you had. The pleasure is mind-numbing. His pace is relentless - no faster, no slower. Just harder and harder.

When he lifts one arm to reach between you, thumb circling your clit, stars burst behind your eyelids. You go soaring past what you'd thought to be your orgasm and reach a new wave of ecstasy. The taste of him on your tongue, the smell of him surrounding you, the sounds you'd never dreamed to hear in his voice - everything culminates into the perfect coalescence of the divine and leaves you breathless and shaking beneath him until you can no longer move.

When you finally manage to catch your breath, you swallow, turning your face up to the ceiling. Obi Wan makes a rough sound.

"Eyes here, darling. Please."

You bring your thoroughly-fucked, blissed-out gaze back down to him. And that's all it takes.

"Fuck," he whines. "Where-"

Before you can say anything to stop him, he pulls out of your soaking cunt and spills over his hand, painting your stomach with thick, hot streaks of cum. His mouth drops open and his shoulders slump, and he wrings himself out, bucking his hips like his body has gotten away from him.

You watch him fuck his fist, eyes glassy and lost, and you reach down to swipe two fingers through his cum, bringing it to your lips without a thought.

"Oh-" he chokes, muscles snapping like he's been struck by lightning. Tightening his grip, he spends the last of himself over you until he finally drops onto his forearms, shaking.

You suck his mess from your fingers, swallowing and gazing up at him. "Sorry," you murmur, suddenly struck by your own brazen behavior.

He huffs a broken laugh, looking down at you, sweat dampening the locks of hair half-covering his face. He takes a moment to collect himself before replying, "Oh, 'sorry', are you?"

You can't help but grin, your smile matching his reflexively. You shake your head, panting. "No."

He covers your grin with his lips, then pushes himself up to retrieve his undershirt. He swipes it across your stomach, cleaning you up before collapsing on the ground beside you.

The moment you allow your eyes to close, all of the adrenaline and tension of the past several days catches up with you at once. You hadn't realized just how tense every muscle had been until now.

You are finally, well and truly, for the first time in what feels like eons, relaxed.

The wind outside has died down. There's only silence, and two beings, two souls, breathing in the dark.

"Regretting this mistake, yet?" you whisper when you finally catch your breath.

The feeling of him wrapping his arms around you sends a warm hum through your body. "No," he tells you, kissing just below your ear. "There are many more mistakes I want to make with you."

Fourty-First Hour

When you awaken, Obi Wan is stirring beside you. Your body convulses with a violent shiver and you press into him, trembling hands finding his warm skin. Your nose feels like it's about to freeze off.

"Shh-shit," you whisper.

"I know," he murmurs softly, pulling you closer. "We should have tended to the fire before sleeping."

Your whole body seems to buzz. Everywhere he touches you feels like you're glowing, despite the cold. You hear the crackle of wood, realizing that he'd just returned to the makeshift bed after restarting the fire. You don't know how long it's been out, but judging by the faint puffs of frozen breath leaving your mouth when you speak, you imagine it's been a while.

Perhaps the fire burned out long ago and this has all been a dream your mind has conjured as you drift into a frozen death slumber. Seeing the faint outline of his face beside yours, you're finding it hard to care.

"I guess we lost track of the time," you murmur.

"We've lost track of everything," comes his quiet reply.

You can't quite place his tone. You cast your mind out gently in the Force to try and get a sense of him, but find only emptiness. He's still closed off.

"Thank you," you tell him, reaching a hand to stroke his beard. "For fixing up the fire."

For some reason, you hesitate before making contact. His arm is around you, yet you're unsure of where you stand. Can you touch him? Is it over? He said he hadn't regretted it, but that had been in the heat of the moment. Should you get dressed? Should you talk about this, or is now the time when you begin to pretend this didn't happen?

You decide it's worth the risk, and you run your hand along his cheek, staring up into his eyes. He'll have to be the one to push you away.

But the push never comes. He leans into your touch and spreads his fingers through your hair, tilting your face up to give you a lush, unhurried kiss. You melt into him, silently sliding your tongue against his. The windows don't tremble anymore with the noise of the storm. The soundtrack is gone. It's just you, and it's just him.

You shift in the blankets to bring your body closer to his, and the icy air hits your bare shoulder. You shiver, and his mouth turns into a smile against yours. "Oh, dear. We can't have that."

He pulls back, extricating himself from your arms to wrap a sheet around his midsection. Then he drags his robe down from a nearby chair and wraps you in it, the heavy fabric covering your entire body, quickly trapping the little heat you have remaining. You sit up to slide your arms in, and rub your cold nose into one of the sleeves. The smell of him settles in your chest, and it deepens your hunger. It makes you bold.

You come up to your knees, letting the robe drape over you, falling open in the middle. Obi Wan's gaze follows you, the soft smile disappearing from his face.

"By the stars," he whispers, sitting up with his back against the chair. His eyes trail down the line in the center of the robe, and a blush rises to your cheeks. You feel yourself getting wet under his stare, and when his eyes flick back up to your face, you can't help but obey the breathy command he gives you.

"Come here."

His hand reaches out to pull you closer and you lift a leg to straddle him, the sheets creating a barrier between you. His gaze falls to your cunt and it stays there as you ease yourself into his lap, hovering over him on your knees. He rests his hands on your bare hips, pushing the robe aside. "Sit down, please."

You wish you had the strength to hold off; to hear his voice become plaintive and desperate. But all you can think about is how fucking good it would feel to sink down on him. You sit.

Despite the sheet covering him, you can feel the warmth coming off of his lap. His adam's apple bobs and he glides a hand along your jaw, pulling you into a slow, easy kiss. He cradles your face with one hand while the other slides beneath the robe to your breast, kneading it softly. Your nipples are already hard from the cold, and as his palm drags up and down, he teases lightly, cupping and grazing it. You moan into his mouth when he holds your head still, kissing you deeply while softly rolling your nipple between thumb and forefinger.

"Fuck, Obi Wan..." you mumble, lost in the sensation, back arching for him. He goes on teasing you until you start to grind against him, dampening the sheets. "Let me... let me feel you."

He looks down between you, to where you're rubbing your needy cunt against him, and raises a brow salaciously. "I'm in no position to argue, darling." He slides both hands to your hips, as if to signal his helplessness, and presses you down harder.

You take a shaky breath, catching his eyes. "That's not what I mean."

He looks at you, unspoken question hovering in the air, and you shake your head slightly. "I... I want to feel you. Can I?"

His eyes drop away for a moment when your meaning hits home. He swallows. "It may make things more difficult... later."

So he had been intentionally suppressing himself. A calculated decision. The thought should make you consider the fact that you weren't. Perhaps it should even shame you a little. But it doesn't. Knowing he'd been holding back, too hesitant, too afraid of what would happen if he didn't...

Your master didn't hesitate at any threat. Didn't fear loss or pain or even death. But he feared corruption. He feared it because of you.

You glide your tongue along his neck, a dark thrill running through you, taking the words from inside you and spilling them out of your mouth. "I'm not thinking about later."

He stares deeply into your eyes, mouth set in a rigid line, and for a moment, you worry you've pushed things too far.

"If you don't want to-"

He cuts off your words with a kiss. "If I had the strength to deny you, I would have used it long before this."

You can't wait even a second longer. You pull the sheet down, finding him so, so ready for you. His erection twitches under your touch, and his eyes are filled with nothing but desire, and his big, warm hands are holding you so steady, just waiting patiently for the chance to help you slide down the length of him.

And so you give in, and you let him guide you down his throbbing cock until he's buried. He watches the place where your bodies meet until he disappears, then lets a long sigh escape him, sounding equally relieved and tortured.

You give yourself a moment, catching your breath at being so full of him. You brush your lips over his, then wrap your arms around his neck and start to move.

And slowly, faintly, blessedly, you start to feel him in the Force.

And oh, fuck, that is it for you. You're gone.

His cock is filling you, and his mind is beside yours, and within yours, and surrounding yours. You feel him more and more with each pull of your hips. Every time you slide down the length of him, it's like you're drawing more of him out.

It's nothing like it ever had been when you'd meditated together. His mind is truly open to you, and it's more intense than you'd ever thought possible.

You're overwhelmed with a vast wave of pleasure, feeling the urge to rock his hips, and you realize his thoughts are so entwined with your own that you can't differentiate between them. You tighten your body to his, the heat growing between you, and when your breasts press into the bare skin of his chest, you feel his spike of desire flowing through you. You feel so exposed, so on display for him like this, and at the same time as your pleasure builds, his lust is just as present and just as intense.

When his thumb begins to softly circle your nipple again, the feeling from both sides at once is so overwhelming that you nearly cry. It's hard to breathe; hard to think. Hard to be anything but viscerally present in the moment.

You give yourself over to him completely, realizing only now that you've been bouncing roughly on his dick, moaning his name for some time. It might have been a minute or an hour. Time doesn't have much meaning, now. You hear the echoes of your own voice as if it belongs to someone else. Then you hear his voice inside you, from every angle.

"Yes, yes, yes..."

He sounds as lost as you are, and you close your eyes, needing to hear more.

"So good for me, taking me fucking perfectly, just look at you, look at you..."

He dissolves into curses in languages you don't recognize. Then he uses his voice again.

"Closer," he pants into your collarbone, hips bucking beneath you. "Come closer."

You blink your eyes open, panting senselessly, trying to form a thought besides the thickness of his cock. As you stare at him, he smiles gently, the warm glow of his aura softening, and it makes you fucking blind with the sheer pain of your desire for him. He bleeds the light into you and it makes you seethe with want. You want him in every way possible. You have him and you want him still.

"You've done so well," "Padawan" his mind's voice finishes the thought, and your eyes widen to search his, waiting for him to apologize; waiting for him to excuse the slip. But your minds are as one, and he can feel the white hot lust the word sparked through you, and he just continues speaking. "Now let me."

He pulls you closer and sends you a thought, which you obey. Wrapping your legs around him, you sit in his lap properly and he fucks up into you, sending wild, violent waves of bliss through both of your bodies. He holds you by the hips and pounds you hard into his lap, coaxing you right to the edge. When you reach it, you know he can feel it.

"It's there, darling, isn't it?" he says, slowing and holding you still, letting his cock pulse deep inside you. "Right there."

You nod feverishly, eyes wide and desperate. You're only sending a single, depraved, broken thought to him: "Please, please, please, let me, let me..."

He never breaks eye contact when he slips two fingers into his mouth, wetting them before reaching down and pressing warm, deliberate circles around your clit. He feels the sensation through your mind when it sends you careening toward your orgasm, and then he pulls his fingers back.

But the feeling stays.

The depravity of his using the Force in this way hits you like a supernova.

The firm, perfect pressure of his touch stays between your legs and he starts to thrust again, using both hands to help you ride his cock, sliding up into you over and over again until he hears your whimpering plea to come inside, and the sound of your voice brings him right to where you are - coming, moaning, delirious with pleasure - shooting his load deep into you, spilling out of your cunt, and thrusting and thrusting and thrusting until he's emptied everything; mind, body, and soul.

He finishes, and you finish, and all is warm and soft and silent.

He takes a breath. It's your breath.

You open your eyes when he pulls away, suddenly realizing you'd been kissing. How long had you been kissing? Had his mouth ever left yours?

With your eyes now open, you struggle to remember what it's like to breathe as just one person. His aura diminishes and you register that he's pulling away from you. He does it slowly, locking his eyes to yours as you feel him fading away. When he's beside you again and no longer inside your mind, you gather your strength and manage to blink, breaking the spell you'd been under.

You look down, watching him pouring out of you. It's impossible to move; you're transfixed. He shifts his hips and more of him spills out. He groans softly at the sensation, and it makes you pulse between your legs.

Leaning your head against his shoulder, you catch your breath.

This was worth it. All the pain and suffering; the waiting and the endless, endless distance between you. It had all been worth it.

You sink into the warmth his presence had left within you. It will be worth it when he's gone, too.

You will never, ever regret this.

Hour Fourty-Five

It's warm this time when you wake up.

Obi Wan is sleeping beside you, his hair a tangled mess and his breaths slow and even. It's still dark. You still have time.

You want to crystallize this moment forever: General Kenobi at rest.

You've never seen him look this peaceful. You want to brush the hair from his face, but you hold back, not wanting anything in the galaxy to disturb this.

His arms are spread above his head, his legs splayed wide beneath the covers. His eyelashes paint beautiful silhouettes over his smooth skin. Not a tight muscle or a clenched jaw in sight.

You close your eyes and focus on the feeling of pure comfort, pure bliss. You form it and shape it in your chest, holding it close before sending the thought out into the Force.

You don't know if it's possible to influence someone's dreams this way, but you hope it is.

He doesn't stir. And after sinking down deeper into the blankets, neither do you.

Hour Fourty-Eight

Slurping at your fingertips, you hum your appreciation for Ilum's basic supply shipments including fruit. Obi Wan seems to concur, but he's a bit more refined in showing it. He takes another bite, placing it down on the plate rather than devouring it all in one go.

He's sitting above you, one arm draped around your shoulder, shirtless and feeding you from the plate you'd prepared earlier - an extremely late breakfast.

Your head is resting on his stomach, and he smiles down at you. "Quite the messy eater."

He brushes a thumb beneath your lip where the juice is running down. You grin. "We're not in the temple. No one to impress with my manners here."

"Ah. And here I thought I was a guest worth impressing."

He picks up another piece of the fruit, easing it into your open mouth. You smirk as you chew. "In some cultures, messiness is a sign of respect. Trandoshans, for instance."

"Yes, well, I wasn't aware we were abiding by Trandoshan customs."

"Could have fooled me."

"Pardon?"

Your heart quickens a bit at teasing him like this. "Those words you said, earlier... some of it was Trandoshan, wasn't it?"

He doesn't answer right away, looking caught-out. Then his voice lowers a bit. "Some of it."

You sit up from his lap, reaching over him to get your own fruit. "Can I ask what it meant?"

His face seems a hint redder than it had been a moment ago. He mumbles something you can't quite hear.

"Hm?"

"Roughly translated, it means 'bed'."

You swallow another bite, licking your lips. "And... less roughly translated?"

He throws a look up to the ceiling, then casts his eyes sideways. "There are no Basic words that truly suit the meaning. But a more precise translation would be a threat. Or a promise."

"A promise," you echo.

He meets your eyes again, a sparkle in his gaze. "To fuck you through the bed."

Your mind is decidedly no longer on breakfast. "Perhaps a demonstration would be more helpful?"

He just laughs, picking up another piece of fruit.

Hour Fifty

"Obi Wan" you breathe, arching your back as he pulls you closer.

He looks up at you, lapping slowly, slowly, slowly. He closes his eyes, flattening his tongue and dragging it through your wetness.

His name leaves you again when he slicks his fingers through you, spreading you open to lathe his tongue against your clit. He growls his approval when your hips jolt at the pressure. You moan his name again.

He lifts his head from between your legs at last, beard glistening and an indecent grin marring his virtuous face. "Yes?"

"Please. Don't stop."

He gives you two of his fingers and watches you squirm, your mouth falling open. "Oh, I assure you that won't be happening."

He pumps his fingers, pleasure streaming through every facet of your mind and body as his aura surrounds you, shameless in his intentions.

"Will you give me one more, darling?"

You throw your head back, reveling in the filthy smoothness of his voice. It's deep, and dark, and impossible to disobey.

You give him one more.

Hour Fifty-Four

Sucking in a desperate breath, you squeeze your eyes shut, Obi Wan's hands gripping you from behind. His cock is buried deep, his hips tight against yours, and your face is inches from the kitchen table.

It had started as a simple offer of tea, and his lips were on yours again, and your hands had found him hard and wanting, and your clothes were parted, torn open yet again. You could have him and have him, and still you would never tire of his skin, of his voice, of his movements. He holds you close, shifting his hips, rolling with you as you grind back on his cock.

You know he can feel the way you're aching for him through the Force. Your body is shaking with it, and your aura has been begging wordlessly for him to pound into you. But he's sending you back patience, and diligence, and control. He knows that if he draws out of you and starts to fuck you the way you ask, you'll tumble over the edge within minutes. And he's enjoying this. And so are you.

So he keeps his hips flush with yours, panting soft praises against your shoulder as he works you from within. Both of you are still fully clothed, pants hastily pulled down with just enough room where your bodies are joined. The feeling of him grinding you into the table, fabric rubbing at your clit with every slow thrust of his hips, is making your eyes roll back inside your head.

You are a Jedi, and as such, your patience is renowned throughout the galaxy. And yet, his patience is driving you to the point of madness.

"Faster. Please, I- I need-," you mewl, brows pulled tightly together in agony.

He rubs slowly inside you, the heat in your abdomen becoming unbearable as wetness drips down your inner thighs. Then he tightens his fingers around your hips through your clothing. "Words, sweet one. I need to hear them." Methodically, he continues pumping until your moans are threatening to turn into sobs. "What is it that you want?"

You let out a whine, shaking your head and pressing back into him. You can't articulate what you need. You're just sending roaring, messy obsecrations directly to his mind. It's like throwing a handful of water into a wildfire. He burns so brilliantly, so powerfully in the Force that your roaring demands fall silent at his feet. You won't sway him.

You part your lips at last. "I need you to fuck me. Let- let me have you, Obi Wan, please."

He flattens one hand on the table, sliding himself out of you, parting your bodies by inches and then driving back into you with a devastating act of mercy. His groan matches yours, and his hips stutter before he begins to set the pace. His hand comes back to your waist, both palms holding you steady, and just as the vulgar sound of his hips meeting your ass starts to fill the room, the lights suddenly come back on.

You hear the crackle and soft whirring of electricity beginning to fill your home again, but it's something of an afterthought with Obi Wan filling you so perfectly. Your forearms meet the table and you moan when his thumbs press into your lower back, bending you harder, pushing his cock deeper.

"Yes, just like that-" he grinds out his approval when you arch your back to take more of him.

"Ungh, shit, Obi Wan," you hiss, lost in the feeling of him splitting you open. "You're so deep."

"Is it too much?" he asks you. His voice is soft despite the power behind his thrusts. He draws back, cock easing in and out of you shallowly.

Your head jerks back and you shake it violently, panic running through you at the idea of him pulling out. "I don't want to be able to move tomorrow..." You pause to grind on him, sucking him back into your heat. "Without feeling you."

You can feel the effect your words have on him, his aura turning electric, and he makes a low noise as he starts to rut against your soaking cunt. The filthy sound drowns out the quiet buzz of the long-range holocomm switching on.

"Good afternoon, Commander. I trust you have been well."

The voice of Saesee Tiin suddenly jolts you, his holo-image filling the corner of the room. It's a pre-recorded message, playing automatically now that the power is back on.

Obi Wan's dick is striking up against something stunning inside you, and you can't hold back a whimper. Master Tiin just keeps going.

"As you may be aware, General Kenobi was expected for duty in the Gaulus sector roughly one standard day ago, and has yet to report in."

Obi Wan's rough panting is beginning to turn into a grunt. The sound of your pussy swallowing him over and over makes your face flush with heat. You grip the table, concentrating on sending him every bit of your pleasure through the Force. His grunting turns decidedly upward in pitch. The sounds he's making are going straight between your legs, and your thighs clench together as your orgasm nears.

"The council requests that you report if you have any contact with Master Kenobi. We would like to ensure his safety, just as I am sure you would."

"Ahh-" You wail, the head of his cock pummeling you over and over until you're shutting out the image of the Jedi master on the holocomm and only thinking of the one between your legs. Your climax rips through you with a ferocity that frightens you, feeling like your very soul is being torn apart when the pleasure echoes through your body and out into the Force, Obi Wan working to amplify it and send it right back to you.

"I understand you have had some communications issues of late, and we look forward to hearing from you as soon as power is restored to Ilum's main base," the Iktotchi Jedi drones on as Obi Wan shatters you, your legs going weak and your mind exploding into fragments.

"Oh, that feels- Oh, I'm-" Obi Wan's voice is slurred, and you can feel him losing control of the pace as your cunt tightens and flexes around him, trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm. You cling to him in the Force as the pleasure overcomes him.

His cock slams into you a few more times before he grunts raggedly, bursting inside you, shoving his load deeper with every grind of his hips. His cum drips down the insides of your legs, leaving you messy, full, and satiated in every way.

He's still buried to the hilt when the message on the holocomm fizzles out, leaving you with, "May the Force be with you."

You let your body slump forward, legs shaking. Behind you, Obi Wan is still and silent, cock pulsing in time with his breaths. When you finally gather the strength, you push up and away from the table, and Obi Wan slides out of you, tucking his softening cock back into his pants. He wraps his arms around you, turning you to face him as you pull your own messy clothes back into position. You'll wash them when your brain begins to function again.

You meet his eyes, smiling shyly, coming back down to reality while the warm glow of his presence surrounds you. "I suppose we'll need to come up with some excuse, because I am not returning that message. At least, not for a few more hours."

Obi Wan's glassy eyes and dazed smile turn slightly confused. He leans in for a kiss before tilting his head to inquire, "What message?"

A/N: please see this post for updated tags (includes spoilers - after the next two chapters the spoilers will be included in the tags) and thank you again for all the support. I truly appreciate it!

Tag List: @cosmicsierra @projectdreamwalker @guacam011y @thriving-n-jiving @reverieisaway @cursedfaechild @honeymoon7770 @hedvighedvig @cool-ontherun-world @ladytano420 @eddythewitch @immajustvibehere @thegreatwicked @marrily @millercontracting

Feel free to comment/message me to be added to the tag list :)

Masterlist

#obi wan x reader #star wars #obi wan kenobi #star wars fanfiction #fanfic #obi wan fanfiction #obi wan x you

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 9 months

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I know ramshackle was put in the game more for convenience than anything, but I wonder if the story will ever tell a bit about its past and how it was originally used? if there was someone that represented the dorm like the great seven does with the others or if it was a dorm before nrc became the way it is today? (like maybe the dorms didn't represent one of the 7 at the beginning?)

I'd personally really love to get to know more about Ramshackle dorm! ^^ There's so many fan theories on the topic (and especially about what led to its collapse and who, if any, the dorm is meant to be "representative" of), but each one is wildly different from the last and there doesn't seem to be any consensus in the fandom about it. We don't really know a lot about Ramshackle other than the general idea that it was once considered a dorm, but has since fallen from grace and is no longer recognized as one. What happened to its students? What was the event that led to Ramshackle's current destitute state? There's a lot more to this story that we just aren't seeing yet.

One common misconception I see is that Eliza (the Ghost Bride) claims Ramshackle dorm as part of her fallen kingdom, which may implicate some kind of ghostly or supernatural being as Ramshackle’s figure. However, this is not actually true. Eliza does come from a fallen kingdom AND she uses Ramshackle dorm as her base of operations—but the two are not directly connected. Crowley sites that Eliza chooses to use Ramshackle every year on her hunt for her prince “out of all the decrepit, abandoned dwellings in this world”. This implies Eliza could literally pick any place, but happened to pick Ramshackle (most likely to kick off the event story, and/or because it’s implied Ramshackle is an attractive dwelling place for ghosts, hence in part why the Ramshackle ghosts haunt it).

I also wonder??? If Ramshackle was even modeled after a particular "figure" to begin with? I really do not get those vibes at all; there is no particularly noteworthy iconography that would tie it down to one very "clear cut" classic villain (assuming it is one, like the others in the G7). Why would Ramshackle be the only "abnormal" dorm??? And speaking of the G7??? I find it odd that no one ever makes reference to a figure like them for Ramshackle. It's not like any character ever says there's a "G8"??? Or even speaks of a figure of equal greatness to them outside of the G7 (similar to the Just Judge at Noble Bell College). Like, even if Ramshackle itself is no longer relevant, that doesn't mean a historical figure linked to Ramshackle would be irrelevant too. Their deeds and accomplishments still exist. You'd think that would be important to bring up, even off handedly or in a vague mention. (Or is this a part of the “history can be erased an manipulated” stuff Lilia brought up??)

In canon, Pomefiore is said to be the oldest dorm (so unless there are extenuating circumstances, I don't think Ramshackle existed in a dormitory capacity until after at least Pomefiore was a thing). The wording can also imply that the other dorms came after (ie Pomefiore was established first, or the dorm system itself came much later). It's also interesting to note that, unlike the other dorms, Ramshackle does not exist in its own pocket dimension, but rather on the same main campus plot of land that houses NRC's other facilities. I wonder if this detail is actually historically significant somehow.

I really hope that some of these questions (if not all of them) will be answered in the future 😅 I feel like they are very important for world-building and shouldn't be left to the boring explanation of "well, it's the player/plot convenience, so..."

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #notes from the writing raven #Eliza #Ghost Bride #Lilia Vanrouge #Dire Crowley

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jessicas-pi · 2 years

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crack AU idea:

The war is over. Sheevy is dead. Everything is perfect.

...except for the little bitty problem of how the clones don't have citizenship and aren't even recognized as sentient beings.

Jedi are scrambling to find a way to get the clones legal rights and finally realize that the easiest way is to just accept them into the Jedi order, which would grant automatic citizenship.

But you gotta be force-sensitive. Since they're all clones of Jango Fett, who was as force-sensitive as a rock, they don't qualify. (I love the idea of FS-clones but just not in this AU lol.)

Jocasta does some digging in the archives and discovers something interesting: an old old old law, SUPER old, that states that the spouse of any Jedi, and that spouse's immediate relatives, are automatically granted a place in the Jedi order, regardless of midichlorian levels. (Back when getting married was something Jedi did, they knew that that meant if the spouse & spouse's family was non-Jedi, they could be in danger/used as leverage against the Jedi, and this was a way to protect them.)

And clones definitely count as immediate relatives.

Chaos ensues.

I'm picturing a council meeting where half the Jedi just left to go find some Space Asprin because the whole fiasco is a headache and the rest of the people there are:

Depa, chatting with Shaak: I considered myself and Grey, but we've always been more like platonic partners. I know he sees Caleb as a son, but my feelings for him are familial and I know it's the same for him.

Shaak: I agree, some of the clones overheard me saying I would do it if it meant they'd be safe and their response was unanimously no no no you're like our mom

Plo, to no one in particular: Does it have to be a marriage? Could it be an adoption? asking for a friend.

Anakin, newly appointed to the council: wait so NOW we can get married??????

Obi-Wan: no Anakin, this is an extenuating circumstance, not a new rule

Anakin: we could make it a new rule

Plo, turning to Shaak: what if we got married, and then adopted all the clones?

Aayla, kicking the door open: I VOLUNTEER

...I have many more thoughts about this AU and will elaborate later.

#to be clear when we're being serious i do agree with the jedi no-marriage rule but this is a crack AU so all bets are off #crack AU #Jedi Get Hitched AU #depa billaba #shaak ti #plo koon #plo koon is a dad #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #aayla secura #blyla #blyla heck yeah #star wars #star wars tcw #star wars the clone wars

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beyondthebackup · 7 months

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On Curiosity, Killing & Cats

[illustration: @nnenteyn-new // telegram // bootsy]

Rating: E | Words: 4,502 | Pairing: BxL

@dnkinktober Prompt: Humiliation/Degradation (Day 7)

Summary:

A is dead, and Roger insists that allowing B to succeed as L is dangerous. The first generation of Wammy’s project is at an impasse and L is - was - curious.

Read on AO3 or under the cut. I hope you enjoy!

Author's Note:

This is technically my first attempt at fanfiction not written specifically for this rp blog. It's also my first time writing L and sharing any smut I've written publicly although I'll be honest, this ended up more plot-heavy than I anticipated and it's relatively tame compared to my private stuff.

All that said I want to thank @ourflagmeansdeathnote @dykelawlight @lightyaoigami @neallo and @brothercrush for being fantastic writers/artists themselves and inspiring me to put myself out there! (And all the other great creators in the dn fandom, I will look desperate and uncool if I tag all of you)

This is an uncomfortably long stretch of silence, even for L.

He observes Backup through the cracks of his sugar-dusted fingers as he busies himself with an assortment of pastries on a serving cart, inspecting and then devouring each with the practiced efficiency of an assembly line.

Honestly, L expected him to say something first.

Backup's file describes him as 'extroverted, energetic and talkative', but he hasn't spoken. He is maintaining eye contact. A little too well, actually. Paired with that flat expression, it's all a bit disconcerting...though L is not entirely unaware that others might think similarly of him.

L gulps down a mouthful of frosting and pushes the cart toward B, who is seated on the other side of Roger’s desk.

"Would you like some?" he asks, mid-chew.

Backup does not break eye contact, but he does finally speak.

"Why are you here?"

His tone is light and mildly curious, as if L were an acquaintance he bumped into at the grocery store.

L could ask himself that very same question. He did not have to be here, he did not particularly want to be here, yet he had indeed chosen to be here.

"These are extenuating circumstances."

B tilts his head. "You mean now that A's dead?"

Straight to the point.

Still, Backup’s flippant attitude does little to remedy the atmosphere.

A, the first child taken into Wammy’s House, has committed suicide at the tender age of 18.

L is not much older than them, and yet…

"Now that you are next in line to take over as L in the event of my death," he clarified.

"There is some debate about whether or not that should remain the case."

Backup is quick to open his mouth, although he doesn't seem all that surprised - before he can start, L lifts a manila folder pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

"I read your file."

B averts his eyes with a pout. "Oh, that…"

"…Well, it makes sense you'd want a well-behaved successor. The whole point of being a detective is to lock up people that break the rules, after all."

L shifts in his seat and wedges his thumb into the corner of his mouth.

It's a ridiculous oversimplification - Backup can't be serious, so is he…mocking him?

"…Is that the point?"

"I dunno, I'm not a detective. You tell me. Is it acceptable for L to break the rules?"

Yes, B is definitely mocking him…but with enough subtext to pique L's interest.

"That depends. Wammy's House is Watari's project, not mine. Breaking the rules here does not necessarily mean anything to me."

"What?" Backup scoffs, more animated all of a sudden. "Shouldn't you take being L a little more seriously? Isn't it your choice who succeeds you in the end?"

"Watari has requested that I make the final decision, yes."

B's eyes narrow.

"No one here can beat me. They would've done it by now."

"That does appear to be the case."

"Then what? Aren't you going to tell me that I can't be L if I don't behave?"

So he was expecting this.

The truth is, L still isn't sure why he's here. He hasn't made a decision, and interacting with B so far has only left him all the more unsure.

What is he going to tell Backup?

Pondering this, L reaches for a small dish of ice cream. He is deep enough in thought that he doesn't notice B finally breaking eye contact to follow the movement of his hands.

He does not notice B's patience fraying, the thinness of his veneer as he watches him nurse the cold off his teaspoon.

"…Do you still expect me to prove myself to you?" he asks quietly.

Now, there is no mistaking it. Resentment hangs from every word.

"Do you want me to grovel?"

L pulls the spoon from his mouth and meets Backup's eyes again, brow furrowed and stern.

"No. This isn't about me."

That's when L sees B smile for the very time.

If you could call it that - his upper lip twitching suddenly with disbelief, parting to reveal the beginning of something toothy and joyless.

"Bullshit,"

"A's dead because of you, you know."

A is dead because of you.

L swatted away that very same thought the day he got the news. He dismissed it because he knew it was illogical, and here Backup is actually saying it to his face. It's absurd, and L allows that to show on his face.

B is undeterred, however. He drags his chair closer to Roger's desk, plants his elbows on the surface and leans in close, eyes widening to take in the moment with full clarity.

"You don't believe me? Do you think people kill themselves for no reason? He's dead because he wasted his entire life trying to become you and failed. Do you think it's fun here, L? Is it even fun being you?"

L likes to think he is not so easily provoked, but if this is Backup's goal, he has succeeded. L did not come here to evaluate the efficacy or ethics of Watari's program, especially not at the behest of someone who is so obviously trying to get a rise out of him.

"What is it that you want from me, Backup?"

"What do I want?"

"You aren't trying to convince me that you should be my successor. If that isn't what you want, should we end the conversation?"

L is curt, but resists the temptation to be overly passive-aggressive. He understands the power dynamic - there is no need to stoop to Backup's level here. This is enough.

Dishes clatter, pastries hit the floor and in seconds Backup has vaulted over the desk and is upon him, seizing his throat with both hands.

Perhaps even more startling than the abruptness of B's attack is its sheer ferocity. L's gasp is cut off as B presses both thumbs into his neck, just above the windpipe. His grip tightens steadily and L feels a rush of genuine fear.

This is not a mere moment of blind rage because a moment has passed, and the look on B’s face is in fact indiscernible to L. Those dark eyes fixate on his and betray nothing but resolve.

He is in danger.

L grabs at his forearms, clawing into them to little effect. He cannot speak, and even if he could-

He asked Roger not to interfere with their meeting.

L is here out of curiosity.

Curiosity and perhaps, deep down, a small (and obviously misguided) sense of responsibility for this place and the orphans raised in it.

Honestly, he prefers not to think about it much.

But A is dead, and Roger insists that allowing B to succeed as L is dangerous.

The first generation of Wammy’s project is at an impasse and L is - was - curious.

It's not that he never considered the possibility of an outburst. That would be understandable, warranted even. L asked Roger not to interfere with this meeting because if B had something to say to him, he wanted to hear it.

But this is different.

L struggles and B draws closer, forcing him to shrink back, sink deeper into Roger's leather armchair. It wounds his ego to be caught so off guard, but L can't even remember the last time he was touched by someone other than Watari.

He spends much of his time isolated from others, and even when he isn't, no one would dare violate his personal space like this.

It isn't just the violence that is alien, the danger, but his touch, and L finds himself paralyzed by it all. Frozen by the fact that B is smiling again, and this time, he seems genuinely happy.

"This is what I want, L," Backup sighs. "That look on your face."

Dread settles into the pit in L's chest and he steels himself to kick at B as hard as he can. It takes more than a few attempts to knock him off balance, but he manages, and with some distance between them, L scrambles out of the armchair.

B is fast, L is flexible, B is strong, L is stubborn.

As B grabs L by the hem of his shirt, L turns to take another swing at him, and in the fray the two of them are sent tumbling to the ground.

So begins the undignified floor wrestling match between two young geniuses.

...Unfortunately, it appears B is the better of the two at wrestling.

L manages to knock the breath out of B more than once, but it makes little difference. He finds himself pinned underneath Backup's oppressive weight while he snickers like a child at play.

"Shhh...relax. Relax! Just stay there! Stay there. I realized something important. I won't hurt you. Calm down. Listen."

"What, Backup?" L snaps as he drops his hands, exasperated.

B grins impishly at him.

"You're a disappointment!"

L stares at Backup in utter disbelief.

"Me?"

"Now that I've met you, I know my entire life has been a waste of time!"

L's stomach drops as he assures himself these are only provocations. Why else would Backup be so gratingly cheerful about it?

"I wasted it trying to become you. A died trying to become you.

But you're just a loser! Another worthless human being! You're weak, you're pathetic, and worst of all, you're boring!

World's Greatest Detective. You!? Are you serious!? Look at you!!"

L stiffens and braces himself to shove B off. He doesn't need to listen to this, Backup is obviously the kind of person that takes pleasure in spite, this is fun for him, this is a waste of time-

"A was better than you, you know," he goes on, voice dripping with contempt. "I actually respected him. I bet everyone was hoping you would die so he could replace you. Too bad."

Backup lowers himself down onto his elbows and cups his hands around L’s face, relishing in it when he feels him flinch.

How many people have seen L like this?

His sneer has vanished. L does not move - he is fighting panic, fighting his racing heart and the goosebumps dotting his skin, he is fighting the confusion that follows the intimacy of skin-on-skin poisoned by the malice on B's tongue.

B's heartbeat is equally frantic, but it doesn't show on his face. L is not nearly as skilled as B in this regard and finds himself all too conscious of his own labored breathing.

"You were my entire life," he says. “I spent all this time waiting for you, thinking of you...only for you to be like this. A died because he wasn't good enough. And now you're here to tell me I’m not good enough."

"No."

"Do you think your life is worth more than all of our lives combined?"

"I never said that."

"You said this isn't about you, but that's not true, is it?

My life has always been about you. A's, too. You're the reason why this place exists. Why I exist.

I exist because you're not good enough, either.

No matter how many cases you solve, you're no different from me. You're a tool. An object. You exist to be used.

That's why you're what...20? And Watari already has an entire orphanage of kids ready to take your place when you die! He doesn't believe in you either."

"That's enough," L cannot take it anymore, he cannot listen to another second of this, he cannot spend another moment on this floor pinned under him, being touched by him, his skin is crawling and he cannot breathe and the air is hot and his stomach is tight and he feels his heartbeat in all the wrong places.

L wills himself to snap out of it, he needs to get B off of him before-

Abruptly, B sits up and directly on top of

"-!? Do you have an erection!?"

B exclaims as if he doesn't know the meaning of the word and all the color drains from L's face.

Do not dignify that with a response. It is involuntary and nothing to be ashamed of.

"Is this turning you on?"

"No."

B bursts into a fit of cruel laughter and L only tenses underneath him, awash with humiliation. L does not often care what others think of him, but he has never felt like this before, so utterly degraded by someone who should respect him, and he's laughing at him, at his- why does he have an erection?

"No?" B echoes. "What's this?" Sliding easily down his thighs, L jerks back from his hand when he feels it rest on the crotch of his jeans.

"I knew it! You're a pervert!"

"And what does that make you, exactly?" L hits back.

"This isn't about me," B draws out L's own line. "Why are you so easy, anyway...? Oh! I get it - I bet no one's ever touched you, besides that disgusting old man. Why would they?"

It's amazing how that talkativeness of his rears its ugly head in a situation like this.

"You're a virgin, aren't you? You're probably touch starved...even though you're older than me and rich and everything. Aww, it must be so lonely being L!"

“Get off of me," L hisses.

"You sure that's what you want?"

With a sharp exhale through his nose, L squeezes his eyes shut for a moment...for just a single moment of peace. He needs to think, he needs to move, and he needs to never admit that B is right and he isn't sure if that's what he wants, because he is excited by this.

He doesn't have the time to intellectualize it. He can break his rule and call for Roger. He can shove B off of him. He can stop this, he could've avoided this entirely had he smothered that curiosity, taken the file at its word and never met one of his so-called successors.

L can feel B's gaze burning through him, but at least he's not talking in that perpetually amused voice and at least he can't see that sadistic excuse for a smile. There is something wrong with B and there is something wrong with him for feeling like this is the first time in a long time someone has managed to surprise or challenge him.

He doesn't have the time to intellectualize it and therefore doesn't have time to convince himself that this is wrong.

It is wrong that he feels relief when B does not wait for him to answer and dips his slender fingers past the waistband of his jeans. Again, he only rests his hand against L's growing arousal. He does not provide any friction, does not move.

It takes all of L's willpower to fight an upward twitch of his hips, the weight and warmth of Backup's touch promising pleasure and yet refusing to follow through.

"Oh, L..." B hums. "You are just a man, after all."

The World's Greatest detective pinned underneath him, shirt inched up past his navel in the fray, so clearly out of his depth. And it was easy. So fucking easy.

"Is this the one thing Watari won't do for you?"

B delights in watching the pink flush crawl up the back of L's neck to his cheekbones, that jaw set so tight he just knows he is gritting his teeth. He can't even look at him, turning his head to the side as if B would ever let him off that easy.

"Look at me," B says sweetly.

L does not.

"I said, look at me," B grabs L by the chin and forces him face forward. He suddenly takes L's clothed erection into a light grip, wringing a quiet gasp out of him. The detective's eyes snap open to glare at Backup with equal parts resentment and desperation, filling B with a deep and twisted satisfaction. He knows that look all too well.

"Do you hate me, L?" he asks, eyes softening with something resembling infatuation. It makes L all the more confused and uncomfortable and frustrated that B will not just get this over with.

Over the course of this conversation, L has learned at least one thing about Backup. Responding in the affirmative is likely what he wants.

This whole thing must have been to get a rise out of him, and L is playing right into his hands.

Because he's...enjoying it.

"I have no reason to hate you, Backup. I have no reason to feel any particular way about you at all,"

His assumption is proved correct when B immediately digs his nails into L's jaw.

"Your dick disagrees."

"It's involuntary."

B's grip on L's erection slacks again. "You don't want me to touch you?"

L's glare darkens.

"Say it."

L curls his toes, wondering if it would be enough to clamp his thighs around B's hand or if his aim all this time really was for L to discard his dignity. Resisting B is an uncomfortable, laborious, painful experience...but would sacrificing his dignity, his better judgement for a single moment of carnal satisfaction be worse?

I want you to touch me.

L tries the sentence out in his mind and it makes him wince. He's imagining B's grin splitting wide again, that sharp laugh, and the way his cock will throb when the humiliation sinks in. He imagines Backup following through, apparently capable of giving him the release that he has never been interested in seeking out until now.

This has awakened something in him. The wrongness of it all is what makes L want it, and he isn't sure if anything will ever feel quite this wrong again.

What's that saying? Curiosity killed the cat?

L will never see this cat again. Not ever.

Does it really matter if he makes a mistake now?

L sucks in air through his teeth and finally, recklessly relents.

"I want you to touch me," he mumbles with just enough conviction as to not feel entirely pathetic, to allow himself some illusion that he is in fact in control.

"...You fucking pervert," B giggles. "I didn't actually think you'd say it. You're shameless, that's so gross..."

Even so, it seems to do the trick. B massages him slowly through his underwear, free hand finally releasing his jaw to take a fistful of L's hair and yank his head back.

"I'm barely 18, what is wrong with you?"

"That's not-!"

"Shut up," B palms him with more intention. He can feel L twitching around his fingers as he pulls the fabric around his length, pleasures him with the barrier that exists between him and what he actually wants.

"Hhn-" With all pretext shattered, L slowly lets go. This friction is not nearly enough or he wouldn't be squirming like this, chewing down on his tongue wishing Backup would just get on with it already.

"Aren't there cameras in here? What will the old man think of you?"

"Just get on with it..." L sighs with marked frustration.

"I was trying to give you plausible deniability by only going this far. You'll have to say please if you want me to actually touch the hard-on you got from being degraded by me."

"You are ridiculous," L seethes.

Plausible deniability. Right.

"I assure you I'm quite serious. Having your successor get you off is going to be your fault."

"My fault? I'm not the one who started this."

"You're going to blame me? Even when our power dynamic is like this? You're not a good person at all, L. You can't take responsibility for anything."

Another ragged sigh interrupts L's retort as B gropes his cock, offering him delicious pressure and friction but refusing to give up on the tease...until he feels a wet spot growing, at least.

B wets his lip with his tongue. "I don't think I even have to go any farther. Treating you like the garbage you are and just a little bit of attention is all it takes."

"Please," L forces out.

"Please what?"

"More. Please just...touch me more."

"It's not enough?"

"No."

"Okay, I'll do what you say. I'm obsessed with you after all."

True to his word, Backup releases L and pulls his jeans and underwear down past his hips, exposing L's straining, leaking cock for the both of them to see.

"You just said that I was worthless."

"You are. I hate you more than anything, and nothing would make me happier than watching you suffer. That's the kind of person that's going to get you off for the first time, L. And I'm doing it not because I want you back, but because I know you'll never forget it..."

B finally wraps his hand around L's erection and of course he is lying about not wanting it, he wants this desperately, he is coming undone inside in ways that L could never imagine, because he does not know him.

He has nothing to do with him.

Hatred, lust and love are not all that different after all.

L tries to quiet his mind, to avoid internalizing anything B is saying. For whatever reason being spoken to like this and treated like this is the most arousing thing L has ever personally experienced, and he should treat this as something being done in service of him.

That's what it really is. It has to be.

At the end of the day, no matter what B said, he would still be B and L would still be L.

B leans in close, still stroking L all too slowly, too lightly, and yet it is enough to force unsightly little mewls from L's lips. He shudders when he feels Backup's lips pressed against the shell of his ear.

"I want you to remember this feeling, L," he whispers.

L swallows hard and bucks up to meet B's movements.

"I want you to remember how desperate and helpless and low you feel right now, and I want you to remember it was me that made you feel this way."

The friction is maddening. So simple and yet so intense. L feels his inner voice quieting, fading, he feels dangerously human, dangerously like simple flesh, like B said, just a man...not the world's greatest anything.

"No one is ever going to care about you as much as I do. I thought of you constantly for ten years. Yet now that I know you...I despise you."

L is panting as B fists his cock, speaking with such vitriol as to be certain L could not fool himself into thinking it was an act.

"I despise you so much. You make me sick. And you're getting off on that? Off on my misery..."

"N-no-"

"You are. I know because I got off on A's misery, and I'm getting off on yours, too. I know exactly the kind of person you are.

Depraved. Disgusting. Fucked in the head. You hide behind your title and the law so no one ever finds out you're just a pathetic fucking cock-sucking degenerate that would be better off dead!"

L groans deeply and hates himself for it. He doesn't understand himself, he doesn't understand this, why every word is pulsing through L's hips like lightning, why it feels so good to be reduced to this when most of his life, his efforts only earned him universal praise.

"What would Watari think if he saw you right now, L? He'd be so disappointed in you. Why would you do something like this? It's inappropriate, it's dangerous, you were warned, right? Don't you know better?"

"Stop...stop saying his name..."

"Don't you know better, L? Say it."

"I-I know better..."

"So why are you doing this?"

"I...don't know-!" L cries out in frustration, moans rolling out of him in choked out intervals. The pleasure is piercing him, becoming unbearable, mutating into something frightening, something about to burst.

"Tell me why!" B demands, releasing L altogether. At this stage, he can't bear it, and the levy breaks.

"Because I'm a pervert! I'm disgusting and I'm pathetic and I want you to touch me, you're right about me, B! You're right..." L whines. "Please don't stop, I can't take it anymore..."

This wipes the smile off B's face which makes it all the more painful...he is staring at L incredulously and for the first time L becomes aware that B is also panting, his skin is just as hot.

He presses his forehead against L's and stares at him in silence for a few beats. It drives a vicious chill up his spine and he knows, deep deep down,

even if he never saw B again,

he's made a terrible mistake.

"I'll never let you forget about me, L."

And so he reaches back between L's thighs for the final time with no intention of holding back.

L jerks under him, thighs trembling as B swirls his thumb over his sensitive head.

"Keep your eyes open, slut."

Even as his mouth hangs open, moaning freely to keep B from becoming restless enough to return to his teasing, it's not enough.

Backup is so focused on him, so unwilling to look away that L is forced to endure the intimacy of sustained eye contact while he is this vulnerable. He feels stripped bare, like Backup is staring right through him.

No one should see him so unguarded, especially never someone like him, yet he obeys, he obeys and lets B see everything, his drawn-out groans as his orgasm creeps up on him, the drool beading at the corner of his mouth, the hopeless lust in his tired eyes.

He feels humiliated. Degraded. Disgusting. But most of all, he feels alive.

All thoughts cease as L arches his back and white hot satisfaction washes over his entire body. He reaches for B's forearms, gripping onto him as he cums hard all over his hand, an undignified mess left behind on the both of them, proof that it happened.

Undeniable.

B lets out a shaky breath and watches L sink into the floor with wide eyes. The memory and the image burning into his psyche where it would never leave him. Where it strengthened his result to become a murderer

and destroy L.

L would never forget this feeling, but neither would B.

With A dead, his new purpose in life is clear.

He will be the one to make L grovel.

B is still lost in thought when L reluctantly opens his eyes to face the aftermath. Luckily for him, B is not looking back at him but at his own hand.

L is confused until Backup sticks his cum-covered fingers into his mouth and begins to suck them clean-

No. L has to get out of here right now before this gets any worse.

Fine, Backup. You win.

I'll break my rule.

"Roger!!!" L shouts at the top of his lungs.

#dnkinktober #beyondlaw #bxl #lxb #bbll #beyond birthday #fanfic #my writing #smut #ao3 #death note #l lawliet

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supergirlmayhem · 6 months

Text

We're in the final countdown! If you have any questions that aren't addressed here, please reach out!

See below the cut for the text version.

It’s finally time! The countdown is on! Registration for Supergirl May-hem begins Friday, December 1st. Here are some things you need to know:

Registration starts December 1st and runs through December 9th at midnight GMT

The Beta list will go out to all accepted participants by January 5th

Writers have until January 12th to reach out and choose their Beta.

All artist pairings will be announced by January 12th to allow plenty of time for collaboration and creation.

The halfway point check-in will be March 24th. A rough first draft with 500-1000 words will be due and we can address any questions or concerns you may have.

You may sign up for as many roles as you like.

Accepted participants will receive an invite to the event discord server once the mods have organized the data.

Anyone writing a fic must have an AO3. All fics will need to be posted there. Tumblr and Twitter postings will be permitted for artists ONLY. All works must be linked. However we understand that not everyone has experience linking their work so we are happy to allow you to link your fic and art however you’d like, whether that’s posting together on AO3 as co-creators, using the ‘inspired by’ feature, or simply using a hyperlink.

This is for all WLW ships but to specify, ships for the main pairing must identify as a woman or genderqueer. Male identifying characters are of course welcome in secondary ships. However, ABO and GP fics will be permitted.

We will not tolerate abuse or bullying of any kind. A user/participant will be banned if such an issue is reported and substantiated. Anyone known for substantiated past abusive behavior will be turned away at sign-ups. If there are any users you know who have shown such behaviors, please let us know so we can act accordingly. We are dedicated to making this a safe space.

If you have any additional questions, please feel free to reach out to us. We love to hear from you and we want to make this event the best it can be for you.

Below is an infographic listing more information. We’re excited to share more with you soon!

Here is everything you need to know about Supergirl May-Hem

This is an event for all writers and artists in the Supergirl fandom.

The event will span from December 1st - The final week of May when your fics and art must be posted. (If you do not post in time, your work will not be added to the collection)

You may write about any characters on the show but the pairing must be a WLW ship.

Artists must be comfortable drawing for any WLW ship. Preferences will be considered but there are no guarantees.

You will have the option to receive a prompt for your fic. This may be a single word, a short sentence or a line of dialogue. You will be able to choose your preference on the sign-up form.

All work must be completed by the deadline.

Minimum word count for fics is 2k. There is no maximum word count.

You may write a maximum of 2 fics with only one guaranteed to receive art.

There will be a community chat for all participants to receive support and encouragement.

You may choose your own beta.

Artists and writers will be paired after sign-ups are over and you must be in contact for the entirety of the event to ensure everyone has time to work on their pieces.

In this event, communication is critical. Reach out. Speak up. If there is no communication between collaborators for more than 4 weeks you lose your place in the event. Extenuating circumstances will be considered, but they must be communicated timely. Do not go radio silent.

We are not here to monitor or micromanage your creativity. You know your limitations and it is your responsibility to manage yourselves.

#supergirl #sgmayhem #supercorp #supercat #supergirlmayhem #agentcorp #agentreign #dansen #sanvers #supercorp art #supercat art #agentcorp art #agentreign art #rojascorp #rojascorp art #superrojascorp #superrojascorp art #all the wlw ships

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e-wills-afterhours · 9 months

Note

Heyo! How about some more Hiccstrid tenderness? Like... married Hiccstrid enjoying their evening or early morning? (Married or not)

River

----

Falling in love was a peculiar thing. Starting like the rush of a rain-swollen river, it cascaded over the numerous rocks of life's small problems, twisting around the bends of imperfect idiosyncrasies. The unstoppable surge of desire carried many further downstream than the relationship was meant to go, until the white caps of infatuation settled into steady currents of routine, and the loss of excitement was too much to handle. Some people craved only the rapids, good or bad--but there was much yet to be discovered and appreciated in love's gentle babbling and swirls, as the torrent eased. Adoration flowed on apace.

Undeniable was the undertow of raging hormones that Hiccup could not have resisted Astrid's affections at first if he wanted to--and he didn't. He was all too glad to be pulled under, dragged along by a want and need far more powerful than himself. This carried them in the beginning, adrift in the unrelenting waters until they all but drowned.

Then life interceded. Responsibilities and extenuating circumstances drew their focus away from each other solely, so that they could come up for air. Heads above the surface, they could see plainly the banks that now constrained them: they were older, Hiccup was going to be the chief someday, and expectations mounted as the carelessness of youth receded.

But it was there, in the comforting loyalty and companionship of a long-established romance that one could discover just how deep the waters ran; and Hiccup noticed it was more than the sway is his lover's hips or the blue of her eyes when she looked at him--now his heart skipped when she took his hand of her own volition, or the way she smiled with fondness and awe as he recounted his latest invention. He lived less for the physical aspects of their relationship, though such moments were still exquisite and plentiful. A kiss was just as thrilling as a long morning flight together, and fingertips roaming over flushed skin was as delicious as lying giddy and breathless together in a sunny patch of wildflowers, watching the clouds float overhead. He would just as much revel in passionate whispers in the dark as Astrid's belly laugh. Especially when a little snort slipped out and they both fell to pieces.

"Are you sure you aren't shirking your duties to spend time with me?" Astrid teased, rolling on her side to look at him.

"I never said I wasn't," Hiccup replied honestly, plucking a blade of grass from her windswept hair. "But as far as my dad knows, I'm still sleeping in. My chores aren't going anywhere. This sunrise, however..."

They snuck off together right before the dawn, to fly to some secluded place where they could watch the first bands of sunlight pierce the night. Someone would eventually notice, but the whispers and scandal no longer captured the village's interest. One might as well have remarked that water was wet.

"As if you sleep!" She rolled on top of him, straddling his waist.

Her braid hung loosely over her shoulder, and she was gorgeous as ever. Not just for her figure and the way she carried herself, but for the tiny freckles you had to be nose-to-nose to notice. Small, faded scars and flyaway hairs, with subtle asymmetries all made up Hiccup's vision of perfection.

Their dragons play-wrestled nearby, which they did often when they were not chasing animals through the underbrush.

"Everything in moderation," he replied, lightly tugging the end of her braid.

She wrinkled her nose in the way he adored before settling down on top of him, head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a squeeze. Though Astrid was not someone who needed such tenderness to thrive, she sought comfort from him anyway. For a moment, she could feel vulnerable--it had taken months into their relationship for her to allow herself to let go of that control. Hiccup has once never dared to imagine he might get to be her refuge, back when her affections were more assertive and demanding: an indefatigable force of nature. What they had now was solid and assured, peaceful and effortless. Her fingers locked with his as if second nature--perhaps it was. Whether their touches would grow hotter and more purposeful seldom mattered anymore. They floated along through each day, each moment alone together, as the current carried them without an agenda. Being together, however it manifested, was enough.

"I'm going to do some training today, with the older kids--the ones who recently got their dragons. Your dad wants me to teach them basic defensive maneuvers while flying," Astrid said, idly stroking his chest.

"That sounds about right."

His father used to watch the two of them with exasperating hope and enthusiasm, as if he had willed their feelings for one another into existence. Then acceptance moved into the wake. Astrid was just about as common around their house now as Toothless, and that was saying something. His father asked favors of her like she already bore Hiccup's last name, for their trajectory was obvious if one but followed the riverbend.

She lifted her head up to meet his gaze. "Will you be there?"

He placed a hand on the small of her back and asked, "Do you want me there?"

She smiled. "It might be nice."

"You sure Toothless and I won't cramp your style?"

"Babe, you are the style."

"Ha!"

Astrid gave a soft laugh and pressed her forehead against his, breathing deeply and contentedly as one might do before dipping into a spring, cool and serene.

"I love you, Hiccup," she murmured.

And he knew those beautiful words were genuine. They came from a calm and steady tenor where words needed not be spoken, and thus held more weight than the words tossed about in a red-hot tumult. The heady rush new love was long behind them, where sometimes what was spoken was at the mercy of the crest and nadir of lust and longing--where words of praise could turn into barbs when the thrills ebbed and there was no tumbling, chaotic passion left to hide them. Navigating the loud, all-consuming whitewater was fun for its season, but Hiccup had come to prefer his river clear and still, where he could rest in its depth and the gentle lapping at the banks of his heart.

So, he kissed her forehead and said, "I love you too," although he did not have to.

#hiccstrid #hiccstrid fic #this took me entirely too long to get around to #sorry about that #i liiiiiiive #rarely do i feel confident i nailed the nature of the prompt but this took off on its own as my oneshots so often do

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sunflowerdigs · 2 years

Text

When people say "that's an explanation, not an excuse" about Billy being an abuse victim, then proceed to use that as an excuse (ironically) to analyze the character as though the abuse didn't happen...

It's like if you missed a week of school because you were sick and then got tested on what was taught that week the day you got back. And then, when you inevitably failed, you asked your teacher for leniency because, duh, you weren't there, and he said "that's an explanation, not an excuse" and flunked you anyway.

Like, yes, the fact that it's an explanation doesn't excuse it, but it's a legitimate reason for the teacher to reconsider why you failed and consider not failing you because something happened to you that you couldn't help. That doesn't mean that you aren't taking responsibility for missing those days - you will catch up eventually and retake the test. But it's completely illogical for your teacher to ignore the reason you did not know the material and grade you the same way that he would grade someone who was there but just goofed off and didn't study.

Billy fans are not saying that Billy doesn't owe apologies. We're not even saying that Max and Lucas have to accept those apologies. We're saying that the abuse creates an extenuating circumstance that makes judging Billy based on who he became in order to survive the abuse completely illogical. That was the point of Eleven showing us Billy's memories and Eleven being able to get through to him by reminding him of who he was before it was just him and his abuser. You are meant to extend him empathy because of that and realize that the boy in the memory is who Billy actually is, underneath the armor.

When you assume that Billy is just inherently bad no matter what after being given persuasive evidence to the contrary, and when you say that the only way that Billy should be handled is with violence, you are using the same mentality as Neil Hargrove and you are preaching the gospel of an abuser. And it is really distressing and disturbing.

#billy hargrove #stranger things #abuse tw #tw abuse #herd mentality

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afreakingdork · 1 year

Text

As Luck Would Have It

RotTMNT Donatello x GN!Reader One-Shot

Warnings/Tags: Aged-up Turtles, Death of Past Life, Soulmates, Reincarnation, Violence, Happy Ending

Synopsis: A glimpse into another lifetime leads to a wish being made that spans the ages. When Donnie happens to activate said parameters, he is sent on a quest to find someone that he's been waiting his whole existence for.

Also avaliable on Ao3

Hopefully not too long coming, but here she is: the fic requested by my one-shot giveaway winner @anxious-cyanide !!!! 🎉🎉🎉

Also huge shout-out to the illustrious and incomparable @unknownfanartist for supplying a cover image to go along with the fic! I seriously can't thank her or anyone else who participated in the giveaway enough for all the kindness and generosity you all have shown me! My life is filled with so much love I can't stand it, but I'm sure you aren't here to listen to me go all mushy; please enjoy!

“Which means loser Shion has to get water.” From atop a fallen log, a man balanced his odachi on two fingers.

“That hardly seems fair.” Shion scoffed, folding his arms.

Below the first, another man wrinkled his brow as he attempted to fall back into his zazen. “We all agreed to the bet.”

“There were extenuating circumstances!” Shion snapped and turned his head away bitterly.

“Shi’s right!” The third man chimed in from where he was reclined on his back. “It’s not like it’s his fault he lost his weapon!” One of his hands raised up and with an expert flick, a kendama ball landed on its spike.

“That is the definition of his fault.” The first man responded flatly. In one fluid movement, he rose from a sitting position and threw the odachi into the air before catching it by the hilt. “You look like a baby playing with those kid's toys.”

“And you look like a show-off.” The second man huffed as he squeezed his fingertips together more tightly.

“Yes, let's continue to pass judgement on one another since we all accounted for that kama actually being a kusarigama!” Shion’s voice dripped with venom.

The first man stuttered. He reached unconsciously up and rubbed at the bare, bandaged shoulder that was exposed. He twisted, his blue patterned hakama pooling at his elbows.

“Ok, ok!” The third man groaned before bending backwards and snapping into a kip-up. The motion caused the ball to spin wildly on its string. With only minor adjustments it landed on its spike as he his feet. “Aoi is just grumpy he got injured and can’t play with this sweet baby himself.” The man made a show of flicking the ball off the spike and then onto the two cups in three rapid clacks. “Hisato, weren’t we gonna train some more with those sweet weapons we got in Ryukyu? Why are you meditating?” Not waiting for an answer and taking several leaping strides, he hopped over to Shion. “Will you get the water just ‘cause I asked nicely instead?”

The wreckage of the statements caused a palpable shift. Aoi pulled half his hakama up and puffed out his cheeks in annoyance. Hisato dropped out of his stance and lolled his head. Shion’s shoulders tightened as he scrutinized the question.

“I swear the toys are all part of the act, Toju.” Shion relented, leaning back. “Somehow the youngest and most formidable.”

Toju chuckled breezily, but there was an unmistakable air of malcontent.

“You wanna spar, let’s spar.” Hisato rose up, his aura flaring as he readied for a fight.

“Bring it!” Toju twirled around Shion’s back and brought his fists up around him.

“I am not a human shield!!” Shion shrieked as Hisato ran full tilt towards him with a prepared punch. Trapped, Shion winced until no impact came.

“Gotcha, bro.” Histao lightly tapped Shion’s nose.

Shion tried to bite his brother’s finger, but he pulled back too fast.

“Aoi, want to watch?” Toju giggled, placing his hands on Shion’s shoulders and rocking him side to side to prevent further nipping.

“We should make camp.” Aoi grumbled, his mood ever souring.

“Upset you can’t spar too?” Hisato craned his neck to see Aoi. “Aw, don’t be like that. You’ll be back up to it in a few days!”

“Let him stew. My question is why aren’t we staying in town? We have the money.” Shion dropped down low out of his youngest brother’s grip and rounded Hisato.

“We’d have to travel after dark, remember?” Hisato murmured, instantly on edge.

“This again?” Shion sighed. “We aren’t deep enough in the mountains to see bears yet.”

“I-I wasn’t worried!”

“We’re fine here. We can stay in a town tomorrow.” There was a finality to Aoi’s voice as he dropped down from the log.

Shion sneered.

“We’ll get pretty thirsty…” Toju mused, holding out his kendama to Hisato.

“That’s two.” Shion rolled his eyes to where Hisato took the toy and tested the string. “What about you?”

“It would be a big help. I’ll set everything else up while you’re gone.” Hisato beamed Shion a reassuring grin before attempting to flick the ball onto the spike. It missed completely and whacked him in the sternum.

“Fine! Use the crafty one to do menial labor! See how disorganized everything gets when Hisa’s big clumsy mits toss everything about without a single care!” Shion threw his hands up and took a few slow steps into the tree line. He listened for one of his brothers to stop him after his poignant fact drop, but he was irritated to find they just resumed their weapons talk. Grumbling to himself, Shion stormed towards the river they had passed earlier.

His path carved straight through forest they’d been strolling through. Little branches picked at the dark purple of his hakama and he tugged at the fabric harshly to free it. With spring nearly at full bloom, the foliage vibrated in a way that meant his struggle was nearly useless. It brought his knees up in retaliation as he took stomping steps to cross the green underfoot. The buzzing vocals of bugs and birds slowly fell to the backdrop static of the rushing water. Clomping on the ever moistening soil, Shion broke free from the thicket and moved his eye along the rolling bank that lead to the water’s edge.

With twilight ever approaching, the sun threw off colorful shades of sky off the river’s flowing surface. Twisting tall lengths of needle thin greenery at the shore reached high to garner as much sunlight in competition with their brethren. This towering wall scaled its way down the water in both directions. Scowl ever deepening, Shion continue to storm forward as he arbitrarily chose to head right along the river’s edge. The clinical regions of his mind reminded him that if he had instead wound the path back that he and his brothers had taken earlier than there was a clear designated bank where the water could be accessed. Shoving the thought away, he watched his steps as rocks and undergrowth dappled the rarely trodden trail. The soothing running of water begged to soothe his agitation, but Shion steeled his brow instead. As the river curved, so did he and just down the way he spied several lengths of cattails crushed to the mossy ground.

If they had curved inward toward the river he would not have been given pause. Instead, they were pressed flat heading in the direction of the trees. Dropping his stance, Shion reflexively palmed at the air to his side before his scowl shifted to a bitter sneer. He’d lost his weapon in a skirmish earlier that day. If that were simply the case than it would be one thing. With their reputation and ever constant stream of offers, the brothers had more than enough funds to replace their weaponry when necessary. Instead, he already had an alternative in the form of the bō he’d picked up in Ryukyu. He’d become rapidly attached to the expertly crafted thing which made it all the more frustrating that he had simply neglected to grab it. It was the type of fatal mistake that a sought after samurai would never make.

Resisting the urge to grumble, he continued to creep towards the foreign outlet. As mad as he was at himself, there was no way he’d trudge back to camp empty handed. His pride and brother’s chiding simply wouldn’t allow it. The river filled the sound void where his footsteps no longer echoed. Drawing close, he followed the line from where the trampled grasses lead to broken branches. Whatever had done said damage appeared to have burst from the water itself and plowed directly into the forest. It made no sense. Finally reaching the downed blades, Shion dropped all the way down to hand and knee. There was a chance that said position were vulnerable, but he had confidence in his hand to hand combat capabilities. Head barely peeking out from the brush, Shion froze as he saw the green expanse of a back.

Or rather, the jumbled network of scutes of a green turtle shell.

Head marginally shifting in surprise, he craned his neck further and watched the human sized carapace rocked gently as its huddled shape fiddled with something out of sight. A memory of a warrior who had made his armor out of turtles came to mind. Wondering if he may have stumbled upon such a being, Shion crawled forward until he could plant his feet on the ground once again. Stowing a flattened rock against the heel of his palm, he rose up incrementally. As he did so, a shock of wet matted hair appeared just beyond the shell’s top edge. Refusing to give credence to the errant thought that this was the creature that had burst from the water, he steeled himself.

“You.” Shion’s voice sliced through the ever present run of water. “Identify yourself.”

The shell jolted and froze so still that for a moment Shion wasn’t sure if he had ever seen it move.

He usually wasn’t one to doubt his own brilliance.

“I said identify yourself.” Shion repeated, authority taking reign of his vocal cords.

The body dipped slightly and Shion’s muscles flexed as he considered that the person could simply dive out of his grasp. Instead, he watched as the shell hunched forward slowly and turned.

His breath hitched as being turned to face him.

The dark green of the carapace gave way to a skin in lighter shades of moss that ran acros the visible body's expanse. Fear laden golden eyes matched the hue of the plastron that encircled the humanoid’s torso. Gangly limbs seemed to sprout from it and between webbed phalanges was the half eaten body of a very small fish.

“A yokai.” His lips moved without his permission. He had, of course, heard tale of such creatures, but only his brothers ever entertained mysticism. Reason and rationale ruled Shion’s mind which made being faced with exactly such a creature grind his gears to a halt.

“H-human!” The being stuttered before rising up to match the voice.

Shion took a tentative step back.

The creature shined with a moment of unbridled pride before resuming a cocky air. “You l-look quite plump! Give me your rations and I will spare you.”

Shion dropped his lids and gave a bored stare. In the time he’d adjusted his stance, he’d cataloged a hundred little ticks and notes about his opposite. From the way they still clung to the little fish carcass to their weak stance, it read as an obvious conclusion. “If you’re so powerful than why are you starving?”

The yokai's arrogant air falted and they stumbled back water's edge. A webbed foot dipped into the water causing the creature to shudder.

Staring down at the appendage with light curiosity, Shion brought his bored stare back up to those large eyes. “You’re aquatic, right?”

“Y-yeah?” The yokai stammered.

Making a little noise of interest, Shion shoved down any debate and stepped forward. In exchange, the creature stepped back until their heels were almost touching the water. Watching for a sign of attack and only seeing anxiety in response, Shion reached out to snatch one of the yokai’s elbows.

“H-hey! What are you doing, mortal f-fool!?” The creature all but squawked out of its pointed beak.

The beings protests were far too easy to circumvent. Lip quirked in study, Shion found the creature's arms reduced to near sinew. Grabbing a green wrist with his other hand, he used it to bring up hand up for similar examination. He found dulled claws with distinct ridging that often attributed to poor nutrition. He had seen it many times before, but preferred not to look on too long at such people. “I have a game I’d like to play.”

“What?” Finally finding enough energy to pull free, the yokai took a step to the side. “I am not here to amuse you!”

“Exactly, if you’ll indulge me I think I know why you’re here.” Shion watched the creature move carefully. Almost every tale about yokai spoke of their power and yet before him stood a thing that looked as if it would blow away in a light breeze. It bred a thousand questions. Though the stories were told far and wide there was no concrete evidence about these beings. The precipice of discovering stretching out ahead of him was so tantalizing his mouth could almost water.

“You know nothing!” The creature continued to shuffle away incrementally.

Shion squared his shoulders in an imposing manner. “I have an ongoing bet with my brother about analyzing an opponent.”

The move worked and the yokai seemed to realize that chances of escape were low. Shion watched as the creature came to terms with this and then searched his person rapidly. He failed to conceal the rock in hand before the being caught sight of it. “If you’re going to kill me, just do it already. I’m not going to entertain you until then!”

“What a waste that would be.” Shion gave a frustrated sigh.

“Waste?” The creature shook its head in confusion.

“Look.” Shion dropped his stance in a show of amity. “There’s a lot of fearmongering between yokai and humans and I don’t know what your transgressions are, but I’m not interested in senseless violence.”

Those huge golden eyes surveyed with him wary curiosity.

“Allow me to guess your situation and answer some of my questions and I’ll give you my rations. A more even trade then whatever empty threats you were throwing around before.”

The yokai gave a distinct snort of indignity before their eye turned away. Shion watched as the being blatantly debated his offer. A hungry gaze won out before it returned their attention to him. “It better not be rotten or anything.”

“It’s rice and dried fish.” Shion clarified with a dry tone.

“Koi!?” The yokai surged forward and Shion reflexively brought up a hand to block. Instead the creature grabbed his appendage and their eyes nearly sparkled at this range.

“No. What? Why would we eat koi!?” Shion twisted his head up in disgust.

“Because you’re rich?” The yokai asked with a confused expression that said that should have been obvious.

“Nobles don’t eat koi, they keep them as pets.” Finally remembering he was being held, Shion wrenched his arm free.

“Pets!?” The yokai reeled with surprise. “You’re joking!? Those fat things!?”

“I’m not!” He couldn’t figure out when he had lost control of the conversation. “I am the one who is supposed to be questioning you!”

“I haven’t agreed to the deal yet. I want to make sure it’s worth my time.”

Shion made a indignant face. This creature’s pride was off the charts. The demonic facsimile of Aoi appeared in his mind and joked about how only his own was larger. Scowling to dissipate the thought, Shion narrowed his gaze. “I told you what you’ll get. It isn’t spoiled. It was meant to be my meal tonight. Now do you agree or not? I’ll leave otherwise.”

At the mention of losing food the yokai went rigid.

Shion folded his arms as a show of how serious he was.

“O-ok! Fine! That’s fine! I accept! Ask your questions!” The being scrambled.

It took quite a bit of effort to keep the satisfied smile off of his face. “Excellent.”

“You said it was some game?” The yokai mumbled, resentment dripping from their words.

Though the creature had conceded, Shion took in the tone carefully. He had to filter it through a mental apparition of Toju, but once it came out the other side he seemingly realized the issue with the statement. “Ah, I see, allow me to rephrase.”

The being tilted their head.

“I don’t see you as a notch to be garnered in some contest. Rather it would be for my own self satisfaction to see if my guess was correct.”

The yokai’s head continued to further loll, unconvinced.

Refusing to give in to the nervous prickles in the back of his neck, Shion straightened. “Fine, how many humans have you conversed with?”

“Ones that lived?” A little wicked smile grew on their lips.

Shion’s lids came down in an unimpressed fashion.

The yokai held strong for several moments before rolling their eyes. “Not many if I can help it. Usually kids or a particularly desperate villager giving an offering.”

Shion perked up at that note and logged it away into his ever evolving list. “And I, who have traveled across this great land, have never once actually come in contact with a being such as yourself.”

“Ok?” The creature took a bored bite of their fish.

“Cultural exchange!” Shion clarified, his hands coming up in excitement.

“Huh?” The yokai squinted.

“That is what I am after. I’m far more interested in a factual record on yokai.”

“Y-you’re going to tell others?” The being twisted into themselves and Shion was once again reminded that they could flee into the water at any moment.

“Wait!” Shion lunged and caught the creature’s wrist. “I’m no fool! If I were to try to share what I learn here with no evidence than I would be no better than the mindless geezers that pedal their yokai folktales as if they were truths.”

Not realizing the implication of his words, the being surged in his grasp. “Let go!”

Noting the sudden spike in fear, a mental version of Hisato shook his head. “Oh. Oh.” Shion made a slow show of bringing up his free hand before carefully releasing his grasp.

The sudden change caused the yokai to slow, but their feet were still positioned in a way that prepared for escape.

“I have no intention of capturing or hurting you.”

“How can I believe that?!” Taking a small wary step back, the yokai’s hands squeezed into fists. “That you won’t go get that supposed dinner and bring your brother back with weapons!? You’ve said exactly what you want! Just like all those humans! All you do is take for your own gain!!”

In spite of himself, Shino’s lips parted momentarily before he pressed them into a thin line.

“Well!?”

“I have no way to convince you.”

The yokai jolted at his quiet tone. The river continued to drone on through the long held pause before the being moved to break it. “You aren’t going to defend yourself…? Make up a lie even?”

“No.” Shion took his own step back, his hands still held up in accord. “It would make no difference. All I can give you is my word.”

“What’s the point of your ‘cultural exchange’ if you can’t tell anyone?”

Breaking eye contact, Shion searched the crushed greenery for a long moment. “It’s hard to say. Usually, proving others wrong is what I live for.”

The yokai made a sharp snorting noise.

“Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing I find sweeter than tearing someone’s moronic false ideas to shreds, but…”

Again, the water filled the void.

“I don’t know!” Shion growled, voice suddenly spiking. When he brought his gaze back to the yokai, he found them watching him curiously. “You’re unprecedented! A truly unique specimen and for the time being all I am interested in is gathering information about you.”

It was the being’s turn to look away. Through the waning light, there was a rosy quality to the green skin of their cheeks. “Fine, but I want to change the deal.”

“Again?” Shion sighed. “What now?”

“While I’m still not sure about the concept, doesn’t exchange go both ways?”

“Yes, it does. I’d also be happy to explain the concept and length if you-”

“We will each ask a question.” The yokai cut him off with a fold of their arms.

Shion sneered, but when the creature didn’t relent he gave an even headier sigh. “Fine, I suppose I was the one to use the terminology.”

“Great, go ahead then.”

“I wanted to begin with a ventured guess about your status.”

“That’s not really a question.” The yokai shook their head.

“Not yet.” Shion smirked and brought his chin up high. “From studying this scene you’ve left-” He made a show to pointing along the crush reeds up to the broken limbs in the treeline. “-In addition to your sorry state and resistance to initially fleeing…”

The yokai’s beak parted as if they were going to protest, but nothing came out.

“Along with the scant information you’ve mentioned, I believe I can make a credible hypothesis on your standing.” Without waiting, Shion lowered his gaze which sparkled with excitement. “I postulate that you were ousted from your home which I presume was a body of water you presided over as a local kami down south. You’ve traveled the waters up north, but the chilly overnight temperatures make it so you cannot stay in the water. The trip alone probably drained any resources you took with you, leaving you near destitute and unquestionably starving. As for my question, I’m asking if I was correct?”

Eyes somehow growing even larger, the creature gawked. Their beak opened and closed a few more times before they settled for falling out of their crossed armed stance to sulk. “Is it that obvious?”

To keep a lid on his surge of satisfaction at being right, Shion settled for shuffling his shoulders side to side. “I’m not interested in speaking for most people.”

The yokai huffed.

“I’ll count that as your question, moving on!”

“H-hey! That’s not fair!”

“Be more careful with your wording in the future!” Shion tutted with an air of amusement. “Could you tell me about your domain in length?”

The being shook their head hopelessly before making a show of taking a seat. Shion followed suit onto his knees and listened in rapt attention as the yokai described their lake in Funai. Nodding furiously at the information, he then supplied the creature with more information about his occupation. Breaching the culture in this regard seemed difficult as yokai hierarchy was left as broken as the warring states. Once he thoroughly translated the concept of samurai, Shion moved on to ask about their journey. Moonlight glistened off the water and made for just enough light as the creature went through a laundry list of hardships. Having lived a life of not quite luxury, but without exceeding want, Shion tried not to let pity cloud his account. The yokai seemed to catch on to this and was just asking about his human status when a snapping twig seemed to reverberate through the whole forest. Shion immediately took to his feet and his hand again went reflexively to his hip. This time he couldn’t keep the curse off his lips at his lack of weapon. Beside him, the yokai curled up, pressing into the cattails and blending in well with the shaded greens.

“I’d recognize that big forehead anywhere!”

For a split second, Shion relaxed at the sound of his brother’s voice before fear brought his muscles tense once again. Setting his jaw, Shion cast his eyes down to the creature and found them staring back at him with horrified expression. Shion mouthed for them to stay put and stepped in close, using his body as barrier as Aoi’s form approached. “You only see the signifier of my genius every single day.”

“Mhm, sure, sure.” Shion watched as Aoi came in, his brother’s eye taking in all the same detail that he had. “Forget something?”

For a moment, Shion scrambled mentally.

Aoi caught on immediately and brought rope with several carved bottles hanging off of it.

“The water.” Shion balked.

“Find something?” Aoi craned his neck curiously, following the environmental story telling.

Shion waffled and prayed for one of the few times in his life that his terrible lies would for once persuade someone. “I came across this strange display and got caught up in studying… what kind of creature had done this.”

Aoi swept his gaze up from the reeds to his brother’s face.

Shion thanked the moon for being behind him as it hopefully hid any sweat forming on his brow.

“You fell in didn’t you.”

“What?!” Shion shrieked.

“You didn’t want to come back all wet!” Aoi burst out laughing and the move caused the strung gourds to clatter along with his barks.

“I certainly did not!!” Shion hissed. It took some stretching, but he was just able to shove his brother without moving from his spot.

Aoi languidly walked off the move before circling back. “I can’t wait to tell Hisa and Juju!”

“You’ll tell them nothing!” Shion tried to make a swipe for the bottles, but Aoi outmaneuvered him.

“Nothing better than when you’re off you’re game.” Aoi continued to chuckle. “We’ll get the water together and then we can get you all toasty by the fire.”

“I-It’s fine! I’ll finish my assignment while you get back!” Shion internally screamed when the chirpy quality to his voice suddenly brought his brother’s curious brow up.

Before he could dodge, Aoi shot forward and fisted a bunch of Shion’s sleeve.

“W-wait-!”

“Bone dry.” Aoi frowned and leaned in close to his brother. “What have you been doing all this time?”

“Studying the scene!” Shion’s pupils rapidly scanned the close proximity before breaking away. “Yeah, that’s what I said earlier.”

“Are you telling me or yourself?” Aoi’s voice dropped its usual levity.

“You.” Shion set his features along with his will.

As Aoi’s gaze narrowed and Shion wasn’t going to be circumvented a third time. Both brothers moved in tandem. Aoi twisted to look behind Shion but before he could do so Shion intercepted by trying to catch his sibling in a headlock. The two then grappled with lightning fast reflexes before the engagement shifted Shion’s stance. Kicking out his brother’s feet, Aoi wrapped an arm around Shion’s waist to keep him from falling while also getting a look at what was behind him. “AH-ha…!”

Shion squirmed from where he was caught around the waist. “If you would let me-!”

“Seriously?!” Aoi huffed and let go.

Shion fell to the ground harshly, but snapped onto to his hands and knees. A dozen excuses formed on his tongue only to dissipate when he found nothing amongst the reeds he was once blocking. “What…?”

“You’re such a nerd.” Aoi griped, swinging the string of bottles into Shion’s face. “Fine, fill them up by yourself if that’s what you want!” Shion weakly reached up to take the rope. As soon as it left his hands, Aoi, turned and started walking away. “I can’t believe you actually got so distracted just looking at some smushed grass! Hurry up already or I’m gonna let Hisa eat your portion.”

“Alright!” Shion gripped with learned snark. Hobbling, but keeping to the ground, he twisted around searching for the yokai. Not finding them, Shion listened until his brother’s steps had retreated. “Are you…?” He bit down on the question as he wondered if his brother was somehow still listening. Caught between thoughts, Shion crawled forward until he was at the water’s edge. He then dragged up the string of bottles with a frown and started to fill them. As his finger’s dipped into the cool water, the tension of the surface bubbled several feet away. Freezing, he retracted the gourd in time as the shape rose up.

Instead of bursting out, the yokai’s head breeched the water in near silence. “That your brother?”

“Yes.” Shion clipped. He could feel how wide his eyes were, but was helpless to stop it.

“I see why you play that game with him.”

Shion made a noise of affirmation and lowered the bottle to keep continue filing it. “How’d you get away?”

“Wasn’t it my turn?” The yokai gave a bobbing giggle.

Shion let out a single dry chuckle of his own and moved to fill the next gourd. “I don’t believe I have enough time to accurately answer your question.”

“Then I’ll say ‘it’s kinda my thing.’” The yokai’s hand broke the surface next and expertly squirted a spurt of water at Shion that landed just shy of his person.

“Aquatic.” Shion responded knowingly, shaking his head.

“So I’ll never get my answer?”

“As if you were the only one with more to ask.” Shion hummed, moving to fill the penultimate bottle. “I won’t penalize you for it. I’ll be sure to bring your food as soon as everyone’s asleep.”

“Can we continue then?” The yokai floated forward, but gave breadth for Shion’s work.

“I wouldn’t risk it…” Shion mused, bringing up the gourd prematurely with a loud popping bubble. “You. I wouldn’t risk you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the yokai dip slightly below the surface for a moment.

Slipping the gourd back into the river, Shion racked his brain. Trying to subdue the part of his mind that spiraled anxiously about missing his chance, he tried to sort out reasonable solutions. He’d barely scratched the surface of this cultural exchange and wasn’t about to let it slip through his fingers. Corking the third bottle and moving to fill the last, Shion felt every droplet that cycled in as if it were counting down time. The movement of which, thankfully, sparked an idea. “Was this your destination?”

“I don’t have a specific place in mind, though, like you said, the north is too cold.”

“It will continue to warm with spring here. Would you consider making an exception?” Keeping his eyes on task, Shion silently pleaded.

“Why do you ask?”

The bottle filled and he brought it up along with his gaze. “Keep following along the river; it’s the same route my brothers and I are taking to collect our payment. I’ll keep supplying you with food and we can continue to meet.”

The yokai bobbed up enough that Shion could see the owlish surprise in their golden orbs.

“Aren’t you cold?” Corking the bottle, Shion’s brow came down around the question. He wasn’t sure where it had come from.

“A little.”

Picking up the rope, Shion retreated backwards and watched in awe as the yokai’s head floated toward the bank. The being then seemed to walk straight out of the water which was undisturbed by the loss of its tenant. With the moon pouring light around the sparkling droplets on the yokai’s skin, Shion breathed deeply from where he hadn’t realized he’d stopped.

“I guess if you actually drop the food off tonight, then I can trust you’ll continue to hold up your end of the deal…”

There was a tentative surge of joy in Shion’s chest. He stamped it down. “I swear it.”

The yokai blinked widely and then through their beak gave a little smile. “I look forward to a steady meal.”

“Is that all?” Shion feigned a huff, the strange feeling still lingering in his chest.

“Of course, why else would I bother with such a stuffy human?” The yokai approached him.

He stiffened and they brought their hands up in amity as he had done to them earlier.

“Quick learner.” Shion grumbled more to himself.

The yokai either didn’t hear him or chose to ignore the comment. “You’ll have to come to me at the river.” The being held out a webbed hand.

“Unless you want my brothers to see you…” Confused but curious, Shion looked between glowing eyes and the appendage several times before carefully offering his limb.

The yokai took it and turned it over so his palm was facing up. They then brought their other hand up with a single dull claw and dropped it to his skin. “To call me, just dip your finger into the water two times, then pause, then three times.” The being demonstrated barely scratching at his palm in the process. “I’ll know it’s you and the coast is clear.”

Shion nodded dumbly and watched as the yokai released him.

“You alright?”

“Yes.” He came back to himself and shook off the lingering buzzing in his hand by clenching it into a fist. “Yes.” He repeated more firmly. “From now on it will always be after my family is asleep.”

“Alright.” The yokai nodded with a bob.

It was the first time he’d seen an amicable air from them. Something about it made his chest surge with what Shion identified as pride. “I need to get back.” He pulled up the rope with the bottles.

The being hummed in agreement.

Shion took a stiff step back. “I’ll be back.”

“You said that.” The yokai gave that beaky smile again.

Several more bow legged steps were made.

“Bye.” The being gave a genial wave.

Shion dipped around it and finally made the turn towards where he had come. He made it approximately half a foot before something occurred to him. “I didn’t get your name!”

“Doremi.” The yokai nodded. “And what shall I call you, human?”

Resisting the urge to stare, Shion tried to swallow the ever pertinent odd feeling. “Shion.”

“Hurry up then, Shion-human. The sooner you return the sooner I can eat.”

“Sleep doesn’t work like that.” He called back before forcing himself to trudge forward. He cursed his idiotic parting and heard a small crop of laughter from the yokai he left by the riverside.

Back at camp, the evening banter with his brothers seemed to both fly by whilst drag on at a snail’s pace. The dying embers lingered longer than the even snores of his family. Though they didn’t know of the Doremi’s existence, part of Shion’s mind wondered how they could sleep knowing such a unique creature lay a short walk away. The moon had made it’s less noticeable trek across the sky by the time Shion was able to sneak away once again. This time he made sure footing through the underbrush and revealed his rations from the sleeve of his hakama. He left them at the water’s edge where the reeds were trampled and dipped his finger in the water as instructed. Against his better judgment, he refused to linger and hurried back to camp. With his brothers still collapsed on their rolls, Shion settled in and spent a sleepless night reviewing what he had learned again and again.

When morning’s light came, Toju found his rinsed container at the edge of camp. Shion babbled a line of excuses, but it was Aoi who laid down the agreed upon defense of late night snacking. It was a minor indignity, but nothing Shion couldn’t handle. After packing up, it was another day of traveling amongst his closest companions. There was both a learned air of family to their connection, but an unmistakable fondness that Shion wouldn’t trade for the world. Though they quarreled, he would pick no other occupation or persons to share his life with. Meeting with Doremi the first night was what he akinned to the rare spice in the pot. When it came to food, Toju did his best with dishes on the road and for the most part Shion couldn’t care less about the finished product. As long as a meal was palatable and gave enough nutrients, eating had always been more a necessity than a pleasure.

Doremi shifted his view on that as well. Watching the yokai partake in meals was an experience. They relished flavors they had never tasted before and regaled him in what humans usually offered. If the dish was good, then Doremi’s eyes would light up with enough sheen that it pushed Shion to make his first requests to the chef. It ended up being a win-win as Toju was over the moon that his brother had finally shown interest. It eased any guilt about Shion's ever mounting lies while the trope and yokai moved further north and into the mountains.

The nights spent in towns were the easiest to slip away from his brethren, but the hardest to easily gain access to the river. For whatever hurdles lay for Shion, they were always double that for Doremi. The yokai not only had to dodge humanity's vigilant eye, but they also had to navigate between multiple water ways while also keeping pace with a party they couldn’t see. The resilience wasn’t lost on Shion and neither were the changes in Doremi. Having a consistent and more balanced diet meant the yokai was rapidly on the mend. Though it wasn’t an overnight change, Shion’s studious eye noted every minute advance. From the enhanced green luster to fuller limbs, even Doremi’s claws seemed to sharpen themselves with good nutrition. Less to protect himself and more for his own comfort, he showed Doremi his new blade and bō. Shion was delighted to find no fear in place and instead curiosity at human construction. To say the cultural exchange was going well was by far an understatement.

When the brothers reached their destination to pick up payment, they were tipped off to their next job down south. The constant treks across the country had become commonplace and the group rarely complained about the backtracking. A night of celebration with overflowing wallets gave way to Shion’s first missed meeting. Carrying the veritable basket of apology confections and rations, Shion was surprised when he was met with blatant concern instead of anger. It twisted up that feeling that never seemed to leave him with Doremi was near. The scolding was light as he passed chewy delights to the yokai. Gushing about the flavor, Shion found the way the moonlight played off Doremi’s now glossy locks to be an image he wished he could immortalize in paint. It was one amongst a growing list.

Shion found he didn’t need and excuse to breach the topic of their next destination and his chest swelled when Doremi instead asked where they were going. His mind was quick to remind him that the noun could also include his brothers, but a hopeful part of his mind told him that Doremi instead considered themselves an unofficial member of the group. The sticky humidity of summer reared its head and the yokai was thriving in the weather. It wasn’t just the warmth of the sun that tingled in Shion’s cheeks at the thought of an extension to their partnership. Within a few days, the brothers and yokai departed.

As time stretched on, a rhythm was established. Shion knew with each meeting that he should be more wary that his brother’s would discover what he was doing, but in inverse occurred. Though he kept the same care in escape, he allowed his worries to wane. As they spent all their time together, it was inevitable that the group would need time apart. It wasn’t unusual to wake up and find someone had wandered off. Toju could often be found smearing berries on trees and Hisato’s faraway destructive punches could sometimes be heard on the wind if it blew in just the right way. It was Aoi that Shion feared the most. His twin’s perception and familial priorities were leagues ahead of the others. If Aoi did know, he thankfully had decided that it wasn’t worth his time to interrupt. Even if it was just his imagination, Shion was thankful.

In a similar vein, there was naturally a shift in the so-called cultural exchange that made the title less accurate. The countless hours spent discussing customs waned as the topics were stretched to their limits. From there informality grew and they moved on to discussing their personal lives. Though he’d gotten a taste for it, Shion never tired of Doremi’s attentive nature. They talked a haughty game, but had taken their responsibility as caretaker of their lake very seriously. The humans they had exposed themselves to were all done so in a means to help. From saving a drowning child to comforting a woman who lost her husband, Doremi even had been known to give back their own offerings if it meant a hungry mouth could be fed. Shion had long made adjustments so his own nutrition wasn’t at risk, but Doremi staunchly still tried to share every meal with him.

He’d indulged the yokai’s emphasis on food at first with an eye roll and eventually as a heady reminder. Though he never considered himself rich and there had always been times when a decent meal was scarce on the road. True hunger, however, wasn’t something Shion thought of. It revealed to him the deficits in society he tried to turn a blind eye to. It had taken some time, but guilt cropped up; not over their different statuses, though that was a given, but instead that she held a certain level of burden having to also explain them to him. It was a grounding he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. All that being said, he couldn’t help but still laugh at Doremi’s obsession with koi. Beyond eating it, if he happened to pass through a town that had some, endless questions were abound. He’d made sure to get a wooden carving, much to the confusion of his brothers. Overnight a necklace was woven out of reeds with the trinket dangling right at the upper edge of the yokai’s plastron. It brought Shion a satisfaction he couldn’t at first place. He began to jokingly refer to Doremi as such. He wasn’t sure if the yokai knew how selfish that thought was or the double meaning it entailed, but just their shiny locks were excuse enough to remind him of the ornate fish's fins. The nickname heralded a tidal shift that moved far beyond conversation alone.

The pair took to strolling through whatever path was afforded them near the rivers. Thousands of steps were matched as dreams were shared amongst them and the fireflies of summer. In time, an arm was offered and hips grazed with nearly every thought bubbling off tongues. It was on one particular night, when the cicadas screamed their loudest, that they found a forgotten boat docked on still waters of a connecting lake. Doremi pushed the boat out and Shion took helm on steering. When the yokai had turned, overjoyed at the ride and happiness sparkling in honeyed orbs, Shion finally pinned the feeling that had been ever growing. It left him awestruck and he nearly capsized at the identification. Doremi fretted and sent him to bed worrying about his health. The next morning his distracted state left his brothers in a similar fuss.

How could he tell them he wasn’t sick, but in love?

It was the culmination of a thousand tiny things he could both list in an instant and never in a lifetime. It crushed him within an inch of his life. It felt like he was the luckist man alive. He wanted to deny the feeling. He labeled it selfish. He despised how his heart had betrayed him. They were completely different species. He had no way to take his earnings and settle down. Their lives, Doremi’s life, would always be in danger. It already was, but adding his existence to the mix made it more so. Humans had only fear for yokai, as yokai feared them in turn. Years of bloodshed, confusion, and hate weren’t something that would change overnight no matter how many facts Shion would plaster even the whiff of a naysayer with. It had taken him months to see and he had an open mind. He had little hope for the stupidity of the masses. It left him hopelessly happy and disheartened. It didn’t matter if Doremi felt the same. He couldn’t put that on her.

Lost in these ever swirling thoughts, a billow of black smoke shot up into the otherwise unmarred blue sky.

“That’s a big fire…” Toju murmured to Shion’s left.

“We just passed the charred remains of a village, what? Two days ago?” Hisato added over his shoulder.

“Sounds like we’re going on a detour, eh guys?” Aoi shifted his stance toward the plume.

“From the wreckage and timing, I’d say we’re in for a group of at least seven bandits.” Shion tapped his arm absentmindedly as he did the mental math.

“Don’t’cya just hate when we can’t split them up evenly!?” Aoi huffed. In a few bounding leaps, he shot in front of Hisato.

“Do you wish there were more or less?” Shion sneered.

Aoi spun around and made a show of whipping both his odachi out to his sides. “It’s a 50/50 for one guess!” He then winked and turned into a run. The brothers pulled out their own blades and quickly fell into formation. As the village grew on the horizon, a villager stumbled towards them on the path.

In several bounds, Toju broke away to intercept. As soon as he got close, the youngest brother halted so quickly that the dust from the path kicked up around him.

The brothers readied themselves.

As the dust cleared, they watched in stunned silence as the man turned, covered in blood. The left side of his face hung off and he routinely choked on the steady stream of his life fluids draining from the wound.

“Aoi!?” Toju squeaked, reaching for the man. “Sir?”

“There’s nothing we can do for him… I don’t know how the poor bastard's on his feet…” Aoi’s voice dropped low, circling.

“T-they…” The man choked, his form teetering more and more.

“How many?” Shion pressed, pulling away from Hisato.

“The men…” Strangled by something in his windpipe, the brothers each took their own step back as the man dropped to his knees and then the ground, silent.

“No more jokes.” Hisato decreed. “These people need help.”

The others nodded and shot straight to the village. Within seconds the screams poured from the flaming shacks. Bodies littered the ground and mud was formed from the amount of viscera spilled. Hoofbeats soared above the chaos and an armored man on hoseback appeared. Aoi leaped forward and bounded off Hisato’s shoulders to made a clean cut through the man’s neck.

Shion rounded the fallen figure and snatched the banner from the fleeing steed. “It’s a clan army…”

“What do they want with this small place?!” Hisato shot to the right and stabbed through a man coming around the corner.

Toju who had dropped down to check one of the bodies, rose up with an orange cloth fisted in his hands.

It was a marker they only implemented in battle.

Aoi stared at the younger sibling for a moment before setting his brow. “Let’s go!”

The brothers tied colored wraps up around their forehads and dove into the smoke. A cacophony of blades, shouts, arrows, and thudding hooves rose from every direction. Between the distinct flashes of his brother’s colors, Shion fell into the numbing rhythm of falling any other being that crossed his path. As his count soared above the double digits, the brothers broke free of the smoldering shacks and out onto a field bordering the village. There, nearly a hundred men sat idly with various stages of weaponry and horseback.

“What the hell are you doing!?” Aoi roared, flicking blood from his odachi.

“Ah.” A man on an ornately decorated horse strode free from the line. Shion identified him as the general. “Well this is a surprise.”

“Not what I would call it.” Aoi all but hissed.

“Blue.” The general chuckled.

Aoi bared his teeth.

“Purple.”

Shion spun away from a downed foe and held his blade to his side.

“Red.”

Hisato knocked two men back and glared down the line.

“Orange.”

Toju slit a man’s throat and let him down with a teetering thud.

“I’ve heard of your little samurai family group. Your father was quite revered and he seems to have trained you well.”

“You haven’t answered my question.” Aoi seethed, taking a single step forward.

The general’s horse threw its head at the move and the man pulled at the reigns to stop it. “Oh this? We asked the villagers kindly to share their harvest as we head out to our little… rendezvous. They were gracious enough with food, but were lacking in the entertainment department…”

Shion squeezed his blade and could hear the thundering steps as Hisato approached.

“Under stimulated men get too zealous in battle so I’m letting the ones that are pent up release their energy.”

Aoi glanced back as a shack collapsed under a raging fire.

“Who hired you? I’ll double the pay to have you all scurry off.”

Aoi’s return rotation to the general oozed malice. “You could say we’re between jobs at the moment.”

“Then why are you bothering my men?” The general scoffed, looking bored of the conversation. “Here.” He reached into a pouch hanging from his horse’s saddle and pulled out a bag. He then tossed it straight across the field. It landed out Aoi’s feet and rolled over, spilling coin into the blood stained dirt. “Take this and leave.”

“Aoi…” Hisato’s voice was thick.

Aoi bent forward and took a hold of the mouth of the bag.

“Shion…” Toju murmured, exchanging glances.

Aoi smiled. “I see…”

Shion nodded.

“Well? It’s more than enough considering I lost how many men?” Leaving the question rhetorical, the general pulled at his reigns to rejoin the ranks.

“The price of man…” Aoi said.

“Let’s regroup. Did we get everything?” The general addressed his men.

Hisato sighed.

“I think you owe us one more thing!” Aoi shouted, an unhinged buoyancy to his stance.

“Huh?” Before the general could fully turn, an odachi stabbed right through his neck. It seemed as if even the flames went silent as the man gurgled around his own blood before falling off his horse into a heap.

“Now we’re square.” Aoi hummed, twirling his remaining Odachi in hand.

“SELFISH INGRATES!” The man next to the general screamed and gave the signal. The full army surged to life and stormed right at the brothers as they fell in line with one another. If the earlier chaos in the village was a cacophony, then this was completely deafening. The sounds engulfed Shion’s ears until they were ringing and everything dropped to a cottoned muffle. Every single movement had to be precise. They were outnumbered in a way they had never been before. Twisting and pushing his body beyond its limits, he struck again and again. A blade behind him clipped his shoulder and he kicked off one man and slammed into a horse. The neighing broke through the fuzz and the horse kicked a series of screaming men. Twisting his sword out, another blade hooked his hand along with the hilt. The ensuing pull sprayed blood and took his weapon away.

Dropping down to avoid the next strike, Shion pulled the bō from his back. Its lethality was less, but his range grew to make up for it. With a swift spin, he carved himself out a radius where he could take a single breath before men and hooves were upon him again. From the ground, someone he thought was dead stabbing into the plump part of his calf. Hissing, he jut the staff back and heard the sickening squelch of it entering the man’s head. If he had time he would have gagged.

“Hisato!!!” Toju’s voice screeched through the battle.

Shion spun around with the sound and let his weapon lead the way. Grunts echoed where the bō moved and he tried to carve that radial path once again. No matter how hard he spun, he couldn’t achive the arch without both his legs firmly planted. The torn muscle refused to cooperate so Shion shuck the weapon back to stabilize a forward shot instead. A blade swung back just as he took off and it was a flash of blue that kept him from being inadvertently decapitated.

“Pay attention!!” Aoi seethed, his own face painted red which dripped down making Shion’s color around his collar.

“Hisato!” Shion protested as they instinctually went back to back.

“We’re no good to him if we’re dead!” Aoi growled before shooting forward again.

Shion twisted in learned synchronization and, in time with Aoi, finally carved a path. The two dove deeper into the skirmish, each swinging in tandem with the other. It might have been exhilarating had a sword not plunged right through Aoi’s right arm. Shion watched in seeming slow motion as the strike shot through his brother. The grimace on his sibling’s face twisted along with the blade as it then cleaved most of the flesh off in a single swipe. Screaming at the top of his lungs, Shion lunged at the attacker. Aoi choked on something beside him as Shion put all his force into a forward jut of his bō. His shoulders screamed in protest as the wood punctured the man’s wind pipe.

Spinning around to catch his brother, Shion found Aoi nowhere in sight. Twisting his staff around, he prepared his lungs for another shout when his heart seemingly skipped a beat. His blood pressure plummeted as his head lolled down. Right through the left side of his chest, a shiny red blade stuck out several inches. Blinking slowly, he felt a sting in his left arm. Unable to lift his bō any longer, Shion rolled his head in that direction to find another blade cleaving his arm in a similar way it had Aoi’s. It was a weird cosmic symmetricality that they had always shared. When he moved to jerk away from the strike, his arm came mostly free from him. The weight distribution suddenly shifted, Shion watched as the ground rapidly soared towards his vision. In another bit of cruel irony, it was upon falling on the ground that the sword in his chest was finally dislodged.

Shion had no idea how long he lay on the ground, but it was long enough that the battle came to an end.

At least, that’s what the silence indicated.

Through a slow blink, he opened his eyes from where he hadn’t known he closed them. Around him, there wasn’t a single sign that a skirmish had taken place. On two wobbly stems, Shion propped himself up and stared across the field. It lay with the summer’s growth of a crop he suddenly couldn’t identify. He was usually so good with plants too. With some difficultly, Shion looked back to where the village should be. In its place there was nothing but continuous rolling fields. He watched as the thin green blades flicked with wind that didn’t seem to be reaching his person. Curious, a numb hand reached up to touch his face. He wasn’t sure contact was even made because none could be felt.

Opening his mouth, Shion tried to force out a call for his brothers but no air escaped him. He pushed and pushed, but it was as if there were no lungs in his body to move the sound. Terror gripped him and he spun around in a crazed semicircle. Miles and miles of empty land surrounded him on all sides. Unable to decide, Shion took off in the direction his pivot landed on. He tore through the grasses, but with every step that should have trampled them, they seemed unwieldy underfoot. It caused him to slow once more. Unsure, he racked his brain for the immense knowledge he had collected throughout his lifetime. No explanation of this supernatural occurrence came to mind, but the mysticism of it tore a single image from him: Doremi.

Renewed, he again tried to scream. No sound came out and his face screwed up as he put all his force into it. Though he didn’t seem to have any oxygen, the move made him light headed and brought him to the ground once again. In a horrible slideshow he watched a simultaneous projection of all the times he had spent with the yokai amidst all the times he hoped would come. When the reel ended, he was struck by how little there was. There hadn’t been enough time. He needed more time. Abandoning his voice, he clawed at the earth, but found he couldn’t make a dent. He felt tears that didn’t exist prick at his retinas and he did the only thing left, the one thing he’d all but abandoned; he prayed.

He’d dismissed the ideas of some overseeing being around the age of nine. Between his training and what he watched his father go through, Shion swore there was no way some magical entity could allow such indignities on his creations. Shion himself was often cited as cruel, but the machinations of this world far exceeding anything he could stomach.

Still be pleaded. He begged the force and made no apologies for the time he spent not believing. He instead argued for his due.

For his brothers.

For Doremi.

For what seemed like an eternity, he kneeled. His mantra repeating in his brain at such a severe rate he might never have another thought other than that again.

No night came.

The sun continued to shine on a cloudless sky.

The grass continued to gentle jostle with a summer’s breeze.

His brothers.

Doremi.

He never even got to show her a real koi fish.

“You should have passed on by now.”

Shion jerked, the mantra still ringing in his ears.

“Why do you linger?”

Shooting to his feet, Shion spun around and was once again met with only rolling fields.

“A stubborn one.”

The plea continued to repeat as an earworm, but Shion was able to manage a single alternate thought. A question.

“Who am I?”

Shion blinked before opening and closing his mouth. There was still no sound.

“I can hear you just fine. No need to waste your time.”

Then why haven’t you answered my prayers?!

“Prayers?” The voice sounded genuinely confused.

Imaging a drum being played with exahsutive ferocity, Shion mentally turned up the mantra.

“Oh, that! You’ve been going on about that for so long that I’d gotten used to it!”

HOW DARE YOU-!

“Enough.”

…

“I meant more that you have already been granted one of those things.”

What do you mean?

“Your brothers. You are intrinsically tied to them. In fact, they are waiting for you now, but you need to move on.”

Shion spun around, searching the grasses once more.

“Not here, little one. You need to move to the next plane.”

Doremi!

“Doremi?” The voice again seemed genuinely surprised.

Doremi! Doremi! Green skin! Shell! Golden eyes! Hair like-

“Silence, allow me to see.”

Shion furrowed his brow. If this was some type of god, why didn’t they just already know? Why was he trapped in his inane conversation?

“It is not for you to comprehend.”

Spoken like someone who also has no idea.

“Aren’t you something.”

Far be it for a puny human to ask questions.

“I would call it amusing, but we don’t have to agree.”

Don’t we?

“We don’t. Tell me, what is it that you want with the kappa?”

Kappa?

“You didn’t even know what kind of yokai Doremi was? I see why you requested more time.”

Then you already know what I want!

“I didn’t say that. Your thoughts were too simplistic. You simply wished for your brothers and the yokai, but how? You already have one of those things. Why should I give you more?”

More?!

Shion turned, his chest aching painfully.

I barely got any time.

In quick repeat, he played the reel of his time with Doremi over.

Again, it ended in what seemed like the blink of an eye.

You can see, right?! You saw!?

“I saw.”

Then you know!

A long stretch of silence played out. Shion continued the mantra in a failed attempt to soothe himself.

“Do you want to know how many lifetimes it’s been since you found your soulmate?”

Soulmate?

“73.”

What do you mean soulmate!?

“It’s astounding in a way. It’s not like the system is rigged for you to not meet them. There’s free will to contend with, but the chance occurs in every lifetime.”

Answer me!

“Maybe it’s because you get coddled by your brothers in every existence…”

Don’t… Don’t you dare-!!!

“That’s not mine to undo. Do not fret.”

Not yours?! What does that mean!?

“It is a pity though.”

Hey!

“How about a compromise?”

…

“I can’t give you another gift. As I’ve said, you’re already tied to three beings, but I can grant you something else.”

Why?

“I find 73 lifetimes without true love to be a bit despairing. I guess I’m a romantic in that sense.”

Great. My life is in the hands of an being that doesn’t use reason.

“If I were then we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

…

“The opportunity will occur in your next lifetime. If you make contact with your soulmate then I will allow you to glimpse a moment; a little gift so you may not let them slip through your clutches again.”

And what if I don’t? I’ve apparently failed 73 other times…

“Then you will be born again. My gift will be of one time use, but it will continue on until the meeting occurs.”

This is stupid.

A sharp ring of laughter echoed from the skies above.

It was so loud Shion’s knees buckled.

”You truly are something! I haven’t had a laugh in eons!”

Scoff.

“As much resentment as you hold, I can tell you're ready to move on.”

Something about the way it was said sent an icy cold shot of fear through Shion’s veins. He looked down to find his body rapidly becoming translucent.

Wait! I haven’t-!

“There will never be enough time. Just remember this moment-”

Shion winced as the image of Doremi eating a confectionery was forced into his mind.

“-and live your life to its fullest.”

Watching his hand, Shion found he could barely see his outline.

One! One final question!!!

“Hurry.”

Does that mean Doremi was-?!

“Good luck finding them in your next life.”

The breeze continued to roll through the unchanging empty landscape.

Cleaved by the earth in a continental divide.

Over and over in a gambit long tried.

A butterflies wings.

The sweep of tree's shade.

Castle doors open to mist.

Whilst the sun bathed you in a gentle kiss.

The eternal dance of you and I.

Unable to seek.

Unwilling to hide.

“I just wanted a gazpacho burrito!” Leo whined as he rolled out of the way of a tenderizing mallet.

“What is wrong with you!?” Mikey turned up his nose in disgust.

“Honestly!” Rupert Swaggart huffed as he lifted his mallet again. “Food trucks are an affront to the culinary world!”

“No!” Mikey wrapped a chain around a light pole and swung around to kick Meat Sweats in the side of the head. The force launched the pig mutant across the park. “I am not agreeing with you on that! Food trucks have been instrumental in fusion shifts!”

“Perfect, I’d had enough of the banter.” Donnie clapped as his bō telescoped in hand. “I’d rather we get to lunch as soon as possible.”

“See! Donnie wants a burrito too!” Leo jumped excitedly to point.

“Eugh, no!” Donnie scrunched up his face in disgust.

“Et tu!?” Leo hissed.

“Ok, ok!” Raph scrubbed his face. “Isn’t that why we’re here?! ‘Cause no one could decide on one type of food!”

The others all paused to give it some thought.

“Huh, I guess so.” Leo shrugged. “Hey, how is there still a line!?”

“There can’t possibly be. There’s a mutant attack and-” Donnie looked as Leo gestured with an angry grimace. “Oh, wow, there actually is.”

Raph approached the slew of New Yorkers who were huddled down in fear but still queued at the various food trucks. “Uh, you guys ok?”

“I-I waited t-two hours.” A shaky voice rose up from the line. “I-I’m n-not going a-anywhere!”

“For the, and let me emphasize this, gazpacho burrito!?” Pinching the air to accentuate his point, Mikey dropped down onto Raph’s shoulder to loom over the person.

“Y-yeah?” The civilian choked.

“No taste.” Mikey sighed, crawling down from his perch. “So did Rupert just bail or…?”

“Maybe ya knocked him out?” Raph hummed in thought.

“That is a distinct possibility.” Donnie noted, tapping his staff to the ground.

Leo watched his brothers for a moment and then looked down the line from the trucks. “Uh… guys?”

“Huh? I can’t hear someone who no taste buds!” Mikey mimed a hand up to his ear and rolled his gaze skyward.

“Har har.” Leo retorted dryly. “Where do these trucks get their power?”

“Either from the truck itself or usually a generator.” Donnie walked over to one said square and gestured to it. “The output on this model is poor though. A few tweaks and…”

“No.” Raph stomped over and swatted Donnie’s flexing fingertips. “You gotta stop upgrading stuff without people’s consent!”

Leo started to walk down the queue. “But not like tapping into the city?”

Donnie rubbed his hand indignantly. “I believe that would invoke some kind of violation.”

“You’re basically stealing power.” Mikey nodded, slyly watching Leo out of the corner of his eye.

Leo reached down and picked up a thick orange cord. “Uh huh…”

“What is that?” Donnie slipped around Raph’s form and towards Leo.

Mikey seemed to catch sight of it too, but turned the other way. “It looks like there’s one going to every food truck…”

“One going to…?” Donnie spun around.

“Alas there’s bound to be causalities in the cutthroat world of cuisine!” Rupert’s voice rose up from above and the brothers turned to see the pig mutant perched on a nearby building with the end of the orange cord in hand.

“Donnie! Raph! Civilians! Mikey, on me!” Leo sliced open a portal as Mikey’s chains soared out towards Rupert.

Meat Sweats grinned manically and plugged in the cord.

“On it!” Raph shouted, turning back to the crowd. “Lunch times over! Y’all gotta-!”

A deep rumbling seemed to bubble up from somewhere other than the ground.

“Raph…” Donnie warned, wildly looking for the source.

“EVERYONE MOVE NOW!” Raph roared, his formed rapidly expanding with his ninpo. The line finally relented in an attempt to escape when the tires of the row of food trucks started to sway.

Donnie balked as the rumbling noise soared in pitch. He brought his staff up just as the metal roof of each truck burst open. Boiling oil shot straight into the sky and immediately hit an arch point where it curved to rain back down. Scrambling, Donnie activated his own ninpo and a giant purple umbrella formed out of the top of his staff. He bolted towards the civilians that had yet to escape and covered them as the oil rain down with a steaming sizzle.

“Hot, hot hot!!” Raph hissed as droplets dripped down through his projection.

Donnie planted his feet and increased the size of the umbrella. “Unless you want to be the ones deep fried, I suggest you move, people!”

Raph’s form winced as he ducked under the umbrella and urged the masses along. “Alright, no shoving…”

The crowd shuffled around Donnie, bumping him as he tried to keep the umbrella steady. "Honestly-!” He was cut off when someone shouldered him with enough force that one hand came free from his bō. Hissing, the throng of people rushed across his arm and Donnie had difficulty reigning the limb back in while still holding the oversized object steady. With a sharp tug he retracted the appendage and his vision whited out.

“Well?” Shion watched carefully as Doremi went in to take a bite.

“Don’t rush me!” The yokai giggled with a shake of their head.

“As slow as a lazy koi.” Shion smiled fondly as Doremi’s beak cut right through the chewy mochi.

From where the yokai’s eyes had fallen in satisfaction, they popped open as they went on to gush about the flavor. Time stopped as moonlight played off Doremi’s glossy locks.

A sizzling sound hissed in his ears and the image seemed to burn away as if it were on an old film reel.

“Donnie!?” Raph’s voice reached his ears.

Donnie croaked and felt small bits of oil sting his legs. Blinking free, he found that he was on the ground with his big brother hunkered over him in an attempt to protect him from most of the boiling substance.

“What happened?!” Donnie shouted, hand wildly searching for his staff.

“I don’t know!? You kinda just passed out!” Raph’s face contorted in pain.

Finally grazing titanium, Donnie reestablished the umbrella. “Are you ok? Was anyone else hurt?”

“Heh.” Raph’s shoulders dropped, unable to cover his wounds. “Don’t worry about ole Raph. I got everyone out. I’m more worried about you and why the others haven’t unplugged the dang… whatever it is yet!”

“I…I’m fine.” Donnie twisted around to look at the rooftop where Rupert had been. “They’re gone.”

“Fights moved so we should too!” Raph straightened and shook himself off. Donnie reigned the size of the umbrella in and together the two brothers left the splash zone. Once free, purple pixels flittered down and shifted to form a safety barrier in a radius around the gushing oil. Raph gave Donnie an assuring nod before the two moved to scale the building. Unplugging the cord and watch the oil slowly taper off, the pair were about to dart off when a portal appeared beside him.

“We gotta unplug the-! Oh, it’s done!” Leo stepped through with Mikey following close behind.

“Where’s Meat Sweats?” Raph wondered, rubbing a blister on his bicep.

“We knocked him down into Hidden City jail. Maybe ruining a prison kitchen we’ll keep him busy for a bit.” Leo shook his head.

“Oh, to be a prisoner…” Mikey sang wistfully.

“No.” Leo said simply before bonking his younger brother with the hilt of his odachi.

“I swear, Michael, you are one step away from a life of crime at any moment.” Donnie mused with a wry smile.

“I think you’re mixing us up dear bro-there!” Mikey hummed and stuck his tongue out.

“You ok, big guy?” Leo took several slinking steps forward and around Raph.

“Just a little burn…” Raph responded with a rolling shoulder.

“I thought D had you covered?” Leo looked back at Donnie who was staring at the oil pooling on the concrete.

“That… Well…” Raph tried and failed.

“Something happened?” Mikey filled in.

“I passed out.” Donnie said flatly and felt all eyes land on him. “I had a vision, I think.”

“That’s…” Leo started and stopped to think. “What? Like a new power?”

“Casey’s never mentioned one like that before!” Mikey jumped excitedly at Donnie and snatched his arm to study it.

“No.” Donnie tugged his limb free and eyed Leo. “Not like that. I’m not sure. I feel fine now. I need to do some research…”

“But…!” Leo teased, leaning into Donnie face before moving downward to poke the plastron covering his stomach. “Lunch, right? Coulda just been a hunger induced fainting spell.”

“Ah!” Donnie telescoped his tech-bō to a handheld size. “I’m all for ruling out easy maladies. Yes, let us gather sustenance!”

“So, I was thinking Spanish?” Leo chided, looking beyond Donnie to Mikey.

“You heathen! You are not making that monstrosity at the table!” Mikey prickled.

“Let’s just hit a food hall…” Raph sighed, shaking his head.

Leaning back, Donnie looked down the blurry pen balanced on his snout. This act was far more Leo’s speed, but he had reached a point where channeling his other brothers’ energies was the next best thing. Beyond him, many tabs sat up on his enormous monitor. They culminated in countless hours of online research that had been proceeded by at least a dozen medical and mystic analyses. The tests yielded a slew of normal data while the internet had thin estimations at best. Giving a sigh, he wrinkled his nose and allowed the pen to fall. In a flash, he caught the writing utensil and lurched forward in the process. He brought the pen down to an errant piece of paper and made a scribble before discarding the object all together.

A frustrating query with no apparent result was the bane of his existence.

Swiveling around, he walked out of his chair within the rotation and prepared to hit the library again. Though he’d already spent an unknown amount of time there, none of the literature on visions seemed of much help. There were at least a dozen scenarios that seemingly applied, but something about all of them felt inherently wrong. The inexplicable emotions attached to the seemingly nonsensical sight had been another annoying factor. It had brought him on a detour to Draxum’s apartment the last time he was out and there he found little more than tepid curiosity from the yokai.

Fiddling with other abandoned projects, Donnie grimaced as he caught sight at a digital readout that noted the date. It had been almost five useless wheel spinning days since the food truck debacle. It hadn’t been a constant, he had the years of experience to know that nonstop research rarely amounted to much, but good night’s sleeps and meals hadn’t brought their usual fresh clarity. Flicking a lose wire, Donnie pulled a half constructed surveillance bot out from under scattered blueprints. He had unconscious timetables for things of this nature. They had a neat little file folder that sat in the back of his mind, labeled for future reference. Whatever he had seen in the park was simply something he didn’t have the current tools to crack. He didn’t consider it a loss, but instead a project to be explored at a later date. His ever expanding intellect acted as a means. He’d eventually create some new technology that would inevitably solve his dilemma.

Satisfied, Donnie reached across the table to grab a screwdriver. The instrument was almost underhand when a wash of green swaying grass appeared where a workbench had been. Recoiling on instinct, he took a few steps back and found himself in his lab just as he had been. Blinking rapidly in an attempt to check his eyesight, Donnie hunkered down. He became very keenly aware of the hum of the overhead lights and the multiple running processors. Not ready to brush the hallucination off, he turned and reached across the short expanses to his computer’s keyboard. A few swapped windows found he had only been awake nine hours with an average amount of sleep achieved prior to that. There was no cause to question his sanity, but still he frowned.

“Hello?”

There was always a chance it was a joke or even some villain’s ploy, but all of his trained senses said he was certainly alone. Giving a long moment for anyone to reveal themselves, Donnie gave himself a little shake to get his blood flowing before deciding to return to his bot once again. Turning back to the workbench, he stiffened as his lifted foot came down on a lush field. This time when he drew back, the greenery didn’t disappear. Spinning rapidly, he found the landscape stretched on endlessly in all directions. His blood pressure bottoming out, Donnie tossed his head up and squinted directly at the gently beaming sun overhead. It warmed his skin and he brought an arm up to chase the sensation. Everything about this felt real, but so did Hypno’s more ridiculous spells.

“You forgot the brainwashing part!” Donnie gripped, slowly rotating to find any sign of a culprit. Reaching onto his person, he cursed as he found that while his wraps were still in place, both his battleshell and tech-bō were left charging on ports that seemingly no longer existed. Feeling very exposed, he readied his stance and waited as only a shallow breeze caressed his cheek.

It took what felt like several long minutes before he dropped his shoulders with irritation. “So, just nothing? Seriously?”

Only the rustling of grasses responded.

Bored, Donnie took several strides forward before looking back to find any plants he crushed underfoot seemed unaffected. The scientist in him reared its head as he purposely stomped. Each step would press down on the greenery, but as soon as he lifted off, they sprang back up in time. It was like a video game with little finesse. Crouching down, he made an attempt to pull the plants from the ground. A faint ring of laughter echoed from the skies above. Donnie jolted to his feet from where he had just wrapped his hands around a fistful of grass. Scanning wildly, he spied the figure of a black haired man in the far distance toward where he had just come. Staring, he reminded himself that he had definitely looked there previously and found nothing. A tingling sensation tickled the back of his neck. Craning an arm to rub at the spot, Donnie slowly started to approach the man.

“Hey!” Calling out, the man didn’t react and instead was staring at the sky above. At a distance where he couldn’t make out any facial features, he watched as the man swayed as if he were locked in some intense conversation. Shouting again, Donnie felt the tickling spread down his arms. It sent a fear response through his spine so he picked up the pace. Eyes locked on the figure, he narrowed his gaze as he didn’t seem to be getting any closer. With each passing stride, his limbs felt both heavier and lighter. He dropped his center of gravity to make a jump, but found that pushing off barely sent him more than a foot off the ground.

Knowing he had far more power than that, Donnie scowled as when he was about to search his person for the cause, he noticed the man slowly lose his opacity. Flexing his fingers, he felt a longing pull to gaze at his hand. Refusing to look away, he could sense his brain sending signals to his legs to keep running, but it didn’t feel like the action was being carried out. The man still loomed on the horizon, now looking down at his limbs as Donnie had just felt the call to. It felt like déjà vu and so much more.

Pushing so hard, Donnie could feel the veins in his neck grow taunt, he felt a whiplash sensation as all the ground he never covered suddenly rushed around him. Eyes unable to focus at the intense speed, he soared until his limp form was brought right up to the man; only the faintest traces of him could be seen. Only able to see the man's back, Donnie watched as his own hand came into view as he reached out to the now phantom. The figure disappeared just as a green hand had made contact with it and overhead buzz of lab lighting rushed into his ears.

“You aren’t going to give up are you? You finally almost had your chance.”

Gasping, Donnie jolted upright and found he was laying on the floor. Resisting the urge to scream, he scrambled to his feet. “Analysis! Scan the lab for intruders and playback the last 15 minutes!” Donnie rounded on his monitor and watched himself walk up to his workbench. After a few moments, he ran through pulling out the surveillance bot and recoiling at nothing. Grimacing until his lip pulled away from his teeth, he felt a cold chill as he watched tangible proof that there hadn’t been anything there. Dread reared its head as he watched as past him decided to table the issue and return to work. The footage changed from his memory as he watched himself collapse to the floor of the lab instead. Leaning in close to study the image for signs of seizure, he instead found his past self’s expression twist as he presumably ran through the dream-like state.

As the footage caught up to the present, Donnie swapped screens for the scan. There was no one else present. Brow coming down, he restarted the recording and watched as inevitably his past self mouthed the questions to the lab. The silence of the footage caught him and he quickly turned the volume up on his computer where he had at some point muted it. Starting the footage over once more, he stared numbly as he listened to himself question the empty air. He heard the thump of a crumpled body smacking onto concrete and then, just as his past self awoke, he heard a garbled statement. His head nearly bobbed as he rolled the footage back just a few seconds to hear the sound again. It was useless crunchy audio so he brought up a program to isolate it. Passing it through filter after adjustment, he could just barely make out a question about giving up and a chance.

Chewing on his lower lip, Donnie collapsed in his chair and set the still barely understandable audio on loop. It’s distorted sound had an odd rhythm to it that brought his lids down. Donnie let it echo as he recalled the only close up image he had gotten of the man in the field. Trying to recall as much detail he could about the person, a flash of a beak biting down into mochi appeared.

“Koi.” The syllable hit Donnie’s ears and took several moments before he was able to acknowledge it was his own. As registration occurred, he shot forward. His fingers flew across his keyboard and the measured hammering filled the air.

“Help me explain to the others that I need to find a single person in a city of almost 9 million people!”

From where Mikey was balanced on one toe atop a precarious several foot tall stack of knickknacks, the younger brother opened a single eye. “What?”

“Look-” Donnie shuffled in from the doorway of Mikey’s room, trailing continuous stationary with hundreds of lines of little black print on it. “I don’t know how to explain this. I guess it’s a mystic thing, so you would understand best! I need to find someone and I need to explain to the others because I need help.”

Shifting his weight, Mikey hopped off the stack and landed beside his brother only to have the pile crash to the ground as soon as he came up. “Dang…”

“I’ll help you rebuild it.” Donnie offered the sentiment along with a sheet of paper.

Mikey took it and read over the list of names. “Is this what you’ve been working on?”

“No. Yes. It’s not important.”

“Donnie…” Mikey warned, letting the page loosen in his hands.

“None of this mystic stuff ever makes sense!” Donnie reeled, trying to pull up the rest of the pages up and finally realizing he had been leaving a breadcrumb trail of them behind.

“I would say mysterious ways, but I don’t think that’s gonna be much help now.” Mikey rounded his older brother and started to collect the paper. “Maybe take a breath and try telling me what happened?”

Donnie groaned loudly before relenting. By the time Mikey had stacked all the paper back up neatly, Donnie had just mentioned the ominous carp phrase that had come off his lips. “-so I pulled surveillance from the area the day of Meat Sweats' attack and this is the culmination of identified persons who were waiting in line at the food trucks.”

“This many!?” Mikey ran a thumb through the pages.

“I was able to narrow it down to about 1000 people hence why I need-”

“The help.” Mikey winced.

“Interrupting, but correct.” Donnie sighed.

“Who do you think the mystery person is?”

“I have no idea, but they chose the wrong person to reach out to. Everyone should know apathy is my specialty.” Tilting his head to one side, Donnie put on his carefully curated aloof visage.

“Maybe it’s because they knew you’d have the tech to find them?” Mikey stared down at the first page with a furrowed brow.

“That’s as good a guess as any at this point.” Donnie shrugged and reached out.

Mikey catching wind of what was happening and handed over the top half of the stack. “Are they in danger? Cause this is uh… gonna take awhile?”

Shaking his head, Donnie looked down from the pages in hand to where they were still connected to the ones in Mikey’s.

Coming up to view the younger, Donnie watched as something occurred to Mikey and he set his portion on the floor. He then cascaded around his room in a sorting flurry with craft supplies flying around his wake. When he returned he had a slew of highlighters and plopped down cross-legged in front of his stack and started marking. “Let’s color coordinate by the boroughs!”

Donnie sat down as well and took an offered green highlighter from Mikey.

“That’ll be Manhattan.”

Nodding, the two flipped through the pages with only the soft scrap of pen to paper sounding in the room. After making substantial progress, Mikey blinked up to spy on his brother.

“Feeling a little calmer?”

“I knew what you were doing.” Donnie smirked and didn't look away from his work.

“You’re gonna have to pull the ‘trust me on this’ card.”

“Ugh, can’t you play into your skills? Say something like you found someone’s personal effect and you are in dire need of returning it!”

“Donnie.”

Donnie chewed the inside of his cheek and flipped over to a new line of names.

“You said there was a recording?”

Perking up only slightly, Donnie brought his cuff up and played the audio.

Mikey closed his eyes and leaned in close with a turned ear to the sound. Donnie replayed it several times before the younger brother’s eyes flew open. “Fate.”

“What?” Donnie soured, turning the sound bite off.

“’You finally almost had your chance!’”

Eyes blinking wide, Donnie slammed a finger to play the clip one more time. “You understood it?!”

“Only that last part.” Mikey hummed before taking a deep breath. “Oh man, why didn’t I think of it sooner?! You have fate stink all over you!”

“I most assuredly do not!” Donnie hissed, retrieving his highlight as a mock sword.

“A fated chance!”Mikey crooned, his excitement taking him to his feet. “You missed them before, but when?” Switching gears from romanticized cheer to curiosity, the younger brought an uncapped red highlighter dangerously close to his chin in thought.

“Only 20 years to sift through.” Donnie made a show of rolling his eyes and marking another name.

“Only…” Mikey mouthed before tapping the pen nib to his cheek. “Or more...”

“More, sure.” Not dismissing with a barb, but instead out of distraction, Donnie reached out and grabbed a discarded purple highlighter to continue working.

“A vision… A otherworldly voice… a destined meeting….” Taking counting steps, Mikey’s footfalls echoed loudly. “Uh duh!!!”

The sound brought Donnie’s head up and he watched his younger brother scrub his hands over his face.

“It’s gotta be your soulmate!!!”

Donnie dropped his jaw in disgust at both the sentence and the red lines that now smeared across Mikey’s face.

“Don’t give me that look! You were just trying to get me to act out some kinda romcom trope to trick our brothers!” Mikey turned and pointed the highlighter right at his brother.

Affronted, Donnie looked away nervously.

“Ha! Got you! Which movie was it?” Mikey chirped, dropping down to his knees in his original spot.

Before Donnie could open his mouth, a different voice floated in.

“We watching a movie?” Leo leaned languidly in the door frame before busting out laughing. “You look like if I went through a wash cycle and you know I’m dry clean only!!”

“Who? Donnie?” Mikey pondered, rapidly looking between the pair.

Donnie rolled his eyes. “We are not watching a movie, Mikey is helping me with some important work-”

“We’re narrowing down the list for Donnie’s soulmate!” Mikey nearly sang.

Leo who had almost recovered from his first bout of laughter broke down again.

“Mikey!” Donnie seethed, squeezing his two highlighters with bareful force.

The sounds of the blue brother wheezing seemed to summon Raph, who looked over each part of the scene curiously.

“What? You wanted my help and honesty is the best policy!” Mikey folded his arms, streaking red across his left bicep in the process.

“The cap!” Donnie screeched, grabbing said red hunk of plastic and throwing it right into Mikey’s forehead. “And you-!” Spinning around, Donnie launched the blue highlighter at Leo’s hacking form.

“Guys, we ain’t 10 anymore. Don’t throw art supplies…” Raph sighed, sidestepping Leo who only laughed harder at the implement thrown at him. “What’s going on?”

“Do-” Leo gapsed for air.

“Wait, did I get marker on me?” Finally capping the pen, Mikey examined his right arm carefully.

“Don-” Leo crawled forward.

“The other one.” Raph offered before looking around.

Donnie took a deep breath. “Glossing over the fact that I specifically asked you to help me ‘convince them’ and not just ‘tell them outright,’ you think you could have, I don’t know, called a meeting or something!?”

“We always have each other’s backs!” Mikey protested, still examining the wrong arm.

“Scoff doesn’t even begin to label my response to that!” Donnie reeled with annoyance.

Locating a box of tissues, Raph walked it over to Mikey. “Right arm and your whole face.”

“Oh!!!” Mikey crooned as if it were an epiphany. He then snatched a tissue and buried his nose into it.

“Donnie!” Leo finally managed both a word and to reach said brother.

“What?” Donnie responded flatly, hands ready to push him away at any moment.

“Did...” Leo sucked down another gulp of oxygen before laying himself out as if he were the picture of poise. “…you print out your online dating matches off some nerd website? Connect with local eggheads in your area?”

Raph moved first, but he wasn’t close enough as Donnie wrapped his hands around Leo’s throat. The three scuffled and Mikey stood up in an unhurried fashion. The youngest then took the orange highlighter and flicked the cap off with one hand. He smeared war paint on each of his cheeks and then tossed the marker aside. Planting his feet, he then flexed at his knees a few times and then breathed deeply.

“HOLD IT!!!”

The other three froze mid-fight with Donnie on Raph’s back clawing at Leo who was being held out by his arm pits at Raph’s front.

They watched as Mikey momentarily scrambled away, only to return wearing an orange helmet. “Sit!”

With a honed exchange of vicious glances, the other three brothers took to a line on the floor.

“As the resident mystic master, this is my domain. Now Donnie has been mystically chosen to find someone. I will not admit to jumping the gun because I do think it’s his soulmate, but I guess we don’t know that for sure.” Mikey shot Donnie a quick wink and then resumed his authoritative demonstration. “We are gonna help our dear brother out and-” He threw out a finger to the forgotten stack of pages. “-Narrow down this list because that’s what fate wants!”

Silence held for a moment before Raph looked to Donnie and then Leo flanking him on either side. Donnie pouted and sulked into himself while Leo looked on with growing confusion. Bringing his gaze back to Mikey, Raph raised his hand.

“Yes!” Mikey swooped his digit to point at the eldest.

“What the heck are we talking about?”

“Well, you see-” Donnie started, scotching forward at the chance to drop an explanation.

“Wait, I wanna tell it this time!” Mikey hopped forward a few eager steps.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense if I-” Donnie made out before Mikey came in close enough to press that same outstretched finger to his brother’s lips.

“It all started the day of the food truck meet up…!” Mikey threw out his other hand as if painting a picture.

“So…” Leo drew out the syllable in a manner that mimicked the last three days.

Perched in various trees, the brothers overlooked a gentleman sitting on a park bench. After an agonizing afternoon of back and forths over the purpose of the visions, Donnie was at his wit’s end. When he thought they finally understood at least that much, he’d let it slip how long he’d been studying the query which then triggered the annoyed protests of a week leaving them out of the loop. Disorganization followed before a plan was set. In a bit of cosmic cruelty, their first outing ended in them not able to locate a single person on their first list. The city that never sleeps earned its reputation as the four learned the hard way that an address does not always mean someone is home. The others had also annoyingly stopped him from activating a tracking network on all potential suspects. Invasion of privacy extended only to what was available in a phone book even though his argument that he’d already hacked surveillance cameras was more than sturdy enough. Still, he needed the help so he agreed. He just might go ahead and stumble upon more data if this night were to end in another failure.

“That’s him…” Mikey hummed checking his phone. “Number 23!”

Nerves oddly waning, Donnie gazed at the man through his goggles. A slew of tagging data appeared along with a telltale checkmark. “Correct.”

“That’s obvious, hermano. Didn’t you hear me before?” Leo huffed.

“We can always hear you, Leo.” Raph gave his brother a cheeky smile.

Leo played up his offense at the statement before smiling out of it. “I meant more what do we do now? Should he like glow or something when he comes in contact with D?”

Hearing the approximation of his name, Donnie flicked his head so his goggles snapped into their upright position. He frowned slightly and stared down at the man who seemed fatigued. The distance between them felt like miles of desert. “I’m not sure.”

“It’s ok to be worried…” Mikey dropped both his voice and body to Donnie’s branch. “It’s the first one.”

“Just think of him as some guy!” Leo added, kicking his legs. “The mystic connection thing will happen or not.”

“If it’s like our powers, it’s something we need to activate though.” Raph brought a corner of his mouth up in thought.

“Good point.” Leo closed his eyes in mock thought.

“Might as well talk to him in the meantime.” Mikey urged.

“We’re still mutant turtles. Am I going to just expose myself to 1000 people?” Donnie looked at Mikey’s out stretched hand with ever chasmed worry. He wasn’t sure if he said that because it was a good point or because his brain was scrambling at the prospects of this grossly uncharted territory.

“Ehhh…” Leo hissed through clenched teeth.

“Well…” Raph started and stopped. “They already saw us.”

“Yeah?” Mikey rolled on the branch causing Donnie to clutch on for dear life.

“These are all people from the food truck thing, right? They saw us save them.” Raph pointed downward to Mikey.

“Yeah!” Mikey tittered, shaking the branch more.

Leaves sprinkled down and Donnie wished he wasn’t already on thin mental ice. “That doesn’t mean they’ll be friendly. The amount of people who have watched us save their actual lives and still mix up which mutant side we were on has been astonishing.”

Leo stood up on his branch and walked toward the base. The other brothers stopped to watch his movements. “Well… you know how this goes…”

Donnie felt his stomach bottom out. Fight or flight kicked in and he slammed a hand to the tree in a desperate attempt to get to his feet. He watched as Mikey, already well balanced, shot away and a flash of a blade cut the limb free from its wooden attachment. Donnie stifled a yelp as he careened down and just barely managed to land on his feet before the downed branch bumped him. His momentum toppled and he landed in a bush with a resounding thud. Groaning off the fall, Donnie popped up to yell at his brother only to hear a timid voice instead.

“Uh… Y-you ok?”

Staring at the man who looked back at him with a similar owlish expression, Donnie glanced in the trees to find all his brothers now missing. Bringing his gaze back to the stranger, Donnie gave a fake grin and forced an awkward foot forward out of the shrubbery. “Yes, I’m fine. I apologize for…” He cursed himself as he’d already mostly walked into the Leo-level joke. “…dropping in on you like this.”

The man’s wide eyes dropped slightly.

“You see I was just-”

“I’ve seen you!” The man animated, the surprise taking him out of his seat.

“Yes-”

“You saved me from getting burned!” The man shot forward and Donnie barely resisted the urge to step back. Before the mutant could register what was happening, his hand was taken and being shook at a furious level. “Thank you so much!”

“You’re… welcome…?” Donnie staggered, the whole exchange leaving him empty. He watched as the man’s hand retracted from his own and there was a ghostly cold left in its wake. There was no scientific basis for it, but every one of his senses was telling him that this wasn’t the right person. All the ever-present dread evaporated as his usual sureness flooded in.

“Is there anything I can do for you? Did something happen? Do you need me to ID the guy!? He was a pig!” The man seemed to get progressively more excited.

“Not at all.” Donnie raised a hand to stop him and the gesture seemed to work. “I am simply… conducting a survey. How would you rate my heroic experience? ‘Very satisfied, very, very satisfied, extremely satisfied?’”

The man thought on this very hard before looking up. “Just very. It was fine, but the aftermath sucked because I never got any food.”

Donnie grimaced. “And how is that my fault?”

The man rebuffed the indignity with one of his own. “I don’t know. You’re the hero! Sure, you saved me, but you could stick around for clean up more!”

“That’s-” Donnie sneered. “We’re vigilantes! It’s illegal!”

“Nobody asked you to act outside the law.” The man shrugged, stepping back.

“You would literally be a battered if it weren’t for me!” Donnie seethed.

“I think I could have managed.” The man shrugged.

“Alright, alright!” Leo dropped down on the other side of the man. “We got his… response or whatever, time to go!”

The man gaped at Leo openly and then pointed. “You…”

“Yes, go on! More thank yous are in order?” Leo flicked his mask tails and waited for his praise.

“You’re the one that ran away with that other useless orange one!” The man gawked.

“Ran-!?” Leo seized up.

“Useless!?” Mikey’s voice echoed somewhere in the distance.

“Enough!” Raph dropped down behind Leo long enough to wrap an arm around him before shooting forward to snatch Donnie. “Thank you for your time, sir. Have an… ok day and maybe be less rude next time!” He parted the man with a final wave before soaring off back into the trees.

“Can you believe the nerve!?” Leo stewed as trunks flew around them.

“Let’s just-” Raph started as Mikey came into view and he dropped down beside him, depositing the other brothers. “He’s a jerk; people can be jerks!”

“Ungrateful!” Leo barked, storming in a small circle.

“Ingrate.” Donnie corrected, shaking his head free of the situation.

“Tell me he’s not your person?!” Leo looked to Donnie with pleading eyes before sweeping them to the left and talking out the side of his mouth. “Though he does match your personality.”

Donnie seized up for a moment before forcing the irritation out in one quick tensing of muscles. “No, he’s not my person.” Even with the exercise in restraint, the phrase still came out from beneath clenched teeth.

“Was there like a sign?” Mikey wondered, stepping forward to examine Donnie.

Donnie evaluated the youngest evenly for a moment before watching over the reel of the interaction again. He looked down at his hand and almost thought he saw an apparition of a translucent one over it. Turning the green appendage over, he seemed to remember his brother’s presence and looked up. “I think… I need to touch them?”

“That helps. So we got something to go off of!” Raph nodded, staring down at Donnie’s hand.

“You could probably get away with a little New York bump here and there instead of having to chat each person up.” Mikey bobbed with excitement.

“It’ll be a little touch and go for awhile, but at least we’ll be able to knock out the list!” Leo leaned forward with a bright smile.

The other brothers stood caught for a second before Donnie dispelled it. “Alright then, gentlemen! Shall we continue?” Tapping his cuff, he brought up a digital display of the list and the others crouched in close to see.

He had fulfilled his touch quota for a lifetime.

Donnie assumed he looked the definition of haggard, but couldn’t find the strength to glimpse himself in a mirror, front facing camera, or any of the like.

The past month had been an agonizing exercise in trials and tribulations. If he ever had so much of an inkling to take the most inane sample audience and test them against one of the most unknown variables of all time again, he now knew for a fact that he would take dip in a vat of slugs instead. Dragging a hand over his worn face, Donnie tried to force himself upright. The table he collapsed against wasn’t inviting in the slightest, but his plastron didn’t seem to care. Sighing, he relented and keeled over until his face pressed against the surface as well. There was a faint trace of stickiness that made his skin crawl, but even then he couldn’t bring himself to adjust. Instead he laid his arm cuff in front of his eyes and pressed the display on with his nose. It slowly ran a calculated cycle through the hundreds of red checkmarks that signified each and every failure. It was the digital count of exactly 1037 New Yorkers that were not this fabled person.

Groaning until the screen went to sleep, Donnie gave a slow blink. He could see the cycling of the different categories of people he had been forced to interact with. There was a good portion that fell under the header that Leo had frustratingly been able to make stick as the ‘touch and gos.’ They were the cleanest bunch data-wise by far in that he’d been able to tap them in passing and move on. Donnie had almost refined his technique to the point that he considered himself the candidate for a great life in pickpocketing were that something he’d want to cultivate. It had also helped, for once, that his brothers had made it into a game. They silently bet on whether or not a target would take notice as they were tapped in passing on the street. It was a nice little bolster to Donnie’s ego, not that he’d admit it.

From there, were the slew of typical New York talk-backs. They’d feel the touch and gripe loudly about it in a stereotypical confrontational manner. Donnie’s reactions depended on his mood. Either way he’d end up exercising a gross misuse of his skills whether it was to disappear without a trace or let off a little steam in a quick show of strength. His brother’s opinions on those interactions broke apart in a lazy divide.

After that came those who had to be creatively handled. They were a subset of persons that rarely allowed themselves open interaction on the street. It had been a fun utilization of Donnie’s costumed wardrobe that he rarely got to pedal out. In a play of sorts, he’d assumed the role of everything from bodega clerk to a businessman. There had been another split amongst the peanut gallery, but this time it was more for Donnie’s performance and less about the morality of his actions. The acting portion had been more of a distraction to the task at hand, but as time had worn on, it was almost necessary.

Though his brother’s would deny it until their last breath, Donnie saw that they were exhausted with the mystery. They vehemently stayed by his side out of a obligation he understood; if it was any of them that were cursed to find some person who was mystically calling out, he’d want to be right there whenever the exchange finally occurred. They had been through too much together to not worry about what could be any of a million outcomes. Still, filtering through a thousand people while also still maintaining their protectors of New York status stole away almost all their free time. When they’d checked the final person off in the wee hours of this same morning and found it to be another failure, the drop in morale had been palpable. Donnie loved them unquestionably, but watching the mixture of reactions from Raph’s weary pity to Mikey’s near tears was something he wished he could have shooed them off from. It was Leo’s look especially that still haunted Donnie; that let down of what should have been something of a Holmesian fallacy, but there was just a shred in Leo’s eyes that doubted the whole thing. If Donnie were in his brother’s place, he knew he’d feel the same. This intangible haunting occurring was something he’d love to write off too. Unfortunately, in addition to the ghostly reminder, there was this inexplicable ache in his chest that he had yet to solve.

In the end, Leo had called for a temporary parting to give Donnie his space. It had stung in its own way even if he had been about to ask for it. They all had heavy bags darkening their eyes and the weight of the supposedly loss was excruciating. All the time sunk with no apparent cost in sight. In another slow blink, he saw flickers of how he assumed they were. Mikey was presumably conked out after making breakfast for the others. Raph was either mediatating or in bed himself and Donnie just knew Leo was doing his own research. It had been something he’d caught an inkling of about halfway through the list. Leo seemed to know a little more about the target then the manifest noted. Donnie could almost laugh at the double standard. Leo was surely breaking some kind of law to get his information. Frowning, it was another similarity between the two had the shoe been on the other foot.

Bringing his lids up, the futility of the whole thing hung around Donnie’s neck like a noose. He wondered if he tried to file the problem away again if that mysterious entity would fling him back to that strange field. He’d idly tried to place it one sleepless morning, but they were indistinct grasses native to so many Asian regions that it left him with an exhaustive search area. It didn’t quite feel ethereal either and he didn’t want to begin to count the options if mystic realms were involved. Donnie debated the lesser of two evils between ignoring the headings of a mystic entity or asking Leo for help when between blinks a to-go coffee cup appeared between his face and his arm. The generic cup’s pale appearance was just jarring enough that it brought his head up.

“Sorry, um…!”

Giving the cup one last linger glance, he dragged his eye line up to the source of the voice.

You jolted as eye contact was established. “…How do I say this?”

He arched a brow.

“You looked like you needed a pick me up!” Your body bobbed as you brought your fists up in weak assurance.

You weren’t wrong. Donnie looked back down to the drink. He had almost forgotten he had wandered into a coffee shop in his defeated stupor earlier. It was surprising no one had thrown him out sooner. He had basically been darkening this corner spot for what felt like hours without purchasing anything.

“It’s just drip, but if you don’t like that I can get you something else.”

What an attentive stranger. Swinging his gaze back up, he evaluated you closely. You didn’t seem to work here, so you weren’t taking pity on him in that sense. Instead you looked a sort of put together version of someone who rolled out of bed. It was early, there were any number of possibilities for your attendance. “What roast?”

That probably wasn’t the kindest thing to say to someone who just bought you a drink.

“House…?” You straightened your back and tried to hide the way you looked out of the corner of your eye to catch a glimpse of the menu board.

Donnie chuckled. “That should be fine. Thank you.”

Turning and confirming to himself that the interaction was saved, Donnie palmed the coffee. Through the sleeve, the warmth tickled at his palm. He almost smiled as he brought it to his lips and took a sip. It was just a touch burnt, but it went down smooth enough that his shoulders relaxed. Staring out the window at those passing by, he noted that his emotional bar had ticked a little bit closer to neutral. That was as much as he could ask for with the looming preparations for a whole new set of search criteria. Who was he if he gave up against insurmountable odds? That was just every other day for him. Eyes drifting shut, he thought on how much a few sips of caffeine had affected him and how food would surely compound the effect.

“Of course, you’re busy… or tired…”

You were still here; that was odd. Against his lids protest, Donnie opened his eyes again. Though blurry, he instantly made out a hand reaching towards his cup. His nerves tried to seize up, but it was too late. He really was off his game.

“I just wanted to thank you. Have a good day.”

He watched as your hand finally made it through the motions and gave the back of his the slightest brush with your fingertips.

Donnie wasn’t even sure he blinked when he felt the oddly familiar rush.

“Something this good should be savored!” Doremi threw up their chin, moonlight gleaming ethereal as their hair flittered around the motion.

“So it was good?” Shion looked down at his threaded hands to keep from staring any longer. He smiled to himself as the image had indeed burned itself into his mind.

“Of course, I mean, you got it for me!”

Coming out of the vision, Donnie spun out of his stool so fast his knees harshly slammed into the underside of the table. The sound was loud enough that several people looked on curiously as he watched you push open the café door. “Wait!!!”

You slowed, one foot still lifted.

Against stinging limbs, Donnie freed himself from his seat and staggered over. “It’s you!”

“Yeah?” You wondered, your brows traveling as far north as possible.

“You! I found you! Well you found me, but-” The feeling was overwhelming; he felt a thousand fireworks go off in his chest and it translated down his appendages. The radiating excitement converted into kinetic energy and before he could register what he was doing he scooped you up. You squealed at the motion and he sort of registered something falling to the floor as he spun you around.

“Stop! What!?” He could feel your protesting and finally the action caught up with his mind.

“Oh.” He set you down and surveyed the damage. It was your coffee that had been knocked to the ground and it’s leaking contents soaked through the pastry bag lying in its wake. Coming up with a sheepish bob of his shoulders, he noted the confused fear scrunched up in your features and body language.

That was certainly the right reaction to what just happened.

“I know how this looks…” He began.

“You-” You choked on the sound as an employee headed towards you.

Donnie watched you catch sight of them and then the unmistakable glance you then made to the door.

You weren’t on the list.

You were about to leave.

“Please.” He resisted the urge to step further into your space and trigger any more discomfort. “I know that was erratic and uncalled for, but there’s…” He trailed off realizing that he had no way of trying to explain to what was presumably a regular New Yorker something he barely understood himself. He shook the thought off and pleaded with his gaze. “I can’t explain it, but if you wouldn’t mind sparing some of your time. I’ll buy you another coffee and whatever else it is that I accidentally ruined… Just… If you could?”

Still curled in a defensive position you scanned his gaze for a long moment then took in his body language.

The employee appeared with a miniature mop cart. “Hey, you two alright?”

Donnie swallowed hard in an attempt to keep himself from taking control of the situation. He’d already crossed a line and, though it pained him to no end, he needed you to decide.

Your brows came together as you debated and you knealt down to pick up the cup. “Sorry about this.”

Donnie could feel his chest tightening as the employee clearly took note that their question was dodged.

“It’s alright. We have spills all the time.” The employee ducked down near you and though they dropped their voice, his ears still picked up what was said next. “Are you ok? I can stall him if you need to leave.”

The part of indignity it served him was harshly undercut but how much he deserved that. Stepping back to give the two more breadth, Donnie glanced at his forgotten coffee.

“I’m… alright actually. Thanks for your help.”

That vibrating excitement returned, but this time Donnie shoved it all the way down to his feet. He kept his chin stiffly set in its turn so as not to alert you that he was listening in. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you rise up and give him a look that said you knew regardless.

“If you need anything else, I’ll be at the counter when I finish up here. How about a replacement?” The employee discarded the trash and moved to prepare the mop with a placed sign.

“That’s alright. He’s got it.” You tipped your head, pointedly staring at Donnie.

“Yes.” He hoped the excitement in his voice was kept to a decent level. “Order whatever you want.”

You moved back to the counter and he followed behind making sure to maintain a safety bubble of distance. You ordered and with a sly look added on a breakfast sandwich that could not have fit in the bag he saw. He could appreciate that you took advantage of the situation.

“You should get something to eat too.” You noted, giving him a flicking once over.

“Can we saw low blood sugar is to blame?” He bobbed his head at you before turning to the cashier. “I’ll have one of the same.”

“Not a chance.” You hummed and watched as he paid. You both traveled back to where he had been sitting at the window and slipped onto the stools facing one another.

Palming his lukewarm coffee, Donnie chose to drink the liquid with only a minor sneer.

“So… Did you mistake me for someone else or…?” You craned an elbow to the table and rested your cheek against your hand in lazy wait.

He forced the kickback burn of his drink down and chased it with a gulp of oxygen. “Something like that?” He followed it up with a wincing smile.

You seemed less than enthused.

“I want to explain, trust me, but it is…” He looked between the cup and you before setting it down. “You can trust me when I say it’s a complicated ordeal.”

You softened up a bit. “I guess that comes with the mutant hero territory?”

“Very much so.” He nodded approvingly.

You gave your own nod and the silence laid over the moment like a blanket.

With part of his mind still trying to find a suitable explanation for the mystic events, Donnie set a little processing power to some of the other unknowns from this chance meeting. “You said you wanted to thank me?”

“Oh… Yeah…” You tightened up in your stool and your arm fell from your face. “I was… uh…”

“At the food truck event?” He offered, using a sip from the cup as a means to hide his curiosity.

You snapped to attention. “Do you remember me from there?”

“Sadly, no.”

“But you-?”

“Order up!”

You both moved to get it, but you raised your hand. “Let me.”

Donnie nodded and watched as you slipped off your stool. You grappled slightly with the multitude of bags and to-go cup, but managed the handful and brought it back over. As if laying out a bounty, he smiled as you lined everything up and then slid his wrapped sandwich over like it was a payment for some misdeed.

“There were a lot of people there that day.” Donnie remarked as he picked at a sticker sealing the wrapping.

“It was crazy.” You huffed, taking a swig from your cup. “All that oil!”

“Which truck were you trying to order from?” Finally freeing his sandwich, he surveyed it before taking a handful. How you had fallen through the cracks of his pristine list making reared its head as an assaulting high priority.

“None of them!” You chuckled, mimicking his move with your food.

He froze, mouth still open from the bite he was about to take. “Then how?”

“How…?” You lead, watching him out of the corner of your eye as you kept your attention on your sandwich.

His lips made a thin line. “How were you there? Where were you?”

“Where was the event held?”

Your sudden airy attitude irked him. “In a plaza by the park.”

You nodded and took your first bite.

He watched you chew and then lolled his head back as he realized. “You were in the park.”

“Bingo.” You pointed at him with one finger that popped up from the bread.

“Where Meat Sweats was tossed into.” Donnie grumbled, vexation growing. “The park! Why didn’t I add that to my calculations!? It’s so obvious!”

He could feel amusement pouring off of you as you continued your meal.

Remembering his own, Donnie took a bitter bite of his sandwich. He paused as the flavors hit his tongue and with each subsequent chew his anger slowly dissipated. His earlier food assessment had been correct at least. He needed a little win.

“Calculations, ‘I found you,’ ‘sadly, no.’” You listed off before taking a sip of coffee.

Donnie stiffened as he realized where you were going.

“Think of a way to explain it yet?” You turned to him finally. “Why you were looking for me?”

He absolutely did not.

“You won’t believe me.” He left the last half of his sandwich and turned to you in show of opening up. “I still don’t quite understand.”

“You know…” You trailed off and gave a lingering glance to the window. “I have the day off. I think I have time for a crazy story.” You turned back to him with a bright smile.

For a moment, Donnie swore he saw gigantic golden eyes. It immediately disappeared, but spurned him to sink down in his stool. “If you insist…”

He went on to explain the past month leaving out very little detail as the story went on because the treading emotions crested as he recounted them. He had heard tale of how easy it could be to share a secret with a strange and while that rung true to a point, part of him intrinsically felt like he knew you. He also couldn’t shake the unmistakable flicker of joy in watching you. It stemmed from some deep recess of his psyche in a way that almost felt foreign. An never-ending line of people came and went with their orders. At some point you broke out a muffin and nibbled on it. Cups were drained and new ones were ordered by the time he caught up to the present.

Setting down your second cup, you had a haggard look on your eye. “That…”

“Yeah.” Donnie commiserated, sipping a fresh coffee.

“It’s a lot…” You swallowed hard.

“Yeah.” Setting his cup down, his eye chased it.

He wouldn’t blame you if you left now. At least he had gotten his chance.

In his periphery he watched you shake your head before bringing an arm up. It raked through your hair and stayed atop your head as you weighed the hefty connotations. The stretch pulled at your t-shirt and he caught a glimpse of a bit of color.

That little flicker exploded into a full blown flame.

“What’s that?” He pointed, glad he’d had freed his hands up.

“What’s what?” You murmured beside your arm. You followed his eye line and strained to see from your awkward angle. “Oh!” Finally bringing the limb down, you turned it towards him and rolled up your sleeve. “It’s my tattoo!”

His tongue went dry.

Skirting along your shoulder, a orange and white koi fish swam freely from somewhere behind your back and down your arm. Little droplets of water punctuated it’s lazy trek and shimmering scales reflecting in fine needlework.

A single chuckle escaped his lips.

“For as long as I can remember, I’ve always liked koi. I don’t know what it is, you know?”

Another single chortle.

“Woah! You ok?”

A few more dribbled bits of laughter came off his lips before the wetness chased them. Bringing a hand up, he touched the tears and could feel they weren’t his. As that recessed emotions gained form, he could feel someone else. They were both him and not at the same time. Their joy was so overwhelming. The crashing sensation brought forth more laughter to him. He wrapped his hands around his plastron to keep himself together. It wasn’t that he thought he was splitting, but it felt like there was too much inside for one body to contain. Outright sobbing and uncontrollably cackling, Donnie felt his consciousness pulled deep inside. In a dark space, his body seemed to free float and he watched that translucent man from the field appeared with a smile and tears on his own face. It was the first time Donnie had seen him so clearly, but at the same time he felt as though he'd always known. He gave Donnie a single nod before reality crashed back around him.

Donnie looked up through bleary eyes to find you had one hand on his shoulder and the other at his cheek.

He leaned your palm and tapered off the giggles until they formed a bright smile.

Mikey was right.

He’d have to tell him that later.

He’d have to tell them all about their fates later.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah…?” You seemed pale and confused.

In this reality that made sense.

You couldn’t know.

At least, that wasn’t part of the deal.

Right?

“Can I ask you something that’s going to sound ridiculous?”

“I… guess?” Your voice peaked with frazzled worry.

“Have you ever wanted to eat koi?”

Your first reaction was to shake your head into a rollback of confusion.

Then there was a spark.

A blink and he would have missed it moment where something seemed to click; a hue of gold appeared to spin in your iris before disappeared. A single tear ran down your cheek and he watched as an odd calm seemed to wash over you. The hand on his shoulder left him before you brought it to touch the droplet in a similar manner as he had just done. Looking at it curiously, there was none of the similarly overwhelming follow-up that he had endured, but he didn’t want that for you.

“N-no.” You choked out, your voice thick. “I don’t think I have…”

He nodded and reached up to gently remove your hand from his cheek. He held it in his palm and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“What just happened?” You sounded breathless.

“Something a long time coming.”

It was slow, but through your conjoined hands, he felt you shake. He looked up in time to watch stifled laughter bubble up in you. He watched fondly as you shook what was certainly the exhausting length of emotions off before looking at him with lingering snickers. “What luck!”

If you liked this, there will be a whole list of behind the scenes notes posted on the membership tier of my ko-fi!

#rottmnt donnie x reader #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt x reader #donatello hamato #donnie x reader #rise donnie #rise donnie x reader #rottmnt donatello #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt #me #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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salomeia · 2 months

Text

Angela and Tim talk about the bad thing he did.

Chenford.

Angela finds half dressed Tim staring at his locker like it holds answers to the world peace.

"Are you okay", she finally asks and he visibly startles. Tim 'nothing gets by me' Bradford hadn't even noticed Angela walking in the men's locker room and if that isn't worrying, well.

"What?" he asks a bit dazedly as he quickly turns around and she repeats the question.

"Are you okay? You're kinda out of it"

Tim looks offended. "No! I'm perfectly fine!"

"Riiiight," Angela says one eyebrow raised. "You just didn't notice me walking in here and standing behind you for like five minutes"

"No you didn't!" He sputters.

"I'm here aren't I."

"You haven't been standing there five minutes."

"How would you know?" She argues. "Boom! You failed Timmy, "

"Hey, what! You don't do Tim-tests, I do Tim-tests."

"Call it Angela-test then, I don't care," she says smiling and Tim smiles back, shoulders relaxing.

"Wanna talk about it?" Angela continues, because she can see something has happened. Well, something more than all the excitement about him and Chen going undercover.

Tim tenses up again, his whole posture going from loose limbed and smiling to rigid and frowning. "No," he snaps.

Normally Angela wouldn't push, especially Tim, because she knows he doesn't respond well to prying, but now she feels like these are extenuating circumstances. He and Chen are about to go UC and it's not something he's done a lot.

"Your head needs to be in the game," she sighs as Tim turns back to his locker and continues to dress. Luckily he's already wearing his uniform pants and now he's buttoning up his shirt.

He doesn't look at her when he says, "My head is fucking fine, Lopez. Leave it."

"You don't need me to tell you that getting distracted will get you killed," she responds mildly, because getting argumentative with him serves no purpose.

Tim stills. Then he briefly presses his hands over his eyes and turns around looking tired. "It's complicated, all right."

"What is?" Angela asks carefully.

"Us, okay. Me and Lucy" He's silent for a moment as if looking for words. "It always has been." He flails his hands in an un-Tim kind of way, then blurts out, "we kissed. As practice. For the job."

Angela can't say she's surprised, exactly. It's more or less what she expected and their chemistry is something a blind could see. But something about the way he put his words bother her.

"Always has been? She repeats.

Tim's eyes wander the walls, not looking at her. "I said we kissed and that is what you're focusing on?

"You're deflecting, Timothy," she states. "But all right, I'll bite. What about it?"

"What, am I talking in urdu? I said we kissed," he bites out.

Angela throws her hands up, "yes, and I asked what about it. You said you practiced, which is a smart move considering you'll be pretending to be a couple. What got you rattled up? Noticed you like kissing her? Feel guilty because you have a girlfriend? What?"

Now Tim's staring at her. Then he looks away and licks his lips. Unconsciously, Angela would bet. He slams his locker shut, all ready to go. " Yeah, all of it." He says and turns to leave, but stops at the door, hand on the handle and seems to consider something.

Without turning around, he continues, "except I already knew I like kissing her. It was a stupid excuse, practicing. We..." He sighs and finally looks at Angela. "It's been eating up at me. I... We...'" He's lost for words, but Angela waits patiently.

Finally he seems to get his thoughts in order. "I first met Lucy when things started to get bad with Isabel. I was drowning my sorrows in a bar, she had just moved to the neighborhood. It was before she went to the Academy. We hooked up that night."

Angela waits for him to continue, but he doesn't. He's also not leaving, just standing there half turned to face her, looking kind of like he's in pain. To say Angela's surprised is an understatement and this certainly wasn't what she expected to hear. She thought Tim would be agonizing over dating his former rookie, not whatever this confession would turn out to be.

"And?" Angela prompts.

Tim looks away again, before facing her head on. "We hooked up more than once."

Angela shakes her head, trying to piece this information together and form a clear image on what's bothering him. "Okay," she starts slowly. "But you weren't hooking up when she was in the Academy?"

"No."

"So you should've disclosed that when they assigned you as her TO, but it was a long time ago and it doesn't matter anymore." But even as she's saying it, she knows there's more to the story, it doesn't make any sense otherwise. Tim doesn't need her to tell him these things. And it can't be about him breaking his marriage vows, at least not anymore. Before she can analyze all the available data Tim interrupts her thoughts.

"Ang, I... I didn't plan anything, I swear, but when they assigned Lucy to me I didn't want to tell anyone about our past. I was pretty fucked up at the time and I know it's no excuse, but seeing her again made me feel... I don't know, alive, I guess."

Angela feels tendrils of worry in her stomach, slowly starting to understand where this was going. "What did you do, Tim?"

He looks at her quietly, taking a deep breath. "Nothing at first, but later... I know I shouldn't have done anything, but she wanted it too."

"Did she? You were an asshole to her back then." Angela growled.

He looks shocked, then sick with guilt. "You know me! I wouldn't have, never, forced or, or coerced... and you know her. She would've kicked me in the balls hadn't she wanted it too. And I'm hard on all my rookies."

"The rules are there for a reason, you know that!"

Tim deflates. "Yeah, I know that."

"And it's why you're so wrecked with guilt now." Angela says angrily.

"I'm sorry, Angela,"

"I'm not the one you should apologize to," she snaps.

"Yes, you are. You're disappointed in me and I'm sorry. I just needed to talk, to tell." Tim says tiredly. "I know we - I - it wasn't for the right reasons. "

"Well, you haven't actually told me much. Was it just once?"

Tim shakes his head, "no. But it's been over a long time now.

Angela purses her lips. "I don't know how much I even want to know, but explain to me considering your past affair, why the fuck did you practised kissing? Didn't you just say you liked kissing her."

Tim kind of grimaces, then rubs his other shoulder. "I did, I do like kissing her, but we haven't actually kissed that much. I mean, before. And it was an excuse anyway."

"Okay, why did I ask," Angela mutters and then says in a louder voice. "We should talk more later, have some quality bro time.

"That'd be great,' Tim says relieved.

"But don't think you're off the hook. We're gonna talk, but not before you talk with Lucy. Why the hell haven't you already?"

"We're friends, we've kinda found a balance between us and I guess it's just easier to not talk about the difficult stuff," he shrugs.

"At least you're honest now. Jesus, Bradford." Angela rolls her eyes. "Talk to her."

"Yeah," Tim agrees. " But I gotta go, I have stuff to do before roll call."

"Yeah, later" Angela says and watches as Tim opens the door.

When alone she sits down on a bench, because what the fucking fuck. She had not seen this coming.

#chenford #chenford fic #my fic #the rookie fanfic

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whimsicalmeerkat · 2 months

Text

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by @dear-massacre and @definitively-different-drivel. Thank you!

This is a long snippet, but I couldn’t bear to cut it and I decided to be nice and pick up right after last week’s, since everyone was so interested in what idea Stiles had that was gonna make Derek yell.

Derek is beginning to worry about just how certain Stiles must be that he's going to yell. He's following his Jeep and they're deep in the preserve. Even a werewolf wouldn't be able to hear them from the outskirts of town.

"Stiles, what are we doing out here," Derek growls when he gets out of his car.

"Well, like I said, you're going to yell and growl. There's also the fact that, if we're seen together in town my dad will find out and use it as an excuse to flip from barely acknowledging I exist to being super strict lest my delinquency damage his image of benevolent widowed sheriff and father."

Stiles' voice is flippant and sarcastic, but it carries a bitter undertone. It sounds like the sheriff's parenting hasn't improved since the days he was leaving Stiles at the hospital. Derek doesn't think Stiles would be happy if he knew Derek could tell he's in pain, so he doesn't mention it.

"OK, what is this idea that makes you so certain I'm going to yell that you brought me all the way out here," Derek asks instead of commenting on what Stiles just revealed about his father.

Stiles gives him a grateful look before taking a deep breath. He looks nervous. Derek is increasingly convinced that he's going to hate whatever is going to come out of the boy's mouth next.

"I need to join your pack," Stiles spits out.

That isn't so bad. Unusual, given how short a time they've known each other, but with extenuating circumstances it might make sense. His wolf definitely likes the idea. Likes it a lot.

"As your mate," Stiles continues, leaving Derek speechless.

"And Peter's, once he's awake," Stiles spits out.

Derek finds his voice. "Absolutely not, are you insane?!"

"Possibly," Stiles answers, "but not about this. You and I both know just adding a human pack member won't be enough of a bond, even if I have been visiting him for years."

"That doesn't mean the solution is for you to become our mate!"

Derek is willing to concede Stiles made the right call in waiting to propose this crazy plan until they were out of earshot of other people.

"It doesn't even work like that," he tells Stiles. "You can't just become someone's mate because it's easy or might solve a problem. There's more to it than that."

Stiles is giving him a very intense look. Derek isn't sure why, but he ends up crossing his arms over his chest to keep from squirming. Hopefully that isn't obvious and he just looks stern. Stiles opens his mouth and Derek just knows he's going to hate what comes out of it next.

"It would work," Stiles says. "I can see your bond with Peter and I know there's the possibility for one with me."

Derek can't stop himself from taking a step back. He fists his hands at his sides. He's never had this conversation with anyone, not even Peter. He doesn't want to have it with a teenager he's known less than a day.

"Peter and and I aren't bonded," he says, hating how small his voice comes out. He's had years to get past this.

He can feel Stiles staring at him, but he can't meet his eyes. He isn't sure what he would see if he did.

"You are," Stiles says. "That's why your rope in Peter's aura is silver, not gold. You have the same ones in your aura."

Stiles' voice is matter of fact, but Derek still gets the sense he's being gentle with him. He both hates the idea and is grateful. Mostly, he's reeling from what Stiles just said.

"We can't be bonded," Derek says. "Peter—he was sleeping with one of the hunters who burned down the house. How could he have done that if we were actually bonded?"

No pressure tags: @lalaithquetzallicaresi @lavender-lotion @mswhich @mrpinniped

#wip wednesday #steterek #teen wolf #wip #fanfic #deter role reversal #author:whimsicalmeerkat

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split-spectrum · 5 months

Text

Water and Rock

Chapter 11

Pairings: Obi Wan/FemReader

Warnings/Tags: slow burn, explicit content, SMUT

Chapter Length: 6K

☆☆☆

You stare at the door for a long time after it closes.

When the shock starts to wear off, the regret seeps in. There's so much more you should have asked him; so much you should have told him. Instead of almost silently accepting the end of your friendship, why hadn't you tried to make him slow down and talk to you?

Your eyes drift downward as you feel the truth settle into the pit of your stomach: You'd known as well as he had, saying anything more would only have led to further pain.

As you turn away, your blank gaze slides from the door and falls to the small table nearby. On top of the table, you keep a little bowl with trinkets and a few scrap pieces for your speeder bike. Beside these items sits a heap of cloth, which you don't recognize. You draw nearer, noticing that it's wrapped neatly around a cylindrical object. Picking it up and pulling back the cloth, you're taken aback to see the hilt of a lightsaber. Your lightsaber.

You slide it out of the fabric, feeling the weight of it in your hand for a moment, then place it delicately down on the tabletop just to stare at it.

You'd been facing Dooku when you'd lost it, completely on the opposite side of the outpost from where you'd been rescued. He would have been the only one there to retrieve it. And yet, he'd told you at that time he'd believed you were dead.

Your chest suddenly aches.

You tell yourself not to think about him, fleeing for his own life, half-dead himself, but stopping to pick up the only remnant he'd thought he would have of your existence.

Facing away from the table, you shut your eyes and do the same thing you've been doing for the past two days - immersing yourself in the force with a fervent determination you've never known before.

Your eyes flutter open again. You look out the window. The snow whirls.

Despite your better judgment - despite the fact that you know he'll feel it - you reach into the force and try to sense him. His speeder should be halfway back to base by now. You might not sense him at all. But you want to try.

To your immense surprise, you feel him instantly, his presence not halfway back to base as expected. In fact, he's not far away at all.

Pacing back to the door as quickly as your legs can carry you, you pull the handle and wince as the spray of icy wind crashes against your face again. His figure emerges slowly from the white abyss, one of his arms upheld to break the lashes of snow whipping around him. He's only a few feet away, but it's still hard to make out the shape of him through the dense flakes of ice.

"I don't suppose," he shouts over the rising gusts, "I could trouble you for a ride back to the main base?"

You wrap one arm around yourself, shivering and leaning out of the doorway to wave him in. "Come inside!"

He finishes his trek, entering your house once again, and you swiftly close the door behind him. After catching his breath, he lowers his hood again and sighs.

"I'm sorry to impose. I didn't realize the storm would be so..." He gestures to the window to indicate the ferocity of the wind beating away at your home. "The speeder bike I rented can hardly lift off the ground."

You give a shake of your head. "You aren't imposing. I don't think anyone expected it to be this bad. But I can't give you a ride back to base. I loaned my ship to a friend off world."

When he raises a brow, you shrug. "They needed a ship, and I didn't expect to be leaving anytime soon. My speeder is all I have at the moment."

Brushing a hand through the front of his snow-dusted hair, he sends a worried look off to the side. You stand, a bit stiffly, not quite knowing what to do or say. You try another solution. "I suppose you'll need to call someone at base for a pick up."

He doesn't answer for a few beats. Then he shrugs off his coat again, placing it gently on the bench. He seems to hesitate when looking downward, and you realize he must have noticed that you'd found your lightsaber.

He flicks his gaze back up to you. "I would prefer not to. This trip wasn't exactly... above board."

You'd started to back toward the kettle you'd had boiling before his arrival, but that makes you stop in your tracks. "Oh?"

You pose it half as a question, half as a statement, not wanting to force an explanation. He clears his throat, though, correctly reading your tone as curious.

"I was meant to deliver a mission report on Coruscant, then return to the Gaulus sector for further duties. But I left my duties in the hands of Commander Cody for the time being, and I... took a short leave. For my health."

"I... see," you answer, turning away and walking to the stovetop, fiddling with the knobs while you process his words. His second lie of omission to the council. You consider this, not saying anything in return.

He hovers at your home's entrance, and you both listen as the long-range holocomm goes off again, detailing the inclement weather. The storm is worsening.

The kettle is warm again by the time the report ends, and when you turn back to him with a reheated cup of tea, he gratefully accepts it, taking a seat in your kitchen when you motion for him to do so.

"Isn't there a friend you could call?" you ask, sitting down across from him at the small table. "Someone you trust not to share your... change in plans?"

He strokes a hand down his chin just once, shaking his head. "Anakin is on assignment, several days away."

It's been a long time since you'd heard mention of Mace Windu's former padawan. The young war hero had very nearly become Obi Wan's padawan when they'd first met, but the council had seen the bond between the two following Qui Gon's untimely death and had thought it better not to encourage their closeness, placing him with Master Windu instead. An unlikely friendship had still unfolded, despite their efforts, and you'd often joked that the Skywalker boy had always been Obi Wan's second padawan.

You want to ask more about Anakin, but that sort of lighthearted talk doesn't seem relevant at the moment. Instead, you sip your tea and think.

You try to keep your eyes locked onto the drink in your hand, instead of roaming across the lines in his face. His features are drawn down, stern and contemplative, and you want to paint over every inch of him, getting a second chance at your last encounter.

Clearing your throat, you try to force nonchalance into your voice. "Well, these storms don't usually last long. A few hours, or a day at most. You're welcome to stay until-"

You quiet down on the word "until", both of you listening as the holocomm goes off again, this time with an even more severe warning. The storm is now expected to last nearly a full rotation. Neither of you makes a comment right away, though the shift in energy is palpable. Ilum's rotations are sixty-six hours.

When the broadcast ends, Obi Wan's eyes flicker up to yours with a far-off look. They're a little dulled, his expression restrained and distant. It's the look he often holds when giving orders. The look that duty brushes over him.

"Perhaps I will make a call, after all."

Standing up, you start to make your way over to the holocomm to help him dial out, but you freeze in place when the lights cut out, and the low electronic hum throughout your home suddenly drops into silence. You look around the darkened room, then back at him, catching only the faintest outline of his expression in the soft light coming through the window.

"Don't worry," you assure him, once the initial jolt of susprise has worn off. "I have a generator."

"Oh," he answers, the shadow of his face peering around your dim surroundings. A few seconds later, he adds, "good."

A few seconds after that, he gives you a mildly concerned look that has you crossing the room to check the fuse panel.

"Which definitely should have started up by now," you say, opening the cover. The normally illuminated buttons are completely dark.

"Damn," you whisper to yourself. Then you turn back to Obi Wan, who's also now standing.

"I'm sure it's just a loose connection somewhere," you tell him, reaching for your own jacket and pulling it over your robes. "I'll have it fixed in no time. Don't worry."

He gives you an uncertain look. It's the same one he always employs when you're failing to sell him a lie. But he doesn't argue as you finish dressing and head back to the door.

After he's followed you into the small maintenance shack behind your home despite your insistence for him to stay inside, Obi Wan finally gives his opinion.

"That does not look good."

You glance up at him from your kneeling position on the ground, flashlight fixed on the gnarled remnants of the main rotor. "No, it's-"

You're interrupted by the sound of skittering feet, and you jerk the light to follow the movement, catching the barest glimpse of grey flesh along with a flash of multiple eyes. Yelping at the sight, you tip back onto your feet to stand up.

Before you can so much as bend your knees, a pulse of energy rips you backward, and the creature on the opposite side of the shed crashes into the wall with a dry slapping sound. Obi Wan lunges in front of you, lightsaber brandished, and you belatedly realize he's force-pushed you to the ground.

"Obi Wan, it's a lisk!" you tell him, getting up to stand beside him. "It's just a lisk."

You've managed to pin the reptilian-looking thing under the light, finally, and you both watch as it drops from the wall and scrambles out of the maintenance shack, through a hole in the corner. The animals aren't dangerous, or at least, certainly not a threat to a Jedi. You find them creepy, but they aren't really more than a nuisance.

Obi Wan would have - should have sensed this. But he hadn't responded to the danger. His response had been to your yelp of surprise. As you look at him, a loose lock of hair threatening to dip into his eyes, his teeth jutted in what you'd very nearly call a snarl, snd his body held in a distinct Ataru pose, the meaning of what he'd said earlier - about not working together - is suddenly ringing out to you with crystalline clarity.

And he knows it. He silences the hum of his weapon, deactivating it and clipping it back to his belt with one smooth, hurried movement.

"I didn't realize it was- " He starts and stops, tenses his shoulders, then drops them. "I'm not familiar."

Neither of you addresses the fact that he'd thrown you to the ground. Neither of you says anything about his taking an offensive attack position that he hasn't used since before you'd met - since before the death of his master.

You gather yourself, trying to move past the discomfort of the moment by looking back down at the torn mess of metal on the ground. "They're common, here, but not dangerous," you tell him. "Not unless you're a generator."

Obi Wan's gaze follows yours. "Evidently."

"They like the warmth, I think. But they've never caused this much damage." You back away from it, sighing. "I don't suppose you have a long-range commlink you've been keeping secret?"

He shakes his head. "I'm afraid not."

A particularly loud gust of wind wails through the small crack between the open doors of the shed, widening the opening with drifting snow.

A full rotation. Sixty-six hours.

"We'd better get back inside," you tell him, turning off your flashlight. "We'll need to keep all the warmth we have left."

First Hour

"And how much is left, exactly?"

You swiftly close the small door of the wood burning stove, having tossed in another log. "Enough to get through about two standard days, comfortably. Or four... uncomfortably."

"I take it we're rationing, then."

You stand up, brushing the splintered wood from your leggings. "To be safe, yes. I can't heat the whole house, either. We'll have to close off the two other rooms."

He nods, firelight flickering across his face. He seems to hesitate, and you've turned back to the stew hanging in an old-fashioned durasteel kettle above the fire before he speaks again.

"I suppose it doesn't serve much purpose for me to mention it now, but, was it wise to keep such a small stock of emergency supplies?"

You stir the food, looking over at the paltry woodpile. "I don't, normally," you answer, mouth closing in an 'M' shape that nearly became the word 'Master'. Old habits die incredibly hard, it seems. Especially when he takes that tone with you, thinly veiling his judgment.

"There was a storm recently before this one, and an outpost on the southern quadrant needed urgent resupply. I split my stockpile in half, and I meant to replace it. A few days later, I was called away to an emergency mission," you look at him pointedly. "Never got around to it."

"Yes, well," he absently runs the back of his knuckles down the side of his beard. "Your ship is loaned to one friend, your supplies to another... it's a shame I made my visit after you've run out of favors to give."

You smirk a little, dishing some of the stew into a bowl and handing it to him. "I don't know about that. Here."

He takes it with a curious look and follows you when you close the lid on the kettle, leaving the main room and heading back to the seating area in the kitchen. Sitting down across from him again, you invite him to eat with a gesture, while pouring two drinks. He's taking his first bite when you open your cupboard and take out a couple of small cakes, placing one down next to him and taking a bite of the other.

He raises his brows in surprise. "Is that..." He bites into it, politely finishing his chewing before starting again. "Where in blazes did you find yalo cakes?"

You give a genuine smile. "Made them myself."

"Very impressive," he says, bringing warmth to your face with the compliment. "They're delicious. Where did you get the yalo root?"

"Picked it up on a supply run on-" You stop yourself, then look up at him. There's no point in not finishing the sentence. He knows where to get yalo root. It's his favorite. That's why, on some level, you'd wanted it on hand. It brought you back to those days in the temple, with him. "... on Coruscant."

There's a long silence and it's obvious he's deliberating on whether to say anything. But you both know what he would say, and you both know there's no point in posing any questions. Eventually, you say something anyway.

"I would have visited, it's just-"

"Of course," he interrupts. "There's no need to explain. I would have likely been away on duty anyway."

You drop your gaze down to the table. You wish you could just... tell him. Seeing him would have only made things worse for you, and you dealt with it the only way you knew how. You want so badly to just tell him, so that he can understand.

So you do.

"I wanted to see you more than anything," you say quietly, and his spoon clinks against the side of the bowl as he sets it down. You can't bear to raise your eyes yet. "But I thought if I did, it would make thinking about you... harder."

You drag your gaze up to him, forcing yourself to look. "You know what's funny, though? I don't think it made any difference."

His blue eyes are set, wide, unflinching. His mouth is tightly closed, and his expression is indiscernible.

You let the silence drag on, finally breaking it again when he doesn't say anything. "I'm... going to go shower. Before the water in the tank freezes."

He watches you go, not saying a word.

Third Hour

You've both spent some time in the refresher, your hair still a bit damp as you begin to light a few candles. You don't have many, so you've rationed them as well, placing them together in the middle of the room, on a table.

Obi Wan is sitting in a chair, holding a book, one leg crossed over the other. His hair is dark, the ends sparkling with water in the dim light when he shifts in his seat. You're both wrapped in tunics and full robes, thick socks bound high above your ankles, and yet, you can still feel the chill in the air.

He'd asked your permission to borrow the book - a high fantasy novel set on the seas of a fictitious planet - and to your amusement, he seems rather engrossed. You sit down in the makeshift sleep roll you'd created out of blankets on the floor, looking up at him. "I didn't expect you to enjoy that one so much."

"Hm?" He glances over the page. "Oh. No, I- it's quite, uh, interesting, but..."

You raise your brows, imagining he's feeling caught out for enjoying something so childish, but he surprises you.

"I'm having trouble seeing the pages, in this light."

"Oh," you say, understanding now why he'd been staring so intently. "Well, it's much better near the fire. Come sit down here."

He gives an uncertain look through the grated door on the wood stove, and then down to the floor, next to you. "It's alright. I can see well enough, thank you."

You bite your lip, then decide to let it be, picking up a book of your own.

Ninth Hour

"Before I had studied the ways of the Force, the mountains were mountains and the waters were waters. When my knowledge of the universe became more intimate, I saw that mountains were not mountains and waters not waters. But now I have come to know the truth and can be at peace. I see that mountains are mountains again and waters once again are waters."

You blink at the page of the copied Jedi text before you, eyes growing heavy. Obi Wan is lying above you, now, spread long and lean over one of your couches. Actually, it's more of a chaise lounge. He'd dragged it over, closer to the light of the fire, and you'd sat down in front of it.

You turn to look at him, finally looking a bit more relaxed, one arm behind his head as his eyes slide down the page. You're close enough to hold your book up for him to see.

"Have you read this one?" you ask, indicating the first paragraph of the longer text.

He turns his head a little, angling himself to see the page. "I think it's safe to say I've read all of them, young one. I was assigned to the archives more than most padawans." He finishes reading, then flicks his gaze to you. "And perhaps I should have assigned you there more often. That passage as well known as the 'empty cup'."

You're sorely tempted to roll your eyes. "I'm aware. Just trying to be polite. I just really like that one."

He's quiet for a beat. "It's a good passage."

"Yes, it is," you say absently, turning the page. "One of my favorites."

You go on reading for a while, then speak again without looking up from the page. "Perhaps you'd care to share one of your favorites?"

You turn back to look at him and he places the book he'd been reading down on his chest. "Alright," he says, reaching out as you hand him your book. "Which one is this?"

"Poetics IV, Farseeker," you tell him, handing it up. "...but I thought you might have known that, Master."

He lifts his brows just a bit at your smirk, then turns his attention back to to book, paging through it, skimming for a few minutes while you sink into the comfort of the blankets surrounding you.

"Ah, here. I've always thought this one interesting," he says, and you feel him shifting on the chaise behind you to get into a better position.

"A single bundle of thread is made up of innumerable strands..." he begins, voice a bit smoother and deeper than it had been before. "but, if they are joined in a rope and laid down on a plank, they can easily be cut with one stroke of a sharp blade..."

The rich lull of his voice pushes you deeper into the blankets, and soon your eyes fall shut. His softly spoken words interspersed with the crackling of the fire is almost melodic.

"...as many as the threads may be, they can not resist the singular blade. So we come to the truth: the threads of selfishness, of mistrust, of passion, are cut by the diamond of wisdom..."

Fourteenth Hour

You stir, pressing your nose into the warmth of his robes. He makes a humming sound deep in his chest, breathing softly into your hair. The warmth of it tickles your neck, and makes you open your eyes.

You flinch, breath stuck in your throat as you pull back.

You sit up, shivering in the darkness. The fire is almost out. You stand up to stoke the embers and feed a few logs back into the stove. The sound of the door closing makes Obi Wan roll over to his other side, his breathing soft and steady.

You look down at the floor, realizing you'd had to cross over several feet to get into his bedding.

You must have been very cold.

You drag your blankets a little further away, then crawl back into your makeshift bed.

Thirty-Second Hour

It's pitch black outside, now. The day cycle has turned fully to night, and after spending the morning eating, talking, and cleaning out your kitchen, and the evening mediating, there's nothing left to do but read until you're tired enough for bed. Obi Wan is lying down on his back, in front of the fire. You light another candle, then join him.

The smell of him mixed with the smoky scent of the fire is... making it difficult to concentrate on your book. You're starting the same paragraph for the fourth time when he clears his throat softly.

"Perhaps tonight, we should take shifts, to watch the fire. It nearly went out last night."

You freeze. "That's a good idea."

He says nothing more, and you lie still while your heart races. If he'd known the fire was low, he'd been awake. How much had he been awake for?

"You... noticed that."

"I did," he says slowly. "By the time I noticed it, though, you'd already gotten up to fix it."

You're certain he can hear the blood thrumming in your ears. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were awake. I didn't mean to... to..." You start over, totally unsure what to say, but knowing you have to say something. "I was asleep when I must have rolled over, and...gotten into your bed."

He'd been watching you struggle to speak with a curious look, but finally, understanding seems to dawn on him. "Oh. I... had thought it was intentional."

The thoughts in your head run over a cliff.

"It was cold," he offers.

You have no idea what to say, blinking in embarrassment. "It wasn't intentional."

You'd found it difficult to concentrate on your book before, but now it's nearly impossible. You turn the pages a little longer, finally giving up and deciding to meditate instead. You close your eyes.

When you open them, you feel warm, and you feel safe, and once again, you realize you've curled into his arms.

But you don't pull away this time. This time, you just... stay. You rest your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, shifting your fingers in his robes. Feeling the heat between your bodies.

It doesn't matter, you tell yourself. None of this matters, because in two days he'll be gone from your life.

What's the difference whether you dream of holding him like this, or if you simply let it happen? He'll plague your thoughts either way.

You feel the rise and fall of his chest change its rhythm. He swallows, and you realize he's waking up. You lie still, then tilt your head up to look at him.

"Cold again?" he asks, and it hangs between you. An open invitation for you to move away and pretend it's all been a misunderstanding. But you don't.

"No."

The howling wind outside is the only sound, distant and ominous, as you stay motionless against his chest. Then he softly brings a hand to your face, gliding the back of his thumb down your jawline.

You could cry, the way his skin meets yours with such tenderness, without hesitation. You can feel the tension in his force signature, bleeding through although he's suppressing it.

"Go to sleep," he tells you. "We will get through this. It will be over soon."

"I know," you say immediately, his hand leaving your skin and making you give in to boldness. "And when it's over?"

"We've already discussed it," he says tightly, and you can feel the muscles of his arm behind you tense. He's not quite lying it down, not quite touching you. "We agreed, didn't we?"

"Yes, we did. After this, we won't see each other. So," you whisper into the thick fabric covering his undershirt. "I want to be honest. I don't want to lie to you anymore."

"Is this wise?" he asks, his words gentle but his gaze intense.

"There is always wisdom in truth," you answer, knowing he'll recognize the words he's told you many times.

"I want you. It's terrible how much I want you. But I think it could be easier if I didn't have to pretend that I don't."

He doesn't say anything for a long time, but the shifting emotions in his eyes speak for him. "Then you should not pretend. Not for me."

You desperately want him to reach down and kiss you, but he stays still, as you knew he would. You let out a silent sigh, resting your ear to his chest. His signature is mostly hidden from you, but he can't disguise the rapid beating of his heart. "I think it's been more for me."

"There is no need to hide your feelings," he murmurs. "But there is every need not to act on them."

You know he's right, but hearing him say it just makes it so much worse. And in some ways, it stokes the heat inside you even higher. Your leg is already nudging against him, and some depraved part of you is dying to lift your knee and hook it over him, to spread yourself open, to touch him in any way he'll allow it.

But the larger part of you, the part that knows right from wrong, tells your body to roll onto your back, and you do.

His arm lifts around you to let you separate, and you both stare upward, listening to the fire and the storm.

After so much time passes that you're not sure if he's asleep, you whisper one last thought that's been tormenting you for a very, very long time. "It's just a shame. For all we've been through, even the pleasure of breaking our vows... we didn't even get that."

He stirs beside you, head turning slightly, but he doesn't answer.

"If we had to break our vows, I'm just sorry we didn't even get to remember it."

Carefully, you turn to read his expression. His eyes are downcast. "I seem to remember much more than you do."

"I know," you whisper, a thrill that you know you shouldn't feel running through you. You're on edge, like you're trying not to frighten off a wild animal, with every word you shouldn't be saying.

"If you wish," he says, voice forcedly calm, "I could show you."

The words hang in the air; low, heavy, dangerous. You part your lips with some effort.

"Show me."

He rolls to his side, facing you, and wordlessly places a fingertip to your temple. It isn't necessary to form a bond through the force, but it helps.

Before he closes his eyes, and before you close yours, you feel it passing between you - an unspoken acknowledgement. What you're doing is precisely on the edge of sin and salvation, just teetering on the illicit line; a line which has been crossed and uncrossed so many times between you that you've lost count.

You close your eyes anyway.

The image is pristine. So real between sight and sound that you can hardly distinguish it from reality.

Your skin is on his skin. Sweaty, brazen, unashamed. You're lying naked on your back, and he's beneath you, pants unfastened, inside of you.

You squeeze your eyelids tight, overwhelmed and instantly aching between your legs.

He drags his cock slowly from you, one hand splayed across your stomach, holding you steady on top of him. Your body shudders involuntarily, imagining the pressure of his head moving from deep inside to pressing shallowly within you.

"Tempted me for too long," the Obi Wan in the vision growls, voice surrounding both your ears as if he's speaking from everywhere at once.

Then he pushes back in, hot and slick. "So tell me," he says, pulling out and sinking into you over and over, "Now. Tell me how you wanted this."

"I wanted this," your voice comes - bare, powerless. Like you're clinging to him, adrift and keeping yourself afloat by saying anything he asks.

He gives a long, tortured groan. "No, not just this." He drives into you, pulls out, coated and sliding so perfectly between your legs. "Say it."

"Oh, fuck," you moan, trembling against him, sounding too distracted to answer.

"Young one," he warns, quickening the pace just slightly as he wraps one hand around your neck, tilting your chin upward as he spreads his fingers out, feeling your pulse skyrocket as he tightens. "Do as you're told."

"I wanted this, Obi Wan. Wanted you inside me. Wanted you to fuck me," you answer him, words spilling out of you without pause. "Wanted this forever."

The hand on your stomach has moved to your hip, now, gripping you to stop you from moving. He's writhing beneath you, and even from this perspective, from the catch in his breath, from the wet sounds in the room, you can tell he's gone from fucking you to pounding into you.

"You've done this to me," he rasps, the muscles of his arm flexing between your breasts as he squeezes your neck tighter. "Do you understand that? You will answer for it."

You nod against him and he sinks his teeth into your neck, burying his moan in your skin.

He's about to fucking cum, you realize.

Why had he started the vision here, of all places? Was he trying to make you lose your mind?

His thrusts are getting deeper, harder, staying buried longer, and, there- you hear it in the open-mouthed choke of his voice. You see it in the way he drives up into you and stays there. He's-

Obi Wan breaks the bond, bright and vivid imagery bursting into nothingness, fizzling right before you.

You blink, eyes falling open to meet his own. His lips are parted, his face as flushed as yours must be. You take in a breath, and it occurs to you how empty your lungs had been.

He straightens his shoulders, but he doesn't move away. His eyes dip down to your lips, then swiftly back up to your eyes. "I must tell you that what I said..." he pauses for far too long. "It wasn't true, of course."

"I know," your response is automatic. You're unsure precisely to what he's referring, but you want to reassure him.

"Shall I stop?" he asks the question softly, but his voice is too rough for him to feign innocence, now. "Or would you like to keep going?"

There's some shame in your breathless answer, and no doubt he hears it. No doubt he feels it, too. But it's outweighed by scraping, seething, agonizing want that's been buried for so long.

"More," you tell him, never more certain of anything. "Don't stop."

There's conflict in his gaze, but the same animal you've been fighting wins out within him, too, and he closes his eyes once more.

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